An Orphan's Secret

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I’ll do more than that, lass,’ Wes said, flashing a smile, and Meg noticed for the first time that he had really deep dimples, not only in his cheeks but one in his chin too. Though, of course, she wasn’t looking at his face. Not really.

  ‘I’ll come with you. You never know who you might meet on a country road these days.’

  ‘No, you won’t, Wes Cornish,’ she answered.

  ‘Well, then, how about taking a walk on Sunday?’ he ventured, adding hastily as he saw her objection before she could voice it, ‘After chapel, I mean.’

  ‘I have the dinner to get,’ Meg said, implying that though he might have all the time in the world for walks on Sundays, some folk didn’t.

  ‘Oh, aye, I know,’ Wes said hastily, ‘but after, then?’

  ‘Then there’s tea and evening chapel.’

  ‘Why, Meg, we could go in the afternoon. We’d be back for chapel, like.’

  ‘Aye,’ she conceded, though she frowned consideringly, adding, ‘Are you going to chapel, like?’ This being courted by a lad was all new to her. It was all she could think of to say, though she had not seen Wesley in chapel for years. But she had never let a conversation with him go this far before. It was a bit fast and she couldn’t seem to get her breath. She had to think a bit, and any road, what would Da say? Well, maybe not Da, but Auntie Phoebe? Da didn’t say anything about anything these days.

  But Meg forgot what people might say as she stared into Wesley Cornish’s hazel eyes. They looked almost green as he gazed earnestly down at her and, by, hadn’t he lovely fair hair? Not this wishy-washy straw colour like hers, but with reddish tints. He was so good-looking, and not all wild and bad either, in spite of what the minister said about him and his marras. Hadn’t he sided with Jack Boy and Miles when those pitmen went for the lads during the strike?

  ‘I might go to chapel,’ said Wesley. ‘Well, what do you say?’

  ‘I said yes,’ said Meg. ‘Two o’clock then? At the end of the rows?’

  For she wasn’t going to have the lads gawping at him if he called for her at her house. Neither was she ready for him to meet her da, not like he was in the house. Before Meg could guess his intentions and move out of his reach, Wesley dropped a kiss lightly on her brow.

  ‘Well then, I’ll see you on Sunday.’

  Turning on his heel, he swung jauntily down the row, whistling a tune as he went. Meg went on her way to Old Pit Cottages, not sure how she felt. Her feelings were all mixed up, she had a trembling inside of her and her cheeks remained flushed a rosy pink.

  After delivering her parcel of clothes to Mrs Dobbs and doing one or two odd jobs for the old lady, Meg decided to walk on for a short distance along the lane which meandered between fields green with young wheat and barley. The cow parsley, or black man’s baccy as it was known locally, was coming into bloom along the hedgerows and that, combined with may blossom, gave the air a sweet, pleasant scent, so different from the stink from the coke ovens. She remembered Uncle Tot laughing at her when she wrinkled her nose at the smell when the ovens were going full blast.

  ‘It’s a good smell, lass, it cleans the air and it’s good for you,’ he’d said. But she was not convinced.

  Meg wandered along the road under the evening sun, enjoying the unaccustomed leisure and feeling unwilling to go home. But the shadows were lengthening and the sun dipping below the horizon and in the end she decided she must go if she wanted to be back before dark. Reluctantly she retraced her steps. It was later than she’d thought. As she climbed a small rise in the road and looked down over the fields and woods to Winton Colliery, she saw that already there was a mist drifting along the valley of the Gaunless river.

  I’ll cut across, she thought. If I hurry I’ll be through the woods and out on the village road before it’s completely dark. Finding a gate in the hedge she climbed over it and set off across the field to the woods which lay beyond. She hadn’t been that way before but had a good sense of direction and felt confident she would find her way through the trees.

  She was almost to the hedge which bounded the wood when she suddenly heard galloping hooves. They were almost upon her before she realised, having been masked by the soft marshy ground of the pasture. She cast a quick, startled glance behind her, seeing the horseman almost on top of her, and jumped for her life into the hedge, falling into the ditch, still with water in the bottom from the spring rains.

