by Maggie Hope
‘We’d best be off then,’ Farmer Dean said as there were sounds from the yard outside. The boar was grunting loudly and Jess gave a small yelp. Even the pony snickered nervously though she was well used to hauling farm animals.
Mrs Bates gathered Tot’s bundle together and kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’ll miss having you,’ she whispered, then glanced at her husband, who was looking inordinately pleased with himself. Selfish pig, she thought, startling herself, for she had not thought so before.
‘Mind, watch what you’re doing, lad,’ she said as he climbed on to the cart alongside Farmer Dean. Jess jumped up too and squeezed between the two and sat watching the road with intelligent eyes. She had patches of grey around her muzzle for she was coming up fourteen years old now, but she still seemed as sprightly as she had always been.
‘I’ll put off the boar at the farm first,’ said Farmer Dean as they approached Haswell. ‘You can have a rest then I’ll take you on to Blue House. Which row is it your grandma lives in?’
‘Alice Street,’ said Tot. His head was hurting now and every uneven piece of road made it throb. He was desperately tired and sore.
‘Where do you reckon the Teesdales went, then?’ asked Farmer Dean of the man sitting on his haunches outside the house in Alice Street. The man had told him the reason for the family’s flit and he didn’t know what to make of it. Surely it was a bit hard to take it out on a whole family. Tommy Teesdale must have done something really bad.
He was in a bit of a quandary now, he reckoned. Here was the lad, and the circles under his eyes were almost as dark as the eyes. He looked right poorly, he did indeed. Now how was he going to hand him over to his grandmother when she’d moved away? He couldn’t just leave him here.
The man got to his feet and pulled out a clay pipe from his pocket. ‘I did hear they’d gone over to Durham, to their daughter’s place,’ he said. He glanced curiously at the boy sitting in the farmer’s trap. ‘He looks like he should be in bed by rights,’ he remarked.
‘Aye, well, I’ll get him there as soon as I can,’ Farmer Dean replied and flicked the reins. ‘Giddy up, lass,’ he said and the horse trundled back the way they had came. ‘You’d best stay with us the night,’ he said to Tot as they passed the colliery gates. But Tot suddenly sat up straight in his seat.
‘There’s Mr Moore,’ he cried. ‘Mr Moore!’ The colliery owner was just emerging from the office and he turned to see who was calling his name. He grinned with amusement when he saw Tot. He walked over towards the trap and Farmer Dean slowed to a halt, though impatiently.
Thomas paused for a moment, remembering how his mother had reacted when he talked to Mr Moore before. But it was the first familiar face he had seen since he ran away to go to his Uncle Henry’s. He had to speak to him.
‘I was going to my grandma’s but she doesn’t live here any more,’ he informed Jonathan. ‘Now I’ll have to go home with Mr Dean and go to me mam’s tomorrow.’
‘I have the farm to see to, the animals, I can’t take any more time off,’ explained the farmer. ‘The lad was set on by a couple of ruffians, bad cess to them for treating a lad like that an’ all.’
Jonathan’s thoughts were racing as he considered which was the best way to take advantage of this heaven-sent opportunity. He could keep the lad away and get back at his mother that way. He could even put him on a collier boat bound for London; he would probably get lost in the great metropolis. No, he thought, coming to a swift decision, he would take the lad home himself. Eliza would be so grateful for Tot’s return she would fall into his arms. Then when he’d had his fill of her he could get rid of her like he had got rid of her family.
‘I want to go home,’ said Tot, sounding unintentionally pathetic.
‘Well, I’ll take you,’ Jonathan told him. ‘I’ll take him off your hands, Mr Dean,’ he said. ‘I have my gig here, I am a friend of his mother’s and it will not take me long. Climb down, lad, and come with me.’
Tot got down from the trap, staggering a little as he still felt somewhat dizzy. He stood beside Jonathan and thanked the farmer for all his help.
‘I’ll away then,’ the farmer said with relief. ‘There’s work to be done. Thank you too, Mr Moore.’ He turned to the boy. ‘An’ you think twice afore you run away again, you hear me? You won’t always meet with folk kind enough to look after you.’
