All eyes on her, and the atmosphere heavy with expectation, Emma read, ‘ “Protest at the Verdict. I was engaged with others for nearly an hour in putting out a fire just a few days before the disaster. The use of gunpowder in the dip-boardgate posed great danger to the men employed in the colliery for several weeks before the disaster, and its continued use in blasting the coal after the danger had been so frequently demonstrated was a criminal neglect of reasonable care on the part of the managing partner, Mr Robert Vine. This neglect led to the deaths of a hundred and thirty-eight men and boys, and indirectly to the deaths of twelve men who attended the rescue.”
‘That sums it up, and I’m glad somebody’s had the guts to say it where it counts,’ said young Arthur, black eyes glittering as he laid into his boots.
Their mother nodded. ‘Well done, Martin.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought, only now I can’t get a job.’
‘Neither can I,’ said young Arthur, ‘and I never sent my letter, so it doesn’t seem to make much odds.’
‘I’ve got a bit of news as well,’ Ginny announced. ‘I’m going to London on Thursday. I’ve got a benefit performance arranged in aid of a disaster fund for the bereaved families. I thought you could be a trustee, Martin. The show in London’s just the start.’
The amazement on their faces was a memory to treasure. For a moment or two, nobody spoke.
‘Can I come with you?’ Lizzie was the first to break the silence, full of eager expectation. ‘I would love to see the music hall.’
Ginny laughed, catching her excitement. ‘You can. I want you all to come. I want you to meet two good friends of mine.’ The thought of seeing Agnes and George again made her eyes shine, and her smile stretch from ear to ear.
Her mother gave her a sour look. ‘The only thing Martin’s letter doesn’t say is that the owners sealed the pit and flooded it with men probably still alive down there. You look over-cheerful for a girl with a father dead in the mine and a brother lost at sea.’
Her smile faded in an instant. ‘I’m sorry about me father, really sorry. But I don’t believe John’s dead. He’ll come home before long. I know he will.’
Chapter 25
Her mother was too ill and too low in spirits to travel, and wouldn’t let them take Sally. Young Arthur refused point-blank to go, Emma wanted to stay near Jimmy, Mam Smith declined the invitation with cool thanks, and Martin decided that Philip should stay with his grandmother. It was as much as she could do to persuade Martin to accompany her. Only Lizzie was raring to go, and her wholehearted enthusiasm compensated Ginny for the rest.
They boarded the train at the crack of dawn and took their seats in a second-class carriage. Lizzie, so mad with excitement that Ginny laughed with pleasure to watch her, sat fidgeting beside her as green hills, fields, woodland and villages rushed by Martin was looking more cheerful than she had ever seen him and he smiled at her whenever their eyes met. When Lizzie left the carriage to walk down the corridor, he said, ‘I’ve had a bit of good news, bonny lass. I got a letter from the agent yesterday afternoon. You’re looking at the tenant of the Cock Inn.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You’ve known since yesterday afternoon, and you didn’t come and tell us?’
‘I thought I’d save it for now. So what about a wedding?’
She laughed. ‘If I’d known yesterday, I’d have had the banns up before we left. How can I wait another month?’
He pressed his lips against hers in long, melting kisses. Eventually she pushed him away, trembling.
‘Ginny? What’s the matter?’
‘I’m scared. Oh, Martin, I’m not Maria, you know. I’m nothing like her.’
He sat back from her, blue eyes serious. ‘I know that. You’re not Maria, and you’re nothing like her. I loved Maria and I laid her to rest. I’ve mourned her for three and a half years, and that’s over. You’re Ginny, and it’s you I want now.’
‘But what about . . .?’ She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the name of Charlie Parkinson. ‘You might sometimes think about it when we’re married. You might hold it against me.’ She held her breath and a brief pause seemed to stretch into infinity.
‘You were honest with me, Ginny, and I believed you. Now I’ll be honest with you. I often used to think about you when you were away, worrying about you, like, but when we heard you were living with him, I hoped I might never see you again.’
She averted her face, tears springing to her eyes. He took her cheek in the palm of his hand, and with a gentle pressure turned her face towards his until she met his eyes.
