A Daughter's Gift

by Maggie Hope

  ‘Would you like me to live close by, Jenny?’

  She nodded her head shyly. Elizabeth sighed. Every time she came she succeeded in drawing the girl out of herself but when she came back Jenny was as quiet and timid as ever. She watched her sister as she picked up a small roll of old cotton cloth and nursed it like a baby.

  ‘Jenny, where’s Petal? Where’s your dolly?’

  Jenny looked down at the roll of cloth. She laid it on the edge of the settle and began pleating the threadbare skirt of the dress.

  ‘Jenny?’

  ‘Peart threw Petal in the fire,’ the child said at last.

  Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. ‘In the fire? Why?’ She felt a spurt of anger lifting her out of her fatigue and sat up on the settle.

  ‘It was my own fault, I was lazy,’ her sister whispered.

  ‘Lazy? What do you mean?’

  ‘The dinner wasn’t ready when he came back. The …’ Jenny hiccuped softly, her voice breaking. ‘The taties weren’t cooked, they were too hard. I’d been playing with Petal so he threw her into the fire.’

  Elizabeth stared at the bent head, the black hair tousled and unevenly cut. The rotten, flaming sod, she thought.

  ‘Come here, pet,’ she said softly to Jenny who looked up, surprised, as Elizabeth held out her arms. After a moment she crept into them and laid her head on her sister’s breast. Elizabeth held the thin little body. She could feel Jenny’s ribs, her knobbly backbone. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? What if she couldn’t get work here? What if she had to go away? Wildly she thought of running off with Jenny, taking her as far away as she could get. But common sense told her they would have to live on something; she hadn’t even the money to buy them a meal, rent a room. It was hopeless. But she would find a way, she would. Oh, yes, indeed. She gave Jenny an extra hug.

  ‘Come on now, pet,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you a hand with the dinner and whatever else you have to do. Then Peart won’t be mad at you, will he?’ But when she got to her feet, she found her legs were wobbly and her arms trembled with weakness after the ordeal of the night before. Still, she forced herself to walk to the table where Jenny brought a battered enamel dish with a few potatoes and carrots ready to peel.

  ‘This isn’t enough for three of us, is it?’ Elizabeth asked in surprise.

  ‘It’s just for Peart,’ said Jenny. ‘I don’t eat dinner.’ She paused, brow knitting in perplexity. ‘Eeh, I don’t know whether I have to do some for you, though.’

  Elizabeth ignored the suggestion that she wasn’t going to be fed. Of course she had to be. It was still snowing outside, there was no way she could possibly leave the farm. Peart wouldn’t starve her, would he?

  ‘Do you not like meat and potatoes, Jenny?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Elizabeth was dreadfully tired, she had had enough of this. Surely the bairn was fed? ‘Fetch some more, Jenny. I think we should do enough for us all.’ Jenny bit her lip but she was so used to doing exactly what she was told that she went back to the pantry and brought more. She carried an iron pan out, put in water from the pail and set it on the fire. Then she brought a rabbit, already skinned and cleaned, chopped it into small pieces expertly and threw them in the pan. Elizabeth watched, amazed. The small girl had all the practised movements of an experienced housewife like Mrs Wearmouth.

  When the stew was cooking to her satisfaction, Jenny picked up the rag she had been nursing as a doll and began to dust the few bits of furniture. By this time Elizabeth was so exhausted she had crept back on to the settle and was half dozing in the heat from the fire. She was just too tired to think about it any more.

  ‘Flaming hell, it’s as cold as death out there!’ It was the door banging which brought her back to full wakefulness with a start. She had been dreaming that Jack Benson was walking slowly up the track from Frosterley, calling her name, and she couldn’t shout, couldn’t speak to make him hear. She looked up to see Peart had her box with him.

  ‘Oh, thanks for bringing that in,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s got everything I own in it.’

  ‘What were you bringing it here for?’ he demanded. ‘You needn’t think you’re going to stay here for long, I can’t afford to keep anybody else an’ I’m not going to neither.’

  ‘But … I can’t go out in this, can I?’

  ‘I’m not saying I won’t shelter you till the road opens, but as soon as it does, you’re gone.’

