A Mother's Wish

by Dilly Court

  ‘Leave them,’ Seymour ordered. ‘Keep the keg steady or you’ll lose it.’

  Eventually, and with much effort, they reached the safety of Effie’s back yard. The wind ranted and raged overhead but the high brick walls protected them from the worst of the storm. Across the common Effie could see the wavering lights from the fairground. She could hear the slapping of the guy ropes and the shouts of the men as they dismantled the show tent. She hoped that her friends were safe in their caravans, but there was nothing that she or anyone could do in the face of such wild weather. She entered the kitchen to find Tom and Agnes sitting at the table with Georgie, who was marching his toy animals into the wooden ark. The warmth of the fire and the soft candlelight illuminated a scene of pleasing domesticity in stark contrast to the turbulent force of nature outside.

  ‘Where is Dotty,’ Effie asked anxiously.

  ‘She was scared of the storm,’ Agnes said with a rueful smile. ‘We sent her home.’

  Tom leapt to his feet, his eyes wide with astonishment as Seymour followed Effie into the kitchen. ‘What’s he doing here, Effie?’

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ Effie said hastily. ‘Mr Westlake is soaked to the skin. There are clean towels in the cupboard, Tom.’

  Seymour took off his hat and grimaced as it sent a shower of droplets onto the floor. ‘I’m sorry to cause you any bother, Effie. But see to yourself first. You are just as wet as I.’

  Agnes rose from her chair, casting a sideways glance at Seymour’s scarred face and then looking away. ‘I’d best be on my way home.’

  ‘Not in this storm,’ Tom said firmly. He took two huckaback towels from the cupboard next to the chimney breast and gave one to Seymour, passing the other to his sister with a questioning look. ‘What’s going on?’

  Agnes laid her hand on his arm. ‘Ask questions later, Tom. I’ll make a pot of tea.’

  ‘Thank you, Agnes,’ Effie said with a grateful smile. ‘And thank you both for looking after Georgie. I was really worried about him.’

  ‘No need,’ Tom said, grinning at Georgie as he pressed a giraffe into his hands. ‘I can remember being scared of thunder when I was a nipper.’

  Satisfied that her son was happily oblivious to the storm that raged around outside, Effie turned to Seymour. Now that they were safely indoors she was bursting with curiosity. ‘May I ask what are you doing here, sir? I can’t believe that it was just a coincidence that you found me sheltering in the chapel doorway.’

  ‘Nellie told me that you knew the landlord of the Prince of Wales tavern. I wanted to find you and I thought it the best place to start.’

  ‘Ben knows when to keep his trap shut,’ Tom said, eyeing Seymour suspiciously. ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘He is indeed and he took some convincing, but eventually I managed to coax your address out of him. I was on my way here when I saw you standing on the bridge, Effie. I called out to you but those damned birds were making such a din that you didn’t hear me, so I followed you.’

  ‘That explains a little,’ Effie said slowly. ‘But why did you want to see me?’

  Seymour looked down at his sodden clothing with a wry grimace. ‘I’m soaked to the skin, my dear, as are you, and what I have to say can wait until morning. I think I’d better hurry back to the tavern where I’ve booked a room for the night.’

  ‘Yes, of course you must change out of your wet things as soon as possible, but you can’t leave me in suspense, Mr Westlake. I won’t sleep a wink unless you give me some idea why you’ve sought me out.’

  He hesitated and a reluctant smile softened his stern features. ‘Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve returned slowly and painfully to the real world and working the land has made me face certain truths.’

  ‘About Toby?’

  ‘Yes, about my son. Of course I knew that he was my child, but after Mirella died, instead of cherishing him and taking comfort from my own flesh and blood, I turned him out. I think I went a little mad with grief and the suffering caused by my disease. I hated myself and I loathed the world where people could be happy when all the joy had been taken from me.’

  Agnes muffled a sob and Tom hooked his arm around her shoulders with a sympathetic murmur.

