A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Chapter 30

  Alexander was in a fever of agitation by the time the train drew into Jarrow station. He was tempted to jump off and explore the place of his childhood. But he could not put off facing Kate’s parents. He must get to her as quickly as possible.

  Staring out of the grimy window, streaked by heavy spring showers, he saw the solid buildings of the town hall and a large hotel dominate the streets of shops. The place bustled with people, delivery carts and trams, but none of it looked familiar. As the train pulled out, the prosperous heart of the town gave way to rows of soot-blackened terraces and the sprawl of steelworks, sheds and chimneys. He peered for a view of the ruined monastery and the old vicarage, but a blanket of smoke from the quickening train obscured all but a glimpse of crude fence and pale dead grass.

  The train disappeared into a cutting, then curved around a bend and picked up speed. Suddenly the smoke cleared to reveal a mass of rooftops marching down to the grey river and a web of cranes, gantries, masts and funnels. Out of the opposite window rose the pit wheels of South Shields and a glimpse of larger, grander houses in the distance.

  Then all about grew a network of railway sidings and slowly bumping coal trucks, as the train slowed and eased into Tyne Dock with a shriek of steam. Alexander was glad to be out of the stuffy, tightly packed carriage with its smell of bodies and damp clothing. The station rang with noise and shouts and the squeal of iron.

  He hurried out into a busy street and headed uphill. The streets around were made up of solidly built terraces, a mixture of houses and shops. He had a vague notion from something Kate had said that her mother lived on the edge of the countryside, where she had a little land and a kitchen garden. Mary had said Learn Lane, which sounded like a country road.

  After ten minutes of fruitless searching for a way out of the tightly packed streets, he asked a passer-by.

  ‘Learn Lane? That’s the other way, hinny. Doon there.’ She jerked a thumb towards the docks.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Aye. See that gas tower? Well, it’s right opposite.’

  Alexander thanked her and with sinking heart retraced his steps. As he descended the hill, the noise of the docks grew louder and the noxious smell of coal smoke and sulphur became tinged with a strong whiff of the river. Dismayed, he saw the streets of houses give way to an industrial muddle of factories, cobbled lanes, railway arches and towering warehouses. Squeezed between them were older cottages and truncated streets, some half built into the bank as if for shelter.

  To his disbelief, one such mean street clinging to the slope turned out to be Learn Lane. A public house with a filthy half-frosted window, grandly claiming the name of the Alexandria, was the only building of any note. He had a sudden strong recollection of standing outside similar tough bars in Jarrow, clutching the hand of his cousin Edward and gazing up in terror at the dirt-ingrained faces of the dockers who entered, shrugging off the rector’s attempts to offer them hot cocoa.

  Alexander felt his heart thudding as if he were that frightened boy once more. Surely Kate did not live among such squalor? He had imagined her living in genteel poverty in a picturesque cottage with her stoical widowed mother. But then her mother had remarried years ago - to an Irishman by the sound of it. How much else had Kate kept from him? Screwing up his courage, he went in to ask where the McMullens lived.

  ‘Old John?’ the barman grunted. ‘In trouble, is he? Owes you money?’

  ‘No,’ Alexander said, with mounting disquiet.

  The gaunt-faced man cleared his throat into a spittoon by the counter. ‘When he’s not in here, he’s next door. Downstairs house. Unless he’s found work the day. Likely still be down the docks - hooter’s not gone yet.’

  Alexander could feel the group of drinkers watching him as he quickly retreated. What sort of man was McMullen? A ne’er-do-well, by the sound of it. For several minutes he stood outside the door to Number Five and fought off a desire to turn and run. Its small door and worn step gave straight on to the street without a railing or patch of garden to relieve its grimy ugliness - not even a window box of flowers. He feared what he would find beyond.

  But before he could move, the door banged open and a stout old woman appeared with a rag mat. She banged it hard on the brick wall below the window and black dust flew up in a cloud, choking her. She stood on the step coughing, her large chest heaving for breath, her face the colour of putty under a severe bun of greying hair. Rose Fawcett? This woman bore not the slightest resemblance to the handsome woman he had known as a child. With a surge of relief he realised he must have got the wrong house, the wrong Leam Lane.

