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

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘I’ve been ill again,’ he began.

  She looked at him in alarm. ‘The bleeding?’

  He nodded. ‘I was bed-bound for a couple of weeks or more.’

  Her face broke into a smile of relief. ‘I knew it! I knew there was a reason. I said as much to Mary - he’s ill and has no way of telling me. But now you’re better! You are better, aren’t you?’

  Alexander wanted to kiss her there and then for her concern. He had expected scorn. But, oh, this made it so much harder to tell her why he had come!

  ‘I am better,’ he admitted, glancing away. ‘But that’s not the only reason I have not been to see you.’

  ‘Oh? Not more bad news, is it? Your father’s not sick?’

  His heart twisted to hear her worry. If only she knew how much Jeremiah was against her. He did not deserve her concern.

  ‘No.’ He turned to look at her, steeling himself for what he must say.

  ‘Then what?’ She put out a hand and touched his arm. ‘Tell me, Alexander.’

  He swallowed hard. ‘I - I’ve come to say goodbye. I am engaged to another woman. It’s an arranged match - not of my choosing - but I am bound by it now.’

  Kate felt punched in the stomach. For a moment she thought she had him back again, but it was all an illusion.

  ‘I see,’ she whispered, drawing back.

  Alexander felt wretched at her crest-fallen look. ‘No you don’t!’ He seized her hands. ‘It’s been forced on me - a business arrangement of my father’s. I don’t love this woman - it’s you I love, Kate! But my father knows about you. He’ll never allow us to marry, never.’

  ‘Marry?’ Kate said the word so softly he hardly heard it. ‘No, of course he wouldn’t.’

  ‘What can I do, Kate?’ he asked in despair.

  She pulled her hands away. ‘Do?’ Her voice shook. ‘You know what you’ve got to do! Marry your lady friend, that’s what. I was daft to think it could be otherwise!’ She sprang up.

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry.’ He tried to stop her, but she brushed past him and fled into the inn.

  She forced back tears as she stumbled into the gloom of the passageway. Mary was there. She must have been watching from one of the windows.

  ‘Trouble back again?’

  ‘Not for much longer,’ Kate said bitterly. ‘He’s gettin’ wed.’

  The next moment she was sobbing into Mary’s shoulder.

  ‘Forget about him,’ her sister said brusquely. ‘It was never meant to be more than a bit o’ fun.’

  ‘It was to me!’

  ‘You’re too soft,’ Mary said, pulling away and thrusting a handkerchief at her sister. ‘Too romantic for your own good. You’ll be better off without him calling round and putting fancy ideas in your head.’

  Kate blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She must not make a spectacle of herself in front of the landlord and his customers.

  Somehow she forced herself to smile and carry on working for the rest of the day. Thankfully, Alexander left without reappearing in the taproom, his beer untouched on the table.

  But she could not stop thinking about him and what he had said. He loved her still. He had even talked of marriage, as if it might have been a possibility. If this other woman did not exist; if his father had not disapproved of her so much. How dare the old man judge her when he did not know her? Yet it was no surprise. She had been foolish even to dream of marrying so far above her.

  Kate tossed in her attic bed, plagued by her thoughts, hot and sticky in the muggy air. The next day she was tired and listless, struggling through her chores, her mind elsewhere. Mary tried to chivvy her up and Taylor complained at her slapdash work, but neither could shake her out of her misery.

  Three days later, after Kate and Mary had gone last to bed, she was woken from shallow sleep by a noise. She sat up in the dark. It came again: a pebble thrown up against the skylight. Slipping out of bed, Kate stood on a stool and peered out of the high window. She could see nothing below. Just about to close it again, she heard a man’s voice.

  ‘Kate? Kate! Come down,’ he hissed.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, a figure detached itself from the shadows and stood in the moonlight. It was Alexander!

  She did not stop to think. In an instant she was pulling on her work dress over the petticoat she slept in and, grabbing her boots in her hands, tiptoed out of the room. As quietly as she could, she climbed down the creaking stairs, unbolted the kitchen door and ran barefoot across the stable yard to where he waited beyond.

