‘Oh, are we at Ireshopeburn already? I’d better get down. Thank you for the ride, it was very good of you.’
‘My pleasure. I enjoyed the company.’
He jumped off the cart and went around to the other side so he could help her down. He took hold of her hand and they smiled at each other, then he tipped his cap and climbed back up. She straightened her skirts and walked away. As he watched her, she looked back at him over her shoulder and, when she saw him watching, she waved at him. He waved back and then continued on his way to the agent’s office at Newhouse.
Mary arrived at Fell Top late in the morning and, on opening the door, she found Annie sitting by the fireplace feeding John. Annie turned instinctively towards the door at the sound of the latch. Mary was shocked to see a large bruise on her sister’s face; the purple mark covered her left eye and cheek.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
Annie turned her face back to the fire. Mary went to her and knelt down on the proddy mat in front of her and waited for her sister to speak. Eventually Annie blurted out, ‘It’s father. He’s been drinking ever since you left.’
‘Drinking! I don’t believe it,’ Mary said, shaking her head, but the evidence was staring her in the face. ‘Where is he?’
‘Where he always is when he’s not at work — ‘The Travellers’ Rest’.’
‘Tell me what’s been going on, please — everything.’
William, startled by Annie’s outburst, watched his sisters from the corner of the room, where he was playing with two lead soldiers. He went back to his battle game.
Annie sat John down on the mat next to William and gave him a spoon to play with, then she began to tell Mary what life had been like at Fell Top since her sister had left.
‘After he dropped you off that day, he didn’t come straight home. He should’ve been back that night, but he didn’t show up until early the next day. He stumbled through the door and he pulled his bed down. I’d just got the lads up and we were all having our breakfasts. You’ll never guess what he did? He got undressed, right in front of us all. Everything, there wasn’t a stitch left on him.’
‘My God!’ said Mary. ‘What did he do then?’
‘He fell, face down, onto the mattress and within minutes he started snoring. I don’t think he even knew we were there. He never said a word.’
‘Why didn’t he come home? Where had he been?’ asked Mary.
‘I can guess — ‘The Travellers’ Rest’, most likely. Since then, he’s been drinking nearly every night. I don’t know where he gets the money from.’
‘No wonder you’re struggling to pay the bills. And what happened to your face? Did he hit you?’
‘Aye, he did. Yesterday,’ Annie said, lifting her hand to her bruised face. ‘But don’t get me wrong, he’s not often violent with it — just a couple of times. I keep the bairns out of his way, just in case. But last night John was unsettled — he’s teething — so I brought him down to change his nappy and get him a drink. Father came in and started cursing under his breath because the baby was crying. He got undressed, muttering to himself, and then suddenly he turned around and punched me in the face. I was so shocked. I never expected him to do that. He shouted at me to shut the ‘bloody bairn’ up, and do you know what he said after that? He said that I was useless, and that mother could have shut him up.’
Tears started to run down Annie’s cheeks. ‘He’s right an’ all, isn’t he? She could have, because she was his mother. Oh, I wish she was still here.’
Annie started to sob and Mary put her arm around her sister’s shoulder and held her until she stopped.
It was hard to believe what Annie had said but Mary had seen the evidence for herself. She could never have imagined her father turning to drink, not ever. He was a Methodist and always had been. He had taken a vow not to drink alcohol.
Then she thought about how much she was missing Joe. He had only been away for a few days and she hadn’t known him long.
Her mother and father had loved each other and had been together for nearly twenty years. She couldn’t imagine the pain her father must have felt when she died or how much he must miss her.
But he hadn’t started drinking when his wife died, he had started drinking when Mary left home. Did that mean it was her fault for leaving? Her father knew how bad the money situation was and that she had needed to go out to work. As there was nothing suitable for her near home, she had to move away. There had been no choice.
Anyway, whatever the reason for his drinking, there was no excuse for hitting Annie. Mary remembered the bruise she had seen on her sister’s arm when they had met at the show. She had suspected the goat story was a fib at the time, but she hadn’t realised the awful truth that Annie had been hiding.
Annie, William and John — and perhaps her father — needed her here.
Mary didn’t know what she should do. If she stayed at Fell Top to look after her family, she could protect the bairns from their father and she might even be able to stop him drinking, but they wouldn’t have enough money coming in to manage on. Her wages from Springbank Farm were small but essential to put food on the table at Fell Top. There was no way the family could manage unless she went back to work. She had to go back to Westgate and continue to send her earnings home. The money was needed more than she was. Annie would have to look after the children.
‘I’d really like to stay and help, Annie, but I must go back. You need my wages here. You do understand, don’t you?’
‘I know, we depend on your pay. We’ll manage, don’t worry. I’ll keep the bairns away from him as much as I can. I wish there was some way to stop him drinking though. I asked the minister to have a word with him, but father’s stopped going to chapel and, when the minister came here to visit, he wouldn’t let him in the house.’
