A Daughter's Gift

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I’m afraid that is impossible.’

  ‘It is? Why?’

  ‘Elizabeth Nelson was dismissed last week for lewd and immoral behaviour. I don’t know where she is now.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Jack’s euphoric mood disappeared in an instant.

  Miss Rowland gazed grimly over her spectacles at him. No doubt he had been taken in by the girl’s innocent looks, she thought, just as they all had been. Why, she had known Elizabeth all her life and had never guessed what she was really like. The picture of the two figures on the bed when she had opened that bedroom door came back to her. Disgusting!

  ‘I’m not prepared to discuss it,’ she said.

  ‘But we must,’ said Jack. ‘Just what are you talking about? I have a right to know.’

  ‘You have no right at all,’ she replied. ‘But since you insist, I will tell you. Elizabeth Nelson and Private Wilson were caught in … well, in circumstances which left no—’

  ‘Private Wilson?’ Jack interrupted. ‘Did you say, Private Wilson?’

  ‘I did. Not to beat about the bush, they were found on a bed together.’

  As she said it, Matron blushed. This was not a subject she liked discussing with a man, especially a young, personable man. But she felt he was not going to be satisfied until he heard the whole story. Well, so be it, if it meant that he was stopped from making a dreadful mistake.

  ‘I don’t believe it! Or, if it’s true, he must have caught her in the room and attacked her. She hated the man, she really did. And this wasn’t the first time he’d assaulted her, you know. I’ve warned him before.’

  ‘Private Wilson says she led him on,’ Matron said. She had risen and was looking out of the window, anywhere but at Captain Benson. Oh, dear, this was so embarrassing. ‘And evidently his commanding officer believes him, though he was transferred immediately. Oh, dear, I was so very mistaken in that girl …’

  ‘I’m telling you, Matron, I don’t believe she has done anything. If she was on the bed she must have been forced onto it by the orderly. Poor girl, she must be in a terrible state. Have you no idea where she went?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. What I do know is she won’t get work in another hospital in this area. Not without a reference from me.’

  Matron had a moment of self-doubt. Maybe the captain was right, maybe Elizabeth had been taken advantage of. Her friend, Joan Simpson, had come to ask what had happened to Elizabeth and been horrified to hear she had been dismissed, arguing for her friend. But still, girls from the Home did stick together. No, she’d done the right thing, she was sure. Best to get rid of a problem girl. She could not allow the Hall to get a reputation.

  ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to go now, Captain,’ she said. ‘I have work to do.’

  ‘But have you no idea where she can be?’ he insisted.

  ‘I’m afraid not. And I would strongly advise you not to seek her out.’ Miss Rowland picked up some papers from her desk and adjusted her glasses to signify that the interview was at an end.

  Jack went out to the governess cart, fuming with frustrated anger. If he could get hold of Wilson now, he would choke the truth out of him, by hell he would. He sat for a moment or two, glaring blackly down the drive, promising himself he would seek the man out and do just that. But first he had to find Elizabeth. He tried to concentrate on where she could be. Why, oh, why, hadn’t she come straight to him?

  Jimmy … Her brother was working in the mine at Morton Main. Galvanised into action, Jack picked up the reins and clucked at the pony, setting off down the drive at a spanking trot.

  ‘Jimmy Nelson’s address? Yes, of course we have it,’ said Mr Dunne, and called through to the girl who had taken his clerk’s job when the man was conscripted. ‘Eliza Jane, fetch the folder with the men’s addresses, will you?’ If the manager was surprised to see Jack back so soon and with such an unusual request he didn’t show it. He reckoned he had enough to do catching up on his work after a morning spent answering the owner’s queries about the books. Besides, he hadn’t had his dinner yet and it was already getting on for two o’clock.

  Mrs Wearmouth, 5 West Row, that was where Jimmy lodged.

  ‘Thanks, Dunne,’ said Jack as he headed for the door.

  ‘Mind, the lad won’t be off shift for another hour and a half,’ the manager called after him.

  Damn and double damn, thought Jack irritably. Well, he would go to see the woman anyway. Who knows? Elizabeth might be there. Cheered at the thought, he hurried over to the colliery rows, leaving the pony by the edge of a patch of grass so that he could graze.

