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

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Would he ever see Tad Jenkins again? He wondered whether their paths would cross another time in the future, for all he could do now was hope and pray they would.

  Thirty-seven

  By mid-December the winter cold had everyone firmly in its grip. The drab daylight seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye, and the price of coal for domestic fires shot up once again.

  Layers of thick clothing were donned for venturing out, but still the cold managed to seep through to the bone.

  One particularly frosty morning a knock to the door of number two revealed a shivering Margy and Abner.

  ‘Come in and get warm! Oh it’s lovely to see you both.’ Rosie smiled as she ushered her guests into the welcoming warmth of the living room.

  ‘Hellfire! It’s cold out there today,’ Margy said holding her hands to the crackling flames.

  ‘How are you, lass?’ Abner asked Lucy who sat quietly at the table with her drawings. For once she had not taken refuge with Fanny and Molly next door.

  ‘I’m all right, ta,’ Lucy returned.

  The Mitchells sat by the fireside on a sofa the girls had been given by a woman living further along the street. She apparently had a new one courtesy of her husband and the cart it had ‘fallen’ from.

  With a pot of tea made, news was exchanged between Rosie and her visitors. Lucy sat quietly at the table staring at the picture she had no interest in completing.

  ‘Come and join us by the fire, gel,’ Margy prompted.

  ‘No thanks,’ Lucy answered sulkily.

  Margy looked at Rosie who shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

  Margy walked over and sat next to Lucy. ‘You can’t go on like this you know, yer’ll mek yerself bad.’ Margy spoke quietly but firmly.

  When Lucy didn’t respond she went on, ‘P’raps if you tell us about it you might feel a bit better.’

  ‘I won’t feel better!’

  The sudden outburst brought all eyes to the girl who was about to cry.

  Rosie came to put her arms around her friend but Lucy held up a hand. ‘Don’t touch me!’

  ‘Lucy, whatever is wrong?’ Rosie asked hardly able to believe how she’d been shunned.

  ‘Rosie please – just don’t touch me. I don’t ever want anyone to touch me again!’ The banks holding back Lucy’s tears finally burst and she cried like her heart was breaking.

  Margy came to the table saying, ‘Now, now lass, ain’t no call for this. Whatever is upsetting yer will be better for the telling of it to yer friends.’

  Lucy looked up at the older woman and getting to her feet she flung her arms around her and sobbed on her chest. Holding her tightly as she wept, Margy muttered soothing words. They stood a long time until Lucy eventually brought her emotions to heel.

  ‘That’s better, a good cry allus helps, don’t yer think?’ Margy muttered as she led her to the sofa.

  Rosie and Abner busied themselves with making food and drink in the kitchen at Margy’s nod. Turning back to Lucy she said gently, ‘Right now it’s just you and me, so tell me what’s got yer down so badly.

  ‘It – It’s Jake Harding!’ Lucy said on a sob.

  ‘I thought as it might ’ave something to do with ’im,’ Margy said kindly. Not knowing the chap, she would not speak against him.

  ‘He’s gone! He told me ’e loves somebody else so not to bother ’im again!’ Lucy’s tears fell once more.

  ‘That was a cruel way of telling yer, sweet’eart.’ Margy shook her head.

  ‘I know but…’

  ‘It’s all right luv, whatever it is, it ain’t the end of the world.’ Margy was holding Lucy’s hand and she patted it softly.

  Rosie and Abner stood behind the open door in the kitchen listening to the conversation. Rosie bit her lower lip, she knew what was coming next.

  ‘Oh Margy – I’m pregnant!’ Lucy sighed with relief at having shared her secret.

  ‘I see. Well you ain’t the first an’ you won’t be the last, but you ‘ave some decisions to make which will be all the easier with yer friends around you.’ Margy smiled into Lucy’s watery eyes and again she nestled into her arms. It felt warm and comfortable – it was safe.

  On hearing the confession, Abner’s eyes shot to Rosie who instantly put a finger to her lips warning him to keep quiet. Abner’s eyes then closed tightly before snapping open again. His thoughts were that Lucy had been a silly girl to have put herself at risk unless – had that gypsy raped her?

