District Nurse on Call

by Donna Douglas

  Seth’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’ he said.

  ‘He stole my bicycle.’

  Seth looked past the nurse’s shoulder to the bicycle propped against the wall. ‘It don’t look stolen to me. Are you sure you in’t imagining things?’

  Hannah smiled to herself. An angry flush rose in Miss Sheridan’s face.

  ‘Someone got it back for me,’ she said. ‘After your son abandoned it.’

  ‘Then there’s no harm done, is there?’

  Seth went to turn away, but Miss Sheridan said, ‘That’s not the point. He’s a menace, and he should be punished.’

  Hannah held her breath as Seth turned slowly to face her again. ‘And have you got a witness to all this?’ he asked.

  Miss Sheridan dropped her gaze. ‘Well, no, but …’

  ‘In that case, happen you should go away and stop bothering people.’

  He started to close the door in her face but Miss Sheridan stood her ground.

  ‘And that’s how you bring your children up, is it?’

  It was the wrong thing to say. Hannah could see in Seth’s face that Agnes Sheridan had hit a raw nerve.

  ‘What do you know about the way I bring up my children?’ he growled.

  Anyone in their right mind might have fled from the blazing anger in his eyes, but not Agnes Sheridan. The girl was either very brave or utterly foolish, Hannah decided.

  ‘I know you don’t seem to be making a very good job of it, if that’s the way they behave.’

  Once again, Hannah found herself holding her breath as she saw Seth’s jaw pulsing angrily. Had Miss Sheridan been a man, he would have been flat on the ground before he’d had the chance to finish his sentence. As it was, the nurse had no idea what kind of dangerous ground she had strayed on to. But she didn’t seem to care, either. It was there in her defiant gaze as she stared back at him, standing so straight and sure of herself.

  Hannah was more attuned to Seth’s moods, and she saw the anger that darkened his grey eyes.

  Finally, he managed to speak. ‘Go away,’ he bit out. ‘And don’t come back here, either.’

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Hannah might have been able to judge his mood, but Agnes Sheridan obviously couldn’t. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but Hannah blocked her way.

  ‘You heard him,’ she said, before Agnes could get a word out. ‘You in’t wanted here. So stop sticking your nose in where it don’t belong!’

  ‘But I—’ Hannah didn’t wait to hear any more before she slammed the door in Agnes’ face.

  She glanced uneasily at Seth. He had gone back to mending the boots, but Hannah could see the rage in him still simmering close to the surface. He looked as if he might rip the worn leather apart with his bare hands, such was his anger.

  She wondered about speaking to him, then thought better of it. The fire would die down quicker if she didn’t poke it, she decided.

  Elsie seemed to sense his mood, too. She went about her chores with her head down, moving stealthily around the room so as not to antagonise her father further.

  For an hour none of them spoke, and after a while Hannah allowed herself to relax. The silence had become less oppressive, and glancing out of the corner of her eye, she could see some of the tension had left Seth’s body. The storm had passed.

  But then Christopher swaggered in, and all hell broke loose. Hannah and Elsie swung round, and Hannah cried out, but Seth had got there first. Throwing down the boot he was mending, he crossed the room in a couple of strides and grabbed his son by the collar, slamming him back against the wall.

  ‘What’s all this about you pinching bicycles?’ he growled, shoving his face close to Christopher’s.

  Hannah saw the shock on the boy’s white face. ‘I – I didn’t,’ he stammered.

  ‘Don’t give me that, it’s written all over your face!’ Seth shook his son like a terrier with a rat, lifting him until the boy’s toes scraped the stone-flagged floor. Elsie let out a little cry of dismay.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Seth, let the lad go before you throttle him,’ Hannah pleaded.

  Her words galvanised Seth out of his stupor of fury. He let go of the boy’s collar and Christopher dropped to the floor, slumping against the wall.

  Hannah prayed that the lad would be wise enough to hold his tongue, but she should have known better. As soon as he had regained his composure and was safely out of reach of his father, Christopher said, ‘It were only a bit of fun anyway.’

