Salem Street

by Anna Jacobs

  About midnight the pains started to get really bad and began to come more often. Annie couldn’t help crying out sometimes. Three hours later she was only half-conscious and the baby had still not been born.

  “She’s not goin’ t’get it out without a bit of ’elp,” said Widow Clegg.

  “No. I’ll have to cut her. The baby’s too big.” Jeremy opened his bag and took out some instruments.

  “I’ll go an’ wash ’em for thee.” The widow picked them up and disappeared downstairs before he had a chance to say anything. He smiled wryly. She was a terror, the widow. A lot of the women in the Rows didn’t like having her to help with a birth. She insisted on washing their bodies and she hectored them about their dirty houses. They only called her in if they knew they were in for a bad time. Jeremy had thought himself clean until he’d seen the way Mrs Clegg scrubbed and rinsed his instruments. And it seemed that her extra fussiness paid off. Few of her patients dared to fall ill once they had been safely delivered.

  Charlie looked up as Widow Clegg came down into the back room. “Annie?” he asked, his face full of mute misery.

  “Not finished yet. Here, tha can help us, Charlie Ashworth. Go an’ get some more water. Every time I empty that bucket, tha mun go an’ fill it up. All right?” She spoke impatiently, but she had struck the right note. He needed something to do.

  Tom, who was waiting with him, patted his hand. “I’ll leave that job to you, Charlie lad.”

  Charlie nodded and seized the empty bucket. Whilst he was out of the house, Jeremy made a quick, but careful incision, ignoring Annie’s screams. Tom, downstairs, turned pale. He didn’t give a toss what happened to Emily in her birthings, but Annie was different.

  Matt, lying sleepless next door, heard the sounds through the thin walls and buried his face in the pillow. That settled it! He couldn’t stand any more. Tomorrow, he’d start to look for lodgings. You needed peace to study. Who could get any peace with that noise going on? Oh, God! Was Annie all right?

  Within minutes the baby had been born – a boy, a big healthy child. His head looked a bit bruised, but otherwise he seemed normal enough. Jeremy handed him over to Widow Clegg and waited for the afterbirth. As soon as that was out, he began to stitch Annie up. She moaned a little, but didn’t seem really aware of what was going on until the baby started to cry angrily, protesting at being left on its own.

  Annie’s eyelids fluttered open. “Is it over?” she whispered. “Is it really over?”

  “Yes, and you have a fine son.”

  She blinked as he picked the baby up and held it out to her, but she didn’t make any attempt to take it from him.

  Widow Clegg stepped forward. “Here – take him!” she said and pushed the baby into Annie’s arms. “It’s best to give ’em t’babbies straight off,” she explained unnecessarily in an aside to Jeremy, who had seen her do it many times. “They need summat to love after their trouble.”

  Jeremy had never seen the bonding happen so visibly. Oblivious to her aching, exhausted body, Annie gazed in wonder at the little red face peeping out of the shawl. She’d seen dozens of babies before and not thought much of them, but this one, her baby … A tender smile crept across her face and she leaned forward to kiss the soft downy skull. Then she lay back on the pillow and her eyes flickered shut as she fell into a light doze, still with that tender expression on her face.

  The widow started to clear up the mess and Jeremy gathered his things together. He’d never seen anything remotely like that loving expression on his own wife’s face. She regarded Marianne as a possession, a toy to be shown off to visitors and then put firmly away in the nursery. Jeremy was suddenly furiously jealous of Charlie. What wouldn’t he give for a loving wife and some more children! And how stupid Sam’s son must be to reject a girl like Annie!

  He forced himself to stop thinking such unproductive thoughts and concentrated instead upon the clinical aspects of the case. He would write a treatise about it and see if he couldn’t contact other doctors with similar interests. If they could share their observations …

  In the kitchen, Jeremy found Tom and Charlie waiting anxiously.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Tom said shamefacedly. “You’d think I was the bloody father, wouldn’t you? How is she?”

  “She’s fine,” said Jeremy, “though very tired, of course. And it’s a boy. He’s large and healthy.”

