The Runaway

by Audrey Reimann

  From the carriage windows he saw men in the fields walking behind heavy horses and it felt a lifetime since he’d been one of them. He knew in himself how much he had changed. He was not as hot-headed, more in control of himself.

  Lucy Grandison, on his fortnightly visits to Balgone, had helped to urbanise him. He leaned back against the train carriage’s upholstery and closed his eyes, smiling to himself as he remembered the brash character he had been when first they’d met.

  Subtly, by example, she had civilised him. She had invited her friends to meet him and had taught him the manners of the drawing room. She had let him escort her and with the utmost tact shown him how polite society was conducted. And as ever he had been quick to learn. Now he could disport himself well in both worlds; his world of trading where manners were a hindrance and their world, the snobbish society of the upper classes where traders were held in contempt.

  He did not think he would ever settle a score with his fists again. He opened his eyes and gazed out on the fields and forests. Through the familiar landscapes, steam high above the carriages, the train gathered speed between stations on the descent into Nottingham.

  He bought lace for the stalls and finished early after checking that his purchases were loaded on to the train he caught to return.

  Back in Middlefield Oliver saw his parcels safely on to the carrier’s cart. It was a fine, warm day and he ran up the Wallgate to loosen his legs and strode confidently across the market place.

  ‘Mr Wainwright?’ Oliver turned at the sound of his name and saw that a constable had come from the police office and was hailing him. ‘Can you come inside for a few minutes?’ the man said. ‘The sergeant wants to see you.’

  The burly young copper had a different air from the tone of bantering joviality he normally used. Oliver re-crossed the square and entered the tiny waiting room. The place was dark and dirty. It was a great inconvenience, being hindered like this. Oliver wanted to go to the mill before the last relay came in. He was also annoyed by the curt manner of the young policeman.

  The elderly sergeant came to the door of his office and motioned him inside in silence. As soon as the door was closed the officer unlocked a cupboard and brought a wooden box to the table. It held a collection of jewellery, some of it good, heavy stuff, other pieces ordinary. There were two gold watches, an emerald and pearl ring and a necklace of garnets set in gold. The rest were no more than trinkets and glass beads.

  ‘Have you seen these before, Mr Wainwright?’ the sergeant asked. He was watching Oliver closely and his manner was formal.

  Oliver knew that the man expected him to confess to knowledge of their theft, for theft it must be. ‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘Why are you asking me?’ Inside he was seething. The man had no reason to think of him as dishonest. Why should he be under suspicion of stealing?

  ‘They were taken from the pawnbroker’s back room last night. A man answering your description was seen running from the shop after dark. The bag was hidden in a place I’m not prepared to disclose to you. I must ask for an account of your movements.’

  A man answering his description? Tommy? For God’s sake. Tommy wouldn’t be involved in anything like this, surely? Oliver managed to control the expression on his face, to convey dignity with innocence. ‘If you come with me to The Pheasant, sergeant, I can prove to you that I spent last night in the company of my partner, Albert Billington. We use one of the storerooms to prepare stock for the next day’s work. Mr and Mrs Billington will tell you so.’ He stood up to leave.

  ‘Do you know why the goods were pawned in your name?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Do you use the services of the pawnbroker?’

  ‘No. And I never will! I can’t tell you anything about the stuff. There must be other Wainwrights in the town. The man could have used a false name,’ Oliver replied but his heart sank as he spoke the words of indignation. If Tommy was on the road to crime then it must be because he, Oliver, had not protected him well enough, not taught him honesty.

  The sergeant put the jewellery away and opened the door for him. ‘There were other articles in the hiding place, Wainwright. Our men will be watching to see if the thief returns.’

  Oliver ran to The Pheasant. It was a long time since he had felt such anger. He ran up the stairs from the yard behind the kitchen, his feet noisy on the narrow, unpolished flight. Their stockroom, at the top of the house, was the attic he had once used; an ill-lit place with one tiny window.