  ‘Kate!’ he cried in relief as she fell into his arms.

  ‘You came back!’ she whispered in exultation. ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

  ‘I’ve been in hell,’ he groaned, clutching her to him. ‘Come away with me, Kate.’

  He steered her out of the yard.

  ‘But where can we go?’

  ‘Anywhere - just so we can be alone together.’

  Kate thrust on her boots and they began to walk in the moonlight, arms linked around each other. Somehow, in the quiet magic of the night, the differences between them melted into the dark, the opposition to their love seemed trivial. At first their walk seemed aimless as they made their way out of Lamesley, but both seemed drawn towards the wooded secrecy of the path into the Ravensworth estate.

  Skirting the massed walls and turrets of the castle, they followed the silvery path around the walled garden and the orchards to the lake. It lay still and deep in the moonlight. An owl hooted and flew further into the black canopy of trees.

  ‘This is our place, Kate,’ Alexander murmured. ‘This is where I fell in love with you.’

  She felt a deep wave of tenderness for him. ‘Aye, it’s where I think of us too.’

  His arm gripped tighter around her. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’

  ‘More than me own life,’ she whispered.

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. ‘Come, we’ll shelter in the boathouse.’

  They hurried around the lake to the solitary wooden hut jutting out on its promontory into the tranquil water. Alexander pushed at the door and it opened with a sigh.

  ‘Came here with my Cousin Edward - hid when it was time for us to go - didn’t want to go back to Jarrow,’ he laughed ruefully.

  Kate thought of the small boy, happy in these blissful surroundings, being dragged back kicking and screaming to the confines of the smoke-blackened town. Her heart went out to him.

  ‘Poor little lad,’ she said, reaching up to touch his face.

  Alexander grasped her hand and kissed the palm. ‘Lie with me, Kate,’ he urged.

  Her heart began to hammer. ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘I do!’ he cried. ‘I know that you’re the only woman I’ll ever love. I need you, Kate. This might be our only chance. In two days I set sail for Germany.’

  Still she hesitated. She yearned for his kisses, yet feared what might happen.

  He dropped her hand in disappointment. ‘You don’t love me the way I love you.’

  ‘I do,’ she insisted. ‘But everything’s against us. Think of your father - you’re promised to another lass.’

  ‘Forget my father!’ Alexander cried rashly. ‘I’ll do what I please. I’ll break off the engagement! Just show me that you love me - we have so little time together.’

  Even in the darkness she could see the agony of his expression. He desired her like no man ever had, was prepared to throw away everything for her. She loved him for his recklessness and passion, and at that moment would do anything to make him happy.

  Trembling, she touched his arm. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.

  In an instant, his arms were about her and he was covering her face with urgent kisses. Breaking off, he threw his coat on to the wooden floor and pu
lled her down beside him. Shards of soft light pierced the darkness as he began to undress her, opening the half-buttoned dress she had thrown on in haste an hour ago. He caressed her body with eager kisses and Kate’s heart pounded in excitement, her insides melting at his touch.

  They made love on the hard floor without a thought beyond the moment, heady in their mutual desire. She tasted his skin and dug her fingers into his tousled hair, crying out with delight. Never had she imagined such joy existed.

  When the moment of union came, Alexander nearly wept with exultation. She was his, and he loved her with every inch of his being.

  They lay in each other’s arms, breathless and happy, touching and stroking in the darkness.

  ‘We’ll run away,’ he planned dreamily. ‘Go abroad. I’ll make a living as a painter. You’ll be my model, my inspiration.’

  He kissed her again and she let him talk on about fantastical plans for a future together. In the musty intimacy of the deserted boathouse, lapped by the unseen lake, anything seemed possible. They fell into a contented, sleepy silence, dozing in each other’s arms. Later, she woke to his sensual caressing and they made love again, slow and languorous as the lake outside.

