by Maggie Hope
It took twenty minutes for her to get to Eliza’s house, and only ten for them to get back, for they came in Eliza’s trap. On the way, Lottie gave her mother-in-law an edited version of what had happened, with no mention of the rape.
‘But how did he fall? Surely he hadn’t been drinking?’
‘No, at least I don’t think so. He tripped over the clippie mat and hit his head,’ replied Lottie.
By this time they were pulling up in the street outside Lottie’s little house and Eliza couldn’t ask her anything more. They climbed down from the trap and Eliza put the nosebag on the pony.
‘He’s in the kitchen,’ said Lottie. ‘I couldn’t move him on my own.’
‘No, of course not,’ Eliza replied as she hurried in front of Lottie through the house to the kitchen at the back. ‘Where? Where is he?’ she asked.
‘In the chair by the fire,’ said Lottie, surprised she should have to ask. She pushed past Eliza and stared. The kitchen was empty. There was no one there, no one at all.
‘Where is he?’ she echoed Eliza.
‘He must have wandered off,’ Eliza said, more to herself than Lottie. ‘He must have been suffering from concussion and when he woke up didn’t know where he was. We have to find him. You go the back way and I’ll go the front.’ She started back the way she had come but when she looked back, Lottie had not moved.
‘Howay, Lottie! Goodness knows what he’ll do, where he’ll go, don’t you realize that? He could get himself hurt; killed even, if what you said was true.’
‘Aye. Yes, I’m going.’
Lottie ran out to the backyard gate and looked up and down the back lane. The only things in sight were a couple of lines of washing strung across the lane, for there were only two more cottages along this way. But there was a coal merchant’s cart going along the end road and she hurried to catch it up.
‘Have you seen a man going along here?’ she asked.
‘A man? I’ve seen a few, missus, but not going along here. Will I not do for you?’ He grinned to show he was joking.
‘Oh, don’t be soft, this is serious,’ said Lottie, her voice breaking into a shout in her anxiety.
‘Aye. Well if your man’s ran away from you I’m not surprised, missus. I bet you gave him hell.’ He was offended but she couldn’t take time to placate him now. She turned and ran the other way and down towards Prebends Bridge. Please God, don’t let him have fallen into the Wear, she prayed.
There was no sign of Thomas in among the trees and bushes that lined the river. Nor on the footpath, which ran alongside it. She went over on to the opposite bank but there was nothing there either, not that she could see. There were a few people walking along and a lone fisherman with rod and line sitting on a stool.
‘Have you seen a man coming along here?’ she asked everyone she met but most stared at her as though she were mad, which made her realize that it was a daft question to ask. ‘A man dressed like a tramp?’ she added.
‘You been robbed, pet?’ one man asked.
Lottie shook her head and carried along the path for a short distance before turning back to the bridge and crossing over again. She climbed the bankside towards the cottage. Perhaps Eliza had found him.
‘Did you see him?’
As Lottie turned into the lane she met Eliza, who was wringing her hands, frantic with worry. ‘Eeh, man,’ she went on when Lottie shook her head. ‘Why did you leave him on his own when he’d hurt his head? I thought you had more sense, Lottie. I should have come with him. I could have driven him over in the trap. I’m his mother, I would have known he wasn’t right, not well.’
‘He was asleep,’ Lottie replied. ‘It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t.’ She was sorely tempted to tell Eliza the whole story about her precious son. But she could not, of course she couldn’t. How do you tell a mother that her son is a wastrel and a rapist besides being a thief? And Eliza had been so good to her. Eliza and her whole family had been good to her. Even if she told her mother-in-law, Eliza would not believe her.
‘You could have asked a neighbour to look in,’ said Eliza. ‘Why didn’t you? If anything has happened, anything worse to my Tot, it will be all your fault. It will, it will!’
She had thought he was dead and today he had come back and despite everything she had been so glad to see him. It was a load lifted from her heart. But now he had gone again and goodness knows what might happen to him. It was all the fault of this lass she had taken into her heart and home and this was how she repaid her.
