The Stony Path

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘No?’ Katy’s eyes widened as she pouted prettily. ‘Oh, me an’ Gert are always going, aren’t we, Gert?’ Gert – a plain, tall and painfully thin girl who had been chosen to be Katy’s best friend for those attributes alone – nodded quickly. ‘We’ve seen An Irish Eviction an’ A Moonlight Dream an’ Oliver Twist an’— Oh, loads. You ought to go, it’s packed every night. ‘Course, the seats are a bit hard with them bein’ old chapel pews, but we don’t mind that. It’s The Game at Athens on tonight, an’ it’s only tuppence in the pit. You’d love it, Luke. Wouldn’t he, Gert?’

  Gert nodded again. She hoped Luke wouldn’t come. She was fed up with waiting about on street corners after evenings such as these when Katy disappeared down an alley or one of the back streets with a lad for a while. Katy’s mam would kill her if she got the wind of half of what she was up to.

  ‘And you really think I’d enjoy The Game at Athens?’ Luke was laughing openly now; Katy’s blatant flirtatiousness was a balm to his sore heart. Here was one lass who wasn’t averse to being seen with him, he told himself, as he ruthlessly pushed the mental image of a sweet, blue-eyed face topped by a mass of burnished curls out of his mind. Polly had chosen her path, her letter had made that abundantly clear, and it was about time he did something other than working down the pit and returning home to those four walls and his stepmother and Arnold. He’d had a bellyful the night, he had straight. A little diversion would keep him sane.

  ‘Aye, ‘course you would.’ Katy had picked up the different note in his voice and she sensed victory. ‘You can give it a try anyways. There’s no knowin’ what you’ll like until you give it a try, is there?’ The innuendo was blatant, and Luke would have found it shocking in any other girl, but spoken as it was in a laughing gurgle he found himself chuckling again. And when Katy linked her arm through his – indicating for Gert to do the same – he made no protest.

  As they made their way to the Picture Hall, Katy was animated. She might not get a chance like this again; she had to get him sufficiently interested so he would want to see her again, she told herself silently. She was on the verge of getting something of a name for herself – she knew that well enough without Gert going on about it all the time – and she needed the respectability of a steady beau, although there hadn’t been anyone up to this point she had really wanted. But she wanted Luke Blackett, she had always wanted him, although up to now he hadn’t looked the side she was on.

  But she had to be careful. Luke wasn’t like Edward Thornhill or Archy Stamp, interested in one thing and one thing only. He was different. She glanced at him under her eyelashes and her heart gave a little jump. She would have to play it cautiously with Luke, but it’d be worth it. Oh, aye, it would be worth it all right if she could bring him up to scratch.

  Luke paid for both the girls at the pay-box, and as they took their seats on the wooden pews facing the large white sheet hanging at the front of the hall, he was already regretting the position he had put himself in. What was he doing here? he asked himself as the hand-cranked kinematograph started the programme rolling and Katy giggled at something Gert said. Katy was old Stan’s daughter, and Luke had worked on Stan’s shift until recently, when the veteran miner had had one accident too many and injured his back. Now Stan was on top in the line of young lads, old men and miners such as himself who were crippled who worked the huge, slow-moving conveyor belts carrying the coal and stones from the tubs that came up the pit shaft. Sorting the coal wasn’t hard work but it certainly didn’t require any brains, and old hands like Stan found it hard to be relegated to the ‘screens’. Luke had liked Stan – he liked him still – and he couldn’t mess about with his daughter. Besides which – and here Luke grimaced to himself in the darkness – Katy had five brawny older brothers who also worked down the pit and were handy with their fists and feet.

  ‘What do you think? You like it then?’ Katy leaned towards him slightly as she spoke. She had taken her hat off once they were seated, and now wispy tendrils of her hair, which was very fair and curly and had escaped the shining coil at the nape of her neck, brushed his cheek.

  ‘Give him a chance.’ Gert, seated on Katy’s other side, spoke before Luke could answer, and it was as though she had said something very witty as the two girls giggled together.

  By, the sooner he was out of this lot the better. Luke shifted uneasily on the wooden bench and then stopped abruptly as his thigh touched Katy’s, and he was glad of the cover of darkness as he felt his face begin to burn. Still, there were two of them, that was one good thing. It didn’t look so bad with there being the two of them.

  Katy made sure there weren’t two of them later that night. Considering the Chapmans only lived a door or two away, Luke found he couldn’t argue with Katy’s suggestion that they see Gert home to Lower Dundas Street on their way to Southwick Road, and when they left the other girl and Katy put her arm through this – ostensibly because of the greasy pavements, which were wet and slippy after another downfall – it seemed crass and churlish to object.

  He could feel the rounded curves of her body against his as they walked, and he began to sweat a little, his eyelids blinking rapidly as his body hardened in answer to the subtle stimulus in spite of himself. The smell of her was in his nostrils, and it was faintly cloying but not unpleasant. He realised, with another little shock, that she must be wearing perfume. He had never been close to a woman who was wearing perfume – most lasses didn’t have the money for such indulgences – but then he remembered Stan had been full of the fact that Katy had been taken on at Binns on the west side of Fawcett Street some months earlier, in their ladies’ department, so likely that was where it had come from. Whatever, it was nice. More lasses should wear it. He was sweating more now, and he would have liked to adjust the bulge in his trousers, but that was out of the question.

