Newth (The Early Years)

By Paul G Mann

This publication is a re-write and amalgamation of The Ne'athian Archives, books 1 and 2 'Prophecy' and 'Change'. The story lines are basically the same with some additions and deletions in an attempt to have the story flow a little bit better.

Newth Book 1 & 2

A dark menace spread across the Galaxy; evil and all consuming decimating all the life in its path. Civilisations fell under its slow compelling march, nothing could stand against it. 20,000 souls fled across intergalactic space; 20,000 survivors, all that was left from a planet of billions. Weakened and decimated they discovered how to defeat the Huricanas hive too late; they were weak and needed someone with the mental strength to face the Huricanas mind. The Huricanas pursued them, their only salvation the vastness of space between the galaxies. The Pathosian knew this as they knew the Huricanas would not give up; they would follow them and continue their decimation of life as they did so. The Pathosian needed time, time and the creation of a being so powerful even they trembled at the thought of what they might unleash in to the universe.

The war with the Huricanas had made them aware of how they infiltrated and overcame the societies they so easily subjugated, eventually conquered and eradicated; behind them lay a trail of devastation. Once proud populations and peoples gone, destroyed in a savage reign of terror until the last had been slaughtered and the Huricanas in their never relenting quest turned to their next victim. Only the Pathosian out of hundreds of races had been able to offer some form of resistance but it was too little and too late as the Huricanas used the Pathosian's own defences against them.

Would Henry and his great, great, great grandmother Joanne be the ones the Pathosian so patiently built and waited for? Would they have the time to counter the Huricanas march, was it one of them who could wield the power of the Pathosian ancients or would they too crumble and fall beneath the might of the Huricanas hive mind? Before the Huricanas the Hunki stood in their way, a warrior race who hunted humans for sport and food, driven by the Huricanas the Hunki became part of the hive evil, stooping to barbaric practices at the hive masters command. Before the Huricanas Henry and Joanne had to combat the Hunki, combat them and defeat them. Technologically the Hunki were vastly superior to humans, only a miracle and the mental abilities gained from their Pathosian ancestry gave them hope.

Joanne is a lowly scullery maid who is thrust into the realm of galactic politics, unknown to her she is destined to become one of the galaxies most potent telepaths guided by the hand and mind of her ancestor. Book one is her story; how she changes from a timid maid to a self assured young woman capable of taking on the Huricanas, but she needs help, the hive mind is all consuming and powerful and she had no option but to flee across the Galaxy to escape the Huricanas wrath.

Book two follows Henry. Born with a strong telekinetic ability he thought himself a misfit until he awakens on an alien ship. He was the prey of a species intent on setting him free on an alien planet and then hunting him for food and sport. Like his great, great, great grandmother Joanne, he is alone and needs help. Where would he find it? Could he find it on a planet with Stone Age weapons and most important, could he engage in a war against a race vastly superior in technology and hope to win?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul G Mann
• Release date: Aug 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311963345

Paul G Mann

Writing never came easy to me, even at school but somewhere inside me I always thought I had a story to tell. Before word processors and spell checks the bringing up of a family and out working to support them took precedence over such things as writing and as such setting my story down on paper was the least of my priorities. Things changed in 2007 when I suffered a heart attack which effectively ended my working life. My first computer back in 1988 was an old Amstrad word processor that allowed me to take work home from the office without the need of a ream of paper and white correction fluid. All I needed was a small three inch disc that fitted quite nicely into my pocket. It made letter writing so much easier and renewed my interest in writing although at that time I didn't pursue it. I have had a large and varied working life to give me inspiration. I was a seaman for three years in my teenage years; I worked as a bus conductor on leaving the sea to raise a family before training as a plasterer and working in the building industry. A telecommunications factory offered better pay and conditions so I moved into the production of telephone exchanges for six years until securing a job in BT for seventeen years until made redundant in 1992. Ultimately I worked as a private hire taxi driver until illness forced me to stop. I am twice married with 3 children of my own (all grown up and flown the coup now) and 3 step children (also flown away). My present wife Gillian is a rock to me and who without her support and encouragement these books may never have been finished for publication. So if you don't like them blame her not me. The heart attack changed my life. I had to find something to occupy my mind and soon decided the best thing I could do was write. I readily admit I am not and probably never will be the most gifted writer in the world but as an exercise in keeping the old grey matter in working order it cannot be surpassed. All my work is ready for reading in e-book format from Smashwords and Paperback from http://www.Feedaread.com (cheaper at smashwords}

