The Miner’s Girl (32 page)

He made appointments to view a number of properties in the coming week before returning to his motor car, which was parked in the yard of Elvet railway station, a small station on the outskirts of the city. He drove back as far Coundon, only a mile or two from Winton and Bishop Auckland, where he had rented a
room in a back street lodging house that catered for working men. It was bare of comforts but he at least had a room to himself and it was clean. Above all, the woman who ran it was totally uninterested in what her lodgers did or did not do so long as they paid their rent every Friday.

Once in his room, Ben changed into clothes more suited to a workman. He took a file from under his mattress and sat down at the window as he reviewed what he had gleaned that day. After a moment or two he took a pencil from his waistcoat pocket and began writing. Half an hour later the file was up to date and he read it through before closing it and replacing it under his mattress.

‘I must go to see Merry tonight,' he murmured to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair before rising to his feet and taking a bottle and glass from the clothes cupboard in the corner. He poured himself a tot and took it back to the window where he sipped the single malt in appreciation. Sometimes in this shabby, bare, little room, he missed the little luxuries he had become used to over the last year or two. But this style of living wouldn't last much longer now, he thought, not if things worked out as he had planned.

‘Ben! I wasn't expecting you tonight,' said Merry. She closed the door quickly after him and led the way into
the cosy sitting room. ‘Are you hungry? I have some panackelty left from our supper, or I could cook bacon and eggs if you liked?'

‘No, I'm not hungry, thanks Merry. I had something in Coundon.' In fact he had eaten pie and peas in The Durham Ox and the food was lying heavily on his stomach. ‘A touch of bicarbonate of soda would be welcome though,' he went on, smiling ruefully.

Merry mixed him a teaspoonful with a little water and he drank it in one gulp. Taking the glass from him she asked, ‘Are you all right? You shouldn't be living as you do, really you shouldn't.'

‘I'm not.'

Ben explained about his lodging in Coundon. ‘I won't be there long either. I have decided to take a house in Durham City, and have been to the estate agents today. A house in Neville's Cross, I think. And I want you to move in with me, Merry, you and the boy.'

‘Durham City? How can you do that? Afford it, I mean?' Merry was dumbfounded.

‘I'm not destitute, Merry,' said Ben. ‘In fact I am what you might call quite well off after my time in South Africa.'

‘But, how?'

‘It's a long story, pet. The fact is, though, I have enough to buy a decent house in the city, and enough left over to live on and keep you and the lad an' all.'

For all there was a faint foreign intonation to his speech, Ben still spoke in the idiom of the north-east of England, and Merry found it endearing. But leave here and go to Durham, live off her brother? She felt she couldn't do that.

‘It's good of you to ask me and I'm truly grateful, but I can't,' she said.

‘Of course you can, there's no reason why you can't,' Ben argued. ‘Go on, tell me a good reason.'

‘I'm all right here,' Merry replied. ‘I like it. And Dr Macready and Kirsty have been good to me; I couldn't let them down. And there's Benjamin – I can't move him yet again. He's set on going to the Friends' School and he loves Kirsty too. I know he'll only see her at the weekends but still—'

‘But the boy can go to Durham School – it's a good school too. He'll have a good chance there. Merry, all the time I've been away I've dreamt of coming home and us being together as we used to be, looking out for one another. Merry, you have no reason really or the reasons you have don't matter much.'

Merry thought of the small grave in the cemetery at Eden Hope and knew she wasn't yet ready to abandon it. And besides, she told herself, here she was independent, she was useful to Dr Macready and was learning a lot about being his assistant, which was almost as good as being a nurse.

‘They matter to me, Ben,' she said.

‘Merry, listen to me, I want you and the bairn with me. I'm worried for you. Miles Gallagher has something against us both, I'm sure he has—'

He was interrupted by the opening of the sitting-room door. Neither of them had heard anyone coming up the stairs but a second later Dr Macready walked in. He looked from Ben to Merry and back again before speaking.

‘What's going on? Who is this man, Merry?'

