The Doorstep Girls

by Valerie Wood

  Grace smiled. She would enjoy that. Her mother and father had improved her reading ability since she left school by giving her newspapers to read, but they could not afford books. ‘And what shall we talk about, Miss Morris?’ she asked.

  ‘Why, women’s matters, of course. Marriage, children, work, politics. All the things that women are interested in.’ She leaned towards Grace. They were enjoying a cup of tea after having been out walking. ‘All the subjects that concern women, yet, in the eyes of men, are no concern of women.’

  She popped a piece of buttered scone into her mouth. ‘That’s what we are going to talk about.’ She scooped up a spot of butter from her top lip with her tongue, and Grace smiled again. She had smiled a great deal since coming to stay with Miss Morris. She liked her a lot. She was original and unconventional with forthright opinions, saying what she meant, but never unkindly.

  ‘Like on the tour?’ Grace asked. ‘Women’s rights?’

  ‘That’s it exactly.’ Miss Morris poured more tea. She hardly ever waited for a maid to come and serve them. ‘But very particular women. Not women like Mrs Westwood, who capitulated to her brutal husband, or Miss Gregory, both of whom are intelligent enough and have influence enough to fight for themselves if only they would make more effort. You and I are going to talk about the women who are unable, because of lack of money and resources, to help themselves. Women who live in poverty, but who would fight for their rights if they had someone behind them.’

  Grace nodded and sipped her tea. My mother would have done that, she thought, if she hadn’t been worn out trying to earn a crust.

  ‘And then!’ Miss Morris leaned back in her chair and gave a gentle belch. ‘And then, when we have finished reading and talking, you and I, Grace, are going to write a book.’

  Grace sat forward, slopping her tea into the saucer. ‘Write a book!’ she laughed. ‘How can I write a book? I’ve barely read one, let alone know how to write one!’

  ‘You see, you are improving already!’ Miss Morris said approvingly. ‘You are questioning what you think is impossible. Do you think it impossible?’

  ‘I suppose it depends on what the book is about,’ she acknowledged after a moment’s thought.

  ‘It will be about the women we will be discussing. Women in poverty. Which is why you are here, Grace. And,’ she continued, ‘I think we might call it The Enlightenment of Women in Poverty.’

  Grace considered, then said slowly, ‘The women in poverty that I know are already enlightened. They’ve seen the light but it’s beyond their reach.’ Then she added, ‘When I was on ’tour, I heard the other ladies speaking of emancipation, and when I got home I asked my father what it meant.’

  ‘And was he able to tell you?’ Miss Morris asked gently.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said earnestly. ‘My father can explain almost anything. He said it meant freedom, or setting free.’ She took a breath and, her eyes gleaming, said eagerly, ‘Could we call the book The Emancipation of Women in Poverty?’

  Miss Morris gave her a wide smile and reached to ring the bell at the side of the fireplace. ‘It may be early, my dear Grace, but I think this calls for a celebratory glass of sherry.’

  The maid brought in the decanter and glasses and poured the sherry. ‘Top them up, girl,’ Miss Morris admonished. ‘You might not know it but we’re drinking your health.’ She raised her glass and Grace did the same to make the toast. ‘To The Emancipation of Women in Poverty.’

  They were almost two years in the writing of it, and, in the meantime, Martin Newmarch visited every two or three months and Grace discussed with him the project of the book. They walked in the garden if it was fine, or, if it was cold or wet, sat by the fire in the small sitting room which Miss Morris had given her in order to study. He noted her growing air of confidence, her easy manner, due no doubt to the influence of Miss Morris’s informality. She had a quiet elegance of dress, and her fine complexion, which had always been pale, now had a touch of colour. Her fair hair was dressed in coils about her ears or in a neat chignon at the nape of her slender neck.

  Daisy Emerson, now Mrs Nicholson, also called regularly, although Miss Morris was inclined to be otherwise engaged when she visited and left Grace to be the hostess.

  ‘She’s so very woolly-headed,’ she declared. ‘But I suppose very fitting for a parson’s wife, for she can chatter to her husband’s parishioners without any effort whatsoever.’

  ‘But she came on the tour,’ Grace declared, for she had a liking for the pleasant-mannered Mrs Nicholson. ‘She has interests in other matters apart from local!’

  Miss Morris glanced sideways at Grace and humphed, but said no more. Grace, however, was intrigued by Miss Morris’s opinion of Daisy Nicholson, and the next time she visited asked her outright what had been her main interest in travelling on the tour with the other ladies.

  ‘My parents have always treated me in the same equal manner as my brothers,’ she said, ‘and we have always discussed politics at home. But essentially I am very lazy and would not have gone on the tour if my father had not persuaded me. As it is,’ she smiled complacently, ‘I am extremely pleased that I did, otherwise I would not have met my dear country parson.’

  ‘So why did your father persuade you if you didn’t have the inclination yourself, Mrs Nicholson?’

