by Diane Allen
Molly hugged her pillow and wept into it, stifling her cries so that Lizzie wouldn’t hear.
13
‘Are you feeling any better, Molly? I must say, your colour has improved. I was rather concerned when I called in to see you the other day.’ Roger Thistlethwaite took a long sip of his tea and studied Molly. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come, you’ve made an old man happy.’ He watched Lizzie inspecting his book-laden shelves, the smile on her face answering his question: ‘You like reading and writing, Lizzie?’
Lizzie nodded, too engrossed to answer him.
‘Lizzie, answer Doctor Thistlethwaite properly.’ Molly pulled her daughter up sharp. ‘Manners cost nothing.’
Molly put her cup down and continued to take in the doctor’s hut. The array of plants, trying to live in the bleak conditions, the rows of potions and bottles mixed in with the library of books. There were good pieces of best china on display, but they seemed neglected as they jostled for prominence amongst the literature and decaying plants. The hut was definitely missing a woman’s touch, Molly decided as she listened to Lizzie, not believing how easily her daughter talked to a man of education.
‘I do, Doctor Thistlethwaite, I love it.’ Lizzie dropped on the stool next to him. Her first impressions of him had not been favourable, but she had since found out that he was a good man. She had grown very fond of him during her time in the hospital.
‘Well, I had dinner with James Ashwell, the contractor for the Midland, and he’s looking for a junior clerk. I know it’s highly irregular for a girl to be in an office, but you’ve got brains and you can read and write, which is a lot more than some can do here at Batty Green. I think it would be an ideal job for you. It’s only at the contractor’s hut, but they are a better class of people for you to mix with.’
‘You must be joking!’ Molly laughed. ‘That’s a lad’s job. Our Lizzie would be a laughing stock. Women can’t work in offices.’
‘She can here. There’s no one in these parts as clever as Lizzie and she’d be safe and warm. And it’s paperwork, there’d not be much physical work to do.’ Roger Thistlethwaite looked at Lizzie. ‘What do you think? Shall I have a word?’
‘No, Roger, I can’t have her showing herself up.’ Molly shook her head.
‘But she wouldn’t be. She takes after her mother and is a quick learner. Even you can’t say you’ve not enjoyed being shown the nursing I’ve taught you. Now it’s Lizzie’s chance to shine.’
Lizzie lifted her head up. ‘Let me have a go, Ma. I can at least try, and it’ll be better than cleaning up for a living. I’m nearly fifteen, I can do it.’
‘You’ll be the death of me, Lizzie Mason. I’ll only agree if I can see this Ashwell man and where you’ll be working. I’m not having you in any danger, not again.’ Molly couldn’t believe what she was saying. It wasn’t done, the girl should know her place.
‘Right, I’ll talk to him, see what he says. But I did happen to mention it the other evening, so I know his response already.’ Roger Thistlethwaite smiled and finished his tea. ‘On a different note, I believe we have missionaries amongst us. I understand they originate from Bradford, but at the moment they’re living in rented accommodation at Ingleton prior to coming to live in our midst. A Reverend Tiplady, I believe, here to save our souls.’ He smirked.
‘Oh my Lord, that’s all we need – Bible preachers amongst us. The world’s gone mad!’ Molly threw her hands up in disgust.
‘My thoughts entirely, Molly. I’ve no time for religion, having seen what I’ve seen. However, I make an exception at Christmas. I know it’s a few weeks away yet, but I’ve been thinking and . . . may I invite you both to my humble abode on Christmas Day? It would be a privilege to have you as my guests.’
Molly was shocked. To be asked to Christmas dinner at the doctor’s was a huge step up from sitting around a near-empty table in her hut.
‘Oh, Ma, can we? Please, Ma? It’d be lovely here and we wouldn’t be on our own.’ Lizzie’s eyes pleaded with her mother while Molly weighed the pros and cons of being seen to have Christmas dinner with the doctor.
‘I don’t know, Lizzie.’ Molly struggled with the notion of sharing Christmas with an unmarried man and one way above her class.
‘Please . . .’ Lizzie pulled on her mother’s skirts.
