Salem Street

by Anna Jacobs

  The other two boys hesitated. Annie Ashworth was known to be stuck-up. They’d heard their mams talk about her and seen her in town in her fancy clothes. Still, it’d be something to boast about, going into her house would. They tramped in after Mark and William.

  Kathy uttered a cry of distress when they went into the back kitchen and dropped her sewing to run to William. For once he wriggled out of her grasp.

  “I’m all right!” he said crossly.

  Annie swallowed a lump in her throat at the sight of her son’s bruised face and told the boys briskly that if they washed their hands and faces, they could have a cup of tea and a hunk of bread and butter. The two strangers hung back, but Mark and William made straight for the bucket and poured themselves a bowl of water.

  “William first,” said Annie calmly. “Let’s get those cuts cleaned up. Then you others can wash your hands and faces. No wash, no food. I only allow clean people in my house.” The other boys lined up with alacrity. An extra buttie was not to be sneered at. They looked with new liking at young Willie Ashworth as they bit into the thick slices of bread and butter.

  From then on, William never looked back. He was out playing as often as his mother would let him, and his young uncles, Mark and Luke, relieved not to have a relative who was a softie, kept a careful eye on him till he’d got himself fully accepted. He grew rapidly in confidence and developed into a sturdy, independent lad. He still behaved protectively to his mother and Kathy, however, and Tom was careful not to destroy this for him. It was William who made them cups of tea, helped set and clear the table, ran errands into town and fetched the water, half a bucket at a time, till Tom got him a little cart to carry two smaller buckets.

  After Charlie’s death, many things had begun to change, whether Annie wanted it or not. It took her a while to get used to having Tom around the place, and several times they had words over habits of his that she objected to. She had thought that after a time the business would settle down into the old routine, but it didn’t. When Tom got into the swing of things, business began to increase. Soon they were making more money than ever before and the stuff was piling up faster than they could clear it.

  Unlike Charlie, Tom had no skill in mending things, so he had to find people to do it for him. He always seemed to know a man who could do a job for him on the side, usually someone in dire need of extra money, who would work cut-price. When Annie worried about paying a fair rate for the job, Tom scoffed loudly. He drew the line at dishonesty, because he knew his sister would not stand for it, but now that he had recovered from his initial euphoria, nothing she said or did could prevent him from being a sharp businessman and paring costs to the bone.

  Tom loved living at Number Eight. To him it was a big step up in the world. Among the things that surprised him during the first few weeks were their fancy table manners, their mania for washing their bodies and their clothes, and the comfortable beds with sheets which were changed every week or two. No matter that the sheets were made of coarse cotton twill, reject pieces picked up cheaply at the market; they were proper hemmed sheets, not rough blankets and sacking. Tom’s own table manners and cleanliness improved rapidly, as well as the way he spoke. He still kept in touch with his old friends, however, going out for a drink with them at nights and occasionally bringing the more presentable of them home for a piece of one of Kathy’s cakes and a cup of tea.

  Annie didn’t much like his friends, one or two of whom she remembered from her childhood, but she didn’t raise any objections to the visits, sensing that Tom wanted to show off his new way of life and acknowledging his right to bring friends into his own house. Some of the men essayed a heavy gallantry with Annie, for she was a lovely woman and well-off by their standards, but she cut their compliments short and behaved with such icy disdain that they didn’t pursue matters any further. Tom would watch and grin. It suited him to have his sister remain a widow and grateful for his protection. If he’d thought that any chap had a chance with her, he’d have taken steps to quash the affair himself.

  Tom still collected the rents for his sister. To the pair of houses she’d bought when she first married Charlie, she’d added another, in spite of the hard times. It was a house on half an acre of land in the older part of Bilsden, quite close to the park. It’d been sheer luck that she’d heard gossip about it being offered for sale. She’d got Mr Pennybody to buy it for her without even consulting Pauline, busy at the time having her second child, snapping it up at the price asked, because she knew it must be good value in such a central position. Frederick Hallam, who had also had his eye on it, tried to buy it off her through Mr Pennybody, but was refused. He would have been astonished, she thought, to know that the mystery buyer was one of his own tenants.