  The house was a typical miner’s cottage, no proper road to the front, a back yard to the rear. Unlike Saltaire or Bournville, thought Jack, both built by enlightened men who cared for their workers. Not to be thought of for mere pitmen. If he ever had the money he would try to do something about the colliery rows with their ash closets, he vowed. He walked up the yard of number five and knocked at the door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman wrapped around with a pinafore. There was a smell of meat and suet cooking. He felt suddenly hungry, he’d had no lunch. But he hadn’t time to eat, not until he found Elizabeth.

  The woman holding open the door raised her eyebrows to see Jack, still in his army uniform for he hadn’t had time to see his tailor and the clothes he had from before the war were too small. She tipped her head to one side in mute inquiry.

  ‘Excuse me – Mrs Wearmouth, isn’t it?’ She nodded her head. ‘I’m looking for Elizabeth Nelson, I understand her brother lodges with you?’

  ‘He’s not in.’

  ‘No, I know. But – look, may I come in?’

  ‘Aye, if you like.’

  Mrs Wearmouth opened the door wider and he followed her into the square kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, he noted, the range black-leaded and polished to a shining brilliance. The floor was flagged, the stones scrubbed clean and covered in places by hand-worked rag mats. Hookey mats, he believed they were called. The lid of the pan on the fire lifted and a bubble of water escaped, hissing down the side to the flames.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, I’ll just have to attend to the pot pie,’ she said and bent over the pan, pulling it slightly back from the heat. ‘Young Jimmy will be in soon, he’s on back shift,’ she explained. ‘The lad’s always starving with hunger. You know what young lads are.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jack replied. As Mrs Wearmouth straightened up he went on. ‘Actually, it’s Elizabeth I’m looking for.’

  ‘Aye, so you said.’ She compressed her lips. ‘I take it you’ve checked at the Hall, then?’

  ‘I did. She’s not there.’ Jack didn’t want to explain further. ‘I thought she might be here?’

  The woman shook her heard. ‘Nay, she’s not. An’ I know for a fact she’s not at her auntie’s house neither. I was hoping she was back at the Hall. Young Joan Simpson came looking for her – last Friday it was. She was in a right taking an’ all. Said something about Elizabeth being sent packing. I can’t believe it, I can’t. The lass is a good lass, I’d swear by it. Joan never said any more, I never did find out the ins and outs of it. Hey, it wasn’t over you, was it? Did you get the lass into trouble? ’Cos if you did, it was badly done, I’m telling you! An’ Jimmy’s in a fair taking an’ all, as if he hadn’t enough to put up with, losing his best marra in the pit not all that long since neither, an’—’

  ‘Tommy Gibson?’ Of course, Tommy, how could he have forgotten? Jack bit his lip as Mrs Wearmouth looked at him with surprise.

  ‘You knew? Now, wait a minute, you’re Captain Benson, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? Yes, I’m Captain Benson.’

  ‘The owner.’ Mrs Wearmouth looked sourly at him. ‘What do you want with Elizabeth? Sir?’ The last an obvious afterthought.

  ‘I mean her no harm, I just want to help her. I think it was a mistake, what happened. I’m sure she’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Aye. Wel
l, we’ll see. Anyroad, we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her here.’

  ‘I think I’ll go back to the mine, meet Jimmy as he comes to bank,’ said Jack. ‘He may have some idea where she might have gone.’

  ‘Aye. Well, if you do find her, tell her she’s welcome to lodge here with her brother. I don’t care for any gossip, folks can say what they like.’

  Jack smiled warmly at the woman, her grey hair scraped back in a bun, face wrinkled, hands work-worn. Why, she must be younger than his mother, he realised suddenly. His soft-skinned, sweet-smelling mother whose hair was always piled on top of her head in elaborate waves and curls.

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ he promised. ‘I’ll find her and tell her.’ He would too, he told himself. Even if it took the rest of his life. A moment of doubt assailed him. Why, oh, why, had he not married her straight away? Rushed her off her feet? Why had he let anything get in the way?

  As he drove into the pit yard, the hooter was going, signalling the end of the back shift. The night shift was already congregating at the entrance to the shaft, some already gone down. He wouldn’t have long to wait for Jimmy, then. Jack decided not to go into the office, simply sat in the cart and waited. The men passing to and fro treated him to curious stares but he was oblivious of them, watching only for the young boy he had seen only a few times before.

