by Maggie Hope
‘Hello, Grandmother,’ he said as he approached the bed. ‘How are you?’
The old lady smiled at him and he saw that she did indeed look somewhat improved, her breathing easier and her face a better colour.
‘I’m fine, Jonty,’ she replied. ‘Emma has been looking after me very well.’
‘You can get off home now, Emma, before it gets dark,’ he said to the girl. ‘I know you usually help out with the milking. Thank you so much for coming at such short notice.’
‘A pleasure,’ smiled Emma, blushing a little. She was just seventeen and a plain girl, though capable-looking with the strong hands and arms of a milkmaid. She was very much attracted to Jonty, though he was unaware of it. But it was obvious to Mrs Grizedale and she smiled kindly at her and added her thanks to Jonty’s.
‘She likes you, Jonty,’ said Mrs Grizedale as the door closed behind Emma. ‘She’s a nice girl, too, you could do worse.’
‘Grandmother! You’re talking nonsense,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t even think of me once she’s out of the house.’
The old lady sank down on her pillows, still smiling. ‘It’s been nice having her here,’ she said softly. ‘I miss having a girl in the house. Oh, not necessarily a maid, though I miss having one of those too, but another woman, so to speak.’
Jonty gave her a troubled look. She should have a maid, he was well aware of it. She needed a maid. But there had been so many disastrous experiences with young girls in the house, his father was not to be trusted at all. Goodness knows, he thought, a girl costs very little, a few pounds a year and her keep, and one would make life so much easier for him too. The time was coming when he would have to look for someone who was willing to come and look after the old lady fulltime. Maybe an older woman, a widow? Someone who wouldn’t attract the amorous attentions of his father.
He thought of Meg and was furious with himself. He couldn’t possibly bring her into the house on such a basis, it would be a dishonourable thing to do. In any case, Meg was so beautiful she would never be safe with his father.
His grandmother fell asleep and Jonty watched her fondly. She was so little and delicate, yet there must be something tough about her. She had had so much to put up with these last few years from his father. His jaw hardened at the thought of what she had had to endure from her own son. Even if it took all he had left, he decided, he would find a woman to look after her. He would go searching in Shildon tomorrow.
He built up the fire and placed a guard around it, then drew the curtains though it was not yet dark. Sleep was the best thing for her, he thought, and crept out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
Before going back to Meg, Jonty went down to the kitchen and made some tea. He was quite a while about it, having to use bellows on the dying fire for there to be enough heat to boil the kettle.
The clock in the hall chimed five and it startled him. He hadn’t realised it was so late. If he wanted that talk with Meg he would have to hurry up. She would have to get back to her boys soon.
He was crossing the hall towards the stairs, tea tray in hand, when the front door burst open and Ralph tumbled rather than walked in, shouting and cursing as he tripped over a piece of worn carpet and almost measured his length on the floor. When he recovered he looked up at his son who was standing on the bottom stair.
‘What the hell are you looking at?’ he demanded, frowning, ‘Anyone would think I hadn’t a right to come into my own house.’ His words were slurred and he lurched into his study without waiting for Jonty to reply.
His heart sank. How was he going to get Meg out of the house now? Before she was seen by his father and had to face the undoubted insults he would throw at her.
Meg woke as Jonty came into the room and put the tea tray down. She felt deliciously warm and happy, permitting herself to dream about what it would be like if she was married to him and they shared this bedroom. She smiled lazily at him and stretched out her bare feet to the fire, toasting her toes.
Jonty poured her tea and handed it to her before sitting down in the armchair against which she was leaning and putting a hand down to stroke her hair. He considered telling her that his father had returned then decided against it. In the drunken state Ralph was in, he had probably fallen into a stupor in his study and would be asleep for hours.
‘We have to talk, Meg,’ he said quietly. Here at this end of the house it was unlikely that his grandmother or father would hear them, but it was best to be careful.
‘Aye.’
