‘Maybe he just opened the door to make us think he’d gone that way. He might still be hiding in the barn,’ suggested Tom.
The men carried out a thorough search of the barn, but to no avail. The gunman had gone.
They gathered together beside Ben and his dog. Sir Thomas asked, ‘Did anyone get a look at him? Did anyone recognise him?’
There was no answer.
‘I know it was dark and everything happened so quickly, but anything at all might help.’
‘He was tall and thin,’ said Isaac. ‘That’s all I can say.’
‘And a good runner,’ added Jacob.
‘That’s a start, I suppose,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘Ned, could you go and ask the constable to come to Springbank Farm? Tell him it’s urgent and to come straightaway. I’ll tell him what’s happened when he gets there. And then go to Doctor Rutherford’s. Tell him to go to the farm as well. Tell him that Mr Peart is dead. Isaac, could you help the lad bury his dog? The rest of us had better get Mr Peart home.’
***
While the men had been out hunting for sheep rustlers, Connie had gone over to Springbank Farm to keep her mother company. When Joe returned, he found them sitting in the kitchen together. They were sewing in the lamplight. Connie passed a needle that she had just threaded back to Mrs Peart, while Mrs Peart held the cloth as far away from her as she could reach and strained her eyes to see the stitching that she had already done. This was probably the most peaceful scene that Joe had ever witnessed between the two ladies in all the time he had known them.
He moved forward into the room and they looked up from their work.
‘You’re back early, Joe. I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Mrs Peart, as she put her sewing down on the table and stood up. ‘Any luck?’
‘Please, Mrs Peart, you’d better sit down.’
The tone of his voice, rather than his words, made the women realise that something bad had happened. Mrs Peart took Connie’s hand and held it tightly.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news — very bad news.’
Connie said impatiently, ‘What’s wrong, Joe? What’s happened?’
Joe cleared his throat, ‘It’s Mr Peart. He was shot on the fell. I’m sorry, but he’s dead.’
He waited for the words to sink in before adding, ‘He didn’t suffer.’
Connie cried, ‘Father, oh no, not my father.’ She burst into tears and ran upstairs to her old room.
Mrs Peart stood up clumsily, knocking her sewing off the table, and asked, ‘But — but who shot him?’
‘We don’t know. It was the sheep rustler — but he got away.’
‘Where is he?’
By the look of despair on her face, he realised she meant her husband and not the killer. ‘They’ve carried him down. He’s outside.’
‘No, he can’t stay outside. Bring him in,’ she ordered. ‘He should be in here.’
Joe went to the door and motioned for the men to bring the body inside. They carried him into the parlour and laid him down on the sofa. Mrs Peart sat beside her husband and took hold of his lifeless hand. She wept quietly. Joe put his hand on her shoulder and, after a few words of condolence, the men left her to grieve.
Doctor Rutherford called at the farmhouse that evening. After listening to Sir Thomas’s account of events, he confirmed the death, signed the paperwork and gave Connie a sedative to help her sleep. As he left, he said he would ask the undertaker to visit first thing in the morning.
***
It was dawn by the time Ben returned to The Moss. Over breakfast, Lizzie and Mary listened to his story and were horrified to learn that Mr Peart and Fly had been killed by a thief.
As Lizzie fussed over Ben, who was obviously upset at losing his dog, Mary could tell that her aunt was just relieved that Ben had returned home safely. He could so easily have been shot too.
Mary thought about Mr Peart. He had been a good man and a good employer. She had liked and respected him. Poor Mrs Peart— she would be lost without him. Mary felt sorry that she couldn’t go and help her, but she wouldn’t be welcome after the way she had run away. She couldn’t even go to the funeral because Joe and Connie would be there.
St Andrew’s church didn’t have enough seating for everyone who turned out for Mr Peart’s funeral. The women and the elderly sat in the pews. Men stood in the aisle, at the back and even in the porch. Mr Peart had been a farmer, a landowner, a gentleman and a dale’s man born and bred. He was well-known and well-respected by all. The service was long and very moving.
Mary stood behind a tree in the churchyard, watching from a distance. She knew she couldn’t attend the funeral, but she wanted to pay her respects to Mr Peart, a man who she had greatly admired.
Mr Jeremiah Peart was laid to rest in a plot close to the door of the church, with many of his family and friends around his graveside. After the committal, the vicar invited everyone back to Springbank Farm on behalf of the family and most of them went back to the farmhouse for refreshments, as was the custom.
Mary saw the family leading the way down the path to the gates, followed by well over a hundred people. Their voices were subdued out of respect. She clutched Josie to her chest and began her walk back to The Moss before anyone could see her.
***
Back at Springbank Farm, food and drinks were served in both the drawing room and dining room, but people overflowed into the kitchen and hallway. Mrs Peart couldn’t remember a time that there had been so many visitors at the farm and she was humbled by how many people had turned out to pay their respects to her husband. She thanked every single one.
When most of them had left, Mr Bainbridge, the family solicitor, gathered together Mrs Peart, Connie and Joe and asked them if there was somewhere he could speak with them privately. Mrs Peart led the way to the parlour. She closed the door behind them and they all took a seat.
