by Valerie Wood
‘God in heaven,’ her mother muttered. ‘I allus knew it’d come to this.’
Grace’s father looked at his wife. His face was expressionless and she stared back at him, her mouth working but not uttering a word.
It seemed to Grace that they had forgotten she was there as she stood trying to get her breath back and ease the stitch in her side, and she waited for one of them to speak.
It was her father who broke the silence, though Grace could hardly catch the words. ‘For pity’s sake, Lizzie,’ he said softly. ‘Have some mercy.’
Her mother swallowed, then said in a tight voice, ‘You’d better go with your da and fetch her back here.’ She looked at Grace. ‘Take a blanket wi’ you.’ She took a blanket from the bed and handed it to her.
‘No. You stop here, Grace,’ her father countermanded. ‘Tell me where she is and I’ll fetch her.’
Grace told him where to find her and her father was furious. ‘You should never have gone there on your own! It’s a den of hell down there. Pimps and thieves. You were risking your life!’
‘But I found her, didn’t I?’ Unusually, she retaliated. She had been scared, though she wouldn’t admit it, and she decided not to tell of the man who tried to proposition her.
Bob Sheppard hurried towards the river. A light rain was falling and he put up his jacket collar and pulled his felt hat over his forehead. He knew where the streets were which Grace had described, though he wouldn’t normally venture into them, not even in daylight. They were usually flooded with rainwater and the residents lived upstairs, for the lower floors were uninhabitable.
How did you come to be down here, Bessie? he wondered as he picked his way through debris. How did you come to this? Have you lost your senses altogether? Did the poppy finally get you?
He found her exactly where Grace had said. Trying not to attract the attention of the occupants of the alehouse, he crouched down at her side. ‘Bessie,’ he whispered. ‘Bessie! Can you hear me?’ He gently patted her face. ‘It’s me. Bob.’
There was a slight movement and a rasp from the back of her throat.
‘Can you hear me?’ There was an imperceptible nod of her head. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’ He wrapped the blanket around her and as he lifted her she cried out. ‘Where do you hurt, Bessie? Can you tell me?’
She shook her head. ‘Everywhere,’ she moaned. ‘Who is it, did you say?’
‘Bob.’ He looked at her in the light coming from the alehouse door, and hardly knew her. Her lips were swollen and she had a bruise beneath her left eye. ‘Bob Sheppard.’
She gave a croak which sounded rather like a laugh. ‘I’ve onny – ever known one Bob,’ she rasped, her words coming out in grunts. ‘So you don’t have to tell me your other name.’ She took a breath and said huskily, ‘Does – Lizzie know you’re here?’
‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘She told me to fetch you.’
‘She’s – forgiven us, then?’
‘She forgave you a long time ago.’ His voice dropped to a mere whisper. ‘It’s me she hasn’t forgiven.’
She was no weight at all, and he cradled her in his arms and made his way back down the alley to the street.
‘Somebody – said I was – an old woman,’ she said breathlessly and he had to bend his head to hear her. ‘I didn’t know that I was.’ She lifted a weary, listless hand as if it was carrying a great weight, and moved the blanket away from her face to touch his cheek with her fingers. Her eyes were half closed. ‘Do you remember me, Bob – when I used to – inhabit a younger woman’s skin?’
He stopped, and the lamplight shone down on her pale and wrinkled face. ‘Aye, Bessie. I remember.’ He nodded and said softly, ‘I won’t ever forget.’
‘What happened, Ma?’ Grace sat shivering by the fire. The running home had sapped her strength and she felt weak. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and stared into space.
‘What?’ Lizzie shook herself from her reverie. ‘When? You tell me.’
‘No, I mean you and Bessie. You used to be friends. What happened?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Nowt. It was a long time ago.’
‘Tell me,’ Grace insisted. ‘You should talk about it.’
Her mother gazed down at the floor. ‘It’s finished. Doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It matters to Da.’
Lizzie nodded slowly several times, then, sighing, said softly, ‘Ah, well, that’s my fault, you see. I made him suffer. I was vindictive and bitter.’
‘About what?’
