A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Kate paused and whispered back, ‘I’ll write.’

  She took a swift farewell of Rose, hugging her briefly, but eager to be gone before John awoke.

  ‘Go and find our Jack,’ Rose told her. ‘He’ll be that upset if you go without saying goodbye. He misses you.’

  ‘Didn’t seem that pleased to see me,’ Kate pointed out.

  ‘Doesn’t show it. But he moped around here like a lost dog for weeks after you went in the summer.’

  Kate went outside and called for her brother. When no answer came she set off for the station with a shrug of resignation. But at the end of the row she found him huddled next to Harry Bum’s rain barrel, waiting for her.

  ‘Come and see me off?’ she asked. He nodded and allowed her to slip an arm through his.

  ‘I wish Mary would gan and live with Aunt Maggie,’ he muttered as they walked down the bank.

  ‘We’ll sort Mary out,’ Kate assured him, ‘then you’ll have some peace. Does Father tret you fairly?’

  Jack hunched his shoulders. ‘Stay out his way mostly. Prefer me own company, any road.’

  Kate glanced at her shy, gawky brother with a pang of pity. He would be quite on his own if Mary was sent into service, and Cleveland Place was too solitary for a boy of twelve. But Jack did not appear to be lonely; he preferred the company of crows and farm animals to that of his warring family.

  She squeezed his arm. ‘By the end of next year you’ll be starting work - you’ll be earning a wage like Father. One day soon you’ll be a man and able to stand up to him - stand up for Mam. Your turn will come, kiddar.’

  Jack said nothing to this, but his face looked thoughtful. He let Kate hold on to his arm all the way into town, only breaking free when they neared the station. This time he saw her on to the train and waved her away with a bashful smile, and Kate was gladdened to see a glimpse of the old affectionate Jack.

  Soon her thoughts were racing ahead to Ravensworth, and she sat impatiently in the chilly, gas-lit carriage as the train clanked south. She would not be going home again in a hurry.

  To her delight, Peter and Alfred were waiting at the station for her.

  ‘The lad made me come,’ her uncle said wryly, ‘and Lizzie says to drop by for a cup of tea before you gan back to the castle. She wants all the news from home.’

  Kate swung Alfred into her arms and kissed the top of his head in greeting. It came to her in a rush. After the disappointments and upsets of the day, she felt more than ever that Ravensworth was now her home.

  Chapter 11

  Blossom was falling from the cherry trees when Alexander next found a chance to visit Ravensworth. Jeremiah had kept him busy with visits to mines in South Yorkshire and had demanded his company at home for several weeks after his return. It struck Alexander that his father was lonely and increasingly fretful about his adopted son’s future.

  ‘It’s time you found yourself a wife,’ he lectured. ‘I’d like to see you settle down - start your own family. They could live here and keep me company when you travel. This house is too big and empty for an old man like me.’

  ‘You’re not old,’ Alexander insisted, trying to laugh it off. ‘You’ll probably outlive me.’

  ‘Don’t say such a thing!’ Jeremiah snapped. ‘No, no. You must think seriously about marriage. What about this De Winton girl you talked about? I’ve made enquiries about the family - good farming stock and quite a bit of land up Weardale. It could be just the match. You liked her, didn’t you?’

  ‘She was pleasant enough,’ Alexander conceded.

  ‘Then you must call on her - or invite her here so I can meet her. We could arrange a concert party or go to the theatre.’

  ‘If you like,’ Alexander said, only half listening. He was looking at the changing light on the slate rooftops of the solid mansions opposite and wondering if he could capture it in paint.

  ‘It’s what you would like, not me,’ Jeremiah said querulously.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Are you listening?’ his father demanded. ‘What are you staring at?’

  ‘It’s like molten gold,’ Alexander said dreamily. ‘The way the sun shines on a wet roof after the rain.’

  Jeremiah huffed with impatience. ‘You haven’t listened to a word, have you?’

  Alexander turned from the window and smiled. ‘Yes I have. You want me to marry Polly De Winton.’

  ‘Well, I - er...’ Jeremiah began to bluster with embarrassment at his son’s sudden forthrightness.