‘He never used to miss going to chapel. Listen, if things get any worse — if he gets worse — go to Aunt Lizzie’s. You remember, up at The Moss. It’s only a few miles away, near Lanehead. I think you’ll remember the way. We walked there a few times with Mother but, if you’ve forgotten, just ask anyone where Lizzie Featherstone lives and they’ll point you in the right direction. I’m sure she’d take you in, but if not, come down to me at Westgate. Now, take care and I’ll be back up to check on things as soon as I can.’
***
Mr Peart paced up and down in the kitchen. He’d spent the last two days in Newcastle-upon-Tyne on business and there was nobody to greet him when he got home. Where was everybody?
The fact that nobody was home would not normally have worried him too much but what he had heard in Newcastle was praying on his mind and he needed to speak with his wife and daughter. Oh, poor Connie. How could he tell her what he had heard? She would be distraught.
Mrs Peart and Connie came into the house with smiles on their faces.
Mrs Peart said, ‘Oh, you’re home early, dear. We weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I had to come back sooner than I’d planned. Where have you been?’
‘Just up to the pasture. Jacob delivered a new calf up there this morning. She’s a bonny one and feeding well. You should have a walk up to see her.’
‘That’s good,’ he said distractedly, but his mind was not on the newborn calf. Can I see you in the parlour for a moment?’
‘Is something the matter?’
‘Please, come into the parlour.’
Mr Peart followed his wife into the parlour and closed the door behind them. He said, ‘You’d better sit down.’
Mrs Peart sat down and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s about our Connie. When I was in Newcastle, I heard something quite shocking. I have it on good authority that a rumour is being spread about her...’
Mr Peart cleared his throat and continued, ‘...about her reputation. It is being said that her...hmm...virtue is no longer intact.’
‘But that’s not true! Our Connie wouldn’t have.’
‘I hope you’re right — and I’m sure you are — but people hear rumours and they believe them.’
‘But who would say such a thing?’ asked Mrs Peart.
‘I can only think of one person — Henry Forster. His pride must have been hurt when she refused to marry him. That’s got to be hard for any man, but for a young, handsome gentleman of his standing...well...’
‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs Peart, wringing her hands together.
‘Connie told me that he spends a lot of time socialising in Newcastle. He could easily have said something to start a rumour in that quarter.’ Mr Peart walked across to the window.
‘Bloody hell!’ he cursed, banging his fist down on the table.
Turning back to his wife, he said, ‘I hoped for a good match for our Connie. But who will want her if they believe what’s being said about her. She’ll be lucky to find someone who will take her on. Guilty or not, her reputation is ruined.’
‘What should we do? Should we tell her?’
‘Yes, I think she needs to know.’
‘Will you speak with her...or shall I?’
‘I will,’ he said, as he poured himself a glass of whisky. ‘Tell her to come through, will you?’
Mrs Peart found Connie sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair. She went up to her and took the brush from her hand. ‘Connie, your father would like a word. He’s waiting in the parlour.’
‘He looked upset when we came in. What’s wrong?’
‘He’ll tell you all about it when you get downstairs.’
Mrs Peart put down the hairbrush and watched her daughter walk out of the door. She listened to her footsteps going down the stairs, heard her husband’s voice in the distance and then the parlour door click shut. She wandered aimlessly around her daughter’s room.
Downstairs, Mr Peart asked his daughter to take a seat and offered her a glass of sherry.
‘It must be bad news if you’re offering me a drink at this time of day. Please, Father, just tell me what’s going on.’
‘As you know, I’ve just got back from Newcastle. While I was there, I heard something that was quite disturbing, something that affects you.’
Connie looked perplexed.
Her father continued, ‘It appears that there is a rumour going around about you. It is being said that you are not a virgin.’
‘What! That’s a lie. I’ve never been with a man. Why are people saying that I have? Who told you?’
As the implications of the rumour began to sink in, tears formed in Connie’s eyes.
‘I really don’t know, dear.’
He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘An old friend of mine took me to one side and told me that he thought I should know what was being said about you. That’s all I know.’
‘It was Henry, wasn’t it?’ she asked. ‘He was angry with me when I turned down his proposal. He’s done this to get revenge. Thank God I didn’t agree to marry him!’
‘Yes, with hindsight, I believe you made the right decision after all.’
***
Mary had waited every night in the woods since Joe left, in case he had decided not to go, or he returned early from his trip to Gateshead. It was four days before he came to meet her. She was so pleased to see him that she ran into his arms and they clung to each other.
‘I’ve missed you, lass.’
‘I’ve missed you too. I came every night in case you were back early.’
‘I just got back a few hours ago.’
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her passionately. He whispered in her ear, ‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking about while I was away?’
‘Wrestling?’ she laughed.
‘Wrong.’
He kissed her neck. ‘That.’
He kissed her lips. ‘That.’
