‘Right, that’s you patched up. Now I’ll find that needle and thread.’
As Agnes set about sewing up the rip in Elsie’s dress, the girl sat idly swinging her legs and looking around her.
‘What are all the chairs for?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been holding a mother and baby clinic.’
Elsie nodded her head. ‘I heard Aunt Hannah talking about it. She reckons it’s a waste of time,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘She might be right,’ Agnes sighed.
‘Why do you do it, then?’
Why indeed? ‘You never know, someone might want to come one day.’
Elsie picked up a stethoscope from the table. ‘What’s this for?’
‘You use it to listen for a heartbeat.’
‘How does it work?’
‘You put these two bits in your ears, and this other end goes on the patient’s chest.’ Agnes put down her needle. ‘Would you like me to show you?’
Elsie nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, please.’
Agnes demonstrated the stethoscope, and Elsie grew wide-eyed with amazement as she heard her own heartbeat.
‘But why do you need to listen to it?’ she wanted to know. ‘Surely you must know it’s there, or you wouldn’t be alive?’
‘That’s true,’ Agnes said. ‘But you can tell a lot about what’s wrong with someone from the way their heart is beating. If it’s fast, or too slow, or faint or irregular, for instance, that can help you work out what illness they might be suffering from.’
‘Aunt Hannah reckons she can tell what’s wrong with someone just by looking at them.’
Agnes tightened her lips. ‘Yes, well, that’s not the way real doctors and nurses go about things. We use instruments and take careful notes.’
‘What kind of instruments?’ Elsie asked, looking around.
‘Well … we use a thermometer to check temperatures. That way we can tell if a patient has a fever. Would you like me to show you?’
Agnes ended up demonstrating most of her equipment, as well as going through her bag and showing Elsie what the various dressings and ointments were for. It took a while, but the girl seemed so rapt, listening to everything and asking lots of questions, that Agnes barely noticed the time passing.
‘I want to look after sick people when I’m older,’ Elsie declared, as she helped Agnes pack up her bag.
‘Like your aunt?’
‘No, like you. I want to be a real nurse.’
Agnes smiled to herself.
‘Then you’ll have to carry on at school, and pass all your exams,’ she said.
‘That’s what I want to do.’ Elsie nodded wisely. ‘And then what?’
‘Well, you’ll have to go and train at a hospital.’
The girl’s face clouded. ‘I don’t think I’d be allowed to do that. Aunt Hannah says too much learning is a bad thing for a lass.’
Agnes pursed her lips to stop herself from speaking out. ‘But what about your father? Surely he’d want you to better yourself?’
Elsie looked away. ‘He in’t interested in us. He only cares about what goes on at the pit.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true …’ Agnes started to say, then remembered Seth Stanhope’s surly indifference when she had tried to talk to him about his son.
The girl slid off her chair. ‘Anyway, I’d best be going,’ she said. ‘Aunt Hannah will be wondering why I in’t come home from school.’
‘Here’s your pinafore, as good as new.’ Agnes handed it to her.
‘Thank you.’ Elsie slipped it on. ‘And I won’t forget to tell our Chris not to bother you any more.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’ Agnes watched her fumbling with the ties on her pinafore. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come back to the clinic sometime? I could teach you how to tie different types of bandages, if we’re not too busy.’
Elsie smiled shyly. ‘I’d like that.’
She left, and Agnes finished putting away the rest of the equipment with a much lighter heart than when she’d started. Her conversation with Elsie had cheered her up no end. At last, there was someone in Bowden who actually seemed to like her!
She was closing up the cupboard when she heard the double doors creak open behind her. Thinking it was Reg Willis come to collect the key from her as usual, she called out, ‘I won’t be a minute, Mr Willis.’
Someone cleared their throat behind her. A woman. Agnes looked over her shoulder to see Ruth Chadwick standing in the doorway, her baby boy in her arms. He was swaddled up as usual in spite of the warm July day, layers of shawl concealing his crooked neck from view.
