The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret)

by Catherine Cookson

He turned from her and raced along the pathway. He ran until he reached the top of the cinder bank. He ran the whole length of the Low Lights, then along the shore, past the row of cottages, up the steps, along the pathway and into the house. And, standing gasping, he looked around him.

  They were all there. His ma and da; Nell who came in to do shoppin’ because it was a Friday night, and with the sweat still on her hair from the saltpans; John who was home early because the strike had started; Nancy, bright-eyed, smiling kindly as usual; plain little Jessie; and Lily. They were all there and all had their eyes on him. It was his da who said, ‘What’s up, lad? You look as if you’ve lost a tanner and found a sovereign!’

  ‘As good as, Da, as good as.’ He went straight up to John saying, ‘You always said you wanted to get out of the pit, didn’t you?’

  ‘What you at? I’m out of the pit, we’re on strike.’

  ‘But for good, I mean, for good.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ John’s voice was dull; his whole attitude was dull.

  ‘Well—’ he turned now and looked at his da and then at his ma and he kept his eyes on her as he said, ‘The miss just said if I stick to me books and learn to reckon an’ write I can go into her office and she’ll give John here me job.’

  There was silence in the room for a moment, then a complete clamour.

  ‘Eeh! God above! that is news. I’ve just said to John there, “Don’t worry, lad, when a door closes another one opens.”’

  ‘How wonderful, John! You’ve always wanted to work in the open air. Remember the Methodist minister last Sunday night, God always answers prayers.’

  John didn’t reply to Nancy but, looking at his younger brother, he said, ‘You know what you are, you’re a marler.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose I am a bit of a marler. I said to the miss I’m lucky. Don’t you think I’m lucky, Ma?’

  They all turned excitedly and looked at Jinny for her confirmation, but her reply came out flatly: ‘There’s luck and luck,’ she said; ‘some kinds of luck has got to be paid for.’

  ‘Aw, woman, what d’you mean by that? Don’t be a wet blanket. It’s the best news that’s come into this house for years. First, the youngster here being started with a woman like Miss Hewitt.’ Freddie had noted for some time that his employer was no longer spoken of as Maggie. And his da went on, ‘And now the promise of gettin’ John out of that hell-hole. Aw, lass, what’s the matter with you? Be happy for them.’

  ‘Do you think she wants a housekeeper?’ It was Nell now laughingly asking the question, and Freddie answered, ‘It’s a pity, Nell, but I doubt it. I can’t do anythin’ for you in that line ’cos she’s a good cook. She makes…’ His voice trailed off because his mother had turned her back on them and was now walking into the bedroom. John had nudged Freddie with his elbow, then jerked his head in the direction his ma had taken. And Freddie slowly left them and followed her.

  She was standing near the window looking out into the deepening twilight, and he tugged her skirt, saying, ‘What is it, Ma? I’ve upset you, but I didn’t mean to. All I want to do is to please you, to ease things. Why…why don’t you cotton on to me workin’ for the Miss?’

  She turned and looked down on him, then quickly she dropped onto her hunkers and, putting her arms about him, she pulled him into her embrace.

  Never in his whole life, even when he was small, could he remember her hugging him like this. Her body was shaking. And when he looked into her face he saw that her eyes were moist and her voice was thick as she said, ‘I’m a silly woman. I…I suppose I’m jealous; I don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘What, Ma? You lose me? Aw, don’t be daft, Ma; you couldn’t lose me if you tried.’

  ‘You seem to like her very much.’

  He paused for a moment before he said, ‘She’s very lonely, Ma. Her da was drownded and the young man she was goin’ to marry was drownded in the same boat along of him. She yells and shouts on the quay and bosses people about and even some of the men are frightened of her, but she’s not like that, she’s got nobody and she’s old.’

  She took her fingers and combed his hair with them back from his brow, smiling now as she said, ‘She’s not old. Am I old?’

  ‘No; not really.’

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘Well, I mean…you know what I mean. But she’s a lot older than you.’

  ‘She isn’t, she can’t be fifty.’

  ‘Well, that’s old, Ma.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is, to a twelve-year-old that’s old.’

