Another Man's Child

by Another Man's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘I suppose that’s understandable, but if it’s not what’s best for Jessica then maybe you have to think again. She’s your responsibility now,’ said Molly earnestly.

  Nathan nodded. ‘I’ll get in touch with my uncle.’ He was careful not to look at her as she fed the baby.

  She suddenly remembered something she had forgotten to say and her heart sank. ‘He mentioned you’d need to raise half the money.’

  ‘What! You didn’t say that before.’ He groaned and snatched at his hair, tugging on it. ‘Where am I going to find that sort of money?’

  ‘If you go and live with him, you’ll sell up here. There’ll be some money then.’

  ‘My few sticks aren’t going to raise much.’ He lifted his head, glancing at her before quickly looking down at his plate.

  She remembered the gold sovereigns and thought it was not going to be easy trying to explain why she hadn’t mentioned them before. Even so she had to do it, but before she could speak Nathan spoke again.

  ‘I’ll have to work for him for a while. Do what he wants,’ he said heavily. ‘I’ll save. Then when I’ve enough money and have looked into things myself, I’ll have a go.’

  She felt a rush of relief. ‘Right, Mr Candle and Church Furniture maker. Do I get packing Jessica’s things right now?’ Molly wanted to dance with delight.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Hang on, lass. Not yet. Let me see my uncle first. I’ll take the train to Liverpool tomorrow. Might as well have a look over this factory.’

  ‘Can’t we come?’

  He glanced at her and the baby and the breath seemed to shudder right through him. ‘No. You’ll be in the way,’ he said gruffly, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. ‘I’d appreciate it, though, if you could sew the buttons on one of those white shirts this evening? I’m going for a walk. Need some fresh air. Be back soon.’ He was out the house before she could speak.

  Chapter Four

  Molly sat back on her heels at the bottom of the front step, eyes screwed up as she gazed up the lane, scrubbing brush dripping water down her arm. Was that Nathan? It was two days since she had last seen him. She dropped the scrubbing brush in the galvanised bucket and shaded her eyes with her hand. Yes, it was him! She scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron, aware that the curtains in the house across the road twitched and several of the neighbours stopped gossiping and were watching her every move.

  ‘Mrs Payne.’ Nathan inclined his head, doffing his straw boater. ‘Everything all right with you?’

  ‘Fine. Just awaiting your orders.’ Her eyes were bright with expectation as she took in his smart appearance.

  He twirled the hat between his hands and grinned. ‘Get packing.’

  She thought he wasn’t bad-looking when he remembered to smile, and returned it. ‘I want to take my mother’s sewing machine. It’ll come in handy. Nanna’s furniture I’ll need to get rid of.’

  ‘I’ll see to all that. You leave today and I’ll follow on in a few days. I’ll square everything with your landlord.’

  ‘Do I go straight to Mr Barnes’s house?’ ‘That’s what he wants.’ Nathan’s expression clouded and his eyes were thoughtful. ‘You’re going to have to cope with my mother too. I hope you won’t find yourself regretting this move, as I might?’

  Molly groaned inwardly. She had forgotten about his mother. A picture of Ma Payne popped into her head and she wondered if she had exchanged the frying pan for the fire. ‘Is it a very big house?’ she stammered.

  ‘Big enough.’

  ‘Then I suppose there’s room for all of us.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, ramming his hat on the back of his head. He reached into a pocket, drew out some change and gave it to her. ‘Take the train from the Bridge to Southport and change there to the Liverpool line. Get off at Blundellsands. It’s only a short walk to the house. You’ve his address still?’

  She nodded, thanking him as she placed the money in her apron pocket. Nathan strode off up the lane and she stood for a moment watching him, a delighted expression on her face. That vision of Jessica dancing in a lace frock floating before her eyes. There was no need to worry about anything. Nathan would be there, seeing his mother didn’t get on her high horse where she was concerned.

  * * *

  Molly sauntered up the road which led to the sea, gazing about her with interest. She was in no hurry despite her burdens of baby and holdall. The breeze was bracing and she filled her lungs with the salty air, unaware of the glances she received from residents, servants and tradesmen going about their business.