‘Him and Bessie.’ She looked across at her daughter. The room was dark, but the firelight was flickering on Grace’s pale face and she could tell that she was upset. Either about Bessie or maybe something else. She had been quiet anyway since she had come back from her tour. Only the stranger’s remarks today about her speech at Wakefield had given her some spirit back.
‘Da and Bessie? Did they – did they –?’ Grace’s question hung in the air.
‘Bessie and me were friends,’ her mother began. ‘Good friends like you and Ruby, though I was allus anxious about her. Forever worried about what she might get up to. She used to act first and think after.’
‘Just like Ruby,’ Grace murmured.
‘And then there was her habit. Her craving for her loddy. She’s allus tekken it, since she was a babby. A lot of folks do.’ Lizzie’s face became pensive and Grace got up from her chair and sat next to her on the bed. ‘Then there was Rex. He used to beat her when he was drunk which was most of ’time.’
It was the first time Grace had heard his name. Rex Robson, Bessie’s husband, Ruby’s father.
‘She used to come to us when he was ’worse for drink and stay until he went to sleep or went out again.’ Lizzie gave an ironic grunt. ‘She allus had a black eye in those days. She used to joke about it, said it matched her black hair. She was beautiful. Just like Ruby is.’
She gave a deep, deep sigh. ‘Then one day she came round here in a state, said he was smashing up ’furniture and threatening to kill her for spending his ale money on loddy. Onny – I wasn’t in!’
She twisted her hands together, round and round as if she was wringing out washing. ‘Just your da was here. He said she was desperate, terrified and weeping, and – I suppose he was just comforting her to begin with. But like I say, she was beautiful and – ’
‘It’s all right, Ma,’ Grace said softly. ‘You don’t have to say any more. I understand.’
‘Do you?’ Her mother turned to face her. ‘No. You don’t. You can’t possibly. I was so jealous, you see, when I found out. If I’d been sensible I’d have known that it was nowt, that it would have died away. Your da wouldn’t have left us. He wouldn’t have left you, that’s for certain. But I wasn’t sensible and I never spoke to Bessie and I hardly spoke to your da, and I drove him towards her.’
She gave a little sob. ‘And then he started taking opium. Bessie put him onto it, and I knew then if I didn’t take that in hand, I’d lose him altogether. So I told him I was leaving and tekking you with me, that I’d beg in ’streets if need be.’
She patted Grace’s hand. ‘And so he came back.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Nobody’d think to look at us, poverty-stricken wretches that we are, that we were capable of love and passion. They wouldn’t, would they?’
‘No.’ Grace whispered. ‘Nobody would.’ She felt terribly sad. ‘But we suffer and hurt just as rich folk do. More, probably, for we’ve no comforts to distract us from our misery. I wonder’, she said thoughtfully, ‘if I will ever feel such love for someone?’
‘You’re onny young,’ her mother said, ‘and sometimes love grows slowly. Mebbe out of admiration or respect and not just because somebody is handsome.’ She gave a winsome grin. ‘I mean your da and me are not oil paintings, are we?’
She gazed at her. ‘You must try to get out of here, Grace. This is a bottomless pit and there’s no future for you. Go and do your speechifying again and see what opportunities it mig
ht bring.’
Tears glistened in Grace’s eyes. She had been so full of hope, yet nothing had come of that fervent anticipation. Everyone she had been involved with had faded away. Miss Emerson was presumably locked into her own emotions, Miss Gregory taking a holiday. Mr Newmarch? Mr Newmarch! Mr Emerson had said he was ill, maybe that was why he hadn’t been in contact. But then why should he? He had been considerate towards her, but why should she expect that consideration to continue? Yet she had felt disappointment at the silence.
‘Grace?’ her mother said. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I was thinking of Mr Newmarch. I heard today that he was ill. I sent my good wishes, but perhaps – perhaps I should write to him?’
‘Yes.’ Lizzie nodded and looked keenly at her. ‘Perhaps you should.’
A figure passed the window and they heard the sound of a boot on the outer door. Grace rushed to open it and let in her father, carrying Bessie. ‘She’s all in,’ he panted. ‘I don’t know if she’ll mek it. She’s been beaten up by ’look of her and she’s had her fill of summat. Opium or liquor or mebbe both.’
‘Who would beat her up?’ Grace cried. ‘You can see she has nothing.’
