One Snowy Night

by Rita Bradshaw

  Ruby walked across to the old wooden counter, trailing her finger in the dust that had accumulated. She had saved every penny she could over the last four years, going without and working extra hours at the laundry whenever possible in order to accrue more funds towards her dream of owning her own dress shop, but would her family see it like that? If she had rented a place it might have been different, but in becoming a property owner she had moved into another stratum, that would be their view. She was elevated into the ‘them’, but in her case she would be labelled an upstart too. Perhaps not by her mam and da, or if they thought it they wouldn’t say it, but Adam . . .

  She brought herself up sharply. What Adam did or didn’t think was of no account. And she wouldn’t apologize for being ambitious, not to anyone, but she could appreciate that the timing of buying the shop was perhaps not ideal, not where her own folk were concerned. Businesswise, it made sense, though. The estate agent had told her that because of the way the depression was beginning to take hold, she had got the premises for a good deal less than they would have been just a couple of years ago. And the signs were that things would get worse, for the working class at least. The upper classes and the gentry were a different matter, of course. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth meant your whole view of life was rose-coloured. She’d said as much to Edward and when he had protested that he was a self-made man and his little business empire had come about by his own financial astuteness, she had reminded him, rather cuttingly she remembered now, that his maternal grandmother had had rather a lot to do with it too.

  As though her thoughts had conjured him up there was a knock on the door of the shop and when she peered through the window there he was, grinning widely and looking as pleased as a dog with two tails.

  What on earth? As she opened the door she stared at him in astonishment. He had been up for the weekend as usual but she had expected him to be on his way to London by now. By the look on his face she didn’t think there could be anything wrong with Clarissa, but she said anyway, ‘What are you doing here? Is Clarissa all right?’

  ‘In the pink. I left her tucking into her eggs and bacon this morning.’ When she continued to stare at him, he said, ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, yes, come in.’ When she’d shut the door she turned, saying again, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Not to me, no.’

  ‘I’ve come to help you get started.’

  ‘Help me . . .’ She shook her head. ‘What about your work?’

  ‘I’ve taken a week’s holiday. Even entrepreneurs like me need the occasional break.’

  She was completely taken aback. ‘But you never said anything yesterday.’ She had been at Foreburn for lunch and he’d had plenty of opportunity.

  ‘I’m saying now.’

  ‘But I’m going to be cleaning and painting and . . .’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Oh, this is ridiculous. I bet you’ve never held a paintbrush in your life.’

  ‘Well, that is where you are wrong. I do a very fine watercolour, as it happens.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that sort of painting.’

  ‘I know what you meant, Ruby.’ He wasn’t smiling now. ‘And I can assure you I can get my hands dirty as well as the next man.’ He turned, walking away from her and still talking. ‘Clarissa will be along at lunchtime with refreshments for the workers so I suggest we get started? I know you need to get the flat clean and I do agree that rather pungent smell needs to go, so I presume we start upstairs? I also know you’ve got a builder coming by later to discuss the alterations down here.’

  ‘But—’

  He turned, the smile back as he said, ‘For once, just once, don’t argue, Ruby. Let me help you. It’s what friends are for, after all. And I come bearing gifts, I might add – every kind of cleaning product on the market is in the boot of my car.’

  ‘Oh, Edward.’ She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or hit him. In the event she did neither. ‘Some holiday this will be.’

  ‘My choice.’ The mercurial grey eyes that could be a soft dove-grey or might darken to a stormy sky on occasion held an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. Their gaze locked for a moment and then he said easily, ‘I’ll bring in those things from the car, shall I? And you’ll need to boil some water on the stove. A couple of the packets said something about mixing with hot water to get the best effect.’

  ‘Right.’ She suppressed a grin. He sounded almost knowledgeable. And this was kind of him, but . . . She pushed the but aside. Friends. That’s what he’d said. And that is what she would treat this as, one friend helping another. She wouldn’t think beyond that.

  They worked steadily all morning and Ruby had to admit that until they’d got started she hadn’t fully appreciated just how dirty the flat was, especially the kitchen and bathroom. It had clearly all been too much for the old lady long before her fall. When she took the curtains down to wash them and clean the windows they fell into tatters, the moths clearly having had a good meal or two, and the floorboards were thick with grime where the couple of rugs that had been on the floor hadn’t covered them. By the time Clarissa arrived with a champagne lunch – of all things – they were both covered in dirt and hot and tired, and had barely made inroads into all that needed to be done, but once they’d eaten and drunk and Clarissa had sailed off again, they got their second wind.

