Down Weaver's Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  The decision lifted his spirits slightly and the anger carried him rapidly down Weavers Lane towards his home.

  When Jack burst into the house in a towering rage, the rest of the family stopped what they were doing to gape, this was so unlike him.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’ Meg asked.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’

  ‘She hasn’t got home from church yet. You know she sometimes stands around talking to one of her friends on the way back. Didn’t you pass her? And what about your classes?’ As he would have swung round to leave the house again, she caught hold of his arm. ‘Wait! Don’t go out like that. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Let go of me!’ But he didn’t shake her off, just looked at her, anger warring with misery on his face.

  ‘You kids stay here in the kitchen,’ she called out. ‘Keep an eye on our Nelly.’ Taking Jack’s arm, Meg drew him into the front room, which she had made her own. ‘Tell me, love.’

  He let out a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Mam went to see Emmy just before she left. In one of her rages, Mrs Bradley said. And really upset her.’

  ‘Mam’s getting worse. You should have heard her going on at me this morning because I wouldn’t let her take Nelly to church.’ Meg hesitated. ‘She’s been hitting Nelly again, too. I don’t think I can stand much more of that, Jack. I don’t want my child to grow up in an unhappy house. If Mam’s not angry, she’s fretting and worrying. Either way we get no peace or happiness. I reckon she was born to be miserable.’

  He put his arms round her. ‘Oh, Meg, don’t go. I can’t bear to lose you too. You said you’d stay.’

  ‘That was before I found out what else Mam had done.’ She hesitated, then told him, ‘I’ve been seeing this fellow, just talking to him a bit, going for walks, getting to know one another better, like. He seemed nice. Then suddenly he began avoiding me. He works near me an’ I often used to see him on the way home. So I waited for him after work on Friday to ask what was wrong.’ She bent her head, fighting tears. ‘He told me Mam had been to see him, to warn him off, to tell him the family would never accept an Irish Catholic as a husband for me.’

  ‘Aw, Meg!’ Jack put his arms round her and held her close.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She wept against him. ‘I’m supposed to be comforting you, not piling my troubles on your shoulders as well.’

  ‘We can comfort one another.’

  He heard the sound of the front door and turned quickly, putting her gently aside. ‘That’s Mam!’

  He went into the back room and found Netta un-tying the ribbons of her bonnet, a smile on her face for once. ‘Eh, Jack. I didn’t think you’d be home yet. What happened to your class? I’ve just been talking to Mrs . . .’ Her voice trailed away as she saw his grim expression. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’d better come into the front room,’ he said. ‘Me and Meg both need to talk to you.’

  She tried to edge away. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea. Can’t it wait?’

  ‘No, it can’t.’ Jack guided her into the front room, not letting her pull away, then closed the door and stood with his back against it. ‘What did you say to Emmy just before she left?’

  ‘Me? Why should I say anything to that one?’

  She was avoiding his eyes and he could tell she was lying. ‘Mrs Bradley told me you’d been to see her. Their cook saw you shouting at Emmy. What did you say to her?’

  Netta pressed her lips together for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I told her I’d kill her if she tried to wed you. And I meant it, too.’

  Breath whistled into his throat and shock prevented him from speaking.

  ‘Mam!’ Meg gaped at her. ‘Mam, I can’t believe you’d do a thing like that. How could you?’

  Netta folded her arms and scowled at them both. ‘I could do anything to save my son from ruining his life.’

  Jack let out a harsh laugh. ‘Have you forgotten, Mam, that I’m a felon’s brother? That my father broke the law and was shot dead in the street? How am I any better than Emmy?’

  But Netta Staley was not to be swayed by any arguments. “That lass is rotten inside, just like her mother,’ she shouted. ‘And so I told her. I’m glad I did if it’s driven her away!’

  ‘You’re a wicked old devil!’ Meg burst out. ‘You’ve been interfering in my life, too, haven’t you? What did you say to Liam Kelly?’

