Without a Mother's Love

by Catherine King

  She could not find the words to explain to Toby and had hoped he would understand. He had not questioned her and she had recovered, without an apothecary, to resume her wifely duties. However, she was unable to respond to those duties in the way that he wished, and it was then that she had begun to resent his demands on her body.

  She did not have such an excuse today, only that she did not want him. She wished she did. He was a good man and she felt that she should be able to love him as a wife. He had been so kind and gentle with her, but she could not forget the trauma of that last night at Hill Top House. Toby wanted her so desperately to love him and she couldn’t. She feared he was losing patience with her.

  ‘I - I - sometimes I—’ She stopped. She wanted to tell him that she simply did not want him to touch her, but knew she could not. He would be hurt and angry, and rightly so. She tried to think of something to say.

  When he spoke again, his voice was a little louder. ‘Do you think you might be with child, my dear?’

  She was startled. ‘No.’

  She was not even sure, now, that she still wished for a child. She had realized months ago that she had not fully considered the consequences when she had agreed to marry him. Certainly not the possibility of becoming with child. Surely it could not happen so soon. But her knowledge in these matters was sketchy. She dropped her gaze to her grubby fingers, entwined and hovering above her lap, and realized that it was always a possibility.

  But she had long known that men did not regard the act as necessary only for begetting children. The urge was much stronger in men than in women. They did it for pleasure. Miss Trent had told she would eventually enjoy her unions with her husband, but she did not.

  She was glad that her hands were not clean, for otherwise she would have placed them on her skirt over her belly as she contemplated the possible consequences of Toby’s regular demands. Her body’s responses were not a reliable indicator in this matter, but she believed she had answered him honestly.

  Toby’s voice softened.‘You have never spoken of your traumas before you came here, and I have never pressed you. But when you turn away from me I wonder that you have been ill-treated in the past. My attentions distress you. Do they remind you of those times?’

  She would have to say something. She knew him well now and he would persist until she answered him. She kept her eyes on her hands. ‘No. Quite the opposite.You are thoughtful and - and loving. It’s - it’s - I am not used to such frequent attentions. You tire me.’

  ‘Tire you?’

  ‘You have such energy. All the time.’

  ‘I am pleased you think so. I hope I am not yet an old man.’ There was lightness in his voice as, she guessed, he tried to cheer her. He was not condemning her as another man might have. She fretted again that she did not love him.

  ‘No,’ she agreed. She was being unfair to him. She was his wife and his demands were not excessive. But it was becoming more and more difficult for her to be a willing partner.

  ‘Perhaps you are working too hard in the house. This is a large old building for you to keep clean without a girl for the rough work. Shall I find one from the village to help you?’

  Livvy shook her head emphatically. Work was her salvation. It saw her through the day and gave her a purpose. She wanted more to do, not less. ‘No. Thank you, dearest, you are very kind but I can manage. I like to do it myself. Besides, the miners’ children work with their families down the pit as soon as they are able, and I would rather you did not spend your money here when you can use it to better effect in the mission. In fact, now there are only two of us, I have more time to help you in this work.’

  ‘Really? You do not think it will fatigue you even more?’ His tone was ironic now, challenging, even.

  Oh, Lord! She had said too much, protested too strongly. He would know that she was not being truthful about her tiredness. She deserved the sarcasm for lying to him and dared not look at his face. ‘I am sorry,’ she replied.

  After a short silence, he murmured, ‘Maybe I do ask too much of you.’ His voice had softened again and she knew she was forgiven.

  ‘I really should like to do more for the mission,’ she ventured. ‘Anna used to visit the injured and sick in the village.’

  ‘You would be willing to go into their cottages?’

  ‘If they will have me.’

  ‘Of course they will.You are my wife.’

  She thought that she would rather they invited her because of how much she helped them than because of her position. She said, ‘I believe some may be missing Anna’s care now she has left us.’

  ‘I shall speak with Mr Wilton.’

  ‘He is in mourning for his wife.’

