Jem was given the task of making sure none of the laird’s guests interfered with the progress of the log rolling. It must be done tactfully without causing offence to the visitors who often got in the way and asked too many questions.

  That very morning the laird brought two guests, visitors from America: Jacob Allister and his son Jake Junior. They stood around in their tweed suits admiring the scene.

  ‘Mr Allister has his own forests and lumber mills deep in the state of Iowa. He wants Jake to see the process for himself. Make sure he sees it all,’ the laird ordered.

  Jem tried not to grimace. He had enough work without being nursemaid to a pampered boy who should be in school but he stepped forward to shake his hand, relieved that the lad seemed eager enough to observe everything with interest.

  He escorted the boy down to the basin of water that held the pile of logs banked up to prevent them shooting down and spilling out too fast before there was time to control them. ‘We wait for the opening of the sluices upstream. Then you will see how fast the logs can go,’ Jem explained. ‘But you must stand back.’

  ‘What are those poles, the ones the guys are holding?’ Jake asked.

  ‘The log floaters have clips to hook the logs away from each other or from banging into the shore line if they start twisting and blocking the flow.’

  ‘Can I hold one?’ Jake seemed fascinated by the sight of men jumping from log to log as the water began to pour down at speed, sending the logs spinning. The loggers leapt to reset the flow like dancers jumping in a Highland reel. Suddenly Jake, in his curiosity, stepped onto a passing log and began to jump from one trunk to another. ‘This is great!’ he yelled.

  ‘Come back at once!’ Jem ordered, feeling responsible for the boy’s safety. Then to his horror the boy missed his footing and fell into the fast-flowing stream, carried along at a furious pace.

  Jem was sweating at the danger the boy was in. He could be crushed between the logs as they tumbled down a steep bank into the river. There was no time to think. Some of the log floaters had seen what had happened and were yelling to the men further down the river, trying to rescue the boy.

  ‘Dam the bottom, stop the flow, jam the logs,’ Jem ordered, racing to keep up with the boy in the water. The floaters quickly closed off the entrance to the river by hooking logs together to form a barrier. Now the logs would bank up and slow the flow.

  Without thinking of his own danger, Jem leapt from the bank into the chilly stream, struggling against the force of the water. With a hook he grabbed at Jake’s jacket and yanked him towards the bank, he climbed out of the water and pulled Jake out next to him.

  The boy was lifeless and cold. Jem lifted him up and carried him to the nearest tent.

  ‘Strip off his clothes, give me all your woollen plaids,’ he shouted to the men. ‘We have to rub the life back into him. He’s so cold . . . He has to live!’

  The men rubbed the boy all over and then wrapped him in dry blankets and jackets. To their relief Jake opened his eyes just as the laird and the boy’s father, who had seen what had happened, raced into the tent. Everyone cheered at Jake’s revival and Jem fed him whisky to revive him further.

  ‘Who was the young man who brought my son back from the gates of heaven? How can I thank you for such quick thinking?’ Jacob Allister shook Jem’s hand.

  ‘This is James Baillie,’ said the laird. ‘Like his father before him, a true forester.’

  Jem, standing in his wet britches and shirt, was shivering with shock. He’d almost let a boy be killed. ‘It all happened so quickly, sir. I did warn him but—’

  ‘You’ve given this young buck of mine a lesson in the dangers of rapid water. We saw what he did. He’ll not be doing that again, for sure. I am in your debt.’

  What could Jem say or do but make his way home to change his clothes and sit exhausted by the peat fire until he fell asleep.

  Much to his surprise a week later a servant from the big house arrived at the cottage carrying a basket. ‘It’s frae the laird’s American.’ In the hamper was whisky, eggs, cold meats, cake and a parcel of clothes, which held a fine tweed suit, a woollen shirt and some thick socks. It was a complete winter’s outfit. Jem read the card.

  With thanks to James Baillie from grateful parents. If ever you need an introduction to our fine country, please contact us. We will be for ever in your debt.

