The Collier’s Wife

by Chrissie Walsh

  Jude listened, aghast, as Raffy told his story, doubting what he heard then utterly convinced when Raffy swept back the long, greasy curls dangling below his left ear to reveal his mark. Jude leapt up so quickly his glass smashed on the floor. Then he ran.

  Amy was washing cabbage for the dinner when Jude burst into the kitchen, his face ashen. As he struggled to catch his breath, Amy dried her hands and hurried to his side. ‘What’s the matter?’ she cried, thinking something dreadful had occurred at the pit.

  ‘Him! Raffy!’ Jude cried. ‘I met him on my way home – stopped for a pint – good God – my father – Beattie’s…’ Incoherent, he rattled on, Amy trying to make sense of it until a loud knock at the door diverted her attention.

  Before she could answer it, the door opened and Raffy stepped inside. ‘I be sorry for upsetting ye,’ he cried, reaching out to Jude.

  Jude shook him off, shouting, ‘Go on, tell her what you told me.’

  Then it was Amy’s turn to listen to Raffy’s story. Wide-eyed and trembling, she struggled with the detail, and when it came to Raffy admitting that he was Jude and Beatrice’s father she let out a howling wail. If Beatrice and Jude were Bessie and Raffy’s children, she had married her brother.

  Then it was her turn to run, out of the house and up the street, the baby in her womb heavier with every step. Unable to run further, she flopped down on a low wall outside the Methodist church, and nauseated by the hideousness of what she had heard, she vomited onto the pavement. Jude found her there.

  Amy stared up at him, the look in her eyes and the lines etched round her mouth bearing all the horrors of the world. ‘You’re my brother,’ she croaked. ‘I married my brother.’ Her shoulders sagged and she would have slipped from the wall had Jude not grabbed her in time.

  He held her closely, afraid she had lost her sense of reason. ‘I’m not your brother, I’m your husband,’ he said gently.

  Amy began to gabble, and as Jude listened, he began to chuckle. ‘Oh, my poor love, you’ve got it all wrong. Beatrice is Raffy and your mother’s daughter. I belong to Raffy and some other woman, not Bessie.’

  *

  Back in the house, sitting round the kitchen table over a strong cup of tea Raffy reiterated his tale, Amy feeling slightly foolish for the misunderstanding and hugely relieved to learn the truth. Even so, she found it hard to believe her mother’s duplicity. And now she understood why Bessie behaved so strangely towards Beattie and Jude. It felt like swallowing stones to take in so many truths all at one go.

  ‘Will you tell Beattie?’ she asked, the question no more than a whisper.

  ‘The girl have a right to know who her father be,’ Raffy said solemnly.

  Apart from clarifying some of Raffy’s story, for Amy’s benefit, Jude had said very little. Now, Amy looked searchingly at him to see what effect the revelation had on him. Calmly, he returned her gaze, and almost as though he had read her mind he said, ‘Raffy might have provided the seed that gave me life, and if that’s the truth so be it, but it was Henry and Jenny Leas made me who I am and nobody can replace that.’

  Shadows lengthened and still they talked, Jude asking a hundred questions and Raffy, in that practised way of his, supplying him with vague answers. Amy stood to light the lamps. As she stretched to reach the lamp on the mantelshelf water whooshed down her thighs, spattering the flagstones. She grabbed the edge of the mantelshelf, her heart lurching and her cheeks reddening that this should happen in front of Raffy. In all the recent confusion she had blamed her flight up the street for the nagging pains in her back and abdomen. Through clenched teeth she managed to say, ‘Jude, fetch May Jackson.’

  Jude tore his attention from Raffy, and seeing Amy’s agonised expression and the puddle at her feet he ran for the midwife.

  *

  Dawn’s early light streaked the sky, probing fingers of watery winter sunlight slanting between the gaps in the bedroom curtains. May Jackson laid the baby in Amy’s outstretched arms, saying, ‘Well done, lass. You’ve got a bonny daughter.’

  Amy sank back into the pillows, the baby against her breast, a rapturous feeling of release suffusing her body. She gazed into the puckered face of this perfect little stranger, her heart swelling with a love so powerful it made her catch her breath. She lay, almost in a trance as May completed her duties then, everything tidy, she smiled and nodded at the midwife. May marched out to the landing and at the head of the stairs shouted, ‘You can come up now. Your daughter’s waiting to meet you.’