  ‘I said what I had to. You’re not getting mixed up with an Irish Catholic. You married unwisely once and look where it led you, but you’re not doing it again. You’re still only twenty. What do you know about life? You’d be better not marrying again. We’re doing all right as we are.’

  Meg didn’t even try to hold back the tears. ‘Liam’s a good man, but he won’t even speak to me now! If you ever interfere again in my affairs, I’m leaving, I swear it.’

  ‘And where would you go?’ Netta jeered. ‘You’ve got a daughter to think of now. You can’t just walk off when you have a child.’

  ‘I am thinking of her. That’s another thing - you’ve been hitting her again. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the bruises?’

  ‘She keeps falling.’

  ‘No. You keep hitting her.’

  Netta burst into tears and tried to push her way out of the room, but Jack refused to step aside. ‘Son, don’t let her talk to me like this,’ she begged. ‘I did what was right for us all. Me and the childer.’

  ‘You allus say that.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. You can’t afford to get wed.’

  He laughed at the irony of that, though it went on for too long until he felt a hand on his arm and saw Meg staring at him in concern. He turned to his mother. ‘That’s just it. You didn’t let me finish telling you: Emmy Carter’s got money of her own.’

  Netta stared at him, one hand at her throat. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Mrs Oswald left everything to her - two guineas a month Emmy gets. Every month. She doesn’t have to lift a finger to earn it. As long as she lives it’ll be there, then she can leave it to her children. And there’s other money saved in the bank as well.’ He looked at her pityingly. ‘We could easily have afforded to get wed, me and Emmy.’

  ‘I don’t believe it! She’s lying to you.’

  ‘Go and ask Mr Garrett at the bank, then. Or Mr Bradley. It’s all true.’

  There was silence in the room, the only sounds the ticking of the clock and the murmurs of the children next door.

  In the end Netta sniffed and repeated. ‘The money doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. She’s a whore’s daughter and no one will ever let her forget it.’

  Jack closed his eyes for a moment because her expression was so triumphant. She didn’t care that she’d hurt him, didn’t care about anything but herself. ‘Well, I’m going to warn you now, Mam, and for the last time: you’d better not interfere in my life ever again or I’ll up and leave you.’ He looked across at his sister, at the tear marks on her cheeks, and added heavily and emphatically, ‘And don’t interfere in our Meg’s life, either. She’s young enough to marry again, and good luck to her. It doesn’t matter whether the man is a Catholic or a Maharajah from India - it’s her choice, not yours.’

  Netta said nothing, staring from one to the other, scowling, biting on her knuckles.

  Jack’s expression did not soften as he turned towards the door. ‘What’s more, I’m going to look for Emmy and when I find her, I’m going to marry her. And neither you nor Marcus Armistead nor the King himself is going to stop me!’

  17

  But before Jack could start looking for Emmy, his little niece fell ill. Meg didn’t dare take time off work to care for her daughter because Roper would have found someone else, but she grew increasingly worried at the careless way her mother was looking after the child and the two of them had several rows about it.

  When Jack came into Roper’s pawnshop on the afternoon of the fourth day of her daughter’s illness, Meg clasped one hand to her breast, unable to speak for
the terror that clutched at her heart.

  After one loving glance towards her, Jack said to the pawnbroker, ‘My sister’s needed at home. Urgent.’

  Roper looked at him, glanced sideways at Meg, then nodded reluctantly.

  She walked outside then took her brother’s arm to stop him. ‘What’s wrong?’ He didn’t at first answer and she said, ‘Jack?’ But she didn’t need him to tell her. His expression said it all.

  ‘I’m sorry, love, but Nelly died this afternoon. Mam sent our Joey to fetch me, but it was too late to do anything by the time I got home. I’d have sent for the doctor but...’ He let the words trail away and put one arm round his sister’s shoulders to hug her close.

  ‘Why didn’t she send for me?’ Meg asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head helplessly.

