by Emma Hornby
‘Oh aye?’
Fumbling inside her bag then holding out the pouch, her tone was desperate. ‘Will you help me, missis? Please?’
The widow gave her and the pouch a long look. Then her stare fell to Jewel’s stomach. ‘That the one you want shot of, then? But it ain’t even ready. I only normally take in babes in arms—’
‘Normally?’ Jewel’s heart had dropped to her clogged feet but, with that one word, a little hope had returned.
‘Eh?’
‘You said “normally”. That means you do sometimes offer lying-in?’
‘Well … I might consider it, aye. If the price is right, of course.’ She plucked the cloth from Jewel’s hand and tipped out the contents into her own palm.
‘There’s a pound extra,’ Jewel told her as she counted the sovereigns. ‘Would that be enough for me to stay until after the birth?’
The woman flicked her eyes up and down the street. ‘I don’t discuss business on t’ doorstep. Too many nosey divils around. Come inside.’
Hope fluttered once more. Surely if she was unwilling, she’d have turned her away by now? Inviting her in was a good sign, wasn’t it? Quick on her heels, Jewel followed her into the house.
Like outside, in here it shone like a new pin. The walls were freshly whitewashed and the scrubbed flagged floor gleamed. Every piece of furniture – some good pieces there were, too, nothing battered or worn – was polished, and the blackleaded fireplace shone in the flames’ glow. Jewel allowed herself a pleased smile. This was better than anything she’d imagined. Of course, she’d have given anything not to have to be here. But she did, and it was proving more than adequate.
‘Sit down, then.’
‘Thanks, Mrs …?’
‘Just call me Mater. That’ll do.’
Considering this to be a rather queer request, Jewel hid a frown. It was only then that she noticed the silence. She glanced around the space again but saw no signs of there being children beneath this roof. No tiny items of clothing, feeding vessels or the like. ‘You’re not nursing any babbies at present?’
‘Aye. I’ve five under my care at the moment. They stop upstairs.’
‘Oh.’ She was both surprised and saddened. So many. And her child was soon to add to the number of the unwanted. Just another throwaway. Forgive me …
‘I’ve a girl lying in already, an’ all. She’s further along than you look to be, is due any day. You’ll have to share with her if you’re for staying. I’ve only the one bed spare, you see. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’ll take it,’ Jewel responded without hesitation. What choice had she? It was a small price to pay. She just hoped this girl was an agreeable sort, that they would get along. The last thing she wanted was grief, had had enough lately to last her two lifetimes. To burrow herself away in peace was all she craved.
‘Right, then. Hang up your shawl and set the kettle to boil. Tea caddy and cups are in the cupboard – there.’ She jerked her head towards an alcove then sat back in her chair, arms folded.
Though thinking a ‘please’ wouldn’t have gone amiss, Jewel smiled and nodded nonetheless and got to her feet.
‘I’ll have a sup if there’s one going begging,’ piped a voice from the stairs.
Jewel turned to see that it belonged to what must be the other expectant mother she’d be sharing a bed with. The widow wasn’t wrong when stating the girl was due any day; she was as round as a penny.
‘You finished up there?’ asked Mater when the girl had seated herself at the table.
‘Aye.’
‘I’ll be checking to make sure, an’ all.’
The girl rolled her eyes to Jewel, who responded with a puzzled half-smile. Finished what? she wondered. Perhaps she’d been seeing to the children? Would she herself be expected to perform such duties whilst dwelling here? She really hoped not. The last thing her fragile emotions needed right now was for her to be caring for other babies. The very thought was abhorrent to her, given that she planned to do no such thing with her own. Tend to others throughout the coming weeks then abandon hers upon its entering the world? No. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t, and would tell the widow so.
Tea made, the three of them drank in silence. When a sleepy-sounding cry drifted down, Jewel held her breath and prayed she wouldn’t be asked to see to it. But though the widow sighed, she didn’t turn to her or the girl; instead, she herself rose and disappeared upstairs.
Alone with Jewel, the girl’s lacklustre demeanour changed. She sat forward and flashed a pouty smile. ‘All right?’