  ‘Ma.’

  ‘Yes, son?’

  ‘Try to like her, will you, ’cos she needs people to like her. I don’t think anybody visits there at all. Well, nobody comes in the daytime except to deliver the groceries an’ that. An’ you know somethin’, Ma?’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘Peabody tried to sting her on one of the bills. They charged her tuppence a pound extra for the butter. But she was on to them. She wrote them a letter saying she was going to move her custom. And you know, she deals with Aynsley. Well, he got it in the neck an’ all ’cos she paid for the best stewing steak and they sent her hough meat. She kept it till the next day and when the lad came she sent it back with another letter. There’s no flies on her, Ma. You know something? I…I didn’t know whether I’d like her at first when I went there. I even thought I’d go back to the butcher’s.’

  ‘You never did!’

  ‘Oh, aye, I did, ’cos she didn’t only make me wash me hands, she made me scrub them.’

  ‘Right too.’

  ‘And you know something else she made me do and she still makes me do it? I don’t like it but I’ve got to do it. You won’t laugh, Ma, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t laugh.’

  He knew that he had her smiling already. And so he played on it, and he wagged his head a bit and looked downwards before he said, ‘She makes me dry up the dishes.’

  He lifted his head. Her face was stretching. She said, ‘Never! Dry up the dishes? She made you dry up the dishes? I’ve never been able to make you dry up the dishes.’

  ‘I know, and…an’ I refused at first.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  He looked away, then bit on his lip before he answered her. ‘Well, she put it like this, Ma. If I didn’t help to dry up the dishes she wouldn’t wash me plate and each day she’d put me food on it as it was, greasy like, until I decided that I would do me share of the chores. That’s what she calls them, the chores.’

  ‘She’s a funny woman.’

  ‘Aye, Ma, she is; but…but she’s kind an’ she’s…well, I don’t know a word for it except sort of lost like.’

  She was holding his face between her two big rough hands now and her voice was a whisper as she said, ‘I love all me bairns, but you were always special. But mind’—her voice and expression changed—‘I’ll break your neck if you ever take advantage of what I’m sayin’, or repeat it, d’you hear, Freddie Musgrave?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, I hear, Mrs Musgrave.’

  They fell together for a moment and if he could have expressed his feelings in words he would have said he was experiencing a moment of ecstasy.

  A moment later she opened the door into the kitchen and pushed him in, saying loudly now, ‘This one’s gettin’ too big for his boots; he’s tryin’ to run this family. He’s just told me it’s about time I packed up; I’m about ready for me chair at the side of the fireplace.’

  There was laughter in the kitchen; everybody seemed happy. And so it remained until eight o’clock, when the two children were in bed and the candles were lit and his ma and da and brother and sister were preparing to sit round the fire and listen to his crack, for then he surprised them by saying, ‘I’ve got to go out, but I won’t be long.’

  His father pulled himself onto the mat in order to be nearer to him and, putting out his hand and gripping his shoulder, he said, ‘I thought you were finished with that?’ />
  ‘This’ll be the last time, Da, the very last time.’

  ‘Is it the faggot man?’

  He looked at his mother, ‘Aye, Ma.’

  ‘Something big?’

  ‘I don’t think so, just an errand.’

  ‘I don’t like it, lad.’

  He was looking at his father again. ‘It’ll be all right, Da. I’ll be back straight away, ’cos I’ll have to make use of the slack tide…Ta-ra!’

  The farewell was divided among them all, but as he went out of the door he was aware that no-one moved to see him off, and, too, that there was no warning from his mother to be careful, nor did John say he’d come with him to look at the full moon, ’cos it would be that tonight.

  He did not make his way straight down to the quay; there was plenty of time. His usual procedure before going on a run was to mingle with one or another set of lads, for he knew most of those that frequented the quayside in their spare time which was mostly late at night. One of the things they got up to was teasing Granny Brimstone’s dog. It was chained up, and the lads would throw bones out of its reach and the poor thing would go wild, and the old woman would come out screaming blue murder at them.

