The Quality of Mercy - By Barry Unsworth Page 0,115

could not be so very much for a short stretch of shore. It would be money well spent in any case—it would give unimpeded access to the sea and with that the right to construct wharves and a harbor.

Occupied with these thoughts, he did not think to consider that Bathgate might have learned more from the interview than he had himself, but such in fact was the case. As the notary remained at his desk in the silence following upon Kemp’s departure, certain questions exercised his mind. Why would his visitor, not a local man and apparently wealthy, wish to make such an inquiry? Why had he ridden a dozen miles to do so when Spenton, whom he had claimed as his host, could easily have furnished the information? Why just there, just at that point, where the Dene opened out?

They were different sorts of question, but there was an answer that fit them all.

29

The morning of the handball match was clear and sunny and practically windless, a cause for general rejoicing as it meant that the game could be played in the open, allowing a much greater number of spectators than did the covered court.

It was a day of heavy responsibility for Michael Bordon. The hopes of the village were centered on him; there was a good deal of money—hard-earned money—resting on the result. Lord Spenton himself had shaken him by the hand that morning and wished him success. Two days before, Elsie had told him she had cause to believe herself pregnant, and he had asked her to marry him, and she had said yes.

So as he waited with his opponent in the shed behind the court while the spectators took their places, it was with a sense that much depended on him and a determination to do his best not to disappoint. He was matched with Charlie Dickson, the man who had won the year before, three years older than himself, stocky but very light on his feet—he was a notable dancer in his village. The two spoke little as they waited, cultivating a certain hostility in the silence.

There was seating for twelve persons only in the area immediately facing the wall of the court, and these were reserved for people of rank. Colonel and Mrs. Pemberton were among them, and Roland Bourne, but Kemp, seated beside his host, noted that Lady Spenton had not made an appearance. Behind this row of seats the court opened widely and sloped upward, so that the ranks of spectators, standing close together, were able to get a clear view.

While these ranks were forming, Spenton explained something of the game to his guest. “This court was constructed in my grandfather’s time,” he said. “It is the Irish game we play here.” His face wore the same expression of lively interest it had worn when he was explaining the mechanism by which the water nymph was hoisted and lowered.

“Why is that?”

“There was an influx of migrant workers from Ireland at the turn of the century. They came to look for work in the mines here. They brought the game with them, and it caught on with the Durham men. At first they would play against any wall, on a clay floor. We have tiled the floor and marked out the lines, but it is still played by the same rules and with the same type of ball, very hard, a wooden core covered with strips of rubber. They don’t wear gloves, you know—they can bandage their hands if they like, but usually they don’t choose to. The ball has to be struck, catching and throwing are against the rules, but the feet can be used. The ball must always be struck directly against the wall and taken on the rebound.”

Kemp listened with an interest at first assumed, then growing genuine as his host’s enthusiasm was communicated to him and the sounds from the people assembling behind them grew in intensity. Spenton had to raise his voice as he pointed out the zones of play, the serving area, the short line that divided the court in two, the sidelines and the long line at the back. Points gained by the server were added to his score; a fault in serving or a failure to return the ball meant that the service would pass to the other with the score unaltered. There were three strokes only, apart from the kick: the underhand service stroke, the overhand for balls that bounced high and the sidearm.