by Maggie Hope
So Merry found herself unloading boxes from the carrier’s cart out the back and carrying them into the storeroom. Then she was running about the shop fetching and carrying for Mr Turner until Mrs Turner came in with his dinner plated up and in a basket. The sudden smell of the food made Merry’s stomach flip over and Mrs Turner must have noticed the hungry look in her eyes. She was a stout, middle-aged woman with iron-grey hair pulled back in a bun at the back of her head and a black-beaded dress.
‘Is this your new boy then?’ she asked Mr Turner ironically.
‘Now Mrs, don’t you create,’ her husband answered. ‘She’s doing a trial for us for nothing, just to show that she’s as good as a lad.’ He grinned at his wife but she did not smile back.
‘Is she then? Well, in my humble opinion a labourer’s worthy of his hire even if he’s a she. It’s three o’clock already; has she had any dinner hour?’
‘She didn’t start ’til twelve, man,’ Mr Turner protested. ‘By, lass, you ’ll have me bankrupt before you know it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re too soft by half.’
His wife ignored him and addressed Merry. ‘Have you had any dinner, lass?’
‘It’s all right, I’m not really hungry,’ said Merry, though the smell of Mr Turner’s dinner in the basket was making her stomach rumble.
‘Rubbish,’ Mrs Turner said briskly. ‘A lass your age is bound to be famished by this time of day.’ She turned to Jos and handed him the basket. ‘Go and eat your dinner in the back. I’ll go over the road and get the lass a bit to eat.’
She came back with a roast beef sandwich with more meat in it than Merry had eaten in a fortnight. ‘Get that down you, lass. No, don’t thank me, you’ll work the better for it. I can see you’re doing a good job here.’
She glanced around at the shop. The counter was gleaming where Merry had polished it, the glass front sparkled from her application of a chamois leather, and the papers were laid out in neat rows. Then she nodded to Merry.
‘Right then, I’ll go in the back and make a cup of tea. Just watch the shop for us.’
Merry went back to her room at six o’clock more content than she had been in an age. At least about that part of her life. The thought of Tom was ever present though, but she tried to hold it off for she couldn’t bear to let it fill her thoughts. She bought a bag of chips at the fish shop in Bondgate, filled a bottle with water from the tap in the yard and sat on her bed to eat her supper. Her ankle throbbed a little but it was back to normal size and she massaged it a little before going downstairs for a basin of hot water from’ the kitchen. There was no one there, in fact there were no sounds in the house at all. It was that time of the evening, she thought. As she went upstairs she heard voices behind one door but that was all.
Merry washed herself all over and slipped into bed. There were noises – laughing and shouting in the street below – but that did not disturb her. She was asleep in minutes but was plagued with dreams of Tom and his father and woke up in a sweat in the early dawn. The pain of humiliation of the previous morning seared her mind, together with the bittersweet memories of Tom as he had been in the deserted village. She had to forget him, she told herself fiercely. It was obvious he didn’t want her or he would have sought her out. It wasn’t that he was bad, he had just given in to a moment’s temptation. And anyway, he was far above her, wasn’t he? His father had made that plain enough.
A pale grey light was coming through the threadbare curtains. She had to get up, had to be at the shop in time to help Mr Turner sort the newspapers for the morning rounds and then she had to go out on deliveries. She had to forget about Tom, she told herself again.
Outside on the street there was a cold wind channelled down the narrow, medieval street and she drew her shawl around her shoulders. At least she’d thought to wear both her vests and warm petticoat. She would be a couple of hours out in the cold, she reckoned, delivering papers to South Church Road and Kingsway.
Sixteen
‘We will be married at St Anne’s of course,’ said Bertha. She nodded to emphasise her words and the bird adorning her hat wobbled dangerously. ‘Next month I think, so we must go to see the vicar.’
‘Yes dear, of course, I’ll make an appointment with him.’
