A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  She tried to bend over and kiss him but the bulge under her apron prevented it. ‘I hope it’s not that influenza. You should have an early night.’

  ‘Can’t.’ Eyes closed, he felt her pulse beneath his cheek. ‘It’s my turn to sit with the lambs.’

  Groaning, she tried to coax him into relinquishing this chore, but he said it was his duty. Shortly afterwards, with a lantern and a gun, he went out into the night.

  * * *

  Thinking about him in the cold dark night, worrying that he might have influenza, Kit did not sleep very well. People had died from this. With news of her sister’s death fresh in her mind, Kit was terrified she was going to lose her husband too. She rolled over with difficulty, trying not to think of it, but could gain no comfort. Hours passed. She must have eventually drifted off, for the sound of a weapon going off jolted her back to wakefulness. After this, she could not sleep at all.

  When her husband’s weary figure appeared through the early morning mist, Kit was waiting with a hot breakfast. Looking exhausted, he laid his weapon aside and sat at the table, muttering disappointment at having missed his target. Kit stood behind him whilst he ate, rubbing his shoulders, pleading for him to climb into the still-warm bed.

  Ignoring his objections that he could not leave others to do his work, she went across the yard. There was no one in George and Phoebe’s kitchen, but the glow of a lantern in the milking shed told where they were. Waddling there, Kit conveyed her suspicions that their son had been stricken with influenza. Knowing there was no point in sending for the doctor, for it would have to run its course, she told them she would try and tackle a few of Worthy’s chores, though she doubted she would be much use.

  For once, Phoebe made no averse remark and said that of course Worthy must come first. Sending Kit back to the farmhouse, she said she would be over later to help.

  He was still at the table when she entered, refusing all attempts to get him to bed, though he accepted another mug of tea, hunched over it in forlorn manner.

  Some time later, Phoebe came across to see how her son was and to bring the mail. She beheld him worriedly and said she had never seen him look so ill. ‘Kit’s right, you should be in bed.’

  Worthy listed the things to be done, and to draw attention from his illness, held out his hand for the letters.

  ‘There’s one with funny writing on the front for Kit – looks important.’ Though dying to open it, Phoebe had never done so since her daughter-in-law’s objection. However, she hovered for information.

  Kit was staring at the typed envelope in concerned manner and hurriedly tore it open, primarily frowning at the address on the front page, then sifting through the pages to the final one when she saw that it was signed by Flora, whence she gave a sound of relief.

  ‘Ah, it’s only from my sister in America! Not Amelia, another one.’ Breathing a little easier, she groped for a chair and lowered herself on to it. ‘I don’t suppose either of them knows about Charity yet.’ After a sigh, she began to read the letter. ‘Fancy that – she’s learned how to type – acts as secretary to this man she ran off with. What a dark horse she is. She’s been in touch with Amelia, that’s how she got our address.’ Kit read on, making sporadic remarks. It was a lovely long letter. She had not reached the end of it before the sound of cartwheels came grinding into the yard and Phoebe interrupted, saying that would be Abel. She would have to go and tell him Worthy was ill.

  Knowing she would be interrupted again, Kit broke off from reading her letter and hoisted her body off the chair to go and pour a cup of tea for Abel. Leaning on one elbow, his head resting on one hand, a feverish-looking Worthy rotated the letter on the table and began to peruse it half-heartedly.

  Though the reams of information about Flora’s offspring held little personal interest, he continued to browse, page by page, finally coming to the end when Flora reiterated her pleasure upon learning the news that Kit was having a baby. I am so very pleased for you. I always felt guilty that I was instrumental in you having to give Serena up, but you can be assured – Worthy’s gut lurched. He went back to make sure he had not misread.

  Turning to check on her husband’s health, Kit saw that his face had become white. She opened her mouth to donate concern, but when he held out the letter, her heart almost stopped.

  ‘Is it true?’ He watched her as she took the page, saw the tremble in her hands.

