One Snowy Night

by Rita Bradshaw

  She hugged Edward again and then rose to her feet, pulling him up. ‘Come on, let’s go for a walk in the grounds and then we’ll have cocktails before dinner. Godfrey will be home soon and I warn you now all he’ll want to talk about is the ins and outs of Scotland beating England for the Calcutta Cup for the first time in the history of the competition. He’s taken it as a personal insult, bless him.’

  Edward smiled as he acquiesced, while all the time inside he was saying, Two opposites, that’s what you and Godfrey are, with very little in common beyond the fact you love each other, but however diverse your opinions are on most things, that’s all right, isn’t it, because when it comes to class and the division between upper, middle and working class, you both sing from the same hymn sheet. That’s what you think, Clarissa, and it makes me angry. It makes me very angry.

  Clarissa was holding the drawing-room door open for him to pass through in front of her, and as he looked at her dear face he suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Before he had met Ruby he’d probably thought the same, he acknowledged ruefully. But he had met her and it had changed him in many ways, not least because it had caused him to question the rights and wrongs of men and women being bred to think of themselves as superior. The aristocrats, the landed gentry – who were they, after all? You only had to delve back into the history of the Royal Family to find a trail of murderers, poisoners and miscreants second to none.

  He stepped into the splendid panelled hall, and as a maid appeared as if by magic, he wondered what his sister would say if she could read his mind. And if he added that he was lonely, that even in the midst of family and friends and no matter what he was doing he was heart lonely for Ruby, would Clarissa understand that his love was no passing fancy?

  But he had said more than enough for one day. He nodded mentally to the thought as the maid fetched his hat and coat. And all the talking in the world couldn’t make Ruby love him or alter the fact that in her own way she was just as rigid about the class issue as his sister.

  Once Clarissa was ready they walked out into the snow-dusted grounds. Godfrey’s gardeners had cleared a path that wound away from the house and into the ornamental garden past majestic old trees clad in their mantle of white, and although it was bitterly cold a pale winter sun shone in the dying afternoon. He glanced at Clarissa muffled up in her furs, and as he did so a picture flashed onto the screen of his mind of a scene he had passed on his way up from London. He had driven through a pit village in Durham just as a group of miners, the coal dust of the mine still on them, had left the pit gates after their shift. The snow hadn’t been thick, just a light covering as in Newcastle, but the contrast between the men and the white purity of their surroundings had been stark. Their caps pulled low over their eyes and their shoulders hunched against the bitter wind, they’d walked as one, their shabby jackets and big hobnailed boots creating a powerful image in his mind. To them the snow was the enemy, yet another obstacle in their hard lives to overcome, but here in the grounds of Godfrey’s estate it was merely enchanting, creating a pretty scene to be enjoyed before one went indoors to the warmth of a roaring fire in the drawing room, cocktails in the comfort of Clarissa’s comfy sofas and a six-course dinner to follow.

  Ruby’s childhood sweetheart, the man she had been betrothed to, was a miner. She had grown up among such people. And the woman he had glimpsed standing at the open door of her house, a baby in her arms, looking towards the group of men, could have been Ruby if the circumstances had been different.

  A weight settled on him compounded of fear of an enemy he didn’t know and had no understanding of, an enemy who was in Ruby’s blood and who had been fed into her along with her mother’s milk. Something more powerful than a mere man. A community.

  Ruby stood staring down Devonshire Street, an army of butterflies creating havoc in her stomach. She’d travelled by train from Newcastle, and on leaving Central Station she’d caught a tram to Ellie’s parents’ house and told her mother what had happened to Ellie, feeling it was her duty to acquaint them with the news. She hadn’t expected an outpouring of grief and there hadn’t been any; she hadn’t even been asked over the threshold. She had walked away from the house shaking with rage but knowing she had fulfilled what had needed to be done. But now she was home, she told herself; in the street where her mam and da lived and where she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life, happy years on the whole, but although the surroundings were familiar, she felt as though she was a stranger. She hadn’t expected the sense of detachment and it was a little unnerving.

