Tangled Threads

by Margaret Dickinson

  Now Ted grinned. ‘You’d better,’ he said as he helped her to climb up on to the front of the dray beside his father. Bill took the reins and, as the horse began to move, Ted stood in the centre of the yard waving. But only Jimmy, at the back of the dray, waved goodbye in return. Neither Mary, sobbing into her handkerchief, nor Eveleen, who set her face determinedly to the future, looked back.

  As they joined the lane at the end of the track and began to turn right to take them to the main road to Nottingham, Eveleen saw a rider on horseback coming towards them, galloping at speed.

  Her heart lifted in joyous relief. Stephen. He was coming to her. He was coming to rescue her family, even at this, the last moment. He hadn’t meant to be so cruel. He had been obeying his father’s orders. He was coming to her. She put out her hand and murmured, ‘Stop, Bill. Please stop a moment.’

  Bill pulled on the reins. ‘Forgotten summat, lass?’

  Eveleen, her gaze still on the galloping figure coming nearer and nearer, shook her head. ‘It’s him. I knew he didn’t mean it. It’s him.’

  Nearer and nearer he came, riding towards her as if his life depended on it. Nearer and nearer, not slowing, not stopping.

  Eveleen gasped as the young man neither slowed his horse’s pace nor even glanced in her direction but thundered past the dray and rode on round the bend in the lane. Her gaze followed him until she could no longer see him and the hoof beats were a faint thudding sound that echoed the beating of her heart.

  Her shoulders slumped, the last vestige of hope gone. He had not been coming to her. He had not even glanced at her as he had passed by.

  She felt Bill’s strong arm about her shoulders. ‘Come on, lass,’ the big man said gently. ‘Time to go.’

  They set off along the lane once more with Eveleen sitting rigidly on the front of the dray beside Bill, staring straight ahead, neither speaking nor looking about her.

  But Mary, sitting the other side of Bill, now twisted and turned in her seat, exclaiming, ‘I don’t want to leave, Bill. It’s such a lovely place. Such a peaceful place. Look how pretty the trees are. They’ll be turning such wonderful colours soon, gold and brown. And the beck. Oh, how can I leave the place where my poor Walter died? How can I leave him lying there all alone in the churchyard? I can’t bear to go.’

  But all Eveleen was seeing was Stephen’s face, set in disdainful, callous lines. Then anger came to her rescue. It spurted through her, hardening her resolve. Her eyes were dry and her head rose in defiance as she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Don’t fret, Mam. We’ll be back. You mark my words. One day, we’ll be back.’

  Fifteen

  ‘Where is it we’re going exactly?’ Bill asked.

  They had been travelling the road towards Nottingham all the morning and had stopped to eat the picnic that Dorothy had packed into a hamper and insisted Bill brought.

  ‘They’ll not have time to be making sandwiches, poor things,’ his wife had said. ‘So I’ve packed enough for all of you.’

  Now, opening it, Bill chuckled. As he had suspected, his missis had packed enough to feed an army. ‘Well, if we don’t reach wherever we’re going by nightfall, lass,’ Bill said to Eveleen, ‘I reckon we’ve enough food here to last us the week.’

  Jimmy tucked in ravenously, but Mary only nibbled at a sandwich and Eveleen chewed the food round and round in her mouth, finding swallowing it difficult for the misery still choking her.

  Eveleen glanced at her mother as she answered Bill’s question. ‘It’s a place called Flawford. It’s where my mother came from.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Bill nodded. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it, but then, I’ve never been far from Bernby.’

  Tears flooded Mary’s eyes again as she said, ‘You’re lucky.’

  Bill glanced at Eveleen apologetically. Eveleen said, ‘Are we on the right road, Mam?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ was all the pitiful woman would say.

  They finished eating and climbed back on to the dray. Taking the reins, Bill said quietly to Eveleen, ‘We’ll go a bit further and then I’ll ask someone. Don’t bother ya mam.’ Beneath his breath he murmured, ‘Poor soul.’

