A Mother's Dilemma

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Go on in afore you catch your death of cold.’

  Mind still elsewhere, Jewel hadn’t heard the widow’s approach; she almost jumped from her skin. ‘Eeh, my heart,’ she said on a chuckle.

  The woman’s expression, however, remained impassive. Holding the door wide, she repeated, ‘Go on in.’

  As Jewel passed her to return to the house, she caught a whiff of gin on her breath. Not only did this surprise her, given the earliness of the hour, but she hadn’t realised the woman was fond of a sup. Should she really be at the bottle with young ’uns to care for? The thought made her frown. It grew when she also noticed that, again, tucked beneath the woman’s arm, was a wrapped blanket. Eyeing it, she couldn’t hide her curiosity.

  Seeing this, the widow was quick to explain. She held it up. ‘Grub for t’ dogs.’

  Indeed, her hounds had leapt to their feet, were panting in hungry anticipation.

  Jewel smiled a little, nodded, then headed back indoors. Reaching the kitchen, she saw a thin trail of dark droplets across the flagstone floor – blood. It must have seeped through the bundle without Mater noticing.

  No wonder the dogs had been excited; the meat inside it must be as fresh as it came, she thought as she went to fetch hot water and a scrubbing brush. Fancy giving the animals good grub like that when folk around here could only dream of affording such luxury. It was blind broth, named so as it consisted almost entirely of vegetables with next to no meat, for some most days. That woman must have more money than sense.

  When a knock sounded at the front door, she abandoned the cleaning and, wiping her hands on her apron, went to answer it. The widow had mentioned last night that a new baby would be arriving today; this must be them.

  Before opening it, she fixed in place a small smile of understanding for the mother’s benefit, guessing all too well what she must be feeling at this moment. Yet it quickly melted when the visitors were revealed.

  ‘Mrs Bickerstaff?’

  Jewel gazed at the tall and grim-faced policemen in turn. ‘Who?’

  ‘We’re here to speak with Ada Bickerstaff.’ The burlier of the two stepped closer. ‘Is she present?’

  They had to be referring to Mater. What was all this about, then? What had she done? ‘I’ll just fetch her, sir.’

  ‘No need, I’m here.’ The widow had entered the room. She bestowed on the men a sickly smile – the first of any sort Jewel had seen her crack since she’d been here. ‘Good morning, constables. What can I do youse for?’

  From the corner of her eye, Jewel noticed that Louise had appeared at the top of the stairs. Her normally pink cheeks were ashen. Did she have some inkling as to why the law was here? Curiosity mounting, Jewel focused her attention back on the trio.

  ‘We’ve received reports of suspicious activity being carried out at this property, Mrs Bickerstaff.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Namely that children regularly appear to be deposited here. A mother arrives, babe in arms, only to leave shortly afterwards alone. Inasmuch, we have sufficient reason to believe you’re operating a baby-farming business. Is this indeed the case?’

  After some seconds, the widow responded calmly. ‘I run a foster service, sir. All proper and above board, I assure thee—’

  ‘That’s not quite correct, Mrs Bickerstaff, is it?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Under the Infant Life Protection Act, passed last year to regulate and monitor such practices for the safeguarding of children, all persons boarding more than one infant in return for monetary payment are bound to register their houses with their local authority. According to our recent checks, there is no such record held of either you or your home.’

  ‘Oh, ain’t there?’ the widow asked. She pulled an apologetic face. ‘I could’ve sworn I put my address down …’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Bickerstaff.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. I’ll be sure to do that first thing in t’ morning.’ Smiling, she moved to the door to see them out. ‘I hope you’ll accept my apologies, constables, for taking up your time.’

  But they made no attempt to exit. By now, Louise had joined them – the policeman who had spoken before took in her and Jewel’s conditions. ‘You provide lying-in, too, I see.’

  Though the widow’s tone remained light, her throat bobbed in a visible gulp. ‘Not as a rule, sir. Hardly ever, in fact. These two, well, they … they just happened to need some place to stop on and … and well, I—’

  ‘Perhaps this is on a larger scale than we first thought,’ he cut in to murmur to his colleague, who nodded. He turned back to the widow, whose unruffled stance was rapidly waning. ‘How many children are currently under your care, Mrs Bickerstaff?’