Miles spoke absently, watching his son’s reactions to the news that he was marrying again. Tom was sitting in a winged armchair between the fireplace and his bed. This was the first time he had been allowed out of bed by Dr Norton, the specialist Miles had brought in.
‘I’m very happy for you both,’ said Tom, his voice so low Miles could hardly hear him. It was an effort for him to lift his head and smile at his father and his intended bride. Of course he knew in theory that he would be left very weak by the illness but hadn’t imagined it would be so bad.
‘I expect you to be well enough to come to the wedding, Tom,’ Bertha said with an arch smile. ‘So you must hurry up and get better.’
‘I’ll do my best, Miss Porritt,’ he replied.
‘Yes. Well, I must be off, there are a thousand and one things I have to do before then,’ said Bertha. ‘Come along, Miley, you may take me home.’
Tom leaned back against the cushions as the door closed behind them. Miley, he thought, as for the first time he smiled genuinely and not for the sake of politeness. What on earth was his father thinking of?
His mind wandered and he stared into the fire as he watched smouldering coal break and fall with a small shower of sparks. Was Merry all right? Had the miners taken her down to the village and was her ankle better now? It ought to be; the bone wasn’t broken he had been fairly sure about that.
Tom moved uncomfortably in his chair. He had not treated her right, in fact his behaviour had been disgraceful. But it wasn’t just a man taking advantage of a girl, it had been more than that. He had genuine feelings for her, he loved her and as soon as he was able he would seek her out and tell her so. But for now he couldn’t do it. He felt so incredibly weak he could not believe it. Of course he had known anyone recovering from pneumonia would feel like that but that had been theory.
There was a knock at the bedroom door and Edna poked her head round. ‘Will I make the fire up now, Doctor Gallagher?’ she asked.
‘Thank you, Edna.’
She came in and knelt by the hearth, raked ash from the embers and added coal, piling it high for it was a raw day in March and the wind was rattling the windowpanes. Tom watched her idly. She was a middle-aged woman who had been with them since Tom was a child. Her figure had thickened at the waist and there were grey hairs showing beneath her cap, but she was a capable woman and her movements were agile. Edna had never married but her family still lived in Winton, her brothers and father still working at Winton Colliery. The thought gave him an idea. She would know where Merry was, so perhaps she could take a message to her.
‘Edna, do you know the girl who lives at Old Pit?’
‘Miranda Trent, do you mean, Doctor?’
‘That’s the one.’
Edna sat back on her heels with the small brush and shovel from the companion set still in her hands. ‘Yes, I know her. She doesn’t live there any more, she lives in Winton Colliery. With the Wrights. Bob Wright, the colliery joiner.’
‘She’s lodging with them? Is she all right?’ Tom noticed Edna’s curious expression. ‘I . . . last time I saw her she had injured her ankle and I wondered how she was getting on, living out there by herself.’
Edna hung the brush and shovel on the stand and got to her feet. ‘Well, she’s fine as far as I know,’ she said. ‘Fallen on her feet, I think. That Robbie Wright is besotted with her, me mam said.’ She walked to the door before turning.
‘Will there be anything else, Doctor?’
‘No. No thank you Edna.’ He felt the need to explain a little further. ‘You see, she works at Oaklands hospital; I know her from there.’
‘She doesn’t work there any more, Doctor. That’s what I heard. Got dismissed for bad
timekeeping. And now I come to think of it, someone said she’d moved.’
After Edna had gone Tom resumed staring into the fire, trying to sort out his jumbled feelings. Robbie Wright – he knew him, a young man not long out of his time. Good looking he was too in a brash sort of way. The sort who swaggered about with his mates, his marras as he would call them, getting drunk on a weekend and often missing his shift on a Monday morning. Robbie had come to see him one Monday morning with a deep cut on his wrist which Tom had cleaned up and inserted surgical clips. Surely Merry wasn’t interested in Robbie Wright? Tom felt a sudden surge of jealousy followed by frustration. There was nothing he could do until he was better himself.
Suddenly his tiredness deepened into exhaustion and he fell asleep like a child, his head lolling against the arm of the chair.
