The Railway Girls

by Leah Fleming

  ‘To Paradise first to check if Billy has returned to the hut. I fear all of this is my doing. I pushed him so hard to become a scholar.’

  ‘Yes, yes . . . but explanations come later. We must put the tackle on the horses. You can ride?’ said the vicar impatiently.

  ‘Only side-saddle, I’m afraid, but I can drive a trap. I’m not exactly useless,’ Zillah snapped back as they made their way to the courtyard and the stable. Taking orders from this man as he flung over tackle, belted up, shouted to her to hold steady, made Zillah wish she had not bothered him. Yet she swallowed back her remarks in gratitude that someone else was taking control and she was no longer alone with these strange findings.

  As they rode back down the brow and into the main street, she could see the doctor’s cab outside the schoolhouse. Then they turned to the track beside the viaduct, surprised to see men gathered with lanterns in the shadows who stood back sheepishly at the sight of the vicar and the schoolmarm. Ralph halted to shout over to the party, ‘Have you seen Miss Bulstrode and a boy on this track?’

  Wally Stackhouse stepped out of the shadows. ‘We’ve seen nowt but rain, Mr Hardy. What’s to do?’

  ‘There’s been an accident at the schoolhouse. Miss Cora is upset and we fear she may come to harm on such a night. There’s a child missing too.’

  ‘Who’s that then?’ All the men came forward to hear the news, Dicky Braithwaite and Tudge and Warwick Lund. He looked surprised to see the teacher out in the dark. ‘Are you all right, miss? Shall I take her back to the Birketts’?’

  ‘No, Mr Lund. Thank you but I prefer to be out looking for my pupil. We need help to search for them. This is no night to be out on these moors, is it?’ said Zillah firmly.

  ‘Is this one of your navvy nippers, Miss Herbert?’

  ‘Yes but a lost sheep is lost whether it’s black or white, Mr Stackhouse.’

  ‘Aye, yer right enough there. We’ve no quarrel with a kiddie.’ There was a general shaking of heads and promises of help. The vicar suggested they searched through the village and back lanes up onto the high road while the two of them would take the Paradise track. ‘If we can borrow a few flares from the camp then that can be a signal if the pair of them are found. There’s still a good chance that they’re safe in the camp anyway.’

  ‘Right enough, vicar, you can rely on us.’ Wally waved them on their way with a wink and Zillah blushed at their obvious amusement to see this couple out riding under cover of darkness. It would be clacked all around Scarsbeck in the morning that the vicar and schoolmarm were hitching up to the same wagon.

  ‘And what do you think they were all up to gathered under the viaduct together on such a dark night?’ laughed the vicar.

  ‘Up to no good, I fear, but this little drama has salved their consciences and redeemed their purpose there, I hope. Damaging railway property would carry a stiff sentence should they be caught, don’t you think?’

  The rain beat on their faces and Zillah worried at the state of mind of Cora Bulstrode to be out in the storm with a child. As they approached the camp she tried to locate the exact hut where Billy and his sister were lodging. There were lines of huts dotted on the slopes of the field, dark and indistinguishable. Then she saw Stumper, the dog, tied to a post. There was only one three-legged hound, surely? His noisy welcome brought Mally to the door. She peered out seeing the horse and trap, relieved at the wanderer’s return. ‘Is that you, Tizzy? Oh, Miss Herbert, I didn’t recognise you, have you brought our Billy?’

  ‘No, Mally, we were hoping he was here. There’s been some trouble . . .’

  ‘What’s the toe rag been and done now?’ sighed his sister.

  ‘Nothing like that, may we step inside and explain?’ The room was filled with a trestle table and men lined up on either side tucking into tin plates of stew and dumplings and black peas. At the far end of the room was a line of bunk beds and mattresses, at the other a stove over which hung a rope pulley of steaming socks and shirts. The room stank of bodies, damp socks and boiled meat. Mally had papered the walls with magazine pictures and cuttings in a collage effect which brightened the inside but some of the pictures were peeling off in the dampness.

  Everyone in the room fell silent at the entrance of the two strangers. Then they were recognised and urged to sit down for a mug of ale. Zillah stood by the door and softly told their news. ‘We think Billy has been abducted. There’s been some dreadful misunderstanding, no doubt. The lady has disappeared, very distraught thinking her brother, the headmaster, to be dead. She may be blaming young Billy in some way. We just don’t know. I’m sorry, Mally, but I thought you ought to know. The vicar has already organised local men in the village to start a search.’

