THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘You know I’m devoted only to you, Cousin Emma,’ he grinned, sweeping her around the crowded floor.

  She laughed. ‘Polly De Winton hasn’t taken her eyes off you all evening. It’s no surprise - you look quite dashing and mysterious in these robes.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve noticed me.’

  ‘Dear Alex, how could I not? But you must be attentive to young Polly. Her father makes a good living from the dues from lead mining. She’s his only heir - and old De Winton keeps a fine stable, so I hear.’

  Alexander laughed. ‘You are a more incorrigible matchmaker than my father.’

  ‘The best,’ Emma smiled as the dance ended. ‘Now go and work your Pringle charm.’

  Alexander felt light-headed from the dance and the attention of his charismatic hostess. Impulsively, he grabbed Polly by the hand and pulled her from the ballroom.

  ‘Fresh air is what we need,’ he declared, and led her out onto the cool terrace.

  He slipped her arm through his and felt her shiver either from the chill air or excitement. He knew she found him attractive and it fed his desire to be wanted, to be special and loved. It was like a shot of brandy going straight to his head. This was the moment he enjoyed most, the quickening of interest in someone else that stirred his own.

  He led her down the stone path away from the terrace and towards the hothouses, telling her she must try the peaches. Polly had never tasted fresh peaches before, only tinned. In the warmth of the darkened glasshouse they shared the fruit, the blaze of lights from the castle spilling down the terraces behind them.

  Her angular features were softened in the pale light, her eyes large as they gazed back at him.

  ‘We shouldn’t miss the fireworks,’ she said, a little unsure.

  ‘No,’ Alexander agreed. Then quite without thought, he stooped down and kissed her firmly on the lips. She tasted sweet and sticky and smelt pleasantly of musk. He imagined her hair under the wig to be blonde, long tresses that would cascade about her strong shoulders once released. He slipped an arm around her waist.

  She stepped away, her fingers flying to her mouth.

  ‘We shouldn’t be here - not on our own,’ she said.

  He saw her alarm and was quick to apologise. ‘Sorry, Polly. I’ve drunk too much.’

  ‘I want to go back,’ she said, avoiding his look.

  ‘Of course.’ He had misread the situation again. For an instant he had imagined himself in love. No one else seemed as susceptible as he. He felt foolish.

  They retraced their steps in silence back into the blaze of light. Once back among the dancers, Polly brightened and relaxed. But Alexander felt suddenly tired and jaded by drink and romantic disappointment. He excused himself and went off to the smoking room. Hours later he woke in one of the leather chairs, the fire gone out. Stiff and cold he emerged into the corridor, empty save for the glimpse of a maid carrying a bucket of coal up the far stairs.

  Early morning light shone through the leaded panes of the gallery. Below they were clearing up the debris of discarded drinks and late night suppers. He had slept through the fireworks and the rest of the ball. Alexander crept up to his bedroom and lay down, his head thumping from the previous night’s drinking. But he could not sleep. Instead he stripped off his fancy dress, plunged his face into cold water in the china basin on the washstand and splashed his upper body.

  He remembered kissing Polly in the hothouse, and groaned. He hoped she hadn’t complained to the bullish-faced De Winton. At least tomorrow he would be gone and no more of an embarrassment to his cousins. Suddenly he yearned to be at sea, with the salt wind in his face and the rocky shore of Sweden on the horizon.

  Alexander dressed in riding clothes and strode out to the stables. He would have his final canter out across the moor. To his astonishment, Polly was there, wearing a green riding habit and black hard hat.

  ‘You promised to show me the estate,’ she blushed. Her features were sharp in the daylight. He had been wrong about her hair; it was brown under the hat. But her eyes shone with amusement and her look was challenging. His interest quickened.

  ‘Of course,’ he smiled and nodded. ‘I hoped you would be here.’

  ‘Liar,’ she murmured.

  He gave her a startled look.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, leading her horse over the cobbles. ‘Don’t want to miss breakfast in an hour.’

  Alexander followed, entranced. He had misjudged Polly. There was no sign of the retiring wallflower he had thought to so easily impress the night before. She was obviously far more at ease among horses than high society. They set off at a brisk trot.