  ‘I’ll not have my children lying and stealing,’ Seth muttered.

  ‘You steal coal from the pit yard.’

  Hannah flinched as Seth swung round again, but this time Christopher had the good sense to dodge out of his way.

  ‘I do what I need to do to keep my family together!’ Seth’s voice rose, filling the small cottage with a roar of rage. ‘And I in’t having no one turning up on my doorstep, telling me I in’t bringing up my children properly, just because you’re a light-fingered little sod! I won’t have it, d’you hear?’

  ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

  Hannah stared at Christopher, shocked. He was goading his father, she could see it.

  ‘Teach you a bloody lesson, that’s what!’ Seth started to fumble for his belt buckle. Elsie whimpered and ducked behind Hannah. Even Christopher’s face lost its insolent expression.

  Hannah stepped in quickly. ‘Seth, what are you doing?’

  ‘Summat I should have done a long time ago. He won’t be stealing after I’ve finished with him!’

  His aunt stood in front of Christopher. ‘There’s no need for that,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’s already learned his lesson. He won’t be stealing again. Will you, lad?’

  She turned to Christopher, who remained resentfully silent, his gaze fixed on the belt in his father’s hand. He was proud and stubborn, just like Seth. He would rather take a beating than admit he was sorry.

  ‘Out of the way, Hannah,’ Seth said in a low voice.

  ‘But Seth—’

  ‘I said, out of the way!’ He turned his furious grey gaze on her. ‘This in’t your concern.’

  ‘But you’ve never laid a finger on the lad before.’

  ‘Happen that’s why he thinks he can get away with owt!’ He took a step towards Christopher, but Hannah stood her ground.

  ‘D’you think this is what Sarah would have wanted?’

  That halted him for a moment, long enough for Christopher to seize his chance and make a dash for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Seth started to follow, but Hannah stopped him.

  ‘Leave it, Seth, please.’

  ‘But he’s defied me!’

  ‘I know, and you’ve every right to be angry. But in’t it better to talk to the lad when you’ve had a chance to calm down?’

  Seth stood still, his broad chest rising and falling, his resentful gaze still fixed on the door. ‘He can’t get away with this,’ he muttered.

  ‘I know, Seth. And he won’t. He’ll come back and take his punishment, just like he knows he must.’ But by then with any luck his father would have calmed down and regained his senses, Hannah thought silently.

  Seth looked down at the belt dangling from his hand, as if seeing it for the first time. He would not have thought about using it if Sarah had been alive. Unlike some of the other men in the village, he had never laid a finger on his children.

  But these days he was a changed man. It was there in the defeated slump of his broad shoulders.

  ‘Give the boy a chance, Seth,’ Hannah tried to reason with him. ‘It’s just high spirits, that’s all. All lads get into mischief.’

  Seth shook his head. ‘I don’t like strangers turning up on my doorstep, making out I can’t look after my family properly …’

  He glowered back at the door, and Hannah knew he was picturing Agnes Sheridan standing there. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should dare to say what was on her mi
nd.

  ‘Happen you should spend a bit more time with the bairns, instead of punishing them when they do wrong?’ she suggested gently.

  Seth flashed her a quick, narrow-eyed look. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ve not spent much time with them lately, have you? You’re always out on the picket line, or discussing union business – not that I’m criticising you or owt,’ she added hastily, seeing his expression darken. ‘I just think the bairns need their father. Especially since they’ve not long lost their mother.’

  ‘I’m here now, in’t I?’ Seth snapped.

  Are you? Hannah wanted to say. Even when he was in the cottage, Seth’s thoughts seemed to be constantly elsewhere. ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve got union business to attend to. Someone’s got to keep the men going, stop them giving in. And we’ve got to raise money for their families, too. And man the picket lines. We’ve had word that they’re bringing in more blacklegs from Scotland, and we’ve got to be ready for ’em.’

  ‘And that’s more important than your children, is it?’

  The words were out before Hannah knew what she was saying. Seth turned on her, his eyes like flint.

  ‘So now you’re telling me how to bring up my children too?’

