Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Miss Who?’

  ‘Ellis.’

  ‘I’ll have to ask Madam. Wait here.’ So saying, the girl closed the door in his face and Tam was forced to kick his heels and wait. When the girl came back she was again alone. ‘The mistress says as how Miss Ellis is no longer with us.’

  ‘No longer with you? Lord above!’

  The round cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘Oh no, I don’t mean... Nothing like that. The mistress says she’s gone, that’s all.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where? Home?’

  ‘Ooh, I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I’d be obliged if you’d ask.’

  ‘Ooh, I can’t do that.’ And she again closed the door.

  Tam walked away. He’d try again mebbe, in a day or two. Or mebbe not. What a fool I am to be worrying over her. ‘She’ll have gone home to her mammy and daddy, you great soft ejit. Hasn’t she the right to go where she pleases, if she has a mind, without consultation with you?’ He muttered to himself, determined to put the matter out of his mind forthwith.

  When the next pain came Kath was certain she was about to die. The world seemed to be swamped by it. The pain lashed itself around her back and plunged down into her groin as if a devil was dragging all the innards from her body. If she survived this ordeal, she thought, gasping for breath, she could survive anything.

  When the wave eased for a moment, she tried to sit up. Maybe if she walked about a bit. She struggled from the bed and started to pace the room, but soon found the pain returning. A mile or more from the bed, Kath clung to a nearby washbasin. It was so loosely attached to the wall the thought flashed through her mind that she was not the first girl to cling to it as if it were a life support.

  Back on the bed she vowed never to leave it again, but that didn’t help either. In the end all her inhibitions deserted her and she screamed.

  ‘Now we’ll have none of that,’ warned the stern-faced woman who bustled in, deputed to care for her in the last throes of labour. ‘We don’t want you frightening the other young girls.’

  Those who have still to go through this terrible torture, Kath thought.

  ‘Keep moving, and keep quiet.’

  Walking, standing, sitting, lying. Now clinging to the bed rail, now kneeling on the floor, now desperately trying, and failing, to find the energy to will the pain away. Kath longed for darkness, for insensibility, for someone to tear this wicked blockage from her. She didn’t care how, but it had to be done.

  ‘Lie down, lie down now,’ the voice urged. ‘Time to push.’

  You have to be joking, Kath thought, too exhausted to move.

  A white face floated above her as if in a mist. Every muscle and nerve in her body strained against the pain. She would lose this battle, she would, if somebody didn’t make it stop.

  ‘I - I c-can’t do it,’ she tried to protest, shaking her head. Couldn’t the woman see that she needed to rest for a while first? How could she summon up the effort necessary for pushing a child out of a body that was already weak and exhausted from overwork. ‘Let me rest. Let me alone.’

  The woman, Dorothy Parkins, was not without compassion. She had seen too many girls in this situation to break her heart over them, but she cared nonetheless, and this one was well bred by the looks of her, beautiful probably at one time. Dorothy blamed society for its callous treatment of girls ‘in trouble’. For all this was the twentieth century, the poor creatures were outcasts just as surely as if old Queen Victoria herself were still upon the throne. Where was the girl’s family when she needed them? Hiding behind a veneer of respectability, no doubt, terrified a neighbour might discover that their precious darling had ‘fallen’. Places like Greenlawns were left to pick up the pieces.

  ‘Don’t talk foolish, girl. Push. I can see its head. Come on, Katherine, push!’

  Perhaps it was this use of her given name, the one her mother used for her, that gave Kath the energy needed for one last essential effort. She shouted some obscenity as the world burst apart and a wet, slithering mass was sucked from her body, followed by a gush of warm liquid that ran over her legs and soaked the bed.

  ‘I’ve wet myself,’ she cried, shamed. ‘Like a child.’

  Then she was crying and laughing all at the same time. The tiny blue and red streaked object that was laid across her stomach was crying too.

  ‘It’s a girl. You have a fine, healthy daughter.’