Mr Bainbridge began, ‘As you may know, Mr Peart left a will and it is customary for the will to be read to the family after the funeral has taken place. There’s no need to be alarmed, I’m sure there’ll be no surprises in it. It’s just something that must be done.’
Mrs Peart nodded her consent and he began to read the will:
‘This is the Last Will and Testament of me Jeremiah Peart of Springbank Farm in the parish of Stanhope in the County of Durham, Farmer. I give to my dear wife, Anne Peart, an annuity of fifty pounds payable half yearly for the term of her natural life. I also give to my said wife all the household furniture, ready money and my other personal estates. It is my mind that my said wife shall live at my house for the term of her natural life without paying any rent for the same.
I give to my daughter Constance my real estate, the messuage house garden with all the appurtenances known as Springbank Farm situate near Westgate in the parish of Stanhope. In the event of her marriage, my real estate will pass to her husband, for as long as he is her husband or widower, and shall be enjoyed forever by their heirs.
And I do hereby nominate and appoint my said wife sole Executrix of this my will. In witness hereof I Jeremiah Peart set and subscribe my hand and seal this third day of February in the year of our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Sixty Two.
Witnesses: Joseph Bainbridge, Solicitor, Stanhope, and John Peart, Farmer, St John’s Chapel.’
Mrs Peart thanked the solicitor and they all returned to the dining room to mingle with the remaining guests.
***
The will was just as everyone had expected. Joe was the new owner of Springbank Farm and it would pass to his children after him. He had been devastated by the death of Mr Peart but couldn’t help smiling to himself as he topped up his glass. He had achieved his dream. Joe Milburn was now a landowner.
Chapter 22
The Moss, Lanehead -
September 1873
Weeks and months had passed peacefully at The Moss and Mary kept herself to herself. She didn’t go anywhere, not even to chapel on Sundays. She couldn’t face the disappro
ving looks she knew would be directed at her. Her aunt, her cousin and her baby were all the company she wanted for now.
Since the birth, Mary had gradually started doing more and more to help out and now she did the weekly bake and prepared meals as well as looking after Josie. Even these few tasks were difficult because Josie was a hungry baby and needed to be fed quite often. Aunt Lizzie said it was because she was small and that she had some catching up to do. If Josie cried because she was hungry, Mary fed her regardless of the time that had passed since the last feed. Listening to her baby cry made her milk flow and stain her clothes. She didn’t have many clothes, and she didn’t want her aunt to complain about the noise of a crying baby.
Lizzie thought babies should be swaddled at all times. In her mind, babies that were not swaddled would get all manner of conditions and ailments. Mary disagreed with her aunt; she loved to watch her baby wave her arms and legs in the air. Night time was different though, swaddling did seem to have a comforting effect and helped Josie to sleep. Mary thought Aunt Lizzie’s ideas about childcare were old-fashioned but she bit her tongue and kept her opinions to herself. She was so grateful to her aunt for taking her in that the last thing she wanted was to be troublesome after her aunt had been so kind.
When Mary had arrived at The Moss, Lizzie had said that she was welcome to stay for as long as she needed to, but Mary wondered if she was outstaying her welcome. Not that she had ever felt unwelcome at The Moss. Lizzie seemed to enjoy her company and appreciate her help around the place, and it was obvious that she liked having a baby in the house again, but she needed to be sure that her aunt didn’t mind that they were still there.
She broached the subject one morning when they were collecting brambles, from bushes laden with fruit, on the path leading to the smallholding.
‘I was thinking, maybe I should look for another place, you know, somewhere I could work and take Josie with me,’ said Mary.
‘Don’t you like it here?’ asked her aunt.
‘I love it here, and you’ve been so good to us. It’s just that I don’t want to be a burden.’
‘A burden? You’re not a burden, lass. It’s nice having you and the bairn here. It feels more like a home again. The place was so quiet with just me and Ben. When you came here, I said you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, and I meant it. If you want to go, I won’t stop you. If you want to stay, you’re welcome to. I can’t afford to pay you, but I can give you bed and board in return, and to be honest, I could do with a hand here with Ben working at the mine.’
‘If you’re sure, then I’m more than happy to stay. Thank you.’ Mary smiled at her aunt.
The Featherstone household was not totally self-sufficient, but the smallholding provided enough food to ensure they could eat well even when money was short. The Moss was tiny compared to Springbank Farm but it was clear that Lizzie was proud of her three acres. Every single piece of it was used for something. There were potatoes, turnips, onions, carrots, cabbages, gooseberries, currants, rhubarb and herbs growing in neat rows. She had one cow that grazed alongside a few sheep and a flock of geese in a small garth. Her dozen hens were supposed to stay in the hen run but they ranged absolutely everywhere, led by a bad-tempered cockerel called Jack. The vegetable plot was their favourite spot and they were forever being chased out of there. Certainly, there was plenty of work to keep both Lizzie and Mary busy.
One warm, sunny Sunday in September, a surprise visitor called. There was a loud knock at the door. Mary opened it and couldn’t believe her eyes. Standing there, with his cap in his hands, was Tom Milburn.