  At that moment, she glanced up and caught him staring at her. For a brief second he saw a look in her wide-set eyes and the curve of her broad mouth that reminded him of Kate. He felt a pang of horror. This was Kate in thirty years’ time. Then the woman frowned and the likeness was gone.

  Before his courage failed him completely, Alexander forced himself to step forward with his cane and raise his hat.

  ‘Mrs McMullen? Mrs Rose McMullen?’

  She stared at him in suspicion. ‘Who’s wantin’ to know?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m Alexander Pringle-Davies - a friend of Kate Fawcett’s.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Have I come to the right place?’

  She gasped as if stung. ‘Mr Pringle-Davies!’ Rose buckled at the knees and grabbed the door post. Alexander reached forward to steady her. ‘Oh, the saints!’

  ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s a shock. Is Kate here? Can I come in?’

  She clutched her throat and nodded, speechless. Then with a darting look into the lane, she pulled him through the door and shut it behind them.

  At first he could make out nothing in the gloom, only aware of a musty smell and brownish light. Groping through a short passage, they came into a kitchen crowded with furniture that seemed to serve as bedroom and dining room too. Rose dumped down the clippy mat by the hearth and cleared a pile of mending from a chair.

  ‘Please, sit yourself down,’ she wheezed, hobbling towards the far door. ‘Kate. Kate, get up! There’s a man to see you.’

  Alexander’s pulse surged to think Kate was just beyond the door. Only the thought of her stopped him bolting from this terrible place. He sat down, stood up, unable to sit still. It seemed an age that he waited, wondering if his own sweet Kate would appear through the door. Half of him longed for her and half was repelled by this hovel, hoping it was all some hideous mistake.

  The door opened and a large figure lumbered through into the dingy light of the fire. At first he could not believe it was her. Kate’s once slender body was swollen like a balloon, lumpen and shapeless in a dirty brown dress. She moved with her hands pressed to her back, her belly huge before her. Lank strands of hair, indifferently pinned, stuck to her pasty cheeks. Her face was puffy, the once vital eyes dulled and dark-ringed.

  Alexander stood paralysed in shock, unable to match this pregnant woman with the spirited girl he had lain with last summer. She gawped at him and mouthed his name, but no words came. Kate pitched forward, grabbing the table to stop herself falling. Rose steered her on to the hard wooden settle.

  ‘Sit, hinny, I’ll fetch a cup of water.’ She escaped into the scullery and left them alone for a few moments.

  ‘Alexander,’ Kate whispered in wonder, tears blurring her vision of him. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Mary told me - I came straight here. I had no idea. The baby - it’s - is it...?’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Aye, it’s yours,’ she nodded, her look hurt.

  He glanced away in agitation. Those eyes made him feel so guilty! The room stank of sour clothes drying over the fender and something rancid that had been thrown on the fire. Suddenly anger pricked him. She had lied to him about her circumstances! Her mother was no gentlewoman fallen on hard times. She was the w
ife of a common docker. The woman in the scullery could not possibly have been the friend or equal of his cousins. Kate had tricked him into loving her!

  ‘I waited for you,’ Kate whispered reproachfully. ‘You said you’d come back.’

  ‘I wrote to you,’ Alexander defended, ‘but not a word in reply. All I knew was that you’d left the inn. They said you’d got married.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘That’s what I heard,’ Alexander blustered, not wanting to say it was his father who had misled him.

  Kate pushed away tears and stood up. ‘Well, I’m not. Wouldn’t look at any other lad but you.’ She came towards him, arms outstretched, trying to smile. ‘It doesn’t matter, you’re here now, Alexander. You’ve come to fetch me -I told them you would. The things they’ve said to me - nearly sent me mental! Specially me step—’ She broke off.

  ‘Your stepfather, McMullen?’ Alexander accused crossly, holding himself away. ‘Never told me about him, did you? No, you made out you were a Fawcett - respectable - as good as my Liddell cousins.’

  ‘I am a Fawcett,’ Kate said in agitation, clutching her belly.