‘There’s no knowing why people do what they do.’ Her mother pulled back the covers on the bed. ‘Put her down, Bob. Let’s tek a look at her. She must have had summat that somebody wanted. A copper or two, a bit o’ baccy. Who knows?’
Bessie cried out as he placed her down on the bed and Lizzie unwrapped the blanket that was around her. ‘My shawl,’ Grace said. ‘Did you drop it? I put it over her when I came for you.’
Her father shook his head. ‘There was no shawl when I found her. Somebody must have tekken it.’
Grace wanted to cry. Not over the loss of the shawl, but the cruelty of someone who would steal something from what appeared to be a dying woman.
‘Get me a bowl of warm water, Grace,’ her mother said quietly. ‘I’ll bathe her face. Somebody’s given her a right smack.’
Bessie groaned as the warm rag touched her cheek. ‘Who did this, Bessie?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Who smacked you one?’
‘Didn’t – tell him,’ Bessie croaked. ‘Nowt – to tell.’
They looked at each other. ‘Who was it, Bessie?’ Bob leaned towards her. ‘I’ll search him out.’
She half-opened her eyes. ‘Watch out for Ruby,’ she breathed, then gave a moaning wail. ‘Loddy! I’m hurting. I need some loddy.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ruby arrived fresh and exuberant in Middle Court on Monday morning. She had told Edward about Freddie and without a question he had given her money. He had also bought the necklace to match her bracelet, a new gown and a wool cloak with a shoulder cape fringed with fur. Though where I shall wear it I can’t imagine, she’d thought as she’d whirled in front of the mirror in the fashionable York salon.
But as she opened the door to her mother’s room she knew immediately that something was wrong. Her presence was missing, as was her blanket which she always rolled into a bundle, and her oldest shawl, which she would never part with, was gone from the back of a chair. There was a small fire burning in the hearth, though the sack of coal was gone.
‘Perhaps Mr Blake lit ’fire for her, though it’s not like him to be up so early,’ she muttered, but then she looked around and saw objects which didn’t belong to her mother. A child’s worn boot beneath the bed, a sacking apron on the floor and a pipe in the hearth which was not Bessie’s.
‘Mr Blake! Mrs Blake! Where’s my ma?’
‘Oh, Ruby!’ Mr Blake came to the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes as if he had just awakened. ‘What a time we’ve had with her!’
‘Where is she?’ Ruby demanded. ‘Why isn’t she at home?’
‘She’s with us.’ Grace appeared behind her in the doorway. She’d seen Ruby pass their window. ‘She’s sick, Ruby. You’d better come.’
She explained briefly what had happened as they walked back to her house, and told her that she had gone to tell the Blakes where Bessie was and found the whole family tucked up in Bessie’s bed.
‘So I brought the coal home with me and left ’firewood. There was no food left. The Blakes must have eaten it.’
‘And spent money I gave them,’ Ruby said bitterly. ‘They were supposed to be watching out for her!’
Grace opened her door. ‘You said that your ma is a law to herself, Ruby, and she is. It’s no use blaming ’Blakes or yourself either,’ she added, for Ruby was starting to weep. ‘And I expect that they couldn’t resist ’chance of a comfortable night’s sleep and a warm fire.’
Ruby nodded, and wiping her eyes went in to see her mother, who was lying in the middle of the Sheppards’ bed. She looks so small and shrivelled, she thought. Lizzie had washed her face and smoothed her hair, but there was no disguising the ugly bruises below her eye and the cut on her mouth.
‘Who would do this?’ she whispered. ‘Why would anyone want to? She had nothing!’
‘Somebody was asking her something,’ Grace told her. ‘She keeps saying that she didn’t tell. What does it mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ruby knelt by the bed and gently touched her mother’s face. ‘Ma! It’s me. Ruby.’
Bessie’s eyelids flickered; she half-opened her eyes and then closed them again.
‘She’s best left sleeping,’ Lizzie said. ‘When she wakes she’s in pain.’ She came and stood by the bed. ‘I never thought that I’d say this, Ruby, but I think you’re going to have to go to Mr Cooke and buy some laudanum.’
