Jarrow Trilogy 01 - The Jarrow Lass, page 23
John thrilled at the feel of Rose in his arms, the trusting weight of her body against his. He dared to kiss her lightly on her hair.
‘I’m sorry for the things I said to you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s a terrible thing to lose a bairn - the worst kind of thing. And I had no right to say them cruel words about your husband. It was just me jealousy.’
‘Jealousy?’ Rose questioned. ‘Why should you have been jealous of William?’
John gave a groan. ‘Oh, Rose lass! You must have known how much I cared for you? Wasn’t it obvious at our Michael’s wedding when we danced together? I kissed you, remember?’
Rose did and it was not a pleasant memory. He had tasted of stale whisky and made her feel nauseous after William’s sweet kiss.
‘But you were just drunk,’ Rose said, embarrassed by the turn of conversation.
‘Maybes,’ John grunted, ‘but I thought the world of you, drunk or sober. I hated the way Fawcett could say clever things and make you laugh and smile at him.’ He murmured into her hair, ‘I thought that night that maybe you did care for me a bit - dancing with me and letting me kiss you. That’s why I came up Simonside with that bunch of flowers,’ John admitted ruefully. ‘You weren’t in, but you must’ve found them. They were the only flowers I’ve ever picked for a lass - or ever will. Daft of me! No doubt you and your sisters had a good laugh over it.’
Rose sat up and stared at him, the memory of the wild flowers on the doorstep coming back to her. She had thought they were from William. It was those flowers that had spurred her on in her courtship of her husband! But all the time they had been from John. He had unwittingly thrown her and William closer together by his romantic gesture.
‘I never knew they were from you,’ Rose whispered.
He looked at her sharply, but he could see the astonishment on her face. John sighed. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now. Wouldn’t have made any difference any road, would it? You were Fawcett’s lass, I could see that. That’s why I joined the army - wasn’t going to stop around to see the pair of you wed.’
Rose shook her head in disbelief. ‘You never joined the army because of me?’
‘Aye, I did.’ John flushed, suddenly embarrassed by his admission. He was seldom so loose-tongued when sober. Rose could make him do and say things that no other woman had ever done.
Rose could not help but be flattered by his candid confession. To think that the taciturn youth who used to tease and frighten her had been sweet on her all along! Her sisters had seen it, but Rose had dismissed their ribald comments as nonsense. She thought of her and John’s first walk together back to Simonside with the bag of cinders, and how her interest in him had been sparked by his passionate talk of Ireland. As a young lass, before her heart had been won by William, had she not also been interested in the darkly handsome John? Rose blushed to think of it.
Sitting so close to him now, with his brawny arm still heavy on her shoulder, she realised that he still had brooding good looks, despite his weather-ravaged face. His jaw was strong and angular, his nose long and straight, his eyes a mesmerising green. Her pulse began to beat more rapidly at the thought of their proximity.
‘I never said thank you for you saving me life,’ she said hoarsely, ‘but I’m glad that you did.’
He scrutinised her face. ‘Aye, so am I.’
For a minute, neither of them spoke, but both were aware that the atmosphere had changed. There was a heightening of feeling between them.
‘How will you manage, Rose?’ he asked quietly.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just know I can’t be separated from me bairns. I’ll do anything to keep us from the workhouse and being split up. That would kill me for sure.’
He fumbled for her hand and held it firmly in his. She felt her numb fingers tingle in his warm grip.
‘Marry me, Rose,’ he rasped. ‘Let me look after you and the lasses. I have me faults, I’ll grant you - I’m not a saint like Fawcett - but I’ll do me best for you lass, that I promise.’
Rose felt tears sting her eyes. She was touched by his fond words and earnest expression. Hope leapt in her heart. Perhaps John could give her and the girls a secure future, as well as a rough, bashful love. By the saints, she could hardly be any worse off than she was now! She imagined how relieved Maggie and Danny would be at such a marriage. But what of the girls? There was no reason why they should not grow fond of John as a stepfather in time. Maybe all he needed was a good wife to love him back, to curb his wilder nature, and then the fighting and drinking would be things of the past. She would take courage from such a thought.