  ‘Yes, but he is our strongest supporter and knows the people well.’ He paused, then added, ‘I was thinking, though, that I might stay longer with Anna when I next visit her.’

  Livvy smiled. He was going away for a while. ‘That will be pleasant for you both.’

  ‘And take you with me. A change of air, of routine, might help you.’

  She didn’t want to go. ‘There is nothing wrong with me! Besides, you said she has an asylum teacher living with her, and their cottage is tiny. Surely the two of us would crowd them. And it is too far to take the trap. Think of the expense of the carrier! I’d rather stay here as I am and work in the mission.’

  ‘Perhaps you would welcome some time apart from me?’

  He was such a perceptive man. ‘I should like to stay and work in the mission,’ she repeated. She heard him sigh. Toby watched her with a frank expression on his face. His desire for her had not diminished, but he had been wrong to believe he could make her love him. She would rather do anything else than lie with him. He could not, would not, force her, though there were times when he was sorely tempted. He was, however, prepared to do anything to make their marriage a happy one for both of them. It was he who had to be away from her. He could not share a bed with her and not want her as his wife. He hoped she would miss him and behave differently towards him when he returned.

  ‘Mission work is arduous.You will become old before your time,’ he said.

  ‘I am well grown and strong.’

  He could certainly agree with that.‘I shall speak to Mr Wilton tonight. His daughter is with him and they will look after you while I am gone.’

  She dared not look at him and show her joy. ‘Anna will be so pleased to see you,’ she said.

  ‘There is one more thing.’

  Livvy waited patiently for him to continue.

  ‘My investments have fallen in value and I can no longer afford the lease on this house. I shall be travelling to Lincolnshire to see what can be done but until I have more funds you will not be able to live here.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Wilton will welcome a lodger?’

  ‘Could you live in a miner’s cottage after this house?’

  Livvy thought she could live anywhere as long as it was apart from Toby. ‘If Mr Wilton and his daughter would have me.’

  ‘I shall ask him.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do wi’out me missus. Our Sarah has to get back to her school.’

  ‘I’ll look after you, Mr Wilton. I should be pleased to, now I’m lodging with you.’

  Livvy had settled easily into her new home and set about the scrubbing and polishing that had been neglected during Mrs Wilton’s illness. The cottage was only a quarter the size of the farmhouse and a tenth that of Hill Top. She had energy to spare and laboured in the long back garden as well. Physical exercise had always been her salvation, from walking on the moor to beating carpets and scrubbing floors. It cleared her head and gave her strength, rather than sapping it. She prided herself on doing everything well, even the most menial tasks.

  ‘Ee, Mrs Holmes,’ Mr Wilton replied, ‘I don’t mean the jobs around the ’ouse. I mean down the pit. Mrs Wilton used to do all me hurrying afore she were tekken poorly.’

  ‘I’m staying a few more days, Father,�
�� Sarah said, as she poured the tea.

  ‘I’ll not have you back down the pit now you’re a teacher.’

  Livvy had mixed scones, then scrubbed the kitchen table while they baked. They were sitting around the still damp wooden surface waiting for them to cool.

  ‘What’s “hurrying”, Mr Wilton?’

  ‘Carting the coal when it’s dug out,’ Sarah answered. ‘I used to help me mam until I went away to learn about teaching.’

  ‘Don’t you have any other children?’

  ‘Aye. Two full-grown lads. Gone away from here, though.’

  ‘Mam and dad wanted better for all of us than the pit or service,’ Sarah explained. ‘The mission helped. They got me the place as a pupil teacher in a proper school up in Northumberland.’

  ‘Her mam, God rest her soul, were proud of our Sarah. So am I, lass. Me and yer mam managed quite well on what we could earn from the pit between us, wi’out having to rely on the children, an’ all.’

  ‘Where are you sons now?’

  ‘My lads? Oh, I do miss my lads. I’m afraid your good Mr Holmes was part to blame for them leaving the village. They worked down t’ pit wi’ us until we had a travelling preacher from America. He fired their ideas, he did. And Mr Holmes told them of his times out there, too.’

