The Dressmaker's Daughter

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Tom Dando and Eve Bishop! Yippee! Who’d have thought it? Who the bloody hell would have thought it?’

  ‘Keep still, for God’s sake. Remember Lizzie still doesn’t know. We need to let her know. We need to find her.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll be back by tea time, I’ll bet you any money. As soon as I’ve finished my round I’ll go and look for her. She’s probably gone to see Sarah Dando, or Daisy Foster, one of her old mates. She might be with May Bishop. I’ll find her, don’t you fret, Donald.’

  ‘I’ll help you look if you like.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got patients that could do with your attention, eh? No, leave the searching to me. But I’m grateful to you for finding me, for letting me know. I tell you, it’s the best news I’ve ever had, bar none.’ He laughed again.

  Donald laughed too. ‘You know, Jesse, it’s the best news I’ve ever been able to give anybody … Bar none.’ He shook Jesse’s hand amiably, got back in his car, waved, and drove off.

  With a broad smile, and with thoughts that excluded everyone and everything but Lizzie, Jesse stepped back up onto his milk float to finish off his round.

  *

  Jesse was not in Sarah Dando’s best books. Hadn’t been for years, but he called there in his endeavours to find Lizzie. He also tried Daisy Foster’s house in Tividale, and May’s and Joe’s in Cromwell Street before her realised he was alarming them all as to her whereabouts, and decided he’d asked enough. But perhaps he ought to see what Beccy Crump might know, before he gave up all hope of finding her and induced himself into a panic attack. But all Beccy knew was that Lizzie had to go to Stockport to tend to Lucy, which he knew full well was merely the excuse she’d made to put everybody off the scent. However, Beccy took great pleasure in relating the events of the morning, and how humbled Ezme was after hearing that Tom Dando had fathered Lizzie. It left Jesse in no doubt, and he thanked her with all his heart before leaving to ask Henzey if she knew anything.

  ‘All I know is she’s gone to look after my Aunt Lucy,’ Henzey said in the scullery, her hands in a bowl of water, peeling potatoes. ‘Didn’t she tell you?’

  Jesse banged the heel of his hand against his forehead, feigning a terrible memory. ‘Oh, God. Fancy me forgetting that. I’d forget my head if it was loose. It’s just that I could do with talking to her … But say if she hadn’t gone there, Henzey … where else might she have gone?’

  ‘If that’s where she said she was going, that’s where she’ll be. But she won’t be back till the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Has your Aunt Lucy got the telephone in?’

  ‘The telephone? I don’t think so, Jesse. Why should she have a telephone?’

  ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘She’d never have a telephone anyway. She’s too much of a skinflint.’

  If it were necessary to take a trip to Stockport just to satisfy himself that Lizzie wasn’t there, he would do it. But he would wait till morning. She might well turn up in an hour or two. She could not have gone far.

  So Jesse went home. He ran upstairs at once to see his mother, and broached the subject of Lizzie’s parentage. Ezme said she could scarcely believe it, but it shouldn’t surprise her, really. Eve Bishop was capable of anything, bar handling needle and thread, she said spitefully. And she’d always thought that Tom Dando had a shifty look about him whenever Eve was around. Come to think of it, Tom always used to be stuck at the Bishops’ house when Isaac was out on the booze, especially on summer evenings when the kids were all out. There’s never no smoke without fire, she said. At any rate, Jesse was convinced. Lizzie bore no resemblance to Isaac.

  He pondered the last few traumatic days, when it had seemed that the only woman he had ever really loved was finally being denied him. He shuddered, remembering vividly the sheer desolation and hopelessness he’d felt. Somehow, even in all that heartache, he’d had a gut feeling that all would be well; an illogical impression that he could not substantiate. Now it had come to pass, thank God. It was little more than hearsay about Eve and Tom, but Beccy had sworn on her life that it was true.

  So Jesse was happy to be persuaded. He went to bed, having sat in the front room all evening, watching for signs of Lizzie’s return. But she had not returned, and something was gravely amiss. He lay awake most of the night trying to think where she was hiding, what she was feeling.

