by Gracie Hart
Mary-Anne made her way down the canalside with a heavy heart. She loved her daughter dearly and had only left her in the care of Eliza because she knew she would be happier there until she sorted her life out. She could understand the hurt she was feeling but she’d be there for her when needed, she was never again going to be far from her side. If the plan she had in her head came to fruition, Victoria would be a wealthy young woman someday. Then she’d realise just how much her mother loved her. She only hoped that her plan would work and eventually she would be a woman of note and worthy of being Victoria’s mother.
The miles into Leeds soon disappeared as she worried and thought about her life and that of her daughter, and in a short space of time she was walking along Woodhouse Lane and then into Speakers’ Corner with Ma Fletcher’s house looking straight at her. Mary-Anne dropped her carpetbag down beside her feet and stopped to look at the square squat house that was to be her home. No wonder Benjamin Jubb was after it, it was a well-built house that was worthy of coveting.
She took a deep breath and crossed the road, stopping briefly to look at the poster pasted on a stables’ doorway giving notice of the next meeting of speakers on the corner. She gazed down the list of people. There, halfway down the list, was a name she was familiar with. Tom Thackeray was to be the main speaker on Sunday 9 April speaking upon ‘The Dangers Within Our Mines’. Now that was a talk she was going to have to listen to, and while she was there, she’d try to speak to Tom. Poor Tom, whom she suspected had been left as broken-hearted as Eliza, though he had sided with his mother rather than the girl he loved. Perhaps it was time she tried to put things right between him and Eliza. After all, it was never too late to find true love, and Eliza needed a man in her life. If Mary-Anne could help Eliza find happiness, it might be a way to pay her back for all the sacrifices she had had to make for Victoria.
‘So you didn’t think better of it and decide to leave that old bitch to rot in her own filth?’
Ma Fletcher looked up at Mary-Anne as she hung her fur up on the coat stand and placed her carpetbag on the bottom of the stairs to take up with her once she had laid the fire and boiled the kettle.
‘Why, did you think I would? Did you think I’d go back on my word and not take the best chance of my life to better myself and get even with the Ellershaws? If you did, you don’t know me very well. Besides, you need me. Look at you – no fire, dust everywhere, and I bet you haven’t eaten yet. Do you sleep over there in that corner? It looks like the sheets on that day bed have not been washed for months, but then again you could do with a lick of soap and water too by the looks of it.’ Cleanliness was definitely not next to godliness in Ma Fletcher’s world.
‘You cheeky bitch! Don’t forget, I can change my mind and send you back to live with your Eliza. I’ll not be beholden to anyone. Don’t forget this is my home, you respect what I say, madam.’ Despite her words, Ma Fletcher grinned. Mary-Anne would soon have the house spick and span and her well fed in payment for the roof over her head and help in getting justice done against the Ellershaws.
‘Aye, I know, but let’s make a start by getting you and your bedding washed. There’s a good breeze blowing today. I’ll get the sheets pegged out and let them blow in the wind.’ Mary-Anne laid the fire with kindling sticks and coals, setting light to them and then placed the kettle to boil on the black crook that hung from the chimney breast. ‘That fleabag on your knee could do with a bath and all.’
‘You don’t touch my Mr Tibbs. He’s fine and I’ll suffice with a good wash. If you go out the back door there’s a good size garden and a washhouse with a boiler, there should be everything you need in the lean-to. It’s a while since I’ve been out there. There’s plenty of clean bedding in the bedding box upstairs on the landing. You’ll need to air your bed if you are to stay here tonight.’ Ma Fletcher called out to Mary-Anne as she went into the kitchen. ‘We could do with some bread, cheese and butter when you’ve time. Best you go this morning, you don’t want what’s leftover when folk has had the best.’
‘Not a lot to do today, then!’ Mary-Anne grinned. ‘It’ll keep me out of mischief.’
‘You kept out of mischief? That’ll be a first. Now go and get that bread, I’ve had nothing to eat this morning. I’ll watch the kettle, me and Mr Tibbs.’ Ma Fletcher stroked her cat, who purred in satisfaction at her love. ‘You’ll find what money you want in a tin box under my bed.’ Ma Fletcher pointed to the crumpled filthy covers that made her bed up in the corner of the kitchen.