Book preview

Acknowledgement

To my wife, Gillian whose unceasing support and encouragement gave me the determination and the will to finish and publish this work.

www.pixabay.com for the cover artwork

www.wirralwriters.co.uk for the critiques and advice 

By the same Author

The Magic Of Christmas

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Newth II

(A Time of Change)

Newth III

(Inhanth & Hive)

Newth Federation

The Early History

Earth 1890 to 2030 – Newth 01

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Book 1

Preface

8000 BC

For over two millennium, two races waged a bloody and savage war against each other. No quarter was given or expected as each tried to obliterate the other from existence. Untold billions of lives had been lost in the slaughter and carnage as the unrelenting march of the victors finally came to a close. Twenty thousand Pathosian souls from a civilisation of billions escaped the Huricanas final onslaught; the victors laying waste to the once beautiful and peaceful Pathosian planet. Twenty thousand souls beaten, dejected and degraded fled the home they knew in search of a new beginning. The best minds, the strongest telepaths their race had ever produced cowed in fear in their few last remaining starship’s as they sped through intergalactic space, to regroup and prepare for revenge against the hated aggressors.

The invaders could be beaten. If they couldn’t the long fought war would have been over long ago and their famous hard fought victories against the invader would not have been possible. Overpowered by numerical supremacy, the Pathosian eventually succumbed in the same manner as every other race in their doomed galaxy. They had the concept to defeat the Huricanas; unfortunately, one that came to them far too late for their salvation; none among them was powerful enough to harness the energy needed to repulse the hive mind of the Huricanas. They needed time, time to reproduce in numbers that could overcome the evil they had endured in the years that had devastated their civilisation, time to train their future generations in the mental arts so badly needed. Only then, and only when the time was right could their race rise up and repulse the hive mind of the Huricanas. They lacked the strength of a being powerful enough to wield their revenge; a being so powerful even the Pathosian survivors planning their salvation trembled at the thought of what their ultimate creation would be capable of. Until that being came, the Pathosian would flee across the stars with their heads drooped in the shame of their defeat.

The Huricanas were an evil race; the Hive were masters in the art of using mind control to conquer the most benign and peaceable of beings; turning them into crazed, violent and fearless warriors capable of self-generated genocide. The Pathosian wanted revenge and even as they fled to safety across the isolation and vastness of intergalactic space they began the experiments in genetics they hoped would one day produce their saviour.

The war with the Huricanas had made them aware of how they infiltrated and overcame the societies they so easily subjugated and eventually conquered and eradicated; behind them lay a trail of devastation. Once proud populations and peoples gone, destroyed in a savage reign of terror until the last had been slaughtered and the Huricanas in their never relenting quest turned to their next victim. Only the Pathosian out of hundreds of races had been able to offer some form of resistance but it was too little and too late as the Huricanas used the Pathosian’s own defences against them. 

What they were doing now needed safeguarding; the weapon and the time needed for its creation, had to be hidden until the Pathosian plans were firmly ensconced, and the being needed for their mission of revenge and salvation had been born.

They also needed help; this they discovered very early when their own physical make up stopped any from their own race being capable to wield the power needed to destroy the hated enemy. They also needed time, a lot of time and turned their ship towards a Galaxy nearly three million light years from their home. There they would settle and build. There they would find a race whose physical attributes could house the mind of the one who will, in essence, be the most powerful being in the known universe. There they would wait, ready to strike and eliminate the Huricanas once and for all.

It would take time, a long time, but it would be done.

Chapter 1

1906 AD

Cathy, Billy, and Emily followed Jo inside the Inhanth ship and lay down on the bare tables; Alec and Orna seeing to their minor mind alterations. Alec gave the Inhanth commander orders to begin preparations for take off and take the family to their new home among the stars. Jo watched in fascination as each lay down and quickly fell asleep, her last thoughts as she too was prepared for a long sleep was of her dead husband, and her life that was turned on its head over ten years ago.

Gone was the quiet, shy and often times frightened young woman who scrubbed floors for a living. She felt assured and not afraid to look the world in the eye and speak her piece. It was a good feeling, her new found powers had made her immune to most of what life could throw at her or. The former general dog’s body had trouble believing at times how her life had changed. Mentally she shook her head, she was no longer the quiet, scared teenager who scrubbed floors and laid fires working for Edward Brighton; now she commanded the powers of the universe, and as the Inhanth warrior connected the life sustaining tubes to her, she cast her mind back to the cold winters day her world had changed.  

