Eliza's Child (14 page)

Eliza bit her lip as she watched Bertha fading into the distance, wrapped in swirling smoke. Maybe she shouldn't have said Bertha could seek her out. She had given up her room and she didn't know what her plans were except that she had to search for Thomas. The wheels of the train were picking up speed and going clackety-clack and they were saying ‘Thomas, Thomas, Thomas …' Please God, she prayed. Let me find Thomas.

For want of knowing whom else to ask for help or, indeed, where else to go, Eliza began to look for Peter Collier. At least he was easier to find than Jack. Though the union had not found a proper home as yet, it was more frowned upon by the authorities than actually outlawed. And there were miners living in the city. So it was barely six o'clock when she knocked on the door in Claypath. And she breathed a sigh of thankfulness when Peter answered her knock.

‘Eliza?' he said in surprise and gazed at her white face and dark shadowed eyes. ‘Are you in trouble?'

‘I am. My husband has stolen my little Thomas,' she said and swayed with fatigue. Her purpose had carried her through this endless day but now she was ready to drop. Peter grabbed hold of her arm.

‘Come away in,' he said. ‘You can sit by the fire and tell me what this is all about.'

‘I told you, Thomas has gone,' Eliza cried but he shook his head.

‘Wait. You can tell me inside,' he insisted. ‘I've just mashed the tea and there's soup. You look as though you could do with sustenance.'

THE ROOM PETER
Collier ushered Eliza into was small and sparsely furnished. There was a deal table set with plain white crockery and a glass salt cellar. A chair was drawn up to the table; evidently Peter had been about to eat. A wooden chair with a high back and a patchwork cushion was drawn up by a small grate set in an iron surround and a pot bubbled on the coals, filling the air with the aroma of boiled mutton. Eliza swallowed the saliva the smell had brought instantly to her mouth. She had not eaten since she was in Alnwick.

‘Sit down and get warm,' said Peter. ‘We can talk later. First of all you look as though you could do with something in your stomach.'

‘Thank you.' Eliza sank down on to the chair by the fire. Though it was early summer the evening was cool. The heat from the fire assailed her and she closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against the wooden slats. Peter busied himself bringing her a mug of tea, strong and sweet and with a tiny amount of real milk. He moved between a shelf in the corner alcove and the table, bringing another bowl and spoon and setting them on the table. Then he brought up another chair.

‘Are you sure you have enough?' Eliza asked anxiously. ‘You needn't feed me.'

‘There is enough,' Peter said firmly. ‘Don't worry.'

She sipped the hot tea, feeling it revive her a little and moved aside slightly as he lifted the pan from the fire and took it to the table. He ladled out the soup into the two plates and brought half a stotty cake from a tin on the shelf.

‘Now then,' he said. ‘Come on, tuck in while it's hot.' He sliced the bread cake thickly and handed her a slice. The soup was more like a stew for it was thick with lentils and barley and slivers of mutton. He ate with all his concentration on the food and she followed his example. The room was silent.

At last he wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. He sat back in his chair and turned to her. ‘Well now,' he said. ‘Tell me what's to do. I thought you were a widow. You made out your man was gone.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say he was dead but when you picked it up like that I let it lie. But he did an awful thing and I left him. I should have told you. Then Jack, my husband, came looking for me and he saw us together yesterday afternoon.'

Peter shrugged. ‘We weren't doing anything wrong.' He didn't comment on her leaving her husband. She must have had good reason, he reckoned. It took a lot of courage for a woman to run away from a marriage. Nor did he ask what was the terrible thing Jack had done. It was her business and if she wanted to tell him she would.

‘No, but he thinks there is something between us. He took Thomas,' she said in a low tone.

Eliza was holding on to her composure but the effort was tremendous. She gazed down at her empty bowl and blinked rapidly.

‘You mean for good?' Peter stared at her incredulously. ‘You're the lad's mother, I didn't realise you meant that.'

‘He did, he took Thomas and now I don't know where they are.'

‘Well, he'll have to bring him back, won't he? How can he look after him properly? A bairn needs his mother,' said Peter. He watched Eliza. She started to tidy the table; more for something to do than anything else. Her expression was desolate and he felt a surge of pity for her.

‘Leave the pots,' he said and put out a hand to stay hers. ‘Let's talk about it. We must see if we can find them. I'll tell him there's nothing between us. He must believe me.'

Eliza gazed at his hand on hers. It was strong from his work at the coal face and there were a few blue marks from the coal. The nails were clean and cut short. It was a capable-looking hand. She lifted her head.

