He laughed. ‘Well, we can’t - we both have work awaiting us - and we should be thankful we have in this day and age.’
‘Aye, I know that, but it doesn’t do any harm to have dreams. What do you wish for, Gerald?’
He stopped, his face wistful in the glow of the setting sun. ‘To lead a good life, I suppose, and be happy. To find the right companion and make her happy too.’
Catherine’s heart missed a beat. Did he mean her? Tentatively, she put a hand up to his face and felt the roughness of his chin. He kissed the palm of her hand.
‘Gerald . . .’ she whispered.
In a swift movement, his arms came about her and he pulled her close. He leant down and put his mouth over hers. His lips were surprisingly soft and moist as they pressed on hers. It was their first real kiss, the one she had longed for all summer, but now it was happening, she was seized with panic. While his mouth sucked, his strong tongue was probing, trying to force her lips apart. Catherine clamped them tight. She had a vague idea that to allow him into her mouth would lead to pregnancy. Why was she so ignorant about these things? Why had she not asked Lily for more details about how far it was safe to allow a man to go? Lily had kissed Tommy and she would know.
Instead of feeling exultant that Gerald was finally kissing her as a man kisses a grown woman, she was gripped with panic and anxiety that she was doing something wrong. She stood as rigid as a statue, eyes squeezed tight shut, until he stopped.
When Gerald pulled away, she could feel the coldness of the evening breeze on her wet lips.
‘Kitty, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought... I was overcome by the perfect evening. I shouldn’t have.’ He sounded offended.
Catherine said quickly, ‘Oh, but I wanted you to.’
‘No, it was wrong of me. You are so young.’ Gerald turned away. ‘We should be getting back.’
Catherine’s eyes flooded with tears. She had spoilt everything with her stupid fears. She swallowed hard. ‘I love you. Please don’t go.’ She grabbed at his arm. ‘I have to tell you something. I turned down the chance to go to London - couldn’t stand the thought of ganin’ so far away from you.’
He stopped and stared at her. ‘What chance?’
‘Matron wanted me to gan to London to train as a midwife. I said no.’ Catherine searched his face for approval.
‘You didn’t say it was because of me?’ he said, startled.
She shook her head, feeling dashed. ‘I said it was too far from home. Anyways, I couldn’t afford it - haven’t got enough saved up.’
‘But isn’t that what you wanted to do, nursing?’
Catherine looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t want to be in London - I want to be with you.’
They stared at each other. Gerald reached out and touched her hair.
‘You turned all that down just for me?’
She nodded. He let out a long sigh and pulled her gently into his arms.
‘Oh, dear Kitty. I don’t deserve it.’
‘You do to me, and I don’t regret it,’ she assured him, pressing her cheek to his chest and returning his hug.
They stood in the dying light, holding on to each other wordlessly. Catherine wished she could stay like that for ever, listening to the quiet beat of his heart and feeling the warmth of his breath on her hair. But as the night breeze strengthened, he broke away.
‘Come on, we should go back before they lock the doors.’
Catherine tried to delay the moment. She felt there was so much unresolved between them, about what happened once they left the haven of Gilsland.
‘When we get back home,’ she said, ‘will we be courtin’ proper? I mean, we’ve got on like a house on fire this week, haven’t we? And you said we had to find out if we were suited. Well, we are, aren’t we?’
She could not see his expression in the half-dark, but his voice was full of warmth.
‘It’s been a grand week, Kitty, one of the best I’ve ever had. And if it means so much to you, we can say that we’re courting.’
Catherine felt a surge of relief.
‘That’s champion!’ she cried. She heard him laugh softly. ‘Gerald,’ she said impulsively, ‘kiss me again, please.’
He hesitated a fraction, then stepped close and kissed her gently on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, empty of passion, but tender. Catherine’s heart swelled at the thought that she could finally parade Gerald as her intended. No more skirting around town avoiding busy places. She would have him home for tea - or at least to Aunt Mary’s. They would go to the Harvest Festival dance together.
As she pressed her lips against his, a delicious thrill went through her at the thought of showing him off to Kate. She had found a gentleman who would give her the respectability she craved. Kate would be pleased and proud, and fuss around Gerald. She would have her mother’s approval - and a little touch of envy.
Chapter 16
On the evening she arrived back in Jarrow, Catherine could not resist rushing round to William Black Street to tell her news. The hot weather was ending abruptly in a thunderstorm and Catherine arrived soaked. Davie was back at sea, so a subdued Kate brightened at once on seeing her. Her jaw dropped when she heard Gerald Rolland had been on the holiday too.
‘Did you know he would be there?’ she asked in amazement, helping her daughter out of her dripping coat.
‘Well, I had an idea,’ Catherine admitted.
‘You’re blushin’,’ Kate declared. ‘Look at that! He must’ve found out you were ganin’. I hope you gave him an earful for missin’ your party.’
‘That’s all in the past,’ she said hastily. ‘We have an understanding now.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Me and Gerald Rolland are courtin’,’ Catherine said with glee.
‘By the saints!’ Kate gasped. ‘Are you havin’ me on?’
‘No!’