  The woman was cutting the cord that attached the baby to her, paddling a flat palm into Kath’s juddering belly to make the afterbirth come. Kath reached down and stroked the soft dark down of surprisingly glossy curls on the baby’s head with one tentative finger. She could feel a pulse beating and the reality of this new life she had brought into the world suddenly astounded her.

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Dorothy. The door opened and Miss Blake swooped in. ‘Are we done yet?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Good.’

  Wrapping the baby quickly in a towel, Miss Blake tucked the child under her arm.

  ‘My baby!’ Kath cried. ‘I want my baby.’

  Miss Blake looked down her thin nose and handed the child over to the other woman. ‘Don’t be foolish, girl. It would do no good to hold her.’

  Kath leaned up on her elbow, trying to catch a glimpse of the child. ‘I suppose not.’ The cries had stilled as the woman rocked her and Kath felt a sudden urge to be the one to soothe her own child. ‘But she is my daughter.’

  ‘Not for long. Think of this as the end of a problem and the beginning of redemption. You will be washed and fed shortly,’ said Miss Blake coldly. ‘Then get a good night’s sleep. I shall expect you back at work first thing in the morning.’

  Kath gasped. ‘So soon?’ This was to be Miss Blake’s revenge, was it? Treated worse than a cow that had calved. ‘Can’t I even feed her?’

  As Miss Blake strode from the room, Dorothy smiled sympathetically at Kath, cuddling the baby close.

  ‘It’s best if you put her from your mind. Don’t think about the baby. That’s the only way. I’ll give you something to make the milk go away.’

  Not think about her. Kath sank back upon the bed. Perhaps it was the intense tiredness she felt that made the tears roll down her cheeks. It wasn’t as if she’d ever wanted to keep the child. She’d given no proper thought to the baby itself in these long painful months, only to her own survival. Now that it was born, Kath knew she should feel relief. Soon she would be free, out in the fresh bright spring morning.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute to clean you up, then you can sleep,’ Dorothy told her, bustling away.

  The door was almost closed when Kath called out, ‘Her name is Melissa.’

  ‘I was wondering if you had a room to let?’ Tam O’Cleary was again standing on the doorstep of Southview Villas, smiling down into the dreaded Aunt Ruby’s face with all the Celtic charm he could so easily muster, when he had a mind to. She was quite unmoved.

  ‘I’m afraid I do not take in young men, particularly strangers.’

  ‘I assure you I am perfectly respectable and can provide references.’

  She remained unconvinced but Tam persisted. ‘My employer will vouch for me. I worked for a time on the Kilgerran Estate. You could ring there.’ Once he knew that Kath and the baby were safe, he’d be content. Until then... He smiled at the look of keen interest that came into the watching eyes.

  ‘Lord Kilgerran, you say?’

  ‘In Southern Ireland.’

  ‘You don’t sound very Irish.’

  ‘I’ve spent a good deal of time in America but I’m told we southerners have a softer lilt to our tongue.’ He thought for a moment that he had won but the eyes narrowed and she stepped closer.

  ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’

  ‘Now I’m sure I’d be remembering if you had.’ Tam took an instinctive step back, but it was too late. He saw the recognition dawn in her eyes.

  ‘You’re that friend of my niece
, aren’t you? The one that’s been hanging about week after week. Well, she’s gone, so be off with you. I’ll not be pestered by Irish scum here. Lord Kilgerran my eye!’ She waved a fist at Tam.’ And if you come round here again, I’ll set the police on you.’ The echo of the door slamming sounded all along the street.

  But if Ruby Nelson thought that would be the end of the matter, she’d mistaken her man. Tam thought that had she invited him in and chatted with him in a respectable fashion, told him some tale to satisfy his curiosity, he would have smiled and nodded politely and gone on his way. Instead, she’d succeeded in annoying and insulting him. Tam did not take kindly to either.

  ‘So, you old dragon,’ he said to the closed door.’ You think to ignore me, do you? Well, there’s more ways than one of cracking a nut than stamping on it. I’ll crack the mystery of this one, be sure if I don’t.’

