by Diane Allen
John dismounted from his horse and lifted the young woman’s head into his lap. There was nothing to her but skin and bones, and he was surprised to see that her dark hair was cut short. For a moment he wondered if it was a boy, for it was rare to see a girl with short hair. Her breathing was ragged and she winced as John lifted her on to his mare. Taking the reins, he led the mare past the Hill Inn and on to the lights of Batty Green and the Welcome Inn.
29
‘So who do you think she is?’ Molly and Lizzie looked down at the small body that John had brought home with him. He’d gently carried her upstairs and laid her in a spare bed in one of the rooms. Molly had washed her face and dressed her in one of Lizzie nightdresses, noticing as she did so the marks on her buttocks.
‘Wherever she’s come from hasn’t done her any favours,’ whispered Molly. ‘She’d signs of a good hiding on her bottom. She’s only a little scrap of a thing, but she looks a bit too old for putting over her father’s knee.’
‘Is she all right, Mam?’ Lizzie peered at the new lodger.
‘I think she’s just exhausted. Let’s leave her to sleep. We might find out more in the morning.’ Molly sneaked out of the room, quietly closing the dark oak bedroom door behind her.
Lizzie whispered excitedly all the way down the stairs making up stories about the origin of their unknown guest. ‘What if she’s run away from the workhouse? Or what if she’s from the mental asylum? Perhaps that’s why her hair’s cut short – do they cut girls’ hair like that in the asylum? Maybe she escaped.’
‘Quiet, lass. Stop letting your imagination run away with you,’ said John. ‘She’s only young, she can’t do any harm. She’s built like a sparrow, bless her.’ He pulled his chair up to the table.
‘I don’t know,’ said Molly affectionately, ‘I send you for some ale and you come home with another woman!’ She sat down beside him and watched as he tucked into a plate of warmed-up meat and tattie pie.
‘Bye, that’s a lovely bit of pie,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘I take it we’ve been busy with dinners.’ Molly nodded, she didn’t want to tell him that Lizzie was a better cook than his wife.
When his plate was clean, he belched contentedly and said, ‘Fetch us a gill, Lizzie. I’ve some other news to tell you.’ He took a long slurp of cold ale and sat back in his chair. ‘You’ll never guess what I heard down at Lancaster?’ He took another slurp.
‘Go on then, get on with it!’ Molly and Lizzie couldn’t wait to hear the gossip.
‘Old Sedgwick told me it’s common knowledge that your best mate Helen wasn’t left for another woman.’ John took another swig and leaned back, enjoying his captive audience. ‘Henry Parker was knocked off – she killed him. Everybody down there’s talking about it.’
‘Oh, Mam, we’ve been friends with a murderer! She could have killed me while I was looking after her little ’uns!’ Lizzie was immediately ready to believe the worst of a woman who until a few minutes ago had been the family’s best friend.
‘Give over, Lizzie, you’ve been reading too many books! She’d never hurt a fly, not Helen. She was a timid thing really. And Henry was a big brute of a man, she couldn’t possibly have killed him,’ said Molly.
‘They reckon she paid some fellas to do the deed for her.’
‘And I reckon they must have been having you on.’ Molly shook her head, refusing to believe the gossip. ‘I don’t believe a word of it. Helen’s been good to us, giving me a job, giving Lizzie those florins, and setting us up here – we’re the only navvies in these parts with a proper roof over our heads.’ Inwardly Molly wasn’t so certain of Helen’s innocence, but even if she had killed Henry Parker, she wouldn’t hold it against her. He’d been a bastard and the world was better without him.
‘Did you place the ale order, and did he want money up front? I hope to God not, else we’ll be the pub without ale or grub.’
‘What do you mean, no grub?’ John looked at Molly.
‘Nay, nothing,’ said Molly. He’d hear the complaints about her fare soon enough. She only hoped that customers would persevere. Determined to stay off the subject for the time being, she demanded, ‘The ale – did you get it?’
‘That’s the other strange thing: Helen’s paid for our first forty barrels. Sedgwick said it was for the first month, but it’ll last us two, I’m sure. Nothing adds up about that woman. When you think of it, she couldn’t get away from here fast enough.’