John woke up by the spitting fire. ‘What you wake me up for?’ he grumbled. ‘Kitty, is that you? Have you brought me any baccy?’
‘Aye, Grandda, and a pot of honey from Gilsland.’
‘Our Kitty’s courtin’,’ Kate said in a fluster. ‘You’ll bring him round for tea on your next day off, won’t you?’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ John snorted.
‘It’s true,’ Catherine insisted.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ Kate sniffed. ‘We’d all die old maids if he had his way.’
‘What you sayin’, you old bitch?’ he snarled. ‘Get me a bit bread and put some o’ Kitty’s honey on it.’
Kate ignored him. ‘Tell me what you did all week. Was the hotel very grand?’
Catherine revelled in telling her mother all about it, while she fetched bread and spread on honey, to keep the peace between John and Kate. Her mother laughed and made little comments at her pithy descriptions of the other guests.
It was late by the time Catherine got up to go. Kate pressed her to stay.
‘It’s raining cats and dogs still. Why don’t you stop the night, hinny?’
‘No, I’m on duty first thing in the morning.’ She pulled on her coat and hat, which had been steaming by the hearth.
Kate saw her to the door. ‘This man,’ she said with a serious look, ‘he’s not leadin’ you on?’
Catherine bristled. ‘Course not. He cares for me. That business with me party - his mam was ill - and he’d heard about the McMullens being clannish - was afraid we wouldn’t take to him.’
Kate grunted, ‘Well, there’s nowt we can do about that. He’ll have to tak us as he finds us.’ She scrutinised her daughter, her blue eyes still vivid despite the shadows and lines. ‘I just hope he’s not ganin’ to lead you a dance.’
They both kn
ew she was thinking of Catherine’s father. His unspoken presence hung between them like a question unanswered.
‘He’s not like that,’ Catherine said, shrugging into her wet coat.
‘I hope not,’ Kate replied, her voice heavy with regret.
All the way back to Harton, in the teeming rain, Catherine could not rid her mind of her mother’s dispiriting words. That night the temperature dropped and she could not get warm, yet the narrow room with its view on to another brick wall seemed airless and oppressive. By morning she was sneezing violently and her head throbbed; by evening a nosebleed had started and she took to bed.
Matron came to visit her and asked her strange questions about her holiday.
‘Perhaps you’ve picked up an infection,’ she said.
Catherine’s head swam. She felt too ill and tired to answer.
‘Sorry, Matron,’ was all she could mumble.
Lily slipped in to see her the next day. ‘Not supposed to be here, but I’ve brought you some of me mam’s ointment to rub on. Cures everything from colds to lumbago. Did you have a canny time? Was Gerald good to you?’
Catherine managed a weak smile and nodded. ‘Best time ever. We’re courtin’.’
Lily gasped. ‘That’s grand. Shall I get word to him you’re poorly?’
But before Catherine could answer, Hettie barged into the room.
‘You, out!’ she ordered. ‘If I catch you up here again, you’ll be straight to Matron.’
Lily hurried off. Hettie hovered over the bed.
‘Was there some’at you wanted Lily to do?’ she asked.
Catherine shook her head, worried at what she might have overheard.
‘Had a good time then? Must have spoilt it, being ill. I wouldn’t have done it meself- ganin’ off on me own like that - doesn’t seem proper. But you young’uns . . .’
Catherine turned her face away and clutched a wodge of torn sheet to her nose. She could not be bothered arguing back at Hettie’s snide remarks.
The following day, as she struggled to dress for work, she noticed in alarm she had come out in a rash. It made her itch and she could not stop scratching. Her colleagues were quick to notice.
‘You got that all over?’ Gert asked with disgust.
‘It’s from Lily’s ointment, that’s all,’ Catherine said, unnerved by all the staring.
That evening, Hettie and Gert came to tell her she was being moved to the sick bay.
‘But I’m not infectious,’ she protested weakly.
‘Matron’s orders. We’ve got to help you move,’ Hettie said with satisfaction.
Catherine was taken to a windowless room in the sanatorium away from the others. She could hear the hacking cough of a consumptive somewhere else on the wing. Lying back, she felt dizzy and frightened. What did they think was wrong with her?
She seemed to lie there for an eternity, until Matron appeared suddenly with a doctor.
‘Dr Lovell is going to examine you,’ Matron Hatch said brusquely. Then she was gone, closing the door behind her. Catherine sat up in alarm. She did not want to be left alone with this man. She had heard him talking sharply to the inmates. He eyed her fiercely under bushy grey eyebrows.
Without a word of greeting, he began poking around her ears and mouth and shone a small torch into her eyes. She flinched as he touched her with cold fingers and examined her hands and arms. Thinking of the kind Dr Dyer, Catherine wished she could be lying at home being fussed over by their local Scots doctor.
‘Lie down and pull up your nightgown,’ Dr Lovell ordered.
Catherine stared at him in horror. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask questions, just do as you’re told,’ he snapped.
She lay back, feeling sick, and closed her eyes tight as his hands prodded every inch of her. He pulled her legs apart and examined her with a cold instrument. Catherine began to whimper with the discomfort and shame.