Dr Macready was standing there dressed but in his carpet slippers and looked very angry indeed. Merry stared at him, colour staining her cheeks almost as though he had caught her entertaining a lover. As she hesitated Ben stepped forward and held out his hand.

‘I'm so sorry we disturbed you, Doctor,' he said. ‘I am Merry's brother and I'm very glad to meet you.'

Dr Macready looked at him sceptically. ‘Her brother? I didn't know she had a brother.'

Merry found her voice. ‘Well I have, Dr Macready. I didn't mention him before because I thought he was . . . dead. Doctor, this is my brother Benjamin. I named the boy after him. Ben, this is Dr Macready, my employer.'

Dr Macready studied the face of the man before him and, evidently satisfied, shook his hand. ‘How do you do?' he said formally. ‘Now I look at you I can see who you are. Not that you look so much like Merry but the
boy seems to take after you, in colouring at least.' He still looked a little puzzled though. Both Merry's brother and son reminded him of someone else, the brother in particular. He just couldn't put a name to whom it was though it hovered in the back of his mind. It would come back to him of course, he told himself, for he prided himself on his good memory.

‘Well, Merry, it's nice to know you have some family. I always thought you and the boy were on your own,' he said.

‘My brother has been in South Africa. I thought he was dead,' she replied.

‘Well, that's great that he isn't. Look, it's very late, I'll go now and leave you in peace.' He turned to Ben. ‘I'm sure we will meet again. I would love to hear about your travels.'

‘I will look forward to it, Doctor,' said Ben as Dr Macready nodded and went back down the stairs.

‘Damn,' said Ben. ‘I didn't want anyone to know I was here. It might get back to Miles Gallagher. I didn't want to put you in any danger.'

‘But surely I'm not,' said Merry, looking surprised.

Ben gave her an exasperated look. ‘For goodness sake, Merry, haven't I told you it's dangerous for you?'

‘But Miles Gallagher hasn't threatened me before. If he wanted to he could easily have found out where I am. I think you're worrying too much, Ben.'

‘I'm not, believe me, I'm not.'

‘Well,' said Merry, ‘I don't think Dr Macready is a friend of Miles Gallagher. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he even knows him.'

Ben had sat down beside the dying fire but now he got to his feet. ‘I'm not going to argue now, Merry. It's time we were both in bed. But I'm not giving up on this either. I'll away now and let you get to bed.'

Tom closed the surgery door after the last patient and breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the pile of notes on his desk, took them over to the filing cabinet and began to file them away. Normally his assistant, an ex-miner who had been injured in an accident ten years ago and now had a limp, did the job for him but tonight being Friday, Walter was out collecting the panel pence in the rows. Walter had been a deputy and a safety-man and was proving to be very useful in the surgery, being trained as a St John Ambulance man.

Tom put the last file in place and banged the drawer shut, before sitting down behind his desk and leaning back in his chair for a rare moment of relaxation. As always his thoughts turned to Merry and the boy.

He would confront his father, he decided. He had not been through to Winnipeg Colliery since he learned about Benjamin – there just hadn't been the time to
spare. Diphtheria had returned to the village, though thankfully not as virulent as the year before; still, it had been a busy few weeks. His father had been through to see him but unfortunately he had been out on a case, a difficult and protracted birth and Miles had gone by the time he got home.

He thought about his father, biting his lip and sighing as he did so. Miles was one of those men who thought that all a pitman was good for was to dig coal and their families little more than ignorant savages. Tom could quite see him sending Merry away and not even mentioning the incident but all the same, it filled him with rage.

He sighed again and got to his feet. He had arranged for a locum this weekend coming and he was determined to go to Winton and see Merry and his son, combining the visit with one to his father. It was well past the time he should be taking over responsibility for the boy, and his mother too. He bitterly regretted the years he had missed but the thought of seeing them gave him a pleasurable glow of anticipation as he went through to the house for supper.

Afterwards he telephoned his father at Canny Hill, the company house Tom had been raised in, to tell him he would be over at the weekend.

‘Will you be at Winnipeg Colliery or Canny Hill?' he asked.

