They sat in silence, hands clasped tight, watching the landscape pass by under a heavy cloud of black smoke. The train followed the river Esk for a while, lost it, and then joined it again occasionally. They passed little hamlets between green, rolling hills. The train had stopped at Sleights, and Alice had told her younger sister to get off and walk back to Whitby, but Anne had refused. They stopped at Grosmont, but this time neither of the girls spoke. They just stared out of the window into the unfamiliar landscape, still holding hands. Anne felt small and insignificant as she realized how vast the world was that lay ahead of them, and how little of it she knew – something she had never had to reflect on before.
Suddenly the door of their compartment opened. “Tickets please.” A short man in uniform with a thick black moustache held out his hand. The girls looked at each other and then at the man.
“We…” Alice started. She was blushing. “I’m so sorry, ser. We were in such a rush, we forgot to buy a ticket.”
“That’s alright, dearie. I can sell ye one now.” The ticket inspector said. “Where are you going?”
Alice and Anne exchanged anxious glances once more.
“Actually, ser…” Anne said in a small voice, heart beating in her throat. She felt the hand that was holding Alice’s become sweaty. She had never done anything criminal before in her life, and here she was, about to be caught in her first crime. “We ‘ave no money on us. Oh, please have mercy on us, ser. We were desperate,” she begged.
The man looked from one sister to another, leaned against the doorway, and sighed. “Alright, listen. We’re about to arrive at Goathland. If you alight here, I won’t turn ye in. But don’t try to get back on, or ye will be in trouble. We don’t do charity.”
Goathland was a tiny station, with two platforms connected by a bridge. There was a waiting room on the platform they stepped out on. A hill rose immediately behind the platform, a steep, narrow, sandy path leading up to the heathland above. On the other platform there was a little shop with a tearoom. A thin old man walked up and down the platform, watching the people who had alighted. His eye fell on the two girls. Anne felt Alice take her hand once more and pull. She let her sister lead her over the bridge and out of the station. The girls looked around. In front of them, the road led uphill and into the village. To the left, there was a bridge over a beck, which Anne believed had to be the Esk in its early stage.
“I’m thirsty,” she told her sister.
The girls descended to the little river and scooped up water to their mouth. Alice shook her hands dry and climbed back up to the road, but Anne stared out over the water for a moment. She took a dry leave and gently placed it on the water, watching it float downstream. Probably nobody would see it once it reached Whitby. Perhaps it would already be pushed under water by that time. But it would pass through Whitby nonetheless. A last connection to what was familiar. A last wave home, in case she wouldn’t return.
She climbed back onto the road, and the girls quietly walked into the village. Along the road, there were a few rows of small cottages. When they came to a bent in the road, they could see that the rest of the village consisted of a few larger houses and a church. They looked at each other, and then started for the church for temporary shelter. When they slipped in, Anne was relieved to find that there was no one there to chase them away or ask questions.
They sat down in the pews in the back, silent for some time. Slowly the realization dawned on Anne that she was miles away from home, in a place she didn’t know, and that she and her sister had nowhere to go.
“Alice…” she began, but her sister interrupted:
“Anne. This is wrong. I can’t drag you into this. Ye must take t’ train back. If they catch ye and want to hand ye over to t’ authorities, ye must ask for Elijah and he’ll explain the situation.”
“I’m not leavin’ without ye, Alice.” Anne whispered. She thought for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll both go back and tell Elijah what’s goin’ on. He can talk to father for us. Prepare him. We’ll wait until t’ worst is over and he’s calmed down a bit, and we then go home.”
But Alice suddenly bent over, put her face in her hands, and whimpered. Anne felt her heart aching with pity. She put a hand on her sister’s back. “Ye ain’t got no choice, Alice,” she said softly. “We’re in t’ middle of nowhere. We don’t know anyone here. We can’t stay here.”
“But I can’t go back either.”
“The father of the child -,”
“Noah Longbottom…” Alice cried.