He moved his hands to her breasts. ‘These.’
And then he lowered his hand and placed it between her thighs. ‘And this’. His hand rubbed against her and it felt so good that she leaned forward to get more contact.
‘Oh, Mary.’
He removed his hand and replaced it with his body. He moved against her, so she could feel how much he wanted her. They stood together for a while enjoying the feel of each other’s body.
Mary whispered into his ear, ‘I love you, Joe.’
Joe unfastened his cloak and laid it flat on the grass. He took Mary’s hand and invited her to sit down. His eyes were dark and his intentions were clear.
Mary sat down and pulled him down towards her. She gave herself to him fully.
Chapter 9
Springbank Farm, Westgate
Autumn 1872
October had been a wet month and it had passed slowly and the weather looked set in for November too. The Peart household was busy preparing for winter. Isaac and Jacob spent days on end chopping logs to fill the wood sheds. They brought in all the potatoes and root vegetables they had grown in the garden and Mary packed them in barrels full of straw to keep them dry and fresh.
Mr Peart helped the men kill and butcher the young pigs. Mrs Peart salted the meat to preserve it before hanging it in the larder. Mary hung onions on strings and put herbs that they had cut and dried earlier in the year into jars. Mrs Peart wrapped apples in newspaper and carefully placed them in baskets so they didn’t bruise. Jams, chutneys and pickles that had been made in the summer months filled a long shelf. The pantry at Springbank Farm was full.
The rain ran down the window panes in streams and a flash of lightning lit up the house. Mary counted to herself, ‘One, two, three…’
Thunder rumbled loudly overhead.
‘That was close!’ said Mrs Peart.
‘I feel sorry for those poor animals outside,’ said Mary, looking out of the window as she ironed the laundry. ‘The horses and cows are alright inside, but the sheep must be drenched, poor things.’
‘Their wool helps to keep them dry. It’s got oil in it. But still, we lost another ewe this morning,’ said Mr Peart, who was sat by the fire smoking his pipe, with Tip by his feet. ‘They’re just fed up of it.’
‘I can’t believe the weather’s still so bad. It’s been like this for ages now,’ said Mrs Peart.
‘It’s the worst autumn I can remember, and I’ve seen some bad ones. The whole country’s been affected. I read in the paper this morning that there’s been another shipwreck, off the coast of Devon this time, no survivors.’
Isaac and Jacob came into the kitchen, water dripping from them. Mrs Peart saw pools forming at their feet and said, ‘Take them wet things off and get warmed through.’
‘We’re not stopping, Mrs Peart,’ replied Isaac. ‘We’ve just come to let Mr Peart know that we’ve buried that ewe. Everything’s done that needs doing for the day, so we’ll get away home, if that’s alright?’
‘Aye, lads, thank you. See you tomorrow.’
As they left, Connie came in. ‘This weather is so annoying! I wish I could go out riding. Star’s so restless stuck in his stable. And all the trees that have fallen would make excellent jumps, but the ground’s too sodden to ride on. What a waste! I bet they’ll all have been cut up for firewood by the time the rain stops.’ She ran upstairs to change out of her wet clothing.
Mary was fretting because she had been unable to meet Joe very often since that night that he had returned from the wrestling tournament — the first night she had lain with him.
On the few occasions when it wasn’t raining, they had met in the woods, but the ground had been too wet for them to sit down. When she had suggested meeting somewhere else, somewhere it would be dry — like a hay barn or stable — Joe had said it was too risky, that they were more likely to be found together if they met in farm buildings. She missed him, and she missed his touch.
What made it even worse was that she had been feeling unwell for a few weeks now. One night she had woken very early, when it was still dark outside. She had heard a young tawny owl squeak like a gate swinging on a rusty hinge. She rea
lised that she was going to vomit and rushed to the bowl on the washstand. After she had finished emptying her stomach, she opened the bedroom window. The cold breeze cut through her nightdress and the fresh air made her feel better.
After a few minutes, she moved away from the window and got dressed. She didn’t want Mrs Peart to know she was ill or she would be expected to stay in her room all day. Furtively, she took the bowl outside, tipped the contents into the ash privy and rinsed it thoroughly before taking it back to her room. Nobody else was up yet so she wasn’t seen.
A few hours later, Mary cooked breakfast for the family. They liked bacon, eggs and freshly baked bread with lashings of butter. When the food was almost ready to serve, and the family had gathered in the kitchen and sat down at the table, she felt queasy and thought she might be sick again. She really did feel unwell. She made the excuse that she needed more water and went out into the yard. Before long, her head cleared and her stomach settled and she returned to the kitchen to serve breakfast, but ate little herself.
The same thing had happened nearly every morning since. She always felt worse at breakfast time but her stomach seemed to improve as the day went on. She was worried that she might need to see the doctor but, because her wages went to her family, she didn’t have any money to pay him.
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