  Oliver opened the chests, checking their contents. All were half-empty. Some had been packed with newspaper under the tissue, making the boxes appear full. He was livid. How could he? How could Tommy do this? They’d trusted him. They had to trust, there was no other way of working together. And now the lad was in trouble; not only with them but with the police. He must put a stop to his cheating and put Tommy beyond the reach of the law.

  He thundered down to the kitchen where Ma Billington and the kitchen maid were peeling potatoes for the supper. A pot of beef stew simmered on the range, ready for customers and family alike. The two women jumped in alarm as Oliver, his face hard and set, asked, ‘Did you know Tommy was stealing?’

  ‘Ee, Oliver!’ Ma Billington was evidently glad that she could tell him at last. ‘He’s a bad ’un, that brother of yours. I’m right sorry to tell you so. We have to watch him all the time in case he makes off wi’ owt. It’s right you should know. I said to Leonard, “It’s not fair Oliver and our Albert working their tripes out for that wicked little devil to take it all.”’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Billington. I’ll see there’s no more of it. I’ll give him what he deserves when I catch him,’ Oliver said grimly. ‘Tell Albert when he comes in not to wait up for me. I may be late but it could be tomorrow. Don’t worry. Say nothing to the police if they come. Tell them I’ll call in and see them on my way back. Just tell them that I was here last night.’

  He made his way back to the station the long way round, not passing the market or police office and waited, pacing the dusty platform, backwards and forwards, mouth set and grim, all his fine manners forgotten, hands eager to get his brother in their grip, to shake and strike him.

  The train arrived in a cloud of steam, which rebounded off the glazed canopy above the station, temporarily obscuring the faces of the passengers who alighted. Tommy was there. It would be obvious from Oliver’s face that he’d been caught out.

  Tommy stood by the bags, defiance in the posture of his wiry body. ‘Well?’ His voice was mocking. ‘I suppose you’ve found out about my bad deeds?’

  Oliver sent him sprawling with a quick blow from his right hand. ‘Get up!’ he barked, his eyes blazing with rage. ‘And get up quick and come with me quietly if you want your bloody face saving.’

  Tommy struggled to his feet, diving off to the left of his brother. Oliver put out his foot and sent the boy to the ground. This time Oliver took him by the collar and wrenched him to his feet, Tommy’s face level with his own, his feet off the ground.

  ‘Before I kill you, lad, do as I say. Follow me. Don’t try any bloody tricks.’

  The stout, uniformed stationmaster hurried towards them. ‘I’ll have no brawling on my station,’ he said officiously.

  ‘Move over!’ Oliver pushed the little man aside and led Tommy into the booking hall. ‘Deliver these bags to The Pheasant,’ he told the station boy. ‘There’s an extra sixpence for you if you take them now. Tell Albert Billington I’ll be back in a day or two.’

  He rapped on the glass. ‘Two tickets to Manchester. One single, one return.’

  There was a train due and they were seated and steaming through the industrial heart of Lancashire within the hour. Oliver did not look out of the windows at the narrow streets, shiny black railway arches, rows of houses and muddy alleyways. He sat, grimly determined, watching Tommy.

  The streets gave way to city warehouses and factories and soon they halted at London Road station. Tommy had sat sulking and soundless throughout the journey, and was now reluctan
t to alight and follow Oliver. And again Oliver, tight-lipped, dragged Tommy from his seat, almost ripping his thin coat sleeve. ‘Keep going. We’re not there yet.’

  Down the long approach slope, with its iron handrail separating foot passengers from horse wagons, they hurried. Oliver headed through the crowded city centre to the other, bigger Exchange station.

  ‘A single and a return to Liverpool,’ he demanded.

  ‘What are we going to Liverpool for? Can’t we talk?’ Tommy said at last. ‘Is the single ticket for me?’

  The train to Liverpool was crowded but Oliver kept Tommy firmly by his side. As it drew to a halt he grabbed his brother again, as if to thwart any attempt on his part to escape, and drew him to a line of hackney carriages. ‘Take us to the docks.’ He pushed Tommy ahead of him and they sat in the comfort of the leather upholstery.

