A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Enough was enough; the time had come to make another bid for freedom.

  This time she chose York as her destination. It was further to go but if she could just manage to reach it there was more chance of being able to hide in a city and besides, her sister was there and she desperately needed to see Gussie’s dear face. There was no discussion with the boys. Joe had always declined to go with her and Duke was away on one of his rambles, nor did she want to involve Mims. There was no callousness intended – she would travel faster on her own and as soon as she reached safety and told her aunt the truth about what had been going on then someone would come and rescue the others. In the meantime Mims would have Lionel to comfort her.

  Two years older and wiser than on her last escape attempt, she was able to put a great deal more planning into this latest bid. By setting off as if for work, it would be a good eight hours before they realized she was gone. There was no money for food and certainly there was no hearty breakfast before leaving, but the strength of Beata’s determination would see her through without having to resort to theft.

  By late morning, however, this morality had been obscured by the ravenous pains in her belly. As one who was always hungry, she had learned how to trick her stomach into believing it was full by taking in lots of water and this she had done in every village through which she passed, gulping from fountains and standpipes, but there came a time when liquid would not suffice and the sight of a field of vegetables proved irresistible. Only the most ungenerous observer would class the uprooting of one carrot as larceny.

  Resting for only ten minutes to consume her paltry lunch, she set off again, her eyes constantly darting over her shoulder at every noise, expecting to see Clem pedalling up behind her … and so it was no surprise when several hours later her brother’s auburn head bobbed into view, his angry face coming ever closer, an indication of the retribution to come. Totally exhausted and dispirited, Beata flopped down at the roadside to await her nemesis.

  But no matter how severe the punishment, she swore to herself that she would never give in. If Eliza wanted to prevent her from running away, she would have to kill her.

  * * *

  Only hours after being dragged back and beaten, Beata set out on the road to work and just kept on going. Although close to tears from the pain in her shoulder blade, this time she stopped for neither food nor rest, pausing only briefly to take in water, then marching determinedly onwards. Out of habit, her head constantly turned to look for Clem, but as yet he had not appeared. Even by late afternoon there was no sign of him. But it was far too early to enjoy any feeling of triumph.

  Travelling fourteen miles that first day, she was not about to ruin this achievement by seeking shelter in a church and perhaps being discovered. Hedgerows were to be her only bed. Setting off again as soon as it was light, she made it to Selby before nightfall and could have gone much further had her leg not swollen to twice its normal size. At least it took her mind off her damaged shoulder blade. Getting very little sleep due to the pain, she lay there pondering. They must surely have missed her by now. Why had Clem not come to take her back? Was it too much to ask that she had camouflaged herself so well that he had cycled past her in the dark?

  Alas, whilst Beata mulled over a list of possible reasons, Clem was sitting comfortably at home, voicing rational argument to Eliza. ‘What’s the point of me tearing off after her and losing pay? We know where she’s heading. I’ll go over to York at the weekend and pick her up.’ Gaining agreement, he smiled and disappeared behind his newspaper.

  * * *

  Her leg still badly swollen even after a night’s rest, progress was very much slower for Beata on that third day.

  Hence, it was such a magnificent feeling after limping eight miles that felt like eighty to come upon a signpost that said York was only three miles away. Now, surely, it was safe to enjoy a moment of self-congratulation.

  A farmhouse came into view. Having not passed a standpipe in hours, she felt confident enough now to stop and ask for a drink.

  The woman was friendly and answered Beata’s request straightaway, watching as the glass of water was downed in seconds. ‘By, you are thirsty!’ Then her eyes ran up and down the young traveller and she cocked her head suspiciously. ‘You aren’t running away, are you?’

  Realizing how she must look, clothes unkempt, driblets of water turning the dust on her upper lip to a black moustache, Beata donned her most convincing smile. ‘No! I’ve come to see my aunty in York and I’ve had to walk from Selby as I didn’t have the fare.’

  ‘All the way from Selby!’ The woman looked amazed.

  If only she knew, thought Beata. ‘Aye, with nothing to eat since yesterday.’ Would she pick up on the hint?

