For a Mother's Sins (34 page)

‘You never told me!’ Molly was upset at all the news Helen seemed to have been keeping from her.

‘I only got it this morning.’ She quickly changed the subject: ‘I’m going to miss your Lizzie; she’s good with my little ’uns. She’s a good
lass.’

‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to have a rethink about what to do with myself. John says another week and the tunnel will have broken through into Dent, and then he’ll be back down
with me.’ Molly smiled lovingly at the thought of her man coming back to her.

‘See, and then you’ve the wedding to look forward to. That’ll be better than helping me out at this hole. I’m off home. My mother’s still alive and it’ll be
good to go back and let her see her grandchildren.’ Helen yawned, she’d wound down already, just thinking about going home.

‘Where’s that at then, Helen?’ Molly was beginning to realize how little she knew about her friend.

‘I come from Swaledale, a little village called Muker. My mam lives with my brother at a farm called Usher Gap. I’ve thought of nothing else since Henry left and now I want to go
home. It’s the bonniest place you can think of in summer: meadows full of buttercups and the babbling river running down the dale. You’d not wish to be anywhere else.’ Helen
smiled at the memory.

‘Sounds grand. Better than the smoky streets of Bradford where I come from.’ Molly’s memories of Bradford made her cringe. ‘I never want to go back there.’

‘What will you and John do once the line’s finished? Surely you’ll not want to stop around here?’ Helen was worried about where her friend was going to end up.
She’d realized that behind that occasionally caustic tongue there beat a heart of gold.

‘Lizzie wants to stay near here for the sake of her dead brother and dad, and I can’t see John wanting to stray far, now his brother lives up the road and his parents are in the
graveyard. So we have to think of somewhere to live and earn a living after the Midland railway has moved on.’

Helen smiled encouragingly. ‘Something will turn up, I’m sure. John’s a good worker and a fair man. There’s always work in this world if you are prepared to look for
it.’

Molly couldn’t help but notice how her friend had blossomed since Henry’s disappearance. The bruises had gone and the colour had come back to her cheeks, along with a newfound
confidence. It didn’t surprise her that Helen wanted to make a break from a twenty-four-hour job serving ale to navvies.

‘Aye, well, I hope so, because we can’t live off thin air and our Lizzie will have to find a job once the railway moves on, or move on with it.’

Molly bade Helen goodnight and set off home, a frown creasing her brow. After all her efforts, she was back to square one: not enough money coming in and without a friend. Then she reminded
herself that she still had her John and her health, which was lot more than all those poor buggers with smallpox.

The black-capped faces peered through the earth and stone towards Ribblehead.

‘Now then, you bastards, we’ve done it!’ John pulled more soil and earth away so the two tunnelling gangs could see each other properly. They reached across the gap to shake
hands, laughing with delight as the two lengths of the tunnel were finally connected.

‘So that’s what you look like.’ John patted his Dent colleague on the shoulder and lifted the candle to illuminate his face.

‘Aye, lad, here we are – the Dent Head gang to your rescue!’ The man grinned a black-faced smile and punched him on the shoulder. ‘We thought we’d better help you
Ribblehead soft lumps out.’

The two gangs continued exchanging jovial insults for a while, each side claiming the glory for completing the tunnel.

‘It’s whoever lays the last brick that counts, and that’ll be one of my lads.’ John led the Dent gang leader to one of the vents that carried air down into the tunnel.
‘It’s a fair job that we’ve done. Cost a lot of money and a lot of lives, but the worst bit is over now.’ John shook the man’s hand.

‘Aye, that fell they call Rise Hill is going to be nowt compared to this bugger.’

They both walked on, past the gangs of brick-layers and scaffold-builders, congratulating themselves and laughing. Then suddenly, from deep within the bowels of the tunnel, there was a deafening
blast and a huge rush of air filled with debris that almost knocked them off their feet. Grit and dirt filled their lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. They flung themselves to the floor
of the tunnel as dirt and rubble blew over them. The ground under them shook, and the rumbling seemed to go on for ever. John could only lie still, covering his head and praying for it to stop.

