The Miner’s Girl

by Maggie Hope

  Merry ran down the field after leaving Tom, hoping against hope that Ben had come back. When she reached the village she closed her eyes for a minute.

  ‘Please God,’ she prayed. ‘Please God, let Ben be here. I don’t care where he’s been so long as he’s safe home now.’

  He was not. The whole place was hushed and silent. Even the goat wasn’t bleating but laid on the ground with its legs tucked beneath it as it dozed in the early dusk.

  Merry went inside and lit the fire and put the kettle on to boil. She took out the ashes and spread them on the old slag heap, then milked the goat which bleated sleepily in protest. Her milk was diminishing – she should have been taken to the billy before now, she thought. Ben had been going to do that. Oh Ben, what am I going to do? She laid her head against the animal’s side and wept. After a while she dried her eyes and carried the milk into the house. She had not thought to buy in groceries so there was nothing much to eat apart from a heel of stale bread. She warmed milk and added a spoonful of sugar to the bread, pouring the milk over it to make broily.

  When it was ready she forced herself to eat quickly, standing up. Then she went out again looking for anything that might give her some idea of where her brother was. The shadows were long across the grass as she climbed the stile into the field. This time she turned left along the old pack-donkey trail. She had the lantern with her so was not too worried about the approaching dark. As she went through the gap into the next field, she saw Mr Parkin herding cows back to the byre, ready for the evening milking. Curious as always the cows paused in their slow walking and turned to look at her. One or two came up to her and gazed straight into her face, their tails swishing from side to side. Merry waved her arms and they moved back warily.

  ‘Did you find your brother then?’ called Mr Parkin and ‘U-urp u-urp!’ at the cows as they headed off again up the field.

  ‘No, Mr Parkin, I didn’t,’ Merry answered as he came up to her.

  ‘Now where the heck has the lad got to?’ the farmer asked, almost to himself. ‘I’m sure it’s not like him.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Parkin,’ said Merry. ‘I went to the police station in Auckland but they said it was too soon to say he’d gone missing. Anyway, they said, he might have run away to sea, he’s old enough.’

  ‘Tripe and onions!’ Mr Parkin said. ‘He’s never run away to sea. The lad wanted to be a farmer.’ He was walking away as he spoke, for the cows had reached the top end of the field and were waiting to be let through the gate. ‘I’ll keep an eye out,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry too much, lass. I’m sure the lad’ll be all right.’

  Merry nodded and went on down the lonnen where generations of pack donkeys had carried coal along towards the coast before the days of the steam engine. It was almost dark now and she turned right with some idea of climbing the hill from where she might see something, anything that showed Ben had been this way. There was nothing. Oh, a few hoof marks where a horse had been ridden along, perhaps taking a shortcut across country to one of the villages dotted about the Durham plain.

  By the time Merry reached the top it was too dark to see anything; she wasn’t thinking straight, she told herself. She stopped beside the old stone-built ventilation shaft and leaned against it to get her breath. Away in front of her she could see the glow of a pithead, she wasn’t sure which – Shildon or Winton perhaps. The sky was clear but for the dark plumes of smoke rising through the glow.

  Merry had brought a lucifer to light the lantern and she struck it against the stone now and did so. It cast a circle of light around her, showing the bramble bushes where she had so often picked fruit to make jam. Or sometimes Gran had made a suet crust, rolled out and filled with blackberries and sugar and rolled up in a pudding clout to boil. And it had tasted wonderful with a little goat’s milk poured over the top. The purple juice would stain the white milk in little eddies and Ben had loved it. She must pick some late berries and make Ben a suet pudding – Ben. Merry realised her mind was letting go of reality, she was so tired. She must go home to bed, she had to work tomorrow. She set off, and stumbled almost immediately on something, stubbing her toe. Bringing the lantern light to bear on it she saw it was the ladder, the iron ladder that had once run up the side of the ventilation shaft. She looked quickly at the shaft. Had it just happened? Had Ben been climbing the shaft when he should have been digging over the vegetable garden for the winter? Had he fallen in?

