The Travelling Man by Marie Joseph Read Free Book Online

conviction grew in him that it was time he took to the road again. His job as a newcomer to the mine was to push the tubs, each containing four hundredweight of coal, down waterlogged steps, then up again. The cork-filled thrutcher he was forced to wear on his head to help him push the heavy tubs was an affront to his pride, even all those miles underground. That day two tubs had come off a faulty rail, and the miners helping him to get them back had made Laurie feel it had been his fault. He had sweated like a stuck pig in spite of wearing nothing but an old pair of football shorts, and in a fit of towering rage had cleared the last of the coal out to give whoever took his place a clean start in the morning.
    But it wouldn’t be him. No, by God, it wouldn’t be him.
    Only that day he’d learned that because the seam was running out they would be sinking a new shaft another two miles away. He didn’t need telling that he would be working on it, and he didn’t need telling either that it was one of the most dangerous jobs in the mine. He wasn’t ready yet to die choking for breath in an airless dank dark tunnel. He wasn’t going to end up with a cob of coal in place of his lungs, not if he could help it.
    He wouldn’t be missed. The miners would never see him as anything else but an interloper, though young Annie might miss him for a while. He smiled at the thought of her as he collected his tackle and started off up the hill. Let them as wanted crawl about on hands and knees far below the ground, but he would be off the next morning, and back in Liverpool he’d sign on the first ship available. Then it would be the wind on his face, salt spray cooling him, and in time he’d forget the searing heat of the mine and the time he pushed a heavy tub along in the black dark, wearing a cork-filled bag on his head.
    Lifting the sneck on the door he walked in to see Annie sitting at the big square table, her head down and her arms spread wide. What was left of her blouse hung in shreds to her waist, and the red-gold hair only partly concealed the weals net-worked across her bare back.
    ‘Oh, you poor little love …’
    Something stirred in Laurie’s black heart as he stared down at the result of Jack’s heavy hand. There was no blood, no skin broken, just the raised purple weals, an ugly sight on the smooth fair skin. How young she was – how achingly slender. He touched a bare shoulder.
    ‘Annie? Look at me, love. What in God’s name did he do that for? What could you
possibly
have done to anger him like this?’
    The kindness in his voice, the compassion, made her raise her face, so that she saw the lodger through a mist of tears, saw the handsome face covered in coal dust. And saw the deep pity in the dark eyes.
    ‘Oh, Laurie …’
    There was a desperate ache in her for comfort. Her mother had been dead for four years now, but it was her mother she had been crying for when Laurie walked in. Her father would never have dared to use his belt on her if his wife had been alive.
    ‘I said some terrible things to him, Laurie. I wanted a dress to wear to the social, an’ when he said no I went for him with my tongue.’ Her eyes swam with tears. ‘I have an awful tongue on me when I can’t get what I want.’
    Tenderly Laurie pulled her to her feet and into his arms, holding her carefully, drawing the tattered blouse, up , trying to cover the soft curves of her young breasts. Swearing to himself that if her father had come through the door at that moment he would have killed him and not thought twice.
    ‘Hush-up, love.’ He was a good caring father comforting a child, rocking her in rhythmic soothing movements, feeling her body curve into his.
    Did she turn her mouth to his or was it a deliberate movement on his part? Afterwards he wondered, trying to assuage his guilt. All he knew was that even as he kissed her the rocking went on, sending an ache through him, seeping away every vestige of self-control. Had he