‘And date of birth?’
‘The twentieth of June.’
The clerk looked up at her and frowned. He had guessed. It must be obvious she was a woman in disgrace with a bastard child. Fear rose in her throat.
‘You must be mistaken,’ he said quietly. ‘That is over seven weeks ago. And you wouldn’t be registering late, would you?’ He held her look.
‘No,’ Kate gulped. ‘Daft of me. I’ve been poorly with the fever - I’m not thinkin’ right.’ She stared at him in panic. What should she say? She was going to be found out after all.
The clerk cleared his throat and studied the certificate. ‘Perhaps it was a week later,’ he prompted, ‘the twenty-seventh?’
‘Aye,’ Kate gasped, ‘that was it.’ She held her breath while he wrote in the date.
‘Now, if you could sign here.’
Kate was careful to sign her imaginary married name. A moment later it was all over and he was handing her the certificate. She felt light-headed.
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling at him in gratitude. Then she was hurrying out of the office into the hot blustery street, before anyone should call her back.
She had done it! Given her little girl a father and herself a fictitious respectability. Not Pringle-Davies - such an unusual name would have drawn too much attention - but a name none the less. It would count for nothing round where she lived and God help her if the authorities discovered her deceit! But it was worth the risk to give Catherine a legitimate name. Some day in the future she might turn round and thank her for that. Deep down, Kate still kept alive a flicker of hope that Alexander might return some day, if not for her sake, then for their child’s.
As Kate set off back to Leam Lane, with her newly named daughter cradled on her shoulder, she thought in defiance: at least she’ll not be a common McMullen! She’ll be better than that, much better!
Chapter 35
By autumn, both John and Rose were nagging Kate to go back to work. Their meagre funds were dwindling. Sarah had been quietly married to her pitman, Michael. John had cursed her for a fool, but Sarah moved thankfully to Birtley and beyond his control.
‘Your father’s on short time,’ her mother fretted, ‘and our Jack’ll be next. We need the money.’
‘Aye,’ John snarled, ‘it’s time you paid for your sinning. We’re slaving away all day to feed your brat - and what are you doing? Lying around the house like Lady Muck.’
‘I do more than me fair share around here!’ Kate protested. ‘Don’t I, Mam?’
But Rose said nothing. Kate could see by her worried look that money was more important than help around the house. Her time with Catherine was running out.
‘I’ll gan into Shields the morrow and ask around,’ Kate acquiesced.
‘Not Shields,’ Rose said quickly. ‘Not round here. You can’t sneeze but everyone knows about it.’
Kate looked at her in surprise.
‘You’ll have to gan to place,’ her mother said sternly. ‘We can’t afford to keep you here. You can send your wages home.’
‘But, the bairn?’ Kate stuttered. ‘I’m still feedin’—’
‘It’s time she was weaned.’
‘Don’t send me away, Mam!’
But Rose was adamant. ‘We’ll ask our Mary if there’s anything over Gateshead way.’
John barked. ‘She’s not ganin’ back to Ravensworth!’ He seemed as taken aback by Rose’s suggestion as Kate was.
‘Sarah, then,’ Rose said stubbornly. ‘She’ll find some’at for our Kate.’
‘I’ll not trust her out me sight, woman!’ John blustered.
Rose gave him a withering look as if his opinion did not matter, and it suddenly dawned on Kate why her mother was so set on sending her away. She wanted her gone from home, not only for the money but to stifle scandal. Only with her gone could they hope to carry out the pretence that Catherine was their child. Kate felt wretched at the thought. She was a constant source of shame under their roof. For the sake of saving face she had to go.
During the following two weeks, while word was put about the family that Kate was looking for a position, she began to wean Catherine. Rose helped her bind up her breasts tightly when they filled with milk. She had to watch her mother bottle-feed the baby on her knee while she got on with cooking and scrubbing.
‘She’ll smell the milk on you and not take to the bottle,’ Rose said bluntly, when Kate asked to feed her.
