Immediately realising the connection, Lizzie asked, ‘Is that wise? Not many people know who gave you this bairn, but with a name like that, one that’s not common around here, people might put two and two together, you know, with you leaving the farm the day Joe Milburn got married.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Mary softly. ‘I want her to know who her father is — when the time’s right.’ She wondered if Joe knew that she had given birth to their baby yet, or if he even cared.
Lizzie voice interrupted her thoughts, ‘What about Hannah for your mother, or Margaret for Lady Margaret, or a more common name that won’t stand out? There’s nothing wrong with Ann or Jane — or Elizabeth, like me.’
‘No, I’ve made up my mind. She’s Josephine, and I’m going to call her Josie for short,’ said Mary.
‘Alright, alright, Josephine it is. She’s your bairn so it’s your choice. I’ll walk down to the registrar’s on Friday, if it’s a nice day. You’ll not be fit enough to walk that far for a while yet. It takes it out of you, having a bairn.’
Mary was recovering well from the birth, but she tired easily, more from the sleepless nights than from the birth itself. Josie had woken at least twice for feeding every night since she had been born.
Mary was walking high on the fells with Josie strapped to her chest in a makeshift sling. She had been cooped up in the cottage for so long that she just had to escape for a while. It was so tranquil up on the fell and the view was beautiful. She could hear peewits calling and the rasping noise of a grasshopper close by. The air was fresh and she breathed deeply, simply enjoying being there with her baby.
But thoughts of Joe were never far away, disrupting her peace and happiness. Josie looked so much like her Joe. No, not her Joe anymore; he was Connie’s Joe now. She kept wondering why he had chosen Connie, but the answer was obvious. He wanted the farm. It was as simple as that. He had given up Mary and their baby for Connie and her farm. Well, Joe and Connie were married now, she would have to get used to that and find her own way in the world.
Mary noticed that the temperature had dropped and dark clouds were gathering in the sky, so she turned back towards The Moss before the rain came.
Lizzie had gone down to the registrar’s office at St John’s Chapel, to register Josie’s birth. Ben was out hunting with Fly, hoping to bring back a rabbit or a hare for dinner. Mary and Josie had the house to themselves. Mary placed Josie carefully in her makeshift crib and settled down to rest in the chair by the window. It wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep.
She woke with a start. Rain was pelting the window but that wasn’t what had woken her. There was someone knocking at the door. Visitors to The Moss were few and far between and they weren’t expecting anybody. She got up and lifted the sneck on the heavy wooden door. As she pulled it open, she saw Joe Milburn standing there in the rain, twisting his cap in his hands. Their eyes met and Mary felt the attraction that they had shared pulling her towards him, but she stopped. He didn’t want her any more.
‘I saw Mrs Featherstone in Chapel, and I thought you might be on your own up here,’ he said.
‘Have you come to see the baby?’
Joe was still looking deeply into her eyes. ‘Aye, I’d like that very much. I’d like to talk to you as well.’
Mary led him to where Josie slept.
‘You’ve got her in a drawer. That’s no place for a baby!’
‘What do you expect? A new crib! Are you going to make us one? I don’t have any money, everything I earned went back home, and I can’t work now with a bairn to look after. Aunt Lizzie doesn’t have much money coming in, but she still took us in after you left us for — for Connie.’ Mary’s voice broke, ‘Why did it have to be Connie, of all people. Why her? How could you, Joe?’
‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Mary. I never wanted to do that. Please believe me.’
Joe bent over the drawer to look at his baby daughter. He reached in and stroked Josie’s hand; tiny fingers gripped his little finger. Mary’s heart melted as she watched them and she found herself smiling. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘I named her after you. She’s called Josie, short for Josephine.’
Josie woke with a gurgle and stretched. Joe was mesmerised and sat staring at his daughter.
‘Would you like to hold her while I put the kettle on?’ said Mary. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea.’ He had said he wanted to talk with her and he had hardly said a word.