  Jacob and Marcella Allister

  How was he going to explain all this bounty to his mother without alarming her at the risk he’d taken to save the boy? Jeannie heard his tale with a smile on her face not a frown as she lay in her bed by the wall. ‘There you go, one good deed begets another. When I’m away to my Maker that’s the place to be heading, son, there’s nothing to keep you here. Go and make your fortune in a new country.’

  ‘But it costs to get myself across there on a ship. It’s too far to swim, Ma.’ Jem smiled, relieved he had her blessing.

  ‘Then get yourself back on the river next season and fish some more pearls. They’ll see you across the ocean when I’m in ma box. You’ve got the knack just like yer pa. It’s what he would want for you, son.’

  If only it were that simple but there was no harm in making plans to travel one day.

  First he must write a careful letter of appreciation to his benefactor and thank him for the offer. He would explain his present situation and, due to being under articles, he wasn’t free to leave the laird’s employ for a year or two. It would do no harm to express his desire to see America one day. Jem carefully put the note from Jacob Allister in his father’s locked box along with the few pearls left. He smiled, thinking that if the river yielded up some more of its treasure perhaps one day he might just see those wild Iowa forests for himself.

  Part 2

  THE SHINY SHOP

  Pearls around the neck, stones upon the heart.

  Yiddish proverb

  12

  York, 1882

  In the year that followed her dismissal, Greta tramped the busy streets of York looking for regular work. Respectable employment was hard to come by without a decent character reference in her hand and doors shut in her face. She had heard nothing more from Edmund Blake. After another fruitless trip Greta arrived home ready to drop.

  ‘Am I glad to see you. Shut the door.’ Mama was standing by the table looking worried. ‘Have you seen our Kitty on your way back?’

  Greta was puzzled. Kitty didn’t go out much; she was busy helping mother, delivering the washing and minding babies now she was out of school. She usually played in the yard but lately she’d been sneaking off further afield.

  ‘I hear she’s keeping bad company. I’m worried she’s mixing with girls who are up to no good, and she shouldn’t be out on such a cold night. But I don’t want to bother you, with you being up to your eyes with job hunting. Any luck?’

  Greta shook her head, disappointed not to be bringing in a proper wage. ‘Kitty seems all right to me, she keeps wanting to borrow my things but that’s only natural at her age.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it, love. She’s following an older crowd, hanging round the barracks and such like. I gave her such a wallop for it. She just stood there and told me to boil my head and said that if she’s old enough to be a skivvy, she’s old enough to choose her own mates. Nellie Ryan and her gang are no better than they should be. I’m sick with worry that they’ll get her in trouble.’

  Greta sat down, winded by this news. How had little Kitty got to be a young girl and she’d never noticed? She shuddered at the thought of her sister getting caught up with street girls and flirting with soldiers. Surely she was too young for that caper? ‘I’ll go and look for her. You stay here with Tom. You look done in.’

  ‘Oh, how I wish Brendan was here. He’d never stand for such doings. Ever since you came back from the Blakes, Kitty’s been awkward. Happen you can knock some sense into that silly head of hers. All I get is a sneer of the lips and her flouncing out the door.’

  ‘I’ll go and fetch her for you,’ Greta told her mother, heading out to find Kitty.

  She’d been tramping all day and was ready for a sit down, but Kitty was only young and Nellie, a notorious little tart, wouldn’t look after her. How had Kitty got in with them? Why hadn’t she realized what was going on? Greta couldn’t have her sister roaming the streets at all hours.

  All the Walmgate women knew how to earn a few shillings if they were hard up and where better than outside the barracks gates? By the time she walked there Greta was in a steaming temper, seeing Kitty amongst the gaggle of girls hanging round a group of soldiers. To make matters worse, Kitty was wearing Greta’s best three quarter coat made from one of Adah’s. When Kitty caught sight of her big sister she tried to dart behind Nellie Ryan but Greta was in no mood for games.

  ‘Kathleen Costello, you’re wanted back home, right now!’

  ‘She’s with us,’ sneered Nellie Ryan.

  ‘Oh aye and a fat lot of good that will do her,’ Greta yelled back. ‘She’ll end up like you, with her skirt up her belt and a dose of something nasty into the bargain.’

