Lucan nodded to the women who had gathered in his lane. He recognized some of their faces. When he heard their whispered voices, Lucan looked back to see their eyes following him.

A horse drawn buggy was stationed nearby. Lucan wondered whose house it was visiting.

He reached his door and noticed it was unlocked. A smile crossed his face as he heard the sound of a baby crying. Stepping through the doorway he called, "Kat!"

Missus Hare came to meet him with Covey in her arms.

Lucan rubbed the top of his son's head. "Kat?" he questioned. "She's had the child?"

Emily Hare looked down at the floor where he stood.

His eyes widened as he stepped forward, pushed past her and continued on his way. "Kat..!"

Lucan stopped in the doorway, slumped against its frame and stared at Kat as she lay on the bed. An intense pain wedged in his chest. Her eyes were closed but he knew she was not asleep.

He fell on his knees beside the bed and touched her face. She was no longer warm and though somewhere in his mind he had known it, the realisation she was dead stung him hard. It pounded at his head, swept through his body and tore out his heart.

A hand touched his shoulder. Lucan looked at the face but it was not one he recognised.

"I'm sorry, Mister Hayes. We could no stop the bleeding."

Lucan struggled to breathe. He climbed onto the bed and took Kat in his arms.

The voice continued in the distance as he rocked her body backwards and forwards. It talked of the child, its gender and weight.

Lucan kissed her face, touched her hair and untangled a curl.

The voice talked on, "The bairn tis well. Healthy."

Tears pooled in Lucan's eyes, spilled over his lashes and on to his cheeks.

"Yer neighbour, Missus Hare, has your bairns. She'll take care of them until you can arrange something."

Lucan touched Kat's lips with his fingers. Touched Kat's lips with his own.

"I will return the morrow." The voice softened, "For her body."

Lucan left her. Pushed past the stranger and went out through the door.

He staggered along the road, pot holed and muddy. His boots sodden with slush.

His. Kat. Dead.

Not twelve hours before he had kissed her goodbye, stroked her soft fair hair with his fingers and felt her heart with his hand.

Lucan stopped, looked to the sky, at the sun sinking, the fog and light mist that fell. He crouched down in the sludge, rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. He ran his hands through his thick dark hair and cried. Big heavy sobs. They heaved from his chest and jerked at his body. He had no sense of time. Just loss. A hollow formed in his soul. Its gap was wide. Lucan knew that the child, whose birth had delivered Kat into the hands of God, would not be able to fill it.

It was only when the cockle man, his donkey and cart rumbled toward him, did he look up.

The rain came, light drops driven by the wind. Lucan held his face to the sky, hoping its freshness might wash away his grief.

The cockle man tipped his hat as he passed. Lucan watched as the donkey walked on, pulled the wagon slowly. He watched as the wooden wheels turned and the cockles bounce in the baskets.

Lucan stood and continued along the road. He let his feet take him and focused on the trees which grew in lines, bare of leaves, in preparation for the winter that would come.

He walked.

Walked toward a cluster of cottages where colliers and ironworkers lived. Men like him. Blackened by coal dust. Dressed in mud encrusted pants and collarless shirts that had once been white. No amount of washing would clean them.

They were all equal. Strong, muscled men who worked long hours.

Their future was death.

Lucan looked at the houses as if for the very first time. Joined together. Colourless and tainted.

Tainted by years of neglect.

The dirt in the air had settled over them like a mantle. Too many people lived in each house. Lived with their pigs and hens, fed with scraps on the floor. He knew that inside; each looked the same. Ceilings low and charred by soot, box beds, a table and chairs.

No cabinet for niceties.

Lucan thought of the china cup he had wanted to buy Kat for her birthday.

There would be no birthday.

Not for Kat.

He stumbled and clutched one of the water pumps for support. His grief shook him, tore away his pride and held him there in the filthy muddy street for all to see.

At the end of that cluster of cottages, stood Matthew McKinnon's Public House. The heavy timber door was agape. Lucan heard the sound of a fiddle and the tapping of shoes. He wasn't a drinker. Unlike most of the men he worked with, Lucan had wanted to do better. To take Kat away from this place.

