The Urchin's Song (22 page)

For Amos’s part, his mind was on his wife who was due any minute with their fourth child. She’d been near hysterical ever since the siren had sounded at the pit, and he was worried about her. As the eldest brother and head of the family, it had been his duty to come and see his stepmother’s sister, but he wanted to get back to Newcastle as soon as he could.

Barney, on the other hand, was not thinking about his wife and had no wish to pre-empt the return journey. His earlier reflections had led him on to thinking about the first time he had paid a visit to Ginnett’s to see Josie performing. It had been Josie’s last week there and he had been married nearly nine months by then; it was Pearl who had forced the issue of the visit. He would have gone to see Josie earlier, but Pearl had been driving him mad with her demands that he leave the concrete factory and work for her uncle, and it had put him off visiting the theatre before. He had been of a mind in those days that he wanted to succeed or fail in his job of his own accord and not have one handed him on a plate by his in-laws. Now, in view of the enormity of the disaster that was his marriage, working for Ernest seemed neither here nor there. However, eventually he had given in and they’d gone along. He could remember every minute of that night.

There had been the usual bairns doing a bit of clog dancing; a female impersonator who had ranged from falsetto to robust tenor; a burlesque actress turned dancer; a xylophonist-cum-comedian; a troupe of clowns and a wizard dressed as a Chinese Mandarin who’d juggled silver balls, keeping a hypnotising stream of them weaving through the air, but the real spell-binder of the evening had been a young slim lass with golden-brown hair and enormous dark eyes. Josie had been wearing an old stage dress that one of the other female performers had kindly given her; she’d cut it down and added a few ribbons and a bit of lace too, she’d confided later. By, she had looked bonny. And then she had sung, much like she’d done at his wedding do, and suddenly he had known . . . But it was too late. Months and months too late.

Maybe he had been stupid to suggest they all go out to dinner afterwards to celebrate Josie being offered a spell at a theatre in Gateshead at double what she was getting at Ginnett’s, but Pearl had been all for it at the time. Or had seemed to be. They had enjoyed a slap-up dinner at a classy hotel in Newcastle, and he’d felt he had come alive for the first time in months. He couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that the time had sped by and when he and Pearl had dropped Josie off at Frank and Betty’s, he’d been unable to believe it was after midnight. Contrary to the way she had chattered all evening, Pearl had maintained a stony silence until they were home and he had paid the driver of the horse and carriage. And then all hell had broken loose.

Pearl had accused him of all sorts of things concerning Josie, and when he had reminded her that Josie was not yet fourteen and that in spite of her air of maturity and the fact that she had been working in the theatre for a good few months she was still very young, it hadn’t made any difference. Perhaps he hadn’t been convincing enough. Or perhaps the knowledge that had exploded on his consciousness earlier that evening, the knowledge that fate had played one of her nasty tricks in not telling him to wait for two or three years, had been all too evident? Whatever, Pearl had been beside herself.

The things she had thrown at him had caused him to remind her that in nine months of marriage -
nine months
- they had only made love three times, and that included the fiasco of their wedding night when she had sobbed and cried before he’d so much as laid a finger on her. He was sick and tired of treading on eggshells all the time in case he offended her finer sensibilities. She wanted a provider, a male eunuch, who would give her the respectability of being a wife with her own home but who would obey without demur, giving in to all her whims and fancies and effectively subjugating himself on every front. She’d barely bothered to deny it. That had been the beginning of the end.

‘Right, lads, we’d better be makin’ tracks.’ Vera’s voice was overbright, and as if realising this she turned to Josie, her tone more subdued as she said, ‘Explain to Gertie won’t you, lass, that I couldn’t wait to say goodbye?’ Gertie was at the Winter Garden in Bishopwearmouth with an old friend. The conservatory at the rear of the museum and library building which was an idyll of tropical plants and flowers was a regular meeting-place for folk. The invitation had been extended to both Josie and Gertie but although Josie had encouraged Gertie to accept, she’d declined herself, preferring to stay with Vera who seemed a little lost since Shirley’s passing.

The men were standing now, and as Amos pulled his cap on to his head he nodded at Josie, saying, ‘So long, lass,’ before turning to Vera and taking her travelling bag as he added, ‘Here, let’s get this into the carriage, shall we?’

