The Lead Miner's Daughter

by Margaret Manchester

  Jane took the cup from Mary’s hand and set it down. As if reading her mind, she said, ‘Don’t worry, lass, I’ll stay for a bit until you can manage. It’ll be alright.’

  The impact of everything that had happened that day suddenly hit Mary and her pent-up tears started to fall. Jane held her while she sobbed uncontrollably.

  As promised, Doctor Rutherford came back early the next morning. He was even more concerned when he saw that Tom had still not come round. As he left, he said he would call back later in the day. After the doctor’s visit, Jane decided to take Josie for a walk down to Mr Graham’s shop to pick up a few things. Mary returned to sit by Tom’s bedside and held his hand and continued to talk to him, as she had all night.

  ‘Your mother’s taken Josie down to the shop this morning, even though it’s freezing out there today. I think she wanted to get her out of the house for a bit. Josie’s wrapped up well, so she’ll be fine. You’ll never guess what happened this morning,’ she said. ‘When Josie was eating her breakfast, she said ‘Mama’ for the first time. She can say ‘Baba’ and ‘Mama’ now, just you watch, her next word will be ‘Dada’…’

  She noticed Tom’s eyelids flicker and then open.

  ‘Oh Tom, thank God! You’re awake.’

  He looked at her and smiled weakly.

  ‘Me head hurts. What happened?’ He lifted his hand to his head and felt a bandage. He tried to get up and groaned. ‘Ow! I hurt all over.’

  ‘You have to stay in bed. You had an accident.’

  ‘An accident?’

  ‘Yes, there was a fall in the mine. You were trapped for hours before they found you and got you out.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘You hit your head. You’ve been unconscious since yesterday.’

  Mary offered him a sip of water and then told him more about what had happened and the injuries he had suffered. Tom could remember going to work yesterday morning but had no recollection of the accident at all.

  For the rest of the day, he got tired easily and drifted in and out of sleep. Mary spent most of the time he was awake trying to get him to drink water and eat some of the mutton broth that Jane had made.

  That evening after Jane retired to Josie’s room, Mary went back to her room. She intended to sit by the bed and watch over her husband. Tom could see how tired she was and said, ‘No, you don’t. You can hardly keep your eyes open, lass. Get in here.’ Tom took her hand and pulled her towards him. She climbed into bed. Despite the pain, Tom put his arm around her and pulled her close. She was very careful where she touched him and was pleased when she felt his body relax against hers as she snuggled into him.

  ‘I was so frightened I would lose you,’ confessed Mary.

  ‘You’ll not get rid of me that easily,’ said Tom, as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 33

  Moorside Cottage, Westgate

  January 1874

  Tom was in bed staring out of the window. He didn’t see the tree tops swaying in the breeze or the robin sitting on the windowsill. He didn’t hear the fire crackling in the grate. He was thinking about the accident and how close he had come to death, how close he had come to leaving Mary and Josie alone to fend for themselves, and how close he had come to never seeing his unborn child.

  He thought about Mary and when they had first met. He had liked her ever since he saw her at Killhope that day. She was young and beautiful and bright, and he couldn’t imagine a more perfect woman. He cringed when he remembered how he had talked to her about mining outside the church, but she had been interested, with her father being a miner, and had known more about it than he had expected. She had made him feel comfortable. He had always been a bit shy around girls, but with Mary it had been different, he had always found her easy to talk to.

  At the dance, she had looked beautiful. He had held her in his arms and they had fitted together just right. He had wanted to kiss her that night, but Joe had come in and whisked her away from him. Tom had been jealous seeing her in Joe’s arms and he had left the hall. He regretted that. He should have stayed at the dance and offered to walk her home. If he had, he was sure he would have kissed her.

  When he saw her at the show, he couldn’t let her pass by without talking to her and, for some reason, he had wanted to introduce her to his mother. She had looked so happy that day, walking around the showfield with her family.

  He had been pleased when she accepted his offer of a ride to Ireshopeburn that morning she had been walking home to Fell Top. They were sitting so close on the cart that he had been able to smell the sweet, flowery fragrance in her hair. They had talked about lots of things and discovered they had many interests in common. He hadn’t wanted that journey to end.

  For a long time now, he had loved Mary. He wished he had spoken up earlier, before she had fallen for Joe. He remembered the day he had punched his brother. He’d had a black eye for over a week and still had a small scar on his cheek. Tom wasn’t proud of what he had done, he could normally control his anger, but Joe had deserved it for what he had done to Mary. Aye, he certainly had.

  When Tom had asked Mary to marry him, he had been so overjoyed when she had said yes that he thought his heart would burst. He wasn’t sure about her feelings towards him though. He

  knew he was second choice to Joe, and that Joe would always have a place in Mary’s heart, but he hoped that she would learn to love him. He knew that she needed time to heal after being hurt so badly.

  He was a patient man.