  Devonshire Street was devoid of bairns for once. The older children would be in school, and the bitterly cold weather would have kept the toddlers indoors, but the lack of noise and activity added to the unrealness that had gripped her.

  She took a deep breath of the icy air, knowing she couldn’t stand where she was all day. She had made the decision to come back and she had to follow through on all it entailed; it would be ridiculous not to now, but what if Olive was visiting her parents with the bairn when she turned up? She wasn’t ready to face her sister, not yet, not until she had talked to her mam and da.

  It was beginning to snow a little in the wind, and again she told herself to move, smoothing the lapels of her coat and adjusting her hat. She had packed an overnight case with a few bits and pieces but even now she wasn’t sure if she was up to staying at her mam’s, or whether to find a room in a hotel.

  That was assuming her parents would want her to stay; she’d walked out of their lives, after all, and then had stayed away for four years. They might have washed their hands of her. The letters she had written to her mother during that time had been devoid of real emotion and very short, just notes to inform them she was still alive and well and doing all right. And she was a different person now to the girl they had known, she knew she was. Sometimes, when she thought back to the young, trusting eighteen-year-old Ruby, she felt a deep sense of pity for what that girl had gone through but it didn’t hurt any more. She’d had to lose Ellie to know what real grief and sorrow were. Or perhaps it was just that time had healed and in the healing she had understood that a narrow confined life like the one she’d have been expected to live as Adam’s wife would never have been enough?

  She shook herself mentally, suddenly irritated with her introspection. Mabel always said that navel-gazing was good for neither man nor beast, and she was right. She only had to think about Edward to know the truth of that. She knew he was in love with her, but she also knew that anything beyond friendship was impossible. Even if Edward asked her to marry him – and he might not be thinking along those lines at all but rather to setting her up somewhere as his mistress, but if his intentions were honourable where she was concerned, marriage would be the death knell on any happiness they might share. He would be committing social and business suicide to take a wife from the working class and he must know that, and that eventually he would feel the price had been too high. And she would never put herself in a position where his family and friends and acquaintances could look down on her. Right or wrong, she had too much pride for that. She wouldn’t be able to suffer slights and injustice in silence, which would make things even more intolerable. But neither was her nature such that she could bear to live a life in the shadows as a man’s mistress, even Edward’s.

  Again she mentally checked herself, but now with an impatience that brought her walking along the street. She would be no man’s wife or mistress; she had made that decision a long time ago when she had left this place and that, at least, had not changed. She wanted to be autonomous and in charge of her own destiny and she would never willingly put herself up to be hurt again. Men, even the best of them, weren’t to be trusted. She had learned that the hard way, but having learned it, she would only have herself to blame if she ignored it.

  She paused as she reached her mother’s front door. She had briefly considered going through the back lane and into the yard and knocking on the kitchen door, but it had felt wrong
. It would be suggesting an intimacy that was no longer hers by right.

  Swallowing hard, she told herself to lift her hand and knock. If her mam and da weren’t pleased to see her, if they had decided to cut her out of their lives as, in all honesty, she had done with them, then that was fair enough. She hoped they could exchange a few civil words and she could leave on a good note, but if not then she would have to deal with that. Steeling herself, she raised a trembling hand.

  It seemed like minutes but in reality was only probably twenty or thirty seconds before the door was opened. Her mother stared at her for an unending moment before reaching out and grabbing her, as though she thought Ruby was going to disappear again, but without saying a word. Ruby found herself gathered into her mother’s embrace and borne into the house, still clutched so tightly she could barely breathe.

  ‘Lass, oh, lass, lass.’ Cissy was half-laughing, half-crying. ‘Oh, Ruby, thank God, thank God.’

  They stood together in the hall and now Ruby was clinging on to her mam and they were murmuring incoherently, tears streaming down their faces, unable to let go of each other. It was only her father’s voice calling from the front room that broke them apart and enabled Cissy to say through her sobs, ‘Come an’ see your da, lass. He’s never given up hope of seeing you again. He’s kept me going in my darkest moments. “She’ll come back,” he’s said, an’ he was right. Thank God, he was right.’

