A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)

by Laing, Annette

  Just then Jack returned with the glasses. “Right then, lassies. A pint o’ stout for me, and twa ginger beers for you twa.”

  “Oh, um, I didn’t want beer.” Hannah stammered.

  Mina and Jack chuckled at that. “Ginger beer, Hannah,” Jack reassured her. “So pure that the minister himself would not hesitate to lift a glass.”

  “Now then,” he said, as he pulled up his chair. “Tell me why you’re for temperance, Hannah?”

  Hannah stared at him open-mouthed. “What?”

  “Why do you forswear the demon alcohol? And more importantly, why do you think others should do the same?” Jack waved an arm in the air. “Let us hear your argument in this place of ill-repute!”

  Hannah didn’t know what to say. She was too young to drink, she knew that, but clearly she wasn’t too young to drink in 1851. And Jack was asking for her opinion. Hardly anyone asked Hannah’s opinion about anything. Ever. She tried to think of what to say. “Um, because I might get drunk instead of, ah, reading books and stuff? And then I wouldn’t be able to stand up to the millowners?”

  “Oh, you’ve been talking to Miss Gordon here,” Jack said, with a wink at Mina. “Anyway, from what I hear, you have no trouble standing up to millowners, lass. I hear you gave old Tom Sutherland a piece of your mind.”

  Hannah smiled proudly. Yes, she had, hadn’t she? She preened. Wow, she was proud of herself. And now here she was, hanging out with a real actor.

  “So are you guys gonna find a place to live closer to the theatre when you get married?”

  “Aha,” Jack said, “We won’t be in Dundee. We’re striking out for new opportunities.”

  “What, you’re going to Glasgow?” Hannah didn’t mean it as a joke, but Mina and Jack laughed all the same.

  “No, Hannah,” Mina said. “We’ve made up our minds. We’re going to New York.”

  Hannah’s jaw dropped. “New York? Like, in America?”

  “The very one,” Jack said. “There, I shall entertain those Yankees with a wee song, and a tune on my banjo.” With a flourish, he strummed an imaginary instrument.

  Mina smirked. “Pretty funny when you think he learned the banjo from the Virginia Minstrels during their tour through Scotland. He’s going to take their own music back to them.”

  Jack added, “Aye, well, afore we go, I’m to give a wee performance at our church’s Anti-Slavery Soiree. Why don’t you come, Hannah? It’ll be an evening to remember, I promise you that.”

  Hannah was confused. Life was hard in Scotland, but she had no idea that slavery was a problem here, and she said so.

  Mina shook her head. “No, not in Scotland. Slavery in America. Ye ken, Jack, about five years past, we had a visit at St. George’s Chapel from yon Frederick Douglass? He gave a braw speech, do you remember? Very moving. He showed us the shackles and whips and whatnot that are used on the poor slaves. But whit a sense o’ humor, too! A fine gentleman.”

  Even Hannah had heard of Frederick Douglass: The school always put up his picture for Black History Month. Wasn’t he a former slave or something? And imagine people like Mina knowing all about him!

  Jack said, “My brother Jamie saw him in Arbroath. Do ye remember how Mr. Douglass complained that the Free Church of Scotland was taking donations from Presbyterian churches in the slave states? After he heard Douglass speak, Jamie was so angry, he went out and painted ‘No silver from the blood of slaves’ on the church wall.”

  Hannah was shocked. “You must be so embarrassed!”

  But Mina and Jack misunderstood her, thinking she was shocked by the donations from the American churches, not the graffiti. Mina said, “Aye, well, it was pretty embarrassing for our minister, George Lewis. He had travelled all over the South raising money.”

  “The South? You mean England?” Hannah was confused again.

  “Och, no,” Mina said. “The American South. The Free Church is a new church, and most of our members are poor. The minister went to ask the Presbyterians in the South for some help. He wrote a book about his travels, and he lent me a copy. It was very interesting. I remember reading about him going to a plantation near the city of Savannah, and how the negroes all worked more like convicts than free men…”

  “Savannah?” Hannah exclaimed.

