Authors: Tania Anne Crosse
He pulled on his coat and went back outside, a ferocious gust of air wrenching the door-handle from his grip and all but taking the door off its hinges. Ling hardly noticed as she chewed on her fingernail. Barney was right. And though it tore at her heart to do so, she would put the plan into action that very day.
Afternoon school was due to start shortly, so she would have to catch Mr Warren before he, too, went back to work. The quarry manager looked surprised, but he quickly wrote a note recommending Fanny’s case to the workhouse before leaving for the quarry, holding his bowler hat on his head to stop it blowing away. Ling hurried back to the schoolroom, ringing the bell loudly so that children scuttled forth from the cottages, glad to huddle together in the small building. But the wind was moaning menacingly about the solid stone walls, and every pair of eyes glanced upwards as a slate was lifted and slithered noisily down the roof to smash on the ground below. No one could concentrate, let alone Ling herself, who could only think of Fanny and the daunting prospect of leaving her at the workhouse door.
They hadn’t long been back in the classroom before Ling clapped her hands. ‘I think you’d best all go home with this weather,’ she announced to the delighted children. ‘Class dismissed.’
The room emptied in a noisy clatter. Ling would have liked a few silent moments alone to reflect on what she was about to do, but the angry weather put paid to that. So, with a determined sigh, she shut up the schoolroom and hastened back home. Fanny was sipping a cup of tea, and Ling’s heart clenched at what she felt was a betrayal of her sister’s trust.
‘Fanny, get your coat, dear. We’re going into Tavistock.’
Fanny’s blue eyes opened wide. ‘Tavistock?’
‘Yes. We’re going on an adventure.’ Ling smiled back, cringing at the falsehood. ‘We’ll get the afternoon train.’ She was about to add that there would be just enough time to do their business and catch the last train back up to Princetown, but she bit her tongue, for though
she
would be travelling home, Fanny wouldn’t. And while the heavily pregnant girl went in search of the worn coat that bulged open across her stomach, Ling wrote a message for Barney to meet her at the station as she didn’t relish the prospect of walking back across the moor alone in what promised to be a wild night. At least her husband’s literacy skills were up to reading the brief note, she mused ruefully as she placed it in a prominent position on the table.
Fanny stood before her, expectancy lighting her small face, and Ling all but changed her mind as she tied Fanny’s scarf over her battered felt hat. Fanny remained still, like a child gazing up at its mother. A lump swelled in Ling’s throat and she forced it down as she prepared herself for the journey.
Outside, the force of the north-easterly nearly had them off their feet as it funnelled down the narrow path between the two stone walls. Fanny giggled aloud, but Ling set her jaw grimly. She wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but it was now or never. Another week, another few days even, might be too late.
They struggled past the quarries to the railway line, Fanny’s cheeks glowing at what she considered to be tremendous fun while Ling forced a smile to her lips. Then they turned into the wind and it took their breath away. They instinctively leaned forward into this powerful, living being that wanted to play with them like a wilful child tossing about its toys.
Fanny was still laughing, the burden of the unborn infant seemingly not hindering her enjoyment of what she saw as a game. But Ling’s eye was on the low, ominous sky, its slate-grey clouds tainted with jaundiced whorls that raced furiously overhead. The wind was gaining even more strength, tearing at their clothes as they made slow progress towards the station.
Snow began then, falling as tiny pinpricks that swirled about in agitated flurries but thankfully dissolved on the ground. Ling frowned. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but she needed to have Fanny safely in the workhouse as soon as possible. If only she had spoken to Barney earlier. She agreed with him that the Institution was the best solution, but it had never entered her head before. She silently cursed herself, for she knew, at the back of her mind, that she had been putting off the conversation, and as a result she now found herself struggling across the moor in a gale with her little sister, close to her time, beside her.
Fanny had become quiet. Fighting against the ferocious wind that moaned uncannily across the open wilderness had soon lost its appeal. Should they turn back? But they were half way there now, and, while the snowflakes were melting on the earth, it made sense to press on.
Ten minutes later, Ling wasn’t so sure. The snow was coming down more heavily, spiralling in twisting whirlwinds and settling on the rough grass beside the path. A sudden blast threw Ling sideways and she put out her hands to break her fall. And as she went down she saw Fanny thump down hard on her bottom.