  It amused Annie, too, when she found out that the occupier of the cottage was none other than Michael Benworth, the overseer at Hallam’s. She sent Tom round to tell him that he could stay on in the cottage, on a monthly tenancy, but that it would cost him an extra sixpence a week. He accepted, for he had an ailing wife who was much attached to the house, but he grumbled for the first few weeks.

  Tom made short shrift of his complaints, enjoying the reversal of roles with his overseer. In his opinion, Benworth had a bloody good job, and if he’d spent a little less on his own pleasures and saved a bit more, like Annie, he’d have been able to buy the house for himself by this time. Tom would have done that in his place. Although Benworth was Tom’s boss when Annie first bought the house, Tom was not in the least overawed by him when collecting the rent. And nowadays, he wasn’t overawed by anyone, except perhaps Pauline Hinchcliffe, and he was getting used even to her.

  Once in a while, on a fine Sunday, Annie would tramp out of town with William and sometimes Tom, to visit Bridie and Michael on their farm. It wasn’t a big place, as farms went, but after Salem Street it seemed like paradise to the O’Connors. In spite of the hard work he was putting in, Michael was looking years younger and Bridie was the same as ever, only perhaps a little plumper. She’d welcome them with open arms, talk their ears off and send them home loaded with gifts of eggs and butter. Neither she nor Michael had forgotten the old skills of their youth, and the farm was coming on nicely.

  Annie tried to avoid going out to the farm when she knew that Danny would be there, for he was working only twenty miles away at present. He always unsettled her and made her feel flustered and breathless, which annoyed her greatly. In spite of her efforts, though, she ran into him occasionally. The first time he managed to get her on her own for a few minutes.

  “So you’re a free woman now,” he said, barring the way into the house.

  “I’m a widow, if that’s what you mean.”

  “How long is it, then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How long since your husband died?”

  “Two months.”

  “A bit soon, eh?” He smiled down at her and she drew in a sudden sharp breath. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said softly, running a fingertip down her cheek.

  Annie took a quick step backwards, colour flooding her face and heart pounding. Danny opened his mouth to speak, but Bridie called out from the kitchen just then. “Where are you, Annie, darlin’? The tea’s ready.” He stepped away from the door and bowed to Annie, but as she passed him, he caught her arm and whispered, “I can wait,” smiling as she jerked her arm away and hurried into the house.

  On the way home, after one visit to the farm, they passed Pauline’s carriage taking Saul back home from the Sunday evening service. “That Mrs Hinchcliffe of yours is a rare madam,” Tom said, watching the carriage bowl away into the distance. “I don’t envy old Saul being married to her. I bet he can’t even fart in his own bedroom!”

  “Tom Gibson! Don’t be so crude!”

  He grinned. “Sorry, Annie. It’s me low background comin’ out. I have these lapses from time to time.”

  “It’s the company you keep,” she said disapprovingly. “They’ll lead you into
trouble one day. That Billy Pardy’s a bad sort. It’s a wonder he’s kept out of prison so long. I don’t want you bringing him along to my house again. And who was that – that female I saw hanging on your arm in town last week?”

  He winked. “That was Rosie. A right little armful, she is. Very good-natured girl, if you know what I mean.”

  “She’s as common as dirt. You want to watch yourself with her. You never know what you’ll pick up.”

  “Ah, leave us be, our Annie. She’s a good sort, is Rosie an’ clean, too. I’m not stupid. A man has to have a little fun once in a while.”

  “You’d be better finding a decent girl and getting married than mixing with people like that.”

  “I’m not getting wed till I’m properly set up with me own house and a good steady business. Then I’ll look around for a wife who’ll be some use to me, as well as giving me a kid or two. But the sort of woman I want wouldn’t look at me now. So leave be, our Annie. What I do in me spare time is me own business.”

  “Who’s thinking ahead now?”

