Kate had packed jars of jam and pickled onions from Lizzie and had kept her Christmas soap from the Liddells for Mary, remembering her sister’s plea to bring something back for her.
‘We’ll pick you up tonight,’ Peter offered.
‘No, I can walk up the hill no bother,’ Kate insisted. ‘Don’t know which train I’ll catch.’
Her uncle nodded, but Alfred cried in alarm, ‘You will come back, won’t you?’
‘Course I will.’ Kate ruffled his hair in affection. ‘I love it here.’
All the way to Tyneside, her excitement at seeing her family mounted. She craned for a view of the river as the draughty train clattered along downriver from Gateshead. Was Jack stoking up the fire to heat the oven? Was her mother preparing a piece of brisket in thick gravy, knowing it was her favourite?
Her heart hammered as she stepped out on to the platform at Tyne Dock. It seemed an age since she had left last summer, shedding tears at leaving Jack and Mary at the last moment. Kate scanned the crowds at the barrier, family members waiting to welcome home girls in service like herself for Mothering Sunday. She clutched her parcel of presents and the posy of flowers she had picked fresh that morning.
Through the barrier, the crowds quickly melted and she was left alone. No one had thought to come to meet her. Kate swallowed her disappointment. They would all be busy doing jobs. She must get home as quickly as possible to help out.
Outside the station, Kate was overwhelmed by the cram of buildings and the milling of traffic, even on a Sunday morning. There were horse-drawn carts and bicycles to dodge. She stood on the kerb, suddenly paralysed. Kate had forgotten how noisy the town was. It clattered and hissed and roared like a beast. Everything seemed so large, so soot-blackened, so hemmed in.
She had grown used to wide open skies, the smell of cut grass or wet autumn leaves. The busiest place she had been to in the past eight months was the village of Kibblesworth - a few tight-knit streets and a pithead tucked in below the fell with a handful of shops. She felt like a country girl, frightened by the size and noise of the town, not knowing how to cross the road.
Kate stood there feeling foolish, finally galvanising herself to move one foot in front of the other. What was wrong with her? She knew these streets blindfold, had begged around them as a child, knew every hard inch of them. But she was no underfed girl with sores on her bare legs now, she told herself proudly. She was healthy and well-dressed, and worked in mighty Ravensworth Castle. Fortified with the thought, she made her way swiftly out of Tyne Dock and up the hill towards Simonside and Cleveland Place.
To her right she could see Jarrow’s thicket of housing and church spires peeping through the haze of chimney smoke. Below lay the gantries and cranes of Palmer’s shipyards and the tidal mud flats of Jarrow Slake. The tide was in and the sludge-grey water bobbed with planks of seasoning timber. As a small child her father had told her how the pitch-smeared body of a martyred pitman had been hanged there in a gibbet, a grisly sight swaying in the wind to strike fear into rebellious miners. But his friends had conjured away Jobling’s body and lived to fight on for workers’ rights.
Her mother hated that story and had forbidden Kate and her sisters to play near the treacherous Slake when they were young. Kate had shivered in frightened delight at the telling, but the mention of Jobling or the Slake had always earned her a sharp slap from Rose or John, though Kate never knew why.
She hurried on up the bank away from the clutter of housing until the road turned to squelching mud. Ahead she could see the signal box and the uneven roofs of Cleveland Place. Wisps of smoke were wafting from the cottage chimneys. Kate broke into her loping run, not minding that the mud splattered her boots or the hem of her skirt.
She banged in through the wooden gate and up the uneven brick path, one of Jack’s hens flapping out of the way in alarm.
‘I’m home!’ she cried, flinging open the door and rushing inside.
For a moment she could see nothing in the gloom. The light that trickled through the tiny windows was sepia, the fire smouldered and spat with dross. The place was empty.
‘Mam?’ Kate called in concern. ‘Mam!’
Just then the back door swung open and a bulky figure came panting through. It was Rose, struggling with a bucket of potatoes. She looked up and caught sight of her daughter. The bucket clattered to the floor as Rose held out her arms.
‘Mary, Mother of God! What a fright you gave me!’