  Elizabeth was filled with humiliation, but resentment also. Somehow she managed to bite her tongue, stop herself from giving the hot reply which sprang to her lips. She saw Jenny hovering in her nervous way, looking anxious, remembering how Peart had got rid of the doll. An act of cruelty it was against a small girl. The doll had been harmless. She would tell him so an’ all. But not while Jenny was present.

  ‘I intend to find work in Stanhope,’ she said now, trying to keep her tone even, hide her feelings. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t stay a moment longer than I have to. But I want to live in the dale, near my sister.’

  ‘Aye, well. Think on,’ said Peart, and turned to Jenny. ‘Get my dinner on the table and be quick about it,’ he snarled.

  She hesitated a minute. ‘Emm, will I put some out for Elizabeth?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ said Peart, though he shook his head begrudgingly.

  ‘You get three plates, Jenny,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’ll bring the stew to the table.’ Jenny looked scared. She looked from one to the other of them.

  ‘Go on, lass, before I put a bomb under ye!’ roared Peart, and she scuttled to the cupboard and brought the plates.

  ‘An’ mind you damn’ well eat it,’ he said. ‘I’m not traipsing over the moor to get rabbits to fill your mouth just for you to leave it on the plate.’ He slid a glance at Elizabeth as he spoke, watching as she put the heavy pan on a board at the end of the table and began to ladle out stew, bending over so that the front of her dress fell open, revealing the slender neck and the shadowed hollow below. He licked his lips.

  Jenny obediently began to spoon the stew into her mouth as soon as her sister put the plate before her, chewing carefully, savouring it. She kept looking at Elizabeth as though for reassurance and she tried to smile her encouragement. Peart gobbled his in his usual manner but his eyes were as much on the elder sister as they were on his food, something which she couldn’t help noticing but tried to ignore.

  By evening Elizabeth was still weary and stiff from her ordeal in the snow and found herself waiting, eyelids drooping, for when she could go to bed, something she was determined to do only when Jenny did. By now she was feeling uncomfortable at the way Peart watched her. Surely, surely, it wasn’t going to happen again, as it had with Private Wilson and Uncle Ben? Revulsion rose in her like bile.

  Peart had brought out a bottle of some evil-smelling spirit. She couldn’t be sure what it was. He sat drinking in the armchair by the fire, watching her as she talked quietly to Jenny, only rousing himself to shout at the child for hot water, tea, or bread and cheese.

  ‘Jen? Jen?’ Sometime during the long, dark evening he awoke from a snoring sleep to shout.

  Jenny, who had been sitting on the settle beside Elizabeth, jumped to her feet and ran across the room to him, yet, Elizabeth noticed, stayed just out of his reach. She seemed a bit more confident with Peart in this half-drunken state.

  ‘Get away and check on the flock, lass, do I have to remind you every night?’ He grabbed her arm and drew her close so that her face was inches from his. ‘Do you want to sleep with the ewes for the night?’ He released her arm and she jumped back, rubbing the place which was already reddening.

  ‘Well, do you?’ he roared.

  ‘No, Peart,’ she whispered.

  ‘Well, go on then.’ He grinned and picked up the bottle by the neck, took a swig, leered at Elizabeth who had sat up, trembling, ready to intervene should he really hurt her sister.

  ‘Wait, I’ll come with you,’ she said to Jenny, though in fact she was so tire
d now that her legs felt leaden.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Peart. ‘She knows well enough what to do.’

  ‘But it’s dark—’

  ‘Is it now? Do you think the ghoulies will get her?’ he mocked. Jenny had already lit a storm lantern, was opening the door. She gave Elizabeth a small smile and slipped out, Snuff at her heels like a silent shadow.

  ‘Do you fancy a drop of this?’ asked Peart, proffering the bottle.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Suit yerself.’ He shrugged and tipped the bottle almost vertically against his lips. He sank into a torpor, his eyes closing. Outside the wind howled, frozen snow lashed against the window, the door rattled. Elizabeth got to her feet and went to the door. She had to make sure Jenny was all right.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

  The growled question took her by surprise. She stopped in her tracks. ‘I wanted to see—’

  ‘The lass’s fine, did I not tell you? Don’t go out of that door now or you’ll not get in again. I’ll be master in me own house or know the reason why.’