Lottie was stricken with remorse. It was true she should not have left Thomas by himself. If he had concussion he could be wandering anywhere, falling down the bank or, worse, off a bridge. There were so many bridges in Durham. By this time he could have been swept away to Sunderland and the North Sea.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really am sorry, Eliza.’
‘It’s no good being sorry now, is it? You’re an ungrateful little bitch, you are. Why Thomas married you I don’t know. You’ve ruined his life.’
‘I ruined his life! Why if you knew …’
Lottie stopped. It was senseless, the two of them fighting like this. What they had to do was find Thomas.
‘If I knew what?’
‘Nothing. Look we must find Thomas. He could have gone over to your house. It’s worth checking. Why don’t you go there and I’ll look elsewhere, around the town. He can’t have gone far.’
Eliza nodded. ‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll go now. You fetch Peter, will you? And if you don’t find him in half an hour go to the polis. Or no, maybe I should go to the bobbies now.’
‘No, don’t get the polis,’ said Lottie. ‘Not yet, any road.’
Eliza glanced keenly at her. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, you know there was a misunderstanding with the law firm in Newcastle. I don’t think Thomas would want the polis.’
‘Aw, getaway, it cannot have been anything much. I brought Thomas up to be honest.’
‘Still, I’ll get the polis but not until I have to. Any road, we might find him any minute. He’s probably just sitting down nursing his headache, somewhere by the Wear.’
Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that, Eliza would be imagining him falling in the Wear. But Eliza agreed to Lottie’s suggestions and agreed to seek Thomas at home. The two women pulled on their shawls and went out looking for Thomas once again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was the police who found Thomas almost three weeks later. Lottie had scoured Durham City and its environs, looking for him from first light until the dark of night made it impossible for her to see. She searched the riverbanks in all their twists and turns and she searched the streets and the outskirts, even the mining villages close to the city. Peter and Eliza searched too, and when they didn’t find him, advertised in the Northern Echo for him but with no result.
‘I am going to the police,’ Eliza said to Peter. ‘I don’t care what happens. I have to know where his is and whether he is alive or not.’
‘I’ll find him. I’ve asked all the girls at school to keep a lookout for him and you know, they come from all over Durham,’ said Anne, then a thought struck her. ‘You don’t think his head got better, do you? He might have joined the army or run away to sea or taken himself off to Australia …’
‘Anne! Of course he hasn’t,’ snapped her mother. ‘He must be hurt, that’s what. He could be anywhere, lying hurt. He would have got in touch with me at least, if he was going away.’
‘He didn’t last time,’ said Anne.
‘Anne!’ Peter said sternly.
‘Well he didn’t …’
‘Go to bed, Anne,’ said Peter. ‘It’s past your bedtime anyway.’
Next morning there was a headline in the Durham Post and also in the Sunderland Echo. Man found drowned in the Wear at Chester-le-Street, it read.
The body of an unknown man who appeared to be a tramp has been found washed up in reeds by the side of the River Wear at Chester-le-Stree
t. The coroner has been informed.
‘I know it is Thomas,’ said Eliza.
‘You do not know, how can you?’ Peter replied, trying to calm her down, for she sounded hysterical. She was at the end of her tether, he thought, so white and strained-looking. He tried to reason with her. ‘It could be any one of a number of tramps who go from workhouse to workhouse looking for a bed. You know they do.’
‘No, it’s Thomas. I can feel it in my bones. It says here he is in the mortuary at Chester-le-Street. I have to go and find out for myself.’
‘I’ll come with you if you insist on going,’ said Peter with a sigh.
‘No, you go to work. I’ll see Anne off to school and then I’ll go round for Lottie. I’m sure she’ll want to come.’
‘Well if it is him, she’s the next of kin. She’ll have to identify him.’
‘Aye, legally she is. But who could be closer to him than his mother?’
Wisely, Peter simply shrugged for an answer.
