Jarrow Trilogy 02 - A Child of Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  The road was potholed and muddy, and a raw wind hit them as they climbed above the river. Below lay the Slake, a stinking inlet of mud now the tide was going out. Rose had never let them play there as children, fearful of the ghost of the striking miner who had been hanged and gibbeted there long ago.

  The isolated grid of streets known as the New Buildings hove into sight over the brow of the hill. Once, during a brief prosperous spell, they had lived there among this half-finished block of houses begun by a well-intentioned employer of a chemical works. They were solidly built workers’ houses, upwind of the sulphurous factory and surrounded by open wasteland.

  Their young cousin Margaret came to the door. ‘It’s our Kate!’ she cried to her mother in delight. ‘And Sarah.’

  Aunt Maggie appeared behind her and squinted short-sightedly. ‘Well, let them in, lass. This is a grand surprise. Our Mary not with you?’

  ‘No, there’s bother at home.’ Sarah was blunt. ‘Mam told us to make ourselves scarce.’

  Maggie clucked in sympathy and bustled them into her cosy parlour. ‘Your uncle’s having a nap. Come by the fire and tell me how you’re getting on.’

  She poured them hot cups of stewed tea from the pot on the range and Sarah talked about Hebburn. Kate wondered if she was still seeing her young miner from Birtley but did not have the heart to ask. It might lead to awkward questions about courting. Oh, Alexander! If only he could see the trouble he had caused. Why had he not come back for her?

  ‘And you, Kate? How’s our Lizzie and the lads?’

  ‘Haven’t seen them for a bit,’ Kate mumbled.

  ‘Well, I’ll send you back with a pair of Danny’s breeks I’ve cut down for Alfred.’

  ‘I’m not ganin’ back,’ she burst out, then, covering her face, succumbed to tears.

  Sarah nodded at Margaret and Maggie swiftly sent the girl outside to play under the lamppost with her younger sister. In a hushed voice, Sarah explained Kate’s predicament.

  ‘Saint Teresa! This is terrible,’ Maggie cried. ‘My lasses mustn’t hear of such carry-on. Our Rose must be beside herself. She had such high hopes for you, Kate. Oh, Mary Mother, what’ll the priest say?’

  ‘Never mind the priest,’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘It’s Father who’s ganin’ to give her a skelpin’!’

  Maggie crossed herself and called to Our Lady again. ‘He’ll not set foot in this house,’ she promised stoutly. ‘You can sleep here the night. My Danny’s a match for old John any day.’

  Soon after, Sarah left for Hebbum. The sisters gripped hands in parting.

  ‘Send word if you need me,’ Sarah urged. Kate nodded, trying to be brave, feeling bereft at her going.

  Maggie told Danny that Kate had argued with her step-father and nothing more was said that night. She spent sleepless hours curled up with her cousin Margaret in a narrow bed, fretting about her family. With any luck, John would be down to the docks for work in the morning and she could sneak home. But what then?

  Kate got up at dawn, stoked up the fire and made tea. Danny went off to the steel works after a breakfast of porridge, and the street came alive with the sounds of men going to work and children gathering to play. In the distance, the clang and din of the dockside told of the brief holiday over.

  ‘I’ll walk down with you,’ Maggie offered, asking a neighbour to keep an eye on her daughters.

  As they descended the long downhill stretch into Tyne Dock, Kate found her steps dragging. Ahead she could see the curve of Leam Lane. People were going in and out of Lawson’s corner shop and the pounding of metal could be heard from the blacksmith’s opposite. A horse tram splashed mud at them as it passed.

  Suddenly Kate seized her aunt’s arm in alarm.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you,’ Maggie reassured.

  ‘No,’ Kate gasped, ‘it’s not that.’ She felt the spasm again. ‘Some’at’s wrong with me.’ She clutched her belly in fear.

  ‘What’s it feel like?’

  ‘Like little hammers.’

  A strange look came over her aunt’s face. ‘How far gone are you?’ she whispered.

  ‘Four months,’ Kate flushed.

  Maggie gave a pitying look. ‘It’s the bairn, hinny. He’s started kickin’.’

  Kate gaped at her in shock. ‘The bairn?’

