‘Are you all right?’ His words seemed to be coming from a long way off. Molly made no answer, fumbling with the blanket instead. He sprang to his feet and took her arm. She struggled but he forced her across the room and down into the rocking chair, gazing down at her remorsefully. ‘I’m a selfish sod, I haven’t even said I’m sorry about your baby.’
‘Your wife’s family?’ she said faintly. ‘Will they want to take her?’
‘Hell, no! Her brothers have families of their own. Jess was like a mother to them for years after her own ma died.’
Molly felt giddy with relief. She watched him sit down opposite her in a wheel-backed chair, elbows on his knees. ‘She was a few years older than me but there was a goodness and understanding in Jess that drew me to her. She let me talk and would really listen, She encouraged me to stick to my guns and do what I wanted when Ma was at me all the time to drop my apprenticeship and go into my uncle’s factory. She hit the roof but I married Jess anyhow.’ He stared at her. ‘So who was he, this husband of yours?’
She told him how she’d met Frank and about his being lost at sea. ‘If it hadn’t been for the baby, I might have given up.’ Molly’s voice cracked and tears stung her eyelids.
‘Don’t be upsetting yourself,’ said Nathan roughly, clasping his hands tight between his knees. ‘I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said what I did. It’s lousy to lose your baby as well as your husband.’
‘Terrible,’ she managed in a choking voice, feeling guiltridden, hardly daring to look at him. ‘If it wasn’t for you and Jessica, I’d throw myself in the canal.’
‘You mustn’t do that!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can stay on here, looking after little Jess. I’ll see if I can find you extra money.’
That was good news. Surprising, though. She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, relieved. ‘How?’
He was silent for so long she thought he’d gone into a trance like she did sometimes when unable to think straight.
‘I’ll ask my uncle for it.’
‘The one with the factory?’
He nodded. ‘He turned Papist but he’s strong family feelings for all that.’
She looked at him and said dubiously. ‘Will he give you money if you aren’t going to work for him?’
‘That’s the big question. He wants me to be an ecclesiastic candlemaker.’ Nathan sounded disgusted at the prospect and held out his hands, staring down at them. Molly stared at them, too. His fingers were long and straight, skin roughened in places, fingernails short. ‘I’ve got a trade in these. I love working with wood.’ His voice held a fierce pride.
‘You’re his nephew. Are you sure he actually wants you making the candles?’
‘If I’m not making them, he’ll have me in an office. I’d have to give up all I’ve worked for.’
‘What is it you’ve got exactly?’ she saidreal interest.
‘Don’t you start!’ He rubbed one hand over his stubbly chin, frowning. ‘It takes time to build up a business.’ Molly said nothing, staring at him, thinking she wished she had a rich uncle who wanted her for his heir. ‘You’re thinking I’m stupid, aren’t you?’ growled Nathan. ‘But candles are a thing of the past.’
‘I was reading about a church in Liverpool being wired for electricity.’
‘Exactly!’ He got to his feet. ‘I must tell my uncle that. I bet everybody’ll be using electricity one day.’
‘Maybe. They said gas was dangerous but lots of people have it now. St John’s is lit by gas.’
‘I’m not interested in gas,’ said Nathan, pacing the floor. ‘Wood, Molly, that’s what I enjoy working with.’
‘Nice. I’m good at embroidery.’ She looked at him but could tell he wasn’t listening. She sighed and got back to the subject in hand, the one that really interested her: his paying her more wages. ‘But if you don’t go and work for him, how are you going to get more money to pay me?’
He didn’t answer but sat down again, elbows resting on his thighs. ‘I don’t know. People might talk, but you could always come and live with me?’ he suggested tentatively.
She was astounded. ‘What d’you mean – might? I’m not having my reputation torn to shreds.’
‘You’d be perfectly safe.’ He scowled at her. ‘I’ve just lost my wife. I’m not about to start fancying you. Anyway, let’s give it a week then see what happens. In the meantime…’ He hesitated.
‘In the meantime, what?’ Molly’s eyes alive with interest.
‘Your baby.’ His expression was sober. ‘It’ll have to be buried, won’t it? And that’ll cost money.’
