Rory's Fortune

by Catherine Cookson

  Thank goodness the missis had had the foresight to sew some money into his shirt, he thought now. But he couldn’t use it to travel second class, like the way he had come, not in the mess he was in. He would have to go third class, and that was going to be rough. But what matter as long as he got home.

  He looked down at himself. His coat was ripped, his trousers scraped almost threadbare at the knees, and the gap between his shoes and trousers showed he had no stockings on. By! He was in a mess. And not only his clothes; there was his arm. He’d have to see a doctor.

  The prospect disturbed him. Doctors asked questions. They would ask where he came from, and he knew he had only to open his mouth to be taken for a foreigner in these parts.

  But first things first. He must get two of the half-sovereigns out of his shirt.

  It took him some time to unpick the stitches from around the little pockets and to unearth the golden coins. Having done so, he got to his feet and started to tidy himself up by straightening his hair and banging his wet coat against a tree but stopped halfway in the process. He must look like a tramp; he could be a tramp. Aye, that was it. There were lots of lads like him on the road going from farm to farm, looking for work. At least they did in the North. But he’d heard tell work was just as hard to get for farm workers down this end of the country. So that’s what he’d be, a farm lad looking for work, until he reached a station where it would be safe to get on a train.

  He stood up then walked through the woods until he reached a road whose ruts told him it had once been a coach road, and was still used at times but for narrower vehicles. He walked along it for some miles before he came to a small village.

  He could see no name to the village, but it held a blacksmith’s shop, an inn and a store, and he noticed from the doorway of the store that it sold almost everything from paraffin oil, stored in a big tin drum, to wicker baskets and rope mats. At the far end of the shop was a counter that held eatables; bread, butter, bacon, cheese. He advanced slowly towards it, and the woman behind the counter watched him and, when he stopped before her, she said, ‘Well’n what you after, boy?’

  ‘Can…can I have some cheese please, and…and some bread?’

  She stared at him. ‘You’re not from these parts?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Oh.’ He thought for a moment. ‘London way.’

  ‘Ah, thought so; talk like a foreigner. You got money to pay?’

  ‘Yes.’ He produced the half sovereign, and she looked at it, then at him before saying, ‘How did you come by that?’

  ‘Workin’.’

  ‘Workin’? Where?’

  He swallowed and jerked his head. ‘Back yonder.’

  ‘Oh aye, Exmouth way. Pay good money there for off labour, mostly Irish though. You’re not Irish?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not Irish.’

  ‘Well, what do you want?’

  ‘A piece of cheese, please, and some bread and butter.’

  ‘Half-pound cheese? This what’s tenpence?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘How much bread? Threepence a loaf—one? Two?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll only take one loaf.’

  ‘Want it sliced?’

  ‘Aye. Yes, please.’

  After she had sliced the bread and cut the cheese, she said, ‘Want some tea? Good tea this, sixpence an ounce. Won’t get cheaper.’

  ‘I…I’ve got nowt to brew it in. Could I have a drink of milk?’

  She stared at him for a moment, then said, ‘You can have a pint for a penny or a quart of skimmed for a ha’penny.’

  ‘I’ll have a penn’orth. Can…can I have a piece of bacon an’ all?’ He nodded towards the ham on the corner of the counter and she replied, ‘Tenpence a pound that is. A quarter? half?’

  ‘I’ll take a pound.’

  ‘Pound it is,’ she said. Coming round the counter, she took up a can and, shooing the flies from the rim of the pail of milk, she dipped the can into it, then handed it to him saying, ‘No bottle or anything to put it in? You going to drink it now?’

  ‘Aye, I’m thirsty.’

  She watched him take a long draught of the milk, then said, ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

  ‘I’ve hurt it. Sprained it I think.’

  ‘You think! Don’t you know? Is it broken?’ She put out her hand and took hold of his forearm and when he winced visibly she said, ‘Ted Corbett, he being the blacksmith, he’ll tell you what’s wrong. Sets bones good as doctor. Wait here a minute and I’ll shout him.’