Mary-Anne pulled the covers up from the sofa which acted as a bed and nearly was sick by the stench that hit her.
‘How many unemptied piss pots are under here?’ Mary-Anne gasped as she pulled two chamber pots full to the brim out from under the bed.
‘Could be two or three. That lad of Jubb’s wouldn’t empty them, the lazy little bastard. I offered him threepence and all.’
Mary-Anne, her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to quell the stench, went out into the street and emptied both down the main sewer, coming back to retrieve a further two and leaving the front door open to dissipate the smell.
‘Now you’ve done that it’ll get better. There’s nothing worse than smelling someone else’s shit and piss. Take an extra bit of money from the cash box and treat yourself to something you fancy.’ Ma Fletcher caught the look on Mary-Anne’s face when she opened the cash box and took a few coins out of it for what they needed.
‘Aye, I’m not short of a bob or two. You’ve made the right decision, despite the state I’m in.’
‘I’ll empty those chamber pots every day. It’s a wonder you haven’t gone down with something. How did you put up with the smell?’ Mary-Anne held the money in her hand. ‘I’ll get some bleach and soap, get rid of the stench. It wasn’t until I disturbed the pots that I realised what the funny smell was in here.’
‘I’m sorry, lass, it’ll get better. I’m thankful that you’ve decided to help me out. But don’t forget it’s a two-way bargain, and I’ll see you right.’ Ma Fletcher felt a slight embarrassment over her situation but knew Mary-Anne had no option but to fulfill her promise if she wanted to get what she had set her head on. She’d no option but to take the rough with the smooth.
Mary-Anne hooked a straw basket over her arm and pulled a shawl that she had found hung behind the kitchen door around her shoulders and left Ma Fletcher taking forty winks next to the fire with Mr Tibbs guarding her on her knee. She closed the front door quietly and walked briskly down the Headrow and onto Briggate to buy what they needed from the market. There was nothing to eat in the house, so she had helped herself to more money out of the cash box to buy what they needed for the next two days. Then at least she could get to grips with cleaning the house and not have to keep going out for supplies. Her first stop was at the butcher’s stall, she knew him of old and trusted his meat.
Mary-Anne pushed her way through the row of customers waiting for their orders. ‘Half a pound of mutton and some tripe, enough for two.’ She asked a spotty-faced lad who was eager to serve her. ‘And I’ll have some of that pig’s brawn. It’ll be good in a sandwich.’ She fumbled for her money and placed the change and the meat into the bottom of her basket before making her way to the bakery, which, by the looks of the shop window, had nearly sold out of fresh bread.
She was just about to step into the shop when she caught a fleeting glance of someone she knew all too well. John! John Vasey, she was sure it was him. She knew that cut of the coat, those broad shoulders and that long dark hair. She caught her breath. Surely it couldn’t be him? She’d left him locked up in the cells in New York, he’d not think of following her back home. It couldn’t be him, he hadn’t any money to get himself back over the water. She looked down Briggate, her eyes scanning the crowd and her heart pounding fast, but she could not see him.
‘Are you coming into this shop? Or are you just going to block the doorway?’ The baker barked at her.
‘I’m sorry, I thought I saw so
mebody I know.’ Mary-Anne looked around her, worried that any moment John Vasey might discover her.
‘Well, what do you want? My time’s more precious than it is to you gossiping women.’
‘A household loaf and it had better not be filled with rubbish like plaster powder, because I’ll know.’ Mary-Anne quickly recovered her wits and bit back at the baker.
‘There’s nowt wrong with my bread, it’s made with the finest flour. That’ll be threepence, I take it that’ll be all you’ll be needing.’ The baker passed over the heavy large loaf and thought twice about pushing his customer any more, knowing full well that the flour in his loaf had been mixed with alum to make him more money.
‘Threepence! At least Dick Turpin had the decency to wear a mask.’ Mary-Anne counted the pennies out and put her loaf in her basket.