  Maybe it was the sound of a fox barking in the early dawn, but something woke Kate. Grey light was filtering through the crack in the door. She sat up in alarm, her limbs stiff and cold.

  ‘Alexander!’ She shook him awake. ‘We must go. It’s morning already.’

  He stirred and yawned, giving her a sleepy smile. ‘Stay a little longer, nightingale. It’s the moonlight.’

  But Kate was on her feet, dressing hurriedly. ‘It’s no moon, it’s the dawn - and they’ll have me guts for garters if they find me gone!’

  She peered out. The lake was shrouded in grey mist, a fine drizzle spattering the surface. Gone was the clear starlit sky of before.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, nervous at the thought of being caught.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Alexander declared, getting to his feet.

  ‘No, best go back on me own. You mustn’t be seen with me.’

  ‘Wait,’ he ordered, reaching forward to grab her arm. ‘Give me a last kiss.’ She saw the longing in his unshaven face and relented.

  They held each other tight and kissed one last time.

  ‘I’ll be back long before Christmas,’ he promised. ‘You’ll wait for me, won’t you?’

  She searched his face for reassurance, suddenly overwhelmed by the rashness of last night’s act.

  ‘I can do nothing but wait,’ she said, with a feeling of desperation.

  He hugged her close. ‘I’ll find a way for us to be together. I’ll convince my father.’

  But something in his voice told her that he was trying to convince himself more than her. How could they stand up to the forces that ranged against them? What love was strong enough?

  She let go. ‘Take care of yourself, Alexander,’ she smiled sadly. ‘Maybes send word that you’re well - I worry that much about you with your bleeding.’

  ‘Sweet Kate!’ He held out his arms again, miserable at the thought of their parting. But she stepped out of his reach and hurried through the door.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she croaked, her heart leaden.

  Kate almost ran from the boathouse, half blinded with sudden tears. Leaving him was such pain! How could she bear not seeing him, not touching him for so long? He would be away for months. As she made her way back down to Lamesley, numb and soaked in the early morning rain, she wondered if she would ever see him again. For all his passionate words, would his desire cool in the long months apart? Would he be made to see sense by his strict father and avoid the scandal of a broken betrothal and an illicit affair with a common maid?

  By the time Kate reached the muddy cobbles of the yard and let herself in at the kitchen door, she was tortured by dark thoughts that she could never be more to Alexander than a brief love affair. Only time would tell, she thought miserably.

  Miraculously, the household was not yet stirring. As she stripped off her soaking clothes, Mary woke.

  ‘Look at the state of you! Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Kate mumbled, avoiding her sister’s curious gaze.

  ‘Your side of the bed’s cold,’ she said suspiciously. ‘Have you stopped out all night?’

  Kate said nothing.

  ‘You have, haven’t you?’ Mary gasped in disapproval. She clambered out of bed and confronted her. ‘Who’ve you been with? Have you been seeing that Pringle-Davies?’

  Kate reddened.

  ‘Our Kate! How could you?’

  ‘We love each other,’ she defended, stung by her sister’s look.

  ‘He’s promised to another.’

  ‘He said he’ll come back for me,’ Kate said proudly.

  Mary laughed in derision. ‘Bet he says that to all the maids he gans with. You’re daft in the head to believe him. Fancy you doing such a thing.’

  Kate was filled with sudden alarm. She seized her sister by the arm. ‘You mustn’t tell a soul. Promise me, Mary!’

  ‘Ow! Get off us.’ Mary shook off her hold. They stared at each other as the enormity of what Kate had done sunk in.

  ‘You and him,’ she said, almost in awe. ‘You really went with him?’

  Kate flushed a deeper crimson. She knew she could not lie. ‘Please don’t tell Taylor - or I’ll be out on me ear.’

  ‘Taylor?’ Mary said in surprise. ‘I wasn’t thinking of him.’

  Kate’s pulse began to hammer, she felt hot and cold all at once. ‘What you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking what Father would do to you if he ever found out.’