Just as she thought she was beginning to make a fresh start in the news agency business Merry came to suspect she was pregnant. For nearly two weeks now she had had to rush outside to the sink in the yard and had been sick and dizzy every morning. Standing over the sink, shivering and retching until she thought her very stomach would come up and desperate to get to work in time to see to the newspapers, she faced up to the fact.
Merry could hardly believe it, for there had been only the once and didn’t the women say it never happened the first time? Questions ran through her head at breakneck speed. Could it be true? Where was Tom? Had he really just cast her off like an old shoe? What was she going to do? What about her job? Would she end up an inmate in the workhouse?
She stood up straight and waited for the world to stop spinning round her then wiped her mouth. On her way to work through the half-light of the morning she decided she would try once more to see Tom. She had been to the house where he had lodged and the landlady had refused to tell her anything except that he had left.
‘I hope you’re not sickening for something,’ said Mrs Turner when she came into the shop with her husband’s dinner. There had been a brief lull in customers and Merry was leaning against the counter doing nothing – something very uncharacteristic of the lass in Mrs Turner’s opinion. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’
Merry straightened up guiltily. ‘I’m fine. I was just going to tidy the shelves at the back.’
‘Well, mebbe you should have a bite to eat first, you’re as thin as a lathe,’ declared Mrs Turner.
‘No, I’ll wait until Mr Turner’s had his,’ Merry protested.
‘Indeed you won’t,’ said Mrs Turner and going to the shop door she closed it and shot the bolt before turning the sign hanging there to closed. Just as she did so someone came to the door and knocked hard.
‘Go away, we’re closed,’ mouthed Mrs Turner.
‘Let me in,’ shouted the man and Merry turned in surprise for it was Robbie.
‘It’s . . . my friend,’ she said and went to the door. Mrs Turner glanced at her in surprise – this was the first time anyone, let alone a young man had sought Merry out in the shop. Merry opened the door and Robbie stepped inside. ‘Robbie,’ was all she said.
‘I want to talk to you,’ said Robbie. He was unsmiling as he glanced at Mrs Turner. ‘Come away out with me. We can take a walk.’
‘I cannot. I have to mind the shop,’ said Merry. This was the first time she had seen Robbie since she came to work in the newsagents and she wasn’t particularly pleased to see him even now. She had so much else on her mind.
‘I’ll mind the shop for half an hour,’ Mrs Turner intervened. ‘You get your dinner. Any road, you’re due to half an hour. Mr Turner won’t be long now.’
‘Are you sure?’
Merry didn’t really want to go. Yet after all, she did owe Robbie something for all his help when she needed somebody. And she had to admit, his horrible mother too. If it hadn’t been for the both of them she would have had to go into the workhouse or be without a roof over her head. She put on the coat she had bought from the second-hand stall on the market. It was a dark-blue serge which fitted her well and was good protection against the wind and cold when she was delivering papers. But it was shapeless and a size too large for her.
Mrs Turner, who was watching curiously, was struck by how pale and thin she looked in it. There were dark shadows beneath Merry’s eyes too. Mrs Turner was beginning to suspect there was something else too. If so she was going to need her young man.
‘Be back at one o’clock, mind,’ she said as they closed the door with the bell jangling behind them.
They walked the short way down the street to the market place and on the corner Merry stopped and looked up at Robbie.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘In here.’
Robbie indicated a small café, which usually did a roaring trade with the market traders. Today it was fairly quiet, it being a Monday. He led the way in, leaving Merry to follow.
‘What do you want to eat? You look fair famished to me, you’ve no meat on your bones. What have you been doing to yourself?’
Merry warmed to him a little. He did sound concerned about her, so he must care for her. He wasn’t the type to bother if he did not.
‘I’ll have a bacon sandwich. But I’ll pay for my own, mind. Here’s the money.’ She held out fourpence but he pushed it away.
‘You keep it. You look as though you could do with it.’
