by Maggie Hope
After he’d gone, Lottie lay for a few moments, weeping. Was this what her life was going to be? She was despairing. She might as well throw herself off Elvet Bridge into the Wear. She would, that was just what she would do. Slowly and painfully she got out of bed and pulled on her clothes. She tied her boots around her neck, opened the door noiselessly and crept down the stairs. Taking her shawl from behind the door she let herself out and made her way into the city, still in her bare feet.
The waters of the Wear swirled in small eddies around the solid stone stanchions of the bridge, built so many centuries ago. In the pre-dawn light, sprays of white were thrown up against the blackness of the water beneath. The bridge was deserted, as was the whole city. Shortly there would be people hurrying to work but just now, for a few moments more, there was no one except the small, slight figure of the girl standing by the parapet and gazing down into the water.
Lottie hardly felt the cold air or the even colder stones of the bridge against her bare feet. She was concentrating on the water, almost hypnotized by the sound of it. She swayed, and the boots hanging around her neck by their laces swung forward and back again, banging against her thin chest. She put her hands on the top of the parapet and felt for a foothold in the stones so she could climb up. She could barely remember her mother but suddenly she thought she saw her image in the water as the morning lightened. She found a foothold and raised herself up to the parapet.
‘Oh no you don’t do that, young woman!’
The voice came from behind and startled her, so that she almost fell anyway and would have done but for the two arms that went around her and dragged her down on to the safety of the roadway on the bridge. She could barely see him with her poor eyesight and in the poor light, just a hazy outline. But she knew him for a bobbie, the polis, and his seemingly enormous frame loomed over her. Lottie began to shake.
Six
As the light grew stronger, Lottie found herself up the hill from the bridge and into Saddler Street leading to the marketplace. She passed by Malcolm’s ironmonger’s shop, all shuttered up still, and entered the marketplace, where a number of people were milling around on their way to work. The bobby had escorted her from the bridge and so far up the cobbled road.
‘You’re not going to do anything silly now, are you?’ he asked, before turning back to go to the police station to sign off from his night’s walking about the streets.
‘I should take you in, you know. It is a criminal offence to kill yourself.’
Lottie stared up at him in misery. In the daylight he noticed the bruises on her face; why, she was nobbut a bairn, he thought and sighed.
‘Did some man give you a hiding? Your da, was it? You should be a good lass you know, keep out of trouble. Mebbe you deserved it.’
Lottie shook her head but said nothing.
‘Aye well,’ said the bobby. ‘Don’t do anything daft, lass. You have your whole life ahead of you. Any road, everything looks better in the morning light.’
He turned and strode off down the hill, his boots ringing on the cobblestones. Lottie watched him go. He had been kind enough and she was grateful for that. Then she turned and went on into the centre of the marketplace. Only after just a few steps, she felt a deathly tiredness and her head began to thump painfully. She sat down at the base of the statue of Lord Londonderry, resplendent on his great horse, and leaned her head into the heel of her hand, her eyes closing.
She was still sitting on the steps of the statue when Bertha, Sister Mitchell’s friend, found her. Bertha was on her way to see one of the washerwomen who worked for her in her laundry business, before going to the farm, which belonged to her future husband’s family. Charlie Carr was a stickler for timekeeping and she was hurrying along when the sight of the small, huddled figure on the statue steps gave her pause.
‘It’s Lottie, isn’t it? Lottie Lonsdale? What on earth is the matter, lass?’ Bertha asked.
Lottie lifted a tear-stained face, saw Bertha and quickly tried to cover the ravages of the last few hours. She rubbed at her face with a rag she took out of her pocket, wincing as she caught the bruise on her blackened eye.
‘I’ve … I fell down and bumped my face,’ she said. ‘I’m all right, though, I am, really.’
‘You don’t look all right to me,’ said Bertha. ‘In fact you look like you’ve been through a war an’ no mistake.’ She stared at the girl, then sat down beside her on the steps, all thought of the need to get her jobs arranged so that she could get to the farm on time forgotten. She remembered Eliza Mitchell telling her Lottie was a workhouse girl and she was only too well aware of how vulnerable a girl like her, friendless and alone, could be. Hadn’t she been one herself?