  Thudding feet sounded in the stairwell, Jude the first to arrive in the bedroom. He stood, gazing in awe at his wife and child. Up until now, he’d thought of the birth as far off. It seemed unthinkable that now his daughter was here in this room. Amy met his gaze, love and pride gleaming in her eyes, and Jude felt as though his heart would burst. He knelt beside the bed, one hand gently stroking Amy’s flushed cheek and the forefinger of the other carefully tracing his daughter’s face.

  Raffy stepped closer, peering at the snuffling baby. ‘She’s yours all right, boyo,’ he said, glancing at Jude for confirmation that the tiny girl’s swarthy skin, limpid brown eyes and straggling black locks were similar to those of her father.

  ‘I never doubted she was, you old fool,’ Jude replied tersely, feeling annoyed that this man who had suddenly claimed to be his own father was there to share this momentous occasion. Jude had had time to do some deep thinking whilst they waited for his daughter to be born, and in that time he had wondered what kind of man could so easily hand over his child to a woman he barely knew then disappear for twenty years. Now, looking at his daughter asleep in her mother’s arms, he knew he would fight tooth and nail to keep her by his side. He also wondered how he could ever have regretted her conception. His eyes settled on the baby’s rosebud mouth. How could a college course compare with treasure such as this?

  ‘I’ll be off,’ May Jackson said, picking up her bag. ‘I’ll call back in a couple of hours. You’ve two lovely lasses there, Jude. Make sure you look after ’em.’ Jude assured her he would, and he meant it.

  ‘What be you calling her?’ asked Raffy.

  ‘I’d like Catherine, but Jude prefers Jennifer,’ Amy said.

  ‘You should call her Kezia,’ Raffy said, leaning forward to take closer look at the sleeping child.

  ‘What sort of a name is that?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Jude’s mother’s name, that’s what sort of name it be,’ Raffy replied tartly. ‘Child is the image of her.’

  Jude scanned the tiny heart-shaped face the colour of cinnamon and cream. He saw, a short, straight nose and brown eyes the shape of almonds and above them a high forehead banded with ribbons of oily black hair. Had his mother looked like this?

  Raffy nudged Jude. ‘The image of your mother, isn’t she so?’

  Jude spun round to face him, his eyes glittering angrily. ‘How the devil would I know?’

  ‘I suppose not, boyo,’ Raffy said softly, ‘an’ I’m sorry for that.’

  The last thing Amy wanted to do right now was referee a row between her husband and father-in-law, so she said, ‘It’s a pretty name. Different. I like it, Raffy. Thanks for telling us.’

  ‘Do you mean that, Amy?’ Jude’s expression had changed from belligerent to sad and thoughtful. ‘Would you really call her after my mother?’

  Amy didn’t answer immediately. She had seen how disturbed he was to learn that Raffy was his father, and knew that his present anger stemmed from the shocking realisation of his true identity. She also knew that with Raffy now part of their lives it was up to her to build bridges and keep the peace, because the last thing she wanted was a dark Raffy-shaped cloud hanging over Jude’s head.

  ‘I think it’s a perfectly beautiful name,’ she said, genuinely liking the name and knowing she had done the right thing when she saw Jude’s smile. ‘How do you spell it, Raffy?’

  ‘K-E-Z-I-A,’ Raffy explicated.

  *

  Much to Amy and Jude’s surpr
ise, Beattie accepted Raffy as her father in much the same way as she had accepted the callous treatment doled out by Bessie and Samuel when she was younger.

  ‘I always knew I wasn’t an Elliot,’ she said, shrugging carelessly and grimacing when Jude told her he was her half-brother. ‘An’ I don’t just mean because I don’t look like them – it was the way that bitch looked at me. I knew from no age that the miserable cow had something against me.’

  Amy cringed when Beattie referred to their mother in such ugly terms but she didn’t condemn them – as far as Beattie was concerned, they were true. What she couldn’t understand was Bessie’s acceptance of Raffy. There he was, living and working alongside her mother, Bessie forever praising his loyalty to her whenever Amy and Jude paid their weekly visits. Later, when she mentioned this to Jude he replied, ‘She needs Raffy more than he needs her. Without him Intake Farm would go to the dogs and she knows that. She’s as cunning as a fox is your mother, not that I hold it against her. When she gave me to Henry and Jenny, she did me a favour.’