  Chapter 34

  Westgate

  March 1874

  Mary had hardly left the cottage since Tom’s accident and, now that he was improving, she was itching to get outside for some fresh air. His mother was with him, so she knew that he would be well looked after while she went out for a walk. Mary decided to go to the village shop to pick up a few supplies, but really that was just an excuse. She needed to get her head together, to think things through. So much had happened in the four months since their marriage.

  Tom had been suspected of murdering her cousin Kate, but Mary hadn’t doubted his innocence for long. Once she had considered everything that had happened, she realised that there was no way that Tom could have killed Kate, but she had been worried that the police mightn’t believe him or that he could have been wrongly identified as the man who had been seen at the prison. Newspapers were full of stories about people who had been wrongly convicted and it was only ever discovered when someone else confessed. Luckily the prison officer had confirmed that Tom wasn’t the man who had delivered the letter to the gaol. He wasn’t the man they were looking for and she was sure that Robert believed he was innocent too, though she did wonder whether Tom’s ordeal with the police would be over completely until the real killer was found.

  However, she and Tom had been so relieved that he was no longer a suspect and that they could spend Christmas together. When Tom had heard that she was going to have his baby, he had been so happy. Christmas Day had been a special day and one that she would remember forever. It was by far the best Christmas she had ever had.

  Then not long after all that, Tom had been seriously injured in the mine accident. He could have been killed. His recovery was taking a long time but he was getting better and the doctor was pleased with his progress. She had nearly lost him that day. How did she feel about that?

  Voices broke through her thoughts and she looked ahead. A crowd was gathering around a shaft, one of many ways into Greenfoot mine. She went to find out what was happening. The grass was damp so she lifted her skirt as she crossed the field and walked towards the restless group. She caught up to an old woman heading in the same direction, ‘Do you know what’s going on?’

  ‘No, but there’s somethin’ up. Mebbe an accident. Mebbe somebody’s taken bad?’ She stopped to catch her breath. ‘I heard shoutin’. I had to come and see. Me son works here.’

  Mary took the woman’s arm and walked with her to the shaft top.

 
; People were talking in whispers. Out of respect? She wondered if someone had died.

  A loud voice issued orders, ‘That’s right, pull him up, let’s get him out, let’s see who it is.’ Sir Thomas directed three men, who were lying on the ground with their arms and heads in the hole. They grunted and groaned as they pulled on ropes.

  ‘Sir Thomas is in charge. He’ll sort it out, whatever’s wrong. Good man, he is, just like his father was,’ said the old woman breathlessly.

  A small man moved through the crowd towards them, ‘What are you doing here, Mother? You’re supposed to be resting.’

  ‘I had to know what was going on. I couldn’t just sit at home waiting for word. Not when you work down there. Tell us, what’s happened?’

  ‘Someone fell down the shaft last night. We found him this morning when we went to work.’

  ‘Who is it? Anyone we know?’

  ‘No, I’ve not seen him afore. He’s not from round here.’

  As the men continued to pull on the rope, a pair of old, muddy clogs appeared. The thick rope was tied around a pair of skinny ankles. The onlookers gasped and stared at the body being hauled up from the depths of the earth. His thin legs were covered by coarse trousers; his lean body was dressed in a grubby shirt, a well-fitted waistcoat and a tatty jacket; his grey face was partially covered by a brown beard speckled with white, matching the long hair on his head. His hat was missing — probably lying at the foot of the shaft, thought Mary.

  She watched the crowd proceed towards the man, one after another. They glanced at him and shook their heads as they moved away.

  Once the crowd dispersed, the constable began to examine the body and he talked to himself while he scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘He doesn’t smell of drink. If he wasn’t drunk, why did he fall down the hole? Oh, he was beaten up, aye, he was beaten up good and proper — those bruises are from a fist. Aye, I’ve seen plenty of them before. Mebbe he was killed first and then dumped down there, or mebbe he was knocked out and then chucked down the hole. The fall would’ve finished him off all right. No way was this an accident.’

  Mary listened to the policeman with morbid fascination. She looked more closely at the body and noticed a slight movement in his chest. ‘Mr Emerson! I think he might be alive!’

  Robert put his cheek to the man’s face to feel for any signs of breathing. He jumped up.

  ‘Good God! Fetch the doctor! Quick!’ he shouted at nobody in particular.

  A young miner took off at speed in the direction of the doctor’s house.

  The policeman took off his cloak and placed it over the man. Addressing Mary, he said, ‘Thanks, lass. I thought I was dealing with another murder.’

  Mary voiced her thoughts, ‘I wonder who he is, and what happened to him.’

  ‘Nobody’s recognised him. Hopefully the doctor will get him pulled round and he’ll be able to tell us himself.’

  ‘He looks so pale. No wonder everyone thought he was dead.’

  The doctor ran up the field. With just a brief nod towards Robert and Mary, he got down onto his knees and examined the patient.

