No Greater Love (13 page)

George stopped, wondering where he’d got the courage to speak up against the opinionated Beaton women. He was not used to arguing with women, nor had he ever expressed such support for the women’s cause before. He wondered briefly at his motives for doing so, but the look of surprise and admiration on Maggie’s face made it worthwhile.

‘You see,’ Maggie said quickly, swallowing her shock at George’s support, ‘not all men are against us. Many are coming round to the opinion that we’re right, that we must have justice for all.’

‘Well, I must say!’ Mabel blustered. ‘I didn’t know you were one of them, George Gordon, or I would have thought twice about letting you through our door.’

‘And I think it’s a downright disgrace, encouraging our lass,
^’
Susan said with disapproval, removing his cup swiftly.

George decided it was time to leave. ‘Thank you for the tea, Susan,’ he said, picking up his cap from the table. ‘Mrs Beaton.’ He nodded at Maggie’s mother and grandmother, noting how the elderly Scotswoman gave a faint smile of amusement as she answered his goodbye.

‘I’ll see you out,’ Maggie said, coming round the table quickly.

In the semi-privacy of the landing, she put out a hand and touched George on the sleeve.

‘You could have knocked me down with a feather!’ she laughed. ‘But ta very much, all the same.’

‘Surprised myself,’ he grinned back.

Maggie suppressed another laugh. ‘I’ll have you at one of our rallies yet.’

George took her hand briefly. ‘I didn’t say I was that won over, Maggie Beaton,’ he grunted. After a moment’s hesitation, he added, ‘But I’d be pleased if I could see you again.’

Maggie’s amazement was tinged with a shiver of pleasure at the thought. She could hardly believe that the man she had so recently been at loggerheads with wanted to see her again. Was George Gordon asking to court her? Maggie wondered suspiciously. She had never had the slightest interest in being courted by the lads she knew at work or at church and had always dismissed any tentative overtures. She had determined long ago that courting would only interfere with her work for the movement. She was still hesitant about letting any man come close to her, even though George Gordon had shown himself sympathetic to the cause.

‘Maybes,’ Maggie answered cautiously. ‘I’ve that many meetings, mind, and meetings come first.’

George gave a short laugh and dropped her hand. ‘Maggie Beaton, you’re a strange lass.’

He fixed his cap over his cropped hair and said goodnight. As he descended the stairs into the gloom, Maggie felt suddenly deflated.

‘Maggie, come in now!’ her mother shouted fretfully from the kitchen.

‘George,’ Maggie called after him impulsively. The tall blacksmith stopped and turned, his strong, lively face accentuated by the thick moustache. All she could think of to say was, ‘Thanks for the oranges.’

He nodded and waved and was gone into the street.

Returning to the flat, she faced a barrage of critical comments.

‘Well, I’ve said it before, I always thought the Gordons were a wild lot,’ Mabel panted and reached for the glass of beer Susan had fetched from the pantry. ‘I can see that George hasn’t changed - agreeing with lawbreaking and violence, indeed!’

‘Aye,’ Susan said. ‘It makes you wonder what he was doing among the drunks on Saturday night, doesn’t it?’

‘Mind, they always had a reputation for being unruly, having no mother around,’ Mabel added, smacking her lips on the beer. ‘And old Gordon’s as rough as they come.’

‘Aye,’ Susan agreed. ‘Irene Gordon’s got her hands full looking after that lot.’

Maggie confronted them. ‘Hypocrites! You were both nice as ninepence to George Gordon until he stood up for me just now.’

‘Hark at you!’ Susan retaliated ‘You’re the one who wanted nothing to do with him until he came out with that fancy speech.’

‘Well, I was wrong about him,’ Maggie admitted. ‘He saved me from a bad beating and I’m grateful to him.’

Her mother slurped her beer, suddenly tired of argument. ‘He’s gone now and that’s an end to the trouble. We’ll talk no more about what happened on Saturday, do you hear?’

But the dismissive words only served to goad her second daughter. Maggie’s irritation erupted at being continually put down by her mother and elder sister. ‘He may be gone now,’ she told them, ‘but you’ll have to get used to seeing George Gordon around this house.’

Her mother spluttered over her drink and Susan asked sharply, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Me and George Gordon are courting,’ she announced.

As soon as the words were out, she wished they had not been uttered, but she had been provoked beyond endurance.