  ‘Oh, sit there on the step, dear, and I’ll fetch you a slice of bread!’

  Plastered with butter, it was the most wonderful bread Beata had ever tasted. But all too quickly it was gone.

  The woman, having brought a second glass of water, had gone back inside. Rested, Beata left the glass on the step, called, ‘Thank you!’ and limped forth upon the final stage of her journey.

  * * *

  To her utter despair, there was no one in at Aunt Lizzie’s back-to-back house in Edwin Street. Beata sat on the step for a good fifteen minutes, but when still no one came she tired of waiting and decided to go to the tenement building where old Aunt Mary lived.

  Maddeningly, she found the door locked here too and moaned in despair. Putting her eye to the keyhole, she soon came upright in surprise – then had another look just to make sure. There was a coffin on the table; presumably Aunt Mary was in it. She took a moment to reflect; it had been her mother’s opinion that the old lady would outlive them all. She had certainly outlived dozens her junior. Still bending over, Beata screamed in fright when somebody nipped her bottom, jumping around to face them.

  Her eldest sister laughed uproariously. ‘I was just on my way home from work, saw you come up here. Look at the state of you!’ She picked a dried leaf from Beata’s hair.

  Beata explained quickly. ‘I’ve run away again, Gus. I’m not going back this time.’

  Augusta was aware that earlier attempts had ended in failure. ‘If Eliza wants you back—’

  ‘I’m not going! Don’t tell her I’m here, will you?’

  Augusta immediately dealt Beata a reassuring squeeze and was shocked when the other flinched in pain.

  ‘I think she’s broken my shoulder,’ explained Beata, holding her arm. ‘Please, don’t send me back, Gus.’

  Augusta’s voice was rough but her eyes and voice compassionate as she comforted the anxious youngster. ‘’Course I won’t, you daft ’a’p’orth! Away, I’ll take you home to Aunt Lizzie’s. I’ve told her all about Eliza so she’s bound to take you in.’

  Unable to relax, Beata said, ‘I won’t be a burden. I’m going to get a job in service, then she won’t know where to find me.’ She grasped her sister’s arm, delivering earnest plea. ‘But we can’t leave the others there, Gus. You don’t know the half of it. We have to rescue them.’

  * * *

  Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Matt were very understanding upon coming home from work that evening to find they had an extra lodger, and, hearing the full extent of Eliza’s cruelty, paid attention to her shoulder.

  ‘Wiggle it about,’ said Aunt Lizzie. Then, ‘Oh, if you can do that it can’t be broken. It’ll just be badly bruised.’ Nevertheless, both she and Uncle Matt said Beata must stay as long as she liked whilst efforts were made to rescue her siblings.

  Almost asleep from exhaustion, Beata appreciated their mercy, but said, ‘I won’t be in your hair for long. First thing tomorrow I’m off to find myself a job in service.’ She glanced nervously at the door to the street as she had been doing since her arrival. ‘That’s if Clem doesn’t come and get me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, lass, I doubt her majesty’ll let him come till the weekend.’ Uncle Matt did not talk very much but was a kindly man and
dealt her a reassuring smile from behind his handlebar moustache, which was powdered with flour from the mill. ‘Can’t have him losing money by taking a day off work.’ He went back to contemplating the fire, playing with the large cyst on his forehead.

  Aunty Lizzie refilled her husband’s moustache cup with tea from a pot that was decorated with teddy bears, its missing lid replaced by one of tin. ‘Yes, don’t be rushing off into any old job, Beat. Besides anything else, you’re hardly dressed to make an impression. Stay in bed tomorrow, catch up on your sleep and I’ll take your clothes to the laundry with me. We’ll have you looking respectable again by Friday. Then you can go and see Miss Stroud at the Servants’ Register Office. She’s a queer sort of woman and her commission’s steep but it’s worth it ’cause she only caters for gentry.’

  Beata nodded. Trying to keep her own eyes open she concentrated on the large eye flanked by buffalo horns at the centre of the diploma that hung over the black-leaded range, which announced her uncle as a member of the Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes. But soon she was failing again.