Eliza and Lottie drove to Chester-le-Street in the trap. They said little on the way, for all their thoughts were concentrated on what lay ahead. Lottie told herself that she hoped it was not Thomas lying in the mortuary, that he had recovered and gone off, left the country for ever, taken a berth on a ship going out of Seaham Harbour or Hartlepool or somewhere else along the coast. She did not want it to be Thomas lying dead on a slab in a mortuary. Of course she did not, she repeated to herself. Yet the bruises on her thighs and breast were in the colours of the rainbow now and she wore a high-necked shirtwaister to cover up the bruises on her neck. At least the throbbing inside her had quietened down.
‘Dear God, don’t let it be my Thomas, my little Tot,’ breathed Eliza as they stopped in front of the mortuary and climbed down from the trap, yet she was sure it was. She put the nosebag over the head of the pony and she began munching quietly, used to waiting outside a house for her mistress.
The mortuary was locked up but there was a small notice on the door indicating that the keyholder lived close by, and Lottie went in search of him.
‘He’s a tramp, missus,’ he said. ‘Still, you can look, make sure it’s not your man.’
‘It is my man, though,’ Lottie mumbled to herself as she stood and gazed down at the corpse on the table. His face was mottled a pale blue and yellow like a waxwork and totally expressionless. Behind her, Eliza stood in the doorway, dreading to come any closer and have her fears confirmed.
‘What? What do you say?’
Lottie was unable to speak or to answer Eliza for a moment or two. She could not even look up; her eyes were glued to Thomas’s face.
‘Tell me! Tell me, damn you!’ Eliza shouted and the mortuary attendant drew nearer.
‘Now, missus …’ he began and put a hand on her arm. She shrugged it off as she finally found the strength to move forward and look down on the face of her son.
‘Thomas,’ she said quietly, seeming to shrink into herself, swaying. Lottie had to grab her quickly before she slid to the ground.
‘Now then, Eliza,’ she said. ‘Hold up.’ But she had to take her mother-in-law’s whole weight for a minute or two.
The attendant led them to the outer office where there were chairs for them to sit down. Neither woman was crying.
‘It was because of his father,’ said Eliza. ‘My poor lad, if only his father had been different. Thomas didn’t deserve to die like this, though. He was such a good lad, Lottie, he was.’
‘I know, Eliza, I know,’ Lottie answered, though she was barely following what her mother-in-law was saying. In truth, Lottie felt quite numb. She desperately wanted to get out into the fresh air; she felt she could hardly breathe. But there were papers to sign and questions to answer before the two of them could get away. Then at last they were free to climb back into the trap to return to Durham City. Lottie took the reins, turning the pony around and setting off down the road while Eliza lapsed into a dumb misery.
It was only after Lottie had left Eliza with Peter and gone back to her own little house and closed the door behind her that she could give way to her own feelings and mourn for Thomas and what might have been. She wept for a while, then dried her eyes, heated water for a bath and sat in it before the fire, her knees drawn up to her chin. The fire flickered in the darkening day, then died to a steady red glow, which warmed her bare shoulders and back.
The water cooled and the fire died down and still she sat there. It was only when the crust of cinders fell into the ashes with a small crash that she started out of her reverie. She had not realized how cold she had become: she was shivering and her teeth chattered. Stiffly, she stood up and pulled the towel from the brass line above the fire, before stepping out of the tin bath and towelling herself dry. She pulled on her flannel nightgown and walked upstairs in her bare feet, then climbed into bed and curled herself into a ball.
She even welcomed the iciness of the sheets as she lay there full of guilt for she knew not what. Some of what had happened must have been her fault. She could have done something to help Thomas, to save him from himself.
Eventually the bed warmed and Lottie’s shivering stopped. It was quite dark as her eyes closed and she fell into an exhausted sleep, too deep for dreams.
