by Emma Hornby
The sounds that were soon reaching them from beyond the makeshift screen were unendurable – for Jewel, at any rate. Her utter mortification was absolute. In contrast, the older woman appeared totally unfazed.
Unable to bear it a second more, she rose, face ablaze, and took herself off to the landing. Shutting the door on the depravity, she closed her eyes and heaved a long, shuddering sigh.
‘How was your pie?’
Jewel turned in surprise at the quiet words to find Louise’s aunt sitting on the top stair. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Your pie what I fetched thee. You fell asleep. Have you had it yet?’
‘Nay, I … Nay.’
Sarah surveyed her in silence for a moment as she drank from the bottle she held. Then she asked, almost hesitantly, ‘All right?’
‘I’m not, as it happens.’ Jewel could feel her temper rising to the fore. ‘The goings-on in that there room, right now, as we speak … I, I just can’t …!’
‘Aye.’
‘Do you have children, Sarah?’
The woman took another long swallow of brandy. ‘Nay.’
‘Would you … could you condone … encourage what your sister in there—?’
‘Nay.’
Catching the spark of passion in her tone, Jewel felt a stirring of alliance. Studying the woman properly, she decided she was quite attractive. Unlike her sibling, her figure was slim, her hair free from grey and her skin of blemishes. Her eyes, however, could have belonged to someone twice her age. Dull green, as though life had faded from them long ago, they were strife-worn, deep with untold disappointments.
Jewel moved closer and motioned to the space beside her. ‘Mind if I join thee?’
Sarah shook her head. When Jewel was seated, she glanced across at her stomach. ‘You should eat, you know. For t’ babby.’
‘Aye. I am clemmed, if I’m honest. And by, what I wouldn’t give forra sup of tea.’
‘We’ve nowt to make a brew inside.’
‘Nay.’
‘Mind you, it’d not be much use if we did – we ain’t got a teapot.’
Jewel couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Bloody hell.’
They looked at one another and smiled.
Pushing the stopper in the top of her bottle, Sarah rose to her feet. ‘Hang about, I’ll not be a minute.’
She headed downstairs and Jewel heard her knock at someone’s door. Muffled voices followed, then the door was shut and Sarah made her way back to the landing. In her hand, she carried a steaming mug.
Jewel was touched. ‘For me?’ she asked when Sarah held it out to her.
‘Aye. Wench down there’s a kind sort. Go on, sup up.’
Savouring every precious sip as though it were liquid gold, Jewel now watched the woman head for her own room. She emerged seconds later with a grease-stained parcel. Sitting back down, she handed it over.
The meat pie inside was hard and cold, the jelly congealed. In her ravenous state, Jewel had never tasted anything as delicious.
‘Better?’ asked Sarah when she’d finished the feast.
Jewel nodded. On impulse, she reached across and pressed the woman’s hand. ‘Thanks, Sarah.’
And somehow, Manchester and this whole situation didn’t seem so terrible any more.
Chapter 16
LATER, AS A weak dawn was breaking above the city, Louise’s pains began.
Woken by her groans, Jewel rose from the rag rug in front of the fire and padded to the bed. ‘Louise? Have I to rouse your mam?’
‘Nay … Aunt Sarah. Fetch Aunt Sarah.’
Over the next few hours, the two of them worked together. Whilst Sarah saw to the physical side of things, Jewel hovered by the head of the bed, dabbing Louise’s hot and sweaty face and neck with a wet rag and offering words of comfort and encouragement.
Astonishingly, her mother and sister hadn’t stirred – likely owing to their gin comas. They snored on, oblivious to it all.
Finally, on a long, beast-like grunt, Louise gave a last push. A grey-white object slithered from her body and into Sarah’s hands. Heavy silence filled the room. The three women glanced at each other.
‘Is it …?’ whispered Jewel.
Sarah placed her hand on the tiny child’s chest. Then, frowning, she put her ear close to its nose. Slowly, her face cleared. She lifted her head and nodded to her niece. ‘It breathes, but only just.’
Releasing a relieved sigh, Jewel squeezed Louise’s hand. ‘Thank God—’
‘Pass it to me.’ The new mother’s interjection was toneless, flat.
