Salem Street

by Anna Jacobs

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right out there, love?” asked John. “You seem – well – a bit quiet-like.”

  “I’m just tired. I get tired more easily now.”

  “Oh, aye, I was forgettin’. It don’t even show yet, does it? Eh, it’s a rare pity the first grandchild ’ad ter come this way! I’d been lookin’ forward to havin’ grandchilder.” He had always loved children.

  “It’s a pity that that Matt Peters didn’t stand by you,” said Lizzie, jealous of the attention her sister was getting. “Addy says their Ellie’ll not speak to their Matt no more. Are you goin’ t’speak to ’im, our Annie?”

  “Not unless I have to.”

  “I don’t blame him,” said Lizzie, with a toss of her head. “No man’d want you like that!”

  “Lizzie!” thundered John.

  “Well, how could he take another man’s leavin’s?”

  John’s hand shot out and cracked her across the face, he who rarely laid a finger on his children. Lizzie’s heavy lids flickered over her dull-pebble eyes, but she said nothing. You couldn’t control Lizzie with thumps; you couldn’t seem to get at her with anything. John never admitted, even to himself, how much he disliked her. She’d been an unattractive child and she was growing into a strange sort of woman, nasty and unwholesome, somehow. He couldn’t see any man ever wanting to marry her, more’s the pity. Only May seemed to like her; the two of them were devoted to each other. And May was nearly as bad as Lizzie. But the other little ’uns were as nice as their two sisters were nasty. His eyes softened as they lingered for a moment on little Becky.

  Annie ignored Lizzie. As soon as the meal was over she said her goodbyes and went out to join Ellie. With Mrs Marsh giving her the food, at least she did not feel the need to slip Emily any money.

  The two young women threw themselves into each other’s arms, then started off for a walk around town. It was cold but fine, and how lovely it was, Annie thought, to see so many people after the bleak loneliness of the moors around Collett Hall. She walked down the High Street, trying to ignore the speculative glances she got from people who knew her and concentrated on exchanging as much news as she could with Ellie.

  “Mrs Lewis has a new maid called Cora. Got her from an agency in Manchester. She’s an experienced lady’s maid.” Ellie pulled a face. “I can’t stand her and she has to share my room. It’s awful!”

  “Never you mind. You keep her in her place. You’re the nursery maid, not a skivvy. She’s no call to look down on you.” Annie sighed. “I’m in a bedroom of my own and that’s worse, I can tell you. The other servants are all about a hundred and they keep their distance. There’s no one young there and I’ve got no one to talk to. And I absolutely hate that house! The wind never stops blowing up there. It drives you mad. If I had her money, I’d not live in a place like Netherden.” They walked on for a few moments, then Annie said with relish, “I’m glad Mabel didn’t get the job, though. Serves her right, spiteful old cat!”

  Ellie giggled. “Well, she’s wild with jealousy and she hates Cora even worse than she hated you. If looks could kill …” She then remembered her own big piece of news. “Guess what! Mrs Lewis is going to Brighton again this summer. And – guess what else!”

  “I don’t know. What?”

  “I’m to go too, because she’s taking Miss Marianne, and Cora refuses to look after a child. Says she was hired for a lady’s maid, not a nursemaid, and she can always find herself another place. I wouldn’t have dared say that to Mrs Lewis, but she did. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “What, Cora speaking back to Mrs Lewis?”

  “No, stop teasing! You know what I mean – me going to Brighton. You said I might go one day and you were right.”

  “I’m really glad for you, love.” Annie squeezed her friend’s hand, though the comparison between them made her feel very bitter about her changed circumstances. Brighton! How lovely it had been there!

  “And as well as Brighton – I can’t wait to see the sea! – we’re to go on to stay with Mrs Lewis’s mother afterwards. She’s not been very well. We’re to be away for several weeks. Just fancy!”

  A little later in their walk Ellie broached the subject of Matt. “He’s gone very quiet and he’s always got his head in a book. Mam says he’ll ruin his eyes. I hope he does!”

  Annie made a non-committal sort of noise in her throat. It hurt to talk of Matt, yet though she wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, she wanted to hear how he was.