  ‘What the hell are you doing on my land?’ demanded the horseman, struggling to control his mount, pulling on the reins as the frightened animal pranced about, neighing and rolling his eyes. He managed to quieten the horse but did not dismount to help the girl out of the ditch. She had to scramble up the bank herself, dishevelled and with the hem of her good skirt muddied and wet.

  ‘Answer me, girl. I’ll have you in front of the bench tomorrow for trespassing, damn me if I don’t! After something, I’ve no doubt. You’d better tell me, girl, have you no tongue? I’ll have you locked up tonight, see if I don’t!’

  But Meg was mute with terror, staring up at him with wide blue eyes, her colour coming and going, panic rising in her heaving breast. She hardly heard the threat, wasn’t frightened of the lock-up, no. It was because she knew him. After all these years, she knew him, though the last time she had seen him was at her mother’s funeral when she was still a child.

  Ralph Grizedale, the candyman!

  The candyman, the candyman . . . the name beat through her head, over and over. She was frozen with fear, forgetting the trees and fields around her, forgetting the approaching dark, forgetting everything and seeing nothing, nothing but the face of the man who was now dismounting from his horse and walking over to her. Ralph Grizedale, the candyman.

  His mood had changed, he no longer looked angry. Instead, he was watching her with a peculiar, intense look in his eyes, looking from her face to the swell of her breasts against the rough serge of her dress, the white vee at her neck where the button of her collar was undone.

  Meg knew why he was looking at her like that, she knew she should run before he got to her, but she couldn’t. She could only stare at him dumbly.

  And she saw he could see her fear. When he put an arm around her shoulders she knew he could feel her trembling and she knew he found her fear exciting.

  ‘And who are you, little maid?’ he asked softly, and his hand slid from her shoulder to her breast and she could feel the heat from it as he pressed the softness under the serge and his other hand circled her waist and drew her to him. And still she stared at him, held captive more by her terror than that man’s arms.

  Ralph was encouraged, and laughed softly.

  ‘All the same, you pitmen’s lasses, aren’t you? I suppose you think I’ll let you off the lock-up. Well, I might just do that, if you are good enough.’

  He was leading her to the gate in the hedge, his arm still an iron band about her waist, his other hand still clamped on her breast. Under the trees there lay a bed of last year’s leaves, rustling and brown. Ralph led her there, leaning her against the trunk of a great oak, and began unbuttoning her dress, feeling underneath and pushing aside the thin shift to grasp the nipples. As his excitement mounted he pulled the undergarment roughly aside, tearing it. And all the while he held her gaze, enjoying her numb terror. He kneaded her breasts with his fingers, pulling at the nipples cruelly and pushing himself hard up against her, so that the bark at her back was pushed painfully into her.

  Pulling her down on to the bed of leaves beneath the tree, Ralph scrabbled with his own clothing. It was time to enjoy this unexpectedly docile girl to the full.

  But that gave Meg her chance. His own buttons were proving stubborn and Ralph had to take his eyes off her to see to them. In that moment she was galvanized into action and, taking him completely by surprise, flung him away from her, strength returning to her arms and legs as she jumped to her feet. Leaving the candyman gaping after her, flat on his back with his clothes half undone, she ran through the woods in the ga
thering darkness, instinctively heading in the right direction though she stumbled once or twice over bushes and fallen logs.

  He hadn’t known her, thank God he hadn’t known her, she thought wildly, sobbing now, her breath coming in gasping, painful pants. Oh, thank God he hadn’t known her! She could see the edge of the wood now and trees were thinning out. She stood by the hedge getting her bearings as the moon came out, a full moon which cast a bright white glow over the landscape. And there, in the distance, only a mile or two away, she could see the pitheap and winding engine of Winton Colliery and the sparks coming out of the colliery chimney. She could even hear, though faintly it was true, the whistle blowing from the engine pulling the coal trucks along the line.