  Now Ruby was thrust into the front room and she saw immediately that it had become her parents’ bedroom and the reason for it. The figure in the bed was all skin and bones but at the sight of her the gaunt face lit up and it was her da again. She flew to his side, kneeling down beside the bed, and as he opened his arms she leaned into them. ‘Aw, lass, lass.’ His voice was thick. ‘I’ve prayed for this day. Oh, aye, every night since you’ve bin gone. Me bonny lass.’

  Flooded with guilt and sorrow, she sobbed, ‘I’m sorry, Da. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Nowt to be sorry for, lass, not on your part leastways. You needed to find your own path after what happened, I understand that, but I’m glad you’ve come. By, lass, I am.’

  Cissy had followed her into the room and now, as she wiped her face with a handkerchief, she said huskily, ‘You sit with your da, lass, an’ I’ll get a cuppa. When did you have something to eat last?’

  ‘This morning. I had breakfast.’

  ‘Why, it’s past two now. You sit tight an’ I’ll bring you a tray. I did me baking yesterday an’ you’ve always been partial to a bit of ham-an’-egg pie.’ Having said that, she didn’t move, staring at Ruby as though she couldn’t get her fill of her, and adding, ‘Oh, lass, can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Forgive you?’ Ruby stood up and covered the space between them in a heartbeat, holding her mother tight. ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ And in that moment there wasn’t. Seeing her mam again and the love that had poured out of her had wiped away the hurt and resentment that had been festering for a long time. She had been right to come home.

  Ruby had sat with her father for more than an hour until he had dropped off to sleep, holding his frail hand and talking about Newcastle and her life there. She had told both him and her mam about Ellie after her mother had enquired after Ruby’s friend shortly after she had brought her the tray with a large slice of ham-and-egg pie. They had been shocked and saddened but Ruby hadn’t mentioned Daniel Bell, merely saying Ellie had got mixed up with a bad crowd. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her when she went back.

  Now it was four o’clock in the afternoon and she had quietly tiptoed out of the front room and joined her mother in the kitchen where Cissy was preparing a pot pie for dinner. It was snowing heavily and had been for a while, and as the light had vanished earlier than usual the kitchen was lit only by the glow of the fire. Her mother never lit the gas light until it was well and truly dark outside.

  Her mother looked up and smiled, saying, ‘Sit yourself down, lass, and I’ll make a pot of tea once I’ve finished this.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ She made the tea and brought two cups to the table, sitting down and watching as Cissy tipped the chopped steak and kidney and onion into the pastry-lined pudding basin, half-filled it with water, dampened the edges of the pastry and then put on the remainder as a lid for the pie, sealing it by pressing her fingers round the bowl. Once it was covered with greaseproof paper and steaming on the hob, her mother sat down close to her and reached for her cup.

  Ruby had found it immensely comforting watching her mother work; it was something she had done a thousand times throughout her childhood and it brought countless memories of happier times. Once Cissy had sipped at her tea, Ruby said softly, ‘How bad is Da, Mam?’

  Cissy put down her cup and placed her hand over Ruby’s. ‘It’s his heart, lass. He had a funny turn two years ago and he’s got worse bit by bit since then. The doctor says the injuries he got during the war have played their part and there’s nowt to be done. Mind, he could go on for years, there’s no knowing, and he’s better in the summer. This cold doesn’t suit him. You’ve caught him in a bad spell. Sometimes he can go for weeks on end without struggling for breath, but once that starts I make him stay in bed.’ Cissy looked at her daughter. ‘Adam’s been good,’ she said quietly. ‘He’ll do any jobs that need doing and I know I can always call on him.’

  The mention of his name pierced Ruby through but she made no sign of this, saying evenly, ‘How are they? I heard they had a daughter,’ as she removed her hand from under her mother’s.