Agnes smiled at her. ‘Oh, good afternoon, Mrs Chadwick. Did you want to see me?’
‘I—’ Ruth hesitated on the threshold, looking nervously about her, as if she might turn and flee at any moment.
‘How is little Ernest?’ Agnes prompted her.
Mrs Chadwick clutched her son tighter to her shoulder. She stared at Agnes, her pale eyes looking huge in her white face.
‘You said you could help him.’ The words seemed to burst from between her tight lips. ‘Is it right what you said, that you could do exercises to make him better?’
‘Well, I’d have to examine him properly first.’ Agnes saw the look of dismay on Ruth’s face. ‘But, yes, I think it’s possible.’ She paused. ‘I thought you wanted Hannah Arkwright to tend to him?’
‘I changed my mind,’ Ruth cut her off. ‘I’ve got to do what’s best for our Ernest, never mind anything else.’
She flinched slightly as she said it, almost as if she expected to be punished just for uttering the words. Hannah Arkwright really had people in the grip of fear, Agnes thought.
‘Why don’t I have a look at Ernest, and we’ll see what’s to be done?’ she suggested gently.
‘What? You mean – now?’ Ruth looked panic-stricken. ‘But you’re just shutting up shop. I don’t want to put you to any trouble …’
‘It’s no trouble, really. And the sooner we get started on Ernest’s treatment, the better. Bring him over here and lay him down on this table, and I’ll examine him.’
For a moment Ruth stayed rooted to the spot, her baby clutched tightly to her shoulder.
‘I don’t want anyone thinking I don’t take care of him,’ she said, the words tumbling out in a fearful rush. ‘I look after my bairns as best I can.’
‘I know that, Mrs Chadwick. Anyone can see what a good mother you are.’ Agnes held out her arms. ‘May I?’
Slowly, reluctantly, Ruth eased her baby from her shoulder and placed him in Agnes’ arms.
She laid him down on the table and carefully unwrapped the woollen layers that swaddled him, conscious all the time of his mother standing at her shoulder, watching her. She could feel the waves of tension coming off Ruth Chadwick, her whole body poised, ready to snatch her baby away at any moment.
Finally Agnes had unpeeled all the layers of shawls and clothing, until Ernest was down to nothing but a nappy and a woollen vest – and the charm on a tatty old piece of string around his neck.
‘We’ll start by getting rid of this, I think …’
Behind her, Ruth let out a hiss as Agnes unfastened the string, but she didn’t try to stop her.
Agnes smiled to herself. She had broken Hannah Arkwright’s spell in more ways than one, it seemed.
And this was only the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The congregation rose to their feet as the organ ponderously sounded the opening bars of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. The music swelled and voices joined in, filling the church to its towering rafters.
Carrie gazed around, lips moving, mouthing the words. She had been coming to St Matthew’s ever since she and James were married, but she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the vast building, with all its rich embroidered hangings and tall stained-glass windows casting coloured diamonds of light on to the pages of her hymn book.
It was so different from the simple little villa
ge chapel she had attended with her family. She had gone to Sunday School there every week with her sisters, and her father sometimes read the lesson there when he was well enough. The chapel was nowhere near as impressive as St Matthew’s, only a simple place with whitewashed walls and wooden benches, but Carrie felt at home there, surrounded by her family and friends.
But James and his family had always worshipped at this church, so this was where they had come.
She glanced sideways and caught the eye of Eleanor Haverstock, sitting in the family’s box pew across the wide, stone-flagged aisle. She towered over the people around her, an unbecoming cloche hat pulled low on her head.
Eleanor beamed back at her, still singing enthusiastically, while her father stood at her side, frowning down at his hymn book, his mouth not moving, as if he was somehow affronted by the words written there.
Carrie’s gaze darted guiltily back to her hymn book. She could feel her face starting to flush with embarrassment at being caught out staring like a bored child. And by Miss Eleanor, too.