  Alexander laughed. ‘I shall call on her sometime, if it makes you happy. Though whether she’ll want to see me is another matter.’

  Jeremiah caught his arm as he passed. ‘It’s you I want to see happy, boy. Happy and settled. And why shouldn’t she want to see you? You’re a handsome young gentleman with a good business to inherit from me when the time comes.’

  Alexander was not going to tell his father about his inebriated attempt to kiss Polly in the hothouse. He smiled ruefully. ‘I wish everyone had as good an opinion of me as you do, Papa.’

  So far he had avoided making a trip up to Weardale, though to keep his father from badgering him further he had sent a brief letter to Polly, saying he was returned from Scandinavia and that perhaps they might meet over the summer season.

  Now as he approached Ravensworth, he felt free of his father’s fussing control or any obligation to go courting Polly.

  He breathed in the scented air as he strode over a carpet of fallen petals and felt the May sun warm his back. The woods were noisy with birdsong and the sound of woodcutting. Ahead, gardeners were busy planting out flowerbeds in front of the castle terrace and the newly cut lawns were the emerald green of early summer.

  James, the affable young head footman, greeted him cheerfully and took his bags. Alexander followed him up the stairs and along corridors till they reached the small tower bedroom that he had come to think of as his own. He had slept there as a child and declined to stay in any of the grander guest rooms on the lower floors.

  ‘His Lordship’s resting,’ James explained, ‘and Lady Ravensworth’s gone to Newcastle for the day. Says to tell you she’ll be back in time for afternoon tea.’

  The quiet of the house was broken on Emma’s arrival with her friend Hester Bellamy, with whom she’d been shopping. ‘We’ll take tea on the terrace,’ she ordered. ‘It’s too gloomy inside.’

  She slipped an arm through Alexander’s and steered him outside. ‘It’s been so dull here all winter since Henry’s mother died. I’m supposed to be in full mourning still, but I just refuse to wear black in May. It’s an offence to nature.’ She rustled her purple dress. ‘Come July I shall throw a party to celebrate the end of mourning. You will come, won’t you?’

  Alexander laughed. ‘If you order it, ma’am.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she smiled as they took seats in the shade of a portico.

  Around them servants bustled with tea trays and tablecloths. A large silver teapot was carried out, and plates of buttered scones and thinly cut sandwiches. Emma presided over the cutting of a large chocolate cake while Alexander told the women of his adventures in Sweden.

  ‘So you fell in love with the baron’s daughter. How romantic! But it’s very bad of you, Alex, to go losing your heart without consulting me. And here I’ve been fretting over finding you a suitable wife.’

  ‘My heart isn’t free to give while you still possess it, Cousin Emma,’ he declared.

  She laughed in delight. ‘Oh, dear boy, how I’ve missed you. You’ve stayed away far too long - and it’s been so dreary here. You must promise me and Hester to be around all summer to keep us company and stop Henry from moping about his health. He’s feeling very mortal since his mother passed away.’

  ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ Alexander g
rinned.

  ‘Ah, here he comes at last,’ Emma said, waving at her husband as he walked towards them with the aid of a stick.

  Alexander jumped up and went to greet his relation.

  ***

  The first time Kate realised he had returned was when the head housemaid told her to take up extra coal to the bedroom in the east tower for a newly arrived guest. She passed him on the back stairs as she was going up and he coming down. He must have been making for the stables to have been using the servants’ staircase, and he barely glanced at her in his rush to be gone. But she recognised his tall athletic frame and wolfish lean face in an instant. Alexander Pringle-Davies. He gave her a quick smile as she stopped with her load to let him past, but said nothing to indicate he remembered her.

  She stared after him as he leapt down the steps in threes, a flash of dark coppery hair, and then he was out of sight. A door slammed far below.

  Kate stood there with heart hammering at the sudden encounter. She had thought about him often over the whiter months, every detail of their two brief encounters etched in her mind. The way he had held a raspberry to her lips with long fingers, the feel of his hand in the small of her back as they danced, the swift sensuous smile.

