by Diane Allen
‘You send for us. Hopefully Harry will cheer up a bit, after today. Have patience with him; he’s just broken-hearted.’
Meg opened the heavy oak door that led into the attic bedroom that was to be her home. She looked around her, at the iron bedstead made up ready for her to sleep in, with a patchwork quilt on it and clean pillows. There was a dressing table and a stool, and a water jug and dish on a marble washstand; and on the opposite side of the room were two windows that looked out on to the village green.
‘Well, at least your bedroom is tidy and you’ve got everything you need.’ Agnes lifted the bedcovers and checked that there was a chamber pot for her daughter’s use. ‘There’s a bolt on your bedroom door and all. I’m glad to see that; at least I know that you are safe of a night, once it’s bolted. You never know, with living above a shop – somebody might break in and threaten you both. These lead-miners are not to be trusted; they never have any money.’
‘Mum, surely they are not as bad as that! I’ll be fine. It’s a nice room and I’ll make myself busy through the day, and keep an eye on Harry until he gets over his grief, and then I’ll come home. So stop your worrying.’ Meg hugged her mum and kissed her. ‘Now, let’s go and make him that cup of tea, and then you and Father can get back home and see what Dan has been up to while you were both away. I bet he’s been asleep in front of the fire, taking advantage of you two not being about. I don’t trust him an inch.’
‘Now who’s the doubting Thomas! You’ll take care, won’t you? You’ll not get up to anything you’d be ashamed to tell me about, will you?’ Agnes looked sternly at Meg.
‘Oh, Mum! I’ll behave, you know I will.’ Meg sighed as both of them made their way back down to the living quarters, past the bedroom of Harry and Mary, which brought back sad memories of the much-loved woman they had just buried in the graveyard, without any celebration of her life with friends afterwards. Mary wouldn’t have wished for that, Agnes thought, as she entered the small living room where Tom and Harry were sitting in silence.
‘The bedroom’s lovely, Harry. Meg will be fine in there. Now, we’ll have a brew and then we’ll get back home before it’s dark. You’ll promise to look after my lass, won’t you? See that she’s right. And you’ll send word if she needs anything, so that we can bring it over on a Thursday when we come with the butter and anything else?’ Agnes stood next to the kettle and waited for it to boil.
‘Aye, don’t fret, she’ll be fine. I’m just grateful for her company and her help. I don’t think I could face life on my own, and Mary knew that, God bless her soul. I’ll look after Meg.’ Harry lifted up his face towards Meg’s. ‘We’ll be alright, won’t we, lass? We’ll rub along like two old shoes.’
‘I’m sure we will, Uncle Harry. I’ll open the shop up again tomorrow, once I’ve tidied up, and I’ll make sure you get fed.’ Meg smiled at the old man. She felt sorry for him; he’d lost the one he loved, and she could understand his pain. Even if her bedroom had been in a terrible state, she would have stayed, because this was going to give her the freedom she craved; and she was now near the two lads who had taken her eye – and because of that, she was going to take full advantage of her stay. What her parents didn’t see they wouldn’t worry about, and that was how she wanted it.
10
Meg placed scrambled eggs on toast in front of Harry and poured his tea, as he sat at the table next to the window that overlooked the shop’s yard and outhouse. The evening following her parents’ departure had been a little awkward, with Harry not having a lot to say as he smoked his pipe and sat next to the fire.
‘I hope scrambled eggs are alright? I didn’t know what you usually eat for breakfast.’ Meg watched Harry’s face as he looked at the plate of food she had put in front of him.
‘Aye, they look grand, but I don’t know if I fancy them. I haven’t been eating much of late. Did you find everything you needed, and did you sleep alright? I never heard you get up. I slept pretty hard last night. I think I was grateful the funeral was over. It had been the hardest week of my life last week, and I needed to catch up with my beauty sleep.’ Harry smiled at the young lass, who looked a bit lost in her new surroundings.
‘I was fine, thank you, Uncle Harry. I got up early because I thought I could tidy up in here properly, rather than disturb you when you were about today. I know Mum had a quick pick-up, but I’ve dusted and shaken the rug and swept the floor. So you can sit by the fire and take it easy, while I mind the shop.’ Meg waited for Harry to reply as he ate a mouthful of eggs.