  ***

  Aunt Lizzie helped Kate make ready for the evening, combing out her hair and fixing it up with combs and pins. Lizzie and Peter could not be persuaded to go, her aunt unable to walk the distance and her uncle happier to smoke a pipe at his front door than be made to dance.

  ‘You’ve lovely skin, our Kate,’ Lizzie marvelled, stroking the softness of her cheek. ‘You’ve your da’s fair face.’

  Kate felt a stab of affection for her aunt for mentioning her long-dead father. Her own mother never talked of him for fear of riling John McMullen’s jealousy. It was as if William Fawcett had never been. But now, by insisting on taking his name, Kate had reinvented herself and thrown off the yoke of being branded one of those unruly, boastful McMullens who fought with their neighbours and had been evicted more times than she could remember.

  ‘What was he like?’ Kate asked softly. ‘Me da.’

  Lizzie spoke with a hairpin between her teeth. ‘Gentle. Hard-working. Good with you bairns. Real family man like my Peter. A gentleman, I’d say. But proud of being a skilled working man.’ She took the pin from her teeth and slid it into Kate’s hair. ‘Never had good health, mind, poor lad.’

  Kate mused. ‘I remember he used to take us by the hand and we’d run down the lane. He’d say, “Come on, lasses, catch the moon.”’ ‘ Her eyes shone at the memory. ‘And I remember him singing and playing the piano. Don’t recall his face clearly, but I can still hear him singing.’’

  ‘Aye, he had a grand voice - him and your mam - sang like birds.’

  ‘Mam an’ all?’ Kate asked in surprise.

  Lizzie exclaimed, ‘Of course! Our Rose had a voice like an angel - just like yours.’

  ‘I never hear her sing.’

  Lizzie grunted. ‘Aye, well, your mam hasn’t had much to sing about these past years with old John.’

  ‘No,’ Kate sighed, feeling a nagging guilt at how willingly she’d left her mother to cope with her boorish stepfather.

  ‘Now don’t you go worrying your pretty head with thoughts of home,’ Lizzie said, seeing her niece’s worried look. ‘Tonight you’re ganin’ to the castle to enjoy yourself for once.’

  Kate sprang up. She was to meet Suky at the gate to Farnacre at eight o’clock. She glanced quickly in the cracked mirror above her aunt’s washstand. A pale oval face with large dark-lashed eyes stared back.

  ‘Ta for doing me hair,’ she smiled, and smoothed down the pink and white calico dress that Lizzie had helped her make.

  ‘Hurry now,’ her aunt said, hobbling after her on a stick. ‘I’ll see to the lads.’

  Kate found Suky waiting impatiently by the wrought-iron gate to the old hall.

  ‘Haway! It’ll all be over if we don’t get a move on.’

  Kate laughed and linked her arm through her friend’s. If John McMullen could see her now, he’d go off like one of last night’s fireworks! Kate and the boys had gone out late to look at the cascade of bright colours showering the sky over the castle and marvelled at the distant sight of guests in fancy dress, but had been warned off by an officious footman from coming too close. Well, tonight it was their turn to have some fun.

  Kate was amaze
d at the size of the servants’ hall, where tables had been laid out with trenchers of meat and boiled potatoes, mounds of lettuce and radishes and steaming pies of cheese and potato. For pudding there were baked apples stuffed with raisins and jugs of custard, and wobbling jellies that sparkled in the overhead lights.

  Even Suky seemed overawed as they squeezed on to a bench at the bottom of a long trestle table, the noise of chatter deafening around them. Jugs of beer were passed up and down the table. Suky tried some, but Kate wrinkled up her nose at the bitter smell. It reminded her too much of home and a familiar knot of tension gripped her insides.

  Soon they were enlivened by food and were chattering with some of the kitchen maids around them. Halfway through the meal, the door at the far end opened and a well-dressed couple entered. Immediately a hush fell on the hall and everyone sprang to their feet. Kate craned for a view. An elderly gentleman in evening dress leaning on a stick made his way slowly down the length of the room, nodding and talking to people as he went. At his side, holding his arm, was a beautiful woman in a damson-coloured gown and strings of heavy pearls at her throat.

