by Valerie Wood
The door opened a crack. ‘Sorry, Grace,’ Mr Blake muttered. ‘But you can’t be too careful. Bessie isn’t in,’ he said. ‘She must have gone out first thing.’
‘But her fire is lit,’ Grace pointed out.
‘Ah, yes!’ The whites of his eyes were the only part of his face showing from behind the door. ‘I lit it. I’ve been keeping it in for her for when she gets back.’
And having a warm by it as well, Grace thought, though she couldn’t blame them for that. ‘So where has she gone,’ she asked, ‘if she’s been gone all day?’
Mr Blake peered round the door at the stranger with Grace and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, Ruby left her a bit o’ money to buy some baccy. Not much, but Bessie had grumbled about being left without a penny to her name, so Ruby gave in and let her have a couple o’ bob.’
Grace turned away. Bessie could be anywhere, but more than likely at one of the inns. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the stranger. ‘Can I give her a message?’
The man hesitated. ‘Are you a friend? It’s very personal. Bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘I am a friend. A friend of her daughter, Ruby.’
‘And did you know her son?’
Grace put her hand to her mouth. ‘Freddie? Something’s happened to Freddie?’ He shook his head. ‘You mean Josh?’
‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘That’s who I mean. Josh. We were shipmates. ’Fraid he’s gone. Got washed overboard. I’ve brought his things.’ He indicated the kitbag. ‘There’s a bit o’ money as well, so I’d want a receipt. Where will I find his sister?’
‘You won’t. She’s away. She won’t be back until mebbe Monday.’
‘I can’t stay that long.’ He fiddled with his thick beard. ‘My ship sails tomorrow morning and I’ve to be on board tonight.’
‘I’ll sign for it if you’ll trust me. My name is Grace Sheppard, but I’ve no reference that I can give you.’
‘Grace Sheppard?’ he said and looked at her quizzically. ‘Where’ve I heard that name?’
She smiled. ‘Nowhere! Why would you have heard my name?’
He stared at her. ‘Well, I have.’ He stroked his beard again, teasing it with his fingers. ‘Somewhere.’ He raised his hand and pointed a finger at her. ‘Got it! You were one of ’speakers at Wakefield!’
She gazed at him in astonishment. ‘Yes, I was. How do you know? You were never there, a seaman of all people?’
He gave a grin. ‘No, not me, but I’ve just been to see my sister and her family. She married a man from Wakefield. She’d been to hear some of ’speakers at ’Bull Ring and was full of news about this young woman who spoke, and who gave all of her collection away to a poor woman and her lad.’
Grace was embarrassed but also amazed that people were speaking about her. ‘Come inside for a minute,’ she said, conscious of Mr Blake listening behind Bessie’s door, and led him towards her own door. ‘Will you have a cup of tea?’
He refused the tea and handed over the kitbag and a brown packet, and, looking around the bare room, he declared, ‘I’ll write to my sister and tell her that you do live in poverty like you said you did. My sister believed every word you uttered, she said she had never been so moved by anybody before.’ He put out his hand. ‘Can I shake your hand? Our lass will be that proud when I tell her.’
‘Proud! But why?’
‘Why, because you believe in summat. Cos you’re trying to right some wrongs.’ He looked keenly at her and then at her parents. ‘Don’t give up, Grace. There’s a lot of folks depending on you.’
Grace’s eyes were full of tears as she bid the man goodbye. So the cause had been worthwhile after all, even though we’re suffering now, me and Ma and Da. Miss Gregory and Miss Emerson have gone back to their comfortable homes and can reflect that they have done their best for the sake of women. Mrs Westwood, well, I don’t know why she has gone back to her husband, but perhaps she found life unbearable without her children.
But as for me – She took a deep satisfying breath. My eyes are opened and I’ve found my voice, so I’ll go back to Dock Green and anywhere else if I’m asked, and if I’m known as an agitator, well, so be it.
* * *
‘I’d better go and look for Bessie,’ Grace said after they’d eaten their supper. She had been back to Bessie’s house several times but she wasn’t there, and as she looked through the window had seen a sudden flurry of bodies as the Blake family rushed away from Bessie’s fire. The weather wasn’t cold, but the houses were damp and mouldy and a fire was very comforting. Mrs Blake had come to the window when she saw that it was Grace, and called that Bessie hadn’t been home and Mr Blake had been out to look for her.