‘By, hinny.’ Vera gathered Josie into her embrace in an unusual show of affection and the two women hugged silently for some moments.

‘Doubtless Horace will be up at the weekend, Vera, when I explain. Give Betty my love, and if there’s anything I can do . . .’

‘Anythin’ you can do? Oh, Josie.’ Vera’s eyes were full. ‘It’ll make all the difference, lass. All the difference.’ And on this enigmatic note - as far as Barney and Amos were concerned - Vera pressed Amos before her, saying, ‘Come on then, lad, let’s be off.’

‘Goodbye, Josie.’ Barney was within an arm’s length of her, and his face was grim.

The feeling that always rose in her when she saw him brought its tight control to her face and voice, but there was only friendliness in her eyes when Josie said, ‘Goodbye, Barney. I’m so very sorry about your da. He was a grand man.’

‘Aye. He was an’ all.’

He still stood looking at her after he had spoken, and something in his gaze brought Josie’s heart jerking in her chest, even as she warned herself, Don’t be daft. You’re imagining it. Barney’s a married man, and whatever the situation between him and Pearl he wouldn’t think about you in
that
way. And Pearl’s bonny, right bonny.

‘How . . . how long do you think you’ll be staying? I mean . . . at the Avenue and Palace. How long are you contracted for?’ By, he was making a right mess of this, stuttering and stammering. Barney took a hold of himself as he added, ‘You know Ernest’d be keen to have you back at Ginnett’s any time you fancy a stint in Newcastle. And likely he could offer more than two shillings a night, eh?’

The last had been said jokingly in an effort to lighten the atmosphere, and Josie responded with a smile as she said, ‘I know, I know, two and thruppence, no doubt!’

‘Josie . . .’ Barney stopped. And then he said again, ‘Josie.’ And then he just looked deep into her eyes.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and her stomach churning. No, no, it couldn’t be . . . could it? And then the moment was broken as Vera spoke from the doorway. ‘Josie? Josie, lass.’ Her voice was slightly uncertain. ‘There’s a man here, a gentleman. He says he’s spoken to you before.’

Josie wrenched her gaze from Barney’s and it was only in that moment that she became aware that for a little while she had been blind and deaf to anything but the tall young man in front of her, and also that Vera was looking at them very strangely.

‘A gentleman?’ Her voice sounded dazed even to herself.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Burns.’ Oliver Hogarth was standing just inside the doorway. ‘I must apologise for presuming to call without an appointment but I had some business in these parts with an old friend in the profession who has links with the Palace, and he happened to mention your name and where you were residing. We never had a chance to continue our conversation in Hartlepool, did we, and so I thought that, as I was passing . . .’

Oliver Hogarth here.
Here.
And now, with Barney. Convention necessitated her responding, ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hogarth. Come in, won’t you,’ but Josie was flustered and it showed. ‘This is my friend, Mrs Briggs,’ she added, as Oliver stepped into Vera’s large kitchen, ‘and this is her . . .’ here Josie’s mind couldn’t work out exactly what Barney was in relation to Vera, and so she continued quickly, ‘this is Mr Robson. He . . . he called with some bad news, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, I am sorry.’ Oliver had turned to look directly at Vera, and now said quietly, ‘If I have called at a difficult time, Mrs Briggs, please accept my apologies. I will take my leave at once.’

Vera looked at the tall commanding figure in front of her, her eyes taking in the quality of his greatcoat and hat, and the overall odour of wealth, but it was more what she had glimpsed in the few seconds when she had caught Josie and Barney unawares that made her say, and warmly, ‘Not at all, Mr Hogarth, not at all. Do come an’ have a seat, you look frozen. Josie, lass, put the kettle on. I’ll tell Amos to come an’ sit himself down for a minute or two.’

Oh, Vera. Short of being downright rude there was nothing Josie could do but smile and do as she was bid, but she had seen Barney’s eyes narrow and darken as he had surveyed the big man in the doorway, and she suspected Oliver Hogarth had too.