Meg leaned her head back against his hand. Somehow her fears for the future had all gone, dispelled by the feeling of security and peace which being with him brought. She didn’t really want to talk about anything at all, she just wanted to stay there, away from the world with Jonty.
‘Why has your brother said I cannot come to see you, Meg?’
She sighed. It was such a difficult story to tell him. Her thoughts ranged back over the years since she had been old enough to understand how her parents had suffered because of Jonty’s father.
‘It’s Da,’ she began at last. ‘He’s so bitter about your father. Da said that it was him who swayed the board of the railway company and had us all evicted. The whole street, even though it was just us Maddisons he wanted out. Da couldn’t get work round here then, he was blacked and we had to go away. And in the end Da had to go down the pit, there wasn’t any other work. He was always so frightened of being shut in anywhere, and it was because of your father that he had to go down the pit.’
Meg paused, thinking of her father. Did they keep him locked in that asylum at Sedgefield? she wondered. Did he even know if they did? The silence lengthened and the room grew darker, only the firelight casting a glow upon the two sitting there. Meg’s happiness had dimmed as she remembered her father, her sense of foreboding returning.
‘I never knew why you went, I always thought it was my fault,’ Jonty murmured. He rose to his feet and went to the chest of drawers by the wall. Opening the top drawer, he took out what looked to be a bundle of rags. He returned to his seat and showed it to Meg. It was an old peg dollie. She took it, puzzled, not knowing what the significance of it was.
‘A peg doll?’ she asked.
‘Your peg doll, Meg. I went back to your street and there was nothing there, the houses all boarded up and empty. There was only that peg doll, lying in the road. So I brought it home with me.’
She turned to face him, full of compassion for the little boy he had been. He must have felt truly deserted by her and her mother, she realised. She took his face between her hands and kissed him tenderly, the eiderdown slipping from her white shoulders and breast. Love and passion leapt between them once again and old ills were forgotten and somehow healed as they clung to each other. And Jonty picked her up and carried her to the bed where they made love, deep satisfying love which gripped the whole of their love-starved bodies and carried them to heights they had never dreamed existed. And afterwards they slept, a deep, trouble-free sleep.
Meg woke slowly, almost in continuation of a dream she was having, a delightful, happy dream though she couldn’t remember what it had been about. The room was pitch black. The fire had gone out. She felt Jonty’s arm around her, his knee thrown over hers, and listened to his deep, steady breathing. Putting up her hand, she felt the shape of his face and ran her fingers through his hair. Oh, he was her lovely man. She almost sang the words to herself. Somehow she knew that whatever happened she would not be parted from him, not ever again. Hadn’t she always known that Jonty would come looking for her? Jonty, her shining knight.
But waking brought her everyday cares back to her. Alice would be worried about her, she thought suddenly, and instantly slid out of Jonty’s arms and from the bed. He murmured slightly but slept on. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom now. She went to the window and held the curtain back to peer out at the sky.
The rain had stopped. Small clouds were rushing across the full moon.
She watched it, still under the spell of the enchantment which Jonty had brought to her. There was a ring round the moon, it was beautiful; a ring round the moon meant a frost, she mused.
‘Meg?’
She dropped the curtain and turned back to the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, holding out his arms to her. ‘Come back to bed, you’ll catch your death.’
‘I have to go,’ she answered. ‘Alice will be worried about me. And Kit and Tucker will be wanting me.’
Jonty didn’t argue. He got out of bed and lit the candle on the ornamental mantelshelf as Meg pulled on her clothes. Her dress was quite dry now but the shawl was still sodden with the rain. She bit her lip. It would be cold without her shawl, if the frost ring round the moon was anything to go by. But Jonty had already thought of that. He found her a coat of his own to pull on over her dress. It was too big, of course, the sleeves dangling over her hands, but who was to see it at that time of night?
‘What time is it?’ she asked, and he opened his watch.
‘Ten o’clock.’
Meg was relieved. At least it wasn’t already the middle of the night.
