THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Peter showed her the dark heated forcing houses where chicory, asparagus and new potatoes were brought on quickly. Kate loved the warm earthy smell of the sheds and marvelled at the huge endless trenches of food: lettuce, radishes and fennel, rhubarb, sweet parsley and artichokes, exotic names and bitter-sweet tastes that made her tongue tingle.

  Best of all she liked to breathe in the hot, honeyed air of the glasshouses where the peaches and melons grew. For it was here that she had first seen the mysterious gentleman friend of Lady Ravensworth biting into the flesh of a peach, juice running down his strong jaw. His long hair had glinted in the lantern light and his deep voice had made her insides flutter. He reminded her of a lion, a picture in a scripture book from school that had fascinated her as a child.

  She longed for another sight of the man that her uncle had called Master Alex and this was the unspoken reason for her keenness to help in the gardens each evening. But she had not seen him in his evening finery since that night. Once, when carrying a basket of cherries to Cook at the hall, she had glimpsed a man in the distance with a similar stance. He was watching some field workers bending to their task and recording something in a book. Kate had strained to see if it could be the same man, but decided it could not. What would a relation of the Liddells be doing showing such interest in the work of common labourers?

  It was a disappointment not to see the man again; it had become almost like a game to go out in the evening hoping to spy him. Most likely he had long gone from the castle, important business having taken him elsewhere. She laughed at her own fanciful notion that he would even notice her should she happen upon him again.

  ***

  Alexander tossed another fretful letter from his father on to the unlit fire in his garret room and strode to the door. It was the usual plea to finish his business at Ravensworth and set sail for Scandinavia. But this time Jeremiah Davies was threatening to come himself to the castle and prise him out. Making for the stables, Alexander knew his time here was running out. While Lord and Lady Ravensworth were happy to indulge him, his cousin would pack him off quickly if he thought the young man’s continued presence was causing harm to his business interests. The earl seemed not to notice his cousin’s adoration of Lady Ravensworth or if so, tolerated it as a young man’s calf love.

  Alexander took the saddled horse that the yawning stable boy had made ready for his usual early morning ride, almost curt in his annoyance. That was the best he could ever expect; to be tolerated by his elders and betters. He could never lay claim to the riches of Ravensworth, which he felt deeply should be his. Not that he wanted the trappings of wealth - he could live as simply as any man - but he yearned to belong. He felt a part of its wooded hills, its dark earth and seams of coal. He felt the pull of generations of north-countrymen who had tilled its soil and defended the ancient fortress whose medieval towers still stood behind the grand Victorian facade.

  Alexander urged his horse into a trot. Outside the high protective walls he quickly left the road and made for the moors above the sheltering trees and swathes of mist. In the hazy Tyne valley, the early morning light bounced off the steel ribbon of river and the far away clusters of dockland and smoking chimney stacks.

  As he cantered past small farms and pit villages clinging to the edge of the escarpment, he thought once more of his early days in this rugged land that had shaped the man he was. For a short, happy time he had lived with his cousin Edward, the rector of Jarrow, and his kind Scots wife, Christina. How he had adored his Uncle Edward! He had dogged his heels around the grimy streets of the riverside town, absorbing the smells of the docks and gasworks, in awe of the becapped gangs of dockers who streamed past the rector’s cocoa stall at break of day.

  His cousin Edward had been a highborn Liddell but had chosen to dedicate himself to improving conditions for the poorest in Jarrow. Alexander appreciated now the enormous sacrifice of the young couple, who could have taken an easy living in the south of England instead. Yet at the time Alexander thought nothing out of the ordinary about living in a blackened rectory beside foul-smelling effluent, and visiting houses without running water where children played barefoot in the dusty lanes.

  ‘Oh, Uncle Edward!’ Alexander cried aloud to the pearly sky. ‘You were a fool!’

