The Quietness

by Alison Rattle

  Queenie whistled a ditty as she brushed Miss Swift’s gown and shook out her petticoats ready to help her dress.

  ‘What is that tune?’ asked Miss Swift. ‘I have never heard it before.’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have, miss,’ laughed Queenie. ‘It’s one of me da’s from the penny gaffs.’ She began to sing, ‘Oh, me name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep, chimney sweep, oh, me name it is Sam Hall, chimney sweep. Oh, me name it is Sam Hall, and I robbed both great and small and me neck will pay for all when I die!’

  Miss Swift put her hand to her mouth in shock and whispered between her fingers, ‘Queenie!’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing, miss. I know much worse than that! Do you want to hear another?’

  ‘I certainly do not!’ said Miss Swift. But Queenie could see that her eyes were smiling.

  ‘I could teach you to whistle,’ said Queenie. ‘Bet you’ve never done that before, have you?’

  Miss Swift shook her head and took her hand away from her mouth.

  ‘It’s easy,’ said Queenie. ‘Look. Put your lips together like this and just blow.’ She let out a long whistle. Miss Swift watched her carefully. Then she pursed her own lips and blew. No sound came out, only a burst of air. Queenie laughed. ‘Try again,’ she urged. Miss Swift looked serious. She pursed her lips again and this time let out a small breathy whistle. She looked at Queenie in amazement.

  ‘I did it!’ she said. ‘Did you hear? I did it!’ They looked at each other and smiled in delight. Queenie felt warm inside. It was a feeling that was almost as good as the taste of fresh bread on an empty belly.

  ‘What does your father do?’ asked Miss Swift as she sipped at her tea.

  ‘He’s a costermonger, miss. Sells apples and pears and the like. When he’s not drinking, that is.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Miss Swift. ‘And your mother? What is she like?’

  Queenie paused. She thought of Mam and her swollen belly, her strong arms and her worn-out face. She thought of the groans of strange men behind the curtain. She could hardly tell Miss Swift that, could she? ‘Mam is just Mam,’ she said eventually. ‘Pops out babies, mostly!’ Queenie’s eyes fell to Ellen’s belly. ‘Oh, sorry, miss,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

  Miss Swift shook her head. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the rest of your family. It must be so good to have so many of you?’

  ‘Pah!’ said Queenie. ‘Three little ’uns there were. There’ll be four by now. Right pains they are too. Well, maybe Tally’s not so bad now he’s getting bigger.’ Queenie realised she hadn’t thought of any of them for an age. Talking to Miss Swift like this brought them all back to mind, when she didn’t really want to think about them at all.

  Miss Swift looked sad. ‘You are very lucky, Queenie,’ she said. ‘To have a family like that.’

  ‘Me, miss? Lucky?’ Queenie was amazed. How could Miss Swift, with all her fancy gowns and pretty jewels and ladylike ways, think that Queenie was lucky?

  ‘Yes, Queenie, you are lucky. You see, you have somewhere you belong.’

  For the rest of the day Queenie puzzled over what Miss Swift had said. And for the first time since she’d left home, she imagined what it would be like to go back.

  40

  Ellen

  The weeks turned to months. Summer turned to autumn and I had not once felt the sun on my face. I spent most of my time sitting by the bedroom window. The outside world was contained within the window frame – like a moving painting. I watched the changing skies, and saw leaves turn from a shimmering green to a dull brown before they fell from their branches.

  My belly had grown so large. Even though I had let out my gowns as much as possible, they no longer fitted. My nightgown and shawl were the only garments I could wear. But even my nightgown now pulled tight across my belly.

  One day, Queenie brought me a length of creamy soft flannel and some tiny chemises. ‘For you to make another nightgown, miss,’ she said. ‘The nights are cold now and you’ll be needing something warmer. And these are for the baby when it comes.’

  ‘Oh, Queenie, what would I do without you?’ I said. ‘You remind me of Mary,’ I told her. ‘She was the only person I had in the world before you.’

  Queenie grinned at me. ‘It’s no trouble, miss. I like looking after you.’ I could tell by the shine in her eyes that she meant every word. I wanted to tell her that her kindnesses meant everything to me now. That I could not have survived it here without her.

