The Girl on the Doorstep: from the bestselling author of The Workhouse Children (A Black Country Novel)

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  A few moments later he joined her in the tiny galley. ‘Natural causes, she was getting on a bit. My condolences.’ The doctor handed Rosie the death certificate. Receiving his fee, the doctor left the boat just as the undertaker arrived.

  Rosie stood on deck with Jenny and watched two men on the towpath manoeuvre the coffin to two others on deck. Carefully the men brought Betty up from her bunk and gently laid her in the box, securing the lid with a couple of nails here and there.

  Rosie winced as she watched them tilt the box over the side of the boat into the hands of those waiting on the towpath.

  Tears lined her lashes as she saw the four men now lift the box onto the cart. Two climbed into the driving seat and the others sat at the back of the cart, their legs dangling, as it moved away.

  In the blink of an eye Betty Johnson had shuffled off her mortal coil and Rosie suddenly felt very lost and alone.

  The people lining the towpath watched in silence as the cart passed them by. The men took off their flat caps and held them to their chests as a sign of respect. The only sound was the cart wheels crunching on the gravel.

  Jenny asked quietly, ‘Do you need anything? Do you want me to stay with you?’

  ‘No, thank you, Jenny, for all your help. I will stay here until our friends arrive,’ Rosie answered.

  The woman nodded and jumped back to her boys on her own boat.

  The next few days were spent waiting – for her friends, and the funeral of Betty Johnson.

  Boats and barges came and went, some leaving posies of flowers which they tied to the sides of the ‘Sunshine’, all sending their condolences to the girl sitting on deck.

  Rosie was amazed to see both sides of her boat covered in flowers. Other boats would pull alongside and tie on their posies or toss them on deck before moving off and waving their goodbyes. Their kindness brought Rosie to tears and she felt she would never stop crying. She cried for her birth mother, Maria, and now her friend.

  A steam whistle sounded early one morning and Rosie knew it to be the ‘Pride of Wednesbury’. Margy and Abner had arrived but she couldn’t force herself to move to greet them. It was not until Margy wrapped the girl in her arms that a paroxysm of weeping had Rosie on her knees on the boat deck.

  ‘Oh my poor girl!’ Margy breathed as Rosie sobbed like her heart would break.

  Abner, ever resourceful, went below to make tea, the ‘Black Country’ remedy for everything.

  With her emotions a little more under control and tea in her hand Rosie managed to speak. ‘Look at all the flowers on the boat!’

  ‘Ar, it’s a tradition when somebody dies on their boat,’ Margy comforted.

  ‘People have been so kind,’ Rosie admitted.

  ‘Have you thought what yer’ll do about the boat now…’ Margy asked tentatively.

  ‘Margy! The girl is in mourning for God’s sake!’ Abner spluttered.

  Looking duly admonished his wife muttered her apologies.

  ‘It’s all right, Abner, I have been thinking about it, but I haven’t decided as yet. Clearly I can’t run her myself, and now having spent my money on the other boat, I have nothing left. Certainly nowhere near enough for a caravan with what little is coming in from the “Two Hearts”. I suppose I could always sell her but I need to think more on that.’

  ‘Well if you stay put ’ere and pay your mooring fees, you could do yer “readings” to earn a bob or two,’ Margy said helpfully.

  ‘That’s one solution, but I’d miss the travelling. It’s something I’ve done all my life.’

  Margy nodded knowing just what the girl meant.

  The three shared a meal of cheese, bread and salad; they chatted quietly until bed time rolled around once more.

  Sitting alone on deck, Rosie watched the sky grow darker and the stars appear. The moon shone down reflecting in the water of the canal. Everyone had settled for the night and save for the eerie hoot of an owl, all was silent.

  Rosie recalled her past years; of losing her birth mother, as well Maria. Now Betty was gone too. Obviously everyone would die eventually but the thought didn’t lessen the grief. It was always there and would catch her unawares and she would cry out for the women she had loved.

  Pulling her shawl tighter she realised the nights were still warm but a chill had seeped into her bones. She gave a little shiver but did not move inside the boat. Instead she watched the stars twinkle overhead and wondered which one was now called Betty.