  On both sides of the road stood large houses in expansive gardens. It was here that many a businessman retreated at the end of a working day spent in the crowded, bustling, streets of Liverpool ten miles to the south along the coast. Molly passed Warren Road and was soon turning right. It was somewhere along here that Mr Barnes’s house was situated. She wondered whether to march up to the front door, carrying the alleged youngest member of the family, or go round to the back entrance. There would be servants to cope with and she could not help wondering where she would fit into the household.

  Here it was. Falconstone. And very imposing it looked, too, with stone pillars decorating the porch and a long shrub-lined driveway. Molly felt suddenly nervous, wondering how she was going to cope with Mrs Collins. One thing was for sure: Nathan’s mother was not going to make her life easy.

  There was a bell next to the door with a rope attached. It jangled discordantly as she tugged on the rope. No one came rushing to answer it. Perhaps there was nobody at home? Or maybe they were just round the back of the house. She pulled the rope again and listened. This time she heard footsteps and took a deep calming breath.

  The door was yanked open. ‘Hey, yous! What d’yer think yer doing, ringing our bell? No hawkers or gypsies. No beggars either come to that!’ The voice was pure Scouse and nasal as they came.

  ‘I’m none of them,’ said Molly, relieved it wasn’t Mrs Collins, thinking this slip of a girl didn’t look anybody to be scared of, ‘I’m Mrs Payne and this here is Miss Jessica Collins. I think you’ll find we’re expected.’

  ‘You don’t look old enough to be a Mrs,’ scoffed the girl, her mousy hair barely contained by her white mob cap. Her head just about reached Molly’s shoulder and she wore a voluminous apron over a black frock which brushed the floor. She looked to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old.

  ‘Well, I am,’ said Molly with a toss of the head. ‘I’m nineteen and a widow. So why don’t you shift yourself and let me in?’

  ‘Hummph!’ said the girl, narrowing herand folding her arms across her thin bosom. ‘Hoity-toity, aren’t we? How do I know yerroo yer say yer are and not a thief out to pinch the family silver?’

  ‘Do I look like a thief?’ said Molly indignantly. ‘You’re mad!’

  ‘Who is it, Doris?’ called a male voice, echoing round the high-ceilinged hall. ‘What have I told you, girl, about keeping people standing on the doorstep?’

  ‘Mr Barnes, it’s me!’ said Molly, trying to get round the maidservant. ‘Mr Collins sent me and Jessica on ahead.’

  ‘Come in, lass.’ There was warmth in the man’s voice.

  ‘See, he knows me!’ hissed Molly to Doris. ‘I’m not a thief. So get out of my way and let me through.’

  ‘Yer could have been,’ she said with a toss of the head, moving aside awkwardly.

  Molly stepped into the hall and smiled at Mr Barnes, who was standing in the doorway of a room to her left, leaning on his stick. ‘How are you, sir?’

  Before he could answer Mrs Collins’s face appeared at his shoulder like some malevolent spirit. ‘Look at the cut of her! What does she think she’s doing, carrying the baby tied to her like that?’ Her tone was scathing. ‘What’ll the neighbours think?’

  ‘Do you suppose they’ve nothing better to do than notice what’s going on here?’ He sounded exasperated as he beckoned Molly forward.
‘The girl looks worn out. I say send her to the kitchen and get Cook to provide her with a posset and a nice ham sandwich. But first let me have a hold of my great-niece. Did you buy those rubber pants, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Molly hurried over to him, untying her shawl as she went. She eased back the bonnet so he could gaze upon Jessica’s dainty features. ‘See how well she looks.’ His plump face creased with delight as he bent over the child. ‘She’s a little beauty. Reminds me of Mother, wouldn’t you say?’ A comment which caused Molly to marvel at the way people could deceive themselves.

  ‘Perhaps. Although I can’t see it myself,’ said Mrs Collins. ‘Anyway, girl, give the child to me.’ She glared at Molly, holding out both arms. ‘I want to see if you’ve been treating her properly.’

  Reluctantly she handed her daughter over. ‘She’ll need feeding soon.’