  Suddenly Rose was back in the room, banging a cup of water on the table. ‘Don’t you go upsetting her! My lass was respectable till you got your hands on her.’

  ‘Don’t, Mam—’

  ‘Well, what have you come here for?’ Rose was blunt. ‘Are you ganin’ to see her right and wed the lass or not? ‘Cos if you’re not, God help you when my man gets back.’

  Alexander was stung by her forthright words. What right had she to speak to him like that? He looked from her hostile face to Kate’s anxious one and felt panic overwhelming him.

  ‘I can’t marry her. I’m betrothed to another - Kate knew that.’ He gulped and looked away. ‘We marry next month.’

  The words hung in the dark, oppressive room. For a long moment no one spoke. Then Rose said, ‘Get out me house.’

  ‘No, Mam!’ Kate suddenly found her voice and stepped between them. She rounded on Alexander. ‘I want to know why you came here. Why did you raise me hopes like this?’ she demanded, her eyes regaining their spark. ‘You cannot imagine what it’s been like for me these past months - not knowing what’s become of you or if I’ll ever set eyes on you again. Having to come back here and face them all with this.’ She jabbed a thumb at her distended womb. ‘Months of waitin’ and frettin’ and gettin’ so big I cannot gan out for fear of what the neighbours will say.’ Her look was beseeching. ‘And all the time watching the door to see you step through it - praying for a miracle - just to see your bonny face !’ She covered her mouth with trembling hands, swallowing her tears.

  ‘Answer the lass,’ Rose ordered. ‘Why have you come?’

  Alexander felt a cold sweat breaking out over his whole body. He knew it was to do with guilt, but he tried to stifle it. Better to feel hurt indignation, else he could not look Kate in the face.

  ‘I came to help financially,’ he lied, ‘for when your - for when the time comes.’ He could not bear the look of desolation in her eyes. ‘I wanted to know that you were all right - that you were properly cared for,’ he floundered.

  ‘She’s cared for as well as we can manage,’ Rose bristled. ‘There’s them that would put a lass in trouble out on the street, but I’m not one of them. I’ll not desert her - nor the bairn she carries.’

  Alexander flushed at the implied criticism. ‘No, of course not.’ Hastily, he pulled out his wallet and emptied it out on the table. There was five pounds and ten shillings in notes. He scrabbled in his coat pocket and produced another six shillings and sixpence half-penny. ‘It’s not much, but I’ll send more. If you ever want for money, send a message to Mrs Timmins in Stair Leap, by the High Level Bridge. It’s a boarding house I use when in Newcastle.’

  Kate just stared at him in misery while Rose eagerly gathered up the money and pocketed it in the fold of her vast apron. It was worth a month’s wages.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate,’ he spoke to her at last, ‘I never meant to cause you such trouble. I wish it had been otherwise. But you do see I can’t marry you?’

  He wanted her to say she understood, make him feel less terrible about what he was doing, but she said nothing. Her eyes looked huge and accusing in her pale face.

  ‘Aye, she knows that,’ Rose said, mollified by the money. ‘I blame mesel’ for letting her think she could get above her own class.’ She looked at him squarely, a thought coming back to her. ‘What was that you were saying before about the Liddells?’

  Alexander raised his chin. ‘I’m related to the Ravensworths. My mother was a Liddell.’

  ‘So you knew Canon Liddell here in Jarrow?’ Rose eyed him keenly.

  ‘Yes, my cousin Edward. I lived with him for a while when I was a small boy. It’s what Kate and I shared in common - a link with Jarrow. She claimed you and Mr Fawcett were friends of my cousins.’

  ‘Friends! Well, they were very kind to me when I worked for them,’ Rose blustered.

  ‘Worked for them?’

  ‘Aye, I did a bit cleaning at the old rectory.’

  Kate burst out, ‘But you said me da was a friend of the rector’s, Mam.’

  ‘Oh, hinny, maybes I let you think that ‘cos you had your heart set on the idea—’ Rose suddenly stopped and gazed at Alexander. ‘You lived at the rectory when you were a lad?’

  ‘Yes - after my mother died.’

