by Anna Jacobs
“I go there for my health,” she insisted. “The air there agrees with me, after the damp of Bilsden.”
He sat and looked across the breakfast table at her, studying her as he had not for years. She was carrying her years lightly. She was not beautiful, but she was elegant, witty and attractive – unless you knew the cold and selfish soul under that well-cared-for exterior. He could see that his scrutiny was making her nervous and waited a moment or two longer to speak. “I do have certain conditions, my dear Annabelle. Unless you meet them, I shall be obliged to take a closer interest in your investments.”
Fear held her rigid for a moment. “You have no interest in business matters! You’d not know what to do with my little legacy.”
“No, indeed. Absolutely no interest. Why, I might even lose all your money for you with my ineptitude.” He allowed a few minutes for that to sink in.
“What conditions?” she asked at last, when she could control her voice.
“I shall require you to spend enough time in Bilsden to allay gossip and to provide Marianne with a secure background. If you do this, we can maintain the fiction that your delicate health necessitates regular stays in the bracing air of Brighton. If not, well …” he shrugged and let the threat remain unvoiced.
Annabelle’s soft white fingers curled into claws as he said this, but she kept a calm expression on her face. “Very well. For Marianne’s sake.” Time enough to worry about getting his permission to leave permanently when she had enough money to live on comfortably.
Ten days after the birth of Annie’s son, there was a knock on the door of Number Eight and Ellie came bouncing into the kitchen. She flung her arms round Annie and then hung over the cradle that Charlie had made from scraps of wood. He had carved and polished it with loving care, and it was a beautiful piece.
“Oh, Annie, I’m so glad you’re all right! I was that worried, not knowing how you were getting on. The doctor told me you’d had the baby when we got back last week, but I couldn’t come to see you till now. How are you?”
Annie smiled at her. Ellie was wearing a bonnet with far too many bright artificial flowers on it. But that was Ellie. “I’m fine now, though I still get a bit tired. How do you like my son?”
“He’s bonny!” said Ellie. “I didn’t think he’d be so bonny.”
“What did you expect? Horns and a tail?”
Ellie laughed shamefacedly. “Sort of.”
“He’s only a baby. It’s not his fault what happened.” Annie picked the infant up and cradled him in her arms.
“What’ve you called him, then?”
“William.” Annie dropped a kiss on his button of a nose and stroked the soft auburn fuzz on his skull.
“Who’s that after? There’s no one in your family called William, is there?”
“No. He’s called for himself–and for the old king. That’s where I got the name from.”
“You should have called him Victor, then, for the new queen.”
“Oh, no! I don’t like that! Victoria’s bad enough for a girl’s name, but Victor – ugh!” She put the baby back into the cradle and picked up her sewing. “Now, you tell me all about your stay in Brighton. How did you like it? Did you get on well with Patsy? And how did you like London? Aren’t the shops marvellous? What are the latest fashions?”
Nothing loath, Ellie launched into a full description of her trip and of Mrs Lewis’s new clothes. “Flounces are in again, you will be pleased to hear, and dresses en tablier, which look as if you’re wearing a fancy pinafore. Though why ladies want to look as if they’re wearing pinnies, like we have to, is more than I can fathom!”
“Go on.”
“Well, there’s a new sort of sleeve called a bishop’s sleeve, tight at the top and full at the bottom.” She giggled suddenly. “She’s got some, of course, but they’re set in so low she can’t lift her arms properly. I think she loses all her sense when it comes to fashion. If they said wear a feather up your nose, she’d do that, too!”
They both chuckled.
“Oh, an’ she’s got a new cloak, a sort of two-layer thing with a cape down to her wrists. It makes her look as wide as a house, but it’ll be warm come the winter, I expect. An’ – let me think – oh, she has a thing called a burnous for evening wear. It’s like a shawl with a hood, only she never puts the hood up in case it disturbs her hair. She’d freeze to death, that one would, if it were the fashion!”