Turning her back on him, she walked to the stall that sold cheese and butter and looked over at the vegetables on the next table. The sooner she made her way out of the market the better. She had no intention of confronting John Vasey. It had been him, of that she was sure. She weaved her way through the busy shoppers, trying to hide in the crowd as she quickly made her way back to the safety of Speakers’ Corner. He would never find her there, he’d never think of her living in that part of Leeds. Hopefully, he would give up his search for her and return to his life in America. The last thing she wanted him was for him to show his ugly face and spoil her plans.
‘Aye, that smells good.’ Ma Fletcher yawned and looked over at the simmering pot of mutton stew on the side of the Yorkshire range. ‘Even Mr Tibbs is dribbling. There’ll be some broth left over for you, don’t worry. I’ll leave you some on my plate.’ She tickled the cat under his chin. ‘You look more like the old Mary-Anne that I used to know. Tha’s still a bonny woman, even with those skirts on. William Ellershaw doesn’t deserve you, so you don’t feel guilty when you catch him and take him for what you can get.’
‘If I get the chance. I still don’t know how to make him realise I’m back, although I have made myself known to his sister. Thank God, she didn’t see me dressed like this.’ Mary-Anne had a scrubbing brush in her hand and soda suds running down her arms after scrubbing under Ma Fletcher’s bed. She looked down at her sack-cloth apron and the tatty old clothes that she’d found in the downstairs spare room, clothes left from the Fletchers’ earlier life as rag-and-bone dealers.
The day had gone fast since her return from the market and now it was nearly supper time, and time to peel Ma Fletcher out of the clothes she was wearing and encourage her to wear the clean ones that she had brought down out of her bedroom drawers. They were hanging over the clothes rack, along with a clean nightdress, for her to wear that evening. Her makeshift bed was newly made up with clean bedding, the dirty linen having been soaked and boiled in soda crystals and hung up in the relatively clean air out in the backyard. Scrubbing the main room’s floor was the last job of the day, and Mary-Anne was thankful for that. The room was so filthy that she had itched with the fear of lice when she had changed the bedding. Tomorrow she would wash the curtains and make a start in the kitchen and scullery. But after helping Ma Fletcher wash and change, she was away to her bed. She finally washed her scrubbing brush off in the mop bucket and went to pour the dirty water out down the red earthenware sink in the scullery, returning with a flannel, soap, and a warm bowl of water, smiling at Ma Fletcher as she placed it on the table next to her.
‘Right, missis, now it’s your turn. Do you want me to help or can you manage yourself?’ Mary-Anne asked the old woman, whose pride in her appearance had disappeared along with her ability to walk with ease.
‘I’m not mucky, you know. I don’t know why I should have to do this.’ Ma Fletcher scowled and pushed her cat off her knee.
‘You’ll feel better. Just how long have you been in those clothes? You look as if you’ve been sleeping in them.’ Mary-Anne put her arm around the old woman for support and helped her to her feet. ‘That’s it, let’s take off this skirt and petticoat and then your bodices, and then you can wash in private while I take these to be washed.’ Mary-Anne tried not to breathe in as Ma Fletcher’s many layers of clothes were discarded, leaving a frail wizened body of a woman with just her greying mop cap left on her tangled hair.
‘You’ve locked the door, haven’t you? What if someone was to come in and find me in this state?’ Ma Fletcher said as she lowered herself naked into her chair and started to wash.
‘Yes, it’s bolted, no one’s going to come in.’ Mary-Anne held the clothes out at arm’s length and dumped them in the out-house before returning to make sure Ma Fletcher was all right. ‘There you are. I’ll get some scissors and let’s wash and tidy your hair while we are at it.’
‘Not my hair, Mary-Anne, I’ll be to bury if you wash it tonight. It’s only spring, I usually wait until at least June. When the weather is warm.’ Ma Fletcher’s face was a picture of fear.
‘Nonsense. Here I’ll put some more coal on the fire, get a good blaze going while you eat your stew, and it will dry in no time.’ She added some coal to the fire and walked over to the kitchen mirror where the scissors were hung and watched the old woman pull a face and try to dry herself in the firelight.
‘Go on do your worst, before I bloody freeze to death. At least let me cover myself with a blanket.’ Ma Fletcher couldn’t blame her lodger for wanting her to look better, she knew she had smelt a bit ripe, but she’d not been naked in front of anyone before and longed to keep her modesty.
