A Child of Jarrow (10 page)

‘By heck, you've grown! You're as tall as me.'

‘Taller,' he said with a shy smile, but did not go to greet her. Instead he busied himself unlacing his muddy boots and placing them carefully by the fender.

Kate dropped her arms. ‘Where've you been? Playing up the tree?'

He glanced at her in disdain. ‘I don't play any more. Been down Bonham's farm catching rats.' His dark eyes challenged her. ‘Shoot crows an' all.'

‘Shoot! You mean with a gun?' Kate exclaimed.

‘Aye,' he gave a grin of satisfaction, ‘he's teaching me to use a real gun.'

Rose shushed him. ‘Don't go telling your father. He'll just take against old man Bonham and stop you going.'

‘I don't care,' Jack said scornfully. ‘He'll not stop us.'

Rose rolled her eyes as if she had heard it all before. But Kate was surprised at Jack's defiance. It was not like him to speak his mind or talk of defying John. Of all of them, she suspected he had changed the most in the months of her absence.

An hour later, Mary sauntered in, just ahead of her stepfather.

‘Father's on his way up the hill,' she announced. ‘Well, look who's here! Have you brought me anything?'

‘Here,' Kate smiled in greeting and held out the small parcel of soap, ‘I kept this for you specially.'

Mary tore it open at once and pressed the cake of soap to her nose.

‘It's rosewater,' Kate grinned. ‘Lady Ravensworth gave some to all us lasses.'

Mary pulled a face. ‘Ooh, Lady Ravensworth,' she mimicked. ‘So how come you didn't want it?'

‘I did, but I thought you'd like it.'

‘Well, I don't want it if you've used it already.'

‘I haven't touched it,' Kate protested. ‘And I'll have it back if it doesn't suit you.'

‘No,' Mary said, pocketing it swiftly, ‘I'll have it.' Catching Rose's warning look she added with an effort, ‘Ta very much.'

Kate turned to Jack, who was whittling a stick with a penknife by the fire. He'd hardly spoken a word in an hour. ‘Sorry I didn't bring you a present -I didn't know what you'd want. But I knew you'd like Aunt Lizzie's plum jam.'

Jack said nothing, just went on methodically carving.

‘It's like talking to a block of wood,' Mary complained. ‘Don't expect it to speak back.'

She missed the resentful glance Jack gave her, but Kate didn't. She stepped between them quickly.

‘Haway, Mary, help me serve up the dinner. I can hear Father at the gate.'

‘Serve it up yourself,' Mary muttered. ‘I've done it every week you've been away.'

Rose's scolding was interrupted by loud whistling at the door and John pushed his way in. He at least looked just the same, Kate thought drily. As smartly dressed as possible in his slightly threadbare suit, his white hair and moustache neatly combed. His face was as gaunt as ever, but he moved quickly, exuding a brutish strength in his long limbs and powerful shoulders. The beery-tobacco smell of the bar wafted in with him.

‘My chickens home to roost, eh!' he cried on seeing the sudden bustle around the table. ‘And how's our Kate? Putting on weight, I'd say.'

‘No she's not,' Rose protested on her behalf.

‘Hello, Father.' Kate went over and gave him a peck on the cheek, then quickly retreated. She hated the smell on his breath.

‘Come and tell me all about it.' He sat down at the head of the table and Mary made a sudden fuss of serving him, vying for his attention as Kate described life at Ravensworth.

‘Tell him about the new position,' Rose urged.

‘What new position?' Mary demanded. ‘You never told me.'

‘I'm working up at the castle now,' Kate said proudly. ‘I'm a housemaid for Lord and Lady Ravensworth.'

‘Isn't that grand, John?' Rose beamed.

‘Well I never!' John slapped his knee, already thinking of how he would boast around the dockyard pubs. ‘Working for Lord Ravensworth himself, eh?'

‘Aye,' Kate went on excitedly, ‘I lay the fires and fetch hot water for their baths and polish the stairs - you wouldn't believe how many steps there are.'

Suddenly Mary flung back her chair. ‘It's not fair!' she cried. ‘You never said anything about being a housemaid. Said you were working in the laundry.'

‘Sit down,' Rose ordered. ‘You should be pleased for your sister.'

‘Well, I'm not,' Mary pouted. ‘I'd make a better housemaid than her. She can't even walk properly with her gammy foot.'

‘That's enough,' John growled. ‘Sit down, lass.'

‘No I won't! Why can't I be a housemaid? You should have thought of me!' she yelled at Kate.

‘Sit down and shurr-up,' John snapped.

