And then, without another word, she hurried on her way, feeling that she had done her good deed for the day.
‘Can we?’ the children piped up, as the kind lady was swallowed up by the crowd. Their mouths were watering in anticipation and Pearl didn’t have the heart to refuse them.
‘Well . . . it is nearly Christmas, so I s’ppose we could,’ she answered uncertainly. Usually when their mother sent them out begging they had to tip anything they were given up to her, but then it was only spent on drink, as Pearl knew only too well, and the children had precious few treats.
Ten minutes later, they all sat on the wall surrounding a frozen fountain, tucking into their feast, and Pearl couldn’t help but smile to see them all looking so happy. But all too soon they had licked the plates clean and it was time to move on.
As they continued along the street, admiring the displays in the shop window, feather-soft flakes of snow began to fall, and Amy started to whimper again. ‘I can’t feel me ’ands, Pearl. They’ve all gone blue. Can we go ’ome now?’
‘Nor me,’ Davey piped up.
Taking her thin shawl from about her shoulders, Pearl wrapped it about him. The snow was coming down thicker now and within seconds Pearl’s thin shoulders were soaked to the skin and her teeth were chattering as she led the children back the way they had come.
Whether Mr Grimley had called or not, she couldn’t keep them out in such weather any longer.
They had only just turned into the grim courtyard that led to their home when their mother’s raised voice came to them.
‘So, where the bleedin’ ’ell ’ave yer been all day if yer didn’t get taken on to work?’
‘In The Mermaid!’ they heard her father’s voice sullenly answer her.
‘Oh ar! An’ what did yer use fer money then? It’s funny that yer can find money fer drink yet I have to ’ide from the bleedin’ rent man!’
‘The landlord put it on the slate fer me, so now stop naggin’ woman, else you’ll feel the back o’ me ’and!’
‘That’s it, yer cowardly bastard, ’it a woman,’ their mother screeched. ‘But think on afore yer do, ’cos I may as well tell yer there’ll be another bleedin’ mouth to feed in a few months’ time!’
As they tentatively approached the door, they heard their father groan. ‘Oh no! You are kiddin’ me, ain’ yer? That one there is only five months old, fer God’s sake. The way yer turnin’ ’em out, we won’t be able to move in ’ere soon. An’ there’s only Pearl who’s old enough to work as yet – not that anyone ’ud want ’er wi’ that gammy leg of ’er’s.’
‘Well if yer didn’t keep demandin’ yer rights when yer come in pissed up of a night, there wouldn’t be another on the way would there?’ they heard their mother scream back. ‘An’ it’s ’ardly my fault that Pearl’s a cripple, is it?’
They heard a dull thud then and the sound of something overturning followed by a sob from their mother.
‘Dad’s hittin’ Ma again,’ Tom whispered fearfully, and he shrank into Pearl’s side.
She was already smarting from what she had just overheard, but some of the smaller children were crying now and she urged them ahead of her, keen to get them out of the biting cold.
‘Don’t worry. He’ll fall asleep in a minute. He allus does when he’s had a drink,’ she soothed.
Sure enough, when they entered the kitchen seconds later, they saw that their father had stormed off into the other room that served as a bedroom, and their mother sat crying on the floor.
‘Lousy swine. He’ll ’it me once too often an’ I’ll swing fer ’im one o’ these days, you just see if I don’t,’ she muttered, as Pearl helped her up.
The children had all huddled together on the floor in one corner for warmth, and after flashing them a reassuring smile, Pearl went and lifted the pan of potatoes from the fire and carried it across to the large wooden draining board that stood next to the deep stone sink. Unfortunately, their mother had let them boil dry and some of them had stuck to the bottom of the pan, but thankfully she was able to salvage most of them. Not that the children were hungry for once, but she wouldn’t tell her mother that.
It was six o’ clock before their father emerged from the bedroom to ask blearily, ‘What’s fer dinner then? I’m starvin’!’
Molly glared at him, but remained silent as Pearl carried a plate of cold mash and bread with dripping across to him at the old rickety table. ‘I’m sorry it’s cold but the fire’s gone out an’ we’re out o’ coal, so I had no way o’ keepin’ it warm fer you.’