  Nellie leapt to hit her but one soldier had the decency to stand in front of Greta. ‘No scrapping, lasses, unless it’s over us.’

  Everyone laughed but Greta was in full fury, marching up to yank Kitty by the lapel of her coat. ‘Come on, you. She’s only fourteen and wasn’t brought up to mess with soldiers.’

  ‘Hark at her, she thinks she’s above us but she’s just a jumped-up skivvy.’

  ‘I’d rather be a skivvy than a sixpenny tart. Home this minute, your mam has something to say to you.’ It was then she saw something gleaming around Kitty’s neck. ‘That’s my necklace! Who the hell gave you permission to take that outside?’

  ‘You never wear it,’ Kitty said in a sulk.

  ‘That’s because it’s a gift and precious. How dare you root through my stuff. Take it off at once.’

  Kitty unhooked it and Greta shoved it quickly into her pocket afraid someone might see its value and try to pinch it. ‘What’s got into you? Don’t you know what can happen if you go with a soldier? Do you want to end up in the nun’s home for fallen girls?’

  ‘I don’t care!’

  Greta lost her temper and slapped her sister. ‘Well I do. You’re not to bring shame on our family by having a bairn and unwed, do you hear?’

  Kitty rubbed her cheek, sobered by this outburst. ‘There’s nowt else to do round here. I was just having a bit of fun. Don’t look like that. I haven’t done nowt to be ashamed of.’ Kitty started to whimper as Greta pulled her away and they headed home.

  ‘Thank the Lord for small mercies. From now on you come with me. It would kill our mam if she were shamed, she’s brought us up proper. We’re not the sort to be whores. We are respectable and don’t you ever forget it. Pride is all we’ve got left.’

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Kitty was trouble if she didn’t find proper work. If only they could get out of the back court into a cleaner area with good neighbours. It wasn’t right to leave Kitty to fend for herself, she was just a silly kid, bright, easily lead and too pretty for her own good, with her mop of red hair and tall, slim figure. If only Mam didn’t have to work so hard to put food on the table. If only she’d found a job for herself. How was she ever going to find her work? How was she going to keep her sister safe?

  Next morning Greta got her sister up early, determined to find them both a placement, however humble. Anything to avoid the drudgery of a laundry round again. She set off with Kitty by her side, scouring the shop windows for any openings, armed with a fierce determination to seize any chance that was offered, but there was nothing. By the end of the morning she was beginning to lose hope when a chance encounter in Low Petergate suddenly changed their fortunes.

  Walking along after yet another rejection they almost tripped over an old woman who collapsed onto the cobbles right in front of them. Greta rushed to pick her up. Kitty knelt down not knowing what to do.

  ‘I’m late,’ the old lady kept repeating with what little breath she had left. Her lips were blue and her face ashen. ‘He’ll be wanting his supper.’ She was not making much sense. A crowd gathered round, staring down at the woman in her cloak with bonnet awry as she moaned softly, unable to move. She peered up at Greta. ‘Tell him I’m badly. I’ll be in happen tomorrow, love.’

  ‘Tell who and where?’ Greta asked holding her hand.

  ‘The Pearl Emporium in Stonegate, the master’ll be expecting me. Tell Mr Slinger Eliza Hunt can’t make nowt of herself today.’ The effort of speaking was too much and she passed out again. Two men moved her into the doorway of a shop. Greta and Kitty kept fanning the woman’s face with their aprons as they waited for an ambulance cart to arrive. The colour was leeching from Eliza’s face.

  What can we do?’ Kitty was panicking.

  ‘Happen it’s her heart,’ said a policeman who had come upon the scene. ‘Don’t look long for this world to me.’

  ‘Does anyone know this Eliza Hunt?’ Greta asked round but the crowd was already drifting away. The policeman bent down and shook his head.

  ‘You can move on, miss,’ he offered. ‘She’s gone now.’

  ‘Gone?’ Kitty looked puzzled but then Greta saw the old woman was no longer breathing. ‘Her name is Eliza, God rest her soul.’

  ‘Aye, poor Eliza. A lifetime of service to end up in the gutter,’ the policeman said, thinking she was a tramp.

