For a Mother's Sins Read online

  ‘Aye, well, I can’t be doing with you getting underfoot when we’re trying to get on with our work. Clear off while Lizzie sweeps the floor. And then we’re going to set to and do some baking – them lads will expect summat good for their supper.’ She wiped her hands on her pinny and subjected Jim to her steeliest glare.

  ‘I’m off!’ he said, conceding defeat. ‘Reckon I’ll go and read my paper in the earth closet, where I won’t be disturbed. It’s a devil when a man can’t get peace in his own home.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be thanking me when we’re back in Durham in a nice little cottage with everything we could ever want. Maybe then you’ll admit it was worth coming here to make some brass.’

  Lizzie and Rose watched Jim skulk out of the hut, his braces hanging off his shoulders as he made his way to the small lean-to that served as a toilet. Lizzie couldn’t for the life of her understand why anyone would want to spend more than a minute in there, let alone the time it took to read the paper, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘That’s it, use the tips of your fingers, don’t get it on to your palms – pastry doesn’t like getting warm. It’ll be worth nothing if it gets too hot.’ Rose was leaning over Lizzie, teaching her to bake. ‘Keep going until it gets like bread crumbs and then add your water bit by bit. Don’t get it too wet, mind. You just want it to hold together enough for you to roll it out.’

  Rose was proud of her baking skills and had always longed to pass them on. She’d leapt at the opportunity to train Lizzie in the art.

  ‘Aye, not too rough, it needs to be handled gently.’ She nodded approvingly as Lizzie rolled out the bottom layer of the pie. ‘Now put your rhubarb in and a good cup and a half of sugar, blackcurrants and gooseberries. You can never add enough sugar with that lot – tart, they are, a bit like your mother on a bad day! But all it needs is a bit of sweetening and then they’re grand.’ Rose tousled Lizzie’s hair, joking with her pupil. ‘Now put its lid on and crimp the edges with your thumb. You don’t want any of it spilling out in the oven bottom. That’s the way – then give it a wash with this spare milk. Grand, that’s your first pie done! I can leave it all to you next time.’

  Lizzie stood back and admired her handiwork.

  ‘Did your mother never bake?’ Rose asked.

  ‘We’ve no oven at home, only the stove top. She used to bake when we lived in Bradford, but I was too young to learn then.’

  ‘Your mother must miss her city ways. I expect it’s been hard for her, leaving it all behind to come here. The things us women do for our men – and then they go and leave us,’ Rose sighed, bending down and putting the pie in her small oven. ‘We’ll make her a cake and then you can take it to her on Sunday while we’re at chapel. She’ll not want you coming with us, of that I’m sure. If you want, you could pop over and visit her tonight. Our John’s going across to pick your bed up – it’ll fit nice and snug in that corner we’ve cleared. Do you want to go with him? I’m sure your mam will be glad to see you.’

  ‘No, I’ll not bother, Mrs Pratt.’ Lizzie’s eyes were downcast.

  ‘Whyever not, pet?’

  ‘I saw her walking down the track towards Ingleton.’ Lizzie’s voice trembled. ‘I don’t want to see her if she’s drunk.’ She looked up at Rose with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Aye, pet, she’ll be fine. She knows she’s too much to lose. Our John will tell you what she’s like when he comes back. I bet you’ve nothing to worry about. Now come here and give this old woman a hug.’ She clasped Lizzie in a tight embrace, wishing she could ease the lass’s worries. ‘We’ll get some ribbons for you tomorrow – red ’uns, I think, for this bonny black hair. What do you think of that?’

  Lizzie smiled and kissed her on the cheek. For the first time in ages, she felt loved.

  John Pratt knocked on Molly’s door, having double-checked that his neckerchief was tidy and his hair brushed. His brother Mike might have been joking about making a play for Molly Mason, but he definitely wasn’t. John had had his eye on her for a while. All right, she was a few years older than him, but so what? Better an experienced woman than a slip of a lass, and she was still a looker even after having two children.

  He waited for some time, knocked again, and was on the verge of giving up when Molly finally came to the door.