  Kit felt ready to faint. Her eyes searched for the damning passage, and finally there it was. I always felt guilty that I was instrumental in you having to give Serena up, but you can be assured that your daughter has a good life. Amelia has been a wonderful mother to her …

  She read no more. Worthy dragged himself to his feet, leaning on the table for support. ‘Katherine, I asked if it was true. Did you give birth to that child?’

  She closed her eyes and nodded, her lip trembling with emotion. When she dared to look at him she saw that he was devastated.

  Outside, Phoebe and her younger son were making their way to the farmhouse when they heard a cry.

  ‘Please, Worthy – oh God, don’t!’

  The urgency of that yell increased their pace. Abel threw open the door to see Worthy directing his shotgun at Kit, who cowered behind a chair. Leaping forward he knocked the barrel upwards, the gun went off, blasting a hole in the ceiling above Kit’s head. She screamed and, terrified both for herself and the baby, lumbered as fast as she could for the door.

  ‘For God’s sake, man, what are you doing?’ Having foiled the murder, Abel stepped back, clutching his head and beholding his brother as if he were mad. His mistake was to not keep possession of the gun.

  Repelled by his own actions, debilitated by illness and an uncontrollable heartbreak, Worthy turned the weapon on himself. Again, his brother fought to disarm him.

  Appalled, Phoebe grabbed Kit’s arm as she tried to escape, screaming at her, ‘It’s that letter, isn’t it? What is it? What have you done to him?’

  Trying to wriggle free, Kit returned the scream: ‘I had another baby!’

  With a frantic glance at her sons, who were still locked in turmoil, Phoebe damned Kit and urged her from the room and into the yard. At the first explosion George had come running towards the open door and now almost collided with his wife and hysterical daughter-in-law. Ettie too had run outside. All stood momentarily pinned by horror to watch the struggle between the brothers, Kit sobbing and cowering behind George before he rushed to help his younger son disarm the other, leaving her vulnerable.

  But before he reached his goal the gun roared again. Kit saw the blood spout, saw Worthy fall, saw him die.

  Stunned beyond comprehension, through a veil of semiconsciousness she heard angry voices, orders being given, felt herself shoved from one to another – and then in the next instant her skirt was drenched and a dull ache was creeping from the small of her back into every muscle of her abdomen. In the confusion, she heard someone mention doctor, then Phoebe screeched that she never wanted to see her again, and she felt men’s hands grab her and shove her into the back of a cart.

  With an urgent thrash of his reins Abel set the horse into motion, steered it out of the yard and down a long stony track towards the road. Jolted and jarred, on the point of fainting, Kit hugged her abdomen to protect the child, tossed this way and that, her bouncing buttocks colliding time after time with the unforgiving surface. Too shocked to complain, she swayed from side to side, at the mercy of the driver and of the unstoppable pain that heralded labour.

  The cart reached the road. It was all downhill from there and the horse set off at a brisk pace, encouraged by an anxious Abel, who seemed oblivious to his human cargo, intent only on reaching the village. The pains increased – merged into one constant bout of suffering – would her journey never end?

  Finally, it did. Groggy and disorientated, Kit stumbled blindly as Abel and a woman helped her from the cart and into a house. Then all at once Abel was gone and she was alone with the woman. The
pain was much stronger now. The woman made soothing noises as she piloted her charge towards a bed. Moaning, Kit felt the clothes being stripped from her, fell upon the mattress and allowed rude hands to poke and pry, begged for the Lord to take her, for her beloved husband was dead and, even as it was born, she knew instinctively that her child was dead too.

  31

  ‘No wonder you had such a hard time!’ Nurse Fenton scooped a last handful of water over the baby boy, then lifted him, dripping, from the small enamel bath by the fire and on to a towel on her lap, the umbilical cord still protruding from his pink belly like the stem of an apple. ‘He must weigh a stone – if not a ton.’

  Watching the scene from her bed, Kit gave a wan smile, still hardly able to believe after two days that those lusty cries were real. Upon his entry to the world she had gasped and laughed and cried at the same time, but throughout that joyful moment had come intense despair. For her little boy’s father would never see him. That same sorrow still throbbed within her now.

