Eliza's Child (12 page)

‘I don't know if they will,' Eliza said doubtfully. She thought of Jonathan Moore and his father. They were small when it came to colliery owners, for some of the ironmasters owned many large mines in the county. But even the Moores were powerful compared with the miners. Those who hewed the coal had no power at all.

Peter looked down at her. ‘I'm sorry,' he said gently. ‘I should not be burdening you with my problems for you must have enough of your own.' He hesitated for a moment. He had the sense that she did not want to talk about the past. Perhaps it was too painful for her.

‘Tell me about your plans,' he went on. ‘Are you happy here in the city?'

This Eliza could talk about and with enthusiasm. She told him proudly of how she had learned to read and write and was even now working her way through the first novel she had read in her life. She had borrowed it from a cheap lending library in Saddler Street.

‘It's called
Adam Bede
. And it's written by a woman though she has a man's name. George Eliot, she is called. Mr Wood told me it was a woman, though. It must be hard for a woman, even if she is educated,' Eliza added. She looked up into his face and her dark violet eyes sparkled. ‘The whole world seems different when you can read,' she said.

PETER COLLIER WALKED
back to his lodgings in a thoughtful frame of mind. He knew more about what had happened to Eliza than he had revealed. For instance, in his travels around the coalfield he had heard rumours of her husband being a gambler and of the scandalous bet he had had with Jonathan Moore. It was impossible to keep things like that quiet. He thought about these things as he walked over Elvet Bridge. He had enjoyed being with Eliza, he admitted to himself that he liked her; more than that, he was attracted to her.

‘She is married,' he said aloud to himself and a clergyman, the only other person in hearing distance, looked at him in surprise then hurried on his way.

Peter knew also that Eliza had not been in touch with her family. Of course, even if she sent a letter, something she could now do, her parents couldn't read. Though perhaps her brothers could by now as they attended the Sunday School. Peter wondered about her husband. Eliza had not said so but the implication had been that she was a widow. Jack had disappeared from the area, according to gossip, but Peter doubted he was dead and if he was not then he still had rights over Eliza and the lad no matter what he had done.

Well, he decided as he opened the door of the small terraced house under the shadow of the railway arch where he was staying, he would tell no one he knew where Eliza was. Not even her parents. Meanwhile, he needed to find some sort of work that would keep body and soul together yet allow him time for his main purpose in life. That was to improve the condition of the men in the pits and get rid of the iniquitous bond.

It would only come with a strong union, a union with enough power to stand up for the men in the pits and he was determined to achieve it. This time the union would not fail as it had done a few years ago. No, indeed, it would not.

Eliza walked back to her lodging feeling relaxed and happier than she had for a long time. She walked along holding Thomas's hand at first, until he stumbled and she realised he was almost asleep on his feet. She swung him up into her arms and cradled him and his eyelids closed immediately. She kissed his forehead, overcome with love for him. Oh, she thought, she would succeed in making a good life for them both. Thomas would have a good start in life, she swore it.

She turned into the mean street under the shadow of the gaol and suddenly a man stepped out in front of her and barred her way. For a minute she didn't realise it was Jack, for she was looking down at her little son.

‘What are you—' she began to ask and then she looked up into his face. ‘Jack,' she said. ‘Go away, Jack, I'm not coming back to you. Not after what you did.'

He was dressed in a suit of good broadcloth and a white shirt and neck cloth. His hair was combed back from his forehead and he looked like a prosperous gentleman. She took all this in as she took a step back away from him. ‘Go away,' she repeated.

‘Don't fret, I haven't come for you. You can go to hell for all I care. No, I've come for my son. You're not fit to look after him.'

What was the matter with him? Eliza had never seen Jack like this. He was a gambler and he'd made that terrible deal with Jonathan Moore but he was not a vindictive person. Looking up at him now she saw his face was contorted with fury. He looked at her as though he hated her. She tried reasoning with him but to no good at all.

‘Don't be soft, Jack, you cannot take Thomas! A little bairn belongs with his mother.'

‘Not when that woman runs away from her man, he doesn't. And robs him blind an' all! What did you do with the necklace?'

‘I sold
my
necklace. What do you think we're living on?'

‘You mean to say your fancy man isn't keeping you?'

‘Fancy man?' Eliza was genuinely bewildered. ‘I haven't got a fancy man!'

‘Oh aye? Then I didn't see you all cosy with that Peter Collier down by the racecourse then?'

Eliza gazed at him and clutched Thomas more tightly to her. He stirred and started to protest but he was not properly awake and settled down again.

