by Maggie Hope
‘I do,’ he said grimly. ‘She was a housemaid at the Hall until my father threw her out when she got pregnant. Grandmother gave her five pounds to see her through.’
Meg was about to ask him why his grandmother should do that, but Sally was hammering on the back door by now. Meg opened the door and let her in.
‘What do you want, Sally?’ she asked, her brow wrinkling as she got a whiff of sour milk and strong body odour.
‘Aye,’ sneered Sally. ‘You can speak to me now I’ve found you out, eh? An’ you, Master Jonty. Not too high and mighty now, are you? As bad as your da, aren’t you? Except at least he wasn’t messing about with a married woman. You wait till my Wesley gets home, he’ll show you what for an’ all. Pretending you’re better than us when all the time you’ve been rutting …’
‘Shut your dirty mouth, you slut,’ Meg snapped, and Sally turned on her.
‘Slut, is it? And what about you, eh, carrying on with a fancy man in Wesley’s house? Aye, well, it’ll be my house now, see if it isn’t.’
The baby in her arms began a fretful crying and Sally sat down in the chair recently vacated by Jonty and bared her breast to suckle him, not bothering to cover up in front of Jonty. She looked around the room, taking note of the furniture, the clean mats on the floor and the fresh curtains hanging at the window.
‘Aye,’ she said with a satisfied air, ‘I reckon I’ll be moving in tomorrow. And don’t you go taking anything away, mind. It was Wesley’s money bought this stuff and it belongs to him. You have no right to nothing, you haven’t.’
Jonty glanced at Meg, seeing the angry glint in her eye at the thought of losing her house. He felt helpless. What could he do to stop this girl, his father’s ex-mistress, from blackening Meg’s reputation? Oh, it was all his fault. He cursed himself for being too weak to keep away from his Meg. He desperately wanted to take her and her boys and ride away with them, away from this dreadful slattern of a woman, away from her brute of a husband.
‘I’ll give you money,’ he said.
‘No! No, you won’t, Jonty,’ cried Meg. ‘You can’t go that road, there’ll be no end to it, man.’
‘How much money?’
Sally had a sudden gleam to her eye as she pulled one breast away from the baby and put him to the other. Milk spurted out of the breast, wetting her bodice where there was already a large patch stiffened with sour milk.
‘Five pounds,’ said Jonty, trying to remember how much he had left of this month’s dividend. What with his father and now Sally, he would have nothing over, he thought.
‘Ten,’ said Sally quickly.
‘I haven’t got ten.’
Meg had by this time pulled herself together. She saw clearly that one payment, no matter how much, would never satisfy Sally.
‘Have you finished feeding the bairn?’ she asked in a deceptively quiet voice.
‘Aye,’ said Sally, wrapping the baby up in his filthy shawl and holding him against her shoulder.
‘Right, then, out you go!’
Meg took hold of Sally’s shoulders and pulled her up from the chair, pushing her unceremoniously out of the door.
‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing, will you? You’ll hurt the babby,’ Sally shouted, but Meg had her outside and the door bolted firmly against her in a trice.
‘You’ll be sorry, Meg Cornish, you see if you’re not. I’ll put Wesley on to you, I will, as soon as he comes in from the pit.’ Then Sally stood at the back window and screamed abuse.
‘You shouldn’t have done that, Meg,’ said Jonty. ‘The whole village will know about us now, your life will be hell.’
‘The whole place’ll know all right, these walls are paper thin,’ said Meg. ‘And if they don’t know now, they soon will. You don’t think they would have kept their mouths shut, do you, Wesley and Sally? I don’t care how much you paid them.’ She drew the curtains to shut out the sight of Sally and after a minute they heard her go off down the yard, still shouting insults over her shoulder.
Jonty looked gravely at Meg. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to get you into trouble like this. Do you want me to stay here? If she comes back with Wesley it could get very nasty.’