‘I won’t do it again,’ Tot said and hung his head before walking away with the mine owner.
It was not until Farmer Dean was home and stabling the pony that it occurred to him to wonder why Moore should go out of his way to help a member of the family he had thrown out of their home at a day’s notice. At least, according to the miner who had taken over their house, that was what he had done. Jonathan Moore did not have a name for kindness of heart, so why had he done it? But then, Tot was only a lad and a hurt one at that. Anyone would have done it.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘I’M SORRY, I’M afraid I cannot give as much time to the work as I should,’ Eliza said to Dr Gray. ‘So I’m asking you if there is anyone from the Infirmary who will take over my practice temporarily? I know there are more nurses coming out now who have been through the Nightingale course.’
Dr Gray bit his lip. She was the best nurse he had had dealings with in all his professional life and she would be missed in the district, even if it were only for a short while. He got to his feet and walked to the window of his office, staring unseeingly at the busy streets of the city and the towering cathedral on the headland above.
‘I’m sorry for your trouble, Sister,’ he said. ‘I can see how you are held, though. Look, why don’t you take a couple of weeks, at least provisionally, and see if you can find your son. There is a nurse who has just returned from Bart’s in London. She has not yet been assigned to a ward. I will ask her if she is willing to take over from you for a short while. You would be there for some of the time to watch over her? I think that would be the best we could do. Nurse Henderson is her name.’
As Tommy went along he brooded on the things that had happened to him and his family in the last few weeks. He was like Job, the man who had one misfortune after another piled on him, he thought bitterly. The minister had told the story once again at the service only a couple of weeks before. Well, he wasn’t going to cry to God about it, he would do something himself. The lads were all right, they were working and they lodged with a kindly widow woman in Stanley. He himself had not been taken on and he knew it was but a matter of time before he had to accept work and his soul rebelled against it.
The train was slowing down as it approached the station at Chester-le-Street and Tommy raised his head above the side of the waggon and peered cautiously over. No one was looking his way so he clambered over the side, hung there by his fingertips for a moment and dropped on to the line in a sort of crouch. By, his knees were not what they used to be, he reckoned as they creaked in protest. He ran down the embankment and into a stand of trees as there was a shout behind him.
‘Hey, you!’
But whoever it was was too late: Tommy was out of sight and already heading for the Great North Road, southbound. Today he would walk back to Durham to see Mary Anne. But on the way he would keep a sharp lookout for any sign that young Tot had come this way. If he had time he would branch out east to see if they needed any hewers around Seaham. Though he didn’t fancy working in that Lord Londonderry’s pits, bad cess to him an’ all. Wasn’t he the one who had said his men didn’t mind working eighteen hours at the face? At least that was what he had been famous for in Durham. Still, mebbe it wasn’t him, mebbe it was his da.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Tommy began to feel pangs of hunger. He had left Stanley early in the morning to catch the minerals train and he had had only a crust of bread and a heel of cheese for his breakfast. He was approaching the village of Pity Me so he decided to stop at the first butcher’s he came to and buy himself a pie. He fingered the tuppence for a while, considering. If he
bought a penny dip he would have an extra penny and his money was dwindling fast. In the end he decided a pork pie would last him until he got back to Durham. Eliza was a kindly lass, she would likely feed him a good dinner.
He carried the pie out of the village until he found a low wall by the side of the road where he sat down and took it out of its brown paper bag. By, the smell was grand. When he bit into it the gravy from the pork ran down his chin and he had to mop it hastily with his fore-finger and push it into his mouth.
‘Wot cheor,’ said a voice close to his left ear. Tommy had been so enjoying his pie that he didn’t even notice the rank smell of the tramp who had come and sat beside him at first. But now it began to overlay the aroma of his pie and Tommy took strong objection to it.
‘Can you not sit somewhere else?’ he demanded. ‘I’m having my dinner here.’
‘Very nice it smells an’ all,’ said the tramp. ‘Doesn’t it, Silas?’ Another tramp had sat down on the other side of Tommy. If anything he smelled worse than the first.