  Before he could make any protest she went to the shop door and from there she yelled, ‘You, Ted! Here a minute!’ Then she turned abruptly back into the shop again and said rapidly, ‘That’ll be one an’ seven,’ and as he handed her the half-sovereign she said, ‘Will I sandwich your cheese and ham for you, twixt the bread?’

  ‘Yes please.’ He had just finished speaking when the blacksmith strolled into the shop. He wasn’t a big man like Mr Morley Cornwallis, but he had breadth. Rory thought he had never seen such a broad man.

  ‘Aye, what is it, Kate?’ His voice seemed as broad and as deep as his body, and the woman behind the counter pointed her thumb at Rory and said, ‘Boy here, summit wrong with his arm. Doesn’t know rightly.’

  ‘Oh.’ The man approached Rory. ‘Well, let’s see it, boy. Off with your coats.’ He touched his shoulder. ‘Ah! Ah!’ He nodded. ‘Painful as that is it? You be in a bit of a mess.’ He looked at the topcoat as Rory dropped it to the shop floor. ‘Think you’d been in battle. And wet you are. Walking all night?’

  Rory blinked and mumbled, took off his other coat, then quickly buttoned the middle button of his shirt, for the blue baccy was rolling loose in the pouch of his shirt now.

  When the blacksmith’s fingers moved over his shoulder Rory turned his head and looked at them in surprise. They looked horny and hard but their touch was soft, even gentle.

  ‘Ah, nothin’ much; slipped out of socket, that’s all. One, two, three!’

  Rory gave a yelp like a dog in pain; then he stood gasping as he looked from the blacksmith down to his now swinging arm.

  ‘Shoulder out. You fell on it?’

  ‘Aye. Aye I did. But thanks. Thank you very much. What…what do I owe you?’

  ‘Owe me, boy? Oh!’ The blacksmith now stroked his chin thoughtfully, looked at the woman behind the counter, jerked his head at her, then said, ‘What do you think, Kate? Ten guineas?’ Then he gave out a deep bellow of a laugh, in which the woman joined, and Rory was forced to smile.

  ‘If he had a penny for every bone he’s set,’ the woman was saying, ‘he wouldn’t need his anvil any more.’

  ‘Thank you, mister.’

  ‘Welcome, boy. Where you making for?’

  Rory wet his lips, then said, ‘London.’

  ‘Oh, London. Oh boy, you’ve got a walk before you. Take a week or two to do London.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Rory nodded at him, then asked, ‘Could…could you put me on the nearest way? They say if you follow a railway line you will make it quicker.’

  ‘Aw then, which railway line? You have a choice. They’re springing up like mushrooms all over the country. But they tell me ’tis better to drive in a pig truck than in some of them. Were I you, boy, I’d make straight for Honiton; then take road from there that skirts Upottery and ask the way to Taunton. The roads are better there, and there’s the railway too. There’s plenty on the road that’ll put you right.’ The blacksmith now put his head on one side and said, ‘You’re young to be travelling alone; where’s your home.’

  ‘Beyond London.’

  ‘You’ve people then?’

  ‘Aye, they…they are all out of work.’

  ‘Well, glad to be of help, boy.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The blacksmith turned and smiled at him, then said, ‘An’ thank you, young sir,’ before walking out, his rumbling laugh shaking his body.

  The wom
an now said, ‘There, I’ve put them in a clean sack for you. No charge I’m making for it, no charge. It’ll keep the food out of your pockets; not that these pockets would hold what you’ve got here.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you for your kindness.’

  ‘You’re welcome, boy, you’re welcome. Safe journey. And look you’—she came round the counter again—‘put that change where it’ll be safe. But if you swallowed it, it still wouldn’t be safe from some of the thieves you meet on the road. Be wary, boy, be wary.’

  ‘I will, ma’am, I will. Good day to you.’

  ‘Good day, boy. You’ll find that ham sweet and the bread fresh. Three days it’ll keep; it’s just out of the oven.’