‘She wanted to get back to her family. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she got out fast for our benefit. It was right after the tunnel collapse that she suddenly announced she wanted to leave and would rent the place to us. Helen was a kind woman who was appreciative that I was with her daughter on the night she died.’
But even as she was speaking, Molly was recalling the morning Helen told her she’d had a letter from Henry. She’d seemed a little shifty then, right enough. Trying to shrug off her doubts, she employed her usual tactic of changing the subject: ‘Anyway, what are we to do with our guest upstairs? Are you sure she didn’t say anything to you?’
‘Not a word. She was damn lucky she didn’t get tangled up with the horse, popping out of a hedge like that. I couldn’t leave her half-dead, lying in the road.’ John sat back in his chair and tapped the cutlery on the table. ‘I’d like to know where she came from, though. I don’t like to think of her sleeping under our roof.’
‘John! She’s a slip of a lass, she’s not going to hurt a soul! Besides, from what I’ve seen she’s suffered plenty of hurt herself. Her backside’s wealed and bruised – someone’s taken their belt to her.’ Molly poured John another drink. ‘Time for bed, Liz. I want you up early in the morning.’
‘Are you working early, Lizzie? I thought Ashwell would be winding down now, not going up a gear?’
Lizzie glanced sheepishly in her mother’s direction, then told him: ‘I’m helping Mam in the morning. She’s told Mr Ashwell that I’m not working for him any more, there’s too much to be done here.’
‘That’s enough, Lizzie! Get yourself to bed, I need to talk to John on my own.’ Molly pulled at Lizzie’s chair, chivvying her to bed.
‘Night, John.’ Lizzie kissed him on the cheek and gave her mother a backward glance. She knew that John would not be so suited at her giving up work when hers was the only wage coming in.
‘What did you do that for? I know Lizzie doesn’t earn a lot, but at least it kept her fed and shod.’ John looked angry.
‘I need her in the kitchen. I told you I couldn’t cook, and it turns out that Lizzie learned a lot when she was with your mother. At least her bread isn’t like bricks. It’s been a disaster while you’ve been away, we’ll be lucky if anyone will ever eat here again.’ Molly hated telling the truth, but it had to be said.
‘So what the hell are we going to do? We can make a living with the ale for the next few weeks, but when the day comes we need to pay for more, we’re sunk. I’ll have to go back to the railway. I can probably pick up work on the viaduct, although it’s nearly finished. Another six months and it’ll be done. Then I’ll have to go and move on with the line men.’
Molly stood behind her fretting husband and rubbed his shoulders. ‘Stop fretting, love. Something will turn up, it always does.’ She kissed him on the head. ‘Come to bed, darling. I missed you last night.’ She rubbed her hands down his chest.
‘You’re right,’ he sighed. ‘Tomorrow’s another day. I’m just tired and fretting over nowt.’ He stood up and kissed her tenderly, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. ‘Away, woman – show me what I missed last night.’ He pulled harder on her hand and grabbed her by the waist. ‘I’m home and ready for a lusty night!’
‘That bread needs taking out, Mam,’ Lizzie shouted across the steamed-up kitchen. Molly dropped her broom and ran in from the bar. Lizzie was up to her elbows, mixing currants and suet to make a pudding, the way Rose Pratt had shown her.
‘Damn! It’s a bit brown and hard. I should have g
rabbed it out ten minutes ago.’ Molly dropped the bread tins heavily on the pine table, burning her fingers as she did so.
Agnes made her way shakily down the rickety stairs, the smell of baking bread reminding her of home and making her stomach rumble. She caught the tail-end of the conversation and, without stopping to think, chimed in:
‘Rub them with butter while they’re still warm. That makes the crust softer and dampens the colour.’
When they turned to look at her, Agnes flushed deep red. What was she thinking, giving an older woman advice?
‘Oh, I didn’t know you were there! Are you feeling better?’ Molly turned to see her new lodger, who obviously knew something about baking.
‘Yes, thank you. I’m so grateful to you for letting me sleep here last night. I doubt I would be alive if it weren’t for your kindness. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember what happened exactly.’
