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Updated: May 29, 2025
Standing before the fireplace in the drawing-room, awaiting the first guest, Jasmine said to herself: "No, no, he had not the courage to kill himself." Some one had killed him. Who was it? Who killed him Rudyard Ian who? But how? There was no sign of violence. That much she had seen. He lay like one asleep. Who was it killed him? "Lady Tynemouth." Back to the world from purgatory again.
The lords presented an address to the queen, representing that they had duly weighed the dangerous and pernicious effects that were likely to be produced by divers acts of parliament lately passed in Scotland: that they were of opinion the safety of the kingdom required that speedy and effectual orders should be given to put Newcastle in a posture of defence, to secure the port of Tynemouth, and repair the fortifications of Hull and Carlisle.
For hours she and Jasmine and Lady Tynemouth had gone from cottage to cottage where the dead and wounded were, and had left everywhere gifts, and the promises of gifts, in the attempt to soften the cruelty of the blow to those whose whole life depended on the weekly wage.
First, for coals; the colliers being provided with men at 28s. per month, and convoys in sufficient number, and proper stations from Tynemouth Bar to the river, so as they need not go in fleets, but as wind and weather presents, run all the way under the protection of the men-of-war, who should be continually cruising from station to station, they would be able to perform their voyage, in as short time as formerly, and at as cheap pay, and consequently could afford to sell their coals at 17s. per chaldron, as well as formerly at 15s.
Lady Tynemouth caught Jasmine's shoulders in her trembling yet strong fingers, and looked into the wild eyes with searching inquiry and solicitude. "But, Jasmine, it isn't possible. Will Rudyard can you afford it?" "That will not be Rudyard's money which you will get. It will be all my own." "But you yourself are not rich. Sixty thousand pounds why?"
"Play the game play the game, Alice, and so will I, and the rest of the world be hanged!" was what Tynemouth had said to his wife; and it would not have occurred to him to suspect Stafford, or to read one of his letters to Lady Tynemouth.
She looked at him almost fiercely again. "No, I have what is my own, my very own, and no more," she responded, bitterly. "You will do your work, and I will do mine. You will stay here. There will be no scandal, because I shall be going with Alice Tynemouth, and the world will not misunderstand." "There will be no scandal, because I am going, too," he said, firmly.
As the names declare, these two growing and prosperous towns once consisted of a few fishermen's huts, or "shielings"; but that was long ago, when the north shore of the Tyne was owned by the Prior of Tynemouth, and the southern shore by the Bishop of Durham, and the citizens of Newcastle complained to King Edward I. that these two ecclesiastics had raised towns, "where no town ought to be," and that "fishermen sold fish there which ought to be sold at Newcastle, to the great injury of the whole borough, and in detriment to the tolls of our Lord the King."
She could tell you, for instance, the latest story of Sir Charles Fiste's son at Monte Carlo; who was the real heroine of Tynemouth Eddy's fashionable novel that everyone was holding up their hands over, and what they were doing in Paris about wearing bloomers.
A splendid instance of persevering effort in the face of absolutely insurmountable difficulty was afforded by the action of the Constance lifeboat, belonging to Tynemouth, on the night of the 24th November, 1864.
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