‘He’s dead?’ Rose asked in shock. ‘Canon Liddell’s dead?’
‘That’s what he said.’ Kate gave her an enquiring look. ‘Did you know him, Mam?”
Rose felt a pang of sorrow. ‘Aye, I did,’ she answered quietly. ‘Worked for him and Mrs Liddell a long time ago. He was a real gentleman, just like your da. They were two of a kind,’ Rose said sadly.
‘Did me da know him an’ all?’ Kate asked eagerly.
Rose nodded.
‘That’s grand!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘A real gentleman, eh?’ Her face was suffused with pride as if she had just discovered some aristocratic blood in her own ancestry.
Afterwards, Rose noticed, Kate held herself with a new dignity and spoke with assurance in a voice that had subdued the rough edges of her speech. Rose was secretly proud of her daughter’s ability to improve herself, despite John’s teasing and Mary’s mimicry.
So it was a blow to Rose’s ambitions when the old lord died in the summer of 1903 and his widow moved out of the castle. With the coming of the new earl and his wife, some of the dowager’s staff had been dismissed, including Kate. As luck would have it, help was needed at the Ravensworth Arms, where Mary was now working, and Kate had been able to stay on in the area, serving as barmaid at the inn. She had stubbornly resisted John’s decrees that she should come home and be of more help to her mother. Rose was finding it harder to manage on her own, but she refused to let Kate be bullied back by her stepfather. She would rather struggle on uncomplaining, knowing that her daughters were happy in their new lives.
It was worth it on the rare days off to see Kate blooming and full of life, her hair loosely gathered on the nape of her neck and swept back from her forehead in the latest style. Last March she had surprised Rose with tickets to the Theatre Royal in Jarrow to see a farce, The Cruise of the Saucy Sally, part of a grand naval and military night. She even persuaded John and Jack to go too.
‘Haway, when’s the last time you had a night out?’ Kate cajoled. Rose thought back to those distant days of early marriage when a more romantic John had treated her to an evening at the Albert Hall.
‘Your mother couldn’t walk that far.’ John was dismissive.
‘Aye, I could,’ Rose said stoutly, not prepared to be denied.
‘I’ll borrow the cart off Mr Burn,’ Jack offered, keen to listen to the military bands. ‘He’ll not mind.’
Between them they managed to win John round to the idea and they had all ridden in style in Harry Burn’s vegetable cart, the kind neighbour driving them himself and picking them up afterwards. Rose’s head had been full of the songs of the show for weeks afterwards and she had delighted in hearing the solemn Jack whistling them while he dug the garden for her.
All was quiet in the house now as Rose waited for her family to gather. John had disappeared to buy a newspaper which probably meant she would not see him until dinner was on the table. But by half-past ten, Sarah had arrived and was bustling around the dark kitchen, shoving the meat into the oven and heaving the chopped vegetables into a large pot to simmer on top of the range.
If Rose could have run, she would have done so when she heard Jack’s whistling and footsteps approaching up the garden path. She hobbled to the door and flung it open. Kate and Mary were there, pink-cheeked and chattering, their breath billowing in frozen clouds. Jack was behind them almost hidden by a mound of Christmas parcels.
‘It’s Kate’s fault,’ Mary said, by way of a greeting, ‘she spent every penny of her Christmas wages at the village bazaar. You wouldn’t believe the rubbish she’s got.’
‘Happy Christmas, Mam!’ Kate cried, ambling towards her with her quick limp and nearly knocking her over in an exuberant hug. Rose was sometimes embarrassed by these shows of affection, but today she did not mind.
‘Haway inside, hinnies,’ she said. ‘Sarah’s got the dinner on. Jack, you open that bottle of ginger wine - I’ve been keeping it hid from your father. Take your coats off and let’s have a good look at you!’
She surveyed her daughters in their neat dresses and boots, their hair well groomed. What a picture they looked! But she could not help fussing.
‘Mary, are they feedin’ you enough? I’ve seen better-fed scarecrows.’
‘I’m run off me feet all day long, that’s why,’ Mary complained.
‘They feed us plenty, Mam,’ Kate assured her.
