Eliza's Child Page 5

  ‘Aye well, I hope you find something,’ said Mary Anne but she didn’t sound very optimistic about it. ‘There’s not much for the lasses round here,’ she added as she put a plate of boiled leek pudding and no meat in front of her daughter. ‘There’s a bit of barley cake you can have if you’re still hungry after that.’

  ‘I thought I’d go into Haswell on Saturday after I’ve finished on the screens,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mary Anne. She thought about Jack Mitchell-Howe bitterly. He was big nowt, that’s what he was. Likely only got that fancy name because his mother or his gran had done something she shouldn’t before she was wed. Mitchell was likely her maiden name. He was a true bastard, that’s what. What proper man didn’t do his best for his wife and bairn?

  Chapter Six

  ELIZA WALKED WITH high hopes through the fields to Haswell. It was five o’clock on Saturday afternoon and she had finished work for the week, rushed home to wash and change into her good dress and Sunday shawl and left Thomas with her mother.

  ‘I’m due to my rest an’ all,’ Mary Anne had observed mildly.

  ‘I won’t be long, Mam, I promise,’ Eliza had replied.

  ‘Aye, go on then.’ Mary Anne took the baby from her daughter and sat down in the rocker beside the kitchen fire. She had a good two hours before Tommy and the lads came in from the pit and there was a pot pie bubbling on the fire so with Thomas asleep it was her chance for a rest. She rocked gently with her arm holding the baby supported by the chair arm.

  Eliza was practically running through the fields now as she thought about her mother and Thomas at home waiting for her. Soon she was in the streets of Haswell, a small mining town, and going into every shop to ask for work.

  ‘Well, lass,’ one butcher said as he sharpened his knife on a whetstone. ‘There’s not much work round here, not for lasses, any road.’

  Indeed, Eliza could see for herself that trade was bad; there were few shoppers around. Most miners’ wives were in debt to the village shops belonging to the pit owners. She stood in the dirt of the road for a while, trying to think of other places to look. Head down, she pondered her chances on the surrounding farms, but folk who worked the land usually had hiring fairs and no one took on extra people in between unless someone had fallen ill or died. She didn’t even consider approaching the Parish Guardians; after all, she was able-bodied and in work.

  ‘Hey there, get off the bloody road, you fool!’

  The shout made her look up, and there, bearing down on her, was a horse and trap. She jumped back towards the shop and the horse ran past with the driver tugging hard at the reins. It stopped about ten yards further on. The driver secured the reins, climbed down and strode back to where Eliza stood, trembling with shock.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted. Dimly she realised that the butcher was peering out of the window and a small crowd had gathered across the road. Red with embarrassment, she looked up at Jonathan Moore. He had his horsewhip in his hand and for one horrified moment she thought he was going to hit her with it, but instead he stood there, waiting for her to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was thinking,’ Eliza said.

  ‘Oh, thinking, were you?’

  His voice was heavy with sarcasm and her blush deepened. ‘You might have ruined a good horse with your daydreaming. You gormless girl!’

  Eliza was becoming angry herself. She lifted her chin and stared him in the face. ‘Don’t call me—’ she began furiously, then remembered just who he was. He could get her dismissed and even persecute her father and the lads. Dropping her gaze she bit off her words.

  Jonathan knew exactly what she was thinking by the expressions chasing one another across her face. The spirit making her dark eyes sparkle, and the way it was suddenly extinguished, struck him. He suddenly realised who she was, a widow who worked on the coal screens. She certainly looked different, in a decent dress. The dress was a warm brown and her shawl a cherry red like her lips. Now he had got over the shock of the near accident his anger was dying too. There was no doubt she was a fine-looking woman. A widow too, she probably missed her husband in more ways than one. He smiled.

  ‘It’s Mrs Mitchell-Howe, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘I do apologise for shouting at you. It was the shock.’

  Eliza was taken aback by the sudden change in his attitude. She looked up at him suspiciously. He was smiling at her for the entire world as though he had not, only a few seconds ago, sworn at her.

  He took her hand and held it. Looking at the broken nails with coal dust still embedded around them in spite of her scrubbing earlier, he smiled inwardly. She was bonny but she was just a pithead lass. Still, he was willing to pretend. He had to go to the colliery as it happened.