* * * * *

3000 BC

Reglin stared at the blank screen of his office monitor before he once more opened the file marked ‘Galactic Intelligence Review.’ He had read this particular file a dozen times; indeed, most of the review was made up of his own comments and recommendations to the Review Council on the data gathered by the survey ships. His interest this time however, was in why the file had been sent back to the Review Council and he wondered mildly why the file had been returned to him some forty years after it had been marked as ‘completed.’

He had endorsed the files ‘For future review,’ ‘No action at this time,’ and had advocated the planet should be disregarded as the indigenous life forms held no particular attributes that could benefit the Pathosian cause. Indeed, all reports from the planet by numerous surveys had stated the natives were hostile and warlike towards each other. They had the rudiments of a civilisation but their hostility prevented any real progress and any help they may afford would not come for many thousands of their planetary revolutions. The question remained, why was the file back on his desk?

Everything seemed to be in order Reglin thought as he read through the passages, even the reply ordering the last expedition home was a standard issue without any cause for concern. He quickly skipped through the file until he reached the addendum report done as a matter of routine and completed by a survey ship sent to that sector of the Galaxy.

‘Life, sentient and none sentient remains on the planet surface.’ It read. ‘No significant changes have been observed in the levels of civilisation or technology with warfare being the overriding pastime that degenerates into barbarity. It is recommended that until their barbaric practices cease, the main life forms on this planet be left in isolation as they can hold no significant assistance to the Pathosian objective. 

Puzzled, Reglin turned to the last page containing the Review Council’s orders.

‘Information gained from the HMA, (Higher Mental Abilities). It is hereby authorised for action to be undertaken and completed by report controller Reglin, following which the findings and recommendations of the HMA will be returned to the Review Council for endorsement, Priority of this action, class one.’

Reglin groaned. The HMA made him shudder with their uncanny abilities to determine future events. Every time he dealt with them he was left with the distinct impression they had stripped his very essence from him, and now the Review Council had ordered him under a class one dictate to talk to them again. With a feeling of dread, he ordered his secretary to make an appointment with them, and was not surprised when she informed him they had already been in contact, and they required his presence without further delay.

For a female, Frowan could never be considered beautiful. Her stark piercing eyes gave her facial features an odd look that at on first introduction was repellent. He inwardly shuddered as she introduced herself to him and he realised from her voice that her eyes mirrored her soul. She was cold and calculating, and Reglin inwardly shuddered once more hoping against hope she wasn’t a telepath.

‘We have read your file and note with mild amusement the inept conclusions of the Review Council,’ she began. ‘HMA authority is taking this matter under their control and while I dislike working with beings of a lower mental capability than myself, I am under orders to work with you. It appears your knowledge of this race will assist me.’

‘Thank you,’ Reglin replied dryly. ‘It is nice to be of some use to you.’

‘Do not be funny Reglin,’ she said quietly. ‘This matter is very serious, handled wrongly; it could have very grave consequences for the entire Galaxy.’ 

‘My apologies Frowan,’ Reglin half bowed to her. ‘I meant no disrespect.’

She looked at him long and hard before eventually speaking once more. ‘For reasons that do not concern you, it has been decided that this planet, (she contemptuously tossed a copy of the file towards him) has to be observed with a greater degree of scrutiny than has been executed previously. For now, that is all you need to know. We expect a watcher to be on the ground without delay. See to it.’ She finished, her voice dripping contempt.

‘That may be so, Frowan,’ he replied, ‘but before I send a highly-trained watcher into this hostile environment I need to know why. Not only for his safety but to determine what exactly should he be observing? To send someone there blind so to speak is foolhardy.’

‘I...,’ she began hesitantly, as if changing her mind on what to say. ‘I am one of the most gifted future readers in the HMA, yet the planets projection is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Every time I put my abilities to the test all I see is a mist with vague images that I cannot read with any degree of accuracy. We have determined therefore a watcher must be sent in, mainly to oversee and observe without involvement, the development of the primary intelligent species. My readings indicate that somehow the people of that planet will be very important to us, how or when is still guesswork. As you are, or were a watcher at one time that is how it affects you. Not that we want you to go of course, you will be needed here, but you will have the task of selection from the watchers at your command. We want the best, the very best. It will be a long and lonely mission, probably for more than one watcher

‘Anything else I should know?’ Reglin asked her.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I have been looking into the future, the very far future, so far that events we put into motion still have the ability to change it. I need to know however, if by trying to change this future, will we be instigating things that will affect our ultimate objective?’