  Then again, he might join those who were doing the tin walk along the fancy houses at the top of the hill. The tin walk was exactly what it said, two holes were bored in the tin, some ropes slotted through and you stood on them pulling the ropes tight to keep them on your feet; then you clattered up a street. When there were a dozen or so of you and you walked on the flags, like some of the houses up there had for paving stones, the clatter that twenty odd tins made, especially if they did a sort of jig, was quite something. He had once had a chamber pot emptied over his head, and so he tended to avoid the tin walk, if possible. But it was well to be seen playing about; and then it was easy to slip away to the appointed place.

  But what was the appointed place the night? He didn’t know. He only knew he’d have to be near Northumberland’s Wharf. Some people called it Hall’s Wharf because it was owned by a woman of that name. She was the wharfinger. He had never before been told to stick near this particular wharf and so he decided to stay a good way off and keep an eye on it. There were men still working on the quay and their flares and lanterns would show up anyone coming along.

  He took a position in the shadow of a bloater-smoking hut, and, his hands in his breeches pocket, he leant against the tarred wood and prepared himself to wait. He guessed he wouldn’t be contacted for another half-hour because the water was not quite slack yet, and they knew he couldn’t cross on a running tide. So when a voice came to the side of him, saying, ‘You’re in good time, that’s right,’ he would have sprung up from the shadow, except for the hand gripping his shoulder. He recognised the voice as that of the faggot man, but when he turned to look at him he appeared different. He knew him as the gent who always rode into town on horseback and was always well-dressed in knee-breeches and polished leather gaiters. But here, he could just make out a man looking like any other workman along the quay, even to his cap which was pulled down over his brow almost to his eyes. But he could see his eyes all right because they seemed to glint.

  ‘Now listen to me, little ’un, and this is important. You scoot across now. Now, you understand?’

  Before the man got any further Freddie said, ‘I can’t. Why, I can’t! River’s still runnin’. It’d take me out to sea.’

  The next minute he felt himself being shaken almost like a terrier shakes a rat, his teeth seeming to come free in his head.

  ‘Listen to me! Things are not as they appear tonight, quiet like. There’ll be a lot of movement once the tide has covered the bar. Now, it’s your business to get across before that. Understand? It’s important, very important that you do. Is that clear?’

  Freddie made no answer, for the man was now holding something in his face. It was a packet not more than three inches long and an inch or so wide, and it seemed to be wrapped in some shiny material, too shiny for calfskin.

  ‘You have a pocket, haven’t you, inside your breeks?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, let me see you put it in.’

  He undid the buckle of his narrow belt, unbuttoned the flap; then, taking the small parcel from the man’s hand, he pushed it down inside his trousers.

  ‘How deep is your pocket?’

  ‘Deep enough.’

  ‘Is there a button on it?’

  ‘N…no; but I’ve n…never lost n…nowt yet from it.’ He couldn’t stop stammering; he sensed something different; he was fearful.

  ‘Well, you can pray to God that you don’t lose this. Now listen. When you climb the other side, don’t take your usual route up through the town. That’s the way you usually go, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye; m…most times.’

  ‘Well, not tonight, for as soon as you reach the top bank turn to your right. There’s a row of boathouses along there and the road leads up to Cookson’s Wharf. Now, you’ll see a man on horseback; more likely he’ll be standing by his horse. You know who it is, don’t you?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Well, you’ll give him the package…That’s all. It’s as easy as that.’

  He dared to say now, ‘Well, if it’s as easy as that why don’t you take it across, or one of your men?’

  ‘Do you want your ears wrung or your lip busted just for a start?’

  For all the man’s big talk, Freddie realised it wasn’t this man he was afraid of: he seemed no different at this moment from any man, any workman in the town, and so he said, ‘What do I get for it?’

  The man thrust his hand into his pocket and placed a coin on Freddie’s outstretched palm. And now as he peered at it, Freddie said, ‘This is only a tanner; I never get less than a bob. Now you know that…even half a dollar.’

  ‘Well, that’s all you’re getting now, at least from me, because you’ll be well paid at the other end. Now, scat!’

  ‘If I go now I’ll get wet, sodden; an’ I’ll likely drift.’

