Dancing in the Moonlight (11 page)

Donald was longing for the same thing, although for different reasons. He had known Tom wouldn’t leave him alone. Deep down he had been sure he was caught like a fish on a hook and sooner
or later Tom would reel him in. Sure enough, Tom had made it clear he was on the payroll a minute ago. Tom had even made out he was doing him a favour when he’d mentioned the job he’d
got arranged the following night, but they’d both known it was a warning that Donald toed the line or else.

Dammit, he didn’t want to end up like his da and Ernie. Donald’s tongue flicked at the film of perspiration on his upper lip, caused more by the man at his side than the hot
sunshine. But what could he do? That night at the docks Maurice Banks had made it clear that no one said no to Tom Crawford. Some of the tales he’d told – he still couldn’t sleep
for thinking of them.

Donald shut his eyes and bowed his head as the vicar began to intone the last prayer for the newly departed, but Donald’s frantic prayers were for himself.

It was just gone ten o’clock in the evening that same day and Jacob was finishing work in the forge. He hadn’t liked leaving Lucy at the churchyard earlier.
He’d have preferred to see her home, but the blacksmith had been generous in giving him time off for a funeral that didn’t involve a family member and he hadn’t wanted to take
advantage of the man’s kindness, particularly as they were busy on an important job. One of the big houses on the edge of Castletown west of Southwick had commissioned a large number of iron
railings, enough to enclose some half-acre of grounds, along with two fancy gates in an intricate design complete with the family crest. He’d promised Mr Williamson he’d stay late the
next few evenings and for the last couple of hours they’d been working by lamplight. The blacksmith had disappeared into his cottage for his supper a little while ago, but Jacob had refused
his employer’s offer of a meal and bed for the night, on the grounds his mother would worry if he didn’t go home. This was true enough, but the real reason was that he wanted to see
Lucy if he could.

He’d finished clearing up and now he closed the gates to the forge. Stretching his aching back, he looked up into the black sky alive with twinkling stars. It was a bonny night.

The winding lane leading from the blacksmith’s cottage and forge to the North Hylton Road was dark and full of dense shadow in the silvery moonlight, its thick fringe of trees and hedgerow
scented with the sweetness of May blossom and bluebells. Jacob breathed in the cool air, its balmy fragrance soothing after the heat and smells of the forge, but his mind was on Lucy.

He had faced the fact that this latest blow to the Fallow family had caused a hiccup in his plans to court and marry her as soon as possible. There was no doubt now that when he and Lucy wed, he
would be taking on a ready-made family comprising Ruby and John and the twins. Donald had gone to pieces; he couldn’t be relied upon to take care of the little ones. But, somehow, he and Lucy
would manage. She was a grand little housewife and an idea that had been brewing in the back of his mind for some time had taken shape over the last days. The blacksmith’s cottage and forge
were on a plot of land that included a dilapidated dwelling on the edge of it, an old tumbledown place close to the blacksmith’s stables. At present it was used for storage and had mice and
beetles aplenty, but the roof was sound enough. It would take time and effort to get it habitable, but once restored it would boast two good-sized bedrooms upstairs and a large living area
downstairs. It would be a start. Later on he could build more rooms onto the back of it, but that would be in the future. He knew Mr Williamson would agree to the proposal when he put it to him,
for his employer would see the benefits of having him living on the job as it were, and Dolly, his wife, would be tickled pink. She was a canny little body who loved bairns; her biggest regret was
in having none of her own to mother and worry over. She and Lucy would get on like a house on fire.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t sense the two dark shadows that detached themselves from the blackness on either side of the lane just behind him. The first he knew of their presence was
when something struck him on the back of his head with enough force to fell him to the ground. He must have rolled over, because when a hobnailed boot caught him under his jaw it seemed to snap his
head from his body, a red mist exploding in his brain. After that he knew nothing about the two big men continuing to use their feet on him, laughing as they belted into him time and time again
until, panting and sweating, they rolled him into a ditch at the side of the lane and unhurriedly walked away.

The silence of the night settled once more, the odd bird that had been sent squawking out of its roosting place quiet now, and only the hoot of an owl in the distance disturbing the peace. And
some miles away in the house on The Green, Tom Crawford sat devising the next stage of his plan like a hungry spider in the middle of its sticky web.

