Easterleigh Hall

by Margaret Graham

  Jack shook his head, dragging his sleeve across his face, his voice hoarse from his fever, and aggravated by coal dust. He must have been on the backshift to be here now, and was exhausted. ‘But can’t you see, Miss Manton, it wasn’t just our gift, it was all the pitmen. They held the Lea End lot so your brother could be saved.’

  It was what had been in Evie’s mind too. Miss Manton slapped her hat in her hand. ‘You and Timmie risked your lives, they did not, and how selfish you will be if you deprive the others of the use of the other two houses by continuing to refuse our proposal. Do you think the Bramptons will use the houses to help the miners, as we intend?’

  Evie’s tears had stopped with Jack’s and now they both stared at her. She continued, ‘Now listen, Easton needs those houses and it’s time we did something. Edward and I realised that we had made a mistake yesterday evening not to inform you fully of our plan. I wanted you here, Evie, because you will lend your weight to the right decision. We propose to use the other two houses as retirement homes for the miners of Auld Maud, or emergency accommodation should they be evicted, or should strikes cause hardship, or somewhere to convalesce is needed. It is our duty as Christians and it makes us happy.’

  For a moment no one said a word. On the hills the sheep were grazing, the gorse was brilliant in the sun. Miss Manton was explaining that the property purchase would break the Bramptons’ stranglehold, and prevent fear of the workhouse for so many. The decision was Jack and Evie’s. ‘If you say yes, then we go ahead. If you say no, then . . . I need a decision. This is undoubtedly blackmail and I make no apology for it. I know you need your sleep, Jack, before you go on at eight this evening but I fear if we leave it any longer we will be too late. Who knows how soon Mr Auberon will arrive at the Froggetts with a tempting offer? Please think of yourselves, the others and Edward, and accept.’

  Jack was standing beside Evie now, his hand gripping hers. Evie watched the breeze rattle the blossom. A few petals drifted to the ground where the primroses grew. It was so beautiful, so very beautiful, which she hadn’t realised before. She had never felt so happy in her life. They were going to be safe. They were going to be free. They had to do it for the others, as well as themselves. He said, his voice so hoarse and weak she could hardly make out his words, ‘What do you think, pet? Can we say yes?’

  She squeezed his hand, feeling the calluses, the ridged scars. ‘If we have the house we can repay the loan, of course we can. You’d feel safe when you have to speak out against the management. The old and sick or evicted can go to the two houses, not the workhouse.’ She stopped. ‘But how would that be funded, Miss Manton?’

  Miss Manton laughed, moving into the doorway too. ‘Leave that problem to us, Evie. The world doesn’t rest on your shoulders alone, you know.’

  Evie grinned, and shrugged. It truly didn’t, and nothing mattered if only they had a house. Nothing. She could continue with Mrs Moore and in just a few years they could set up a hotel. They’d be out of the pit in maybe . . . Well, maybe in just five years. Yes, she’d aim for 1914. Her heart soared with hope. She hugged her brother and whispered, ‘Yes, if we pay interest. Do you agree?’

  ‘Just what I was thinking, bonny lass.’ She knew that from his face, and his strength as he lifted her up high into the air. ‘Just what I was thinking.’

  ‘I’m taking this as a yes. You must go back to work, Evie. And we must hurry.’ Miss Manton was picking up her cigarette stub and Jack his. ‘We must beat Mr Auberon to the Froggetts.’

  Jack lowered Evie to the ground, kissing her cheek, then asking, ‘Where are the Bramptons this afternoon?’

  ‘Archie said that they were off to Auld Maud. You know Mr Auberon’s coming to run the pit?’ Jack nodded. ‘Simon told me.’

  ‘Did you know they’re only to use reclaimed props, and the space between is to be greater? I heard it from Mr Auberon himself when he came to the kitchen for tea. He didn’t know I was listening, of course.’

  Jack’s look was intense, then it cleared. ‘He won’t know how much space there is between the props and neither will Davies. Da will talk to the deputies and they’ll just have to be clever about it. We can’t do anything else. I’ll tell Jeb, don’t worry. And thanks, Evie, but be careful. I don’t want anyone to know you’re listening to all that’s being said.’