‘Well, you look well enough on it, our Kate,’ Rose remarked. ‘Mind you, you’ve rings around your eyes. Are you gettin’ enough sleep? They don’t keep you up all hours, do they?’
‘I don’t mind the hours, Mam. I like me job,’ Kate smiled.
‘She’s lovesick, that’s what,’ Mary said drily.
Kate blushed. ‘Give over, our Mary!’
Rose eyed her more closely. ‘So that’s it - I could tell there was some’at. Who is he then?’
‘Nobody!’
Sarah joined in. ‘Mr Nobody?’
‘Are you courting?’ Rose asked excitedly.
‘No!’
‘Yes you are,’ Mary contradicted. ‘He’s a gentleman an’ all. Our Kate’s quite turned his head.’
‘A gentleman!’ Rose gasped. ‘What sort of gentleman?’
Kate hid her face in her hands in consternation. ‘He’s just an acquaintance.’
‘Hark at her - he’s just an acquaintance,’ Mary mimicked.
‘He’s friendly, that’s all - it’s in his nature,’ Kate blustered. ‘He’s like that to all the staff.’
‘Just happens to call round on your day off,’ Mary smirked.
‘So you are courtin’?’ Sarah cried.
‘Not properly—’
‘But this lad - he’s special to you?’ Rose asked.
Kate looked at her with shining eyes and Rose knew that it was true without her having to speak. There was an expectation in her flushed expression, a quickening of the voice as she talked about him.
‘He’s not from round here, but business brings him to the castle now and again. He’s travelled - even been to the Continent. Full of learning and stories, Mam.’
‘Blarney, more like,’ Mary snorted. ‘You’re not the first lass he’s taken an interest in, from what I hear. Quite a reputation as a ladies’ man, for all his fine airs and posh clothes, has Mr Pringle-Davies.’
‘That’s just gossip,’ Kate protested. ‘He’s a real gentleman - related to the Liddells themselves.’
‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba!’ Mary laughed.
Kate took a swipe at her sister.
‘The Liddells, eh?’ Rose gasped in astonished delight. ‘What did you say his name was?’
But before Kate could answer, they heard a shout on the path outside. John was back.
‘Quick, get the table set,’ Rose ordered, deciding she could question Kate later. ‘Jack, more coal on the fire.’
Kate said in alarm, ‘Don’t say anything to Father, will you?’
‘I thought there was nowt to tell?’ Mary baited.
‘You say a word and I’ll pull your hair out!’ Kate threatened.
‘She’ll not,’ Rose warned. ‘We’ll not have today spoilt with silly tittle-tattle or give your father the excuse to lose his temper.’
But by the sound of John’s singing, she gauged he was in a good mood. He came banging through the door, clutching two bottles of beer, to find them all bustling round industriously.
‘Now isn’t that a grand sight?’ he crowed. ‘A family making ready for the master! Is me dinner ready, Rose Ann?’
‘We’ve all the presents to open first,’ Kate said, pointing at the pile on the hearth. She loved the present-giving more than anything. The more she gave the more it made up for those barren Christmases after Jack had been born when there had been no treats and no gifts.
‘We’ll eat first.’ John was firm. ‘Jack, pour me a beer, son.’
With a look from Rose, Kate did not argue further. They gathered around the oval table, John in his high-backed fireside chair, the others on an assortment of chairs and stools. Once it was all served up and John was digging into his food, Rose sat down with satisfaction. The table was laden with good things to eat and the smell of roast pork and steaming potatoes filled the warm kitchen. Her family tucked in eagerly, their faces flushed, their chatter light-hearted. She wished she could savour this moment for ever.
After the mince pies and custard, John pushed back his chair and eased his belt.
‘By, that was a good dinner, lass,’ he said with satisfaction, and Rose thought how that was praise indeed from her taciturn husband.
‘Please, Father, let’s open the presents now,’ Kate pleaded. She was almost bursting with the effort not to tear open the parcels at once.
John gave a grunt of agreement. ‘What’ve you got us then?’