  ‘Now, Lucy, I must ask this so please don’t be offended. Did Jake force you?’ Margy held the girl close to save her the embarrassment of having to look at her.

  ‘No, Margy, he didn’t,’ Lucy whispered.

  Abner nodded to Rosie. At least that answered that question.

  Lucy’s fears and worries appeared to lessen as the strong, motherly arms held her showing no signs of letting go.

  Rosie tilted her head and she, followed by Abner, entered the living room with trays of tea and hot soup.

  Lucy extricated herself from Margy’s embrace and said, ‘Oh Rosie, I’m so sorry!’

  ‘Don’t be, I knew all along.’ Rosie held out her arms and when her friend rushed to her, she folded them about the small frame.

  ‘I don’t know what to do!’ Lucy said on a dry sob.

  ‘We’ll manage, but you have to decide whether you want Jake to know,’ Rosie said helping the girl to sit at the table. ‘Firstly though you need to move your work so we can eat.’

  Lucy smiled as she gathered her things and put them aside. She had been so afraid of telling anyone she was having Jake’s child, but knew it would not remain a secret forever. Now, her friends were giving her love and support, not turning her out onto the streets as she feared they might.

  Gathered around the table, the four discussed Lucy’s condition and what, if anything, could be done about it.

  Lucy was adamant she did not want Jake to know. He would surely want to see his offspring once it was born and she could not face him leaving her time and again after a quick visit.

  ‘You’ll ’ave to face Bill and the twins at some point as well; you can’t keep ’iding yerself away when they call round,’ Margy said.

  ‘I realise that and I’m dreading it. What will they think of me?’ Lucy began to feel agitated again.

  ‘Our Bill and his boys won’t stand in judgement of you is my guess,’ Abner said with a comforting smile.

  ‘You seen a doctor yet?’ Margy asked all business now.

  Lucy shook her head.

  ‘Best get seen then you can start planning,’ Margy sighed.

  ‘Planning?’

  ‘Ar, you’ll need babby clothes and somewhere for the little ’un to sleep,’ Margy answered.

  Lucy felt a little strange as the talk turned to all things connected with having and taking care of a baby. In a few months’ time she would be responsible for another life. Margy was given a special hug. ‘Thank you, I don’t know what I’d ’ave done without you,’ Lucy whispered.

  ‘Yer welcome, pet, but do me a favour. If it’s a boy – don’t name ’im Abner!’

  The friends laughed.

  ‘Margy would you both like to come to us for Christmas day? I was thinking to ask Bill and the twins too,’ Rosie said.

  ‘That would be grand!’ Margy answered. All talk then turned to preparing a lunch for seven people and where everyone would sit.

  By the time Margy and Abner readied to leave, Lucy had gone from dread to resigned and all because of the love of her friends.

  Thirty-eight

  Young Tad Jenkins had been hit with the same thunderbolt that had struck Frank on their first meeting.

  He had known for some time that he was different; showing no interest in girls. However, it had taken a long time to try to come to terms with his feelings and emotions. He had no one to discuss it with; certainly his father would have disowned him. Over time he had realised there were others out there that harboured the same secret.
He had watched silently and learned to read the subtle signs. God only knew what would happen to him if this got out.

  Sitting on deck, Tad mused. In this part of the world men were men. They drank, brawled and womanised: everything that was abhorrent to him. He liked the finer things in life – debating rather than fighting. He wondered if his late father had ever guessed that his son loved other boys.

  His mind drifted back to Frank. Tad had known instantly how that young man had felt when their eyes met. He also knew the lad would be going through agonies trying to make sense of it all. Frank would be asking himself the same questions Tad had. Why me? How had this come about? What had happened to make him this way? Was it an illness?

  Over and over Tad had tortured himself with those thoughts until eventually he had reached the conclusion – it was what it was. Since then he had been happier and had refused to dwell on his differences.

  Now, meeting Frank had brought it all back with the added hurt of meeting the one he thought could be his soul mate, but then losing him again all in one day.

  Releasing a long slow sigh, Tad prayed he would meet Frank again soon.

