His eyes widened in astonishment. ‘You know who the owner is? You know more than anybody else, then. The agent wouldn’t even give me his name. And you know him?’
She nodded, still staring out of the window. ‘I know him very well.’
‘Who is he, Ginny?’
She turned to face him. ‘I’m looking at him.’
Martin’s jaw dropped. ‘You what?’
‘I had all the same ideas you’ve just put to me. So when I knew you’d never get a job, and you wouldn’t marry me until you had a one, I put a bid in for the Cock through an agent in Durham. It’s yours already, Martin.’
Early on a bright April morning Emma was married to Jimmy in the little Catholic church, with as little ceremony as the church could desire for a mixed marriage.
‘No flowers and no music. The bishop wasn’t going to let it be much of a wedding for you if he could help it, Emma,’ said their mother as the wedding party followed the bridal pair through the sombre streets afterwards, with Jimmy hobbing on a leg that still refused to heal.
‘I don’t care. I’ve got Jimmy, that’s all I want. I’m happy.’
Jimmy gave his young wife a look of sheer admiration. ‘And so am I. I’ve got the bonniest lass in Annsdale. She looks grand in that new frock, Ginny.’
A cheerful fire roared up the chimney in the best room at the Cock, where they sat down to breakfast. Ginny watched Martin look about him, seeming unable to believe his good fortune in stepping into such a property.
‘Will you all toast the bridal pair in a glass of champagne?’ the landlord asked after the remains of the meal had been cleared. ‘To the best little barmaid I ever had, and her lucky husband. A long and happy life together.’
Ginny heaved a sigh of envy. It would be another two weeks before her wedding to Martin, and she hardly knew how to bear the wait.
It was a tight squeeze at home when Jimmy moved in. Ginny’s mother let the bridal pair have the bed in the front room, and moved upstairs to sleep with her daughters. With her disgraced eldest soon to be a wife, and her pregnant daughter married, she seemed a little more cheerful. ‘Although I don’t know what sort of work he’s going to find if that leg of his gets no better,’ she told Ginny as they lay in bed that night.
Chapter 26
When she saw Martin ready for their own wedding, Ginny’s heart overflowed with gratitude and love. ‘You do forgive me, don’t you?’ she whispered.
He took her into his arms and held her tight, and she was surprised to see tears in his eyes. ‘It’s not for me to forgive you, bonny lass. You must forgive me. I knew how much I was hurting you that first time I came to see you at your mam’s, and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to punish you, and I’d no right. You didn’t belong to me. All that’s done with now, and I’ll love you and cherish you for the rest of my days.’
She felt that sudden, secret thrill in the pit of her belly so intensely it made her catch her breath. ‘And serve me?’ she murmured.
His arms loosened their grasp on her. She could have bitten her tongue out. To say such a thing to him, something so coarse it couldn’t help but force the most hideous remembrance of her life with Charlie Parkinson on him. She felt a pang of fear that she had disgusted him. An instant later she felt his arms tighten around her, pressing her closely, fiercely, to him until she could hardly breathe. She felt him shake, felt his breath on her ear. He was laughing.
‘Better than you’ve ever been served in your life before, bonny lass.’
He held her a moment or two longer in a suffocating squeeze before his strong, honest man’s hands were round her waist, and he was holding her at arm’s length. His eyes danced, and the faintest blush appeared on his cheeks. ‘An’ I can do it an’ all,’ he laughed, ‘so don’t think I can’t.’
They walked together through streets still hung with black crêpe towards the chapel, where Emma and Jimmy were waiting, and after the simplest wedding the village had ever seen they parted company from their witnesses and returned to Mam Smith’s.
Martin went to the mantelpiece and took down the photograph of his dead wife, while Mam Smith and Philip looked on without protest. Ginny took the photograph from him. The smiling girl of her dream stared out at her; the girl who was caring for her baby in the land of the dead. Ginny carefully put the photograph back in its place.