  But he knew what she was feeling. She was feeling what he had felt. If only he could tell her everything was all right. He was desperate to free her of her anguish. But she had evidently changed her mind about having her pregnancy terminated. Maybe she had accepted her lot, and was prepared to have the child, come what may. But maybe she did not care anyway, since life was … not worth living …

  He prayed earnestly to his Maker. Oh, dear God. If ever she had done something stupid … But she wouldn’t. She was too resilient. The years had proved that. And besides, she would never put her children through the trauma of losing her … But the idea returned, and again he tried to dismiss it. She was somewhere. She had to be somewhere. Seeking counsel perhaps. But where? Who could be harbouring her?

  Eventually he drifted into a fitful sleep. At five o’clock next morning his alarm clock woke him and he got up. After he had tended to his mother and breakfasted he went to the stables to wait for Herbert. While he tacked up Herbert’s horse by the light of an oil lamp, Herbert himself came sauntering into the yard, ready to start his day.

  ‘Morning, Herbert. Has your mother come back by any chance?’

  ‘She’s not due back till tomorrow.’

  ‘Look, d’you think you could manage my round today as well as your own? I’ve got to find her. I’ll pay you extra.’

  ‘What’s the rush, Jesse?’ Herbert patted his horse on the neck. ‘Can’t it wait?’

  ‘It can’t.’

  ‘But she’s at Manchester. You’m never going all that way when she’ll be back tomorrow?’

  Manchester … Stockport … Just her alibi. But he’d tried everywhere else. She might just be at Lucy’s. Just for the change of scenery; a change of company. He had to go there to find out. It was the only logical place she would go. ‘Do you happen to know the address, Herbert?’

  ‘Twelve, Thorny Lane, Reddish, Stockport, Cheshire,’ he recited. ‘I know that ’cause I generally post Mother’s letters to Aunt Lucy.’

  ‘I have to go there, Herbert. It’s important. Can you manage my round if I give you the book?’

  ‘’Course.’

  ‘Good lad. I’ll see you later, when I get back.’

  ‘I wish I knew what all the fuss was about.’

  ‘Nothing to concern you, my lad,’ Jesse said equably. ‘But it does concern your mother. Oh, and would you ask Henzey, or May, or even Beccy to drop in and have a look at my mother?’

  ‘Yes, ’course I will, Jesse.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  So Jesse caught the Dodger from Dudley Station to Dudley Port, and took the L.M.S. line from Dudley Port to Victoria Station in Manchester. With every mile he grew more apprehensive, more concerned for Lizzie’s welfare. What if she were not at Lucy’s? What then? Where else should he look? It would mean going to the hospitals to see if she’d been brought in; reporting her missing to the police. He felt hot and fearful at the thought.

  After a long and tedious journey the train pulled in to Victoria Station and he hopped out hurriedly. Once outside he managed to grab a taxi-cab and asked to be taken to Thorny Lane, Reddish.

  Jesse had never been to Manchester before. It was bustling, full of Victorian buildings. As they headed out of the city towards Stockport he saw the mills that spun and wove the cotton, the factories that produced the dyes that coloured them, the engineering and locomotive works. Chimney stacks pointed to the sky at every turn. So much like Brum and the Black Country. It was not long before he was paying the taxi driver. That done, he looked about him. Thorny Lane was little more than a dirt track, with houses on one side only, a field on the other. He
found number 12 with its square bay window, and walked to the front door, his heart in his throat. He knocked the door and waited.

  Chapter 28

  Jesse did not see the figure that appeared at the window to see who was knocking the door. He seemed to be waiting ages. Then, the door flew open, taking him by surprise, and in a flash Lizzie flung herself at him, and her arms were around his neck.

  ‘Jesse, Jesse!’ She burst into tears instantly, sobbing piteously, her head against his chest.

  ‘There, there,’ he breathed, hugging her tight, relieved to see her, desperate to feel her in his arms again. ‘My God, I’ve been worried to death over you, ever since Donald told me you hadn’t been to the hospital. Are you all right, my pet?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you.’ She looked up into his eyes, and they told him she’d been crying a long, long time. ‘What brings you here? How did you find me?’

  ‘Here, let me dry your tears.’ He took his clean handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed away the tears before he held her tight again. ‘I found you, that’s all that matters. I found you.’