‘Go on,’ Reglin said as she stopped for thought.

‘I see a war, an interstellar war between two races, one of whom is the race we speak about, the other is a race yet to be and that puzzles me because I should be able to see where they are from and ascertain their current intelligence and technology levels, but I cannot. It is giving the whole of the HMA grave cause for concern. Your watcher should report any sightings of this race to us immediately. We also want a Galaxy wide search undertaken at regular intervals for this race, and its existence reported to us without delay. You will oversee this search and coordinate reports in your office before reporting to us. The war I speak of Reglin will be between these two races, the outcome of that war will determine our fate.’

‘I shall see to it without delay,’ Reglin said, thinking. ‘But tell me Frowan, we work against war, so I take it the war should be prevented. I want to know if there is any restriction placed upon me.’

‘No Reglin, the war must take place.’ She hissed at him. ‘We see our deliverance coming from that war. From the victors, a leader will emerge who will be our salvation, so while we will not help in any way, we shall also not hinder. This leader has to become powerful enough to defeat our enemy the Huricanas. What we don’t know at this stage is from what side this leader will emerge. One race seemingly barbaric enough to cause their own extinction, the other as yet unknown leaves us with a lot of questions. 

Reglin left Frowans’ office feeling more than apprehensive at the way the matters of the day were unfolding. Prophecies, interstellar wars and future reading made his head swim as he tried to rationalise the information he had been given. He could not understand the furore it was causing. Yes, there was an anomaly somewhere, but for it to reach and involve the HMA was taking it a little bit far in his estimation, after all, these events the HMA were worried about were far, very far in the future.

Chapter 2

1899 AD

It was a cold, bleak January morning. Outside the snow fell in gentle flakes, the light of the gas lamp outside her window caught the slow, floating descent, of each flake in its pale yellow glow, illuminating them briefly before they settled to the ground to form a fresh blanket of brilliant whiteness on top of yesterday’s fall.

Inside, Joanne poked her head from under the bed covers, and looked at the windowpane, dreading the thought of having to get out of bed and open the curtains. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the bedclothes back and swung her feet out of the covers, and onto the thin threadbare mat that ran the side of her bed. Not all the servants had a mat, most had nothing more than cold linoleum to put their feet on of a morning, and she silently thanked the cook, Mrs Davies, for the unexpected gift of last winter.

She pulled the curtains back; a thin layer of ice had formed on the glass from the night’s condensation, covering the edges in a white sheet that showed only the pale luminance of the gas lamp outside her bedroom window. She rubbed the ice away with her hand and looked quickly up and down the street and at the virgin layer of snow three stories below her. All was quiet and serene, the lamplighter was still to make his morning appearance and she began to worry in case she was late, but on cue, she heard the sound of the milk cart as it turned the corner and she knew she was still on time. It had been warm in bed, and she struggled to find the will not to dive back under the covers. She knew however, to stay in bed would incur the wrath of Tatlock the butler and a possible beating for her in front of the other household servants.

Glumly, she looked at the unkempt bed and decided to make it later once her morning chores had been done. Turning she strode to the small chest of drawers that held her clothing, the ice-cold linoleum as her feet touched it, took her breath away and out of habit, she hurriedly dragged her nightgown over her head, throwing it in a heap on the small bedside chair.

She normally got a strip wash of a morning, but tonight was the female servants bath night; instead she quickly splashed ice cold water on her face out of the small bowl on the dresser that also served as a sink and dried herself with a small towel. She hurriedly dressed and was running down the stairs towards the living quarters as she heard the grandfather clock in the hall chime 5.00am. Six fires had to be laid before the household woke; the ashes from yesterday’s fires had to be raked out, the fireplaces cleaned and the fires re-laid ready for lighting by Tatlock. All this and be in the kitchen ready to help the cook at 6am. At least, she thought, as she rushed to scrape the ashes from the living room fire, ‘Now I’m moving, I’m not as cold’

8am was the time of the day when she could at last, sit down and enjoy a breakfast with the other members of the household. At seventeen, nearly eighteen years of age, this was her second spell of employment in the Brighton household. Her marriage at sixteen had ended the first; her husbands’ death at sea a signalled her return within a scant month of her wedding. Unfortunately, this return meant her starting all over again and doing chores and jobs normally reserved for the youngest and most junior members of the household.