Annie sighed. “I really miss her and her clothes,” she admitted. “She’s got better taste than any of the other ladies, even Mrs Hinchcliffe. I’ll have to see if I can catch a glimpse of her in the street. What’s her hair like now?”
“She’s got it in a low knot at the back, but she ties ribbons an’ flowers an’ things round it. Cora tried putting it in ringlets for the evening, but you know how soft her hair is and they just didn’t hold, so,” Ellie leaned forward and grinned, “guess what?”
Annie shrugged.
“She bought herself some false ringlets!”
They both rocked with laughter.
“Do they look false?”
“No. They’re a real good match. I don’t think the doctor even realises. She keeps ’em hidden in her cupboards, Cora says. Eh, me an’ Cora do have a few laughs at the things she gets up to!”
Annie couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy at Ellie’s growing friendship with Cora, but forced herself to ignore that. No good ever came of wishing for the moon.
Although Annie was now pottering round the house, she wasn’t well enough to attend chapel, so Ellie decided not to go either, that day. Since the Park House servants had to attend St Mark’s, the parish church, Ellie had lost a lot of her old loyalty towards the Todmorden Road Chapel.
Mrs Peters, who felt that Ellie had spent enough time with that woman and her bastard brat, sent one of the younger children round to summon Ellie to go to chapel with them. When a refusal was sent back, she came and banged on the door of Number Eight herself, for Matthew and Sam had both flatly refused to interfere. Mother and daughter had a short, sharp argument on the doorstep, but there was no way that Elizabeth could force her recalcitrant daughter to go with them. Ellie was bigger and stronger than her now, and cared nothing for her threats.
Ellie came back into the house tossing her head angrily. She’d been on cool terms with her mother ever since Annie’s troubles had started. “I don’t care if she won’t have me round there on my days off. It’s no pleasure visiting them! She’s getting funnier all the time. Takes your cup and washes it before you’ve even finished your tea, and she’s for ever sweeping the floor. I don’t know how Dad stands it!”
Elizabeth Peters had changed greatly in the past year or two. She was at that awkward time of life for a woman and although she was glad to be done with childbearing, she was not in very good health. She often took offence at Ellie’s independent ways and this wasn’t the first row she had had with her eldest daughter. She had no desire to see Matt get married, especially after what she thought of as his lucky escape, but she was longing for grandchildren.
She had tried to get Ellie interested in some of the lads at chapel, those with good prospects, sons of farmers or shopkeepers, and the lads had not been at all averse, for Ellie was a plump and pretty girl. But Ellie tossed her head at the mere idea of marrying and discouraged the lads from hanging around her. She was happy in her job, she told her mother firmly, and had no intention of leaving it, no intention at all.
Elizabeth was also worried about Matt. He had grown quieter and quieter since Annie’s return, living only for his job. He had little time now for cosy chats with his mother, for he always had his head in a book. And besides, the things he talked about were incomprehensible to a woman who never read a newspaper or opened a book. Mr Hallam had sent Matt away two or three times on business, and although Elizabeth was very proud of that, it had changed her son and made him less hers. Now Matt was talking of leaving Salem Street, though she’d begged him not to. He ne
eded his own room for doing his studies, he said, but she knew it was because of that woman.
Since Annie’s baby had been born, Matt had grown very tense, because you could hear its crying through the thin walls. She could see that the noise set his teeth on edge. Indeed, it set her teeth on edge, too. Not just the noise, but knowing who was there on the other side of the wall.
Soon after Ellie’s return from Brighton, Matt made the break and found himself lodgings with a widow from chapel. Elizabeth tried by every means she knew to stop him from leaving, but she failed for he was as stubborn as she was, once he had set his mind to something. When he’d gone, she cried for days on end and nothing Sam said or did seemed to comfort her. He worried about her health generally, for she had put on weight and looked puffy and tired most of the time. But when Sam tried to persuade her to go and see the doctor, she turned on him like a wildcat.
