Stranger At The Door, Day 20

As she gathered up her basket, Mary Ellen wondered if she had done the right thing in reassuring Sarah

Bunty listened intently, impressed by Daniel’s knowledge of the network of tunnels that made up Langrigg pit. For her, this was a revelation. This was not the handsome, laughing boy who had stolen away Master Ogilvie’s pretty daughter. This was a man who could lead others, who could put into words what they felt but could not express. There was intensity in his dark-eyed gaze, power in the way he spoke.

“There’s talk of a meeting,” Daniel said. “The colonel will be home soon,” Bunty said, alarmed, playing for time. “And in the meantime the matter will be taken in hand. I will speak to Rushforth.” But as she said the words, Bunty suddenly knew why Rushforth was keeping out of her way.

Riding away from Langrigg, she startled the bay by urging him into a gallop. She had to write a letter and send it to Venice without delay.

After the excitement of Miss Bunty’s visit, it was something of a relief to Sarah to get back to normality. Daniel seemed suddenly preoccupied and a little tired. The two of them ate their much-delayed meal in something approaching silence.

Commanding presence

Sarah turned over in her mind the image of the Daniel she had seen that afternoon – a man with a commanding presence, his voice sounding loud in the little room. She felt a chill creep round her heart.

This was Daniel Morrison, son of a known agitator – a man with the power to make others rise up in rebellion against their employers. Was he truly his father’s son? And if he was, would their plans collapse into ruin? She had to say something.

“Daniel...” Sarah leaned forward and took his hand. “Please step back from all this trouble at the pit.”

He shook off her hand and stood up so suddenly that his chair was upended behind him. Dark eyes fixed her in their gaze. “I’m already involved,” he said. “I’m a miner.”

She knew then, with sinking heart, that nothing would stop him.

Sarah had just got in from the morning session at the Wee School when Mary Ellen arrived for her usual daily visit. She was carrying two covered dishes in a large basket and handed one to Sarah before subsiding into a chair by the fire. She looked tired.

“No’ much dryin’ the day.” She sighed. “The sheets’ll likely end up on the pulley in my kitchen, and when I get them dry they’ll smell o’ Pate’s pipe smoke wi’ a wee touch o’ Scotch broth flung in for good measure.”

Sarah made some tea and watched as her friend slowly revived. “You’re worried about somethin’, lass.” Mary Ellen directed a penetrating look at Sarah who, caught unawares, sighed, and told her about Miss Bunty’s visit and Daniel’s outburst about a strike.

“He’ll end up like his father, Mary Ellen. He’ll be branded a troublemaker. All our plans will be in ruins, and then what will we do?” Sarah’s voice broke with strain, and her gaze was tear-filled.

There was a small silence. When at last Mary Ellen spoke, she chose her words carefully.

“He’s young, Sarah. Full o’ passion. But when a’s said and done, he cares more for you than anythin’ else in the world, and that’ll keep the both o’ you safe. Miss Bunty knows the way o’ things and she’ll see to it that Rushforth puts things right for the men. She’ll no’ let it come to a strike.

In confidence

“That Miss Bunty’s a right wee bag o’ tricks, believe me. She cares about the folk here in Langrigg. Just like her father afore her.”

Sarah wiped away a stray tear. “But the colonel...” she began.

“He owns only half the pit, Sarah. Miss Bunty owns the other half. Folk dinna know that, but I was told that in confidence a while back. I’m only tellin’ you to put your mind at ease. Daniel will never let harm come to your door, Sarah, an’ Miss Bunty’ll set things straight hersel’.” She glanced at the clock. “Now, I’ll need to away.”

As she put on her shawl and gathered up her basket, Mary Ellen wondered if she had done the right thing in reassuring Sarah. In doing that, she had broken her lifelong rule of absolute honesty and it didn’t sit easily with her. The worries that had kept her awake through the night swirled around in her mind.

Suddenly, the door burst open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Daniel stood there in his working clothes, his helmet in his hand.

“Pate said you’d be here,” he said to Mary Ellen. “There’s been an accident. It’s Jackie Begg. Roof fall. He’s conscious, but his leg is smashed. He wouldna let me go to Lily, her being expectin’ an’ all. Said to tell you, Mary Ellen.”

Mary Ellen didn’t hesitate. “Tell them to bring Jackie to my house, Daniel, and send a man to fetch the doctor. Hurry,” she added, but Daniel had already gone, without as much as a glance at his wife. As Sarah fought a little jolt of disappointment, Mary Ellen handed her the basket.

“Sarah, lass, you take that to Lily. I was just headin’ to see her. No’ a word about Jackie’s accident, mind. I’ll get Magrit to send the bairns home for you and close up the school.”

With that, Mary Ellen had gone. For an instant, Sarah leaned against the door jamb to still the sudden dizziness that overcame her, then stepped out into a different world.

Spirits rising

Sarah looked round her kitchen without the usual lifting of her spirits at a job well done. It was Saturday and she had been up early to do the cleaning, the polishing, the setting of things in perfect order that had always brought her a glow of satisfaction. Not so on that particular Saturday.

Wearily, she poked the fire into life and sank down in the fireside chair. Daniel had gone out more than an hour before without saying where he was going, but for once Sarah was pleased to have the house to herself so that she could set her thoughts in order.

Her sewing box sat on the side table. Lighting the lamp against the gloom of a wintry afternoon, she took out some scraps of cambric, skeins of thread and a sliver of pink ribbon. Turning them over in her hands, she smiled to herself, her spirits rising.

“A little dress for the new baby,” she said aloud, already looking forward to the task she had set herself. Turning the delicate materials over, imagining what the finished dress would look like, she thought again of the tumult of the day that Lily’s baby had been born, the day when she had been thrown headlong into an unfamiliar, almost terrifying world which had left her emotionally drained and fatigued.

“Aye, you did well. A great help you were to me and to Lily,” Mary Ellen had told her that very morning.

More tomorrow.

This story was originally written specially for The People’s Friend, which published it under the title The Life We Choose. There’s more fiction in The People’s Friend every week, available from newsagents and supermarkets at £1.30.