Kate scrabbled among the pile. ‘This is for you, Mam. It’s a hat so you don’t have to keep wearing that old bonnet.’
‘You’re not supposed to tell her till she’s opened it,’ Sarah laughed.
‘I like me old bonnet,’ Rose said, looking doubtfully at the brown paper package.
‘Put it on, woman, and let’s have a look at you,’ John said indulgently.
Rose unwrapped the parcel and found a neat, flattish green hat like a stunted boater with a large bow of pale green ribbon tied at the front.
‘It’s not quite the latest fashion - Mrs Fairish in the village wore it a few years,’ Kate explained. ‘But no one round here will know that. I remember you having a green hat when I was a bairn,’ she smiled.
‘You remember that?’ Rose said in amazement. ‘You were a baby.’ A green hat and a green dress that had been her pride and joy when married to William. She had never worn anything as elegant since. Rose put the hat on.
‘Suits you,’ Sarah said.
‘It’ll blow off in the wind,’ John snorted.
‘You can use one of me hatpins,’ Mary offered.
‘It’s bonny,’ Rose said, her voice suddenly wavering. She took it off quickly and busied herself wrapping it up again, in case anyone saw the glint of tears in her eyes. It would not do to get sentimental about the past and all over a silly hat.
‘I’ll find a hatbox for it next time,’ Kate promised.
‘Haway, what else have you brought?’ John asked impatiently.
Kate handed out the other presents, stockings for Sarah, a clothes brush for Mary and a book for Jack.
‘What’s that?’ John asked suspiciously, eyeing the second-hand book.
‘It’s all about the Boer War,’ Kate said, unable to keep the surprise.
Jack read out the title slowly,’ With Roberts to Pretoria by G. A. Henty.’ He looked up at Kate and gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Ta, our Kate. That’s champion.’
‘What use is a book?’ John scoffed. ‘And about that bugger Roberts an’ all.’
‘I thought Lord Roberts was your hero?’ Kate asked in dismay.
John snorted. ‘He might be a good commander,’ he conceded, ‘but he treated us lads like muck - drove us till we dropped. It’s us soldiers should get the glory, not the generals on horseback. It’s easy to shout orders.’
‘You should know,’ Mary murmured, and Rose tried not to smile.
But John’s hearing was not what it used to be and he missed the remark.
Kate heaved her final present from the floor. ‘You’ll not be wanting this then.’
‘What is it?’ John eyed the flat parcel, the largest of them all.
‘It’s a picture of—’
‘Don’t tell me!’ he shouted. ‘Give it here.’
Kate helped him untie the string. Everyone crowded round. It was a painting in a heavy wood frame: a British general on a horse with an African servant holding the reins.
‘By, that’s grand!’ Jack exclaimed in admiration.
‘Who is it?’ Sarah asked.
‘That’s what I said when Kate bought it at the bazaar,’ Mary smirked.
‘Lord Roberts, of course,’ Jack said impatiently.
‘Which one?’ Mary laughed. ‘The soldier or the servant?’
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ John said, flicking a hand at her. He sat back and looked at it. ‘Stand over there and hold it up.’ Jack and Kate did so, Kate holding her breath for some sign of approval.
‘Well, John?’ Rose grew impatient. She could see how much it mattered to Kate. She must have spent a small fortune on it.
John sucked in his cheeks, then nodded. His face broke into a smile. ‘Fancy me having a grand picture like that.’
‘You like it then?’ Kate asked.
‘Aye, it’s a canny picture.’
Kate gushed in relief, ‘It used to hang in the big hall - but the new mistress didn’t like it and gave it to the butler. His missus didn’t like it either - so she gave it to the bazaar. Think of that, it once hung in Ravensworth Castle.’
Rose could see John swelling with pride before her very eyes. Kate had played cleverly to his vanity.
‘Pity there’s not enough room to hang it above the fireplace,’ Mary said cattily. ‘I told Kate that but she wouldn’t listen.’
‘We can move the dresser and hang it over there,’ Rose said quickly, not wanting Kate’s moment spoilt.
‘Dresser be damned!’ John cried. ‘We won’t need to. I nearly forgot.’ He slapped his knee, looking pleased with himself.