  ‘I’ll be watching you, and I’ll give you one minute to reach the quay and if you’re not in that sculler of yours by then I’ll come down there and hold you under just long enough for you to get wet all over. Now what d’you say?’

  He said nothing but he walked away from man, he didn’t run, he just walked. Inside he was now feeling defiant. He had the strange wish the Miss would suddenly appear on the shore and say, ‘That’s enough. You’re not going.’

  When he climbed into his sculler and pushed into the river he noticed, in the moonlight, there was another but bigger sculler bobbing in the water further along the beach and two or three men standing on the shore. They seemed to be messing about with nets, and his mind asked him why they should want nets in a sculler like that? Of a sudden the night became dark, the pale moon was obscured by a black cloud and for a moment he seemed lost as to his direction; and when his paddle hit a mound of sand he really experienced a surge of fear. He could evade the sandbanks in daylight but in the blackness it was a different thing, especially if you didn’t carry a lantern. Swinging his thin body from side to side, he paddled furiously towards where he could make out the lights on the south shore.

  The moon suddenly escaping from the black cloud, he saw he was more than halfway across; he also heard above the rush of the water a muffled shout. He turned his head and looked back; and, there, he made out two men in a sculler and they were rowing furiously, and like the rush of the outflowing tide over the sandbanks it came to him why.

  The swell now lifted him to the outer row of hiring keels and he grabbed at them and pulled himself along to the steps, and a ring where he could tie up. Only habit made certain his sculler was secure before he scrambled up onto the dockside; but he didn’t hesitate once his feet touched it and, following the faggot man’s directions, he ran as fast as his gasping breath would allow past the boathouses and towards the figure of the man and the bulk of the horse standing waiting for him.

  He
almost threw himself against Roderick Gallagher’s legs, spluttering, ‘They’re comin’! They know. Two in a boat just ahind me.’

  As he pointed along the dark road the man swung himself up into the saddle and seemingly in one movement he gripped the back of Freddie’s coat, and the boy thought he was going to choke as his narrow collar clamped tight around his windpipe. Then his body jerked and it seemed that he would be bounced from the horse’s back onto the road; but the man’s arm came about him and his voice yelled in his ear, ‘Straddle your legs and hold on to the pommel.’

  He leant forward and gripped something. It was handfuls of horsehair. All the bones in his body appeared to be rattling. It was like a continuation of when the faggot man had shaken him. He didn’t know which part of the town they were riding through because the moon had gone in again. But when it reappeared, he had time to realise they were just passing out of Westoe; then that they weren’t taking the usual road to Gallagher’s house. He was aware, too, of the man cursing before drawing the horse to a skidding stop to listen. He too listened; but for some seconds he could only hear the gasping of his own breath; but then, like the man, he made out the sound of horses’ hooves in the distance…yet those men in the sculler didn’t have horses.

  He noted that they were now going along a narrow path one side of which was covered with brushwood and thicket. The next second he was gasping and he thrust out his hands in protest as the man gripped his collar again, crying, ‘I’ll come back for you. Lie low!’ and he knew he was actually flying through the air into blackness. But for how long he wouldn’t have known.

  When he came round he lay still listening, thinking he would hear the riders passing. He was lying on his side and wondered why the moonlight was dappled on his hands; then realised he was lying amidst greenery.

  Slowly he put his hand out and felt down the length of his body. Part of it was lying on soft ground, but the side of his leg was against a stone, and when he touched it he winced. Oh God, what if it was broken? He immediately conjured up a picture of his father dragging himself from the low bed, and with it his foot jerked and he let out a slow, slow breath. Next he felt his face. The side of it seemed wet. He brought his hand before his eyes and shivered as he saw blood on it. Tentatively now, he felt the back of his head: his hair there was wet too, sticky…He’d cracked his head. That man could have killed him. Perhaps that’s what he’d wanted to do. But he groped in his mind for something. Then he remembered: he said he was coming back for him. And yes, of course he would come back for him because he still had the parcel on him. The thought brought his hand down his trousers and into the pocket. ‘Eeh!’ The exclamation was loud. It was busted.