by Nancy Revell
As Evelina showed her around, she tentatively asked Pearl a little about her present situation, and Pearl had been quite open about the fact that no one she knew was aware of her condition.
‘My ma and da would thrash me from here to kingdom come,’ she said in such a way that Evelina had been in no doubt that they would have done so in the blink of an eye. In her time at Ivy House she had seen such marks of anger and disgust punched or belted on to the faces and bodies of other pretty young girls who had found themselves in the family way. Pearl had been wise not to say anything to anyone, and wiser still to come to Ivy House for help, even if she’d had to travel the length of the country to get there.
It was only when Evelina probed a little about the baby’s father that Pearl became more wary, although she seemed happy to tell Evelina that the father was a sailor, who’d had no idea when he’d left for foreign shores that Pearl was pregnant.
‘Mind you, neither did I,’ Pearl admitted.
When they had got to the second floor and Evelina stopped outside a large door which she explained was ‘the Matron’s bedsitting room’ and asked Pearl to wait outside, Pearl was terrified she had said or done something wrong, and that she would be kicked back out on to the streets. But five minutes later when Evelina re-emerged from the room, she was all smiles and Pearl immediately relaxed.
‘Good news, Pearl,’ she said, as they made their way back down the stairs. ‘The Matron agrees with me that it wouldn’t be right for us to tell you to come back when you are due – and that we’d be happy to have you stay with us for the duration of your pregnancy. We’ve got a few places here for what we call “waiting cases”, for women like yourself … But, in return for staying here, you are required to help out with the daily domestic duties.’
Pearl could hardly get her words out quick enough.
‘Ah, thank you, Miss Evelina. Thank you so much.’ She had never wanted to thank someone so much for anything in her life.
At first it had taken Pearl a little while to get used to all the rules and regulations, but as the weeks wore on, she had to admit she liked the set routines and enjoyed her cleaning and domestic chores. More than anything, though, she enjoyed the simplicity of the life at Ivy House. She didn’t have to worry about anyone kicking off, like she’d had to back home – the worst that ever happened at Ivy House was a squabble, or some catty words from the other girls.
Within weeks of her arrival, Pearl’s bump seemed to blossom – as if it sensed it was now safe to come out and show itself. And as her bump grew, so did Pearl’s feelings for the baby growing inside her. Lying awake at night, looking out at the London skies through the high windows in her dormitory she would chat away to her unborn baby. Not out loud, of course, but in her head.
Some of the other girls had told her that they were going to keep their babies, but Pearl thought they were just saying it. How could any of the girls here look after a baby? None of them had two pennies to rub together – they could barely afford to look after themselves, never mind a baby as well.
As Pearl’s pregnancy progressed Evelina had talked to her about what would happen when the baby came.
‘There aren’t any laws for adopting out,’ Evelina had explained, ‘but here we do draw up our own contract which we call a “document of conveyance”. It just makes it more official and helps us to keep a record.’
It didn’t mean much to Pearl. As long as the baby was looked after by a couple who were kind and had a bit of money – someone who would give her child a better life than she could – then that was all right by her.
Towards the seventh month of her pregnancy Pearl started to experience the odd twinge; sometimes she felt her baby kick and she would feel her stomach and be convinced she could make out the outline of her child’s tiny foot, pushing against her belly as if it was trying to stretch out.
After she had hit the eighth month, Pearl had to stop work. She was just too big. She felt as wide as she was tall, and joked with the other girls that if she toppled over she’d just roll away. But as her girth grew, so did her closeness to the child inside. She would have great lengthy conversations in her mind with her baby, chatting away about this and that, telling her about her home town, and about her brothers and sisters, and her ma and da.
Sometimes she even talked about the baby’s father, but these were very private conversations, and even though they were conducted in her head, they were still whispered, as if she was fearful someone might read her thoughts.
Sometimes, Pearl allowed herself to dream about keeping her baby girl – for she was sure it was going to be a girl. It would be just them two against the world. They would survive. But in the clear light of day, Pearl would chastise herself for even allowing herself to think of such lunacy. How could she, a girl of just fourteen, bring up a child without a roof over her head, with no money in her pocket, and without much hope of even feeding herself – never mind the child?
But, still, she kept having these daydreams, and the bigger she got the more she thought about how she could possibly keep this baby growing inside of her.
When Pearl went into labour she was terrified. She had always prided herself on being tough, but the agony of childbirth was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her labour was long, agonisingly painful, and very bloody.
But, when her little girl was born, and it was a little girl as she had always known, all the pain and suffering were forgotten in an instant, and in their place was a most overwhelming sense of love.
‘You’re beautiful,’ Pearl said to the tiny baby, cradled against her. Its little arms were positioned as if it was about to start boxing; even the miniature fists were balled up as if ready for the next round. Pearl’s white hand looked like a giant’s as it gently stroked her baby’s mop of black hair.
Pearl couldn’t stop gazing at her daughter, who looked so happy and contented, all curled up, warm and cosy – her little mouth moving around as if she was chatting away to herself. But Pearl’s bubble of love was soon burst when Evelina reached down to take her baby off her.