  Meg was still fearful as she ran along the hedge, making for the lane. No more walking in the fields for her, she vowed. And she didn’t even feel safe in the lane; she wouldn’t be safe until she got to Winton Colliery, she knew. At least the lads off shift in the village wouldn’t go for her, they wouldn’t attack her. They had some decency, she told herself, not like that man. And she jumped back in renewed terror as a figure on horseback turned off the main road into the lane.

  ‘What is it? Are you all right?’

  The figure had dismounted. He had a lantern and was holding it high in the air as he looked down at her, concern showing in his face.

  ‘Look,’ said Jonty, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you, I didn’t see you at first. Are you all right?’

  There was something familiar about him to Meg, though she didn’t know who he was. There was a familiar air about him, a reassuring air. She remembered how disordered her clothes were and hurried to cover herself up, blushing furiously as she did so.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, still trembling. ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault.’ She looked from him to the welcoming sight of the pit and its colliery rows beside it, and began backing away along the road.

  ‘I’m in a hurry, I must get home, it’s late . . .’

  She fairly raced up the road, lifting her muddied skirts in one hand and flying over the stones, hardly feeling them though the leather of her boots was worn paper thin. Jonty gazed after her, wondering, but the moon went behind a cloud and soon she was lost from sight. Gathering the reins of his horse, he remounted and jogged slowly up the lane and across the fields to where he could pick up the track which led to Grizedale Hall. What on earth had the girl been doing out here on her own? It was almost eleven o’clock. Where on earth had she been and why was she so agitated? And why did he feel that he knew her from somewhere, somewhere else and long ago?

  The puzzle was resolved for him when he came to the edge of the wood and saw his father’s horse, reins dangling as he cropped the lush grass of the pasture. Just emerging through the gate which led into the wood was his father, a black scowl on his face.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ asked Jonty grimly.

  ‘What the hell business is it of yours?’ Ralph blustered, grabbing his horse’s reins and pulling them savagely before climbing into the saddle.

  Jonty leaned over and caught hold of the bridle of his father’s horse.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ roared Ralph, jerking the reins so that his horse danced and neighed as the bit sawed against his mouth.

  ‘You accosted that girl, didn’t you?’ demanded Jonty, his face grim. ‘What sort of a name do you think you’re giving the family?’

  ‘What girl? I’ve seen no girl. Now will you let go of my horse and let me get on my way?’

  Jonty released his grip on the reins and allowed his father to gallop away. He realised they were only hurting the horse. But he followed close behind. Ralph was just dismounting as Jonty rode into the yard and jumped down to the ground.

  ‘Father—’ he began, but Ralph was already striding away, leaving the stabling of the horses to his son. There had been no stable hand at Grizedale Hall for a couple of years now and no money to pay a lad even if they could prevail on one to come.

  Jonty unsaddled the horses and let them into the stalls. He rubbed them both down and piled fresh hay in the boxes, leaving them contentedly chewing before he doused the lantern and closed the stable door behind him. He leaned against the door, looking up at the house. There was only one light which beamed thinly through the curtains of his father’s study. Good, thought Jonty, I’m not finished with him yet, I’ll have it out with him now. Striding into the Hall, he paused only to remove his riding boots and find his indoor shoes before going to the study door. Not bothering to knock, he flung the door open and went in.

  Ralph lay sprawled in his usual place in the armchair before the fireplace, though the fire in the grate was quite dead and filled with only grey ash which had built up and spilled out on to the hearth. The whole room had a neglected air about it, the leather of the armchairs worn thin and even showing holes in places with the horsehair stuffing springing out. Ralph had poured himself a liberal whisky and was tipping it down his throat as though he hadn’t had a drink in days. He paused and looked sourly at Jonty.

  ‘Don’t knock,’ he said with heavy sarcasm.

  Jonty ignored this. He strode over the the fireplace and glared down at his father, a heavy bloated man now with a large belly spilling over his trousers and the red mottled nose of the habitual drinker. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his riding boots.