‘What are you doing, pet? You can tell me what happened.’
Lottie responded to the friendly tone, her small attempt to cover up soon done. Besides, she did remember Bertha; they weren’t truly strangers.
‘Has someone attacked you?’ Bertha prompted.
Lottie bit her lip. She didn’t know whether to tell Bertha or not, for she was ashamed to say she had pinched the tanner from Mr Green. But in the end she had to tell someone.
‘Aye,’ she said and bent her head and gazed at her small hands that were clasped in her lap. They were reddened and sore, not only from their regular immersion in hot water and soda but also by the cold. And then she looked past them and saw her boots.
‘It was my own fault,’ she said.
‘Don’t be daft, it couldn’t be your own fault,’ Bertha declared. She forgot for a moment that she was in a tearing hurry and how angry Charlie would be if she was late going over to help his mam. She sat down on the steps beside Lottie and put an arm around the thin shoulders.
‘Now then, tell me,’ she said.
Lottie was desperate to confide in someone and the whole story came tumbling out, or almost the whole story. The worst of it she couldn’t admit even to herself, so she blocked it off.
‘Swine,’ she said when Lottie was finished. ‘Canting, blooming hypocrite.’
‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Lottie, crushed by Bertha’s verdict on her.
‘Nay, lass, not you,’ said Bertha. ‘I’m talking about Alf Green.’
‘Oh.’
Lottie felt a little better. Her body ached in parts she hadn’t known she possessed and the bruises on her face and thighs throbbed. But the horrible weight inside her lifted. Bertha was talking like a friend and she hadn’t any friends, not since she had left the workhouse. Yet maybe Bertha hadn’t truly realized Lottie’s culpability in it all.
‘I should not have pinched the tanner,’ she said. Then, ‘You don’t think I led him on, do you?’
‘I do not, no. I don’t blame you at all, lass. And any road, he should have given you your due. He’s a skinflint and a sinner. The chapel council should be told about him.’
She sat silent for a moment and Lottie regarded her anxiously.
‘They won’t believe me,’ she whispered and Bertha thought that was likely true.
‘Howay along of me,’ said Bertha suddenly. ‘I’ll take you to Eliza. She’ll help you for sure.’ She got to her feet. Charlie would have to wait and so would her washerwomen.
‘Eliza? Sister Mitchell do you mean?’
‘I do. Now be sharp about it, I’m late.’
Lottie had begun to feel better already, now she had a friend and somewhere to go, even if it was only for an hour or two. She began to cry again and it had nothing to do with her sore body – it was purely from relief. She did not have to go back to the workhouse, at least not yet.
‘Come into the kitchen, pet,’ said Eliza. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me exactly what happened. Has someone attacked you? Has someone stolen your purse?’ She had been in the hall when the knock came to the door or she wouldn’t have heard it, it was so soft. Bertha had just brought Lottie to the door and sped on her way, for time was precious.
‘Bertha brought me,’ said Lottie. ‘You do
n’t mind, do you? I had nowhere else to go.’
‘Course I don’t,’ said Eliza stoutly. The lass had a black eye; were there pickpockets at work in the city, as was rumoured? She filled the kettle and settled it on the glowing coals. By, she thought, the police should get on and catch the villains.
‘What?’
Eliza was shocked out of her thoughts by what Lottie was saying.
‘Mr Green did it,’ Lottie said in little more than a whisper. ‘I wouldn’t let him do what he wanted so he hit me and put me out of the house.’ She hung her head, unable to look at Eliza. When it came to it, she couldn’t admit just how far Alf Green had gone, not to Sister Mitchell. She felt dirty and perhaps it had been her fault. Perhaps she had done something to make him think she wanted it. She felt confused and ashamed. So she pretended it hadn’t happened.
Mucky sod, Eliza thought but she didn’t say it. Maybe she had not understood what Lottie was saying. ‘You mean he tried …’ she stopped. The lass was but a bairn, she couldn’t go on.
