For a Mother's Sins (39 page)

Lizzie remained sitting on the bed, remembering how hard it had been for her. But she hadn’t allowed herself to wallow in self-pity.

‘You don’t know what I’ve been through,’ Agnes sobbed.

‘I know someone’s brayed you, just like my best friend got brayed, but you’re safe now. We’ll make sure you’re all right while you’re here. My mam will do
anything for someone who’s in bother.’ Lizzie looked at the red-eyed lass, only slightly older than her. ‘Here, there’s some bread and cheese for your dinner. You’re
our only customer today, so I hope you enjoy it.’

Lizzie was almost at the door when Agnes, struggling to re-gather her thoughts and her pride, said,‘Thank you. I will repay your kindness. And I apologize for feeling sorry for myself. My
family disowned me after I got myself into trouble. My father used to belt me nearly every day and then he eventually threw me out to make my own way in the world.’

Agnes managed a wan smile as Lizzie, still angry that someone her own age would say that they wished themselves dead, closed the door quietly behind her.

‘Is she all right love?’ Molly yelled at Lizzie as she saw her come down the stairs.

‘Yeah, Mam, she will be, once she’s rested,’ Lizzie replied before disappearing out the back door to avoid further questions. Her mam had enough on her plate without a suicidal
young woman.

‘What the hell was that?’ Molly pulled her long white nightdress around her and swung her legs out of bed. ‘John, there’s somebody downstairs, I can
hear them! Someone’s in the kitchen – they’ll be raiding the stores!’

She shook John into action. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, muttered, ‘Give over, woman, you’re dreaming.’ Then thumped his pillow and buried his head in the soft feathers.

‘There it is again!’ Molly screeched, making for the bedroom door.

This time there was no doubt. Someone was definitely in the kitchen. John sprang up and armed himself with a candlestick, then led the way downstairs with Molly close behind.

The smell of warm bread was wafting from the kitchen. Molly and John stopped on the stairs and looked at each other in surprise as they sniffed the air, drooling at the delicious aroma. Perhaps
it was Lizzie making an early start on the day’s cooking, but the sun hadn’t even risen, so that was unlikely. As they crept to open the kitchen door the smells grew stronger. Now bacon
mingled with the scent of fresh bread. When they opened the door to the kitchen, they found the fire and oven lit and a batch of bread already on the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Agnes. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to pay you for my stay and this is the only way I know.’ She had Molly’s apron on
over the shabby dress she’d been wearing the night John found her.

‘You frightened us to death, pet. We thought we had burglars! What on earth are you doing up at this time of day? Oh, my Lord, John, look at all this!’

Molly and John gazed in wonder at the rows of bread and buns and a pan full of bacon frying.

Agnes was staring down at her feet, blushing and feeling awkward. ‘I’m used to getting up at this time to help my father – he was a baker. I thought that this might help
you.’

‘What you really mean is, you thought our bread was rubbish.’

Molly’s words made Agnes look up in shock, about to protest. But before she could get a word in, Molly smiled and said, ‘And, aye, you’d be right! Men have been known to break
their teeth on my offerings.’

John meanwhile had sat himself down at the table, glad that there was no burglar to tackle.

‘Why’s that frying this early?’ Molly indicated the pan of bacon.

‘There’s nothing better than a bacon sandwich in new bread. My father used to go round the lead miners’ homes with me and my sister and sell them to the men before they set off
to work. It encouraged them to come to you for their dinner at the end of the day, or to buy your bread and things for their lunch.’ Agnes blushed, wondering if she’d overstepped the
mark. But she’d heard Lizzie and Molly talking about how they had to find some way to attract customers back to the inn.

‘By gum, you’re a sharp ’un! I bet your father’s worth a bob or two!’ Molly grinned. Then she went to the door and hollered up the stairs: ‘Lizzie –
stir your shanks! Me and you have a bit of hawking to do.’

‘There’s two big baskets in the pantry – help me fill them up, Lizzie. Right, we both know who’s wed and who’s not on Batty Green, so it’s
only the huts with single men in that we’ll target this morning – they’re the ones who can’t be bothered with cooking.’

Lizzie joined her mother in loading the baskets with warm bacon sandwiches and bread and fruit buns that Agnes had made.