  Effie found herself shivering violently. ‘I think I understand, but I could never abandon my child.’ She made a move to pick Georgie up but remembered her wet clothes in the nick of time. She ruffled his curls affectionately. ‘Georgie is my life,’ she said softly. ‘And Tom, of course, but I’m afraid I’ll never see Toby again.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I want to visit my son and I need to know where they have him imprisoned.’

  ‘In Millbank, I think. I’ve only seen him once when he was in the house of detention, and that was weeks ago.’

  Seymour rammed his hat on his head. ‘We’ll discuss this tomorrow. I really must go now.’

  Effie nodded reluctantly. She wanted to sit him down and spend the night talking about Toby, but she could see that Seymour was flagging and in desperate need of dry clothes, hot foot and above all a rest. As she saw him out of the house she could only marvel at his sudden change of heart. It seemed like a miracle that he had dragged himself from the brink of insanity and turned his life around. The serious man with a quiet voice and calm demeanour was quite unlike the half-crazed creature she had first come across in Marsh House.

  She felt a tug at her skirt and looked down into Georgie’s smiling face. ‘Mama,’ he said happily. ‘Come.’ His efforts to draw her back to the kitchen brought a smile to her lips and she knelt down beside him.

  ‘Mama got caught in the rain, darling. Go back to the kitchen and wait for me while I change out of my wet clothes. Then we’ll have supper and I’ll read you a story.’ She watched him toddle off to join Agnes and Tom in the kitchen, and despite her sodden garments she felt a warm glow rushing through her veins. She had her precious family around her and now she had Toby’s father on her side. She was no longer fighting the battle alone.

  That night Effie slept more soundly than she had for weeks. Next morning she waited anxiously for Seymour’s arrival, rushing to the window in the front parlour every few minutes to peer out along the street. The storm had passed over during the night leaving the streets scoured clean of debris. The early morning sunshine glistened on wet pavements and there was a fresh feeling in the air as if the old city had been washed clean by the savagery of the elements. A cursory glance at the common first thing had revealed an empty space where the fair had been, and Effie felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. Frank had gone away and she hoped never to see him again, but she wished that she had had more time with Leah and the others.

  When Seymour’s tall figure came striding into view Effie could not get to the door fast enough. He was all courtesy and smiles as he followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, but Effie was suddenly nervous. Seymour Westlake was an educated man who had been born into a privileged class. She was a penniless widow and the mores of society were harsh. She was not of the same social standing and it was no use pretending that the barriers did not exist. She eyed him cautiously. ‘What is it you wanted to say to me, sir?’

  ‘I think you know me well enough drop the formalities, my dear. I am Seymour to my friends and I owe you much.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘When we last met I must confess that your words hurt me, but they sank into my thick skull gradually and I realised that what you said was true. I’ve wasted years by denying my son, and now I’m determined to make amends. I’m going to Millbank prison today and demand to see him.’

  ‘Do you think they will allow it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m going to try. I’m also going to visit an old friend who works in the City. He handled my affairs until I was foolish enough to take the bulk of them over, thinking in my arrogance that I knew better than he. I’m hoping he can find some assets left in the ruins of my former fortune. If that succeeds I’ll hire
the services of the best lawyer in town to put in an appeal on Toby’s behalf.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, sir – I mean, Seymour. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

  He reached across the table to lay his hand on hers. ‘And you can help by telling me exactly what happened, how the fire started in the narrowboat and, if you can bear to talk about it, how your father-in-law died.’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ Effie said eagerly. ‘I have two witnesses who overheard Salter admitting that he had lied to the police.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Seymour’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘Tell me more.’

  Effie hesitated; it was not going to be easy to tell Toby’s father of her previous involvement with Frank, or of the terms he had demanded in order to secure his witness statement. She cleared her throat nervously.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Why, at the beginning, my dear. I’m a man of the world, Effie. You can tell me anything.’