  “I don’t speak to him any more. I told him he’s no brother of mine, deserting you like that. He just looked at me in a funny sort of way and shrugged. Dad’s not happy about how he behaved, either, and he told Matt so, too. Said he should have stood by you. But Mam – well, she seems to have taken against you. Told me to keep away from you. I told her I’d not and we had a row. I don’t care. She gets funnier every year. If she had her way, I’d come home an’ spend all day cleaning the house. You daren’t touch anything, these days.”

  The hour with Ellie passed more quickly than any other hour had since that terrible night. Annie was hard put to hold back her tears as they parted, but she wasn’t going back to Collett Hall with red eyes. Her pride would not let her. No one there had ever seen her cry, had ever seen anything but a calm expression on her face. And they were not going to.

  14

  May 1838

  After the visit to Bilsden, Collett Hall seemed bleaker than ever. Annie often wept into her pillow at nights and several times she dreamed of Matt, dreamed that he had married her after all. She was angry at herself for this, but the dreams still came back unbidden, however much she tired herself out before going to bed. By the time April was drawing to an end, a cold, wet, windy April, with storms that rattled every window in the Hall and a pale, fitful sun that didn’t warm you, even Miss Collett had noticed Annie’s pallor.

  “Is your work too arduous, Annie?”

  “No, miss. No, of course not!”

  “You’re not looking at all well. Mr Hinchcliffe will be upset about that. He thinks a lot about you and prays every day for your welfare.”

  “Thank you, miss. It’s – er – most kind of him.”

  “What is the matter, then?”

  “Nothing, miss. Really! I just – just feel a bit down, that’s all. I expect it’s my condition.”

  A look of distaste flitted across Miss Collett’s face and her cheekbones took on a momentary tinge of colour, but she didn’t pursue the matter further, just dismissed Annie.

  On the next Saturday, however, Mrs Marsh told Annie to pack her things for the night.

  “What?”

  “Are you deaf, girl? I said pack your things.”

  “But – but, please, Mrs Marsh – where am I going? I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”

  “Dear me, no! Miss Collett thought you might like to spend a night with your family, that’s all, to cheer you up a bit. As she’s going out to dine with the Hallams, she can drop you off on her way tonight and then pick you up again after chapel tomorrow.”

  “But I don’t want to go!” said Annie, rendered bold enough by her desperation to protest. It was one thing to visit her family on Sundays, quite another to sleep on a hard stone floor in her condition. “Please, can’t you ask Miss Collett if …”

  Mrs Marsh sighed. “Haven’t you learned yet, girl, that if Miss Collett wants something, it’s best to fall in with her wishes?”

  “But there’s nowhere for me to sleep!” Annie blurted out. “I’ll have to sleep on the kitchen floor – and they’ve only got sacks to lie on, and no blankets! It’s cold there, Mrs Marsh, and damp as well. I’ll catch my death!”

  Mrs Marsh frowned at her for a moment, then nodded. “I shall inform Miss Collett of your problem. In the meantime, pack your things as instructed.”

  Miss Collett provided an old straw-filled mattress and some even older blankets, and took along a stable boy as well as her coachman, to help Annie carry the things.
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br />   Annie, shivering on the outside of the carriage between the driver and the stable boy, thought despondently that she would go mad if Miss Collett kept doing things like this to her. She was just being used in order to impress Mr Hinchcliffe. No one cared what she wanted – or even whether their charity was of any practical use! It was bad enough having to go to Bilsden on Sundays and face Matt in chapel. She always dreamed of him afterwards; she couldn’t help it. Spending the night with her family was the very last thing she wanted.

  She hated Salem Street! Why did fate keep pushing her back there? Now she’d have to slip Emily a shilling for food, and when you only got five pounds a year, shillings weren’t so plentiful. It was awful to be the object of someone’s charity. The thought of several more months of it, followed by a return to Number Three to have the child, made Annie feel very bitter indeed, bitter and desperate. If only there were some alternative!

  Emily’s face, when her stepdaughter turned up at seven o’clock on a Saturday evening, escorted by the stable boy carrying a big bundle, was a study in fear and dismay. If she hadn’t been feeling so miserable, Annie would have burst out laughing.