‘Even if we do I might not get Thomas back. Jack is his father. He has all the rights. I didn't realise but it's true.'

‘I'm sure Jack will come round. You did nothing wrong after all.'

‘I don't know where to look. I've been to his family's house in Alnwick to see if his mother knows where he is but she doesn't.'

‘Are you sure? It will be a strange thing if she doesn't. She is his mother after all.'

‘They don't get on. His father threw Jack out of the house before he died. Jack is a gambler, you see.'

‘Is he?' Peter nodded as though the fact that Jack was a gambler explained a lot. He did not tell her he had heard the scandalous rumours about Jack's gambling. He paused for a while as he tried to think of a plan of action. ‘Maybe I can find him through his work,' he said after an interval.

‘He's a carpenter,' said Eliza. ‘When he's not got the gambling fever on him he is.'

‘I can try then. You can try the carpenters in the city and I'll ask as I go round the county in my work,' said Peter. He looked thoughtful, as though he was planning his strategy, but Eliza was horrified.

‘That'll take ages,' she said, her voice breaking. She had thought that he would be able to find Jack quickly; she had pinned her hopes on it.

‘I'm sorry, lass. But I can't think what else I can do. I have to go about union business.' He looked at her with pity. ‘Look now,' he went on. ‘Why don't you go back to your lodging and get some sleep? You'll be the better able to search come the morn if you do.'

‘I haven't a place. I gave it up this morning. I thought – I don't know what I thought but I just went off. Looking for Thomas. Oh, I'm a fool, I am. Where will I find a room at this time of night?'

Peter pursed his lips. He should have realised when she had her basket box with her. Now what was to do? This was a mean little cottage with only one bedroom and that right under the eaves. There was not even a settee in the room they were in; nothing but the chair by the fire with its one cushion. It was almost eleven o'clock according to the wall clock above the fire.

‘If you stay here you can have the bed upstairs and I'll manage in the chair. If we're careful, no one will know. You can't wander the streets all night.'

Eliza gazed at him. ‘Oh no, I cannot,' she said.

‘I won't bother you,' said Peter.

‘It's not that, of course it isn't. I mean I cannot take your bed. I'll sleep in the chair.'

Peter started to protest but she was adamant. In the end that was how it was arranged.

In spite of the hard chair, Eliza was so exhausted that she slept immediately Peter had extinguished the lamp. She woke early in the morning and for a few moments couldn't think where she was. She had slid from the chair during the night and she couldn't even remember when and was lying on the old clippie mat with her head on her arm for a pillow.

She had heard something, was it Thomas? The fire was but a pile of grey ash in the grate and a cold draught was blowing in under the ill-fitting door. A child was crying somewhere very close.

‘Thomas? Thomas? I'm coming, pet, I'm coming,' she cried and stumbled to her feet. The room was so small that she cannoned into the table, hurting her hip. Awake fully now, she remembered where she was and the circumstances and she leaned over the table as the black despair washed over her yet again.

There were noises from the cottage next door: someone moving about. The baby stopped crying. The wall must be very thin, she thought dimly. She wondered if Thomas was crying; if he had woken up in an unfamiliar room and was crying for her. Tears stung her eyelids and she brushed them away furiously.

‘Are you decent, Eliza?'

Peter was on the stairs. He must be wanting to go to his work. Well, she was decent if you could call it that. She hadn't even taken off her dress to sleep.

‘Come in,' she said and crossed to the small window to draw the thin cotton curtains. Not that it let in much more light, for the curtains were so thin it had penetrated them easily.

‘I have to be at Seaham this morning,' said Peter. ‘I thought I'd make an early start.' He looked slightly embarrassed as he felt the stubble on his chin.

‘I'll go now,' said Eliza. ‘Thank you for everything. I'll slip away before anyone notices I'm here.'

Peter nodded. He could not afford for anyone to know she had spent the night in the cottage with him. No one would believe it was innocent.

‘I will seek out every carpenter's shop in the city,' she said. ‘And Sherburn too if I have the time.'

‘Come back tonight,' he said. ‘Leave your basket box here. Maybe I can get you lodging for a few nights up the street. There's a widow woman, Mrs Hill, she sometimes lets out a room.'

