Forever Yours Read online

  Vincent didn’t bother to reply. Turning away from the direction of the village, he pulled his muffler more closely round his neck and set out towards the town of Chester Le Street, a few miles north-east of Sacriston. Chester Le Street was situated on the Great North Road and was a thriving and busy town, its vibrant industrial centre bustling with activity on a normal working day. On a Sunday the trains – both passenger expresses and the less glamorous coal trains – were considerably fewer, and the engine – and rope-works and myriad other factories silent.

  Not that Vincent was making for the heart of the town. His destination was a particular house set discreetly by itself in a narrow lane on the outskirts of Chester Le Street. Although the market town was only a short distance from Sacriston as the crow flies, most folk in the village only knew it as a place name, never having ventured further than the fields surrounding Sacriston. In the five years since Vincent had been visiting Ma Walton’s whore-house he’d never once come across anyone he knew, although he was always on edge lest that might happen.

  He strode swiftly through the white landscape and by the time he reached Blackbird Lane he’d consumed the contents of the hip-flask he carried in the pocket of his overcoat. He’d drunk a great deal over the last few days; it was the only way he could sleep at night. To fall into bed senseless.

  Vincent paused before opening the gate leading to the front door of the house. Every time he left this place he vowed it would be the last, but then his body would begin burning again and he’d return like a dog to its vomit.

  He knew the men he worked with looked on him as some kind of oddity. He took off his cap and shook it to dislodge the snow before pulling it on again. He’d never walked out with a lass and they couldn’t understand that; consequently they made up their own theories about him. But he dare bet none of them came near the truth of it – that he’d known it all at the age of seven.

  His features moved into what could have passed for a smile unless you were looking into his eyes.

  But he didn’t care what they thought. They were all thick-headed nowts, gormless as they come. He was different and he’d show them. He didn’t intend to remain as he was until the day he died. His grandfather had had a bit about him by all accounts and he took after him, not his da. He was going to rise in the world and he’d see his day with this village, the whole jam pack of them. They’d soon be laughing on the other side of their face when they spoke of him.

  The door to the house opened and a man stood silhouetted in the light for a moment, adjusting his muffler so it came over the bottom part of his face and his cap pulled down low over his eyes. He walked down the path, passing Vincent without a word and scuttling off in the direction of the town. Vincent watched him go until the thickly falling snow swallowed him up. Then he looked towards the house again.

  The man’s sheepish demeanour had bothered him, emphasising as it did the sleazy aspect of what he was about to do. He ground his teeth, his countenance darkening. This wasn’t going to be the pattern for years to come, he was damned if it was. He wanted his bodily needs sated in the comfort of his own home – that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Of course there would be his mother to contend with if he brought another woman into the house, unless . . .

  He blinked, his eyes opening wider for a moment in surprise at the direction his mind had taken. Unless his mother was no longer around to object.

  Suddenly his brain was throwing possibilities at him and he realised this wasn’t such a new idea, after all. It had been there for years, buried in his subconscious but festering like a deep-rooted infection.

  He wiped his hand round his face, his mind racing. It would need to look like an accident of some kind, or maybe an illness? A malady that came upon her gradually and then gathered steam. But that was possible. He could do that.

  He’d been vaguely aware of a face at one of the windows and now, when the front door opened once more and Ma Walton’s voice came, saying, ‘Don’t stand out there, lad, you’ll catch your death. No need to be shy. Come into the warm,’ he moved obediently forward. His mind flung one more thought on top of the others which settled the matter: he’d never have to look at or hear his mother again if he followed through on this. He’d be free. Free. And it was about time.

  PART ONE

  The Die is Cast

  1893

  Chapter 1

  ‘Now listen, me bairn, there’s nowt to cry about. I should’ve told you before but you’re still such a child . . .’

  Mabel Gray’s voice faded away as she surveyed her grand-daughter’s tear-stained face. It was a beautiful face and so like Hannah’s there were times it fair hurt her to look on it, but she had to accept the fact that Constance was a bairn no longer. She should have told her about the birds and the bees some time ago, and prepared the girl for the arrival of her monthlies, rather than it being such a shock. Constance had been convinced she was dying when she’d come running to her this morning.

  ‘It – it happens to everyone?’ Constance rubbed her wet eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Every lass?’

  ‘Aye, and it’s quite natural, hinny. Now you go and sort yourself out with the pads of cloth I’ve given you and then we’ll have a little chat over a cup of tea before your granda comes in, all right? There’s a good lass.’

  Constance nodded doubtfully.When the pains in her stomach had sent her to the privy and she’d seen the blood staining her drawers, she’d thought her end had come, and now here was her grandma treating it as less than nothing. She looked down at the bleached strips of linen in her hand. Her grandma had said this happened every month from now on and she mustn’t wash her hair or use the tin bath when she was bleeding or she’d catch a chill. Slowly, her feet dragging, she made her way upstairs to her bedroom but after following her grandmother’s instructions she didn’t immediately return to the kitchen. Plonking herself down on the bed, she sat gazing out of the sash window.