Rose smiled at him tremulously. ‘Aye, John, I will,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll marry you.’
He stared at her in amazement. ‘You will?’ he demanded.
Rose nodded and smiled more broadly.
John gave a cry of triumph. Laughing, he seized her chin in his rough hand and planted a lusty kiss on her lips.
Chapter 26
Rose and John were married in a quiet ceremony at the beginning of May. Rose was still in mourning for Margaret and so wore her black dress of bombazet, trimmed for the occasion with white lace at the collar and cuffs, taken from Lizzie’s wedding dress. Her only piece of jewellery was a mourning necklace woven with strands of Margaret’s fair hair.
‘Won’t John mind you wearing widow’s clothes?’ Maggie asked anxiously.
‘That’s what I am,’ Rose answered brusquely. ‘Anyways, it’s me only smart dress. He won’t have to mind.’
And John didn’t. ‘Doesn’t matter what you wear, lass,’ he assured, ‘as long as you wed me.’
Rose was charmed by his eager attentiveness to her in the days before they were married. He would appear at the garden gate, scrubbed, shaven and dressed in his army jacket, his hair wetted and combed into place. He brought small gifts - a lace handkerchief for her, a twist of lemon drops for the girls - and stayed to tea. Rose was delighted that he came sober and without the slightest hint of drink on his breath. They would walk out beyond the smallholding, across the fields to the stream, with Sarah and Kate scampering behind at a distance, and talk of the future.
‘I’ve found a place to rent,’ John told her proudly one evening.
‘Where?’ Rose asked, turning to him in excitement.
‘House in Albion Street,’ he grinned. She tried not to show her disappointment. It was in a crowded part of the town, hemmed in by the coke and steel works.
‘It’s got four rooms,’ he added quickly.
Rose brightened. ‘Four rooms? Tell me about it.’
‘Parlour at the front, kitchen at the back and two bedchambers upstairs. One for the lasses, one for us,’ he said, pinching her cheek.
Rose flushed. ‘Can we afford it?’
‘Course we can,’ John said indulgently. ‘I’ve got me army pension and I can pick up carrying work easily enough.’
‘I suppose I could stay on at the mill for a bit till we get sorted,’ Rose suggested half-heartedly.
‘No you won’t,’ John was adamant. ‘I’ll not have my wife slaving in that place. You’ll stop at home and keep house for me and the bairns. I’ll do the providin’.’
Rose felt utter relief at the thought of never having to face the furnace of the puddling mill again. Daily she felt the poisonous, debilitating fumes weakening her body, leaving her breathless and limp. At times, violent pains stabbed her stomach and when these subsided, lethargy would settle on her like a winding sheet. Just in time, John had saved her from complete exhaustion and an early death, she was sure of it.
‘We’ll need furniture.’ Rose began planning ahead eagerly. ‘I’ve got little to bring from here - just the bed and the feather mattress, a few pots and candlesticks.’
‘I’ll take care of that,’ John nodded. ‘We’ll get some stuff from the store - a dresser and a canny oval table with chairs. Me brothers’ll help shift it.’
Rose slipped her arm shyly through his and smiled. She had no idea John had this much money to spend and it made him the more attractive. ‘To have me own home again -I can hardly believe it. I cannot thank you enough for taking on me and the bairns.’
John leant towards her and lowered his voice so the girls could not hear. ‘There’s only one way you can show your thanks, Rose Ann, and that’s to be me wife - truly me wife in every way.’
Her heart began to thump at his words and the way he looked her over keenly with his vivid eyes. It made her uncomfortable the way he could be so proper one moment and suggestive the next. The consummation of their marriage had never been mentioned, though Rose remembered only too well that it had been the reason for her refusing his proposal before. He had been furiously disdainful of her offer to be his housekeeper but not lie with him. She remembered with unease how he had said he wanted her to bear him sons.
But since his rescue of her from the Slake and the eager kiss that had sealed their betrothal, Rose was not so averse to the idea of sharing John’s bed. She felt the stirring of interest in such intimacy that she had thought never to feel again.
