The Orphan Collection

by Maggie Hope

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Hannah asked, latching on to the important fact that Phoebe was talking about a journey.

  She stopped setting the table and turned to look at her cousin. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, you know we would’ve took you in, but Tot’s got a new job to go to. He’s to be fore shift overman at Black Boy. We’re moving tomorrow.’ Even through her concern at telling Hannah they would be unable to take in the family, her pride in Tot’s new job shone through. But she saw the despair on her cousin’s face. ‘Eeh Hannah, you can come with us for a week or two. You know we won’t leave you with nowhere to stay. We’re kin. No pit folk would leave kin with nowhere to stay.’

  ‘We can’t go to Black Boy,’ Hannah said hopelessly, ‘it’s too near Shildon.’

  Meg heard the silence which fell on the grown-ups; saw the dismay on their faces. They sat round the table and looked at each other. Suddenly little Jack began to cry, a hungry insistent sound. But for once Hannah didn’t jump up and go to him immediately; she didn’t seem to hear him.

  ‘Mam, the baby’s crying,’ Meg said, and when her mother didn’t answer she went to the cradle herself and rocked it gently with her foot. ‘Whisht, babby,’ she said.

  Uncle Tot watched her a moment then cleared his throat. ‘Mebbe it’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘You can camp out in here till Saturday, the key’s not due to be given up till then. You have some furniture. An’ then mebbe Jack can find a job. There’s the pit …’ He faltered, knowing Jack was no pitman. But then Tot remembered something else. ‘Hang on, wait a minute, I heard today that there were jobs going in the quarries up Marsden way. What about that, Jack?’

  Chapter Three

  Ralph Grizedale rode over the fields to Grizedale Hall and trotted California straight round to the stables at the back of the house. A young groom came running as he yelled imperiously and Ralph flung himself off the horse and threw the reins to the boy.

  ‘Give him a proper rub down – I’ll have no skimping, mind. And when you’ve done that, take a broom to this yard, it’s filthy.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The boy’s voice trembled as he answered, he had a healthy fear of Ralph. Taking the reins, he led Cal over the already spotless yard. Hadn’t he been up at five that morning to clean the stables and sweep the yard? But if Master wanted it swept again, well then, that’s what he would do. He needed to keep this job.

  Ralph strode into the house and across the hall to his study, feeling decidedly out of temper though he didn’t know why. Shouldn’t he be feeling better now that Hannah, that thorn in his side for so many years, had gone and taken that prying brat of hers with her? If he didn’t see Hannah he would forget about her, he would find a wife among his own kind and put her out of his mind altogether. Striding over to the bell-pull by the fireplace, he jerked it a couple of times and when his man appeared, ordered whisky and water. Something he hadn’t been able to do when his father was alive, he thought, feeling amused for a moment. What the old man would have said if he’d heard the order. When the drink came Ralph threw himself into a great leather armchair by the ornate fireplace and sipped from the brimming glass.

  In spite of himself, he couldn’t keep his mind off Hannah and her brat. He could still see the two pairs of eyes staring up at him after the eviction – eyes so alike, so intensely blue, emphasized by the milky white complexions and fair, almost corn-coloured hair glinting in the sun. The familiar ache of longing rose in him and turned to the usual bitterness. She had chosen to marry a common railway worker, let her take the consequences. And her child … too sharp for her own good, that one. He remembered the way she’d lifted her chin and glared at him. So like her mother she was. Well, she had to be separated from Jonty, there was danger there.

  Ralph frowned heavily as he heard a child’s voice in the hall. Hadn’t he told Jonty to keep away from the front of the house? Mouthing an oath, he stalked to the door and flung it open.

  ‘Look at me, Grandmother, look at me!’ Jonty was at the foot of the stairs, standing on his head and with his face red from the effort of holding his balance, his legs wavering in the air before he toppled over. Mrs Grizedale was in the doorway of her sitting-room, clapping her lace-mittened hands gently and smiling at the child.

  ‘Oh, clever boy, clever,’ she was saying, and Jonty giggled as he jumped to his feet. But then he saw his father, face black with rage, striding over towards him and his face went from red to white and his eyes widened in terror.

