by Gracie Hart
‘Bugger it. All of you can do what you want, you always do anyway. If you want to waste your money on trollops and their tat then do so. But no good will come of it, mark my words.’ Edmund stormed out of the room, leaving his family gazing after him.
‘Take no notice, my dears, I fear your father is in a mood; he will have calmed down by the end of the day. He must be having a few problems at the pit.’ Catherine Ellershaw resumed her sewing as Grace and William glanced at one another. They would both be returning to the girls their father disliked so much, just to prove a point if nothing else. The more he forbade it, the more they would want to return.
Eleven
‘Oh my poor dears, I wish I’d known about your mother … but I didn’t find out until it was too late and she was already cold in the ground.’ Patsy hugged her nieces when they appeared on her doorstep with their usual bag of second-hand goods.
Eliza wiped back the tears, hugging her aunty as they entered her home, but Mary-Anne held back.
‘We didn’t realise you even knew our mother had died. We couldn’t get a message to you and Bill didn’t want you at the funeral.’ Mary-Anne felt reserved towards her aunt, still in doubt that she was perhaps the cause of her mother’s death.
‘I didn’t know, not until that bastard Bill Parker came and tried to knock seven bells out of me, blaming me for our Sarah’s death. The man’s mad. Has he calmed down any?’ Patsy looked at both of her nieces and felt a pang of guilt over the death of their mother, knowing something must have gone wrong when she had drunk her potion and knowing that Bill was probably right in his accusations.
‘He’s left,’ Eliza said quietly. ‘We don’t know where to, but he’s gone. Leaving us on our own.’
‘Are you all right, coping on your own? When he was here he said he was clearing off, but I didn’t think he was really going.’ Patsy looked at the two girls who both looked pale and worried.
‘Yes, we are fine, better without Bill, although we are having to pay our own way in the world as he even took every bit of coin we had in the house. He never did give a damn about us two.’ Mary-Anne sighed, her heart thawing towards her aunt. ‘We didn’t realise he’d been here; I hope he didn’t hurt you too much, Aunt Patsy.’
‘He was a bastard, was Bill Parker. It’s a pity it isn’t him that’s in the ground, not your mother.’ From the darkest corner of the cramped cottage, Mick spoke up as he puffed on his clay pipe. ‘Your mother was a grand woman, she thought the world of you two. It was a bad day when she married him. It’s him that’s to blame for her demise, at the end of the day.’
Patsy glanced nervously at her husband before turning to the sisters. ‘Now sit yourselves down, girls, I’ll make you a bite to eat. We’ve enough bread and cheese for all of us. Mick, give John a yell, tell him to come up from the cellar and meet Eliza and Mary-Anne, it’ll give him someone fresh to talk to.’ Patsy put the kettle on the fire and went to the cupboard for a fresh loaf of bread and the cheese, placing both in the centre of the table. ‘He’s a good man is John. He’s no bother, you two could do with a lodger like him. It would bring some extra money in your hands.’
‘John, get yourself up here, for a bite to eat and to meet our nieces.’ Mick stood at the top of the cellar steps and bellowed down to where John Vasey was living, before pulling up a chair at the table. ‘He’ll not be with us long, that’s the problem. He’s only here for a year or so, until he’s made enough money for passage to New York and America. He’s turned his back on the old country and he knows England’s not for the likes of him.’ Mick looked at the two lasses as they watched for John Vasey to appear from the cellar.
‘Aye, sit with us, John. Make yourself comfortable. This is Eliza and that’s Mary-Anne. These are the two dear girls who I was telling you have just lost their mother, God rest her soul.’ Patsy leaned over the tall and broad John as she poured everyone a cup of tea. ‘Help yourselves, girls. Sorry I’ve not enough plates for everyone,’ she apologised as she placed the bread, butter and cheese in the middle of the table with only four plates to share between them.
Mary-Anne looked up at the dark-haired man as he pulled back a chair and sat across from her.
‘My condolences on losing your mother. You must be missing her.’ John’s Irish accent was as broad as he was but Mary-Anne couldn’t help but notice the bright blue of his eyes. With his dark black hair and charming manner, he was quite a handsome man.