  ‘Lady Ravensworth,’ Kate breathed, recognising the woman at once.

  Suky looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Seen her before in the gardens,’ Kate explained. She looked beyond to see if Master Alex might be with them too, but saw with disappointment that they were alone.

  They came all the way down the hall, talking with all the staff, until finally they arrived at the bottom where the girls from the hall were standing.

  Lady Ravensworth looked at them quizzically.

  ‘Are you new?’ she asked them.

  ‘F-from Farnacre, ma’am,’ Suky stammered, going puce.

  She smiled at them. ‘Can you sing?’

  ‘Sing, ma’am?’ Suky asked in confusion.

  ‘Yes. The Dowager loves to be sung to. It’s all she understands now.’

  ‘Kate here’s got a lovely singing voice, ma’am.’

  Kate flushed, nudging her friend in embarrassment.

  Lady Ravensworth eyed her, thinking how translucent the girl’s skin was compared to the mottled complexions around her.

  ‘Sing me something, Kate,’ she smiled in encouragement.

  ‘Now, ma’am?’ Kate gulped.

  Her Ladyship nodded.

  Kate was suddenly aware of the silence all about. Lord Ravensworth had stopped speaking loudly to Miss Peters and people were glancing at Kate in sly amusement. She could tell some of them were willing her to make a fool of herself, the lowly laundry maid from the hall, with the Tyneside accent.

  Kate lifted her chin. She would show them she could sing! Taking a deep breath, she began a song about the Waters of Tyne and a girl waiting for her sweetheart to return safely.

  Unsure at first, Kate’s voice soon found its strength and lifted high into the barrelled ceiling of the hall. The tender words rang out clear and melodious, needing no accompaniment. At the finish, the hall remained in silence as if wrapped in a spell. Then Lady Ravensworth clapped her gloved hands in delight and others followed her lead.

  ‘Well done, child,’ she smiled. ‘You shall sing for His Lordship’s mother.’

  The earl nodded with a benign smile, then turned to move on.

  Kate flushed deeper, only remembering to bob in curtsy after they had turned away.

  When they had gone, Kate and Suky burst into giggles of relief. Everyone around them began to show more interest. Where on Tyneside did she come from? Had she had singing lessons? Kate laughed and shook her head.

  ‘Everyone from Jarrow sings!’

  There were demands for more songs and Kate needed little encouragement. Soon there was a general sing-song up and down the hall. Only the Farnacre housekeeper, Miss Peters, pursed her mouth in tight disapproval.

  ‘She’s no proper lady, that one,’ she muttered. ‘Takes too much interest in the servants, if you ask me. I’ll not have you bothering the dowager with your noise, whatever that one says.’

  Suky pulled Kate away. ‘Don’t listen to her,’ she whispered. ‘She hates it when folk enjoy themselves. Never approved of Lord Ravensworth remarrying, so they say.’

  Later they went out to the stable courtyard from where the carriages had been moved to make room for dancing. It was a fine night and music from a fiddler filled the air. Kate threw herself into the dancing. In the semi-dark and confusion she became separated from her friend. She danced with several of the stable boys and a gardener’s son she recognised. Then the musicians struck up a polka and someone grabbed her hand in the dark.

  She turned laughing to find herself staring up at Alexander. Before she could say anything he was sweeping her away in the lively dance, her feet almost flying off the uneven flagstones. Her heart pounded as they twirled so fast everyone else around them was a blur. All she was aware of for those brief minutes was the grip of his hand on hers and the feel of his strong arm supporting her back. Kate hardly dared look into his face, so amazed was she to find herself in his arms.

  ‘I thought I’d imagined you,’ he laughed, ‘a nymph from the woods with her basket of berries.’

  Kate stole a look at him. His eyes glinted with merriment.

  ‘But you are real,’ he grinned. ‘I can feel you are quite real.’

  Kate smiled but could think of nothing to say.

  ‘And now I know you have the voice of a nightingale.’

  She shot him a look.