  *

  A few days later as hoar frost coated everything in a delicate white lacy layer, Bill and the boys strode along at a brisk pace in an effort to beat off the cold. Warm breath puffed out in tiny steam clouds and the icy air stung their nostrils.

  Banging on the door of number two Bill was surprised to see it was Fanny Bright who answered.

  ‘Come in, lads, get yerselves out of that bleedin’ cold!’ she urged.

  ‘Hello everyone,’ Bill called as he stepped into the living room.

  Greetings were exchanged and the usual tea provided. Hot scones and butter with jam were brought to the table as well as fruit cake.

  ‘Your parents are coming here for Christmas day, Bill, and I wondered if you and the boys would also join us,’ Rosie said her eyes moving to each in turn.

  ‘That would be smashing!’ John answered full of enthusiasm at the idea. He was delighted that Lucy was in attendance even though it was probably because Fanny and Molly were here rather than at home.

  Frank, Rosie noted was not so pleased. The look on his face spoke of unhappiness. What had happened to make him so?

  ‘Seems it’s decided then. Thanks, Rosie.’ Bill gave his hostess a beaming smile.

  Feeling a thrill run through her whole body, Rosie turned to Fanny and Molly who had been sitting quietly by the fire. ‘You ladies will come as well, won’t you?’

  With nods and smiles it was decided – there would be nine for Christmas lunch.

  Rosie watched Frank carefully as the chatter and laughing was being played out. He had a mournful look about him; he was not his usual bouncy self at all.

  Grabbing her shawl, Rosie picked up the kettle to fill from the stand pipe out the back of the house. Bill shot to his feet holding out his hand for the kettle. A warm smile passed between them and Rosie felt her heart flutter as their fingers touched. ‘The pipe might be frozen up again, Bill.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ he answered as he shut the back door behind him.

  Collecting the cups on a tray Rosie was pleased when Frank offered to carry it to the kitchen for her. As the boy took the tray, Rosie laid a hand on his arm by way of thanks. Shock shook her to the core at the pictures racing swiftly through her mind, and as Frank moved away it took all her strength to hide her feelings.

  Once everyone was back in the living room, Lucy stood up. ‘I have something to tell you all.’

  Rosie moved to her friend and placed an arm around her shoulder in support.

  ‘I’m going to ’ave a baby,’ Lucy whispered on a sob.

  The sharp intake of breath registered the surprise of them all.

  ‘Who…?’ John began to ask. The shock had him not knowing if he was angry or sad.

  ‘Jake, the gypsy, and no I wasn’t forced.’ Lucy waited for the inevitable questions and admonishment.

  ‘You silly little bugger!’ Molly was the first which took Lucy by surprise.

  Instantly Fanny rounded on the woman. ‘You mind yer mouth Molly! The wench is upset enough wi’out you addin’ to it!’

  Rosie had been watching Bill for his reaction and she could have cried with joy when he held out his arms to Lucy.

  Stepping into Bill’s friendly embrace, Lucy’s tears came thick and fast.

  The twins exchanged a raised eyebrow look before moving to the stricken girl and placing their arms around her in a huddle.

  As everyone settled quietly, Rosie caught Frank’s eye and tilted her head towards the kitchen. She saw the puzzled look cross his face.

  Stepping into the small kitchen with plates to be washed, Frank followed discreetly. Pushing the door closed a little way Rosie took a deep breath and whispered, ‘Frank, I know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About you and the boy on the boat. I know how you feel about each other and please understand – I won’t say a word to a soul. It’s your business – but, Frank, if ever you need to talk come and see me. Now, be assured you two will meet again and I, for one, am very happy for you.’ Rosie smiled into the face frozen with shock then she saw the relief flood in.

  ‘Blimey! Rosie – thank you. I’m not sure how this happened.’

  ‘You need to take your time to understand; eventually it will all make sense to you. You will come to terms with it and you will be happy.’ Rosie smoothed down her long skirt and pushed Frank through the door. Waiting a moment, she then followed him back into the living room.

  Rosie and Frank shared a sigh of relief at not being overheard during their secret conversation.

