Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

  My phone rang, startling us both, and I pulled away and fumbled it out of my pocket; partly with relief that the spell, whatever it had been, was broken, and partly with exasperation at the loss.

  Crestfallen, I hung up.

  ‘Not going to dinner then?’

  ‘No. It was Lara, Hannah’s poorly – only the sniffles and a headache, but she’s running a temperature and Lara’s put her to bed.’

  ‘Guess you’re on your own then.’

  I frowned at him, my patience running out and my mind whirling with confusion. Then my heart lurched as a smile transformed his gruff, whiskery, taciturn features.

  ‘Sorry, that was rude. What I mean to say is, I’m dining alone as well, will you join me? Only at the Black Bull like,’ he added, ‘but they do a mean curry.’

  I heard myself agree before I was aware I’d decided. I didn’t feel as if I had any choice; not one inch of me wanted to depart from his company.

  8.

  The noise was tremendous, a surreal cacophony that shut out the world and exhausted the senses. Five floors of wheels, gear levers, travellers, carriages, and row upon row upon row of spinning bobbins created a rhythm more urgent and regular than her own heartbeat.

  It took over everything; every movement was made to the percussion of the spinning frames. Those working the cap frames walked to a different beat to those at the ring spinners, who were out of step with the mule spinners, their wooden clogs – no hobnails allowed in here for fear of sparks – reinforcing the beat of the iron machines they tended.

  The only thing out of rhythm was the staccato coughing of the women and children in attendance on these marvellous monsters of modern ingenuity. Throats dried within seconds of walking on to the spinning floor, and lungs breathed in the fine wool fibres flying off the machines like spider silk.

  Even kerchiefs tied around mouths and noses couldn’t keep the stuff out, and most didn’t bother. For some, it filled their bellies, driving away the hunger pains, despite providing no sustenance.

  Martha doubled over with the violence of her coughing fit. She had been drifting, standing with her mouth hanging open like an old clodhopper. Sarah grabbed hold of her and yanked, then pointed to forestall Martha’s swinging hand; a verbal protest had no power in this place.

  Instead, Martha mouthed, ‘thank you’, knowing Sarah would understand. Even the five-year-olds could read lips in this place.

  The carriage of the spinning mule thumped into position at the end of its traverse, gears changed, and it trundled back to reunite with the rack of bobbins. Had Sarah not acted as she had, Martha would have gone with it, screaming at the top of her lungs and unheard.

  Pull yourself together, lass, she scolded herself. No point worrying unduly. What shall be, shall be. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as another coughing fit racked her body. She clutched a protective hand to her belly, just in case, and her mind wandered back to her growing concern.

  With her mam so poorly, and Harry’s passed, there was no one at home to look after a bairn; all her sisters and Harry’s were on this mill floor. She’d have to stop working and stay at home and they’d never manage without her few shillings a week.

  Harry seemed not to be bothered, but Martha couldn’t believe Mr Barraclough would up his wages by that much, even if he was a married man now. She’d have to see about doing some weaving, Old Dan Walker was struggling to grasp the shuttles now his fingers were so crooked. Maybe she could do the weaving and him take a cut for the use of his loom? The money wouldn’t be as regular, but better than nowt.

  Dan worked in the weaver’s gallery over the row of cottages she lived in with Harry and his family. She could easily keep the bairn in a basket by her stool. No one would hear it cry over the noise of the looms, and the rhythmic whooshing of the shuttles soothed bairns. It would be perfect.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sarah’s voice penetrated the ringing in Martha’s ears, and she startled back into the present. The machines weren’t moving.

  She’d never known the machines to still in the middle of a shift.

  Martha met Sarah’s eyes, wide with fright. Martha knew her own betrayed a similar emotion.

  Bartholomew Grange, the overlooker, stood by the door, silent and unmoving. More confused now than scared, the women and children gathered together to hear the news. Whatever had happened was serious to bring the mill to a halt.