  Merry leaned against the shaft and shouted. ‘Ben? Ben? Are you in there? Ben?’ But there was no sound from the shaft, no human sound at least though there were rustlings and the distant sound of water slapping against stone. She stood the lantern on the ground and tugged and pulled at the rusty iron ladder until somehow she had it propped up against the stone shaft.

  It did not reach to the top. From the top a piece of jagged iron jutted out, barely discernible against the dark of the trees and the sky above. Still, if only she could get nearer the top perhaps she could get a grip on the top stones, she thought. The bottom of the ladder dug into the soft earth at the base, so it should be safe enough. Merry put a foot on the bottom rung and stepped up; the ladder stood without wobbling as she climbed higher.

  When she reached the second from last rung she was still about a yard from the top of the shaft. Merry clung with the fingertips of one hand to a stone that stuck out from the rest and with the other hand she clung to the ladder. Leaning her forehead against the stone she called again.

  ‘Ben, Ben, answer me, Ben, please!’

  An owl flew by suddenly, swooping low by her head and hooting as it snatched up something from the grass beneath a bramble bush. It startled her and for a moment she panicked as she felt her balance go, the ladder moving. Then she steadied herself and the ladder held. She looked up and for a moment crazily contemplated climbing the stones, but common sense prevailed. Much better to ask for help in Winton Colliery or Eden Hope.

  Gingerly she climbed down and jumped out of the way as the ladder fell to one side once her weight was removed. She had kicked over the lantern as she jumped but luckily the light hadn’t gone out. Merry picked it up and set off back to Old Pit. She was tired to the point of exhaustion and had to get some sleep.

  As she walked home Merry felt the blackness of despair. If Ben was inside the shaft he could be dead. Or he could be injured and unable to cry out. ‘Or he could not be in the shaft at all,’ she said aloud. What was the good of looking on the black side all the time? Pull yourself together, girl. She could almost hear Gran berating her for her attitude. She had to make proper plans, especially if Ben was somewhere in danger. She had to find him and she had to get other people to help her. The folk in Winton Colliery would help her; she knew they would. Tomorrow morning she would go there again and this time she would not be too timid to ask for help. This time she would knock on doors, get off-shift miners to help her. She would do it.

  How she was going to manage without going in to work at the hospital she didn’t know. But she would manage. By hook or by crook. The most important thing was to find Ben.

  Merry got back to Old Pit, undressed and sluiced herself under the pump outside by the light of a half moon that shone fitfully down. She had never washed there since she was a little child and that was in the hot weather. But the cold water on her skin felt good and afterwards she towelled herself dry and went straight to bed. Her skin tingled and she was warm beneath the bedclothes. Anxious thoughts still filled her mind but nature took over and she slept the night through.

  Ten

  ‘I’m afraid we’re short staffed today, Doctor Gallagher. The auxiliary has not turned up for duty. I’m beginning to think that Nurse Trent will have to go; we cannot have anyone who is unreliable.’

  Tom looked up from scanning the patients’ notes at Sister Harrison’s stern expression. He had come early to do the rounds because he was bothered about Merry Trent and her brother. He wanted to know if the boy had come home, something he was naturally
concerned about.

  ‘She probably has a good reason for not turning up for work, Sister,’ he said. ‘Her young brother has gone missing—’

  ‘Nothing should come before a nurse’s duty,’ said Sister. ‘This will be a black mark on her record when the time comes for her to apply for training. She may not be accepted by the Board. After all, the Board will have to bear most of the costs of her training and if she is unreliable it may be a waste of the ratepayers’ money.’

  ‘Come on, Sister, have a heart,’ said Tom. ‘Her brother is her only relative now that her grandmother has gone. Besides, she must have years to go yet before she is old enough to do any formal training.’

  Sister Harrison was affronted at the suggestion that she was being heartless. ‘That may be so but my first concern is my patients, Doctor,’ she said. ‘Now the cleaning has not been finished and half the beds remain unmade. When Doctors’ rounds begin everything has to be ready for the patients’ comfort.’