  ‘I thought I heard something,’ she said. ‘I was busy sorting through Lizzie’s clothes – I thought your mother would want them.’ She stepped aside and waved him in, noticing how shy and uncertain he was in her presence. ‘Sorry, I know you’re one of the Pratt boys, but I don’t know your first name.’

  ‘I’m John, the eldest. My mother’s sent me for Lizzie’s bed. She says Lizzie made it right with you this morning.’ It was all he could do to look at Molly. She’d let her long auburn hair down and it was cascading over her shoulders, but it was her eyes that had him spellbound. He’d never been close enough before to notice the colour: they were the deepest shade of green. She was a good looker, that was for sure. He was gazing at her, lost in admiration, when he realized that she’d been asking him a question and he hadn’t heard a word.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ she laughed. ‘I said you take the frame and I’ll bring the slats and bedding.’

  ‘Oh! Sorry, I must have been daydreaming,’ he stammered. ‘No, don’t you lift that. I’ll come back for the rest, you shouldn’t be carrying it.’ He picked up the wooden frame and moved it across the room, lifting it on its end before carefully easing it through the doorway.

  ‘Do you want a drink, John, on your return journey?’ Molly asked as he struggled to manoeuvre it.

  ‘I don’t drink. I thought you’d know.’ John stood struggling to hold the frame clear of the muck and dirt. Wishing that for once in his life he could confess to liking the odd gill.

  ‘I didn’t mean a drink drink, I meant a cup of tea. The kettle’s boiling and I could do with some company.’

  Molly tried not to smile as the young man turned a rosy shade of red.

  ‘Aye, I knew that really. And yes, go on then, I’ll have a cup of tea with you.’

  John set off homeward barely conscious of the weight of the bed frame, a broad grin plastered across his face. A cup of tea with Molly Mason – now that was something.

  When he returned he found Molly securing a bundle of bedding. ‘There, I’ve rolled the mattress and bedclothes together and Lizzie’s clothes are in the middle of it all. I thought if I tied it up with string then it wouldn’t get dragged in the muck out there.’ She waved him to the table. ‘Here, sit down. I’m just letting the tea brew for a minute or two.’

  As she took two mugs down from the shelf above her stove Molly cast a sly glance at her guest. He’s a bonny lad, all right, she thought to herself. Then it struck her that this ‘lad’ must be somewhere in his mid twenties, so in truth he was a man. She put the mugs on the table next to where John sat. ‘Sorry, I’ve no sugar – can’t afford it. Are you all right without?’ she asked, pouring the tea.

  John, who had been watching her every move, mumbled that without sugar was fine.

  ‘Tell me, which bit of the railway are you on? I don’t recall hearing my late husband mention you, so you can’t have been on the viaduct.’

  ‘I’m with the blasters, up at Blea Moor. I drill the bore holes for the dynamite – and hope to God I don’t get blown up with it.’ John stirred his mug of tea wistfully. It was dangerous work, and he had witnessed a number of accidents in his time there. He went to work each day never knowing whether it would be his last, whether it would be his turn to end up in the hospital. But he knew his job and went about it carefully, and over time he’d grown used to living with the danger.

  ‘Ah, so it’s you I’ve to blame for the constant rumble of thunder!’ said Molly with a smile. She knew he had one of the most dangerous jobs on the line.

  ‘Aye, me and a few other fellows. It keeps us on our toes.’ Not wanting to spend his precious free time talking about work, John changed the subj
ect: ‘My mother’s taken up with your Lizzie. She’s had her baking today. I dare say she’ll be telling you all about it when she comes across on Sunday.’ He smiled at Molly and then lowered his eyes, pretending to gaze into his mug. Much as he wanted to look at Molly, he was too nervous to make eye contact with her.

  ‘I thought she’d be off to the chapel with your family,’ said Molly, surprised.

  ‘No. Me mother says we’ve to respect the way you’ve brought her up. She’s not a Methodist, so we’ll not be forcing it on her. I know Ma can be a bit over the top with her religion. Sometimes it’s as if she doesn’t know the real world.’ John took a long sip from his mug.

  ‘And what about you? Do you know the real world?’ Molly asked coyly.