‘But when I did, I knew I loved you, even though I wished I didn’t. I was terrified in that mine, Ginny, but it made me realize what matters and what doesn’t. Pride doesn’t matter, not now, not to me anyway. I love you, no matter what you’ve done, or who you’ve done it with. I love you, Ginny. I cannot help it.’
She rested her head on his shoulder and burst into tears, just as Lizzie re-entered the carriage.
‘What’s up?’
‘We’re going to get wed,’ said Martin.
‘Why that’s nothing to cry for, is it?’ asked Lizzie.
‘You’re the last on the programme, Ginny, with a one-hour spot to fill,’ George told her as they sat round the supper table. ‘There’s been an amazing response to your appeal. You know most of the artistes, but there are two acts you’ve never seen, both from mining areas – the Salford Clog Dancers and a troupe of acrobats and tightrope walkers from Staffordshire. You’ve only got a couple of days to rehearse. Shall we run through any of your numbers tonight, or are you too tired?’
‘Oh, go on, Ginny! I can’t wait to hear them. You never sang any of them at home,’ said Lizzie.
‘I wonder why that might have been?’ asked George, with a wry smile in Ginny’s direction. Martin looked swiftly at him, and then at Lizzie.
‘Have no fear, Martin,’ murmured George, sensing his unease. ‘The songs generally adapt themselves to the level of understanding of the listener. They put nothing in anybody’s mind that wasn’t there before, I promise you.’
The next couple of days were spent in rehearsals, arrangements for the sale of Ginny’s house, and, what delighted Lizzie most of all, shopping in Bond Street, buying gifts for everybody at home. Martin looked more and more thoughtful. ‘I knew you’d earned a bit of money, Ginny, but I’d no idea you were so well off.’
‘I’m not so well off now. I’ve spent a fair bit these past few weeks, and earned nothing, so the house is about all I’ve got left.’
They ordered most of the purchases to be sent on and took a cab back to the Burns’ house for another pleasant evening spent in rehearsals. After a little sightseeing the following day, stage clothes and make-up were packed into a trunk and they were off to the Majestic for the Benefit performance.
She took Martin into the dressing room with her, exchanging jokes and greetings with other artistes on the way. As they reached it, a troupe of acrobats of both sexes passed them, just coming off stage.
‘They’re not over-dressed, are they?’ a stunned Martin commented after closing the door behind them.
Ginny laughed. ‘They’d have a job trying to perform fully clothed.’
He discreetly turned his back whilst she changed into a red, figure-hugging gown trimmed with sequins, and watched in fascination as she applied greasepaint and finally pinned on a red feathered hat at a rakish angle.
‘Five minutes, Mrs James.’
She checked her appearance in the mirror, dabbed on a little more lip-rouge, then linked arms with Martin and went to wait in the wings.
Ginny felt nervous, as always, but Martin was more nervous than she. As the buzz of excitement in the audience grew, they heard her introduction played. Up swung the house tabs. The theatre was suddenly hushed, the limes focused on the right-hand corner of the stage, and Martin looked agonized when she seemed to miss her cue.
‘It’s a good ploy to delay your entrance sometimes,�
�� she whispered as they played her breezy intro again, ‘creates maximum suspense.’ She stepped into the spotlight and with a cocky, jaunty gait walked down to the footlights.
He watched her from the wings and the self-consciousness she felt at his watching kept her darting little glances in his direction as if needing his approval, but nerves and shyness soon dissipated as her alter ego claimed her and she became Ginny James. She gave the performance her heart and soul and took three encores at the end of it. The applause was thunderous as she finally ran off the stage in wild elation to throw her arms round Martin and kiss him fully on the lips.
‘Marry me. Marry me now, Martin. I can’t wait.’