  Rosie felt at that moment she’d had enough surprises to last a lifetime, but unbeknown to her the one which would see her drop into a chair was still to come.

  *

  The days passed quickly and now, on Christmas Eve, Sarah Mitchell sat at the table with Mrs Poole and Dora for a short but welcome break from baking mince pies.

  ‘The mistress likes to give carollers a pie an’ a cup of spiced wine,’ Dora was saying.

  Mrs Poole groaned as she rested her aching feet on a kitchen chair. ‘I’ll be glad when Christmas is all over, it’s too much for just the three of us.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ Sarah said, also glad of the short respite a cup of tea was providing.

  ‘Her don’t realise ’ow much work it is for us down ’ere though, that’s the problem,’ Mrs Poole grumbled as her eyes lifted to the ceiling.

  ‘Ooh I love Christmas,’ Dora said on a breath, ‘all the candles and carols and everybody is ’appy.’

  ‘Ar well, we’ll see ’ow ’appy you am by the time we’ve finished tonight!’ the cook snapped.

  Dora huffed into her teacup and Sarah smiled before turning her thoughts to her family. Where would Bill and her sons be spending the holiday? Would they be with Margy and Abner? She scowled at the thought of the woman who had broken her family apart.

  The little bell tinkled denoting it was time for the mistress’ tea tray to be taken up to the parlour.

  Sarah sighed and got to her feet. Pouring boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot, she slammed the lid on and dropped a cosy over the top. Replacing the kettle on the black leaded range she picked up the tray and left the kitchen.

  Moments later she was back. ‘The mistress wants to see us all in the parlour.’

  ‘Now what?’ Cook moaned.

  The three trooped up the back stairs and with a knock entered the room.

  ‘Ah there you are. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for the hard work you’ve put in over the last year,’ Mrs Daventry said from her seat by the fire.

  Mrs Poole and Dora gave a perfunctory curtsy. Sarah glanced at each with a look of disdain.

  ‘Now, you will each receive a little extra in your wages this week.’

  Again the cook and scullion gave a bob of the knee – Sarah stood tall and straight.

&nbs
p; ‘Also, I have a small gift for you,’ Eileen Daventry said with a tight smile.

  Stepping forward one at a time the women took their parcel with thanks. Being dismissed with a wave of the mistress’ hand they filed out and back down to the kitchen.

  Opening their gifts, Dora beamed at the new shawl made from thick wool. ‘Ain’t this lovely?’ she said draping it around her shoulders and waltzing around the kitchen.

  Mrs Poole rolled her eyes as she looked at her own gift. Hat, scarf and mittens – knitted from the same wool. The cook threw them on the table in disgust. ‘I won’t be wearing them!’

  Sarah could barely contain the grin as she took out her own gift. Looking at the small silk scarf, Sarah felt the cook staring at her.

  ‘Ooh Sarah!’ Dora said as she felt the shiny material between her fingers.

  In a fit of Christmas spirit, Sarah held out the scarf to Mrs Poole. ‘I don’t like it, I’d rather have the woollens.’

  The cook took the scarf almost reverently and with a tear in her eye. ‘If you’m sure,’ she said her gaze never leaving the garment.

  ‘Yes, now we’re all happy,’ Sarah said not quite knowing what had come over her to be so thoughtful.

  ‘Right – onward and upward,’ Mrs Poole said as she got to her sore feet once more. ‘Dora, stop prancin’ around like a pony an’ get them pies out of the oven!’

  By the time they had finished work it was the early hours of Christmas day and the three women were exhausted. Each falling into bed, they knew they would be working just as hard the following few days.

  Thirty-nine

  Rosie walked briskly down the frost covered street towards the barrel makers. Asking the cooper for two metal hoops, she paid and returned home by way of the market. It was Christmas Eve morning and she had a busy time ahead of her.

  ‘What’s them for?’ Lucy asked as Rosie placed the hoops on the table.

  ‘Welcome rings,’ she answered taking off her coat. ‘Look I’ll show you.’

  Placing one inside the other she twisted it to form a kind of ball. Then she tied them in place with bits of string.