  ‘Look at those bonny legs,’ said Mr Barnes, watching his sister inspect the baby’s limbs, even going so far as to lift her lacy white frock and shift and peer at her tummy. ‘Mrs Payne might be young but I think she knows what she’s doing. I’m looking forward to the day when Jessica’ll be dancing round this hall, cheering us all up.’

  Molly thought how wonderful it was that his thoughts should run along the same lines as her own and stood smiling at him, reluctant to leave her baby in Mrs Collins’s hands.

  Mr Barnes glanced at Molly. ‘You don’t have to wait. Get yourself to the kitchen, my dear, and see Cook. Doris will show you the way. When you’ve had something to eat you can feed the baby. If she cries, we’ll call you. Dismissed.’

  Molly thanked him, bobbing the briefest curtsey, having little experience in dealing with the moneyed middle classes.

  As she followed Doris, who had a most peculiar gait, through a green baize door, Molly felt an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing with relief and wonder. She could easily picture Jessica dancing round the hall in this house. It was Christmas and there was a huge tree decorated with baubles, candles, tinsel and presents. Molly hummed ‘Silent Night,’ and Doris gave her a look. ‘Yer not sickening for somethin’, are yer? Christmas is months off.’

  ‘Sorry, I was just imagining what it might be like here then.’

  ‘Nuthin’ to write home about. Although it’ll probably be different with a baby here. It’s more fun at our house.’

  ‘And where’s that? I mean, I know it must be Liverpool but whereabouts?’

  But Doris did not answer her because they had reached the kitchen which was warm and full of delicious smells.

  Cook was even fatter than Mr Barnes but she was just as welcoming. ‘You be seated, luv. We’ve been hearing all about your charge and it’s been a real tonic listening to the master looking forward to the little one’s coming. I’m sure she’s not going to be the nuisance a certain person in this house would have us believe,’ Cook added darkly.

  Molly could guess who that might be. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, seating herself on a straight-backed chair with a crocheted cushion in green and blue. The coals glowed red in the huge black-leaded grate and on a gas stove a couple of pans simmered.

  ‘I believe you’re a widow and that you lost your own little one?’ Tears glimmered in Cook’s bright eyes which were like currants in a mound of dough.

  Molly thought of Frank and the poor little mite in St John’s graveyard and a tear instantly rolled down her own cheek.

  ‘There now,’ said Cook, patting her shoulder. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Sorry, dear.’

  ‘Master says yer to give her a posset – his cure for all ills – and a nice ham butty,’ said Doris, dipping her finger into one of the pans.

  Cook slapped the back of her hand with a wooden spoon. ‘You’re plain daft you are! You’ll scald yourself.’ She removed one of the pans, replacing it with a smaller one on the gas ring. ‘Now pass me that there jar of treacle and an egg.’

  Doris did as she was told. Molly was content to watch. ‘Where do you live, Doris?’ she repeated.

  ‘Near Athol Street. Me dad works at the master’s factory.’

  ‘By the gasworks?’

  ‘More up Scottie Road end. Know it, do yer? Yer not from round our way.’

  ‘I’ve had a scouse pie from Block’s. I know a bargee who unloads at the gasworks.’

  Doris stared at her. ‘What’s his name? Me dad goes drinking with some of the boatmen and me sister’s going out with one.’

  ‘We don’t want to hear about your dad’s drinking,’ said Cook, busily whisking egg and treacle. ‘Me and my brother signed the pledge when I was twelve. Anyway, hadn’t you better be getting upstairs.’

  ‘I’ve got too much to do since Ethel went,’ muttered Doris, dipping her finger in the pan again.

  Cook aimed a clout at her but Doris dodged the blow. ‘I’ll be back for yer, probably in half an hour, kid,’ she said to Molly. ‘They’ll be wanting me to show yer where the nursery is. Yous’ll be sleeping up there. Although why the master wanted a big place like this with a nursery, I’ll never know. He never looks at the women although he likes kids. See yer!’ Doris waved cheerily and vanished.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse her,’ said Cook, beckoning Molly to the table. ‘She’s had a tough life. Got rickets as a child and her legs are bowed ten times worse than a jockey’s. She feels it but puts on a good show.’ She poured hot milk on to the eggs and treacle and grated nutmeg on its surface before placing the bowl in front of Molly. Then she took up a knife and removed a muslin cloth to reveal a juicy pink ham which she began to slice.