  *

  In Bilston, Sarah Mitchell was trying her best to make ends meet. She’d had some savings but they were dwindling fast. She had to find some work. The thought was abhorrent to her.

  She had looked around for work half-heartedly, but the situation was now becoming urgent. If she wanted to survive, she had to find a job.

  She fumed quietly as she thought about Bill leaving without giving her even a backward glance. Just like a man – selfish. She recalled all the years of keeping her house nice and raising the boys. She’d worked hard through those years without so much as a thank you from Bill.

  Her temper rose as her thoughts turned to Margy and Abner. Truth be told it was really down to them that all this had happened. If only they had heeded her words and stayed away!

  Turning her eyes from the window to roam the kitchen, Sarah sighed into the quiet. The rent would be due again soon and…

  Suddenly she realised she was living in a house tied to the railway. Now that Bill was no longer working there, they would want her out. They would give her lovely house to another family and she would be out on the streets with no money!

  A sob escaped her throat as she wondered what she could do about it, and just then a knock came to her back door.

  Opening the door, a letter was thrust into her hands by a man in a smart suit. He turned and walked away without speaking a word.

  Sarah sat at the table and read the letter. It was a notice to quit the property by the end of the week. That gave her two days. So, the railway was reclaiming the house. She tossed the letter onto the table before turning her eyes back to the window. Maybe her family would return before she had to leave. Silent tears ran down her face as she knew that would never happen. She had two days left in her lovely home. Why wait? Why not go now? She wouldn’t give the rail officials the satisfaction of seeing her leave. She had nowhere to go, but felt confident she would find lodgings quickly.

  Shoving her few clothes into a carpet bag, Sarah wept bitterly. Grabbing the one family photograph they had saved for months to pay for, she kissed it tenderly and placed it in the bag along with the little money she had managed to save. Taking a last look around her lovely home, Sarah Mitchell walked out of the front door leaving it wide open behind her. Her last thought as she strode away was – I hope the kids of the town trash the place!

  *

  The news of Betty Johnson’s death reached Bill and his sons and as they set off for Wednesbury. The last time he saw her she seemed in good health for a woman of her age. Although he didn’t know exactly how old she was, he knew she was getting on in years. What would happen to Rosie now? There was no way she could run the ‘Sunshine’ on her own, so what would she do? Would she sell the boat? Or, would she employ men to run it for her? If she chose the latter option, where would she live? Would she expect Bill and the boys to leave the ‘Two Hearts’ so she could live on the boat herself? Questions rattled his brain as they chugged along the inland waterways heading for the Monway branch of the Birmingham Canal.

  Watching his boys at their duties of fire box stoking and steering, Bill realised how short life was – all things considered. Life expectancy for the ‘cut-rats’, as with the pit men and those working the furnaces, was around fifty years. What would happen to the twins once he was gone? He smiled as he saw them laughing. They would be fine, they had each other and they would enjoy their lives on the canals. After all, they were men now and more than capable of taking care of themselves and each other.

  His mind drifte
d back to Rosie Harris and her predicament with her boat. He could offer to work it with her, but no – a married man and a young, single woman together – it was out of the question.

  He sighed audibly as he watched and waved to boats travelling in the opposite direction.

  Eventually they saw the ‘Sunshine’ adorned with tiny posies of flowers as John steered into the mooring place.

  ‘Dad, look at that!’ Frank called eyeing the flowers.

  Bill nodded and jumped ashore. ‘Wait for me while I pay the fee,’ he called over his shoulder.

  The boat secured, the three walked along the towpath and climbed aboard the ‘Sunshine’. Bill and the boys hugged Margy and Abner and gave their condolences to Rosie. All gathered on deck to discuss what would happen next.

  ‘What will you do with the boat after Betty is laid to rest?’ Bill asked as gently as he could.

  ‘I don’t know. I could investigate a permanent mooring here and do my ‘readings’, but that would mean being tied to one place. I’m not sure I’d like that, after all I’ve been a traveller for most of my life,’ Rosie answered.