That was another reason St Matthew’s always made her feel so uncomfortable. All the grand people worshipped there, travelling from their big houses to the pleasant country church.
The hymn ended, and everyone sat down again as the vicar climbed the steps to his place in the carved stone pulpit.
‘The sermon today is taken from Genesis, chapter two, verse twenty-four,’ he announced. ‘“Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh …”’ He looked up, gaze skimming the congregation over the rim of his spectacles. ‘In other words, the blessed sanctity of marriage,’ he intoned gravely. He seemed to seek out Carrie directly, his eyes meeting hers. ‘I see many married couples before me this morning. But how many of us have forgotten the vows we made before God?’
His words went like a dart straight to Carrie’s heart, piercing her with guilt. She thought about the many secret donations she had made to the Miners’ Welfare Fund over the past few weeks. Old baby clothes Henry had outgrown, food from their larder, even money from the housekeeping allowance James gave her. All delivered in secret via her mother or sisters, so no one ever knew the gifts came from her.
Even so, she knew James would never approve. She also knew that if the Haverstocks were ever to find out, he would be in terrible trouble.
‘The Bible teaches us that the bond between husband and wife is sacred, and that we must place our spouse first,’ the vicar went on, his deep voice echoing into the high rafters. ‘As it says in the marriage vows, “Forsaking all others …”’
Carrie thought about the morning Sergeant Cray had arrived, the way she had stood there and lied to him, and to her husband. Even now, she still wondered what had made her do it. One word from her could have helped James, and yet she had lied to them both because her loyalty to her friends was stronger than her loyalty to her own husband.
She glanced sideways towards the Haverstocks’ pew. Sir Edward was now dozing in his seat, his head nodding towards his chest. Eleanor gazed up at the vicar, her face rapt, taking in every word.
Carrie felt a twinge of pity for her. Poor Eleanor. She didn’t have much of a life, stuck in that miserable big old house with her grumpy father.
Perhaps Carrie ought to put more effort into making friends with her? Miss Eleanor had always been very kind and welcoming to her, after all. And she couldn’t help being a Haverstock.
And James would certainly like it. Carrie knew she owed it to him to make more of an effort to become part of his world instead of clinging so grimly to her old life.
Forsaking all others, as the vicar had said.
With that in mind, she didn’t rush out of the church the minute the service was over, but allowed Eleanor to catch up with them.
She immediately rushed to admire baby Henry, asleep in his pram.
‘Look at him, what a little duck he is! And how he’s grown! He’s such a handsome chap. He looks just like you, James, don’t you think?’
‘I was rather hoping he might take after his mother,’ James said, glancing at Carrie.
‘Oh, James, you’ve made your wife blush! Anyway, I think you’re being far too modest,’ Eleanor gushed. ‘He definitely has your nose, at any rate. Although his hair is really quite dark …’
‘As I said, he takes after his mother.’
‘He’s delightful anyway,’ Eleanor went on. ‘Don’t you think so, Father?’ She turned to Sir Edward, who had just joined them.
‘What?’
‘Little Henry. Don’t you think he’s the most delightful child?’
Sir Edward gave the pram a cursory glance. ‘All babies look the same to me,’ he dismissed. Then, turning to James, he said, ‘I want a word with you, Shepherd. Have you seen to that business we discussed?’
‘Yes, Sir Edward. It’s all in hand.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow morning. First thing.’
James spoke in a low voice, his back half turned. Carrie wondered what it was she was not supposed to hear.
‘You know, you really should come and visit again soon.’ Eleanor’s cheerful chatter drowned out the rest of the men’s conversation. ‘I’m sure little Henry would love to explore the grounds of the Hall. We could have a picnic by the pond …’
‘That sounds very nice,’ Carrie replied absently, her attention still fixed on the hushed conversation between her husband and Sir Edward. They had both turned their backs now, heads close together.
‘Do you mean it? Oh, that’s wonderful!’ Miss Eleanor clasped her hands together in delight. ‘We’ll arrange a date, shall we? Oh, it will be such fun!’