  Baalzephon Rook, his son Zemeraim, and even the youngest, Jehdeiah – rarely seen on the mill floor – entered amidst the sound of shuffling feet and constant coughing. Now the overpowering noise had stopped, Martha noticed the smell for the first time: lanolin and grease; a sickly combination.

  Suddenly she missed the unholy racket that had been the overwhelming signature of her days for as long as she could remember.

  ‘Silence,’ Grange roared, slapping his dreaded alley-strap, the one he liked to call ‘The Dasher’, against the door frame. It made a completely different sound against wood than skin, Martha mused. Even she could hear that.

  The mass of shuffling wooden-soled clogs against wooden floorboards stilled, but not even the threat of the overlooker’s leather paddle could silence the coughing.

  The Rooks, at least, understood that, despite Grange’s scowl.

  Baalzephon Rook stepped forward and cleared his throat against the fine wool fibres still dancing in the air. ‘The king is dead,’ he announced. ‘His niece, Victoria, has taken the throne.’ He just managed to utter the final word before a coughing fit overtook him.

  ‘Long live the queen,’ Zemeraim finished his father’s speech.

  Martha and the other spinners, piecers and mule rats stared at him in silence. A girl of eighteen their queen? No king? How could a young lass be their queen?

  9.

  ‘She’s recovered quickly.’ I indicated Hannah, who was chasing rabbits across the heather, squealing in delight as their white tails flashed.

  ‘Resilience of youth,’ Lara said.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Was she even ill or was it just an excuse so you could play Cupid?’

  ‘Verity! How could you suggest such a thing? You really think I’d lie about my child being ill?’

  I said nothing, but stared pointedly at Hannah, who was standing, hands on hips, searching for her next four-legged victim in her game of hoppity tag.

  Lara sighed. ‘It turns out I may have been a little over-cautious,’ she allowed. ‘But you can’t be too careful – especially with kids. You just don’t know what will be a temporary sniffle and what will knock them on their backs for a fortnight.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness she’s okay,’ I said, and Lara grinned at me.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me? What happened last night?’

  I shot another glance at Hannah to make sure she was out of earshot, then returned Lara’s grin.

  ‘It was ... interesting.’

  ‘Interesting? In a Chinese curse kind of way or an, I met the man of my dreams kind of way?’

  I laughed. ‘I’m not sure – could be either, or both, I suppose.’

  Lara grimaced, then brightened again. ‘Come on, stop stalling, spill.’

  ‘Well, after you interrupted our first kiss—’

  ‘What? How did I interrupt anything?’

  ‘When you rang to cancel dinner.’

  ‘But that was early on! Are you telling me you were already snogging?’

  ‘No. Well, not quite, but I think he was about to kiss me.’

  ‘Fast mover,’ Lara remarked. ‘Or was something else going on?’

  I quirked one corner of my mouth. ‘Something else. All the hair on his arm was standing on end, and it was like we were being pulled together; caught in an energy tow or something.’

  ‘An energy tow?’

  ‘Yes, electricity was literally shooting through me and I couldn’t step away from him. Even if I’d wanted to.’

  ‘The arrows of love,’ Lara whispered. ‘So then wha
t happened?’

  ‘You rang and broke the spell.’ I laughed. ‘Then we finished the tour and talked about the pictures – he has some really good ideas, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, get on with the juicy bits.’

  I gave a snort of laughter, then pulled my expression into one of seriousness. ‘And then we went out for dinner.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Lara said. ‘Things aren’t as serious as I thought. There’s life in you yet!’

  I gave her a playful shove, then grinned at her.

  ‘And it looks like you lived very well,’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘We just couldn’t stop talking. Once the shock of seeing him wore off, it was like we’d known each other for years. Although I can’t remember what we were talking about now!’

  ‘Hmm. Both of you did look shocked when we walked into that gallery.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s weird, he’s not quite the guy I’ve been dreaming about. He’s older for a start.’

  Lara shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean very much, it could still be the same man.’

  ‘No, there’s something in his face – the jawline. It’s subtle, but it’s not the same.’