Joe carefully tucked the baby into the crook of his arm and started pulling faces at her. She stared back at her father. Then he started to make baby noises at her and Mary laughed.
By the time the tea was ready, Josie was becoming restless and was turning her head towards her father’s chest, wanting another feed. ‘You’ll not get anything from me, lass. I’d better give you back to your mother.’
Mary took her from Joe and, as they sat down, she loosened her top and held her baby to her breast. She wasn’t embarrassed about feeding her baby in front of its father.
Joe watched them in wonder, happiness shining in his eyes.
After Josie had finished her feed and Mary had fastened up her bodice, Joe came over to her and knelt down on the mat in front of her. He took her hand and held it to his chest. Looking longingly into her eyes, he said, ‘Mary, I’m sorry. I made the wrong choice. I shouldn’t have married Connie, I should have married you. I can’t undo what I’ve done. God knows I wish I could, you’ve no idea what my life is like with her. I would much rather be with you and — I still want to be with you.’
Mary heard the words but didn’t understand what he meant. ‘How can you be with me? You’re married to Connie.’
Joe leaned forward and took her and Josie into his arms, ‘I want to spend time with you. You know, like we used to — last year. What I’m saying is that I want you, Mary. I’ve never stopped wanting you.’
His meaning slowly dawned on her, and she pushed him away.
‘Like we used to!’ she exclaimed. ‘Last year was different. Last year I thought I loved you, and that you loved me. Now I know that you don’t love me, you never did, or you wouldn’t have married her. Aye, I know you wanted me — to lie with me — but you never wanted me enough to make me your wife. I won’t lie with you again, Joe — not ever. I can’t believe what you’re asking. You want me to be your whore! You’re a married man now and you should be ashamed of yourself.’
Joe moved back and looked surprised by her outburst. He was about to speak but Mary cut him off.
‘I want you to go. Get out.’
Joe looked into her eyes and she could see that, for a split second, he was unsure whether or not he should try to change her mind. Then just as quickly, the indecision was replaced by defeat and he left without saying another word.
Mary watched him wander down the path until he was out of sight. How could he think she would be his mistress after what he had done? Yes, she still had feelings for him, although she wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. The attraction was real, that was certainly true, but he must have been courting Connie at the same time he had been seeing her; and it had been serious with Connie because they were married not long after. Not just that, he had abandoned her when she needed him most, abandoned her and their baby. Josie would have been born in the workhouse if it hadn’t been for Aunt Lizzie taking them in. And, she had been thrown out by her father and disowned for bringing shame on her family. What he had done to her and Josie was unforgiveable.
Chapter 21
The Moss, Lanehead
August 1873
‘Mother, I want to go Westgate tonight, to help the ‘The Felons’,’ said Ben, between spoonfuls of porridge. ‘I know I’m not old enough to join them yet, officially, but I can still help them to find the thieves. Ted had some of his sheep stolen and he’d like to go, but he says he’s too old. I should go in his place. Father would have if he was here. And if we catch them, it means they can’t come here and steal our sheep.’
Lizzie turned t
o look at her son who was quickly becoming a man. His sense of duty impressed her, but she was worried that he didn’t know the people in Westgate and didn’t know the hills around there very well either.
‘Do you know who will be there?’ she asked.
‘Yes, there’ll be loads of people there. Mary knows most of them. Ted said Mr Peart and the lads that work for him will be there, and Tom and Joe Milburn. I think Sir Thomas and a few others as well.’
Mary was sitting by the fire, knitting clothes for Josie. Her needles fell silent when she heard Joe’s name, and she put them down on her knee.
‘Mary, is that right? Do you know them?’
‘Yes, I know all of them. They’re good men and they’ll keep an eye on Ben.’
‘Alright, if that’s what you want to do. Take Fly with you — and be careful.’