  Maggie nodded. Kate put a tentative hand where the gentle drumming had been. All at once she was overwhelmed with a confusion of dread and wonder. It was real. She was carrying Alexander’s child. Through all the sickness, tiredness and anxiety, she had never thought of the weight inside her as anything but a curse and a source of shame. But now she felt the stirrings of another human being, a small life growing within her, her own child.

  Her eyes stung with tears. Standing there in the drab lane by the blacksmith’s with the scorched smell of hot metal on hoofs filling the raw air, she knew she could not give up her baby, whatever her stepfather might say. Her fight would not just be for herself, but for her unborn son or daughter. Illegitimate or not, it was hers.

  Linking arms with her aunt, she walked the last few yards with a new determination. She would not go running away to save her own skin again.

  They found the house deserted, but for Rose struggling in from the back lane with a full pail of water.

  ‘Let me, Mam.’ Kate was quick to relieve her.

  ‘Mary left early,’ Rose told them. ‘Father and Jack are down the dock.’

  ‘How’s Jack?’

  ‘Got an eye like a football, but he wouldn’t stay off. John’s got bruises to show for it an’ all,’ she added with a glint of satisfaction. ‘You’d best stay up at Maggie’s for a day or two.’

  ‘I’m stopping here with you.’ Kate was defiant. ‘I’ll not have others doing me fightin’ for me.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ Rose snapped.

  ‘This is me home,’ Kate said stubbornly.

  ‘She’s felt the bairn moving,’ Maggie interjected. ‘You cannot let John throw her out - it’d be a sin.’

  ‘She’s the one done the sinning!’ Rose cried, jabbing a finger at her daughter. She felt so angry at Kate for what she had done. Yet as she glared into her soft pale face and large sorrowful eyes, she felt a stab of protectiveness. Had she not encouraged her daughter to be courted by this gentleman? Instead of warning her to be cautious, she had fed Kate’s vanity about their connection with the Liddells and allowed her to get above herself. She was as much to blame, Rose admitted bitterly.

  All at once the fight went out of her and Rose sank on to a chair. Up till now, she had thought only of the disgrace to herself and John. Now, she feared for her daughter. She knew how harshly Kate would be judged by the priests, how cruel would be the wagging tongues of neighbours. The censure would be universal and relentless.

  ‘Oh, lass, what’s to become of you?’

  They looked at each other in despair, not knowing the answer. Kate dashed forward and sank to her mother’s feet, throwing her arms about her waist and burying her face in her lap.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mam. I’ll do anything you ask - just let me stay.’

  In reply, Rose placed a callused hand on her daughter’s silky hair and stroked it in reassurance.

  It was dark when the men came banging in the door. Jack started to see Kate standing by the range, stirring a pot of broth. Even in the dim light she could see his left eye was half closed with bruising and his bottom lip badly swollen. He said nothing but gave a half-smile of encouragement. Behind came her stepfather. Her stomach jolted at the look of loathing he gave her.

  ‘What’s the harlot doing here?’ John snarled at Rose.

  ‘It’s her home, John,’ Rose said evenly. ‘Get the broth served, lass.’

  Jack went straight to the scullery to wash, but John stood glaring at Kate.

  ‘This isn’t your home,’ he spat. ‘You belong in the pigsty with that fancy man with the fancy name, Pringle-Davies.’

  Kate flinched to hear his name spoken
. How much had Mary told them about Alexander?

  ‘You know she can’t gan to him,’ Rose said quietly. ‘Now come and eat.’

  ‘Well, I’ll not have her in my house.’ John was adamant. He strode towards Kate. ‘You’ve brought shame on it. You’re a bloody disgrace. Go on, get out!’

  ‘Please, Father, let me stay,’ Kate said, holding her ground. ‘I’ve nowhere else to gan.’

  ‘Should’ve thought of that before you opened your legs for your fancy man,’ he said savagely, thrusting his face into hers.

  Kate felt nauseous at his foul breath. ‘Just till the bairn’s born,’ she whispered.

  ‘And what do we tell the neighbours when your belly gets big with that man’s bastard?’ he taunted. ‘What do we tell the priest?’