  ‘Don’t—’ Mrs Grizedale stepped forward to put herself between her son and grandson, but she was too late. Ralph held Jonty by the scruff of the neck and was holding him off the ground and shaking him.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to make a noise in the house? And to use the back stairs, not to come into the front hall at all.’

  ‘Ralph! Ralph!’ Mrs Grizedale caught hold of the boy and held him to her, shaking along with him until Ralph let go his hold and Jonty collapsed into a sobbing heap.

  ‘It was my fault, Ralph, not the boy’s. He was with me, we were going to have tea together in my room. I didn’t know you were back from your ride,’ cried Mrs Grizedale. She bent protectively over the child, while looking up at his father beseechingly.

  ‘Ah, he’s not fit to have tea in a lady’s room, Mother. Look at him, he doesn’t know how to behave, racketing on in the hall and then not man enough to take his punishment, sobbing and crying. Look at him, he’s as weak as his mother was!’

  ‘Ralph! Do not talk like that in front of the child.’ Mrs Grizedale didn’t often face up to her son but when she did it was usually in defence of Jonty. Now she lifted the child to his feet and wiped his eyes with a wisp of lacy handkerchief.

  ‘Now go up and wash your hands and face, Jonty, and when you come down again we will have tea. Go on.’

  The boy glanced at his father and turned to the stairs.

  ‘The back stairs! How many times have I told you? The back stairs for you, servant’s brat that you are.’

  ‘Ralph!’ cried Mrs Grizedale, but Jonty turned and ran to the back of the hall to the baize door which led to the kitchens and the back stairs. He was only glad to get away from his father without a beating. As he climbed the stairs he thought about Meg and her da. Meg loved her da and he loved her. Why wasn’t his da like his Uncle Jack? Jonty sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t understand why his da was always in such a rage with him.

  Now Jonty had gone, Mrs Grizedale reverted to her normal hesitancy when dealing with Ralph. He was so short with her sometimes. It was her fault usually, she knew she irritated him. She still mourned his father, her dear George. A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of him, wondering why Ralph was so different. She dabbed at the tear with the lace handkerchief, still wet from Jonty’s tears, before tucking it back into the wrist of her black lace mittens. She looked at Ralph, hoping for a sympathetic word, but he had turned back into his study. Poor boy, she thought, he must be missing his father too, that was what made him short with his own son. She walked to the open door of the room and peered anxiously in.

  ‘Did you meet any of your friends, dear? On your ride, I mean?’ Oh, she did hope he hadn’t been drinking so early in the day.

  ‘What do you mean, meet any of my friends? What friends do I have in this hole? Do you never listen to anything I say? I have been to Shildon, to a meeting. I told you I was going, only this morning.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, dear,’ Mrs Grizedale said faintly. Why did she always say the wrong thing?

  Ralph stared at her. ‘You just stop spoiling that boy. It was a mistake letting you give him to that woman to wet-nurse when Nell died, though I was glad to get the sickly, puling brat out of the house at the time. If it hadn’t been for that strait-laced father of mine he would never have been here in the first place. Forcing me, his own son and a gentleman born, to marry a pitman’s daughter. Nell … common name for a stupid common girl. Just a pale imitation of her sister, too.’

 
; Mrs Grizedale stepped back, gasping in horror, and perhaps Ralph realised he had gone too far for he strode from the room without a backward glance.

  ‘I’m off to Darlington for the evening. Maybe I’ll get some better company there,’ he snarled, and a moment later she could hear his raised voice shouting for the stable boy.

  ‘Has Da gone?’ The small voice from the hall made Mrs Grizedale turn and cover up her shock and upset with a smile.

  ‘Yes, dear, he’s gone. We’ll have a nice time together now, won’t we? Cook has made scones, I know, and there’s strawberry jam.’ She hesitated, biting her lip. Maybe she had been wrong in giving him to Hannah to wet-nurse. He’d picked up some bad habits of speech.

  ‘It would be better if you didn’t call your father Da, dear. You must call him Father, that’s his proper name.’

  Jonty nodded his head slowly. His father wasn’t a da, any road, he thought, not like Meg’s. He took his grandmother’s hand and they went into her sitting-room. His normally sunny nature was reasserting itself; his father was gone out and Jonty didn’t have to worry about offending him for a while.