  “Aye,” continued Mina. “It’s a city in…where was it, Jack, was it Alabama? No, Georgia. Och, anyways, Mr. Lewis said that one negro lad had to wear a spiked collar with bells on because he had run away so often. What a shame, eh? Terrible cruel. But many of the Negroes go to church, and like us workers, they have their own. Mr. Lewis met with a colored minister in the city. Mind you, I think he got awfully fond of the white folk he met there, and believed too much what they telt him about the negroes. I reckon if he had spent more time with the colored folk, he would not have been so quick to take money from the whites.”

  Hannah kept thinking how smart Mina was. She was kind of round, and she wasn’t all that pretty, but everyone liked to be with her. Mina’s stories were always so interesting. She hated to think of Mina leaving for America. But anyway, Hannah thought, it wasn’t like she herself would be in Dundee forever. She, too, would be on her way to America soon, wouldn’t she? And that was what she wanted… Wasn’t it?

  Chapter 9: How The Other Half Lives (And Dies)

  Hannah was sorry she had let Mina and Jack talk her into attending the church soiree. The congregation sang a hymn, and then one speaker after another rose to his feet to give excruciatingly boring speeches on the evils of slavery. More than once, Hannah was tempted to jump up and point out that slavery would end in less than fifteen years, with or without long-winded speechifying in a Scottish church. Finally, the collection basket was passed. Hannah, having only three pennies to her name, dropped in a farthing, a coin worth one quarter-penny. With relief, she now saw everyone get their feet, suggesting that the event was over… But no, it was only an intermission. However, she cheered up enormously when Mina pointed out the tea and cakes, and told her that the second half of the evening was mostly entertainment, including Jack’s performance.

  When Jack walked onto the platform, Hannah almost dropped her teacup in amazement. He was wearing a ragged-looking outfit and carrying a banjo, but what really got Hannah’s attention was that his face and hands were covered in black make-up. He launched into song, accompanying himself in a plaintive version of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. Hannah tried not to laugh, and ended up making snorting noises.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mina whispered angrily.

  “He’s pretending to be black! He can’t do that!” Hannah was half-shocked, half-laughing. She could just imagine the look on Brandon’s face if he were there.

  Mina shushed her, and Hannah did her best to keep a straight face as Jack performed. She reminded herself that Jack wasn’t trying to make fun of black people: He was trying to help them. Scotland, Hannah decided, was a very weird place.

  On the way home from work the next evening, Hannah stopped to gaze through the windows of Moon and Langlands’ store, thinking wistfully of her London shopping trip with her Grandma. Then, she had thought nothing of walking into even the grandest department stores, and buying lots of lovely clothes. Now, she was a little afraid even to enter the modest premises of Moon and Langlands’. She was filthy. She was poor.

  She looked sadly at the wonderful dresses and hats she glimpsed through the window. The fashions were so very different from those in modern America, but she loved the bright colors and ribbons… The dresses were so romantic! But just one of those dresses would cost her four months wages, an impossible sum. Even if, miraculously, she found the money, where could she wear the dress? Certainly not in Dundee: The Gordon girls would only laugh at her for wasting so much money, and the police would probably decide that she had stolen it.

  When one of Moon and Langlands’ clerks spotted Hannah pressing her nose to the window, he angrily shooed her away. Embarrassed, she stepped backward, and the clerk quickly returned his a
ttention to an elegant lady customer. Standing near the open doorway, Hannah could hear the lady commanding the clerk in an English accent to send her the bill for her purchase, telling him that she had to hurry, for she had a train to catch. Then, as Hannah watched, she left the store carrying a package, and a taxi driver waiting outside helped her into his horse-drawn cab. It was at that moment Hannah caught sight of the lady’s face for the first time. It was Mr. Sutherland’s cousin Lady Chatsfield, the woman at the picnic on the Magdalen Green.

  Behind Hannah, the store clerk locked the door, turned the OPEN sign to read CLOSED, and lowered the blinds.

  Lady Chatsfield’s cab was only a few yards up the road when a great crack rang out, and the entire vehicle slumped to a halt. The axle had broken. The cabdriver jumped down, and swore under his breath when he saw the damage. He opened the door and spoke briefly to Lady Chatsfield, before helping her out onto the street. She stood on the road looking lost. First, she looked for another cab, but only two passed her, and they were both occupied. Then she caught sight of Hannah.

  “You, girl, come over here,” she ordered.

