case. Freedom waited, leaning back, and through half-closed eyes he studied Sir Charles, as if willing him to sleep. The pen scratched on the paper, dipped in the inkwell … then the case was set aside and Sir Charles’ eyes slowly drooped, his head lolled on his chest.
The moment he was asleep Freedom rose like a cat, stealthily slid the door back, and went silently out into the corridor. He made his way down the train, from compartment to compartment, until he reached the third-class section, searching for Evelyne.
Ed Meadows looked up as the door slid open and Freedom bent his head to enter. ‘Hello, son, how’s the toffs’ section, then? Sit down, sit down, soon be time to take down the picnic hamper.’
Freedom looked at the sleeping Dewhurst, then Miss Freda. He remained standing.
‘Sit down, lad, you’ll get a crick in the neck.’
‘I was wanting to pay my respects to Miss Evelyne, sir.’
‘None of your “sirs”, name’s Ed … Is she not wiv you?’
Miss Freda looked concerned. ‘We thought she was with you … Ed, you said she was on the train, is she not with Sir Charles?’
Ed went red, rubbed his balding head. ‘I went to her rooms, like, an’ she’d gone. I thought she was wiv you, ain’t she wiv you? Hey, where you goin’? Just a minute …’
Freedom strode to the rear end of the compartments, opened the door.
‘She won’t be back there, lad, that’s the luggage … Freedom?’
Ed stood up, then fell backwards as the train lurched. Miss Freda caught his arm. ‘Oh, Ed, Ed, I feel terrible, I should have gone to her.’
Ed released her hand, about to follow Freedom, then turned. ‘You don’t fink ‘e’ll get off, do you? He wouldn’t, would ‘el’
The train gathered speed, and Ed hung on to the strap above his head. ‘He couldn’t, could he? Freda, what do you fink?’
Miss Freda felt wretched, but she shook her head. The train thundered into a tunnel, and Ed felt his way along the corridor in the darkness, banging against the sides. He kept telling himself the lad was just looking for Evelyne, but his heart was pounding. God, he wouldn’t run away, would he?
As the train sped out of the long tunnel into the light of day, Ed sighed with relief. He could see Freedom, way up ahead of him. He called out, but the noise of the train drowned his words. He ran on, bumping into the luggage piled high on both sides of the compartment. Freedom shouted back to him, ‘She’s not on the train!’
He was pulling at the stiff white collar and tie, courtesy of Sir Charles. In a panic, Ed reeled from side to side of the train, grabbing at the straps. ‘Now, don’t go doing anything silly, son, we can contact her when the train stops.’
Freedom slid open the big loading door in the side of the compartment, and Ed screamed at the top of his voice.
‘Don’t! Don’t, for God’s sake!’
Desperately, Ed ran to catch Freedom as he stood poised at the open door, but he was still just out of reach when the train lurched and Ed had to hang on again. He could see the ground flashing past, and then Freedom jumped. Ed clung on for dear life to the side of the door, the wind whipping his cheeks, his jacket billowing out. He saw Freedom land, roll away from the wheels of the train, and in seconds he was on his feet running like a wild stallion. Trailing from the door where it had caught was Freedom’s tie.
‘Dear God, Freda, ‘e’s jumped the train, what the hell are we goin’ ter do?’ But there was nothing they could do, and Ed slumped down into his seat. He was beside himself. ‘I’ll get a bollockin’ for this, mark my words, ‘is Lordship’ll blame this on me. Gawd almighty, the bloody fool, what he go an’ do a fing like that for? What are we goin’ ter do? He’s just thrown away the chance of a lifetime … Gawd almighty, that’s me out of a job, us out of a place ter stay … Bloody hell, what a mess.’
‘He will have gone to Evelyne, she’ll make him see sense, you will see, Ed, he signed the contract, didn’t he?’
‘He’s a gyppo, Freda, nobody ever knows what those buggers’re thinking. We should ‘ave tied ‘im up, that contract don’t mean nuffink to them … it don’t mean nuffink … Oh, Freda, we just lost a champion, me ‘eart’s breakin’ … he’s gone, he’s gone.’