  ‘You know, I’ve always thought we were very interesting people,’ joked Matt to his wife as Beata jolted herself awake.

  About to tilt her pot at Beata’s cup, Aunt Lizzie laughed at the youngster’s efforts to keep awake.

  Augusta took charge of her poor exhausted sister. ‘Away, upstairs with you now, Beat. You can have my bed.’

  She herself was to sleep on a mattress downstairs that night.

  * * *

  Uncle Matt turned out to be correct in his assumption that Clem would not come during the week. Aunt Lizzie, too, was right about Miss Stroud.

  Returned from her interview that Friday, Beata was bursting to tell but only Uncle Matt was in the house, sitting quietly puffing on his pipe when she arrived in the late afternoon and so she withheld her news until she had a better audience.

  He explained his wife and Gussie’s absence. ‘They’re on their knees again.’

  Knowing this meant they were at church, Beata nodded and said she would get the tea ready. Whilst she was doing this a neighbour entered. Matt’s face did not change but Beata knew these visits annoyed her uncle. Mrs Cammidge was forever bringing them gifts as if they were poverty-stricken.

  ‘I just thought I’d bring you a little treat.’ She bestowed an obsequious smile.

  Matt dealt her a dour nod, lending no encouragement for her to stay. With Lizzie absent, Mrs Cammidge soon left, allowing Beata’s disgruntled uncle to peer into the bag at the mixture of cocoa and condensed milk. ‘What the hell’s she bringing us now – shite?’

  Beata was doubled up laughing when her aunt and sister came in directly off the street, allowing her to finally make her announcement. ‘I’ve got a job working for Sir Wilfred Thompson! From tonight I’m going to be living at Nunthorpe Hall.’

  There were congratulations all round, though Aunt Lizzie showed concern that Beata had only the clothes she stood up in and, after serving the evening meal, spent some time rifling through her wardrobe, handing her niece a blouse, a skirt and a worn petticoat. ‘Here, it’s not much but it’ll tide you over till you start earning.’

  Augusta too donated a nightgown and two pairs of drawers.

  Beata gave sincere thanks. ‘You’re sure you can spare them? I wouldn’t like to think you were going without.’

  Her sister laughed at the unintended pun. ‘As long as we don’t get a high wind I’ll maintain my decency.’

  Armed with these few generously donated items and a tasty meal in her stomach, Beata stood ready to go. ‘I’d better make a move.’

  ‘Well, I’ve nowt useful to offer you, Beat.’ Uncle Matt played with the cyst on his head. ‘Unless you fancy taking that.’ He indicated the bag that Mrs Cammidge had brought.

  Beata laughed. ‘Not after what you said about it!’

  Everyone gathered on the doorstep.

  Matt had turned thoughtful, deciding that a girl new to service might be in need of guidance. ‘I’m not one for wise words, Beat, but just let me say this. You’ve only got one friend in this world and that’s your pocket. When you’ve got money in your pocket there’s plenty that will call themselves your friend but heed my advice, keep your own counsel, and you won’t go far wrong.’

  Thanking him for this advice, Beata kissed everyone in turn, then said anxiously to her sister, ‘You won’t tell Eliza where I’ve gone?’

  ‘They’ll have to pull my fingernails out first,’ exclaimed Aunt Lizzie. Augusta agreed.

  ‘Goodbye! Good luck!’ chorused everyone as a smiling Beata departed.

  * * *

  She had been gone only two hours when Clem arrived to look for her.

  Uncle Matt and Aunt Lizzie had gone out for the evening and Augusta had taken the opportunity to have a bath. She was in her dressing gown, kneeling over the tin receptacle and employing the now lukewarm water to wash her hair when the knock came. Wrapping her long dripping tresses in a towel, she went immediately to answer the door, not even hesitating over her state of disarray for she knew who it would be.

  After greeting Clem with a sisterly kiss, she invited him in, but announced, ‘You’ve had a wasted journey, Beat isn’t here.’