  He half turned and nodded to her, then went out and on to the road. But within a moment he was back in the shop again, asking, ‘Which is the road to Honiton, ma’am?’

  With a sprightly step she came out of the shop and standing in the middle of the road she pointed, saying, ‘Straight on. Follow the river out of Honiton to Upottery. Then just follow your nose and you’ll come to Taunton.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  She nodded to him, and he knew that she was watching him as he walked away up the road.

  About half a mile along the road he went through a gap in a stone wall and, sitting hidden from the road, he made a meal from the contents of the sack. But there was no edge to his appetite; he ate because he knew he’d have to eat if he ever intended to get back to his master. He was only grateful for one thing at the moment, he could now use both his arms. That blacksmith was better than any doctor. He’d remember him for a long time, and with gratitude …

  Utterly weary and footsore, he reached Taunton just before dark and enquired the way to the station. Once there, he asked when he could get a train to London Town.

  ‘Not before nine o’clock morrow mornin’,’ said the porter, curtly.

  ‘Oh!’ Rory stared at him blankly before asking, ‘Is there any place hereabouts where I could sleep?’

  The porter looked him up and down; the torn coat, the worn trousers, the two inches of bare flesh above his boots, his dirty face, his tousled hair; then he said, ‘Shed over there. Holds horse hay. You can get down in that till mornin’. But let’s ask you this. Have you the money for a ticket?’

  ‘Aye, yes; but only third class.’

  ‘I should think so!’ The porter again looked him up and down. ‘Well, go on, find your way in afore it’s dark.’

  Rory wanted to ask if there was any place he could get a hot drink, but he saw at a glance that the porter wasn’t akin to the blacksmith or to the woman in the shop, so he turned away and went towards the outbuilding. And he wasn’t ungrateful when he found he could lie on a pile of hay well away from the door.

  Before settling down to sleep he once more helped himself to some food from the sack. But it wasn’t food he wanted at this moment so much as a drink, a long warm…hot, scalding drink, for his body was shivering with the cold.

  Once he was snuggled down deep in the hay he thought that he would drop immediately to sleep because he felt so exhausted, but it was some time before sleep came to him. And then it was troubled sleep. He was back on the island; he was sinking into deep, deep water. Someone was firing at him, and the bullet pierced his shoulder blade. The Excise men had got him and were dangling him by a rope over the cliff. He awoke, his hands on his neck, gasping for breath, to find himself almost suffocating in the hay.

  He lay looking upwards. Daylight was breaking. He’d have to get up, but he didn’t want to move. His body felt heavy and he was no longer cold, in fact he felt hot and his head was aching. The hay was warm and snug, he could quite easily fall asleep again. There was no hurry, he could get another train …

  What was the matter with him? He sat up in the hay, dusted the pieces from his head and shoulders, slowly got to his feet and banged his hands against his coat and trousers. Then he picked up the sack. He did not open it; he wasn’t hungry, all he wanted was a drink.

  The porter said, ‘Hello there! Sleep all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you…Do you think it’s possible to get a sup of tea or something hot?’

  The porter looked at him. Then pointing through the opening into the road, he said, ‘Along the street there, opposite the hanging sign, you’ll get a breakfast for sixpence. You’ve plenty of time, another hour yet.’

  ‘Oh thank you. Thank you.’

  The eating house was rough and so was the food, a plate of fat bacon and fried bread and a mug of tea. He drank the mug of tea straight away, ate a little of the fried bread, but couldn’t look at the bacon. Then going to the counter he asked if he could have another mug of tea.

  ‘Cost you a penny,’ said the man.

  ‘All right,’ he said and handed the extra penny across the counter. Taking the mug back to the wooden bench, he slowly sipped at the tea and wished the time would pass more quickly.

  He was back in the station a full twenty minutes before the train was due and was surprised to see the number of respectable-looking people waiting, and those like himself not so respectable-looking. The respectable ones stood in groups on the wooden planks before the booking office, the others stood to the extreme right of the building on the rough cinder track, and it was towards the latter group that he made his way.