Lucy awoke the following morning feeling more optimistic than she had for a long time. Donald would rally now, she knew he would, and Sid Chapman’s son had taken her to
one side on leaving the churchyard and told her that as far as it lay in his father’s power, Mr Chapman would see to it that Donald was in line for some regular shifts at the shipyard. She
hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with her brother yesterday. Donald had left straight afterwards with some of his and Ernie’s pals who had come to the funeral, returning at teatime for
a bite, whereupon he’d gone out again, but she knew he’d be pleased. And the twins started school in September. With them off her hands for most of the day, it meant she could look for
work doing some cooking and cleaning, or even taking in washing. Her da had gone through the roof when she had mentioned taking in washing before, but he wasn’t here now and needs must. It
didn’t pay much, no women’s work paid much, but every penny would help. And maybe, if Donald was willing, they could take in a lodger now that the front room was empty. They could move
what had been her mam’s bed down from the boys’ room and she could put a table and chair in there.

Dressing quickly, she made her way downstairs, glad the dark and bitterly cold winter mornings had given way at long last. It had been a harsh few months in many ways and she would give anything
to turn back the clock to before she’d pawned the bread knife and have her da and Ernie here, but she had the little ones to see to and thoughts like that were weakening.

She saw the note as soon as she entered the kitchen. It was scrawled on a scrap of brown paper, which was propped against the teapot in the middle of the table.

Lucy’s stomach turned over as she recognized Donald’s handwriting. Sitting down, she began to read:

He’d left them.
She moved her head slowly from side to side, beyond tears as she read the note again. Without talking to her, without saying goodbye face-to-face.
How could he? And to suggest putting the little ones in the
workhouse.

Nausea rose into her throat and she had to swallow hard. He must have lost his mind; all this with their da and Ernie, and Donald seeing it happen had turned his brain. But it was more than
that.

She screwed the paper into a tight ball in her fist.

It was him: Tom Crawford. He’d driven Donald away. What had he said to her brother yesterday to make him abandon them?

How long she sat there she didn’t know, but when a knock came at the back door and Enid’s voice called, ‘Lucy? Lucy, lass? Are you there?’ her limbs felt as stiff as an
old woman’s as she stood up. The moment Enid thrust open the door from the scullery, she said, ‘Have you seen him? Our Jacob?’

‘Jacob?’ Lucy stared at Enid as she tried to marshal her thoughts. ‘I saw him yesterday, Mrs Crawford. At the funeral.’

‘He hasn’t been home all night, his bed hasn’t been slept in. I knew he was going to be late cos he’d said he’d be making up a bit of time, what with the funeral
and all, and he’d said to leave him something cold under a plate if he wasn’t back afore we went to bed. But it’s still there, on the table. Where’s your Donald? He might
know something.’

Lucy had never seen her mother’s old friend in such a state. Gently she said, ‘If he was working late, he could have eaten with the blacksmith and his wife – you know how fond
of him they are, and likely they’ve put him up for the night.’

Enid stared at her and then let out her breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Oh aye, lass, why didn’t I think of that? Aye, that could be it, though it’s not like our Jake to do
something that might worry us. I’ll clip his ear when I see him, big as he is. I’ll get our Frank or Ralph to take him a bite for his lunch a bit later just to be sure, but when your
Donald’s up ask him if he knows anything anyway, will you, though I suspect you’ve hit the nail on the head.’

Lucy nodded, but said nothing. She didn’t want to explain about Donald yet, not until she’d had time to think about it and tell Ruby and the others. And now there was the added worry
about Jacob, although she felt sure he’d done exactly what she had said and stayed with the blacksmith and his wife. There had been another occasion near Christmas last year when he and the
blacksmith had worked till midnight and they’d tried to persuade Jacob to stay, although in the end he had tramped home and got soaking wet and chilled to the bone, which had resulted in a
feverish cold. She had made him promise he wouldn’t be so silly again.

Lucy said this now to Enid, adding, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Crawford, Jacob will be all right. They’ve got this big job on at the forge, haven’t they? Besides the normal work,
I mean.’