Lizzie kept her awake for hours that night in the double bed they shared, chattering on and on about the show. ‘I love the music hall, Ginny. The theatre’s so big, and so grand! The acrobats, I couldn’t believe my eyes! When they climbed up on each other to make a pyramid, I thought they’d touch the ceiling. My heart was in my mouth; I thought one of them would break his neck getting down again. And that clown! Did you see the size of his shoes? I nearly died laughing. I would love to be on stage. I don’t know how you can bear to leave it. I never knew you were so good. You were the best singer, and you made the audience laugh, but you weren’t as funny as the clown. Did you see us waving to you from the box? That box, it was bigger than our living room at home, I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought they’d never stop clapping and calling you back at the end. I wish you’d stay, and I could come and live with you, and go on the stage as soon as I’m old enough. George could write some songs for me.’
Ginny yawned. ‘I can’t. I’m going to marry Martin.’
Lizzie gave an exasperated groan. ‘Martin. What’s Martin, next to all this? It’s magic, Ginny man. I know which I’d pick, and it wouldn’t be Martin. All those men in the bar after the show, did you see the way they were looking at you? Some of them looked like real gentlemen. And what’s Martin? Nothing but a pitman.’ She gave these last words great emphasis.
‘There’s one thing I hope you learn as you get older – you can’t always judge a book by its cover. If you knew the tricks some of those gentlemen get up to, it would make your blood run cold. Martin’s more of a gentleman than any of them as far as I’m concerned. You’ll understand when you’re old enough to love somebody.’
‘Oh, Ginny, you talk a lot of rubbish. If you’re going to love somebody, why not a real gentleman, like Charlie? If it hadn’t been for him, you’d never have got on the stage.’
Ginny pulled the blankets around her and turned over. ‘You’ve a lot to learn, Lizzie, but not the hard way, I hope. Go to sleep. You’ve a busy day tomorrow if you want to see the sights.’
‘This is the first time I’ve been able to get you on your own since we came. So what do you think to him?’
George was still in his dressing gown, lounging in full sunlight by the long windows in the drawing room, sipping hot coffee and reading the early morning paper. She sat beside him on the blue plush sofa and felt a quiver of apprehension as he folded his paper and laid it aside, to give her his full attention. ‘He’s quite different to anyone I ever met before, of course, and it’s obvious that he wasn’t born a gentleman.’ He held up a hand to forestall the protests she opened her mouth to make. ‘But he’s something better, Ginny – he’s one of nature’s gentlemen. He’s one of the most likeable men I’ve ever known and I can see the effect he has on you. You glow every time you look at him, and every time you think about him, judging by the look on your face just now.’
‘Is it so obvious?’ she smiled, delighted that Martin had the approval of her most valued friend.
‘Painfully. It’s tragic, though,’ he sighed, ‘that music hall’s the loser in all this, and so are you. You’ll sacrifice a good income along with your career, you know. But if you’re determined to have him, you’re right to sell your house. He would never transplant to London.’
‘You’re the second person to say that. Don’t you think he could adapt? I did.’
‘If his heart were in it, he might, but it isn’t. I’m sure he’d find our way of life intolerably trivial. He’s a crusader, Ginny, with dragons to slay. He has the fire of a cause in his belly. Go with him if you must, but make him laugh sometimes. Don’t let him become too serious – too much of a fanatic. That would make Martin a very dull boy, and it wouldn’t be much fun for you.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘Did I ever tell you what a sweetheart you are, George?’
‘Often. It’s how you’ve managed to keep me twisted round your little finger for so long. We shall both miss you, Ginny.’
Breakfast was late, but over in time for them to take Lizzie to see Buckingham Palace and the changing of the guard. Agnes and George laughed to see the wonder on her face, taking pains to explain the ceremony to her, and tell her some of the history of the place. Ginny stood a little way apart from them, beside Martin. He was silent, seeming miles away. She sensed a dampening of his spirits, imagined he was thinking of the disaster, and tried to cheer him. ‘We should have a good few hundred pounds to start the fund with. The theatre was sold out last night, and it seats two and a half thousand,’ she told him, squeezing his hand.
‘You’ve done well for us, bonny lass. I never realized how popular you are.’
‘We had a lot of support from other artistes as well. And the impresario and the theatre manager. There are a lot of good-hearted people in the business. I’ll have to write and thank them all.’