  He spun on his heel and strode off in the direction of the sea and the stable yard where he worked. He’d collect the money that was owed him, pack his belongings, then he’d be off to Westmorland and see what he could discover there. He could remember the descriptions and details that Kath had given him. That would do for a start. Oh, yes, he’d find the answer to this puzzle, Aunt Ruby or no Aunt Ruby. For all he knew, she might have tipped the girl into the River Mersey.

  Meg pushed open the solid oak door and stumbled into her own kitchen, already calling out to Effie when she was confronted by the broad back of a man. Her heart leapt into her throat until she saw he was not Jack.

  The stranger sitting at the table was laughing at something Effie had said. But where Jack’s hair was near black, the dark mahogany of this man’s glinted red in the light from the Tilly lamp and when he turned his face towards her at the sound of the opening door it wasn’t

  the violet of Jack’s eyes that met hers, but the softest moss green. To her shame she flushed, for as he offered her a smile Meg was for some reason reminded that under all of her wet clothing, the mud and the grime, she was still a woman.

  Effie was beside her in a moment. ‘Oh, Meg, you’re soaking wet through. Let me take your coat.’

  Meg tried to form her lips into the word, the one word that echoed in her head, but for some reason they seemed paralysed with the shock and cold, even as her teeth wouldn’t stop knocking against each other. The sound of Rust’s body scraping and bouncing over the rough stones of the scree still rang in her ears. She’d been shaking as she faced her brother, the rage in her running so hard and fast and furious that had she possessed the strength she would have kicked him off the crag too, right after her lovely dog.

  ‘I never meant him to go over. He shouldn’t have jumped the wrong away,’ Dan had shouted at her.

  Meg couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Don’t try to lie your way out of this, or blame the dog. You kicked him. Why must you always try to appear tough? Isn’t one bully in the family enough?’

  Dan had put on his sulky look. ‘He’ll come home with his tail between his legs tomorrow.’

  ‘If he comes home at all,’ she’d shouted, beside herself with rage. Meg refused to even consider that Rust might be dead. He must be found, and quickly. A night out on the fells and he would be.

  Now she finally found the words. ‘It’s Rust. I need a rope.’ Then her knees buckled beneath her.

  Meg had a vague impression of big rough hands, a lilting cry of concern, and the wonderful sensation of warm strength wrapped around her body as she was lifted and carried to the big chair by the fire. Then a cup was rattling against her teeth and Effie’s voice was urging her to drink. She turned her head away.

  ‘There isn’t t-time,’ she murmured. ‘I - I m-must get back.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere.’

  ‘I have to find Rust.’

  ‘I’ll see to him,’ said Effie calmly. ‘I’ve got all the dogs’ dinners ready and waiting.’

  Meg pushed the cloying warmth away from her. They didn’t understand. They weren’t listening. Not even Effie.

  ‘He’s g-gone,’ she gasped. ‘He fell over the edge.’

  Someone swore softly but Meg couldn’t find the strength to chastise Effie for breaking her promise not to use bad language. She was too busy struggling to get into a dry raincoat, wrapping a scarf around her hair, but now she’d started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon. I have to find him. He fell off the knob on Dundale Knott, or rather Dan kicked him over, though he denies it. I think I can guess where he’ll have ended up. We’ve must have some rope somewhere, a blanket. What else?’

  She started searching for the things she would need for the rescue.

  ‘I’ve got everything.’ The stranger’s voice was firm, assured. In his hand he held a coil of rope, a sack and a torch. ‘Let’s get going.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  As they strode out together across the fells, Meg couldn’t help but notice that the stranger moved easily, as if he were used to walking long distances, and in all weathers judging by his tanned face, weathered and creased by the sun and the wind. Glancing sideways at him she decided the face held a certain arrogance, for all the bluntness of the jawline was softened by a lurking twist of what might be good humour at the corners of the wide mouth.

  With a start she found he’d turned his head to meet her curious gaze and there was downright mischief in the eyes half hidden beneath the lowered eyelids.

  He’s formed an opinion of me already, she thought, and wondered if there was any way she could find out what it was. She gave a half smile, embarrassed at being caught out in her scrutiny, and turned away.