  Sensing conspiracy, he glanced around the room then cocked his head at the ceiling as if suspecting that their sister might be hiding upstairs.

  ‘Go up and check if you like,’ came the immediate invitation.

  Guessing that this would be pointless, Clem sighed. ‘Don’t try pulling the wool over my eyes, Gus. I’ve just cycled forty bloody miles. I know she was heading here.’

  Augusta adjusted her turban and replied lightly, ‘I’m not trying to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes. Beat was here, but now she’s gone – and don’t ask me where because I’m not going to tell you.’

  He groaned. ‘So you’re going to make me turn round and pedal all the way back?’

  ‘Not right away,’ said Augusta brightly. ‘You can have a cup of tea first.’

  ‘Oh, too kind!’ Clem flopped onto the sofa. ‘Eliza’s going to kill me if I go back without her.’

  ‘You know that’s not true.’ Tightening the cord of her plaid dressing gown, Augusta put the kettle on the hob, then crossed her arms to wait and gazed at him with her serene blue eyes.

  Defeated, he nodded and stared back at her. ‘She won’t be best pleased, though.’

  Picturing Eliza’s displeasure upon hearing he had failed, this was to concern him throughout his long journey home. He prepared himself for a torrent of insults.

  But Eliza never failed to surprise him.

  True, she was not at all happy, but it was far from the rage he had imagined, only a loud disgruntled sigh.

  ‘I can go around the rest of the family and see if she’s with them,’ he mollified.

  Eliza stared into midair, her voice ripe with disdain for the errant Beata. ‘No, let her go, Clem. I’m sick of her.’

  23

  Within a week of Beata’s escape, all her relatives had been informed of the situation and a council of war ensued, the outcome of which was that a relief expedition must be launched to rescue her siblings. But, well aware that the crafty Eliza would not give up the pensions without a fight, they realized they would have to be equally devious.

  Mims knew none of this. The only thing apparent to her was that she had been abandoned to suffer the cruelty alone. Yes, she had two brothers, a stepbrother too, but they were all older and bigger, too big to be stuffed into the dark and frightening cupboard like she was. It might have been said that Mims could have helped herself by eating everything put before her, but this was too simplified an answer. She could not give in and eat the peas she so detested without a fight. And, with no Beata to divest her of the crusts that took so long to eat, these too became a source of conflict at meal times. Hardly a day went by without Mims earning some kind of punishment.

  Thank Heaven for dear Lionel, who had become especially dear since Beata had
deserted her, though the additional chores caused by her sister’s exodus meant that she had not so much time to enjoy him as before.

  Saturdays had become exceptionally cherished, for even though there was the shopping to be done, this could nicely be fitted in with taking Lionel for his morning stroll, the pushchair coming in handy for transporting the bags of food.

  And afterwards, allowed to spend the rest of the day as she pleased, Mims would wheel Lionel in his pushchair up and away across the Crags, pretending that she was his mother.

  In spite of the brutality at home, Mims remained a cheerful, optimistic little soul, this reflected in her jaunty step as she skipped across the Crags this afternoon, shoving the pushchair before her.

  ‘Are you ready, Line?’ Calling out to the baby, she gave the vehicle a hefty push, setting the wheels spinning and allowing it to run on its own for as long as she dared, before running to catch up with it. Lionel screamed in delight.

  Leaving the pushchair by the road, for it would be difficult to negotiate over the marshy ground, a stroll on the Ings ensued, Mims pointing out all the wildlife to her little charge.

  Delving in the wet grass she came across a frog, which was a source of fun for the next few moments. ‘Let’s find a straw and I’ll show you a good trick, Line!’ Finding one, she showed him what to do. ‘You shove it up its bum, then you go like this.’ Putting her lips to the straw she proceeded to blow into it, causing the unfortunate beast to inflate its air sacks like miniature balloons, and making Lionel giggle.

  A dozen repetitions later and the frog began to lose its novelty value.

  Tossing the poor abused creature back into the grass, Mims led the toddler eventually back to where they had left his pushchair, then it was over the Crags towards home.