  Alexander kicked his horse into a gallop across the heathery tracks. His cousin’s task of making life better for the poor had been an impossible one. His health had broken down and they had all had to leave. With Edward no longer able to support him, Alexander had been passed on to yet another distant relation who had made it plain what a burden he was, so he had run away from the boarding school in which he had been dumped.

  He had tried to find his way back north, to search for his beloved Uncle Edward, but in vain. Edward and Christina had gone abroad to seek a healthier climate, never to return to Jarrow. Their hinted promise of offering him a permanent home had been destroyed along with their health. Childless themselves, they would have been the perfect parents. Instead they left him with nothing, except an abiding memory of being taken to Ravensworth on a hot summer’s day. That, and a strong sense of belonging among the people here.

  Alexander rode until he was exhausted and had rid his head of angry thoughts about his rootless childhood. He imagined what Jeremiah would have to say about such reckless riding. ‘Careful, young man, or you’ll bring on one of those nosebleeds! God gave you a brain for commerce, not a constitution for the saddle.’

  Alexander laughed off such concerns and turned for home. He would grasp life and live it to the full. The day after tomorrow was the ball for King Edward VII ‘s delayed coronation. He would stay for that and then travel on.

  Down in the woods again, the early morning mist still hung damp among the lush leaves as he rode up the back drive. He slowed to a trot, breathing in the sweet clear air, his chest heaving hard from the exertion. Round the bend the first shaft of strong sunlight was breaking through the trees, dazzling the dew-soaked track ahead.

  In the sudden glare, he did not see the girl on the path till the last moment. He saw a flash of pale blue skirt and a startled face as she jumped clear. A basket flew from her hands and raspberries splattered around them, blood-red. Alexander reined in his horse at once, wheeling it round.

  Below him, a young woman stared up in astonishment. Her eyes looked huge and the same startling blue as her dress. Her thick brown hair was tied back but uncovered, her cheeks flushed and mouth open wide as if she would give him a piece of her mind. But she said nothing, just dropped to her knees and attempted to scrape the fallen berries back into her basket.

  Alexander dismounted and went to help.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped, touching her shoulder. She looked up in alarm.

  ‘No, sir, it was me,’ she answered in a strong voice that belied her slight frame.

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t.’

  But he ignored her and began scooping handfuls of raspberries back into the basket. Unable to resist, he popped one into his mouth.

  ‘My favourite fruit. They grow the best raspberries at Ravensworth, don’t you think?’

  She glanced up and eyed him from under thick dark lashes. Was there a hint of merriment in that intent blue gaze? he wondered.

  ‘So me Uncle Peter says. Not tried them meself - not straight from the bush. Me aunt says too much raw fruit can bring on summer fever. They’re grand baked in a pie, mind.’ She suddenly blushed as if she’d said too much.

  Alexander was entranced. ‘You mean to say you’ve never eaten a raspberry straight from the basket?’ She shook her head. He laughed. ‘Well, you must. Go on, try one.’ He picked one out and offered it.

  She regarded him with suspicion and shook her head again.

  ‘I promise you it won’t make you delirious,’ he grinned, pushing it towards her lips.

  She pulled
away, then changed her mind and opened her mouth. Alexander placed the berry on the tip of her tongue and watched her eat. She frowned in concentration and licked her lips. She had a generous, full mouth, he noticed.

  Suddenly she smiled and her slim oval face lit up like a cat’s in the sun. Alexander felt a jolt in his guts.

  ‘Aye, taste’s canny,’ she agreed. They exchanged a long look, each assessing the other, then she looked away. She picked up her basket, straightened and smoothed out her skirt.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She bobbed. ‘Must be off.’

  Alexander stood and watched her dart away up the track. She ran swiftly but with uneven steps like a young colt with a stone in its hoof. He smiled in amusement at finding a pretty country girl who had never tasted a fresh raspberry. Where had she come from and where was she going? As she disappeared into the morning mist, he felt a stab of frustration that she had eluded him without him finding out more. Ridiculous as it seemed, he was disappointed that she was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Kate arrived at Farnacre Hall breathless and heart still hammering. She skidded across the dewy cobbles into the kitchen and almost collided with Cook.