‘My intentions are honourable. I’d welcome the company. Life can be lonely, when you are getting on in years and unmarried.’ Roger Thistlethwaite smiled and waited for a response.
‘Go on then, we’ll come. Lizzie will enjoy it. And if it means you not being on your own at Christmas, I can see no harm in that,’ Molly succumbed. In honesty, she was quite looking forward to it herself.
‘Now then, Mr Ashwell. I want to know will you be right with my lass? No taking advantage, no working her to the bone, she’s already been through enough without being messed about again.’ Molly looked around the contractor’s hut. Plans of the railway lay everywhere and two men were concentrating on studying the path the line was taking while a young lad sat gazing out of the window. It was a lot larger than most of the huts and had the benefit of two stoves to keep the occupants warm. She knew the men that worked there were renting accommodation with local farmers; not for them the cold of a Batty Green shanty. This hut was purely for business, not for living in, as the only sign of domesticity was a kettle boiling on one of the stoves.
‘Mrs Mason, Lizzie will be doing small errands for me, perhaps writing the odd letter or two when I haven’t time, and just helping keep the clutter down. As you can see, us men are not the most organized. I haven’t time because I’m too busy trying to see this blasted project stays on time.’ James Ashwell was well spoken, clean-shaven and a man of principles. He’d little time for some of the hard-drinking navvies and the tricks they got up to. He walked away and studied some plans, his tall lean body bending as he read the papers by the light of the window, giving instructions to the men he was obviously in charge of.
‘Right, as long as you know how it’s to be.’ Molly turned to leave. She couldn’t believe she’d stood up to the main man of the Midland, and now her nerve was beginning to falter. ‘Monday, eight o’clock, a shilling a week and we’ll see how we go.’
James Ashwell lifted his head and watched the determined woman bustle her way outside. It took some nerve to lay down the law to him. He could understand now what his friend Roger Thistlethwaite saw in her.
‘I’ll make sure she’s on time,’ said Molly, and closed the door behind her. He seemed a decent man. A bit sharp, but then he was in charge of the whole shebang so he’d every right to be.
Molly hummed a tune as she walked along the path home. That was Lizzie sorted with a good job, and she was content with nursing. Things were taking a turn for the better. She’d pop into Ingleton next weekend on the new train-tram that the Midland had rigged up running along the temporary train lines along the valley bottom. Now that she could afford it, it would be good to visit the market and pick up a few bits for Christmas. Perhaps a length of cloth to make a new frock for Lizzie; she’d like that.
Her thoughts were of Christmas and presents as she rounded the corner of the huts, her head down, concentrating on putting together a list of wants.
‘Oof! Not so fast, look where you are going.’ She bumped head-on into a man coming from the opposite direction, knocking her hat askew.
It was John Pratt. She quickly set her hat straight and tied it firmly under her chin, giving him a curt glance as she walked on.
‘Molly, Molly, wait, wait. Talk to me.’ John ran after her and pulled on her sleeve. ‘I’ve missed you so much these weeks.’
‘Leave me alone, John Pratt. Go back to your mam, like a good lad.’ Molly pulled her sleeve away from him. She was about to walk away but the sight of his sorrowful face stopped her.
‘Molly, stop it. You know I love you. I couldn’t help it. You don’t understand how it was. I’d have given anything to tell you, but our Bob was the baby of th
e family, I had to keep quiet for his sake.’ John stood in the rain that had started to fall.
‘Aye, and how do you think I feel? Lizzie’s the only one I’ve got left and your lot lie and try to kill her. You don’t love me, John Pratt, you’re too busy looking after your own.’ Molly stomped off, leaving John standing in the pouring rain and watching her.
It had been raining all week, but Molly and Lizzie didn’t care about the miserable weather as they climbed into the wagon of the train-tram. Each of the three canvas-covered wagons that made up the tram was packed with navvies and their families. Just like a real train, the tram engine blew its whistle to signal it was time to depart, and the excited Christmas shoppers were off. Babies screamed and children pulled on their mothers’ skirts as the excitement grew over the prospect of a shopping spree in Ingleton.
