"I just came," I said, "to see if you had made a decision about the field."
" 'Taint for us to make decisions," said the woman. "It's for us to listen and do as we're told."
"I don't want it to be like that," I protested. "You know so much better about the farm than I do."
"Jacob says that if it lies fallow we'll be short of a crop, and if it ain't so good as it might be, it's still a crop."
"You're right there," I agreed. "I think Jacob and Mr. Carleton ought to get together and make a decision."
"Give Miss Susannah a drop of your cider, Carrie," said the old man.
"Oh, 'twouldn't be good enough for the likes of her." "Some of us was good enough once," commented the old man wryly; and I wondered what that meant. "Get it, girl," he shouted to the young girl who was dealing with the onions. "Go on, Leah," said the woman.
The girl rose obediently and went to the cask in the corner. I did not want the cider but I thought it would be impolite to refuse and heaven knew they were touchy enough already.
"It's her own make," said the man, nodding towards the woman. "And it's good stuff. You'll enjoy it, Miss Susannah. That's if you're not too proud to drink with the likes of us." "What nonsense!" I cried. "Why should I be?" "There's folks as don't always have to have a reason," commented the old man. "Look sharp, Leah."
Leah was turning the tap of the cask and filling a jug with golden liquid. A pewter tankard was brought to me. I tasted it. I didn't like it much but I realized that I had to drink it or offend the Cringles even more than they seemed to be already, so I put my lips to the tankard and sipped. It was strong stuff. They were all watching me intently.
"I mind you when you was a little 'un," said the old man. "That's years ago ... when your uncle was alive and your father was here. It was afore he ran away after murdering his brother."
I was silent but I felt very uneasy. I could feel the hatred in the man and the woman. It was different with the girl. She seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts. She was a dainty, pretty creature and her eyes reminded me of a fawn's—big, appealing and alert, like Miss Thorn's, looking for danger.
I knew instinctively that she was pregnant. There was just the faintest, almost imperceptible bulk below her waist—but it was something in her expression. I could have sworn I was right. I said: "Do you live here with your husband?"
I was unprepared for the effect those words had. She flushed scarlet and looked at me as though I were a witch with supernatural powers to search her mind.
"Our Leah ... husband! She's got no husband!"
"No ... I... I'm not married." She made it sound as though it were a major calamity.
Just at that moment I was aware of a shadow at the window. I turned sharply. I saw a flash of dark clothing and then whoever had looked in was gone.
My uneasiness increased. Someone had been at the window watching me. It is always disconcerting to be watched when one is unaware of it.
"There was someone there," I said.
The woman shook her head. "One of them rooks flying past the window, I reckon."
I did not think it had been a rook but I said nothing.
"No," went on the woman, "our Leah is not married. She's sixteen. She'll wait a year or so yet, and when she does she'll not be living here. This farm wouldn't support no more. Why, you reckon we don't do well enough as it is."
"I don't reckon that, Mrs. Cringle."
"Then I reckon it's something what brings you here, Miss Susannah. We'd rather you told us outright."
"I want to get to know everyone on the estate."
"Why, Miss Susannah, you've known most of us all your life. Of course, there was that time when you went away when Mr. Esmond was took bad and come near to dying and our Saul ..."
"Hush your tongue, woman," said the old man. "Miss Susannah don't want to hear about that. I reckon that's the last thing she wants to hear about."
"I think we want to turn to the future," I said.
The old man gave a hoarse chuckle. "That's a good way, miss, when the past don't bear looking into."
The cider was indeed strong and they had given me a large tankard. I wondered whether I could in politeness leave it. No, I decided, they were too prickly as it was.
I drained the tankard and rose to my feet. The cider was evidently potent. The farmhouse kitchen was looking a little hazy. I was aware of them all watching me with a sort of sly triumph. Not the girl though; she was indifferent; she had too many problems of her own to care for victory over me. I could understand that if she were in fact illegally pregnant. I imagined what that would mean in a household like that.
I was untying the horse when the boy I had seen on my arrival ran up to me.
"Help me, miss," he said. "My cat's caught up in the barn. I can't reach her. You could. She's crying. Come and help me."
"Show me the way," I said.
His face broke into a smile. "I'll show you, miss. Will you get her down for me?"
"I will if I can."
He turned and started to walk quickly. I followed. We went over a field to a barn, the door of which was swinging open.
"The cat ... she got in ... high up ... and she can't get down. You can get her, miss."
"I'll try," I said.
"In here, miss."
He stood aside for me to enter. I did so and the door was immediately shut. I was in complete darkness and could see nothing after the light outside.
I cried out in astonishment, but the boy was gone and I heard a bolt slide. Then ... I was alone.
I looked about me and suddenly I felt the goose pimples rise on my flesh. I had heard people talk of their hair standing on end. I had never experienced it before, but I did then. For hanging from one of the beams was the body of a man. He was swaying on a rope, turning slightly as he did so.
I screamed. I cried: "Oh ... no ... !" I wanted to turn and run.
Those first seconds were terrible. The boy had shut me in here with a dead man ... moreover a man who had hanged himself or been hanged by others.
Terror gripped me. It was so dark and eerie in the barn. I could not bear this. The boy had done it deliberately. There was no cat ... only a body hanging on a rope.
I was trembling. I had been lured here for a purpose. That boy must have known what was here. Why had he done this to me?
Panic seized me. I did not know which way to turn.
The barn was some distance from the farmhouse. If I shouted, would they hear ... and if they did would the Cringles come and help me?
The last thing they would do was that. I could feel the waves of hatred coming towards me in that farmhouse kitchen ... from all except the girl Leah. She had too many problems of her own to consider me.
A terrible inadequacy came over me. What should I do? Suppose he wasn't dead. I must try to get him down. I must try to save him. But my first impulse was to escape, to call someone, to get help. I tried to push open the door but it had been bolted from the outside. I shook it. But the barn was a flimsy structure and it shook as I banged on the door.
I had to see whether the man was alive. I had to get him down.
I felt sick and inadequate. I longed to be out in the sunshine, away from this horrible place.
I looked again towards that grisly sight. I could see now that the figure was limp and lifeless. There was something about the way it sagged that told me that.
I stared at it in horror, for it had swung round and I was looking at a grotesque face ... a face that was not human. It was white ... white as freshly fallen snow, and it had a grinning gash of a mouth the color of blood.
It was not a man. It was not a human being, though the corduroy breeches and the tweed cloth cap were those of a man who worked on the land.
I moved forward but every instinct rebelled against my going near the thing.