Candles in the Storm (12 page)
Read Candles in the Storm Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction
‘Threw you out?’ Daisy was horrified.
And now Margery raised her head to look into Daisy’s face as she nodded slowly, saying, ‘They . . . they said not to come back.’
‘Your mam an’ all?’
‘She . . . she pushed me out into the street again when I tried to get back in.’ Margery was sobbing loudly once more, and when she wailed, ‘Oh, Tom, Tom. I want Tom,’ Daisy and Nellie looked at each other helplessly.
What on earth were they going to do? Daisy was still holding Margery’s hands in her own. Now her practical side came to the fore as she said, ‘Come on, come on, lass, you’ll be makin’ yourself ill. Look, you can stay here tonight an’ I’ll go an’ see your mam an’ da tomorrow, all right? I’ll explain about Tom an’ say he loved you an’ wanted to marry you--’
‘They know that, I said that, but when they found out he was a fisherman . . .’ Fresh sobs choked further words.
Daisy straightened her back. So that was the way of it? Tom wasn’t good enough for their daughter. It wasn’t only that Margery was in the family way, it was who had put her there they objected to. Her voice cool, she said, ‘What does your da do, Margery?’
‘He’s a miner.’ And then the other girl’s head shot up as the frostiness of Daisy’s tone registered, and she said, her eyes still spurting tears, ‘Don’t take offence, please. My mam and da have no cause to be like that. I . . . I loved Tom, I did. I would have been proud to be his wife.’
‘Oh, lass.’ Daisy felt awful, and it was by way of apology that she said, ‘You sit still an’ I’ll make a nice sup tea an’ somethin’ for you to eat. You look done in. An’ we’d better see about gettin’ you into some dry clothes before you catch your death.’
It was eleven o’clock at night. Daisy had all but fed Margery the cold pease pudding and shive of bread and dripping she had persuaded her to eat, and now the other girl was tucked up in what had been Tom’s bed with a hot stone bottle at her feet, fast asleep. Daisy had hesitated about putting her in Tom’s bed before she’d told herself not to be so daft. It was more comfortable than her da’s and the niceties didn’t apply in the current situation, not with the girl carrying Tom’s bairn.
It was with this thought in the front of her mind that Daisy plonked herself down on one of the chairs after coming downstairs again, looking across at her grandmother as she said quietly, ‘I can’t believe our Tom could have been so stupid.’
‘Well, it weren’t another immaculate conception, hinny, that’s for sure.’
Daisy couldn’t raise a smile. She sighed heavily. ‘I feel responsible for her somehow, with Tom bein’ the father.’
‘Don’t talk wet, lass.’ Nellie’s voice was sharp now. ‘You’ve enough on your plate without takin’ on more. They were old enough to do what they did, they’re old enough to take the consequences.’
‘But it’s not they, is it, Gran? It’s her, by herself. She told me a bit about her mam an’ da when I was settlin’ her in bed. Seems she’s the only one, somethin’ to do with her mam havin’ a bad time when Margery was born, an’ they’ve sent her to piano lessons an’ all sorts. They even paid for her to have lessons out of school with the teacher in Whitburn to learn how to speak proper.’
‘You’re jokin’?’ Nellie stared at her granddaughter, wagging her head in disbelief at the folly of some folk. ‘Bloomin’ hell, lass, our Tom could pick ’em, I’ll say that. All the nice ordinary lasses that’ve bin after him in his time an’ he has to go an’ dally with her. An’ not only dally but fill her belly an’ all.’
‘I think Margery is a nice lass, Gran.’
Nellie brought her chin into her scraggy neck. ‘Mebbe. But all them fancy piano lessons an’ such didn’t teach her how to keep her knees together, did they? An’ all right, all right, you might purse your lips at me, Daisy Appleby, but can you truthfully tell me a lass like that is cut out to be a fisherman’s wife? Them upstart parents of hers had their sights fixed high, that much is for sure, an’ you go an’ see ’em tomorrow an’ you’re as likely to leave with a boot in your backside as a thank you for comin’. You think on, lass, I know what I’m talkin’ about.’
Daisy stared at her grandmother. If she had spoken the truth she would have said she felt dazed by it all. Nothing was as it had been, nothing. She grieved for her da and Tom, and for Peter of course, and Tilly’s misery was pitiful to see. Peter’s widow was dreading the thought of being a burden - as she kept putting it - on George and Martha, and of her three older bairns going to Ron and Rose, but the alternative of the workhouse was an ever-present spectre at Tilly’s shoulder. And there was Alf, poor Alf, who in a funny sort of way was presenting more of a threat than anything else. Daisy could see that if she married him it would help everything enormously - or perhaps that should be everyone. Everyone except her. She couldn’t help it but that was the way she felt about it deep inside. And now this, Tom’s lass.
The thought of the girl upstairs brought a strange feeling into her mind. Her granny, everyone, even Margery herself, would say she was ready for the asylum if she admitted to the fact that she was envious of Tom’s lass. Not of the bairn side of things, oh, no, not that, but of the love that had brought them together. Margery had said enough for her to realise the two of them had been aware of the difficulties they were going to face in the future, but had been prepared to weather whatever came just to be together. She had never thought of Tom as being like that. And now he was gone and all that remained of him was the bairn Margery was carrying. How could she not help the lass?