‘I’ve said I’ll be your wife,’ she answered quietly.
He smiled in satisfaction and she knew he wanted to kiss her, but she pulled away, too aware of the girls chattering behind them. She saw annoyance flicker across his face.
‘Haway, Rose,’ he urged, ‘just a little one.’
‘Not here,’ she murmured, seeing that Sarah and Kate had stopped to watch them with interest. Elizabeth stood further off, trying to contain a fractious Mary.
He turned on them crossly. ‘What you lookin’ at?’
The girls were startled, then Kate piped up, ‘Are you ganin’ to kiss me mam?’
Sarah giggled; Elizabeth looked anxious. Rose exclaimed, ‘Kate, don’t be so cheeky!’
‘And what if I was?’ John demanded, stepping nearer. ‘Your mam and me are going to be wed and we’ll do as we please.’
Kate smiled, undaunted. ‘She used to kiss me da, an’ all.’
John’s face clouded and for one awful moment Rose thought he was going to strike her daughter. She half stepped forward to intervene, when he suddenly relaxed and barked with laughter.
‘Well, in a week’s time I’m ganin’ to be your da,’ he said, ruffling her hair. He glanced at Rose as he added, ‘And I’ll be the only man she’ll be kissing from now on.’
Only one matter marred the preparations for Rose. Florrie and Albert refused to come to the wedding. She received a terse note from Mrs Fawcett, written in Albert’s hand, condemning her for remarrying. In her mother-in-law’s eyes, she was betraying William and committing a sin by taking another man. A respectable widow should never remarry and she disowned Rose for doing so. She and Florrie would have no more to do with her or her family.
Rose crumpled up the note in fury. ‘It’s all right for her!’ she railed at Maggie. ‘She can afford to be a respectable widow with a posh son-in-law to keep her. I’ve got no other choice. If she cared that much about her son’s precious memory, she would have tried to help me out when I needed it. But she’s never stopped punishing me for winning William away from her. When did she ever lift a finger to help her own grandbairns? She washed her hands of us years ago!’
‘Don’t upset yoursel’,’ Maggie comforted. ‘She’s never had a good word to say about us McConnells - why should she start now? It doesn’t matter what she thinks.’
‘But Florrie too?’ Rose said in distress.
‘She’ll just be going along with it to keep the peace,’ Maggie reasoned. ‘It’s her we should be sorry for - having to put up with a mam like that every day.’
Rose’s anger subsided. ‘Aye, you’re right,’ she sighed. ‘I just thought we could have kept friends.’
Maggie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll not be a Fawcett much longer. That’s all in the past, so stop dwelling on it. It’s the McMullens are your family now.’
Rose felt a deep pang of longing for her old life, for the name she had borne so proudly and that still linked her to William. But her sister was right, she had to put all that behind her and make the best of her new life with John. At least his family did not judge her harshly and his mother was as kind and welcoming as could be.
So on the eve of her marriage, Rose plunged her left hand in cold water and rubbed fat around her knuckle to help ease off William’s wedding ring. Unable to part with it completely, she tied it to a piece of string and hung it around her neck, out of sight under her bodice where she could feel it touching her breast close to her heart.
The marriage ceremony was over swiftly, without fuss, but the McMullens were not going to be done out of a celebration. They brought jugs of beer and jars of whisky up to Simonside and danced outside until the stars came out. Rose’s father thought he was back in Ireland, broke into song and then wept like a child. He had no idea whose wedding it was.
‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ Rose tried to coax John away. ‘The lasses are falling asleep.’
‘Aye, in a minute,’ John answered, giving her waist a pinch, then helping himself to one more drink.
Finally the beer ran out and, amid much noise and confusion, a party set off down the hill towards the town, a procession of John’s brothers carrying Rose’s bundles of clothes, bedding and sleepy-eyed children. All except Mary, who had crawled into Maggie’s bed and been found fast asleep.
‘Leave her be,’ Maggie suggested. ‘You can fetch her the morra.’