‘Mam!’ Kate rushed forward, dumping her parcels on the table and throwing her arms about her mother. They hugged fiercely. ‘I’ve missed you, Mam.’
For a moment Rose could not speak. Then she pushed her gently away. ‘Here, you take these.’ Rose thrust the bucket of potatoes at her.
‘You shouldn’t be carrying them!’ Kate remonstrated. ‘Where is everybody? Where’s our Jack?’
‘The Devil knows,’ Rose panted. ‘I’ve given them a scrub - you peel them for me, hinny.’
‘Aye,’ Kate said, feeling a niggle of disappointment. It was as if she had never been away and there was nothing special about the day. ‘I brought you a bunch of flowers, Mam,’ she brightened, nodding at the splash of yellow daffodils on the table. ‘You should see them at Ravensworth - growing everywhere!’
Rose smiled at her daughter. ‘Let’s have a proper look at you. Are they feeding you enough?’ She turned Kate’s face to the light. ‘You’re looking bonny,’ she conceded in a rare compliment. ‘How’s our Lizzie and her lads?’
‘Grand, Mam.’ Kate blushed with pleasure. ‘And I’ve some’at special to tell you. I’m not working at Farnacre Hall any more - the old lady died. But Lady Ravensworth’s started me on at the castle - saw to it in person! I’m a housemaid now, Mam, not in the laundry.’
Rose gasped. ‘You’re working for Lord Ravensworth himself?’
Kate nodded. ‘And once I was laying the fire in Lady Ravensworth’s bedroom and he came in and spoke to me! Lady Ravensworth told him I came from Jarrow and he said his cousin, Edward Liddell, was rector there at one time.’
‘Canon Liddell?’ Rose said hoarsely, gripping Kate’s arm.
‘Aye, did you know of him?’
Rose nodded, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Used to work for him and Mrs Liddell when I was young. A real gentleman and a true Christian. Did His Lordship say how he was?’
‘He died, Mam - few years back, I think he said.’
‘Dead?’ Rose’s thick legs buckled beneath her. Kate grabbed her and pushed her into a chair. ‘Mam, are you all right? I’ll fetch a glass of water.’
‘No,’ Rose gasped for breath, a hand clamped to her chest, ‘it was just the shock ... that poor man ... tried his best for Jarrow.’ She sighed deeply and whispered half to herself, ‘Took us to Ravensworth one summer - me and the bairns - your two dear sisters.’
Kate tensed. She knew when her mother spoke in that wistful tone she was talking about Margaret and Elizabeth, those shadowy elder sisters who had died when Kate was small. She half-remembered them as bossy and loving, with strong arms always picking her up and cuddling her, warm hands clutching and pulling her along. She had a bitter-sweet memory of racing down the street after Elizabeth, waving goodbye until she was long out of sight. It was the last time she saw her alive.
‘Elizabeth was just a babe in arms,’ Rose continued, ‘but Margaret ran about like she’d found her legs for the first time. A day in paradise, it was. And thanks to Mrs Liddell our Lizzie went to place at the castle and met Peter.’ She glanced at Kate, her look briefly tender. ‘So it’s thanks to the Liddells that you’re there an’ all, I suppose.’
Kate looked at her mother in wonder, amazed that she could have known such important people. ‘Were they like friends to you, Mam?’ she asked quietly.
Rose nodded slowly. ‘I suppose they were, in a way.
It didn’t bother them that we were Catholic. They were kind to everyone they met.’ Her dark-ringed eyes looked sorrowful. The Reverend Mr Liddell was full of principles -just like your father. They were very alike.’
Kate’s heart missed a beat. ‘You mean me real da?’
‘Aye,’ Rose whispered, her eyes brimming, ‘William.’
Kate’s pulse quickened. She had not heard Rose utter her father’s name for years. It seemed to conjure him up, as if he stood in the shadows of the dark cottage, watching them.
‘Me da,’ Kate murmured dreamily, ‘he was a friend of Canon Liddell’s?’
Rose turned from her abruptly. ‘Well, maybe friend is too strong a word - they were two of a kind.’
‘But they knew each other?’ Kate pressed.