‘Aye. Well, you know …?’ Jewel motioned to her stomach. ‘As well as I can be, at any rate.’ Her voice thickened. ‘Coming here … I had no choice.’
‘Do we ever? Never the fellas left to suffer the result of their fun, though, is it?’
Jewel shook her head, whispered, ‘Were you forced, too?’
‘Me?’ The girl’s mouth stretched in a slow grin. ‘Oh nay. I were willing, all right.’
‘Oh. Oh, I …’ Colour had washed across her face. She eyed the girl with a mixture of disapproval and curiosity. Not knowing how to respond to the shameless declaration, she lifted her cup and sipped at her tea.
‘He reckoned he wanted to wed me. Silly bitch that I am, I fell for it. It wasn’t ’til I’d been caught with this,’ she added, jabbing at her huge bump none too gently, ‘that I discovered he were already married to another. Promised me the world, he did. Instead, he were planning on putting me up in a few rooms, where I was expected to dutifully wait for his visits if and when he felt like it. No, thank you. Rent and everything else paid for or no, I’d sooner go it alone than live like that. That’s no life, not really. I wanted all of him or nowt at all.’ She shrugged. ‘It is how it is. His wife’s welcome to him, poor cow.’
‘The swine, that’s awful. Does he know you’re here and what you’re intending?’
Again, the girl grinned. ‘Where d’you think the brass came from to pay the fee? I didn’t just have all them pounds lying around doing nowt, you know. Aye well, sod him. Once I’ve rid my body of this thing, I’m off out of this shit-tip town; to hell with the pair of them.’
Jewel was lost for words once more. This girl’s hardness, her apparent sheer dispassionateness, was difficult to fathom. She hadn’t spoken with anger or bitterness or even regret, not at all. She was simply matter-of-fact about the whole business, almost unfazed.
‘So what’s your story?’
‘My cousin decided to take what weren’t his.’ It was Jewel’s turn to shrug. ‘I couldn’t let on to Mam, the family. It’d be harder still now; it’s gone too far for that, I reckon. Hopefully, once all this is over with, I can carry on like afore and no one will be any the wiser. The trouble it would cause, the shame … I can’t do it to Mam, I can’t.’
The girl took a swig of her tea. ‘Louise.’
‘Eh? Oh,’ she added, smiling, when the girl pointed to herself. ‘I’m Jewel.’
‘Has that one upstairs told you yet that you’re to call her Mater?’
Louise’s words had been tinged with amusement. With a curl of her lip and a roll of her eyes, Jewel nodded, and they both chuckled. ‘What’s the deal with that, then, you reckon?’
‘Likes her privacy, don’t she? The less we know of her, the better – who can blame her in her line of work?’
Jewel frowned. ‘But why the secrecy? She’s providing a social service is all.’
‘Ho! That’s one way of putting it.’
Her confusion grew. As far as she could see, this was beneficial for all concerned. Without such procurers, mothers lacking the support of a husband, family or friends found it nigh on impossible to keep themselves and their child out of the workhouse. Few private charities extended help to fallen women, less so their offspring – English society placed little value on illegitimates. To do so would, they believed, promote bastardy and encourage immoral behaviour. Regardless of circumstances, it was deemed that fault lay w
ith the female. This blinkered ideology only compounded matters for an already shunned and struggling minority.
In addition, women like the widow, in need of income, got by on the premiums they charged, procuring in return adoptive parents willing and able to offer infants a brighter future. Therefore, surely this route, which provided all with a lifeline, was for the good? Furthermore, it was simple, quick and legal, with few questions asked.
Alternatives were limited. Abandonment was a criminal offence – as, too, was abortion, which commonly resulted in severe haemorrhaging or even death. If the woman survived and was found out, imprisonment awaited her instead.
‘Where would I – both of us – be at this minute but for folk like her?’ asked Jewel. ‘I can’t see the bad in it at all. Besides, what they do don’t go against the rules of the law, does it?’
‘Oh, come on.’ As though debating whether Jewel was having her on, Louise ran a hand through hair the colour of spun silk, eyes creased. ‘Surely you ain’t so green?’