  Nurse Fenton ignored the baby’s protests and rubbed him with the towel. Fearing that she was going to grate his skin right off, an anxious Kit said she thought she had heard someone at the door. The nurse said they could wait, but at least she finished her rough handling of Kit’s baby and dressed him in clothes she had made herself that were normally reserved for destitute mothers. After wrapping him up in a tight bundle, she passed him over to be fed.

  In the nurse’s absence, Kit put her baby to her breast, and gazed down at him whilst he suckled, her mind a conflict of emotions. At last she had a legitimate child that no one except the Lord could take away – but how was she going to care for him? Everything she owned was at the farm. She could not even pay the nurse.

  The latter came back grumbling that there had been no one at the door. Kit apologized and said she must have been hearing things, then thanked the nurse for her devoted care over these last two days.

  ‘You’ve already thanked me,’ said Nurse Fenton.

  ‘Have I?’ Kit looked dazed. ‘I can’t remember much at all.’ Did not want to remember.

  ‘That’s hardly surprising after what you’ve been through.’ The nurse stood and watched the baby feeding, her face overtaken by a munificent smile.

  ‘I shall get up after he’s finished,’ said Kit, ‘and be out of your hair.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’

  ‘But I can’t pay you – at least not yet.’

  ‘Then pay me when you can,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ll get up when I say you can.’

  Kit responded with a sickly smile. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to wear. I’ve only the clothes I came in.’ And they would be ruined.

  ‘Your dress and petticoats are on the line. I can lend you a pair of my drawers whilst yours are in the wash.’ Nurse Fenton went to empty the bath water, telling Kit not to worry her head about what lay ahead, but to get some rest.

  But Kit did worry. Where was she to go? The house in York was occupied at the moment. She would have to write to the agent and ask him to remove the tenant, but that would take weeks. She could not stay here that long. She would have to fall back on one of her siblings. Thoughts of Charity brought the glint of tears. Discounting Gwen, Kit decided that it had to be one of her brothers; she had housed both in times of trouble. But they were on strike. How could she expect them to feed her? Well, they would just have to, for she had no one else. But then she remembered Mr Popplewell, and decided to throw herself on his mercy. Changing her baby to the other breast, she began to form a letter in her mind.

  * * *

  The baby, still unnamed, was over a week old and still Kit’s letter had gone unanswered. She had stated how urgent it was that Mr Popplewell come at once but no word had arrived. The nurse had been very good, but Kit felt dreadful at having to accept her charity. There was only one thing for it: she must rely on her family. It had always been Monty to whom she had turned in the past, and the house in which he lived had been bequeathed by her, but it did not seem fair somehow to keep doing this to him – especially not to his wife, Ann, who had struggle enough in trying to make herself accepted by his children. Owen’s house was nearer.

  He was living on strike pay too, and would not thank Kit for landing him with this, but there was no other way.

  Feeling decidedly grubby, having only the clothes she stood up in, Kit thanked Nurse Fenton but said she could not impose on her any longer. Asking one last favour – that the woman conjure up some transport to Garborough Junction – she made ready to depart.

  Expecting to meet with desperate faces at her brother’s house, Kit was surprised to be made most welcome. So soon after losing one sister, Owen was shocked to hear of his brother-in-law’s death – and by such terrible means. He told his distraught sister she could stay as long as she wanted. Meg was similarly disposed, taking charge of the baby so that Kit could sit and drink her tea in peace.

  Wiping her eyes, Kit told them, ‘I hate being such a burden during the strike but—’

  ‘Aw nay!’ Owen was quick to respond. ‘It’s all but over. Aye! It’s right. The master’s have caved in – except for one pit. I’ll give you three guesses where that is.’

  Kit knew. ‘Ralph Royd.’ She frowned. ‘But Probe said nobody was allowed to go back unless every pit got the reward.’

  ‘That’s reet.’ Owen did not seem in the least worried, in fact he was most cheerful. ‘But they won’t be able to hold out this time, not if they want to keep face with the other coalmasters. In fact, we’re expecting to get word any day that they’ve knuckled under.’