‘We are, she was very precious to us both,’ Mary-Anne replied as she squeezed Eliza’s hand tightly, noticing a single tear run down her sister’s face.
‘No doubt it will take a time to get over your grief, that’s to be expected. I lost most of my family in the famine and those that I haven’t lost have fled. Ireland is no place to be at the moment. So I know your grief.’ John helped himself to piece of cheese and bread, and broke into it on the table. ‘Good piece of cheese this, Patsy, I thank you.’
‘I’m sorry, that must have been terrible to have lived through. Your loss must be worse than ours.’ Mary-Anne looked at the man across from her and saw the hurt in his eyes.
‘Aye, well, you make the most of your life to honour the ones you’ve lost. They are always with you, looking down and watching over you, so don’t ever forget that, girls.’ John bit into his bread and went quiet.
‘I was telling them that you are off to America, John, once you’ve got your passage money.’ Patsy sat down at the head of the table and looked at her lodger.
‘That I am. America’s the place to make money, if you are prepared to work. Plenty of opportunities if you are willing to take them.’ John looked up from his dinner and winked at Eliza as she dried her eyes and listened to his soft Irish lilt.
‘What are you doing now, Mr Vasey, to earn your passage?’ Mary-Anne asked, interested in how the Irish man was making his living while staying with her aunt and uncle.
‘I’ve got work when they want me down in the canal basin, unloading and loading goods.’ He smiled broadly. ‘And there’s that much stuff comes on and off those barges that perhaps they don’t notice the odd bottle or two or the odd round of cheese going missing. Eh. Patsy!’ He grinned across at his landlady mischievously as he enjoyed his mouthful of stolen cheese and shared a knowing nod. Mary-Ann laughed, fully aware of how most people she knew had to take their chances when they came.
‘You just take care, John Vasey, else it will not be America you go to, it’ll be Australia they’ll be sending you to, for thieving, if they catch you.’ Mick looked across at his friend with a smile, ‘And don’t you be turning these young heads with your tales and schemes.’
‘Does any material come your way? Mary-Anne suddenly asked, causing her sister to look up sharply.
‘By the roll, what are you after?’ John looked over at the young lasses that up to then he’d thought as innocent as the day was long.
‘Anything, just as long as you don’t get caught,’ Mary-Anne said, turning to Eliza.
‘Though the posher the better, some silk, organza or taffeta anything; don’t worry I’ll put it to use,’ Eliza chimed in, realising what her sister intended and thinking this might be the opportunity to get their hands on the material they needed. ‘We’ll pay you for it.’
‘Leave it with me. And don’t worry about payment, what the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve about, or so folk tell me.’ John grinned. ‘Just put the kettle on for me when I come knocking on your door, that’ll be enough.’ He smiled at Mary-Anne and instantly she knew they had a new friend in John Vasey.
Tom Thackery stood at the bottom of Pit Lane and breathed in deeply. He’d left home with his mother’s hard words ringing in his ears. Once again she’d chastised him for wanting to visit Eliza, even harder this time as it had become common knowledge how Eliza’s mother had died and speculation was rife on the parentage of the dead baby. He’d told her it was partly on the request of his employer, Edmund Ellershaw, but she’d looked at him if he was lying, despi
te showing her the note to Mary-Anne written in Ellershaw’s hand for him to deliver. He reached for the note within his coat pocket and wondered what business Edmund Ellershaw had with Mary-Anne, and why he’d asked him to deliver the letter when he could have sent it with his tallyman if it was to do with the rent. He reached the cottage on Pit Lane and stood on the doorstep, his heart pounding as he waited for either Eliza or Mary-Anne to open the door. He couldn’t help it; to deny he had no feelings for Eliza would only mean him being a fool to himself.
However, it was Mary-Anne who opened the door. ‘Tom, it’s good to see you, Eliza will be so glad that you’ve called by. She’s been worrying that she would not see you again, seeing as she couldn’t walk out with you the past Sunday. Come in.’ Mary-Anne showed him down the gaslighted passageway to the back kitchen.
Tom took his cap off and followed Mary-Anne.
‘I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,’ he said, as he walked. ‘But Mr Ellershaw asked me to deliver you this note, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to ask how Eliza and yourself are coping.’ Just then they entered the kitchen where Eliza was sat.
