by Val Wood
‘Well, this place won’t turn you away. I’ve been personally to ascertain that there’s a place for you, and there is,’ she said with a hint of triumph in her voice. ‘So I’ve booked it.’
‘And Daisy?’ Lily asked quietly. ‘Will they take Daisy?’
Mrs Walker turned to look at Daisy. ‘Oh, no! They’ll only take women who are … well, who are – like you. Anyway, if you’re ready, ’men are waiting outside to take you.’
‘I can’t go without Daisy,’ Lily said in alarm. ‘Wherever this place is, surely she’ll be able to come? It’ll not be for long, onny a day or two. I’ll get work as soon as I’m able.’
Mr Walker had come into the room and overheard their conversation. ‘Daisy can stay here,’ he said firmly, not looking at his wife. ‘She can help Cook and Molly; they’ll find something for her to do.’
Mrs Walker drew in a sharp breath. ‘Well!’ she huffed. ‘I don’t see why—’
‘It’s only for a short time, my dear,’ he said placatingly. ‘And as Mrs Fowler says she hopes to find work and a room, it’s the least we can do to help someone in such a dreadful situation.’
Lily could have wept with gratitude. What a generous kind man he is. However did he come to be married to such a hard woman as this? But still, she thought apologetically, at least she’s taken the trouble to find someone else to take me in and give me shelter for a few days. She didn’t have to do that; she could have just turned us out into the street.
‘She’s very lucky there’s a place for her,’ Mrs Walker said sourly. ‘Very fortunate.’
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’ Lily said, ‘but what is this place?’ Suspicion was lurking. Mrs Walker wanted rid of her, that much was obvious and she didn’t blame her for that, but where was she sending her?
‘It’s a temporary place,’ Mrs Walker hedged. ‘A charitable institution.’
Lily glanced at Mr Walker, who had a resigned expression on his face and gave a little shake of his head. ‘I’m sorry that there seems to be nowhere else,’ he murmured. ‘It is the times in which we live. There is no provision for people who fall into a desperate trap through no fault of their own.’
Lily wrapped her shawl round her. ‘I’d better be off then,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t want to detain you any longer. I’m more grateful than I can say, Mr Walker. I hope one day I can return your kindness.’ She kissed a tearful Daisy and told her to be a good girl. ‘I’ll leave her in your safe hands,’ she said, looking at the apothecary. ‘Until I come back for her, which I hope won’t be long.’
She felt dizzy again and swayed on her feet. I must have lost a lot of blood, she thought. I feel weak. ‘I’m ready. Thank you.’
Mr Walker led the way out of the room and into the shop where Oliver was standing behind the counter. Out in the street was a small waggon with two men waiting by it. They turned as the door opened and Lily felt their eyes appraise her.
‘You must drive carefully,’ Charles Walker told them. ‘This young woman is not yet recovered from childbed.’
Young woman, Lily pondered as she was helped into the waggon. I’m barely thirty and feel ancient. Married at sixteen with Ted on the way. What does life hold for me now? But I’ll think on it whilst I’m at this place and then come back for Daisy.
‘Where are we going?’ she called to the men driving the waggon. ‘Where ’you tekking me?’
The driver laughed and the other man turned to her and grinned. ‘Don’t ’you know, darling? Didn’t them good folk tell you?’
‘No, they didn’t,’ she retorted. ‘I wouldn’t be asking, would I, if they’d telled me?’
He gave her a wink. ‘Nice place,’ he said. ‘They’ll larn you to be a good girl in there. That’s what they think, anyway.’ He chortled.
She leaned towards him. ‘What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Come off it,’ he said cynically. ‘You’ll rest up for a bit, then you’ll be back on ’streets again. We’ve seen it all afore, haven’t we, Jack?’ He turned to his companion, who nodded and muttered something incomprehensible.
‘Back on ’streets? But,’ she licked her dry lips, ‘I’m a married woman.’
He shrugged and appraised her again. ‘I’m not blaming you, missis. Everybody’s got to scratch a living one way or another.’
‘For God’s sake,’ she screeched. ‘Where are you tekking me? I’m not a street woman! My husband’s abandoned me. I’ve no means of getting home.’