Meg sighed. ‘No, love, best not,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll just go back to Da’s house. Wesley can have this lot.’ She was dispirited. One disaster seemed to be following another. She considered telling Jonty about the other thing which was on her mind, but decided against it. Not today. She couldn’t bear to pile more trouble on to him and nor could she take any more emotional scenes herself. She might be wrong, any road, she told herself, what with Miles’s accident and Da and all, it could just have been that which had upset her rhythm.
‘You’d better go, love.’ She lifted her face to his for his kiss, feeling incredibly tired.
‘How can I go, leaving you to face all this?’
‘Go on, Jonty. I’ll meet you tomorrow, if you like.’
‘You’re sure you’ll be all right? Will Jackie be at home? Promise me you’ll go to your aunt’s place if he’s not. I don’t want you facing those two on your own.’
Meg smiled gently, knowing she was better equipped to face Wesley and Sally than he was. Jonty was such a gentleman, a gentleman born, she thought fondly. He wanted to protect her.
‘Go on, love. It’ll be better if you’re not here, really it will. If Jackie’s not in I’ll go to Auntie Phoebe’s. Uncle Tot is off shift, I know.’ She looked thoughtfully up at him. She had just realised why his grandmother might have paid Sally Hawkins off.
‘Jonty, do you mean Sally’s lad, the older one …?’
‘I do. He’s my half-brother, yes,’ said Jonty, his lips tightening into a straight line.
Meg shook her head. ‘And the baby is half-brother to Tucker and Kit,’ she commented. ‘Queer world, isn’t it?’
Gathering up her few personal belongings into a bundle, Meg looked round the house in George Row, checking to see if she had missed anything. The rocking-horse … Jackie would have to come over for that. Kit would be heart-broken if it was left. The toy soldiers which Jonty had given Tucker were already gone. Tucker couldn’t bear to be parted from them.
The house had never been a real home to her, she mused as she locked the front door and trudged home to Pasture Row with the bundle over her arm. She would much rather live in Da’s house. But there was the nagging worry that it would soon be Jackie’s house if her father didn’t come home. The owners had a strict rule that tenants had to work in the pit.
Her mind wandered back to Jonty, as it always did nowadays. He had been so reluctant to leave her, making her promise faithfully to be at the grassy knoll by the stand of trees at one o’clock sharp tomorrow. She walked up the row, nodding to the women standing in their doorways. They nodded back, faces alive with curiosity. No doubt they knew more about her and Jonty than she knew herself, she thought wryly. But there was no condemnation in their faces. The whole place was aware of the life Meg had led with Wesley. But how would they react if a new baby came?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Next morning broke wet and windy. The first cool days of autumn had come at last. Meg walked out of the village on her way to meet Jonty, her thoughts going over the last few months.
What a summer it had been! All highs and lows. She seemed to have done more living in the short time between May and September than in all the years since she got wed. She remembered the terror of Kit’s near fatal accident, and how it had led to her meeting Jonty. The lovely hours with him, her delight in his every gesture, the feel of his hands on her. She even loved the way he walked with that slight bias to one side, not quite a limp. She smiled dreamily as she left the road and took to the track, going past Old Pit and taking the fork which passed by the grassy knoll. Her pulse quickened as she dwelt on the thought of seeing him again, as it always did.
Poor lad, when he fell in love with her he hadn’t bargained for the trouble it might bring. He had led a sheltered life, she mused, una
ware of how mistaken she was in this surmise. She felt a protective love for him. He couldn’t know anything of the harsh realities of life as lived in a pit village.
Wesley had come round to Pasture Row the day before, but thankfully Jackie had been off shift and saw to him. Her brother had sent Wesley off all right, flinging the key of the house in George Row at him and swearing that if he ever came near Meg again he would regret the day. But Wesley had been so relieved to get the key to take back to the demanding Sally, he had soon gone off, not prepared to face up to Jackie.
‘Don’t you worry, neither,’ he had blustered as he picked the key up from the brick-paved yard, ‘I wouldn’t touch her. Not after—’
He hadn’t got to finish the sentence for Jackie was on him and Wesley was off like a hare racing for safety. At least Jackie had been able to get the rocking-horse out of the house for Kit before handing the key over.
