An Unbreakable Bond

by Mary Wood

  Lord Marley left shortly afterwards, as did all the other guests, leaving only Lady Marley and her sister, Lady Carter, in residence.

  In the hushed household the sound of Lady Marley’s distress filled the corridors until later that evening, when the doctor arrived and she became quiet. Not long afterwards Lady Carter sent word for Cook to bring Hattie to her. She would see them in the housekeeper’s office.

  As they were about to knock on the door, Cook patted her on the shoulder and said, ‘Speak up, Hattie. Don’t be afraid. If there’s owt as you want, I’m for thinking you will get it, in exchange for your silence. I’m going to see as Betty’s looked after an’ all.’

  Desolation filled Hattie as she boarded the train early the next morning. The ten-pound silence money tucked into her blouse pocket, and what was left of her wages after deductions, did nothing to console her. She had been given the opportunity to stay or leave, but then neither Lady Carter nor Cook had guessed what was in her belly. And if she had stayed and they’d found out, she knew it would have been St Michael’s for her.

  Cook had done her best to persuade her to stay, but had been comforted by Hattie’s telling her that she had a friend to go to. She hadn’t said that friend was Daisy, or what Daisy did for a living.

  She sat back on the hard wooden bench. The passing countryside and the sudden darkness while going through a tunnel had no impact on her, nor did she register when the scenery changed and the big houses on the outskirts of Leeds could be seen on the horizon. But when the rows and rows of poorer smoke-blackened dwellings and the tall city buildings and factories came into view, she knew Leeds Central was the next stop. This caused her to clasp her hands against the anguish and fear beating in her heart and to whisper a silent prayer: Please, God, help me to find Daisy and let her know what to do to help me. One thing she knew for sure: she wasn’t going to St Michael’s Convent, and though she wanted to with all her heart, she knew she couldn’t go to Megan. Not yet anyway. Not until everything was sorted. Oh, Megan. Megan . . .

  8

  The Sorrow of the Divide

  Megan turned into the road leading to Daisy’s place with a sense of dread that made her body shake. What would she find? Once again, a thought that was never far from her mind since receiving Hattie’s letter last week visited her: Is Hattie having a babby? Hattie had said her master had done that horrid thing to her, just like he did to Daisy, so it must be that!

  Thoughts and images of what she’d heard about correction convents for pregnant girls caused her dread to deepen. No, she wouldn’t let Hattie end up there – she’d find a way. She could get a job in one of the factories and find a room for them to share. But then, what of the babby? How would they cope?

  The rundown building in front of her and the state of all the houses in the street further made her anxious. She checked Hattie’s note again, but no, she hadn’t made a mistake.

  ‘Hello. You must be Hattie’s mate. I’ve been told you were coming.’ The door had opened without her knocking, and smiling down at her was a girl like none she’d ever seen before. Ribbons held her long blonde hair in two bunches, in the way a child’s hair would be tied, and her face, painted with rouge, glowed red from her cheeks to her eyes. Her plump bosom bulged over the top of her blouse.

  ‘Me name’s Phyllis. I’m a mate of Daisy’s, and I don’t bite.’

  ‘Oh, I – I didn’t mean to stare. I’m Megan. I . . .’

  ‘I know. Come in. Hattie’s in Daisy’s room. She ain’t well, and we’re all worried for her. That woman Daisy took her to were no better than a butcher. Mind, she’s not haemorrhaged, and that’s a good sign.’

  Megan didn’t understand what Phyllis was talking about, but didn’t ask questions. It was as if the answers would be too much for her to take. She followed Phyllis through narrow passages and up a steep flight of uncarpeted stairs. The brick walls had shed most of the distemper they’d once been painted with, and flakes of it littered the steps. Damp patches and mottled black areas showed, and the dank smell hanging in the air sickened her to her stomach. Her worry for Hattie increased.

  Daisy met them outside a room on the left of the top landing. ‘Eeh, Megan love, it’s good to see you. Hattie’s in here.’

  Embarrassment seized Megan as she looked at Daisy and saw how the life she was now leading had changed her, both in the way she dressed and how she wore her face all painted with make-up. Her feelings were mixed with pity, but she hid this and managed a cheery greeting and a smile as she followed Daisy into the room. The smile soon dropped from her as Hattie’s weak voice reached her. ‘Megan. Oh, Megan.’