Soon they were sitting back at the scrubbed wooden table with the bacon sandwiches before them, together with steaming mugs of tea. He ate his with gusto then watched as she finished hers, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his large, capable hands holding his mug of tea.
‘Now then, lass,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to come back wi’ me?’
Merry paused, the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. ‘I cannot do that, Robbie, I told you. I cannot live with your mother. Anyway, I’m all right, I have a nice job with the Turners and a room up Bondgate.’
‘You won’t need the job or the room, Merry, not when you’re married to me. An’ make no mistake, I’m going to marry you, I’ve made up me mind.’ Robbie still spoke quietly but with determination.
‘Oh Robbie,’ Merry said helplessly and looked down at the bacon sandwich she no longer had any appetite for. What a tangle she was in, she thought. She took a sip of tea and suddenly felt the need to be out in the fresh air. The atmosphere in the café was hot and steamy and the smell of the food beginning to turn her nauseous. She stood up and pushed back her chair. ‘I have to go,’ she mumbled and made for the door.
Outside she leaned against the doorpost breathing deeply of the cold air. The wind which always deemed to be tunnelled down the straight length of Newgate Street revived her. Robbie came out and towered over her so that she stepped away.
‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘Anybody would think you hated the idea of us getting wed.’
‘No,’ Merry replied. ‘No, it’s not that. It was just too hot in there.’
‘An’ too bloody cold out here,’ he snapped. ‘Look at you, you’re shivering. Howay round the corner out of the wind.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her along. Once out of the wind he stopped, but still kept his arm around her, holding her close. The thought ran through his mind that if any of his marras saw him at the minute he would be taunted to death on shift that night. But at the minute he didn’t care, she felt so good held against himself.
Merry stood there for a moment. She felt light-headed and was glad of him to lean on. I’ll tell him it’s no good, she thought. It was never any good.
Just then Robbie pulled her back against the wall as a horse and trap came trotting by, slowing to turn the corner into Newgate Street. She looked up and was transfixed to see Tom Gallagher staring at her with such an expression on his face as she had never seen him wear before. Beside him, his father gave a thin smile and leaned towards Tom to say something. He too was looking straight at Merry and Robbie.
‘Tom!’
Merry stepped away from Robbie and called. Behind her,
Robbie put out an arm and pulled her back. Tom gazed at them for a moment then looked away along the length of the street. The horse quickened its pace and the trap sped off.
‘What do you want with the doctor?’ Robbie asked suspiciously.
‘Nothing,’ Merry said dully. She wanted nothing with him and it was glaringly obvious that the doctor wanted nothing to do with her. Of course he didn’t. He had probably forgotten all about her and that snowy night in the deserted village at Old Pit. But how could she forget?
‘Robbie,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to go now, I’m needed at the shop.’
‘I told you, you should just leave the flaming shop and come home wi’ me. Me mam won’t say anything to you. She knows she daren’t. I told her what I was going to do before I came out.’
‘I’m going back to the shop,’ said Merry and set off up Newgate Street. After a second, Robbie caught up with her.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I mean what I say, Merry, you’ll find out I do.’
Tom rode through Cockton Hill beside his father. The wind was bitterly cold but he didn’t feel it. He was well wrapped up in overcoat and scarf, and with a fleecy rug over his knees; he sank back against the padded seat unseeing and unspeaking. He was deep in his own bitter thoughts; his father had been right, he told himself.
Miles looked sideways at him and smiled to himself. It couldn’t have happened better as far as he was concerned, seeing the miner with his arm around the girl. If anything it would put Tom off seeing any more of her, that would.
They were going to see Bertha Porritt’s father. Tom had not met him before and as the wedding date was looming it was certainly time he did.
Seventeen
‘You’re going to have to get wed to your young man,’ said Mrs Turner. She had been watching through the window of the back room to the shop and seen Merry’s headlong rush down the yard to the lavatory. Now, as Merry came in the back door looking white and shaken the older woman shook her head sadly.
‘I’m all right,’ said Merry.