However, it was clear Vera didn’t intend to leave her alone with this unknown entity - something Josie would have been thankful for in other circumstances - and as she busied herself making a fresh pot of tea and listened to the others making small talk, it became apparent that everyone was being careful not to speak out of turn. At least, that’s how it was at first.

Interest was politely expressed when Oliver mentioned his occupation but when he didn’t elaborate on the reason for his visit, Vera jumped into the brief silence, first explaining about Josie’s recent loss before going on to disclose what had brought Barney and Amos to Sunderland.

Oliver nodded slowly. He had friends among mine owners; most of them the kind who never set foot outside London and controlled their fortunes with managers and overseers, but he didn’t think this was the time to mention such connections. The last time he had had a conversation with one such friend, the man had been seething about the liberties the unions were trying to take; he had countered by sacking the miners he’d heard were the ringleaders and throwing them out of their cottages. ‘Warning to the rest of the rabble,’ was how he had put it, if Oliver remembered correctly. ‘They can rot, them and their families with them. They’ll be begging me for the privilege to work before I’m finished.’

‘I understand five thousand miners are on strike in Austria?’ Oliver now said carefully, deciding caution was the best policy. He didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Josie’s friends at this stage, if indeed these two men
were
her friends? Certainly the younger one, the one who had been eying him somewhat aggressively ever since he’d set foot in this miserable room, seemed hostile for some reason.

‘Oh aye?’ Amos was acutely uncomfortable. This acquaintance of Josie’s was a toff, you only had to look at him to know that, and when he opened his gob his accent confirmed he’d never got his hands dirty with real work. ‘Dunno nowt about that. All I know is that this country owes where it is now to the miners, but you wouldn’t think so, the way it treats us. The Durham Miners Association was formed nigh on thirty years ago, but all the unions are still fightin’ for decent livin’ wages an’ safety underground, same as then, an’ nowt’s improved. ’Course, you don’t have the lasses an’ bairns underground now, but the conditions are the same. Mebbe it’s the same in Austria an’ that’s why they’re out?’

Oliver cleared his throat. If he had spoken the truth he would have had to admit he shared Lyndon’s view of the average miner. From what he could tell from the troubles reported in the newspapers, they were underground peasants, most of them ignorant and coarse with none of the sensibilities that differentiated noble man from lowly beast.

Perhaps something of this feeling came through in his face, because Barney now entered the conversation and his voice was belligerent. ‘Can’t be worse than here anyway, Amos. In most pit villages you can’t call a miner’s wage his wage at all; it’s merely a juggling of payments and fines by the coal company. The weighman makes sure he keeps in with the owner by downgrading or rejecting as much stuff as he can; didn’t Da say he could remember his own da coming home with less than he started with because of the weighman’s fines? And what hope of a fair hearing in the courts when only the employer is entitled to give evidence and not the employee? Magistrates are landowners which means they’re employers anyway, so it’s pretty short shrift for a pitman when his summons is heard.’

‘Aye, well, we’re not here the day to discuss the whys an’ wherefores of all that,’ Vera said briskly. ‘Here, have a cup of tea, Mr Hogarth, an’ a piece of me gingerbread.’

Oliver didn’t want a cup of tea or a slice of gingerbread. Although he was looking at the older woman he was seeing a slim figure in a pale blue dress with the most beautiful head of golden-brown hair. Josie had looked charming on the stage, and their brief encounter that night in Hartlepool when he’d waited for her had told him she was a beauty, but it had been dark then and she had hurried away before he’d had a chance to look at her properly. Now, without any stage make-up or artifice, he could see that the cream-coloured skin was perfect, without blemish, and her eyes were the largest, the most arresting he had ever seen. But he must be careful not to stare or display undue interest; he didn’t want to frighten her. This thought was a new one to Oliver; the sort of women he usually consorted with were not the kind to be nervous of a man’s attentions. But this was different.
She
was different. Like a diamond set amongst the damn coal they’d been discussing.

‘Thank you, Mrs Briggs. This is most kind of you.’ He turned his charm on the older woman, sensing he needed a foothold here.

‘My pleasure, Mr Hogarth.’ Vera was rising to the occasion, and although she was burning with curiosity as to the reason for his visit, she didn’t betray the merest flicker as she said, ‘How long are you stayin’ in these parts?’