  ‘Three, sir.’

  ‘But—’ The word escaped Jewel’s mouth before she could stop it. Throughout the discourse, she’d barely grasped what was being said, knew nothing of acts and regulations and legal talk. This last answer from the woman, however, she’d understood loud and clear. Understood, that is, that it was a lie. For hadn’t she herself queried that very thing on her arrival, to be told the number was five? And as far as she was aware, no baby had left this house since – and especially not two. Nevertheless, all eyes were now on her and she clamped her lips shut, cursing her tongue and wishing she’d stayed well out of it.

  ‘But …? But what?’ asked the constable.

  ‘Nowt, sir. Nothing at all.’

  His stare remained on Jewel for a long moment. Then he swung it back around to fix on the widow. ‘Mrs Bickerstaff. May we take a look around?’

  ‘A look …? For what?’ She tried an easy laugh but failed. Her voice rose. ‘But … I’m a professional, respectable, procurer, sir!’

  ‘If you could just lead us to your charges, Mrs—’

  ‘But …! There really is no need for this, none at all—!’

  The constable’s clipped interjection brooked no argument: ‘Your charges, Mrs Bickerstaff.’

  Slowly, the widow’s shoulders sagged. Eyes like huge black smudges in her pasty face, she turned as though in a daze and crossed to the stairs. The men followed close behind. The moment they disappeared on to the landing, Louise grabbed a fistful of Jewel’s blouse.

  ‘Run.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Run.’

  Before Jewel knew what was happening, the girl had ripped wide the front door and dragged her into the street. Too dumbstruck to resist, she allowed her waddling captor to lead her in a half-stumble, half-run.

  Crouching out of sight in the shadows of the gasworks, the looming gasometer beyond, they fought to catch their breath.

  ‘Louise, what the hell is going—?’

  ‘’Tain’t safe yet. Come on.’

  Again, Jewel found herself hauled along the road. They turned bend after bend, skittering through the maze of grey streets, until eventually emerging into Churchgate. Here, Louise ground to a halt, purple in the face and puffing fit to collapse.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jewel gasped out between pants, touching the girl’s shoulder in concern. She herself had struggled with her bump’s extra weight – goodness knew how cumbersome Louise, due literally any moment, fared.

  ‘I will be.’

  As her breath returned, so too did her senses and Jewel suddenly realised where she was. Bare-headed, with nothing to conceal her face, having left her shawl as well as her other possessions behind at Lum Street in the mad dash, she glanced around with a bite of her lip. Mam’s dwelling, her place of work, were worryingly close for comfort. How could this be? What was she even doing here? What the hell had just happened back there?

  ‘Right, I’m off. Bye, then.’

  ‘What? Oi, hang bloody on!’ Momentarily too shocked to move, Jewel had to run to catch her up. ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘Manchester.’

  ‘Manchester? But … Well, where am I going?’ Louise stared back blankly and anger washed through Jewel. ‘What
the divil is the meaning of all this? You’ve plucked me from the only place I had left to turn and dumped me but an arrow’s flight from where I fled – for what? What did we just witness? Why the police? Mrs Bickerstaff, as we now know her to be, what has she done?’

  Louise heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Course it does! Just tell me, will you?’

  ‘Look, I know nowt, all right? Only it seems she’s been up to summat, don’t it, the way she were acting? And from the look on their phizogs, those constables thought the same. I weren’t for taking no chances; whatever’s afoot, they might have thought me privy to it and carted me off to prison along with her. I reckoned it were best to get out whilst the going was good.’

  ‘And dragging me along with thee – you’re saying you were doing me a favour?’

  ‘Huh. If you’re going to be like this about it, I wish I hadn’t bothered.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t, an’ all! I can’t believe I let you do this.’ Tears of rage and desperation stung. ‘And what if you’re wrong? What if the widow’s committed no crime and it’s all just a misunderstanding? Where am I meant to go now?’