  ‘You haven’t got a lass, have you, Luke?’

  They had just reached Thomas Street North, and Katy was smiling up at him, her pretty face innocently enquiring as her thick eyelashes fluttered. Luke swallowed, stretching his chin out of his collar as he said, ‘No, no, I haven’t.’

  ‘I haven’t got a lad.’ She still had her face upturned, and he swallowed again before he said gallantly, ‘I can hardly believe that.’

  ‘It’s true. I’ve had offers, lots of ’em, but I wanted to wait until I met someone I really liked. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Aye, I know what you mean.’

  They’d reached the inn at the end of the street, and now Katy came to a halt, forcing Luke to do the same. She paused a moment and then glanced up at him again, her face serious now and her eyes deep black pools as she said, ‘Have . . . have you ever thought of me in that way, Luke? As a lass?’ And then she put her head down immediately, giving a little twist to her body with her arm still through his. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, should I? I’m . . . I’ m sorry. It’s just . . .’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right.’ His body was burning, and when she raised her head again and he saw her lips were trembling, it seemed natural to lower his head and kiss her. Quite how they came to be in the shadows at the back of the inn a few moments later Luke wasn’t sure, but by then Katy was kissing him back and her arms were tightly round his waist, and the unspoken declaration was done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The banns had been called for the third time some weeks before, wedding invitations had been issued and replies received and now the day was here. There was to be a barn dance with refreshments at the farm following the afternoon wedding, and all the arrangements had been left in the very capable hands of Betsy and the farm staff. At one point Frederick had liked the idea of a big tent on the lawn at the back of the farmhouse – he had heard Squire Bentley had done the same when his daughter had married the year before – but in view of the October weather being inclement at best, he had regretfully shelved the notion. Nevertheless, it was to be a grand occasion, with guests invited from near and far, most of whom were unknown
to the bride.

  Polly had met Luke once since the announcement of the forthcoming marriage, and that had been when he had paid a visit to Stone Farm to personally deliver his thanks for the invitation to the wedding and to say that although he and Arnold would be pleased to accept, he was afraid his stepmother would still be too unwell to attend.

  Polly had received him in the sitting room with Frederick at her side and the visit had been a short and tense one. It had been when she had shown Luke to the door and they had been alone for just a minute or two that he had taken her hand, and, as she had looked into his face, said, ‘You want this, Polly? This marriage? You’re absolutely sure you want it?’ and she had replied, her face stiff with the control she was exerting in order not to crumple into tears in front of him, ‘Of course I’m sure, Luke.’

  He’d nodded, his face unsmiling. ‘Then I wish you every happiness together,’ he had said politely, letting go of her hand and stepping back a pace before he had turned and opened the heavy oak door and passed through the opening, walking away without once turning to look back.

  Why had she felt so devastated after he had left? Polly stared into the pale face looking back at her from the dressing table mirror in the room she had been sharing with her sister since they had all come to live at Stone Farm, and then answered herself immediately with, Because you don’t want him to think ill of you, that’s why. And it doesn’t matter – it really doesn’t matter what other people think. You know why you are marrying Frederick and other people can think what they like. Other people except Luke – for some reason his good opinion did matter, however much she tried to persuade herself otherwise. But she had to go through with this and she couldn’t explain herself to a soul, not even her granny. But then her granny knew anyway. Polly turned on the upholstered stool and glanced across the wide, pleasantly furnished room to where her wedding dress was hanging on the back of the wardrobe door, surrounded by clouds of chiffon from the veil at the back of it. There was eight yards of satin and silk in the dress and it was a beautiful thing. It had been Frederick’s mother’s, and he had been delighted when she had consented to wear it. It had mattered little to her one way or the other, although she hadn’t said that, of course.

  The door to the bedroom opened and Ruth walked in, already resplendent in her pale lemon bridesmaid’s dress with her brown curls arranged high on her head and threaded through with lemon ribbons. No one would guess, looking at her this day, that her sister had had tantrum after tantrum since the wedding had been announced, Polly thought as she looked into the young face smiling at her. Although their mother was behind Ruth’s paddies, of course. Polly couldn’t understand why Hilda had been quite so furious at the prospect of her elder daughter’s marriage – especially when it was the means of installing her back in her old home with all the added little luxuries that entailed – but since the moment her mother had been told, the venom had flowed. Secretly, of course – there had never been a word breathed against the match in public – but Ruth didn’t have the intelligence to hide what went on behind closed doors, and Polly had soon had a good idea of the bitterness and resentment her mother was feeling and, worse, feeding into her younger daughter.

  ‘How’s Grandda?’ Polly asked softly. She had just sent Ruth to her grandparents’ room to say she would be along shortly, once she was ready. Her grandfather had had one of his turns during the night and even talking was beyond him that morning.