Little by little the noise subsided enough for him to hear the coughing and spluttering of tunnel workers. John lifted his head, tried to clear his lungs, and raised himself up to assess the
damage. He turned to the leader of the Dent gang, lying alongside him.

‘Come on, mate, let’s go. There’ll be a lot of casualties after that fall.’

There was no response. John shook the man’s shoulder: still nothing. He pulled on the shoulder, turning him over. It was then that he saw the spike of scaffolding wood that had pierced the
man’s neck. In the dim light of those few oil lamps that had stayed lit, he could see that the man’s clothes were drenched in the blood that had flowed from his wound. He was dead.

John slumped on his knees, overcome with anguish. Only a minute ago they’d been laughing and celebrating, and now one of them was dead. It could so easily have been his body, lying on the
ground. Suddenly the tunnel seemed more like a tomb, its dark walls closing in and what air there was in the chamber so full of dust and debris that he felt he was being smothered. Fear gripped
him. He knew he had to get out of this place. Lungs bursting with the effort, he ran the five hundred yards to the entrance, though it seemed more like five hundred miles between him and the
daylight and the gentle rain.

Rescue teams were rushing into the tunnel to help the dead and the wounded. In their haste, a couple of the rescuers jostled past, bumping shoulders with John and knocking him to the side of the
track. When he finally made it out into the fresh dale air, he collapsed on the ground, gasping to fill his lungs, letting his tears mingle with the raindrops coursing down his face. Never again
would he go into the dark bowels of hell. He was finished in the tunnel.

Hands shaking, he wiped the earth from his face, leaving tear-stained streaks on his cheeks. His legs could barely carry him as he climbed the railway bank to the heather-covered fell. He
stumbled and tumbled the mile back down to Batty Green, ignoring the men who stopped to ask if he was all right and whether he knew who had been caught in the fall. All he wanted was to get to the
safety of Molly’s arms.

‘You’re all right, pet, you’re with me now.’ Molly was on her knees, holding John’s hands while he shook and wept openly.

‘He was dead, Moll. One minute we were having a laugh, and the next thing I knew, he was dead. That’s the second time my number’s almost come up. I can’t face going back
in there again.’

‘You don’t have to, pet. I’d rather have you than the Midland’s blood money.’ Molly stroked his dusty blond hair and cradled him in her arms. ‘Tell that
bloody lot where to put their job. I’m not having another of my men lost for the sake of a bloody railway line.’

‘But we need the money. You can’t do owt without money.’ John wiped his nose and looked up at her. ‘Nay, lass, give me a day or two and I’ll be all right. What
would my mother say if she could see me, bawling like a baby? She’d probably kick my arse good and proper.’

Molly stood back, arms crossed. She’d lived with the fear of what might happen ever since the last time he’d almost been killed. The memory of that day, when she’d wept over a
mangled body, believing it to be his, had never left her. No amount of money was worth going through that.

‘You’ll not be going back, John, not as long as I have breath in my body – and that’s final.’

‘He was nearly killed, Helen. We can’t go on like that – I can’t lose him, I can’t!’ Molly leaned on her broom. She hadn’t wanted to
leave John on his own after what had happened, but he’d insisted that he’d be all right while she went to work. She turned to her friend, who was wiping the tables down.

‘But what else can the pair of you do? There’s no other work to be had around here, lass.’ Helen resumed wiping the table, but then she pulled up suddenly and turned back to
Molly, who was gazing out of the window. ‘I think I must be bloody daft! Why didn’t I think of this before!’ she shrieked.

‘What?’ Molly was looking bewildered, wondering what had got into her.

‘I don’t need to sell the pub – I’ll be all right living back with my mum. So why don’t I rent it to you and John? You know the job, he’s had enough working
on the railway, and it would mean Lizzie would have a job too, when the railway moves on.’ Helen grinned. ‘It’d be perfect for you all!’ She placed her hands on her hips and
waited for Molly to respond.

‘You can’t afford not to sell – and we can’t afford the rent,’ said Molly with a shake of her head.