She didn’t see much of the Master. Once Mr Brighton left for his office at 8.30am, the household swung into full gear with Mrs Charmers the middle-aged housekeeper giving the Butler and the Cook the day’s orders. The maids and footmen would then begin to clean the house and its contents from top to bottom. Boring, tedious and tiring chores, but ones that meant Joanne could send money home to her Mother and give her and her younger sister a decent meal every day.

At 8.45am it was her job to clean her own room before embarking on the household chores proper at 9am. She was the junior maid and essentially treated as a slave by the maid who was younger than her by a full year, and who did practically nothing except give Joanne orders telling her what and where to clean, while she waltzed about with a feather duster looking busy. Joanne disliked the maid, a sour-faced girl of sixteen, old before her time; she blamed Joanne at every opportunity for everything and anything that went wrong. So intense was her dislike, Joanne often found herself daydreaming about ways to exact a revenge on her. Her favourite involved the kidnapping of the maid, and burly sailors hauling her off to their ship, never to be seen again. Alas, she would think on returning to the real world ‘if only, if only.’

The morning routine was broken by a bustle of activity. Tatlock came in while she was busily scrubbing the kitchen floor, and with a clap of his hands ordered everyone out to assemble in the main hallway at the foot of the stairs. Apprehension ran through the household. This type of order only happened when something serious was amiss. The last time was when the young footman, Albert Thompson, had been caught stealing food for his family from the kitchen larder. Mr Brighton sacked him on the spot without references, but refused to make a further example of him by prosecuting him. To do so would mean if found guilty he would be shipped out to Australia to serve his sentence, not something Mr Brighton for all his strictness would do.

Joanne, although entirely innocent of any wrongdoing found herself worried and a little scared in case the maid had again blamed her for something. Was she in for a beating at best or something unimaginable at worse. Looking at the maids face and the faces of the other servants as they stood nervously in a silent line dispelled this notion from her mind. It was clear that they all knew nothing of what may have happened or, of what was to transpire.

The hushed whispers of the servants as they stood waiting fell silent as Mr Brighton came from the drawing-room and stood to face them with a solemn look on his face that once more sent a shiver of apprehension down Joanne’s spine.

‘Grave news,’ he began to speak in his deep voice, sending another shock of dread through her body. ‘Due to some unfortunate and unforeseen circumstances, I will be leaving England.’ A gasp escaped the lips of nearly all gathered. Only Tatlock remained impassive to Mr Brighton’s statement.

‘It is with regret, therefore,’ he continued to boom out, ‘that I will no longer require your services after the month’s end.’ Again gasps, with the Cook beginning to uncontrollably sob. ‘Have no fears, Mrs Davies,’ Mr Brighton continued in a more subdued voice. ‘References will be drawn up for you all, and I have secured positions with other families for Tatlock and yourself. I will endeavour to have the rest of you placed before I leave.’

The rest of what Mr Brighton said was lost on Joanne. Her world began to crumble and her eyes began to quickly fill with tears. She knew she couldn’t return home; since the death of her father some four years ago in an accident on the docks, her mother had struggled to support her and her younger sister. She was lucky to have regained her position here following the death of her husband, and Mother had warned her most strongly against losing this job again, letting her know in no uncertain terms, that returning to live at home was not an option she would have again. She admired Mrs Davies, and the realisation that she might never see her again after the end of the month sent Joanne over the edge, with tears falling steadily and uncontrollably down her face. She was strict and would hand out a beating at a moment’s notice, but she was in some ways a fair woman, who had taken Joanne under her wing and had in large protected her from the full brunt of the maid’s cruelty.

Whatever Mr Brighton had gone on to say Joanne never knew. By the time she regained some sort of composure, Mr Brighton had left the entrance hall, with almost all of the servants crying and talking among themselves. Joanne stood there, tears still falling down her cheeks, her mind racing with the despair she felt.

‘Never you mind Joanne,’ Mrs Davies said coming over to her and putting one of her arms around Joanne’s shoulders. ‘I shall not abandon you child, even if it means you come to live with me when I move on, you won’t be alone, or on the streets.’

‘Before you make statements like that Mrs Davies,’ Tatlock said from behind Joanne, ‘Mr Brighton requires your presence in the drawing room.’