‘Tom, I thought I heard your voice.’ Eliza stood up and smiled at him, she had missed him these past weeks.
‘I’ve just come to deliver this note from Ellershaw and I wanted to make sure you were both all right,’ Tom repeated, beaming at Eliza, thinking how bonny she looked in the glow of the kitchen fire, even in mourning black. He reached into his inside pocket and passed Mary-Anne the note and then stood not knowing quite what to do as the girls looked at him.
‘Sit down, Tom, next to the fire, and warm yourself. The night’s so cold.’ Eliza made her visitor welcome as Mary-Anne read the note.
‘What does Edmund Ellershaw want? Is he throwing us out of our cottage?’ Eliza asked, fearing the worst.
‘No, that’s what I thought when Tom said he’d a note from him. It’s a miner’s cottage after all … But no, he says he has some money that’s owing to us after Bill disappeared without giving notice and he’s asking me to call into Rose Pit and collect it.’ Mary-Anne sat down next to the table and watched as Eliza fussed around Tom.
‘That’s good news. But it’s not like Bill to not know that he’s got money owing to him, perhaps he didn’t want to show his face at the pit to collect it before doing a runner.’ Eliza smiled across at Tom as she watched his every move and expression.
‘I didn’t think the pit owed him anything.’ Tom looked puzzled. ‘I was sure when I looked at the wages he was paid up to the day he left. But then again I could be wrong.’
‘Well, we won’t say no to an extra bit of cash will we, Eliza? Every penny helps at the moment. I’ll walk up and see Ellershaw tomorrow; the money will make up for what Bill took from the cash tin, when he left us with nothing apart from the few pence Eliza and I had between us. Perhaps he’s being kind and taking pity on us both.’ Mary-Anne folded the note and placed it behind the biscuit barrel on the sideboard.
‘You are both all right for money now, are you? You are not short of anything?’ Tom looked around the kitchen that looked a bit sparse compared to his home.
‘Thank you, Tom; we are managing. We sold a dress in the shop the other day and make a good profit, which will see us fed and a roof over our head for the next few weeks. With whatever Ellershaw has waiting for us will help us out ever more, thankfully,’ Eliza assured him. ‘It was his daughter who bought the dress, so it would seem we are beholden to the Ellershaws for our welfare this Christmas. ‘
‘I shouldn’t say this but this generosity surprises me. You don’t want to be in their pockets; Edmund Ellershaw is not the upstanding businessman that he would have everyone believe. Some of his ways leave a lot to be desired.’ Tom thought back to the numerous occasions when he had seen Sarah Parker’s comings and goings from the pit’s offices after her dalliance with his boss, and realised that her daughters knew nothing of the sordid affair that had been going on.
‘We don’t live in anyone’s pockets, but I will go and collect Bill’s wages; after all they must owe him them.’ Mary-Anne looked across at Tom. It was usual for workers to have little sympathy for their bosses. They had heard Bill speak of the hard toil he had undertaken at the pit, for little or no recognition from Edmund Ellershaw, so Tom’s comments did not surprise her.
‘What are you doing for Christmas, Tom?’ Eliza changed the subject.
‘I’ll be at home with mother. It is our first Christmas in this area and we don’t hardly know anybody else. Besides, that’s what she wants. Ever since we lost my father, she’s been a bit out of sorts. What are you two girls doing? You won’t feel much like Christmas this year, I suspect; it’s been a cruel time for you both.’ Tom hung his head and felt sorry for the two young girls, knowing what it was like to lose a parent.
‘Mary-Anne in her wisdom accepted an invitation to join next door for Christmas dinner. I just know I’m going to hate every minute of it! The endless questions of Ada Simms … I just know she will never shut up. It will not be the same without Mother – it never mattered before that we didn’t have much on Christmas morning. We had each another and now there is just us two.’ Eliza felt a pang of sorrow at the memory of Christmases past and knew that things would never be the same.
‘I’ll come around and see you in the evening, that is if I’m invited?’ Tom leaned over and took Eliza’s hands, giving Mary-Anne a quick glance for permission.