Anne was aghast. “That twit!?” But she remembered that her sister’s poor choice in men – boys – was irrelevant at the moment, and that she didn’t want to make her feel worse. She shook her head. “Talk to him. If he promises to marry you, and you can arrange it before ye speak to father -,”
“Oh Anne.” Alice sat up and looked at her through her tears, utterly defeated. “I went straight to him when I realized I was pregnant, but he says its not ‘is, and he act like he doesn’t know me.”
“Lucky I ain’t in Whitby.” Anne muttered beneath her breath.
Alice wiped her tears, but a new flood came. “I’ve gone against everything father and mother ever taught us,” she whimpered. “And now we won’t even be able to cover it up… Father… The shame he’ll feel. An’ after Simon… What will people say of us?”
Anne bit her lip. There was a hard truth she had no choice but to deliver: “I’m afraid that can’t be avoided now, Alice.” she said as gently as she could. Alice gasped and Anne wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I have to get to a bigger city… They…. They’ll know I was on me way to York now… But I could go to Middlesbrough instead.”
“How will you even earn a livin’?”
Alice stared ahead. Her lip trembled, but her face was hard. “There are places… for women like me.”
That shocked Anne so that she withdrew her arm. “No.”
“Go home, Anne. There ain’t now’t you can do for me now.”
“Talk to Elijah.” Anne said again.
Alice breathed in sharply and looked at her sister. “I’m not only pregnant, Anne!” she snapped. “I’ve done other, terrible things. I… I took the money. I stole from me own family, Anne, from all of you. And I’m so ashamed, but I’ve done it not just once but twice! I’ve visited a…” She seemed to struggle saying the word, “a brothel. Looking for advice on how to….” She gasped for air, rubbed her face with her hands, and then whispered: “I tried to kill t’ bairn, Anne. That’s… murder, isn’t it? Attempted murder. Won’t Elijah have to arrest me like he did with Simon? And even if he didn’t, how would I face father, or any of you after all these crimes?”
Anne looked at her sister as if she was a stranger. She sat frozen still, processing all this information. But then she shook her head and grabbed her Alice’s hands. “You were terrified, Alice.”
“Anne. Please just leave me be. You can go home, and live your life, happily.”
Anne thought of her brothers, who would not have their sisters to look after them. Poor Bram, whom she hadn’t even apologized to. She thought of her poor old father, who would worry sick about them. Of poor Rose and Maggie, who would fear for their little sisters. Of Elijah, who would blame himself for losing them.
But then she thought of Alice, in a big city, scrambling for a living for her and her baby through degrading means, all alone, with not a soul to take care of her. Who was on her side in all of this?
She squeezed her sister’s hands. “Where you go, I go.”
“I can’t do that to ye, Anne. Ye ain’t done owt to deserve it.”
Anne shook her head. “I ain’t done owt to deserve losin’ you. We’ll travel to Middlesbrough together. That should be… northwest across the moors, shouldn’t it? We could rest for the night when we find a farm, slip into the stable. The animals will keep us warm. And once we’re there, I can find work. Honest work. And I’m sure we’ll find ye a job in a factory or somewhere where they won’t ask questions.”
“Anne…”
“We’ll look after each other.”
Alice bit her lip, wept silently, but finally nodded.
They sat in silence once more, gathering courage for their journey.
“Are you ready?” Alice finally said weakly.
“Let’s pray first.” Anne proposed, and she knelt down.
Alice looked around. “You ain’t even Anglican.”
“If God can hear me by me bedside, I’m sure ‘e can hear me in an Anglican church. Won’t ye pray, Alice?”
Her sister scoffed. “Ain’t no point in me prayin’ now. I might vex ‘im and make it worse.”
“Father says God is full of mercy and we should never fear praying to ‘im, whatever we’ve done.” But as she heard herself speak, a rebellious part of Anne wondered: if father said they shouldn’t fear approaching God, whatever they had done, why should they fear going home? She frowned as she observed her own painful disloyalty.