  The builder arrived just after six o’clock that evening and Ruby was glad that Edward was around in the background while she dealt with Mr McArthur. He seemed a nice enough man but she rather suspected he might have added an extra few pounds here and there on his estimate if Edward hadn’t asked the occasional pertinent question and made it clear she wasn’t a soft touch. Which she certainly wasn’t, she told herself silently, but perhaps a little naive at dealing with builders, it must be said.

  Mr McArthur told her he and his two sons could start work the following day, which suggested they were among the many struggling in the present declining economic market, and once Edward had got him to write down his quotation – not an estimate, Edward had insisted pleasantly, which legally didn’t tie him to the amount stated – and sign it, off he trotted.

  ‘You’ve accomplished a lot in one day.’ Edward smiled at her as she closed the door on the builder. ‘How about I pop you home so you can change and we’ll go out for a meal somewhere?’

  ‘Mabel said she’d keep something hot for me and to be honest all I want to do is to eat and fall into bed. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The skin round the grey eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Your wish is my command. You know that.’

  In spite of his words and the casual manner he’d adopted she knew he was disappointed. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings but neither did she want any intimate tête-à-têtes, and dinner alone with Edward could be . . . The word that came to mind was dangerous but she substituted awkward. It could be awkward. She saw him mostly with Clarissa at Foreburn and although they’d gone out for the occasional excursion she’d always made it clear she expected Clarissa to be present, which Edward had accepted without comment. She and Clarissa and Edward had gone to the theatre just before Christmas to see a pantomime, and she had found herself in a beautiful little box overlooking the stage far below, sitting between Edward and Clarissa. It had been fun until a rather grand couple with two children had swept into the next box and turned out to be people that Clarissa knew. She had seen the woman talking in an aside to the man once the introductions had been made, and she had just known they were speculating as to who she was and why Clarissa’s brother was with her. She had been on edge the whole time after that. Fortunately Edward had arranged for drinks to be brought to the box in the intermission so she hadn’t had to converse with Clarissa’s friends in the foyer, and once the show had ended she’d declared she had a headache – which was perfectly true, brought on by her tenseness – and they’d left immediately. She’d declined any further trips out.<
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  As Edward drove her home he kept up an easy conversation that required little response from her, which was just as well; she really was feeling utterly exhausted. Once they’d arrived outside her lodgings he jumped out of the car and opened her door for her with his usual grace, and she turned and smiled at him on the doorstep as she said, ‘You really don’t have to come back tomorrow, Edward. I mean it. You’ve helped enormously today and—’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock sharp.’ He waited until she had opened the door before sliding back into the car, and as he did so she noticed the curtains in a couple of the houses opposite twitch.

  Blow the nosy old biddies, she thought as she stood and waved him off, making something of a show of it. She would be leaving here soon and they’d have to find someone else to gossip about. As Edward disappeared round the corner of the street, one of the curtains drew aside slightly and Ruby caught a glimpse of a face. Looking straight at the woman she raised her hand and smiled before turning on her heel and entering the house. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, she thought with immense satisfaction, even though it would undoubtedly put another nail in her coffin.

  ‘Brazen, she is,’ they would say, full of self-righteousness as they enjoyed their tittle-tattle. ‘Right brass neck on that one.’

  Mabel was waiting with a plateful of stuffed cod and pease pudding that she’d kept warm in the oven, followed by a generous helping of baked jam roll. Once she had eaten and had a cup of tea with Mabel, explaining all that had gone on in the day, Ruby went straight to bed, her legs leaden as she climbed the stairs.

  She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow and for the first time since Ellie’s death, there were no bad dreams. Unfortunately, though, there were plenty about Edward. She was finding out more and more that where he was concerned, she couldn’t control her subconscious desire and longings as easily as she could her conscious mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Adam stared at his father. He and his brothers were in their mam’s kitchen, drinking tea that was so weak it was just hot water, after going on yet another march. Adam wasn’t the only one in the room who thought the marches to get people’s attention were a waste of time. No matter how well behaved the men were the police always arrested somebody, either for ‘conduct likely to cause a riot’ or ‘thinking about causing a riot’ or some such thing. The police were out to get certain men whom they considered troublemakers and they would hound them until they did; in Adam’s opinion the marches just gave the law the perfect opportunity to trump up some excuse and cart the men off to jail. But his father didn’t see it that way and Adam, along with his brothers, knew their da was one of the men the police were targeting and for that reason they always accompanied him on the marches. Their father had been a puffler for the last few years at the pit, which meant that if any of the men’s wages had been docked unfairly or a miner had another grievance, it was he who went and argued their case with the deputy, and the overman too if necessary. It meant their father had got under the owner’s skin, which meant in turn he was now labelled an ‘agitator’. His card was marked.