They all stared at one another, and Maggie wondered which of the three of them was most shocked.

Then Granny Beaton broke the tense silence. ‘Gordon. Aye, it’s a good Scots name. And George seems worthy of it - a nice laddie.’

Maggie looked gratefully at her kind grandmother and smiled with relief.

For nearly a week, Maggie did nothing, hoping that George would call on her. She felt her family watching and waiting to see if her threat about courting the blacksmith was true. On Wednesday she caught her mother and Susan speculating about it on the back stairs in the sunshine when she came in from work. All week, Helen delighted in dropping sceptical remarks about his lack of appearance and by Friday even Jimmy was asking when George was going to call.

‘None of your business, Tich,’ Maggie told him testily and strode off to work wondering what she was going to do about the mess she had created.

During the half-hour break at midday, Maggie slipped out of the office, saying she had an errand to run. Emerging from the workshop shed, she picked her way over the rail tracks and out of the gates. The forest of scaffolding that marked out Pearson’s shipyard was a good quarter of a mile away and she knew she would have to hurry to get there and back within her short dinner break.

The early summer sun was surprisingly warm and beat down on her dark hat and clothing, increasing her discomfort as she set a brisk pace. There were no trees to offer shade along the bare brick streets and as the yard gates came in sight, Maggie’s apprehension grew. She had not been down to the yard since her father had died, though as a girl she had often stood at the gates after school, waiting for his release. What would she do once she got there? She had no idea which of the many vast sheds housed the forge or whether she would be allowed to leave a message for George Gordon.

Her courage failed her. What on earth was she doing chasing after a man anyway? She would rather go home and face her family with the admission that she had made up her story of courting George Gordon in a fit of temper. She would take their teasing, Maggie resolved, turning back, it would be better than making a fool of herself in front of the shipyard workers.

But when Eve Tindall suggested a walk through the park after work, Maggie agreed quickly, keen to delay her return home.

‘Mr Tindall can wait another ten minutes for his tea,’ Eve told her, sitting down on a bench and patting the wooden slats beside her.

Maggie needed no persuasion to linger in Daniel Park and watch the children playing with their hoops and tops. A game of quoits was going on in the distance and the trees were bursting into a lustrous green. Maggie breathed in the fresh air, thankful to be away from the dust and noise of the workplace.

‘So, what’s troubling thee?’ Eve finally asked her, perched on the bench. Maggie stalled by handing over her untouched dinner to the barefoot children who hovered around them.

‘Ta, missus!’ they cried and ran off with the stale bread and cheese.

‘Nothing’s troubling,’ Maggie answered.

‘Tut! Auntie Eve can tell when something’s bothering you, so spill the beans.’

Maggie laughed and allowed herself to be coaxed into telling the story of George Gordon’s rescue of her and his subsequent visit.

‘But I’ve decided it’s not worth the bother,’ Maggie concluded. ‘I’ll just swallow my pride and admit I’m not courting.’

‘Nonsense!’ Eve answered roundly. ‘Sounds to me like this Gordon lad is worth going after.’

‘I’m not going after any lad!’ Maggie said.

‘Don’t be so stubborn. It’s time you had a bit o’ fun in your life, Maggie. You’re too serious by half. But I know there’s a spark of devilment in your nature; I’ve seen it now and then. You go and find George Gordon. I doubt he needs much encouragement.’

‘And then what do I do?’ Maggie laughed. ‘Take him to a branch meeting?’

‘Course not! Ask him back for tea like any normal lass would.’

‘Into the lion’s den, you mean?’

‘Well, if he survives an evening with your family, nowt will put him off.’ Eve gave Maggie’s arm a squeeze.

‘How do I find him?’ Maggie asked. ‘I’ll not go hunting for him among the pit cottages up Benwell.’

‘You said he’s a rower,’ Eve pointed out. ‘Well, go to the club and see him there. Now I must be off and get the tea on.’

Maggie wrestled with the idea all the way home. Only when she turned into the lane and spotted Jimmy kicking stones around in boredom did she decide what to do.

‘Want to earn a tanner, Tich?’ she asked her skinny brother. He nodded eagerly as she knew he would. All his life, Jimmy had run errands for them and been at his sisters’ beck and call. It never seemed to occur to him to say no, or perhaps he knew his life would not be worth living if he did. It was hard to think of him as fifteen when he looked no more than twelve and still wore short trousers. His mother had promised him long breeches as soon as he found a full-time job and stopped playing around the streets with the younger boys. But Jimmy seemed content to sell the odd bundle of firewood and fritter away the rest of the day acting cowboys and Indians with Tommy Smith or sneaking into the picture halls for free.