  I began work straight away on my new flannel nightgown, but the chemises I left to one side. I could not imagine the creature inside me, that squirmed constantly and dug its limbs into my ribs, would soon be wearing the tiny garments.

  Queenie often asked about my home. Through her eyes I lived in a palace.

  ‘Do you have a grand piano?’ she said. ‘And lots of maids? What do you eat, miss? Oh please, tell me about the dinners you have!’

  I laughed and told her of Mary and Ninny and the other maids. I told her of the silence around the dining table and of the calf’s head Ninny once cooked.

  ‘A whole calf’s head!’ she exclaimed, as though it was the grandest thing she had ever heard of. She urged me to describe all my gowns and her eyes shone as I told her about my pink silk and my dark blue velvet. She asked about Mother and Father, so I told her of Mother’s birds and of Father being a doctor of sorts. ‘He cuts bodies open for a living,’ I said, hoping to shock her.

  ‘He’s a butcher, then?’ she said, and I laughed to think how Father would be outraged to hear himself described as such.

  ‘And do you go dancing, miss?’ she asked. ‘And do the gentlemen queue up for a twirl around the floor?’

  I did not answer for a moment. I was wishing my life was as Queenie imagined it to be. I wanted to tell her that it was all true, so that she would not be disappointed in me. But I could not deceive her. That would only be deceiving myself too.

  ‘I do not go anywhere, Queenie,’ I said. The sudden deadness in my voice changed the mood between us. ‘I did not go anywhere or do anything even before this.’ I jabbed my finger at my belly. ‘My life was empty.’

  ‘But then . . .’ Queenie frowned at me. ‘Hope you don’t mind me asking, miss. But how did you come to be in your condition?’

  I told her then. It was a relief to sit with her holding my hand as I told her the truth. I told her of the loneliness and emptiness of my life and of how Jacob had brought light into the house for the first time. I told her about his dark hair and green eyes, how he’d kissed me and made everything seem wonderful. Then, in a whisper, I told her how he had tricked me and played with me, and with tears choking my voice, I told her of the terrible day in the garden.

  ‘So you see, Queenie, even with my fine house and pretty gowns and jewels, I really have nothing. I have less than nothing. And the worst of it is, I will have to go back there,’

  ‘But you have me, miss,’ she said, squeezing my hand tight. ‘You’ll always have me.’

  41

  Queenie

  It was mid December. Since she’d arrived at Wild Street, Queenie had been putting her wages aside, week by week, in an old tin she’d hidden at the back of the scullery cupboard along with her soap and ribbons. She thought about Mam, Da and the little ones more and more. She wanted them to see how well she’d done for herself, to tell them about Miss Swift and the sisters. She wanted them to see she’d found a good place in the world.

  It was Sunday and Queenie had the afternoon off. The sisters were in their rooms snoring in front of the fires that Queenie had laid, Miss Swift was taking her afternoon sleep and the babies were all dosed up as usual.

  Queenie took a handful of coins from her tin and hurried to Lowther Arcade. She bought sugar mice for the little ones, a shawl for the new baby and a tin of damp, sweet-smelling tobacco for Da. She would give Mam some rose-scented soap, she decided. They wrapped it up so nice in the shop. For herself she bought a new pair of black leather boots and gave
the old ones to a passing urchin. The heels of her new boots clicked when she walked and the laces were long and black as liquorice strings. The little ones would all marvel at her boots, she knew that. None of them had ever had new boots before. Mind you, none of them had ever known Christmas before. It was something that happened for other people. Queenie and the little ones only ever stared in the butcher’s window at the fat geese and ducks waiting to be taken to table. They only ever breathed in the delicious smells of baking pies and spiced puddings. They never had a gift or anything to call their own. Queenie couldn’t wait to see their faces when they opened her offerings. She was strangely nervous.