Sarah looked from her to the child several times, eyes creased. ‘Lass …’
‘Pass it to me,’ Louise repeated, firmer now. She held out her arms.
Lifting the almost pulseless piece of life gently, Sarah gazed down on it then, with a pained expression, turned her face away. Before handing it across, she nodded dully to Louise, and her niece returned it.
Jewel thought the girl would attempt to clear the child’s mouth and nostrils, help bring life to its airways. However, Louise simply stared down into the perfectly formed, unmoving face, and tears sprang to Jewel’s eyes. Louise believed it useless, that hope was gone, it was clear to see. Jewel’s heart contracted for her, for though she hadn’t intended on keeping it, Louise had wanted it to have a future, hadn’t she? A bright one, aye, with people who would love it – why else had she been at the house in Lum Street? She waited for Louise to hold the child against her chest, soothe its passing as only a mother could but, again, she was wrong – Louise didn’t do this either.
Instead, she laid the child on the bed in front of her. Then, looking with dead eyes straight ahead, she placed a hand over the baby’s nose and mouth and pressed down.
It took a few seconds for Jewel to understand what was happening. With a cry, she grasped Louise’s arm and tried to pull it away, but her hold was iron-strong. ‘Louise, please!’
‘Come away, lass.’ Taking Jewel by the shoulders, Sarah tried to guide her from the bed, but she shook her off.
‘Nay, I can’t! I won’t just stand here whilst she … whilst she—!’
‘It’s for the best,’ Sarah told her, taking hold of her again, and there was a catch in her voice.
‘But … Nay. Stop, Louise, please.’ However, it was as if Jewel’s words didn’t have the power to touch her. Still staring in front at nothing, Louise remained unresponsive.
The child had put up no resistance. A small, thin leg twitched twice then was still. Louise removed her hand and closed her eyes.
‘This is the kindest thing all round – lass, wait!’ called Sarah as Jewel pushed her off savagely and ran for the door.
‘Nay. Nay! It could have been adopted still, given a better life. She never even gave it a chance!’ she shot over her shoulder before bolting from the room.
Blinded by tears, Jewel rushed down the stairs and out of the front door. Her legs took her up the street and around the corner until, overcome with sobs, she crumpled to the step in an inn doorway.
That poor child! How could Louise? As for Sarah condoning her actions … They were all as bad as one another: wicked to the core. She had to get away from here. She wouldn’t dwell amongst such evil. She must leave today, now. Go somewhere, anywhere!
‘Jewel.’
She didn’t lift her head from her hands. ‘Leave me alone, Sarah.’
‘You have to understand. That poor mite …’
‘You shouldn’t have followed me. Just go on back, let me be—’
‘Will you tell?’
‘What?’
‘What you’ve witnessed the day …’ Sarah’s voice dropped. ‘Will you alert the authorities?’
Jewel’s hands dropped slowly into her lap. She gazed up at the woman incredulously. ‘That’s all you’re mithered about, in’t it? God above!’
Sighing, Sarah perched on the step beside her. ‘Think about it. What else was Louise meant to do?’
‘She could have had it a
dopted out to a kind and caring—’
‘Could she hell. You saw it: it were frail, lass. Likely wouldn’t have survived the day.’
‘So you’re saying that smothering your own offspring is for the good, aye?’
‘Aye, mebbe,’ the woman murmured after a pause. ‘For some, aye. I reckon she did that poor mite a kindness.’ She sniffed then nodded. ‘It were a girl, you know? The child were a girl. If, against all the odds … where d’you reckon it could well have finished up, eleven or twelve years from now? You’ve only to look at Louise and Julia to know.’
‘You mean …?’ At Sarah’s nod, Jewel lowered her head. ‘Mother of God.’
‘It could have followed the same path as them, its grandmother, me. That’s no life, lass. No life at all.’
Jewel swivelled her gaze to look at her. Fresh lines scarred the woman’s brow and a sea of misery shone from her eyes’ depths. ‘Why do you do it, Sarah?’
‘To eat. To survive.’
‘But there’s other means of supporting yourself.’