‘What d’you mean by that, like?’
‘Surely you know …?’ Realising she didn’t, Louise shook her head slowly. ‘Mater is a baby farmer.’
Jewel stared back blankly. A what?
‘Or as I like to think of them,’ added the girl, ‘an angel maker.’
‘I don’t … What—?’
‘Shush,’ Louise whispered, cutting off her questions as approaching footsteps from above sounded. As though not a word had passed between them, she picked up her cup and resumed drinking her tea.
Jewel was more mystified than ever. What was going on? What had she meant? What on earth was a baby farmer? She had to know, though now wasn’t the time to probe further; the girl clearly didn’t want to speak on it in front of the older woman. She’d get it out of Louise later, she determined.
Even so: baby farmer. The term swam around her brain as she, too, sipped her drink. Baby … farmer?
The widow, a brown blanket-wrapped bundle under her arm, descended the stairs then disappeared without a glance at either of them. Moments later, shifting and banging noises drifted up to them from the cellar – peering at the ground, Jewel frowned. ‘What’s she up to, I wonder?’
Though her gaze had dropped, too, Louise offered no suggestion. Placing her cup on the table, she scraped back her chair. ‘I’m going forra lie-down.’
Jewel watched her lumber off up to the bedroom. She looked to the floor again when silence fell then fixed her eyes on the door – however, the widow failed to reappear. Taking her frown with her, she busied herself washing up her and Louise’s cups and saucers.
Eventually, still clutching the bundle, Mater emerged from the cellar. Now, she gave Jewel a long look before disappearing once more, this time to the back yard. Dogs’ barks sounded then died away. When she re-entered the house, she was empty-handed. Without a word, she resumed her seat at the table, picked up the teapot and refilled her cup.
After putting away the tea things, Jewel, too, made to return to the table. Then, changing her mind, she crossed to a fireside chair. Watching the dancing flames without seeing them, she tried to make sense of what had transpired since her arrival. Louise’s words; the widow and her bundle; the queer, unsettling feel of the place … But she could fathom none of it.
Have I made a mistake in coming here? she wondered for the first time. And without understanding why, her hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach.
Chapter 14
AS IT TURNED out, Mater didn’t expect her lying-in guests to lend a hand in tending to the children in her care at all. In fact, she positively insisted they steered clear of the back bedroom altogether.
Though thankful when Louise revealed this to her, Jewel couldn’t shake her curiosity over the unseen scraps of life. Despite this now being her third day here, she’d seen nothing of them at all. A faint cry would ring out now and then but, once the widow had been in to see to them, they wouldn’t hear a thing more for hours.
‘I’ll not be asked to tend to the babbies, will I, Louise?’ Jewel had asked her that first night when she’d joined her in bed. The girl had told then how Mater preferred them not to interfere with her charges. The rest of the house, however, was another matter – that’s what Louise had been doing when Jewel first arrived: scrubbing her bedroom floor, not seeing to the children, as she’d assumed.
‘I may as well tell thee afore she does – we’re to pull our weight,’ Louise had continued. ‘The cleaning, sweeping, washing, cooking … that’s our job beneath this roof. I’ll be glad of the help now you’re here, to be honest. I’ve never toiled so hard as I have these past weeks since I myself happened upon her doorstep. But what can you do, eh? If she says we must see to the chores, then we do it. That or likely get slung on to the street. Aye well, it’ll not be for much longer; for me, at least. God above, I can hardly wait to be rid of the child and away from here.’
Looking at the mountainous stomach beneath the bedclothes, Jewel had been shocked. Fancy Louise having to see to the entire household duties this far along in her carrying. How had she coped, particularly given the widow’s very high standards? It was a wonder Louise hadn’t collapsed through exhaustion. She’d be sure to take on the donkey’s share from now on, save the girl from making herself ill, Jewel had resolved. It was only right. She herself wasn’t so big yet; she’d manage things much easier.