‘Try Tap and Barrel,’ her mother said wryly. ‘That used to be her favourite place. Onny be back afore dark. It’s Saturday and there’ll be drunken men spending their wages and their wives and bairns waiting for ’em at ’inn door.’
‘Yes, I won’t be long.’ Grace glanced at her father, half hoping he would offer to go with her, but he seemed rather morose and didn’t look up as she went out. She heard her mother mutter something and her father say, ‘Leave it be, woman!’ in answer.
She looked in the hostelries around Sykes Street and Mason Street, but there were so many that it would have taken her all night to check them all. She cut down New George Street towards the river Hull where the mills and factories were situated, and where there was an even greater profusion of inns and alehouses. Going inside one of them she called out, ‘Bessie Robson! Has anyone seen Bessie Robson?’
A man turned round. ‘Aye, she’s been here. Ask ’landlord.’
Grace pushed her way to the counter and was aggrieved to feel fingers pinching her as she passed and comments made on her person. ‘Have you seen Bessie Robson?’ she shouted above the din to a man in a stained apron behind the ale-brimming counter.
He nodded. ‘She was here last night. Not seen her since.’
Grace was dismayed. Last night! Did that mean she hadn’t been home? She then went on to the Tap and Barrel which she knew Bessie frequented, but she felt uneasy as it was getting dark and there were few street lights down by the river. Again she repeated her question to the landlord. ‘Has Bessie Robson been here today?’
‘All day,’ he agreed. ‘I had to ask her to leave at ’finish, her and her pal.’
‘You won’t know where she went?’
‘Don’t much care,’ he said grimly. ‘She was mekking a nuisance of herself, asking for loddy, beggin’ for money from folk.’
‘Who was she with?’ she asked. ‘You said she was with somebody.’
‘Oh, aye. He sat there laughing at her, but he allus clears off if there’s trouble brewing. Can’t think why he comes with an old lass like her.’
Grace was puzzled. ‘Wh— who are you talking about?’
He passed a tankard of ale to a man who was waiting, and then served a woman with a glass of neat gin. ‘Why, Jamie, of course. She was with him last time and then he left her for us to send home. Are you her daughter? Cos if you are I’ll tell you, I’ll not have her in here again.’
She shook her head in denial and, as she turned to go out, a toothless old woman grabbed her skirt. ‘Bessie set off for Whalebone,’ she grinned, showing her gums. ‘Said her lad might be there and he’d buy her some loddy.’
‘Her lad?’
‘Aye, the one that’s a seaman. Treated her ’last time he was home.’
Well, he won’t be treating her any more, Grace thought, and I’d better keep that money that his shipmate gave me, and give it to Ruby when she comes back. She tried to prise the old woman’s hand from her skirt but she held it fast.
‘Don’t suppose you’ve any money to spare, have you, dearie? I’m that parched.’ She looked eagerly at Grace. ‘Drop o’ loddy? Screw o’ baccy?’
Grace shook her head at each question. She didn’t feel distaste for the woman’s craving, only sorry that she should be driven to it by the life she had led.
&nbs
p; ‘Jamie gave her some raw,’ the old woman said in a disgruntled tone. ‘But he wouldn’t give me any.’
‘Raw opium?’ Grace said.
‘Aye, he’d got a bag of it. He and Bessie were sharing it.’ Her lips curled downwards. ‘It’ll be ’finish of her.’ She gave a loud cackle. ‘She’ll not get home tonight.’
Bessie had begged Ruby to give her some money. ‘Don’t want much,’ she’d said. ‘But I feel like a pauper without a penny in my pocket. I’d like to wander down to ’Market Place and buy a bit o’ baccy or meet some of my old pals and have a glass of ale.’ She put on a wheedling voice. ‘I know you’ve bought me some groceries but I don’t want to be stuck in ’house all of ’time, specially now when weather’s nice. And you’ll be off enjoying yourself, I expect,’ she’d added.
And because Ruby felt guilty at leaving her alone, she’d given in and handed her two sixpences. Bessie had looked down at them in her palm and said not a word, so Ruby added another sixpence.