  ‘Erm …’ Puffing out air, Louise lifted her arms and let them fall back to her sides.

  ‘Well, that’s just bleedin’ gradely, that is. Thank you very much for nowt!’ Biting back her emotion, Jewel peered in the direction they had come. ‘I’ll have to return, find out what’s occurred, whether it were all a mistake. Happen she’ll take me back in—’

  ‘She’ll not.’

  ‘She’ll have to. I’ve no place else. Besides, I paid her for my stay fair and square.’

  ‘She’ll not,’ Louise repeated quietly. ‘She can’t, for she’ll not be there. She’ll be on her way to the cells as we speak. Trust me. I just have a feeling about this.’

  Sheer hopelessness overcame Jewel. Her legs threatened to give way and she leaned against a butcher’s shop wall with a low cry. ‘I’m done for.’

  ‘Well …’ Louise shrugged when Jewel lifted her head slowly to look at her. ‘You could come along with me?’

  ‘With you? To Manchester?’

  ‘Aye, why not?’

  She opened her mouth but no excuse was forthcoming. Besides, what other option was there? ‘You really mean it?’

  ‘I’d not have said, would I?’

  A flicker of a smile touched her lips. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Ta ever so. Truly. I’ll not forget this.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ With a jerk of her head, the girl set off towards Trinity Street Station.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Jewel had fallen into step but paused suddenly as a thought occurred. ‘I’ve no brass for the fare.’

  ‘None?’

  Heart dipping, she shook her head. ‘Norra single copper coin.’

  ‘Well, that makes two of us.’

  ‘What? Then how …?’

  ‘Fret not. I’ll sort it.’ Eyes narrowed, Louise scanned their surroundings. Something caught her attention by the Man and Scythe, an ancient hostelry, and her face cleared. ‘Wait here. I’ll not be long.’

  Though Jewel had followed her gaze, she could see nothing in particular that could help with their situation. She watched in puzzlement as Louise walked away. The girl approached an elderly man weaving his way down the street, clearly the worse for drink, and said something. They smiled at one another, a few more words were exchanged, and Louise linked her arm through his. They turned and headed towards a narrow alleyway.

  When they disappeared, Jewel scratched her head and frowned. Then realisation dawned and, swearing under her breath, she closed her eyes. Louise was going to rob him. God in heaven, what was she thinking? In her condition, too – anything could happen. She’d clearly targeted him because of his inebriated state, but what if he still had enough wits about him to realise her game? He’d be mad with rage, could turn violent, and what would she do then? How could she be so foolish – not to mention cruel?

  Mind you, I’m no better, am I? Didn’t I force Benji’s hand to steal from his father?

  Her chin dropped in remorse. Uncle Bernard hadn’t deserved that either, yet she’d had no choice. Desperation had driven her to it – just as Louise felt now. Rightly or wrongly, when it came down to survival, needs must. Turning a deaf ear to her guilt, she awaited Louise’s return.

  Minutes passed without a sign of them and her anxiety was mounting. Jewel was about to go in search of the girl when suddenly she appeared, thankfully looking none the worse for her escapade. No bloody nose or fat lip, no drunkard close behind yelling out her crime – it would seem she’d been successful in lightening his pockets without detection. Jewel rushed to meet her.

  ‘All right?’

  Louise nodded.

  ‘Did you …?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Sensing from the girl’s set mouth and her stare fixed straight ahead that she didn’t wish to discuss the matter further – perhaps she did possess a conscience, after all – Jewel kept her quiet.

  Once more, they set off to catch the train.

  Chapter 15

  THEIR TRAVELS PROVED a quiet affair. Throughout the ten-mile journey, Louise mostly snoozed. When she did rouse for brief periods, she barely uttered a word. The moment the train choked and juddered to a halt, however, and they alighted on to her home ground, she suddenly came alive.

  Emerging from Victoria Station, the girl tipped back her head and took a long sniff of the sulphurous air. ‘Eeh, am I glad to be back.’

  As far as Jewel could tell, this was no different from the town they had left behind; albeit here was larger, louder and much, much busier.