‘Not for the likes of me. No respectable employer wants an ale-soaked mess amongst their workforce.’
‘Do you … enjoy it?’
Sarah released a soft and bitter snort. ‘I endure it. That’s all we can do.’
‘Happen you could knock the bottle on the head, go straight, find yourself decent work—’
‘And be alone with my demons? Oh nay. Nay, lass. The drink dulls what’s in here.’ She tapped her temple. ‘And in here,’ she added, repeating the action at her breast. ‘Without it … Well. I’d not be on this earth for long, and that’s the truth.’
Though tempted to ask what from her past plagued her so much she’d rather die than face the memories raw, Jewel didn’t. Sarah would have revealed them if she’d wanted to and, besides, she had enough problems of her own at present to cope with anyone else’s. Unsummoned, Louise’s face flitted into her thoughts – and now, she saw the emotion behind the empty façade, the pain in the outwardly dead eyes. Jewel realised that everything Sarah had just said, Louise knew it, too. In the girl’s mind, she hadn’t murdered her child. She’d saved her. She wasn’t heartless but hardened, and this life had made her so. Poverty brutalised folk. The sufferings for many of this cruel and unforgiving existence … it was just so unfair.
‘I’ll not tell,’ Jewel heard herself say.
Sarah smiled softly with her eyes. ‘Will you come back with me or are you for moving on?’
To where? Besides, she felt she owed it to Louise to stick around – for now, at least. She rose. Without another word, the two of them headed back to the house.
When they arrived, the child was gone.
Upon entering the room, Jewel’s gaze had gone immediately to the bed but, in her absence, all trace of the birth had been removed. Someone had stripped the soiled sheets – clearly, they were the only ones they possessed, and Louise lay now beneath a few ragged shawls. Julia and their mother, pale faced on the sofa, sat smoking in silence.
Jewel made for the girl staring blankly at the mould-spotted ceiling. ‘Louise?’ she whispered, and as she’d expected received no response. ‘I’m sorry. For everything.’
Slowly, Louise turned her back on Jewel and the room and curled into a ball.
‘Leave her be,’ said Sarah quietly. She patted the space beside her and, with a heavy heart, Jewel went to sit beside her on the other sofa.
*
That night, the women went out to work as usual.
Louise hadn’t stirred once throughout the strained hours and now, alone with her, Jewel attempted to strike up conversation, hoping the girl might open up without the others’ presence. She didn’t. Though her eyes were closed, Jewel knew she wasn’t asleep, and was eventually forced to give up. Nevertheless, she knew, sooner or later, Louise would have to face up to this. Keeping it all locked within would do her no good at all.
Later, as she lay in her hearth bed watching the flames of the low fire lick hypnotically over the coals, Jewel couldn’t get the dead child’s face from her mind. What had become of it? She’d managed earlier to pull Sarah aside and ask in a whisper of its whereabouts, but the woman had told her not to dwell on that, for it wouldn’t change anything nor fetch it back.
Neither, Jewel knew, would there be any repercussions. In an age of high infant mortality, the death of a small child attracted little attention. Even when a baby’s body was discovered and the circumstances were suspicious, it was often impossible to trace the mother.
Whatever the mite’s resting place, Jewel just hoped it had found the peace it deserved.
Before sleep claimed her, something else Louise’s aunt had mentioned came back to her, and she nodded in grim determination. If her child was to have any fighting chance, she must do all in her power to free it of this hopeless existence and have it placed with decent adoptive parents. To achieve that, but one thing stood in her way:
She would have to find the brass for it all over again, and fast.
Chapter 17
‘WHAT, NOW? TODAY?’
‘Aye, why not? Lust and loaves wait for no man.’
‘But Louise, Christmas Day?’
Putting the finishing touches to her painted cheeks, the girl snorted. ‘Oh, what? You reckon Jesus will be upset with me, is that it?’
‘Don’t talk daft. It’s just … well, I thought we could spend the night together, relax and have a laugh, like. Wench downstairs lent me the borrow of some cards. There’s only two missing from the pack; we could still enjoy a game. Besides, it’s bitter out there. Why not stop in, eh? Stay warm by the fire?’