  ‘All right.’ Ruth admired herself in the mirror, pirouetting round a few times to get the full effect of the billowing skirt. Wait till Cecil Longhurst saw her today! Cecil was the brother of Betsy’s assistant in the kitchen – Emily, the kitchen maid – and as such, Ruth had decided, was far beneath her notice, but the tall, good-looking boy of sixteen was clearly smitten with her, and Ruth was enjoying every moment of her new-found power.

  ‘You told him I’d pop in before we leave for the church?’

  ‘Aye, I told him.’ Ruth stopped her spinning and flicked the wedding dress from the back of the wardrobe door, fingering the beads sown on the V of the bodice as she said grudgingly, ‘This is such a beautiful dress, Poll.’

  Ruth had envied her a dress once before, and look how that had ended. The thought was like a poisoned dart straight into Polly’s heart, and it took her a full ten seconds to be able to say, ‘Aye, it’s lovely, but I’d have preferred to choose my own,’ as she fought the chill of foreboding that had flickered down her spine.

  Once Ruth had helped her to get ready, Polly stood for a moment staring at the fairy-tale figure reflected in the mirror. If things had gone according to plan it would be Michael she was going to meet at the altar today. Her heart jumped with pain at the thought and she put a hand to her breast, her face white. Of course, she wouldn’t be dressed in all this finery; a simple white dress would have been all they would have been able to afford. She shut her eyes for a moment, hating the exquisite stranger in the mirror. Michael, oh, Michael. Where are you? Do you think of me? Do you feel it when I cry out to you? Please don’t forget me, because I won’t forget you. She tried to picture his face in her mind, but already the image was blurring, and that caused more pain.

  ‘You feeling all right, Poll?’

  She opened her eyes quickly, forcing a smile to bleached lips. ‘Bit nervous, that’s all,’ she lied quietly. ‘Let’s go and see Grandda.’

  Walter’s eyes were waiting for his granddaughter, his precious bairn as he thought of her, and when the door opened and he saw her he thought his heart would break. Alice was sitting at the side of the bed, her hand grasping his resting on the coverlet, and as he felt his wife’s fingers jerk and tighten he knew she was experiencing the same sense of bitter shame and guilt he felt. He was sick at heart that his bairn had sacrificed herself to save them, and whatever Alice said, however she tried to explain away this marriage to a man old enough to be Polly’s father, that was what it amounted to. He had been a fool, a stubborn fool. He should have sold the farm years ago, when he would still have got a fair amount for it. Never mind it had been in his family for generations, or that town life would have slowly strangled him; what did that matter beside Polly having to do this to keep them out of the workhouse? First Michael and now this – how the lass was still standing, he didn’t know.

  ‘Hallo, Grandda.’ Polly had pulled at her cheeks and bitten her lips before she had entered the room, trying to put a little colour into her chalk-white face, and now she forced a bright smile to her lips and a lilt into her voice as she walked across to the bed, the fine dress swishing and rustling as she moved. She had read what was in the old man’s eyes – it had been the same thing that had been there for weeks but had never been spoken of – and all she wanted to do was to alleviate his despair. ‘I wish you were coming to the church.’ She included her grandmother in the words before turning again to the still figure in the bed, and now she took her grandfather’s other hand and stroked the big gnarled knuckles gently, pausing on the finger that had been broken years before and was now slightly twisted under.

  ‘Remember when you saved me from the bull we’d hired to service the cows, Grandda?’ Her voice was soft and she kept her eyes on the large hand between her own. ‘You’d warned me and Ruth to stay with Gran in the house until the men came to collect him, but I wanted to see what he was like for myself and so I went into the paddock. When I started to scream you ran from the barn and got in front of me just as he charged, and he knocked you to the floor and trod on your hand. Everyone said it was a wonder he didn’t kill you, but you couldn’t use your hand properly for months and this finger never did heal right. You remember?’

  She raised her eyes now and looked into her grandfather’s, and the look which passed between them made the tears spurt from Alice’s eyes.

  ‘I cried and cried until I made myself sick because I was so sorry you had been hurt because of me, and you came up to my room later that night. You said . . . you said it didn’t matter, that you loved me so muc
h you’d tackle a hundred bulls and win if they dared to attack me because the important thing – all that mattered – was that we were still together at the end of the day. You wouldn’t be able to bear it without me, you said.’ Polly’s spirit was shining out from her eyes now, everything in her wanting to absolve her grandfather from this agony of mind that was making him more ill. ‘That’s how I feel, Grandda,’ she said quietly, ‘about you and Gran. All that matters is that we are together, because I wouldn’t be able to bear it if we weren’t.’ And now she called on all her strength to lie convincingly as she said, ‘I want to marry Frederick, Grandda. I love farm life, you know I do, and with Michael gone I want to make a fresh start, but I couldn’t bear it if you and Gran weren’t with me. Please be happy for me.’

  The tears were running down Walter’s cheeks and into his whiskers now, and she rested her head against his for a moment, careless of her veil, before raising his hand to her lips and kissing the twisted finger. Then she stepped back from the bed. ‘I’ll come straight up to you and Gran once we’re back, all right?’