The frail girl seemed dwarfed by Lizzie’s old nightdress. She made to take a step forward but her legs seemed too weak to support her and she wobbled uncertainly and almost fell.
‘Here, sit down, you poor mite. You look as if you could do with a good meal inside you. Lizzie, get this young lass a dish of porridge, there’s some left in the big pan.’
The dark-haired young woman leaned over the table, her body trembling as she lifted her head to eat.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, love?’ said Molly kindly. ‘You look as if you’ve been through the mill.’ She drew up a chair as Lizzie went about her business, getting the dinner menu together while keeping a watchful eye on the young lodger.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Agnes spooned the warm porridge into her mouth, her hand shaking. ‘I’m afraid I can’t pay for this, but I’ll wash the dishes for you.’ She blushed with embarrassment.
‘You’ll do no such thing! When you’ve eaten that, you can go straight back to bed. You’re in no fit state to do anything.’ Molly watched as the young lass ate. She was obviously starving, probably hadn’t eaten for days. Wherever she’d come, they’d sent her packing without a penny to her name and no means of support, the poor lass. Happen she’d come from the workhouse. No doubt she’d tell them in her own good time.
When she’d finished her porridge, Molly told her, ‘Right, young lady, I’ll not have you fainting on this stone floor – back to bed with you. And you’re to stop in bed until you get your strength back. Lizzie, help this young lass up the stairs. What’s your name, pet – can we ask?’ Molly’s curiosity got the better of her.
‘It’s Agnes, Agnes Fraser.’ She stood up and immediately her legs buckled under her. Lizzie rushed to her side to support her.
‘Well, I’m Molly Pratt and this is my daughter Lizzie. My husband brought you home last night. He found you on the road, half-dead, so we put you in the spare room and hoped that you would see morning. Now get yourself upstairs with our Lizzie and don’t come down until you’re strong enough. We’ll fetch you up some dinner when it’s ready.’
Molly watched the two girls climb the stairs. Then, remembering what her un-paying guest had said, she took a knob of butter and rubbed it on the warm loaves of bread. The crust immediately softened and shone, making it look more appetizing. Molly raised an eyebrow, impressed. Clearly her guest knew something about cooking.
Customers were scarce and the day went slowly. Molly polished the hearth and Lizzie kept her eye on the dinner that nobody wanted. John had the most profitable morning: Elijah Allen had seen the advertisement in the window and agreed a fee to stable his horses at the inn while he went back and forth around Batty Green selling his produce.
‘It’s no good, Mam. Word spreads fast, they’ve all gone to the next dale for their dinners – the opening of that tunnel hasn’t done us any favours; now they can just walk through it into Dent. Happen they’ll come back tonight when they want a drink.’ Lizzie sat with her head in her hands.
‘Nay, pet, we don’t give in! We just need to come up with something that’ll get folk in. Why don’t you take our guest a bit of dinner while I have a think.’
Lizzie cut a piece of cheese and bread and placed it on a plate and poured a glass of milk for Agnes. She was dying to find out where their mystery guest had come from.
She pushed the oak bedroom door open with her foot and quietly entered the room. Agnes was lying on her side with the eiderdown over her face. Though her back was turned, Lizzie could hear her sobbing. Placing the dinner on the washstand, Lizzie went to the bed and lightly touched her on the shoulder.
‘Agnes, are you all right?’
She flinched as if afraid she was going to be struck, then realized it was Lizzie. Sniffing hard and wiping her eyes, she said, ‘I’m fine.’ But then she lowered her head, gulping for breath as another wave of tears threatened to envelop her.
‘You know, I was once like you,’ said Lizzie, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I felt all alone and beside myself with sorrow, and I don’t know what would have happened if someone hadn’t come along and saved me.’ She took Agnes’s hand in hers. ‘You can tell me anything, Agnes. I promise I’ll try and help.’
Tears ran down Agnes’s cheeks. ‘I’m not worth anything to anybody. I wish I could die.’ She pulled the covers up.
‘You should never say that. I’ve had my best friend die this year, and we buried my father and my baby brother last year. No matter what your troubles are, at least so long as you’re alive you can do something.’