  When the train was ten minutes late everyone began talking, and fifteen minutes later still when it did arrive, puffing and snorting, he was almost knocked to the back by the rush to the carriages.

  When he eventually boarded the train it was in one of the last two compartments, and he saw that it was just a roofless box lined with wooden seats, and all of these were now occupied.

  He had considered the journey from London very trying; the wooden seats had tested his bones; but before they had been going many miles he was longing to sit on a wooden seat.

  Standing and being jostled here and there like butter in a churn was just one of the discomforts for, depending on the wind, he was choked with smoke and blinded with coal dust. His head began to ache more than ever and his body became hot, and while the other eight passengers in the box were stamping and flapping their hands against the cold, the sweat was running down the inside of his shirt.

  When he slid down to the floor in the corner of the box and made no retaliation as a man’s boot caught him in the thigh, he thought, I’m bad; I’ve got a fever. Then fear turned him cold. Had he the cholera?

  It wasn’t long before he realised that this thought had entered the minds of his companions, for he couldn’t believe it when, after the train stopped at yet another station, he had the wooden section to himself, except for one middle-aged woman. She sat near him on the floor and asked, ‘Are you feeling ill, boy?’

  ‘I’m very hot,’ he replied.

  ‘Let me look at your tongue.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put your tongue out.’

  He put his tongue out. Next, she pulled down his lower lids. Then he tried to shrug away from her when she unbuttoned his two coats and even his shirt and put her hand on his bare flesh. But, looking into her face, which was kindly and firm he did not thrust her off. When she had buttoned up his shirt and his coats she patted his arm, saying, ‘’Tisn’t cholera.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I’ve seen a lot of cholera. You’ve got a chill, a feverish chill. You ought to be in bed. Have you got far to go?’

  He stared into her face for a moment. ‘The North,’ he said, ‘Durham way.’

  ‘Oh! Durham way. Which part?’

  ‘Outside of Hebburn and Jarrow.’

  ‘Oh, near South Shields.’

  ‘Aye.’ His eyes widened a little. ‘Do you know that part?’

  ‘Very well, boy, very well. I worked in the mission there for years.’

  That’s why she was kind. She was one of these missionary ladies. He felt relaxed somehow, safe.

  She said now, ‘Go to sleep if you can; we have another
four hours before us.’

  And, strangely, he went to sleep and when he woke up it was to find that he had his head on her shoulder.

  At one time she said to him, ‘How much money have you got?’ which caused him to stiffen slightly until she went on, ‘If you have enough to travel second class it would be better for you,’ and he said, ‘I’ve enough if they’ll let me go, looking like this.’

  ‘If you’ve got the money for the ticket I’ll see you go second class.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Afterwards, when he looked back, he couldn’t remember at what time they reached London; he only knew that he was riding on a horse bus for the first time and he was too tired to enjoy it. Then he was entering a grim stone building and the woman in the black dress, she was not wearing her cloak and bonnet now, was actually putting him to bed. But when she tried to slip off his trousers and shirt he fought her. When her hand touched his waist and gathered up the hidden circle and said, ‘What’s this?’ he slapped at her, saying, ‘Leave me be. Leave me be, ’tis only baccy. I’m taking it home for me da.’

  ‘All right, boy, all right,’ she answered quietly, ‘nobody’s going to touch it, or you. Go to sleep.’

  And he went to sleep, but lying flat on his stomach and willing his fuddled mind not to allow him to turn over …

  He was still lying on his face when she was there again, still in the black dress. ‘Come on, sit up and drink this,’ she was saying. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  Slowly he turned over. His body was aching but his head was clearer. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m feeling better.’

  ‘Drink this tea.’

  He drank the tea while she sat on the edge of the bed and watched him; then she said, ‘Get into your clothes, I’ve brushed them down and sewn your coat; you’ll look a little more presentable now. There’s a wash-house downstairs. Go down and wash your face and hands and have something to eat. And I don’t think you’d better dawdle. The train leaves Euston at half past seven.’