He turned and looked fully at her. ‘Then I don’t know why you’re going to this place. We were just sent out to pick up a woman. We thought you were like ’others. It’s a home for fallen women,’ he added. ‘Hope House. A refuge. They’re shown ’error of their ways and when they’re cured they’re sent back to their friends or family. If they have any,’ he sniffed. ‘And if they’ll have ’em.’
She was aghast. I’m a respectable married woman. At least I was until that toad Billy Fowler brought me to this. What am I to do?
They had left the busy town and were now travelling through the outskirts. Lily sat pondering. Do I ask them to take me back? But then what should I do? Throw myself on the mercy of the Walkers? She won’t want me, that’s for certain, and why should she? I need a day to recover before I can try for work. Perhaps this place won’t be so bad. Mebbe they’ll give me a bed for tonight and I’ll leave tomorrow. But will they take me in if I tell them that I’m not a street woman but just fallen on hard times? Fallen! Aye, I’ve fallen right enough. That’s what I am after all. A fallen woman.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The waggon drew up outside the front door of an ordinary three-storey house with clean lace curtains at the sash windows. There was no garden or paved area and the door opened out on to the street. As Lily was helped down a woman in a plain grey gown and bonnet stood waiting to greet her.
‘Come along,’ the woman said. ‘Don’t be afraid. There’s no one here to bully or intimidate you.’
Lily gazed at her. As if anybody could, she was tempted to say, but held her tongue. She would find out what went on here before she asserted herself; and she needed to rest. She badly wanted to lie down. She was led into a small hall and then into a room which held two hardback chairs, a desk and another chair behind it. The woman sat in the desk chair and asked Lily to sit down in one of the others.
‘My name is Mrs Grant,’ she said. ‘I understand you’ve recently had a miscarriage.’ She looked down at a sheet of paper on the desk. ‘I take it that it was an untimely deliverance and therefore not registered?’
Lily nodded, suddenly beset by emotion. Poor little bairn, she thought. Poor little bairn! Was it a girl or a lad? Nobody said and I didn’t ask, but maybe it was too soon to say. She thought of Ted. What would become of him? Would Billy Fowler send him away? He had no affection for him, none at all, and neither did Ted like his stepfather. She no longer thought of her husband as Billy, but in rancour gave him his full name. She wiped away a tear with her shawl. ‘It didn’t go full term,’ she muttered.
‘Had it lived, would you have cared for ’child in spite of any difficulties?’ Mrs Grant raised her bushy eyebrows and Lily wondered if it was a gesture of surprise or just an involuntary action.
‘It wouldn’t have been ’bairn’s fault – ’circumstances, I mean,’ she answered. ‘Childre’ don’t ask to come into this world.’
‘Do you think that it’s God’s will?’ Mrs Grant’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘Don’t you consider that men have much to answer for in their pursuit of pleasure, and women too for allowing them that indulgence?’
‘Aren’t you a married woman, Mrs Grant? Don’t you understand about a husband’s rights?’
Mrs Grant drew herself upright. ‘I’m not married,’ she said primly. ‘I’m the housekeeper here, and called Mrs as a courtesy.’
‘Well, Mrs Grant, if you were a married woman, you’d realize that there’s no shame in coupling; it’s part of married life.
Difficulty arises when a child’s born and there’s little money to raise it,’ she said wearily. ‘Or if ’husband refuses to accept it.’
Which is what happened with us, she acknowledged. Billy Fowler didn’t want this child. All he wanted was for me to housekeep and cook for him, and share his bed. He didn’t want the responsibility of another human being.
‘I don’t understand you!’ Mrs Grant said. ‘You speak as if you were a married woman. Do you have a husband?’
‘I did,’ Lily admitted. ‘Until yesterday morning. He brought me into Hull from where we lived and sold me in Hull Market Place.’
The woman clasped her hands in front of her face and gasped. ‘Sold you! But – how could that be? Surely it isn’t lawful?’
‘Whether it is or not, that’s what he did. He said that somebody else had done it some years back so that made it legal and it was what he was going to do.’