  “You’ve never been turned off again!” gasped Emily.

  “No, of course not!” said Annie sharply, mindful of the listening lad. “Put that down there, Pete, and thank you very much.” When he’d gone, she explained to Emily and her father what had happened, ignoring the sour expression on May’s face and the downright hostility on Lizzie’s.

  “Well, that’s all right then,” said John, relieved. “It’s nice to see you, lass. Get our Annie a cup o’ tea, will you, Em’ly, love.”

  Annie sat in the dark stuffy little room for an hour, talking mainly to her dad about Collett Hall and the ways of the gentry. Even May and Lizzie stopped whispering at times to listen. They were all of them fascinated by the lives of the rich. After a while, she couldn’t stand the close atmosphere any longer and stood up.

  “I think I’ll pop in on Sally for half an hour. I haven’t seen her for ages.”

  “You should keep away from her sort!” snapped Emily. “Your name’s black enough without you gettin’ seen with such as her.”

  “Em’ly!” said John warningly and Emily fell silent. She was a little wary of John when he spoke in that tone of voice. He looked as if he might thump her as her first husband had. The fact that he’d never laid a finger on her made no difference to this fear.

  Once outside Annie strolled to the end of the street and back to get a little fresh air. A figure came shambling along and bumped into her. “Sorry,” it mumbled, cringing back, “sorry.” It was Barmy Charlie.

  “That’s all right, Mr Ashworth,” she said soothingly.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s me, Annie Gibson,” she replied. She hadn’t forgotten how kind he’d been to her, taking her box round to Durham Road and refusing any payment.

  “Oh, Annie Gibson,” he repeated, sounding relieved. “How are you, lass?” He seemed as if he wanted to linger and talk, so she humoured him.

  “I’m all right, thank you, Mr Ashworth. Just come to see my family.”

  “That’s good. Are you lookin’ after yersen’? You’re a good lass. I like you. I’ve allus liked you. I don’t believe what they say. You’re a good girl. You are.”

  “Thank you, Mr Ashworth.” She spoke gently. Poor old man! He sounded as lonely as she felt.

  “Would you – would you like a cup o’ tea?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ve got some o’ the good sort an’ I’ve got a pretty cup and saucer you’d like.”

  Why not? It’d please him and it wouldn’t hurt her. Anything to stay away from Number Three! “That’d be nice, Mr Ashworth. If it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble! No trouble at all! An’ call me Charlie, will you, lass? I’d like it if you did that. Yes, call me Charlie.” He almost pulled her along the street in his eagerness, fumbling at the lock for ages till he got the key in. Once inside he told her to stand still until he got a light, then led her through the mounds of junk in the front room to the back kitchen.

  She didn’t remember ever having been inside Charlie’s house before. Few people got further than the yard. Would-be intruders were driven away by the barking of his dog. He had a new one now, a big black dog, lean and vicious-looking. It was throwing itself against the back door in a frenzy of yelps and snarls. She drew back nervously.

  Charlie grinned. “Don’t mind Sammy! He won’t hurt you if I tell him you’re a friend. I’ll bring him in an’ I’ll introduce you an’ then he’ll shut up. Don’t worry, lass. He won’t hurt you. No, he won’t never hurt a friend of mine. Not Sammy.”

  She stood there tensely whilst the dog sniffed at her skirts and then she relaxed as he wagged his tail.

  “There!” said Charlie in delight. “He’s took to you! I knew he would. You’re a nice lass. Allus were. Sit down, sit down!”

  She sat down and looked around curiously. Unlike the front room, this one was bare and neat, with a few cups and plates set primly in a row on a shelf and tea in a pretty tin box next to the kettle. Charlie seemed different here inside the house, more relaxed, less awkward. The dog sighed and lay down in front of the fire, its head on its crossed paws.

  “You’ve got it nice in here, Charlie,” she said, to make conversation.

  He nodded. “Yes. I like things nice.” He took down a delicate blue and white china cup, set it on a white saucer and filled it with strong brown tea, not the cheap sort that Emily used and re-used. Annie could smell the difference at once.