‘It’s not that I don’t want you to have it, Ma,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s onny that I’m afraid of what you might spend it on, or what you might get up to.’
Bessie had laughed and put the money in her pocket. ‘You forget, Ruby, I’m your ma. I allus used to look after you, and Josh and Freddie as well! I can look after myself.’
‘Not when you’ve had a dose of loddy and a glass of ale, you can’t, Ma.’ But she hadn’t asked her to promise she wouldn’t buy any laudanum or opium and Bessie was glad of that, for her craving was intense. She had a gnawing in her stomach and a buzzing in her head which told her she needed something now.
When Ruby had gone, she seized the bottle of laudanum she had brought and took a long gulp. ‘I’ll be sensible,’ she said out loud. ‘Like I said I’d be. I’ll have a bit o’ breakfast.’
She took a bite out of the loaf and cut a slice of cheese, but the cheese was sharp and she spat it out and decided that she would ask the Blakes if they would swap it for opium. Ruby would have been sure to have given them money as she was to be away for a few days.
Mrs Blake was coming down the stairs and she shouted to her. ‘Same arrangement, Mrs Blake? You can sleep in my bed tonight and there’s a nice bit o’ cheese if you’ll get me three pennorth o’ raw.’
‘Your Ruby said we hadn’t to get you any loddy,’ Mrs Blake said nervously. ‘Onny food if you want any. Milk or tea and that.’
Bessie pulled a face. ‘Tea! Never drink it. No, our Ruby knows that! Get me a jug of ale and three pennorth o’ raw. It’s loddy she says I haven’t to have. Can’t trust ’grocers to mix it right, you see. They use too much morphine.’ She patted her nose with her finger. ‘But I mix a bit o’ raw wi’ baccy and it’s a grand smoke and doesn’t do any harm. It’s not like eating it or drinking loddy.’ She shook her head knowledgeably. ‘Oh dear no. Not ’same at all.’
And Mrs Blake, being a gullible, artless sort of person, gave Bessie the benefit of the doubt and trotted off on her errand.
In the meantime Bessie ate the rest of the bread and took another gulp of laudanum from the bottleneck. When Mrs Blake returned with her shopping she felt pleasantly aware that it was a delightful sunny day, though a little bright. The door and window frame, the bed and table stood out distinctly, and Mrs Blake appeared to have two heads, both with distorted features.
‘You poor thing,’ she muttered. ‘It must be awkward for you. I mean, how do you know which bonnet to wear? Not that I ever wear a bonnet. Used to wear my old man’s cap, softened blows when he hit me.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Does he hit you? Your mister, I mean?’
Mrs Blake nodded and agreed that sometimes he did, and then ran upstairs to tell her husband that Bessie was going off her head.
‘Did you get us some shopping as well as her?’ he asked.
‘Aye. I got three pennorth o’ opium for Bessie, but took some out, and here’s a bit of her baccy for you. She’s far gone already so she’ll not miss it, and we can have her bed again tonight.’
‘And for next couple o’ nights if Ruby’s away with her gent.’ Mr Blake gave his wife a nudge. ‘If Bessie goes out this morning we’ll light a fire and have a bit of a kip, shall we? Just you and me! Send bairns out beggin’. About time little blighters started earning their living.’
Bessie did go out and somehow lost the day, for she didn’t go home and Saturday morning found her on the doorstep of the inn where she had spent the night. Several people had tried to shake her awake or nudged her with a foot, but she was quite oblivious. She had had several jugs of ale which she shared with whoever was at her table, someone bought her a couple of glasses of rum, and she had chewed or smoked all of her opium.
When she finally awoke her head was spinning, she had been sick and couldn’t get to her feet. ‘Where am I?’ she croaked. ‘Can somebody help me up?’ But there was no-one about so she crawled up the steps on her hands and knees and hammered on the bottom of the door until someone came to open it.
‘Clear off, Bessie.’ The landlord looked down at her. ‘It’s six in ’morning. You should be home in bed.’
‘Where do I live?’ she asked. ‘Do you know?’
‘Aye, I do,’ he grunted. ‘Took you home last time but I’m not mekking a habit of it.’
She groaned and tried to get up from her knees and he bent down to haul her to her feet. ‘Look,’ he said, grabbing her as she swayed. ‘You can come in and we’ll mek you a cup o’ tea, but then you must go home. Your family’ll be worried about you.’