  ‘When have you ever cared what the neighbours or the priest think of us?’ Rose retorted.

  ‘Shut your gob, woman.’ He turned on her.

  Rose put her hands on her hips. ‘No I won’t. She’s already feeling the bairn, John. I’ll not have her put out on the street like a dog.’

  ‘That’s what the slut deserves!’

  ‘No it’s not. She was daft enough to be taken in by some fancy-talking man - but she’s not the first and she’ll not be the last. If you hoy her out she’ll have nowhere to gan but the workhouse. I can’t believe you would ever want that to happen to any of yours, John McMullen. Don’t you remember that terrible place?’ she challenged.

  ‘Aye, of course I do,’ he said in agitation. ‘Don’t you lecture me about it - I was the one went breaking rocks for you and your pack of brats!’

  ‘Then you know what they do to lasses like Kate.’ Rose advanced on him. ‘They hoy them in with the loonies and thems with filthy diseases. And they’ll tak the bairn off her and she’ll never see it again and they’ll keep her locked up like a criminal for years. Is that what you want? ‘Cos the John McMullen I married never would have!’

  John looked stunned. ‘Maybes I don’t!’ he cried. Turning from them, he smashed his fist into the wall, sending a shower of plaster to the floor.

  Rose motioned for Kate to keep quiet. Jack came quietly out of the scullery, poised in the doorway ready to defend his sister again.

  John spun round and stared at them all. ‘And what are we to do with her, eh? Come on, Missus Big Gob, the one with all the answers.’

  ‘Let her stay here and have the baby,’ Rose reasoned. ‘When it’s born, the lass can gan back to work to pay for its keep.’

  Kate felt a wave of gratitude. Not only was her mother standing by her, she was prepared to keep the child too.

  ‘You mean have it livin’ here? Someone else’s bastard?’ John railed.

  ‘I’ve brought up plenty bairns,’ Rose said with resignation. ‘What’s the harm in one more?’

  ‘Mam!’ Kate cried in relief and moved towards her. ‘Thank you.’

  But Rose held herself away. ‘There’s one condition,’ she said, her look suddenly severe.

  ‘Aye, anything,’ Kate agreed.

  ‘We bring the bairn up as our own - me and John.’

  Kate was nonplussed. ‘As yours? But - but what about me?’ she gasped.

  ‘You gan back to work like it didn’t happen. As far as the neighbours are concerned, the bairn is ours. That way we can all hold our heads up round these streets.’

  ‘And me baby?’ Kate whispered, a strange pain sweeping through her.

  ‘She’s not to know. You’ll be her big sister, that’s all. We’ll bring her up strict like I should’ve done with you - knowing what’s right and wrong. You won’t have to bother yourself with being a mam. You’ll work hard and keep your nose clean.’

  ‘Aye,’ John joined in, warming to the idea of being a father again, ‘we’ll not spare the rod with this one. You’ll have nowt to do with it - no spoiling like you got. And if I catch you looking at another man again,’ he threatened, ‘I’ll kill ye.’

  Kate swallowed the tearful angry words she wanted to shout. She had no intention of looking at any other man but Alexander. He was the only man she could love - still loved! And they would not stop her loving his child. She looked to her mother for a softening of her stepfather’s words, but Rose’s face was closed.

  ‘If you do anything more to shame us, you’re out. I’ll not stand up for you a second time,’ Rose warned. Her words turned Kate’s insides to ice.

  Chapter 28

  As the dreary weeks of January and February dragged on, Kate existed in a strange limbo. To the prying world beyond the doorstep, she was home to help Rose, who was having a bad spell with her legs and chest. To her family she was an embarrassment, the source of which was never referred to. Her mother was distant, Jack was wary. As her belly grew, he would sneak her bashful sidelong glances, half fascinated, half appalled. Any lingering playfulness between them had vanished in the shock of her pregnancy and its aftermath. Where once he had looked up to Kate and followed her around like a loyal puppy, she now turned to him for protection.

  At fifteen he was tall and brawny, already hardened by a year grafting on the dockside, and he had shown he could stand up to his father’s bullying. He had not done so since, but this did not stop John punching him and ridiculing him for defending his ‘fallen’ sister. Jack would stand his ground and fend off John’s fists, which only infuriated his father more.