But Mary was too riled to stop. She was puce in the face, her eyes welling with resentful tears.

‘Kate always gets everything! I'm sick of hearing what a grand life she's having at Ravensworth while I'm stuck here in this dirty old cottage with you lot.'

‘I'll take me belt to yer!' John half rose.

Mary turned on him in defiance. ‘You'll not whip me like you did our Sarah. I'm not your dog!'

‘Mary!' Rose gasped in shock.

‘Nobody cares for me!' Mary screamed. ‘None of you do - only Aunt Maggie. And you can have this back.' She pulled out the bar of soap and threw it across the table at Kate. It bounced into her plate and splashed her with gravy.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Mary stared at Kate wiping the brown flecks from her starched white blouse, the look on her face as surprised as Kate's. Then the kitchen erupted.

John sprang from his chair, grabbed the soap from out of the stew with one hand and seized Mary with the other.

‘I'll give you Aunt-bloody-Maggie!' he roared. ‘I'll wash your dirty little mouth out.'

Mary screamed as he hauled her across the kitchen. Rose hobbled over to intervene but was not quick enough. She tried to catch John's arm but he threw her off.

‘Get in there!' he bawled, shoving the young girl into the scullery. He saw the bucket of cold muddy water still full of potato peelings and plunged her head in.

‘John, stop it!' Rose shouted, thumping him on the back.

He yanked Mary up by the hair. She spluttered and spat. John rammed the bar of soap into her mouth. Mary gagged and tried to scream. He thrust her head back in the bucket.

‘Help her!' Rose pleaded to Kate and Jack, who were hovering in the doorway, too stunned to act. The anger and violence had flared out of nothing in an instant. Kate remembered with a sick churning inside how quickly storms brewed and erupted in this household.

Kate was stung into action by her mother's entreaties. She barged into the narrow scullery and threw herself at John's stooped back, grabbing at his short hair. Momentarily he lost his grip and Rose took the chance to seize Mary and pull her out from under him. They tussled and the pail of water crashed over, flooding the stone floor and soaking Kate's skirt. John pushed her out of the way and barged out of the narrow scullery. But Kate's intervention had given Rose just enough time to shove Mary through the kitchen and up the ladder to the loft.

Rose stood at the bottom, guarding it.

John shouted up, ‘You can stay up there! That soap's the last food you'll taste till the morrow! I don't want to see your twisty face again, do you hear?'

All they could hear in return was Mary's loud sobbing. Kate wanted to rush upstairs to make sure she was all right, but did not dare rile John further.

‘Come and eat, John,' Rose coaxed. ‘Mary's learnt her lesson.'

‘She never learns,' he snarled. ‘You're too soft on her - on all of them - always have been.'

Rose swallowed her pride. ‘Aye, you're right. It might be best if she was sent away - into place. Somewhere they'll keep her in order better than I can.'

John gave her a wary look, then nodded. ‘And curb that tongue of hers.'

‘Aye, that's what she needs,' Rose encouraged. ‘She takes no heed of what I say any more.'

‘Never has done,' John grumbled.

‘Kate will ask around Ravensworth way, won't you?' Rose looked for her daughter's support.

‘Soon as I get back,' Kate promised, thinking how she couldn't get back to the haven of Ravensworth quick enough.

‘So come and eat, John,' Rose said, steering him away from the ladder and back to the table.

He allowed himself to be led and was soon munching hungrily on the stew. Kate had no appetite any more and went to dry off her skirt by the fire. It was then that she noticed Jack had disappeared. He must have fled during the brawl in the scullery. But neither Rose nor John made any comment and she wondered how often he took flight from the wrangling at Cleveland Place.

After the meal, John lay down on the bed in the corner and slept off his Sunday dinner. Kate helped her mother clear up and then quietly mounted the ladder with a piece of bread dipped in gravy for Mary.

‘Here, eat this,' she whispered across the dark room in the eaves. ‘I've got to go for me train now. But I'm ganin' to look out for you - find you a job if I can, get you away from here.'

Mary did not stir from under the bundle of covers on the mattress, so Kate put the plate down beside her and turned to go. As she climbed on to the ladder, a muffled voice spoke from the lump of blankets.

‘Kate?'

‘Aye?'

‘I'm sorry ... sorry about spoiling the soap. I wanted it really.'

‘Doesn't matter. You can still use it.'

‘Never!' Mary said in defiance. ‘Not after he's touched it.'

‘Ta-ra then.' Kate began to descend.

‘Write to us, won't you?' Mary called after her. ‘Don't forget me.'

Kate paused and whispered back, ‘I'll write.'