The funeral was a low-key affair held at the Methodist Chapel in Old Elvet. It was a large church and the few mourners occupied only the front two pews. Five minutes into the service a couple entered the church quietly and sat down at the back. It was only as the people were following the coffin out of the church that Lottie lifted her head and saw that Mr and Mrs Snape were standing quietly to one side. She felt a rush of gratitude that they had come all the way from Newcastle to Thomas’s funeral in spite of the fact that he had besmirched the reputation of the firm.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Lottie said to Alice and her husband quietly as they moved away from the open grave later, after the interment. She nodded towards Eliza and Peter, walking with Anne between them a short distance in front. ‘His parents will appreciate it, as I do.’
‘Oh, Lottie, we are so sorry for your trouble,’ said Alice.
‘I know, Alice,’ Lottie replied. ‘You were a good friend to me when I needed a friend. I am grateful to you.’ She paused and glanced at Mr Snape. ‘Won’t you both come to the funeral tea? It’s just in the chapel schoolroom. I dare say you could do with some tea.’
Alice glanced at her husband, who shook his head imperceptibly. ‘If you don’t mind, Lottie, we won’t,’ she said. ‘We must get back.’
Lottie nodded, understanding that it would have been just a step too far after what Thomas had done to the firm.
‘Do come up and see us soon, Lottie,’ Alice said as their carriage approached. Lottie did not miss the look of alarm on Mr Snape’s face nor the obvious relief when she murmured a non-committal reply. She waited until the carriage moved away, then turned to where Bertha and Charlie Carr were standing with Peter and Eliza. She doubted if she would want to go back to Newcastle for a very long time.
It took quite a time for Lottie to settle down to the routine she had just begun to establish since she had returned to Durham from Newcastle. She had nightmares; dreadful terrifying nightmares, all involving Thomas returning from the grave and climbing into her bed. She would wake, screaming, as she visualized him reaching out to her, forcing her to do what he wanted, raping her again. There was no one she could talk to. Eliza was her confidante, and how could she tell such things to Thomas’s mother?
Eventually, she began to work again. She resumed the ‘Home Notes’ page for the Durham Post and took her turn at reporting cases at the magistrates’ court and even at the assizes.
‘Lottie? What are you doing still here?’
Jeremiah Scott put his head around the door of the small room where she was typing up her notes one evening. Lottie had had a busy day. Not only had she attended court but she had had to finish off her ‘Home Notes’ page, for tomorrow was Friday and the paper would be going to press.
‘Oh! I’m just about finished now,’ she replied, pulling the foolscap sheet from the typewriter and putting it on the growing pile by the side. She rose from her chair, feeling a little flustered, and promptly staggered and would have fallen were it not for the fact that Jerry stepped forward quickly and caught hold of her.
‘Are you not well, Lottie?’
He looked down at her, his concern evident in his expression. He was still holding her; she could feel his arms around her warm and comforting. She felt she could have stayed there for ever. If only … Lottie shocked herself by the turn her thoughts were taking. She pulled herself up quickly and backed away from Jeremiah.
His expression changed and his hands dropped to his sides.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding stilted. ‘I did not mean to be too familiar.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘Please don’t apologize! You were being kind, you are always kind to me.’
Lottie could still feel where his arms had been on her; she blushed like a schoolgirl and looked down at her work in an effort to hide it. With agitated hands, she picked up the pile of typescript and began to straighten it on the surface of the desk, in the process dropping half of the pages on the floor.
‘Oh, Lottie,’ Jerry exclaimed, dropping to his hands and knees just as she did the same, and beginning to help her pick up the scattered pages. ‘For heaven’s sake!’
His fingers brushed hers and suddenly he took hold of her hand and pulled her to him. The carefully typed pages dropped yet again, but they were forgotten as he drew Lottie to him and smothered her with kisses.
Lottie forgot everything but the overwhelming feelings he was arousing in her. She sank to the floor with him and let herself drown in them. In fact, she was incapable of doing anything else. It was the most natural thing in the world and not at all wrong or sinful.
‘My love,’ he whispered and exhilaration swept through her. He lifted her and carried her to the couch before the fire. It was narrow and meant only to accommodate one lying down, but somehow it did not seem too narrow for them both but perfectly comfortable.