A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  John was sitting slurping tea at the table, dressed for work. He had avoided her all week, hardly giving her a glance, and Kate wondered what he recalled of the previous Saturday. Something about his awkwardness towards her suggested that he was eager to be rid of her; she was a thorn under his skin.

  ‘Kate’s off then, John,’ Rose said stiffly.

  He looked up and nodded. ‘You behave yourself and work hard. Don’t do owt to bring shame to your mother or me, do you hear?’

  ‘No, Father, course not.’ Kate hesitated. A week ago she would have dashed forward and planted a kiss on his hollowed cheeky but now she was wary. ‘Ta-ra then.’

  She clattered out of the cottage with Rose following into the dewy morning light. Her mother pressed a parcel of jam sandwiches wrapped in brown paper into her hands. ‘Take care of yoursel’, hinny.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Kate flung her arms around her mother’s neck, squashing the bundle of food. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Aye, don’t fuss.’ Rose pushed her away gently. ‘Tell Lizzie I’m askin’ after her and let us know when you’re settled.’

  Her words sounded final, as if she did not expect a swift return. Rose’s wistful look and the way she fondly adjusted her daughter’s straw hat was too much for Kate. The tears that were stinging her eyes flooded down her pale cheeks.

  ‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to!’

  Mary huffed down the path. ‘Well, I’ll go then.’

  Rose thrust a rag of pocket handkerchief at Kate. ‘Course you’ll go. Wipe your eyes and let’s hear no more wailin’. Now be off with you or Jack’ll be late for his lessons.’

  Kate blew her nose and tried to quell the sobbing she felt welling up inside. She did not attempt to kiss her mother again.

  ‘I’ll write. Mary can read it to you.’

  Rose nodded and waved her away. Kate gave one last look at the cottage as they turned into the lane. Rose was still standing in the doorway, her face in shadow. The brooding cooing of hens broke the early morning quiet and the smell of damp earth and wet grass was strong. She waved and just as she turned away she caught sight of John’s tall figure come to the door to watch.

  ‘Tak’ care, lass,’ he called.

  Kate felt a sudden pang that she hadn’t said a proper goodbye. Her feelings for him were so mixed at that moment. She remembered how it felt as a small girl to be desperate for his attention. There was a time when he had laughed easily, teased them and taken them to the circus. How had that man turned into one with such a ferocious temper and a raging anger against the world? But part of her would always be frightened of him. Like a simmering pot that might boil over, he could never quite be trusted. She waved back and linked arms with Mary and Jack.

  They said little to each other as they walked down to Tyne Dock, though Mary made comments about people as they passed and her mood lightened the nearer they grew to the streets, with their bustle of traders and workers. She was happy to hang around for the train and spin out her jaunt to the station, but Jack was edgy and eager to be gone. He hovered impatiently while Kate bought her ticket to Lamesley.

  Then he dumped down Kate’s basket. ‘I’ll be late for school if I wait any longer.’

  Kate knew that he wouldn’t, but didn’t argue. It would only embarrass him if she hung on to his arm and begged him to stay.

  ‘Ta-ra, kiddar.’ She smiled and ruffled his hair. ‘Promise I’ll be back soon.’

  He hesitated a moment, his dark blue eyes unsure, then nodded and turned on his heels. Her half-brother sprinted away without a backward glance and disappeared into the smoky street.

  ‘Pity they don’t teach him to speak at school,’ Mary said drily.

  Kate sighed. ‘It’s just me and you then. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.’

  Mary snorted. ‘You’re not getting rid of me so quickly. I’ll say the train was late and have a bit look round the shops before I go back up that muddy lane.’

  Kate could not help laughing. She swung an arm round her contrary sister.

  ‘Eeh, Mary. I think I’ll miss you too!’

  Mary snorted. ‘No you won’t. Anyways, I’ll not miss you. I’ll have a whole bed to myself and maybes Mam might notice I’m there with you gone.’

  Kate gave an impatient sigh, but knew there was no point arguing. Mary thought she was hard done by, and once she had a notion about something there was nothing anyone could say that would change her way of thinking.