Finally they said their goodbyes, and Carrie and James left the Haverstocks and started to make their way back down the lane towards the village.
‘What did Sir Edward want to talk to you about?’ Carrie asked him.
He shrugged. ‘Just some pit business.’
‘What kind of business?’
‘Nothing to concern you.’ He was being deliberately evasive, she could tell. ‘Did I hear you making arrangements with Eleanor to go up to the Hall?’
‘Yes, I think I did.’ Carrie’s heart sank at the prospect.
‘Thank you.’ James reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘I know it’s difficult for you, but I do appreciate it.’
The vicar’s words drifted back into her mind. It felt good to be doing the right thing for once, rather than deceiving her husband.
‘It must have been urgent pit business, for Sir Edward to seek you out on a Sunday?’ she remarked.
James’ mouth twisted. ‘Oh, you know Sir Edward. Everything is urgent if it concerns him and his business.’
‘What did he want this time?’ Carrie asked again, but just at that moment Henry woke up, and James took him out of his pram to carry him.
Carrie watched him with his son in his arms, showing him the wild flowers growing in the long grass along the side of the lane. There was something about the sight that made her uneasy.
After church, she went down to the rows to visit her father. He had rallied slightly after his recent bout of illness, enough to insist on going up to the allotment with her to lift some carrots. But Carrie had ended up doing most of the work while her father sat on an upturned bucket, fighting for breath. He maintained he was quite well, but his white, sunken face told a different story.
So when the hammering on the door woke her up at dawn the following morning, Carrie shot out of bed, convinced it must be one of her sisters come to tell her Eric Wardle had been taken ill in the night.
Her feet had barely touched the floorboards when she heard a man’s voice, shouting up angrily from below.
‘Come out here, Shepherd!’ he roared. ‘Come out and face us like a man!’
Carrie turned to James in dismay, but he was already out of bed and heading for the door.
‘Wait here,’ he ordered grimly.
‘But who—’ The
bedroom door closed on her, cutting her off. Carrie sat on the edge of the bed and listened to James’ footsteps hurrying down the stairs. Then she pulled on her robe and crept after him.
As she reached the top of the staircase, she could see James standing on the doorstep, his back to her.
‘Go home,’ he was saying. ‘Go before I set the law on you.’
‘Aye, that’d be right! Have me put in jail, so you can throw my family out on the streets, just like you have t’others. I don’t know how tha can live with thysen after what tha’s done.’
Carrie recognised the voice. It was her friend Nancy’s father, Ron Morris. As she reached the foot of the stairs, she could see his stocky figure squaring up to James, the miner’s blazing anger a contrast to her husband’s icy calm.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
James glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘I told you to stay upstairs.’
Carrie ignored him, turning to Mr Morris. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You mean he in’t told you what he’s done?’ Mr Morris sent James a filthy glance. ‘Aye, I daresay he was too ashamed.’
Carrie turned to her husband. ‘What’s he talking about?’
James shook his head, tight-lipped. ‘It’s nothing—’
‘Nothing! You call it nothing to turn innocent women and children out on the streets?’
Ron Morris looked at Carrie. ‘I’ll tell thee, shall I, since he’s too cowardly to tell you himself? He’s turned Susan Toller and Mrs Horsfall out of their cottages.’
‘No!’ Carrie stared at James’ stony profile. ‘Is this true?’
‘Carrie …’
‘Is it true, James?’
He let out an angry sigh. ‘Mr Toller and Mr Horsfall are in prison, and therefore no longer employed by Bowden Main Colliery,’ he recited stiffly. ‘Since the cottages are supplied to miners’ families, the women have been issued with an eviction notice.’
‘Eviction notice!’ Ron Morris retorted. ‘The bailiffs are there now, tossing their furniture out on t’street!’
Carrie ignored him, her attention still fixed on her husband. ‘But you can’t do that! Where will they go? What will they do?’
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