‘Forgot what?’ Rose asked.
‘My Christmas present to you,’ John grinned. ‘I heard about it this morning.’
‘Heard what?’ Rose was nonplussed. He had not bought her a present at Christmas for years.
‘Where is it?’ Kate asked in excitement.
‘Down in the town,’ John chuckled. ‘We’ve got the chance of a place - Leam Lane - right next door to The Twenty-Seven. No more tramping up here in the pouring rain for me and the lad. And it’ll be much easier for you to manage, Rose. We’ll hang Lord Roberts over the mantelpiece in Learn Lane. What d’you say?’
There was complete silence. Rose was appalled. But she could not say that she was completely taken by surprise. John had been itching to get them back to the town where he felt more at home. Jack was just an excuse. So was her health.
‘We’re canny here,’ she answered. ‘I can manage.’
‘No you can’t,’ John snapped, displeased with all the long faces around him. ‘I thought you’d be happy at the idea. Close to the shops, no stairs, a tap in the back yard. Better than living like peasants up here.’ He glared round the room. ‘Tell your mother it’s the best thing for her. Unless one of you wants to come home and run this place for her?’ he challenged them.
Rose saw them all look away, one by one. She would not ask it of them and John knew that. She knew that she had no choice. He was right: she struggled to manage as it was. Leam Lane would be far more practical for all of them, especially for John and Jack, working at the docks.
‘Well, it’s all arranged,’ John said brusquely. ‘We’ll move come the New Year.’ He glanced around. ‘Look at your twisty faces - you’d think we were headed for Botany Bay! Jack, open that other bottle and let’s drink to better times - to living in Shields. We’ll hang the old dog Roberts over the fireplace, eh, our Kate?’
Rose caught the look of horror on her daughter’s face. She seemed on the point of tears.
Kate sprang up. ‘Hang it where you bloody well like. I don’t care!’ Then she fled to the door and rushed outside into the dusk, slamming it behind her.
‘Kate? Kate. John shouted after her. He looked at Rose quite baffled. ‘What’s
got into her?’
Rose was surprised too by the girl’s response to the news. It would hardly affect her away in Lamesley. Rose had spared her the need to come back.
‘Sarah, put the kettle on,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll go after her.’
Chapter 47
Rose found Kate at the bottom of the garden, shivering by the fence. The last glimmer of silvery light in the west touched her downcast face. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Rose was puzzled by why she should be so upset; Kate hardly let anything get her down.
‘You shouldn’t worry what he says about Lord Roberts,’ Rose chided. ‘He was pleased with the picture, I could tell.’
Kate shook her head. ‘It wasn’t the picture.’
‘Us moving then?’ Rose questioned. ‘You’re upset at us moving.’
Kate sniffed. ‘Aye.’
Rose sighed. ‘It had to come sometime - I knew we couldn’t stay on here for ever. Your father’s right, I can’t manage and it’ll be easier for Jack—’
‘Jack!’ Kate cried. ‘It’s always what’s best for Jack.’
Rose was taken aback. ‘He’s just turned fourteen - he’s still a young lad - and he still lives at home. You don’t,’ Rose said pointedly. ‘It’s not like you to be jealous of our Jack.’
Kate looked at her with soulful eyes. ‘Oh, Mam, I’m sorry. It’s not our Jack either.’
‘Then what?’ Rose pressed. ‘What’s bothering you, hinny?’
‘It’s Learn Lane - Shields - we don’t belong there. And next to The Twenty-Seven - that terrible place!’
Kate could not begin to explain to her mother how much she was afraid of it. It was part of the nightmare of her childhood, begging on the streets for food. When the doors of the well-off had been shut in her face she had gone down to Tyne Dock and stood outside the dock pubs begging the men for the remains in their bait tins. Grubby bread and treacle wrapped in newspaper, that’s what Leam Lane and The Twenty-Seven meant to her.
‘We’ve managed in worse places,’ Rose said defensively. ‘There’re still decent folk live round there, don’t you forget that. Don’t judge a book by its cover.’
The Jarrow Lass Page 41