  Peart had not even turned to face her; he was still slumped in his chair, still dangling the bottle from one hand.

  ‘But she might be lost … she might have fallen in a drift, many a thing.’

  ‘Not Jen. I cannot get rid of her that easy.’

  Elizabeth stared at the door, willing it to open and Jenny to come in safely. What did he mean, get rid of Jenny? She’d just realised what he had said. Would he let the bairn go if she, Elizabeth, could take care of her? No, it was just talk, surely? By, but it was a hope she could cling to, wasn’t it? If only she had a job, a home. If only Jack— Her thoughts cut off at that. She couldn’t bear to think of Jack Benson, no, she couldn’t. Anyway, hadn’t she enough on her plate now?

  There was a scrabbling on the door, a brief bark. The latch lifted and the door swung slowly inward, bringing a foot-deep bar of frozen snow with it. Oh, thank God, it was Jenny, Jenny and Snuff, icy white balls stuck to the hair of his belly so that he walked stiffly, painfully, to his corner and proceeded to lick them until they melted away.

  ‘All there, Peart,’ Jenny reported to the man slumped before the fire, sweating with the heat and the whisky. The child was shivering, her face pinched and blue with cold.

  The blizzard blew itself out during the night. By morning the sun shone brightly in a pale blue sky. Elizabeth woke in the double bed which was the only furniture in Jenny’s room. Oh, how thankful she had been to see it the night before, to realise she didn’t have to spend the night on the settle.

  Whether Peart went to his bed at all she didn’t know and cared less. He had, in the end, drunk himself into oblivion and she and Jenny had crept upstairs to the icy bedroom. Elizabeth had stood her box against the door, just in case Peart got any ideas. She would at least be warned. Jenny had watched without comment. Jumping into bed, the two girls had warmed themselves in each other’s arms.

  Now it was morning, light from the uncurtained window streaming in. Elizabeth looked at her sister, still fast asleep, dark smudges under her eyes. She tucked the blankets round her thin shoulders and dropped a kiss on the brown hair.

  ‘I’ll swing for that man, mind if I don’t,’ she said to herself. ‘If I don’t get you away from here, I swear I will.’

  She climbed out of bed and went to the window to see a world of white, dazzling white edged with pink by some trick of the sun. It was a featureless white, she could see no humps of bushes or anything else, just a deep, white blanket of snow. This was the front of the house, away from the farm yard and the sheep fold and barn, there was not even a tree in all the expanse before her.

  Shivering, Elizabeth dressed. She would have to wash later, there was no jug or basin in the room.

  ‘Eeh, I’ll get wrong!’

  The cry from the bed made her turn to see Jenny tumbling out, pulling on her dress, tugging on her boots.

  ‘Hey, it’s all right, it’s not late,’ cried Elizabeth, but Jenny was already at the door, pushing aside the box and running downstairs. Elizabeth hurried to help her. There would be no getting away from Stand Alone Farm today, and maybe not for many a day after that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I AM THINKING of getting a motor car, Mother,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, it will leave the carriage for me, I suppose,’ Olivia answered. They were sitting at breakfast in the morning room at the Manor, sun streaming in through the high window, giving an illusion of a warm spring day outside.

  Olivia looked at her son over the letter she was reading. He looked happy enough, she thought, he couldn’t be missing that slut of a girl she had sent away the week before. Men soon got over these things. He would find someone else, someone more suitable, she was sure. After all, if he was going to bring a wife here she needed it to be someone she could associate with herself, someone of their own class. Oh, yes, she had done the right thing, sending that girl away with a flea in her ear.

  Jack buttered a piece of toast, spooned marmalade. Today he had made a decision. He had thought and thought and knew where he was going. It gave him new confidence in himself. His legs were hardening nicely, he could walk without the aid of a stick now, almost at normal pace too. He was learning the ways of the mine, could bring a fresh approach to some of the problems, he was certain. Mining was in his blood. His father was a mine owner, and his grandfather before that. And now Jack was going to carry on the tradition.