  ‘You’re trembling,’ he said. ‘Can I take you back to Blue House?’

  Eliza thought for a moment. She had been going to go to Thornley but it was a long walk and she was tired after seven hours on the screens. Besides, the situation was probably no different in Thornley. She was really down after her lack of success in Haswell. And she had a longing to get back to her baby. She was barmy looking for work where there was none.

  ‘I would be grateful for a lift, sir,’ she murmured.

  Jonathan smiled and handed her into the trap for the entire world as though it was a grand carriage and she was a real lady. That was the key to attracting the lasses, he had found. Untying the reins, he clicked his tongue at the horse.

  ‘Gee up there, Polly,’ he said.

  Eliza glanced sideways at him. By, she thought, she knew what he was after an’ all. Well, he wasn’t going to get it but it would serve the lecher right if she got everything she could from him. By, owners thought they could do what they liked with the pit folk. Well, she would string him along as far as she could. No doubt he thought widows were desperate for what they were missing but she was not, oh no, she was not a widow nor desperate. Eliza smiled sideways at him.

  The trollop, he thought and took a sharp right on to a farm road, which went through a stand of trees.

  ‘Hey, where are we going?’ Eliza demanded.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘It’s a short cut.’

  Eliza knew the countryside around and she knew the cart track they were on led nowhere but to an old uninhabited farmhouse. She clutched her shawl close across her breasts and edged to the side of the seat. Jonathan Moore had all his attention on the horse for the moment as he threaded his way through the trees, going slower now. In fact he was stopping, she realised, and she readied herself to jump out and run.

  ‘I could get you indoor work, my mother needs a maid,’ he said, turning to her with a slight smile. But Eliza jumped out of the trap before he realised what she was doing. She turned her ankle as she fell heavily on it and a shaft of pain shot up her leg but she hardly noticed. She set off, back up the track towards the road, ran the short way to where the true path to Blue House began, and raced along it.

  ‘Wait!’ he shouted after her. ‘Wait or you’ll be sorry!’ But by the time he had turned the horse and trap and got back on to the road there was no sign of Eliza.

  ‘Blast her eyes!’ he muttered as he whipped Polly into a trot. ‘I’ll show her, though.’ Next time he would try harder and there would be a next time. Didn’t she work for him?

  Eliza slowed down; she had to as every step was becoming more painful than the one before. She felt as though there was a black weight pressing on her stomach and it was more unbearable than the pain in her ankle. She had set out with high hopes and here she was coming back no better off than when she started. Worse, she had likely made an enemy of Jonathan Moore. She probably didn’t even have a job on the screens any more. She stopped behind an oak tree on the edge of the field. She would sit down for a while and rest her foot. A sob escaped her as she lowered herself to the ground and leaned back against the tree. Though her ankle throbbed, the relief of taking her weight off it was exquisite.

  After a few moments
she undid the lace of her boot. The swelling was going to be bad; she had a struggle to take off her boot and then immediately wished she hadn’t. She would never get it on again.

  Eliza sighed and leaned back against the sturdy trunk of the oak. She looked up at the sky; already it was beginning to darken for it was still early spring. She closed her eyes, just for a minute or two, she told herself.

  It was the ache in her breasts that woke her. That and the cold breeze playing on the wet patches where milk had leaked through to her dress. Thomas must be crying for her. She jumped to her feet and collapsed immediately back to the ground as pain shot up her ankle. She was sobbing as she pulled herself up and leaned on the trunk of the tree. She had to get back to Alice Street, she thought, even if she had to hop all the way. Limping, she set off, holding on to the fence where she could, stumbling and falling where she could not.

  ‘By heck, our Eliza,’ cried Mary Anne, when she finally made it to the door. ‘I thought you’d got yourself lost. The bairn’s in a right state an’ all. I gave him a bit of broily, I got a drop milk from the shop an’ he was that hungry he ate it. Poor little sod—’ She broke off as she took a good look at Eliza and saw her distress. Her boots were strung round her neck and her dress had great dirty patches on it where she had fallen down on the way home and she was shivering uncontrollably. ‘Eeh, Eliza, what happened to you?’