  The sheep were almost down now and Meg waved to Dan, indicating that she had help already to find Rust. Dan nodded, acknowledging the wave but did not return it.

  The stranger didn’t speak until they had climbed a hundred or so feet.

  ‘You’re Meg Turner, right?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Have you lived here long?’

  ‘All my life in this area, less than a year at Broombank.’

  He nodded, satisfied, as if she had solved a problem, and said no more.

  A part of her was glad of the silence, as she worried over her lovely dog and if she would find him alive. But another, less disciplined part experienced an urge to learn more about this man who had so unexpectedly appeared in her home, starting with his name. But he did not offer it and this was not the moment to ask.

  After they had climbed to a good height they edged their way along a rake, a diagonal groove that cut into the hill. They found Rust lying, as she had hoped, on a ledge halfway down the scree. It had undoubtedly saved his life and they approached with care, anxious not to slide down to the scree themselves.

  He lay on the ledge, much as he had learned to do on the threshing floor of the old barn, his obedience training and instinctive patience paying off in these dangerous conditions. He lifted his head at the sound of her voice, thumped his tail on the rock and whimpered, telling Meg how glad he was to see her, how he’d known all along that she would come.

  She fell to her knees beside him and put her face against his. He was alive. Dear God, thank you for that. As the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks she could hear him breathing little gusts of love into her ear. If he’d been a cat he would have purred.

  ‘Let me look at him.’ Tam ran knowledgeable hands over the dog’s limbs. ‘He’s broken a leg, and possibly his shoulder.’

  Meg swallowed carefully. ‘We have to get him down. Take him to the vet somehow.’

  The stranger was tying birch sticks across the dog to hold his legs still. ‘These will have to do as splints.’ Then he tore open the sack to form a hammock. ‘Help me lift him on to this, easy does it. I can carry him on my back, across my shoulders.’

  Meg winced and cringed as she lifted Rust into position, but if the movement hurt the dog he gave no sign. Velvet brown eyes gazed trustingly into hers, his brown ear was torn and a great patch of his coat had been gr
azed down to the flesh. But he knew he had nothing to fear now. Meg would take care of him.

  Miss Shaw, Effie’s teacher, had called in to bring her some books, and kindly drove them to the veterinary in her little car. Rust was to stay at the surgery overnight to have plaster put on his fractures and be carefully checked over. Now Meg and the stranger were sitting in Broombank kitchen, gratefully enjoying one of Effie’s home-made soups.

  ‘I owe you,’ Meg announced, not looking at him. Whenever she did she was half afraid her cheeks would flush under his oddly appraising gaze. ‘You haven’t yet told me your name.’

  ‘Thomas O’Cleary. At your service.’

  ‘Irish?’

  ‘Irish-American-Liverpool you might say, and goodness knows what else besides.’

  Meg smiled. ‘Don’t you know which?’

  ‘I’m a mongrel. Like your dog.’

  She was outraged. ‘Rust isn’t a mongrel, he has an excellent pedigree. I also own his mother and brother.’

  The green eyes twinkled. ‘Tis awful fond you are of that creature. Wouldn’t a man give his eye-teeth to be so adored?’

  A stillness came upon Meg and she heard Effie titter. She turned at once to the child. ‘You ought to be in bed. You have school tomorrow.’

  ‘Aw, Meg.’

  ‘Go on. No messing.’

  Dragging her heels and taking as long as humanly possible without risk of inciting more stern words, Effie went to bed. When she’d gone, Meg realised her mistake. She was alone now, with a stranger, and night was coming on.

  Tam grinned. ‘Do you have a barn?’

  Meg hid a smile at his uncanny ability to read her thoughts. She shook her head. ‘We have several but none fit to sleep in, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Ah.’ Tam glanced across at the window. The shutters were closed, but the rain could be clearly heard beating upon the glass. ‘Now that’s a pity, to be sure. Tis not a night for a lonely, unemployed male to be prowling about.’

  Meg found her lips twitching upwards at the corners. ‘If ever I heard a load of soft-soaping bunkum, that just about takes the biscuit!’