‘With whom have you been in contact recently?’ he demanded.
She opened her eyes and asked in bewilderment, ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been away on holiday, Matron told me. Have you been in close physical contact with a man?’
Catherine stared in confusion.
He added impatiently, ‘You have a suspicious rash. We need to know if you might have caught it from being intimate with a man. You are known among the staff as being familiar with men.’
Catherine went puce. They thought she had been with a man! She, who was so terrified of intimacy that she kissed as if her lips were sewn together, was being accused of loose behaviour. Worse still, they thought she was diseased because of it. How dare they accuse her so? She was more devout and upstanding than the rest of the staff put together.
Catherine went hot and cold with shock. She could not speak. Not only had this hateful man touched her all over, but Matron had ordered it. Mrs Hatch thought the worst of her too. But what could she say? She had been on holiday with Gerald and allowed him to kiss her alone. Did that count as intimate contact? Surely she could not have caught this rash from one long kiss?
She swallowed hard and forced herself to say, ‘I got the rash from some ointment. Lily thought it would help me cold. I never came back from holiday with any rash,’ she said defiantly, ‘and I’ve never been intimate with a lad.’
Even as she denied the words, her face burnt with the shame of it all. They had ruined her romantic thoughts of Gerald, sullied the innocent memories of their holiday together. Now she could never share them with the others. Hettie must have overheard her talking to Lily about Gerald and used the information against her.
Dr Lovell wiped his hands on a cloth and shut his bag.
‘I don’t think there’s any cause for concern,’ he said brusquely, ‘but I’ll recommend that you stay in isolation until the rash goes, just to be sure.’
He left. Catherine sat on the bed clutching her knees and shaking. She was furious and miserable. Part of her wished to storm out of the workhouse and tell them all to go to the devil. She had never felt so ashamed in all her life. But to do so would be to admit defeat. It would make her look guilty and the bigots like Hettie and Gert would have triumphed.
Through the long sleepless night, Catherine tossed on the bed, besieged by black thoughts. She must have done something wrong to be in such a position. She was sinful to have gone on the holiday in the first place. In the depths of her mind, were her thoughts about Gerald just as carnal as Kate’s had been for her father? Maybe the rash was a punishment. She was tainted with the same weakness as Kate.
People must be right when they said that the sins of mothers infected their daughters and that’s why they had to be brought up apart, so they would not go the same way. That’s why Rose and John had sent Kate away and brought her up as their own. They had wanted to keep her from Kate’s corrupting weakness. She should never have been allowed to return and look after her. From the moment Kate had begun to run their household things had started to go badly wrong - the drinking, the debts, the fighting and violence, the rough men who had come into the midst of their home as lodgers . . .
Catherine had a brief flash of memory, as vivid as a moving picture, of a lean-faced man with cropped dark hair and jade-green eyes smiling at her.
Come here, pretty Kitty, and I’ll tell you the story of Osian and the magic horse.
He had swung her on to his knee and she had felt the coarseness of his serge trousers on her bare legs, the warmth of his hands. As he told the tale, his breath was hot on her neck and he bounced her up and down as if he were the galloping horse. She had wanted to climb down, but the horse was galloping too fast and she clung on in fear.
The memory faded before she could remember his name or who he was, but it left her feeling queasy and desolate.
Her fear subsided w
ith the new day. By then Catherine had decided that she would stay on and redouble her efforts to appear respectable in the eyes of the other officers. She would give them no excuse to besmirch her character or carry tales to Matron. She would not let Gerald kiss her again until they were engaged.
Two days later, she was back working at the laundry and in the evening went straight to confession. She poured out her guilty thoughts about kissing Gerald and dwelling on the carnal, and recognised Father O’Neill’s stern voice rebuking her behind the confessional. Catherine came away feeling frightened of the flames of Hell, of kissing Gerald and going the way of her mother.
Yet she longed to see him again. With being ill, she had missed him on Sunday and went eagerly to church the following one. There was no sign of him and no sound of his deep, melodious voice. When she went home, Kate was full of questions, impatient to meet him.
‘He’s working away,’ Catherine said evasively.
‘Have you seen him since the holiday?’
‘No.’
Kate tutted. ‘That’s a bad sign.’ She gave a piercing look. ‘You haven’t - you didn’t. ..?’
Catherine rounded on her. ‘Did what? Let him have his evil way?’
Kate flinched. ‘I just don’t want to see you taken in . . .’
‘Like you were, you mean?’ Catherine said bluntly, hurt that her mother should think as little of her as the women she worked with. She stormed out and did not visit again for two weeks.
Chapter 17
The following weekend, Gerald reappeared. Catherine, sick with relief, hung back waiting for him after benediction.
‘You’ve been away? It seems ages. Is your mother all right? I’ve missed you that much,’ she gabbled as they walked down a side street.
He nodded at her questions without looking at her, his mind somewhere else. ‘Yes, it does seem an age,’ he said distractedly.
‘Shall we go up to the railway cutting?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I want to hear all about where you’ve been.’
‘You weren’t there the Sunday after we got back,’ he said accusingly.
Return to Jarrow Page 12