  It only took two steps to reach the bed Hattie lay on, for the room was that small. ‘Oh, Hattie, love, what’s happened to you?’ The bed creaked as Megan sat down on it and leaned over to hold Hattie. Shock at how Hattie’s small frame had become even tinier and how pain pinched her face, giving her the look of someone much older, made Megan feel helpless.

  Hattie resisted her attempts to pull the grubby sheet back, as if she needed to hide as much of herself as she could. Her voice trembled with emotion. ‘I – I told you in me note . . . It were bad, Megan.’ A tear dropped onto her cheek.

  ‘It’ll be reet, I promise. I’ll find us a place and get a job in the factory. And you, Daisy, you can come, and we’ll all live together and look out for one another.’

  ‘No, you’ve got to stay where you’re at. It’s what you want to do. Just as soon as I’m better I’ll get meself right, don’t be worrying.’

  Megan wanted to ask if Hattie had had an operation or if there were a babby on the way, but she felt awkward, so all she said was, ‘I brought some money with me for you. I’ve a mate at the salon and she lent it to you. She said not to worry over when you can pay it back.’

  ‘Ta, Megan. It’s needed, I can tell you. I wouldn’t have sent a message to you, only we haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. This mate of yours sounds reet nice. Tell her as I’ll pay her back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Here, I’ve brought some butties an’ all. Me and me mate – Cissy she’s called – made them up whilst we were having our break. We’re the only ones to work on a Sunday, so nobody knew.’

  ‘I’ll go and put kettle on,’ Phyllis said. ‘Come on, Daisy, you can help me. A pot of tea’ll go nice with them butties.’

  Megan felt relief at this. She hadn’t been able to talk properly to Hattie with the others in the room. ‘Are you really all right, Hattie? I mean . . . did – well, thou knows, that thing they did to you – did it make it that you’ll have a babby?’

  ‘Aye, Megan. It did. It . . .’ A sob like a hiccup jolted Hattie’s body. She rolled over and turned away. Megan snuggled up behind her and held her close. She could think of nothing else to do at that moment and wished with all her heart she could call on Sister Bernadette and have her hug them both. ‘Hattie, don’t cry. We’ll manage. You’ll not go to St Michael’s, and babby won’t go in no orphanage. We’ll care for it. I’ve thought on it, and it can be done. We can work shifts and—’

  ‘It can’t, Megan. Who’s going to let a room to two young ’uns like us? Besides, there is no babby now. Daisy took me to a woman and she got it away from me.’

  Sobs trembled through Hattie’s body, and Megan held her even tighter. Tears wanting to be shed were denied their release by the cold feeling the shock had given her. She hadn’t ever heard of a babby being taken from someone’s inside before. Was the babby still alive when it’d been taken out? Her stomach turned over. ‘Oh, Hattie.’

  ‘I’ll be reet. I’m going to stay with Daisy and do as she does.’

  ‘No! Please don’t, Hattie.’

  ‘I’ve no choice, Megan. I’ve nowhere to live. If bloke as owns this place finds me here, Daisy and Phyllis will be for it, unless they say I approached them to introduce me, so they brought me in. It’s this or the workhouse, as I’ve no reference. I had the chance of staying in me placement, but I knew then I was in for a babby, so
I left. They gave me money for me silence, but that’s gone to that woman and to a doctor as came to see me. Well, he wasn’t a proper doctor – Daisy said he was a quack, but he looks after the girls for a price, and I think he saved me life.’

  ‘Oh, Hattie.’ She couldn’t bring herself to talk about what Hattie would have to do. ‘What will happen if you are hungry again?’

  ‘Daisy said they only get hungry at this time of the year. It’ll be all right when Christmas has passed. They both have regulars – gents who work in the city – but with Christmas just around the corner, they can’t get away so easily from their wives, as they have a lot of social events. Anyway, Daisy’s regular is coming tonight. He sent word to her and she’s going to ask him to give her a bit to tide her over. He thinks a lot of her and doesn’t know she isn’t fed right. She said she’ll take a chance and not hand over all she should.’