‘Aye, it does that, Steve,’ said Silas. ‘Are you going to give us a bit?’ He grinned at Tommy, showing a couple of blackened teeth punctuating the gums.
‘I might,’ said Tommy, and took another bite of the pie.
‘There’ll be nowt left, Steve,’ said Silas, edging closer.
Tommy pushed even more of the pie into his mouth and munched away. Steve nudged him. ‘Give us it,’ he said menacingly. Tommy put the last bit of pie into his pocket and suddenly flung out both arms and knocked the tramps backward off their perches on the wall. There was a small ditch on the other side and they found themselves winded, their heads in the water and their feet in the air. Before they could move, Tommy was on them, one horny finger and thumb round each of their throats and an elbow in one belly and knee in the other. Silas gurgled while Steve’s face turned slowly purple.
‘Now then, lads,’ said Tommy pleasantly. ‘Are you going to behave or will I call the polis?’ He nodded his head in the direction of Pity Me. ‘We’re not a kick in the arse from the station, so what is it to be?’ The men nodded, they were unable to speak.
‘Right then,’ said Tommy, ‘I’ll let you up. Best watch it, though, I’m not a violent man but I can look after meself.’
This was so obviously true that both men clambered to their feet in silence. Tommy took out the remains of the pie, sadly broken now and with crumbs mixed up in the meat and gravy. Never mind, he could still eat it, he thought, and munched it anyway. The men were moving away, watching Tommy warily over their shoulders when he thought of something.
‘You lads haven’t seen a young lad, lately, have you? A lad about ten? Only he’s me grandson and I’m trying to find him.’ His tone was perfectly amiable and as though nothing had happened. They stopped and looked at each other.
‘About a week ago?’ prompted Tommy.
‘Well,’ Silas began when he was interrupted by Steve.
‘Shut your gob!’ Steve cried. ‘Do you want to go to Durham gaol?’
At this Tommy started after them. ‘Durham gaol?’ he roared. ‘What did you do to him? You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’
The men started to run but they were in no condition for it and one stumbled and fell. Tommy caught up and dragged him to his feet.
‘We did nowt!’ he shouted, in terror. ‘Don’t hit me, I’ll tell you. He’s with a farmer along the road by Chester-le-Street. Bates his name is, he took him in. He’d hurt himself.’
Tommy had loosened his grip on the man and he took to his heels across the fields in the opposite direction to Pity Me. This time, Tommy let him go. He had to go back the way he had come, so he’d best set off as soon as may be. If he was any judge he would say the tramp had been telling the truth. It might not be young Tot that the farmer had taken in but he’d do well to find out. At least Mary Anne and Eliza wouldn’t think him such a failure if he came home with the lad. He set off on the long walk back up the road. Luck was with him this time, though. He hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile before a carrier’s cart caught up with him and offered him a ride.
‘It’ll cost you a penny, mind,’ said the carrier. ‘I can’t afford to carry folk for nowt. I’m in business, you see.’
‘Aye well,’ said Tommy philosophically. ‘I can manage that.’ Now he had to get back to Durham for his supper or he’d be on short commons for sure.
‘I want to go home, Mr Moore,’ said Tot. He was sitting on a comfortable enough chair in the drawing room of Jonathan Moore’s house yet he didn’t feel comfortable. First Mr Moore had said he would take him straight home and then he had said they had better go to his house. Mr Moore had been good to him; he had given him supper of cold ham and pickles and a glass of milk but Tot hadn’t been hungry and could only pick at the food, though he drank the milk thirstily.
‘Well, lad,’ said Jonathan. ‘So you will go home when I’ve the time to take you. But it’s too dark now to ride into Durham. You’re all right here, aren’t you?’ He gazed at the boy, who reminded him so much of Eliza. He’d changed his mind yet again on what to do with him. Instead of taking him back immediately he would wait a few days, make her even more distraught so that she would be all the more grateful when he delivered him to her.
‘How about a game of cards?’ he said now.
‘I’m not allowed to play cards,’ said Tot. ‘It’s sinful.’
‘Oh rubbish. Who said that? The minister, was it? He’s an old woman. A game of cards never hurt anyone.’ Jonathan walked over to a cupboard and took out a pack of cards. He drew a small table up beside Tot’s chair and sat down by him and shuffled the cards.