‘Listen to me, Molly Mason: you’re not to say a word to anyone, but I’m not short of a bob or two. Remember how Henry used to loan the fellas money and charge them interest? He
never spent a penny of that on us – the bugger stashed the whole lot away. I found it in the cellar after he’d gone. There’s more than enough to see me and the kids right. We
won’t be going short, the way we did when Henry was around.’ She walked over to Molly and touched her arm. ‘I owe you more than money can buy for looking after my lass in her last
hours, and for helping me out in my hour of need. If you’re interested in taking the inn on, the first month’s rent is on me – that’ll give you a bit of time to get on your
feet. Why not see what John says? I know the pair of you could run it with one hand tied behind your backs. You’d be doing me a favour, looking after this place . . .’ Her lip trembled
and tears began to flow as she added, ‘And you could do me a favour and put flowers on our Florrie’s grave.’

Molly’s response was another shake of the head. ‘John will not take charity – you’d have to charge us something. And our takings would be lower than yours because I
can’t cook. I do appreciate your offer, Helen, but it just wouldn’t work.’

Helen ignored her. She was too busy working it all out in her head. ‘Just think of the folk that’ll come once the railway’s finished. They’re already taking rides out on
a Sunday to look at the viaduct, and it isn’t even finished. Once my brood’s cleared off, you’ll have rooms to spare – you could let them out.’ Her enthusiasm for the
idea was growing by the minute. At the back of her mind she’d been wondering whether it would be legal for her to sell the pub, seeing as Henry’s name was on the deeds and in the eyes
of the law he was ‘missing’ rather than dead. This way she would still own the pub and get an income from it, plus she’d have the comfort of knowing she could trust her
tenants.

‘I’ll talk to him. But there’s still the problem of the cooking – and that’s what you make your money on.’ Molly was uncertain. She looked around the
bar-room, picturing herself running it. Helen was right, there would be two spare bedrooms once the Parker family left: that at least would be easy money!

‘You’d soon get the hang of it: beef hot-pot, rib of beef with Yorkshire puds, mutton stew – stick to straightforward grub, that’s what people want.’ Helen rattled
off the menu without even thinking about it. ‘And the odd apple pie, if you’ve time.’

‘It might be straightforward to you, but I’ve never cooked for that many people. As for pastry – the stuff I turn out might as well be cardboard. I can’t even do mashed
tatties without grey lumps in.’

‘Think about it,’ Helen said firmly. Then she went about her business, humming under her breath. With a bit of luck, her friend’s life would be a little more settled from
hereon.

‘She offered you what?’ John was struggling to take it all in.

Since she’d left the Welcome Inn, Molly had thought of little else. Why shouldn’t they take the pub on? John could easily help her, a man behind the bar made it seem more
respectable. Ever since Henry had gone missing, folk had commented that it wasn’t the same, even though they had hated his guts when he’d been there.

It would also mean that Lizzie would have a home at last and that would be something to be grateful for.

‘It could be ours, John. Just think, you could be behind your own bar, like your Mike up the road.’

‘Nay, I’ll never be like him! He’s sold his soul to his in-laws. What would my mother say? Two brothers, brought up strict Methodists, and both of us running pubs! She’d
be turning in her grave!’ He couldn’t help laughing at the thought.

‘And Lizzie would have her own bedroom – we’d have a proper roof over our heads, solid brick walls instead of a flimsy shanty. There’s even a couple of spare rooms that
we could rent out.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘There’s only one problem. I’m not the best of cooks and the food is where Helen makes her money, especially since the tokens
came in. Folk aren’t drinking like they used to.’

But Molly’s excitement was soon bubbling to the surface again as she tried to imagine all their knick-knacks placed around the rooms, John pulling pints behind the bar . . . She’d
manage the cooking somehow.

‘Aye, well, there are some good things about it,’ said John, nodding. ‘It would get me away from the railway, for a start. Then there’s the stables behind the pub: we
could charge for stabling horses. I don’t know why the Parkers never did that. He was an idle bugger, that Henry – made more money through threats than work. Let me sleep on it, lass.
I’ll let you know in the morning.’ He rubbed his head, it was a lot to think about, and his mind was still all over the place with memories of the tunnel collapse flooding his thoughts.
He didn’t know how many of his workmates had made it out alive. The rescue effort was still ongoing. Some of those who had been brought out were in a bad way and seemed unlikely to
survive.

‘And where will you be in the morning?’ Molly coyly enquired.