  Jimmy stepped out of the cage and walked through the crowd on his own, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, his face glum. He handed in his lamp and tokens to the cabin and came on towards where Jack’s governess cart was standing, by the gate. The pony was taking advantage of slack reins and nibbling at the tips of the coal-blackened grass by the side. Jimmy noticed none of this, he was simply heading home through the gate, uninterested in anything around him.

  ‘Jimmy!’ Jack had to call again, ‘Jimmy! Jimmy Nelson.’ Jimmy hesitated, looked back at the cart. Slowly he came back to it.

  ‘Aye, sir?’ This was the big gaffer, he knew that, not just the manager gaffer but the owner. He hesitated again as the gaffer indicated to him to climb up onto the seat beside him. Jimmy looked around at the men, streaming from the yard, most of whom he could see now were watching with interest.

  ‘Come on, I just want to speak to you,’ said Jack.

  Jimmy climbed up. ‘I’ll dirty the seat, sir.’

  ‘Never mind.’ He looked at the young boy, his whole person black from coal dust up to the line where his helmet had rested on his brow, showing startlingly white above it. ‘Can we go up the road a little way? I’d like to talk to you about your sister.’

  Jimmy’s face was instantly creased with anxiety. ‘Nothing’s happened to her, has it, sir? I mean—’

  ‘No, nothing’s happened, or not that I know of.’ Jack took up the reins and negotiated the pony and cart out of the gate and along the road, away from the pitmen and the rows and any other prying eyes. Outside the village he slowed the pony to a walk and then halted and turned back to Jimmy.

  ‘I thought you might have some idea where Elizabeth is?’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘Well, I haven’t. I wish I had.’ He looked suspiciously at Jack. ‘What do you want to know for? Was it you that got her into trouble – was it?’ His fists, still small but hard as iron, doubled up, his chin jutting forward aggressively.

  ‘No, not me, I just want to find her, that’s all. I think an injustice has been done.’

  Jimmy laughed. ‘Injustice, is it? That word has nowt to do with us, Mister. Words like that mean nowt at all here.’ He had not relaxed his fighting stance, his knuckles gleaming white through the coal dust. ‘Are you sweet on our Elizabeth, is that it? You want her for yourself, don’t you? Well, you just leave her alone, she’s a decent lass, she is. Chapel, we are!’

  ‘I want to marry her,’ Jack said. ‘I want to find her and marry her, and that’s what I’m going to do.’

  Jimmy blinked. ‘Marry her? Do you think pit lads are dim and daft then? Why would the likes of you want to marry our Elizabeth?’

  ‘Because I love her.’

  Jimmy gazed at him uncertainly then climbed down from the cart. ‘Aye, well,’ he said, ‘mebbe you do. But I’m telling you: if I knew where our Elizabeth was, do you not think I’d have gone after her meself? Go away, man. The gaffer you may be but you’re a fool for all that. An’ now I’m off for me dinner.’ He marched down the road towards Morton Main and Jack watched him until he disappeared into the colliery rows.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ELIZABETH STOOD AT the window, looking out at the snow. It had been two weeks since that awful day she had first come to Stand Alone Farm and still the snow stood as high as the window sill; in places, where it had drifted in the ever-present wind, it was higher. It felt as though she had been here forever, always waiting for Peart to come back from wherever he went, or else, if he was in the house, always on tenterhooks in case he told her to get out.

  He was confusing, she thought as she gazed out at the whiteness. She never knew how he was going to be. Only yesterday he had come in with yet another rabbit in his bag.

  ‘You’re still here, then?’ he had growled. ‘Do you expect me to keep you all your bloody life?’

  ‘I … How could I get away? The path’s blocked, isn’t it? It’s still snowing.’ She had gone out into yet another blizzard a couple of hours ago, taking Jenny by the hand, trying to find a way out to the road. Surely there had been other people up there, a horse-drawn snow plough perhaps. And there were snow poles on the road, showing the way back to Stanhope. She was even at the stage where she could actually contemplate asking the workhouse for help, or for shelter while she looked for work. But the path was completely obliterated, there was no sign even of Peart’s footsteps. He must go somewhere else, she reckoned.