‘Aye,’ Rose admitted, pushing herself to her feet. ‘Now hurry up with those tatties, or there’ll be nowt to eat for dinner.’
The spell was broken, but the warm thrill Kate got from thinking that her father had been acquainted with some of the Liddells stayed with her. It made her feel even prouder to bear the name of Fawcett and not McMullen.
Kate unbuttoned her jacket and pulled off her mittens.
‘Is Sarah coming over from Hebburn?’ she asked, following her mother into the scullery.
‘No, she can’t get away.’
Kate felt dashed. ‘She’s doing canny, though?’
Rose shot her a look. ‘She hasn’t been home much either.’
Kate flushed. ‘Sorry, Mam. I know I should’ve tried to get home sooner.’
Rose held up a finger. ‘You don’t have to apologise. You stick in with your job at the castle and make some’at of yourself, hinny. That’s all that matters.’ They began to prepare the meal together, a rabbit stew and boiled potatoes and turnip. Bit by bit they told each other their news.
‘I think Sarah’s courting. She hasn’t said much, but I think that’s why she’s staying away. Doesn’t want Father to find her out.’
Kate remembered the way she had encouraged Sarah to hurry back to Hebburn for the Coronation bonfire to see the lad who called round with vegetables. Maybe something had come of it.
‘And you?’ Rose asked abruptly. ‘Are you courting yet?’
Kate blushed and laughed. ‘No!’
‘With all those lads around the estate?’ Rose teased. ‘Or does our Lizzie keep you that busy?’
‘Aunt Lizzie’s been grand,’ Kate smiled. ‘And there are some canny lads at Ravensworth - but no one in particular.’
For an instant, the image of the laughing Alexander swinging her round in the polka flashed through her mind. But he was the stuff of daydreams.
‘Well, there’s no hurry,’ Rose said. ‘Not like our Mary -she may be only fifteen but she wants to be wed and kept in luxury for evermore.’
‘Where is she?’
Rose let out a long sigh. ‘Down at Maggie’s. Spends more time there than here these days.’
Kate felt annoyance rise. ‘She should be here helping you.’
‘Aye, but it’s the only way I get a minute’s peace. If she’s here she’s ranting on about how badly she’s tret, how it’s not fair her sisters get to live away, how Jack’s spoilt rotten. Oh!’ Rose exclaimed in exasperation. ‘Nothing suits our Mary -she gets more difficult by the day. And don’t expect her to welcome you with open arms. Ever since we heard you were coming home she’s been crying and wailing about how you get everything you want and she gets nowt. Your father’s at his wits’ end.’
It was the first time either of them had mentioned John. If Mary had lost her ally in her stepfather then the situation must be bad.
‘Can’t she get a job?’ Kate suggested.
‘Your father wants her here giving me a hand around the house. He doesn’t know she spends most of the day down at Maggie’s. He’d knock her into next week if he knew.’ Rose shook her head. ‘It worries me that much.’ She gave a pleading look. ‘Do you think you could find her some’at over at Ravensworth? It might be the best thing for all of us if she gets away.’
Kate’s heart sank at the thought of the disruptive Mary barging her way into her new happy life.
‘Father would never agree, would he?’
‘He wouldn’t need much persuading.’
Kate saw the bleak look on her mother’s lined face. She was worn out with worry. Kate chided herself for being mean-spirited and put a hand on her mother’s. ‘I’ll ask about,’ she promised.
Kate lit a lamp to make the room more welcoming and set the table with the cheerful daffodils in the centre. At midday, without warning, Jack appeared like a ghost at the back door.
He had grown six inches, his arms dangling from a too-short jacket. She grinned at her brother and held out her hands.
‘By heck, you’ve grown! You’re as tall as me.’
‘Taller,’ he said with a shy smile, but did not go to greet her. Instead he busied himself unlacing his muddy boots and placing them carefully by the fender.
Kate dropped her arms. ‘Where’ve you been? Playing up the tree?’
He glanced at her in disdain. ‘I don’t play any more. Been down Bonham’s farm catching rats.’ His dark eyes challenged her. ‘Shoot crows an’ all.’
‘Shoot! You mean with a gun?’ Kate exclaimed.