  Miss Manton shook Jack’s arm. ‘Enough of this, we must go. Let’s get to the trap. Auberon could visit Mr Froggett on his way back from the pit.’

  Evie ran back to the basement. Nothing was any trouble any more. If Roger was there, she’d leap right over him. He wasn’t, Simon was. She hurried into the corridor with him on her heels. Quickly she told him and he shook his head. ‘That’s wonderful. Just to have the two houses for the others will be such a gift. I worry about my da and mam when they’re old. I might have enough to look after them but you just never know, do you?’

  He held both her hands and for a moment they paused, then Simon dropped her hands as Millie shot out of the kitchen. ‘Come on Evie, Mrs Moore is trying to grate the suet for small herb dumplings for upstairs and her hands are sore. She wants you, not me.’

  Simon smiled. ‘I’ll bring those marrows, Evie, don’t worry. We’ve some stored.’

  Millie was gone. He lifted her hand and kissed it. She paused, wanting his arms around her. He moved just a fraction closer, his eyes on hers, his arms lifting, but then Mrs Moore called, ‘Now, Evie, right now.’

  Simon laughed and she slipped past him into the kitchen, hearing him clatter up the steps. Life was so good, even when grating suet.

  Jack took the reins from Miss Manton at her request. She wanted another cigarette. He handed her his Woodbines and she cupped her hand against the wind as she lit one. ‘One for you?’

  She leaned across, putting one in his mouth, and pressed her cigarette to his. He sucked, feeling strange. He’d never been with a woman who smoked, he’d never driven a trap, only the cart. He wasn’t used to sitting sideways to the way he was going, or sitting opposite his passenger. He wanted to break Sally into a gallop but he made do with a fast trot, while the wind burned down his cigarette at a rate of knots. They had to be in time. Until they had sealed the deal it was too painful to even think about it. Perhaps they should have said yes to Miss Manton yesterday. What if they were too late and the whelp Auberon was there first? If they got it his parents would be ecstatic, and Timmie . . . Well, Timmie would want another beer and Da might just let him have it. If they didn’t . . . No. Don’t even think that.

  ‘How much further?’ Miss Manton asked.

  Jack brought himself back to the present and pointed ahead. ‘Froggett lives in the lee of that hill. It’s called the Stunted Tree. You can see why.’

  There was a windswept hawthorn on the top. It was a natural hill, not a slag heap that oozed filth and heat, but one with grass and gorse, and sheep dotted here and there right up to the summit. Froggett’s farm ran up to the Bramptons’ land, and he would not allow anyone to survey his property because he didn’t want any of that bloody colliery rubbish on or under his land, he always said in the club.

  The three houses were just within his land, a little spur that was an anomaly which ran almost up to the village. It was a salient, which Bastard Brampton had tried to acquire once he’d sunk the colliery. He’d tried again when he took over Easterleigh Hall. It was a thorn in his side. It threatened his total control of the miners and the village.

  Miss Manton begged yet another cigarette. ‘Light one for me too, bonny lass,’ Jack said as he concentrated on the track, steering Sally away from a pothole. Miss Manton’s laugh made him realise what he’d said. ‘Sorry, Miss Manton.’

  He took the lit cigarette from her and drew on it. The end was slightly damp from her lips. It would have been all right from Evie but Miss Manton was a stranger, and older what’s more. Hell, she must be quite thirty and had been Evie’s employer. He snatched a look at her. Her hand was shaking as she held the cigarette. ‘We’ve got to be
in time,’ she said.

  ‘We will or we won’t be. Try and relax.’

  ‘How can you be so calm?’ Miss Manton drew deeply on the Woodbine, which was glowing in the wind. At the rate she was going she’d want another in a minute and they had to do him for the week, and by, it still seemed strange that she was smoking at all.

  He shrugged. ‘If you worried about things you’d never get through the day in the mine. You have to do your best, keep alert and hope your luck’s in.’

  ‘You could pray,’ Miss Manton said, holding on to the handle of the trap as a wheel lurched into and out of the rut. The hawthorn hedges were almost in flower and were no longer neatly trimmed, which meant they were out of Brampton’s land and into Froggett’s. Jack knew the farmer didn’t cut back his hedges until May was out, and neither did he cast a clout. His vests were a national treasure, or not. On either side of the track yet more sheep grazed.