  ‘Will you tell her that you know Raffy’s your father?’ Amy asked Jude and Beattie.

  Beattie snorted. ‘I’ll not be telling her. I haven’t spoken to her since that carry-on at your wedding, and I don’t care if I never speak to her again.’ She tossed her head dismissively.

  ‘Aye, what difference does it make to Beattie who her father is?’ said Bert. ‘She’s a grown woman wi’ a family of her own. She doesn’t need anybody but us.’ Bert lifted Kezia from her pram as he spoke, cradling her with such consummate ease that Jude, still nervous of the precious little bundle that was his daughter, felt a twinge of jealousy coupled with guilt. He hadn’t wanted Kezia but now she was more precious than anything he could imagine.

  ‘I never did need Bessie bloody Elliot an’ I’ve managed this far without Raffy,’ Beattie sneered. She glanced at Jude. ‘You can tell her if you want.’

  Jude shrugged. ‘I think we’ll let Raffy tell her,’ he said, grinning as he added, ‘although I don’t think she’ll be pleased to hear it.’

  Amy was inclined to agree.

  Visits to Intake Farm became something of a trial, Amy seeing her mother in a new light, and often finding it difficult to keep the secret. Whilst she had always been aware of her mother’s cruelty towards Beattie, she still didn’t understand why. Bessie plainly adored Raffy, anyone could see that, so why had she treated his daughter so abysmally? Guilt, she supposed for having deceived Hadley. And as for giving Jude away then pretending she didn’t know who he was, Amy didn’t know what to think. Fortunately, with Kezia the centre of attention on these occasions, Amy was sufficiently distracted and Bessie none the wiser that her secrets were secret no more.

  15

  Kezia was ill. Dr Hargreaves told Amy it was a touch of bronchitis, and to give her plenty of fluids and keep her warm. To that end, Amy had slept with her, listening to her laboured breathing and wishing that Jude wasn’t on the nightshift. Now, as the six-o’-clock hooter blew, she climbed out of bed and went downstairs to put the kettle on. A few minutes later, Jude stepped into the kitchen.

  ‘How is she?’ he said, his first concern for his precious daughter.

  ‘No better,’ Amy replied, as she followed him upstairs.

  Kezia tossed restlessly, half-asleep. Her cheeks were flushed and they could hear her rasping breaths. ‘She hardly slept a wink, her little chest’s so tight,’ Amy said despondently. ‘I’ll go up to Mam’s later and borrow her tin of Kaolin. I’ll make a poultice to help her breathe.’

  ‘I’ll go now, ‘said Jude, fear clutching at his insides as Kezia gave a hacking cough. ‘Raffy’ll be up by the time I get there.’

  Amy showed her gratitude by pecking his cheek. ‘I’ll have your breakfast ready by the time you get back, she said, as they went back downstairs.

  *

  Raffy had slept too late in Bessie’s bed. Now, seeing it was already daylight, he hastily got up and gathered his clothes in a bundle. On the landing, his eyes boggling, Samuel saw Raffy sneaking out of his mother’s room wearing only his underwear.

  ‘You dirty, rotten swine,’ he bawled, flinging himself at Raffy’s back. Caught unawares, Raffy reeled forward, tumbling down the stairs into the kitchen. The noise wakened Thomas and Bessie.

  Raffy got to his feet ready to defend himself as Samuel lunged after him. They grappled, Samuel holding Raffy in a bear hug. Thomas blundered into the room, Bessie at his heels. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she screamed.

  Raffy struggled to free himself, Samuel shouting to Thomas for assistance. He waded forward, kicking Raffy in the middle of his spine. He was still kicking him when Jude burst in.

  Shocked to see Jude at that hour of the morning, Samuel loosened his grip. Raffy broke free. Jude dived at Thomas. He landed on his backside, puffing and panting. Raffy found his second wind and laid into Samuel, Jude dragging them apart and tossing Samuel to the floor. Bessie was still screeching.

  ‘My God,’ Jude gasped, ‘what’s going on here?’

  ‘Him, the filthy swine,’ Samuel yelled, pointing a finger at Raffy. ‘He’s been sleeping with my mother.’ He got to his feet, but before he could attack Raffy again, Jude’s fist landed on his chin, knocking him back to the floor.

  Bessie rushed to Samuel’s aid screaming, ‘Don’t you dare hit him again.’

