A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Striding down towards the town and the station, Alexander knew he would never come here again.

  Chapter 31

  Kate watched Alexander’s retreating figure through a blur of hot tears. He was deserting her! Rose’s screaming abuse made her cower against the wall in shame. Blood raced in her ears, making her sick and dizzy. All her being wanted to race after him and beg to be taken with him, but her legs were shaking and useless.

  ‘He’s gone!’ she moaned in disbelief, sinking on to the worn step, a huge sob building up inside like a tidal wave.

  For one brief, glorious moment she believed he had come to rescue her from this purgatory, from the whispers and looks and avoidance of neighbours, from the daily castigation of her stepfather, from pretending to be ill every time Father O’Neill called. But he had only come out of curiosity, a twinge of guilt that he hoped to ease by throwing his pocket change at her. How dare he? How wrong she had been about him. Where was the generous, passionate man who had told her how much he loved her and promised they would find a way to be together? Kate buried her face in her hands and wept.

  ‘Haway inside, lass,’ Rose urged, pulling her up, her anger abating at the sight of her distraught daughter.

  Kate clung to her, sobbing and shaking in shock. Inside again, she collapsed on the settle, weeping uncontrollably.

  ‘Stop that,’ Rose commanded, alarmed by her hysteria. ‘He’s gone and there’s nowt we can do.’

  ‘B-but I want him, Mam,’ Kate cried. ‘He’s the father of me bairn. How can he do this to us? I wish he’d never come!’

  ‘And I wish you’d had more sense! Fancy you thinking such a man would marry you,’ Rose scolded in her misery. ‘You can tell by looking he’s a bad ‘un. Was wild as a bairn and he hasn’t got better with age.’

  Kate was reproachful. ‘You wanted me to court him. You told me to make some’at of myself.’

  ‘Don’t blame this mess on me.’ Rose was sharp. ‘I never told you to commit a mortal sin.’

  Suddenly Kate was seized by a sharp pain and screamed.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Rose cried.

  Kate clutched her belly. ‘Oh, Mam, the bairn,’ she whimpered in fear.

  Quickly Rose was at her side, feeling her brow. ‘You’re hot as a furnace. Lie down.’ She loosened Kate’s clothing and, fetching a basin of water, began to wipe her burning face and neck.

  ‘Will the baby be all right?’ Kate asked in agitation.

  ‘Lie still and don’t fuss. The bairn’s had a shock an’ all with all this carry-on. We’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘What about Father? What will we tell him?’ Kate panted.

  Rose frowned. ‘Nowt. It’ll just give him some’at else to shout and rant about.’

  ‘We can’t pretend he never came. The neighbours - he’ll hear it from them.’

  ‘They’re too frightened round here to tell him owt,’ Rose snorted. ‘And if they do, we’ll say it was the tickman I chased away.’

  ‘What about the money?’ Kate worried.

  ‘He’ll not get his hands on that.’ Rose was adamant. ‘I’ll not have him pouring it down his neck before the bairn’s born. So don’t you say a word about the money - or any of this.’

  Kate closed her eyes in despair. If she thought she was in torment before, it was nothing to what she felt now. Until today, she had clung to a thread of hope that Alexander would come and save her. She had been able to endure her situation with thoughts of him, comforted by the belief that he still loved her wherever he might be.

  But that hope had been torn to pieces by his sudden brutal visit. She would never forget the look of horror on his face when she entered the room, the way he recoiled to see her pregnant state. All she had longed to do was rush to him and throw her arms about him in joy. But he had not even tried to touch her. He had been repulsed by her lowly situation and the dismal surroundings of Learn Lane - just as she knew he would be.

  How did she ever think she could cross the huge social chasm between them? Only in the magical surroundings of Ravensworth had they been able to create the illusion that the differences between them did not matter. If they had met in a tavern in Jarrow, he might never have given her a second glance. Oh, how bitterly she regretted their meeting now! Kate wished she had never set eyes on Alexander Pringle-Davies.