  The sun was a copper-coloured ball sinking beneath the horizon when Bill, following the directions he had been given by a farmer herding his cows turned off the road skirting the south of the city of Nottingham and took the direction towards Loughborough.

  ‘He said it was about a couple of miles down this road, didn’t he, Eveleen?’

  Eveleen nodded. ‘We take a sharp right turn somewhere down here and then straight across at the crossroads, he said, and we’ll come to the village.’

  They trundled on with Eveleen leaning forward eagerly to catch the first sight of the place that she hoped would be their home. There were houses ahead.

  ‘Is this it, Mam? Is this Flawford?’

  Flatly, Mary said, ‘Yes, it is,’ but a few minutes later, with surprising sureness, she added, ‘Keep straight on, Bill, until I tell you to turn left.’

  Eveleen and Bill exchanged a glance.

  ‘You do remember the way then, Mam?’

  Mary’s mouth was a narrow, compressed line. ‘Oh aye,’ she said, bitterly. ‘I remember all right.’ In a lower voice, she added, ‘As if I could ever forget.’

  The dray rattled on and passers-by stared up at the three people sitting on the front and the boy at the back swinging his legs and munching yet another apple.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Mary exclaimed suddenly and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘What is it, Mam? What’s the matter?’

  ‘That’s Georgie Turner as I live and breathe.’

  ‘Who’s Georgie Turner?’

  ‘A village lad, that’s all. He used to work for my father. I wonder,’ she added, musing, ‘if he still lives in one of our cottages.’

  As she watched her mother’s gaze fix upon the man standing at the side of the road, Eveleen pondered. Was that all that Georgie Turner had been or had he been her mother’s sweetheart all those years ago?

  One wheel ran into a deep rut at the side of the road, causing the passengers to clutch each other in alarm and Jimmy to yell from the rear. ‘Eh, look out. You’ll have me off the back ’ere. I’ve dropped me apple, now.’

  Bill grinned. ‘Sorry, folks.’

  They travelled for a short distance and then Mary spoke again. ‘Turn left.’ A few yards more and then she said, ‘Now right into Ranters’ Row.’

  Eveleen gasped. ‘Is that what this street’s called?’

  For the first time, Mary smiled, but it was a grim smile; a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘No, it’s the locals’ name for it. Its proper name is Chapel Row. It’s a dead end and a bit narrow, but there should be room enough to turn the dray around. Pull up outside that gate, Bill, on the left-hand side.’

  Bill drew the dray to a halt, but Mary made no move to climb down.

  ‘Is this it, Mam?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said but still she did not move. ‘You go, Eveleen.’

  ‘Where do I go? That door there?’

  To the side of the gate was a long brick wall with windows and a door in the centre, but Mary was shaking her head, ‘No. That’s the door to one of the cottages.’

  As Eveleen looked mystified, Mary explained briefly, gesturing towards the building. ‘This is a row of four cottages. Two at either end and two in the middle that are back to back. The entrance to the one at this side is off the street.’

  Eveleen still hesitated.

  ‘Well, get on with it, if you’re going,’ Mary snapped. ‘Ask for Harry Singleton and tell him who you are.’

  ‘And then?’ Eveleen asked.

  Mary’s only reply was a slight lift of her shoulders as if to say, How should I know?

  Eveleen sighed and jumped down. Jimmy joined her and they stood looking up at the tall, solid gate.

  ‘Looks like a prison,’ he muttered and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his
trousers.

  ‘Take your hands out of your pockets and smarten yourself up a bit,’ Eveleen said, pulling his cap straight and smoothing her own wayward hair. ‘Now, come on. Let’s get it over with.’

  They opened the gate and walked through, closing it carefully behind them. They had walked into one corner of a rectangular enclosure. At the end nearest to where they were standing was the line of cottages that her mother had described. Now Eveleen could see the doors leading to the other three homes. The street side of the building had looked austere, but on this side a huge peach tree climbed the walls straddling the whole frontage, the fruit hanging heavily on the branches.

  As she saw Jimmy’s hand creep upward towards a ripe peach, Eveleen gripped his shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she hissed.

  Jimmy grinned roguishly at her, but dropped his hand away.