Some of the younger children had already drifted off to sleep on the itchy hay mattresses that were spread along one wall, but the older ones sat silently, afraid of drawing attention to themselves.
He fell on the food like a man who hadn’t eaten for a month, before he rose and snatched his coat from the back of the door. The only light in the room now was from a cheap tallow candle on the table, and they stared back at him fearfully.
‘You lots is goin’ to ’ave to pull yer socks up if yer wanna eat,’ he growled. ‘So, first thing in the mornin’ I want yer out on the main streets beggin’. All the toffs will be doin’ their Christmas shoppin’ this week an’ they’ll no doubt dig deep in their pockets . . . Do you ’ear me?’
‘Yes, Dad!’ they all said together and, satisfied, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Eventually they all fell asleep, until there was only Molly and Pearl left awake and it was then that Pearl dared to ask, ‘Did I hear yer aright, Ma? That yer goin’ to ’ave another baby?’
Molly hugged herself as she rocked back and forth and nodded dejectedly. Pearl felt a stab of pity for her. The gin bottle was empty now, and the thump she had received from their father had caused a large purple bruise to form across her chin and right cheek.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll manage some’ow.’ She reached out to stroke her mother’s arm and, in a rare affectionate gesture, Molly patted her hand.
It was only when Pearl had gone to bed and Molly sat alone, listening to the tick of the tin clock on the mantelpiece that she considered a suggestion Lil from upstairs had put to her the week before. At the time it had seemed so preposterous that Molly had waved it aside, but now she was at the end of her tether and she knew that she must give it some serios consideration. She knew she couldn’t go on like this.
The very next morning, just as their father had insisted, the younger children were sent begging and once they had gone Molly told Pearl, ‘Go an’ collect yer things together, girl. Yer goin’ on a little holiday.’
‘What?’ Pearl’s mouth gaped with surprise as Molly gulped and squirmed uncomfortably.
‘Well, the thing is, as yer already know there’s gonna be another mouth ’ere to feed soon, so . . .’ She patted her flabby stomach and forced herself to go on. ‘Lil told me about a scheme they’ve got goin’ wi’ the work’ouse an’ the orphanages. See, it seems that some o’ the older kids in them places are bein’ transported abroad. Just think o’ that, a life in the sunshine. No more cold or snow.’
Secretly, Molly very much doubted that Pearl would be chosen to go with her lame leg, but even if she wasn’t, she would at least be assured of a good meal each day and it would be one less mouth to feed and worry about. It was usual for the people thereabouts to send the younger children away to such places if things got too desperate, for the older ones could normally be sent out to earn a wage, but there was little chance of Pearl doing that and the younger ones could earn more by begging. People had more sympathy for smaller children. She was only sorry that Eliza, the girl next to Pearl in age, who was simple in the head, wasn’t there too, she could have gone with her, but as usual she had wandered off early this morning.
Pearl was so shocked that she couldn’t even answer for a moment, but eventually she found her voice to ask, ‘An’ what happens to the kids when they get there?’
‘Apparently the settlers take ’em into their home
s to help wi’ the chores. I’m sure you’d soon find a place ‘cos you can cook an’ clean along wi’ the best o’ them. An’ they have schools there an’ all. Yer could learn to read an’ write. You’ve always wanted to, ain’t yer?’
Pearl was so stunned when she realised that her mother meant it that she was rendered temporarily speechless. This had come like a bolt from the blue, but eventually she blurted out, ‘But I don’t want to go away . . . this is my ’ome an’ yer all me family!’ Tears started to roll down her cheeks. It might not have ever been the best of homes, but it was the only one she had ever known and the thought of leaving it was terrifying.
But Molly’s mind was made up. ‘It’ll be fer the best,’ she said gravely, guiltily looking away from the stricken look on her daughter’s face. ‘You’ll get the start there that yer’d never get ’ere, an’ one day yer can come back an’ see us all again, so go an’ get your stuff together an’ I’ll have no more arguin’.’
Somehow Pearl managed to do as she was told, despite the fact that she was blinded by tears. In truth there was very little to collect, and soon after she carried her small bundle to her mother, who had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, ready to leave. Lil upstairs had taken the baby for now.
‘B-but surely you ain’t takin’ me there now?’ Pearl was panicking. ‘I ain’t even ’ad time to say goodbye to everyone, an’ it’ll be Christmas in a few days’ time. Surely it can wait till after then?’
