“Better than washin’-up, eh?” he asked, grinning, big white teeth showing.
“Better than washing, anyway,” she agreed, smiling back, aware of the thrush still singing.
“Better’n lots o’ jobs; best job as there is in spring.”
She patted Colonel’s neck.
“The old man about?”
“He was here not many minutes since . . . in the field.”
“I’ll call, then. Didn’t want to if he werena about.”
“What . . . what did you do with the calf?” asked Flo, again seeing its pathetic puzzled look when it was made prisoner up to the neck.
“That’s what I come ta pay for,” he answered, “an’ I’ve brought th’ sack.”
“Was it . . . was it killed?” she asked.
“Nay, it’s a good un; it’s a doer,” he said, his face sober, his tone impressive. “I’m keepin’ it. You conna feed owt as winna eat, but yon mon . . . ’e’ll eat everythin’. I like them sort.”
She was relieved, but did not like to say so.
“’E’ll make good beef, that mon will,” said Jack. “Ah well, ta-ta the noo; see you some more.”
“What? That’s funny,” said Flo. “I never heard that before.”
“It’s what they say in Scotland; in Edinburgh, anyway.” He laughed gently as if remembering something particularly pleasant.
“I like it. Ta-ta the noo; see you . . . see you . . .”
“Some more,” he finished for her. They smiled together. Jack gave the reins a toss and his piebald nag scraped a stone away with its off forefoot and then started. Flo had to walk round the roller to Colonel’s off side. She could seet Jack’s head going along the hedge top; it was funny, no body and no horse. She laughed and gave a tug to Colonel’s bit. He held back, but a touch with the ash switch made him quickly change his mind. They went clankingly towards the lake once more and now she saw someone waiting just within the willows. There was a rather dazzling gleam behind him, but she knew that it was Bert. She wondered if he had seen her standing with Jack Knight, and whether it mattered.
“The old man’s caught you, eh?” he asked, and at once Colonel stopped comfortably, as if it had been an order.
“He’s just gone in for a minute or two,” said Flo.
Bert smiled sarcastically. He had a gun balanced over his right wrist and under his armpit, both his hands resting comfortably in the cross-pockets of his breeches. A little breeze came through the willows off the water and blew her dress out from her, tightening it down her left front and she knew that he was noticing. She looked away and turned a little sideways.
“I just want ta tell you,” he said seriously, “if ever you see anyone about here as you think shouldn’t be . . . anyone in the withies, or anywhere . . . let me know. There’s a young brat from Nether side as is allus tryin’ his tricks.”
“Tricks?” repeated Flo.
“After fish an’ ducks an’ owt else; but ’e’ll catch summat as he doesn’t want if I get my hands on him.”
“Oh,” said Flo. Bert’s lean lips had gone together and his weathered face looked strong and attractive. She had not noticed it indoors as she did now.
“There’s a hundred or so ducks nest here, an’ they want some looking after,” he told her.
“I’d better be getting on,” she said, still conscious of the wind’s play and of his steady observation.
“It’s a weary job, eh? Why don’t you sit on an’ let Colonel do the work?”
“How?” she asked, thinking of the trouble she had had at first.
“Reins,” he answered. “No good wearing your feet out. Damn walking, if there’s chance ta ride.”
His hands searched and he lifted from his left pocket a wad of binder string. Having leaned his double-barrel against a willow stole he unbuckled the bridle rein from over the hames and tied one end of the string to each length of leather. There was just enough. He showed her where to sit on the frame at the side and told her that she would make it roll better. “More weight,” he explained with a wink.
She hastily called on Colonel to start. He put a hoof forward tentatively, then drew it back.
“Gee up, you lazy owd sod,” ordered Bert shying a walnut-sized stone at his ribs.
The gelding started so briskly that Flo nearly fell backward. Only the loop of binder string saved her, and her unexpected tug on it caused Colonel to stop as abruptly as he had set off.
“Get yer!” threatened Bert, and the gelding restarted, but at an angle of thirty degrees. “Dunna let ’im run off with you,” called Bert, enjoying it.
In her flurry she pulled the wrong side and Colonel veered more. She tugged the other way harder than she knew, and the gelding came back in a short curve, almost a circle. She had lost the edge of the previous strip and didn’t know which way to turn. In an effort to straighten out she pulled on both reins together and Colonel began to back. The shafts rose at the collar to the length of the hame chains and the whole frame tilted, so that she very nearly slid off the back a second time, giving an extra tug on the reins which made Colonel back more energetically. Before Flo could recover the roller was over the edge and ran crackingly into the willows. This time she fell off. Colonel sat back in the breeching very comfortable. Bert grinned more than ever.
“You munna do it like that,” he teased.
“I shall walk,” said Flo, feeling fooled. She brushed at the moss and soil on her frock and wished that he hadn’t seen her. He caught Colonel’s bit and coaxed him on to the level. Flo following saw the foolish track she had made.
“Here, drive along the last mark,” he said nodding.
“I’d sooner walk,” she said.
“Don’t be daft; riding’s better. Pull this side when you want him to go this way, and t’other side when . . .”
“I know,” said Flo coldly.
She settled on the frame again and there was no more trouble. The roller swayed and bumped a little, but the slight discomfort was more than made up by the increased feeling of mastery over Colonel which the reins gave her. She was away from his great hooves, and he no longer overshadowed her. Really it was rather fun being trundled over the grass. Her pleasure was upset by an angry whistle. Colonel stopped. Mrs. Nadin was at the yard gate impatiently waving.
“Come ’ere . . . what d’you mean?” came faintly but imperatively over the grass.
Colonel was still a hundred yards from the hedge.
“Leave ’im,” came a more angry shout.
“What the hell are you doin’?” demanded Mrs. Nadin as Flo walked up. “I guess the bloody old fool set you on, eh? I’m boss here, an’ dunna forget it. He wouldna care if his shirt cracked wi’ muck. Bring the wisket. Manglin’s waitin’. If you slip off agen, I’ll tansel you.”
Flo at the gate gave a last doubtful glance to Colonel. His nose had dropped almost to his knees and he looked already asleep. When she went out twenty-five minutes later with a basket of vests and pants and stockings he was still there as settled as a statue. But she dared not go to him. She wondered if Bert knew, and then almost at the same moment she heard a shot from past the boat-house somewhere. She looked but could not see him. After she had been back in the wash-house five minutes she ventured to ask if it was all right leaving Colonel.
“Why the heck not?” demanded Mrs. Nadin tartly. “If ’e conna look after him, let ’im stond.”
When Flo went out with the last batch, dusters and spare miscellaneous cloths, Colonel had gone and the roller was by the barn end with its shafts tilted at the milky blue sky. When Mr. Nadin came in for dinner Flo expected a row, but he sat without a word. Mrs. Nadin put his steaming mutton stew down out of the oven with a, “Tek that an’ dunna brun thiself like a babby”, and Colonel was never mentioned.