‘I’m goin’ to see Margery’s mam an’ da, Gran.’ And as she said it Daisy thought her granny of all people should understand how Tom and Margery had felt about each other. Hadn’t she braved her own parents’ wrath by marrying an outsider from another village? Hadn’t she left everything to follow her own love here all those years ago? Daisy thought it odd that she had this insight while her granny seemed oblivious to any similarity.
Chapter Five
By the time Daisy reached the small terraced house in Whitburn the next afternoon, her heart was in her mouth. She had timed her visit to catch Margery’s father when he had finished his shift at the colliery, mainly because Margery had insisted her mother wouldn’t wipe her nose without her husband’s permission. That being the case, nothing would be served by seeing Mrs Travis without her husband present.
There was a high wind blowing but thankfully it was dry as Daisy stood for a moment outside the house. It was identical to its neighbours to either side but for the fact that not only the front doorstep but also the pavement in front of the house had been freshly scrubbed and whitened. There was the usual motley collection of tangle-haired, snotty-nosed bairns playing in the roadway, one or two with the luxury of hobnailed boots - several sizes too large - on their small feet, but some of the children were barefoot despite the bitter cold. This surprised Daisy not one bit; in all the villages which had grown up a mile or so from the collieries where the men and boys worked, the bairns were the same. Although the coalfields spawned industry which made for the busy clangour, smoke and stench of prosperity, her da had always maintained the folk in the towns lived like rats in holes, and Daisy agreed with him in the main. And yet the miners and other townfolk looked down on fishermen, she thought, with the touch of resentment this line of thought always produced.
She pulled her calico cloak straight, clearing her mind of everything but the confrontation which was almost certainly in front of her, and stepping up to the neatly painted front door, grasped the shiny brass knocker in the shape of an elf on a toadstool and knocked twice. She had to repeat this three times before the door opened, although once she had seen the stiffly starched lace curtains twitch Daisy was determined she wouldn’t budge.
‘Aye?’ The woman who had opened the door had a vestige of Margery’s startling fairness but that was all, and none of her daughter’s attractiveness. She stared at Daisy, her pale-blue eyes narrowing to slits before she said again, ‘Aye? What do you want?’
‘Mrs Travis?’ Daisy kept her back straight and her voice low but firm. ‘I need to speak to you an’ your husband.’
‘Do you indeed?’ Hilda Travis continued to stare at the bonny young girl with the beautiful face and unusual eyes. ‘An’ would that be about me daughter by any chance?’
There was no point in prevarication. Daisy was aware her very clothes proclaimed she was a fishergirl. She nodded. ‘Aye, it is. Margery came to us last night and--’
‘We’ve got nowt to say to you an’ your kind so I’d thank you to make yourself scarce.’
As the woman went to shut the door Daisy said quickly, ‘I shall only knock again, Mrs Travis, an’ again, an’ again. Do you really want all your neighbours to hear what I have to say?’
She saw Margery’s mother hesitate and then the woman was pushed roughly aside and a small man stood in the doorway, and such was the look on his face that in spite of herself Daisy took a step backwards. ‘You threatenin’ us, eh?’ His voice was soft and deadly, and for a moment all Daisy could do was blink. Margery’s father was a small man but his body was a pack of tight hard muscle, and his face as dark and stony as the black gold he brought out of the ground.
‘No, I am not, Mr Travis, but I do need to speak to you.’
In spite of her fear Daisy’s voice had not been deferential, and she watched the muscles of his face tighten and the blue-marked cheeks darken to a red hue before he ground out, ‘An’ who might you be?’
‘My name is Daisy Appleby. It’s my brother Tom who . . .’ Daisy found she didn’t know quite how to continue at this point.
‘Oh, aye? An’ your brother’s the type of scum who sends a lass to do his dirty work for him, is he? Well, I’ve nowt to say to you, but just send your brother to see us an’ me fists’ll do me talkin’ sure enough.’
Daisy couldn’t believe this aggressive individual with the inky-black eyes and mop of coarse grey hair was Margery’s father. He was the very antithesis of the delicate and gentle girl she’d left behind with Nellie at the cottage.
‘That won’t be possible, Mr Travis. If Tom had been able to come he would be here now, but he died a few days ago.’
Jacob Travis stared at the bit lass who was glaring at him, and hadn’t the smallest doubt in his mind that she was speaking the truth. He had always been an unerring judge of character with a reputation for being able to winkle out the weakness in a man as soon as look at him. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he had got on like he had? He was canny, and although he was always careful to stay on the right side of the owners, as pit deputy he made doubly sure the men always remembered he’d been brought up as one of them, amid rags, poverty, disease and death.
‘So she’s been left high an’ dry then? Sent you to pave the way for her comin’ back home, has she?’ He raised his eyebrows at Daisy. ‘Aye, well, mebbe this is where she belongs at that.’
It was too easy a victory, too quick a turnabout. Daisy stood looking into those bullet eyes and bit her lip. ‘What are you goin’ to do to her?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Do to her? Nowt. Everythin’ that could be done has already happened, hasn’t it?’
‘Not really.’ She didn’t trust this man. Margery had told her only that morning how fanatical her da was about being respectable. She had expected to have to argue and plead with him and his wife, and now Mr Travis was saying Margery could come home without so much as a curse or a threat. ‘She’ll need lookin’ after. She’s not very strong an’--’
‘Don’t you tell me what she is or isn’t,’ he answered sharply, temper making the veins on his forehead bulge. ‘The little slut! An’ she’ll go where all the loose pieces go--’ He stopped abruptly.
‘You’re going to put her in the workhouse?’ Daisy was horrified.
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