  ‘We need to get him over to my place as quickly as possible. He’s not going to be with us long if he doesn’t get warmed through.’

  Several miners came forward to offer assistance, but one large man picked him up, put him over his shoulder and walked back to the village like he was carrying no more than a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Mary, my wife is away at her sister’s. Are you able to help us for an hour or so?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘Yes, I can stay for a bit. Jane’s up at home with Tom and Josie.’

  ‘Good, thank you.’

  When they arrived at the doctor’s house, the miner laid the man down on a bed in the front room and, on his way out, he gave his best wishes for the man’s recovery. The policeman tended the fire while the doctor attended to the man. Mary stood there waiting for instructions.

  ‘Find some dry clothes. Upstairs, first room on the right, large dresser.’ Mary went to fetch them and she placed them by the bed.

  ‘Robert, give me a hand lifting him, so we can get him undressed. He’s cold and wet. We need to get him dried off and warmed up.’

  They all worked together to undress and redress the man. The room was very warm by now and the man’s colour seemed to be returning.

  ‘A drop of whisky?’ the policeman suggested.

  ‘How can you think of drinking at a time like this, Robert?’ said the doctor.

  ‘Not for me! For him. Isn’t that what you do?’

  ‘Well, it won’t do him any harm, I suppose.’

  Doctor Rutherford poured a small measure of whisky and handed it to Mary. He lifted the man’s head and gestured for her to put the glass to the man’s lips. The man spluttered but some of the liquid went down his throat.

  Soon afterwards, he started to thrash about like he was having a nightmare, with incoherent words coming from his mouth.

  ‘He...there...where...off...no...no...away...stop.’

  Mary sat by the bedside and took hold of his hand. She talked to him calmly like she would to an upset child, ‘Shush there, it’s alright. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  He settled quickly and entered a sound sleep, snoring gently.

  Mary said quietly, ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea before I head back.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary. That’s very good of you. I think there’s some gingerbread left in the larder,’ said the doctor.

  Mary went into the kitchen and came back with a tray of tea and slices of cake. They sat around a table by the window and Mary poured the tea.

  ‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Yes, now that he’s warmed up, I think he will. He’s a much better colour. He must have had a bump to his head though, and he’s delirious with it. It looks like he’s dreaming about what happened to him.’

  ‘Good, I thought he was a goner.’

  Mary went back to the man’s side. He started to thrash about wildly and shouted, ‘No, no, get off me!’

  She sat and talked soothingly to him and he calmed down again. When she took his hand, he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  ‘Am I dead?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ She smiled at him. ‘You just had a fall. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re at Westgate. At the doctor’s house.’

  The doctor came up behind Mary. He stood in the background to check on his patient.

  ‘Where is he? Does he know I’m here?’ asked the man.

  ‘The doctor’s right here,’ said Mary, looking puzzled.

  ‘Not him. I mean where’s the evil bastard who threw me down that hole? He left me there to die!’

  The man grew agitated and he looked around the room in fear. When he saw Robert, he said, ‘Constable, are the doors locked? If he knows I’m here, he’ll come and finish me off.’

  ‘Who did this to you?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Please, please, lock the doors. Close the windows. I need to get away.’

  The man scrabbled to get out of bed, but when he realised how weak he was he started to shake and tears rolled down his face. ‘Please don’t let him kill me,’ he repeated over and over again.

  Robert asked him, ‘Who are you? Who did this to you? Who are you frightened of?’ But the man didn’t reply.

  Mary turned to the men and said quietly, ‘Humour him. Lock the doors. If he feels safe, he might talk.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Doctor Rutherford, and went to make the place secure.

  Mary sat down again and held the man’s hand. ‘There, there now. You’re alright. The doors are locked. You’re safe now. The doctor is here, and the constable is here. You’re not on your own. They’ll keep you safe. I’m Mary. What’s your name?’

  ‘Frank,’ he said between sobs.

  ‘Hello, Frank. You don’t live around here, do you? Where do you come from?’

  ‘
Newcastle.’

  The policeman looked at the doctor. They both seemed surprised that Mary’s tactic had worked and that she had managed to get him to talk.

  ‘Why did you come to Westgate?’

  ‘To meet someone.’

  ‘I see. You came here to meet someone. Who was that?’

  ‘Forster.’

  ‘Sir Thomas Forster?’

  ‘No — Henry Forster.’

  ‘And did you meet him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened after you met Mr Forster?’

  ‘He did this to me!’

  As his words sunk in, everyone looked at each other in horror. Robert asked, ‘You’re telling us that Henry Forster beat you and dropped you in that shaft?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Robert pulled up a chair next to Mary’s and said, ‘Frank, you’d better tell me exactly what happened last night.’

  Chapter 35

  Stanhope, Weardale

  March 1874

  When Frank Collins had finished telling his story, Robert went straight down to the police house at Stanhope to speak with his sergeant. He couldn’t arrest the son of Sir Thomas Forster without authorisation from a superior officer.