‘Your baby will have a proper home,’ she said. Evelina was trying to be gentle. To speak in a reassuring way. She hated doing this, but there was no other choice.
As she reached down to scoop the baby up, she saw the look in Pearl’s eyes and knew this was not going to be easy.
‘No, please!’ Pearl started to beg. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m gonna keep her! She’s mine! I love her!’ The words spilled out of her mouth. All those words which had been bouncing around in her head for months now, just escaped in one go.
Evelina looked at Pearl and saw tears welling up in her marine blue eyes. Not for the first time she had thought how pretty Pearl was and that in her life she would attract a lot of male attention – wanted or otherwise.
‘Pearl,’ she said, pulling up a wooden chair from the side of the room and placing it by the bed and sitting down. ‘You can’t. You know you can’t. Perhaps if circumstances had been different,’ she said looking down at the robust little girl who was already staring about her with the most beautiful eyes and incredibly long dark eyelashes. Every child was gorgeous, but this one was truly the epitome of beauty.
‘I think I may know of just the family for your special little girl,’ Evelina said. ‘They’re a nice couple. They’ll give your baby girl a good home.’
Pearl did not look convinced – was still clutching her child, unwilling to give her up.
Evelina’s voice became harder. ‘This baby needs a mother and father. A good home. As we discussed when you first came here.’
Evelina remembered the conversation she’d had with Pearl, how she had struggled to understand her strong north-east accent. At the time she had believed that Pearl would be a fairly straightforward case. Pearl had told her that she would be relieved to get shot of her baby. Had tried unsuccessfully herself. The only reason she hadn’t gone to some backstreet abortionist was because of all the horror stories she’d h
eard.
She had watched Pearl as she had settled in at the home and had seen her change as the weeks and months passed. Evelina had been prepared for a possible change of heart. It was far from uncommon. Looking down at Pearl and her baby girl, though, she knew that this young, unmarried mother did not have the luxury of choice.
Quietly Evelina told the other nurse who had helped with the delivery to give them a little time on their own.
‘Pearl,’ Evelina said, touching her arm. ‘You know you can’t keep her, don’t you?’
Pearl flashed her a look. Her eyes had gone from being filled with love for her child, to angry and protective as she looked at Evelina, who was demanding her attention.
‘I can only imagine what you are feeling, but you have to be strong – for the baby’s sake.’
Pearl’s gaze was drawn back to her baby.
Evelina persevered. ‘The couple I know will be absolutely perfect for your baby.’
Pearl continued to ignore Evelina.
‘They are well off and come from respectable families. Which is exactly what your child needs. She will be brought up properly – and she will be accepted. Do you understand what I am saying?’
Pearl continued to cuddle her baby. She gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, and brushed a little wisp of dark hair away to the side.
‘Your baby will not want for anything,’ Evelina said, touching the newborn’s soft skin.
Pearl looked at the baby in her arms; her little face looked happy and contented, as if that was all she wanted – just to be there.
If Pearl could have held that moment for eternity she would have.
She had never felt a love or happiness like this. And she doubted she ever would again – for she knew the words that Evelina was speaking were the truth. That she could not keep her child, no matter how much love she felt, no matter how wrong it felt to give her up.
Pearl knew there was no choice.
As Evelina got up, she squeezed Pearl’s arm. ‘I will leave you for a moment, Pearl. But when I come back I’m going to take the baby. Say goodbye to your little girl. But do so knowing you are doing the right thing. Trust me,’ Evelina said, ‘by giving up your baby, you are giving your daughter a life.’
And it was then Pearl realised that if she really loved this child in her arms, which she did – with every bone in her body – then she had to let her go. She had to give her a chance. A chance at life that she would not have if she stayed with her mother.
And with that knowledge Pearl’s heart broke.
As she lay there cuddling her baby and whispering the only words she knew she would ever get to say to her daughter, she understood that, from this moment onwards, her life would never be the same.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ashbrooke, Sunderland
Thursday 30 October 1941
There was no getting away from it. His instinct was telling him – no, screaming out at him – that Rosie had not ended their relationship because she had simply had a change of heart. He was convinced there was more to it. And if he found out what it was, then there might well be a chance they could be together.
He was now convinced there was something stopping her from allowing herself to have love in her life.
Was it something to do with her parents’ death?
Or her sister?
And he kept thinking about her uncle Raymond. She said she had not really known him. But had she been telling the truth? Had he hurt her? Like he had hurt those other women?
Whatever the reason, she was not going to tell him. It was up to him to find out.
He had tried to force himself to let go and get on with his life, but he couldn’t. And he was actually glad he hadn’t just walked away and ignored his gut feeling. He was glad he had gone through the archives that day. That he had followed Kate back to the house in Ashbrooke.
And now, he was glad he was here tonight. Rosie hadn’t been able to tell him the truth, so he would find out for himself.
Then perhaps they could be together.
For he was convinced that was what they both wanted.
Something told him that Rosie had been instrumental in getting Kate off the streets, but he had no idea how. Nor how she was connected to the Maison Nouvelle, or the house on West Lawn.