‘So, what are you going to buy with your first week’s wage? Don’t go thinking you can spend it all every week, mind. I’m only making an exception this week with it being Christmas.’ Molly sat next to Lizzie on the cramped wooden plank that sufficed as a seat on the short trip. ‘You’d think they’d clean these wagons out a bit better before using them for us.’ Molly peered at her laced-up boots, now covered in the mud that was at the bottom of the wagon.
‘I’m going to get Doctor Thistlethwaite an ounce of Kendal Twist for his pipe. I know he smokes that because I saw him unwrapping some the other day, when we were at his house. And of course I’ll get you something, Mam, but that’s a secret. And some sweets and some . . .’ Molly paused for breath, thinking what she could do with her shilling.
‘It’s going to have to go a long way, is that shilling. Here, I’d better give you another sixpence – mind you don’t lose it.’ Molly handed Lizzie a silver sixpence from out of her draw-string bag. ‘I’ll leave you to shop on your own, but we’ll meet up for dinner at the pie shop at one, all right?’
‘Oh, thanks, Mam. I didn’t know how I was going to buy your Christmas present without you seeing and now I can buy Mr Ashwell some snuff. He’s been so good with me this week. At times I’ve felt daft when he’s had to show me what to do, but he says I’ll soon get used to his ways.’
‘I’m glad he’s all right with you, but I still think you’re in a funny job for a lass.’ Molly pulled her skirt from under the bottom of a well-endowed woman and gave her a glare as she did so. ‘Some folk have no manners,’ she whispered to Lizzie as they both giggled.
The Christmas market at Ingleton was heaving with locals, tradesmen, navvies and their families all buying that little bit extra for the two holiday days. The butcher’s stall had unplucked geese hanging by their feet, or if you wanted a live one there were some in a pen behind the stall. There was a display of carcases and joints, with rabbits, pigs’ heads and trotters and shoulders of mutton – all tempting fare for Christmas dinner.
It was hard to make yourself heard above the sound of tradesmen touting their wares with shouts of ‘Fresh Bread and Cakes for your sweetheart’ from the baker competing with local farmers’ wives yelling about the quality of their milk, eggs, butter and cheese.
‘Remember, I’ll meet you at one, outside the pie shop. Lizzie, are you listening? Mind what you’re doing – don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.’ Molly pulled her hat tight around her head.‘This blooming weather, you’d think it could stop dry just until we get our shopping. Are you all right then?’ She looked at her daughter, who was absorbed in taking in the market scene.
‘Yes, I’ll meet you at one, I’ll keep an eye on the church clock.’ Lizzie couldn’t wait to go shopping on her own.
Molly watched as she walked away, still dragging her leg a little. But a bit of a limp was nothing; it was a miracle that she was alive. She sighed, it had been quite a year – one she’d rather forget. The sooner Christmas was over and the New Year started, the better. Happen, it would bring better luck with it.
She went over to the butcher and haggled over a piece of ham she intended to cook and share with Roger Thistlethwaite. He’d assured her that Christmas dinner was all in hand and she wasn’t to worry, but she felt she had to make some contribution. Then she went on to the draper’s and picked out a length of material for Lizzie: a purple woollen fabric that would be both practical and warm. She could soon stitch something together, once she’d convinced her daughter to stand still long enough for measurements.
The shopkeeper wrapped her purchase and she put it in her canvas bag to keep it out of the rain. The bag was getting full now; another few bits and that would be Christmas taken care of. She was smiling at the prospect of lunch with Lizzie as she stepped out of the shop doorway and found herself face to face with Rose Pratt.
Rose put her head down and pretended not to see her.
‘Go on then, pretend I’m not here. Trouble is, I am – and whenever you see me or my lass you’re going to remember what your lad did to us!’ Molly lashed out, still angry at the lengths Rose had gone to, covering her lad’s tracks.
Lizzie ran up to her mother, her leg impeding her slightly. ‘Sorry I’m late, Mam, I had to wait for my mistletoe. There was a courting couple trying it out and the stallholder got cross with them.’