  Hannah’s stomach turned to ice. Had she been recognized?

  But Lady Chatsfield handed her shopping to Hannah, and said, “I must be on the railway station platform in twenty minutes, or I shall miss my train from Edinburgh to London. If you will carry this and show me the way, I shall reward you with a shilling.”

  That was more than a day’s wages, a week’s worth of meat pies and cakes. Hannah didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, sure, right this way,” she said brightly. Lady Chatsfield hadn’t recognized her after all. That figures, Hannah thought: To rich people, all mill girls must look alike.

  Now she had an idea. Why should women like this Lady What’s-her-face wear lovely dresses, ride on trains, and eat delicious picnics, while she, Hannah, had only dirty, drab clothes, worked in a miserable factory, ate gristly pies on church steps, and waded through streets covered in mud and poop? Hannah decided it was time Lady Chatsfield saw how Dundee people really lived. As she led her unwitting victim toward the entrance to The Vault, she smiled to herself, feeling more cheerful than she had for days. She would show her, all right.

  Lady Chatsfield hesitated as they entered the alleyway. “Are you certain that this is the right street?”

  “Oh, yes,” Hannah lied. “This is the fastest way. I want to make sure we get there on time.”

  But Lady Chatsfield remained distinctly nervous, and she was right to be. As they turned into a narrow lane, a woman shouted at them from a window. She was looking straight at Lady Chatsfield. “Hey, you,” she slurred drunkenly, “I know you, all dressed up like some grand lady. You’re a deserter from the Queen’s army, that’s what you are, dressed like a woman.”

  Ooo-kay, Hannah thought, she’s nuts. But then things rapidly spiraled out of control. To Hannah’s horror, the drunken woman lurched out of a doorway, and followed them, cursing and yelling. Worse, she began to attract followers: Bare-footed boys and girls, young and old women, none of whom seemed to share their drunken leader’s bizarre idea that Lady Chatsfield was a man in disguise, but all of whom were enjoying the show. Hannah knew they weren’t used to seeing wealthy people in their neighborhood, and, judging from their boos and catcalls, they resented Lady Chatsfield for even being there.

  Hannah was now very afraid, and she grabbed Lady Chatsfield’s hand, urging her to move faster, which she did, picking up her skirt with one hand and holding on to her bonnet with the other as they hurried along. By the time they reached the Greenmarket, the crowd baying behind them was at least a hundred strong, all shouting, cursing and jeering.

  Desperate, Hannah dragged Lady Chatsfield into the doorway of a grocery store that had just closed for the evening. The shopkeeper, Mr. Harris, a sandyhaired man in a white apron, saw them immediately, and flung open the door to let them in. He blocked the doorway to stop the crowd from following.

  “If I get any trouble,” he yelled to the mob, “I will tell the police and the magistrates I saw you, Bella McKay, and you, Mary Ellis, and you, Tommy McConnell. Be off with you, now.”

  The crowd fell back from the shop entrance, but did not disperse. People lingered outside, laughing and jeering. Hannah was crestfallen. What had she done?

  Lady Chatsfield was near to tears, and the shopkeeper brought her a wooden chair in which to sit, out of sight of the mob. His wife stood by, anxiously wringing her hands.

  Lady Chatsfield said forlornly to Mr. Harris, “I’ve been staying with Mr. Thomas Sutherland at Roseangle, and I’m supposed to depart on the railway train from Dundee in twenty minutes. I left my servant at the station with all the luggage, and now he will have no idea what has become of me.” She pointed angrily at Hannah. “This wretched girl took me on a fool’s errand. She said she would escort me directly to the station, and instead she has led me through the most dreadful slums.”

  Mr. Harris gave Lady Chatsfield a slight bow, and spoke to her in painstaking English with only a slight Scots accent. “Please calm down, madam. I’m sure the neighbors will have sent for the police.” He glanced over at his wife for confirmation, and she nodded.

  He now turned his attention to Hannah, and suddenly, his accent became very Scottish again. “And aren’t you the lass who lodges with Jessie Gordon?” he said angrily. Hannah nodded dumbly, and Mr. Harris slapped her hard across the back of the head, then pointed a finger in her face. “You! Find a cab. And if you pass a constable, you ask him to make his way here directly. Got that? Now, get out. And if a cab’s not here in the next five minutes, I’ll send a constable after you.”