‘I’ll saddle up,’ he said, finishing tying his boot laces and taking her hand to lead her from the room. They crept down the stairs and into the hall. There was no light coming from under the door of Ralph’s study and no sound until, just as they opened the front door, there came a tremendous snore and a clatter. He must have moved in his sleep and knocked something to the floor.
‘Jonty!’ Meg froze for a second but his arm was around her and he was sweeping her out of the door. It was but a moment later when he led out his horse and they were away, cantering down the drive to the road.
They were approaching Winton Colliery when the whistle blew. Meg’s heart sank. It must be time to change shifts. The night shift was coming to bank and the fore shift would be going down. There would be men walking from all over the village and a man and a woman on a horse would set tongues rattling all right. Besides, she didn’t want to go against her brother’s decree.
‘Put me down here, Jonty,’ she whispered urgently, and he brought his horse to a halt but didn’t loose his hold on her waist.
‘I’ll take you as far as the house, Meg,’ he protested. ‘It’s too late at night for you to be out on your own.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she insisted. ‘There’ll be men about, there’s nothing to fear.’
Reluctantly, Jonty dismounted and lifted her down.
‘You’ll come in the morning?’ he asked.
Meg hesitated, thinking of his father and berating herself for being silly. How could the candyman hurt her now? She had Jonty, hadn’t she?
‘I’ll come,’ she said.
‘What time? I’ll meet you on the track.’
‘Ten, I’ll be there at ten o’clock,’ said Meg, and sped away the short distance to the house.
‘Mind, it’s nice of you to come home,’ Alice said grimly. There was no sign of Jackie, he must already have gone out to work. Alice was banking up the fire for the night, the lamp already out and the candle lit on the table.
Meg bit her lip. She had no excuse, she knew she hadn’t.
‘I got wet, I went somewhere to dry out and I fell asleep,’ she offered.
Alice gave a short laugh. ‘A bit lame, that one is for an excuse,’ she snapped. ‘Kit was wanting you, and Tucker an’ all. They’d both had a bad time at school today.’
‘At school? Why?’ Meg looked her surprise.
‘Oh, why do you think, man? The other bairns were jeering at them all playtime.’
‘Jeering?’ Meg still didn’t follow. Why would the others jeer at Tucker and Kit? ‘What for?’
‘Because of Da,’ Alice said flatly. ‘Kit was crying his eyes out. Said they were dancing round him singing his granda was a loony and his Auntie Bella an’ all. They said we were all loonys. And that lad of Sally Hawkins, he was leading them on. And Tucker heard them and laid into them and he came home with a bloody nose.’
Guilt flooded over Meg. There she had been, happy as a larrikin with Jonty, and all the time her lads had needed her. She’d let them down. She stared at Alice, not knowing what to say, and Jonty’s coat fell from her shoulders and on to the clippie mat. Alice looked pointedly at it but said nothing.
‘I’m sorry, Alice,’ Meg said at last. ‘Are they in bed now, did they go to sleep?’
‘Oh, yes, they’re asleep. It took me till now to settle them. Jackie was all for going up to the school that instant and having a word with the master. But I thought it wouldn’t help. Best just let it die down. It never does any good, interfering with the bairns.’
Alice picked up the candle from the table and moved towards the stairs and Meg picked up Jonty’s coat and followed her. The sisters shared the back bedroom now with the two boys.
By the flickering light of the candle, Meg looked down at Kit’s tear-stained face. The child hiccuped softly and turned away from the light and Meg’s heart ached for him. She moved the light so that she could look at Tucker, lying with his back to Kit, only his nose showing above the blanket. She moved the blanket down a little to inspect his face. There was a trace of blood still on his nose and his upper lip was split open.
‘Hurry up and put out that candle,’ Alice whispered hoarsely, from her narrow bed in the corner of the room.
