“Do me an’ the old man a cup, or there’ll be ructions,” he said cajolingly.
She glanced doubtfully across at Mrs. Nadin.
“Give it the babby; he’ll blub ’is eyes out if you dunna,” came the bitter retort.
Flo brewed in a little pot, but was uncomfortable. Then the farmer came in and sat in his chair, and held out his hand.
“It’s a good job somebody’s got time for us,” he commented gently; and Flo felt better.
“A fine one you are ta talk,” stormed Mrs. Nadin. “Muckin’ an’ messin’ from month end to month end; an’ when somebody’s mekkin’ a bit, all you con do is plank your great mucky self in the way.”
He sucked at the edge of his cup and stared over it into the fire as though he had not heard. Clem winked at Flo.
“The four’s here, so dunna be upsettin’ ’em wi’ none o’ your soft blather,” said Mrs. Nadin threateningly. But it passed over the farmer with as little apparent effect as a wave over grey rock. There was no suggestion of Flo helping with milking. The farmer and Clem went off morosely, and Mrs. Nadin aimed after them a brisk: “Good shuttance!” After seven, while helping to clear up the cabin, Flo saw Bert steering in with the four men in the punt which he forced along cleverly with a heavy wood paddle. The four made for the house and went in by the front door.
“Finish off this lot,” ordered Dot.
Flo was glad to be alone and dawdled a bit. She was weary, and wandered what else there would be to do. She had hoped to have a little time to herself at weekends at least. When she got back to the house there was loud talk and gusts of laughter in the front room. She heard the plup! of a cork, and soon the piano began to ding out: “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do”. The men sang spasmodically, and sometimes the tinkling went on, alone. Mrs. Nadin was looking after a tremendous hot-pot from which seasoned steam clouded up every time the oven was opened. Flo, having finished washing up the last of the cabin things, leaned back, half sitting on the sink edge, not caring to use a chair while Mrs. Nadin was still on her feet. Mr. Nadin came in and hooked his cap on the nail in the frame of the grate just by his chair. In the varnish graining there was a segment of a circle marked by peaks left momentarily swinging, pendulum-like. He sat in shut-in silence for five minutes, then abruptly demanded: “What the hell is that row? If it’s Dot, fetch the bitch out.”
“Fetch ’er out thysen; tha’s big enough,” snapped Mrs. Nadin, “an pig-headed enough.”
He did not move, gazing into the fire in sombre silence again. The tinny piano played on and choruses were sung noisily, tune-careless.
“I’ll hack the damn thing up,” announced the farmer unexpectedly.
“An’ it’ll cost you twenty quid,” was the instant retort. “Smash thi long legs, summat as is thi own; but if thee smashes owt o’ mine, tha’ll rue.”
He kept silent again, and Mrs. Nadin ordered Flo to get the tray and stack pots. At nine promptly she was sent into the front room. Dot was sitting very erect on the stool playing with nimble fingers, while a youngish man with sandy hair, on a chair beside her, leaned over the keyboard and sang and beat his right hand on the piano end. Abi g fire winked on five empty bottles on the blue and white Dutch-girl-and-boy patterned hearth tiles. The fug of ale and tobacco made Flo choke. The big man with the growth on his nose was full-length on the horsehair settee, his big stockinged feet sticking off the end. Bert, drawing on a big cherry-wood pipe on the right of the fire in a flat-backed armchair, was talking seriously to a middle-aged man with a completely bald head. The fourth, of the party, younger again, was watching Dot from the side on the right of the door. His hand held a glass and he sang between drinks. Flo looked round where to rest the tray, while she put the cloth on, and he patted his knees. As she leaned towards him he completely surprised her by slipping his left hand round her neck, hooking her head down, and wetting her forehead with a quick, dabby kiss. She jerked away, all the pots shifting and tittering, as if scared, too.
“Take care,” ordered Dot harshly over her shoulder.
The young man winked and grinned and licked his lips. Apparently no one else had noticed. Flo looked in appeal to Bert, but he merely glanced with a slight arching of his sandy eyebrows and went on talking. She had flushed and knew it, and she felt sweat under her arms and between her thighs. The fug seemed all at once to thicken and become more distasteful, and she coughed in an effort to clear herself. There was nowhere to put the tray, except on the table corner, so she managed as best she could, aware all the time of the young man watching. She dared not lean with her back to him. Setting was awkward, because in addition, she could not get down the side where the settee was. Only at last she was ready to go. She held the empty tray as a shield on her left. The young man let her get past and then she felt her right wrist gripped hotly from behind and he jerked her round so violently that she almost fell. The startle made her cry out. The piano rhythm broke, but was picked up after Dot, by the briefest glance, had learned what had happened. The rest stared and then laughed as Flo smashed the flat of the tray clumsily on the young man’s crown. He started and the dregs from his glass spattered his knees. His grip momentarily weakened, and Flo snatched her wrist free. The next moment he was thrusting himself up, his face creamy-white, eyes staring.
“Now then!” came unexpectedly from Bert; there was a terse so-far-but-no-further tone in it. The young man seemed to grope for something, then said: “Eh?”
Flo slipped out.
“Ma’ll toe your backside and out you’ll go if you try that here,” Flo heard Bert saying. Nevertheless, she was afraid. She held back till Mrs. Nadin asked exasperatedly whether she thought that they wanted to be at it all night.
“Let the child be,” said Mr. Nadin quietly.
“I’ll let thee be if tha dunna shut up,” she threatened, transferring her anger. “Get thi great gob stuffed wi’ that,” and she planked the first loaded plate of hot-pot by his side on the oven top. Flo, grateful, held out a knife and fork. He took them, got up leisurely and tugged his chair to the table. Flo, with the loaded tray, went nervously along the passage, though determined to fight. But the steaming plates with their meaty smell turned the thoughts of everybody except Dot to feeding.
“Th’ biggest for me,” said Bert jokingly.
She selected it quickly and put it close to him. It was half-past eleven before the last of the things was washed. Then Mrs. Nadin at once ordered Flo to bed, adding: “There’s another day to-morrow, dunna forget.”
Chapter 10
Sunday was perfectly still and very mild; spring pensive, thinking of summer. All the fishermen went out just before dawn; Flo heard their talk going away to the water, and then the wooden rattle of oars tumbled into empty boats, and the creak and splashing dip of rowing. The sounds passed beyond hearing and the valley silence was complete again, but Flo lay and thought apprehensively of the young man. If he tried any more tricks she would be ready, though.
The great bell rang startlingly precisely at its usual time. When Flo got down Mrs. Nadin had already been to the cabin, and she asked sharply why it had not been tidied more.
“Miss Dorothy was there; and she never said go back,” Flo explained.
“We’ll have her up, the young madam,” said Mrs. Nadin sharply. “Go tell her.”
The bedroom door was locked. Flo knocked and called, but all she got was an impatient: “All right; all right.”
On Flo’s report Mrs. Nadin stumped up and filled the house with thumpings. “Come on,” she shouted. “Out o’ that. Open this door.” But it was not till twenty-five minutes later that Dot came down.