Lottie nodded. Her head hung even lower. ‘He got into my bed,’ she whispered, then quickly, ‘but I got out, I did, straight away I did. Honest.’
‘Mucky sod.’ This time Eliza said it aloud. She wasn’t quite sure what sod meant, even though she was a nurse, but it was a swear word commonly used and usually combined with mucky, hacky, dirty, filthy.
‘Oh, Lottie,’ she said, ‘let me look at you. I’ll bathe your poor face, eh? I’ll get clean water and put some white vinegar in it. That will make it feel better.’ She handed the girl a cup of tea with sweetened condensed milk in it. ‘Drink that first, it’ll do you good. When did this happen?’
‘Last night. I managed to get away from him. Bertha found me in the marketplace and brought me here. You don’t mind do you? I mean me coming here?’
‘It’s all right, hinny, so it is.’
Eliza didn’t know where she was going to put her but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t put her out, could she? She tended to the girl’s bruises and made her toast and took her in to sit with her mother. Mary Anne Teesdale was in the front room. She had had a bout of trouble with her heart that the doctors said was a result of having rheumatic fever when she was young, but was recovering nicely. At the minute she was thoroughly bored with being idle, for Eliza wouldn’t let her do a thing. Hearing Lottie’s problems took her mind off her own.
Mary Anne was all sympathy for Lottie and full of condemnation for Alf Green. Lottie’s anxious heart began to settle down a little. She found herself telling this motherly woman all about her life in the Green household, withholding only what Alf had done to her in bed.
‘The lads are all right, only Noah, that’s the eldest, he’s a bit of a bully. He bosses his brothers and he tried to boss me. But Mattie now, he’s the little ’un, he’s only six and he misses his mam. I feel rotten at leaving Mattie. Do you think I should go back to see to Mattie, Mrs Teesdale?’
‘Nay, I don’t,’ said Mary Anne stoutly. Her experience and intuition told her there was more to it and she could make a good guess as to what it was. ‘I know it’s a shame but you have to think of yourself. Any road I have an idea. Go and fetch our Eliza for me, will you?’
‘Aye, I will,’ Lottie replied and hurried from the room.
‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, Mam,’ Eliza began as she came into the front room. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, I’ll tell you and you can think about it on your way.’ She paused for a minute, then went on, ’I’m going back to Stanley, Eliza. The lads need me.’
‘But you can’t, Mam, you’d not manage,’ said Eliza patiently. ‘So what’s the good of talking about it?’
‘I can and I will,’ said Mary Anne stubbornly. ‘That is … if Lottie here will go with me.’ She turned to the girl. ‘How would you like to do that, Lottie? You would have a home, and a bit of pocket money. I can’t promise you more than that. And in return, you could help me with the work, what do you say?’
‘Mam!’
‘Mam what?’ Mary Anne said, turning to her daughter. ‘You haven’t room for the lass, have you? It seems to me to be just the answer.’
‘I will,’ said Lottie, but Mary Anne and Eliza were arguing now and neither heard her.
‘I’ll come, please, please let me,’ said Lottie louder, and this time both women stopped talking and turned to her.
‘Stanley is different to Durham,’ said Eliza. ‘And it will be hard work, two lads at the pit and Da, and you will have to look after my mam sometimes, when she’s badly.’
‘I’m used to that,’ said Lottie. She gazed anxiously from Eliza to Mary Anne and back again. Oh, she desperately wanted to go to live with Mary Anne, she did, aye she did. Mary Anne was like the woman she imagined her own mother would have become had she been spared. She could be happy with Mary Anne.
Eliza was not slow to see the appeal in the girl’s eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk about it when I come back. I have to go now.’
Of course when she came back later in the day she found it was all decided and she had no say in the matter.
‘I’m not a bairn,’ Mary Anne said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. ‘I’m not in my dotage, neither. Lottie is coming with me and Tommy and that’s an end to it.’
‘By, you’re definitely feeling better,’ Eliza replied. ‘I gather Da had no say in it either?’
‘Aye, he did.’
Mary Anne nodded her head in the direction of Tommy, who was sitting by the fire with his stockinged feet up on the fender. ‘Your da is the man in our house.’
