‘And you can put that down, my girl,’ Hannah told her, ‘I need you to set the table. And where’s our Christopher?’ she asked, as Elsie laid aside her book with a sigh.
Elsie shrugged. ‘Off in the woods with the other lads, I expect. He didn’t come to school,’ she added, with another quick look at her father.
‘Did you hear that, Seth?’ Your son’s not gone to school again. You’re going to have to have a word with that lad before he gets himself in serious trouble.’
‘Aye,’ Seth said.
‘He’s running wild. It won’t be long before we have the police knocking on our door. Seth, are you listening?’
‘I heard you, woman! And I said I’d have a word with him, didn’t I?’ Seth finished putting on his boots and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ Hannah asked, as he took his jacket down from the peg behind the door.
‘There’s a meeting at t’Welfare Institute.’
‘Another one?’
‘It’s union business. There’s a lot going on.’ He didn’t look at her as he shrugged his jacket on.
‘But what about your tea?’
‘Leave some in the oven, I’ll have it when I get back.’
Hannah bit back her disappointment. ‘I can’t stop and look after the bairns. I promised Mother I’d be back.’
‘Elsie can keep an eye on Billy.’ He threw them a glance. ‘They’ll be all right by themselves for an hour.’
Hannah looked at the children’s resigned faces. They knew as well as she did that their father would stay out until long after they had put themselves to bed.
And as for Christopher … Hannah shuddered to think what trouble that boy was getting up to, only twelve years old and already hanging around with the older lads.
Not that Seth cared. His only thought was to escape from the house and its memories as quickly as he could.
The door closed behind him. Billy ran to the window and clambered up on to the settle so he could watch his father walking down the lane. Hannah turned away to stir the pot. She couldn’t bear to see the little boy with his nose pressed against the glass, pining. The poor bairn had already lost his mother and now he was losing his father, too.
‘Where have you been?’ her mother wanted to know as soon as Hannah let herself back into their cottage later. The place was almost in darkness. As her mother was nearly blind, she did not bother with lamps.
‘You know where I’ve been.’ Hannah set her bag down on the table.
‘Aye, I know all right.’ Her mother’s voice was croaky in the shadowy darkness. ‘You’ve been gone so long the fire’s gone out.’
‘I’ll see to it.’ Hannah set about lighting the gas lamp, fumbling with the mantle.
‘I could have frozen to death, not that you’d care!’ her mother pecked at her. ‘You’re too busy making eyes at Seth Stanhope.’
‘I was looking after the bairns.’
‘Aye,’ her mother cackled. ‘You might fool him, but you can’t fool me. I know what you’re after my girl!’
Hannah ignored her as she finished lighting the lamp. The dim light reflected off her mother’s wizened, dissatisfied face. Age had shrunken Nella Arkwright, carving deep lines in her papery skin. Her eyes were so deep-set, they were lost in pools of shadow.
‘The wood basket’s empty,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll go out and chop some more before it gets too dark.’
‘Pity we don’t get free coal like the rest of the village,’ her mother said. ‘Tha should ask your friend Seth. Heaven knows, he owes thee summat, all the time tha spends round there.’ She paused, then said, ‘But happen tha’s got tha sights set on more than a free basket of coal, eh?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Hannah muttered.
‘I may be all but blind, but I can still see into your heart, lass. Tha’s allus had a soft spot for that man. Pity for thee he preferred your sister!’
Hannah picked up the empty log basket, her cheeks burning. ‘I’ll fetch that wood,’ she murmured.
The night was growing dark and cold as she set about chopping the logs. Hannah didn’t need light to see what she was doing. She had been chopping firewood since she was a child, and even in the gloom she managed to swing the axe down in just the right place, splitting the logs cleanly. She was as strong and capable as a man, much to her shame. Sometimes she wished she was dainty and fragile, like her sister Sarah.
Perhaps that was what Seth had seen in her, she thought. Sarah was always such a delicate little thing, always needing looking after. But her delicacy had been her downfall, in the end. If she had been stronger, she might never have succumbed to that sudden fever.