  But not only that, he told himself, he was going to Newcomb Hall as soon as he’d finished what he had to do at the colliery offices. He would take Elizabeth out to lunch, insisting that Matron allow it. And then he would ask her to marry him and come to live with him at the Manor. He had thought it all out. He would take her little brother out of the pit, have him educated, train him as a mining surveyor or something. And he would have a separate flat made for his mother, part of the Manor but apart, self-contained. Oh, yes, he had it all planned. Elizabeth would not be able to resist such a bright future as they would have together. Not if she loved him, and he was convinced she did.

  Jack finished his coffee and got to his feet. ‘I’m going out now, Mother. I may not be back for lunch.’

  ‘You’ll have to take pot luck if you are, then,’ she remarked. Olivia watched him as he left the room, only a little awkwardness betraying his disability. She had to admit that he had not become the burden she’d feared he would.

  Jack drove down the track to the road in the governess cart, his head filled with ideas for the future. Everything was going to be fine. Today he would go to Bishop Auckland and buy the 1914 Austin tourer that was on display in the Motor Supplies. A pity it couldn’t be a spanking new one but Austin was into production of aeroplanes and trucks for the duration. With a motor car, after an hour or two’s instruction, he could get about much better, keep an eye on the Home Farm and the mine. There was no reason why he shouldn’t get the estate back to the position it was in before his father gambled so much away. Oh, he would work hard, especially if he had a family, a son, to pass it all on to. Jack was filled with optimism.

  Mr Dunne was behind his desk in the colliery office. He rose from his chair as Jack came in. ‘Morning, sir,’ he said. ‘I have the books all ready for your inspection. There has been a deputation from the men too. The roof supports on number two level are inadequate, they say. I told them that it was the business of the management to say whether they need replacing or whatever. There is a war on, after all.’

  Jack favoured him with a sharp glance. ‘I don’t see what the war has to do with it, we must have adequate safety precautions, Dunne,’ he snapped. ‘Have the overman in, get his opinion. If necessary, I will go down and inspect the level myself.’

  Mr Dunne’s manner changed. ‘Of course we will see to it. But timber is in short supply, the problems with shipping …’

  ‘Nevertheless, Dunne, I’ll have no skimping.’ He sat down behind the desk and went through the b
ooks meticulously before taking his leave. Mr Dunne watched as Jack drove out of the yard and took the turn for Bishop Auckland. A new broom, he thought, well aware that safety precautions were being ignored all over the coal field with shortages caused by the war the excuse. The previous agent had been very cavalier in his attitude. Well, thank goodness for Jack Benson. Neglecting safety measures was a dangerous, false economy.

  Jack’s next stop was Newcomb Hall. It was lunchtime, surely Elizabeth would be free? He hummed under his breath as he negotiated the front steps to the portico. Lizzie had such an open expressive face, he could just imagine her delighted smile when she saw him unexpectedly. The entrance hall was deserted. He was right about the staff being at lunch, he could hear the buzz of conversation from the kitchen quarters where the green baize door stood propped open. He hesitated then turned to his right and knocked on the door of Matron’s office.

  ‘Come in.’

  Miss Rowland was standing by the window. She looked round and when she saw who it was, smiled and went to meet him, holding out her hand.

  ‘Captain Benson! How lovely to see you. And walking so well too! It’s so very good of you to come back to see us. Not many of our patients do, you know.’

  ‘Well, I don’t live very far away, Matron.’

  ‘No, of course not. Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee perhaps? I can easily ring for some.’

  ‘No, thanks, Matron, not now.’

  He sat down in the chair which she indicated with a wave of her hand. He sat back and crossed his legs, smiling. He had a feeling of pleasant anticipation. He would see his Lizzie in a few minutes.

  ‘Actually, I really came to see Elizabeth Nelson. You know, the nurse’s aide who worked on my floor?’

  Matron’s face changed completely. She sat down on the opposite side of the desk and frowned. ‘Miss Nelson? What can you possibly want with her?’

  Jack almost said that that was his business, but he didn’t. Today he was at peace with the world. ‘Oh, I just wanted to speak to her,’ he said instead.