Lizzie remained sitting on the bed, remembering how hard it had been for her. But she hadn’t allowed herself to wallow in self-pity.
‘You don’t know what I’ve been through,’ Agnes sobbed.
‘I know someone’s brayed you, just like my best friend got brayed, but you’re safe now. We’ll make sure you’re all right while you’re here. My mam will do anything for someone who’s in bother.’ Lizzie looked at the red-eyed lass, only slightly older than her. ‘Here, there’s some bread and cheese for your dinner. You’re our only customer today, so I hope you enjoy it.’
Lizzie was almost at the door when Agnes, struggling to re-gather her thoughts and her pride, said,‘Thank you. I will repay your kindness. And I apologize for feeling sorry for myself. My family disowned me after I got myself into trouble. My father used to belt me nearly every day and then he eventually threw me out to make my own way in the world.’
Agnes managed a wan smile as Lizzie, still angry that someone her own age would say that they wished themselves dead, closed the door quietly behind her.
‘Is she all right love?’ Molly yelled at Lizzie as she saw her come down the stairs.
‘Yeah, Mam, she will be, once she’s rested,’ Lizzie replied before disappearing out the back door to avoid further questions. Her mam had enough on her plate without a suicidal young woman.
‘What the hell was that?’ Molly pulled her long white nightdress around her and swung her legs out of bed. ‘John, there’s somebody downstairs, I can hear them! Someone’s in the kitchen – they’ll be raiding the stores!’
She shook John into action. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, muttered, ‘Give over, woman, you’re dreaming.’ Then thumped his pillow and buried his head in the soft feathers.
‘There it is again!’ Molly screeched, making for the bedroom door.
This time there was no doubt. Someone was definitely in the kitchen. John sprang up and armed himself with a candlestick, then led the way downstairs with Molly close behind.
The smell of warm bread was wafting from the kitchen. Molly and John stopped on the stairs and looked at each other in surprise as they sniffed the air, drooling at the delicious aroma. Perhaps it was Lizzie making an early start on the day’s cooking, but the sun hadn’t even risen, so that was unlikely. As they crept to open the kitchen door the smells grew stronger. Now bacon mingled with the scent of fresh bread. When they opened the door to the kitchen, they found the fire and oven lit and a batch of bread already on the table.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Agnes. �
��I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to pay you for my stay and this is the only way I know.’ She had Molly’s apron on over the shabby dress she’d been wearing the night John found her.
‘You frightened us to death, pet. We thought we had burglars! What on earth are you doing up at this time of day? Oh, my Lord, John, look at all this!’
Molly and John gazed in wonder at the rows of bread and buns and a pan full of bacon frying.
Agnes was staring down at her feet, blushing and feeling awkward. ‘I’m used to getting up at this time to help my father – he was a baker. I thought that this might help you.’
‘What you really mean is, you thought our bread was rubbish.’
Molly’s words made Agnes look up in shock, about to protest. But before she could get a word in, Molly smiled and said, ‘And, aye, you’d be right! Men have been known to break their teeth on my offerings.’
John meanwhile had sat himself down at the table, glad that there was no burglar to tackle.
‘Why’s that frying this early?’ Molly indicated the pan of bacon.
‘There’s nothing better than a bacon sandwich in new bread. My father used to go round the lead miners’ homes with me and my sister and sell them to the men before they set off to work. It encouraged them to come to you for their dinner at the end of the day, or to buy your bread and things for their lunch.’ Agnes blushed, wondering if she’d overstepped the mark. But she’d heard Lizzie and Molly talking about how they had to find some way to attract customers back to the inn.
‘By gum, you’re a sharp ’un! I bet your father’s worth a bob or two!’ Molly grinned. Then she went to the door and hollered up the stairs: ‘Lizzie – stir your shanks! Me and you have a bit of hawking to do.’
‘There’s two big baskets in the pantry – help me fill them up, Lizzie. Right, we both know who’s wed and who’s not on Batty Green, so it’s only the huts with single men in that we’ll target this morning – they’re the ones who can’t be bothered with cooking.’