‘I won’t be long, I promise.’ Mary-Anne removed the grubby mop cap and gently combed her long straggly hair. ‘I’ll take about this much off and then will wash it.’ Mary-Anne showed approximately three inches between her thumb and finger and then proceeded to cut as the old woman swore under her breath.
‘You’ll do what you like, so it’s pointless to complain. You are a bloody bully, Mary-Anne Wild. And to think I was daft enough to ask you to stay with me.’
‘Its’s Mary-Anne Vasey, and by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll look better than you’ve ever done. It’ll be William Ellershaw coming to court you.’
‘Now I know you are a bloody liar, girl. Besides, I’m like you, I’d have his money but I wouldn’t have that bastard in my bed. Too much like his father, you remember that.’
Mary-Anne sighed as she tidied the woman up. She wasn’t worried about William Ellershaw. At the moment, it was the sighting of John Vasey that she was concerned with. How had he managed to afford to follow her and would he find her?
Chapter 14
‘I don’t know why you turned the carriage away yesterday if you are wishing to join me at work today?’ Eliza sighed at the surly expression of Victoria’s face which she had worn since her mother had left them.
‘I didn’t feel like viewing your new collection yesterday, and besides, George has sent a message with his footman. He is to meet me in Morley’s in the Rose and Crown Yard for tea for a treat at three, so I can do both today.’
‘The Rose and Crown Yard? My dear, that is no place for you to be seen, it is so seedy and grubby. Can he not think of a better place to take you to? Perhaps that little tea shop on Park Lane? That is the place to be seen.’ Eliza thought of only protecting Victoria and Morley’s was right next door to Bink’s Hotel, which sold alcoholic refreshments day and night.
‘Morley’s is extremely fashionable. Besides, I wouldn’t think that would worry you. After all, you and my mother will have been in worse. Sometimes you can be such a hypocrite,’ Victoria spat.
‘Victoria, I’ll ignore that only because I know you are feeling upset with your mother. If you are to have tea with George Ellershaw, remember to be a proper young lady and be careful. I don’t agree with him showing you so much interest.’ Eliza prayed that Victoria’s anger with her mother would not spill out in her attentions towards George.
‘We are just good friends, Aunt Eliza, that is all. Unlike you and Mother, I can reserve my feelings.’
&n
bsp; Victoria’s comments were caustic to Eliza’s ears. Never before had her niece spoken to her like that. She’d overlook it this time, but if her attitude continued, words would have to be had.
Victoria gazed at herself in the long-length mirrors that hung on the fitting-room walls of her aunt’s workroom. She took in the cut of the dress her aunt had designed and held the latest material from Paris next to her. ‘But this material catches the light so beautifully.’ Victoria smiled at her reflection and then turned to her aunt with the sample of shimmering purple taffeta in her hand. ‘Why do I have to have something so babyish to wear? I’m almost grown.’
‘You’re just a girl, Victoria. Purple is too old for you and it doesn’t really suit your colouring. How about the green? Look, it shines too and it is far more suitable. You have your mother’s complexion and she would definitely choose the green.’
‘Then I definitely would like the purple, it is so vibrant.’ Victoria turned and stared at her aunt. ‘I can wear it to the Guild Ball. I’m old enough now.’ In the reflection of the mirror, Victoria noticed her aunt’s annoyance with her stubbornness.
‘I still think the green would be better, but I suppose you are old enough to wear the purple and carry it off.’ Eliza sighed. ‘But you are far too young for the Guild Ball, young lady.’
‘George said Grace wasn’t much older than me when she started attending parties.’ Victoria said with a scowl.
‘Really? Well, it would be nice to have you by my side.’ Her aunt couldn’t help but smile as she reached into her desk drawer. ‘As luck would have it, a pair of invitations arrived at my desk yesterday. They always send me two in the hope that I will bring a partner with me, which I never do. The organisers hate having a woman walk in on her own. I suppose there would be no harm in you going just for an hour – no more, mind – just for you to get a taste of higher society.’ Eliza took the purple taffeta from Victoria and put it to one side to work on later.