  ‘I know more than some of them in this godforsaken hole. I know by the time this railway’s built I should have enough money under my belt to start my own business.’ He put his mug down hard. ‘Right, I think I’d better get myself back home before they wonder where I’m at.’ He lifted the bedding bail on his back. ‘Thanks for the tea.’ He lowered his head and walked out of the door. She was a wick one, that Molly. Happen he’d have to go back for another tea some time.

  Molly watched John’s progress down the track and didn’t go back inside until he disappeared into his home. Dusk was falling and lamps were being placed in windows. It was turning chilly now the sun had gone in and the smell of wood fires filled the air. In the distance a lone sheep bleated as if to signal the end of the day. Somewhere in the distance she could hear someone playing a mouth organ, the melancholy aria seeping into her soul, making her feel lonely.

  Here she was in this desolate place, completely and utterly alone for the first time in her life. No husband, no son, no daughter. Nothing but the shilling that Mrs Pratt had given her in payment for Lizzie’s services. Feeling a lump forming in her throat, she gave herself a good talking to. It was no good crying for baby Tommy and her much-loved late husband. She needed to look to the future, concentrate on getting through the weekend, and then starting her new job. But in the meantime, at least she knew Lizzie was being looked after well. Better than she could have cared for her.

  The thought of Lizzie living with the Pratts made her thoughts turn back to John. Molly wondered whether she might have made a friend there. Too bad she spoiled it by teasing him – that had been unkind of her. Next time she saw him, she would have to apologize.

  5

  ‘Right, lads, give Mother your pay. Let’s be seeing what you’ve made this week.’

  Rose Pratt sat at her table with notebook open. Each son had a dedicated page with their contribution to family living written on it and each had his own savings account, leaving them with a few shillings and pence in their own pockets to spend as they wished. Young Bob was the last to hand over his pay. Being only seventeen and an unskilled general labourer, he earned the least.

  ‘Ma, can’t I have a shilling more for myself? The other fellows laugh at me, giving you all my earnings.’ Bob was fed up with never having any money on him while his mates were free to spend their earnings as they saw fit. His face darkened as his mother launched into one of her lectures about the importance of saving.

  ‘Don’t you look at me like that, young man. You are watered and fed well, you’ve a roof over your head, and by the time this line’s built you’ll have money in the bank. So hold your noise and go fetch the horse and cart to take us all into Ingleton.’ Rose wasn’t having any truck with one of her boys turning into a waster.

  Bob mumbled something under his breath. Face like thunder, he jammed his hands into his pockets and gave the table leg a kick on his way out.

  ‘And you needn’t act like that, my lad! If you don’t stop sulking, I’ll take what you’ve got in your pocket as well,’ said Rose as she finished counting the money and putting it into the battered biscuit tin that held the Pratt family savings.

  ‘You could let him have a bit more, Ma,’ John said quietly.

  ‘Aye, and you can mind your own business,’ snapped Rose, putting the tin away. ‘He won’t miss what he hasn’t had. Now, are we all ready? Lizzie, have you banked that stove up with coal slack? I don’t want to come back to a cold hovel, my bones are fair chilled by the time I climb down out of that trap.’

  ‘Mike and me are off on our own today, Ma,’ said John. ‘There’ll be more room in the trap for Lizzie and Dad if we don’t go. We thought we’d spend the day with some of the work lads, take a trip into Ingleton. Our Mike has a liking to visit the waterfalls, seeing as it’s such a grand day.’ John smirked at his brother, kicked him on the shin out of sight of their mother.

  ‘Waterfalls? What do you want to go there for? Don’t you see enough water in this forsaken place?’

  ‘They’re opening a walk around the falls, Ma. I thought I’d ask Jenny Burton to take a stroll with me.’ Mike could have killed his brother for dropping him in it, but decided to make the best of it by taking the opportunity to break the news about Jenny. He was going to have to tell her sometime. There’d be hell to pay if she found out from someone else. She hated it when anyone kept things secret from her.

  ‘And who might Jenny Burton be?’ Rose, who had been standing in front of the mirror tying on her bonnet, wheeled around to face her son. ‘Where’s she from and what does her father do? She’d better not be one of them trollops from round here – you can do better than that, lad.’

  ‘I’ll not have you calling Jenny a trollop. Anyway she’s not from here, she lives at Gearstones Lodge. Her father runs the boarding house there.’ Mike was cringing as he spoke. He knew Rose was dreading the moment when one of her sons brought another woman into the family.