‘Aye,’ he gave a grin of satisfaction, ‘he’s teaching me to use a real gun.’
Rose shushed him. ‘Don’t go telling your father. He’ll just take against old man Bonham and stop you going.’
‘I don’t care,’ Jack said scornfully. ‘He’ll not stop us.’
Rose rolled her eyes as if she had heard it all before. But Kate was surprised at Jack’s defiance. It was not like him to speak his mind or talk of defying John. Of all of them, she suspected he had changed the most in the months of her absence.
An hour later, Mary sauntered in, just ahead of her stepfather.
‘Father’s on his way up the hill,’ she announced. ‘Well, look who’s here! Have you brought me anything?’
‘Here,’ Kate smiled in greeting and held out the small parcel of soap, ‘I kept this for you specially.’
Mary tore it open at once and pressed the cake of soap to her nose.
‘It’s rosewater,’ Kate grinned. ‘Lady Ravensworth gave some to all us lasses.’
Mary pulled a face. ‘Ooh, Lady Ravensworth,’ she mimicked. ‘So how come you didn’t want it?’
‘I did, but I thought you’d like it.’
‘Well, I don’t want it if you’ve used it already.’
‘I haven’t touched it,’ Kate protested. ‘And I’ll have it back if it doesn’t suit you.’
‘No,’ Mary said, pocketing it swiftly, ‘I’ll have it.’ Catching Rose’s warning look she added with an effort, ‘Ta very much.’
Kate turned to Jack, who was whittling a stick with a penknife by the fire. He’d hardly spoken a word in an hour. ‘Sorry I didn’t bring you a present -I didn’t know what you’d want. But I knew you’d like Aunt Lizzie’s plum jam.’
Jack said nothing, just went on methodically carving.
‘It’s like talking to a block of wood,’ Mary complained. ‘Don’t expect it to speak back.’
She missed the resentful glance Jack gave her, but Kate didn’t. She stepped between them quickly.
‘Haway, Mary, help me serve up the dinner. I can hear Father at the gate.’
‘Serve it up yourself,’ Mary muttered. ‘I’ve done it every week you’ve been away.’
Rose’s scolding was interrupted by loud whistling at the door and John pushed his way in. He at least looked just the same, Kate thought drily. As smartly dressed as possible in his slightly threadbare suit, his white hair and moustache neatly combed. His face was as gaunt as ever, but he moved
quickly, exuding a brutish strength in his long limbs and powerful shoulders. The beery-tobacco smell of the bar wafted in with him.
‘My chickens home to roost, eh!’ he cried on seeing the sudden bustle around the table. ‘And how’s our Kate? Putting on weight, I’d say.’
‘No she’s not,’ Rose protested on her behalf.
‘Hello, Father.’ Kate went over and gave him a peck on the cheek, then quickly retreated. She hated the smell on his breath.
‘Come and tell me all about it.’ He sat down at the head of the table and Mary made a sudden fuss of serving him, vying for his attention as Kate described life at Ravensworth.
‘Tell him about the new position,’ Rose urged.
‘What new position?’ Mary demanded. ‘You never told me.’
‘I’m working up at the castle now,’ Kate said proudly. ‘I’m a housemaid for Lord and Lady Ravensworth.’
‘Isn’t that grand, John?’ Rose beamed.
‘Well I never!’ John slapped his knee, already thinking of how he would boast around the dockyard pubs. ‘Working for Lord Ravensworth himself, eh?’
‘Aye,’ Kate went on excitedly, ‘I lay the fires and fetch hot water for their baths and polish the stairs - you wouldn’t believe how many steps there are.’
Suddenly Mary flung back her chair. ‘It’s not fair!’ she cried. ‘You never said anything about being a housemaid. Said you were working in the laundry.’
‘Sit down,’ Rose ordered. ‘You should be pleased for your sister.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Mary pouted. ‘I’d make a better housemaid than her. She can’t even walk properly with her gammy foot.’
‘That’s enough,’ John growled. ‘Sit down, lass.’
‘No I won’t! Why can’t I be a housemaid? You should have thought of me!’ she yelled at Kate.
THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow Page 51