The brightness in her face faded. Another thing she hadn’t thought about. She felt sick.
‘I know it must upset you but you have to think about it. You can’t leave her up there.’ He jerked his head ceilingwards.
Molly almost choked on her guilt and her eyes filled with tears.
‘Don’t cry!’ He hesitated before taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it.
‘That hurts,’ she mumbled.
He dropped it. ‘I’ve an idea. I’ve got a nice piece of oak in my workroom. If I go home now I can knock something up to place her in. It won’t be a proper posh coffin but you can wrap the baby up snug and she’ll be OK in it. She can be laid to rest with Jess. That would save you money.’
Looking into his embarrassed face, Molly was almost too moved to speak. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
‘Don’t! Don’t cry, I keep telling you!’ he shouted. ‘It makes…’ His voice broke. Getting to his feet, he strode out of the room, hands in pockets, head bent.
Molly was so astonished by his behaviour she scrambled to her feet and rushed after him. But he was already out of the house and halfway down the street by the time she reached the front door.
Nathan was as good as his word, arriving late the following morning with a plain oak box, sandpapered smooth as silk and so newly varnished the surface was still tacky. He looks dreadful, thought Molly. ‘You must have been up all night,’ she said, guilt- ridden again, taking the tiny coffin from him.
‘It had to be done,’ he muttered, fumbling in his pocket and bringing out some large nails. ‘You’ll have to nail the lid down.’
At this blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her dizzy and shaking to think of shutting a tiny baby away in a box. Still she managed to thank him, eyes avoiding his, fixing instead on his neck where the starched white collar had caused a red weal on his skin. He was dressed in a black suit, which made his skin look even paler. She cleared her throat, feeling she needed to saymore. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done. I’m grateful, too, that you told the vicar about the baby.’
‘He came to see you?’
Molly nodded. ‘He was kind. Mabel May he christened her.’ She cleared her throat again, hoping that God didn’t mind the dead baby’s being christened twice while her own child wasn’t baptised at all.
Nathan made no comment, swaying with weariness. He placed a hand on the door jamb to keep himself upright. She felt concerned for him. ‘D’you want to come in? See Jessica? Have something to eat?’
‘No food.’ He followed her indoors.
The baby lay in the cradle, eyes wide open, waving her tiny fists in the air. He stared down at her and Molly’s heart began to beat in a crazy manner but Nathan did not comment or touch the child and after a moment said he would have to go.
After seeing him out, she hurried indoors and picked up her daughter. Molly cuddled her, rubbing her cheek against the petal soft face and covering it in kisses before placing her in the cradle. Then, with a deep sigh, she bent and picked up the tiny coffin. Bowed down with sadness, she went into the parlour. She had refused Em’s offer to lay out the baby, fearful that even at that late hour she might suddenly recognise Nathan’s daughter.
Earlier Molly had dressed her in one of the nightgowns Em had brought, fastened a bonnet Nanna had knitted on her tiny head and wrapped her in a blanket. Now she lined the coffin wi
th red flannel cut from one of Nanna’s nightgowns. Red for warmth, she thought, wanting to believe it would do just that for Jessica Esther in the grave.
Mrs Smith had volunteered to look after the baby while Em accompanied Molly to the church at Burscough Bridge. She remembered Nanna telling her that St John’s was a Waterloo church, built as were many others in the 1820s and 30s with money put aside for memorials to that momentous battle. It was built of stone, some of it carried by barge from Parbold quarry not far away. Molly had been christened in that church and remembered singing there lustily in later years alongside her mother and Nanna.
The service was as she’d expected a sad and sombre occasion. After a swift glance at Nathan and his mother, Molly kept her gaze averted. The sight of him caused her more guilt and anguish and she was glad that the old-fashioned hat with veiling which she’d found on top of a cupboard concealed her face.
It was not until they were standing in the churchyard at the grave, the tiny coffin already in the ground alongside the larger one, that Mrs Collins approached Molly. ‘I’m not pleased with you,’ she said, looking down her nose at the girl. ‘What right have you to bury your child here at my son’s expense?’