Rose accepted, not relishing the thought of waking her youngest and provoking a tantrum. They arrived noisily in Albion Street, Rose embarrassed by the loud laughter and ribald jokes of her new brothers-in-law as they pushed an unsteady John through the front door of Number 54. To her dismay, one of them produced a bottle of whisky and the drinking continued in the kitchen, where the fire was still to be laid and lit. The men did not seem to notice.
Rose sent the girls outside to use the privy and went upstairs to lay blankets on the beds. Soon she had the three girls bedded down in their old feather bed, while she made up the narrow brass bed that John had secured from the Kennedys. ‘We’ll have a new one soon,’ he had promised.
‘They’re makin’ too much noise for us to get to sleep,’ Elizabeth fretted.
‘I like to hear voices,’ Kate yawned. ‘It’s homely.’
‘Everything’s covered in black dust, Mam,’ Sarah complained. It was true. Rose had spent hours scrubbing floors and ledges two days ago, but the grime had blown in once more under ill-fitting windows and doors.
‘Hush now,’ Rose bade them. ‘Tomorrow you can help me clean out the house - we’ll have it looking grand in no time.’
There was a loud thud from below followed by cursing and laughter.
‘What’s that, Mam?’ Elizabeth asked, wide-eyed.
‘Just the McMullens carrying on,’ Rose said disapprovingly, then checked herself. It wouldn’t do to be too critical of them now that they were family. She didn’t want to show John in a bad light to her daughters for they were under his authority now. She felt a small prick of misgiving as she added, ‘Everyone’s entitled to a bit of carry-on at a weddin’. It’s tradition.’
Rose didn’t go back downstairs, but made ready for bed. When John failed to appear, she blew out the candle and settled to sleep in the hope that he might have drunk too much to climb the stairs. Let him sleep it off on the large uncomfortable wooden settle that he had won in some wager on his return from India and that had been cluttering up his mother’s house ever since. She did not relish his drunken attentions or whisky-reeking breath tonight, she thought as she drifted into a pleasant state of semi-sleep.
A clatter on the stairs and a thumping on the wall behind her head shook Rose wide awake. It was pitch-black and the voices below had ceased. Feet stumbled outside the bedroom door.
‘Where’ve you gan, lass?’ John shouted. ‘Where y’ hidin’?’
She sat up, alarmed he would wake the children. ‘Hush! I’m in here,’ she answered in a loud whisper.
John laughed and pushed at the handleless door. ‘Are you warming the bed, Mrs McMullen?’ he chuckled.
‘Haway and shut the door,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll wake the neighbours with your shouting.’
‘Bugger the neighbours!’ John cried, and lurched towards the bed. Belching roundly, he plonked himself down and contemplated his feet. ‘Rose, me boots seem a long way off.’
Rose sighed and hauled herself out of bed. ‘Here, let me help you.’
He let her undress him, hiccupping and laughing like a schoolboy when it came to removing his trousers and braces. Lunging at her in the dark, he pulled her to him.
‘Gis a kiss,’ he urged, enveloping her in beery fumes.
Rose wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘You smell like a brewery.’
‘Aye, and taste like one, an’ all,’ he laughed. ‘But then I’ve seen you down a mug of beer like mother’s milk at the mill. So don’t go turning your pretty nose up at me.’
Rose decided it was best to say no more, but lie back and get on with it. She closed her eyes tight shut as John covered her mouth in a slobbery kiss and held herself still as his hands cupped around her breasts and squeezed them hard. His breathing came harder as he kissed his way across her face and licked inside her ear. He whispered things to her that made her hot with embarrassment. Drink had loosened his tongue and bawdy thoughts about her.
‘I’ve waited years for this,’ he rasped, as he tugged at her nightgown and hitched it up around her thighs. ‘You’re mine now, Rose, the way you should’ve been years ago.’
John climbed on top of her and took her swiftly, grunting with pleasure and effort. Rose was reminded of one of her father’s pigs, but tried to rid her mind of the image in case she snorted with laughter. It was over quickly and John collapsed back on the bed with a triumphant sigh. He laid his head on her breast, one arm thrown over her belly.