‘Let her stay where she is, where she can see us. When we get to the Cock, we’ll have her up in the bar.’ At the soft note in her voice, and the quick moistening of her eyes, Mam Smith and Martin exchanged curious glances. Philip hurled himself at her and wrapped his arms round her legs, squeezing her tight.
‘I love you, Ginny,’ he said.
She ruffled his curls. ‘I love you, an’ all.’
‘You’re a better lass than I took you for, Ginny,’ said Mam Smith, ‘but Maria’s photo stops here with me. Come on, Philip, we’ll go for a walk in the park and maybe drop in on Mary Ann. We’ll be gone hours, three at the least.’
‘In the midst of death, we are in life,’ said Martin, as he waved them off. He locked the door after them and put the key ceremoniously in his pocket, then turned towards her, eyes twinkling and lips parted in a wide smile. ‘There’s no escape for you now, Ginny my lass, so get upstairs this minute and into bed, because if you don’t, I’ll make you Mrs Jude here on the clippy mat.’
He lunged towards her, eyes crossed and pleasing smile turning into a wolfish leer. She shrieked and slipped away from him, then dashed into the kitchen towards the stairs. He caught her halfway up, and they collapsed on the steps, giggling like children. He lifted her and, as if she weighed no more than a baby, carried her the rest of the way.
He was a lover. Knowing him as she did, how could she ever have doubted it? He made her feel clean, whole, cherished, guiltless. He had vowed, ‘with my body I thee worship,’ and slowly, tenderly, he showed her fully what he’d meant. His caresses and his murmurings of love warmed her heart and healed her soul. In the warm and happy afterglow of perfect lovemaking, she smiled up at him.
‘You look like the cat that got the cream,’ he teased.
‘I got something a lot better than the cream. I got you.’
‘And I got you.’ He lay beside her and between kisses he murmured, ‘And this between the two of us, well, if God made anything better, he kept it to Himself.’
‘You said God was a Jewish fairy tale.’
‘Aye, well, I’m not so sure now.’
‘How could you live without it for three years, Martin?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t bear to string anybody along that I didn’t really love. And I didn’t want to get any lass with a bairn and have to marry her for the sake of it. I don’t know. You just don’t give way to it. I found plenty of work to do.’
‘I’m glad you waited for me. I wish I could have waited for you. You’re my one and only true love. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Aye. I know that,’ he smiled. ‘You’ve loved me for a long time.’
‘I know I have. But how did you know?’
‘You told me. When you helped me with Maria. When you asked me to take you to the dancing, when you fought to empty my bathwater, when you went away after your father kneed me in the face. When you stopped me at the pit to tell me it wasn’t your fault. When you said, ‘I’ll do anything you want, Martin,” that first day you were back and I came to see you at your mother’s. I was sick with jealousy and anger, but when you said that I wanted you so much I could have ripped the clothes off you and taken you there and then, and I might have if I hadn’t got out. But most of all, when you said, “Oh, Martin, I’m so afraid. I wish you wouldn’t go down again,” and I could see you meant it. You’ve loved me for a long time, and I must have known for a long time, only I didn’t realize it until you went away on the train. Then I started to love you back.’
‘That was when you said, “Oh, Ginny, if only”,’ she said, kissing him again. ‘I often used to wonder wha
t you meant by that.’
‘Everything and nothing. If only your dad was different, or Philip and Mam could have withstood him. If only I’d had more money and could have kept you, if only grieving for Maria hadn’t been so new, then I could have thought of you. A lot of things.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t a virgin, Martin. I was frightened you wouldn’t want me because of it.’
He returned her kisses. ‘I want you all right, and I always will. You’re mine now and we love each other. That’s all that matters.’
He drew her towards him to begin more fond and gentle lovemaking. Later, lying in his arms, she had a sense that they were safe from all hurt, as if they were cradled in the palm of God’s hand. At length, she said, ‘It must be a sin to be so happy when so many people are in mourning.’