  ‘Did you dream about him last night?’

  ‘No, not really. He took me to the mill and left me there. It was frustrating actually – I couldn’t get a proper look at him.’

  ‘Mum, Auntie Verity, the waterfall’s just up here.’ Hannah grabbed the hands of both Lara and myself, and tugged us up the path to the Brontë Falls. I glanced to the side where the path fell away into a steep valley, and felt a touch of vertigo, but Hannah pulling my hand kept me steady and we allowed her to drag us along.

  Sunshine had greeted us this morning and we’d come up Penistone Hill to make the most of a perfect winter’s day. Blue skies contrasted with the grim brown moor, and pockets of frost lingered in the hollows. The wind was biting, but luckily not too strong, and was no match for the layers of cotton, fleece and Gore-Tex we all wore. Although Lara and Hannah – and no doubt myself – sported red noses; their eyes were bright and skin glowed with health and fresh air.

  I reflected that this was the very land that the Brontës had loved so much and thought I could understand how it inspired such wild and dramatic novels in the young girls.

  From where we stood, the moors stretched for miles over rolling hills, bare but for the hardy heather and the odd weather-battered tree or farm standing sentinel and providing the only shelter for the creatures that made their home here. I spotted a couple of farmhouses – in ruins now – and I wondered which one was Top Withens – the farm Emily had supposedly used for Wuthering Heights. Probably neither – that one would be further ‘oop dale’, I thought, coining the Yorkshire expression as I stared at the horizon: a dark, unbroken, unwavering line of hills against the blue.

  ‘Just how much further is it, Hans?’ Lara asked.

  ‘Not far, just up past this big stone. Look, there they are!’

  I stared at the small stream tumbling over little rocks and shrugged at Lara as she mouthed, waterfall?

  The falls we had trekked to see were little more than a stream cascading through a cleft in the moor. Pretty and quite dramatic after the recent snows, the waterfall was not as large as I’d expected.

  Lara perched herself on a nearby rock.

  ‘Your throne, madam?’ I asked.

  ‘Just keeping an eye on things,’ she said, watching her daughter, and swinging her feet to tap against the stone.

  ‘Have you forgiven me yet for making you wear walking boots?’

  Lara lifted her legs to regard her feet and frowned. ‘I suppose I’d better get used to clodhoppers now you’ve moved to the country.’

  I laughed then sobered as I thought about one of my early dreams – the bog burst – and remembered it had probably happened near here. I decided not to remind Lara about it.

  ‘You didn’t tell me how the evening ended,’ Lara said. ‘Did you ... ?’ She left the question hanging.

  I kept her in suspense a moment then shook my head. ‘It was a close run thing, though.’ I laughed, remembering my parting from William. We had stood, still talking, outside the Black Bull for an hour, neither of us wanting to separate, neither quite daring to take the next step so soon.

  I was sure the bereft expression of regret on his face as I finally broke away from his arms, had been echoed on my own face.

  ‘When are you seeing him again? Tonight?’

  I shook my head, although the temptation had been almost unbearable. ‘Tonight is for my girls.’ I smiled. ‘Jayne’s back this evening, and I thought we could all try out the ghost tour.’

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, he did let slip he’d be in the Black Bull, but we really should make the most of New Year’s Eve, don’t you think? There’s a torch-lit procession planned – all in Victorian fancy dress, it should be very atmospheric, and a bit different.’

  Lara grinned. ‘A torch-lit walk to the Black Bull it is then. I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Everything’s just so ... odd. And sudden. I don’t know what to make of it all. The dreams, the orbs and birds at the house, the ghost. And now him. One minute I’m overjoyed, the next I’m terrified.’

  ‘To be fair, that’s normal for anybody falling for someone new.’

  ‘Who said anything about falling for him?’

  By way of reply, Lara arched her eyebrows.

  ‘Well, okay, maybe I did give that impression, a bit,’ I admitted.

  ‘Aren’t you falling for him?’