  By this Tom was to understand that he too had offended against hospital routine by turning up early for the ward round.

  ‘Do you wish me to go and come back later, Sister?’

  Sister Harrison’s starched cap quivered and rustled against her starched collar. ‘Oh no, certainly not, Doctor. It is entirely up to you when you wish to see patients.’

  ‘Righto, then, let’s get on with it,’ said Tom, rising to his feet. He picked up the notes and handed them to the sister. ‘The sooner I start the sooner I will get out of your way.’

  It was half-past ten before Tom left the hospital. He set off along Cockton Hill, unsure what to do. He didn’t have a surgery this evening as it was Saturday and so for the rest of the day he was free – Dr Macready, whose practice was at Eden Hope, did alternate weekends with him and this weekend it was his turn.

  He would go to Old Pit, he decided. After all he could say he was concerned for Ben, as he surely was. First of all he would call in at home to see if there were any messages. Also, he might be in time to have coffee with his father, feeling a little guilty at spending so little time with him.

  Miles was in his study when Tom put his head around the door. The coffee tray was on the table and he was sitting in one of the comfortable leather armchairs before the fire smoking his first cigar of the day.

  ‘Morning, Father,’ said Tom. ‘I thought it would be your coffee time. I’ve told Polly to bring another cup.’

  ‘Where have you been? Have you been out all night with that . . . that pit lass I saw you riding round Bishop Auckland with yesterday for anyone to see?’ Miles growled without any preliminary greeting. He had been mulling the scene from the day before over in his mind and got angrier every time he thought of it. ‘Don’t you realise we are known in this town and have a position to keep up?’

  Tom blinked. He couldn’t remember seeing his father in the town. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me well enough,’ snapped Miles. ‘There you were driving round the market place in Auckland in the trap with a miner’s brat beside you. And you don’t come in ’til this time of the morning. You’re a disgrace, sir, a disgrace.’

  There was a knock at the door and Polly came in with a cup and saucer. ‘Will I pour, sir?’ she asked, looking at Tom, but it was Miles who answered.

  ‘That will be all, Polly,’ he said. ‘Close the door behind you.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  She went out to tell Cook the master was in a right temper, fit to burst his boiler. They’d best keep out of his way, she reckoned.

  When she had gone, Tom took time to pour coffee and sit down in the armchair opposite his father’s. He crossed his legs and took a sip of the dark-brown liquid, murmuring appreciatively. Meanwhile, Miles was becoming redder in the face.

  ‘Well?’ he barked.

  ‘First of all, Father, I was not out all night with anyone. I was asleep in my own bed upstairs. And I have just returned from Oaklands, the workhouse hospital in Auckland where I have a duty to attend the inmates who are old or infirm or both.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, thank God for that,’ snapped Miles. ‘Now about this girl—’

  ‘Yes, what about her, Father?’ Tom was calm, his voice cold.

  ‘What were you doing riding about through the market place with her in the trap? Our family has a name to keep up, what are you doing associating with someone like her?’

  ‘How do you know what I was doing yesterday afternoon?’ Tom countered.

  ‘What does that matter? As it happens Miss Porritt and I were just coming out of the Queen’s Hotel when you came riding past, bold as brass, the pair of you.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Porritt,’ said Tom as though that explained a lot of things to him. As of course it did. His father would not want Miss Porritt to see his son associating with the lower classes.

  ‘Yes, Miss Porritt. How do you suppose it looked to her?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It does, I am thinking of asking Miss Porritt to marry me. It does not help when she sees my son keeping low company.’

  ‘Merry Trent is a patient of mine!’ said Tom. ‘She works at the hospital and I was giving her a lift. She is in trouble and needs help, she is barely sixteen and lives alone with her brother in one of those broken-down old houses at Old Pit, and he has disappeared.’