  ‘No, of course not. I just—’

  ‘You sound like that nurse. I reckon you two make a good pair, both full of ideas about how I should be going about things.’

  Hannah flinched at the harshness of his words, but Seth didn’t seem to notice. He put his belt back on and reached for his jacket.

  ‘You’re not going out?’ she said.

  ‘Aye.’ He jammed his cap on his head.

  ‘But what about your tea?’ She glanced at the rabbit stew bubbling on the stove.

  ‘I’ll have it when I get in.’

  ‘And what time will that be?’

  ‘When I’m ready!’

  The door slammed, and Hannah exchanged a look with Elsie. They both knew it would be a long time before Seth came home.

  A couple of hours later, Hannah went out to find Christopher. He was skulking down by the allotments, as she knew he would be, sitting on the low wall, swinging his legs back and forth.

  He looked up as she approached, and Hannah caught a glimpse of his sad, tearful face before his defiant mask slipped back into place. He might put on a front but deep down he was still a hurt little boy.

  ‘Your tea’s on the table,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, your father’s gone out,’ she added, seeing his wary expression.

  ‘I don’t care anyway,’ Christopher shrugged, but Hannah saw his shoulders relax a little.

  ‘I’m sorry about what happened earlier.’ She paused, wondering how to put into words what she had to say. ‘You won’t tell him?’

  ‘That it was you who told me to steal the bicycle?’ He shook his head. ‘I won’t say owt. He probably wouldn’t listen anyway.’

  A twinge of guilt went through Hannah. It was only meant to be a bit of fun, to bring Agnes Sheridan down a peg or two. She had never thought Seth would find out. Or that he would be so angry with Christopher.

  ‘You mustn’t mind your father,’ she said. ‘He’s under a lot of strain, what with the lockout and trying to keep the family together.’

  Christopher sneered. ‘He don’t care about us! And I don’t care about him, either. I hate him.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘I do! I wish it had been him who died instead of Mother!’

  Hannah stared at him, shocked. He didn’t mean it, she could see it in his face. Christopher adored his father, he always had. Before Sarah had died, he and Seth had done everything together. They had gone fishing and hunting for rabbits. Seth had taught him how to play cricket and football, and how to box. Which was why it was so difficult for the boy that his father had apparently abandoned him when he needed him most.

  Poor Christopher had not only lost his mother, he had lost his father too. But he was twelve years old, the eldest, and he already thought of himself as a man. He couldn’t allow himself to cry like his brother and sister. So instead he reacted against his father, defying him and causing trouble.

  That was why he had tried to goad Seth, Hannah realised. Because even a beating was better than being ignored.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was turned seven o’clock and still light on a fine July evening when Carrie arrived at her parents’ cottage.

  She paused for a moment to watch them through the window before she let herself in. Her father dozed to one side of the fireplace, the family Bible in his lap, while her mother and three sisters were busy brodding a new rug. Eliza and Gertie sat around the table, cutting up strips of cloth and adding them to the pile, while her mother worked at her frame, poking the strips into the hessian cloth. Meanwhile Hattie sat at her father’s feet, unravelling an old jumper and winding the wool around her fingers ready to be knitted up again.

  Carrie felt a pang, watching them. Not so long ago she would have been sitting there with them, laughing with her sisters. But these days she always seemed to be on the outside looking in.

  Her mother looked up in surprise as Carrie came through the door hauling a heavy sack behind her.

  ‘Carrie! What are you doing here?’ Her face grew anxious. ‘Where’s the bairn? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Everything’s fine, Ma. I’ve left Henry with James.’ Carrie dropped the sack she was carrying at her feet and examined her hands. The rough hessian cloth had cut into her fingers where she had hauled it all the way through the village.

  Kathleen Wardle pushed her brodding frame aside. ‘What’s all this, then?’

  ‘Just some bits and pieces I’ve sorted out. I thought they’d do for Susan Toller.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ Eliza dropped her scissors and jumped to her feet.

  ‘They’re not for you …’ Carrie started to say, but her sister was already delving into the sack.