  A brick path ran in front of the cottages and halfway along it was a pump. From this, another path ran the length of the yard, branching off to the buildings on either side and at the far end. There were patches of garden on either side: a few flowers, but mostly vegetables – carrots, cabbage and lettuce – and, entwined in a wooden frame, a trailing blackberry plant laden with juicy black fruit.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s coming from there.’

  Eveleen followed the line of his pointing finger toward the buildings standing on either side of the yard. These were obviously not homes. She took a few steps forward, staring up at the two-storey buildings. On each floor there was one long window, with tiny square panes, running the full length of the wall.

  Taking the words from her mouth, Jimmy said, ‘Them’s funny windows.’ Then he paused and sniffed the air. ‘Evie, do you smell what I smell?’

  For the first time in two weeks her smile was genuine as together they said, ‘Pigs!’

  The smell, and now they could hear the sound too, of pigs, was coming from the buildings across the end of the yard. They tiptoed along the brick path. Next to the pigsty were communal lavatories, presumably for all the workers as well as for the residents of the cottages, Eveleen thought, and a coal store.

  ‘Why are we creeping about?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘And why are we whispering?’ Eveleen giggled.

  ‘Because we feel like a couple of criminals, that’s why.’

  Closer now they could identify the noise as the clatter of machinery coming from the long buildings.

  ‘It must be the workshops or whatever they call them, where our uncle has his knitting machines.’

  As she glanced about her, she saw a girl emerge from a door at one end of the workshops. She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and she was drying her hands on a piece of rough towelling. Steam billowed from the door behind her and Eveleen recognized the look of someone on washday. It was a bit late in the day to be washing, Eveleen could not help thinking.

  The girl was slim with black hair in one long plait, although strands had escaped and lay plastered against her forehead. Her face was thin with high cheekbones and, at this moment, her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the copper. She stared at the strangers for a moment and then slowly came towards them. Eveleen could see now that her eyes were a deep blue and fringed with black eyelashes. Her eyebrows were neat, arched lines, so well defined it looked as if someone had pencilled them in. ‘Are you looking for someone?’ Her voice, when she spoke was soft and low.

  Eveleen nodded. ‘Mr Harry Singleton.’

  ‘That’s my father,’ the girl said. ‘I expect you’ve come looking for work, have you? Well, I’m sorry, I don’t think there are any vacancies at the moment.’ She glanced at Jimmy, smiled a little uncertainly and then dropped her gaze shyly.

  Eveleen’s heart fell. If there was no work for them to help pay for their keep, their uncle was even less likely to take them in.

  She took a deep breath and said, ‘We do need work, yes, but we’ve come to see your father because – because he’s our uncle. Our mam’s outside on the dray. She’s – she’s his sister.’

  The girl’s eyes widened as she stared at them. ‘His sister? I didn’t even know he had a sister.’

  So, Eveleen thought grimly, the family rift went so deep that this girl did not even know of their existence. And yet, she reminded herself, until a short time ago, she had not known of hers. She forced herself to smile and say brightly. ‘Can we see him?’

  ‘Well,’ the girl looked about her uncertainly, ‘I don’t know. He’s working and he doesn’t like to be stopped. Not until teatime and that’s an hour or so yet. Six o’clock, he’ll stop.’ The girl bit her lip, hesitating. Then slowly, she said, ‘I suppose you could see Gran, if you want.’

  ‘Your gran?’ Eveleen thought quickly. ‘Is she your father’s mother?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Then she must be my gran too,’ Eveleen smiled.

  ‘I suppose so.’ For a moment doubt crossed the girl’s face, looking as if she felt she had offered more than she should have done. ‘I’ll go and ask her if you like. Who – who shall I say it is?’

  ‘I’m Eveleen and this is Jimmy. We’re Mary’s children.’

  ‘And your mam is here too?’

  ‘Yes, she’s waiting for me. I think she’s a bit nervous.’

  The girl stared at her, clearly not understanding. ‘I’ll – I’ll go and tell her. You’d best wait here.’