Hannah hauled the logs into the cottage and set them on the fire. She soon had a good blaze going.
‘That’s better.’ Her mother turned her face to the flames, firelight catching her opaque, unseeing eyes. Suddenly she said, ‘Tha’s seen her, then?’
‘Who?’
‘T’new nurse.’
Hannah looked up sharply. She was about to ask how her mother had known, then stopped herself. Nella Arkwright knew everything.
She turned back to the fire, adding another log to the flames. ‘Aye, she brought round something for Billy’s itching.’
Her mother twitched with outrage. ‘She had no business calling on Seth Stanhope or his bairns. They’re family!’
‘That’s what I told her,’ Hannah said.
Her mother fidgeted in her armchair, a sure sign she was put out. ‘No business,’ she kept muttering. ‘She wants to keep her nose out.’ Finally, her impatience seemed to burst out of her and she reached a bony, clawed hand out to Hannah. ‘Fetch me t’mirror.’
Hannah was instantly wary. ‘Why? What does tha want it for?’
‘Don’t ask questions. Just fetch it for me.’
Hannah reluctantly went off to do as she was asked, fetching the old mirror from the corner of her mother’s room. It was an ancient, shabby old thing, with the gilt peeling off the cracked wooden frame. The glass was so spotted with age, it was nearly impossible to see anything through it. Only Hannah and her mother knew the power it bestowed, in the right hands.
‘You in’t going to do anything, are you?’ Hannah asked as she handed it over.
‘Niver you mind what I’m going to do!’ The old lady grasped the mirror, snatching it from her. ‘Now sit down and be quiet. And mind not to stand over me, I don’t want thee putting me off!’
Hannah watched as her mother dusted off the mirror with her sleeve, then peered into it. In spite of her mother’s instructions, she tried to look over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see anything in the grimy glass.
Her mother stared into the mirror for a long time, breathing hard. Then, finally, she gave a sigh of satisfaction.
‘Ah, there she is,’ she said. ‘I can see her on her bicycle, going round all the houses in that fancy uniform of hers. Bloody busybody!’ She shook her head. ‘She’ll take over, given half the chance.’
‘She won’t,’ Hannah said. ‘She can’t. No one in the village likes her.’
‘I daresay they don’t. But she’ll not be one to give up easily. She’s already fought too many battles in her life …’ Nella was quiet for a moment, her unseeing eyes peering into the grimy glass, as if she was watching a story unfold. ‘Aye, she’s got some spirit, I’ll say that for her. She’ll keep on going until she’s found a way to win, you see if she doesn’t.’ If Hannah had not known better, she could have sworn there was a hint of admiration in her mother’s voice. ‘She’ll make a fool of thee, my girl, if tha lets her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I said!’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. She went back to peering in the mirror. ‘She’s got a strong will, this lass.’
‘So have I,’ Hannah said defensively.
‘I don’t know about that. I don’t think tha can stand up to this one.’
‘I can!’ Hannah protested, her voice rising
.
‘She’ll take away everything if tha’s not careful.’
‘She won’t,’ Hannah declared fiercely. ‘I won’t let her.’
Her mother gave her a withering look. ‘Oh, aye? And what can tha do about it?’
Hannah looked into the age-spotted glass, but she could see nothing but her own distorted reflection.
She didn’t need a mirror to tell her what she already knew: that she was second best. She had been second best to her sister all her life, and now she was second best to her mother, too. She knew there were already those in the village who whispered that her remedies were not as good, although they didn’t dare say anything to her.
But she had fought hard for her place in Bowden Main, and she wasn’t about to give it up. Especially not to the likes of Agnes Sheridan.
Chapter Eleven
Agnes had passed the pit gates of Bowden Main often enough over the month she had been in the village, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer brutality of what lay inside: a bleak landscape of coal heaps, outbuildings, workshops and rail tracks, all set against the relentless noise of the coal wagons and the winding engine.
