Jacob was not mentioned. I did not know where he had gone and I did not want to ask. It was as though he had never really existed. He was a dream and a nightmare all at once. My heart was frozen solid and I did not think I would ever heal.
I knew now why Mother despised me. Why she could hardly bear to look at me. I was the daughter of a maid. An ordinary, simple maid who bore Father a child when she could not.
I was nothing.
I understood now why I had never been loved. Even my real mother cannot have loved me, to leave me as she did.
I was nothing. I had nothing. Only Mary.
The days passed. Empty and heavy. I left my bed and spent long hours sewing. I took my meals in the dining room again. The food was tasteless. I was becoming more and more invisible. I felt sure Father and Mother would not notice if I disappeared altogether.
There was only Mary.
I watched her going about her duties and listened to her chattering her nonsense. She was the one who had cared for me all my life. She was the one who was always there for me. She had never let me down. I looked at her closely. An idea began to grow in my head. A warm idea that spread through me and started to thaw the ice that Jacob had left in my heart.
21
Queenie
The weather had grown warmer. Queenie hung washed napkins out in the yard to dry instead of round the fire. She let the kitchen door open so the air could circle in and push out the smells of sick babies and stale cooking. Out in the back yard there was nothing but a couple of old chairs. Weeds grew through cracks in the yard wall and grass pushed its way through the brick paving. It smelt sweet outside, though, and the fresh air seemed to blow a weight off Queenie’s shoulders.
It would do the babies good, she thought, to get out for a while. Since she’d arrived at Wild Street she couldn’t remember any of them having been moved from the sofa. Queenie dragged her mattress from the scullery and laid it out in the yard under the shade of an overgrown bush. Then she fetched the babies one by one and arranged them in a neat row. She pulled loose the blankets and assortment of linens that swaddled the tiny bodies, so they could feel the air between their fingers and toes. They all lay still as could be. Even so, Queenie swore she could see a faint colour seeping into their cheeks.
Satisfied they were all safe, Queenie brought out a knife, a bowl of water and a handful of potatoes to peel. She settled on one of the chairs and began to work. There was a mewl from the mattress. Queenie looked up and saw that the newest baby was awake, waving its arms and legs in the air. Queenie had named her Little Lady Rose on account of having a real lady for a mam and because the pink blanket her mam had left for her was as soft as a rose petal and was edged in silk. She never let on to the sisters, though. It was a secret between her and Rose.
Queenie smiled to see Little Rose grabbing at the invisible air. Her thighs and arms still had rings of fat on them. Queenie thought of the day Rose had been born in the bedroom at the top and how her mam had left the very next day. Slipping away without ever saying goodbye to her baby. Rose had been hungrier than the other babies to begin with. Sometimes Queenie gave her an extra feed in the night with milk she had kept to one side. Rose had been noisier than the rest too and Mrs Waters had shouted at her a couple of times to ‘shut the whining pest up!’
But Rose had grown a lot quieter of late. With Mrs Ellis giving her regular doses of the Quietness, Rose slept almost as much as the other babies. Queenie was glad to see her awake now. At least she had seen the outside and felt the sun on her skin.
‘Queenie!’ Mrs Ellis’s voice came from inside the house. ‘Queenie!’ Her voice rose to a high shrill. Queenie jumped from her chair, knocking over the bowl of water and half the peeled potatoes. As she bent to pick them up, Mrs Ellis appeared at the kitchen door.
‘What do you think you are doing? Are you mad, girl?’ She ran over to the mattress and piled three of the babies in her arms. ‘Bring the other three!’ she ordered. ‘Quick now!’
Queenie picked up the tiny bodies and followed Mrs Ellis back into the kitchen.
Mrs Ellis whirled round. ‘DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!’
Queenie gulped hard. ‘But ma’am, I only thought the fresh air would do ’em good.’
‘Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn’t. That is no concern of yours.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know I was doing something wrong.’
Mrs Ellis shut the back door with a bang. ‘We want no gossip or people sticking their noses in our business. You keep those babies away from prying eyes.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Queenie quietly. You old cow, she thought. What harm was there in the babies getting fresh air? Being cooped up all day just wasn’t right.