  His sister pulled away and wrapped her arms round herself, staring blindly into the distance. ‘Then I’m leaving Northby as soon as we’ve buried her. I should have done something sooner. Mam’s been neglecting Nelly and I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘The child was never very strong, love. No one could have loved her any more than you did, but I don’t think she could have lived to grow up, I really don’t. She was very frail.’

  ‘I know. I always knew.’ The words were whispered, but anguish rang through them. ‘If Mam had taken more care, though, I might have had more time with Nelly. And I might have fewer regrets now.’ Meg couldn’t go on for a minute, then beat one clenched hand against her breast. ‘Well, Mam’s lost a daughter as well. Not that she’ll care about that.’ She could feel tears welling in her eyes, but there was a stony weight on her chest and tears couldn’t melt that, so she dashed them away impatiently. What good did it ever do to weep?

  Jack tried to hug her again, but she stood passively in his embrace. For a moment they were motionless, then she reached up to touch his cheek fleetingly with the back of her hand. ‘You’re a good brother, Jack.’ She began walking again. ‘I won’t stay in the same house as Mam after we’ve buried Nelly - and if she doesn’t dip into her savings to pay for the funeral, I’ll break open that damned money box of hers myself.’

  A little later she suddenly stopped walking again and burst out, ‘To think my little love’s last days were made miserable by scoldings and slappings - just as our childhood was - that hurts me, Jack.’

  He looked at her in puzzlement. ‘Mam didn’t hit us that much.’

  ‘Not you lads, but she certainly laid into us girls. Especially when she was vexed at Dad.’

  ‘I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘What could anyone have done? Even Dad couldn’t control her.’

  As they drew near home, Meg stopped again and said in a tight, hard voice, ‘Will you go and see Parson Bradley for me, Jack? Ask him to hold a proper service for Nelly, just a short one, I’ll pay. I want proper prayers to send my baby on her way. And she’s not having a pauper’s grave! I want a proper coffin, too.’

  Tears were running down her cheeks but she didn’t seem to notice them. Jack brushed them away with one fingertip and she stood there like a hurt child and let him do what he would.

  ‘Yes, love,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’ll see Parson for you. But first I’ll take you home, eh?’ He began to guide her along, his arm round her shoulders.

  When they got back Meg went straight into the kitchen, stopped to gaze down at her dead child, who was lying on the settle, then picked her up and carried her into the front room.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Netta whispered to Jack.

  ‘Saying goodbye to her daughter.’

  ‘I lost two mysen,’ his mother said sourly. ‘You can’t risk getting attached to ’em, not till you’re sure they’re going to live.’

  He had forgotten the way she’d never seemed to care about the little ones. Now he realised why. She got on with cooking the tea, though he doubted he’d be able to eat anything. She wasn’t crying, didn’t even look sad, just busy.

  ‘I’ve to go and see Parson,’ he said abruptly and went out again. He was finding it more and more difficult to bear his mother’s ways. Why had he not realised how much she’d always favoured the lads? First Tom had been her favourite, now it was him. Her clinging love was a heavy burden - too heavy.

  After he’d seen Parson, he called in at the mill to let Mr Butterfield know what had happened and ask if he could have some time off work. He wanted to be there to comfort Meg. Mr Butterfield tutted sympathetically and said of course he could.

  On his way home Jack went to scrounge some pieces of wood and borrow some tools from his neighbours to make a coffin and began to work in the back yard of their house. It was a rough affair, because he wasn’t very good at woodworking, but he wanted to do it himself.

  Meg nodded when he brought it in. ‘Thanks.’ She put her soft shawl inside it to lay the little girl on.

  ‘Shouldn’t you keep that for yourself?’ Jack asked gently.

  She shook her head. ‘I want something of mine to be with her. I want her to lie comfortably.’

  He was worried that she kept talking as if the child were still alive, so when she showed no signs of going to bed after tea, he sat with her in the front room. Their mother banged around in the other room, scolding the children, then one by one they went to bed.

