THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  But today she felt light-headed with hunger and fatigue, her feet aching in boots that had grown too tight for her over the summer. First her mother dragged her to a tidy house in Myrtle Avenue where she knew of a Mrs Dodswell who acted on behalf of a domestic servant agency. She was a plump woman with a florid complexion, whose front parlour looked more like a penny library, with a desk covered in paper and periodicals, and shelves around the room crammed with books and ledgers.

  ‘Plenty of work if she’s prepared to go to London, Mrs Mercer,’ she told them. ‘I’ve sent many girls to place from Ashborough and they’ve all gone to good homes. I pride myself on the quality of the girls I send. Girls from Northumberland are sought after – very hardworking. How old did you say she was?’

  ‘Fifteen,’ Teresa lied. Millie flushed at her mother’s boldness. She had already pretended that they had come from the genteel market town of Morpeth, seven miles in the other direction from Craston.

  Millie was aware of the woman sizing her up with one penetrating look.

  ‘She’s a bit thin, but given training, she’d make an excellent parlour maid with her height. Of course she’d have to start off with a lesser position – a housemaid or in-between maid, perhaps.’

  ‘We’d have to go together,’ Teresa insisted. ‘I’ll not be parted from my Millie.’

  Millie felt nauseous as they discussed her future, her head beginning to swim.

  ‘Now that might be difficult.’ Mrs Dodswell looked more severe. ‘You have no training, Mrs Mercer, and your age . . . the agency prefers young girls who will be quick and eager to learn. I didn’t realise you were looking for a position yourself. What does Mr Mercer say?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Teresa said stonily, ‘There isn’t a Mr Mercer – I’m a widow.’

  Millie’s heart began to hammer. She could not believe the way her mother was lying to this woman, but she knew she would be in big trouble if she said anything now.

  ‘I’m as good as any trained housekeeper,’ Teresa declared, ‘and I can decorate and play the piano. I’d make an ideal companion for some elderly spinster or widow.’

  Millie had been standing all this while, and now felt her legs begin to buckle, her head quite dizzy. ‘Please can I have a cup of water?’ Her words rang in her ears. The women looked round at her and then receded in a speckled mist as Millie blacked out and hit the floor.

  When she came round she was lying on a small sofa, with her mother and Mrs Dodswell peering at her in concern. Teresa helped her sip some water.

  ‘Look how pale she is, Mrs Dodswell,’ her mother said in her trembling theatrical voice. ‘I couldn’t leave my little lamb to fend for herself in London. Surely you can find us something more local in Ashborough?’

  Mrs Dodswell sighed with reluctance. ‘Well, I do know of somewhere that is looking for a cook. It’s not through the agency, mind, and I really can’t vouch for the place. I’ve heard that people don’t stay there very long, but I can’t comment on why.’

  ‘Where?’ Teresa said eagerly.

  ‘The Station Hotel,’ said Mrs Dodswell with a sniff. ‘It’s really just a boarding house with a bar. Seen better days.’

  ‘We don’t mind,’ Teresa said stoutly. ‘Who runs it?’

  ‘A widower and his daughter. A Mr Moody.’

  Millie could tell by the way she spoke his name that Mrs Dodswell did not approve of the man. But her mother was undeterred.

  ‘Will you speak up for me, Mrs Dodswell?’ she pleaded.

  ‘Very well. Perhaps you could return in a day or two and I can make enquiries for you?’

  ‘No.’ Teresa was adamant. ‘We need something now. My Millie can’t manage the walk back to Cr - Morpeth in her weak condition.’

  Mrs Dodswell looked taken aback.

  ‘Mam,’ Millie began, ‘what about—?’ But her mother cut her off quickly.

  ‘We can start right away,’ Teresa insisted. ‘We’re not going back where we came from. Not ever!’

  Chapter Two

  Millie disliked Joseph Moody on sight. He was large and overweight, his skin grey and glistening around morose brown eyes. His long sideboards were a gingery grey, yet his hair was unnaturally black and his breath smelt of stale hops when he came near. He stood too close when he talked, but her mother did not seem to mind.

  ‘The lass doesn’t look that strong,’ he said dubiously.