  It seemed the whole of London was rushing hither and thither as Queenie retraced her steps over Waterloo Bridge. There was an excitement in the air and even the old cab horses seemed to be trotting with an extra skip in their step. Queenie could hardly believe it had been nearly a whole year since she’d left. It had been just as cold back then but she was dressed warmer now, with a thick new shawl, a woollen gown and her new boots polished to a shine.

  She turned off the main thoroughfare and walked down the first passageway that led to Mam and Da’s court. She had forgotten how bleak and sad it all was. It was as though life stopped short the minute she stepped into the gloom. Faces peered at her from darkened doorways, then disappeared, like rats darting back into their holes. Whispers followed at her back. Then Queenie remembered how odd she must look; done up like a dog’s dinner with clean face and new clothes. She was a stranger here now. She clutched her parcel of gifts close to her chest.

  Queenie heard Da before she saw him. He was singing, but there was no trace of the drink in his voice. It was how Queenie remembered it when she was small and Da would sing all the dirty ditties from the penny gaffs to Mam. He would get a clout round the head but would carry on anyway, laughing and saying, ‘The smuttier the better I thinks! You likes ’em as much as I do, my gal!’

  When Queenie turned the bend in the passage, there he was with his neckerchief back around his throat and him and Tally sitting on the doorstep mending sacks. She hid herself in a doorway to watch them for a while. Tally had grown so big. His arms and legs sprouted out from the ends of his sleeves and trousers. He was laughing at Da’s song. Queenie noticed he had his own neckerchief tied around his throat now, green and yellow, the same as Da’s.

  Then Mam came out the door with a fat baby in her arms. She bent to ruffle Tally’s hair and said something in Da’s ear. He laughed out loud and smacked her on the behind as she turned to go back indoors. Tally put his sack down and stretched his arms above his head, yawned, then stood up. He looked towards where Queenie was hiding in the shadows. She started to lift her hand to wave, but Tally just blinked, then turned away and went inside. Queenie lowered her hand. Of course he couldn’t see her; he wouldn’t be expecting to see her. Da gathered up the sacks and stood up too. Queenie wanted to shout out to him, Da it’s me! It’s Queenie! But something stopped her. It was the way they all were together. So happy. Da was in a hurry to get inside. Queenie thought Mam must have boiled the kettle and maybe there was something hot for them all to eat. He didn’t even look her way before he went inside too.

  A hot rush of shame flushed Queenie’s cheeks. She was angry with herself for standing there with an armful of gifts and no one to give them to. They were all getting on well enough without her. Da was there, Mam had a new baby and Tally was all grown up. They didn’t need her and her daft trinkets. They didn’t need her at all. The thought took Queenie’s breath away for a moment. What had she been expecting? That they’d still be missing her after all this time? It had been nearly a year, and not once had she let them know she was safe and doing well. A worm of guilt uncurled in her belly. How could she have done that to them? They most likely thought she was dead. She imagined Tally weeping for her and the thought made her throat tight and her eyes sting. She swallowed hard and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. They looked happy enough without her in any case. They’d probably mourned her and forgotten about her by now.

  For a moment Queenie felt lost; caught between two worlds. She looked down at her new boots and felt ridiculous and embarrassed. Well, if they didn’t need her, thought Queenie, then she didn’t need them. She had a new place in the world now and it was far better than this stinking hole. With a last glance at the dark doorway she used to call home, Queenie turned on her heels and hurried out of the tangle of passageways. She trod carefully so as not to muddy the hem of her gown or dirty her new boots too much.

  Queenie heard Ellen’s cries of pain sounding through the house as soon as she got back to Wild Street. She threw her parcels on the kitchen table and grabbed the kettle to fill. She would be needed now and she knew exactly what to do.

  42

  Ellen

  I woke with an ache in my back and thought I must have slept awkwardly. Although a small fire was burning in the grate, it was bitter cold in the room and I made my mind up to stay in bed a while. It was hard to move about with my belly so big and the effort to get dressed usually wore me out for the rest of the day. I propped myself up on my pillows and took up my sewing. The room was dim and it tired my eyes to sew by the light of a candle. I must have fallen asleep again and when I woke the fire had gone out. Grey light crept low into the room and I thought it must be late afternoon. My back was aching much worse than before and I was desperate to relieve myself. As I climbed from my bed and reached down for the chamber pot a warm fluid ran down my legs and pooled on the floor. I was surprised and dismayed, as I still felt the need to relieve myself and could not understand what had happened. I was embarrassed that Queenie would know what I had done, but I had no cloths to mop up the mess. Then the first pain came and then the next and I pulled myself back onto the bed.