But then Alice knelt beside her and folded her hands, and Anne closed her eyes and prayed.
After a little while, they rose and left the church. Once outside they looked around. Although there was a strong, cold wind, it was sunny and so they managed to orient themselves somewhat, debating between themselves on where the exact north-west lay. They settled for something in the middle and set out onto the moors.
Suddenly the door of their compartment opened. “Tickets please.” A short man in uniform with a thick black moustache held out his hand. The girls looked at each other and then at the man.
“We…” Alice started. She was blushing. “I’m so sorry, ser. We were in such a rush, we forgot to buy a ticket.”
“That’s alright, dearie. I can sell ye one now.” The ticket inspector said. “Where are you going?”
Alice and Anne exchanged anxious glances once more.
“Actually, ser…” Anne said in a small voice, heart beating in her throat. She felt the hand that was holding Alice’s become sweaty. She had never done anything criminal before in her life, and here she was, about to be caught in her first crime. “We ‘ave no money on us. Oh, please have mercy on us, ser. We were desperate,” she begged.
The man looked from one sister to another, leaned against the doorway, and sighed. “Alright, listen. We’re about to arrive at Goathland. If you alight here, I won’t turn ye in. But don’t try to get back on, or ye will be in trouble. We don’t do charity.”
Goathland was a tiny station, with two platforms connected by a bridge. There was a waiting room on the platform they stepped out on. A hill rose immediately behind the platform, a steep, narrow, sandy path leading up to the heathland above. On the other platform there was a little shop with a tearoom. A thin old man walked up and down the platform, watching the people who had alighted. His eye fell on the two girls. Anne felt Alice take her hand once more and pull. She let her sister lead her over the bridge and out of the station. The girls looked around. In front of them, the road led uphill and into the village. To the left, there was a bridge over a beck, which Anne believed had to be the Esk in its early stage.
“I’m thirsty,” she told her sister.
The girls descended to the little river and scooped up water to their mouth. Alice shook her hands dry and climbed back up to the road, but Anne stared out over the water for a moment. She took a dry leave and gently placed it on the water, watching it float downstream. Probably nobody would see it once it reached Whitby. Perhaps it would already be pushed under water by that time. But it would pass through Whitby nonetheless. A last connection to what was familiar. A last wave home, in case she wouldn’t return.
She climbed back onto the road, and the girls quietly walked into the village. Along the road, there were a few rows of small cottages. When they came to a bent in the road, they could see that the rest of the village consisted of a few larger houses and a church. They looked at each other, and then started for the church for temporary shelter. When they slipped in, Anne was relieved to find that there was no one there to chase them away or ask questions.
They sat down in the pews in the back, silent for some time. Slowly the realization dawned on Anne that she was miles away from home, in a place she didn’t know, and that she and her sister had nowhere to go.
“Alice…” she began, but her sister interrupted:
“Anne. This is wrong. I can’t drag you into this. Ye must take t’ train back. If they catch ye and want to hand ye over to t’ authorities, ye must ask for Elijah and he’ll explain the situation.”
“I’m not leavin’ without ye, Alice.” Anne whispered. She thought for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll both go back and tell Elijah what’s goin’ on. He can talk to father for us. Prepare him. We’ll wait until t’ worst is over and he’s calmed down a bit, and we then go home.”
But Alice suddenly bent over, put her face in her hands, and whimpered. Anne felt her heart aching with pity. She put a hand on her sister’s back. “Ye ain’t got no choice, Alice,” she said softly. “We’re in t’ middle of nowhere. We don’t know anyone here. We can’t stay here.”
“But I can’t go back either.”
“The father of the child -,”
“Noah Longbottom…” Alice cried.
Anne was aghast. “That twit!?” But she remembered that her sister’s poor choice in men – boys – was irrelevant at the moment, and that she didn’t want to make her feel worse. She shook her head. “Talk to him. If he promises to marry you, and you can arrange it before ye speak to father -,”
“Oh Anne.” Alice sat up and looked at her through her tears, utterly defeated. “I went straight to him when I realized I was pregnant, but he says its not ‘is, and he act like he doesn’t know me.”