  Hannah, her ears still ringing from the slap, pushed her way through the jeering crowd.

  Once Hannah had found a cab for Lady Chatsfield, she started home on foot. She felt so dumb. She had meant to give Lady Chatsfield a taste of the lives of the losers of the Industrial Revolution. But the lesson had gotten completely out of hand. Hannah didn’t belong in Lady Chatsfield’s upper-class world, but she didn’t feel much like she belonged with a drunken and cruel mob, either. She wished she had never left New Lanark. Things had been less complicated there.

  Dragging her feet, Hannah took a very long time walking home. She was not looking forward to returning to the Gordons’ apartment. The more she walked, the more she worried. She knew she would be in huge trouble for bringing shame on the household. That was a lesson she had learned in 1940: After a police constable had knocked on Mrs. Devenish’s door to tell her that Hannah, Verity, and Eric had been caught breaking a window, Mrs. D. had whipped the three of them. Hannah shuddered at the thought that Jessie might now do the same. “I am so dead,” she mumbled to herself.

  As she quietly slipped through the door, Mina was holding everyone’s attention, standing in front of the fireplace, addressing her mother and sisters. “Those women put on airs and would have us all as their slaves if they could.”

  Catching sight of Hannah, she swept a fist through the air in a supportive gesture. “Good evening, Hannah. I was just telling everybody about your escapade this afternoon.”

  Hannah was horrified that her role in the near-riot was common knowledge, but the only member of the family who seemed upset was Janet. “I think it’s shocking,” she said in an anguished voice. “What will the neighbors say?”

  “Oh, you and your neighbors,” scoffed Jessie. “I canna say I would have encouraged Hannah to lead thon woman up our street, but Mina’s right that folk like that ought to see where the money comes from. It’s the workers’ money they live off, right enough.”

  Hannah was astonished. Not only was she not to be punished, but to Jessie and her daughters (except for Janet) she was suddenly a hero. Emboldened, she said proudly, “Did you hear that Mr. Harris hit me?”

  “Damn cheek,” blustered Mina. “Did you hit him back?”

  “Now, Mina,” Jessie warned. “Enough of that. I get my messages at Harrises, and I don’t need him telling me my custom’s no wanted. W
here else would I buy my oats and tea?”

  Just then, a great shrieking broke out in the street. The girls rushed to the window, except for Mina, who grimaced, and Janet, who looked offended as usual.

  “It’s twa lassies fighting!” Betty reported back excitedly. There was a general rush for the door, and Hannah, mystified but caught up in the moment, raced down the stone steps with the others. As she ran into the darkened courtyard, she was almost knocked down by two screaming women grappling with each other. Judging by their slurred yells and a strong smell of whisky, they had been drinking heavily. A large crowd quickly gathered around to watch, women with folded arms shaking their heads, yelling encouragement, or both, and men waving their caps and laughing. Several people were hanging out of their windows to watch.

  This, Hannah thought, must be what people do in 1851 instead of watching reality shows on TV. She tried to enjoy the fight, but she became more and more uncomfortable with the spectacle, which seemed so tacky. What kind of place had she landed in, she asked herself? The woman standing next to her was yelling “Bite her!” to the contestants, and Hannah, startled, turned to stare at her.

  Of course, it was the Professor.

  “You!” Hannah yelled.

  “Yes, me,” said the Professor with a cheery smile, pulling Hannah aside, away from the action. “So, how are things?”

  “Bizarre,” Hannah said sullenly.

  “Would you like a mutton pie? My treat.”

  Hannah pulled a face. “No. I’m kind of sick of them right now. It’s like eating a burger every day.”

  The Professor was pleased to have an opportunity to explain something. “Funny you should say that. You see, the mutton pie was a Victorian ancestor of the burger: It’s cheap, hot, tasty and fast. It’s no coincidence that the jute mill girls eat so much fast food. Like a lot of people in our century, they haven’t got the time to cook, and meat pies are filling, especially when you eat one with a sweet cup of tea…” She trailed off when she saw Hannah’s troubled expression. “Look, I understand you were involved in a bit of a disturbance this afternoon, is that right? Good for you.”