  ‘Now, our Tommy. Now I’m going to tell you what’s to become of you.’ Oliver faced his brother. ‘You’re going to join the navy! You’re going to live for a while with the big, tough men you like. You want to be a man, don’t you? You want to gamble and cheat? Well, you’ll not stop me from doing what I want to do and I won’t stop you either.’

  Tommy still had a defiant look about him and Oliver shook him roughly before continuing in a voice as hard as iron. ‘If you return to Middlefield you’ll be arrested. The police have got the stuff you stole and your mates are going to think you told on them when they’re picked up tonight.’

  ‘I never—’ Tommy started to protest.

  ‘Shut your mouth. Before I do it for you,’ Oliver said. He knew when Tommy was lying. ‘You know how serious this is. You’re no fool.’

  Tommy looked repentant for the first time as Oliver returned to the subject. ‘So you won’t dare show your miserable little face in Middlefield,’ he told him. ‘But you’ll learn all about cheating if you want to. You’ll learn about it from men who’ve been at it a lot longer than you! And you’ll learn about other things. Like being trusted by your mates. When you’re out there at sea with a hard day’s work under your belt and, if that’s what you want, nothing but a black eye to show for it, you’ll soon learn what trust means. It might make a man of you, Tommy. I can’t.’

  It took two days, two hungry days of passing from navy offices to merchant navy companies, army recruiting offices and finally to an Australian shipping office before Tommy was taken on, as a deckhand. He was sixteen and had no documents to prove to anybody who he was.

  The Australian emigration official didn’t care about documents. ‘You look strong and healthy enough,’ he declared, ‘and you’ll work your passage out. What does a birth certificate matter? Apply for one when you get out there; nothing easier.’

  Oliver gave Tommy twenty sovereigns, out of pity. He told him he was forgiven and to be sure to write. He saw Tommy on to the ship, saw the wretched little space the boy would have to sleep in, met the rough crew he’d have to learn to live with. He choked back a sudden urge to take Tommy by the arm and hide him somewhere, where the police wouldn’t find him. He was losing the brother he loved, his last link with the father he’d loved; a Wainwright.

  Then he hugged Tommy, thanked the Australian and returned to Middlefield to assess his losses and lie in the arms of Rosie.

  Lucy was supervising the packing of her trunk. The maid folded her clothes, layering them with tissue paper. She would have a month in London with Laura and Florence before the Oldfields went to visit them. A letter had arrived that very morning from Florence and Lucy took it to her sitting room to read it again.

  Belgravia. Tuesday

  Dearest Aunt,

  The house is convenient and comfortable and far enough away from Uncle Godfrey for us to be able to avoid his company. Godfrey’s friends, as you know, are not acceptable to Mama who is throwing herself into an endless round of bustle in order to get me on everybody’s list.

  This morning I have fittings for the coming-out dress and three ball gowns. I have chosen my headdress. It has white ostrich feathers that sit at the back of my head. It makes me look tall and imposing.

  I do want to do Mama proud but so often I find I want to laugh at the wrong moments. But I expect I shall be too nervous when I’m presented to do anything other than follow the rules.

  I have met some interesting people and some so appalling that I cannot describe their stupidity without exaggeration. I envy and admire the girls I see at St Thomas’s Hospital when we take alms. They must think of us as empty-headed and trivial.

  Dearest Aunt, I find the whole business of being presented and entering a society I never wish to join a complete waste of time and effort. And it is all to find me a husband. How can I tell Mama that I shall never find a husband here?

  I long to be in Middlefield. I cannot bear to think that Oliver may forget me.

  You tell me that he is in good health and is changing into an assured and respected businessman but you do not tell me what I want to hear. Does he ask about me? When he escorts you to the theatre does he ever wish I were there too?

  Mama will not hear of our returning to Middlefield for another year at least but I am so longing to see you.

  Please bring me news of Oliver.

  Love, Florence

  Lucy sighed. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that she and Oliver never spoke about Florence. They talked about everything else but she would not be able to tell Florence what she wanted to hear.