  There were a few lambs, jumping straight up into the air. Jack loved to see that. He loved the fresh air, but if you were a pitman you were in the pit by eight in the morning or night and down for the next twelve hours, though the hewers worked shorter shifts. What would the Eight-Hour Act bring? Would overtime be paid, would piece rates go up to compensate for the shorter shifts? So many questions.

  He was conscious that Miss Manton was staring at him, waiting for his answer, but his God was his own business and he called it luck, and it didn’t owe anything to church. It was something between himself and the other, whatever that other was.

  ‘You could also call me Grace, please, I‘d prefer it. Miss Manton makes me feel too old. I’ve asked Evie and if you did, she would. You should all call me that because I am your friend and you have done me the most immense favour.’

  In the distance Jack could see the farmhouse. ‘He’ll be in the lambing shed. You were her employer first, so she won’t feel easy calling you anything but Miss Manton.’

  Miss Manton laughed. ‘But I’m not now, so let’s get over this. Try it. Grace. Grace. Edward, Edward. Go on, it’s easy.’

  It wasn’t, that was the thing, Jack thought, irritated. ‘Grace,’ he said in the end as they approached the first of the six gates, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the way they were going, not on her as she sat back and crossed her legs, her boot grazing his leg as she did so. If equality was what she wanted, then she was going to get it.

  ‘Grace, would you jump down and open the gate?’ he said as he turned to her. She looked at the gate, surprised, and then saw his grin and burst into peals of laughter. She hopped down and waited until he was through, then closed it. But then she called to him. ‘There’s rope under your seat. Pass it to me, please.’

  Jack leaned down and felt beneath the seat. There were several coils. He brought one out and tossed it to her, puzzled. She tied the gate shut, creating knot after knot. ‘That should hold him for a bit.’

  She ran to catch up, climbing into the trap. He held out his hand to pull her in. ‘Mine is the next gate,’ he said.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, it most certainly is.’ They were laughing and had almost forgotten the rush they were in. Almost. Jack shook the reins and Sally broke into a trot. Grace checked her watch. ‘If Auberon is at the mine he might leave early. Will he bring his father, because if so they could come in the Rolls-Royce, and be here in next to no time?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t risk the car on these tracks. They’ll come in a carriage or trap but whether Bastard . . .’ He stopped. ‘Brampton, I mean. Whether Brampton will come at all I’m not sure. He might just send his son. I gather he’s trying to toughen him up, or that’s the talk around the mine. Just send the little beggar down the pit, that’d toughen him up soon enough.’ He shook the reins again to chivvy Sally along. She flicked her tail.

  Grace said, ‘She’s not used to this terrain, or a man handling her.’

  Jack grinned to himself. He had thought she would think him a boy. He sat straighter. Then he said, ‘Perhaps he’s ahead of us. We’ve no way of knowing.’

  Silence fell, and all they could do was to take it in turns to open and close the gates until they finally drew into Froggett’s yard. There was no horse there that could have belonged to Auberon, and relief caused them to look at one another and grin. He saw that she wasn’t really old, not at all. He’d just never looked at her before, not really looked. Her eyes were almost green and she had freckles, and that hair of hers was so rich and thick that a man’s hands could get caught up in it and not be in a hurry to be released. He shook his head. Was he mad?

  Grace jumped down and stood uncertainly. Jack came round the trap and beckoned her towards the barn from which came the sound of sheep calling, and the higher pitch of lambs. He knocked hard on the barn door but there was no reply. He smiled at Grace. ‘Could you hear above that racket? We’ll go in.’

  The lambs were penned in rows behind slatted wood and on straw. Froggett had said in the Working Men’s Club on Saturday that he liked to keep some of the ewes undercover in case there was late snow, because he was sick of losing the lambs in drifts. Jack had slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘It’s April.’ The older men had shouted him down, waving their beer at him. ‘You never know until May, man.’

  Grace stepped carefully over the scattered straw as they headed for Froggett, who was in the far pen. His dog, Star, lay in the passage between the parallel rows. Jack breathed in the scent of the straw, and the warmth of the animals. Star turned at the sound of their footsteps and bounded towards them, his tongue hanging out. Froggett saw the movement and turned, yelling, ‘Get ya back.’