  ‘Watch yourself! You would think His Lordship’s hunting dogs were after you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Kate panted, dumping down her basket. ‘Berries from me uncle - picked them last night.’

  Cook eyed the battered mound of raspberries. ‘They’re no good for serving up at table. Have to hide them in a crumble.’ She saw Kate’s dashed expression. ‘Still, that’s how the dowager likes them - mushy and easy to eat.’

  Kate smiled in relief and skipped off to the laundry room where Suky joined her. Her friend soon noticed how she worked with only half a mind on the job.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts.’

  Kate stopped humming and looked up from the steaming copper cauldron where she was stirring boiling linen.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said half the morning,’ Suky said in exasperation. ‘Are you not interested in the dance then?’

  ‘What dance?’ Kate asked, forcing herself back to the present. Her mind still reeled from the encounter with the rider.

  ‘The servants’ dance up at the castle! The one I’ve been telling you about.’

  ‘At the castle?’

  ‘Aye! On Friday night - after the nobs have had their ball on Thursday. There’s a dance in the servants’ hall. Always plenty to eat and drink up there. And think of all those footmen!’

  ‘Umm ...’ Kate mused, though it was no footman that preoccupied her. All she could think of was the tall stranger with the tousled flaming hair appearing out of the mist on the sweating horse. She had not heard the faint drumming of hoofs on the soft ground until the black horse had broken from the trees into the small clearing. Startled, she had sprung out of the way just in time, dropping her basket in alarm.

  But far from just riding on with a nod of apology, the man had dismounted at once and come to her assistance. It was then she had seen his face in full - long and lean with a smooth jaw and a generous, sensual mouth. His keen eyes had looked on her with amusement as she scrambled for the fallen fruit. He had laughed at her for not tasting fresh raspberries. How simple and unsophisticated she must have seemed!

  Yet how her heart had pounded as he reached forward and pressed a berry to her lips, his fingers stained red with the juice. She could still taste the tangy sweetness of the fruit on her tongue and it conjured up the man’s bold dark-eyed look. She knew it must be Master Alex, friend of Lady Ravensworih. He had the same auburn glint in his unruly hair and deep amused tone in his voice that she had witnessed in the hothouse.

  ‘What you staring at?’ Suky demanded. ‘You’re acting all strange this morning. You got a secret or some’at?’

  Kate tried to hide a smile. ‘No, course not.’ No use confiding in Suky; she would think it too fanciful to be true. What gentleman would stop his horse to help a serving girl and feed her raspberries? Such things only happened in fairy tales. She hugged the knowledge to herself. Besides, he would have forgotten her already and she was never likely to chance upon him again in such a way. But that didn’t stop her hoping for a glimpse of him up at the castle.

  ‘Can we gan to the dance?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I’ve been telling you! Us lasses from the hall are invited an’ all. So do you want to come?’

  Kate smiled. ‘Aye, course I do.’

  ***

  Dear Papa, Alexander wrote to Jeremiah.

  I set sail on Saturday for Gothenburg. At Lady Ravensworth’s insistence I must stay for the carnival ball on Thursday evening. She has set herself the task of finding me a wife among the genteel women of the county. As this is a cause so dear to your heart, I see it as my duty to stay.

  Rest assured, your business is in good hands. I have met with numerous mine managers over the past month and everything is in hand to expand our commercial affairs in Scandinavia and the Baltic. I will write to you from Sweden.

  Your obedient son.

  Alexander smiled as he signed it. No need to tell his father that he had done all his visits on horseback or that he had spent far more time sketching the pit villagers than talking to their bosses. After the ball he would have one more day of riding up on the moor before the long sea journey. His father would only fret if he knew, for he stubbornly believed that riding brought on bouts of nose-bleeding. But Alexander had not had one of his violent, debilitating bleeds in over six months and felt vigorously healthy.