‘Aye, aye, they have, that’s true enough.’ Enid was looking more herself. ‘I expect that’s it. Well, my lot’ll be shouting for their breakfast once
they’re up, so I’d better go and see to it, but I’ll be round later, lass, with a bit of treacle toffee for the bairns. To cheer ’em up, like. They always like my treacle
toffee, bless ’em.’

Lucy forced a smile. She felt numb. All the time she had been talking to Mrs Crawford it had felt like someone else speaking.

After Enid had left, Lucy went upstairs. She found Donald had taken every scrap of clothing he owned and any personal possessions, including the cut-throat razor he had shared with their father
and Ernie. He had really gone for good. It was unbelievable, impossible, but it had happened.

Blindly she left the lads’ bedroom where John was still curled up under the covers fast asleep. Stumbling down the stairs, she sat down at the kitchen table. Then, dropping her head onto
her arms, she gave way to a paroxysm of weeping, which continued until Ruby woke up and came downstairs an hour later.

Jacob was found at eight o’clock that morning by a farmer bringing his shire horse to be shod at the smithy. Or rather, as the farmer had pointed out to the police, the
lad had been discovered by his two sheepdogs, which had jumped off the back of the cart as they’d passed the ditch and continued to bark until their master had been forced to investigate.

Abe Williamson had identified Jacob by his clothes – the bluey-black, grossly swollen head was unrecognizable. Both the blacksmith and the farmer had thought Jacob was dead when they had
first lifted him out of the ditch. It was Dolly Williamson who had knelt down on the ground and put her ear to the bloody chest and heard his faintly fluttering heart.

And now Jacob was in Sunderland Infirmary and not expected to last the day. It was an ashen-faced Frank who had come round to tell Lucy the news. The two constables who had called at the house
had taken Enid and Aaron straight to the hospital.

Lucy stared at Jacob’s brother, a thundering in her ears, and she must have looked like she felt, because he quickly pulled out a chair and made her sit down, squatting beside her and
chafing her hands. ‘I’m sorry, lass, but there was no easy way to say it. Take some deep breaths, that’s right. Mam was the same when they told her.’

Because of all the upset that morning about Donald, Lucy had kept Ruby and John off school. She now looked at her sister and the others, who were staring wide-eyed at Frank, and said weakly,
‘Go outside and play for a while till I call you, and don’t get mucky, John. I mean it.’ When the back door had closed behind them, she turned to Frank. ‘Can I see
him?’

‘They won’t let anyone in ’cept Mam and Dad, even me an’ Ralph an’ Tom.’

Lucy closed her eyes, rocking back and forth as the tears came. ‘Who would do something like that, and why?’

‘I don’t know, lass. The coppers reckon someone might have been trying to pinch something from the forge and Jacob tried to stop ’em, but I can’t see it meself. According
to Abe Williamson, the forge gates were shut and nothing was missing, and anyway Jacob was in a ditch halfway up the lane. But some so-an’-so did a number on him all right. Look, I’ve
got to go, but I’ll let you know when he – when we know something.’

Lucy opened her eyes. Frank had been about to say he’d let her know when Jacob died, she knew he had. Feeling sick, she whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘Will you be all right? Where’s Donald? Shall I call him?’

‘No, he – he’s not here, but I’ll be fine. You go, and tell your mam . . .’ She stared helplessly at Frank, who nodded grimly and patted her hand. There were some
things for which there were no words.

Somehow she got through the endless day. Yesterday had been Donald’s dole day, but when she looked in the jar on the mantelpiece she found he had taken every penny. They had nothing to eat
in the house and for a moment she felt like throwing a paddy like the twins did, screaming and crying and drumming her heels on the floor, as she gazed in the empty jar. Instead she went upstairs
and stripped the double bed in the lads’ room, gathering up the sheets along with the blankets and the eiderdown for winter, which was stored on top of the wardrobe. Parcelling the lot
together on the kitchen table, she was aware of Ruby and John and the twins watching her silently, and when Ruby said protestingly, ‘He might come back tonight or tomorrow’ it took all
Lucy’s self-control to say quietly, ‘He won’t.’