  Charlie beamed at him. “A boy! Large an’ healthy,” he repeated. His eyes filled with tears. “Eh, to think of it! A little lad.”

  “An’ you’re sure our Annie’s all right?” persisted Tom, not much interested in the baby.

  “Like I said, she’s tired, but she should be all right in a day or two.” Jeremy looked around. “I’d have thought your stepmother would want to be here.”

  Tom scowled. “That Emily’s not our mother, not in any way. She’s only me father’s wife. She says she’ll come along if she’s needed, but she might as well get some sleep in the meantime.”

  “Oh. And Mrs Smith?”

  “Sally?” Tom grinned. “She’s busy tonight. Her gentleman friend calls round on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Regular. Very regular.” He winked expressively.

  “I don’t want Annie left on her own,” said Jeremy, frowning. “She’s too exhausted to see to the baby without help.”

  “I’ll stay for a while,” said Widow Clegg, who had just clattered down the stairs. She pushed Tom aside with an ungentle hand. “It’s nearly mornin’, not worth me goin’ t’bed. When it’s light, tha can get thy stepmother along, Tom Gibson. Let that Lizzie do summat for a change, or that May. They’re old enough to get breakfast for t’rest.”

  Charlie went over to the doctor and timidly pulled at his sleeve. “The baby. Can I see it? An’ Annie, too? I won’t touch ’em. I just want to see ’em. I do.”

  “I’ll show him,” said the widow, who had now taken complete charge again. “I’ve washed thy instruments, doctor. Tha’d best be off home. There’ll be other folk needin’ thee today.”

  “Yes. I suppose so.” Jeremy didn’t want to leave, to return to an empty house. He’d write to Annabelle the very next day. It was time she brought Marianne back.

  “Come on, then, Charlie Ashworth,” said the widow. “Tha can see thy wife – an’ tha can carry this bowl of water up for me while th’art goin’ up.”

  Eager anticipation shining on his big round face, Charlie took the bowl and followed her upstairs.

  “He’s a nice old chap, really,” said Tom. “Pity he’s a bit slow, but he’s not so daft as folk think. Our Annie did all right for herself weddin’ him, didn’t she, doctor? She’s not daft, neither!”

  Upstairs, Annie was still holding the baby and Charlie was standing next to the bed, looking down at them. Even Widow Clegg did not dare to interrupt that moment, for Charlie’s face was lit by sheer rapture.

  19

  Ellie: July 1838 to January 1839

  While Annie was enduring the last months of her pregnancy, Ellie Peters was adjusting to a life without her. She missed Annie dreadfully at first, but gradually got on better terms with Cora, the new lady’s maid. Later there was all the excitement of getting ready for the trip to Brighton. Annie had said that Ellie might get a chance to go one day and now, here it was, rushing fast towards her.

  The weeks before they left were very busy, what with the packing for Miss Marianne and the sorting out of Ellie’s own modest wardrobe. Mrs Lewis was in a bad temper most of the time, because she didn’t want the bother of taking her daughter. Ellie reckoned she’d only suggested it in the first place out of spite. Ellie could not help overhearing several sharp exchanges on the subject between her master and mistress.

  “Jeremy, I really think a long journey will be too much for Marianne! She’s not fully recovered yet.”

  “Then don’t go!”

  “I need a holiday! I’m worn out.”

  “So is Marianne.”

  Jeremy was growing very hard to manage lately
, Annabelle thought resentfully. He could be quite stubborn at times. “And what about Miss Richards?” she demanded.

  “Surely you’ll be taking her with you?”

  Annabelle sighed in exasperation. Miss Richards was far too sharp-eyed. She wasn’t having the governess with her in Brighton, noting all her comings and goings. There was no harm in the occasional little dinner or drive with Henry Minton, her man of business, but it was still better to keep such things quiet. She could trust Barbara’s discretion, because dear Barbara also had her gentlemen friends, but she was not having the governess privy to her little diversions. “It would be too much of an imposition on Barbara’s goodwill. Her house is not a large one, and a governess cannot be expected to eat with the servants.”

  “Then Miss Richards can take a well-earned holiday,” said Jeremy impatiently.