  ‘Yes, I heard you sing for Lady Ravensworth.’

  ‘I never saw you!’

  He scrutinised her blushing face. ‘Were you looking for me?’

  Kate bit her lip and laughed in confusion.

  ‘I hope that’s a yes.’ He held her closer for a moment so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead, then the dance finished and he let her go.

  Alexander bowed and then he was gone, melting through the throng of dancers and drinkers and disappearing under the arch of the clock tower. Kate stood with thumping heart, peering after him, wondering if she had imagined the magical dance. What was he doing at such a party? Why had he suddenly appeared at her side and swept her into a polka? Had he been dancing with others or had he singled her out? It was like being given a sip of water when parched; she yearned for more.

  But he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had come on a whim, a diversion from a dull evening after the grandeur of last night’s ball. It couldn’t have meant anything to him, yet it left her feeling bereft.

  Suky found her. ‘Who was that you were dancing with?’

  Kate looked longingly over the crowd. ‘A lad from the castle.’

  ‘Didn’t look like a servant to me,’ Suky snorted. ‘One of the guests having a bit fun, more like.’

  ‘Aye,’ Kate admitted.

  ‘Well, you watch out for that sort,’ she warned. ‘Fancy silks and common serge don’t mix in the poss tub.’

  Kate gave her a shove of annoyance. ‘You and your washing! I was just having a dance.’

  Suky gave her a knowing look. ‘Aye, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She saw Kate’s wistful look and took her by the arm. ‘Haway, it’s not over yet. Let’s find a couple of footmen and have another jig.’

  Chapter 8

  The summer flew by for Kate. The days were spent working at Farnacre and the evenings helping her aunt at the cottage, with trips to the gardens with her uncle. As autumn arrived, they were frantically busy harvesting vegetables and filling the store houses. Turnips and cabbages were laid in sand in the cellars, while apples and pears were carefully placed in airy lofts to keep right through to Easter.

  Kate helped knit together pungent onions into garlands, which were hung in the sheds along with carrots and parsnips. Peter nurtured his stores of fruit like a
nurse, inspecting them daily, rooting out rotten pieces, setting traps for rats and sweeping out cobwebs. When frosts came, he would cover his crop with blankets or moss. Cherries were layered in hay and sealed in air-tight boxes; grapes were stored in earthenware jars with dry oats and sealed with pitch and beeswax.

  At the hall there was a busy making of jams, preserves and syrups, of pickling cucumbers and drying out apples, quinces and artichoke hearts for cooking in winter stews and pies.

  Kate enjoyed the work and the changing seasons, though she was never asked to sing for the dowager. Lady Ravensworth appeared to have forgotten her request at the servants’ ball. She had probably never given it a second thought. Kate did not mind, though for her that night was still crystal clear months later. She would never forget the brief dance with Master Alex or the feel of being held in a man’s arms.

  Her only sorrow was that she had not seen him since. After several weeks of vainly looking out for him, she realised he must have left the estate. She neither knew what business had brought him to Ravensworth, nor where he had gone. Once she asked about him when she and Suky were needed to help in the castle laundry. It was a cold winter and an outbreak of influenza laid low half the castle staff.

  ‘You must mean Mr Pringle-Davies,’ Hannah, a housemaid, preened. ‘I laid his fire and brought his hot water.’

  ‘Aye, that’s the one,’ Kate said eagerly. ‘Where’s he gone?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Hannah sniffed.

  ‘Just asking,’ Kate blushed.

  ‘The Davieses live in the south of the county - least that’s where his letters came from.’ Hannah gave a satisfied look, as if pleased with her detective work.

  ‘So he’s not one of the family then?’ Kate persisted.

  ‘No. The Davieses are coal agents. But Mr Pringle-Davies seems to spend his time drawing - pictures all over his room. Once asked if he could draw me laying the fire! Doesn’t act like a man of business, that one.’

  An older parlour maid joined in. ‘I’ve heard it said he’s a fortune-hunter,’ Lily whispered as they hurriedly finished their tea. ‘Very close to Her Ladyship - too close, some say. Waiting for the old earl to pass on.’