‘Tom, what a surprise!’
He thought Mary looked tired and a little thinner than she had been. ‘How are you, Mary?’ he asked with genuine concern.
‘I’m well, thank you.’
‘Would you like to take a walk with me?’
Aunt Lizzie heard the question and almost shoved Mary out of the door before she had time to reply. ‘Don’t worry about Josie, I’ll see to her,’ she called after them.
‘Looks like she wants rid of me,’ Mary joked. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘I don’t know this area very well. Where do you like to go?’ Tom asked.
‘My favourite walk is up this way. It’s a steep climb but the view from the top is well worth it.’
Mary led the way along the old path up to the fell. She didn’t know what to say to Tom. She didn’t know why he had come to see her and she didn’t know how much he knew about her and Joe, and Josie. It was the first time she had felt awkward with him.
As they reached the higher ground, they were surrounded by beautiful purple heather. Tom talked about the things they saw and heard during the walk: the weather, black grouse, roe deer and the landscape. Mary was sure he hadn’t come all this way just to chat and she was surprised that he hadn’t mentioned Joe or Connie, or Springbank Farm.
They reached a natural limestone outcrop on the hillside. The big grey boulder protruded from the hillside and looked invitingly like a seat. ‘Please sit with me, Mary. There’s something we need to talk about.’
This was it. She knew he had a reason for coming but she still hadn’t worked out what it was. Had Joe sent him? Did Mrs Peart want her back? That was unlikely after she had left there in disgrace. Well, she was about to find out. She sat down nervously.
Tom took off his cap and sat beside her on the warm rock. Small, white clouds moved slowly across the blue sky. The valley below was peaceful and there was not a soul in sight.
‘This may come as a surprise, Mary, but a good one, I hope.’
Tom turned so he could look directly at her and gently took hold of her hands.
‘I want to marry you,’ he said with conviction, and watched for her reaction. When there was none, he said, ‘I want you to be my wife.’
Mary was shocked. This was totally unexpected. She hardly knew Tom. Yet it felt like he had always been there. When she had been at Westgate, she only had eyes for Joe. She had never really noticed Tom — he was just Joe’s brother. She had never considered him as a husband. They were just acquaintances. No, that wasn’t true, they had been friends.
She looked at him now through new eyes. His fair hair shone in the sunlight. His deep blue eyes looked back at her with understanding — and longing. He was almost as tall as his brother, and he was fit and strong.
She had been staring. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘You’re sorry? What have you got to be sorry for, lass?’
Before she could reply, he said, ‘I can’t believe what our Joe did to you. I’m so sorry for what he’s put you through. I don’t know what he was thinking of, marrying Connie, when he should have married you. He’s a selfish fool, that’s what he is.’
‘I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. I can look after myself,’ she said, holding her head up high. ‘If that’s why you’re here, then you’re wasting your time.’
‘I feel sorry for what’s happened, but that’s in the past now, and it’s not the reason I’m here. I’ve always liked you, Mary — more than liked. You must have known that. I want you to be my wife. Please say yes.’
Those beautiful blue eyes were searching her face for an answer, any clue as to what she might say. Mary was speechless. She had been caught completely off guard and her thoughts were somersaulting. She didn’t know if she wanted to marry Tom or not. She had only talked to him a few times before. What did she know about him? He was well-respected, he went to church and he didn’t drink to excess. He was a lead miner, he was kind and he liked to make things from wood — and he was Joe’s brother. That could make life difficult. If she married Tom, Joe would be her brother-in-law.
She didn’t feel the attraction to Tom that she had felt when she was around Joe, but she couldn’t have Joe. She thought she had found her dream man when she had met Joe, but he had broken her heart. Would she ever be able to give her heart to someone else?
There were few men that she would seri
ously consider marrying. Some were cruel, and some were drunks. Some were too old, or ugly, or smelly, or foolish. Tom was none of these things. She didn’t find him repulsive in any way, and now that she had actually noticed him, as a man and not just as Joe’s brother, she was surprised that she thought him attractive.
But marrying Tom would mean settling for a marriage of convenience and she had always dreamed of marrying for love. She liked Tom, but she didn’t love him. He didn’t love her either, he just felt sorry for her and he wanted to make up for what his brother had done. That was why he had asked her to marry him.
She had never considered marriage since Joe’s betrayal, but thinking about it seriously, who else would take on a fallen woman with a bastard child? She had Josie’s future to think about too. It would be much easier for Josie to grow up with a father — and this might be their only chance. Tom was a decent man who wanted a wife, she needed a husband and Josie needed a father. It made perfect sense — it was a convenient solution for them all.
She had made her decision.
Still holding her hands, Tom stood up and faced her. ‘I take it your silence means you’re thinking about it, at least?’
‘Tom, I don’t know you very well, but I do know that you’re a good man and I want you to know that I appreciate your offer,’ said Mary.
Tom lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them. He looked into her eyes. ‘Please, Mary, don’t say no. You don’t need to give me an answer now. I can come back next Sunday?’
The Lead Miner's Daughter Page 14