Tommy grinned at Eliza. ‘Aye, I’m the gaffer in our house,’ he said. ‘Whatever the wife says goes.’
Lottie was happier than she could ever remember being and that was even before they got to Stanley. They caught the train to Stanley, for Eliza said the weather was too cold for Mary Anne to go in the tub trap and, in any case, Eliza had to catch up on her work. Not that it was warmer on the train, the third-class carriage being open to the elements, but it was quicker. And they were muffled up to the eyes in shawls and with a blanket over their knees. Tommy had walked the distance, about ten miles. As he was not working, he reckoned he had no right to spend money on the train when he could very well walk.
The day was fair: the sun was shining as they rode across the fields and past the small colliery villages where smoke curled up to the sky and the smell of the coal and coke ovens mingled with the smoke from the engine, but Lottie didn’t mind that.
‘Cover your mouth with your shawl, pet,’ advised Mary Anne when Lottie coughed, and obediently Lottie did. Her dark eyes peered over the rim of the shawl as she gazed at the horizon of the moor or down into the valley where sheep were still out and finding some grazing despite the grass being chewed right down and the hedges being bare of leaves. But they had their thick winter coats on, she mused, and there were no little lambs. Not yet, not this high or this north. Someone had told her that, she couldn’t remember who. It wouldn’t have been a teacher, not at the workhouse where the main lessons were mending and cleaning.
Mary Anne watched her with a slight smile on her face. By, she thought, she had been lucky to find her really, a lass who was used to hard work and good-natured to boot. Not that there weren’t many in search of work but Lottie, well Lottie had touched her heart with her pinched little face and the way she had of peering earnestly about her.
‘You like to ride behind a locomotive?’ Mary Anne asked in the manner of her youth when most engines were colliery locomotives.
‘Oh, I do,’ Lottie asserted. She had forgotten her ordeal for the minute, the train had taken her out of herself. ‘This is the first time I’ve done it,’ she confided.
‘Nay, it’s not!’ Mary Anne was surprised for a moment, then realized that of course Lottie had had little chance of doing anything except skivvying and when she did have time to herself she wouldn’t be able to afford the time or the money to ride the train.
‘I’ve se
en them, of course,’ said Lottie. ‘But I’ve not been out of Durham, except for Sherburn Hill that is.’
‘Aye well, mebbe you’ll like Stanley better than Sherburn,’ said Mary Anne.
‘Now the train’s pulling in, best collect our bundles and baskets.’ For Eliza had packed ham and one or two other things for them to take with them.
Tommy was waiting at the station with a borrowed trap for Mary Anne and the luggage.
‘Are you not pleased to see us, Tommy?’ asked Mary Anne. ‘You might at least say you are, even if you don’t want to give me a hug.’
‘What, on the station platform?’ her husband asked, looking scandalized. ‘Don’t be so forward, woman!’
Seven
For Lottie, the house in West Stanley was not all that different from the house in Sherburn Hill. The work was hard and the hours long – that was the same – and there was Mrs Teesdale, an invalid just as Mrs Green had been. But the Teesdale boys were older and already working in the pit and then there was Tommy, as different from Alfred Green as it was possible to get. Yet there was a world of difference between the two households, really.
‘Just call me Mary Anne, pet,’ Mrs Teesdale said. ‘An’ nobody at all calls Tommy anything but Tommy, except for the lads.’
‘By, she is a lovely woman,’ Lottie told herself as she washed the dishes or cleaned after the lads, dashing the pit clothes against the wall of the coalhouse and causing the air to sparkle like the night sky as showers of coal dust fell to the ground.
Of course, some nights she got very little sleep when the lads were on different shifts and Tommy on permanent fore shift. For he had been taken on as a datal man, clearing up coal dust and small coal after the hewers and putters, and he worked the first shift of the day, starting at midnight. The putters were just young lads like Harry and a bit careless. As they pushed and heaved at the coal tubs to get them to where the pit ponies could reach – for some of the seams were too low for the beasts – they often shed coal dust and bits from the top.