For several days she suffered agony with tender breasts, huge and bruised with undrunk milk. She could not lie comfortably at night, nor fit into her dress by day, having to wear a voluminous old-fashioned blouse of her mother’s. Yet at night, Kate would rise from the settle and gaze into the cot that Jack had made for Catherine, that was squeezed into the corner behind John’s large chair.
She would pick her up and cradle her, crooning softly in the flickering firelight. She was allowed to give her a bottle in the early hours, to save Rose getting up. But often in those final days before leaving, she would pick her up just for comfort. There was nothing in her life that matched the joy of seeing her daughter open her large solemn eyes and look trustingly up at her. Catherine responded to Kate’s generous smiles and they made gentle gurgling sounds at each other. Softly, she sang the bitter-sweet song of a lost child in a winter world, and thought tearfully how this winter they would be parted.
Child of my dreams, love of my life,
Hope of my world to be ...
Then word came from Sarah. A general maid was needed at a bakery in Chester-le-Street, down the train line from Birtley. A cousin of Michael’s worked in the shop. On a raw, windy day at the end of October, Kate packed a basket of clothes and a jam sandwich wrapped in newspaper for the journey. When her mother was not looking, she snipped a small auburn curl from Catherine’s warm head and hid it in a screw of brown paper in her pocket.
Clasping the baby fiercely to her, she kissed her soft cheek.
‘I’ll be back for Christmas,’ she promised. Her heart squeezed to see Catherine’s answering smile. She was going away when her daughter was just beginning to smile!
‘Don’t miss your train,’ Rose warned.
Kate handed the baby to her, tears stinging her eyes.
‘Look after her for me, Mam,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll not spoil her,’ Rose answered. ‘She’ll be brought up right.’
Kate blushed, feeling rebuked. There was a hardness in her mother’s look that made her shrivel inside. This time there would be no fond words and loving hugs at her going. She was being sent away - punished for her mistake - and no one was more bitterly disappointed in the way things had turned out than her mother.
Kate looked away, picking up her small basket of possessions.
‘Ta-ra, Mam,’ she murmured.
‘See you keep your nose clean,’ Rose said stiffly, not wanting to show the slightest weakness. It had done neither of them any good to show their feelings before. She pitied her daughter, but it was best for all that she left. Kate should be grateful that they were caring for her child. She should expect nothing more, for she had brought this all on herself, Rose thought bitterly.
Kate stepped out into the street alone. There was no one to see her off at the station, not even Jack. Since the time she had been ill after Catherine’s birth, he had steered clear of her, avoiding her look, hardly speaking two words. He blushed when she came near him and flinched from her touch as if she was somehow contaminated. Maybe it was just a young lad’s squeamishness about childbirth and feeding. Or maybe it was she who now revolted him. All Kate knew was that she seemed to have lost her former ally.
On the train, she managed to stem the tears of loneliness that welled in her throat, but when she passed through Lamesley station and the brown harvested fields around Ravensworth, she broke down and quietly wept. That place had been paradise, but how long ago it all seemed! Where was Alexander now? Happily married? Living nearby or far away? She tortured herself
with such thoughts.
All she knew from Mary was that he had never been back to the inn. He had disappeared into thin air. If there had been any rumours about him, she knew her sister would have delighted in telling her. Since her disgrace, Mary had lorded it over her on her visits home, making out she was far the better daughter. But there had been no rumours and no news of the coal agent’s son.
Staring, heartbroken, at the burnished woods around the castle, Kate felt a ridiculous flicker of hope. If he had married, surely news would have trickled through to the inn? And if he had not, then what was to stop him returning for her one day? Perhaps when his father was dead . . .
She stifled such thoughts. If he had loved her at all, he would have come for her by now. If he had been any sort of gentleman, he would at least have provided for his bastard child. Kate looked away. It was too painful to hope. All she could do was to make the best of her new position and provide for her child herself. Maybe some day she would find a man with a kind heart to take them both on. Unlikely as it seemed, Kate felt a twinge of optimism as she thought of starting anew in Chester-le-Street. She was still young and strong and willing to work.
By the time she stepped down from the train at the Durham market town, no one would know from her ready smile and brisk walk that she carried the weight of the world on her young shoulders, or guess that anything troubled her at all.