He stepped through the door into the dark shadows of the room. Wooden tables and chairs were positioned on the dirty flagstone floor. The man who was playing the fiddle swayed his body to the rhythm of the music. Lucan could smell the whiskey and gin. He booked down a bottle, found himself a table, and then shrank in his seat. He filled his glass and cradled it to his chest. Lucan looked into its tawny depths and saw Kat's face. He slung back the whiskey, refilled his tumbler, and then surveyed the crowd. The fiddler in his faded black coat and dented top hat. Serving girls, who sold themselves to men too drunk to remember their faces. He watched as hands brushed their breasts and backsides.

It wasn't long before the alcohol began to affect him. His tears were gone, his eyelids heavy.

Meggy approached him. She had seen him before. Had admired his height and dark complexion as he went on his way to the pit, down the road past the house where she lived. Where she took men in the night.

"Would yer like another bottle, sir?"

Lucan lifted his eyes. Small and fair. Just like his Kat. He shook his head and turned away.

Sensing his sadness, Meggy touched his arm. "Is there something the matter?" she whispered.

Lucan looked back at her face. Saw her sincerity.

"What is it, sir? Would you like someone tae talk to?"

He smiled.

Meggy's heart pounded.

"I'm not much of a talker, miss."

"Perhaps you would like me tae sit?" She cocked her head and stroked his hand.

The whiskey had warmed him and the touch of her fingers surrounded him, shrouded his emotions with the promise of comfort. Lucan nodded and watched as she sat. Watched as she pulled her skirts forward and rested on the seat.

"I have seen you before. You work at the pit."

He laughed at her innocence though he knew she was not. "We all work at the pit, miss."

Meggy blushed at her stupidity. "I dinnae mean... I meant... I've watched you walk there, past my home. I've always wanted tae... well... you look different tae the rest."

"Me wife has died. In child birth."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Meggy covered her mouth with her delicate fingers. "Perhaps you want tae be alone?" She stood but he clutched her forearm and shook his head so she remained seated.

Lucan gripped his glass with both hands and focused on the table.

"The geat?" she whispered.

He tilted his head and frowned as he repeated, "The child?"

"Aye... Did the chiel live?" Meggy watched as he rolled the glass backwards and forwards between his palms.

"Yes... The child lived."

She stilled his hands with her own. "And tis a loun chiel or a quine?"

"A lad."

Meggy saw tears in his eyes. His need for solace swept through her. "Do you want tae come with me? I have tea," she said. "I shall brew you some."

*****

The walls had once been papered. Still now it hung there, small delicate flowers in bunches were scattered across it. The ceiling too, but it drooped in sheets where the heat from the fireplace had liquefied the paste that had held it. There was only a bed, old and narrow, covered by a brown blanket.

Meggy urged him to sit while she made a small fire in the hearth. When she had it blazing, she suspended the kettle on the hook to boil. She turned to face him. He had his head bowed and his arms rested on his knees. Meggy stood in front of him. She thought him a fine-looking man. It was his height that had drawn her attention to him. She had first seen him when he had walked with the other men in the late afternoon.
Kneeling before him, she wiped away the tears on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her palm. "I shouldn't have come."

"Tis all right. You must have loved her very much." Meggy felt sad. No man had ever loved her as this man loved his wife. She nestled his head against her breasts, cooed and rocked backwards and forwards.

Lucan grieved in her arms, could not stop from absorbing her tenderness. He lay beside her, quiet and subdued, as her fingers ran through his hair.

Turning his face to hers, Meggy kissed him. Something she never did but she wanted to feel loved so touched his lips urging him to respond.

"I'm sorry. I can't." Lucan rolled on his back. "It's not what I want." He focused on the ceiling and thought of Kat. He thought of the new-born child. Of Covey and how he would look after them. Lucan lay for a long time, his head whirling with feelings and whiskey, his heart heavy with grief. He caressed the woman's head as it lay on his chest.

She had fallen asleep. He could leave her some money and slip out unnoticed but she deserved better than that, so he gently shook her arm. "Miss. Miss."

Meggy felt safe and warm. Her dream was pleasant. She didn't want to leave it but the shaking continued and she heard his voice.

"I must be leaving now," he said.

"Please... you dinnae have tae."

"I must see to my wife's body... and the bairn." Lucan tilted her face. "What is your name?"

"Meggy," she whispered.

"You're too good for a life such as this. Too gentle-hearted."

"I have no choice." She smiled weakly. "There cannae be any other life for me."

Lucan stroked her hair. He pushed his hand into his pocket to retrieve some coins but she stopped him.

"Nae... please, it's not what I want."

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