  The fact that his father did not reply immediately escaped Tom for the minute. He was thinking that Merry would have to move from Old Pit; she couldn’t stay there on her own, not unless Ben came back. Perhaps he should try to get her lodgings near the hospital, for the moment anyway.

  Miles had had a shock. He hadn’t realised the girl in the trap was that boy’s brother. Or thought she was at least. Wouldn’t the baby who had been in the house that awful night have been the woman’s granddaughter? What a flaming tangle everything was. Why hadn’t he gone back to Old Pit himself since it happened? At least he would have known what was going on and done something about it sooner. As it was, he had avoided the place for thirteen years. Why hadn’t the woman told him she was pregnant in the beginning? He could have paid her to go away, though to be honest with himself he wouldn’t have acknowledged he was the father. And of all the bad luck for the lad to grow up with such a striking likeness to Tom – and himself, of course, when he was younger, but that wouldn’t have mattered as people forgot what one looked like thirty years ago.

  ‘Father? Are you all right?’

  Tom’s voice broke into his racing thoughts. Miles got up abruptly and put his coffee cup on the tray.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m all right. Her brother has disappeared, you say? Well, he’s probably run off to sea, you know what these pit lads are like. Wild, you know. You’ve met them no doubt in your practice.’

  ‘She says he would not do that. He wouldn’t go without at the very least leaving her a note. I gather they are very close, those two. It probably comes from them growing up the only children in a deserted village.’

  ‘Well, none of it is your business. I’ve always said that nothing would come of your practising in a mining village. Now, forget about this girl, and mix with your own kind. I’ve told you before, find a town practice and I’ll help you with the cost. Why don’t you find a suitable girl to marry? A doctor needs a wife if he wants to get on.’

  ‘I’m happy working in Winton Colliery, Father. It is what I want to do.’

  Miles lost his temper. ‘Well I forbid you to talk to that pit lass! And don’t ever give her a ride in your trap again, especially not where you might be seen by gentlefolk. I won’t have people talking.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re not in a position to forbid me to do anything,’ said Tom calmly.

  ‘Am I not, begod! You ungrateful young whelp, I’ve given you everything! You’re living in my house and while you do so you will do as I say, do you hear me?’

  There was a knock at the door and Polly opened it but was stopped in her tracks by a bellow from Miles. ‘Get out!’ She went in a hurry.


  ‘I couldn’t get the coffee tray,’ she told Cook. ‘The master wouldn’t let me in. They’re having a row in there.’

  ‘Well, girl,’ snapped Cook. ‘Get on with your work, you can help Edna upstairs. It’s nothing to do with you whether they’re having a row or not.’

  Polly sniffed and left the kitchen. She would have a nice gossip with Edna over the beds, she thought. Cook could get so uppity sometimes.

  In the study Tom drew himself up and stared levelly at his father. ‘I can move out anytime, Father,’ he said. ‘I will not be told how to run my life; I am no longer a boy.’

  ‘Go then,’ said Miles. ‘You’ve been nothing but a disappointment and embarrassment to me in any case.’

  ‘If that’s how you feel I’ll go today,’ said Tom.

  ‘Do that.’

  Miles heard himself say the words but he could hardly believe he was doing so. How had things escalated to this? He didn’t want Tom to go, not really. But he was so stubborn, just as his mother had been. He had his mother’s temperament even if he did look like his father.

  ‘I will. If you’ll allow me time to pack a bag. I’ll send for the rest of my stuff when I’m settled.’

  Ten minutes later as he stood at the window and watched Tom drive out of the gates and turn towards the town, Miles felt very sorry for himself. The lad had provoked him, it was true, but if he himself hadn’t been so worked up and worried about the other one – for a moment he saw his face vividly, the eyes closed, a bruise forming on his temple, and he shivered. He didn’t want Tom to move out – the house was too big for one man to rattle around in. There was the staff of course, but they were not company. Tom was his son and his heir and he ought to do what his father wanted.

  Miles sat down in his chair again. He was supposed to be going to call on Bertha but he’d never felt less like doing anything.