Molly felt like saying, ‘You choose your moments, don’t you?’ but instead gazed down at her boots, the heels of which had sunk into the grass. She closed her eyes and prayed, tears oozing from beneath her lids. She thought of Frank, wondering what he would have made of her burying another man’s child as theirs.
‘Tsk! You’re as bad as your mother. She could turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat,’ sneered Mrs Collins.
‘What! Not my mother,’ said Molly in surprise. ‘She was strong.’
‘Humph! Not at your age, she wasn’t. She knew exactly how to softsoap the men.’
‘Leave her alone, Mother. Where’s your heart?’ snapped Nathan.
Mrs Collins sniffed and walked away. Molly’s eyes met his briefly before he turned and left the graveside.
Em touched Molly’s arm. ‘Time to be going, I think,’ she said gently. ‘You don’t want to linger. Best say your goodbyes and go.’
Molly nodded, her heart a little lighter because of the midwife’s words. She must have convinced her the baby in the grave was her own. But now she had to look to the future. ‘Can you point out Mr Collins’s uncle to me?’
‘He’s not here, lass. Had an accident.’
Molly was put out. She wanted to see the kind of man Mr Barnes was for herself. What did he feel about his nephew having a daughter?
‘Pity you didn’t think of placing the little one to sleep with Mrs Fletcher,’ said Em.
Molly realised her mistake and her heart sank. ‘I haven’t been thinking straight. I’ll visit her grave now.’
‘Natural in the circumstances.’ Em took her arm and they walked between gravestones until they reached a freshly heaped mound of earth. There she left Molly alone with her grief.
It was here Jack Fletcher found her. ‘You’ve heard?’ she said when he spoke her name, and looked up at him with limpid eyes.
‘About thy baby? Aye, lass. And I’m more sorry than I can say.’ He took one of her hands between his two large ones and held it there. ‘I’ve come to see if there’s owt I can do for thee? If thee wants to go back to Bootle, I can take thee.’
‘Thanks, Uncle Jack,’ she said warmly. ‘But I’ve been hired to look after Mr Collins’s baby. You probably heard his wife died?’
‘Aye. But I’m not sure thee’s doing the right thing there, lass. His mother’s a poisonous woman. She hated your mam. Thee’s best not having anything to do with that family.’
Molly could see his point but she had made her decision and she was not going back on it. ‘The baby needs me – and it helps knowing I can do some good.’
He frowned and shifted his stance. ‘If that’s what you want, but keep your distance, lass.’
What did he mean by that? thought Molly. Distance from whom? Mrs Collins? She cleared her throat. ‘Mrs Collins wants her son to work for his uncle. Do you remember him?’
‘He could do worse,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Barnes is a good man. Does thou know where his factory is, lass?’
‘Liverpool.’
‘Aye, not far from Athol Street gasworks.’
‘Not the most salubrious of districts,’ said Molly wryly. Athol Street was a long thoroughfare starting at the junction between Stanley Road and Scotland Road and ending in Great Howard Street where the North Docks Good Station was situated. The Leeds-Liverpool canal cut through it.
‘His uncle’s a warm man. Got no kiddies of his own. The lad’ll come into it all if he uses his head and accepts the offer.’
If, thought Molly, thinking there was little hope of her persuading Nathan to see the sense in what Uncle Jack was saying. He would have to reach his own decision. Then what a future there could be for her daughter! Molly’s heart lifted. She pictured her little love as the darling of both uncle and nephew. Plenty of food, pretty dresses, and handsome, rich beaux one day.
‘Are you listening to me, Molly May?’
‘What?’ She fixed him with a vacant stare.
‘It doesn’t matter, lass.’ Jack patted her shoulder. ‘Thee just remember, if thee needs any help…’
She nodded and thanked him as they left the churchyard together. They parted at the bridge.The days ahead were not going to be easy, she thought. Playing the role of grieving mother and widow should not be difficult but hiding her love for her baby would be. No one must guess the truth if her daughter was to have that rosy future. And if she herself was caught out in such a deception? Molly shivered. It was just as easy for her to imagine climbing the steps to the gallows while her poor daughter was taken from her to some dreadful orphanage as it was to imagine her child the daughter of a rich man.