  Teresa answered swiftly, ‘My Millie’s a hard worker. She just needs a bit of rest and some food in her belly. Just give us bed and board to start with and we’ll prove we’re grafters.’

  Teresa smiled, and Millie could see that he was impressed by what he saw: a good-looking, well-dressed woman with a pleasing manner.

  ‘Your mother’s got breeding,’ Moody often said in the days that followed, which made Millie think of horses.

  He took little persuasion to take them in, and Millie soon saw why. The boarding house that grandly called itself a hotel was in a filthy, dilapidated state and the previous housekeeper had walked out after only a month. An arthritic maid called Sarah came in daily to help, but few travellers chose to stay there. The main custom came from the use of the public bar. This was the scene of many a rowdy evening brawl that made Millie keep to her room in the attic which she shared with her mother. For several days she was too weak to get out of bed, content for Teresa to bring her offerings of bread dipped in milk and some watery broth, glad to be out of Moody’s way. But even from her garret she could hear the shouting and the fist fights.

  She was amazed that her mother agreed to serve in the bar without protest, as Teresa had always been strictly teetotal and disapproved of Ellis’s drinking. Yet she seemed to revel in the challenge of the place. While Millie lay upstairs in the leaking bedroom, kept awake by the drip of rain into a metal pail and the snort of the horses in the stables next door, she would hear her mother playing on the bar piano. Tears would sting Millie’s eyes at the sound of familiar tunes that Teresa had not played since Graham’s death. She would bury her head under the damp, musty blankets and weep for home. Her only comfort was taking out her brother’s dog-eared postcards and rereading the cheerful fading messages – echoes from a lost world.

  Millie was soon put to work with Sarah, learning to clean and polish and wrestle with the poss tub and mangle. Gruff Sarah was a competent teacher though long past managing the chores herself, and Millie was exhausted by the back-breaking work. Her resentment grew as she saw her mother coping cheerfully with the shopping, cooking and helping in the bar.

  ‘I hate it here,’ she told Teresa one night. ‘Please can we go back to Craston?’

  Her mother flopped down beside her, smelling of pipe tobacco. ‘There’s nothing to go back for. This is your home now, Millie, you’ll get used to it soon enough.’

  ‘No I won’t!’ Millie contradicted. ‘I miss me dad. He’ll be worried about us. You said we were going back, you lied to me!’ She burst into tears.

  Teresa rounded on her sharply, grabbing her arms and shaking her, so that she choked on her tears. ‘We’ve been here nearly two weeks and your father’s never come looking for us once. He doesn’t give tuppence ha’penny what happens to either of us! We’ve done him a good turn coming to Ashborough, so he doesn’t have to provide for us anymore. He was a bad husband and bad father. As far as folk here are concerned he’s dead. And if you dare mention anything about him I’ll skin the hide off you, do you hear?’

  Millie was terrified by her mother’s outburst and winced at the pain in her arms. Further words of protest died on her lips. She turned away and curled up into a tight ball, thinking mutinously that when her strength returned she would go back to Craston, even if it was just to assure her father she was safe. She longed to see him, for despite what her mother said, she was sure he must be fretting about her. She could not bear the thought that he did not care what had happened to her.

  Later, Teresa put a hand on her shoulder in the dark and shook her gently
.

  ‘I’m doing what’s best for us, pet,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll make something of this place; make it into a proud hotel again that people’ll want to visit. We can have a good life in Ashborough – better than anything Craston has to offer. The likes of you and me can’t thrive in a dirty little village like that, we’re meant for better things. Besides, we’re not welcome there anymore.’

  Teresa snuggled next to her, putting a protective arm around her, and Millie wondered at how quickly her mother’s mood could change. ‘And Mr Moody’s daughter will be back from Newcastle from time to time,’ Teresa mused sleepily. ‘She’s sixteen – not much more than you in age – looks canny from her picture. You’ll have a friend right here – and a better sort than that Ella Parks. She was as common as they come anyway.’

  Millie was just drifting off into a warm sleep, comforted by her mother’s arms around her, when there was a sudden banging on the stairs and loud shouts. She shot up in alarm, rousing her exhausted mother.