  As in Bolton, over the past century the Industrial Revolution had swallowed much of Manchester’s green and pleasant land. Now, pewter was the uniform of the north. The pace of change was staggering and on still it swept, gobbling up every pocket of empty space it found.

  Those desperate for employment clambered upon the towns and cities in their droves, toiling in deplorable conditions in order to survive – and help their masters’ purses grow plumper. The social gap between rich and poor had never been wider, though only the one side suffering the effects of this seemed to notice or care.

  Hastily built, poor-quality workers’ houses, some crumbling with age, a great deal damp and verminous, almost all bursting at the seams with as many folk as could be squeezed into them, squatted around the multitude of mills and factories. These vast buildings and disease-ridden slums alike, clogging the skyline with their spewing smokestacks, had changed the face of the landscape and its people for ever.

  And yet … it was home. Despite the inequality, despite the hopelessness and the dankness, the filth, the stench, troubled times brought the struggling masses together. Kinships were formed and nurtured through shared hardship, cherished, in ways the more privileged could never begin to understand nor be fortunate enough to belong to. When one fell, they all did. It was the fact they helped each other back to their feet that made the difference.

  ‘Have you allus lived here?’ Jewel asked Louise now as they passed down a broad street thronged with carts and people.

  ‘That’s right. Eeh,’ she repeated fondly, drinking in her surroundings, which brought to Jewel a pang of loss for her own town. ‘Come on, this way.’

  Gradually, they left the centre of the city behind. Streets of densely packed houses grew narrower, branching off every which way into dark lanes, courtyards and alleyways. When Louise stopped before a door in the heart of the squalid maze, Jewel’s heart dropped to her toes.

  Rotting refuse, mixed with human waste spilling from the nearby privies, sullied the cobbles and she struggled to hide a grimace. Unconcerned, filthy and ragged children played barefoot, their screeches ringing off the smoke-blackened bricks. Across the road, scowling men lounged against their houses, flat caps pulled low, and women in grubby aprons sat on doorsteps gossiping. The misery and poverty were the stuff of nightmares.

  Not wanting to
offend the now-grinning girl, Jewel smiled back, though dread was coiling her guts.

  Please, she prayed. Please let inside be better.

  It wasn’t.

  In fact, as she followed Louise into the fetid hall and up a flight of stairs, she wished she’d stayed outside.

  The girl made for a room with several fist-sized holes in the door, and Jewel’s mood slumped further. When Louise threw it open, this time Jewel couldn’t mask her disgust and had to press her nose into her shoulder to block out the stale smell.

  Furnished with an unmade bed and two sagging sofas, there was barely space for anything else bar a small, wobbly-looking table in the centre. On this were two quart bottles of dark brandy, one full and one empty, and an uncovered pot of beef dripping, a fat black fly walking along its rim. A grubby sheet had been nailed to the window and no fire burned in the grate; the poor light added to the dinginess.

  In short, it was a hovel. What a contrast to the sparkling house she’d just left, where she’d hoped to have her child.

  Lowering herself on to the bed, Louise sprawled out with a contented sigh, obviously pleased to be home – though, for the life of her, Jewel couldn’t imagine why. ‘Come in, then. Sit down.’ She motioned to a sofa and, when Jewel was seated, raised herself on an elbow. ‘The others must be out. No matter. They’ll be back soon, no doubt.’

  ‘How many do you dwell with?’ asked Jewel, astonished she hadn’t thought to query this until now.

  ‘Only the four of us.’

  Only? Four – five now she was to join them – in this one small room? Dear God …

  ‘You’ll have to make yourself up a bed of sorts in front of the fire. We’ll figure blankets out later; I’m sure we’ll find one or two to spare thee.’

  Forcing her gaze not to swivel to the mucky flagstones, Jewel nodded. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a sup of owt going begging, is there?’ she asked, her thirst winning through her unwillingness to partake of anything prepared in this room.

  ‘Erm …’ Looking around, Louise’s eye fell on the strong spirit atop the table. She pointed at it, but Jewel shook her head and she shrugged. ‘Please yourself. Happen there’s some tea lying about somewhere … I don’t know. You’ll have to look.’