  The train pulled in with a squeal of wheels and sigh of steam. Kate picked up her basket and gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek.

  ‘Take care of Mam - and our Jack.’

  Mary pursed her lips, but nodded. Kate thought she would say nothing, so she turned and clambered into the nearest carriage.

  As she turned to get a glimpse out of the window, Mary called out, ‘Write and tell us what it’s like - what the gentry are wearing. Bring me some’at back, won’t you? Don’t forget.’

  Kate nodded and waved. She had no idea what she was supposed to bring back, but she would try to find something to please her sister. A moment later the train was jolting into movement and pulling away from the station. Kate peered through the blast of smoke for a final glimpse of Mary. Her heart hammered in sudden panic at what she was doing, leaving the familiar surroundings of Jarrow and South Shields for an unknown life in the countryside. At that moment she wanted to hang on to her sister and not let her go. She waved frantically, but someone had shut the window to keep out the smoke and the moment to shout a farewell was gone.

  Kate squeezed into a seat in the middle of the carriage but craned for a view out of the grimy window. It all passed so quickly and the smoke was still thick around them, but she thought she recognised the stretch of embankment at Cleveland Place. She wondered if her mother paused in hanging out her washing to come to the back fence and watch the train go by.

  When the rows of blackened terraces and spires of Jarrow gave way to the sprawling village of Hebburn and its docks, Kate thought of Sarah. There had been no time to see her older sister to explain what she was doing. Mam had said she would tell her on her next visit. Kate determined she would write a letter when she was settled.

  Then all the familiar landmarks were past and the train hurried on into the towering tenements of Gateshead, where she had to change for her train south to Lamesley. By the time she was boarding the second train her nervousness was changing into excitement at her new adventure. She gazed out of the window as the train took her out of the teaming metropolis of Gateshead, heading south, and abruptly plunged her into a world of ripening com fields and undulating hills.

  ***

  That day at the docks, men knew by the brooding look on old McMullen’s pasty face not to speak to him or get in his way. When the dark moods took a hold of him it was best to let him work in silence. Some said he’d been like that since his army days in Afghanistan, about which he refused to talk. Others murmured he must be suffering from too long a night in the Twenty-Seven. Many wondered if there had been trouble at home, but it was pointless to ask. John McMullen was too proud to admit there was anything wrong, and what went on in a man’s home was his own business.

  Mary hummed to herself as she dawdled along the street, watching the shopkeepers winding out their faded canopies against the July glare. She peered into shop windows, yearning to touch the soft fabrics in the draper’s, smell the soaps in the chemist’s and listen to the soft rustling of tissue paper in the haberdashery. She would be a collector of beautiful things to guard against the drabness of the world. Aunt Maggie’s love of books had shown her that there could be gentility in Jarrow, even among the dirt and poverty that were ever present like inferior neighbours.

  Mary smiled as she suddenly remembered that Kate had not taken her winter jacket with the blue velvet collar that s
he had coveted for three winters. Kate had said she’d be back long before it grew cold enough to wear. Mary would have it. It suited her better and she would wear it whatever the weather. Kate wouldn’t mind, and besides, she, Mary, deserved something in compensation for being the one left behind to slave for the family.

  On the point of turning for home, Mary caught sight of a stall selling second-hand books and periodicals. She hesitated. There was money in her purse to buy suet, but she had a sudden desire to treat her favourite aunt to one of the battered novels. She would call on Aunt Maggie before facing her mother. Maggie would give her a bacon knuckle or some split peas to make a soup that would compensate for the lack of suet. Rose would scold her but she did not care. Mary had learnt how to close her ears to shouting and threats until they subsided. Her mother was too crippled to run after her with a rolling pin, and nagging Kate was gone. She would do as she pleased. Mary went inside and bought a book.

  ***

  Left behind, Rose stabbed at the flapping shirts on the washing line with thick wooden pegs. Her arms ached from the savage pounding of washing in the poss tub that morning, but her face to her neighbours was expressionless. Only the redness of her eyelids betrayed the tears she had shed in the privacy of the wash house.