  ‘Oh, Jesse, I’m that miserable. I had to get away. I had to. I couldn’t stand being so close to you and not being able to be with you.’ Her eyes filled again, and she wiped them with the back of her hand. ‘Come on inside.’

  ‘Where’s Lucy?’

  ‘At work. And her husband. I’ve got the house to myself till they get back. I said I’d cook the tea for them.’

  He followed her inside, into the living room. A fire was blazing cheerily in a low, tiled grate, and he could hear the measured tick-tock of a brass clock on the mantelshelf. A French window looked out onto a long back garden, still winter dead, depressing in the dull afternoon.

  ‘Oh, Jesse, I’m that shocked to see you I’m still shaking. Here, feel me.’ She placed her trembling hand on his, and he could indeed detect it. ‘But I’m that glad to see you. What’s made you come here for me? I’d have thought it the last place anybody would’ve looked.’

  He gave a little laugh. ‘That’s why I came here. If I’d have sent Henzey or Herbert to find you they would have come straight here. I just had a strange feeling you might have come here, just so that you knew they could find you here if need be. You weren’t really lost, were you?’

  ‘No, not really. I just had to get away, Jesse. I just couldn’t go to that hospital and go through with an abortion. I thought about it long and hard, and I just couldn’t do it. I kept thinking about that poor little daughter I had before. The one that was born dead. I didn’t want it at first, you know, Jesse, but as time went on I started to look forward to having it, to holding it in my arms, to feeling it at my breast. And when it was born dead I was so sad. Oh, I was ever so sad, because I know I would have loved it no less than I love the others. It would have been part of the family. I know I’d feel exactly the same about this child I’m carrying now. You’re my brother and all that, but it makes no difference. I want to take the risk with this child. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be all right. I know I’d grieve over it if I had it aborted, I know I would. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. So when I was walking past the station on my way to the hospital I just couldn’t help it. I bought a ticket to Dudley Port and waited there for the first train to Manchester.’

  ‘Sit down, Lizzie,’ Jesse said kindly.

  She sat biddably on the arm of the settee. ‘What are you smiling at? I can see nothing to smile at.’

  ‘Some good news.’ he said, and took her hand.

  ‘God, that would make a change.’

  ‘But just brace yourself, because it might come as a bit of a shock. It was certainly a shock to me … It’s come to light that your father isn’t your father.’

  ‘Well that’s Irish.’ Lizzie frowned in puzzlement, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes; hope that had been missing for too long. ‘You’d better explain what you mean, Jesse. If your saying Isaac Bishop isn’t my father, then who is?’

  ‘Tom Dando. Tom Dando’s your father, Lizzie.’

  For a second or two she looked utterly bewildered. And then, at the realisation of what it meant she smiled; a radiant smile lit up her face with relief and happiness. She did not question the truth of it. It really came as no surprise. Her mother had told her years ago how they used to be sweethearts. She had seen with her own eyes the knowing glances that used to flash between them. If Tom Dando was her father it was no great disappointment. She’d loved him and admired him like a father.

  ‘This had better be the truth, Jesse Clancey.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘So how did it come about? I mean, how did you find out?’

  He explained.

  ‘So we’ll get married as planned?’

  ‘As planned. The banns are already published. The church is booked, the vicar ain’t been told no different. It’s still on, my darling.’

  ‘Oh, Jesse.’ She began weeping again. But tears of joy this time. ‘Why does life play such cruel tricks and then make everything right again when you think there’s no hope? I just thank the Lord for my mother. I wish to God she was here right now so’s I could fling my arms round her neck and thank her for having me by Uncle Tom.’

  He gave her his handkerchief and she wiped her eyes again. ‘I’d fling my arms round her neck as well, you know.’

  She managed a chuckle through her tears. ‘You know what this means, though? It means that Sylvia’s my sister … God … Just fancy! … And … Oh, Lord! … Stanley’s my brother …’ That realisation hit her hardest. ‘Stanley’s my brother, Jesse … Christ almighty! … No wonder Beccy didn’t want me to go to Southern Rhodesia with him.’