Mrs Ellis’s face softened. ‘Well now, I’m glad you understand me, Queenie. Best we keep this quiet, eh? No point in bothering Mrs Waters with it all.’
‘No, ma’am,’ said Queenie. She placed her armful of babies back on the sofa and tucked in their blankets. Little Rose had gone back to sleep. She looked so pretty wrapped in her pink blanket. Queenie ran the back of her finger across the baby’s cheek. It felt so tender and soft and unspoilt. She stood and turned. Mrs Ellis was watching her, a strange look on her face.
‘I’ll get back to me jobs now then, ma’am,’ said Queenie.
‘Just a minute,’ said Mrs Ellis. She rummaged in her apron pockets and brought out a handful of coins. ‘Your wages, Queenie. Here. And a little extra too. We’re pleased with your work. You’re fitting in nicely.’
‘Oh. Thank you, ma’am.’
‘And why don’t you take the afternoon off? You’ve been here long enough now to deserve one.’
‘Truly, ma’am?’
Mrs Ellis nodded.
‘Well I will, then. Thank you, ma’am!’
‘Just be back in time for the evening feeds.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Course, ma’am.’
Queenie hurried out, all thoughts of the babies disappearing from her head as she listened to the coins jingling in her pocket.
It was strange being back out on the streets. Apart from fetching milk from the dairy on the corner of the road, Queenie hadn’t left Wild Street once. It was hard to decide what to do first. She was dizzy with the freedom of it all. She had more money in her pocket than she had ever seen before. She wanted to skip with excitement. For a brief second a picture of Mam and the little ones appeared in her head. Mam with her sleeves rolled up beating dust out of a blanket and the little ones sitting on a step somewhere, in the sunshine. No, sod them, she thought. She pushed the picture away. Today was for her. She had worked hard, she deserved it.
22
Ellen
‘And how are you today, miss?’ asked Mary as she bustled into my room with my breakfast tray. ‘It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you would fancy a stroll in the garden later?’
I shook my head. The thought of fresh air and birdsong and the mocking yellow of buttercups on the lawn filled me with loathing. I had not been able to look out of the window since that day and preferred the curtains to be kept closed. But I knew Mary would be so happy to see me take some air. To see some colour back in my cheeks.
‘Mary,’ I said. I was nervous and tried to keep my voice from shaking. ‘Please come and sit by me for a moment.’ I patted my bed.
‘Of course, miss. What is it?’
She sat beside me and I reached for her hand. The warm roughness of her skin soothed me and I took a deep breath.
‘I know the truth, Mary.’
‘The truth, miss? What truth is that?’
‘Jacob told me,’ I said, looking at her dear face. ‘Jacob told me that I am not my mother’s child.’
Mary went still. Her face seemed to crumple and she gripped my hand tight.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘You have always known.’
‘Oh, miss,’ she said softly. ‘I am so sorry. I am so sorry I was never able to tell you. I thought it was for the best.’
‘Best for who, Mary?’ I looked at her face for clues. For any guilt or shame in her eyes. There was nothing but concern.
‘Best for you, miss, of course. What good would it have done for you to have known?’
‘To have known I was a bastard, do you mean? That I was nothing?’
‘No, miss, no! Don’t say that!’
‘Well, it is true, isn’t it? That is why Jacob did what he did to me! To punish me for having all this when I am a nobody!’
‘That boy,’ Mary spat out the word, ‘is nothing but an evil monster! Do you hear me? A monster! Don’t you ever say you are a nobody, miss! It’s not true!’
I had never seen Mary cry before. The tears that filled the creases under her eyes seemed to take her by surprise and she hastily brought up her apron to dab them away. I put my hand out to her, waiting for her to say more; wanting her to tell me what I was thinking. I willed her to tell me. She took a deep breath and I leaned towards her. But instead of saying the words I needed to hear, she kissed me quickly on the top of my head, rose from my bed and hurried out of the room.
