effortful domestic task, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, her face flushed with exertion. Silas wondered if his sister had a maid of all work until she spoke, in a confident, authoritative voice that dispelled any thought that she might be a servant.
‘Silas, I suppose?’ she said, smiling crisply like a society hostess and extending a hand still damp with suds from the sink. ‘Mystery banana man. You’d better step inside.’
Two hours later and unforewarned, Eve came home. Anna had been all for sending Eliza up to the mill with the news, but Silas had argued persuasively in favour of surprising his sister; it would be diverting, he said, to witness her reaction. In the event, though, both he and Anna thought Eve might die of shock when she walked in and saw him sitting at her kitchen table. She froze and stared at him as at a ghost: a ghost from her past, her lost brother, clad in finery yet looking at her with the same face, the same features, that she had held clearly in her mind through all the years of his absence. Silas stood up abruptly, feeling some alarm. The sight of her – her lovely face, their mother’s face – had ambushed him, and a rush of emotion threatened to undo his composure. He stepped towards her and wrapped her in an embrace, and this seemed to break the tension because she began to laugh and to cry at the same time, quite swamped by her mix of emotions.
‘Evie,’ he said. ‘The bananas were meant to be a visiting card. I thought you’d be expecting me.’
‘And I was,’ she managed to say, though she was weeping properly now because no one had called her Evie for fourteen years and the shock and the joy of it were greater than shecould have imagined. She stepped backwards out of his arms to look at him properly.
‘You look so grand,’ she said wonderingly. She sniffed, fumbled for a handkerchief, blew her nose. ‘You were such a ragamuffin in Grangely.’
He smiled at her. ‘Evie,’ he said. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
Chapter 6
T here was a very strong case for moving to Barnsley. A very strong case indeed. Amos leaned on the handle of his spade for a breather and silently ran through the familiar argument yet again. One: the Yorkshire Miners’ Association employed him, and he now had a desk at the regional office in Barnsley. Two: Netherwood marked the furthest boundary of Amos’s remit, so most of the collieries he now found himself responsible for were closer to Barnsley than not. Three: the time he spent on the train travelling to wherever he needed to be was beginning to amount to several hours each week.
Plus, he liked Barnsley. Not quite three months with the YMA as against three decades down New Mill Colliery, but already he felt comfortable in his new environment. He had taken to walking through the town when he’d been too long at his desk and he needed to move his limbs and fill his lungs. He had favourite places: the noble bulk of the Methodist Church in Pitt Street, the cobbled expanse of Cheapside, the grand frontage and laudable purpose of the Harvey Institute, with its exhibitions of art and recitals of music for the working classes. And his office, his place of work, was in itself a joy to behold, built with towers and turrets, as if it was the Barnsleyresidence of a Bavarian prince. There were plenty of rooms to let on Huddersfield Road: he could take one of those, and step across to the YMA without even bothering with a coat.
‘But there’s no seeds, so I can’t see ’ow we could grow ’em.’
Seth’s voice cut into Amos’s thoughts and reminded him that, be there ever so many reasons for leaving Netherwood, here was one very good reason to stay. Arthur’s lad.
‘What’s that, son?’ Amos returned to his digging. The ground was hard and dry, the soil baked solid into red-brown clumps. He chopped at them savagely with the edge of the spade, making a noise that jangled the nerves, as if he was digging on a shingle beach. He had
‘Silas, I suppose?’ she said, smiling crisply like a society hostess and extending a hand still damp with suds from the sink. ‘Mystery banana man. You’d better step inside.’
Two hours later and unforewarned, Eve came home. Anna had been all for sending Eliza up to the mill with the news, but Silas had argued persuasively in favour of surprising his sister; it would be diverting, he said, to witness her reaction. In the event, though, both he and Anna thought Eve might die of shock when she walked in and saw him sitting at her kitchen table. She froze and stared at him as at a ghost: a ghost from her past, her lost brother, clad in finery yet looking at her with the same face, the same features, that she had held clearly in her mind through all the years of his absence. Silas stood up abruptly, feeling some alarm. The sight of her – her lovely face, their mother’s face – had ambushed him, and a rush of emotion threatened to undo his composure. He stepped towards her and wrapped her in an embrace, and this seemed to break the tension because she began to laugh and to cry at the same time, quite swamped by her mix of emotions.
‘Evie,’ he said. ‘The bananas were meant to be a visiting card. I thought you’d be expecting me.’
‘And I was,’ she managed to say, though she was weeping properly now because no one had called her Evie for fourteen years and the shock and the joy of it were greater than shecould have imagined. She stepped backwards out of his arms to look at him properly.
‘You look so grand,’ she said wonderingly. She sniffed, fumbled for a handkerchief, blew her nose. ‘You were such a ragamuffin in Grangely.’
He smiled at her. ‘Evie,’ he said. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
Chapter 6
T here was a very strong case for moving to Barnsley. A very strong case indeed. Amos leaned on the handle of his spade for a breather and silently ran through the familiar argument yet again. One: the Yorkshire Miners’ Association employed him, and he now had a desk at the regional office in Barnsley. Two: Netherwood marked the furthest boundary of Amos’s remit, so most of the collieries he now found himself responsible for were closer to Barnsley than not. Three: the time he spent on the train travelling to wherever he needed to be was beginning to amount to several hours each week.
Plus, he liked Barnsley. Not quite three months with the YMA as against three decades down New Mill Colliery, but already he felt comfortable in his new environment. He had taken to walking through the town when he’d been too long at his desk and he needed to move his limbs and fill his lungs. He had favourite places: the noble bulk of the Methodist Church in Pitt Street, the cobbled expanse of Cheapside, the grand frontage and laudable purpose of the Harvey Institute, with its exhibitions of art and recitals of music for the working classes. And his office, his place of work, was in itself a joy to behold, built with towers and turrets, as if it was the Barnsleyresidence of a Bavarian prince. There were plenty of rooms to let on Huddersfield Road: he could take one of those, and step across to the YMA without even bothering with a coat.
‘But there’s no seeds, so I can’t see ’ow we could grow ’em.’
Seth’s voice cut into Amos’s thoughts and reminded him that, be there ever so many reasons for leaving Netherwood, here was one very good reason to stay. Arthur’s lad.
‘What’s that, son?’ Amos returned to his digging. The ground was hard and dry, the soil baked solid into red-brown clumps. He chopped at them savagely with the edge of the spade, making a noise that jangled the nerves, as if he was digging on a shingle beach. He had
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