  But it was painfully obvious that he had not recognised her under her maid’s cap, struggling up with a scuttleful of coal. She had just been a faceless servant. She felt dashed as she continued up the stairs with her load. By the time she reached his room, Kate was chiding herself for being so foolish. Why should a gentleman like Pringle-Davies care two pins for the likes of her? He had danced with her that night on a whim, nothing more, and had forgotten her months ago.

  Still, she could not help being curious on seeing his room. It was starkly furnished for a guest’s bedroom, with nowhere to sit at ease, just a hard chair by a small desk table in the window. There was a marble washstand next to a high narrow bed, and a wardrobe in the corner. It was hardly more luxurious than the servants’ quarters. The walls were bare apart from a solitary print. Kate peered. It was of a sailing ship leaving the Tyne. In the foreground she was amazed to see the dark outline of St Paul’s church and the ruined monastery at Jarrow.

  The ruins always made her think of her long-dead father telling her the story of St Bede and the early monks. Or perhaps she only remembered it because Sarah had told her their father had spoken of such things. Either way, she felt strangely comforted to find the monastery on the picture and wondered why it should hang in this room. Did it mean anything to its occupant or did he not even glance at it? There was very little else in the room to indicate the man’s interests. A silver-topped walking stick was propped by the door and sheaves of paper and an ink pen lay on the table in the window. A pile of clothes lay heaped carelessly on a clothes basket, and a shaving blade and brush stood next to the wash jug and basin. It spoke of a man who travelled lightly or held little store by material things.

  She quickly emptied the coals from the scuttle into the brass hod on the small tiled hearth. With a last glance round she hurried from the room.

  All that week Kate humped coal up to the high bedroom, offering to do so for Hannah in return for her polishing the brass stair rods. But Alexander was never in his room. Before breakfast, she left jugs of hot water outside for shaving, but never saw him. Nevertheless, the thought of encountering him spurred her to spring out of bed in the morning and made her eager to do her chores. She sang as she worked, unable to suppress her excitement. She craved another look at his handsome face, yet mocked herself for her skittishness.

  It would be something to laugh about with Suky when they met up on their days off and talked about lads. Though she would have to be careful Mary did not overhear her confidences. Thanks to Suky, Mary was now working at the Ravensworth Arms too, serving tables at the inn. Kate was pleased she had been able to get Mary away from home and give her mother some peace. And Mary appeared happier. She revelled in the gossip that blew in with the travellers and drinkers at the busy coaching inn. She and Suky had made friends too, sharing an attic bedroom.

  One warm day at the end of May, Kate was dispatched to sweep the bedrooms and lead the grates. Fires were still needed until into June. By the time she got to the one in the east tower, she was hot with exhaustion. Finding the room empty as usual, she plonked herself down on the chair in the sunshine, stretched her aching legs and arched her back. On the table lay a drawing of a woman with head bent over a book. Kate leant forward. It looked like Lady Ravensworth. She lifted it carefully and underneath was another sketch of the same woman, stretched out on a sofa, eyes closed.

  Kate flushed with embarrassment; the sketch seemed to capture an intimate moment that she should not have seen. Hurrying to the fireplace she got down on her knees and began to sweep up the fallen soot.

  As Alexander strode to his bedroom he heard a voice beyond the open door singing lustily. He paused for a moment, entranced by the cheerful sound, and then entered. The maid was crouched over the fender, brushing the grate, unaware of his presence. She carried on singing about the Waters of Tyne, a song that took him back to his boyhood. He stood there quite still, not wanting to interrupt her. Then when she sang the last refrain he joined in.

  Kate whipped round, startled. She gasped in shock, her face going crimson to see him suddenly standing there. If he only knew she had been thinking about him as she sang the love song!

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Alexander grinned. ‘I was enjoying your singing and didn’t want you to stop.’

  Kate felt her face going even hotter as she stared up at him. ‘I always sing - can’t help meself, sir.’

  She turned away quickly, but something about her pink-cheeked face and the tendrils of brown hair escaping under her cap was familiar. Alexander looked at her more closely.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  She half turned round. ‘Kate, sir.’