The men were changing shifts as she arrived at two o’clock in the afternoon. Agnes could smell the rank tang of sweat as the miners emerged from the lift cage, bent with weariness and so caked with coal grime that they looked like grotesque shadows. They blinked in the sunshine as they emerged, their eyes white in gleaming black faces.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ James Shepherd spoke aloud the thought that ran through her head. ‘Can you imagine what it must be like, spending your whole life working underground?’
‘Indeed I can’t,’ Agnes said.
‘I can. I’ve been down to the bottom of the pit shaft, Miss Sheridan, and it’s not a pleasant place, believe me. It’s as hot and as dark as hell down there, and the noise is unbearable. Sometimes, before the rippers manage to open up the rest of the face, the hewers have to work in seams no higher than here.’ He put his hand to his hip. ‘They’re there for seven hours, crouched low, up to their ankles in water with rats running over their boots.’ He shook his head. ‘You can’t help but admire the courage of a man who can do that.’
‘Do you have to spend much time underground, Mr Shepherd?’
He looked away, his expression darkening. ‘I rarely go down the pit if I can help it. I have a fear of dark, enclosed spaces, you see.’
‘I wonder that you sought a job in a coal mine, in that case!’
‘Yes, I suppose it must seem strange.’ He gave her a wistful little smile. ‘Now, perhaps we should proceed with our tour. We’ll start in the lamp room, I think.’
He led her towards one of the outbuildings closest to the pit opening.
‘Each of the men is given one of these before his shift.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a tarnished brass coin with a small hole in it. ‘It’s called a check. You see it has a number on it? Each number corresponds with the number on their lamp. They put their check in their boot, and hand it back in at the end of their shift. That way if an accident happens below ground, we can look on the board to see whose check is missing.’
It must make it easier to identify a body, too, Agnes thought, but she held her tongue.
They had almost reached the lamp room and James Shepherd was just reaching for the door when suddenly it swung open and Seth Stanhope stood there.
‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ He blocked Agnes’ path, his arms folded across his chest.
‘Miss Sheridan has asked for a tour of the pit,’ James Shepherd said. ‘I was about to show her the lamp room.’
Seth threw a chilly glance her way. ‘She’ll have to wait. The men are still lining up to collect their checks.’
Agnes stiffened at his tone. ‘I beg your pardon? ‘
‘You’ll have trouble on your hands if you take her in now.’ Seth ignored her and went on speaking to James. ‘Unless you want half the shift turning tail and heading home?’
Agnes waited for James to argue, but he turned to her and said, ‘I’m sorry, Miss Sheridan, but Stanhope’s right. I’d forgotten how many of the older men consider it bad luck to meet a woman on their way down the pit.’
‘I’ve known men go home and miss a day’s pay rather than take the risk,’ Seth said.
Agnes looked from one to the other. ‘But that’s absurd!’ she said. ‘Nothing but superstitious nonsense.’
Seth drew himself up to his full height. ‘Whatever you think about it, it’s our way,’ he said tightly.
James took Agnes’ arm. ‘Perhaps we should go to the winding room, instead?’ he suggested.
As they walked away, Agnes looked back over her shoulder at Seth. He stood in the doorway, watching them with narrowed eyes.
‘What a thoroughly rude man,’ she said.
‘I agree, his manners do leave a lot to be desired.’ James smiled. ‘But he’s the best hewer at Bowden Main.’
‘A hewer? So he cuts the coal?’
‘That’s right. The rippers open up the face and take out the rock, then the hewers get to the coal. But there’s more to it than that. It’s a skilled job. A good hewer can sense when a seam will give a good yield. And he can also read the conditions below ground, know when and where to cut, and where to leave well alone. They develop a sort of sixth sense for it. And Stanhope is one of the best. Right, here are the stairs up to the winding room. Watch your step, Miss Sheridan.’
Agnes only half listened as James explained the mechanism of the winding room, how the lift was operated by the banksman, the onsetter and the winding engineman, and what the various signals denoted. She was still thinking about Seth Stanhope.
