Eliza's Child (29 page)

‘Turned off?' repeated Eliza blankly.

‘Turned off and turned out of the house,' Albert put in to make the situation plain. ‘Me mam's badly, Eliza, she's worn out, I reckon.'

‘Oh, Mam,' said his sister. ‘Howay now, sit in the front room. There's a nice comfortable armchair in there. In fact you'd best all go in there and I'll see to the supper. I'll fetch the fire in, it'll soon be cosy. Albert, go and see to Dolly and the trap. Put her in her stable and give her some hay.'

Looking at her mother's pasty face and bright, feverish eyes, the way she was gulping air into her lungs, her nurse's training took over. In no time she had the lads organised to help her. While Albert saw to the pony Harry took a shovel full of live coals from the grate and took them into the front room fire grate. He piled small lumps on top and soon the room was warming up against the chill of the autumnal evening. Mary Anne was propped up in a cushioned chair such as she had never sat in her life, for most of the miners' cottages contained only a settle, a wooden rocker for the man of the house and crackets and backless forms for the children.

Meanwhile, Eliza had prepared a large pan of panacklty with onion and scraps of bacon and potatoes and beef tea poured over the lot, for she had no gravy, and put it into the oven by the side of the grate. And all the time she worried about Tot.

Where was he? Was he all right? It was the not knowing that was killing her, she thought wretchedly. When the meal was ready she shared it out on to plates and called the men through to eat it. Then she put two plates on a tray and took it through to the front room.

‘
CHARLIE WANTS ME
to go to live at the farm,' said Bertha. ‘He says his mother will be chaperone until we get wed.'

‘Oh, Bertha,' said Eliza. ‘I had thought you would be here at least until the wedding in October. I'll miss you.' She felt as though her life was changing so fast she wanted to take a hold of it to steady it down.

‘You have your family here, though. I was going to tell Charlie I couldn't, not before we were wed. If I'm at the farm I know I won't have the time to help you look for Tot. But as I say, you have the family here and there just isn't any room for me, any road.'

‘I'll find Tot, I know I will,' said Eliza, though in truth she was becoming more worried about him as each day passed. She had posted bills in Durham and Newcastle and also in Alnwick, with copies of a grainy black and white photograph of Tot looking stiff and unnatural in his Sunday best suit, which had cost her a fortune at the newly opened photographic studio in Durham. No one had come forward as yet but it was only a week since he had run away. She didn't trust Henry or his wife to let her know if he turned up but tradesmen in the town had promised they would, for a consideration, that is.

‘The family won't be here for long,' Eliza said now to Bertha. ‘The lads have got taken on at Stanley and Da is hopeful he might be an' all.' In fact, Tommy and the two boys had found themselves blacklisted by the owners around Haswell and east Durham. They had had to travel further afield to look for work. Tommy, being older, was not so lucky as the boys. The manager at Stanley was happy to set him on datal work but he could not earn as much as he had done as a hewer. Datal work was paid by the shift, as the name implies. It was a great blow to Tommy's pride.

‘Stanley is a fair bit away, though, isn't it? Your mam won't be near for you to look after her.'

Eliza sat down suddenly and began to cry. The problems besetting her with the family and her anxiety for Tot had finally made her break down.

‘Now then, Eliza, don't take on,' said Bertha. ‘I'll stay if you want me to, I will, never mind Charlie.' But the storm inside Eliza had found some release and she pulled herself together and dried her eyes on her apron. Her mother was in the front room still and she could not let her see she was upset.

‘No, Bertha, you must do what you have to do. Like you say, I'll be all right.' Before Bertha could reply there was a knock on the door and she went to answer it. Most folk round the doors tended to knock and walk in so it had to be something important or a stranger. It was Peter Collier.

‘Eeh, Mr Collier,' she exclaimed, ‘I was wondering where you had got to and so was Eliza. What are you standing out there for? Howay in, do, Eliza will be pleased as anything to see you.'

‘I got held up with a disaster over by Cockfield,' said Peter, following her into the kitchen, where Eliza had risen to her feet at the sound of his voice. He looked closely at her. Her eyes were red and swollen and she had an air of tension about her. ‘Do you mean to say the lad hasn't come back?' he said. ‘I thought for sure he would have done by now. I'm sorry, Eliza, I couldn't get here before but I've kept an eye out for Tot wherever I've been in the coalfield and asked everyone if they've seen him.' He felt guilty and inadequate as though he had been neglecting his duty. But there had been an accident over in the west of the county and men and boys trapped in the gallery they had been working. The rescue men had not got them out until the day before.

‘Why should you hurry to get here?' Eliza asked stiffly. ‘We're not betrothed, you and me, are we? You made it plain you didn't want a woman with a tarnished reputation.'

