by Emma Hornby
She’d risen, dressed and broken her fast with numb calmness, though her remembrance of this was now hazy. She couldn’t even recall arriving at the shop. Yet here she was, as though nothing had occurred, nothing was out of the ordinary. In reality, the world as she knew it had shattered to dust. Half her mind was vaguely aware of this, but the rest, including her body, didn’t seem to have caught up, was suspended in some frozen, unfeeling state that she neither understood nor could attempt to understand. She’d turned in on herself, closed down, this she knew. And here she’d prefer to remain. For the alternative, the truth …
‘Jewel.’ Now, Benji paused on the threshold, blinked twice, then closed the shop door. ‘All right? Has Mam already left?’
Outside, rain pelted the windows, its steady drum filling the silence. Her head moved of its own accord in a nod.
‘Bad again out there.’ He shook the water from his cap and tucked it under his arm. ‘All right?’ he asked again.
‘Last night.’ Once more, her actions were not her own – she felt her lips move but hadn’t commanded them to. ‘At the park.’
‘Aye?’
‘You …’
He broke their stare. ‘We did, aye.’
We …?
‘Does tha regret it?’ he added quietly.
We. Him and her. The two of them? But … This couldn’t, couldn’t be …
‘I don’t,’ he continued. ‘It were gradely. Christ, the feel of thee …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll not tell no one.’
She’d consented. She’d allowed him? Never, she’d never … And yet doubt pierced like hot knives inside her chest. She felt breathless, light-headed. She had to say it: ‘I lay with you willingly?’
Again, his gaze flicked away. He looked at his feet. ‘So tha does regret it.’
God in heaven above … ‘I need … need some air.’ She stumbled past him and out of the shop.
Jewel’s feet took her in the direction of Deansgate. Grinding to a halt at the corner, she viewed the bustling street through a film of tears.
She’d consented to relations with her cousin – he but a boy at that. Though unable to grasp why, she knew she would bear his child, could almost feel his seed inside her.
And if she should, would he deny all involvement? The Powells would take his word; would Mam? Would she blame her for allowing herself to get drunk, letting it happen? And if Benji did hold his hands up, what of it? The lad was fifteen years old, for God’s sake. They couldn’t wed – not that his parents, particularly Esther, would consent in a month of Sundays to such a notion anyway.
Covering her face with her hands, Jewel gave the bitter sobs life. There was no way out of this. Everything was ruined, everything. She’d be shunned by all she knew and loved, cast out with nothing, no one. Her life was in tatters, over …
The scrape of iron-rimmed wheels caught her attention and she paused. Peering through her fingers at an approaching cart, a thought entered her mind. What if she was to step into the road? The horse’s large hooves would have power enough to trample her skull to pieces, and then she’d be dead and all this would be over with. Swept away by her emotions, her heartbeat quickened in relief at the prospect.
Putting out a foot, she took a step. Her other foot followed.
She moved forwards again. By now, the sound of the clomping hooves was deafening. The toes of her clogs brushed the road’s edge – this was it. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped out.
Hot air from the beast’s frightened snort fanned her face. Coming up against solid muscle, intense pain shot through her right hip and the cobblestones swept away from beneath her feet. Muffled yells faded to nothing.
‘Lass?’
Splintered light filtered through her lids. Grey figures hovered above her.
‘God in heaven above … Help me get her up, will thee, Mr Birch?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Jewel felt hands go underneath her. Her cheek rested against a firm chest and she wanted to take her fists to it, beat it with all her might, for she was alive. No, no! Why couldn’t they have left her be, to die in the gutter as she’d planned, as she deserved? Bastards! But it was useless – she seemed to have left her strength by the roadside and could do nothing but lie mutely in these unfamiliar arms, though inside she was screaming.
When the shop bell rang above her head, followed by Benji’s shocked enquiry as to what had happened, her heart sank further and, now, she was glad of the sanctuary afforded by the man carrying her – she hid her face in his chest. He smelled of soap and fine cigars. She breathed the scent of him in, finding it pleasant despite herself. Anything to distract her mind from the lad speaking. The lad she’d … Fat, silent tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked into his crisp white shirt.