‘I just met him at chapel,' she said. ‘And any road, what is it to you? You handed me over to Jonathan Moore on a bet.'

‘I was desperate. You should have been glad to do it for me, get me out of a hole! An' if you think for one minute I believe that you just met him in chapel … By, Eliza, you're worse than a whore! Just met him in chapel, indeed, and I saw you with your heads together over my lad down there by the Wear.'

‘We were only talking!'

‘Aye, only talking, I know.'

A few people had gathered nearby and were listening avidly to the row. Someone gave a short laugh and they murmured to each other.

‘Give her what for, lad; show her who's boss,' a male voice shouted. But Eliza hardly heard. Her head was whirling with fear and anger.

‘My God, Jack, you think you own me.'

‘Aye well, I do own you,' Jack replied. ‘And the lad too, he's mine and I'm taking him an' all. I'm not having him brought up by a loose woman. Now give him to me or I'll take him. A bairn belongs to his father, that's the law.'

He grabbed Thomas and wrenched him from her and Thomas woke up with a scream of alarm.

‘Give him back! Give him back, Jack! Jack, you can't take him!' Eliza turned to the small knot of people standing round. ‘Help me, please help me, he's stealing my bairn!'

‘Nay, lass,' a woman said. ‘He has the right. You should have thought of that before you went a-whoring.'

‘I didn't I – Jack! Where are you going? Come back, come back or I'll get the polis!'

‘Aye, do that,' said Jack and laughed. He was heading for the bridge and for the first time Eliza noticed the cab waiting there. She ran after him but the man who had advised Jack to hit her stuck out his foot and she fell to the ground.

‘There was no need for that,' a woman said. ‘Poor lass has lost her bairn.'

She bent down and helped Eliza to her feet. Eliza rushed after the cab but Jack had Thomas inside by then and the cab man was setting the horse off at a gallop. Eliza ran after it but it was hopeless. Any other day the traffic in the narrow streets of the city would have slowed down the cab's progress, but it was Sunday and there was no other traffic about.

Eliza ran, her breath ragged and with an agonising stitch in her side, but the cab was getting away from her. It turned into the market place and by the time she managed to get there it had disappeared from view. She ran round the market place, looking down every exit but there was no sign of the cab. She sank down on the cobbles to get her breath back. She was sobbing and crying and her dress had dirty streaks down the front from her fall and her dark hair had pulled loose from its hairpins and hung over her face. Somehow she had lost a shoe and there was a hole in her stocking where she had carried on running over the rough cobbles.

‘Bloody tinkers, cluttering up our streets and on a Sunday an' all.'

Eliza pushed her hair back from her face and looked up. A couple stood there and it was the man who had spoken. Hastily, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood up.

‘Hush,' the woman replied. ‘There's something the matter with her.'

‘Aw, man,' said the man. ‘She's just a heathen Irish tinker looking for sympathy. Get off the streets, woman, you're a disgrace. You lot shouldn't be let in the country.'

Eliza lifted her chin. ‘Let in the country? I have as much right here as you, I was born in Durham! Well, in the county any road, my father is a miner.'

‘Aye, well, that's as bad. The blight of the county are the bloody pitmen. Give the place a bad name. Shouldn't be allowed in the city.'

Eliza drew herself up. ‘You are impittent,' she said as loftily as she could manage and walked away as best she could in one shoe. Once out of sight she took off the shoe and went on in stockinged feet.

The incident had steadied her somehow and as she walked she was planning what she could do to get back her child. First of all she would pack her belongings and pay the landlady. And then she would go in search of Jack and she would find him, even if she had to search the length and breadth of England. Aye, and Scotland an' all, she vowed.

Eliza broke down once when she was back in her room on Elvet. It was when she was packing little Thomas's clothes in the straw luggage basket she had bought to go to London. She had seen the basket one day on a second-hand market stall and realised it would look better than carrying her clothes in a bundle.

Sitting down on the bed she cried. Deep wrenching sobs that came up from her very soul. She allowed herself a few minutes then got to her feet, washed her face in the chipped enamel basin on the washstand and tidied her hair. She forced herself to think of other things; maybe she should have bought a Gladstone bag instead, but the only one she saw was very dilapidated so she had decided on the basket. She had better change her dress, for this one was dirty and torn and she needed to look respectable.