‘Thank you Tatlock,’ she replied with a sniff, as she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes with her apron. ‘I shall go immediately, but make no mistake, no matter where I’ve been placed, Joanne comes with me.’ So saying she gave Joanne a quick hug, and Tatlock a look of utter contempt before flouncing off towards the drawing room.

‘And you girl,’ Tatlock growled, ‘I believe you have unfinished work in the kitchen.’

‘Yes Mr Tatlock’ Joanne replied without hesitation, rushing off to the kitchen area, her mind a turmoil of doubt and fear, despite the cooks consoling words.

She set about her task of finishing the kitchen floor, her movements mechanical as she tried to come to terms with the news Mr Brighton had just imparted. She knew Mrs Davies meant well, but if her next employer refused to accommodate Joanne, Joanne was under no illusion that she would be on her own, with very little money to live on and without a roof over her head. The latter she did not relish in the middle of winter.

What money she did have in the way of wages she received at the end of the month, would not last long, especially if she had to pay for accommodation. She resolved to go and see her mother. If she gave her what she had, surely her mother would put a roof over her head until she secured another position. Her mother was a harsh woman, the poverty and despair she lived in daily ensured that, but she was fair. She would see that Joanne’s loss of position was not her fault, and Mr Brighton had promised references, so another position should be found fairly quickly.

Tatlock and Mrs Davies entered the kitchen interrupting her thoughts, and feeling guilty that her mind had been wandering and she had not been paying attention to her work, Joanne furiously began to scrub the floor with increased vigour.

‘Leave that,’ Mrs Davies said quietly, ‘and come and sit here by the fire while we talk to you.’

Joanne slowly released her hold on the scrubbing brush and rose to her feet with quick furtive glances at the two senior staff as she dried her hands on her apron. She could glean nothing from their expressions and once again tears began to well in her eyes as the fears for her future sent her imagination running wild.

‘You have a very important decision to make,’ Mrs Davies said as Joanne sat by the fire opposite her and Tatlock. ‘You don’t have to make it today, and I would urge you to speak to your mother before you make any decision on what I’m about to say to you.’

‘Yes Cook,’ Joanne replied in a hushed voice, wondering what was going to be said now. 

‘Mr Brighton is moving to America, California on the west coast,’ Tatlock said in his gruff voice. ‘I have been offered a position as his Butler and Mrs Davies here has been offered the opportunity to also go with him.’

‘I have been given the choice of either going with Mr Brighton,’ Mrs Davies said, interrupting Tatlock, giving him a look of pure malice, ‘or accepting a position with a merchant in the City Centre. I have informed Mr Brighton that I will not abandon you here alone. I know your mother can’t support you Joanne, and even with Mr Brighton’s reference, I think you will be hard pressed in finding another position as good as this one.’

‘Mr Brighton therefore,’ Tatlock said as Mrs Davies drew breath, ‘has agreed, that if you so wish, you may at his expense make the journey to California with him.’

‘What do you think Joanne?’ Mrs Davies smiled at her, ‘would you like to come to America with us, or would you prefer to stay here in the City?’

It was all getting too much for Joanne. One minute she was out on her ear in the cold of winter, the next she was being given the choice to go to America or stay here, albeit with Mrs Davies in the employment of another family. Her mind raced; America, that wild country on the other side of the world. A land filled with savage Indians, a land so far away, she knew by going there she would never see her mother or sister again. America, the land of opportunity, filled with riches and rich men that Cissy the maid always prattled on and dreamed about. What a kick in the teeth for Cissy, her, the junior, lowest of the low in the household, offered a position in America.  Adventure lay there according to Cissy. But Cissy was a dreamer, and her tales of America and the fortune she would one day make there always included snide remarks about Joanne not having the looks or the brains to make anything of herself, even in America.

‘Well,’ Tatlock queried as her mind raced with the magnitude of what was being asked of her. ‘What do you say girl? The Master requires an answer.’

Joanne looked at them, each in turn, gazed levelly back at her, expectant and in Tatlock’s case demanding. ‘I,’ she faltered, her heart beginning to race in her chest causing her to lose her breath. ‘I don’t know Mr Tatlock,’ tears began to form in her eyes once more. ‘America, it’s so far away, I would never see my mother or sister ever again, and what about the Indians?’ Her hand flew to her throat. ‘We might be butchered in our beds, and why me Mrs Davies?’ she suddenly thought and said without thinking. ‘Why me and not Joey or Sarah, or even Cissy, she would jump at the opportunity to go to America, it’s all she talks about?’