Chapter Three
New book reveals secrets of the Feminine figure. 100,000 free copies of The Royal Blue Book of 1909 Styles to give away. The world’s highest salaried corset designer on How to Put on a Corset… Molly crumpled the sheet of newspaper into a ball, placing it in the grate. She couldn’t understand anyone wanting to wear such instruments of torture but she’d enjoyed reading the article and dreaming of her daughter one day being rich enough to wear splendid gowns to go with the corsets.
The herring Molly had eaten for supper last night had come wrapped in a double sheet of the Liverpool Echo, providing her with enough reading material to while away the hour after she gave Jessica her last feed of the evening before going up to bed herself. She read every bit of the newsprint, including all the advertisements. Zam Buk heals limb that doctor said should be amputated! Pink Pills for pale people are unique for they supply that new pure blood, 2s 9d per box. Private Detective Agency: Charles Williams & Son, Dale St. Enquiries of all kinds accepted. Molly had never imagined there being a detective agency in Liverpool. What kind of investigating did they do?
She sat back on her heels, smiling at her baby lying on a blanket on the rag rug, kicking her feet in the air. Em had told Molly off for not wrapping Jessica up tightly so her limbs would grow straight, and sadly the two women had fallen out over this. Molly too much enjoyed seeing these signs of development in her child to do as she was told, saying swaddling was old-fashioned and that she had read somewhere that muscles not regularly used wasted away. She’d tried to explain this to Em but the older woman had said if it was good enough for the baby Jesus, then it was good enough for her.
Easter had been and gone and financially Molly was no better off because Nathan’s uncle had refused to give him money with no strings attached. Disappointed, and seeing her dreams for her daughter’s future fading away, Molly had almost told him he was a fool. When Nathan had suggested once more that she go and live in his house, she’d refused. He had shrugged his powerful shoulders and not seemed at all put out by her refusal. But at least when the sole came off her boot and he noticed her walking oddly he’d made her a pair of wooden and leather clogs.<
br />
Molly had resorted to pawning things to pay the rent and so far had rid herself of the single bed, a chest of drawers and all the junk in the spare bedroom. But still it wasn’t enough and now she was considering climbing into the attic and seeing what paraphernalia there was up there.
She was not completely without resources, though. On Easter Monday Nathan’s brothers-in-law had dropped by en masse to see the baby. The eldest, Johnny, had placed a shiny gold sovereign in the baby’s hand, tears in his eyes. His brothers did likewise before they all shuffled out of the cottage without a word. That was the last Molly had seen of them. She supposed if she was really desperate she could go to them and ask for help but felt it would be a bit cheeky, particularly since she was deceiving them all. Besides, she did not see Nathan liking that one little bit. Which was why she had not told him of their visit. She considered the gold coins ill-gotten gains and had hidden them in a pot beneath the floorboards. Things would have to be really desperate before she would touch them.
Now Molly sighed, knowing she couldn’t go on the way she was. There was talk of a shortage of wheat, which meant the price of bread would rise. She contemplated pawning her wedding ring but was reluctant to do so. Besides it would only temporarily solve her money troubles and it was obvious she could not rely on Nathan to do any more for her. She must use the gift that God had given her.
Upstairs was the sewing machine and a box containing reels of cotton in every colour of the rainbow. Having got herself into a proper mess working out how to oil the machine, she sat in front of it, searching her memory, trying to remember exactly how her mother had set things in motion and what she had said about lockstitch machines.
Dead handy, that’s what she’d said. Molly smiled. They used two threads. The thread from the needle above picking up another thread from a shuttle beneath the plate, so locking the stitch and enabling a continuous thread to be used. It had revolutionised the sewing machine industry, which had first sought to imitate hand-sewing by trying to get a needle right through the cloth. But that could only work with short lengths of thread. The first successful sewing machine was a chain-stitch machine, patented by a French tailor and used for making army uniforms in the 1830s.
Another Man's Child Page 5