  Despair settled over Megan when she left Hattie. All her pleading had done no good: the Hattie of her childhood had disappeared. Life as she’d known it was over, and nothing was simple any more. But no matter what, she’d never, ever give up on Hattie. She’d always be her friend. She would visit her every Sunday and make sure she had enough food and money. Oh, if only they were older . . . But then, she did feel old. Old inside.

  The next day it felt to Megan as if she’d visited hell and was now about to step into heaven.

  The sign on the platform, with pots of greenery around it, stated that they had reached Breckton – the small town on the way to York where Cissy lived. Megan could hardly contain herself, but she knew she had to. For the thousandth time her mind asked what the house would be like, as never in her life had she been inside a real home. She had seen sketches and pictures in magazines, but to actually go inside one . . . !

  ‘Come on in, love. By, I thought the day’d never come!’ Cissy’s mam held her daughter in her arms for an age, and tears streamed down her cheeks. At last she released her and addressed Megan. ‘You’ll be thinking I’m a rude old biddy. Come in. You’re very welcome. I’ve cooked a pie and beat all me rugs in your honour.’

  A giggle escaped Megan. It seemed a funny thing to say, but it warmed her and made her feel at home.

  ‘Mam, you’re daft, thou knows. Come on, Megan, I’ll take you up to me room.’

  ‘Don’t be long, love. I’m not on with joking about pie – it’s in oven and I’ve table all laid.’

  Megan looked around her. It was as if she was in one of the books she’d read. Everything about the room made her feel happy, in a way she’d never felt in her whole life. She looked at the grate with the fire roaring up the chimney and the oven to its side, from which came a delicious smell. On top of the oven, pots bubbled on the gleaming black hob. On either side of the fire stood a chair and between them lay a rag rug made of bright colours and edged with black. The red-tiled floor was scrubbed until it shone. In the centre of the room a table was draped with a dazzling white cloth and was set for three. The far wall had a pot-sink in the corner with a chequered curtain prettily pleated round it, and a dresser – polished until you could see your face in it – stood against the opposite wall. It was . . . it was – a home. Her throat tightened. If only . . .

  An arm came round her and Megan felt herself being pulled into a soft, fleshy body. ‘Think of yourself as being at home, love. Oh, aye, I know you’ve never had a home afore, but you have one now, lass. You have one now.’

  She thought of Hattie and how, just a few short weeks ago, they’d been so young. Poor Hattie. Would she ever know anything like this?

  The thought made her tears spill over, but Cissy’s mam wiped them away with the corner of her pinny. It smelt of starch and cooking, and love.

  PART TWO

  The Letting Go

  1918

  9

  A Shocking Discovery

  Hattie stood with her back to the wall, trying to shield herself from the wind. The cold seeped through her thin coat and her limbs ached with fatigue. She’d been on her patch since two, and it was now going on four. She’d only had one customer, a regular. He’d alighted from a cab and asked his driver to wait around the corner. She’d found this strange, as he’d usually take her to a house about a mile away where he rented a room. She presumed he paid the landlord well, as there were never any questions asked, and as far as she knew he used it solely for taking his pleasure with her. ‘I’m after a quick release, Hattie,’ he’d said. ‘I have a need on me, and there’ll be nothing doing at home.’

  They’d gone into the ginnal and she’d done a hand-job on him. She was good at that. She knew how to make it last, if that was what was needed, or she could make them come in seconds. But though he seemed more than satisfied, judging by his moaning, he’d halved what he knew were her charges, saying that was all it was worth. A measly two bob! She hadn’t argued; she knew better than that. He was one of a few blokes who could cut up rough after it was done. It was guilt, or something, that got to them. The ones who came too quick or couldn’t get it up were the worst, blaming the lass for their own shortcomings and using them as a punchbag on which to vent their frustration. She’d been lucky lately, but Phyllis, poor lass, had copped for a good beating a couple of weeks back.

  A shiver trembled through her body. Oh God! She hated her life and everything about it – no, that wasn’t true. She had Arthur. He was something good in her life. He loved her and she thanked God it was her he’d happened upon. She doubted if any of the others would’ve taken him on – not looking like Arthur did. And now, given how well she knew him, she couldn’t think what being turned down by the likes of her, a common prostitute, would have done to him. He’d suffered a big enough blow when his own wife had rejected him.