  ‘They are in America?’

  ‘Aye. Me and Mrs Wilton told them not to worry about us. They must go if they wanted to, and they did. We have letters telling us how well they’re getting on and our Sarah writes back to them. We’re right proud of all of them, Mrs Holmes, that we are.’

  Mr Wilton reached for a warm scone and Sarah poured the tea. ‘I on’y need a few days a week down the pit to pay me rent,’ he went on, ‘but I need somebody to hurry fer me now.’

  ‘I’ll send you money for rent, Dad,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Nay, lass.You don’t get that much yersen and I’d rather you saved it fer coming ’ome once in a while.’

  Sarah gave Livvy a despairing look. Livvy sympathized, but Mr Wilton was right. She thought about it for a moment and realized there was nothing to stop her going down the pit. If Mrs Wilton could do the work, she was sure she could. And she wanted to. She wanted to prove to herself that she was as able as the villagers, that she truly belonged to this community, labouring alongside them as an equal.

  ‘I’ll do it for you, Mr Wilton,’ Livvy said.

  ‘You? Hurry for me dad?’ Sarah asked, surprised.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You? Go down t’pit?’ Mr Wilton echoed. ‘Don’t be daft, lass.You ’as to be born into pit work.’

  ‘You mean they won’t let me?’

  ‘Well, folk round here like to keep it in t’ family, like.’

  ‘Were Mrs Wilton’s people all miners, then?’

  ‘Now, there you got me. Farm labourers, they were. But she married into a pit family, you see.’

  ‘Well, I’ve settled in the village. I belong here now, and I promised Mr Holmes I would do whatever was needed while he was away. I do so want him to be proud of me.’

  ‘It’s hard work, lass.’

  ‘I shovel coal, dig the garden and scrub floors every day. If you need a hurrier, then at least let me try.’

  ‘Well, if you put it like that . . . I don’t know what the overseer’ll say, though.’

  ‘Will he question your choice in this, Mr Wilton?’

  He shook his head. ‘If I say you’ll do, you’ll do.’

  ‘Then that’s settled, isn’t it?’

  Father and daughter looked at each other. ‘I don’t see why not, Dad,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll lend her Mam’s thick trousers with the hide stitched on the knees.’ She turned to Livvy. ‘Leave off your corsets. You’ll only want a thin old chemise under me mam’s thick tunic ’cos it gets hot down there in the stalls. Some of the men work in nothing except what they were born with. Don’t look so surprised, Mrs Holmes. It’s dark down there. Anyway, Mr Wilton’ll keep his underdrawers on, won’t you, Dad?’

  Mr Wilton managed a chuckle, which turned into a cough. ‘You’ll be safe enough wi’ me, lass. My, I’ll be right pleased to get down there again. I like mining coal. It’s in me blood.’

  ‘I’m catching the evening carrier tomorrow to get the overnight stage from Doncaster,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll leave a pot of stew on the fire. It’ll keep you both going for a few days.’

  Livvy felt a strange excitement as she prepared for the following day and looked forward to her toil.

  ‘Who’s she?’ The overseer was a gruff bear of a man who kept a tally of the tubs of coal and supervised the steam engine that lowered them down the shaft. He carried a lantern that flickered as he held it aloft.

  ‘She’s hurrying fer me. Joseph’s lad’ll do the trap-doors fer us.’

  ‘Tha’d best all go down together, then.’

  They had walked two miles to the new mine shaft and it was not yet light enough for Mr Wilton to see the fear on Livvy’s face. She had thought only of toiling in the dark and the dirt, not the journey down the shaft on a shuddering wooden platform.

  ‘Hold firm to the rail, lass, and get one leg over t’ gap. Don’t want yer slipping down the side, do we? Gi’ us th’ snap tin and I’ll put it wi’ me pick and shovel.’

  In spite of her thick clothing, Livvy was cold without her shawl. Nervously, she climbed onto the unsteady platform and clung with more than a little desperation to the wooden rail.