I fell back on to my pillows; confused and frustrated but strangely elated to have seen Mary cry because of me. I would have to be patient with her. She would tell me in time. I knew she would.
I closed my eyes. I was so very, very weary. There was a foreign taste on my tongue that I could not get rid of. It had appeared over the last few days and no matter how many times I rinsed my mouth with peppermint water, it would not go. There was a constant nausea in my belly too, that had only this morning caused me to vomit last night’s dinner of ham and rice pudding.
I lay on my bed. Too tired even to cry. I was sore all over. Even my breasts were heavy and tender. That at least was a familiar feeling. A sign that my monthly bleed was due. I lay there counting the days and then the weeks. I became muddled in my head and began to count again. Could it truly have been that long? I counted again. The terrible memory of Jacob pushing into me came flooding into my mind.
My heart was beating wildly as I realised that my monthly bleed had not come. Father’s words rang loud in my ears.
Any irregularities can only lead to hysteria or in the very worst of cases – insanity.
After all that had happened to me, was I to go insane now?
I sat up, trembling and feeling faint. There was another possibility as to why my bleed had not come, I realised. A possibility that filled me with the most cold and dreadful fear.
23
Queenie
It was a perfect afternoon. The air was warm; the sky spread with clouds. Queenie could almost hear Mam saying, There’s plenty enough blue to make a pair of sailor’s trousers! Queenie turned right out of Wild Street and made her way to Drury Lane. She walked past the theatres and noisy taverns and found herself on Long Acre. Everywhere there was hustle and bustle and noise. The streets were full of gentlemen going about their business, in and out of the varnish maker’s and coach maker’s shops. There were ladies with baskets of neatly wrapped parcels, flower girls with wilting posies and shopkeepers shouting their wares. Horses and cabs trundled up and down the road sending up clouds of dust. Children played outside shops. Queenie could smell coffee, burnt sugar and the warm, sweet stench of horse dung. She bought a cake from a baker’s and broke off lumps of the buttery pastry to eat as she wandered along.
She heard laughter and clapping and saw a crowd gathered on a corner. Queenie pushed her way through. An old man, dressed in underclothes, she thought, was standing with a long pole in one hand and a basin in the other. ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he shouted. ‘Throw your coppers in here and you shall witness feats of such strength and dexterity you would never have believed possible!’
Coins jangled into his basin and the old man bowed and put it on the ground. Queenie watched as the old man stuck the end of the pole into his waistband so the length of it waved high above the crowd. A boy appeared from behind him, dressed in a similar fashion. He took a bow, then jumped and grabbed hold of the pole. Queenie gasped as the boy seemed to run up the pole while the old man balanced it in his waistband. The boy held on to the end of the pole with one hand then slowly turned upside down and waved with his free hand. The crowd roared. Queenie cheered, caught up in the happy mood.
She watched as the boy jumped back to the ground and more coins were thrown into the basin. The old man put his arm around the boy and hugged him. They were father and son, thought Queenie. The old man smiled a wide, toothless smile. Queenie saw the pride shining in his eyes and knew at once how much he loved his son. Suddenly she felt alone, even amongst the crowd. She wanted to tell someone what she’d seen. Tally would have loved it. He’d never seen anything like that before.
She looked at the people around her, still gawping at the old man. He’d stuck a wooden tumbler to his head and was catching brightly coloured balls that his son was throwing in the air. Queenie turned away and began to push her way back on to the street. She was mad at herself. She wished she’d never stopped to look. What was the point in seeing such a sight if there was no one to share it with?
She walked fast to the end of the street, and then the entire length of another. A carriage pulled up in front of her, and a woman wearing long satin gloves and a veil stepped out and hurried into the shop opposite. Queenie wandered over and peered into the shop window. It was a milliners; the inside stuffed with hats of all types, decorated with feathers, fruits and flowers. The lady was sitting in a chair. Two assistants hovered around her. Queenie wondered what the lady’s new hat would be like. She wondered what it would be like to sit in a chair like that and have assistants to bring you whatever you chose, because they knew you had the money to pay for it. Queenie had never been in a shop before. Not one like that, anyway. They would boot her out before she got over the threshold. She felt the coins in her pocket. She would find a fancy shop, she decided, brimming with ribbons and lace. She would go inside and choose the prettiest thing she could see.