  ‘What did you do to that girl? I met her at the end of the lane. She was in a distressed state and her clothing looked to be torn. She ran off up the road to Winton Colliery, but I saw enough to know something had happened to her. And then there you were, coming out of the wood. What were you doing there at that time of night?’

  ‘I was having a pee, what do you think?’ snapped Ralph, and took another gulp of whisky.

  ‘You wouldn’t have bothered to go into the wood, I know you better than that,’ Jonty said. ‘You molested that girl, didn’t you? Did you violate her? By God—’

  Ralph flung his empty whisky glass into the fireplace and the glass shattered and flew out over the hearth and on to the carpet. He sat up in his chair, his face a deep purple.

  ‘No, I did not violate her, as you put it. And even if I did, what is it to you? She was only a pitman’s daughter, I found her trespassing in the fields. She should have been glad I didn’t haul her in front of the bench. I should have taken her to the lock-up . . .’

  ‘Then you did see her. Heavens’ alive, Father, don’t you know what will happen to you if you rape a girl from the pit villages? The miners look after their own, don’t you know that? You’ve lived among them long enough. If she tells what happened there’ll be a gang out after you tonight.’

  Ralph laughed shortly. ‘Aw, stuff and nonsense,’ he said. ‘She won’t tell them. There was nothing to tell. The little bitch led me on to think she was willing and then took fright and ran off. No doubt she thought she heard someone coming. They’re all the same these pitmen’s brats – wanton little whores until they think they’ve been found out. There’ll be no gang after me, not tonight or any night.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t hurt her?’

  ‘Man, haven’t I told you? And anyway, even if I did, it’s none of your damn’ business. Though I suppose it’s the common blood coming out in you. Your mother was a wanton little whore—’

  But Jonty was not prepared to listen to this. It was a long time since Ralph had talked like this about his mother, he’d been a bit more careful since Jonty had grown up, but tonight whisky had loosened his tongue and his voice had taken on the contemptuous tone which had burned itself into Jonty’s mind as a boy. He was not going to listen to his father calling his dead mother names again, he was not.

  Leaning forward, he grabbed hold of his father’s shirt front and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘What the hell!’ ejaculated Ralph.

  Jonty brought up his fist and hit his father full in the face, sending him sprawling on the carpet. Ralph lay for a moment, dazed, before lifting his head and shaking it
carefully. A trickle of blood ran down his upper lip from his nose and he wiped the back of his hand across and inspected the blood which came away on his fingers, hardly believing what he saw.

  ‘What . . . what . . .?’ he said, looking up at Jonty who was towering over him, waiting for him to retaliate. Jonty’s blood was up. He felt that if only his father got to his feet and hit him back, he could carry on giving the older man a thrashing he would never forget.

  ‘Stand up,’ he said hoarsely, ‘stand up and fight.’

  But Ralph was not so drunk as that, he still retained some instincts for self-preservation. He stayed where he was, looking up at his son.

  ‘I’m your father, boy!’ he snarled. ‘Don’t you think you owe me some respect?’

  ‘A pity you didn’t act like a father when I was young. Respect? You want me to show respect for a drunken wastrel like you? I had to hide out of your way when I was a boy, I feared for my life.’

  Jonty laughed, but without humour as the rage in him died away, leaving only a grim, black contempt for the man still lying on the floor.

  ‘Oh, get to your feet,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to hit you again. The fact is, you’re just not worth it.’ He strode to the window and stared out into the blackness of the park, bitterness welling up in him, poisoning him. If it wasn’t for his grandmother, lying asleep in her room upstairs, he would go away from Grizedale Hall. He was sick of it and all it stood for. But the fact remained, his grandmother was there, old and frail. And he could not leave her to the mercies of her son, he could never do that.

  Ralph had crawled to his feet and poured himself out a fresh glass of whisky. He stood before the fire and downed the spirit in one gulp before taking out his handkerchief and dabbing his upper lip.

  ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he said savagely, but Jonty merely grunted disparagingly and strode from the room.