Meg sighed. Jackie had said nothing as she haltingly explained why she was giving in to Wesley so easily. He had simply looked at her, a world of disillusionment in his eyes, and Meg had flushed. He had carried on eating his dinner and afterwards lit his pipe at the fire before speaking.
‘This is still Da’s house,’ he had said. ‘You know he wouldn’t want a Grizedale to be anywhere near it. Don’t bring him here, Meg, you owe that to Da.’
‘Jonty’s not like his father,’ Meg had protested.
‘No, mebbe he’s not. An’ I know you and Mam thought the world of him when he was a bairn. I’ve heard you say so often enough. But what sort of a man would cause such trouble for a lass like you?’
‘He didn’t! He—’
‘Leave it be, Meg,’ Alice had advised. She had been sitting quietly on the settle listening to them. Alice could see both her brother’s and her sister’s point of view, but knew they could not agree on this. So she had let it be, too emotionally strung out to argue further anyway.
Meg walked down the track till she reached the place where she had spent her happiest times that summer. The grass was brown and wet and slippery with the rain. The leaves from the ash trees were already beginning to turn brown and fall. She sheltered under the largest tree, achieving only limited protection from the rain which was coming down harder now.
She remembered how the nightmare had returned last night. The awful nightmare which had plagued her since her childhood. The one about the candyman. She had woken up panting and sweating hard, as though she had in reality been running up the black road of the old permanent way. Her reactions were physical as well as psychological. The sense of foreboding which always followed the nightmare was still lingering in her thoughts.
It must be past one, she thought, shivering slightly and hugging her arms together under her shawl. Where was Jonty? He was not usually late. Where was he now? Surely the weather hadn’t put him off? Meg smiled at the absurdity of the thought as she huddled under the tree. Jonty loved her, didn’t he? Nothing so trivial as bad weather would put him off. She lost herself in dreams of him: how it felt when he touched her or gazed at her with that intimate, dark-eyed look of love.
Jonty was just leaving the Hall. When he had risen that morning, he had been disturbed by the dry, hacking cough coming from his grandmother’s bedroom. He had found her lying in bed, flushed with fever, her thin body wracked with coughing. His morning had been taken up in fetching the doctor from Shildon to her and arranging for Emma Teasdale, Farmer Teasdale’s daughter, to sit with her and keep the fire up and the room warm. Thankfully Ralph was absent. He had not been near his home since he’d received his ten pounds last week. Otherwise, Farmer Teasdale might have objected to his daughter’s going to the Hall.
‘A feverish chill, nothing worse,’ the doctor had pronounced. ‘Keep her warm in bed and give her hot nourishing drinks. I’ll be back tomorrow.’ He had looked from Jonty to his grandmother and back again before drawing Jonty out of the room. ‘Of course, you know this can only have an adverse effect on the old lady’s general health, with her rheumatism and considering her age. The winter ahead of us, too.’
The rain was coming down steadily as Jonty rode off to his meeting with Meg. He glanced at his watch anxiously. She must have been waiting some time now, she would be soaked to the skin. He urged his horse into a brisk canter as he crossed the field to the track.
‘Meg! Are you all right?’
Jonty jumped to the ground and threw the reins over the saddle as she stepped out from behind the tree. He took her in his arms, feeling her shiver through the sodden wool of her shawl.
‘Oh, my love, you shouldn’t have come, you’ll catch your death,’ he said, full of concern. ‘I would have understood. I’d have ridden down to Winton.’
‘That’s just it,’ she said, ‘you can’t, not any more. Jackie doesn’t want you to come.’
Jonty looked quickly at her. He had to get her out of the rain, find out what this was all about. There was only one thing to do.
‘We’ll go back to the Hall,’ he said, and anticipating her objections, ‘Surely Alice is at home? She will see to your boys just this once. We have to have a proper talk, Meg, we can’t go on the way we are.’ He gestured at the rain. ‘The winter is drawing on, snow will soon be coming. Come on, Meg, back with me.’
She was still hesitating, thinking of Ralph Grizedale, that menacing though shadowy figure, her own private bogeyman.