‘Aye, the shop – I’ve neglected it all this week. Stuff will be old and stale, and everything will want a good tidy. I don’t know . . . I was alright when my Mary was alive, but things have got on top of me lately. She did right to tell me to ask your father if you’d come and take pity on me for a while. If I don’t get myself together in the next week or two, just kick my arse, Meg, because that’s what Mary would have done. I can see her now, standing with her hands on her hips, giving me a lecture and saying, “Get on with it”, because she’d no time for shirkers.’ Harry smiled and put his knife and fork down by the side of his plate, before starting to sob again.
‘Uncle Harry, don’t be so upset – life goes on. Look at the lovely day outside. Why don’t you, after you’ve eaten, go for a walk round the village? It’ll do you good. It’s what I always do when I’ve something on my mind.’ Meg wanted to comfort him more and would have done, if it had been her father in the same situation, but Uncle Harry was different; he wasn’t quite family, and she felt it was inappropriate to be too close to a man who wasn’t her blood relative.
‘I might just do that; a breath of fresh air might do me good. Can you manage on your own? I know you’ve helped in the past, so you know where everything is.’ Harry wiped his eyes and picked up his knife and fork as he started to tackle his breakfast again.
‘Good, that sounds about right for the day. Now, I’ll go into the shop and open for business, as usual. You can’t let the villagers down, else they’ll start to go elsewhere. And as you say, there is a lot to catch up on.’ Meg watched as Harry made short work of his breakfast, then put on his cap and jacket, before reaching for his walking stick.
‘Do as you think fit in the shop. I’ll have a wander and be back for my dinner. Frank Metcalfe will be bringing you an order of bread and suchlike shortly; the money to pay him is in the till. Mind you take no notice of what he says to you. He’s given to romance a lot, when he talks of folk.’
Harry put his walking stick under his arm and quickly made his way out of the back door and down the paved back yard, before Meg could even say goodbye or clear the table. She watched him go and sighed. This was not what she had envisaged. Her Uncle Harry was not concerned with the running of his business, like he used to be when he and her Aunt Mary had worked together. In fact, she was sure that if she didn’t open the shop doors, he wouldn’t even notice or care. He seemed to be in a world of his own and must still be grieving for Mary, although sometimes it didn’t look that way. Anyway, it was his loss. In the meantime she’d get the chance to know Sam and Jack better, once they knew where she was; and she knew that would soon reach their ears, in the close-knit community of Gunnerside.
Meg turned the sign on the shop’s door and opened the door wide to let the late-summer sun into the dusty room. Its rays showed how neglected the shop had become since Mary’s death, and Meg suspected even before then, by the look of the cobwebs that coated the oil lamps, and by the smell of rotting cabbage from the shelves, where she had previously placed the fresh vegetables brought from her own garden. It was going to take some time to get the shop back on its feet, but at least her days would pass quickly. And she would have Sundays to do whatever she wanted. Meg smiled as she thought of strolling arm-in-arm with Sam. There was no one to stop her, and as long as they kept away from the landlord at the King’s Head across the road, nobody would tell her father, when he visited for his weekly gill.
She held
her fingers to her nose and picked up the pile of rotting cabbage, walking out of the shop and down to the riverside, where she threw it onto the bank; it would hurt nobody there, and the ducks on the beck might even enjoy it. When she returned, the shop instantly smelt sweeter, as she opened the window to let more air in and picked up her brush to sweep the floor and get rid of the offending cobwebs.
‘Now then, has old Harry got himself a shop girl? It’s about bloody time! Since Mary took bad, the place has gone to the dogs.’ Frank Metcalfe placed his wooden tray full of freshly made bread and buns, and a varied assortment of cakes, on the large wooden counter and looked across at Meg. ‘I’ve seen you before. You’ve sometimes been here on a Thursday with your parents, when I’ve been running late. You bring the old bastard his butter, or part of it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m Meg Oversby. My parents and Mary and Harry have been friends nearly all their lives. We live in Appersett and, as you say, supply him with some of his butter and other things – eggs or vegetables, if he’s short, or if we have too much for ourselves to eat.’ Meg looked at the tall, red-faced man who was still wearing his apron, as she emptied the wooden tray and opened the till to pay him, when he gave her a slip stating how much he was owed. But she fell silent as the till drawer opened to reveal hardly any money inside it, let alone enough to pay for the goods that had just been delivered.