  ***

  The weeks of late pregnancy dragged on interminably. Kate retreated into herself, tormented by inner thoughts and hardly speaking a word. Her family watched her warily and even John noticed how subdued and miserable she seemed. He put it down to a guilty conscience and continued to badger her to stay indoors and not give the neighbours an excuse to gossip.

  Kate needed no lecturing. She went nowhere and spoke to no one outside her immediate family. She felt unwell most of the time. In the warmer weather she could not settle at night or find a comfortable way to lie. Her heart pounded erratically and tears came unbidden at any time of the day or night. The baby twisted and turned restlessly within, then lay for long hours like a leaden weight, frightening her with its stillness.

  Kate yearned to be rid of it. It was a constant reminder of her weakness and foolish love for Alexander. No other man would want her now and she never wanted to look at another man again.

  The bitterness over her predicament increased when Sarah came home towards the end of May. Kate lay in the gloom of the back bedroom with the blinds pulled down as if she were in mourning. Sarah sat whispering on the end of the bed.

  ‘Michael wants me to marry him,’ she told her.

  Kate felt a sharp pang of envy. ‘That’s grand,’ she murmured.

  ‘Aye - well - I’ve not said yes.’

  ‘What?’ Kate leant up. ‘Are you daft?’

  Sarah pulled a face. ‘He’s smaller than me.’

  Kate gave a snort of disbelief.

  ‘And with him working doon the pit,’ Sarah added quickly. ‘It’s champion now, but what’ll it be like as a pitman’s missus? His mam skivvies like a slave - up all hours of the day and night feedin’ and washin’ and gettin’ them off to work. And living by the pit, never rid of the dirt...’ Sarah agonised. ‘What d’you think I should do?’

  Kate seized her sister, shaking her hard. ‘Don’t be so bloody daft!’ she said fiercely. ‘You’ve the chance of gettin’ wed, so take it. Any sort of marriage is better than nowt.

  You’re not shy of a bit o’ hard work. The lad cares for you - you should thank your lucky stars. Marry him, Sarah,’ she cried,’ ‘cos you don’t want to end up like me!’

  Sarah looked shocked by her sister’s outburst. Kate had said so little of late, she wondered if she had gone a bit mad in the head. But this was a flash of the old Kate, bossy and forthright and caring. Sarah saw the pain in the younger woman’s face and wrapped strong arms around her.

  ‘Oh, Kate!’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. Maybes he’ll come for you. You mustn’t give up hope.’

  Kate pushed her away. She could not bring herself to tell Sarah of Alexander’s visit - Sarah whom she had told everything to until now. But it was too painful, and Rose had forbidden his name to be mentioned.

  ‘He’ll not be back,’ she said dully. ‘He’s wed another lass.’ She lay back and turned her face to the yellow-stained wall. ‘Don’t ask me about him again.’

  ***

  Alexander and Polly were married in the old parish church at St John’s Chapel up Weardale, amid the late blossom and the lush green of May. Alexander looked gaunt and pale, after a bout of haemorrhaging that had kept him in bed most of the month. But he put on a cheerful face and drank deeply at the wedding feast, keeping the demons in his mind at bay. His father looked frail but happy and Alexander convinced himself he had done the right thing.

  When ill and feverish he
had been plagued by images of Kate that were so real he sometimes cried out her name as if she were there in the room with him. She would bathe his face and body and sing to him. But when the fever left him, so did the delusions and he felt lonelier than he’d ever done in his life.

  So when her fair face came to mind during his wedding day, Alexander forced himself to think of her among the squalor of Tyne Dock and how revolted he had felt on that terrible day in April. But when he finally lay with Polly that night, he could not summon up the eager passion he had felt so intensely for Kate. It was then that the crushing weight of guilt he had tried so hard to shirk nearly suffocated him.

  Kate was carrying his child and he had cast her aside with cowardly callousness. She might be giving birth at the very time he was marrying another. He had hardly thought about the baby, only how he did not want to be trapped in a life of poverty by it. Now he wondered if it was a girl or a boy. Did it have his hazel eyes or Kate’s vivid blue?