  The November day was bitterly cold, the thick frost of the night before still coating the frozen world outside the house in white, but although the inside of the glass showed a film of ice and the bedroom was freezing, Constance remained where she was, her small white teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

  Her grandma had explained the monthly loss of blood as being necessary for her to develop into a woman, and it was true she turned thirteen soon and was leaving school at Christmas, but what good was all that when Matthew was courting strong with Tilly Johnson? And Tilly was a woman, not a bit lass.

  Constance closed her eyes, her arms wrapped round her waist as she swayed back and forth. Matt had had other lasses before Tilly – he was a grown man, after all – but somehow she’d known from the first time she’d seen Tilly in the Heaths’ kitchen that this one was different. Tilly had set her cap at him. That’s what Matt’s mam had said to her grandma when they hadn’t known she was listening, and when her grandma had replied that he didn’t seem to be objecting over much, Matt’s mam had laughed and said it was about time he stopped sowing his wild oats and settled down, and he could do worse than Tilly Johnson.

  This thought brought a soft little groan. Tilly Johnson with her big bust and pretty face and job in the post office. How could Matt not fall for her? It wasn’t fair. Oh, why couldn’t she have been born five years earlier? She would have made Matt love her then, but as it was he still treated her like a little bairn. Worse, a little sister.

  Her grandmother’s voice brought her from the bed, and when she entered the kitchen again it was to find a cup of tea and a plate of girdle scones dripping with butter waiting for her. By the time the scones had been eaten Constance’s head was buzzing with the facts of life as related by Mabel. She knew her grandma had found the talk embarrassing, and for that reason she felt she couldn’t ask any questions, even though she still wasn’t sure exactly how the seed from the man was implanted in the woman to make a baby. But she mustn’t let a lad do more than kiss her on the mouth and only then after a respectable courting pe
riod. ‘Other’ things, and here her grandma hadn’t been specific, were permissible only after a couple had got wed.

  By the time Art Gray came in from his early-morning shift at the pit things were as normal for a Saturday – on the surface at least. Constance helped her grandmother serve up the panackelty they had every Saturday using the chopped leftover scraps of meat from the week, but for once the potatoes rich with flavour from the meat and stock, caramelised onions and deliciously crusty rim to the dish failed to whet her appetite and she had to force the food down. The meal finished, and there being no football due to the weather, her grandfather settled himself in his shabby old armchair in front of the glowing fire with his pipe and baccy, and Constance cleared the table and helped her grandma wash the dishes. That done, the two of them took off their pinnies and tidied themselves prior to visiting the Heaths.

  This Saturday routine had been part of Constance’s life from when she could remember. She knew the origins of her grandma’s close friendship with Ruth Heath dated back to the night Matt had rescued her from the fire which had taken her parents, and she’d grown up looking on the Heaths as part of her extended family – and Matt, in particular, as belonging to her. He’d always made a fuss of her, he still did, but now . . . Now there was Tilly.

  ‘You all right, hinny?’

  Her grandma lightly touched her cheek and Constance forced herself to smile. She loved her grandma – since her da’s parents had been taken with the fever when she was five years old, her grandma and granda were her whole world – but in some corner of her mind she knew her grandmother wouldn’t understand if she confided how she felt about Matt. And rather than have her love for him dismissed as something she would ‘get over’, she’d prefer to keep it a secret. Her grandma thought of her as a bairn, her granda too, they both did, but she knew her love for Matt was a thing apart from age and time. She had always loved him and she would always love him, it was as simple as that. And she would give up or sacrifice anything if she thought she could make him love her like she loved him.

  Tilly was sitting close to Matt on the long wooden settle which took up all of one wall of the Heaths’ kitchen when Constance reached the house, and this was no accident. Tilly smiled her greeting along with the others but in the jostling around to make room for the newcomers to sit down, she made sure Matt remained close to her. She knew he regarded the Shelton girl as the little sister he’d never had, and that was fine as far as it went. She was acquainted with the facts concerning the night Constance’s parents had died and was aware of Matt’s continuing sense of responsibility towards the girl, and if Constance had been plain with nothing to commend her, it wouldn’t have mattered. But Constance wasn’t plain.

  Tilly looked across at her now as Constance answered something Matt’s mother had said, and as had happened more than once, a dart of fear pierced her. Constance was bonny, more than bonny. She was beautiful, and tall for her age. Her skin was the colour of cream and her eyes were a cornflower blue with the thickest lashes she’d ever seen on anyone. She’d heard the lass’s mam had been just as beautiful, with the same wavy golden hair, and that all the lads had liked Hannah Gray.

  Tilly’s hands were clasped together in her lap and she began to repeatedly move one thumb over the other in little circles. It was a sure sign she was agitated and, recognising this, she became still. How could she be jealous of a bairn? she asked herself silently. It was daft, barmy, and she’d die if anyone cottoned on.

  She glanced at Matt but he was deep in conversation with his father about an incident at the pit involving the weighman, Vincent McKenzie. No one liked McKenzie. It was his job to assess the tubs of coal sent out of the pit by the miners and he had the authority to downgrade or reject the coal and inflict heavy penalties by means of cruel fines. She’d heard her own da say the weighman was more to be feared than the manager, and that McKenzie was a gaffer’s toady who’d only risen to his exalted position by licking the manager’s boots. Matt was convinced McKenzie had it in for him in particular, although Tilly couldn’t see why. Everyone liked Matt.