  Kit was relieved that she was not going to be such a burden as she had feared, and said that as soon as she got word that her house in York was vacated she would leave.

  Owen studied her glazed eyes, felt sorry that she had had such transient happiness with Worthy. ‘You stay here as long as you want, Kit.’

  ‘I feel terrible at not being able to contribute anything, but everything I own is at the farm, including my bank book.’

  ‘I’ll go for it if you like,’ offered Owen. ‘Not just ’cause I want paying, mind.’ He addressed Meg who seemed to be enjoying holding the baby. ‘You’d think Worthy’s family would’ve brought poor lass’s stuff, wouldn’t you?’

  Kit said they had probably burned it, the way they felt about her.

  Owen dealt a brief pat to her shoulder and said he would go tomorrow.

  However, long before then news arrived to say that the Ralph Royd Coal Company had made similar compromise to the rest of the Yorkshire coalfield – the ten per cent rise had been conceded and the strike was effectively over. Bringing his hands together in a loud smack that jerked Kit’s baby from the breast and set him crying, Owen praised the Lord, then rushed off to help with the organization of the return to work – for this was going to be the most spectacular return that Yorkshire had ever seen.

  Indeed it was. Within hours of the news, the village was resounding to the tunes of a brass band. Whilst her baby slept through all the din Kit joined her sister-in-law and others who lined the streets to watch the triumphant procession of miners, their colourful banners held high, marching to the clash of cymbal and drum, and singing songs of glory.

  * * *

  With the restoration of employment, Owen was unable to spare any time to organize a cart in which to go and collect his sister’s property. Kit gave lacklustre reply that this was of no import, though she would appreciate the recovery of her bank book so that she could at least make a contribution and buy some underwear in order to return Nurse Fenton’s drawers and the borrowed baby clothes. In that case, Owen told her, he would go on Sunday morning before chapel. When his sister said she hoped he would not be given any trouble, he replied that she had a right to her money, which Kit thought was something of an anomaly from Owen’s lips.

  Sunday came. Owen was about to set off, having got as far as the passage, when someone rapped at the door. Returning to the kitchen, he told Kit, ‘You
’ve got a visitor.’

  ‘Kit, I’m that sorry I haven’t come before this!’ A manifestation of teeth and hair and skin and bone came at her and seated itself beside her on the sofa, grabbing her arm. ‘I only just got back from Malvern last night – oh, I’ll tell you about that later – and when I opened your letter I couldn’t believe it. The minute I got up this morning I went straight round to that nurse’s address and she told me you were here. I’m ever so sorry I wasn’t there to help.’

  Tears in her eyes, Kit told Mr Popplewell that she was well looked after here, but said she was pleased to see him. Shown the baby, he murmured that its father would have been proud of such a grand lad, setting Kit off crying again, at which point Owen cleared his throat and said he would be away to collect the bank book.

  Mr Popplewell accepted a cup of tea from Meg, who went about the business of preparing Sunday lunch whilst Kit spoke intimately to her guest.

  An hour or so after this Owen returned, both his wife and sister showing surprise.

  ‘You didn’t take long!’ exclaimed Meg. ‘Did you get the bank book?’

  Owen wore an odd expression. ‘No, I brought summat else instead.’

  Seated next to Mr Popplewell on the sofa, Kit almost swooned as Worthy came in.

  There were exclamations from others, but Kit could say nothing, just sat there staring at her husband who filled the room with his large, living, presence.

  Making no move to approach her, Worthy allowed his brother-in-law to give a few words of explanation. ‘He were on his way over here when we met halfway,’ said Owen, then jerked his head at the front parlour. ‘Take him in t’front, Kit.’ And as she passed, still speechless with shock, he dealt her a reproachful tap and muttered, ‘You daft cat.’

  Alone with Worthy in the front parlour, Kit found it hard to meet his eyes, ecstatically happy that he was alive, yet sorrowful that his love for her had been destroyed.