  ‘Perhaps we should postpone our trip to Scandinavia?’ Polly suggested, concerned at his tense, preoccupied look. ‘You don’t look at all well.’

  ‘No, we shall go,’ Alexander insisted. ‘It will do us good to get away from here.’

  So at the beginning of June they travelled to Newcastle and boarded a ship for Gothenburg. Despite a heavy summer shower, Alexander stood gripping the rail, staring out along the banks of the Tyne as they edged downriver. He ground his teeth to stop himself crying out as they passed Jarrow Slake and the half-hidden monastery, then the massive thrusting staithes of Tyne Dock.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his mind in turmoil. ‘Please forgive me, Kate!’

  He had made the wrong choice. He should be with her now. It should be Kate sailing with him. Only his cowardly fear of being cut off without an income and his childish revulsion of Kate’s origins had stopped them being together.

  He would leave Polly! On their return he would go to Kate and ask her forgiveness. He could make a living at something. He would plead for Baron Tamm to give him a job at his ironworks in Sweden. He and Kate would live in one of the neat cottages with its own garden. She would milk the cow...

  Alexander squeezed his eyes closed to force back the stinging tears. Always full of such plans and boasts! he mocked himself. But never having the guts to carry them out. Well, he would send Kate money, he sobbed quietly. At least he could do that. When he returned home ...

  Averting his face from the sight of the docks and the bustling outcrop of South Shields, Alexander turned his face towards the open sea. He filled his lungs with the salty smell and felt the familiar easing of his worries at the thought of escaping across the blank, empty horizon.

  Chapter 32

  Kate was standing at the kitchen table, sweating over the ironing, when the pain seized her. She yelped in agony and dropped the iron. Doubling up, she almost vomited.

  ‘Mam,’ she gasped, ‘Mam, help us!’

  But her mother was down the street buying suet and potatoes for tea. She would take ages to walk the few hundred yards from the shop, putting down her load every couple of paces. Kate felt faint in the stifling heat of the kitchen. Outside, the hot June sun bounced off the brick walls and no air stirred in the baking streets. She sank to her knees, struggling for breath, panting on all fours like a dog.

  After a moment the stabbing pain eased, leaving her light-headed with relief. Was this how a baby came, bursting out of the belly? Was she going into labour or was there something wrong with her?

  ‘Mam, come back quick,’ she whimpered in fear.

  She stood up and saw with horror that she had singed the sleeve of her stepfather’s shirt. Kate knew she’d be in deep trouble for that. She lumbered over to the scullery for a cup of water. If she scrubbed it quickly, the stain might lessen. Halfway back, the shooting pain gripped her again and she dropped the cup. It bounced on the hard floor and broke.

  Kate began to cry in panic, scrabbling on the floor to pick up the shards of pottery and shove them under the chest of drawers in the corner. The pain went, then minutes later it was back again. What should she do? Call a neighbour? But Rose did not want to bring in local help; they would deal with it themselves, she had decreed.

  If she could drag herself through to the bedroom, it would be cooler. She would lie down until her mother came. Kate moved as swiftly as her lumbering body would allow. She was about to haul herself on to her parents’ high iron-framed bed, then thought of John’s disgust and flopped on to Jack’s narrow desk bed instead. Lying gave her little relief. The pain was shooting down between her legs now, then to her horror, there was a sudden gush of water.

  In seconds her petticoats and skirt were soaked. She wept in shame as the bed below her grew damp. It seemed an age before she heard Rose wheezing in the kitchen door.

  ‘Mam,’ she croaked, ‘Mam, I’m in here!’

  Her mother filled the doorway with her stout frame as she peered into the gloom of the back room.

  ‘What you doing on Jack’s bed?’

  ‘Mam, I’ve wet meself,’ Kate confessed. Then she doubled up in another spasm.

  Rose struggled out of her coat and bonnet, discarding them on the big bed.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you.’ In a trice she could see what was happening. ‘Your waters have broken. Tak your dress off.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Kate asked in fright.