‘I should think so too! They should know better and be decent.’ Molly pulled a disapproving face and looked shocked, just to please her daughter, but really she was thinking back to when she was younger and courting Lizzie’s dad. The first Christmas they spent together they had shared a loving clinch under the mistletoe.
‘I wish I had a beau. No one ever gives me a second glance.’ Lizzie gazed wistfully at a couple passing by.
‘There’ll be time enough for that, my girl. You’re only fourteen, the less you know about men the better. They use and abuse you – most of them are only good for one thing, and sometimes they’re not any good at that!’ Molly snapped at her daughter.
Lizzie had no idea what her mother meant, but she judged now was not the time to ask for an explanation. Instead she followed her mother into the pie shop in silence.
‘Pie and mushy peas twice, and two pots of tea – and there had better be a decent bit of meat in them pies, not all tattie and turnip.’ Molly gave the young serving girl her instructions and peered out of the steamed-up window. ‘This rain’s never going to stop. No doubt the beck’ll be flooded.’
Lizzie was unwrapping her gifts to show her mother – all bar one, which she kept hidden under the table. ‘I’ve got Doctor Thistlethwaite his baccie . . .’ Lizzie placed the long twisted length of brown, almost black Kendal Twist on the table. ‘Mr Ashwell his snuff . . . Florrie some sweets, ’cause her dad never buys her anything. And of course I didn’t forget you, Mam, but that one’s a secret.’
‘You’ve been busy. I think I’ve got all I need so we’ll head home on the next tram. The day’s worsening and I want to get home while it’s still light, stoke the fire up and put this ham on to boil.’ Molly stopped talking as the young lass came back with their dinners, nervously placing the plates in front of Molly as if waiting for a caustic comment. ‘Well, it looks all right, so let’s get it eaten. It makes a right good change to have something made for you that you’ve not done anything with yourself.’
Lizzie grinned as her mother tucked into her dinner. She’d never eaten pie like it, the taste was so good. Then again, it was her first time in an eating house with her mother, and that was the biggest thrill.
‘We’ve only just made it back in time, Liz. Look at that water – any deeper and we’d not have made it through.’ Molly peered from under the canvas covers at the waters of the River Doe lapping at the wheels and rails of the tram. ‘And look up there – that’s a new waterfall coming out of that cave’s mouth. That’ll be all the melted snow.’
Lizzie peered through the lacing of the wagon at the many gushing streams turning into waterfalls as they cascaded down the sides of Whernside and Ingleborough.
‘There’ll be some damage done if this keeps this up.’ Molly shook her head and held on tight a
s the wagon lurched. ‘I’m blinking glad to see that viaduct and journey’s end.’
The tram jolted to a halt and the relieved passengers clambered out with their shopping and ran to their homes to find refuge from the rain.
‘Put the kettle on, Liz, I’m fair parched. That pie must have had a lot of salt in it. I suppose it was to disguise the old meat.’ Molly grinned, she knew damn well that the pie had been excellent, but she needed a ruse to get Lizzie out of the way while she hid her precious parcel of cloth. ‘You’ll have to go and fill the kettle from the water butt outside.’
Lizzie slung her shawl over her head and scowled as she grabbed the kettle off the top of the stove and went out into the wet again. While the kettle was filling she happened to glance up. What she saw made her drop the kettle and let out a scream.
Molly flew out of the door in a panic. ‘What’s up? What are you screaming for?’ She threw her arms around her daughter, anxiously looking around to see the cause.
‘Mam, the lines are moving – all the banking is sliding down.’
Both women stood mesmerized as with a huge rumble the newly formed banks of spoil disintegrated. Within minutes the line had completely disappeared, taking trees, scaffolding and men with it.
The two women stood trembling and holding each other.
‘Another few minutes and we’d have been under that, Lizzie. That would have been the end of us. Thank God we’re safe – we must be being kept safe for something, me and you.’ She kissed her daughter on the head and squeezed her tight.
Others were emerging from their shanties to see what the noise was, and as they registered what had happened and the scale of the disaster, navvies began running through the shanties, shouting for wagons and carts to be brought. Oblivious to the danger and the raging elements, they raced towards the mudslide. The race was on to save those who were trapped underneath it.