  Star obeyed instantly, slinking along and lying as before. Froggett shoved back his cap and stared from Grace to Jack. He stepped over the barrier and walked towards them, removing his cap. ‘Well, young Jack, surprised to see you out here, and how’s parson, missus?’

  Jack explained about the houses and their wish to buy all three as Froggett ushered them out, and across the yard and into his kitchen. Mrs Froggett was preparing vegetables and a simmering kettle hissed on the range. She was more than plump, she was built like a bloody dreadnought, and the government should stop the naval race with Germany and just send the missus, or so Froggett would say with monotonous regularity after a few beers at the club; and every inch of her pure gold.

  She showed no surprise at their arrival, or at Froggett’s explanation, but insisted they sit and eat. ‘Can’t talk business on an empty stomach, pet,’ she said, pointing Grace firmly to the chair at the head of the table. Grace removed her coat and hung it on the back of the carver, and placed her gloves on the table. Jack wondered if Mrs Froggett had ever had an empty stomach in her life. Froggett took the chair at the other end, and Jack turned his cap over and over in his hand, wondering where he should sit. Froggett turned to him. ‘Stop cluttering up the place, lad. Take a pew, and the parson’s getting on all right then, missus?’

  Grace nodded and smiled, but then grew serious. ‘He’s recovering well, thank you Mr Froggett, but we needed to come and talk to you, quickly.’ Jack felt Mrs Froggett’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him towards the chair on Froggett’s right. On the dresser to his left was a photograph of Danny, their son. He had chosen to go in the pit when he was thirteen because his elder brother wanted to stay on the farm, and it wouldn’t support them all. Danny had been killed in a tub accident last year when he was trapping the doors. His body had been slung into a sack, then a cart and just dumped here on the kitchen floor by Davies’ special few. It was not unusual.

  Jack made himself listen to Grace because he mustn’t think of Timmie trapping. Scones were placed before them, and rich yellow butter. The scones were still warm and the butter melted into the white soft dough and then did the same in his mouth. He wiped the crumbs from his lips and slurped his tea. Mrs Froggett laughed and pushed the plate towards him again. ‘I’ll put some together for the family. How’s young Timmie doing?’ Her eyes shadowed.

  ‘Belting,’ Ja
ck said, trying not to see the quivering of her lips and the filling of her eyes, but how could you not? Mrs Froggett turned from him, and swept the vegetables that were scattered on the range side of the table into a large pan before seating herself. Grace had finished by asking for a price for the houses, her voice high-pitched with tension. Jack checked the clock on the wall near the range. Was Auberon on his way? Would the rope knots hold him up? By, she was a canny lass, this Grace Manton.

  Froggett studied his hands and looked at Mrs Froggett. It was then that Jack said, ‘We need to tell you that the Bramptons want the houses too. It’s only fair. We think they’re on their way here any day now, and I bet they’ll top any price you ask from us.’

  There was a silence. He knew that Grace was studying him, and saw Mrs Froggett was looking at her husband. Jack’s heart was beating in his throat because he might just have taken the future away, not only from his family, but the other miners. But he had had to say what he just did, for when the Bramptons came, and he knew they would, the Froggetts didn’t deserve to be cheated. Losing a son was more than cheat enough.

  Grace nodded at Froggett and said, ‘Jack is quite right.’

  Mrs Froggett pushed the scones towards Grace. ‘Aye, them Bramptons speak to us often about it. Eat up, pet, we need to think about this and the lambs need checking.’ The Froggetts rose and went out, leaving Grace and Jack looking at the scones, and then one another. She reached across and laid her hand on his arm. ‘You did well. I should have said something and didn’t. I’m ashamed.’

  He looked at her hand: it was so pale and so soft. That would be because it did no work, but he couldn’t feel angry. She snatched back her hand and attacked a scone. He said, ‘No need to be ashamed. It’s just fair, that’s all.’

  She was concentrating on the scone, heaping it with jam. Perhaps he’d try another too. He was spreading the jam when the kitchen door opened again and the Froggetts trooped back in, with Star. It must be a special occasion for the dog to be allowed in the house. He curled up in front of the range, on the proggy mat.