  ‘Good God, Eliza,’ said Tommy who had risen from his chair by the fire and rushed to her when he saw how she was. ‘Let’s give you a hand, lass; have you been set on? I swear I’ll swing for whoever did this to my lass, I will!’

  ‘No, Dad, I fell and twisted me ankle,’ said Eliza, and collapsed into his arms.

  ‘Get off the settee, lads,’ he ordered. ‘Your sister needs it more than you do.’ The boys scrambled off, gazing wide-eyed at Eliza. Their father carried Eliza to the settee and laid her on it. She sighed with the relief of resting her foot. The blessed warmth from the fire made her stop trembling so much and she began to feel stronger in spite of the continued pain in her foot.

  ‘I can take the babby now, Mam,’ she said, for Thomas was still wailing fretfully. Mary Anne handed him over and he nuzzled at her breast. She undid her dress and he grasped at it with both hands and began to suck while looking up at her reproachfully with wet, red eyes. Milk from the other breast began to leak and her mother handed her a cup so she could catch it to save for another time.

  ‘Hadaway out to play for a bit,’ said Mary Anne, seeing the interest the lads were showing, though there was little to see, as Eliza was adept at covering herself with her shawl.

  ‘Aw, Mam,’ said Miles, ‘it’s dark and the bladder wants mending any road.’

  They had a pig’s bladder begged from the butcher, which they used as a football.

  ‘Get some coal then,’ she snapped.

  ‘We can’t see on the waste heap in the dark!’

  ‘Well, take a candle and scavenge some bits of coal from the road.’

  The road along the top of the row was used by the coal wagons and was known as the black road because of the coal that got spilled on it. The pitmen, though working the coal every day, were still fighting the owners for a coal allowance for their own houses.

  ‘Let them be, Mary Anne,’ said Tommy. ‘They’re not hurting nowt.’

  ‘They’re all right, Mam,’ said Eliza, who had turned towards the wall to shield herself more. ‘Have a look at my foot, what will I do with it?’

  ‘Aye, I was going to,’ said Mary Anne. She sounded tired and irritable for she had had no rest that day.

  Tommy knew the signs and he got to his feet. ‘I’m away out any road,’ he said. He took his jacket from behind the door and put it on and wound a muffler round his neck. ‘See you when I see you.’ The nails in his pit boots rang on the stones outside as he walked past the window.

  ‘I’m coming back as a man next time,’ said Mary Anne as she frequently did. Eliza took Thomas off her breast and held him against her shoulder. He smelled of milk, fresh and sour, and also urine. He burped gently and she smiled.

  ‘You’re all the world to me,’ she whispered into his ear. A dribble of sour milk came out of his mouth as he smiled back at her revealing two small teeth in his upper gum.

  ‘Ow!’ Eliza jerked as a sharp pain went shooting up her leg. Mary Anne had lifted her foot and was gazing at it critically.

  ‘Mind, our Eliza, it’s going to be a bonny size if we don’t bind it,’ she exclaimed. ‘Albert, away and get some cold water from the pump, will you? There’s a good lad. I think I’ve got a rag that will do for a binder.’

  ‘I hope it’s not broken,’ said Eliza. ‘How could I get to work on Monday if it is?’

  ‘Nay, I don’t think it is,’ said Mary Anne. ‘You’d never have got home if it had been. As it is you’ve made it worse with being on it.’ She went to the old press and brought out a bottle of vinegar and doused the injured ankle liberally with it, then she dipped a strip of rag in the cold water brought in by Albert and bound it as tightly as she could.

  ‘There now, that’ll have to do,’ she remarked. ‘You might get your boot back on come Monday. By, our Eliza, you’re gormless. You should never have taken your boot off, it would have stopped the swelling.’

  ‘Thanks, Mam,’ said Eliza. ‘By, it still hurts, though.’

  ‘Aye well, even if I had any laudanum I wouldn’t give you it. Not when you’re feeding the bairn.’

  ‘No.’

  Eliza laid Thomas down on her lap and untied the sopping rag he was wearing as a nappy. The skin beneath it was red up to the band he still wore over his navel. She removed the band too.

  ‘His belly button looks fine, Mam,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll leave the band off now. He’s fine.’