‘Aye, and so will I. I’m grateful to them all, but I think you were the big attraction.’ His smile belied the troubled look in his eyes.
‘What’s the matter, Martin? You looked like that when I came off stage last night. Is it because you don’t like my act? Is it because some of my stuff’s a bit too, um . . .?’
He shook his head. ‘Your act’s good, Ginny, really good. Some of the songs are a bit naughty, but George was right when he said they wouldn’t put anything in anybody’s mind that wasn’t there before.’
‘What’s wrong, then?’
He sighed, that habitual droop at the corners of his mouth more pronounced than ever. ‘I don’t know what I thought your life was like in London, or what sort of theatres you played in, but I never imagined anything on this scale. I never realized how famous you are, how many people you have eating out of your hand when you’re on the stage; and the stage suits you, Ginny, it fits you like a glove. You can earn more for yourself in a week than I could give you if I worked for a year. I’ve been thinking, and there’s only one conclusion I can come to. We shouldn’t get wed. I can only hinder you. You shouldn’t sell your house. You should stay in London.’
She looked stricken. ‘Stay with me then, and be my manager.’
He shook his head. ‘No. For one thing, I wouldn’t know where to start. For another, I couldn’t live off my wife, Ginny, I just couldn’t. And there are other things I need to do in Annsdale.’
She slipped an arm through his and held tight. ‘If you were with me, I could live in London, but I’ve never been happy here on my own and I’ve had three years working on the halls. I liked the applause, and the glamour, and the drinks and gossip in the bar with other artistes, but it’s not enough. It’s not a proper life and touring’s even worse. It’s miserable most of the time.’
‘But the audience loved you. They cheered you to the rafters.’
‘Audiences have illusions about you. It’s nothing to do with what you’re really like. They seem to love you while you can give a good performance, and they turn on you if you can’t. A lot of artistes are dead of drink at not much over fifty, and they usually start drinking to help them face audiences when they’re not on top form. And nobody can be on top form all the time. I don’t want that. What I want is a man, and there’s only one who’ll do for me. So I’m not staying if you won’t stay with me. I’m coming back to Annsdale with you.’
‘You’ll be wasted in Annsdale, Ginny. You
’re good on the stage. Really good. It’s what you’re cut out for.’
‘It’s not. I’m cut out to be Mrs Jude and help you keep the Cock. You once said, “You’ve got to be where your sympathies are, lass.” So I have, and my sympathies are with you.’
He hesitated, looking deep into her inky black eyes. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘I can’t be happy without you, Martin.’
Ignoring all the bystanders, he took her by her waist and lifted her off her feet, laughing up at her as he swung her round. ‘Well, you know what I am, and what I’ve got to offer, and that’s not much,’ he said, setting her down again, ‘so if you’re set on swapping fame and fortune for Martin Jude, I can’t stop you!’
On Tuesday morning, after a tearful dawn farewell to George and Agnes, Ginny followed Lizzie and Martin on to the train. Lizzie, exhausted, soon fell asleep. They travelled in silence for an hour or so, and then Martin cleared his throat.
‘If I can’t talk you out of marrying me, what would you think of buying the Cock with what you make on your house? We could be sure then that I’d never be out of a job again, and neither would Emma. I’ll soon learn the trade, and I’ll make a go of it.’
Ginny was silent, looking out of the carriage window, staring unseeing at the scudding clouds.
‘You wouldn’t be a loser, Ginny. I’ll work like a slave and pay you back tenfold.’
‘I know you would, Martin,’ she said, quietly, ‘but I was going to buy Mam a house with some of that money.’
‘Aye, well, right enough, bonnie lass.’ He was silent for a couple of minutes. ‘The house your mam’s in should be safe, you know. The owners’ll let her stay on, with her man being killed in the pit.’
‘I know that, Martin, but I wanted to buy her a nice little cottage in Annsdale.’
‘Well, more credit to you for thinking of your mam, then. Although, a year or two in the Cock might get us enough money to buy her a one anyway.’
She deliberated for a few moments, chewing her lip. ‘It’s not only me mam. I just know the new owner wouldn’t want to sell.’
A Sovereign for a Song Page 25