  ‘Oh no,’ Greta said, quick to defend the woman. ‘She said she was due at Mr Slinger’s Pearl Emporium to make supper.’

  ‘Then you’d better tell Mr Slinger that he’ll be needing another maid of all work, if you don’t mind, miss?’

  Greta didn’t need telling twice. There was nothing she could do for Eliza but perhaps there was something to be gained from the upsetting situation.

  ‘Where’re we going now?’ Kitty complained as they rushed up the street. ‘That was horrible seeing her dead. I want to go home.’

  ‘Go back to Mam if you want.’

  ‘No, I’ll get lost. I’m staying with you.’ They sped down towards the Minster, taking a short cut down an alleyway that brought them out behind the workshops and coach yards of Stonegate. The emporium was not hard to find. The back entrance was barred against thieves so they had to go round to the front of the shop. Greta didn’t feel prepared for a proper interview but this was a chance worth taking.

  ‘You stay outside and don’t move,’ Greta ordered. ‘I’ll deal with this myself.’

  The bell clanged as she entered the shop, which was full of clocks and fine pieces of silver, but what caught her eye was the wall cabinet full of beautiful pearl jewellery.

  A tall, youngish man stepped forward. He was sandy haired with bushy side whiskers and was wearing a black suit with a gold watch and chain across his waistcoat. ‘Yes?’ He eyed her up and down knowing she could not be a customer.

  ‘Are you Mr Slinger?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Is Eliza Hunt in your employ?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘I’m afraid she won’t be coming today.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘What excuse is it this time?’

  Greta bowed her head. ‘She died in the street, just now, on her way to make your supper. Her heart gave out and her last words were for you to be informed. I have just come from her. The policeman will be taking her body away.’

  ‘Oh, I see and you are?’ he towered over her, his eyes glinting like amber.

  ‘Greta. I mean Miss Margaret Costello. I was just passing by when it all happened but I thought you’d want to know.’ She drew herself up to her full height and stared back at him.

  ‘Thank you.’ He began to ferret into his pocket to give her a gratuity. She stepped back embarrassed. ‘Oh no, sir, that’s not necessary. I was on my way to find work but I have missed my appointment and who will want to employ a maid who cannot keep good time?’ she lied.

  He was examining her more closely. ‘Margaret, did you say? Hmm, you know what your name means?’

  ‘Yes, sir, a pearl. Mr Abrahams told me when I worked for him.’

  ‘Ah, Saul Abrahams . . . I recall that name.’

  ‘Yes, sir, he showed me how to work some of his tools. I was his Saturday girl, in service there until he died.’

  ‘And since then?’ he quizzed.

  ‘With the Blakes of Mount Vernon. They can give me a character,’ she offered, hoping after all this time Edmund would be true to his word if she wrote to him.

  The shop was empty so Mr Slinger showed her through the door into the back quarters. ‘The kitchen is downstairs, the dining room on the first floor but I use that for private work. I don’t have live-ins. I prefer to live alone.’ He examined her more closely. ‘You look sturdy enough for the stairs. Hunt found them a burden.’ He paused. ‘Dead in the street . . . Pity. Would you be interested then in taking her place, young lady? I would need references, of course. You would be on trial for a month and I have rules. You must never come in the shop, only to dust and polish under my supervision. Don’t move anything. If there’s a button out of place, I will know. You can have the half day and Sunday afternoons. Where do you lodge?’

  ‘With my mother in Walmgate. Thank you. I am most grateful. I’m sure you’ll find my work satisfactory. I learned a lot about jewellery from Mr Abrahams.’

  ‘The watch!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were the girl who lost his watch.’

  Greta flushed, sensing the offer of the job might be withdrawn. ‘I went to deliver it and I was robbed of it. They thought I stole it but it was found.’ She was ready to argue her case.

  ‘Yes, I know. I was the man who received it and took it back to its lawful owner, Blake of Lendal. He’s one of my customers now so all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Poor Mr Abrahams died. The Blakes took me on for a while. They can vouchsafe for my honesty and I can provide a reference . . . Mr Blake of Lendal . . .’