He didn’t like her, she could tell. She wasn’t sure quite what she had done to offend him. But whatever it was, as far as Agnes was concerned, the feeling was entirely mutual.
Once the men were all safely underground, James showed her the rest of the outbuildings and explained about the other jobs at the mine, the men who filled the hewers’ tubs below ground, and the drivers who guided the ponies bringing the tubs up to the surface. These jobs were usually given to the boys just starting down the mine, or the older men reaching the end of their working days. Each tub would then be sorted and checked by more men in the screening sheds, and the hewers would be paid according to the number of tubs they had managed to fill, and how they were graded.
‘We don’t want hewers filling their tubs with stones just to make up the weight,’ James explained. ‘If they do, then their pay gets docked at the end of the shift.’
After the tour they returned to the pit manager’s office. ‘I hope you’ve seen all you wanted?’ James said.
‘Thank you, it’s been very helpful.’ She looked up at the framed photograph on the wall. It showed two men, shaking hands. Agnes immediately recognised the narrow, sly features of Sir Edward Haverstock. The other man was a stranger, tall and distinguished-looking. But there was something familiar about his sharp, angular face and those deep-set eyes …
‘Your father?’ she said.
James nodded. ‘He was the pit manager here until he died four years ago.’
‘And you took over from him?’
James Shepherd gazed up at the portrait. ‘It’s what he wanted.’
But not what you wanted? Suddenly it made sense to Agnes why a man with a fear of enclosed spaces should become a pit manager.
‘I’m sure he would be very proud you’d followed in his footsteps,’ she said.
There was sadness in James Shepherd’s smile. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said.
Agnes was still thinking about James Shepherd as she cycled through the pit gates later. She liked him, far more than she had thought she would when they first met at Haverstock Hall. That evening, she had been left with the impression of a rather insipid character. But now she saw he was a kind-hearted, sensitive man who truly cared about the work he was doing. She pitied him, working for someone as boori
sh as Sir Edward Haverstock.
She was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t see the black figure until it stepped out into the lane in front of her. Agnes swerved to avoid it, and cycled straight into a hawthorn hedge.
The man rushed to help her as she fought to untangle herself from the thorny branches.
‘Sorry, Nurse. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Agnes looked up sharply. She didn’t recognise the face caked with coal dust, but she remembered the voice. ‘Mr Chadwick?’
He grinned, displaying a wide red mouth. ‘That’s right, Nurse.’ He took Agnes’ bicycle from her and set it straight on the path. ‘Beg your pardon for jumping out on you like that. Only I’ve been meaning to call on you up at the surgery, but I didn’t like to, not with that Mrs Bannister there. I know what she’s like, wanting to know everyone’s business …’ He grimaced. ‘Then I saw you coming in through the gates this morning and I thought I’d wait for you.’
Agnes stopped picking hawthorns out of her coat. ‘You mean to say you’ve been waiting for me all this time?’
‘It’s no matter, Nurse. As I said, I’ve been waiting for the chance to have a word with you in private.’
‘Whatever is the matter, Mr Chadwick? Are you unwell?’
Even through his coal-caked mask, she could read Tom Chadwick’s uncomfortable expression. ‘Not me, Nurse.’ His gaze dropped. ‘It’s about our bairn …’
Chapter Twelve
The coal wagon had visited the rows and most of the women were out of their houses, shovelling coal from the heaps that had been deposited at the end of each lane to fill their own cellars. As she rounded the corner beside Tom Chadwick, Agnes could see his wife’s thin figure at the far end of the row, tipping coal into the small wooden hatch.
‘Your mester’s here at last, Ruth,’ one of the women called out to her.
‘About time, too.’ Ruth straightened, putting up her hand to mop her brow. ‘I were beginning to worry.’ She saw Agnes and her face fell.
‘Hello, Mrs Chadwick,’ Agnes greeted her cheerfully.
District Nurse on Call Page 9