Louise’s face softened slightly. She secured her hat in place with a sigh. ‘We need the brass. Look, I’ll try and be back a bit earlier, all right? ’Ere, and if I make enough, I’ll fetch us back some hot chitterlings from the inn to eat whilst we play. That do thee?’
Knowing she would have to be satisfied with the compromise, Jewel nodded.
The festive day had been a long and lonely affair. Since awakening, her mother had dominated Jewel’s thoughts, and with the hours the physical pain in her heart had only grown. Was Flora missing her just as much? she’d agonised, wishing so but hating herself for it, too. That she was causing her upset like this killed her inside a little more each day. Mam didn’t deserve a daughter like her but one so much better.
The one small consolation was knowing that at least Flora wouldn’t have been alone. Each year, her aunt and uncle insisted they spend the special day with them at the shop. And thankfully, she would also have eaten well. The Powells always went all out with the Christmas fare.
Now, at the thought of food, Jewel’s stomach growled. The meagre spread of calf’s-head broth and half-rotten vegetables that she and the women had had to look forward to this afternoon was barely sufficient to fill a bird. But, she reminded herself, at least she’d had something to tuck into, unlike many poor souls out there.
When the women had gone, she busied herself with tidying the frankly unimprovable room – anything to pass the time and distract her mind from those back home in Bolton. Since she’d begun lodging here, the cleaning had become her role – not that she minded. After all, with no income, she was living here rent free; the least she could do was keep the place decent whilst the others went out to work. However, there was only so much that water and a scrubbing brush could achieve.
The discoloured walls and the floor’s cracked flags she couldn’t improve the appearance of, however hard she worked. But at least now, her dogged determination was keeping the creeping, air-polluting mould at bay. Left unchecked even for a day or two and in it stole, leaving every corner and crevice damp and stinking. And the owner of the house, and millions like him, had the audacity to actually charge desperate folk – some, extortionate amounts, too – for living here in such health-destroying conditions. The despicableness of such blatant exploitation made Jewel’s blood boil.
Having wiped down the mantel, she then swished
her rag at a cobweb above with care, mindful of the crumbling plaster and fearful of an avalanche. One end of the silken thread stretched to the corner of the only picture to adorn the walls: a scuffed depiction of a vase of geraniums. Again, she flicked the duster – then swore quietly when the action dislodged the painting from its nail, sending it clattering to the floor.
Jewel retrieved it, relieved to see no further damage had befallen it. Yet as she made to fix it back into place, she paused. In the lighter-coloured rectangle of wall behind where it had hung was a ball of material, stuffed into a hole in the brickwork. She fingered it in confusion then, after glancing towards the door to check no one would return, she eased it out.
Measuring its weight in her hand, she frowned when its contents released a metallic jingle. Carefully, she pulled back the folds and peered inside.
In the following seconds, her eyes grew rounder and rounder as she counted the pile of coins. Almost twenty-eight pounds. What the devil …? She’d never seen such an amount in her life. She staggered to a sofa and sat down heavily, mind spinning.
Again, she prodded in awe at the fortune – and her burning curiosity as to whom this astonishing find could belong was salved. Beneath the money was a small gold band holding a ruby stone. Julia.
This morning after breakfast, Louise’s sister had donned her best hat and sauntered out for a brief clandestine meeting with her lover at the nearby inn. Her eyes had glowed like stars upon her return and, with a flourish, she’d waved her hand beneath their noses to show off her Christmas gift from the married man – the beautiful ring now sitting in Jewel’s palm.
However, that didn’t explain the money. Had she stolen it, saved it? Or was this also spoils acquired through being a mistress? Come to think of it, she had mentioned the role’s perks once before, when Louise spoke derogatorily of the lifestyle … Bloody hell. And she’d been keeping it secret from everyone this whole time!
Jewel knew this to be true without question. Given her mother’s clear hunger for money, no way would this hoard exist had she been aware of it. Only a few hours ago, after eyeing her daughter’s ring for most of the day, she’d hinted at the pretty penny it would fetch at the pawnshop – no doubt why Julia had hidden this, too, behind the picture.