Dewhurst slipped his bookmark into the pages of Crime and Punishment. ‘I think I’d better go and tell Sir Charles, he may want me to pull the communication cord.’
Near tears, Ed watched Dewhurst bounce his way down the corridor. He gripped Miss Freda’s hand. ‘You watch Sir Charles get the law on ‘im, they’ll ‘ave ‘im back in a cell, the bloody fool.’
From the opposite side of Aldergrove Road, Evelyne could see her house, the lines of washing billowing in the breeze. Two children sat playing on the doorstep. She turned, head bowed, to walk up the cobbled street towards the mountain. She had to pause, leaning against a wall to rest and give herself strength to continue. Looming high above her, high above the village, the mountain rose as if fighting through the thick mist of black coal dust.
Her feet echoing on the cobbles caused a few curtains to nutter, and someone whispered, ‘Evelyne Jones is back’. She hurried on, passing Doris Evans’ house. Lizzie-Ann was just opening her bedroom curtains, and almost called out, but she clamped her hand across her mouth. ‘Oh God, please don’t say she wants her house …’
But the hunched figure kept on walking, looking neither to right nor left.
‘She’s going up to the grave,’ Mrs Pugh murmured as she peered from behind her back-yard wall. All around were the sounds of the village waking, preparing for the morning shift, buckets clanking, clogs clattering. The mine spewed forth its blackened men, doors opened and slammed closed as the miners set off for their day’s work. Like a shadow, Evelyne quickened her pace towards the grassy slopes, as if the clean air drew her.
‘Hurry, Evie, it’s bath time, come on, gel, get the water on.’
The church organist began his morning practice, squeezing out ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ from the old organ. Threading her way through the soot-stained tombs, she began to run. The grass, fresh with dew, glistened, the water drops holding small speckles of coal dust like black tears. Hugh Jones, Mary Jones, the stillborn baby, little Davey, all lay together in the shadow of the mountain. Will, Mike and Dicken, all gone. The grave, so tiny, so cold and grey. There was nothing for her to embrace, nothing tangible for her to hold and feel. Drained of all emotion, she stood staring at the names of her beloved family. Nothing to embrace. High on the mountain peak the sun broke, piercing the grey like a shaft of gold. Evelyne looked up and, hardly aware of what she was doing, began to run, higher, higher. She scrambled over bracken, stumbling, falling, but pushing herself on, upwards, higher, to the clean air, to the sun.
Freedom knew she would make for home. He had no thought for himself. He hitched a ride, then, to the consternation of the driver, jumped from the moving car. He ran the five miles down to the village, along the small, winding footpath, keeping up the steady, strong pace until his lungs were bursting. He saw the village below, pushed himself on. At the far end of the valley the mountain rose.
The streets were thronging with miners. Freedom was no fool; he knew what would happen if any of them caught him. He kept to the back lanes, his jacket collar turned up, his breath catching in his throat. He reached the corner of Aldergrove Road and saw a woman with three children slam the front door. Had he got confused? Was it the wrong street? He felt a tug at his sleeve and spun around.
Lizzie-Ann hugged her worn cardigan to her and stared up into his face. Her voice was strained, hoarse, ‘She’s gone up the mountain, gone crazy like her Ma.’ Backing away, she took a sly look over her shoulder, afraid to be seen talking to the gyppo. She was frightened of him.
‘There’s nothing here for her, nobody wants her back.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Freedom gave her a small nod of thanks, but she turned on her heel and scuttled away before he could say a word.
Gladys Turtle was out of breath when she caught Lizzie-Ann at the water taps. ‘They say she’s back, Evie Jones, is that right?’ she gasped. ‘Have you seen her? And the gyppo? Well?’
‘By Christ, yer a moaning Minnie, Gladys Turtle, if I hadn’t two kids an’ another on the way I’d be off, now bugger off” and mind yer own business.’ Lizzie-Ann watched as the water spurting from the tap overflowed the bucket, ran over her worn, down-at-heel shoes, and trickled away down the cobbles. She whispered a prayer. ‘Don’t come back, Evie, please, oh, please …’
Although near exhaustion, Evelyne was still climbing, but now she gasped clean air into her lungs, heaving