  ‘Not the doss-house where all the Paddies board? No wonder she’s set her cap at you, lad – she’ll be after your brass!’ Molly’s face was red with indignation. ‘Lizzie, go and tell our Bob to wait outside with horse and trap. Father, you and John make yourself scarce. I need to talk to my lad.’

  There was a scramble for the door as Lizzie, John and Jim beat a hasty retreat, leaving poor Mike to face his mother’s wrath.

  ‘So how long have you known this floozy, and is it serious?’

  ‘We met about six months ago. You’ll like her, Ma. Jenny’s not a floozy, she’s a grand Dale’s lass.’ It was all Mike could do to keep a civil tongue in his head, faced with his mother’s uncalled-for remarks. He thought the world of Jenny.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Ask her to come to tea with us tomorrow, and then I can see what I think of her. I’m not having my lads led astray by just anyone.’ With that, Rose picked up her basket and marched out of the door. She’d soon see what she was made of, this Jenny Burton, the ‘grand Dale’s lass’.

  Not a word was said as Mother Pratt climbed into the trap, assisted by John, who was much relieved that he wouldn’t be going with them to Ingleton. Bob, still smarting over his mother’s refusal to give him a few pennies extra, whipped the team into motion and the cart trundled off up the road with the occupants sitting in awkward silence.

  The road was busy, with many of the residents of Batty Green heading off to market or to the Welcome Inn. As they passed the inn it was clear the place was jammed to the rafters with men spending the wages that Henry Parker had just handed to them. As they continued along the road down Chapel-le-Dale, Lizzie breathed in the smell of peat and flowers wafting on the breeze and gazed at the curlews and lapwings twisting and diving overhead. She felt awkward in the silence of the trap; she wasn’t part of this family quarrel and she would rather have stopped behind than have to endure sitting next to the sullen Bob. When they got to the top of the rocky outcrop above Ingleton, the Irish Sea came into view in the distance, glinting in the sunshine, and Lizzie wished she were on there on a boat, sailing off to another world.

  ‘Well, Mother, are you going to talk to us or are we supposed to read your thoughts today?’ said Jim as they began the descent into Ingleton. He hoped she’d simmered long enough and that hi
s words wouldn’t prompt an explosion. When she didn’t reply, Jim lit his pipe, coughed nervously and ventured to add: ‘It had to happen one day, lass. You can’t keep them under your wings for ever.’

  Rose, still seething, shuffled in her seat. ‘Gearstones, Father! Gearstones – of all the places! They sell ale there, you know. A farm lass, I could understand. But a doss-house owner’s lass? What’s our Mike thinking?’

  ‘You can’t help who you fall for. Good Lord, I should know,’ sighed Jim as they pulled up outside the Ingleborough Hotel. While Bob held the horses steady, his father hopped from the cart and slipped his arm around Rose’s waist as he helped her down. ‘Just look who I ended up with – and my mother said you were no good for me. So don’t you be too quick to judge, Mrs Pratt. If Mike loves her, she’ll not be a bad ’un.’

  This failed to mollify Rose, who stood brushing the dust from her clothes, scowling and muttering under her breath.

  As if oblivious to his wife’s mood, Jim continued in a cheery tone: ‘Now go and get those ribbons bought for Lizzie here. The pair of you have been talking about it ever since she came. You might have lost one, Mother, but you’ve gained another with this ’un, eh?’

  He gave a broad wink to Lizzie, who smiled, not knowing what to say.

  ‘We’ll see,’ huffed Rose, finally deigning to respond. ‘I’ll know better after tea tomorrow, when I’ve finally met her.’ She fixed a stern gaze on her menfolk. ‘Now don’t forget to pick up the flour and paraffin – and mind you don’t get up to anything you shouldn’t, the pair of you. Lizzie and me will meet you back here at two.’

  Wishing she could spend the next few hours with Jim and Bob, Lizzie allowed herself to be steered into the bustling market. Thankfully, the prospect of a couple of hours’ shopping soon distracted Rose from her bad mood, especially now she had a young protégée to instruct in the art of driving a bargain.