Her face must have told Frank Metcalfe of her plight, as he coughed politely. ‘Has he not enough in there, the old bugger?’ He looked at the dismay on Meg’s face.
‘No, he’s got next to nothing in here, but he said there was enough to pay you.’ Meg blushed; she felt awkward and didn’t know what to do.
‘Tell you what, lass, pay me in the morning. Harry’s had his mind on other things, what with losing poor Mary and having other business to think about. Hopefully he’ll come to his senses, now he’s got you to help out in the shop.’ Frank picked up his wooden tray and looked back at Meg. ‘See you tomorrow – and you watch that old Harry. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man on the quiet, but I’m sure you will soon find that out, if you are staying here with him.’ Frank winked at Meg as he turned and left the shop.
Uncle Harry, a ladies’ man? What could he mean? The Harry she knew was never like that. He’d been devoted to her Aunt Mary, and they’d been inseparable for as long as she had known them. Then she remembered that Harry had said Frank Metcalfe was always full of mischief and was ‘given to romance a lot’. Meg decided to dismiss his words as she placed the bread on display and waited for her first customer, then tidied the shelves and dusted the many jars and tins on them. All the while she was thinking of Sam and Jack as she hummed to herself, hoping that any minute they might come through the door and smile at her, even though she knew both men would be at work. She smiled to herself as she thought of their cheeky grins that had bewitched her, then carried on with her dusting.
The morning went quickly, with customers coming and going, all of them welcoming Meg’s presence in the shop and showing gratitude that one of the mainstays of the community was back up and running. On the whole the customers expressed their sympathy and showed their concern for Harry, asking where he was and how he was, while they bought the supplies they needed.
Meg looked down into the till as she neared dinner time, checking that there would be enough money to pay Frank Metcalfe the following morning. His bread and baked goods sold well, so it was best that he was kept straight and wasn’t owed anything. She was about to turn the sign in the shop’s window to ‘Closed’ when she noticed Mrs Alderson, Sam and Jack’s mother, coming over to the doorway. She looked in a hurry, and Meg rushed back to the counter to serve her.
‘Oh, it’s you that’s here, is it? Folk are saying that old Harry’s got a young lass working for him, but they didn’t say who you were.’ Betty fumbled in her small leather purse for some change as she looked at Meg. ‘I’ll have two ounces of suet, please – that is, if you have any.’
Meg smiled at the straight-talking woman. ‘Yes, I’m here for a few weeks, just until Mr Battersby gets back on his feet. And yes, we have some fresh suet; it’s in the back, in the pantry.’ She left Betty standing in the shop as she went and got her some suet.
‘You’ve got your work cut out, looking after this place. Harry will be no good to you, that I can tell you. Poor Mary, she always had to keep him right. No wonder she was that ill – it would be the worry of having Harry as her husband, the useless bugger,’ Betty yelled through to Meg, as she came back with the suet and weighed it out.
‘Uncle Harry’s not that bad; he worshipped Aunt Mary.’ Meg looked up at Betty Alderson and felt aggrieved that she saw Harry in such a bad light.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting he’s your uncle. Forget what I said. I’d got it into my head that he’d just taken you on to help him.’ Betty reached for her small bag of suet and fell quiet.
‘He’s not really my uncle. I just call him that, because he’s always been a part of my family. It was Mary who asked for me to come and take care of the shop, until he gets over her death.’ Meg held her hand out for the money.