Peter flushed. ‘Eliza, Eliza,' he said. ‘Listen to me, I didn't mean it. Only I was upset by the way he talked about you. I didn't know what to think at first.'

‘And the union has to come first, hasn't it?'

‘Well, I asked for that,' Peter admitted. Before he could say more, Mary Anne called from the front room.

‘Is that Peter Collier, Eliza? Tell him to come in here, I'd like to see him.'

‘I will, Mam,' said Eliza. She led the way to the front of the house and Peter had no option but to follow.

‘I'll speak to you later,' he whispered to Eliza, before entering the room where her mother sat, ensconced in the armchair she liked so much she was loath to leave it. Eliza turned and went back to the kitchen where Bertha was just putting on her bonnet and shawl, ready to go out.

‘I think it will be best for me to go, Eliza,' she said. ‘I'm sorry. But I will call in regular like and ask around for Tot an' all.'

‘If that's what you want, Bertha,' said Eliza. She watched as Bertha walked down the yard and turned the corner, but her thoughts were on the two in the other room. She could hear the voices from there for she had left the door ajar.

‘Did you hear Tommy and the lads were turned off?' Mary Anne asked Peter. ‘After all these years at the same pit, Tommy was turned off. It's off the map, man, isn't it?'

‘I hadn't heard, no, not till I got back to Durham,' Peter replied. ‘Where's Tommy now? I'd like to hear what happened exactly.'

‘The lads have been taken on at Stanley. Tommy can get work there an' all but only datal. He takes it badly, Mr Collier.'

‘Aye, he would.'

He was silent for a moment or two, thinking about it. Hewers reaching Tommy's age were unusual; they often started on datal work. It meant that they had to take a fall in wages but usually they could stay on at the pit they had been working. Experienced men such as Tommy were sometimes promoted to deputy overman, but sometimes they were turned off; it was a fact of life.

‘It was that young Moore who did it, not the manager,' said Mary Anne. ‘Tommy says he was one of the deputation there to see about their rights, but Moore took offence. He threw us out of the house, we had to be gone the next day, Tommy said.'

Jonathan Moore, thought Peter. He hadn't expected him to be so vindictive. To throw a whole family out because a daughter spurned his advances was vindictive indeed.

Peter's thoughts were racing. The problem was that Tommy's life as a hewer was coming to an end, there was no denying it. He looked at Mary Anne's face. She was obviously having trouble getting her breath and her skin had a very unhealthy hue.

‘I don't know as I can manage another flit,' said Mary Anne. ‘Say nowt to our Eliza, but it's very hard, very hard. To lose my neighbours an' all, they were always willing to give me a hand when I needed it. I miss Blue House.'

‘Mining folk are like that, they always help each other,' said Peter gently. ‘But you know, you've got Eliza and the lads and Tommy and I'll do everything to help I can think of. You'll manage, you'll see. Rest as much as you can while you have the chance and you'll get your strength up.'

As he left the room to go back to Eliza in the kitchen he doubted she ever would. Eliza was dressed, ready to go out on her rounds. She was very quiet for she had heard what her mother had said and her training told her that in this, Mary Anne was right. She had not up to this minute faced the fact that Mary Anne was not likely to live for much longer.

‘If you are going into the city I'll ride along with you,' said Peter. ‘We can call in at the police station and see if there is any news of Tot.'

‘Do you think there might be?' asked Eliza.

‘Maybe,' he replied. He helped her harness Dolly and they drove out along the road to the city. Eliza glanced at him as they went along, and he sensed it and turned to her and smiled. It was a comfort, she realised, having his support. The bad feeling there had been between them meant nothing now; it was unimportant compared with her other worries.

The policeman behind the desk in the police station looked up from a paper he had been studying and gazed at them. Naturally, it was Peter, the man, he spoke to.

‘Oh, it's the union man,' he said. ‘What do you want?'

‘We have come to report a missing young lad,' said Peter. It was unfortunate that the man was one of those who had broken up a meeting being held in the market place at the behest of the owner, who was a magistrate, some time before. Peter had spent a night in the cells before being discharged with a caution. But that had been before the union was properly recognised.

‘A missing lad, eh?' The policeman licked his pencil and prepared to take down details. ‘Name?'

‘Thomas Mitchell-Howe,' said Eliza. ‘I'm his mother, Sister Mitchell-Howe.' The policeman shot her an unbelieving glance.

‘Mitchell-Howe, eh. A fancy name that,' he remarked.

‘Dr Gray of this city can verify it. I am a professional nurse.' The policeman did not seem greatly impressed. In his experience nurses were often drunken and dirty. He had to admit that this one was dressed decently and was clean.