She took a swift farewell of Rose, hugging her briefly, but eager to be gone before John awoke.

‘Go and find our Jack,' Rose told her. ‘He'll be that upset if you go without saying goodbye. He misses you.'

‘Didn't seem that pleased to see me,' Kate pointed out.

‘Doesn't show it. But he moped around here like a lost dog for weeks after you went in the summer.'

Kate went outside and called for her brother. When no answer came she set off for the station with a shrug of resignation. But at the end of the row she found him huddled next to Harry Bum's rain barrel, waiting for her.

‘Come and see me off?' she asked. He nodded and allowed her to slip an arm through his.

‘I wish Mary would gan and live with Aunt Maggie,' he muttered as they walked down the bank.

‘We'll sort Mary out,' Kate assured him, ‘then you'll have some peace. Does Father tret you fairly?'

Jack hunched his shoulders. ‘Stay out his way mostly. Prefer me own company, any road.'

Kate glanced at her shy, gawky brother with a pang of pity. He would be quite on his own if Mary was sent into service, and Cleveland Place was too solitary for a boy of twelve. But Jack did not appear to be lonely; he preferred the company of crows and farm animals to that of his warring family.

She squeezed his arm. ‘By the end of next year you'll be starting work - you'll be earning a wage like Father. One day soon you'll be a man and able to stand up to him - stand up for Mam. Your turn will come, kiddar.'

Jack said nothing to this, but his face looked thoughtful. He let Kate hold on to his arm all the way into town, only breaking free when they neared the station. This time he saw her on to the train and waved her away with a bashful smile, and Kate was gladdened to see a glimpse of the old affectionate Jack.

Soon her thoughts were racing ahead to Ravensworth, and she sat impatiently in the chilly, gas-lit carriage as the train clanked south. She would not be going home again in a hurry.

To her delight, Peter and Alfred were waiting at the station for her.

‘The lad made me come,' her uncle said wryly, ‘and Lizzie says to drop by for a cup of tea before you gan back to the castle. She wants all the news from home.'

Kate swung Alfred into her arms and kissed the top of his head in greeting. It came to her in a rush. After the disappointments and upsets of the day, she felt more than ever that Ravensworth was now her home.

Chapter 11

Blossom was falling from the cherry trees when Alexander next found a chance to visit Ravensworth. Jeremiah had kept him busy with visits to mines in South Yorkshire and had demanded his company at home for several weeks after his return. It struck Alexander that his father was lonely and increasingly fretful about his adopted son's future.

‘It's time you found yourself a wife,' he lectured. ‘I'd like to see you settle down - start your own family. They could live here and keep me company when you travel. This house is too big and empty for an old man like me.'

‘You're not old,' Alexander insisted, trying to laugh it off. ‘You'll probably outlive me.'

‘Don't say such a thing!' Jeremiah snapped. ‘No, no. You must think seriously about marriage. What about this De Winton girl you talked about? I've made enquiries about the family - good farming stock and quite a bit of land up Weardale. It could be just the match. You liked her, didn't you?'

‘She was pleasant enough,' Alexander conceded.

‘Then you must call on her - or invite her here so I can meet her. We could arrange a concert party or go to the theatre.'

‘If you like,' Alexander said, only half listening. He was looking at the changing light on the slate rooftops of the solid mansions opposite and wondering if he could capture it in paint.

‘It's what you would like, not me,' Jeremiah said querulously.

‘Yes, yes.'

‘Are you listening?' his father demanded. ‘What are you staring at?'

‘It's like molten gold,' Alexander said dreamily. ‘The way the sun shines on a wet roof after the rain.'

Jeremiah huffed with impatience. ‘You haven't listened to a word, have you?'

Alexander turned from the window and smiled. ‘Yes I have. You want me to marry Polly De Winton.'

‘Well, I - er...' Jeremiah began to bluster with embarrassment at his son's sudden forthrightness.

Alexander laughed. ‘I shall call on her sometime, if it makes you happy. Though whether she'll want to see me is another matter.'

Jeremiah caught his arm as he passed. ‘It's you I want to see happy, boy. Happy and settled. And why shouldn't she want to see you? You're a handsome young gentleman with a good business to inherit from me when the time comes.'

Alexander was not going to tell his father about his inebriated attempt to kiss Polly in the hothouse. He smiled ruefully. ‘I wish everyone had as good an opinion of me as you do, Papa.'

So far he had avoided making a trip up to Weardale, though to keep his father from badgering him further he had sent a brief letter to Polly, saying he was returned from Scandinavia and that perhaps they might meet over the summer season.