‘Lay her down there, Mr Birch. That’s it.’
‘Uncle?’ Jewel croaked as she was lowered on to a bed, brows knotting to realise it was Bernard speaking, had been from the start. He’d instructed this Mr Birch to aid him in getting her up. He’d found her in the road. Had he seen what she’d done? Lord, what must he be thinking? How would she explain this away?
‘Don’t try to talk,’ Bernard murmured, covering her with a blanket and tucking it beneath her chin. ‘You rest. Doctor’s on his way. Fetch Flora, lad,’ he added, to, she assumed, Benji – she still couldn’t open her eyes, let alone move. Every ounce of energy seemed to have deserted her. She just wanted to sleep. Sleep and never, ever wake up …
‘I’m afraid I must get back to the bank, Mr Powell. Unless you still need my assistance …?’
‘Nay, nay, you go. My thanks to you, Mr Birch, for your help. I – my niece here, too, I’m sure – appreciate it, sir.’
Jewel felt pressure on her fingers as they were squeezed lightly, then Mr Birch spoke again: ‘I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss …’
‘Nightingale,’ said Bernard.
‘Miss Nightingale. Indeed. Yes, well, I’ll be on my way. Do not hesitate to send word should you need me for anything further, Mr Powell. Good day.’
‘Ta, thank you, sir. Good day to thee.’
His footsteps died away then all was still. Though Bernard didn’t make a sound, Jewel felt his presence beside her; it was comforting, safe. Sighing, she slipped into a heavy slumber.
*
What could only have been minutes later Flora was chafing her hands with soothing words. Now, when Jewel tried to open her eyes, they obeyed without resistance. Surprisingly, she felt alert, refreshed, as though she’d rested the day away. ‘Mam. Oh, Mam.’ The worry in the older woman’s eyes tore at her. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Hush now. Don’t fret so. You’re going to be just fine.’ There was a break in Flora’s voice. ‘Doctor, here, shall fix you up, lass.’
A large, frowning man loomed above her and began prodding her stomach and examining her head with clipped instructions to say so if an area hurt. She winced once or twice – more from his harsh handling than possible harm inflicted by the cart – but otherwise, she felt fine.
God above, why? she raged inwardly, bunching her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms. Why couldn’t I have died and taken my problems with me to the grave, then no one need ever have known …
‘Remarkably, you don’t appear to have sustained any obvious injuries,’ the medical man announced finally. He turned to Bernard. ‘I shall return to check on her tomorrow in case of delayed damage. For now, see she gets plenty of rest. If her condition should change, send for me immediately.’
‘Aye, Doctor. Ta, we will.’
Her uncle left to show him out; alone with her mother, Jewel avoided her gaze, certain she would see the truth burning in her own, that this wasn’t an accident, as they all seemed to be assuming, that she’d … Her hands clenched tighter. That she’d wanted to die and did still.
‘What happened, lovey? Weren’t tha watching where tha were going? Or happen it were the driver’s fault? Is that it?’
&n
bsp; Outside, rain was pattering steadily once more. Jewel closed her eyes and listened for a while. Then: ‘It were my fault. I stepped out without thinking, judged yon cart to be further away than it were. That I’ve worried thee so … I never meant to … Eeh, I’m that sorry, Mam.’ And she was. For this, at least. Not that she’d done it, though. Not that. Yet how utterly selfish she’d been; she hadn’t given a thought to Flora, to how she would have borne the loss, had her actions had the desired effect. She was a terrible daughter, she was. A terrible, foul rotten person …
‘I don’t know what I’d ever do without thee, you know?’ Her mother gripped her hand tightly and her usually tired eyes burned with no purer love. ‘Never leave me, my lass. You must promise me.’
In that moment Jewel knew there was no escaping this. She couldn’t flee from her problems, from what was to follow. She’d been foolish to think she could. She must face this, however difficult, whatever the outcome, the loss. ‘I promise,’ she whispered thickly.