  “Who taught me to think ahead?” He winked and led the way down the hill into town at a smart pace, whistling merrily.

  After a couple of months in the junk trade, Tom began to borrow a donkey and cart from one of his friends so that he could go further afield on his foraging trips. Old Charlie must have had feet of iron, he reckoned, to do all this on foot. He taught himself to drive it the hard way, persevering with the recalcitrant animal until it’d do what he wanted. Next he started to bring home all sorts of different goods. Annie nearly went mad when he turned up one day with a couple of big round cheeses and a basket of eggs, cushioned in straw.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Tom Gibson?” she shouted angrily, as he and William carried the things into the house. “We don’t deal in foodstuffs! What do we know about cheese?” She was angry most of all because he’d dared to change things without consulting her.

  “Aw, come on, Annie,” he replied, trying to placate her. “People always need to eat. We won’t have any trouble sellin’ these because they’re nice and fresh. I think we’re on to a good thing. You’ll see. I got them from those small farms over Hendon Dene Edge. It’s not worth it for them women so far out to bring their bits of stuff to market each week themselves, when I can do it for them. I take a small share in the profits an’ I save them time an’ trouble, so everyone’s happy.”

  The eggs and cheese sold well, as he’d predicted, so Tom continued to expand their range. They were renting a stall every week at Bilsden market now, and the profits were continuing to rise. Annie, once she’d come round to the idea, made a sign for their stall and a canvas cover for rainy days. She painted the word ASHWORTH in neat letters on a piece of wood. “Though I don’t know what sort of a stall you’d call it,” she grumbled, “with second-hand clothes at one end and food at the other!”

  “Who cares what you’d call it as long as we make money?” Tom retorted. He’d taken over much of the selling from Alice, because he adored the chaffing and banter of an open market. Alice didn’t mind. She had now taken charge of the collection and distribution of the outwork they gave to a few carefully-selected women. That had changed too, because every now and then, Tom bought pieces of substandard material cheaply from one of the small weaving mills on his rounds and then Annie would design and cut out serviceable shirts or dresses or skirts and her outworkers would run them up for sale at the market.

  Annie mainly turned her own efforts on to what Tom called her fancy sewing. Her customers were so pleased with what she had made that they came back for more garments, and sent their friends, too. The front room was now dominated most of the time by a huge trestle table stationed near the window to catch the light, and piled with sewing. Kathy worked on the straight seams and Annie acquired another outworker, a Miss James, who existed in genteel poverty and took in sewing secretly to eke her money out. Annie took a pride in making dresses women could be proud of. She didn’t see why everyday dresses shouldn’t flatter their wearers. It was lovely to work with new materials after years of making over old clothes, lovely to see the look of pleasure on a woman’s face as she tried on a finished dress.

  In some ways, though, Annie felt that her nose was being pushed out of joint by Tom. She grumbled about it to Ellie one Sunday.

  “I don’t like what he’s doing! It’s too chancy. Food can go bad or – or anything. And look what Tom’s gone and done now! Bought a donkey and cart, if you please! Where will it all end, that’s what I want to know?”

  “You can always stop him if he goes too far,” said Ellie, leaning back comfortably in her chair and licking her fingers. She had grown plumper with the years, for she was a hearty eater with a very sweet tooth. “Mmm, your Kathy’s cakes just get better. How does she manage it with just that fire and a Dutch oven? Do you remember, Annie, when you were working at Park House and Mrs Cosden used to give you cookery lessons? You weren’t all that pleased when Mrs Lewis turned you into her personal maid instead.”

  “Pleased! I was terrified! And I still don’t envy anyone that job!”

  “No, she’s not an easy person to look after, is she? But she’s a lot sweeter-tempered when she’s down in Brighton, and she’s there half the time nowadays. But she still keeps her eye on the housekeeping when she’s back in Bilsden.”

  “She always was a mean one.”