‘Sorry,’ said Meg, and blew out the light and undressed in the pale moonlight which filtered through the thin curtains. She climbed into bed, being careful not to disturb the boys, and lay on her back, thinking. Something would have to be done, she knew that. She would have to find somewhere else for herself and her boys, but where? Jonty would try to help her, but she knew something now of his circumstances at home, his feeling of obligation to and love for his grandmother, the need to protect her from his father.
Maybe he could find her a cottage in Shildon? She could keep herself and her children. All she needed was a home for them, a place where she could bring the boys up away from Winton Colliery.
I’ll meet him tomorrow, she thought, he’ll help me, he will. She had to get away before it became apparent to the whole village that she was having another baby, a baby Wesley was certain to deny was his.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Next morning the sun shone from a blue sky and the air was warm in a north-eastern version of an Indian summer. It would probably last no longer than a day or two, but the children were determined to make the most of it. When Meg woke up she could hear girls’ voices as they played at hitchy stones in the back row, and under her window Tucker was talking earnestly to someone.
‘I showed them lot, didn’t I?’ he boasted, and a boy’s voice answered.
Saturday! It was Saturday. How could she go to meet Jonty when it was Saturday? Jackie usually worked back at the pit on a Saturday morning after fore shift, if he could. And Alice went to Auckland to a class. So she couldn’t leave Tucker and Kit. Surely Jonty would understand?
Meg got out of bed, washed in cold water at the wash stand and put on her clothes. She had slept late, she realised. Alice’s bed was already made. She must already be preparing to go out. Downstairs, the wall clock was striking nine. Meg blinked. She had never slept so late before. Alice was already gone. But the kettle was simmering on the brass-handled bar and the kitchen had been swept and dusted. Meg combed her hair and put it up before the overmantel mirror, pinning it securely with hairpins. Then she went to the back door.
Tucker and Kit were playing there, and Meg was pleased to see that Walter was with them. At least Tucker’s best friend hadn’t turned against him. She was about to call to them when she was struck by the game they were playing.
The large iron mangle stood in the yard and the boys had the tin bath propped against it, forming a sort of tunnel. Tucker had appropriated the cracket stool from the kitchen and was leaning against the small stool with the piece of sandstone which Alice used to scour the steps in his hand. The other two b
oys sat on their hunkers, each with their hands full of small stones from the road. They were watching him gravely as he tapped the stone against the tin of the bath, making a sharp, hollow sound. He tapped twice and held his ear with one hand in a parody of listening, then repeated the action, intoning in a sing-song voice as he did so:
Jowl, jowl and listen, lads,
And hear the coal face working,
There’s many a marra missing, lads,
Because he wouldn’t listen, lads.
As he finished the old jingle, repeated over generations by old pitmen to the young, he began to scramble out from under the bath. But the other two boys were quicker. They jumped up and showered it with stones, and when that didn’t prove satisfactory, knocked the bath down over Tucker, laughing uproariously.
‘We won, we won,’ shouted Walter. ‘It’s my turn now.’
‘Tucker! Kit! What are you doing?’ Meg cried.
Tucker pushed over the tin bath and got to his feet, mystified as to why his mother was so upset. All three boys stared at her, laughter gone now.
‘We were only playing, Mam,’ Tucker mumbled at last. ‘We’re going to be pitmen when we leave school.’
‘I’m not,’ asserted Kit, ‘I’m going to be a farmer.’
‘A farmer? What do you want to be a farmer for?’ demanded Walter. ‘Any road, how can you be a farmer? You haven’t got a farm.’
‘It’s only cissies as is farmers, any road,’ Tucker said, full of scorn for such an idea. ‘Proper men go down the pit.’
They began a heated discussion of the relative merits of farming and coal-mining until Meg intervened, cutting it short.
‘Never mind that now, get this mess cleaned up, I’ll have to swill the yard after you. And Auntie Alice just did it yesterday. Then you can have some bread and jam. Anyway, Tucker, I thought you were going to be a soldier?’
‘No, I’m not. A pitman’s the best.’ He nodded his head to emphasize the words.