‘I will,’ Ben smiled as he left the table and called for Fly. The dog followed him out of the house as he went to begin his chores.
***
That evening, the men gathered outside ‘The Half Moon’ as usual. They were surprised to see a young lad walking towards them.
‘Hello there, what can we do for you?’ asked Mr Peart. The other men stopped talking and listened to the boy’s reply.
‘I’ve come to help you catch the thieves.’
‘Have you, now? What’s your name, lad?’
‘Ben Featherstone. I live up at The Moss.’
‘You’ve come a long way to help us. Why would you do that?’
‘Because our neighbour, Ted Curry, had some sheep stolen. He would’ve come if he could, but he said he’s too old to go out chasing thieves. I don’t want them to come and steal ours either. Me mother cannot afford to lose any.’
‘Alright lad, you’re welcome to join us. Just listen carefully and do what you’re told.’
‘Aye, I will.’
‘Right men, everyone is here now, let’s make a start.’ Mr Peart led the way and the men followed without question.
The night was dark and misty. The crescent moon, when it could be seen, did little to light the farmers’ way. It was a hard, steep climb up to Westgate Fell in the dark. The path was uneven at the best of times, but the cows in the pasture had walked that route when the ground was muddy and, now that it was dry, small craters were left where their hooves had been. Mr Peart and Sir Thomas led the way with lamps and Tom and Ned brought up the rear. They walked in silence, dogs weaving in and out between them. When the procession had reached the final gate that opened out onto the fell, Mr Peart said, ‘Right men, here we are. We’ll split up and sit along this dyke back. If anyone sees anything, give the signal — one long, low whistle.’
The men had met like this every week since the meeting at the pub back in April and they were starting to get disheartened by the lack of sightings. There had been no new reports of sheep going missing either. Perhaps the thieves had heard about their vigils and decided to go elsewhere.
Despite all that, the men murmured their agreement and went off in both directions, followed by their dogs, where they would sit in darkness with their backs to the wall. If anyone came onto this fell tonight, someone would see them or hear them. The lamps were extinguished, and they waited patiently.
As their eyes adjusted, small mounds could be seen dotted over the rugged landscape — silent, sleeping sheep. Occasional sounds could be heard from the men, the odd cough and a short burst of snoring — Sir Thomas had fallen asleep against the drystone wall.
An hour or two later, there was a creaking noise as the gate swung open. All eyes turned towards it. A figure could be seen coming through the gate and, rather than turning to close it, it continued onwards up the fell with a dog at heel. The farmers watched and waited, all wondering what would happen next. Was this someone simply passing through, or was it one of the sheep rustlers?
The figure let out a high-pitched whistle and the dog left its owner’s side. It began to nip at a few of the sheep to wake them up. Another longer, lower whistle and the dog went around them and started to drive them towards the open gateway.
There was no doubt this was the thief; nobody gathered sheep at night. Mr Peart gave the signal and all the farmers stood up and moved towards the culprit, as quickly as the coarse, tufted grass would allow. The figure froze for a second and then put his hand into his coat and brought out a pistol. Some of the farmers saw what he held and stopped in their tracks; others didn’t and continued onwards. A shot rang out, followed by a groan. Had somebody had been shot? The thief was running away. Sir Thomas signalled for his dog to follow and the keen hound gladly gave chase. Sir Thomas wished he had been on horseback as he would have been able to catch the blackguard, but on foot he knew he was too slow, too old. He saw Ben run past with his lurcher, following the path of the gunman. Ned and Isaac followed them.
The farmers regrouped at the gate. Joe asked, ‘Who got shot?’ but there was no reply. ‘Right, who’s missing then?’
Sir Thomas replied, ‘The young lad’s alright. He ran down the field after the blasted thief.’
‘I’m fine, and so are Isaac and Ned. They followed the boy,’ said Jacob.
‘I’m alright,’ said Tom.