Now as he approached Ravensworth, he felt free of his father's fussing control or any obligation to go courting Polly.

He breathed in the scented air as he strode over a carpet of fallen petals and felt the May sun warm his back. The woods were noisy with birdsong and the sound of woodcutting. Ahead, gardeners were busy planting out flowerbeds in front of the castle terrace and the newly cut lawns were the emerald green of early summer.

James, the affable young head footman, greeted him cheerfully and took his bags. Alexander followed him up the stairs and along corridors till they reached the small tower bedroom that he had come to think of as his own. He had slept there as a child and declined to stay in any of the grander guest rooms on the lower floors.

‘His Lordship's resting,' James explained, ‘and Lady Ravensworth's gone to Newcastle for the day. Says to tell you she'll be back in time for afternoon tea.'

The quiet of the house was broken on Emma's arrival with her friend Hester Bellamy, with whom she'd been shopping. ‘We'll take tea on the terrace,' she ordered. ‘It's too gloomy inside.'

She slipped an arm through Alexander's and steered him outside. ‘It's been so dull here all winter since Henry's mother died. I'm supposed to be in full mourning still, but I just refuse to wear black in May. It's an offence to nature.' She rustled her purple dress. ‘Come July I shall throw a party to celebrate the end of mourning. You will come, won't you?'

Alexander laughed. ‘If you order it, ma'am.'

‘Of course I do,' she smiled as they took seats in the shade of a portico.

Around them servants bustled with tea trays and tablecloths. A large silver teapot was carried out, and plates of buttered scones and thinly cut sandwiches. Emma presided over the cutting of a large chocolate cake while Alexander told the women of his adventures in Sweden.

‘So you fell in love with the baron's daughter. How romantic! But it's very bad of you, Alex, to go losing your heart without consulting me. And here I've been fretting over finding you a suitable wife.'

‘My heart isn't free to give while you still possess it, Cousin Emma,' he declared.

She laughed in delight. ‘Oh, dear boy, how I've missed you. You've stayed away far too long - and it's been so dreary here. You must promise me and Hester to be around all summer to keep us company and stop Henry from moping about his health. He's feeling very mortal since his mother passed away.'

‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,' Alexander grinned.

‘Ah, here he comes at last,' Emma said, waving at her husband as he walked towards them with the aid of a stick.

Alexander jumped up and went to greet his relation.

***

The first time Kate realised he had returned was when the head housemaid told her to take up extra coal to the bedroom in the east tower for a newly arrived guest. She passed him on the back stairs as she was going up and he coming down. He must have been making for the stables to have been using the servants' staircase, and he barely glanced at her in his rush to be gone. But she recognised his tall athletic frame and wolfish lean face in an instant. Alexander Pringle-Davies. He gave her a quick smile as she stopped with her load to let him past, but said nothing to indicate he remembered her.

She stared after him as he leapt down the steps in threes, a flash of dark coppery hair, and then he was out of sight. A door slammed far below.

Kate stood there with heart hammering at the sudden encounter. She had thought about him often over the whiter months, every detail of their two brief encounters etched in her mind. The way he had held a raspberry to her lips with long fingers, the feel of his hand in the small of her back as they danced, the swift sensuous smile.

But it was painfully obvious that he had not recognised her under her maid's cap, struggling up with a scuttleful of coal. She had just been a faceless servant. She felt dashed as she continued up the stairs with her load. By the time she reached his room, Kate was chiding herself for being so foolish. Why should a gentleman like Pringle-Davies care two pins for the likes of her? He had danced with her that night on a whim, nothing more, and had forgotten her months ago.

Still, she could not help being curious on seeing his room. It was starkly furnished for a guest's bedroom, with nowhere to sit at ease, just a hard chair by a small desk table in the window. There was a marble washstand next to a high narrow bed, and a wardrobe in the corner. It was hardly more luxurious than the servants' quarters. The walls were bare apart from a solitary print. Kate peered. It was of a sailing ship leaving the Tyne. In the foreground she was amazed to see the dark outline of St Paul's church and the ruined monastery at Jarrow.

The ruins always made her think of her long-dead father telling her the story of St Bede and the early monks. Or perhaps she only remembered it because Sarah had told her their father had spoken of such things. Either way, she felt strangely comforted to find the monastery on the picture and wondered why it should hang in this room. Did it mean anything to its occupant or did he not even glance at it? There was very little else in the room to indicate the man's interests. A silver-topped walking stick was propped by the door and sheaves of paper and an ink pen lay on the table in the window. A pile of clothes lay heaped carelessly on a clothes basket, and a shaving blade and brush stood next to the wash jug and basin. It spoke of a man who travelled lightly or held little store by material things.