‘How old is the lad? How did he go missing?' Best to fill the form in, he thought. The union man might cause trouble if he did not.

‘Ten, going on eleven,' said Eliza. ‘He ran away to find work.'

The constable looked impatient. ‘Going on eleven?' he said. ‘Most lads are working at that age. It's not as though he's a little bairn.'

‘Constable, do your duty and look in the book and see if a lad that age has been found hurt or reported taken up from the streets, will you?'

The constable bridled. ‘I expect you're not saying I don't know my duty,
sir
,' he said, putting extra stress on the last word. He turned to Eliza. ‘How long has he been gone, er, Sister?'

‘Almost a week,' Eliza replied.

‘A week? Well, that's not long, is it? He'll likely be turning up when he realises it's none so easy to make a living out in the world,' he said easily. He opened a large black ledger and glanced through it. ‘No, no lad of that description down here,' he said and closed the book with a snap. ‘Now, I'm busy, like. There's criminals and vagabonds about in the city, or hadn't you heard?'

Peter uttered an angry exclamation but the policeman was imperturbable so he took Eliza's arm and led her outside. ‘It's no good making a fuss about his attitude, not now,' he said. ‘But I will report him, never fear.'

‘And what good will that do? It won't get Tot back,' said Eliza despairingly. ‘This is the second time I've lost him, remember. I can't bear it.'

‘You haven't lost him. We'll get him back, you'll see. I'll search for him. Everywhere I go, I'll ask about him.'

When Eliza got home here was a letter waiting for her; it had come by the midday post. Her mother was sitting in the front room with the letter propped on the small table by her side and she was turned in her chair staring at it. Letters were very rare in Mary Anne's experience as neither she nor Tommy could read or write. Usually they meant trouble and she reckoned they had enough trouble to be going on with, oh yes, she did.

‘What do you think it is, Eliza?' she asked fearfully. ‘Is it about Tot, do you think?'

Hope leaped in Eliza's breast. Oh, if it was from someone answering one of the posters she had pasted around the area! She picked up the envelope and stared at the writing.

‘To the parents or guardian of Thomas Mitchell-Howe,' it said. His full name, Thomas Mitchell-Howe; it must be from someone who had spoken to him, someone who knew his name. And he must have given them his mother's address too. Oh, thank God, thank you, God, she thought and ripped open the seal. She read the contents and sat down abruptly,

‘Well? What does it say?' asked Mary Anne. ‘Howay, man, Eliza, tell me? Is the bairn all right?'

‘It's – it's from a lawyer, Mam. It says Annie left our Tot five hundred and fifty pounds in her will.'

‘What?
Five hundred pounds
? It's a fortune!' Mary Anne looked a bit dazed; she couldn't conceive of five hundred pounds. The amount had barely registered with Eliza. What did money matter?

‘It doesn't tell us where he is, does it?' she asked bitterly.

‘No, that's true.' Mary Anne bit her lip. ‘Look, Eliza, pull yourself together, lass, and stop looking on the dark side all the time. He'll come back, man; you've not lost him, not like I lost our Miley.'

Eliza stared at her mother. She had not, it was true; surely she would feel it if Tot was dead? She felt restless; it was already twilight outside but she wanted to go out again and search for him. She picked up her bonnet and tied it back on. She had a new batch of posters fresh from the printers; she would hand them out.

‘You're not going out again, our Eliza!' said Mary Anne. ‘You've not had your tea, never mind supper. If you go on like this it'll be you that'll be badly.'

‘I'll take bread and cheese with me,' said Eliza. ‘I'll be fine. Don't take on, Mam.'

Once again she harnessed Dolly to the tub trap and led her out and up the back street. As she turned the corner she noticed that Tot's friends were having a game of quoits in the play field despite the fading light. When he saw her, Bert, his particular friend, the one who had begun the trouble by encouraging Tot to leave school and go down the pit with him, came over and spoke.

‘Did you hear from Tot, Mrs Mitchell?' he asked. ‘Only I thought he would have sent me a letter by now. He promised he would when he got to Alnwick.'

Eliza stopped the pony. ‘You knew he was going to Alnwick? You didn't say when I asked you if you knew about his plans.'

Bert hung his head. ‘I wasn't supposed to tell. Only he did say he would write. Mebbe he couldn't afford the penny post. But he was going to walk up the Great North Road to Newcastle and get the train from there. That would save him a bit of money.'

Eliza closed her eyes for a moment then opened them and said, ‘You didn't say that either, Bert. By, I'll have to have a word with your mother, I will indeed. What else did he tell you that you haven't told me?'