  Seymour left the house intent on his mission and primed with the information that Effie had given him. She watched him striding purposefully down the street and she found it hard to believe how much he had changed since their first encounter. The drug-ridden eccentric who barely knew his own name had been replaced by a man of sharp intelligence and undeniable authority. It was obvious that he was still painfully aware of the scars that marred an otherwise handsome countenance, and she could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to venture out into the wider world after years of hiding away in Marsh House. She wished that she could accompany him on his visit to Toby, but there was only the slimmest of chances that he would gain admission to the prison. He had promised to return later in the day, and until then she would have to be patient and stick to her normal routine.

  Having taken Georgie to Phoebe Street where he would spend the morning playing with the younger children under Bella’s watchful eye, Effie returned home to start another brew. She was in the washhouse waiting for the water to reach the correct temperature when she heard hammering on the front door. She picked up her skirts and raced through the house, hoping that it would be Seymour bearing good news.

  She opened the door and was faced with two official-looking men wearing bowler hats and stern expressions.

  ‘Mrs Grey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve been reported for brewing ale without a licence. We’re here to issue a summons and to close you down.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE WHOLE STREET gathered to watch as the bailiffs loaded Effie’s precious barrels onto a dray. Distraught and shocked, Effie could only stand and stare as her living was taken away from her. A flick of a whip and a sharp command from the driver to the shire horse and the dray lurched forward. The sun beat down mercilessly on Effie’s bare head but she felt cold and numb inside. She could only guess that it had been the Salters or maybe Frank who had pointed the finger at her, acting out of pure malice and the wish to see her livelihood destroyed. Well, she thought bitterly, they had succeeded. The ale had been confiscated and she had been served with a summons to appear at the magistrates’ court on a charge of brewing ale without a licence in contravention of the 1830 Beer Act.

  Sniggers from a group of slatternly women who lived across the street in Prospect Place brought Effie back to her senses. ‘Stuck up cow,’ one of them jeered. ‘Thinks she’s better than the rest of us, but she ain’t.’

  ‘You won’t look so neat and tidy after a few days in the Bridewell.’

  ‘Try living twelve to a room and see how you like it.’

  Holding her head high, Effie retreated into her house, closing the door behind her. The taunts of her neighbours were upsetting but as nothing compared to the loss of the business she had built up from such small beginnings. The money she had saved was to have paid for Toby’s defence, but the younger of the two bailiffs had warned her that the fine would be at least two guineas, and that was almost exactly the amount she had tucked away beneath the floorboards. The rent was due at the end of the week and they would only have Tom’s meagre wage to live on. The person who had reported her to the law had done their worst, and yet again she was facing homelessness and ruin.

  Once inside the door she felt as though the walls were closing in on her. She had the stark choice of sitting and doing nothing while she awaited Seymour’s return, or putting on her bonnet and going to the tavern to seek comfort and advice from Betty. She made herself ready, but a glimpse through the front window confirmed her worst fears. The women were still crowded round their doorways chattering like magpies and casting eager glances across the street as if waiting for another chance to humiliate her. Effie could think of no good reason for their overt animosity; she had kept herself to herself and never exchanged so much as a cross word with any of them. She closed her ears to their cruel jibes as she left the house and made her way down the street. They seemed to think that she was different in some way from them, but they are wrong, she thought sadly; we are all sisters beneath the skin.

  Betty was a good listener when she managed to hold her tongue for more than two minutes at a stretch. She was so infuriated by what she heard that she kept interrupting Effie, voicing her opinion as to the characters of the Salters and the punishments they deserved. Ben came into the kitchen demanding to know what was going on, and when he learned what had happened to Effie he was just as outraged as Betty. He offered to accompany Effie to court next day to act as a character witness, and he threatened to bar the Salters from his pub. Betty shook her head and told him it would serve their purpose best to leave them be. Should Toby’s case come up for appeal Salter would be a key witness, and they didn’t want him to scarper off and disappear.