  The slim oval face, the glimpse of blue eyes under the dark lashes, the song ... It came to him abruptly.

  ‘You’re the wood sprite with the berries!’ he cried in recognition. ‘You sang that song to Her Ladyship at the servants’ ball, didn’t you?’

  Kate laughed to cover her embarrassment, inwardly thrilled he had remembered her after all.

  ‘Aye, I did.’ She stole a look at him and dared to add, ‘And you danced a polka with me.’

  He laughed too. ‘So I did,’ he admitted, though he had forgotten the moment until now. He crossed the room, discarding his riding jacket on the bed, and splashed water into the wash bowl. Unselfconsciously, he plunged his face in the water and reached for a towel.

  Kate went back to scrubbing the grate, acutely aware of his movements from the corner of her eye.

  Alexander rubbed his face and studied the girl. ‘So you work at the castle - you’re not a nymph from the woods after all.’

  ‘Been here since old Lady Ravensworth died, sir,’ Kate answered while still vigorously leading the grate. ‘Her Ladyship took me in when Farnacre was closed up. She’s been that good to me.’

  ‘She is a very generous lady,’ Alexander said, leaning against the bed.

  Kate thought of the casual sketches on the table and couldn’t help wondering about his relationship with Her Ladyship. Lily had called him a fortune-hunter. Kate hurried to finish and gather up her brushes.

  Alexander watched her. She looked hot and flustered and keen to be gone. A smut of soot was smeared across her cheek and he had a sudden desire to wipe it clean. He half moved towards her, but her blue eyes widened in alarm so he stopped.

  ‘I’ll be off, sir,’ she said with a quick bob, and rushed for the door.

  ‘Goodbye, Kate. Come and sing to me again,’ he called after her.

  She did not reply. Alexander gave a rueful smile. Beauty could be found in unexpected places. He went to the table and pulled a fo
lder out of the drawer. Leafing through the sketches he found the old pencil drawings he sought - a girl stepping down from a cart with a flash of ankle and a smooth oval cheek under a straw hat.

  Sitting down at once, all thought of lunch forgotten, he reached for a blank piece of paper and picked up the ink pen. If he focused on her eyes he could conjure up the rest of her fair face and the wisps of escaping hair on her pale brow. Alexander began to draw.

  Chapter 12

  The next day, Kate went hurrying up to the east tower with hot water and left it outside Alexander’s room. She thrilled to think of him lying just feet away in the small bedroom, imagining him waking and stretching in the bright morning light. Other guests brought valets with them to attend to their needs and put out their clothes, but not this man. He seemed different from other well-to-do visitors, not quite family and not quite guest.

  The casual gossip of other staff only increased Alexander’s mysteriousness in Kate’s eyes. Was Pringle-Davies a man of business or an artist? A long-lost family member or a chancer who took advantage of His Lordship’s good nature?

  Later in the day, she returned with coal. To her disappointment the room was empty and the fire needed no tending as he had not lit it the night before. She left the extra coals and retreated. All that week she hoped to glimpse him when polishing the stairs or sweeping the corridors, but there was never any sign. Picnics were ordered daily from the kitchen and she assumed he went out riding or on outings with Lady Ravensworth in the fine weather.

  The days were now long, and Kate enjoyed walking out in the evening after her duties were finished to visit Aunt Lizzie and the family. The quickest way was to pass the stables, go down the back drive and cut along a bridlepath through the woods to the back of the gardeners’ cottages. Alfred always ran out to greet her and talked nonstop about what he had been doing that day. Lizzie would give her a cup of elderflower juice and Alfred would drag her off to the gardens to find Peter and George.

  On one particularly warm evening at the beginning of June, she took the long way back to the castle around the fishing lake. It was tranquil in the fading light, flies hovering above the still surface, an empty boat moored on the far side. Somewhere in the encircling trees a fox called soulfully to its mate. She loved the peaceful quiet of this place, an antidote to the bustle of the castle. It was so far removed from the cramped, noisy, teeming life on Tyneside that she was used to that she never tired of walking its woodland paths.