Across the road from Charing Cross Station Queenie saw people milling about in front of the entrance to a passageway. Over the top of the entrance was a sign painted in gold. Lowther Arcade. Queenie walked inside and stopped, amazed by the sight that met her eyes. The passageway was lined with shops; the whole thing covered by a roof of glass. Shafts of sunlight poured down and fell on piles of treasure that spilled out of every shop doorway. The air was so light and bright and the whole place hummed with noise: the rustle of dresses, the clatter of feet and the echo of voices and laughter. There were tables laden with bracelets, hair ornaments, brooches and rings with stones as big as eggs. Queenie walked slowly along, putting her hand out to stroke a gleaming wooden horse. She stopped to gaze in wonder at a miniature house, its front open and each room furnished with tiny tables, chairs and beds. Every shop had something different: walking sticks, perfume bottles, china dolls, cakes of soap, candlesticks and fans. Queenie had walked into a whole new world and she never wanted to leave it. After a long while she chose to buy a cake of pink soap. It smelt of roses. The shopkeeper wrapped it in a square of brown paper and tied it with string. Next Queenie bought a length of ribbon, as yellow and glossy as a pat of fresh butter. The ribbon was folded neatly into a sheet of silver tissue.
It had been so easy. The shopkeepers had smiled at her and thanked her for her custom. They had treated her like a lady. She clutched her parcels tight as she made her way back to Wild Street. They felt like the most precious things in the world.
24
Ellen
I rang for Mary. I needed her now like I had never needed her before. With this terrible fear coursing through me, I could not be patient any longer. I tried to calm myself as I waited for her to arrive. I got out of bed and paced the room. It was all so familiar: my dressing table, my wash stand, my armchair, my wardrobe. All of it, the paper on the walls and the painting of a rose-filled garden hanging over the fireplace, had been there my whole life. It was so familiar that I went about my days tak
ing no notice of it all. It was the same with Mary, I realised. She too had been there my whole life too. She was as familiar and as invisible to me as my bedroom furniture.
‘Yes, miss?’ Mary poked her head around the bedroom door. ‘You rang?’
‘Mary . . .’ I took a deep breath. ‘Come in and close the door.’ She did as I asked. I could see by the blotches on her face that she had not long stopped crying. ‘Mary.’ I swallowed hard. ‘Now that Jacob has told me the truth about myself, I want you to know that I am glad. I am glad I know the truth and I am glad that it is you.’
Mary looked puzzled. ‘What is me, miss?’
I hesitated. I thought she had understood me. ‘I . . . I am so glad it is you, Mary. I am so glad you are my mother.’
Mary’s hand flew to her mouth and she sat heavily in my armchair. ‘Your mother? Miss! Whatever makes you think such a thing?’
I stared at her. My heart was thumping in my ears. ‘But you are my mother, aren’t you? It can only be you. Please tell me it is you!’ Why wouldn’t she say it? Couldn’t she see how much I needed her to tell me the truth?
She stood up and grabbed my hands. ‘Miss, I am not your mother. Believe you me, I am not. But if I had a daughter I would wish her to be just like you. Oh, miss, this awful business truly has left you at sixes and sevens.’
‘You are lying!’ I shouted. Did she think I was going insane? I felt my face grow hot with shame and anger. ‘Jacob said my mother was a maid. Here in this house. And you have been here all my life. Who else can it be?’
‘Oh, miss! It is true. Your mother was a maid here. But another maid. Not me.’
I did not want to believe it was true. I wanted Mary to be my mother. Tears filled my eyes. I needed to belong to her. To belong to someone who loved me. Mary did love me, didn’t she? I pulled away from her. Maybe she was just doing her duty. She cared for Mother and Father too, after all. Had I mistaken her diligence for love?
The Quietness Page 8