‘What’s all this Bernard’s just informed me of? What am I hearing, lady?’ Esther’s heavy tread on the stairs accompanied the questions – mother and daughter shared simultaneous sighs. As if matters were not bad enough, she was home.
‘Here we go,’ muttered Jewel.
‘Well!’ Her bulk filled the doorway as she paused, hands on hips, and took in the scene. ‘What on earth has occurred here the day in my absence? Answer me.’
‘Jewel took a tumble at the road’s edge and was knocked down by a horse.’ Flora spoke for her. Rising from the chair by the bed, she added, ‘A terrible shock, she’s had, and it’s rest she needs now.’ She moved towards the door but, clearly, her sister-in-law was deaf to the hint of leaving Jewel be.
‘Well, of all the dim-witted, brainless …’ Esther shook her bonneted head with a snort of disdain. ‘And what, pray, were you doing, taking leisurely strolls around the town when you were meant to be working?’
‘I … felt bad of a sudden, needed some air.’
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sickening for summat? That Wicks boy on your mind, was he, instead of your duties? Pining for him, were thee?’ she finished spitefully, mouth lifting at the corners, as though thoughts of Jewel heartsore brought her pleasure.
‘I care naught for Jem Wicks.’
‘Hm. And what of the shop? Did you leave the place unattended, lady?’
‘Course not. Benji were here.’
‘Thanks be to God for that. Poor lad, burdened with the running of the business all afternoon and at his age.’
A simmering rage was building in Jewel – with effort, loath to make matters worse, she bit her tongue. Poor lad? Huh! This blinkered fool didn’t know her precious son as well as she believed; nay, not a bit. And anyway, what about her? There was no thought of poor Jewel, who had toiled in this rotten shop since she was knee high. No poor Jewel, with the chapped and mottled hands since the age of seven from daily scrubbing this family’s living quarters for a pittance. She’d broken her back in this shop almost her whole life to ease the financial burden on her mother’s shoulders, and had done so without ever a word of complaint. Poor lad, my left eye …
‘You’ll work the doctor’s fee off, lady, let me tell you that as well. Oh yes. Why must we be expected to fork out for your stupidity? Then there’s your poor mam, here. Tearing her from her sickbed and frickening her half to death, I’ll bet. By, I just don’t know what’s the matter with you at times, I don’t, really—’
‘That’s enough, Esther.’ Flora’s tone was firm. ‘The lass has suffered enough for one day.’
‘Oh, Flora.’ Esther addressed her with exaggerated patience, as though talking to a child. ‘When will tha stop making allowances for her daftness?’
‘When I’m snug in my grave beneath the clay, that’s when! Jewel’s sorry, so why don’t you just leave her be and—?’
‘Now then, wenches.’ Bernard had appeared behind his wife and, as always, his quiet tone had the desired effect; they fell silent and he nodded. ‘Flora, would you brew a pot of tea?’ To his wife, he said, ‘Come, let our niece rest up. Sleep is what she needs, aye.’
He led the women from the room and, before disappearing, turned to give Jewel a soft wink. She smiled gratefully. The door clicked shut and she trained her gaze on the ceiling.
How could life as she knew it change so rapidly in so short a space of time? The question swirled around her mind for a moment as though searching every nook for the answer. Of course, it wouldn’t find it; there was no explanation, no sense or reason. What she wouldn’t give to turn back the hands of time, be the carefree girl from a day ago, before the park and Benji, before the town hall, the Prince, Jem. For that’s the point at which things had started to spiral into trouble, she understood this now.
‘That Wicks boy on your mind, was he, instead of your duties?’ Esther’s assumption, so far removed from the truth of things, came back to Jewel and she almost laughed. If only that was what troubled her! Jem, the past months, their misguided feelings for one another, seemed embarrassingly childlike now. So, too, did his scratching at an excuse when he realised he’d been caught out, his wild suggestion that they wed …
Her brow cleared. She sat up in bed. Somewhere deep within her, a spark of hope smouldered and spread. She swallowed hard, her heart beginning to bang.
‘Aye,’ she whispered to the empty room. Beneath the bedclothes, her hand travelled to her flat stomach. ‘Aye, yes.’