  ‘Strawberry jam?’ he cried, and smiled in delight as he ran into his grandmother’s room. Auntie Hannah had made jam once, from the wild raspberries growing alongside the lane, and sometimes she made rhubarb jam. But Jonty had never tasted strawberry jam until he came to live with Da and Grandmother, and by, it was lovely! Maybe he would be able to save a little from his tea and take it down to Meg’s house for her to taste, he thought happily, but then his brow creased with anxiety. If he did and his father found out, Da would hit him with his riding crop, he knew. That was what he had done last time Jonty sneaked out to see Meg. But he would sneak off, he vowed. Da was out and might not catch him. And Jonty’s heart ached from the pain of not seeing Meg and Auntie Hannah and the baby.

  After tea, when Grandmother said he could go out and play in the shrubbery, as soon as he was out of sight from her window, Jonty tiptoed along the side of the hedges until he was away from the Hall and then flew down the bank to the little row of cottages by the old line, clutching a scone liberally spread with strawberry jam for Meg. But when he arrived, Meg wasn’t there. No one was. No children playing in the back lane, no smoke from the chimneys. Jonty walked round and round the row, and peered in the cracks between the planks of wood which were nailed to Auntie Hannah’s kitchen window. The kitchen was empty: no table, no chairs, not even Grannie’s rocking-chair. Out front again he found Meg’s peg doll lying on the path. He picked it up and looked around.

  ‘Meg?’ he called. ‘Auntie?’ But he knew it was hopeless. He walked back to the Hall carrying the doll, his eyes full of tears, not even caring if Da saw him and whipped him for going down there. They had gone away and left him, they didn’t care about him, they’d gone without even telling him, abandoning him, they didn’t care what his father did to him. Not Auntie Hannah or Uncle Jack, not even Meg.

  Arriving back at the house, Jonty went in the front door and climbed the main staircase, not bothered if Da saw him. The way he felt, he would almost welcome a beating. Maybe it would take away the awful emptiness which was there right in his middle. But Da wasn’t there, only Grandmother, who came into his room to hear his prayers.

  ‘I’m not saying prayers tonight,’ Jonty said firmly, and climbed into bed and turned his face to the wall.

  ‘Is something the matter, dear?’ Mrs Grizedale hovered anxiously but Jonty refused to say another word. After a moment she went to the door, closing it quietly after her.

  ‘Poor boy,’ she said. ‘Your short life hasn’t been easy. One night without praying won’t hurt.’

  And Jonty put his hand under his pillow and felt Meg’s dollie there and clutched it tightly to his chest.

  * * *

  Meg helped Hannah and Jack load up the hand cart for the journey to Marsden. She was bubbling over with excitement as she gathered Jack Boy’s clean clouts into a bundle and wrapped them in a blanket. It was a lovely day and they were going to live by the seaside, Da had told her. And hadn’t he got a fine new job, working in a quarry?

  It was Saturday morning and Da had been gone two days when he came home last night. Her mam had been worried he wouldn’t get a job, Meg knew it. She had been so upset she had sicked up all her breakfast in the sink in the yard. But that was yesterday. Today Hannah was bustling about piling things on the handcart while Jack Boy lay in his cradle by the gate.

  ‘Da, Da,’ said Meg, ‘tell us again about the sea and the rocks an’ all.’

  Jack laughed. ‘Wait till we get going, pet, then I’ll tell you all about it. By, it’s going to be grand. We’ll be living right on the cliff top, and further down there’s the sands and you can plodge in the water and look for shrimps.’

  ‘Eeh, Jack,’ said Hannah. ‘I hope it’s not too near the edge, mind. What about the bairn, is it safe?’

  ‘It’ll be all right, man,’ Jack avowed. ‘We’ll just have to watch until Meg gets used to it. She’s not daft, like.’

  At last they had finished loading the cart and were on their way, calling at the colliery offices for Jack to leave the key to the house they had only been in for a few days.

  Meg had got used to the travelling now. She thought they were going all the way with the handcart and maybe they would be able to sleep in a farmer’s barn again and she would see ducks and hens and cows. So she was a bit disappointed when their next stop was the railway station and she and Mam and Jack Boy got on a train for Sunderland, and then another smaller train for Marsden. But still it was nice on the train, too, they went so fast, and before teatime came they had arrived and were getting down at the station at Whitburn Colliery.