  She was gone for what seemed an age to the youngsters who waited. Workers from the machine shops passed through the yard to the communal lavatory and stared curiously at the strangers. One or two nodded and smiled and one young man winked at Eveleen as he looked her up and down with a bold, appraising glance.

  Eveleen sniffed and turned her back. She’d had quite enough of good-looking young men to last her a lifetime.

  ‘Gran says she’ll see you, but be careful what you say to her. It’s put her in one of her moods.’

  So, Eveleen thought, as she and Jimmy followed their cousin, our grandmother has moods too, does she?

  The girl led them to the end house and in through a green painted door. The small room was dim, lit only through the one window facing out into the yard. It was hot and stuffy and when her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Eveleen could see that an old woman sat in an armchair close to the range where a fire burnt brightly. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she saw that the woman wore a high-necked black dress with leg o’ mutton sleeves. At her throat was pinned a cameo brooch and her hair was drawn tightly back beneath a white lace cap. Eveleen didn’t think she had ever seen anyone with so many wrinkles on her face. Her mouth was shrunken, the lips almost lost, but her eyes were bright and sharp.

  ‘Come here where I can see you.’ The voice was high-pitched yet strong and commanding. Eveleen stepped forward and stood on the hearthrug facing the woman, but Jimmy hung back, hovering near the door, ready to escape.

  ‘You too, boy.’

  Reluctantly he came to stand beside his sister and submit himself to the old woman’s scrutiny. She squinted up at them. ‘My eyes aren’t as good as they were.’ There was a pause as she took in their appearance. ‘You don’t look like her. How do I know if you’re hers? You could be anybody’s. Is she dead? Is that why you’ve come?’

  Eveleen hurried to explain. ‘No, no. She’s outside on the dray. But she wanted us to come in first to see – to—’

  ‘To see if we’d a welcome for the prodigal, eh?’ The old woman gave a toothless grin, but the gesture was without humour. ‘We’ve no fatted calf, but I’ll see her. Bring her in, girl.’

  Eveleen hurried out expecting to leave Jimmy with the old lady but found him following her closely.

  ‘I aren’t staying there with that old witch,’ he muttered as they reached the gates.

  ‘Shush,’ Eveleen tried to scold him but found herself overcome by a fit of the giggles. ‘Someone might hear you and then where would you be?’

  ‘I wouldn’t care. I don’t reckon much to it here anyway.’ H
e glanced around dismally at the narrow street and the terraced houses.

  ‘It’s very different,’ Eveleen had to agree, her laughter dying. Then, with stout determination, she said, ‘Come on, don’t let our mam see you looking so glum. Just think how difficult this must be for her.’

  Jimmy’s only reply was to pull an unsympathetic face and as they reached the dray he said, ‘I’ll wait here with Bill. You take Mam in.’

  Eveleen held her mother’s arm as they went back to the house. She could feel Mary trembling even through the thick clothing they had both worn for the long journey on the front of the dray. As they paused outside the door, she was concerned to see that her mother’s face was white and she held one hand to her chest as if her breathing was difficult.

  ‘It’s all right, Mam. Don’t get upset. If they don’t want us, we’ll go somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh, Evie,’ Mary’s voice was unsteady. ‘But where?’

  To that Eveleen had no answer.

  Sixteen

  ‘Hello, Mother.’

  They were standing side by side, like two naughty children awaiting their punishment, facing the old woman. Eveleen was aware that the young girl was hovering beyond the door leading further into the house, listening to every word.

  ‘So, Mary Singleton,’ Bridget, Mary’s mother, demanded. ‘What brings you back home after all this time?’

  ‘It’s – it’s Mary Hardcastle now,’ Mary mumbled, her head lowered almost to her chest.

  ‘Oh.’ The old woman’s tone was laced with sarcasm. ‘So you did find some poor deluded feller to marry you then?’

  Eveleen felt her mother stiffen and her head came up a fraction. ‘He was a good, kind man.’

  ‘Oh aye, good enough to take on another feller’s bastard. He must have been a good man to do that.’ Her screwed up eyes rested upon Eveleen. ‘Is this her? Is this Brinsley Stokes’s by-blow?’