  ‘She hasn’t let it get her down by the sound of it,’ said Molly, fearful of all the ills that could claim her child’s life. She felt a fierce surge of protective love for her and wanted to leave the food on the table and run upstairs to see that she was all right, but she knew she needed to control such feelings. No one must suspect Jessica was hers.

  Half an hour later Doris came into the kitchen with the baby and took Molly upstairs to a large sunlit room. There was a single bed but no cot because Nathan would be bringing the one from Burscough. Cream-painted cupboards covered one wall and there was also a tallboy. Next door was a smaller room with all the practical necessities.

  Molly wandered back into the main room.

  There were bars on the window which looked out over a large walled garden to the rear of the house. She gazed and gazed at the view. The sun was cutting a swathe of shimmering palest gold through the surface of the sea. It looked so calm and beautiful that it was difficult to believe in another part of the world the sea had claimed Frank’s life. She spotted a dredger working to keep the channels between the sandbanks clear for shipping and a liner. Poor Frank, she thought, turning away with a sigh.

  After being shown the contents of the cupboards, which contained brand new baby clothes, proper nappies and bedding, Molly was left alone. She went over to the fireplace and sat down in a basket chair. ‘We’re lucky ducks,’ she said to her daughter as she changed a sodden homemade nappy for a brand new one. There were enough clothes and to spare, at least until Jessica passed her first birthday. As she fed her child, Molly was counting her blessings and looking forward to exploring her new surroundings.

  * * *

  ‘Where are you going with the child tied to you like that?’ demanded Mrs Collins, face like thunder.

  Apprehension tightened Molly’s throat as she paused, her hand on the front door. ‘It’s easier to c-carry her like this,’ she stammered, annoyed with herself for doing so.

  ‘It won’t do and you should be going out the back way. The neighbours’ll think the gypsies have come to town.’

  ‘You really think so?’ Molly raised her eyebrows, thinking sardonically that perhaps she should buy a pair of gold earrings with one of the sovereigns she had hidden at the back of a cupboard, as well as a red scarf to cover her hair. She was fed up of being accused of looking like a gypsy.

  The older woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re right hardfaced, you are. I’d
have you out of here if I had my way. Right now you’re not leaving this house with that baby until you’re dressed properly. I’ll have a word with my brother about a uniform for you.’ She hurried in the direction of the sitting room whose French windows opened on to a large garden.

  ‘What I need is a baby carriage to wheel her out in,’ called Molly. ‘Perhaps you could have a word with him about that, too?’

  Mrs Collins swung round to face her, resting her hand on a three-tiered whatnot. ‘I don’t like your tone, my girl.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Molly could not understand what there was about her tone to dislike. The request she had made seemed eminently reasonable to her.

  ‘No, you’re not. And call me Mrs Collins when you address me.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Collins,’ said Molly woodenly, trying to keep all emotion from her face.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t be impudent! You don’t fool me. And don’t be trying to get round my brother. He’s speaking to the gardener and I don’t want you wasting your time sucking up to him. You can tidy the nursery.’

  ‘I’ve already tidied it, Mrs Collins.’ Molly seethed inside. It was a blinking lie to say she sucked up to Mr Barnes who liked to talk to her, not only about her mother but his own early working days at Lever Brothers, the soap manufacturers. And she enjoyed listening to him, and was learning a lot.

  ‘You can help Doris clean the brasses then. Give the child to me.’

  Molly felt like saying, ‘I wasn’t hired as a maid and I don’t work for you.’ She hesitated.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ snapped Mrs Collins, shooting out her neck like a reptile. ‘Hand her to me and get those brasses done.’

  Reluctantly Molly relinquished her daughter and, turning on her heel, went in search of Doris who exploded when Molly found her and told her why, saying exactly what she thought of Mrs Collins.