‘I know. It’s terrible, terrible to say it, but every time I got out of that pit, and when I saw them all stretched out in death, all I could think was, “My God, I’m still alive,” and all I could feel was glad, glad that that cup of bitterness had passed from my lips. We’ll do everything we can for everybody, but don’t ask me to begrudge us the happiness we’ve got. They’ve got their grieving to do and we cannot do it for them. Us being miserable’ll not make them any happier.’
‘I suppose you’re right, and like Mam says, a bit of help’s worth a lot of pity. All the same . . .’
‘I know. All the same. We’ll do what we can.’
Chapter 27
Strolling arm in arm with Martin along the riverbank with the fresh moist autumn air in her nostrils and birds soaring overhead wild and free, Ginny drank in the beauty of her beloved North Country. The red and gold of the leaves which rustled underfoot and floated gently on the river heralded again the dying, mournful time of year, but now a deep contentment left no room in her heart for either pain or regret.
Turning for home, they heard the strains of a lament on Northumberland pipes, a sound unheard in the village since Bob Dyer had been sealed in the pit six months earlier. The thought of old Bob sitting playing made the hair stand up on the back of her-neck. They walked briskly on to find the musician waiting patiently on the bench outside the Cock. Not Bob, but a stranger. Leaving Martin to open the bar, Ginny ran upstairs to wash and tidy herself, then, looking every inch the young landlady, she joined her husband and their new customer.
‘Aye, the new owners might be all right. It’s not very likely, but they might run against the general grain of owners, and I hope they do; but it still won’t hurt to bargain from a position of strength, and the only strength for the pitmen is unity. Join the Union; it’s the only way to get decent treatment for everybody. No weak links in the chain. Any man willing to trade his own safety for company favour, or to take less than a fair rate for the job makes conditions worse for himself and everybody else.’
She looked at him fondly, Martin Jude, the Union’s most zealous evangelist. The newcomer was obviously getting more than the beer he had bargained for. Ginny’s fondness didn’t blind her to the effect Martin’s intensity of feeling had on people who didn’t know him – it was apt to make them flee. The man began to look hunted, overwhelmed by this deluge of persuasion from such an unexpected source as the landlord of a well-kept inn. She went to his rescue.
‘Give him a chance, Martin. Let him have his pint in peace, at least. He might become one of our regulars if you don’t drive him away before he can enjoy it.’
The customer shot her a look of gratitude. ‘Thanks, missus.’ He took a long, appreciative draught of the best beer for miles around, then, wiping the froth from his lip with the back of his hand, asked, in accents more northerly than Wearham’s, ‘Any idea where I can get decent lodgings?’
Ginny appraised him. Late forties maybe, greying, average height and well made, clean, but down at heel and shabby. He carried his belongings in a canvas bag, but the pride in his bearing commanded respect and his manners were good.
‘Will you be bringing your family here once you get settled?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I’m a widower. Only got three kids, all married. We’ve all moved about a bit. Pits open, pits shut, you move on to get work. If there’s enough here, I’ll let me lads know. They might want to come.’
‘Why, there’s plenty of lodgings round here. At nearly every other house there’s some poor woman lost her man, or her lads. Any of ’em might be glad of a lodger,’ said Martin, voice laden with bitterness against those who had made it so.
‘I’ll give you a good address,’ said Ginny, taking an instant liking to the man. ‘She’s a proper lady, mind, and if she can’t help you, she’ll put you on to somebody who can. Go to number eleven Snowdrop Terrace, and see Mrs Smith. Say Ginny sent you.’
Martin looked startled, then said, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ginny.’
‘Let Mrs Smith be the judge of that. She’ll send him somewhere as good if it’s not.’
The Vines and their partners had gone. The pit had fallen into the hands of a Mr Woolfe, another mining engineer cum speculative investor, who astutely bought it at a knock-down price in view of its condition and the fervent wish of its former owners to be quit of it and the district.
In the long term, its rich seams and the ready availability of the skilled labour necessary to exploit them promised amply to repay his outlay. Mr Woolfe was a man of energy and enterprise, and had set men to the tasks of repairing the shafts, pumping out water, and surveying the mine. It was now restored to a safe enough condition to be worked. He was recruiting labour, and migrant miners were beginning to arrive from neighbouring villages and further afield.