  ‘Nobody wanted you to go, Lizzie. Everybody knew what Stanley was like.’

  ‘Everybody except me. God, what a fool I was to even consider it.’

  ‘Don’t think too badly of yourself. And you weren’t to know Stanley was your own flesh and blood.’

  ‘Nobody knew, except Beccy, God bless her.’ Lizzie stood up. ‘And she said nothing then about us being brother and sister … Oh, I’m sorry, Jesse. I bet you’re parched coming all this way, and I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea. I’ll make you one.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll live. It was more important to put you out of your misery first. Tea can wait.’

  ‘Well it needn’t wait any longer.’ As she got to the door to go into the kitchen she stopped, rested her head against the edge and said, ‘You know, Jesse, on my mother’s and father’s grave are the words, ‘They have sown the wind’. Mother had them inscribed. For years I wondered what significance those words had. I used to think it was something to do with her sewing – you know – her dressmaking. As if you could sew the wind. Now I realise it wasn’t. Now I realise why she’d had a gap left under Father’s epitaph. Room enough for her own. So the words could apply equally to her. She’d sown the wind the same as him. Maybe those words were her way of letting us know. I’m certain she would have wanted me to know eventually.’

  ‘I can well imagine, Lizzie. Anyway, what time do you suggest we leave for home? You might as well come back with me, eh?’

  ‘Yes, let’s leave tonight. When we’ve had some tea with Lucy and Jim. We’ve got some good news to tell them after all.’

  *

  The following night Jesse and Lizzie paid a visit to Sylvia Atkinson. Politely, almost patronisingly, she invited them in. As they sat down they enquired if Edgar was with her, but she replied that he was not. Not tonight. Jesse commented what a nice chap he seemed to be, then Sylvia bluntly asked the purpose of their visit.

  ‘Sylvia, it must have been very embarrassing for you and Edgar last Sunday, to hear about who my father really was,’ he said, and there was a ready smile on his face, which to Sylvia was unaccountable, and thus very disconcerting. ‘It’s took me till now to come to terms with it. But we wanted you to be first to know, that as it happens, it won’t make a blind bit of difference.’

  ‘Oh?’
She looked from Jesse to Lizzie, surprise and abject disappointment written on her face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean we’re still getting married.’ He allowed a few seconds for the news to sink in.

  ‘But you can’t be serious? I thought it was against the law for brother and sister to wed.’

  ‘Oh, it is, and no two ways, Sylvia.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to ignore the law? You’re going to flout the law?’

  ‘No, we aren’t about to flout the law.’

  ‘Well what, then?’

  Jesse smiled benignly. ‘The truth is, Sylvia, Lizzie and me ain’t brother and sister, after all.’

  Sylvia looked doubtful, unable to believe such nonsense; as if it was some cock and bull story they’d trumped up between them to try and fool her. But she would not be fooled. ‘But I heard your mother state quite categorically that Isaac Bishop, Lizzie’s father, was your father as well.’

  ‘Yes, you did, and there’s no doubt it’s the truth – the last bit anyway. I accept that Isaac Bishop was my real father. But what we’ve come to tell you, Sylvia, is that Isaac Bishop wasn’t Lizzie’s father.’

  ‘But that’s preposterous. Who are you suggesting was her father?’

  ‘Now this might come as a bit of a shock, Sylvia, so prepare yourself … Your own father, Tom Dando, was Lizzie’s father.’ Jesse realised that his bluntness might be insensitive, yet he felt it justified nonetheless, and revelled in the moment. Sylvia, they both knew, would have done it with no less rancour if their situations had been reversed.

  Sylvia looked at Lizzie in horror. ‘I … is this true, Lizzie? … Do you set any store at all by this nonsense? Surely it’s only hearsay?’

  ‘Oh, I’m certain it’s true, Sylvia,’ she answered, smiling easily, amused by Sylvia’s reaction. ‘I do know that my mother and your father were sweethearts long before she met and married Isaac … I was about to say married my father, but I suppose I’ll get used to not saying it. Anyway, it seems they were lovers again years after. Our next door neighbour, Beccy Crump, can verify it. She and Mother were very close. They confessed everything to each other.’