  Mr Wilton handed her his snap tin and a can of cold tea, which she clutched with her free arm. ‘Lean inwards and tha’ll not tip thissen out. And keep th’ arms and legs away from t’ shaft wall as we go down.’ Nimbly he climbed in next to her and was followed by a dozen other men, women and children until the trembling platform was crammed.

  Their descent was alarmingly fast, only slowing as they reached the bottom of the shaft.They landed with a jolt and clambered out into the cold blackness. Livvy shivered and drew in her breath.

  ‘Tha’ll soon warm up, lass. Foller the lantern. I’ll light me candle when we get to me stall. Keep th’ ’ead down.’

  The coal seam ran along the low tunnel through the rock. Low stalls were dug sideways into the wall of coal, each closed off by a small wooden door. When they reached their stall, Mr Wilton lit his candle and got down on his hands and knees.

  ‘Crawl in after me, lass. As soon as me tub’s full, put t’ harness on and drag it down t’ tunnel to t’ shaft. Bring back an empty ’un fo’ me. Joe’s lad’ll open t’ stall doors for thee.’

  He set about the wall of black rock with his pick until there was enough loose coal to shovel into the tub. Livvy’s eyes were better used to the dim light by now and she hoisted on the leather harness connected by chains to the tub.

  ‘I made this for me missus.’ He lit a candle stub in a holder fixed to a leather strap. ‘Tie this round yer ’ead so yer can see where yer goin’.’

  At first she could not budge the tub, but once Mr Wilton had pushed it out of his stall and into the tunnel the going was easier. A woman came out of the next stall and dragged in a stooped, half-standing position. But Livvy found she needed to be on her hands and knees to keep the tub rolling.

  ‘This yer first day down ’ere?’ the woman in front asked, when they reached the shaft.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Here. Have a lend o’ me gloves and, if yer can, rub yer hands and knees with raw spirit of a night time to build ’em up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Aye, well, can yer come out inter t’tunnel when yer stops fer yer snap? Talk to me little lad fer a minute or two. He’s new down t’pit and he’ll fret on ’is own till he gets used ter being in t’dark.’

  Livvy agreed. She made a point of saying something to him every time she passed. If her job was arduous, his, poor mite, was lonely and boring, sitting in the blackness without a candle and waiting for the rap on the door to tell him when to open it.

  At snap time, Livvy ate her bread and cheese with blackened fingers and cru
nched on the coal dust that came with it. ‘It’s good fer yer, lass,’ Mr Wilton said seriously. ‘It helps the digestive, they say. Swill it down with some cold tea from yer can. How yer doing wi’ the hurrying?’

  She ached in places she hadn’t known existed in her body, but managed to return Mr Wilton’s smile in the candlelight. ‘Well. What about you?’

  ‘I’m used to it. And this coal’s easy to dig out. Good stuff an’ all. Best thing that happened to our village was sinking this new shaft. It’s worth the extra walk ter get ’ere.’

  Livvy sat back against the rough rocky wall. Uncle Hesley had married her to his grandson to pay for this. Perhaps he wasn’t such a bad man, after all. His grandson was, though. He had wasted the rest of her inheritance on drinking, gambling and his dubious friends. At least there was no chance of him ever visiting the pit. And she would earn a few shillings for her work that she could put to good use in the mission.

  She smiled at the irony of her situation: she would rather be down here in the dirt and the dark than living in that house at Hill Top with those degenerate so-called gentlemen who had sought to control her life.

  She wondered if they were still looking for her. She didn’t think so. She would wager that neither was interested in having her back or even in avoiding scandal. The Mextons were expected to behave scandalously. Well, she hadn’t let them down in that respect, she thought triumphantly. Except that she was a woman, and women were not expected to cause scandals. It was a pity they didn’t know what she had done. She would have liked to see the fury on Hesley’s face.

  She tired significantly by the end of the day and her trails to the shaft became slower so that the time to fill the tub between journeys was shorter. But she kept going and heeded her neighbour’s advice on hauling. Her legs and back were screaming when she heard a thump and a yell from Mr Wilton.