“I wouldn’t go an’ see your precious Dr Lewis if he were the last doctor on earth!” she spat at him. “The way he hangs around that slut next door is disgustin’. He’s not comin’ near me, not after he’s been pawin’ at her! Besides, there’s nothin’ wrong with me! Nothing! I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. You’d be tired if you had this house to keep clean.”
Annie was relieved when Matt Peters moved out. Her heart still lurched in a most disobedient way every time she saw him. She tried not to let her hurt at his scornful attitude show, but the pain of losing him was slow to fade and even now she would sometimes lie awake and weep for what might have been. She had her son and a busy life with Charlie, but there was still something missing, though she would not have admitted that to anyone.
20
Annie: November to December 1838
At the end of November Annie sat feeding her son and talking to her husband, who still fussed over her a lot. “I’m better now, you know, Charlie.”
“Yes. A lot better.” He was only half-listening, his eyes glued to the child he considered to be his son.
“Dr Lewis won’t stop coming round, though.”
“He says he’s keepin’ an eye on you,” Charlie pointed out.
“Yes.”
“He likes coming. Likes your scones.”
“So do you. I don’t know who’s greedier, you or him.”
He just grinned. He was looking a lot better, now that she had the feeding of him. Mind, they’d had to spend some money on cooking equipment, but she hadn’t grudged that. She enjoyed cooking and was quite skilled, thanks to Mrs Cosden. For Number Eight, she had bought herself a new spring jack to turn a roast, so that she wasn’t for ever tending it, and a lovely dutch oven, so that she could bake properly. And only last week, Tom had found her a proper chimney crane to hold her new cooking pots, and her dad had fixed it up for her. That beat trying to raise and lower the chains holding the hot cookware. How Charlie had managed with only an old black frying-pan and a pan for boil-ups, she didn’t know. But then, Emily had much the same equipment.
Even with her improved utensils, Annie still found cooking at Number Eight very limited and the constant need to boil hot water was very wearing. Oh, for a decent closed stove! Mrs Cosden had had one of the first in town, thanks to the doctor’s fascination with what he called ‘progress’.
“I think the doctor’s lonely,” she said thoughtfully. She patted William and when he had burped, passed him over to Charlie to cuddle, enjoying the beaming smile on her husband’s face. As she cleared up and put William’s dirty clouts to soak, her thoughts dwelled on Jeremy Lewis. “He’s not a happy man, the doctor isn’t, Charlie. Ellie says he and Mrs Lewis don’t even eat their meals together unless they have guests. She says he only smiles when he’s with Miss Marianne.”
“Well, he likes coming here,” Charlie repeated, cradling his son in his arms. “He comes a lot.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “But I’m not sure I like him coming so often. People will talk.” But Charlie wasn’t even pretending to listen, and anyway, she thought sadly, the subtleties of the situation were really beyond his understanding.
By mid-December, business matters had reached crisis point in Number Eight. Annie had more folk knocking at the door, wanting to buy her second-hand clothes than she could produce clothes, and she had started doing alterations for people as well. It gave her great pleasure each week to drop the shillings she earned into the black tin box, for they could live adequately on what Charlie made. In with her earnings went the rent from the cottages, which seemed a marvel every time Tom brought it back, money that had earned itself, money that just kept coming in, without you having to lift a finger.
The crisis was caused by other factors, as well as Annie’s skill with a needle. Helped by Tom and spurred on by his desire to do his best for William, Charlie had extended his rounds over the past few months and was now bringing home more and more stuff. Some of it was so good that Annie couldn’t bear to send it away for rags. It was a marvel to her how careless and wasteful some people were. They threw away things with years of wear still in them, just because of a few little holes or a worn hem. But she hadn’t the time to mend and alter them all herself, so the bundles began to mount up along her bedroom wall.
“I don’t know where I’m going to put this lot!” she exclaimed one day, as Tom helped Charlie carry in some more stuff. “I haven’t started on the last lot yet. I can’t keep up with you two lately!”