‘I think the first thing you should do Joanne,’ Mrs Davies said taking hold of her hand, ‘is speak to your mother. Tell her what’s happened here and what has been offered you. See what she thinks before you make up your mind. As to why you,’ she smiled at Joanne with a smile of warmth Joanne had never seen on her face before, ‘perhaps if you ask your mother she will tell you why,’

Joanne looked into her still smiling face, saw a strange warmth and compassion there and again wondered why? ‘Is it your wish to go to America Mrs Davies?’ Joanne asked her ‘Or...’

‘It is dear’ Mrs Davies interrupted her, ‘It is also the wish of Mr Brighton. My other choice to remain here was Mr Brighton’s idea, in case I didn’t want to travel across the world. Now child, speak to your mother as soon as you can, if you are to go with us, we have a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.’

‘Yes Mrs Davies,’ Joanne replied nodding her head slowly, ‘I shall speak to her when I go to visit at the weekend.’

‘You will not,’ Tatlock said in a remarkably even sounding voice. He reached into his pocket, selected a coin from the change he now held in his hand and offered Joanne a silver sixpence. ‘You will wash and put your clean Sunday clothes on, you will then take the Omnibus and visit your mother today, stay overnight with her and be back here for lunch tomorrow.’

Joanne looked at the silver sixpence in amazement, half a week’s pay being given to her so she could travel on an omnibus seemed to her to be very extravagant, especially as her mother only lived a couple of hours walk away. As she was about to splutter a refusal with her intention of walking to her mother’s, Tatlock growled in his more accustomed gruff voice ‘Take it girl, and do as you are told’

‘Yes Sir,’ she replied, the command in his voice automatically making her hand reach out to take the six-penny piece.

The two-mile Omnibus journey to her mother’s home in Everton gave Joanne a chance to think without the input of Mrs Davies or Tatlock confusing her. It was well known in the household why Mrs Davies would be going with the Master to America. She was young for a cook, being in her thirties and looked nothing like the cooks of other households. She was slim and considered good looking for a start. All the other cooks Joanne knew or had seen, had gained more than a few pounds from constantly sampling their creations, and were often sour of nature. Mrs Davies also kept the Master company late into the evening and often stayed in his rooms overnight. She had a bubbly personality, and while she could beat the living daylights out of you for a silly misdemeanour, she was not overly cruel and administered her ‘justice’ with what Joanne thought of as genuine sorrow.

Tatlock, on the other hand, had been with the Master even before he had made his fortune, and rumour in the household had it that he was a relation of the master fallen onto hard times, and given the butler’s job out of charity. He was not a very good butler, but the household jumped at his command and somehow he muddled through his daily routine. His one redeeming factor was he was intensely loyal to Mr Brighton and had scars on his face to show the world he was not a soft touch. His past, like that of Mrs Davies, was shrouded in mystery; neither ever spoke of their time before joining the Brighton household, or of how, or when, they began in Mr Brighton’s employ.

It was not long however before the day’s events were replaced in her mind with fanciful notions of how she would live in America, how she would be rich, live in a big house with servants of her own, children and a husband to look after and love. Her excitement at these thoughts, and the adventures she would live through, brought on apprehension and fears of the unknown that had her doubting her willingness to leave England and all she knew. With her mind a jumble of thoughts, it did not seem long before she looked out of the omnibus window to see the names on street corners that she was familiar with. Streets, as a young girl she had played happily in with her friends. With a start, she jumped up as she realised her Mother’s Street was just around the next corner, and pulling her coat and scarf tight to her neck and body she made her way to the omnibus rear platform, waiting for it to come to a halt so she could jump off the platform in safety.

At thirty-five, her mother was a thin sour-faced woman, who thanks to her years of poverty and drudgery looked old before her time, although since Joanne’s wage had been coming in each month things had been better, she had paid off the family debts and she no longer looked half starved or wore filthy old clothes anymore. She was in the kitchen when Joanne arrived. The customary pan of thin stew bubbling away under a low light on the stove filled the air with a homely smell that Joanne had grown up with and could never forget. The warmth from the stove dispelled the freezing air of the outside world and Joanne gave an inward smile to herself at the fond memories, especially before her father’s death, of happier times for the family. They had never been rich, but her Dad was or had been, a good worker and provider.