‘So who bought you?’ Mrs Grant’s eyes were wide, her eyebrows working furiously. Lily watched them in fascination, then shook her head.
‘Some young fellow. I can’t remember his name, but when he saw I was pregnant he said I was no good to him.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here; there’s been some kind of mistake. This place is not for you. This is a house for fallen women – unfortunate women who have succumbed to a life of degradation. We aim to show them ’error of their ways and send them home to their families.’
‘And what if their families don’t want them?’ Lily’s spirits plummeted. ‘Then what? Back on ’streets?’
Mrs Grant set her mouth in a thin line. ‘We try to find them work. Work where they can gain respect and rebuild their lives.’
‘That’s what I want,’ Lily exclaimed. ‘Please! Let me stay just for today, till I’ve recovered from my confinement. Then I’ll find work and repay you. I’ve a young daughter waiting for me,’ she pleaded. ‘What’ll happen to her if you turn me away?’
She saw the woman hesitate and added, ‘You say you onny tek fallen women. Well, I’ve fallen as low as I can get. There’s nowhere lower than ’gutter and that’s where I’ll be if you show me ’door. I’d walk back to Seathorne, but I know he wouldn’t tek me in, and neither would I want him to.’
As she spoke, she again felt dizzy and bent low; her ears began to ring and sparkling stars filled her head and seconds later she blacked out, crashing on to the floor.
She heard Mrs Grant calling for assistance and tried to lift her head, but the room was spinning and with a low groan she lay back on the floor. She felt arms lift her and carry her out of the room and was conscious of white walls and brown doors, stairs and another room, and then being put into a bed where she sank back with a sigh. ‘I’m bleeding,’ she whispered.
Another woman dressed in black stood over her. ‘When did you miscarry?’ she asked.
‘Yesterday, I think,’ Lily murmured. ‘I’m not sure.’
The woman put a cool hand on her forehead. ‘She’s very hot.’ Her voice sounded very faint and far away to Lily. ‘She might have childbed fever. Bring her some cool water to drink and wash her down. And bring some more sheets.’
Lily succumbed to the pleasure of being given sips of water, then being washed and covered over with a soft blanket. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m being a trouble.’
‘We’ll do what we can for you,’ the woman in black said. ‘But we’re not nurses. Rest now and I’ll look in again later.’
‘Thank you,’ Lily breathed. ‘I’m very grateful.’
She spent the rest of that day and all of the next feverish and restless, drifting in and out of sleep, yet conscious of the fact that if she made an attempt to wake up, she might be considered better and asked to leave. Each time she heard the rattle of the door knob, she closed her eyes and didn’t respond when spoken to. Nevertheless, she did feel weak, as if the terminated pregnancy had depleted her energy, whereas after the births of Ted and Daisy she had felt rejuvenated.
I had something to look forward to then, she brooded in her waking moments; a new young life and a hope of my husband coming home. Now I have nothing. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Ted again, or whether Daisy and I will survive.
On the third morning a young fair-haired woman brought her a tray neatly arranged with a bowl of gruel, a thick slice of bread on a plate, a spoon and a knife. She sat up in bed and knew she was back to normal. Her fever had gone and her body felt rested. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You’re a fine one, ain’t yer?’ The girl opened the curtains, letting in a stream of light. ‘When I was brought here they didn’t put me to bed!’
‘I’d childbed fever,’ Lily told her. ‘Why were you brought here?’
She shrugged. ‘Usual thing! I was “rescued” off ’streets.’
‘Didn’t you want to be?’ Lily tucked into the soothing gruel.
‘Not bothered really. I was persuaded to come. But I was doing all right. I don’t know owt else. How am I supposed to live otherwise? There’s no work. I’ll not go into ’workhouse and pick oakum and I’ve nowhere else to go.’
She was a pretty girl, Lily thought, bright and chirpy. She was dressed plainly in a grey dress with a white apron over it, which Lily guessed might be the standard wear for the residents here. ‘Don’t you have any family?’ she asked. ‘No ma or da?’