‘Canny Hill,' Miles said tersely.

‘Well, I thought Bertha might have managed to change your mind and got you to move in to her house, at least at weekends. I know she tries hard enough.'

‘She won't succeed. You know it is one of the conditions of my employment by Bolton and Co. The agent must live in the company's house or at least make it his main residence.'

‘I thought you might have decided to give the position up. After all—'

‘Why should I?' Miles exploded. ‘I can perfectly well see to my own colliery and see to the company's. After all, I have good managers. I like my position with Bolton's. It suits me.'

‘You're not getting any younger,' Tom reminded him.

‘For God's sake, if you have nothing of interest to say get off the telephone!' Miles said and Tom wisely did as he was told. His father sounded as though he might just have an apoplectic fit, he thought. He must check him over when he went to Bishop Auckland – before he demanded to know why he had sent Merry away.

It was Friday evening when Merry was shocked awake by a commotion beneath her window. Her first thought was that Ben had come but of course it couldn't be him – since Dr Macready had met him he didn't need to use stealth, though he was still careful that as few people as
possible knew he was about. She put a match to the gas mantle, which was set in the wall above the fireplace in her bedroom, and saw by the clock on the mantelpiece that it was only ten-thirty. She must have been asleep for less than half an hour.

The racket below the window got louder, the banging and shouting loud on the night air. Merry went to the window and opened it, poking her head out cautiously.

‘Aye, I knew you were in there somewhere!'

Her heart sank as her fears were confirmed – it was Robbie and he was with a young girl she recognised as the youngest of Jim Hawthorne's daughters, Bessie, named after her mother. The girl was rolling about, unable to stand up but for the fact that she was hanging on to Robbie's arm.

‘Bessie! What are you doing? You've been drinking!' Merry gazed at the girl in horror, for she was barely seventeen. Bessie grinned back, her mouth hanging open, her shirtwaist grubby and with a wet stain that gleamed darkly in the moonlight.

Bessie laughed and staggered against Robbie who put an arm round her waist. ‘I'm going to marry your man,' she said. At least that was what Merry thought she said, though her words were slurred together.

‘Bessie, you can't, you're just a bairn, get away home to your mam,' Merry replied. ‘She must be looking for you.' Mrs Hawthorne was a decent, chapel-going
woman, who must be frantic that Bessie was out so late, especially if she knew she was with an older man such as Robbie Wright.

‘Never you mind, you slut!' Robbie shouted. ‘It's none of your business, any road. I've come to tell you I'm going to divorce you. I'm going to marry Bessie, aren't I, pet?' He moved his hand from the girl's waist to cover her breast and she squirmed.

‘Take the lass home, Robbie, go on,' Merry implored. ‘Her dad will be mad, her brothers an' all; they'll come after you.'

‘You don't think I'm frightened of Jim Hawthorne, do you? Nor his bloody sons. Let them come, me an' Bessie are going to get wed. I've promised her.'

Merry could imagine why. She hesitated – any minute now Dr Macready would hear the commotion and would come to find out what was causing it, and she didn't want that.

‘Go home, take the lass, go on,' she urged again.

‘An' you go to hell,' Robbie said calmly and laughed. ‘Don't think I don't know what you're up to neither. I can easy get a divorce after I tell the judge what me mam told me. You riding about in a posh carriage with that sod of a doctor, son of the mining agent, for God's sake. Talk about selling your own folk out! An' me mam says that bastard of yours is the spit of him an' all. I reckon you were carrying on with him all the time you
were living wi' me. Oh, aye, I'll have no trouble getting a divorce.'

‘Please yourself what you do,' said Merry. ‘Just get away from this house, will you? Have the decency to take Bessie home to her mam, man!'

‘Don't you tell me what to do or I'll come up there and show you what for, aye an' your brat an' all,' Robbie shouted. He stepped forward, shrugging off the girl who staggered and fell into the bushes at the side of the path. She turned on her front and managed to get onto her hands and knees before vomiting on a cotoneaster bush. The stink of stale stout rose in the air, making Merry gag even at the height of her bedroom window.