  Her mother frowned. ‘But I don’t understand, why have you brought it all here? Why not take it straight down to t’Institute?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if they’d take it.’

  ‘What are you talking about? They’re always glad of donations.’

  ‘Not from me.’ She couldn’t imagine what Mrs Morris and the other wives would say if the pit manager’s wife turned up with a sack of cast-offs.

  ‘You’re never going to give away this hat?’ Eliza pulled out a felt cloche and tried it on. ‘I swear you promised it to me if you ever got tired of it.’

  ‘Put it back.’ Carrie snatched it off her sister’s head. ‘It’s for charity.’

  ‘It’s too good for Susan Toller,’ Eliza mumbled. ‘It won’t suit her anyway. She hasn’t got the right face for hats.’ She stuck her arm in the bag again, pulling out a skirt and a pair of shoes.

  ‘And what does James think of all this?’ Her mother wanted to know.

  Carrie dropped her gaze. ‘He doesn’t know. And he doesn’t need to know, either,’ she added.

  She had already had enough arguments with him over it. He was most insistent he didn’t want her to be seen helping the striking miners in case the Haverstocks found out. Which was why Carrie had decided to go about things in this way.

  Her mother frowned. ‘I’m not sure it’s right, you having secrets from your husband. What do you say about it, Father?’ She had turned to Eric Wardle, sitting in his chair at the fireside.

  ‘I think we should leave the lass alone. I daresay she knows what she’s doing.’

  Carrie smiled gratefully at her father, but Eric Wardle wasn’t looking at her. He stared into the empty grate, his attention a million miles away. For the first time Carrie noticed how pale and listless he seemed, the dim lamplight casting deep shadows on his hollowed cheeks.

  ‘Are you all right, Father?’ she asked.

  He turned to face her then, summoning up a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Aye, lass. Just a bit tired, that�
��s all.’

  ‘It’s the lockout,’ her mother had said. ‘It’s draining the life out of all of us.’ But Carrie noticed the worried way she looked at her husband when she said it. A feeling of dread started to gnaw away at her.

  Her mother changed the subject, looking back at the sack her daughter had brought. ‘So what are you going to do with all this?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought I’d leave it on the Tollers’ doorstep once it got dark.’

  ‘Sneak out in the dead of night, you mean? That sounds exciting,’ Hattie said.

  ‘Can we come?’ Gertie joined in.

  Carrie shook her head. ‘You’ll only start giggling and playing about and wake everyone up.’

  ‘There’s food in here,’ Eliza announced, pulling out a loaf of bread. ‘Look, Ma.’

  ‘I told you to put it all back!’ Carrie seized the bread from her sister and stuffed it back in the sack. ‘Mrs Toller won’t want it once your mucky hands have been all over it.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,’ her mother said. Then she added, ‘You know they’ve given her husband three months?’

  Carrie nodded. ‘I heard.’

  ‘It’s a terrible business. I know stealing’s wrong, but the poor man must have been at his wits’ end.’

  ‘The village is full of special constables now,’ Eliza put in. ‘We can hear them all day and all night, walking up and down the fence by the pit yard.’

  ‘That’s a point.’ Kathleen Wardle looked worried. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be sneaking about after dark, Carrie love. You don’t want to get thysen arrested.’

  Carrie laughed. ‘How can they arrest me for giving away what’s mine? Besides, who would dare suspect the pit manager’s wife?’

  It was past ten o’clock when darkness fell. She said goodbye to her family and set off towards Middle Row, hauling her heavy sack behind her.

  There was a light on in the Tollers’ cottage, but the curtains were drawn. Carrie hid in the darkness on the other side of the yard and peered across at the row of low houses, checking that no one was about. From somewhere high above her came the unearthly hoot of an owl, breaking the silence.

  Finally, she chose her moment and hurried across the yard. But in her haste her foot caught a tin bucket someone had left near the door, sending it skittering across the cobbles. Carrie barely had time to dive back into the shadows before a curtain twitched and Susan Toller’s anxious face appeared, looking out into the darkness.