Which was why he was here now, waiting on the corner of this street.
He had no idea what he was expecting to find out – perhaps nothing.
As DS Miller started walking up the road without the aid of a torch, he could barely make out where he was going, but the advantage was that he could easily see someone else who was using one. Natural darkness was perfect for covert work, as was his dark three-piece suit and overcoat.
As he turned the street corner, he slowed down and stopped. It was a few minutes before seven – if his guess was right, he wouldn’t have to wait long. The streets were empty. Anyone with any sense would be at home, in front of a warm fire, or in their local, supping a pint with their mates.
A few minutes passed and then he saw a weak tunnel of yellow light shining down on the pavement. It swung from left to right as the person holding the torch walked briskly along the street. Hearing the faint click-clack of heeled shoes, DS Miller knew it was a woman. As the sound grew louder, DS Miller dropped behind a lamp post that had not been lit since the start of this war. He took shallow breaths so as not to give away his presence by creating a cold mist of air, not that the woman who had now turned on to West Lawn would have noticed. She was in a hurry and seemed set on her destination, keeping her head down, and her eyes glued to the pathway the light from the torch was creating.
As the woman turned to open the little gate, DS Miller caught her profile.
And as he did so, his heart seemed to slow and thud heavily, resounding in his ears, making him feel a little queasy.
His suspicions were right. He knew the woman’s face. Had looked at it many times over countless cups of tea.
Had imagined it at night when he’d lain in bed and thought about her.
It was Rosie.
As Rosie shut the little wooden gate behind her and hurried up the narrow gravel pathway of the bordello that was speckled with leaves, proving that autumn was well under way, she had no idea she was being watched.
As she turned off her torch, and started rummaging around in her handbag for the key to the front door, her mind was full to the brim of thoughts about weddings, divorces – and now christenings, thanks to Dorothy’s insistence that baby Hope be baptised ‘as soon as possible’.
How strange, she thought, that all these beginnings and endings and celebrations of love and life were happening at more or less the same time.
Rosie skipped up the half-dozen steps which led to the black gloss front door and continued the fruitless search for her keys. Realising that she must have left them back at her flat, Rosie reached for the large brass knocker and gave the cursory three loud knocks that signalled it was friend rather than foe who wanted to be let in. She would have done the same had she entered the property from the back, although the rear entrance had the added benefit of a spyhole to double-check the validity of the visitor.
A few seconds later, Rosie heard the loud, sing-song ‘Comiiinnnng’. It was Lily and she sounded in high spirits. Had indeed been in high spirits since the arrival of Maisie.
‘I’m guessing that’s you, Rosie?’ she sang through the door.
‘Yes, Lily, it’s me, now open the door, it’s freezing out here,’ Rosie replied, moving from one foot to the other to keep herself warm.
The large door swung open and the yellow light of the hallway shone out, illuminating the women as they embraced and gave each other the usual pecks on both cheeks.
As Rosie stepped across the threshold she eyed Lily’s newly dyed hair, which was now more orange than auburn.
‘I’m surprised you let Vivian loose on your hair!’ Rosie said incredulously. Vivian was branching out and was now not just cutting the girls’ ha
ir, but also colouring it.
Watching Lily shut the door and put the safety catch on, Rosie couldn’t help but think that it was just typical that Lily was looking even more eccentric than usual at a time when she would have preferred her to have looked a little more normal – even if it was just until after the wedding.
Rosie had thought long and hard about inviting Lily to Bel and Joe’s wedding. She had still been umming and ahing until George had come up with the idea of offering the use of his MG in place of hiring a wedding car, something he knew the happy couple would not have the budget for. As George had also suggested he take on the role of chauffeur for the day, it had left Rosie without much of an option other than to invite Lily as her ‘plus one’.
With all the talk about the wedding, and the incessant chatter between Dorothy and Angie debating who they should invite, Rosie had fought hard to stop thoughts of Peter forcing their way into her mind, but still the devil inside had teased her with images of what it would be like to have Peter by her side for the day – and the night.
After her final meeting with the detective, she had cried herself to sleep, but after that, she had resolved – no more. No more. It was time to move on. Get on with life. She had forced the shutters down. But now, with all this talk about love and romance, it was like they were being levered open again.
‘Come into the back parlour,’ Lily enticed Rosie. ‘The bookkeeping can wait for the time being.’
Following Lily into the large scullery she walked into a hub of excited chit-chat: Maisie stood with her back to the Aga, and Vivian was positioned behind Kate, who was sitting ramrod straight on the kitchen chair. Vivian’s hands were busy curling Kate’s hair into small rolls and carefully pinning them into place.
Rosie looked at the three women and then across to Lily who had gone over to the large wooden kitchen table and was pouring two cups of tea out for them both.
‘I think Vivian here is going to leave us and start work as a hairdresser,’ Rosie said mischievously.
Vivian let out a loud, gusty laugh, as she picked up the lacquer and sprayed vigorously around Kate’s head, causing her to cover her mouth and suppress a cough.