  Meg didn’t speak much, but spent a lot of time staring at the pale face in the coffin, sometimes closing her eyes and sighing. Jack had feared for her reason earlier, but the gaze she turned on him occasionally was not that of a madwoman, just one who was angry as well as ravaged by sorrow.

  At one point he fell asleep and woke with a start to find Meg staring at him. ‘Sorry,’ he croaked, his mouth all dry.

  ‘Nay, you’ve stayed with me when I’ve needed you. I shall allus be grateful for that, love. Why don’t you go and make us both a cup of tea?’

  It was a relief to have something to do.

  After that they sat in silence again. It seemed a very long time until it grew light.

  The others were subdued when they came downstairs.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll want me to take time off work to come to the funeral,’ Shad said. ‘I’d like to, but I don’t want to lose my job.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to do it. But go and say goodbye to Nelly.’ Meg didn’t even look at her mother, but when Netta would have followed the children into the front room, she barred the way. ‘Not you, Mam. You’ve done enough to her. I remember you slapping her face last week. It makes me want to slap yours now.’

  Netta fell back a step, her mouth open in shock, then looked at Jack. When he jerked his head, she went back into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

  ‘I don’t want her coming to the funeral, either,’ Meg said.

  So he went out to tell his mother and when she began to speak angrily about ‘ingratitude’ and to weep, he told her sharply to be quiet. Her tears were for herself. They always were.

  In the end there was only him to accompany his sister to the church because his mother refused to let Joey go. Jack came home from work to carry the coffin, which was so small it hurt him every time he looked at it.

  Meg walked along the street beside him, her old faded woollen shawl pulled tightly round her. Once she bumped into an old woman, but didn’t seem to realise what she had done, let alone offer an apology.

  The woman looked down at the tiny coffin and stepped back, her face shadowed by some grief of her own.

  During the short service Parson spoke gently, using the kindest words he could find to comfort the young mother.

  ‘Thank you,’ Meg told him after the coffin had been laid to rest. ‘I’m grateful to you.’ Then she turned and walked away.

  Jack threw him an apologetic glance and raced after his sister. ‘Hold on! What’s the rush?’

  She reached up one hand to pat his cheek. ‘I know my own way home, lad. You get off to work now.’

  ‘You’ll be all righ
t?’

  ‘Aye. Of course I will.’

  When he got home from work, though, Meg had gone and so had some of Netta’s savings.

  As his mother talked of ingratitude and theft, something snapped inside him. ‘Our Meg didn’t take it all, did she? She had a right to some of it. She’d earned it.’

  ‘That was my money!’ Netta yelled, slapping one hand down on the table. ‘An’ I could lay a charge of theft with the constable about her taking it.’

  ‘It’s not just yours, it’s our family’s money. I’ve earned my share of it, too, and Meg’s more than welcome to that. And if you so much as mention the constable again, I’ll take the children and move out, leave you to your nastiness.’

  Her face was red with fury. ‘You’ve allus cared for her more than you do for me! It’s a shame when a poor widow woman can’t get a bit of love from the children she’s slaved for—’

  Jack strode out, ending up at the local alehouse for want of anywhere else to go. He sat in a corner and gazed into his beer. He enjoyed one glass, but never fancied a second and today didn’t really fancy this one, except it gave him an excuse to sit here. His father had drunk heavily and stumbled home after the alehouses closed. Jack would think shame to make himself foolish with drink. He couldn’t see how it helped.

  Some fellows from the mill greeted him, but they left him alone when he only nodded briefly in response. They’d know about little Nelly. Everyone knew your business in a small town.

  It was a relief to be out of the house, though. It gave him time to think about how to start his search for Emmy. He was definitely going to look for her. And find her. However long it took.

  And after that he was going to look for Meg.

  Emmy settled in quickly at Carbury. She found her new mistress very different from Mrs Tibby but pleasant enough to work for and she thoroughly enjoyed the other maid’s company, though Babs lectured her a lot at first. Emmy had not realised how apologetic she had always been about herself. And, as Babs said, why? She was honest and a good worker.