Pain seared through Ling’s wrist, but her thoughts instantly turned back to Fanny, fear churning in the pit of her belly. To her relief, Fanny appeared none the worse, though she glared at Ling as if the storm was all her fault.
‘I wants to go home,’ she shouted, pouting fiercely and raising her voice to make herself heard above the screaming wind.
Ling shifted herself on the ground. She didn’t want Fanny to realize that she herself was worried. ‘But we’re nearly there, and then we’ll be on the train and down in Tavistock before you know it,’ she cried, forcing an enthusiastic grin. ‘And look how pretty the snow is on the moor. Come along now, Fanny, for
my
sake.’
Fanny reluctantly hauled herself to her feet but staggered backwards as she was caught by another forceful gust. Ling gritted her teeth. Whatever happened, it would surely be better to reach the safety of the station than to tramp back across the moor. The buildings of the yard would have been in sight had the snow not been descending even more thickly, filling the air with feather-light, powdery flakes that were nonetheless driving into their faces like icy needles. It was becoming a nightmare as they stumbled onwards against what was now a raging storm. Ling’s wrist was aching mercilessly but she hardly noticed it, so great was her anxiety to reach shelter. The snow was blinding, and she heard rather than saw the huge engine rumble its deafening way past them as it clattered along the home-run to the station, and yet its thunderous roar was muffled by the shriek of the gale.
‘Come on, Fanny! We must hurry or we’ll miss the train!’
They tried to walk faster but it was impossible as the battle drained their strength. The snow was an inch deep on the path now, and Ling could feel tears of desperation pricking her eyes. When the train rattled past them again on its descent she could have wept. But no matter. The most important thing in her head was to get Fanny into the ladies’ waiting room, and then she could think what to do next.
The relief was overwhelming when, ten minutes later, they found Mr Higman the stationmaster in his tiny office, huddled by the equally tiny stove. The man was astounded when he glanced up at the tap on his window and he took in the two bedraggled figures, hats awry and so covered in white that they were scarcely recognizable.
‘Good Lord! ’Tis Ling and young Fanny, if I’m not mistaken. You’ve missed the train, I’m afeared, if ’tis what you was arter. Now you goes straight along to the waiting room and I’ll be there in a minute.’
Those last few steps along the platform where the scornful wind was already driving the powdery snow into little drifts seemed interminable. Ling turned the brass handle of the waiting-room door, forgetting her damaged wrist in her desperation to escape the storm. The heavy door was at once wrenched from her hold, swinging back with a crash, and the agony shot up her arm again like fire. The pain transfixed her for a moment, and so it was Fanny who sprang inside first. Ling stumbled across the threshold after her, and, between them, they managed to heave the door closed.
For several seconds, they simply stood and stared at each other. The deafening roar of the wind was slightly muffled, but still it licked, outraged, around the walls of the small building, seeking a way in to get at its prey. How safe were they even now? Ling pressed her apprehension to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do to let Fanny see she was still worried. But at that moment, the door flew open again and Mr Higman hurriedly stepped inside.
‘What be you two doing out this weather then?’ he asked, poking the small fire in the grate. ‘Been slates coming off roofs and sheets o’ corrugated iron thrown about like feathers. Wouldn’t surprise me if trees and telegraph poles doesn’t come down. ’Tis proper dangerous to be abroad, so it took us right by surprise to see you.’
‘I’d never have set out if I’d realized,’ Ling told him. ‘We’d planned on going into Tavistock and . . . and being back on the last train,’ she faltered, not mentioning in front of Fanny that she would have been returning alone. ‘But now we’ve missed the train I don’t know what to do.’
Mr Higman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, seems to me you’m stuck in this yere waiting room. Unless you takes the mail train. Goes at six thirty-five, but I’s sure you knows that. There’ll be one carriage. Get down off the moor, and you’ll be safely out of the storm.’
Ling glanced across at Fanny. Would that be best for her? If they went into Tavistock, it would be too late to apply officially, but perhaps, armed with the letter from Mr Warren and on such a night as this, the workhouse wouldn’t leave a heavily pregnant young girl on the doorstep. Ling wouldn’t be able to get back, of course, but maybe she could seek refuge with Mrs Penrith. She was sure the good lady would understand.