  “I’m not paying her good money to do nothing! I can’t afford such extravagance!” Annabelle hated to spend money on anyone but herself.

  The new, tougher Jeremy merely looked at her cynically, so she flounced out of the room to give herself time to think. Miss Richards and Ellie, who had heard every word from the nursery, exchanged expressive glances, but said nothing in front of the child.

  Marianne, who had been listening too, tugged at her governess’s sleeve. “I don’t think I want to go with Mama, after all,” she whispered. “She’s always so cross with me.”

  “That’s for your parents to decide, I’m afraid, my dear.”

  In the end, it was Miss Richards herself who solved the problem by accepting a post as teacher in a school a friend of hers had just opened in Bilsden. Annabelle was delighted. Marianne could go to the school in the autumn, which would save the expense of housing and feeding a governess. With a bit of luck Jeremy would pay the school fees and not think to reduce her housekeeping allowance. Really, things were beginning to look quite promising! And Ellie should go with them to Brighton, to look after the child. She would be adequate for this unimportant task.

  “I thought Barbara’s house was too small for you to take anyone with you,” commented Jeremy, when informed of the new arrangements.

  “Oh, too small to take a governess, who must have a room of her own, but quite large enough for Cora and Ellie, who can sleep together and eat with the other servants,” replied Annabelle airily. “I still think it’s foolish to drag Marianne all over the country, when she’s been so ill, but if you insist, what can I do?”

  They left Bilsden in the middle of July, travelling by mail-coach. Frederick Hallam, a progressive spirit, had urged them to use the new railways, which would make their journey much faster, but Annabelle refused even to consider it. They would have to go into Manchester first by coach, then change trains several times between Manchester and London, if they did that. Without a gentleman to supervise all these changes and see to their luggage, she would not feel safe. No, better to use the mail, which was slower but safer. You knew where you were with the mail.

  Annabelle, who had remarkable stamina when it came to doing things for herself, showed no signs of fatigue on the journey and became quite affable once they had left Bilsden. Cora, who was a seasoned traveller, endured the journey philosophically, but to Ellie and Marianne it was a new and exciting experience. They goggled out of the windows, whispered together and enjoyed every minute. Far from being annoyed, Annabelle laughed at them indulgently and turned back to converse with a fellow traveller, who was very gentlemanly and who was looking at her with admiration. She always enjoyed a mild flirtation when it could have no serious consequences.

  In London, Mrs Lewis gave gracious permission for Ellie to take Miss Marianne out sightseeing. She also gave them a guidebook to the metropolis and a small amount of money to cover expenses. However, Dr Lewis had secretly given Ellie a generous sum to buy treats for the child, so there were no restrictions on their enjoyment. If they got lost or grew tired of walking, they simply took a cab.

  “Mama seems different here,” said Marianne. “She keeps smiling all the time. I’m glad now that we came, aren’t you, Ellie?”

  “I am, miss,” said Ellie, clutching her purse tightly and watching the fascinating goings-on around her. “Just look at that lady over there! Did you ever see such full skirts? It’s a wonder she can walk in them! They must be heavy!”

  Within two days Annabelle, too, was wearing extra petticoats stuffed with horsehair. She set Cora to adjust her skirts to the new fashionable instep length and ordered some new bonnets from a clever little milliner in a back street, for bonnets were being worn smaller nowadays. She also began to lace herself more tightly, which would have brought Jeremy’s wrath down on her head, but which showed off her tiny waist to perfection.

  Cora was not quite as good with her needle as Annie had been, Annabelle thought, trying on the results of her maid’s labours, nor quite as inventive, but then, Annie had been exceptional, with a real feel for clothes and their trimming. Then Annabelle grew angry with herself for remembering that slut and turned her mind firmly back to getting herself in fashion again.

  They moved on to Brighton and Ellie fell in love with it on sight, as Annie had done. For the first time she began to feel some sympathy for her mistress. No wonder Mrs Lewis hated Bilsden so much when she had been used to living in such a heavenly place! Ellie took Miss Marianne down to the beach or out for long walks on every fine day, earning Mrs Lewis’s approval by keeping the child out of her way.