  ‘So.’ Adam’s father looked at his sons one by one. ‘We meet back here tonight and come armed.’

  ‘Armed?’ Adam shook his head. ‘That’s asking for trouble.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You’ll not have to use it but we need to show ’em what’s what.’

  What’s what. For as long as he could remember that had been one of his father’s expressions and could cover everything under the sun.

  It must have been the look on his face that revealed what he was thinking, because now his father’s voice was aggressive. ‘So what’d you do, eh? Let the beggars bring in the scabs and doff your cap at ’em while they’re doing it?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He was as mad as anyone at the way some miners – those who had given in now the strike had been going on for months – were being drafted into some of the northern pits from elsewhere by the police and the army. But however much it riled him, he didn’t see how a physical confrontation would help them. What good were pick handles or poss sticks against rows and rows of mounted police? And it wouldn’t be just a few either. For some time the reinforcements had been arriving, well-drilled ranks of big tall men, and the horses were different animals to the gentle beasts used down the mine. The police horses were great muscled giants with massive hooves and huge teeth, and from their vantage point on the animals’ backs the police used their batons like hammers. ‘But they’re expecting us to picket the gates at the colliery, you know that. Even if our lot go easy the police’ll make sure there’s a fight. They’re aching for it. They’ll provoke it and knock ten bells out of everyone and then stand back and say it was us who asked for it, same as they’ve done all over the country.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Walt said quietly. ‘You know Adam’s right, Da.’

  Angry colour reddened his father’s sallow skin. ‘Well, if you four are too lily-livered to come along that’s all right by me, but I’m going.’

  ‘Me too. Can I come, Da?’ Ronnie might be the youngest and still at school but he considered himself as much a man as his older brothers. He had marched with them on various occasions, along with his mother and other bairns and womenfolk, but Adam had always been strongly opposed to this. It was one thing for the miners to put themselves at risk, quite another for wives and children. He had forbidden Olive to join them, as had his brothers with their wives and families, and his father had taken this as a personal criticism, which it undoubtedly was. Adam knew his father loved his mother dearly and why he would encourage her to expose herself to danger was beyond him.

  ‘This isn’t a march, Ronnie, and there’ll be ructions.’ Adam was speaking to his brother but looking at his father as he added, ‘You and Mam’ll be best off here.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’ Ronnie turned, appealing to his father. ‘I can come, can’t I, Da?’

  ‘Aye, course you can,’ said John Gilbert. ‘It’s good to know at least one of me sons hasn’t got a yellow streak running through him.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Da. Me and the others’ll come, you know that, but this’ll end badly – any fool can see that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m a fool now, am I?’

  ‘For crying out loud.’ Adam’s exasperation was clear as he stood up so quickly that his kitchen chair tipped over, clattering on the stone slabs. ‘I’ll be here at seven-thirty, all right?’

  It was dark and raining in the wind when the six of them joined the large crowd of miners gathered round the colliery gates later that evening. Adam was glad his mother wasn’t feeling well and had stayed at home – it was one less thing to worry about – but there were quite a few women and older bairns with their menfolk in the big mass of people milling about.

  Directly in front of the locked gates were more police than Adam had ever seen at one time, some on horseback and some on foot standing in regimented rows and patting the palms of their hands with their batons in a way that was obviously meant to intimidate. Walt, on Adam’s left side, swore softly, and Fred standing behind them muttered, ‘Look out for Da and Ronnie once the fun starts.’

  The words hadn’t left his mouth when the blacklegs who had been working down the pit came into the colliery yard, some forty or fifty men in all and each one looking terrified. At the sight of them the crowd started shouting and cursing and throwing stones, and one of the policemen on horseback began reading the Riot Act in spite of the fact that no one could hear a word he was saying. The moment he finished speaking the rest of them acted. As Adam said afterwards to his brothers, it was like the charge of the Light Brigade but there were no women and children in that battle, unlike this one. Although it could hardly be called a battle, more like a massacre.

  The police on horseback galloped into the crowd, lashing out indiscriminately with their truncheons as the horses knocked men, women and children over and trampled them underfoot. Hemmed in as he was, Adam tried
to reach his father and Ronnie who had been standing in front of him and Walt moments before but were now a few feet away having been swept up in the people trying to escape the horses. The police on horseback were twisting round in their saddles and smashing their thick heavy truncheons down on unprotected heads with enough force to crack skulls open, leaning out as far as they were able. They had no mercy on anyone, not even women or children. The yelling and screaming were deafening, people falling as though they were dead, blood spraying over the crowd and police and horses alike, and blood-curdling shrieks such as Adam had never heard before.