‘What are you doing here girl?’ her mother snapped. ‘Have you been dismissed? Are you in trouble?’ her voice rose a few octaves as the thought of another mouth to feed and the possibility that the silly girl had got herself pregnant, sent alarm bells ringing through her head. ‘Why else would she be here’ she thought, ‘midweek and in the afternoon when she should be working, meant only thing, trouble.’

‘No Mam,’ Joanne replied, taking off her coat and scarf and hanging it behind the door on a nail that served as a hook. ‘I haven’t been dismissed and I’m not in trouble, and you should be ashamed for thinking I am’

‘Don’t give me lip girl,’ her mother said menacingly, still wondering what had brought her daughter home so unexpectedly.

‘I’m sorry Mam,’ Joanne apologised, ‘but you brought me up to be a good girl, and I am.’

‘Then why are you here in the middle of the week, it must be an ill wind that brings you.’

‘It is.’ Joanne said, and then quickly relayed the events of the day, culminating in Mrs Davies wanting them to speak to each other and decide what to do for the best. ‘Mrs Davies also said you would tell me why she wants me to go with her, and why no one else is going. I don’t understand that Mam, why would she say something like that?’

‘She did, did she?’ Joanne’s Mother said, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘Why that old witch, I knew I shouldn’t have placed you with that silver-tongued cow, may God forgive her for the misery she causes to me and everyone who knows her!’

‘Mother!’ Joanne exploded, shock and concern at her Mothers outburst evident in her voice.

‘I’m sorry Joanne,’ her mother said, the anger still in her voice, but tempered now as she looked at her daughter. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken that way, but if you knew my reasons you’d understand why.’ She stopped, looking levelly at Joanne, and Joanne knew that whatever had caused her mother’s outburst it must be serious. Her mother looked away, turning to the stove, quiet, pensive and clearly deep in thought. Joanne left her to idly stir the stew while she regained her composure and think through what her daughter had just told her.

The kettle boiled with the silence between mother and daughter shattered by its shrill whistle. Using the damp dishcloth to protect her hands from the heat of the hot metal handle, her mother removed the kettle from the stove and poured the boiling water into a darkly tea stained pot, stirring the contents as she did with a small teaspoon. Soon a steaming cup of hot, black tea was placed on the table in front of Joanne and her mother lowered herself slowly, with a cup of the same to sit directly opposite her.

‘I have to tell you a story Joanne, one I should have told you a long time ago when the truth mightn’t have hurt you so much as it undoubtedly will now. But I listened to your father instead, God rest his soul when I should have heeded my own thoughts on the matter.’ She took a sip of her tea, all the time keeping Joanne in a steady, but compassionate gaze.

‘Go on’ said Joanne, clearly unsettled but intrigued by her mother’s actions and words.

‘Later,’ she replied, ‘I want to get this America thing sorted out first and I don’t want what I have to say to influence you. What do you want to do Jo, your gut feeling without listening to any concerns about me or anyone else, what do you want to do?’

‘I want to go Mam, I’ve thought about it since I was first told, and the more I think, the more I want to go. The only thing stopping me from saying yes to Mrs Davies is you and Emily. I love you Mam, and I know I’ll miss you terrible, I might never see you again.’ Tears welled in her eyes as she said this to her mother, and much to Joanne’s astonishment, the same formed in her mother’s eyes.

‘Then you go.’ Her mother said forcibly. ‘I love you to Joanne, I mightn’t always have said or shown it, or even acted like it, but I do, and I want one thing for you my girl,’ she smiled, ‘happiness. You won’t find it here; you’ll end up like me with kids to bring up on your own because your husband has been killed somewhere. You’ve already lost one husband, God rest his soul, so look around you, look at the poverty here, not just in this house, but all around. If you have the means to get away from this Jo, then you grab it with both hands and don’t let it go girl.’ She reached over, taking Joanne’s hands in hers and squeezing them as tears began to flow uncontrollably down her face.

‘But Mam,’ Joanne said, ‘what about you and Emily, how will you manage; the little I send home each week is just about keeping you. Lose that and what will happen?’

‘Never mind that,’ her mother snapped. ‘We eat a bit less, smaller portions, we make a loaf last three days instead of two, besides, I might have a little job helping Mary Wilson on her market stall every Saturday, it won’t pay much, but she’s promised I can