‘We’ll play 21s,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you how.’ Skilfully he dealt out two hands. ‘I tell you what, we need something to play for.’
‘I haven’t any money,’ said Tot. He was tired and his eyelids were drooping.
‘We’ll play for buttons,’ Jonathan decided. ‘My wife left a box of buttons in the drawer of her sewing table.’ The table, an octagonal one of polished beech with elaborately carved legs and a row of drawers around the top, stood in an alcove and he walked over to it, brought back the box and divided the buttons equally between them.
‘Pay attention, now,’ he said sharply as he saw the boy’s sleepy expression. Tot’s eyes snapped open and he sat up straight. There was something about Mr Moore that made him nervous. He would never disobey the man for he realised now that he did not trust him as he had trusted the two bluff farmers.
Tot was quick to learn and as the game went on he became quite skilled at it. Perhaps Jonathan was not giving it all the attention he could but the pile of buttons beside Tot began to grow.
‘This game, we’ll play double your money,’ said Jonathan. He wasn’t going to let an urchin like this one beat him even if the stake was only buttons really.
‘I know,’ said Tot ingeniously, ‘why don’t we play for you’ll take me home tonight even if it is dark and I’ll stay until tomorrow if you win?’ Tot was beginning to enjoy himself. He felt a thrill of triumph when he won the next hand.
‘Beginner’s luck!’ muttered Jonathan. ‘Best out of three, eh?’
But Tot was on a lucky streak and he was looking better, less tired, his face was flushed and his eyes sparkled. He won the next game too.
‘I tell you, it was different when I played against your father!’ snarled Jonathan. He had brought a decanter of port over from the sideboard and he was well into it. He poured a glass now for Tot and insisted he drink it.
‘Come on, all men drink port, it’s what they do! Do you not want to be a man? You don’t want to be tied to your mother’s apron strings for the rest of your life, do you?’
‘You played cards with my father?’ asked Tot, changing the subject so he could move the glass out of sight by the side of his chair.
Jonathan laughed. ‘I did indeed, and for sweeter stakes than these by far, I can tell you.’
‘What do you mean?’
The mouthful of port he had drunk was having an effect on Tot; his head swam. But he heard and understood what Jonathan was saying though the man’s voice was changing alarmingly.
‘Why, we played for a place in your mother’s bed and I won!’ cried Jonathan. He was grinning at the boy now, grinning widely so that Tot could see that some of his back teeth were black and rotten.
‘You’re a liar!’ Tot shouted. ‘My father wouldn’t do that!’
‘And very sweet and willing she was, my young friend,’ said Jonathan gloatingly.
‘Don’t speak about my mother like that!’ shouted Tot. He rose to his feet and swept his arm across the table, scattering cards and buttons all over the floor.
‘Oh, a firebrand, are we? Well, I’ll speak about her however I like, you young hellion,’ said Jonathan. He leaned across and caught hold of the boy and dragged him into the air, holding him by the scruff of his neck. ‘You come with me, Thomas Mitchell-Howe, I’ll show you what I do with ungrateful wretches such as you.’ He tucked Tot under his arm, ignoring the occasional kick that connected and went over to the door, flung it open and made for the stairs. ‘I’ll lock you up until you beg my pardon for calling me a liar.’
‘I’ll never do that,’ Tot asserted, though he was having a hard job holding back the tears he was fighting to get his hands free so he could do as much damage to his tormentor as he could. The pain in his head was raging and he was suddenly and violently sick, all over Jonathan and the expensive stair carpet.
‘You’ll pay for that too,’ snarled Jonathan. ‘And you can shout as much as you like; there’s no one to hear you. The servants only come during the day. I can’t abide folk about at night.’
‘Let me go,’ gasped Tot. ‘Let me go!’
‘Let you go? No, I’m afraid I cannot do that,’ Jonathan replied.
He flung the boy over his shoulder and went on up the stairs. At the top he turned to the left and was about to open the door of a linen cupboard to throw the boy in when there was a sudden thunderous banging on the front door.