***
To her surprise, Kate found herself enjoying her new job. The baker, Slater, was a bluff, kindly man, and his wife and young family were friendly. The three children took quickly to Kate’s warm personality and sense of fun, and the parents were happy with her capacity for hard work. She cooked, cleaned and for them, scrubbed down the shop in the evenings and got up in the icy mornings to light the fires.
Towards Christmas, when they were especially busy in the shop, Kate helped out behind the counter. She was cheerful to the customers and did not complain at the long hours. Only at night, in the attic room she shared with the youngest daughter, did she allow herself to think of Catherine and muffle her weeping under the blanket. She fingered her baby’s soft lock of hair for comfort and clutched the worn paper package as she fell asleep.
As December came, she began to look forward to seeing her daughter again, although she could not talk about it to her employers.
‘I’ve a baby sister,’ she explained to Mrs Slater, having let slip Catherine’s name. ‘She’s bonny - just starting to smile when I left. She’ll be crawling by now, I wouldn’t wonder - bright as a button.’
‘Bet she’s a handful for your mother,’ Mrs Slater said, with a side-long look. ‘Strange, calling her Catherine.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, with you being named Kate as well.’
Kate went red. ‘Me mam likes the name. And the bairn’s called Catherine Ann.’ She turned away and busied herself with the ironing. She must stop herself prattling on about Catherine, else the woman might guess the truth. She was fairly certain no gossip about what had gone on at Ravensworth had reached down here, but it was as well to be cautious. Kate did not mention Catherine again, but as Christmas drew nearer, her excitement mounted at seeing her once more. She could not wait to see what her daughter looked like after the two long months of separation.
On Boxing Day, the Slaters filled up a large box of bread, cake, pies and groceries for her to take home. They had told her to take two days off for working so hard.
‘You’ve been a grand help,’ Mr Slater told her. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
‘Hope the baby’s well,’ Mrs Slater said with an encouraging smile. ‘But come back to us, won’t you? The girls won’t forgive us if you don’t.’
‘Of course I will,’ Kate replied, ‘you’re that good to me.’
She caught the train to Gateshead, meeting up with Mary on the way. Kate steeled herself for the stop at Lamesley, but the thought of seeing Catherine again eased her discomfort at the familiar landmarks of church and inn and distant castle towers.
‘I’ve bought her a rattle and her own spoon,’ Kate told Mary in excitement. ‘And a blanket for her cot.’
‘Thought Mam was to get your wages?’ Mary said pointedly.
‘I’m just providing for the bairn like they want me to,’ Kate defended.
‘Well, so you should. I’m glad I don’t have to hand over all my wages.’ She gave a superior look. ‘What you got in there?’
‘Cake and that from the bakery,’ Kate said proudly, ‘for all me hard work. That should please them at home.’
Mary sniffed. ‘It’ll take more than that for you to please them after what you did.’
Kate felt dashed. Mary was probably right. A mountain of bakery wouldn’t let her parents forget the disgrace she had brought under their roof. Well, at least her own bairn would be pleased to see her, Kate thought with spirit.
She was out of her seat before the train pulled into Tyne Dock station and throwing open the carriage door as it squealed to a stop.
‘Haway, Mary,’ she cried with impatience as they made their way through the town. ‘Do you have to look in every shop window?’
‘I’ve been stuck in Lamesley, remember?’ Mary retorted. ‘Not a proper shop for miles.’
Kate bustled ahead, her parcel from the Slaters weighing heavy in her arms. Some of the windows they passed were strung with colourful decorations and her excitement increased. She loved Christmas. Even when they had been small and there were hardly two pennies to rub together, Rose had always tried to find some treat to put in their stockings. She wondered what her mother had bought for Catherine for her first Christmas.
Reaching Learn Lane at last, they clattered breathlessly through the front door.
‘We’re back, Mam!’ Kate called, rushing into the kitchen.
John was sitting in his chair by the fire, smoking. Rose was setting the table.
‘Where’s Catherine?’ she asked at once. ‘Where’s me little lass?’