Ruby looked up. ‘But you never –’
‘No, I’ve never taken it, but your ma allus has and she can’t do without it now.’ She clenched her lips together. ‘I’ll come with you if you like and explain ’situation. He’ll give her what she needs.’
Bessie stirred and moaned. They couldn’t understand what she was saying, but she kept repeating the same mantra again and again. Ruby put her head close to her mother’s. She frowned. ‘I can’t make it out. Loddy? Is that what you’re saying, Ma?’
Bessie didn’t answer, but lay still. Ruby rose to her feet. ‘Shall we go now, Aunt Lizzie? To Mr Cooke’s, I mean.’ Her voice quivered. ‘Whatever he gives her, it’s not going to do her any harm, is it?’
‘No, it’s not,’ Lizzie said bleakly. ‘Harm was done long ago.’
Grace sat with Bessie whilst her mother and Ruby went to the apothecary’s. She was very tired, even though it was only mid-morning. She had lain on the floor last night with a blanket wrapped around her. Her mother had curled up at the bottom of Bessie’s bed, whilst her father had nodded off in his chair. But none of them had slept. Bessie had kept them all awake with her shrieks and moans as she drifted in and out of nightmarish dreams.
‘Pander!’ she had shouted. ‘Shan’t tell,’ she hissed. ‘Give me my loddy,’ she had cried pitifully, and Lizzie had gone to her and cradled her in her arms and wept with her.
Grace closed her eyes for a moment, then shook herself awake to find Bessie staring at her. She leant towards her. ‘How are you feeling, Bessie?’ she asked softly.
‘Watch out for Ruby,’ Bessie whispered hoarsely and her eyes were wild. ‘Don’t tell!’
‘What shouldn’t I tell?’ Grace asked.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Tell him nothing.’
‘I won’t.’ Grace indulged her. ‘Ruby will be back in a minute. She’s just gone to see Mr Cooke, she’s bringing you some medicine to make you well.’
Bessie’s eyes seemed to glaze and become vacant, then she mumbled, ‘It was bad loddy.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘But I want it now. He said he’d give me some if I told him.’
‘Told who what, Bessie?’
A sly grin came to her face. ‘Won’t tell,’ she said and turned her head away.
Ruby brought food, and laudanum from Mr Cooke, who promised that he would come and see Bessie to assess her needs. It was then that Grace asked her to sit down, as there was something else she ha
d to know.
She listened quietly to the news that Josh was drowned and then said, ‘I’ve no feelings about him. He’s been dead for a long time as far as I’m concerned. We’d never have seen him again anyway.’
She opened the packet which the seaman had brought and tipped out a substantial amount of money. ‘You see,’ she said, her mouth curling. ‘He could have helped us out when we had nowt, but he didn’t.’ She pushed it all back into the packet and handed it to Lizzie. ‘I don’t want it. Keep it, Aunt Lizzie, and use it as you want. It belonged to Ma anyway, not to me.’
She left shortly afterwards and went back to Wright Street, for although Edward had spent the night there, she was expecting him to call at midday as usual when he slipped out from the mill. He arrived early, but left in a hurry and said that he had just been informed that his father was very ill and he must visit him at once.
‘My mother is sick too,’ Ruby ventured. ‘Someone attacked her whilst I was away.’
He uttered an exclamation but didn’t comment, then reached into his pocketbook and took out some money. ‘Buy her what she needs, medicine or – get the doctor or somebody.’ He kissed her goodbye and said he would see her the next day. ‘May will be back this evening,’ he said gloomily. ‘So I’d better be there when she arrives.’ Then he turned back and put his arms around her, saying, ‘It was so wonderful to be with you for those few days, Ruby.’
She waved him goodbye from the window and felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t coming back until the next day. For the rest of today at least she could concentrate on her mother’s needs.
Martin stood by his bedroom window and watched as his brother drove his new chaise up the drive. Edward did not yet know how ill their father was. A message had been sent to his home on Friday, but his manservant had said that he was not expecting him until Monday as he was away on business. Martin was puzzled by this and couldn’t understand why that would be so, but as he had been away from the company himself for the last few weeks he had deliberated that something crucial must have happened in his absence. He had therefore sent a further message to the mill to be given to him on his return.