  ‘Oh, do call me Daisy, my dear Grace!’ she exclaimed, taking a sip of tea. ‘Why? Oh, because of you! Martin Newmarch insisted that you should have a companion and asked Father to ask me if I would go too.’ She gave a wicked smile. ‘I told you at the time, didn’t I, that he was very taken with you!’

  Grace blushed and repeated what she had said on the tour, that Mr Newmarch had always treated her with consideration, but Daisy simply raised her eyebrows and gave her a knowing look, then told her that she had heard gossip that Georgiana Gregory was emigrating abroad. ‘I do believe that she is weary of playing nursemaid to May Newmarch since Edward left her. She is going, I hear, to seek her own fortune rather than relying on her uncle’s.’

  ‘Alone?’ Grace asked in astonishment. ‘Miss Morris will be most impressed!’

  ‘With just a maid, so I understand.’

  Grace visited home three times during the first year. Martin Newmarch collected her and brought her back and they travelled alone, for she had told him quite firmly and frankly, looking into his amused dark eyes, that she was not in need of a female companion. She had no reputation to think of, she said, nor one to lose. ‘Besides which,’ she continued guilelessly, ‘I’ve travelled with you in a carriage before, if you remember. And I do trust you.’ And he thanked her for the compliment and said that he certainly did remember, and wasn’t likely to forget.

  She asked him was it true that Georgiana Gregory was travelling abroad with only a maid, and he confirmed it. ‘She came to ask my advice,’ he said. ‘She felt stifled by May’s demands for companionship and constant whining about being abandoned by Edward.’

  ‘Miss Gregory once said that she didn’t think there would ever come a day when women would travel alone.’ Grace glanced at him, for she recalled his answer on that particular day. ‘And now she is to do it!’

  He nodded. ‘And I believe I said that there would always be women who would have the strength of spirit to be self-reliant and liberated. It seems that Miss Gregory had taken that remark to heart.’

  What he didn’t tell Grace was that at the meeting with Georgiana, she had told him that she couldn’t seriously consider his earlier offer of marriage, for she felt that he had made it only in a light-hearted jocular manner. When he made no further declaration of intent, she had lifted her chin purposefully and told him that she had decided to take her life in her own hands and sail for the New World. He had expressed his admiration for her courage, and with a lightening of his spirits he had bid her goodbye for the last time.

  On one of Grace’s visits she saw her parents ensconced in their new apartment in the almshouse, and noticed how they both seemed to have gro
wn in stature now that they had position and authority. Her mother had suggested various ideas to the Board which would improve the welfare of the residents, and these had been approved. Her father had given up his labouring work in the timber yard, for he found there was plenty to do in his new employment. He had a better head for figures than his wife and so took on the task of keeping accounts and bookkeeping, freeing her to attend to the daily requirements of the residents.

  Grace had also visited Ruby and Daniel in their rooms above the workshop where Daniel made toys and small items of furniture, such as footstools and tea caddies. ‘They’re selling really well, Grace,’ Ruby said enthusiastically. ‘And folks come to ’door to ask if he’ll make sailing ships and dolls for them, and Freddie is helping him. We’ll put him to an apprenticeship when he’s old enough.’

  ‘I’m so glad for you.’ Grace gave her a hug. ‘And you look so well, Ruby. As plump as a chicken,’ she added jokingly.

  Ruby’s eyes gleamed and she glanced at Daniel. ‘We can tell now, can’t we, Daniel? We’ve been waiting for you, Grace. We’ve not told anybody else yet. We’re expecting a babby. And if it’s a girl we’ll call her Grace after you.’

  ‘So I’m mekking a crib.’ Daniel looked as pleased and happy as Ruby. ‘And a little table and chair.’

  During one of their visits in the second year, as they drove back into the West Riding, Grace was pensive and wistful and Martin asked if something was troubling her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But each time I come back, I realize how I miss the people I’ve left behind and all ’familiar places. I miss the hustle and bustle of the town though I would never ever want to live back in Middle Court!’

  ‘I should think not! But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t come back once you and Miss Morris have finished the book,’ he said. ‘You’ll be asked to lecture, I expect, and that could take you all over the country, but you could make your home here in Hull, and be near your family and friends.’

  ‘Asked to lecture?’ Startled, she looked at him, holding his gaze, and he suddenly caught his breath.

  ‘You will be in demand, Grace,’ he murmured. ‘The book will cause controversy and you will be asked for your opinion on matters relating to it.’

  ‘But, surely Miss Morris will –’

  ‘No. It’s essentially your book. I haven’t read it, but Miss Morris tells me that it is you who is writing it. You are the one who has seen poverty and degradation at first hand and risen above it. You have seen child labour and also experienced it. Your thoughts and opinions are going into the book and Mary Morris says that she is merely the adviser on various matters of politics and law.’

  He looked earnestly at her. ‘I said, didn’t I, that the world was waiting for Miss Grace? Women in poverty will rejoice that there is a voice speaking for them.’