  ‘What’s that, Mam?’ she cried out.

  Teresa hardly had time to pull on her overcoat to investigate the noise before the door flew open.

  ‘Ah! There you are!’ Moody shouted, giving out a ribald laugh as he lurched into the room. Millie shrank behind her mother’s protective back, disgusted by the smell of stale liquor that wafted from him. ‘Why you hiding up here?’ he demanded.

  Teresa reached out to steady him, but he was bulky and clumsy from drink and knocked her sideways. Then he lunged at Millie cowering in the bed.

  ‘I never see you,’ he grinned at her, his face sweaty and flushed, as he tried to stroke her curly hair. Millie froze in horror at his touch, unable to say a word. ‘I like to see you. I miss me own little Ava, do you understand? You’re a little picture, just like my Ava.’ Millie stifled a scream and tried to turn her head away.

  ‘Don’t!’ Teresa ordered, on her feet again and trying to pull Moody off her daughter. He turned suddenly belligerent.

  ‘I’m not hurting her,’ he growled. ‘Just a good-night kiss for a little lass.’

  ‘She’s not your little lass,’ Teresa shouted, picking up one of her boots and threatening him with it. ‘So stay away from her!’

  Millie scrabbled to the far side of the bed, pulling the counterpane around her for cover. Moody hesitated, his look confused. Teresa seized the advantage.

  ‘You don’t want us to leave, do you, Mr Moody? Not when we can help make something of this place.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I can see how you miss your Ava, but she’ll be home soon. My Millie can’t take her place, can she?’

  All of a sudden Moody’s belligerent face crumpled and he broke down sobbing. ‘I’m sorry,’ he wept loudly, I’m sorry.’

  Teresa stepped towards him and heaved him to his feet. The look she gave Millie warned her not to move or say a word.

  ‘Come on now,’ she coaxed. ‘You’re just tired. Let’s get you downstairs.’

  He bawled like a baby, his face running with tears and mucus. ‘I miss me wife. I miss her that much.’ Swiftly Teresa levered him to the door and out on to the landing. Millie sat shaking with disgust and relief, listening to their slow progress down the stairs and her mother’s gentle scolding as if dealing with a child. She heard the door to Moody’s bedroom bang open and waited for her mother’s footsteps to regain the narrow stairs. But she did not come. Growing bolder, Millie crept out of bed and squatted at the top of the stairs to listen. She could hear muffled grunts and words as her mother moved around the room below, helping the landlord out of his boots and on to the bed. His crying had subsided, but she could hear her mother’s voice murmuring softly the whole time, though she could not make out a word of what was being said.

  Millie grew impatient as the cold seeped through her old nightgown. Surely it was now safe for her mother to return and leave Moody to sleep off his drunken outburst? She heard footsteps come to the door, and leaning forward she caught sight of her mother glancing out of the gas lit room. For a brief moment they caught each other’s look. Teresa’s face was stern and set, but her dark eyes shone strangely. Was she trying to tell her something? Millie wondered in perplexity. Then her mother turned back and closed the door and the landing was plunged into darkness. Millie felt quite abandoned and gripped by an unknown fear. She peered into the void below, wanting to rush down the blackened staircase and seek refuge in the room of light downstairs. Whatever was happening in there, it must be preferable to this terrifying aloneness on the cold attic landing.

  She remained there for ages, but her mother did not come. Inexplicable moans and creakings disturbed the night, while Millie cried quietly at her chilly outpost. Eventually she heard a strange rhythmic hum, like a distant motor vehicle, and realised that someone was snoring. Unbending her frozen limbs, Millie crept back to her now cold bed. She hardly slept that night, unable to get warm again and half listening out for her mother’s return. Eventually Teresa came back, just before dawn, and Millie feigned sleep.