“Why don’t you set someone on to help you, then?” suggested Tom. “You could get a young girl to sew the easy bits. You’d not have to pay ’er much.”
There was a pause. “Hire somebody? Me!” said Annie faintly. “Don’t talk daft! I couldn’t! Do I look like an employer?”
Tom grinned. “No, but if you’ve got the money to pay ’em, people won’t care what you look like. What matters to us is, would you make more money out of it?”
Annie sat there, her brain working furiously as she got over her first shock at the idea. Would she make more money? Yes, of course she would! The clothes she made from the stuff Charlie brought in were becoming popular for ‘best’ among the more affluent inhabitants of the Rows, and returned a good profit on Charlie’s original outlay of paying a few pence by weight for people’s clean rags. The women who bought Annie’s things were those with a bit of money to spare, even in these hard times, the young unmarried girls and the older women with several children working. And she knew her clothes were more than just body coverings to them. She had an eye for colour and could ‘do up’ an old dress till you’d think it was new-bought that year. A couple of young women had already got wed in her simple creations. Oh, yes, she thought, she could definitely make more money if she had some extra help.
She looked at Tom. “Do you really think I could do it?” she asked hesitantly. It seemed such a big step to take. “Dare I?”
Tom had no doubts. Even at seventeen, he had an entrepreneur’s soul and could spot talent in others a mile off. “Why not, our Annie! Any road, it wouldn’t cost much to try, just a few shillin’ a week till you see how it goes. You could always get rid of her if it didn’t pay.”
“Ooh, I don’t know. We’ll leave it be for the moment. I’ll have to think about it.” She refused to discuss the subject any further. She could not just dive into something. She had to be sure that it would work, that she wouldn’t lose from it. Security was just as important as making a profit.
She was still thinking about the matter when Mrs Hinchcliffe dropped in to see her. Annie screwed up her courage and asked if Pauline thought it would be a good idea to expand her business and take on another woman to help her with the sewing.
“Why not?” Pauline echoed Tom’s words. “It’ll only cost you a few weeks’ wages and you’re not telling me you can’t afford that! You have to spend money sometimes to make it.”
“Yes, I suppose so. It’s just – everything’s happened so quickly.”
“It’s happened quickly, Annie, because you’ve filled a need, and because your clothes are nice to look at as well
as practical.”
“So you think I could cope?”
“Of course you could!”
“The thing is, if I do get someone, I’d not want an untrained girl.” She looked at Mrs Hinchcliffe apprehensively, fearing her scorn. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t need someone who just knows how to do straight seams. It’s alterations and awkward bits I mainly have to do with my re-makes. Oh, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Think it over. You don’t have to do things immediately, do you? It’s nearly Christmas. You are allowed to relax and enjoy yourself occasionally.”
Annie, who even worked on Sundays, shuddered at the thought. She looked round at the bundles. “I’ll have to do something, that’s for sure. There won’t be any room in the house for people, at this rate.”
In the event she found someone sooner than she had expected. She mentioned her plans casually to Sally the next day and Sally began to look thoughtful.
“I know a woman who’d like a place,” she told Annie after a few moments’ hesitation, “only – well – you might not want to set her on.”
“Oh? Who is she and why not?”
“She’s a friend of mine. I’ve known her for years. She trained as a seamstress in Manchester, but then she – well, no use tryin’ to dress it up – she went on the streets. That’s how I met her. But she’s had enough of that now, love. She wants a change. If she could get a respectable place again, she’d leave that other business tomorrow. But it’s hard to get a respectable place without references, specially for someone like her. She’s not been as lucky as I have.”
Annie was dubious. “I don’t know. Folks talk. I wouldn’t want customers put off coming to me.”
“How would they find out?”
“You’d be surprised how things get round,” said Annie darkly.
“Oh, well, it was just an idea.”
“No, wait! I wouldn’t mind seeing her. At least she wouldn’t turn her nose up at working in Salem Street. Could you ask her to come and see me? But tell her to dress quietly. And I’m not promising anything, mind. What’s she called?”