Though Louise had no qualms about relaying the rules of their stay, when Jewel had brought up their earlier conversation and asked again just what on earth a baby farmer was the girl had immediately clammed up. She’d feigned tiredness and attempted to turn away, but Jewel had been insistent: ‘You must tell me, for I can’t make head nor tail of its meaning. What is she? What, a farmer of babies? But what does that mean? It don’t make no sense.’
‘Bloody hell’s fire, shurrup about it, will thee?’ Louise had eventually groaned, pulling the blankets above her head to drown out the questions. ‘I meant nowt by what I told thee. It’s nowt, just another name for nurses is all.’
‘And what you said about how you see them? Angel makers, was it? Aye, that were it. What did that mean, then?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Just that, in a way, they do make angels out of the devils that sinners like us have created. Aye, little cherubs what unlike us will go on to live wholesome, holy soddin’ lives. All right? Happy? Will you let me get some rotten kip, now?’ But though Jewel nodded, Louise had made no attempt to rest. Instead, she’d stared at her for a long moment then added, voice almost kind, ‘Look, Jewel. All this business … It’s the best thing all round. You’ll see. Once you’re shot of the child, you can begin life over again. That’s what you want, in’t it?’ At her nod, she’d continued. ‘And the babby; you don’t want it, right?’
‘It’s impossible.’
‘Nor do you want to ever see it again, d’you? Run the risk of it tracking you down one day? Everyone you know and love knowing, judging, turning against thee?’
‘It’s impossible,’ she’d murmured again.
‘Well, then, here’s the thing. Birth it, walk from this house and put it from your mind for ever. It’s the only way.’
Jewel knew she was right. Still, it hadn’t stopped her from crying herself to sleep.
Now, the hour was approaching nine. Shortly before, breakfast had been eaten and the dishes washed and put away. Louise had taken herself back to bed, and Mater was tending to her charges. Seated at the scrubbed table, Jewel itched for something to do. Having swept and scoured the place to within an inch of its life yesterday, there was nothing to occupy her now for a few hours until lunch needed preparing. She really wasn’t used to this inactivity. The boredom was sending her mad.
Generally, it wasn’t so bad during the day. The household chores she was instructed to complete kept both body and mind busy but, as night fell, restlessness would creep up on her and she’d yearn to leave the house, go for a walk, anything to kill the stale monotony.
Of course, ventur
ing beyond the door was an impossibility. What if someone she knew saw her? Or, as she’d begun to fear, what if she was unable to stop herself from seeking them out? For the pain of separation was like a physical thing. Though, obviously, she missed Mam, it wasn’t the gut-churning pining she’d felt when she’d first left their home. Time at Mawdsley Street had already dulled that particular loss to a manageable ache; she’d grown used to not seeing her daily. Maria and the Birches were another matter.
The maid had become dear to her over the months and she’d have given anything right now for one of her cheeky grins or warm hugs. Though Louise was similar in age to them both, she wasn’t the kind of person you could naturally befriend. Whereas Maria harnessed her worldly-wiseness into helping and advising others, Louise’s had had the opposite effect on her personality. Her experiences looked to have not so much hardened but developed in her an apathetic passiveness that was difficult to penetrate. Jewel missed the rapport, the banter, the support; the big sister she’d never had.
Little Constance, even Roland, she also wished to see. Was the child missing her? Were the family’s needs being met and the household running as smoothly as it should under the new servant? She fretted about them frequently. As for him …
Sighing, she rose from the table and made her way to the back yard for some air – and much-needed distraction. The man with chocolate-brown hair and eyes to match lingered on the outskirts of her mind constantly. The longing to see him was a gnawing in her guts and her chest – her very bones – that wouldn’t leave her, though she prayed the pain would dim with time. Whether he missed her or not, she refused to ponder upon. For the answer she suspected stung more acutely still. Why would he? If her temporary replacement was doing her job well, he probably hadn’t noticed she’d even gone.
The widow’s two large dogs, tied up with rope, lay snoozing on some old sacks. They lifted their heads from their paws and wagged their tails, and she stroked them in turn. As the minutes ticked by, the stillness soothed her racing thoughts a little. Hugging herself, she closed her eyes.