  He had thrown the rabbit at her. ‘Make yourself useful,’ he’d ordered. ‘A man could be nearly dying wi’ hunger before you two would think to have a meal ready.’

  ‘There wasn’t any meat,’ Jenny had stammered, visibly trembling. ‘We couldn’t, could we, Elizabeth?’

  ‘Stop your bloody moaning or I’ll give you something to moan about!’ he snarled, and aimed a blow at the girl’s head. Fortunately she was expecting it and managed to evade the worst of it: the hand only caught the edge of her shoulder. Nevertheless, she staggered.

  ‘Leave the lass alone!’ Elizabeth shouted at him, pulling Jenny behind her. ‘Don’t you hit her again, do you hear me?’

  Peart grinned and his mood changed. Suddenly he was grinning. ‘Sparky thing, aren’t you? Aw, don’t worry, I’ll leave her alone. Just so long as you both mind me. Now get the dinner on like you’re told!’

  But now the dinner was eaten and Peart was dozing in the chair before the fire. Jenny was nursing a rag doll Elizabeth had made for her, though casting anxious glances behind her at Peart. She never usually played with the doll when he was in the house but today she had chanced it while he was asleep.

  Elizabeth turned from the window, sighing. Already the day was beginning to darken. But at least the snow seemed to be coming down less heavily.

  ‘Jen, get away upstairs to bed,’ said Peart. Jenny jumped. She put the hand holding the doll behind her back.

  ‘Go on, when I tell you!’ he roared and the little girl fled. Elizabeth stared at him. He was gazing back at her, a peculiarly intent look on his face. ‘Come here and sit by me,’ he said to her and smiled as he rubbed his stubbly chin with one hand. Elizabeth was reminded forcibly of Private Wilson. Dear God, not again. There must be something about her which made men think she was like that, she thought miserably.

  ‘I was thinking I would have an early night, go to bed with Jenny.’

  ‘No, no. Howay, man, come and sit on the settle at least,’ said Peart. ‘Now, wouldn’t you like a drink? I’ve got some whisky.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she mumbled. Still, she went and sat on the settle opposite him. She daren’t antagonise him – suppose he put her out? She put a hand up to her nose. She c
ouldn’t help it. Close to, the dirty, musky smell of him, made stronger by the heat of the fire, was powerful.

  ‘It’s nice to have a woman about the place again,’ he said. ‘I’ve been lonely, you know.’

  Elizabeth looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it,’ she replied. ‘I thought I was a burden to you, just another useless mouth to feed?’ It was an expression he’d used once or twice.

  ‘You mustn’t mind me, I say things I don’t really mean.’ He leaned forward suddenly until his face was six inches from hers. He looked down at the swell of her breasts under her dress, his eyes glistening. ‘Come on, pet, give us a kiss.’

  He leaned further forward and pressed his lips to hers; they were wet and slobbery and the smell was rising from him in waves at this range. Elizabeth couldn’t help herself she gagged.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you? Have you never kissed a man before? Who the hell do you think you are anyroad? I’ve a good mind—’ He reached forward but she was too quick for him. She ducked and ran to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter?’ Elizabeth was past caring whether he threw her out or not, so long as he didn’t touch her. ‘The stink of you, that’s what’s the matter! When did you last have a bath or even a good wash?’ She was on edge, trembling all over, poised to flee. But Peart didn’t lose his temper and come after her. He just looked puzzled.

  ‘A bath? In the middle of winter? Have some sense, lass, do you want me to catch me death?’

  The tension left Elizabeth then. She turned and ran upstairs to the bedroom she was sharing with Jenny, undressing in the dark, or rather by the pale white light which came in at the window, the moon reflected from the snow. She need not be too frightened of Peart, she thought, he wasn’t another Private Wilson. Nevertheless, she jammed her box against the door just in case. Jumping into bed, she lay close to her sister, feeling the warmth from the small body. The warmth slowly seeped through her and she was dropping off to sleep when she suddenly jerked awake. The moon! She hadn’t seen a break in the clouds since she’d come but now there was moonlight. She got out of bed and crossed to the uncurtained window. It had stopped snowing, the wind had died down too. Across the field she could see movement: a hare, or maybe a rabbit, was jumping along in the snow. An owl hooted from close by. The scene was incredibly beautiful. Heartened, Elizabeth got back into bed and fell asleep.