‘Why didn’t you send him to your own mother’s?’ asked Martin, when he’d served the handful of midday customers and the piper had left the bar.
‘Her new house is a lot bigger than the old one, I know, but it’s still full with her own three and our Emma and Jimmy and the baby. Besides, I don’t think she’s in the humour for a new husband yet. Maybe in another eighteen months or so, I’ll send somebody along,’ smiled Ginny with a twinkle in her eye.
Martin gaped. ‘What makes you think Mam Smith wants a new husband? She’s never shown any sign of it to me.’
‘She probably didn’t want one while she had you and Philip to look after, but now I think she’s lonely. I see the way she looks at the two of us sometimes. Wistful, like.’
‘You daft ha’p’orth. She doesn’t get the chance to be lonely. Philip’s there more than he’s here.’
‘He’s at school and out playing more than he’s at either place. And visiting’s not the same. A bit of extra money never hurts, and she needs somebody to look after. A nice, tidy widower who can play her a tune on his pipe – just the thing to put the sparkle back in any widow’s eyes.’
Martin laughed at the sly expression on her face and hit her with the bar-cloth. ‘I hope we don’t get wrong for sending him, that’s all.’
She eventually bolted the door on the last daytime customer and helped him clear up, then took him by the hand, a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘Come on. All this talk about needing husbands reminds me how much I need mine.’
Along with Tom Hood and a couple of others, Martin was a trustee of the distress fund. He did most of the administration and the beneficiaries of the fund called at the Cock on Friday mornings for their entitlement. Although there was little likelihood he would ever work in a pit again, Martin still did most of the secretarial work for the Union and the Cock assumed a new role; that of the regular Union meeting place. Asserting the rights of the working man and fostering political enlightenment were objectives dear to the landlord’s heart. Ginny cared little for politics, but made an ideal publican’s wife, witty, sociable, and, when playing the landlady, always good-humoured. It was his little firebrand of a barmaid who endorsed all Martin’s views on politics and unionism, with a fervour that matched his own.
Emma arrived early that evening. ‘That sore on Jimmy’s leg’s broken down again,’ she told them,
‘I don’t know when it’s ever going to heal properly. It seems all right for a bit, then it starts weeping again, and it smells. He keeps saying it’ll be all right, but I can tell he’s in pain with it.’
‘He’s the best little feller I’ve ever known,’ said Martin. ‘You never hear a word of complaint from him. He ought to have had more compensation for that. He’ll never be fit for hewing again.’
‘We’re hoping for the best,’ said Emma, taking off her hat and coat, ‘and at least he’s got a job in the engine room. He might not want to work at the face again, once he gets used to it.’
‘Not as much money, though.’
‘But at least he’s safe. I just wish his leg would heal.’
‘How’s me mam?’
‘Better than anybody can remember. I think it’s the first time in me life I’ve seen her without bruises.’
‘Aye,’ Ginny sighed, ‘and who’d ever have thought he’d die a hero’s death in the end?’
‘I don’t think anybody ever thought he was a coward, but he was a bad old bugger to us all the same.’
Martin looked mildly disapproving but, unable to refute the truth of Emma’s last statement, he reversed it. ‘He was a bad old so-and-so to you, but he died a hero’s death in the end. You two stop up here and have a bit chat for half an hour. I’ll go and open up.’
‘Poor soul, he looks weary,’ commented Emma once Martin was out of earshot. ‘You’ll wear him out faster than the pub or the Union will. I bet you never leave him alone. You’re happy now you’ve a licence to romp in bed with him all night.’
‘Half the day as well. Love and lust. Marriage is marvellous. It gives you a right to pester a man to death.’
‘You’re bloody awful, our Ginny. I can’t wait to see you with a bairn to keep you awake half the night. Let’s see how keen you are then,’ Emma laughed.
‘You might not have long to wait.’
A Sovereign for a Song Page 26