  ‘I’ll come with you and fetch Granda . . .’

  ‘You stay here just in case they come back,’ ordered Wobbly Bob who went to the rack on the wall and lifted out a shotgun. ‘I’ll gather a few lads and we’ll go hunting if you can tell us where to start.’

  ‘We’re not sure but they can’t get far in these conditions. Comb down from the camp towards the beckside. I’ll get the others to come down the other side and together we may be able to flush them out of their hiding place. I think she’s hiding somewhere. Don’t worry, Mally. We’ll find them.’ Ralph was trying to sound confident but Zillah could tell it was an act of bravura.

  ‘Oh, Miss Herbert . . . what if she’s harmed?’

  ‘Miss Cora? Her mood was strange but I’m sure she wouldn’t harm herself.’ Zillah was surprised at this concern for the woman.

  ‘Not her, she can go to hell . . . our Tizzy. She’s only eleven.’

  ‘Tizzy, Tizzy who? I don’t understand.’ Zillah looked at the girl, whose cheeks were flushing as she beckoned the teacher towards the bedroom door.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Herbert, but there’s something you and the vicar should know. Something we ought to have told you a long time ago.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tizzy listened to her teeth chittering; she was so cold it was hard to grasp why she was stuck on an overhanging ledge of rock with water cascading down Scarsbeck Force in front of her, the roaring flooding torrent drowning out any sounds. ‘I can’t see anything, Miss Bulstrode, can we go now?’

  ‘Stop snivelling. How can we go home with you? Can’t you see, boy? You must cast yourself upon the waters. I can’t have you telling more tales, more wicked lies to all and sundry. All those wasted years, all that work has worn out his brains and you, stupid child, come along and ruin everything just like Sunter Lund haunting us with threats.’

  ‘I hated Lund. He deserved to die. I told you afore. I cursed him so I’m not one of him.’ The woman was not listening but rolling her eyes so high to calculate her next move Tizzy could see the whites gleaming.

  ‘He wanted to leave . . . Lund wanted money from us. Shouting at Ezra, ‘Give me fifty pounds and I’ll disappear. Give me my due and I’ll never tell about our little secret, all the filth you made me swallow. You said I failed the test, you made a fool of me. Give it here or I’ll make a fool of you . . .’ Doors have ears, how could all the village not hear his threats? Ezra was upright and said no. He broke the window in his rage and sent him letters. Ezra was strong and burnt all of them, all but the one he never saw. I had to know. How pure and white lies a letter on a mat but inside it was black as dirt filthy with lies. He was a menace. Menaces must be destroyed so I gave him what he deserved. I waited for him to call, waited until he was safe in the Fleece. It had to be so. Poor Ezra needed me to see to things as I’ve always seen to things. For I am the strong one and sometimes he is weak . . . Do you think I don’t know that he’s different from most men, with special requirements to comfort him? He’s his father’s son, trained from a child to be an obedient scholar. No one will tell lies about my brother and live, do you hear, child? Not you, not anyone.’ Tizzy felt fear stabbing into her stomach like hunger pangs.

  ‘What happened then, Miss Bulstrode, did your brother hi
t him hard?’

  ‘What’s my brother got to do with this? He was too weak to stand up for himself like he was against his father. It’s I who take care of things as I always have. I left the house and crept through the school yard, waited behind the wall and walked to the viaduct. There were stones of all shapes and sizes, stones waiting for masons to dress for the arches, piles of heavy stones, piles of chippings sharp like flint, stones dressed and shaped to size. So many stones to choose from. And there it was: sharp and solid, black as death. How easy it is to crush a skull! You hide and wait until the man comes out unaware. A man pausing to look at the stars, looking up heavenwards as I bashed his head and watched him fall, crumpled up for a second blow. It had to be so and now you go and spoil it with your lies, Billy Widdup. You see how it must be. You see what Miss Bulstrode must do?’ She was coming forward, smiling oddly.

  ‘I told you, I’m not Billy Widdup. He’s dead. I’m Tizzy, just another bleeding lass.’