  They had been lovers for over a year and their need of one another had not diminished, but had rather been fuelled by the necessity of working together during daylight hours, not daring to acknowledge their passion until they were alone.

  As their second spring gave way to warm, scented summer and the summer to a golden autumn Rosie’s fears grew. She was trapped by the power of her love but she knew they could not continue in this way for ever. She knew that he loved her. He was not a man who needed the reassurance of frequent conquests, neither was dalliance in his make-up. He seemed not to notice the charms of other girls. There were comely girls by the score in Middlefield; girls who threw bold looks at him and yet he appeared not to see them.

  But when Rosie was alone with her thoughts she was assailed with fears and guilt. If this love that she felt was in reality the lust of the scriptures, then the sermonisers had need to fear its sweeping hold.

  And what of the other face of love; the tenderness when their bodies were sated, the hopes for the lover’s happiness, the sharing of secrets no others could know? Was this sinful too? Could it be that the chapel wanted to keep from its members all knowledge of earthly love?

  She saw little evidence of earthly love on the faces she saw around her on Sundays when she stood in the pew. She could not imagine any of them doing as she had done and if they discovered her secret, she knew, they would shun her, cast her out, shame her and Jim.

  At the chapel Rosie prayed to be delivered from her passion for her lover; to regain the calm spirit that was hers before she had consented to be Oliver’s mistress. But she was torn. She was torn between her need for Oliver’s love and her duty to her husband and children. These tormenting thoughts did not come to her when he was near but she could not share these fears with Oliver. He had shown a new side of his character to her since they had become lovers. He had shown an intolerant, possessive side of his nature and seemed impatient with the need for secrecy.

  And what if it were no longer a secret? Already people knew. She counted them daily and the list seemed to grow. There was Albert, and therefore Edith. Rosie herself had confided in her sister, Agnes. Agnes had visited earlier in the summer and she and Oliver could not keep apart for her sister’s month-long stay.

  Rosie was sure that most of the weavers knew. Weavers had no need for words. They could communicate by a lift of the eyebrow. A look passing between their forewoman and the mill-owner would be interpreted accurately.

  It was a warm August night and she waited for him, slipping quietly from the room where Jim lay in broken sl
eep through the hours of darkness, tiptoeing into the back bedroom where her three girls slept soundly, watching for him from behind the white cotton curtains, standing back from the window, every pulse in her body keeping pace with her hammering heart; waiting for him to swing into her little back yard from the alley.

  She came to him in her nightgown and they lay together on a bedspread she had placed on the floor of her parlour and tonight she told him of her fears. She told him of her fear that their affair was no longer secret, but he laughed at her. Oliver would not admit to complications in what was to him the simple fact of their love.

  ‘Does it matter?’ he teased her, sliding his hands under the folds of her nightgown, drawing her to him. ‘Who cares if they know? It’s only for Jim’s sake that I’m being so careful.’

  ‘But you must come back to earth, love. We have to live like this. Oh, Lord, I wish I could stop loving you now,’ Rosie replied.

  When he kissed her, her fears were forgotten. Their lovemaking was wild and abandoned. When they were together nothing mattered but the desires they inflamed in each other. But there was another question that needed an answer, and after they had made love and he lay beside her, spent and content, Rosie brought herself to whisper it.

  ‘What about your promise to Florence?’

  It was almost dark but she saw the clouding in Oliver’s eyes as he sat up and leaned his elbows on his strong, bare thighs.

  ‘Who told you about Florence?’ His voice was controlled and suddenly distant.

  Rosie clasped her arms around her knees. Her hair fell forward and concealed her face. ‘I’ve known about her from the beginning,’ she said in a breaking voice. ‘It was all over the mill. All the weavers spoke about her and how you wanted to marry her.’

  She had filled the hearth with late cabbage roses and their heady scent filled the little room, making her feel faint.

  ‘It was true. I did. But I don’t want to marry her now. I want to marry you and I can’t.’ He spoke quietly and did not look at her but stared with unseeing eyes at the floral curtains. ‘You’ve told me about you and Jim. How you met and why you married. I know you were happy enough until I came along …’