‘Right, girl, let’s see how we go,’ said Molly, picking up a basket. ‘See, I told you tomorrow was another day and not to fret.’

Leaving a busy Agnes and a yawning John in the kitchen, they set off into the cold grey dawn to go knocking on the doors of shanties where men were getting ready to go to work, tempting them to
a ready-made breakfast and the promise of a filling dinner later in the day.

All four slumped exhausted in the kitchen. Even in Helen’s day, the Welcome had never seen such a rush at dinnertime. Word had rapidly spread that there was a new cook at
the inn, and judging from customers’ compliments on the food they’d been served, they’d be coming back for more.

‘Well, lass, yesterday I hardly took a penny and today . . . well, what can I say.’ Molly fanned herself with a newspaper that had been left by a customer.

‘I’m glad I paid for my keep. I didn’t want to leave without paying the debt I owed you.’ Agnes took her apron off and picked her shawl up.

‘Well, you certainly did that all right – but what’s this about leaving? You still look poorly to me.’ Molly pushed her chair back and stood up.

‘I’ve imposed myself upon you long enough, I think it’s time for me to go. Thank you for your help, Mrs Pratt. And, Lizzie, your talk did me good.’ She drew her shawl
around her and quietly made for the door.

‘Wait! Where will you go? Where will you sleep tonight, lass? I’ll not be having your death on my conscience, so you need not open that door.’ Molly’s words were stern
but her touch was gentle as she laid her hand on Agnes’s arm. ‘We’ll not ask questions of your past, pet, not if you don’t want us to. That’s none of our business. But
I’m making it my business to keep you alive, lass. I’m sure John will back me on this: we’d like you to stay.’

A tear ran down Agnes’s cheek as John told her, ‘Aye, lass, you can stay. Just don’t wake me up so early in the morning!’

‘How about you stop in our spare room and we pay you to be our cook? That way we’ll all benefit – not to mention the navvies. They’ll be that fat after a month of your
dinners, they’ll not be able to pick up their shovels!’ said Molly, putting her arm around the sobbing girl.

‘Stay, Agnes. We need you,’ pleaded Lizzie.

Agnes, still sobbing into her shawl, nodded her head.

‘Good. That’s settled then,’ said Molly. ‘Welcome to your new home. Now let’s have no more of these tears. We need to decide what to cook for dinner
tomorrow.’

Ribblehead Station, 1 May 1876

The Band of Hope’s boisterous playing rang out over the dale, trying to rally up support while the directors and railway VIPs strutted up and down Ribblehead station
platform. Overhead, bunting fluttered gaily in the breeze. The moorland and tracks were thronged with inquisitive bystanders, watching enthralled as the engine belched clouds of steam into the air
as if gathering courage for its first run across the finished viaduct and through the man-made tunnels at the start of its long journey up to the Scottish border. Excited children ran between the
grown-ups’ legs, pleading to be allowed to ride on the train, while one naughty little boy ran up and down the railings with a stick, making a racket that could be heard even above the
playing of the band and the puffing of the train.

‘Just look at all these folk, Agnes! And they’ll all be wanting something to eat. It’s a good job we ordered plenty in. Are we ready to open our doors?’ Molly turned away
from the window and brushed her hand down the soft velvet pleats of her new dress. It was all she could do to breathe in the tightly laced-up bodice, but it was a dress that befitted her new status
and she was wearing it with pride.

‘Yes, Mrs Pratt, we’re ready. All’s cooked – just need the customers now,’ yelled Agnes from the kitchen.

‘Aye, get ’em in, lass! Let’s get some beer sold.’ John leaned over the bar, his apron around his waist and a gill in his hand.

‘Where’s our Lizzie?’ Molly scanned the room, wanting to make sure Lizzie was on hand to wait on the customers.

‘Where do you think? She’s out back, flirting with that Sedgwick lad. Claimed she was nipping out to fetch water, but I heard her giggling with him as he was loading the empty
barrels. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance! I should have warned him not to mess with the Mason women.’ John wiped his now-empty glass and smiled. ‘Go on, open the door,
you’ve folk waiting.’

Molly felt butterflies in her stomach. In addition to the bar and the guest bedrooms, she now had a small tearoom next door in what used to be the barn. Today was the grand opening, not only for
the tearooms but the new railway line. It was a day for celebration, in recognition of the labour and the engineering that had gone into building the magnificent line.