  ‘Aye, little Alice. By, she’s a bonny piece.’ Cissy paused. ‘As to how they are, well . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not a happy home, lass.’

  If Ruby had voiced her inward response to this it would have been that her sister and Adam had got what they deserved, but she didn’t want to upset her mother. She had enough on her plate with the emotional strain of caring for her da. But neither could she be a hypocrite. Flatly, she said, ‘Did they move into the house in Wood Street?’ The house that should have been hers and Adam’s.

  ‘Oh, no, lass.’

  Her mother sounded as shocked as if she’d suggested something indecent. Ruby thought this was a bit rich in the circumstances, considering Olive had stolen Adam and had a baby by him. Occupying the house that should have been her marital home was nothing in comparison, surely?

  ‘No, they’ve got a place at the back of the sawmills.’ Cissy paused again. ‘Hinny, it was wicked what she did, I know that, lass, an’ it grieves the heart of me, but she’s been made to suffer for it. I don’t get involved – you can’t come between man and wife, can you – but he can’t stand the sight of her an’ that’s the truth.’

  In spite of how she felt about Olive, it was now Ruby who put her hand over her mother’s. Her mam looked so old and tired and to have all this at her age, it wasn’t fair. ‘It’s probably not as bad as you think.’

  ‘And he’s never took to the bairn.’ Her mother stared at her, pain in her eyes. ‘Olive’s told me on the quiet she’d never dare leave Alice alone with him for fear of what he might do. Your da don’t know that and I’d never tell him, but it plays on my mind.’

  Now it was Ruby who was shocked. ‘Adam would never hurt a bairn, especially his own.’

  ‘Not the Adam you knew perhaps, but he’s changed, Ruby. I’ve never seen such a change in a man. Even his own mam said she don’t know him any more.’

  ‘I don’t care, I know he would never hurt a child, Mam. Believe me on that if nothing else and stop worrying.’

  ‘Oh, lass, I’m so glad you’ve come back.’ Cissy was crying again but silently this time, great tears welling up and trickling down her lined cheeks.

  ‘So am I, Mam. So am I.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The confrontation with Olive came the next day.

  Ruby hadn’t slept well in her old bed. The room was as cold as the grave for one thing, especially compared to her little abode at Bath Lane Terrace, which she kept as
warm as toast in the winter months. But it wasn’t just the temperature that had her tossing and turning into the early hours. Coming home had invoked a hundred and one memories of her past life, and with her father so poorly every one had taken on a poignant significance. Even with Olive being the way she was, her childhood had been a happy one, but the way she had left the family home had coloured her thoughts about it since and that was wrong. She understood that now.

  In spite of having had only a few hours’ sleep, she was downstairs early. She spent some time with her father after breakfast, then left to see Mrs Walton. Although they corresponded regularly and Ruby had invited the old lady to lunch many times, Mrs Walton’s health had deteriorated shortly after Ruby had left Sunderland, and Vera had been disinclined to travel even a short distance. It was enough to potter about the shop, she’d explained in one of her letters, and still do a little dressmaking for one or two of her favourite customers.

  It had stopped snowing when Ruby left the house and the day was bright but bitterly cold as well as being perilous underfoot. By the time she reached Vera’s, Ruby had nearly gone full length a few times. They spent an emotive but happy hour or so together, although Ruby was secretly shocked at how frail the old lady had become in her absence. She left promising that she’d return in the near future when she paid another visit to her mam and da. With her father’s health the way it was, and now Vera appearing old and enfeebled, she had already decided that she would try and make regular visits home. But she wouldn’t return for good. On that she was crystal clear.

  Her mam had told her she was making panackelty for their lunch, and as Ruby walked home, treading gingerly on the ice and snow, she could almost taste it. No one made panackelty like her mam so that the potatoes absorbed all the flavour of whatever meat and stock she used and the onions almost caramelized, the whole dish going deliciously crusty at the edges. Her mouth watering, Ruby remembered how she and Olive had used to fight for the privilege of scraping round her mam’s roasting tin for the remainder of the crust.