‘Yes, you must. Make our Eliza’s day and give her something to look forward to.’ Mary-Anne smiled at Tom, he was clearly besotted by her sister, and any fool could see that. And she was happy that at least one of them might have some enjoyment at Christmas.
‘I’ll look forward to that, Tom.’ Eliza blushed. ‘As long as your mother can spare you for a short while.’
‘She will. She’s got to realise I have my own life no matter how much she wants me to herself.’ Tom rose from his chair and put his cap back on his head. ‘I’ll be away now. If you want me for anything, just come to the Rose and let me know. I’ll do what I can to help.’ He looked at Eliza and wanted to give her a kiss, but thought better of it. Perhaps another time, when they were alone, because he knew that there would be another time – he’d make sure of that.
‘Goodbye, Tom. Thank you for calling and delivering the note.’ Mary-Anne walked ahead to the front door, leaving the couple alone for a few seconds. Smiling to herself as Eliza reached for Tom’s hand and whispered her farewells to him tenderly. At least Eliza had someone in her life, someone who seemed to care. Now all Mary-Anne needed was a sweetheart of her own.
The north wind cut like a knife through Mary-Anne’s thin dress and shawl as she made her way to Rose Pit. She pulled her shawl closer around her as she got to the huge iron gates. She looked across at the huge pit wheel that carried the miners up and down, and to and from the bowels of the earth. It was a place that she had hardly visited, but now she entered the yard to the pithead, passing the pit-ponies and miners busy shovelling coal and manning the pit wheel. She quickly glanced around her as coal-dusted men watched her knock on the office door of Edmund Ellershaw, some almost with a look of shock on their faces that there was a young woman in the yard.
‘Enter,’ a voice called from behind the scabby wooden office door.
Mary-Anne opened the door and walked in.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ The middle-aged greying haired man who she knew to be Edmund Ellershaw didn’t even bother to lift his head up from the ledger in which he was engrossed in writing.
‘I’m Mary-Anne, sir. Bill Parker’s my stepfather. I received your note saying that you owed us some money from when he left his job.’ Mary-Anne stood feeling awkward as Edmund finally raised his head.
‘I’m sorry Miss err … Parker.’ Edmund Ellershaw looked at the young woman that stood in front of him and realised what his son had said about her beauty was no exaggeration.
‘It’s Wild sir, my surname is Wild. My sister a
nd I never took our stepfather’s surname after my mother got married.’ Mary-Anne looked at the man that nobody ever had a good word for and felt slightly nervous knowing that he could ruin her life in one fatal swipe, if he decided to take away their cottage from them.
‘Aye, that’s right. I asked you to come, didn’t I? Take a seat, Miss Wild, while I look through our wage book on how much back pay is owing to you.’ Edmund watched as Mary-Anne sat down hesitantly and nervously looked around her. He reached over for the red leather-bound wages book that was on the bookcase behind his desk, and studied the figure-laden pages.
‘Well, damn me, I’m going to have to apologise, Miss Wild, because it seems I’ve made a mistake. We don’t owe your stepfather a penny. In fact he owes us, as he asked for a week’s wages in-hand so that he could pay for your mother’s funeral before he buggered off, and he only worked three days of that week. So it would seem that you owe us three shillings and four-pence for the days he didn’t work.’ Edmund Ellershaw looked gravely at Mary-Anne, watching as a look of panic crossed her face.
‘We can’t be held responsible for his debts!’ Mary-Anne protested and scowled at Edmund Ellershaw.
‘And yet you were willing to take his wages?’ Ellershaw gave a big sigh. ‘Well, maybe out of the goodness of my heart I won’t pursue you through the courts for it … But you and your sister are still living in one of my cottages as well. Next you will be telling me that you can’t afford the rent. Now, while I feel sorry for you in such a delicate situation after your mother dying and your stepfather leaving you and your sister, I have to look after my business. I think I’m being more than generous to let you remain in one of my houses; after all, you are not doing owt for my pit.’ Edmund Ellershaw got up from his chair and looked across his yard at the men coming up from the mine after their morning shift.
‘You’ll get your rent money, sir.’ Mary-Anne looked down at her hands and could nearly have cried. One day she had enough to make life comfortable and the next it had slipped through her fingers like dry sand.