  No matter how much she told Arthur he’d no need to be, he was always so grateful to her. He was a lover, not a customer, although he made her take her due, and a good bit over. She was getting a good stash together because of Arthur, and she was still able to tip up plenty to Bobby Blackstaff, to keep him happy.

  She thought of Megan. Five years had passed since they’d been together. Oh, Megan, Megan. I miss you, lass . . .

  Their being apart wasn’t down to Megan. She had never given up trying to find her – Hattie knew that. At first, after the bed-and-breakfast place had burned down and she and the other lassies had been moved, Megan had come every month and had traipsed the streets. Even now, after all this time had passed, she still came into the area every few months or so, looking for Hattie, but she didn’t want to be found. She didn’t want Megan mixed up in the life she led.

  On the couple of occasions she had caught a glimpse of Megan, she had managed to dodge out of sight, and had asked one of the lassies to make her go away, by threatening her. How Megan must have felt about this played on Hattie’s mind, but it wasn’t safe for lassies like Megan to be in these quarters. Bobby Blackstaff looked out all the time for ‘fresh meat’, as he called it.

  ‘You bastard! You’re one of them! You thieving, murdering whore!’

  The screaming voice shocked Hattie out of her thoughts. She turned to see a woman staring at her from eyes sunk deep into dark sockets. Desperation caused the woman’s body to sag as she slumped against the hedge and wept.

  Hattie took hold of her and guided her into the ginnal. ‘You’re right, Missus. I am a whore, but I’m no thief and I’m definitely not a murderer. What’s this all about, eh?’ The poor woman’s tired sobs tore at Hattie’s heart and she felt no resistance from her as she held the shaking body to her. ‘Eeh, come on, love. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘It were him as you work for. Everyone knows it were him – he’s done it afore, and more than once. A few times. Young ’uns, not past their da’s knee in height. Snatched! And – and, you lassies help him, you know you do. You make friends with the young ’uns, and then he moves in. And . . . and the young ’uns are never seen again. Oh God! I can’t bear it. I want my Janey! I WANT HER!’

  Hattie took the blows. The wo
man pummelled her with her fists until her chest burned, but the shock of what she’d heard held her still. After a moment she caught the woman’s hands. ‘Don’t . . . don’t. I know nowt of what you’re saying. I promise you, I know nowt.’

  The woman stopped fighting, and her body slumped against Hattie once more. Quiet, hollow sobs racked her.

  ‘Look, love, let’s go to Ma Parkin’s for a cup of tea. She brews a good pot for a penny and I’ve enough on me for that. She’s got a back room where she lets us go, if we want privacy with a customer. Well, I mean, not for . . . well, thou knows. But some of them want to talk afore they— Well, anyroad, come on. It’s warm in there and, like I say, it’s private.’

  The woman didn’t say yes, but she didn’t resist as Hattie led her away.

  ‘Me name’s Hattie. What’s yours, love?’ They were in Ma Parkin’s back room and had a pot of tea in front of them. The woman had regained some control of herself and sat staring at Hattie.

  As she poured the tea, the aches and the cold seeped out of Hattie, but worry for the woman and what she’d said took over her very soul.

  ‘Susan, Susan Clough. I live over Chapel End. Me and me young ’uns. Me man were took in the war. He didn’t have to go – him working down pit exempted him – but he wanted to do his bit.’

  ‘Aye, him and a million others. I’m sorry to hear of that. If I could just get me hands on that Kaiser bloke! Anyroad, tell me of Janey and them others.’

  Susan took a deep breath before she answered. ‘It started a few years back, after war’d been on about a year. Then, as now, there were mostly only women looking after young ’uns, and a lot of them trying to do a job as well. I work at the cotton mill on the early shift meself. Anyroad, a young lass of only seven years went missing, and not long after that a ten-year-old, and there’s been more heard of from over other end of the city. Nothing’s ever been seen of them. It’s said by other young ’uns that they were took by a woman. These young ’uns knew the woman to be a prostitute, though no one can find her – at least that’s what the police say. Mind, some say the police are in on it, as they don’t give it much attention. Then, three weeks back, my Janey. My Janey . . .’