  “You’re right. It’s a lovely cup. And good tea, too.”

  He nodded again, complacently, accepting her compliment as his due. “I knew you’d like it, knew you would. I did.”

  They sat together for a few minutes in a companionable way, without the need to speak for speaking’s sake. She began to relax a little, really relax. It was cosy in here. And Charlie was a nice old man. What did it matter if he was a bit simple? He was kinder than most of the people she knew.

  “How’s y’new place?” he asked after a while, not just to make conversation, but as if he really wanted to know.

  “Oh, it’s a place,” she said. “I don’t like it much out on those moors, to tell you the truth, but it’s better than nothing. I can stand it till the baby’s born.” It was funny to talk about a baby, when the thing in her belly was hardly showing yet. She’d been feeling sick in the mornings, but that was beginning to pass now. Her waist was a bit bigger and her breasts swollen and tender, but she’d not even had to let out her dresses yet.

  “Yes, yes. The baby. I like babies, I do. Wish I’d had one of my own. I’d’ve looked after it, yes, an’ been kind to it, too. I would’ve.”

  “I’m sure you would, Charlie. You should have got wed, found yourself a nice girl years ago.”

  For some reason, this seemed to upset him. Tears came into his eyes and he shook his head from side to side, blinking rapidly.

  She leaned forward to pat his hand. “I’m sorry. What have I said?”

  He breathed deeply a few times, then said gruffly, “It wouldn’t ’ave been no use. I had an accident in t’mill. I wouldn’t have been much use as a husband after that – no, nor got me any childer, neither.”

  “Oh! I – I didn’t realise! I was only a child myself when it all happened. I’m so sorry!” She should have remembered that. It was common knowledge in the Rows. Poor Charlie! He was holding her hand now and patting it gently and she didn’t like to pull it away, so she let it lie there. For some reason she felt no fear of this gentle creature.

  “What’ll you do, Annie, lass? Afterwards, I mean. What’ll you do?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie. I can’t bear to think about it. I thought I’d hate the baby, but already I don’t want to give it up.”

  “Why d’you hafta give it up?” he asked, frowning in an effort to understand.

  “So that I can earn the money to feed it.”

  “Ah.”
He was silent for a minute, then burst out, “That Matt’s no good. No good, I tell yer! Thinks too much of himself, he does, an’ allus has done. If it’d been me, I wouldn’t’ve let yer down, whatever happened, Annie, lass. No, I wouldn’t! I’d’ve stood by you! I would! Yes, I would.” He bobbed his head up and down, like a little toy man Miss Marianne had, then he started to gabble something. She couldn’t follow what he was saying and he realised it, stopped, shook his head, as if to clear it, then started again, slowly.

  “I get like that sometimes,” he said. “When I try to speak fast. What I wanted to say …” He stopped and swallowed painfully.

  “Go on. What is it?”

  “I said – I’d marry you, if it’d help.”

  “What? But …”

  “Let me finish, lass. I’ve been thinkin’ about it, ever since I pushed your things round to Durham Street. After I’ve finished tellin’ you, you can say no if you like, an’ I’ll not bother you no more.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not as daft as people think, but I get the words mixed up sometimes an’ I don’t think so fast. I got hit on the head as well as down there, you see. Bad thing, that accident were. Bad. It were t’master’s fault for not lookin’ after t’machinery. Not this Mr Hallam – but his father, Mr Tom. He didn’t think I’d live for long, so he agreed to give me some money every week. He knew me dad as a lad. They used to go fishing together. He were all right, were Mr Tom, if he liked you, kinder than this one under it all. In his way. So when I were hurt, he got this lawyer chap to draw up the papers. Mmm. I had to sign me cross on ’em. An’ then he give me this house to live in. I don’t pay no rent. An’ his son has to do the same. It said so in the will.”

  He laughed softly at her surprise. “That rent man don’t come to take money every week, but to give me some. Five shillin’ a week, for life. Yes, for life. Folks don’t know about that. I mustn’t tell and I haven’t told no one, ’cept for you. But you won’t tell. I know that. You’re a nice lass. You are, that.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then went on slowly.