‘Come with me after tea to Pearson’s rowing club,’ Maggie told him.

Jimmy agreed eagerly. ‘Can Tommy come an’ all?’

Maggie hesitated. Her brother might be more likely to carry out her plan if his thirteen-year-old friend were there to back him up. ‘Aye, if he wants to - but not a word about this to anyone. Tell Tommy to keep his gob shut and I’ll give him summat too.
^’

Maggie tried to ignore the excited look on her brother’s face all through tea, sure that Susan would notice and ask the reason.

‘Where you going?’ Mabel demanded later as Maggie made for the door with her hat on.

‘Me and Tich are going down the riverside to look for firewood,’ she answered casually. ‘It’s too nice to stop indoors all evening.’

Her mother looked at Jimmy and he smiled back innocently.

‘Be back before it’s dark, mind,’ Mabel instructed and waved them away.

Jimmy and Tommy hurried beside Maggie, attempting to keep up with her brisk pace.

‘Can we go on the tram, Maggie?’ Jimmy asked.

‘Not if you want paying.’

‘What are we going to do at the rowing club?’ Tommy questioned, excited to be out of his mother’s way for the evening. Maggie knew her mother would use the opportunity of Mrs Smith being on her own to go downstairs for a jar with her.

‘You’re going to look for firewood,’ Maggie told them.

‘But that’s what you told Mam we were going to do,’ Jimmy said in disappointment. ‘I thought it was some secret mission for your women’s thing - spying or getting a message to someone. It must be summat like that, our Maggie?’ He had always admired his rebellious sister for standing up to the family and showing the courage he lacked. Their bullying mother never got the better of Maggie, Jimmy thought, and he would do anything his sister asked of him.

Maggie smiled at her brother’s imagination. Well, if that would make the expedition more enjoyable for him, she would play along.

‘It is,’ she whispered, ‘a very special mission. That’s why I could trust only you and Tommy.’

‘Eeh, will we get into real bother with Mam if she finds out?’ Jimmy gasped.

Maggie groaned inwardly to think Jimmy might run off home for fear of their mother.

‘She’s not going to find out unless you tell her,’ Maggie answered severely, ‘so you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.’

He still looked at her dubiously. ‘Not even our Susan?’

‘Especially not Susan,’ Maggie said sternly. ‘Listen, Tich, others are depending on you and Tommy - you’re my cover, so that no one gets suspicious. But if you’re too scared…’

‘Course we’re not,’ Jimmy answered indignantly. ‘We’ll do owt you ask us, eh, Tommy?’

‘Why-aye!’ Tommy agreed and began to whoop with excitement while Jimmy spun imaginary pistols in the air.

‘Tell us what it’s for,’ Jimmy pressed. ‘Are you going to blow up the rowing club?’

‘No!’ Maggie cried.

‘Sink one of Pearson’s boats?’ Tommy asked eagerly.

‘No. Now stop making wild guesses,’ Maggie said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘You have to go and find George Gordon,’ she added quickly, ‘and tell him I have a message.’

‘George Gordon?’ Jimmy repeated in surprise. ‘Is he mixed up in this too? So Mam was right in saying he’s a dangerous radical.’

‘Enough said.’ Maggie brought a stop to speculation before Jimmy’s imagination ran riot. She made them talk of other things until they reached the bank of the Tyne near Scotswood, by which time her heart was hammering. She scribbled a message on the back of a suffragette leaflet, folded it and handed it over to Jimmy.

At first they could find no one down at Pearson’s landing, then Jimmy spotted a boat approaching, its oars dipping and splashing rhythmically in the iridescent water. Maggie recognised George’s bulky arms before she saw his face. She quelled her impulse to run away and sent the boys down to meet the crew.

‘That’s him with the black moustache,’ Maggie told her brother. ‘Ask him to come up and meet me at the tram standard. When you’ve given him the message, go and look for driftwood until I fetch you.’

‘This isn’t just a love note, is it?’ Jimmy asked, suddenly suspicious. He held the folded leaflet between two fingers as if it might be contaminated.

‘Course not,’ Maggie answered with a blush.