  The terrible night had shaken her beyond belief. The fragile security she had felt with her mother tucked in beside her was now gone. Nothing was as it seemed. Something had happened in the night that had changed her world. She knew that her mother had somehow protected her, and yet she felt empty and betrayed inside. The next day she could not meet her mother’s look, and nothing was ever said about what had happened. But after that there were other nights when her mother did not come to bed until the early hours of the morning, and nights when the murmur of voices from below would disturb her. Yet Moody never came near her again, hardly speaking to her unless to give some order and she noticed how his drinking lessened under her mother’s influence. Teresa seemed able to predict his moods and placate his temper like a circus tamer. Soon he was paying her a wage out of takings from the bar, and she persuaded him to retire old Sarah and give her meagre wages to Millie.

  Teresa was triumphant when Moody agreed that if they got enough custom from the hotel, he would turn the public bar into a temperance room serving tea and Bovril.

  ‘We’ll show Ashborough you can have a good time at the Station Hotel without drinking and brawling,’ she declared. Millie was cheered by her mother’s enthusiasm and optimism, which never stayed dampened for long. Yet there were times when Millie’s own show of good humour masked the fear that plagued her within: fear of losing her mother, of destitution and homelessness, of what went on in Moody’s bedroom in the dark hours of the night.

  ***

  Then, just as their new life was growing familiar and the trauma of their flight from Craston was receding, Ava Moody returned home, appearing on the station platform with a heavy suitcase and bulging packages. Millie was in the greasy, smoke-blackened kitchen, warming herself by the large range that her mother had got Moody to stoke up for wash day, when Ava burst in with a blast of autumnal air, throwing her packages on to the floor. She was round-faced, with straight brown hair tied loosely behind and unblinking hazel eyes.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded at once, giving Millie a hostile look. Then, ‘Where’s my father?’ she asked, not giving the other girl time to reply.

  ‘You must be Ava,’ Teresa intervened brightly, coming out of the laundry room with a basket of grubby bed linen. ‘By, you’re bonnier than your picture! Your father’s up at the farm visiting Mr Collins. Not be long. Why don’t you have a cup of tea with us? I’m the new housekeeper, Mrs Mercer, and this is my daughter Millie. We weren’t expecting you. I’d wanted to get your room nice and welcoming for you coming home.’

  Ava gawped, quite disarmed by Teresa’s cheerful, flattering manner. Millie watched in admiration as her mother put on her eager-to-please act and saw Ava’s tight, surly expression dissolve into blushing smiles. Soon they were laughing and chatting around the kitchen table like old friends. Teresa murmured sympathetically when Ava declared that she was not cut out for service in Newcastle and had no intention of returning to slave for any banker’s family in Jesmond ever again.


  ‘It was all Aunt Effie’s fault anyway,’ Ava pouted. ‘She sent me away but I never wanted to go. She’s always interfering.’

  ‘Well, she hasn’t been near the place since we arrived,’ Teresa assured her.

  Millie wanted to know what life had been like in Newcastle, but the other two were more interested in discovering a mutual interest in clothes and hats, and a taste for music hall.

  ‘My Millie loves a good sing-song and dance too,’ Teresa said warmly. ‘I can see you two are going to get along just grand.’

  The girls eyed each other with suspicion. Millie resented the way her mother was taking to Ava so readily, and she hated the way Moody’s daughter looked at her as if she were the scullery maid. But then that was what she was, Millie told herself harshly.

  When Moody came back, he made a huge fuss of his daughter, with no reprimand for having left her job in Newcastle or for returning with a purse full of clothing bills. It was immediately clear that Ava was not expected to help around the hotel if she chose not to. She leapt at Teresa’s suggestion that they make social calls on the various grocers and suppliers to discuss the weekly orders.

  ‘I think we should be attracting a higher class of customer,’ Teresa suggested boldly. ‘We could give the old dining room a clear-out and advertise it for luncheons and teas. Get some of the town’s societies using it as a meeting place.’

  Ava clapped her hands in excitement, and Millie guessed that there had never been anything so glamorous suggested before. Moody seemed quite captivated by the idea too, or maybe it was just her mother’s flirtatious manner that pleased him, Millie thought with familiar dread clutching her stomach.

  ‘We’ve missed a woman’s touch about the place since Ava’s dear mother died,’ Joseph said with emotion. ‘Twelve years I’ve struggled without her. It hasn’t been easy, and no woman’s come near to replacing her. Have they, Ava?’