  And there was the sea, miles and miles of water. Meg had never seen anything like it. Her eyes widened with the wonder of it. Even though Da had told her about it, she had never thought it would be like that.

  ‘Eeh, Mam,’ she said, as they walked up the path past the tall building which Mam said was a lighthouse and on towards the rows of houses which made up the pit village of Marsden. ‘Eeh, Mam, wouldn’t it be lovely if Jonty could come? By, wouldn’t he be surprised if he saw the sea?’

  ‘You forget about Jonty,’ said Hannah. ‘Jonty won’t be coming here, there’s nowt so sure. Now stop chattering, do.’

  Mam sounded tired and cross and Meg’s excitement dimmed a little. Mam didn’t mean it. Jonty would come sometime, Meg knew he would. But she obediently stopped talking and contented herself with watching the birds wheeling over the rocks and calling loudly to one another, great big birds like she had never seen before. Why, they were nearly as big as ducks!

  Chapter Four

  Meg loved the sea. She loved the sound of waves breaking on the rocks below the cliffs, loved to lie in bed at night and listen to it. After her day at school Meg liked to lie on the cliff top near Souter Lighthouse and watch the seabirds feeding their young in the nests on the sides of the sea stacks and down the steep-sided cliffs. And she would talk in her head to Jonty, telling him about the cormorants and the kittiwakes flying about their business and taking no notice of the people living on the cliff top. But only when she was not needed at home, for there was a new baby soon after they moved to Marsden, and then another. And Mam wasn’t as strong as she used to be, always weary and tired.

  Meg was plagued by a nightmare, always the same one, where she and Mam and the babby were running up an uneven road black with coal dust and someone was chasing them. Meg knew it was the candyman and he was catching up with them, no matter how hard they ran, and she would wake up screaming, just as the candyman put out a hand to get her.

  And then, the next day, the nightmare would put her in mind of Jonty, her lost brother Jonty, and she would ask Mam about him.

  ‘Forget about Jonty. He’s your cousin, not your brother, any road,’ Mam would say every time she asked. But Meg didn’t want to forget Jonty. She would go over in her mind the last time she had seen him. He had come back to
see her. Jonty’s da had come to their house then and dragged him away. But first Jonty had stood up straight and defied him, and his father had cuffed him and Jonty had gone flying into the wall. Jonty had gone very white and Meg had run to him but she had been pushed roughly out of the way.

  ‘I told you not to come here!’ Jonty’s da had roared, and tucking his son under his arm like a bundle of rags, had flung him over Cal’s saddle.

  Hannah had stood by quietly after her first shocked protest. She had clutched the baby to her and Meg had gone to her and held on to her skirt for comfort.

  ‘Mam!’ she had whimpered, and Hannah had put down a hand and pressed her daughter’s head to her, clucking her tongue in automatic shushing. ‘It’s no good, Meg, I can’t do anything about it,’ she’d said.

  That was all Meg could remember of Jonty and even that was fading from her mind. So she made up conversations with him when she was on her own, and a little glow would rise in her.

  * * *

  Meg was nine years old when she began working. She was by Souter lighthouse one day with her little sister Alice on one hand and two-year-old Miles on the other. Meg was keeping them out of Mam’s way for a while so she could get the baking done. Miles was gurgling and laughing, tugging at Meg’s hand because he wanted to go to the edge of the cliff after a seabird.

  ‘No, Miley, no. You have to be a good lad and stay with me or we’ll have to go back home.’ Meg pulled him back and his chuckles threatened to turn into tears. ‘Look how good Alice is, pet,’ urged Meg. ‘Alice keeps hold of me.’ And it was true. Alice was standing quietly, watching Miles with the superior expression of a three-year-old for a baby of only two.

  ‘Aren’t you at school today?’

  Meg looked round to see the head keeper of the lighthouse on the other side of the wall. Meg knew all the keepers by sight, this was a favourite haunt of hers, and they all knew her.

  ‘I’ve left school now,’ she confided. ‘I’m going to get work.’