There were men about when Eliza slipped out into the street but they weren't interested in her or anyone else at that time of the morning. They trudged along on their way to work with their heads down and hands in their pockets against the early morning chill. She made her way up to the market place past St Nicholas's church and went first to the carpenter's shop that had once belonged to Jack. Of course it was still shuttered for it wouldn't open until eight. But the name over the door said the proprietor was someone called Jenkins and it was unlikely that Jack, flush as he was now (he must have had a big win), she thought distractedly, well, Jack wouldn't be working for someone else.

Still, she walked around the side when she heard the sound of a saw coming from there. After all, a carpenter might know someone of his own trade was working nearby. This line of reasoning soon proved false.

‘I've heard of Jack Mitchell-Howe,' the workman who came to the door said. ‘The name sticks in the mind, like, don't it? But he's not working round here, lass, not as I know of.'

He watched as she walked away along the alley, wondering why a good-looking lass like that one was asking after a man. She didn't seem like the sort of woman a man would walk out on. He wouldn't, any road. He took a last breath of fresh air and went back in and picked up his saw.

Eliza started on a systematic search of all the carpenters' shops in the city, pausing only to buy bread and cheese at the market. She ate as she went along. The day brightened and a slight breeze blew as she walked but she hardly noticed. All her attention was on her search for Jack and, more especially, Thomas.

Jack was filled with fury and jealousy as he sat in the cab, holding on to Thomas, who was trying to get out even when the cab was rolling over the bridge at a good pace.

‘Tot wants Mammy,' the little boy cried piteously to him. ‘Tot wants Mammy, please?'

He fought against Jack and Jack held him by his upper arms but the boy still struggled. Eventually his sobs died down and he stopped asking for Eliza. They drove down Silver Street and along to the house where he had brought Eliza and the baby when they came down from Northumberland. For Jack had taken the house again when he had a great stroke of luck on the horses. He told himself it would bring Eliza back to him. He would explain that it was all a mistake: he hadn't intended to lose his bet with Jonathan Moore; he had been on a sure thing. Jonathan had cheated him, oh aye, he had. The man had lechered after Eliza ever since he met her, he knew that an' all. But the other card players were friends of Jonathan, they had backed him up. Blast them to hell, he thought savagely.

Still, Eliza had no right to leave him; they were man and wife, weren't they? It was a sin to break the marriage vows. Jack stared out of the small window of the cab as it pulled up before the house. Thomas had fallen asleep with tears still wet on his cheeks. Aw, Jack told himself, the lad would forget about his mother. He was young enough.

He paid off the cab and went into the house, carrying Thomas, and laid him down on the sofa. Thomas murmured and stuck his thumb in his mouth but did not open his eyes. Jack sat down on a chair and stared at the small form. What was he going to do with him? He thought about the races at Doncaster. He had intended to take the train next week in time for the start of the meeting.

He had a foolproof system for winning now and he was desperate to try it out. It involved the favourite of each race, and as soon as a crony of his had explained the system to him he had known it would work. Oh, it was a sure thing and it would make his fortune and when it did Eliza could go to hell. He wouldn't have her back if she came crawling to him on her hands and knees. What's more she wouldn't see Thomas again, oh no. Jack smiled mirthlessly.

Still, for the moment he had the problem of what to do with the lad while he was at the race meeting. He thought about his mother. The only interest she had shown in him and his family at his father's funeral was when she asked about Thomas. But she was living in the family house at Alnwick with Henry and his sour-faced wife and though they were childless they would not welcome Thomas. Maybe he had acted too hastily in taking the lad; it could have waited until after the meeting. It was too late now, though. Or was it?

Jack was so filled with feverish anticipation of the Doncaster races and the killing he was going to make there that he almost decided to take Thomas back to his mother. He could say he had only done it to frighten Eliza and give her a shock, punish her. But maybe it was worth making a last appeal to his mother. The family owed him something, didn't they?

He rose to his feet and went to fetch one of the wooden writing cases he had made to sell. They were handsome boxes of polished mahogany with fancy brass catches and tooled leather on the writing surface, which was really a sort of inside lid that lifted up to show a cavity holding paper and a few of the newfangled envelopes. He took the pen from its slot and dipped it in the inkpot.

‘Dear Mother,' he wrote in his stylish flowing hand, ‘I am appealing to you for help with my little Thomas. I had to take him away from his mother for she proved to be a loose woman …'

Annie Mitchell-Howe, opening the letter only a few minutes after Eliza had disappeared round the bend in the road leading to Alnwick, read it through twice. She sat down at the table she was laying for the dinner that was eaten in the middle of the day and read it through again.