  The pains ripped through me and caught my insides so tight I thought I might die. I bit down hard on my pillow and howled like an animal. I curled into a ball. But still they would not stop. I knelt and held on to the headboard. I hardly knew where I was. Faster and faster the pains came, not giving me a moment to breathe. Just as I thought I could bear it no more, the tightening in my belly loosened and the pains slipped away. I gasped for air and slumped down on the bed. I saw the neat pile of tiny chemises that Queenie had brought. Would a child be dressed in them by the end of the day? Then the pains came again and all thoughts were wrenched from my head.

  I was floating on a sea of agony; each wave of pain growing bigger and bigger. I was swallowed up and lost. The real world slipped away from me and time stood still. I called out for Mary but she did not come. The pains kept rolling through me.

  Then there was a cold cloth on my brow and hot knives in my belly. And a voice telling me to hush, all would be well. Then I was pushing and pushing and I could not stop and there was a hot rush from inside of me. Then I saw Queenie smiling at me and she was holding a bloodied bundle in her arms.

  43

  Queenie

  Queenie wiped the blood off the baby and wrapped it tight in a soft clean cloth. It looked all there to her, with ten fingers and toes, a tuft of black hair and creamy white skin. It had all happened so quickly, but she was proud she had managed on her own. The worst part had been cutting the cord. It was thicker and tougher than she had imagined. She was worried it would hurt Miss Swift and the baby, as it was part of both of them. But Miss Swift hadn’t even noticed. She had fallen into an exhausted trance before the afterbirth had come out. Queenie had wrapped that mess up in old newspaper and thrown it on the fire. It had crackled and spat as it burned.

  Miss Swift was stirring now. ‘Is it out of me?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Here,’ said Queenie, tilting the bundle towards her. We’ve been waiting for you to come round. Do you want to hold it?’

  Miss Swift’s eyes opened wide. She shook her head hard, a look of alarm on her face.

  ‘Come on,’ said Queenie. ‘It won’t bite!’ She pressed the warm little parcel into Miss Swift’s arms. Miss Swi
ft stared at Queenie and then down at the baby. She looked to Queenie like a young girl with a doll. Then very gingerly Miss Swift unwrapped the cloth from around the baby.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking up. ‘It is a girl.’

  ‘I know,’ said Queenie. ‘She’s beautiful, ain’t she?

  ‘She’s perfect,’ whispered Miss Swift. The baby was making small bleating sounds and rubbing its face into Miss Swift’s chest. ‘What is the matter with her?’ she asked Queenie. ‘Is she quite all right?’

  ‘She’s just looking for your ti . . . for you to nurse her,’ said Queenie. ‘She’ll be hungry, that’s all. But don’t you mind about that. I’ll take her downstairs and give her a bottle. Then you can rest some more.’

  ‘I . . . I am not sure,’ said Ellen. She looked shyly at Queenie. ‘I do not want to let her go yet. I think I would like to feed her myself. Would you . . . would you fetch me a bottle?’

  Queenie brought a bottle of milk up from the kitchen. It was the freshest she could find and she had warmed it gently.

  ‘How do I do it?’ asked Miss Swift when Queenie handed her the bottle.

  ‘Well . . . you just have to offer her the teat. She’ll know just what to do.’

  Miss Swift looked at Queenie with wide eyes. ‘Is she so clever?’ she asked. Miss Swift brought the baby close to and pressed the teat to her lips.

  ‘I’ll leave you alone now,’ said Queenie. ‘You’ll be wanting to be private.’ She felt strange, like she was intruding on something, that she shouldn’t really be there.

  ‘No . . . no. Please stay!’ said Miss Swift. ‘I . . . I need you, Queenie. I could not have gone through this without you. Please don’t go.’