‘Your father?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Oh, he’s not there, Meg. He’s away in Darlington or somewhere with his cronies. I don’t expect to see him for another day at least.’ About the time when his money usually runs out, he thought silently.
Meg allowed him to take her up before him on his horse and they rode off to Grizedale Hall, even though her sense of foreboding had intensified.
When they at last came out of the field and crossed to the drive leading up to the Hall, she stared at it, awed by the size and stone-built solidity of its walls, the large imposing windows. It was somehow familiar to her. She felt she would know what the back of the house would be like as they cantered up the drive and turned to go round to the stables. Sheep were grazing on the lawns and the flowerbeds were unkempt and devoid of flowers but for a few forlorn Michaelmas daisies, much afflicted with mould and bent away from the walls by the wind and rain.
There should be rose beds there, she thought suddenly, with daffodils round them in the spring and sweet william in the summer. But the only rose bush she saw was withered and brown back to the ground.
‘What happened to the gardens?’ she asked.
‘No money for a gardener,’ said Jonty. ‘I haven’t time to do it all. Sheep keep the grass down though.’
He dismounted and lifted her down, drawing her into the warmth of the stable before bringing in his horse.
‘Take off that wet shawl,’ he advised. ‘I won’t be long attending to my horse, then we can go inside and I’ll make a fire. You’ll have to dry out before you can go back.’ He paused and looked curiously at her.
‘You remember the gardens?’
‘Not very well,’ she admitted. ‘But I remember the flowers. I loved the flowers.’
The inside of the Hall she didn’t remember at all. There was an air of neglect about the place, she saw. Dust lay on the furniture and the carpets were shabby and threadbare. But it was still opulent enough to awe Meg: the rich dark wood of the stairs and wainscoting round the entrance hall, the lofty embossed ceilings and high windows, though the velvet drapes at these were faded and dirty.
Even though Jonty had assured her that his father was not in the house, she looked round fearfully, praying he had not returned and was waiting to pounce on her. Daft fool, she told herself crossly. She wasn’t a little girl now, she could well take care of herself. Besides, she had Jonty. He would never let the candyman hurt her. She was acting like a bit of a bairn. She shivered nevertheless, whether from cold or nervousness she didn’t know. But Jonty was concerned and, as ever, conscious of her fears.
‘Come away up to my room,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘You’ll be out of the way there should my father return and I can light the fire for you to dry yourself.’
He took her hand and led her up the stairs and along the passage to a door at the end, letting her in and closing the door firmly behind them. Meg breathed easier. He lit the fire and she watched his strong capable hands setting the sticks and piling coal carefully on top. It was the first time she had ever seen a man light a fire, for to a pitman that was woman’s work.
‘Take your dress off, it will dry quicker by the fire,’ he murmured quietly. And noticing her hesitation, he added, ‘I’ll find something of Grandmother’s for you.’
Of course the dress he brought back was far too small for a sturdy girl such as Meg. In the end he took the worn eiderdown from the bed and wrapped it round her.
‘Sit quietly, my love,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I have to see to Grandmother first and then I’ll bring some tea and we can talk.’
Meg sank to the hearth rug before the fire. Worn though it was, it was still soft and infinitely superior to a proddy mat made from old clothes. The eiderdown too, its satin cover faded and threadbare, was luxuriously warm and cosy, so that with its warmth and the heat from the fire, a heavenly relaxing feeling was spreading through her body. She leaned back against the arm of a leather armchair and took off her boots, stretching her bare feet to the blaze. By, she thought dreamily, it’s grand. Her eyelids drooped and gradually closed. She felt warm and cosseted all over. Her toes tingled from the heat and she drew them back and under her, and in a minute she was asleep as her exhausted mind and body took a break from the strains and stresses of recent events.
‘Is everything all right, Emma?’ asked Jonty as he entered his grandmother’s bedroom. Emma Teasdale was sitting by the bed feeding the old lady from a dish of chicken broth. She put the tray down on the bedside table and smiled at him.
‘She’s a little better, I think,’ she said. ‘She’s had a little broth and earlier I made her a dish of boily.’ Boily was a concoction of bread and warmed milk often given to invalids, Jonty knew.