She quickly emptied the coals from the scuttle into the brass hod on the small tiled hearth. With a last glance round she hurried from the room.

All that week Kate humped coal up to the high bedroom, offering to do so for Hannah in return for her polishing the brass stair rods. But Alexander was never in his room. Before breakfast, she left jugs of hot water outside for shaving, but never saw him. Nevertheless, the thought of encountering him spurred her to spring out of bed in the morning and made her eager to do her chores. She sang as she worked, unable to suppress her excitement. She craved another look at his handsome face, yet mocked herself for her skittishness.

It would be something to laugh about with Suky when they met up on their days off and talked about lads. Though she would have to be careful Mary did not overhear her confidences. Thanks to Suky, Mary was now working at the Ravensworth Arms too, serving tables at the inn. Kate was pleased she had been able to get Mary away from home and give her mother some peace. And Mary appeared happier. She revelled in the gossip that blew in with the travellers and drinkers at the busy coaching inn. She and Suky had made friends too, sharing an attic bedroom.

One warm day at the end of May, Kate was dispatched to sweep the bedrooms and lead the grates. Fires were still needed until into June. By the time she got to the one in the east tower, she was hot with exhaustion. Finding the room empty as usual, she plonked herself down on the chair in the sunshine, stretched her aching legs and arched her back. On the table lay a drawing of a woman with head bent over a book. Kate leant forward. It looked like Lady Ravensworth. She lifted it carefully and underneath was another sketch of the same woman, stretched out on a sofa, eyes closed.

Kate flushed with embarrassment; the sketch seemed to capture an intimate moment that she should not have seen. Hurrying to the fireplace she got down on her knees and began to sweep up the fallen soot.

As Alexander strode to his bedroom he heard a voice beyond the open door singing lustily. He paused for a moment, entranced by the cheerful sound, and then entered. The maid was crouched over the fender, brushing the grate, unaware of his presence. She carried on singing about the Waters of Tyne, a song that took him back to his boyhood. He stood there quite still, not wanting to interrupt her. Then when she sang the last refrain he joined in.

Kate whipped round, startled. She gasped in shock, her face going crimson to see him suddenly standing there. If he only knew she had been thinking about him as she sang the love song!

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you,' Alexander grinned. ‘I was enjoying your singing and didn't want you to stop.'

Kate felt her face going even hotter as she stared up at him. ‘I always sing - can't help meself, sir.'

She turned away quickly, but something about her pink-cheeked face and the tendrils of brown hair escaping under her cap was familiar. Alexander looked at her more closely.

‘What's your name?' he asked.

She half turned round. ‘Kate, sir.'

The slim oval face, the glimpse of blue eyes under the dark lashes, the song ... It came to him abruptly.

‘You're the wood sprite with the berries!' he cried in recognition. ‘You sang that song to Her Ladyship at the servants' ball, didn't you?'

Kate laughed to cover her embarrassment, inwardly thrilled he had remembered her after all.

‘Aye, I did.' She stole a look at him and dared to add, ‘And you danced a polka with me.'

He laughed too. ‘So I did,' he admitted, though he had forgotten the moment until now. He crossed the room, discarding his riding jacket on the bed, and splashed water into the wash bowl. Unselfconsciously, he plunged his face in the water and reached for a towel.

Kate went back to scrubbing the grate, acutely aware of his movements from the corner of her eye.

Alexander rubbed his face and studied the girl. ‘So you work at the castle - you're not a nymph from the woods after all.'

‘Been here since old Lady Ravensworth died, sir,' Kate answered while still vigorously leading the grate. ‘Her Ladyship took me in when Farnacre was closed up. She's been that good to me.'

‘She is a very generous lady,' Alexander said, leaning against the bed.

Kate thought of the casual sketches on the table and couldn't help wondering about his relationship with Her Ladyship. Lily had called him a fortune-hunter. Kate hurried to finish and gather up her brushes.

Alexander watched her. She looked hot and flustered and keen to be gone. A smut of soot was smeared across her cheek and he had a sudden desire to wipe it clean. He half moved towards her, but her blue eyes widened in alarm so he stopped.

‘I'll be off, sir,' she said with a quick bob, and rushed for the door.

‘Goodbye, Kate. Come and sing to me again,' he called after her.

She did not reply. Alexander gave a rueful smile. Beauty could be found in unexpected places. He went to the table and pulled a folder out of the drawer. Leafing through the sketches he found the old pencil drawings he sought - a girl stepping down from a cart with a flash of ankle and a smooth oval cheek under a straw hat.