She screwed up her eyes and moaned with the pain in her body, feeling as if she’d been kicked. ‘There’s nobody at home. Our Ruby’s gone off with her gentleman.’
‘And left you on your own? An old woman like you?’
She looked at him through bleary eyes and said in a shocked startled voice, ‘Am I an old woman? I didn’t know that I was! Nobody told me. When did that happen?’
The landlord didn’t answer. He was looking across the street at someone going past and he put two fingers between his teeth and gave a shrill whistle. ‘Hey! Hey! Jamie. Come here, I want you.’
Bessie’s legs wouldn’t hold her and she sat down again on the doorstep. Through her muddled mind she heard two voices talking. ‘You’re out early,’ said one, and the other agreed that he was. ‘Just doing a bit of business,’ he said.
‘Can you tek her home? She’ll not get back on her own.’
A face grinned down at her. ‘Now then, Bessie. What you been up to?’
She shook her hand to waft him away, but the gesture was feeble and she felt his hands under her armpits as he heaved her to her feet. ‘Don’t want—’ she began, but he pinched her cheeks between his thumb and fingers, and whispered in her ear, ‘I know what you want, Bessie, and I’ve got it. Drop o’ loddy, eh? Bit of raw? But first of all you and me are going to have a little chat about your Ruby.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Grace was on the point of giving up her search for Bessie. Thick grey mist was drifting in from the river, shrouding corners and making the groups of people who were hanging around the alehouses look sinister and threatening, although as she approached she saw that most of them were women and children. It was not an area in which she felt safe after dark: the lodging houses were derelict, yet housed occupants. The streets were undrained and potholed, dogs barked and men and women shouted and shrieked.
Some street women were leaning on the corners of buildings and they looked at Grace with uninterested eyes as she passed. She stopped to speak to one of them. ‘Do you know Bessie Robson?’ she asked. ‘Have you seen her?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t ever see anybody, dearie. It’s ’best way.’
She moved on in the direction of home, but on a sudden impulse she crossed the street towards a narrow alleyway where a light was showing from an open doorway of an alehouse, and loud laughter coming from within. It was merely a room, but ale and beer were being served and it was packed with cus
tomers. She looked in the door but her spirits sank when she saw the roughness of the people who were inside. She turned away and as she did she saw a bundle of rags huddled in a corner, and she thought it moved.
A man pushed past her to go inside, then stopped and leered. ‘Looking for customers, darling?’ He moved towards her and she smelt a putrid breath of ale and onions, and an unwashed body.
She backed away. ‘No. No. I’m – I’m looking for my ma.’ She appealed to him. ‘Could you – could you try and see who that is?’ She pointed down at the corner. ‘I daren’t look.’
He coughed and hawked and pushed his boot into the bundle. ‘Has she any money on her?’
‘No. We don’t have any money.’
‘You could earn some.’ Again he leered and grinned at her.
‘Not tonight. I have to find her. She’s sick.’
He bent down and pushed some of the black cloth aside. ‘It’s an old woman,’ he said. ‘Phew! If it’s your ma, she’s for ’knacker’s yard.’
She peered down fearfully. It was Bessie. Her face gleamed a deathly white, her neck was stretched back and her mouth open.
‘Cheerio, darling.’ The man moved into the lighted doorway. ‘Can’t do owt for her, but let me know if you change your mind.’
Grace knelt down beside Bessie and touched her throat. It was cold but she thought she felt a tremor, though there seemed to be no breath in her. How can I get her home? I can’t carry her. There was no possibility of calling for any help from the alehouse, not if the customers were of the ilk as the man who had just gone inside. Besides, she might be putting herself in danger.
I’ll have to fetch Da, she decided, and taking off her shawl she wrapped it around Bessie’s shoulders and set off at great speed towards home.
‘Where’ve you been, bairn?’ Her mother’s face was anxious and her father was buttoning up his jacket as she burst through the door. ‘Your da was just coming to look for you.’
‘Bessie!’ she panted. ‘I’ve found her. She’s – she’s, I think she’s alive but she’s not moving. She’s down an alley near ’river, but I can’t lift her.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘I think she’s been out since yesterday morning.’