  But most of John’s drunken goading was aimed at Kate. After a couple of hours in the pub, he would stagger in, filthy and sodden from labouring waist-deep in river water unloading iron ore, and begin his taunting.

  ‘Fetch me some’at to eat, slut. Tak off me wet boots and troosers - should be used to that,’ he would laugh crudely. ‘Did that for yer gentleman, did you?’ When she ignored him, he would jab her belly and curse her for her shamelessness.

  The foul-mouthed ridicule and threats to tell Father O’Neill, the local firebrand priest, were unremitting. Occasionally, Jack, fuelled with swigs from his father’s jug of whisky, would spark back.

  ‘Father O’Neill wouldn’t know you if he passed you in the street,’ he muttered on one occasion.

  ‘What’s that?’ John demanded, not hearing the jibe.

  ‘Nowt.’

  ‘I’ll give you nowt!’ John bawled, slapping him round the head, and the fighting would start again.

  Later Rose would scold Kate for these attacks. ‘Look at the trouble you cause our Jack.’ But Kate could do nothing to stop their sparring, or John’s relentless criticism.

  Ahead stretched a bleak future for Kate at Leam Lane, forever at the beck and call of her ageing parents, forever in their debt. In the quiet of the night, miserable and angry, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden settle that had become her bed, she gave in to tears.

  At twenty-three, her life was in ruins. Nothing could save her now, except Alexander. Alternately, she agonised about what might have happened to him and railed at his abandonment of her. What if something terrible had happened? He had been taken ill again, had bled to death? He had gone down at sea in a storm? But there had been no rumours of a tragedy circulating at the inn. Never in all these months had she had one word from him.

  It pained her to remember, but the only reason he had returned to see her at the end of the summer was to say goodbye and tell her of his impending marriage. Passion had overcome his better judgement for a brief moment, nothing more. His promises were empty, his words as profligate and reckless as his actions. She would never see him again.

  She shrank back from the flickering firelight and covered her womb with anxious hands. ‘You’ll burn in the flames of hell for what you’ve done!’ John had preached.

  Stifling her sobs so no one in the next room would hear, she hissed to her unborn child, ‘Hell can’t be any worse than this!’

  Chapter 29

  The forests around Ravensworth were bursting with the vibrant green of late spring, when Alexander took the train north to Newcastle. He had not travelled through these parts since retur
ning hurriedly in November. So much had happened these past months; it seemed another life he had led here. News had reached him in Cologne that his father was dangerously ill and it had taken an anxious week to get home and discover Jeremiah had almost died from septicaemia.

  He had stayed with his father all through December and Polly had come to keep him company and help nurse her future father-in-law, despite being in mourning for her own father. De Winton had died in the October.

  ‘I know the anguish you’re feeling,’ Polly had said sadly, and Alexander had felt guilty for not returning sooner, even though news of the squire’s death had reached him only after the funeral.

  All his carefully rehearsed speeches breaking off their engagement dried on his lips in the face of her kindness and grief. They played endless games of chess and she talked with tearful fondness of her father and bashfully of how he had looked forward to seeing them married. She was now a wealthy heiress and Alexander could not pretend the thought of being independent from his father did not excite him. Yet for all this, he did not love Polly.

  While his father lay weak and feverish, darker thoughts occupied Alexander’s mind. If Jeremiah died now, he would be free to marry whom he wished and have the financial independence to do so. He hated himself for wishing his father dead, but could not banish the thought. It meant he and Kate could be together.

  Yet why had Kate never answered any of his letters? He had left a poste restante address in Germany and that of Mrs Timmins’s lodging house in Newcastle. Just a brief word to tell him she still loved him would have helped to give him the courage to defy his father. But nothing awaited him on his return.

  Still, he promised himself he would go to Ravensworth as soon as his father was out of danger and discover how Kate really felt. Perhaps the silence meant she had doubts about his foolhardy plan for them to run away together. Did she not believe him? Worse still, had she found another suitor - that hard-working gardener’s son who could not hide his love for her? Someone more suited to her station, who could provide for her without causing a scandal and upsetting her family?