She drew Mr Higman aside. ‘A return ticket for me then,’ she whispered, pressing the coins into his hand. ‘And a single for Fanny. I’m taking her to the workhouse infirmary to have the baby, only I haven’t told her yet.’
‘Ah –’ the older man nodded – ‘I understand. I won’t let on, I promise.’ And, with that, he battled back outside.
The door slammed shut behind him, taken by the wind, and uneasiness churned in Ling’s belly again. Fanny had settled herself on the bench next to the fire, and Ling sat down beside her with a nervous smile. Fanny didn’t appear to have fathomed that once they arrived in Tavistock they would be stranded, and Ling prayed it wouldn’t dawn on her. The storm still raged fiendishly about them, showing no sign of abating. The wind wailed around the building, making the window panes rattle in their wooden frames, and Ling was convinced the canopy over the platform would be lifted clean away. The howl of the gale was punctuated with ominous crashes as God alone knew what was happening outside. Ling sat rigid, her eyes riveted on the snow that was blowing in under the door.
She suddenly realized that the sound her ears had begun to concentrate on was not the storm trying desperately to get inside, but a person! She sprang up, her throbbing wrist reminding her to use her other hand this time, and helped whoever it was to open the door. She was met by the back of a short, plump woman struggling courageously to close down her umbrella, which had turned completely inside-out, but it was suddenly whipped from her grasp and taken off into the darkness. The woman let out a cry and stamped her foot in anger, but, obviously realizing there was nothing she could do, she bustled her way inside.
‘That were my best umbrella,’ she grumbled. ‘Only brought it cuz I were visiting my sister, and now ’tis gone. Well, I never did see such a night as this. But the train’s running, so perhaps we should be grateful for small mercies.’
Ling instantly felt encouraged by the lively little woman’s company. She saw her sharp eyes take in Fanny’s obvious condition, but she read no disapprobation in them, and soon they fell into an animated conversation on the subject of the atrocious weather. The worst the woman had ever seen in her entire life, she declared triumphantly. She introduced herself as Mary Huggins,and then proceeded to chat away nineteen to the dozen. It felt to Ling that, in Mary’s company, the time passed more quickly, and it didn’t seem long before the deep rumble of the engine, vying to be heard above the storm, announced the arrival of the final train to Yelverton.
They ventured out into a different world. It was fully dark, and yet the whiteness of the snow that had been falling thick and fast all the while lent a strange luminosity to the murky night. The snow was still coming down in powder rather than flakes, illuminated eerily in the glow from the station lamps, and chasing round in mindless swirls and eddies. Here the platform was merely dusted in white specks, while there a white mountain had piled up against the wall. Under the canopy sheltered Mr Higman and a handful of other passengers courageous – or foolhardy – enough to brave the storm. They resembled human snowmen, so peppered were they with thick white dust, and the blizzard was driving so fiercely beyond the end of the platform that the air was nothing but a white curtain.
‘I know you’s only got third class tickets,’ Mr Higman shouted in Ling’s ear, ‘but I wants you in second class with these other folk. Don’t want you in a compartment on your own in this weather. If anyone asks, you just say Stationmaster Higman said so.’
Ling nodded her thanks and waited, snow lashing painfully into her face, while a middle-aged couple and then Mrs Huggins clambered up into the train. Ling and Fanny joined them inside while the wind whistled about the carriage, seeking out every nook and cranny and bringing a deposit of white powder with it. Edward Worth, the mail-boy, was there to accompany the five mailbags, and the remainder of the party was made up of three young men, one of whom by his uniform was an army private, probably to do with the prison, Ling assumed. Another was dressed like a gentleman, although, with the collar of his snow-encrusted coat turned up against the wind and his hat rammed down low on his head, his face was all but obscured.
‘Good luck!’ Mr Higman called. ‘And God speed,’ he added anxiously, although no one heard since his voice was carried away by the storm.
‘Oh, my word, I be that glad to get on this yere train,’ Mrs Huggins declared, and young Edward announced proudly that it was his duty to stay with his mailbags no matter what. His face was flushed with excitement at the adventure the blizzard was presenting, and when the train jerked and began to inch forward Ling at last began to feel safe.