  ‘But,’ her face showed apprehension, ‘I’m not ready for that.’

  ‘You will be,’ he assured her.

  ‘I can’t do it alone,’ she protested.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ he resolved.

  ‘You planned all of this, didn’t you?’ she asked slowly and frankly. ‘Right from ’beginning?’

  He admitted that he had. ‘It started when you took me into the Groves and I saw how people were living. They had no means of escaping from that terrible life and I felt so frustrated, and guilty too, that I had so much and they so little.’ He moved from his seat opposite and came to sit beside her. He took hold of her hands and looked down at them.

  ‘But it was when you spoke up for the women at the mill who had been given notice, but not their wages, that I started to think that you were someone rather special.’

  He smiled and looked at her to find her gazing at him, her eyes tenderly searching his face as if she was seeing him for the first time. ‘But I have to say that I was in awe of you, which is why I didn’t offer you more work at the mill.’

  ‘In awe of me?’ she breathed.

  ‘Yes.’ He stroked her fingers. ‘I felt that you would cause me great trouble. Which you have!’

  ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How have I caused you trouble? You were the one who arranged for me to meet Miss Gregory and Mrs Westwood. And,’ she admonished, and he took pleasure in her naturalness and lack of reserve with him, ‘Daisy Nicholson said that it was only because you asked her to be my companion, that she came on the tour!’

  ‘Ah!’ he laughed. ‘So the truth is out! I did. At least I asked her father, who, like me, believes in equality. Not just for women but for all people.’

  ‘So – have I been protected all along?’ she asked quietly, as if cast down.

  ‘No,’ he assured her, most decisively. ‘You have not! What you have done you have done by yourself. You had the will to succeed, whereas you could have refused or turned away. Don’t forget,’ he added, ‘you were alone when you were without work, and hungry, and yet you had the strength of spirit to survive!’ He gave a deep sigh and murmured, ‘I neglected you then, Grace, because of my own circumstances, and could so easily have lost you.’ He touched her cheek, which had a faint blush on it. ‘I don’t know what I would have done then.’

  She said nothing, but she put her hand over his.

  ‘I saw my brother’s face as he walked away from Ruby to board the ship,’ he said softly. ‘I saw the anguish and despair, and, for the first time ever, I understood his feelings. He looked totally lost and abandoned. Which is how I would have felt if anything had happened to you through my neglect.’

  ‘He had said that he loved her,’ Grace murmured, her voice beginning to tremble.

  ‘Yes, I understand that now. And I realized how two people from totally different backgrounds can come to love each other.’

  ‘Except that Ruby didn’t love Edward,’ she breathed and couldn’t pull away from the tender expression in his eyes which told her that he wasn’t speaking of Ruby and Edward. ‘She refused him because she loved Daniel.’

  ‘And I thought that you and Daniel –’ he began.

  ‘No.’ She gave a gentle smile. ‘Daniel was always my friend, my dear friend, just as Ruby is.’

  ‘And I?’ he asked, as the carriage drew up the hill towards Miss Morris’s house. ‘May I be a dear friend too?’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘When I first came to Miss Morris’s, she asked me if I thought a certain thing was impossible, and I discovered that it wasn’t.’

  He lifted her hand to his lips as she said softly, ‘I think that it’s quite possible that we could be more than dear friends, Martin, if that is what we wish.’

  ‘And I do wish it, my dearest Grace. I can see no obstacle in our way if that is what we both desire.’

  She leaned towards him to receive his kiss. ‘My mother once told me that love can sometimes grow slowly, maybe out of admiration and respect.’

  He drew her closer, and she nestled into his arms. ‘Your mother, Grace, like so many women, is very wise. But what will she say, and indeed what will your father say, when I tell them that I love their daughter? That I have always loved their daughter!’

  She kissed him and as the coach came to a halt and the driver opened the door, they drew apart. She smiled happily and replied, ‘They will say that in the matter of the heart, everyone gets what they deserve.’

  THE END

  About the Author

  Valerie Wood was born in Yorkshire, where she still lives. Her first novel, The Hungry Tide, was the first winner of the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction.

  For more information on Val Wood and her books, see her website at www.valeriewood.co.uk

  Also by Val Wood

  THE HUNGRY TIDE

  ANNIE

  CHILDREN OF THE TIDE

  THE ROMANY GIRL

  EMILY

  GOING HOME

  ROSA’S ISLAND

  THE DOORSTEP GIRLS

  FAR FROM HOME

  THE KITCHEN MAID

  THE SONGBIRD

  NOBODY’S CHILD

  FALLEN ANGE
LS

  THE LONG WALK HOME

  RICH GIRL, POOR GIRL

  HOMECOMING GIRLS

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  THE DOORSTEP GIRLS

  A CORGI BOOK : 9780552150316

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446436417

  Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,

  a division of Transworld Publishers

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Bantam Press edition published 2002

  Corgi edition published 2003

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  Copyright © Valerie Wood 2002

  The right of Valerie Wood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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