Netherwood by Jane Sanderson Page A

’e’s ’alf starved wi’ cold,’ said Arthur. ‘Not that it’s any o’ your business. Now sling yer ’ook.’
    The door slammed shut, and Eve stood to pour tea for her husband and son. Arthur sat in the chair she’d vacated and got straight to the point.
    ‘Now then, Reverend, what’s your business?’

Chapter 12

    A rthur Williams had lost his wool scarf. It usually hung with his hat and his coat on the pegs at the foot of the stairs, but this morning it wasn’t there and the search for the scarf was now in its seventh minute. It really didn’t matter that much, thought Eve. A man wouldn’t perish without a scarf, just the once. At this rate he would be late for work, and that was unthinkable.
    ‘Go without it,’ Eve said. She had stopped looking anyway. It seemed to her that if an object didn’t present itself within the first few moments of a search, it should be left to turn up when it was ready. There was enough to be done in the day without finding extra work.
    ‘One o’ them bairns must ’ave ’ad it,’ Arthur said.
    ‘Aye, well, that’s as may be,’ Eve said, by which she meant that it wouldn’t serve her purposes to have them woken before it was necessary.
    There was still a great deal unsaid between Arthur and Eve since Reverend Farrimond had taken his leave on Saturday evening; somehow, in the hours between then and now, the opportunity to properly discuss what had been proposed and agreed to had eluded them. And now Monday morning hadcome round again in its inexorable fashion and Arthur, scarf-less, was about to leave the house.
    On the threshold of the back door, he turned to his wife.
    ‘It’ll just be temp’ry,’ he said.
    ‘I know it will,’ said Eve.
    ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ta’ra then,’ but he still looked unsettled and stood, on the brink of departure, unable to leave. Eve saw Seth in his hesitancy and she took pity.
    ‘Wait,’ she said, and she walked across the kitchen, took his familiar, beloved face between her hands and planted a warm kiss on his mouth.
    ‘You’re a good man, Arthur Williams,’ she said.
    He smiled at her, a little bashful now, and opened his mouth to say something, but outside in Beaumont Lane Lew gave a shrill whistle, so Arthur turned and left the kitchen, closing the door softly behind him.

    Reverend Farrimond’s request had not been for food, or clothing, or any of the charitable schemes Eve had had in mind. What the minister had asked was for Arthur and Eve to take in a family from Grangely. A particular family, and a very small one, but one in the direst need. The husband, a hard-working, god-fearing man, had died on the day after they were evicted. He had been desperately ill for weeks, said the minister, and the upheaval of being carried out of his bed and into the cold had proved fatal. He had died on a makeshift mattress of straw in the crowded tent that, for the foreseeable future, was to be his home. His young wife and baby were now utterly helpless. Even if the strike ended – which everyone suspected it would – and the miners and their families were allowed back into their former homes, the widow and child were no longer the responsibility of the Grangely Main CollieryCompany. She was twenty-two, said the minister. The baby, a girl, was six months old. Could Arthur and Eve have them, just for a few weeks? It was a great deal to ask, he knew, but other people had taken in the needy and Eve had seemed to want to offer help.
    Arthur, seated next to Reverend Farrimond and opposite his wife, had thrown her a look that the minister couldn’t see. It was a challenge, a gauntlet, flung on the table. It seemed to say, ‘Now we’ll see how far your conscience takes you.’
    Seth was still in the kitchen too, and he looked at the minister with wide, horrified eyes. There was no room for anyone else in this house, he thought. Why was he even asking?
    Eve said, ‘’ow long would they have to stay?’ betraying her unwillingness by