  Along the embankment, Jack threw stones on to the empty track, his face disconsolate in the silvery glare of a hazy sky.

  The scream of the train’s whistle still echoed in his ears like a tune that lingered in his head and would not be quiet. He would be late for school or maybe he would not go that day at all. He would be strapped, but he did not care. He would grit his teeth and not flinch. Jack could bear physical pain, would welcome it. Anything would be better than the strange aching in his chest that felt like suffocation. His eyes felt itchy as if he would cry, but only bairns and girls cried.

  He retreated to the oak tree and climbed into its comforting arms. Jack scraped at the lovers’ etched initials with his dangling boot.

  ‘Williamena Ferret-Face loves Richard Mudpie,’ he muttered.

  Then suddenly, bewilderingly, the leaden lump in his chest heaved and tears flooded his eyes. Jack gave out a sharp yelp. He curled into the tree, buried his face in his arms and wept.

  Chapter 4

  Alexander felt a familiar boyish rush of excitement as the horse and trap turned under the castellated gateway and waited for the lodge keeper to emerge. Impatient, he leapt down from the passenger’s seat.

  ‘I’ll walk up to the castle,’ he smiled at the coachman who had brought him from the station. He paid him his fare, waved away the change the man tried to give him and lifted down his leather case.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Bates!’ he called to the stooped retired gardener, whose sole responsibility now was to open and close the high wrought-iron gates at this seldom-used entrance to Ravensworth. Most of the many visitors who came and went from the bustling estate did so by the broad entrance and sweeping driveway to the north. The south lodge was almost obscured by foliage and the narrow turf drive was roofed by massive oaks and elms, creating a green mossy tunnel. But it reminded Alexander of childhood visits and on the spur of the moment he had got the coachman to stop.

  ‘Mr Pringle-Davies?’ The old man grinned with pleasure. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Grand day, Mr Bates. You look fighting fit as ever.’

  The keeper chuckled as he moved slowly to unlock the rusting gate.

  ‘Aye, grand day. Are you here for long, sir?’

  ‘A few days of business and a few more of pleasure, I should think,’ Alexander answered with a swift smile, clasping the man on the shoulder as he stepped through the gate. ‘Is Lady Ravensworth at home?’

  ‘Don’t rightly know,’ he wheezed. ‘I’ll ask the missus, she knows it all. If the cat sneezes in the castle kitchens she’s the first to hear it. Mrs Bates!’

  A tiny woman with an old-fashioned cap on her head and an even more bent posture than her husband came bowling out of the stone cottage. She looked up sideways and cried in delight at the sight of the tall young man.

  ‘Master Alexander! Come here and let me look at you. By, you’re as tall as a tree - and still your mother’s fair face, so you have. Such a bonny face!’

  Alexander blushed and laughed aloud. ‘You knew her better than me. I bow to your superior knowledge.’

  ‘Listen to you,’ she crowed, ‘words coming off your tongue like a proper gentleman. I don’t care what they say about you being a common Pringle, your mam was a Liddell as much as His Lordship’s a Liddell - and she was a real lady. I used to fill her bath for her and I can tell you—’

  ‘That’s enough, Mrs Bates,’ her husband coughed in warning. ‘Mr Pringle-Davies doesn’t want your life story, just wants to know if Lady Ravensworth is at home.’

  Mrs Bates clucked in disapproval. ‘No, she is not. Gone somewhere foreign - the Continent or the likes. Left His Lordship to his hunting. Not that he does much of that these days at his age - sleeps a lot in the library so I hear. Eighty-one. Still a handsome man, mind. And there’s the old dowager still at Farnacre, and she a hundred! They’re long-lived the Liddells - excepting your poor dear mother.’

  ‘Mrs Bates,’ her husband cautioned her again with one of his embarrassed coughs.

  ‘Thank you for your information,’ Alexander said with a reassuring smile, touching the old woman on the arm. ‘It’s good to see you’re still keeping a watchful eye on the place as ever, Mrs Bates. Just like you did when I was a boy.’