Would Peter Collier help her find Thomas if she could only find him? No, that was no good. She would only waste valuable time looking for him. No, she would catch the train to Alnwick and see if Jack's family had any inkling of where he and Thomas were. Thomas … Thomas. The ache deep within her swelled and the pain intensified. Dear God, Thomas! Was he crying for her? Oh, please God, no. He was with his da after all. He loved his da, didn't he? Though he hadn't seen him in a few months surely Thomas remembered his father?

No, she wasn't going to think about Thomas, she reminded herself. She was going to do something about it. She buckled the belt around the straw basket then checked the sovereigns sewn in the skirt of her best serge dress and put it on together with her shawl and straw hat and tied the ribbons of the hat under her chin. There, she was ready. She would walk to the railway station and wait for the next train going north.

‘I'm sorry, Missus,' the man said. ‘There's no more trains the night. There aren't any on a Sunday night. The next one is the milk train come the morn. Five o'clock, that is.' He tipped his cap to Eliza and turned to go back into his office then turned round. ‘Listen, lass,' he said, looking at her woebegone expression. ‘I'll open the ladies' waiting room for you if you like. I'll have to lock it after you. But if you don't mind me mentioning it, there's a closet in there, a netty, like. And there's still a bit of life in the fire.'

‘Thank you,' said Eliza. ‘Oh, thank you. You're a real gentleman.' There were benches in the waiting room and the earth closet was in the corner behind closed doors. She tried lying on a bench, using the straw box as a pillow, and only slept at all because she was exhausted and what sleep she had was but fitful and filled with dreams of Thomas sitting on his own and sobbing for her. He held out his arms to her and she ran to him. ‘Mammy's here, pet,' she called but she couldn't reach him, always there was something in the way.

She woke to the porter shaking her shoulder. ‘Get up, Missus, you don't want to miss the milk train, do you?' he asked. ‘The stationmaster will be here in a minute anyway. I might lose my place if he finds out you've been here all night.'

Eliza struggled to her feet feeling as though a great weight was pressing on her forehead. She thanked him and offered him a threepenny bit but he shook his head.

‘Nay, lass,' he said. ‘I didn't do it for a tip. You likely could do with it yourself.'

Indeed, he was a gentleman, Eliza said to herself as she climbed aboard the train. She winced as she sat down on the hard wooden seat. She was stiff and sore from her night in the waiting room and in a fog of tiredness. But she was not hungry even though she had eaten nothing since the afternoon before. She felt as though she would never eat again or if she did the food would choke her.

She sat and watched the smoke from the engine float off in front of her for she was sitting with her back to the engine. It swirled rather like her thoughts, she mused. And the chugging and clicking of the wheels on the rails seemed to say over and over, Thomas, Thomas, my little Thomas. Thomas …

She began to wonder if she was doing the right thing, flying off to Alnwick. Maybe she should have looked nearer to Durham. Jack must be living somewhere near, else what was he doing in the old city? Was she travelling away from her bairn? Anxiety clutched at her: while she was in Northumberland Jack might go somewhere away, down south, even abroad. He had looked prosperous yesterday; he would have enough money to buy tickets on a steamship. He must have had a big win at the races or something. Eliza stared out of the window as the train slowed.

They were on Stephenson's railway bridge; soon they would be in Newcastle where she would have to change for Alnwick. Once again she had to force the panic down. She couldn't afford panic; she had to get Thomas back.

‘Mammy? Mammy?'

Jack looked at his little son's tear-stained face. Thomas sat on the bed in the room Jack had taken in a coaching inn in Neville's Cross. Thomas sat very still and gazed beseechingly at his father. The boy had run to the door time and time again and tried to get out; hammering on the wooden panels with his tiny fists. Each time Jack had brought him back and sat him on the bed. The last time he had started to get annoyed with Thomas and had practically thrown him on the bed. He had been rougher than he had intended and Thomas caught his hand on the brass rail and his screams had intensified. The owner of the inn had knocked on the door and asked if Thomas was all right.

‘Aye, he's fine,' Jack had replied. ‘Only tired and in need of sleep.' The innkeeper had gone away and after a while Thomas calmed down. Still, he wanted his mother, Jack thought. Well, he would soon forget her. Children did, didn't they?

Thinking of Eliza, Jack was filled with a black rage. By, he had never known she was a whore, no, he had not. So he had made that bet with Jonathan Moore but he was desperate, wasn't he? It had been a chance to recoup his losses at that fateful card school. Jack did not normally associate with Jonathan and his friends but the mineowner's son had sought him out and invited him to join them and Jack had been pleased and excited at the chance to make a big win. In the end, he had not enough money for the last big game. The pot was full; his eyes had glistened at the thought of gaining enough to start up again on his own.