“Lucky I ain’t in Whitby.” Anne muttered beneath her breath.
Alice wiped her tears, but a new flood came. “I’ve gone against everything father and mother ever taught us,” she whimpered. “And now we won’t even be able to cover it up… Father… The shame he’ll feel. An’ after Simon… What will people say of us?”
Anne bit her lip. There was a hard truth she had no choice but to deliver: “I’m afraid that can’t be avoided now, Alice.” she said as gently as she could. Alice gasped and Anne wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I have to get to a bigger city… They…. They’ll know I was on me way to York now… But I could go to Middlesbrough instead.”
“How will you even earn a livin’?”
Alice stared ahead. Her lip trembled, but her face was hard. “There are places… for women like me.”
That shocked Anne so that she withdrew her arm. “No.”
“Go home, Anne. There ain’t now’t you can do for me now.”
“Talk to Elijah.” Anne said again.
Alice breathed in sharply and looked at her sister. “I’m not only pregnant, Anne!” she snapped. “I’ve done other, terrible things. I… I took the money. I stole from me own family, Anne, from all of you. And I’m so ashamed, but I’ve done it not just once but twice! I’ve visited a…” She seemed to struggle saying the word, “a brothel. Looking for advice on how to….” She gasped for air, rubbed her face with her hands, and then whispered: “I tried to kill t’ bairn, Anne. That’s… murder, isn’t it? Attempted murder. Won’t Elijah have to arrest me like he did with Simon? And even if he didn’t, how would I face father, or any of you after all these crimes?”
Anne looked at her sister as if she was a stranger. She sat frozen still, processing all this information. But then she shook her head and grabbed her Alice’s hands. “You were terrified, Alice.”
“Anne. Please just leave me be. You can go home, and live your life, happily.”
Anne thought of her brothers, who would not have their sisters to look after them. Poor Bram, whom she hadn’t even apologized to. She thought of her poor old father, who would worry sick about them. Of poor Rose and Maggie, who would fear for their little sisters. Of Elijah, who would blame himself for losing them.
But then she thought of Alice, in a big city, scrambling for a living for her and her baby through degrading means, all alone, with not a soul to take care of her. Who was on her side in all of this?
She squeezed her sister’s hands. “Where you go, I go.”
“I can’t do that to ye, Anne. Ye ain’t done owt to deserve it.”
Anne shook her head. “I ain’t done owt to deserve losin’ you. We’ll travel to Middlesbrough together. That should be… northwest across the moors, shouldn’t it? We could rest for the night when we find a farm, slip into the stable. The animals will keep us warm. And once we’re there, I can find work. Honest work. And I’m sure we’ll find ye a job in a factory or somewhere where they won’t ask questions.”
“Anne…”
“We’ll look after each other.”
Alice bit her lip, wept silently, but finally nodded.
They sat in silence once more, gathering courage for their journey.
“Are you ready?” Alice finally said weakly.
“Let’s pray first.” Anne proposed, and she knelt down.
Alice looked around. “You ain’t even Anglican.”
“If God can hear me by me bedside, I’m sure ‘e can hear me in an Anglican church. Won’t ye pray, Alice?”
Her sister scoffed. “Ain’t no point in me prayin’ now. I might vex ‘im and make it worse.”
“Father says God is full of mercy and we should never fear praying to ‘im, whatever we’ve done.” But as she heard herself speak, a rebellious part of Anne wondered: if father said they shouldn’t fear approaching God, whatever they had done, why should they fear going home? She frowned as she observed her own painful disloyalty.
But then Alice knelt beside her and folded her hands, and Anne closed her eyes and prayed.
After a little while, they rose and left the church. Once outside they looked around. Although there was a strong, cold wind, it was sunny and so they managed to orient themselves somewhat, debating between themselves on where the exact north-west lay. They settled for something in the middle and set out onto the moors.