  “Not mean with herself, though. She has a wardrobe full of clothes, while poor Miss Marianne has only just enough. A girl of that age feels it, you know. And anyone can tell the difference between Mrs Lewis’s clothes that she gets in London and Miss Marianne’s dresses, which Miss Pinkley makes. There isn’t a really good ladies’ dressmaker here in Bilsden. Why, you get a more stylish look to your clothes than that Miss Pinkley! Everyone’s admired the last dress you made for me. Even Mrs Lewis asked me where I got it.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  Ellie tossed her head. “I certainly did!” She spoiled the effect by giggling. “You should have seen her face!”

  “What did she do?”

  “What could she do? She just pokered up an’ changed the subject.”

  “In the old days, she would have dismissed you, or forbidden you to see me again.”

  Ellie smiled rather grimly. “She can’t dismiss me. Dr Lewis told me – so I suppose he must have told her, too – that he is my employer, not Mrs Lewis. He said he would be the judge of Miss Marianne’s needs.”

  “Goodness! Things have changed!” Annie pushed a plate of tarts across to Ellie and went to ask Kathy to make them another brew of tea. “How is the doctor?” she asked as she sat down again. “I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

  “Oh, he’s fine. He never ails.” Ellie leaned forward to whisper confidentially, “But he still goes off to Manchester every now and then, and you can guess what he does there when you smell the cheap perfume on his clothes. They’re all alike, are men, even nice ones like him. Can’t do without it. Catch me getting married! I know when I’m well off.’

  “Me, too!”

  The two young women exchanged smiles, comfortable as always together. They did not need to see one another often; they would always be like sisters.

  24

  October to November 1844

  Annie could not avoid having admirers, whether she wanted them or not. Danny O’Connor was not one to take no for an answer when he had set his heart on something. She couldn’t stop going to Bridie’s because she did not wish to hurt her friend and also because going to the farm was William’s greatest treat. Her heart would begin to beat at a faster rate whenever Danny was there and he would always manage to make her blush, though never in such an overt way that she could take exception to what he said.

  “Sure and isn’t he a tease!” Bridie would exclaim complacently and Michael would smile his slow broad smile.

  “What is it now, three months since your husband died?” Danny asked abruptly one day. “Time passes slowly sometimes
, doesn’t it?”

  Colour heightened, Annie fled into the kitchen to help Bridie.

  “You’re looking well, Annie,” Danny said over tea another day. “Widowhood must suit you.”

  “I miss Charlie very much,” Annie said emphatically. “Very much indeed!”

  “Yes,” said Danny, “women need husbands, don’t they?”

  “Ah, wasn’t he a lovely man, God rest his soul,” Bridie said, automatically crossing herself.

  Careful as Annie was to avoid being alone with Danny, he did occasionally manage to catch her on her own. One day, she and Bridie went out to the cowshed with William to see the new calf. On the way back they bumped into Danny, who had been helping his father. He had his sleeves rolled up and his shirt half-open, showing his muscular chest. His hair was damp where he had just been washing himself under the pump.

  As they all rounded the corner by the barn, Danny took hold of Annie’s arm and held her back forcibly. “I just want a word with your mam,” he told William, who nodded and ran off.

  “Let go of me!” she hissed, unwilling to make a scene.

  “I will, if you’ll promise not to run away,” he said, serious for once. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Bridie will miss me.” But when he let go of her arm, she moved back a pace and stood waiting. “Well? What’s the matter?”

  “My next contract is in the south,” he said abruptly. “It’ll be nigh on a year before I’ll be able to get back again. Annie, you know how I feel about you …”

  She turned to flee, but found herself held by a pair of strong arms. She went rigid with panic.

  “Now stop that!” he commanded, giving her a shake. “I’m not about to rape you.”

  “Let me go! Please!” Her voice was shaking and she was trembling.

  “One kiss, Annie,” he pleaded. “Nothing more. I won’t hurt you.”

  “No! No!”

  But he pulled her slowly closer, bent his head and kissed her anyway, a long gentle kiss that terrified and yet excited her. When it ended and he held her close, she did not try to break away, but just leaned against him and drew in a shaky breath.