  ‘Girls can’t be Fawcetts. Ezra would never choose a girl. Girls have no brains, no hopes, girls must be obedient to fathers and brothers whatever they demand. We are pitiable creatures, weak flesh. Girls are nothing . . .’ said Cora, spitting into the child’s face.

  ‘NO! No. You’re wrong. I thowt that at first when Lund killed me dog. I were that mad I snipped off me braids and put on breeches just to show them all that girls have brains, a girl can be strong as a lad. I did a tea boy’s job and no one ever guessed. I can get the scholarship. I see girls grow babbies in their tums and they can’t be weak to do that. It’s a lie, Miss Bulstrode, honest. You must be strong to kill a man. I won’t jump. Never, not down into that hole. You can jump if you like, I won’t stop yer, but I’ll not go with yer.’ The woman stepped back from the edge as if in deep conflict. ‘Look, it weren’t your fault Lund got done in. He were cursed from the start for killing Tat. If anyone killed him it were me . . . not you. You just finished off the job for me like. I’m not sorry he’s a goner. If we tell the truth of it, it’s me they’ll blame, not you.’ Tizzy was thinking fast on her feet, arguing for her life. ‘Take me back and you’ll see. I’m only little. They can’t hang me, can they? But they’ll hang Fancy for what he never done. You’ll be safe to look after Mr Bulstrode but we have to go back first, please? It’s getting so cold here. Aren’t you frozen? Feel me hand, it’s like an icicle.’ Tizzy shoved her hand onto Cora’s cheek.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s cold, so cold and wet.’ For a moment the crazed woman weakened, her eyes half closed with resignation. She sprang back to life like a startled cat with tiger eyes, wary, watchful and glinting like sharpened steel. ‘You’re trying to trick me, Billy Widdup, pretending to be a girl indeed, too sharp for your own good. You don’t fool me. No use prolonging the agony, child. Come here! Jump or I’ll push you in . . . why struggle?’ She lunged forward to grab Tizzy but the girl edged out of arm’s reach, sweating, sliding sideways inch by inch back down the side of the cold rock.

  ‘If I have to go, you’ll be coming with me and who’ll look after the headmaster then?’

  This is a useless exercise, thought Ralph to himself; a wild goose chase down the stony track to Scarsbeck. There was no certainty of finding the woman and her charge. Why should she want to drag that child along unless she knew also what Mally had confessed to them, unless she too knew that Billy was no lad? Was this the shock which made her brother collapse? They had all been duped by the child, made fools of, especially the missionary woman who had relapsed into stunned silence as she trudged on behind the search party. Where would they be hiding on this wet night? Not on the open moor if they wanted to survive. Perhaps they would be found frozen with cold in the morning. Sheer wetness might make them take refuge in some barn but which one? There were hundreds of stone shippons, pinfolds and shelters to keep out of sight.

  Ralph tossed each suggestion like a ball around his head. Oh Bethany Wildman, where are you when I need you? You would know where to look; you would get one of your feelings and turns and see them in the dark. Everyone was now looking to him for a lead; village and camp, looking to him to salvage the rescue, support the weary and coordinate the search. Look at me, damn you, am I being a good enough shepherd for my flock? You said you would haunt me if I didn’t buck up so where are you when I need you? Come on, where the hell do I look?

  They combed the beckside watching the water frothing like brown ale over the boulders; a little stream transformed into a river, swirling away anything that stood in its path. If lost sheep fell into the swollen water their bodies would have been carried away long ago. Damn the woman, damn the stupid brat! He was stumped . . . stumped, why that word? ‘Stump!’ he said aloud and the three-legged wonder wrapped itself obediently around his ankles. Stumper, of course! Thanks, Beth, he smiled to the skies. That dog was not as stupid as it looked. He had often seen it trailing round the camp after the Widdup child, hopping on three short legs; perhaps there was just a chance? ‘Stumper, go, boy. Where’s Tizzy?’ What a silly name for a girl. ‘Yes, you find her. Go on!’ The dog pricked up its ears at the familiar name. ‘Go find her, boy. Everyone shout her name. There’s just a chance she may hear us.’ For the first time in his life the vicar was praying for a miracle but he didn’t hold out much hope.