‘That’s probably because she knew that at the first chance he got, Harry would be going down to Reeth, to his fancy woman that runs the boarding house there. The poor woman; there she was on her deathbed, and him carrying on with that floozy. There was him pretending to be so broken-hearted, looking so upset – but more guilty, if you ask me, as he didn’t even give poor Mary a decent send-off. Her friends expected a tea at Mrs Price’s tea room, if nothing else. I suspect folk know what he’s up to, but are too decent to say anything. Well, now he’s free to do as he likes. You’ll not see much of him, lass. He hates this shop and it was beginning to go to the dogs; nothing was ever fresh. Take my advice, lass, and don’t stay here, as you’ll not have a roof over your head for long. Give him a month or two and he’ll be moving in with his trollop.’ Betty leaned on the counter and watched Meg taking in the gossip she had told her.
‘No, it can’t be right. Harry’s not like that! He loved Aunt Mary!’ Meg exclaimed.
‘Where is he now? I bet he left first thing and it’ll be nightfall before he returns. Folk used to come and knock on the shop’s door and he’d be busy down the dale, doing his thing with her, while poor Mary was either dying in her bed or trying to serve people behind this counter. She deserved better, did the poor woman. Sorry, lass, but that’s how it’s been this last month or two. I just hope that you keep this place open for us locals. It would be missed if it closed, and Mary knew that. I presume that is why you are here.’ Betty looked around her. ‘I’ll have a dozen candles and all, while we are about it. It will save my lads buying them from the company; the thieving bastards charge twice the amount you do.’
Meg climbed up the small stepladder and counted out twelve tallow candles from a wooden box, then climbed back down, placing them in a bag for Betty. She looked up at her. ‘Are Sam and Jack keeping well?’ She held her breath, not wanting her true feelings to show, as her heart fluttered when thinking about them both, while she put to the back of her mind the shocking news about Harry being unfaithful.
‘Aye, they are grand. They are good lads; they look after their mother. Do you know them well? They’ve never mentioned you, and both simply looked at one another the last time I spoke of you,’ Betty quizzed Meg and looked at her hard.
‘I met them both at a dance in Hawes. We are just friends.’ Meg blushed.
‘Aye, well, I’ll tell them you are here. You’ll need somebody to talk to, if you are to work with Harry – or should I say “without Harry”, because he’ll never be here, except on a Saturday, when he usually goes to the King’s Head for a gill or two and a game of dominoes. Now, what do I owe you?’ Betty waited and watched Meg as she totted up the total.
‘Ninepence, please.’ Meg looked as Betty put the goods in her basket and passed her the change.
‘Now, you take care, lass. If you want to know anything, or need a
nything, you come and see me. My door’s always open, and I bet you’ve caught our Sam’s eye already, because he’s a devil for a bonny lass. Our Jack is a bit less forward; he’s the deep thinker of the two. They’ll both be visiting you, but not necessarily buying owt, I bet.’ Betty grinned as she walked to the door, leaving Meg thinking of both brothers, but also of how badly wrong her mother and father had got the marriage of Mary and Harry. It would seem that all love had died between them a long time ago, and now it would probably only be a matter of time before Harry sold the shop. And then she would be back home and would have to endure Dan once more. Meg didn’t want that to happen, not yet; she was going to enjoy her independence in Swaledale, running the shop and being part of the community. She was needed and appreciated for the first time in her life, and she didn’t want that to stop. And besides, she had some courting to do, with one or other of the Alderson brothers.
It was supper time at the Aldersons’. Betty had been busy cooking a steak-and-kidney pie in the small but spotless kitchen most of the day, and was serving it with potatoes freshly dug from the kitchen garden. Although the cottage the three lived in was only small, it suited them well and was always kept clean and tidy. The brasses shone and the pots were washed, and Betty demanded that both her boys cleaned themselves up in the water butt outside the back door before they entered the low-beamed cottage. She dished her steak-and-kidney pie out to both hungry sons, then sat down to join them over supper at the kitchen table.
‘Well, what’s fresh at the mine – anything or nothing? Is everybody behaving themselves?’ Betty watched as both sons ate their dinner and hardly spoke, tired after their hard day’s work at the mine-face and at the smelting mill.
‘No, nowt’s fresh, Mother, apart from we’ve no money for going to Reeth Bartle Fair this next weekend, because I’ve been charged for my shovel weighing light – the robbing bastards.’ Sam tucked into his supper and didn’t even lift his head.