  Ellie and Marianne were equally fascinated by the sea and would spend hours gazing at it or walking along the edge of the water. The few times Cora was able to go with them, she complained that the pebbles on the beach hurt her feet and retreated to the promenade, so they went mostly on their own.

  The little girl rapidly regained her health and grew quite brown. Mrs Lewis said that the sun and wind were bad for the complexion, but then thought of the penalties of keeping her daughter indoors with her and said that as Marianne was only ten, they need not bother about such things just yet. More likely, thought Ellie, you don’t really care! She was beginning to wonder what Mrs Lewis was up to. She had seen her mistress in the company of the same gentleman several times, and had thought it wiser to whisk Miss Marianne round corners and change their itinerary, just in case the child commented on it later to her father.

  Then a message came from Mrs Parton’s doctor to say that the old lady was very ill and would Mrs Lewis please come quickly. Ellie had her first experience of life in the depths of the country and found it very flat after Brighton. There was nothing to see but cows and trees, the people spoke so strangely that she couldn’t understand them and Mrs Parton’s house was small and dark, smelling of illness. Miss Marianne hated it there, too, and was fractious and hard to manage the whole time, which was not like her.

  Old Mrs Parton got worse and worse. Congestion of the lungs, the doctor said. You could hear her from all over the house, gasping and wheezing with each painful breath. It upset Miss Marianne and she couldn’t sleep, so Ellie had to go in with her. And the mistress had no sympathy, but just told Ellie to keep that stupid child quiet.

  On the third day, Marianne burst into tears when spoken to sharply at the breakfast table and her mother slapped her face, a thing Jeremy would not have allowed. A great red mark it left, too, which made Ellie very angry, though she was powerless to do anything about it. She decided to take Miss Marianne for a walk to get her out of the house for a bit, but just as they were leaving, Cora came down to summon the child to her grandmother’s deathbed.

  “No! I won’t go!” screamed Marianne, thoroughly frightened. She hardly knew her grandmother and was terrified of the skeletal, yellow-faced creature lying gasping in the big bed. She clung to Ellie and kept on screaming and refusing to move until her mother came downstairs and commanded her to behave herself. Then Annabelle dragged the white-faced, sobbing child up to witness the death of her grandmother.

  Ellie waited for her with lips tightly compressed. What a way to treat a child! She
was not in the least surprised when Miss Marianne had nightmares about it for years and she heard Dr Lewis have another big row with his wife when he found out what had caused the nightmares. Ellie had rarely seen him so furious.

  When the funeral was over, Mrs Lewis stayed on for several more dreary days, going through the contents of the house with a fine tooth-comb and arranging its sale to the local squire, who was very gallant to the pretty Mrs Lewis, and very indignant that her husband had not even bothered to come and support her in her time of trouble.

  In fact, Jeremy had not been asked to come to his wife’s aid. Annabelle had merely informed him of her mother’s death and asked his permission to invest her small inheritance in a house in Brighton, which would bring in a better rent than a property in Bilsden.

  He sat and stared at her letter for a while, then gave a wolfish smile. “Why not?” he said aloud.

  Armed with his written permission and with Mr Minton’s assistance, Annabelle bought a pair of small houses on the sea front, one for her own use and one to rent out. Really, Henry Minton was a most stimulating companion, sharing to the full her own fascination with making money! She wished Jeremy had half his initiative and business acumen. With Henry’s help, the money and properties were beginning to mount up nicely. In a few years’ time, she would be able to leave the filth and squalor of Bilsden and come to live in Brighton permanently. And she would make very sure that Jeremy did not prevent her.

  Jeremy, who had more idea of what his wife was planning than she realised, would have been glad to see her go immediately, but for Marianne. He did not wish his daughter to grow up with the stigma of separated parents. He therefore confronted Annabelle when she returned.

  “So you now own a house in Brighton?”

  She eyed him sideways. “Yes. I did write and explain about the investment value.”

  He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, don’t worry! I have no intention of interfering with your investments – or with your escapes to Brighton.”