  Chapter 25

  Kate felt strangely detached from the world in the weeks that followed Alexander’s departure. She went about her work mechanically, with only half a thought for what she did. Her mind dwelled too long on her absent lover. Whenever she stopped for water from the tap in the yard, her gaze would lift to the far tree-lined hills of Ravensworth. She would think of the lake and the boathouse and sigh with longing.

  The trees were copper-coloured now, the fields harvested and the days chill, but she clung to the memory of late summer and her one night of love with the man who held her heart. She was desolate without him, dreaming of him at night and sick with yearning for him during the day.

  She put up with ribald comments from some of the drinkers.

  ‘Lady Kate’s not looking well the day!’

  ‘Missing her knight in shining armour, aren’t you, pet?’

  ‘Don’t expect her to speak to the likes of ye! She likes them with fancy walking sticks and plums in their throats.’

  Kate ignored them, but Mary grew anxious.

  ‘You’ll make yourself ill,’ she scolded, alarmed by her sister’s pale preoccupied look. ‘You hardly touch your food.’

  ‘I’ve no appetite for eating,’ Kate replied.

  ‘You’ve got to keep your strength up,’ Mary said. ‘Taylor’s startin’ to complain about you shirkin’ the chores. Says you’re too off-hand with the customers an’ all. They’re laughing at you.’

  Kate sighed. ‘I can’t be bothered. Why should I sing for them, any road? I’m too tired.’

  ‘That’s ‘cos you’re not eatin’ proper,’ Mary said impatiently. ‘Forget about your fancy man - he’s gone. And if you ask my opinion, that’s the last you’ll see of him.’

  Kate was stung. ‘Well, I’m not askin’! He loves me and he says he’s corning back - before Christmas most likely.’

  Mary’s look was incredulous. ‘Don’t be daft! He’ll never marry the likes of you. Not in a month o’ Sundays. Can’t you see that?’ Mary looked at her with a mixture of pity and scorn. ‘You gave him what he wanted. He’s not ganin’ to tu
rn his back on a rich marriage for a barmaid, is he?’

  Kate flinched at her brutal candidness.

  ‘You don’t know him like I do!’ she cried.

  ‘I know his type,’ Mary said with disdain. ‘Nothing but a lady’s man.’

  Kate turned her back, refusing to speak any more. But for a long time after, she pondered on what Mary had said. She wanted to dismiss their argument as jealousy on her sister’s part. Alexander had chosen her, not Mary. Mary resented the thought that Kate might better herself and, with Alexander, escape a life of low-paid work.

  Yet deep inside she harboured unspoken fears that Mary was right. Alexander was charming and impetuous, with no thought for the morrow. He had no real plan of how they might be together. She had given in to his flattery and soft caresses too easily. She would not be so hasty another time.

  As October waned, Kate determined to shake herself out of her lethargy. She would stop pining for him and get on with her job, put a stop to the half-whispered comments. And when Alexander returned at Christmas time, she would prove the gossips wrong.

  November came, but there was no word from Alexander. Even in the dark hours of the night when her doubts about him surfaced, she had clung to the belief he would get a message to her. Just a word that he was well, that he still loved her and intended to return, was all she craved.

  The last of the autumn leaves were ripped from the trees in a gale, and on clear, frosty days she could see the drab grey battlements of the castle jutting through the web of black branches. They seemed to mock her, aloof and unattainable, like her absent lover.

  Kate, who was never ill, caught a fever. She lay in the icy attic bed, shivering and hot with a streaming cold that made her head pound. At times she felt so nauseous, she retched rank-smelling sputum into a china basin Mary had left for her. She could not keep down the thin soup her sister brought; only dry biscuits quelled the retching and sickness.

  After three days, Mary said, ‘Taylor’s talking of gettin’ out the doctor.’

  Kate closed her eyes in fatigue. She had never felt so wretched. ‘Thinks I’m skiving, does he?’ she groaned.