  Mary Anne pursed her lips. ‘He’s your babby,’ she observed, faintly disapproving

  ‘He’s nigh on five months, Mam,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Aye. Will I get you a basin of water?’ Mary Anne didn’t wait for an answer but brought the basin and ladled cold water into it, then hot from the iron kettle. Eliza washed Thomas and put a clean nappy rag and flannel gown on him. It was a fine gown, bought when she lived in Durham and had a bit of money. He looked and smelled sweet, as a babby should, she thought. Already he was dropping asleep and Mary Anne took him and put him in his drawer.

  ‘He’s getting a bit big for that,’ she observed. ‘Mebbe Tommy will get some wood from the colliery joiner and make him a cot. I gave ours to a lass up the row when Miley grew out of it.’

  It was cosy in the small kitchen-cum-living room, Eliza thought as she lay back on the settee. Mary Anne had made broth from the liquor she had boiled a ham shank in. It was thick with barley and lentils and also had shreds of cabbage and bits of turnip in it. Now she ladled it out into thick white bowls and the boys clustered round the table in the old shirts they wore for bed. Eliza ate hers on the settee, savouring the bits of meat that had fallen from the shank. There weren’t many, for the family had already eaten what meat they could find with fresh, boiled pease pudding when they came in from the pit. Still, there was bread that Mary Anne had baked yesterday in the communal oven.

  Eliza was drooping with fatigue but still she was thinking of Jonathan Moore and whether he would take it out on her that she had refused his advances. Had he really thought she would go with him? Or had it been her imagination? No, it had not, she decided. Why else would an owner give a pithead lass a ride home?

  Eliza finished her broth and her mother took the bowl from her.

  ‘Away to bed, lads,’ said Mary Anne, and they climbed the ladder to the attic room, murmuring their good nights. The last sound Eliza heard was the squeak of their iron bedstead as they climbed into bed. She did not hear her father come in from the Blue Bell Inn nor the sound of his hobnailed boots dropping on to the rag mat before the fire. He tiptoed past the settee where she lay and went into the front room to Mary Anne.

  Chapter Seven


  COME SUNDAY MORNING Eliza found she couldn’t put her foot to the ground without it throbbing painfully. She lay for a moment or two after her first attempt, gathering her strength. It was barely light outside and only a thin grey light penetrated the small window. It must only be about five or six o’clock she surmised. Thomas was crying and trying to sit up in his drawer on the stone floor beside her. It was cold, for the fire had died to the merest hint of red among the ashes.

  She had to get up to see to the baby, she told herself. In any case, she needed to pass water. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the settee then made herself get to her feet before hobbling to the old bucket that served her for a chamber pot. She went back to the baby, finding it easier to hop than hobble.

  Thomas was dripping wet yet again and his legs waved furiously in the air, damp and cold. She removed his nappy rag and cuddled him to her so he could suck.

  He was old enough now that she should think of getting him used to taking other food besides milk. Her mother gave him broily but he wasn’t keen. But if she herself got a job further away from home he would have to eat something during the long hours she was away.

  Eliza sat and pondered on her problems while Thomas fed. She pulled the thin blanket over them both and cuddled him. His limbs were warming up at least. When he had finished she laid him down on the settee and his eyes followed her round the room as she raked out the dead ashes and built a small pyramid of twigs and bits of dried moss over the remaining cinders. A small curl of smoke rose and she blew hard on a cinder until it suddenly glowed red. The moss and thinner bits of twig darkened and smoked, then tiny flames appeared. After that she soon had the fire burning. She put on a few pieces of coal her brothers had brought in the night before and propped the tin blazer on the bar to draw the fire.

  Her leg was throbbing mercilessly by the time Eliza had a proper blaze. She filled the kettle from the water bucket standing by the side of the fire and placed it on the flames. Usually, on Sundays, her mother made tea with fresh tea leaves and there was some sweetened condensed milk left in the tin she had bought at the shop a few days ago. Eliza measured out a spoonful of the precious tea leaves and added a little of the condensed milk. By, it was lovely to have something sweet, she reflected. She dipped a finger into the tin and took a tiny amount and put it on Thomas’s tongue. His mouth worked and he made a smacking sound with his lips. Eliza smiled at him.