Chapter 5
LOOKING BACK, JEWEL couldn’t say how she bore the following days.
Flora had been reluctant to see her go back to work, suggesting that returning the very next day following her ‘accident’ was too soon, that she must have time to recuperate. Jewel had dismissed her worries with quiet resolution. Not only was remaining at home impractical – the rent was due and they required her wages to supplement it – she also desperately needed the distraction. She’d lose her mind entirely were she to waste away the hours fretting in bed.
Besides, what impression would it give to Benji if she stopped away? He’d believe she was avoiding the place – him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that. Never one to wallow for long, she’d always had a steady outlook, refused to let life knock her down for too long. She wasn’t about to change now.
Lifting a figurine from a side table in the Powells’ parlour, she ran the duster over it in swift, efficient flicks. She’d definitely made the right decision in coming back to work. For the very first time she was glad of Esther’s slave-driver ways – the hours marched steadily by when she was engrossed in her duties and she was thankful of it. Fortunately, too, it looked like Benji was giving her a wide berth. Now, if only matters could stay the same until the end of the week … If she could just get through these next few days drama free …
Pausing in her task, she sneaked a hand to her midriff. Brows knitting in a frown, she stroked it slowly. Would her monthly bleed come? she asked herself, though she knew almost with certainty that it wouldn’t. And yet … yet … The prospect of what that meant no longer filled her with all-consuming terror. Not since the solution had presented itself.
In odd moments of reflection – she did her best to quell memories of the incident with the cart, though, sometimes, they stole to her mind unsummoned – she still marvelled that she’d escaped unscathed. It truly was a miracle she hadn’t been at all hurt; even the doctor said as much during his final obligatory visit the following day. It was as if it was somehow … meant to be …
Instantly, her hand sprang from her stomach to retrieve the duster and she resumed her cleaning with gusto. Don’t harbour such thoughts, remember? she told herself firmly, mouth set. What shall be shall be – in no way, though, is this a positive thing. Stepping in front of that oncoming beast as she had – well, her mind hadn’t been her own, had it? It was a flash of madness, she knew this now. Yet though she was grateful she was still here to ponder on such things, that her life had been spared, the
fact that her stomach hadn’t received at least a hard knock from the cart or cobbles, or a kick from a hoof, was something to be regretted.
Although, would it have made a difference so soon after … the deed, with Benji? Surely the child to come couldn’t yet be removed from her body, by brute force or otherwise? Surely it needed to grow some for that to be possible? Oh, she’d been so foolish to think … to risk everything … If only she could speak to her mother. Of course, that was a cavernous impossibility. Flora knowing – God above, the thought made her want to be sick. She could never discover that her own daughter had lifted her skirts for a lad willingly. The shame would surely kill her.
No. She’d remedy this mess. She’d got herself into it; she and she alone would drag herself out of it, somehow, God willing. And there was but one person who could make that possible.
She’d put off seeking him out long enough – time she spoke to him, saw how matters stood, for this wasn’t going away. The sooner she put her plan into action, the better.
Even as Jewel made these resolutions, she knew it was wrong. Desperate she might be, but this cruel streak she saw emerging in herself was new to her – could she really go through with this? Jem Wicks had hurt her, yes, it was true, but he didn’t deserve this, did he? Hers would be a whole other level of betrayal.
‘But do I have a choice?’ she whispered to the empty room. Tears welled. She gulped them back and with an angry flick of her wrist flung the duster into her cleaning box. This she then returned to the cupboard on the landing before heading downstairs.
Bernard glanced around as she entered the shop. ‘Finished for the day, lass?’
‘Aye. I’ll be away home now, Uncle Bernard, unless there’s owt else …?’
‘Nay, nowt.’ He flapped a hand. ‘You go, I’ll see thee the morrow.’
‘Ta, thanks.’ Jewel retrieved her shawl, draped it around her shoulders and left the shop. Outside, her gaze went in the direction of Jem’s home and she took some deep breaths. She felt sick with nerves. Guilt, too, but she wouldn’t dwell on that – couldn’t. Sucking in a last lungful of air, she headed across the square.