  ‘You could hire someone to work her for you,’ Frank spoke the words of his father’s earlier thoughts.

  ‘I could, but then where would I live? I have no money for a vardo now that…’ Rosie halted her words as she glanced at Bill. His head down, he could not meet her eye. ‘Bill, it was my decision to buy the second boat and request you work her. Please don’t feel bad about that. I’m not asking you and the twins to leave the “Two Hearts”; I still have a home on here.’

  Bill nodded knowing she was right.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in discussion as the little coterie sat in the sunshine drinking tea and sharing food. As darkness descended, nothing had been resolved and the others went back to their own boats to rest leaving Rosie sitting alone in the moonlight once more.

  *

  The following day the little group walked up Portway Lane in silence. They crossed beneath the bridge of the London and North Western Railway line and on towards St. James’ Church. Rosie had paid the funeral costs and now stood at the graveside with her friends. The vicar droned on but Rosie barely heard his words. Her eyes were glued to the casket as she said her own silent goodbye to Betty Johnson. All the canal folk who were moored at Monway had come to pay their respects and were now drifting away as the service was concluded.

  Rosie remained alone at the graveside looking down at the coffin in its hole in the earth. She felt the vicar and the grave digger exchange looks and heard them shuffle their feet. Looking up, she thanked them both before turning to leave. Her ears caught the sound of the first shovel of dirt as it landed on the wooden box, and her threatened tears fell.

  Margy slipped an arm around the weeping girl and led her back towards the canal. Once aboard they gathered on deck with tea yet again.

  ‘You know we’ll ’ave to be getting off tomorrow, we need to be working,’ Margy said quietly.

  Rosie nodded, unable to trust herself to speak for if she did, she might beg them to stay with her.

  ‘So, you’ll be staying ’ere?’ Abner asked.

  The girl nodded again, sadness written all over her face.

  Gathering his courage Bill said, ‘I could stay and work the boat with you, Rosie.’

  ‘Bill!’ his mother gasped.

  Looking around at the shocked faces he added, ‘Mum, life is too short to be worrying about what folks think! I know you all see it as inappropriate, but to hell with that! Rosie needs help and the ‘cut-rats’ never refuse to help anyone in need!’

  ‘True enough,’ his father muttered.

  ‘Abner!’ Margy rounded on him.

  ‘I was only agreeing with the lad,’ her husband mumbled.

  ‘Bill, I couldn’t ask that of you. Your reputation would suffer, as would mine, and you’d be seen as an outcast. I will stay here a while and do my “readings”, at least I will be earning a little. Besides, you will all know where I am when you come to Wednesbury; it will give me something to look forward to when you visit.’ Rosie was adamant.

  The decision was made – Rosie Harris was staying put.

  Eighteen

  The man in the office looked at the girl he’d heard so much about. ‘Sad about old Betty. So yer not moving on then?’

  ‘No, I can’t work the “Sunshine” alone I’m afraid, therefore I’d like to pay one month’s mooring fees in advance,’ Rosie said with a tight smile.

  ‘Fine by me – pay yer money and you can stay as long as yer like.’ The man returned Rosie’s smile.

  Rosie was relieved and she shuddered as their fingers touched at the passing of the receipt of payment.

  ‘Ask her,’ Rosie said.

  ‘What…?’ The man was taken aback.

  ‘Make the proposal,’ Rosie pursued.

  ‘But she might—’

  ‘It will be a favourable outcome,’ Rosie cut through his sentence. Smiling, she turned and left the office.

  The following day she saw the man running along the towpath towards her boat.

  Seeing her on deck he gasped for breath then shouted, ‘Miss ’arris… Miss ’arris!’

  Other boat owners stared as he halted next to the ‘Sunshine’.

  ‘Oh Miss ’arris – she said yes! I’m gonna be married!’ The man danced a little jig much to the amusement of the other folk thereabout. Raising his voice, he shouted out to the world, ‘I’m gonna be married!’

  Whistles and applause rang out as the beaming man looked up at the girl smiling down at him. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed amid the raucous noise.