‘So that leaves...Mr Peart! Where’s Mr Peart?’ asked Joe anxiously. Silence. ‘Mr Peart!’ he shouted, and the words echoed into the night, but there was no reply. Joe turned around in a circle in a vain attempt to see into the darkness. ‘Where’s Mr Peart — does anyone know?’
‘He was just across from me,’ replied Sir Thomas. ‘After the whistle sounded, I saw him advance. Find the lamps lads, and bring them over this way. We’ll find him.’
Somewhere close by a dog whined. ‘Tip, where are you lad?’ shouted Joe. Mr Peart’s dog ran up to Joe and looked up at him, his eyes pleaded with Joe to follow him. Jacob picked up a lamp. The dog turned and led the men to his master. Mr Peart was lying on the ground when they found him. He was not moving, he was not conscious, he was not breathing. There was a dark patch on the front of his coat where a bullet had entered his chest. He was dead.
The men stood and looked down at the body of their friend in disbelief. Mr Peart had been shot and killed by the thief.
‘He can’t be dead!’ Joe fell down onto his knees beside the body, placed his head on Mr Peart’s shoulder and cried. The others looked on helplessly.
Jacob wandered away, cursing to himself about the injustice of it all. Mr Peart, his employer, had been killed by a common thief.
His voice breaking with emotion, Joe said, ‘He’s been like a father to me, since me own father died. He’s...he was such a good man.’
‘One of the best,’ said Sir Thomas. The others nodded in agreement.
‘So, what happens now?’ asked Jacob; his voice still tinged with anger.
Sir Thomas said, ‘We need to get him down from here. We need to tell his family what has happened, and then we need to bring the man who did this to justice!’
‘Let’s hope the others have managed to catch him,’ said Tom.
‘Aye, I hope our Isaac has him by the neck. The bastard will hang for this!’ said Jacob.
‘Sir Thomas is right. We need to get him down from here. There are four of us. Do you think we should carry him or would it be better to fetch a horse up?’ asked Tom, looking at Sir Thomas as he was the oldest man present.
‘I think we should carry him down. It’ll be quicker. Mrs Peart should know what’s happened before word spreads — you know what it’s like around here. Joe and Jacob hold him under his arms. Tom and I will take his legs.’ When everyone was in place, he said, ‘Alright, everyone — lift!’
They slowly carried Mr Peart down through the pasture and into a meadow belonging to Springbank Farm, one or another of them stumbling several times on the way.
The unmistakeable sound of a gunshot reverberated through the valley.
‘Where did that come from?’ asked Jacob.
They stopped and lowered the body to the ground. In the distance
, they could hear a dog whining and scratching at what sounded like wood. There was a barn a couple of fields down from them.
‘I’ll stay with Mr Peart. I can’t leave him, it’s not right. You go and see what’s going on,’ said Joe.
The three men walked quickly down the fields and when they got closer they saw Ben kneeling on the ground sobbing. Tom walked over to the boy and put his hand on his shoulder. Ben was leaning over Fly and when he looked up, tears were streaming down his face. He cried, ‘He shot Fly. Fly grabbed his leg and the bastard shot him!’ The dog was dead.
Sir Thomas’s hound scratched at the wooden door. He wagged his tail as his master approached and sat down, looking proud that he had found the thief. ‘He must be hiding in the barn,’ said Sir Thomas. The three men approached the barn quietly. ‘Good boy,’ whispered Sir Thomas, as he went to look through the gap between the doors. A door at the back of the barn was wide open.
‘We’d better catch him. It’s not just stealing sheep that he’s wanted for now — it’s murder!’ said Tom. ‘He shot Mr Peart dead.’
Isaac and Ned turned to him in disbelief and swore to themselves as the news sunk in.
Sir Thomas took his dog through the barn and out of the back door. All eyes were on the hound as he sniffed the ground in search of a scent to follow. He went around in circles.
The Lead Miner's Daughter Page 13