  Tizzy managed to edge the woman away from the pinnacle. ‘Mind you don’t slip, Miss Bulstrode, one slip and you’re into the deep. It’ll be cold down there and they’ll never bury you. Can’t you feel the icy spray? The cold is coiling over us like a snake, squeezing us to suck out the hot juices.’ Mercy would be proud of her poetic effort. ‘Here we are lost in the dark with no one to hear us if we call out . . . in the valley of the shadow of death. What was it you sang? “The Lord is my Shepherd.” I wish I could sing like you but the sound comes out all wonky, Miss Herbert says. Sing it with me and happen I’ll get it right. You have a nice voice, miss.’ They sang the hymn to Brother James’s air. ‘He leadeth me, He leadeth me the quiet waters by. Yea though I walk through death’s dark vale, yet will I feel no ill . . .’ ‘That’s us, in’t it?’ Tizzy was trying to sound brave and sure but she was so tired and slow, it took every ounce of strength to push each slippy clog in front of the other. Her trousers were soaked through and the skin on her thighs chapped with the rough wet cloth. She was not going to give in, hoping that someone had missed them by now. The rain was easing off. ‘If we get down off this rocky bit we’ll soon find the path and get back home. You can see to Mr Bulstrode.’

  ‘You’ve killed him,’ said Cora, stopping to rummage in her head as to why they were climbing back down again.

  ‘No, I haven’t, honest. Susan was looking after him till the doctor come. She sent word for him, remember, miss? Secrets are safe with me. I’ve got a few of me own to sort out. We’ve all got secrets in this dale. Let’s sing our hymn again to cheer us up. “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want . . .” ’ Tizzy growled without conviction. To her relief her companion looked up, smiled her thin-lipped twisted smile and joined in.

  The sound was faint, echoing above the roar, bouncing off the echo chamber of the walls of the stone gorge. The search party was following the path upstream to Scarsbeck Force. Stumper stopped, his stubby ears pricked and his tail wagged. Ralph silenced the searchers with his hand. Zillah darted forward.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Shush, a sound, the dog is listening too. They must be near the Force. Good God! Whatever are they doing up there?’ As they drew closer they could hear the faint tinkly sound of singing. Ralph was calculating how long it would take for him to scramble up the bank to come at them from behind, to escort them down to safety.

  ‘Let me go ahead, now,’ ordered Zillah calmly.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid, it’s a man’s job,’ whispered Ralph.

  ‘She’s my pupil and Cora knows me. A man will only blunder in and startle them. I can coax them back,’ replied the teacher.

  ‘I forbid you to go . . .’

  ‘You can’t stop
me.’

  ‘As your chaplain . . .’

  ‘Hah! When have you ever been that?’ Zillah snapped.

  ‘As chairman of the school managers, it’s my responsibility to oversee—’

  ‘I’m not answerable to your school board.’

  ‘It’s not safe for you to go alone, Miss Herbert.’

  ‘The Lord will guide my path with the light of His truth.’

  ‘Don’t be so pompous. One slip and you’ll be at the pearly gates.’

  ‘I must go, it’s all my fault.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that, woman, but if you go up the path, give me time to skirt round the top, higher up the bank.’

  ‘It’s dangerous, you’ll fall, the lichen and moss are like ice,’ pleaded Zillah, alarmed at his plan. ‘Why must we always argue?’

  ‘Because you’re the most pig-headed woman I’ve ever met.’

  ‘And you’re the most stubborn man . . .’ They both burst out laughing as the search party shuffled up awkwardly behind them, wondering what the hold-up was. ‘If we stand here arguing all night, a vicar, a woman and a three-legged dog, what will this parish think of us?’

  ‘When has that ever stopped either of us?’ laughed Zillah as she stepped forward into the darkness.

  ‘Will you stop that terrible noise, child. You may be a quick thinker but you’re no singer. Give me a hand, my legs are stiff.’ Cora Bulstrode was back to being a sour apple but Tizzy, not sure if this was another trick, turned only slightly. She felt herself sliding on the mud of her clogs, bumping down.

  ‘I can’t stop. Help me!’ She panicked as the momentum pulled her downwards, grabbing out for the sharp thorny blackthorn branch which caught her fall. As she stood up slowly she noticed, far down in the valley gorge, the flicker of lanterns. Could it be? She shouted, ‘Here! Over here!’ But no one responded. Then came a bark and the warmth of a dog’s body, the familiar smell of Stumper. ‘It’s me dog, miss, he’s come to fetch us. Look.’