‘It’s better this way.’ Molly stroked a tear from her first-born daughter’s cheek with her thumb. ‘Come on, let’s get it over wi’.’
And before Pearl knew it, they were striding through the fast-falling snow towards the workhouse and Pearl’s new life.
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The Days of the Week Collection
If you enjoyed The Winter Promise, you’ll love Rosie Goodwin’s Days of the Week collection, inspired by the Victorian ‘Days of the Week’ rhyme.
Turn over to find out more . . .
Mothering Sunday
The child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
1884, Nuneaton.
Fourteen-year-old Sunday has grown up in the cruelty of the Nuneaton workhouse. When she finally strikes out on her own, she is determined to return for those she left behind, and to find the long-lost mother who gave her away. But she’s about to discover that the brutal world of the workhouse will not let her go without a fight.
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The Little Angel
Monday’s child is fair of face.
1896, Nuneaton.
Left on the doorstep of Treetops Children’s Home, young Kitty captures the heart of her guardian, Sunday Branning, and grows into a beguiling and favoured young girl – until she is summoned to live with her birth mother. In London, nothing is what it seems, and her old home begins to feel very far away. If Kitty is to have any chance of happiness, this little angel must protect herself from devils in disguise . . . and before it’s too late.
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A Mother’s Grace
Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
1910, Nuneaton.
When her father’s threatening behaviour grows worse, pious young Grace Kettle escapes her home to train to be a nun. But when she meets the dashing and devout Father Luke, her world is turned upside down. She is driven to make a scandalous choice – one she may well spend the rest of her days seeking forgiveness for.
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The Blessed Child
Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
1864, Nuneaton.
After Nessie Carson’s mother is brutally murdered and her father abandons them, Nessie knows she will do anything to keep her family safe. As her fragile young brother’s health deteriorates and she attracts the attention of her lecherous landlord, soon Nessie finds herself in the darkest of times. But there is light and the promise of happiness if only she is brave enough to fight for it.
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A Maiden’s Voyage
Thursday’s child has far to go.
1912, London.
Eighteen-year-old maid Flora Butler has her life turned upside-down when her mistress’s father dies in a tragic accident. Her mistress is forced to move to New York to live with her aunt until she comes of age, and begs Flora to go with her. Flora has never left the country before, and now faces a difficult decision – give up her position, or leave her family behind. Soon, Flora and her mistress head for Southampton to board the RMS Titanic.
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A Precious Gift
Friday’s child is loving and giving.
1911, Nuneaton.
When Holly Farthing’s overbearing grandfather tries to force her to marry a widower twice her age, she flees to London, bringing her best friend and maid, Ivy, with her. In the big smoke, Holly begins nurse training in the local hospital. There she meets the dashing Doctor Parkin, everything Holly has ever dreamt of. But soon, she discovers some shocking news that means they can never be together, and her life is suddenly thrown into turmoil. Supporting the war effort, she heads to France and throws herself into volunteering on the front line . . .
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Time to Say Goodbye
Saturday’s child works hard for their living.
1935, Nuneaton.
Kathy has grown up at Treetops home for children, where Sunday and Tom Branning have always cared for her as one of their own. With her foster sister Livvy at her side, and a future as a nurse ahead of her, she could wish for nothing more. But when Tom dies suddenly in a riding accident, life at Treetops will never be the same again. As their financial difficulties mount, will the women of Treetops be forced to leave their home?
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Victorian Tales from Memory Lane
Discover new stories from the best saga authors
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First published in the UK in 2020 by Zaffre
This ebook edition published in 2020 by
ZAFFRE
An imprint of Bonnier Books UK
80–81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE
Owned by Bonnier Books
Sveavägen 56, Stockholm, Sweden
Copyright © Rosie Goodwin, 2020
Cover design by Jenny Richards
Cover artwork © Larry Rostant
The moral right of Rosie Goodwin to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978–1–83877–298–7
Hardback ISBN: 978–1–83877–221–5
This ebook was produced by IDSUK (Data Connection) Ltd
Zaffre is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
www.bonnierbooks.co.uk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
<
br /> Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Rosie Goodwin
Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
The Winter Promise Page 40