She followed her mother’s look and saw her daughter sitting on the hearth rug waving a wooden spoon. She was neatly dressed in a blue serge smock, her auburn baby hair glinting in the firelight. Kate dumped down her parcels and hurried towards her, arms outstretched.
‘What a picture!’ she cried. ‘Come to Mammy and give me a big love!’
She bent down and seized the child, swinging her up into her arms.
‘Mind you don’t crease her dress,’ Rose warned.
‘Let me look at you, bonny Catherine.’ Kate ignored the plea. ‘Eeh, how I’ve missed you!’ She squeezed Catherine to her and smothered her in kisses. Her cheeks felt so soft and warm, her skin smelling of soap and milk. She buried her nose into the baby’s neck.
‘Stop fussin’ over her,’ John complained, banging his pipe on the hearth beside them.
Catherine flinched at the noise and let out a wail of protest.
‘There, there,’ Kate soothed her, kissing her again. But her daughter screamed louder as she eyed Kate in alarm. Kate bounced her in her arms. ‘Now, now, Catherine, don’t fret, Mammy’s got you.’
‘You shouldn’t call her that,’ Rose scolded, stepping round the table. Catherine caught sight of the older woman and flung out her arms to her. Kate could feel her small body strain away from her with surprising strength.
Rose bustled over and claimed the baby. ‘She’s not used to you. Shoosh now, Kitty!’
Within seconds, Catherine’s strident crying subsided as she nestled into Rose’s protective hold.
‘It was the banging, not me.’ Kate put out a hand to touch her.
But Catherine’s eyes widened in fear at the stranger. She buried her head into Rose’s broad shoulder and refused to look at Kate. Kate gulped back tears of disappointment.
‘She’ll come round,’ Rose said more gently. ‘Won’t you, Kitty? This is our Kate. She’s come to see you.’
Kate felt swamped by a wave of jealousy. Catherine looked so content in Rose’s arms. She didn’t even remember her! Two shor
t months and her daughter had forgotten her. Her smell, the sound of her voice, her kisses meant nothing to Catherine any more. Or to Kitty, as her mother kept irritatingly calling her.
‘What you call her Kitty for?’ Kate could not hide her annoyance. ‘Sounds like a cat.’
‘Catherine’s too much of a mouthful for a bairn this size,’ Rose said bluntly. ‘Tak your coats off, lasses, and help me serve up the dinner.’
She plonked Catherine on to the hearth again. The baby bleated in complaint but Rose ignored her whimpering. Kate was too wary to pick her up again.
‘What you got in that box?’ John asked. ‘Open it up and let’s have a look.’
Kate smothered her hurt feelings. ‘I’ve got a canny lot of food from the shop - they’re kind, the Slaters.’ She pulled the string and opened up the parcel.
The others crowded round to see as the smell of fresh baking was released.
‘That’ll do us for the rest of the week,’ Rose said in satisfaction. ‘Got your pay an’ all?’
Kate nodded, digging into her coat pocket and handing over a brown paper bag of money. Rose emptied it out on to the table and counted it.
‘There’s a bit short,’ she said in suspicion.
Kate flushed. ‘I bought a few bits for the bairn - Christmas presents.’
‘For the bairn?’ John barked. ‘The little bugger doesn’t know if it’s Christmas or Easter.’
‘I’ll buy her things if I want to!’ Kate replied hotly.
‘Not with wages that should come to us,’ he snapped back. ‘Your mam’ll decide what gets spent on the bairn, not you.’
Kate was furious. She looked at her mother for support, but Rose shook her head. She did not want to take on a fight with John. Or maybe she agreed with him that Kate should have no money of her own to fritter on her daughter.
‘Help Mary put the pies in the pantry,’ Rose said, busying herself with gathering up the money. Reaching up to the battered tin on the mantelpiece, she stuffed it in and replaced the lid firmly. Kate’s wages now belonged to the household. She would have to beg her mother for enough to buy soap and boot polish for the coming month.
Jarrow Trilogy 02 - A Child of Jarrow Page 28