Taking a deep breath, Molly threw open the doors, beaming at the crowd of former navvies, all clad in their best suits for the occasion. Then she went to open the doors of the tearoom to the
well-dressed ladies making their way down from the station. No longer did she feel uncomfortable in their presence, conscious of the disparity between their finery and her rags and mud-caked boots.
She’d come from a navvy’s wife to a woman of wealth and property, and her new dress befitted her rise in status. Her future was secure: the signed deeds to the Welcome Inn were safely
tucked in a box under her bed.

Their luck had changed the day John brought the nearly dead Agnes into their home. Since then, they hadn’t looked back. Lizzie had learned to cook just as well as Agnes, John had settled
in behind the bar, while Molly held it all together. The business had flourished to the point that they had been able to buy the Welcome from Helen, who had found herself a farmer and was content
settling into her new married life in Swaledale. Henry Parker was long forgotten, along with the ramshackle shanties of Batty Green. The only remaining signs of those days were the tram tracks and
sump holes of the workings.

‘Molly! We just had to come and sample one of your teas,’ said Doctor Thistlethwaite, ushering in Gladys and their two children across the threshold. ‘Doesn’t the station
look magnificent! Who’d have thought all these people would turn out to see the first engine over the new viaduct?’

‘Come and sit here by the window. You’ll have a good view down the dale from here,’ said Molly, escorting them to their table. She was glad to see him with the children, and
she’d long since risen above the bitter feelings she’d once felt for Gladys.

‘We sail for India at the weekend. I’ve been offered a practice out there, and you know me – always up for a challenge,’ said Doctor Thistlethwaite, unfolding a napkin.
‘I’ll miss this place, the wild rugged fells and the people.’ His hand touched momentarily on Molly’s and he smiled.

‘I’m sure you’ll not be forgotten.’ Molly looked at Gladys and thanked God that she’d not married him. Who on earth would want to go to India, and with two
children? The poor cow.

Leaving them to it, she went to the back door and yelled, ‘Lizzie, stop your flirting with that young Sedgwick and get yourself in here to help Agnes.’

There was a yelp from behind her as the tearoom’s newly employed waitress almost dropped a plateful of scones in fright. She was still nervous around the formidable Mrs Pratt.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ Lizzie pulled her apron straight as she entered the kitchen.

‘You’d better have been behaving yourself out there.’ Molly fixed her daughter with a stern glare.

‘Course I have,’ protested Lizzie, embarrassed by her mother’s tone of voice. She busied herself picking up a tea tray as her mother hurried back to the inn.

‘Your mum’s only looking after you, Liz.’ Agnes glanced up from buttering her scones. ‘You should listen.’

‘I am listening, but she should know me better. I won’t let anyone near me until I’m married. I know what men are like.’ Lizzie turned her nose up and went about her
service.

Agnes nodded, she too knew what men were like with their sweet talk. It would have been her undoing, if she hadn’t had the good fortune to be rescued by the Pratts.

Silence fell over the Welcome as the train’s whistle blew. This was immediately followed by the scraping of chairs and a scramble of customers rushing outside to watch as the first
passenger train came shunting over the small bridge next to the inn and then onwards to the twenty-four-arch viaduct. The steam curled around the arches and the whistle blew merrily as the engine
and carriages crossed the spectacular granite viaduct on the slow climb towards Blea Moor. The crowds below cheered and threw their hats into the air. After all those years of toil, all the lives
lost and the casualties claimed, the Settle to Carlisle line was complete. Passing through some of the remotest moorlands and featuring the highest station above sea level, it would now take its
place as one of the greatest railways in England.

John and Molly gazed out at the viaduct, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. They smiled at each other as two courting couples passed by, walking hand in hand down the path
to the base of the viaduct.

‘I’m glad Agnes has found a good man,’ said Molly. ‘He may be a lot older than her, but she seems happy with Arthur Dowbiggin. And at least she won’t be moving far
away when they get married, not with him being signalman at Blea Moor.’

‘Aye, he’s not a bad man. Did young Dan Sedgwick say anything to you?’ John sucked hard on his pipe, he’d wanted to tell Molly his news all day but they’d been
rushed off their feet and he’d had no opportunity until now.