  She clung on to him. ‘Always enjoyed your visits, Master Alexander. Not the same without children about the castle -you were always the liveliest, a right little handful, but a loving nature. Didn’t I always say that, Mr Bates? A loving nature. Now there’s no children - just parties and balls and the like when the mistress is at home. Crying shame His Lordship has no son and heir—’

  ‘Mrs Bates!’ Mr Bates growled.

  Alexander tipped his hat at them both, waved a cheery goodbye and strode off up the track before Mrs Bates could waylay him with offers of tea and a further hour of gossip. She had been equally garrulous as a housemaid, easily distracted from her work when he had stayed at the castle as a boy. The orphan. ‘That poor baim’, as he had often overheard the staff describing him within earshot.

  Nobody had known quite what to make of him, Alexander thought with familiar discomfort. He was a Liddell through his mother. But she had eloped with a handsome Scots coachman, been outcast and then died, leaving the itinerant Pringle with a small boy on his hands. His father had handed him straight back to the Liddells and disappeared out of his life too.

  Alexander did not like to remember the painful, confusing years of being tossed around his mother’s family like a hot coal that no one wanted to handle. He had felt like one of the gentry, but the world had looked on him otherwise. He was classed as a wild Pringle and had played up to their disapproval, behaving as badly as he knew how. Only the intervention of His Lordship’s coal agent, Jeremiah Davies, had saved Alexander from his nomadic life and given him a home and education. Widowed and childless, the lonely businessman had offered to take on the troublesome boy as his own.

  As Alexander walked on the soft drive, breathing in the scent of pine needles and freshly cut logs, he felt a stirring of the old resentment. Then he mocked himself for his self-pity. He might be lumbered with the names of Pringle and Davies - half wayward Scot, half upright man of business - but he felt in his bones he was an aristocrat.

  ‘I am a Liddell!’ he cried at the trees and waved his walking cane at a pheasant that flapped in alarm across his path. He laughed his quick, deep-throated laugh. That was why he had the audacity to turn up at Ravensworth and expect Lord Ravensworth, his distant cousin, to offer him hospitality. He would not stay at the local inn like any ordinary commission agent or merchant. It was his birthright to stay in a pl
ace like Ravensworth. The earl was an amiable, generous man who had shown him kindness as a boy.

  Yet once he was in the care of Davies, relations with the Liddells had cooled, for it was socially awkward to have the adopted son of an employee holidaying at Ravensworth. Once more he had been rebuffed. Then the earl’s wife had died and to family surprise, Lord Ravensworth, at the age of seventy-one, had got remarried to a vivacious widow, who had breathed new life into the mournful estate and set little store by social convention.

  Alexander smiled at the thought of the handsome middle-aged widow Emma Sophia, who so relished life. She loved entertaining; lavish dinners, dances, picnics, hunts and a houseful of guests. She loved her new husband and his magnificent Gothic castle and she loved to fill it with lively young women and attractive young men who shared her appetite for society.

  When Alexander had first come on business on behalf of his adoptive father, Lady Ravensworth had insisted he stay on for a few days’ riding. The few days had turned into a fortnight, until Jeremiah had called him home to the south of the county and reprimanded him for outstaying his welcome. But Jeremiah was ageing and Alexander was quick to take up offers of travel on his behalf. On several occasions he had done business on behalf of the estate and the Liddells’ extensive coal interests. Usually his visits had coincided with a summer carnival or a winter ball to which he had been pressed to stay.

  It was too bad if Lady Ravensworth was away from home, Alexander thought ruefully. But he would beg a night or two with His Lordship and maybe there would be news of her return before he had to take ship from Newcastle. He was bound for Scandinavia and the Baltic States to secure contracts for selling coal and arranging return cargoes of timber for use in British mines.

  Travelling suited his restless nature and he spent more time roaming the art galleries and museums, and playing cards at the gaming tables of the richer hotels than he ever did haggling over the price of coal with the managers of Swedish iron ore mines. But he dressed and talked like an English gentleman and his mixture of charm and knowledge of the host country brought more success than Jeremiah’s honest but dour business talk.