  ‘Aye, Jude, you keep out of it; it’s nowt to do with you,’ Samuel growled. ‘Why are you defending that stinking, old reprobate?’

  Jude’s eyes glittered blackly as he hissed, ‘Because he’s my father.’

  Bessie paled. Sagging visibly, she fixed her eyes on Samuel, a ghastly expression twisting her features.

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Aye, Samuel, my father – and Beattie’s.’ Jude measured his words carefully, taking an unseemly pleasure in Bessie and Samuel’s reactions: one terrified, the other horrified. ‘Your mother’ll tell you all about it, Sammy.’

  He turned to Raffy. ‘You’d best come along with me for the time being,’ he said, and remembering his errand he asked Bessie for the tin of Kaolin, telling her why he needed it.

  She tottered to the cupboard, her hands shaking as she took out the tin and handed it to Jude. ‘What have you done?’ she hissed.

  *

  Amy’s expression mirrored disbelief when Jude told her what had happened. ‘So Mam knows you know the truth of it. She must be beside herself.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Jude, running his fingers through his hair, ‘but I wasn’t going to stand by and let them beat the shit out of him.’ He glanced at Raffy who had flopped into the nearest chair and was rubbing his back to ease the pain. ‘Come on, old lad, let’s get you onto the couch. When Amy’s warmed the Kaolin and made a poultice for Kezia’s chest, she can make one for your back.’

  Ignoring the aroma of sizzling bacon and the rumbling in his belly, Jude made Raffy comfortable and then washed and changed his clothes before going upstairs to assist Amy in applying the poultice to Kezia’s chest.

  Raffy’s face lit up when Jude applied a poultice to his bruised back, but it was plain to see that the ordeal had taken its toll. Later, after Jude had slept for a few hours and Raffy had rested on the couch, he limped into the kitchen, his face haggard and his devil-may-care rakishness withered. It was then that Jude realised his father was growing old.

  ‘Do you fancy a pint before I go back on nights?’ Jude asked. ‘I could do with one myself.’ A touch of the old Raffy flared. ‘Why not, boyo?’ he said, his voice shaking.

  Amy nodded her approval, and the two men walked to the Miners Arms on the corner of the street. Raffy took a long pull on his pint. ‘I thank ye for coming to my rescue,’ he said, clinking his glass against Jude’s.

  Jude gave a wry smile. ‘You might not be much of a father, but I wasn’t going to let those two louts beat the hell out of you.’

  Tears beaded Raffy’s lashes. He brushed his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t deserve it. I
didn’t stand by you when you needed me, I gave you away but…’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. Your mother dying left me in a sorry state. I thought Bessie was the next best thing. She be a good woman.’ He looked to Jude for confirmation.

  Jude grunted. He wouldn’t go so far as to agree but he did say, ‘She did me no harm.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Will you go back there?’

  ‘I don’t know as I’d be welcome – not now Bessie’s secret is out,’ growled Raffy, a hopelessness colouring his words.

  ‘You’d better stay with us then,’ said Jude, draining his glass.

  ‘Do you mean that, boyo?’ said Raffy, choking on the words and rising so quickly his stool toppled over.

  Before Jude left for work, he and Raffy talked as fathers and sons should do, and in that short space of time they formed a lasting bond. ‘He’s staying the night,’ Jude told Amy. She smiled. She knew it was what Jude wanted and, surprisingly, she discovered she wanted it for him.

  On the night Jude had learned about his true parentage, he had told Amy that it had filled a gap in his life, and that whilst he would always be grateful for Henry and Jenny Leas’ loving care, to go through life without knowing your true origin leaves a void full of unanswered questions. ‘Whether or not Raffy’s the sort of man I would have chosen for a father, he is mine,’ he’d concluded, smiling wryly.

  *

  Bessie muddled through her chores with an aching head and a broken heart. She couldn’t look Samuel in the eye, and when he looked at her, the disgust masking his face ripped her insides to tripe. Time and again she wished that he had never learned the truth but, if Jude and Amy and Beattie now knew it, she had nothing to hide. Although Jude’s revelation had shocked her to the core it brought with it a strange sense of relief. She was sick of living with unbearable guilt whenever she was in Jude’s company, or when Amy hinted at the unforgivable way she had treated Beattie. Now, as Samuel stamped into the kitchen, she steeled herself to face him.

  ‘I need money to buy a new hoe,’ he growled, holding out his hand belligerently.