  Effie left her friends discussing what they would like to do to the Salters and Frank was included in their desire for retribution. Betty had managed to elicit the full details of his appalling behaviour from Effie and she was both horrified and furious. She had lost no time in passing the information on to Ben, and that was when Effie decided that she had had enough. Using the excuse of collecting Georgie from Phoebe Street, she escaped from the fraught atmosphere of the pub kitchen only to bump into Sal Salter on the canal bank outside.

  ‘Well, well. They ain’t clapped you in irons yet?’ Sal sneered.

  Effie held on to her temper with the greatest difficulty. ‘So it was you who reported me to the authorities.’

  ‘Well, it was my man, but he done it on my say-so. It’s a warning, love. Keep your pretty little nose out of our business. You lost us a fortune and we Salters don’t forget a wrong or forgive.’

  ‘If you’re talking about the Margaret she was not yours to lose. Georgie should have inherited his grandpa’s business, but it’s gone now and there’s nothing that can be done about it.’ Effie made as if to walk away but Sal caught her by the wrist.

  ‘You ain’t getting off that easy, missis. I’m going to make you sorry you was ever born. You won’t be so cocksure when you’re homeless and living on the streets.’

  Effie shook off Sal’s restraining hand. ‘Leave me alone, Sal Salter. Go and find some other innocent family to prey on.’

  Sal’s jaw dropped and for once she was speechless. Effie walked off, taking a small amount of satisfaction from having the last word.

  Georgie was too young to understand, but Tom was devastated by Effie’s news. It was all that Effie could do to dissuade him from going out to find Salter with the intention of beating him to a pulp. Her brother’s heart might be in the right place, but Effie knew that he stood no chance against a brute like Salter. Having calmed him down, she assured him that the fine would be automatic and minimal.

  ‘But it ain’t fair,’ Tom protested. ‘You’ve worked hard and now you’re being punished for it.’

  Effie eyed him anxiously. He was seething with rage and the last thing she wanted was for him to roam the streets looking for trouble. ‘I know it’s unfair,’ she said softly. ‘Life’s like that
sometimes but we’ve just got to make the best of things.’ She could see by his set expression that he was not listening. She tried again. ‘Why don’t you go round to Phoebe Street and call for Agnes? Go for a stroll along the canal bank and talk things over with her; she’s a sensible girl and I’m sure she’s a good listener, just like her ma.’

  ‘What if Salter comes round trying to bully you while I’m out?’ Tom said, fisting his hands. ‘I’d like to see him try anything when I’m here to protect you.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Effie said confidently. ‘He’s done his worst for now and he’s not entirely stupid. He won’t risk getting into trouble with the law. He’d rather creep about behind our backs, telling tales and taking away our living.’

  ‘Just let me get me hands on the bugger.’

  Effie glanced at Georgie who was listening intently. She could almost see the swear word forming on his lips. ‘Don’t worry about me, Tom,’ she said, propelling him out of the room. ‘Mr Westlake will be back soon, and I pray to God that he’ll bring news of Toby. We’ll get through this. We always have in the past and we will in the future, but only if we stick together.’

  Tom patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll never leave you, Effie. You don’t have to worry about a thing when I’m around.’

  She kissed him on the cheek, realising with some surprise that she had to reach up in order to do so. Tom had shot up during the last year and he was rapidly growing to manhood. ‘You’re the best, Tom,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘The best brother a girl could have.’

  His cheeks flushed scarlet and he stared down at his boots. ‘Aw, Effie. Don’t talk soft.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

  ‘You’ll have me in tears if you keep talking that way.’ She gave him a gentle shove towards the door. ‘Go and see Agnes. She’ll put a smile back on your face, and don’t worry about me.’

  ‘I won’t stay out late,’ he promised as he let himself out of the house, calling over his shoulder, ‘Don’t open the door to anyone but me or Mr Westlake.’