  ‘Little Alexander Pringle!’ Rose gasped. ‘That was you?’ Her hands flew to her mouth as he nodded.

  ‘Mam, what’s wrong?’

  Rose shook her head, tears welling in her deep brown eyes. ‘Always wondered what became of you,’ she whispered. ‘Such a bright little lad - always wantin’ attention. My William was that taken with you.’

  Alexander started at the name.

  ‘Don’t you remember us? We took you to the circus.’

  He felt winded. ‘So that was you?’

  Rose nodded.

  They stared at each other, Alexander not wanting it to be true. He was repulsed by the thought that this rough woman could be the pretty, friendly young mother of his memory with the kind husband whom he had once wished to live with. Yet guilt swept over him for thinking so badly of her and bringing such trouble to her door.

  ‘Poor bairn,’ Rose said pityingly, ‘you went around like a lamb that’d lost its sheep. Nobody wanted to keep you.’

  Alexander could cope with her anger, but he could not bear to be pitied. He had been wanted! The Liddells had loved him and Jeremiah had adopted him. He didn’t need her to be sorry for him — she was the one to be pitied!

  ‘I don’t see how you could possibly know,’ he said hotly, ‘being just the daily maid.’

  Rose coloured. ‘Aye, you did all right for yoursel’ in the end,’ she said, her tone hardening. ‘For a coachman’s son.’

  ‘I must go,’ he said curtly, grabbing up his hat and cane from the table.

  Rose came after him as he made for the door. ‘Just remember I knew you when you were a nipper - when your posh relations washed their hands of you. We showed you more kindness than half of them.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alexander said in disdain. ‘Good day to you, Mrs McMullen.’

  ‘I know this much,’ Rose retorted. ‘The rector would turn in his grave if he knew what you’d done to one of my daughters! Not so high and mighty after all, are you? Scratch the surface and you’re a common Pringle underneath, for all your airs and graces.’

  She pursued him out of the house. Kate tried to hold her back.

  ‘Stop, Mam. Let him go!’

  ‘It’s not just our Kate who’s made up a fancy story about her family, is it?’ Rose couldn’t stem her anger. ‘And you dare to judge her for saying her da was as good as the l
ikes of a Liddell? Well, he was! My William was worth ten of your kind - a hundred! Do you hear?’

  Alexander strode away with Rose’s furious words echoing against the brick walls around him. He could not look back nor get away quickly enough. His heart pounded with anger and fear. To think he had come here to save Kate. He had so nearly made the most foolish mistake of his life. He ran up Leam Lane, away from the docks, not caring where he went as long as it put distance between him and that harridan of a mother.

  Ten minutes later he found himself on high ground overlooking Jarrow. In the distance sat the hunched black outline of the old monastery, marooned by the greenish sludge of the River Don, which spewed into the choppy Tyne. Jarrow Slake. He remembered it now; the tidal backwash of filthy water where he had watched enviously as other children played on the floating timbers. Cousin Christina had forbidden him to go near it.

  A sudden wave of regret and longing for those far-off days engulfed him. For a moment he remembered the intense excitement of being taken to the circus, of grasping a hand either side of him and being lifted into the air like a bird. William’s hand; Rose’s hand. Alexander gave out a deep cry of anguish. How could he have been so cruel to Kate and her mother? He was beyond contempt!

  He turned and looked back on the grey huddle of Tyne Dock. Should he go back? But what would he say? What could he possibly do to make amends apart from marry Kate? And deep in the pit of his stomach he knew the answer. He had loved her recklessly - loved her still. But he did not have the courage to give up everything for her. The poverty that clung to her frightened him. He had been cast adrift too often in life not to hanker for the security and fussing love that Jeremiah and Polly could give him. Unlike Lady Ravensworth, he was not rich enough to defy society and follow his heart.

  He was a romantic, but a coward. Kate knew that now; it had shown in her look of bitter betrayal as he fled. He could do nothing to change the way he was. Alexander cursed himself for having tried to find her. He had been in love with an illusion, a romantic link back to his briefly happy time at the rectory. But he had left and lost Jarrow a long time ago and there was no going back.