‘Yeh.’ The girl nodded. ‘But I had a bairn and his father wouldn’t marry me, so my da turned me out. Ma would’ve let us stay even though we already had my sister’s bairn at home. But Da said enough was enough and we had to go.’
‘So what happened to your babby?’
The girl’s face clouded. ‘I fostered him out. But he died.’ Tears glistened in her eyes and she dashed them away. ‘Anyway,’ she shrugged again, ‘that’s that. They brought me here to learn me for other work.’ She sat on the edge of Lily’s bed and gazed into space. ‘Don’t know what else they think I can do.’
‘What’s your name?’ Lily asked. She felt sorry for her. The girl’s position was worse than her own. My two children are fit and healthy – at least they are at the moment.
‘Betty,’ the girl answered. ‘What’s yours? You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘Lily. I come from a place on ’coast; and I’m not here for ’same reason as you. I’m an abandoned wife and I had a miscarriage. I was rescued too,’ she said. ‘Somebody took me in and then they sent me here. I’ll be leaving today though,’ she added. ‘I’ll have to find work of some kind. I’ve a daughter to care for.’
‘There’s no work in Hull,’ Betty said gloomily. ‘Mebbe scrubbing floors ’n’ that, but I don’t want to do that. I’m a bit particular.’
Lily finished off the bread. Not so particular if she earned her living as a street woman. ‘I’d rather scrub floors than sell myself,’ she said.
Betty got up and took the tray from her. ‘You might find that’s all there is,’ she said cynically. ‘Women don’t have much choice.’
She’s right, Lily thought as she swung her legs out of the bed and gingerly stood up. They get into trouble and there’s nobody to help them. At least Johnny married me when we found out I was expecting Ted, but then we were going to be married anyway. I never wanted anybody else but him, and he felt the same, I know he did. She sighed. She still loved and missed her soldier husband; she always had, even though she’d married Billy Fowler.
‘Are you well enough to leave?’ the woman in black asked when Lily presented herself downstairs. ‘We’re not so unkind that we’d turn you out before you’re ready.’
‘You’ve been very kind,’ Lily told her. ‘And I’d like to repay you. What can I do? Wash ’sheets mebbe; clean ’room that I slept in?’
The woman, Mrs Thompson, hesitated. ‘Well, you could spend the morning helping the staff. Some light housework perhaps?’
‘Yes, I can do that,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve never stayed abed afore when I had a child. There was never anybody to wait on me.’
How
hard it was, she remembered, especially after Ma died; her mother had always helped her with looking after the children until her final illness, and then Lily had had to cope on her own. The parish helped her when she reached rock bottom, but she took work wherever she could, always taking the children with her, since she was never able to afford to pay a childminder.
She brushed the stair carpet and swept the hall, washed the paintwork on the front door, then scrubbed the doorstep until it was almost white.
‘That will do, thank you.’ Mrs Thompson came out to her. ‘You’ve more than repaid us. The driver is going into the Market Place after dinner to pick someone up, if you’d like a lift back.’
Lily washed her hands, tidied her hair and collected her shawl. The dinner smelt good. She sniffed; beef. Will they offer me a bit of dinner before I go, I wonder?
A place had been set for her at the large wooden kitchen table. She sat next to Betty, who had set the table for eight: herself, Lily, Mrs Grant, Mrs Thompson, Cook, the maid of all work and two young women, who from their appearance Lily guessed had also been ‘rescued’.
The two young women made swift inroads into the beef and dumplings as if they hadn’t eaten in a long time, and then looked up eagerly as they were offered treacle pudding.
One of them was very young, Lily surmised, barely sixteen, and the other not more than eighteen. Though their hands and faces were clean, they were dressed in what could only be described as rags: thin skirts with torn hems and unkempt frilled bodices that had seen better days. The younger girl shivered constantly and bit on her fingernails.
‘After we’ve eaten,’ Mrs Grant said to them, ‘we’ll find you some more clothes to wear. Yours are onny fit for ’rag bag.’
Both girls glanced at Betty, who surreptitiously pointed a finger at her own neat gown as if she was showing them what to expect.
‘I like what I’m wearing,’ the older girl stated flatly. ‘It came from Rena’s. It was a supper gown once.’