  ‘You’ve started. The bairn’s on her way.’

  Kate clutched at her mother. ‘Stay, Mam. You’ll not leave us, will you? I’m that scared.’

  Rose thought how terrified she had been as a young wife facing the birth of her first daughter.

  ‘Don’t fuss, hinny, I’m not ganin’ anywhere.’

  She helped Kate out of her wet skirts and fetched rags and brown paper to lay under her.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘There’ll be blood.’ Rose was matter-of-fact.

  Kate began to shake. For the thousandth time she cursed Alexander and what he had done to her. Why should she suffer the agony and shame while he walked away without a backward glance? Bile rose in her throat. Sudden anger tempered her fear and gave her a spark of courage. Her mother kept referring to the baby as a girl, as if she knew, but Kate prayed it would be a boy. A lass had too many crosses to bear in this life. She’ll be tarred with the same brush as me, Kate thought bitterly. Please, God, be a lad!

  The heat of afternoon subsided and shadows cooled the backyard, but nothing changed. Just the relentless cycle of contractions, that neither increased in frequency nor eased off a fraction. Rose sat puffing beside her, exhausted with waiting and cooling her daughter’s body with wet rags.

  ‘I’ll have to get the tea on,’ she said at last. ‘Your father won’t tak kindly to his tea being late ‘cos a bairn’s on its way.’

  Kate lay squirming on the creaking bed, listening to her mother panting around the kitchen, wishing she could get up and help. She would much rather be peeling and cooking than pinned in this damp-smelling room awaiting childbirth. How she wanted rid of it, this leaden disgrace in her belly! Kate had thought little beyond the interminable hell of her pregnancy. Months ago they had talked of how she would go back to work and the baby would be given over to her parents. Good riddance! Her mother was welcome to Alexander’s brat.

  Quietly, they had accumulated a small drawerful of second-hand baby clothes with some of Alexander’s money, but they never spoke of a time after the baby would be born. The rest of the money had been frittered away on paying off little debts to the grocer and the coalman, and retrieving items of clothing from the pawnshop. No more had been sent and Kate could not remember the name of the lodging house in Newcastle that Alexander had mentioned. Even if she had, they could not have afforded the tram fare, and John would have had to be told.

  Kate dozed off under
a blanket of pain. A clatter of boots and men’s voices woke her with a start. She heard Rose’s hushed explanation beyond the half-open door.

  ‘Don’t you go bothering her,’ she ordered. ‘You can both make yourself scarce after tea till it’s all over.’

  Later, when John had disappeared to the pub next door, Rose came in with a slice of meat pie and a cup of tea. Kate felt nauseous at the smell, but her mother told her to drink. The tea was strong and sweet, and Kate felt a flicker of energy return. She pulled herself up to get comfortable and caught Jack peering in at the door. He stared at her strangely and she was suddenly aware of her undressed state and hot bare legs straddling the bed. She quickly pulled the sheet back over her.

  Rose noticed Kate’s bashful gesture and turned.

  ‘Jack! Get out or I’ll skelp ye! This is no place for a lad,’ she ordered.

  Jack scowled with embarrassment and disappeared. The front door slammed.

  The sounds of evening came muffled from beyond the room: boys playing football in the dusty lane, a mother banging two pan lids to bring her children indoors, the squawk of a hen flapping on to a neighbour’s wall. The glow of the long June evening faded from the kitchen and Rose went to light the lamp.

  Maybe it was the agitation at her stepfather banging in from the pub, but Kate’s contractions sharpened and Rose came bustling to her side, closing the door firmly behind. When Kate cried out, Rose tore off a piece of rag and twisted it into rope.

  ‘Bite on that, hinny. Can’t have you screaming the house down - Father’ll sharp complain.’

  Kate looked at her in disbelief. She didn’t care if the whole of Shields heard her, so long as the agony stopped. But she said nothing and when the pain tore through her again she clamped her teeth on the gag and retched. She clung to her mother as her body convulsed in a mad rhythm of its own.