  Rosie saluted him and watched as he returned to his office at the end of the towpath.

  Women had come and gone all week from her boat. After a walk into the town for some supplies, Rosie returned to see a woman waiting patiently by the boat.

  ‘Oh there you am. Would you do me a “reading”?’ the woman said turning to face Rosie.

  ‘Of course, come aboard.’ Rosie smiled.

  In the belly of the boat, the woman’s hand in her own and her eyes closed, Rosie began.

  ‘I see the letter ‘G’…’

  Feeling the woman tense a little she heard her whisper, ‘George!’

  ‘Also a posy of pink and purple flowers. A nasal problem – but all is well now. Don’t grieve over what you see as lost love, it is still there. A contract – a big one. Seize the day – go for that contract.’

  Snapping her eyes open she saw the woman was all smiles. Handing over her money with thanks, the woman jumped from the ‘Sunshine’ to the towpath.

  Looking at the coins in her hand Rosie sighed. I will never make a fortune this way, she thought with a rueful smile.

  A little while later a man called up to her. ‘Miss Harris?’ Rosie nodded. ‘May I come aboard?’

  Another nod gave the man permission as she tried to puzzle out who he was. Not knowing the man, she elected to stay on deck where she could be seen by others.

  The man blew through his teeth as he looked back at the towpath. ‘I don’t know how people live on these things,’ he said as he carefully picked his way across to her. The boat rocked very gently with the movement and he dropped gratefully into the chair opposite Rosie.

  ‘Oh, you get used to it.’

  ‘Yes well…’ the man lifted his head to peep over the side into the murky water, ‘I like the land myself.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Rosie asked.

  Opening the leather case he was carrying, he took out a paper saying, ‘I am Frederick Elmwood, solicitor of law, and I represent the London City and Midland Bank.’

  Rosie frowned wondering why he had come to see her, surely it was not for a ‘reading’.

  ‘I have here the deeds to the “Sunshine” …’

  ‘Mr Elmwood, I have the deeds to this boat below deck,’ Rosie said confidently.

  ‘May I see them?’

  In a matter of moments Rosie produced the s
aid document and passed it to the man looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘I’m afraid this is a forgery, Miss Harris,’ he said shaking his head.

  ‘What!’ Rosie gasped unable to believe her ears.

  ‘Yes, see here…’ pointing to the end of the paper near the signatures he went on, ‘there should be the bank’s stamp – like this.’ He showed her his copy with the added stamp.

  Rosie looked at one then the other, then at the man sitting opposite her. ‘So, what does this mean, Mr Elmwood?’

  ‘It means, I’m sorry to tell you, that this boat belongs to the bank.’ He screwed up his mouth as he watched the words sink in.

  ‘I… I paid Betty Johnson for the “Sunshine”, Mr Elmwood! We had a solicitor draw up the appropriate paperwork so everything would be legal!’ Rosie stuttered.

  ‘Miss Harris, let me explain. The man who drew up this is a fraud.’ He waved her copy and its letter in the air before he went on. ‘He is not a solicitor at all and the police are on his trail as we speak. Also, Betty Johnson was in no position to sell this boat. She borrowed money from the bank to buy it in the first place, many years go. However, of late she had not been paying back her instalments. She was up to her eyeballs in debt, therefore the money paid by you was swallowed by the bank as a consequence.’

  ‘Surely they can’t do that!’ Rosie felt her anger rise.

  ‘Oh but they can. I’m sorry, Miss Harris, but you are requested to leave the bank’s property immediately and take only that which belongs to you. I really am very sorry.’ Elmwood handed her the notice to quit.

  Rosie scanned the notice then a sob escaped her lips.

  ‘Of course, if you are in a position to repay the outstanding amount to the bank, then the boat would be yours – legally,’ Elmwood said.

  ‘I can’t, Mr Elmwood, I don’t have sufficient funds,’ Rosie said shaking her head.

  Getting to his feet he muttered, ‘This is the one part I hate about being a solicitor. I wish you all the luck in the world, Miss Harris.’