  I looked at her, helpless, unable to deny it yet afraid to confirm it.

  She jumped down from her stone throne and hugged me. ‘It’ll be okay, Verity. Just take your time, don’t do anything before you’re ready, be careful of your heart, but above all, enjoy it! The last year has been hell, you deserve a bit of fun, you deserve smiles and laughter; you deserve to love and be loved.’

  ‘But what about all the weird stuff?’

  ‘Well, if he’s connected to the man you’ve been dreaming about, which he must be, somehow, then he’s likely to be connected to the answers too. But I think you need to decide now – do you want to understand what it’s all about?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If I don’t, it’ll drive me mad, and someone’s likely to get hurt too.’

  ‘Then we spend New Year’s Eve, or at least part of it, at the Black Bull,’ Lara said. ‘And we travel this road wherever it takes us.’

  ‘Jayne may not like that idea – what if it makes everything worse?’

  Lara met my eyes, then said, ‘That’s a risk we have to take, Verity.’

  ‘A risk I have to take, you mean.’

  ‘No, I meant what I said. Jayne and I are in this with you, wherever it takes us.’

  10.

  ‘Aunt Jayne,’ Hannah cried, waving madly before dashing to hug Jayne.

  I smiled as Jayne’s face lit up in an expression of pleasure I’d seen nobody but Hannah evince in her since her own son and daughter had left home. Hannah had been the one who had convinced her to join us this evening.

  Escaping Hannah’s clutches, Jayne greeted Lara and me, waiting patiently on the church steps.

  ‘Auntie Verity’s got a boyfriend,’ Hannah announced before we’d barely had chance to say hello. ‘He’s going to paint my picture. And Mum wore walking boots without heels. All day!’

  ‘Are you serious? I’ve been gone less than a week!’

  ‘We’ve got a lot to tell you,’ Lara said, then approached the gentleman dressed in top hat and tails to collect a couple of lanterns he was handing out.

  Jayne squeezed my arm and looked at me. ‘Verity?’

  ‘Not now,’ I said, nodding at the top-hatted man. ‘The tour’s about to start, we don’t have time – I’ll fill you in later. I could do with your advice.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jayne drawled. ‘Are you all right?’


  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ Top Hat said, forestalling all conversation for the moment. ‘The ghosts of Haworth welcome you and invite you into their world.’

  ‘Had enough of that already,’ I hissed to Lara.

  The man glared at me, then bade the small group across Main Street to Gauger’s Croft.

  I leaned against the stone wall of the narrow, covered passageway and relaxed as I listened to the man weave his story of inns and slums, horses and carriageways, ladies in full skirts dropping small curtseys in response to the lifted top hats of gentlemen’s greetings.

  I peered out at Main Street; it seemed to have grown darker, much darker, and I blinked when I realised the modern-day streetlamps – fashioned to resemble olde worlde gaslights – had disappeared. In their stead were the broad, dancing naked flames of pitch torches.

  I gasped and clamped my hand over my mouth as I emerged on to Main Street to investigate further. The place stank. The underlying smell of burning pitch and coal fires added a singed accent to the overpowering stench of raw sewage and rot.

  I lifted my foot to investigate what I had stood in, and realised the entire street was filth. The cobbles were gone and muck flowed down the steep hill.

  I jumped backwards to avoid the two gentlemen about to walk into me, and shouted after them, but they did not acknowledge my presence.

  Turning to Lara, my mouth dropped open. She was gone, as were Jayne, Hannah and the rest of the ghost tour group. They hadn’t passed me, so they must have moved deeper into Gauger’s Croft. I hurried after them and was again halted by the overpowering stench of sewage.

  Horses were crammed together so tightly the air could barely circulate around them, and I did not want to think about the constituents of the stinking piles the dim torchlight revealed.

  Midden heaps, I thought. Those are midden heaps.

  Fear solidified into a twisted ball in my stomach and I stepped back into the passageway then whirled around at the crack of a whip and a shout behind me.