  At this point in her thinking she became aware that Constance was staring unblinkingly at her; in the same manner she returned the stare and immediately the other girl’s eyes fell away and her skin turned a rosy hue. Constance no more liked her than she liked Constance. The thought was disturbing, strengthening her unease. Instinctively she pressed closer to Matt and as he turned and smiled at her, saying softly, ‘All right, lass?’ she managed to nod and smile back.

  She wasn’t going to lose Matt. Her full, somewhat slack mouth tightened. She was eighteen years old and she wanted to be married and respectable. If nothing else it would bring an end to the other thing. She lowered her eyes to her lap, but in her mind she could see the postmaster’s face and it was soft with the expression he kept just for her after their lovemaking. Their affair had been going on for over three years and she knew if anyone got wind of it she would be tarred and feathered and run out of town, him having a wife and three bairns, but where Rupert was concerned she just couldn’t help herself.

  Her thumbs started their rotating once more and again she stopped the motion abruptly.

  Once she was wed and keeping house for Matt she would be safe. Matt was like his da and the rest of the men hereabouts, he wouldn’t countenance his wife working outside the home. This thought brought another worry and it wasn’t a new one. What would Matt do on their wedding night when he discovered he wasn’t the first? Or would she be able to fool him? She suspected he’d had his practice before her, he’d said as much, but had always accepted that no meant no where she was concerned. Only last night when he’d tried it on and they’d nearly had a quarrel, he had been full of remorse later, cuddling and petting her and telling her he respected her for her determination to keep herself for her wedding day. He’d go mad if he thought she’d deceived him.

  She felt a moment of sharp panic before relaxing and shrugging mentally. She’d cope with that if she had to, she needed to bring him up to scratch first. They’d been walking out for six months now and not a word about the future.

  She darted another glance at Constance but the girl was busy slicing up a fruitcake to go with the tea which was brewing. That was another thing that riled her about Constance; she acted as though she was a member of the family rather than just a neighbour, calling Matt’s mam ‘Aunty Ruth’ and taking other such liberties. And she was forever round here; she knew Constance often called in on her way home from school and stayed till Matt got in from the pit. It wasn’t right and someone ought to tell her so, but they wouldn’t. Spoiled rotten, she was.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you all right, lass?’

  She wasn’t aware Matt had finished his conversation with his father and was watching her, but now as he bent and whispered in her ear, she whispered back, ‘I’ve a bit of a headache and it’s stuffy in here, that’s all.’

  He was immediately concerned. ‘Do you want to get a breath of fresh air for a while? We could go for a walk if you like?’

  She did like. It would be one in the eye for little Miss Doe-eyes. She got her coat while Matt explained to the others and as they left by the back door she had the satisfaction of seeing Constance staring after them, nipping on her lower lip.

  The afternoon died for Constance once Matt had left. She continued to smile and chat with her grandma and Matt’s mam and da, and when Matt’s two older brothers dropped by with their wives and bairns, she took the little ones under her wing and kept them occupied by playing with them and telling them stories. The winter twilight meant Ruth Heath lit the lamps early, and the kitchen took on a cosy glow which disguised its shabbiness and added a touch of charm to the shining black-leaded range and old kitchen table covered with its white Saturday cloth.

  Matt didn’t return before they said their goodbyes. Constance dilly-dallied as long as she could but eventually she had to concede defeat and they stepped into the frozen world outside the warmth of the k
itchen. The sky was high and ablaze with stars, the light of a pale moon turning the frosty ground to sparkling crystals.

  ‘By, lass, watch yourself.’ Mabel caught hold of her grand-daughter’s arm as she spoke, nearly having gone headlong. ‘It’s like glass out here. It’ll be a miracle if one or the other of us doesn’t land up on our backside before we get home.’

  Carefully they made their way into the back lane, but here the icy ridges and deep hollows were even more treacherous than the Heaths’ backyard. The temperature, which hadn’t risen above freezing all day, had now dropped like a stone once the weak winter sun had set, and it was so cold it took your breath away.

  Slipping and sliding and holding on to each other, they advanced along the narrow back way, and they had almost reached the end of the lane when a shadow moved at the side of them, causing Mabel to scream before she checked herself.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Gray.’ Matt’s voice was self-conscious, but as he stepped forward he drew Tilly with him and even in the feeble moonlight Constance could see the girl’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. ‘We were just talking.’

  ‘Aye, and I’m a monkey’s uncle.’ Mabel’s voice was indulgent rather than annoyed. ‘It’s too cold to be lingering out here though, Matt. Get the lass home in the warm.’

  ‘Will do, Mrs Gray. ’Bye for now.’

  Matt grinned at Constance as he turned away with his arm round Tilly’s waist, but Constance’s face remained straight as she watched them walk away. She hated Tilly Johnson, she thought, her throat full. And she might work in the post office and be a cut above most of the lasses hereabouts, but there was something spiteful about her and she wasn’t imagining it.

  ‘Don’t take on, hinny.’