  In defiance, he rode down to the village of Lamesley to post the letter before returning to the castle to prepare for the ball. On the way there and back he looked out for any sign of the young woman with the basket of berries who had almost fallen under his hoofs the day before.

  He wondered if she was the same girl he had seen in the hothouse several weeks earlier, the laughing face behind the glass who had inspired a series of pencil drawings. A straw hat, a stockinged ankle, the edge of a smile. He was sure it must be her. She was some relation of the gardener Peter and had been hurrying from the direction of the gardeners’ cottages that misty morning.

  Alexander was intrigued by her and frustrated not to see her on his ride. His interest in her was that of an artist. He wanted to gaze again on her smooth oval face with the dark arching eyebrows and discover the blue of her eyes. Were they cobalt or Prussian blue? But all he could do was wonder, for there was no sign of her outside the row of cottages. It was as if he had imagined her: a wood sprite conjured up out of the mist, only to vanish as soon as he put out his hand to touch her.

  The carnival ball was a spectacular affair. The lords and ladies of the county came in gleaming black carriages up the long drive, lit by flaming torches. One wealthy shipowner caused a stir by arriving noisily in an open-topped autocar and hooting at the peacocks. The children on the estate crept to the edges of the trees to gaze at such a wonder.

  The guests came sumptuously dressed as Tudor kings and medieval queens, eighteenth-century nobles and eastern princes. Alexander borrowed a costume from his cousin and went as an Arabian knight in a golden turban and glittering cloak. The dining hall was a shimmer of polished mahogany laden with silver, crystal and patterned china. The long tables were heaped with displays of exotic fruit and towering sculptures of sugar and multicoloured jellies.

  Alexander was annoyed to find himself seated far away from Lady Ravensworth, and glanced with envy at the powerful local coal and shipping magnates who were her most favoured guests. Yet he supposed he was lucky to be here at all. If it were not for the kindness of His Lordship and the indulgence of his younger wife he would not even be staying at the castle, let alone be invited to this glittering ball. He and his stepfather were ‘trade’ and would never fully be able to cross the social chasm bet
ween their kind and the aristocratic Liddells, however much Alexander felt he belonged.

  So he turned his charm to his female partners at table. One was the wife of a freeman of Newcastle, the other the daughter of a County Durham squire who had farms up on the fells around the lead mines of the west. Polly seemed shy and overawed by the occasion, and Alexander found himself enjoying taking her under his wing, pointing out the various guests he knew and telling her about Ravensworth as if he were one of the family.

  ‘It must have been wonderful to spend all your summer holidays here,’ she gasped.

  He smiled and shrugged. ‘Well, not every summer. Sometimes we went south - stayed with other relations.’

  ‘You’re so well-travelled,’ she said admiringly. ‘The furthest I ever get is to shop in Darlington or Durham. I’d love to go abroad - Paris or somewhere - but Mama won’t go on trains and Papa hates to leave the farm for a minute - except to go riding.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He didn’t want to stay here, but Mama refused to travel back tonight.’

  She had quite a striking face under the weight of a Marie Antoinette wig, Alexander thought. Open and handsome, rather than pretty, with a sweet trusting smile.

  ‘And do you like to ride, Polly?’

  ‘Oh, I love it!’

  ‘Then we shall ride out tomorrow before breakfast and I’ll show you all there is to see around Ravensworth.’

  Polly flushed with delight and Alexander turned to pay some attention to the freeman’s wife. Later, full of the earl’s best claret and half a bottle of port, Alexander threw himself into the dancing in the ballroom. He danced with Polly and several other young women, but managed to book Lady Ravensworth for a waltz late into the evening.

  ‘You’ve made a conquest, I see,’ she teased him.