Workhouse Child

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I fear we have shocked your neighbour, Lottie,’ he said and she nodded, smiling.

  ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you, though,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, Jerry … Mr Scott.’

  ‘Oh I think Jerry will do. I like it, no one else calls me Jerry.’

  Lottie hesitated. She had to say something before Eliza arrived. ‘She is Thomas’s baby,’ she blurted at last.

  ‘I know,’ he said, then after a pause, ‘but I helped her into the world. I feel she is mine.’

  ‘I am going to have her baptized Thomasina.’ Lottie plucked at the blanket that Jane had put over her. ‘Eliza, Sister Mitchell, is my mother-in-law. The baby’s grandmother.’

  Jeremiah said nothing.

  There was a silence for a few minutes. Lottie lay against the raised end of the old settee. Jeremiah was restless. He sat for a while, then got up and walked through to the front of the house and watched the road for the arrival of the nurse, Lottie’s mother-in-law. His feelings were in turmoil. How could she be so sure it wasn’t his baby? The child could have been early, he knew it happened sometimes. He yearned for the tiny girl to be his.

  The road was empty. He turned and walked back along the passage to the kitchen. As he did so, he heard the sound of a horse and trap and stopped, then went to open the front door just as Eliza knocked.

  ‘Hello, are you there?’ Eliza called, then stopped short as she saw Jeremiah.

  She was in her nurse’s uniform and cape and was carrying her nurse’s bag. ‘Oh,’ she went on, ‘I thought Jane from next door would be here.’

  ‘She had things to attend to,’ he said. ‘I’m Jeremiah Scott, editor of the Durham Post. Lottie … Mrs Mitchell-Howe worked for the paper.’

  ‘I’m well aware that my daughter-in-law wrote pieces for the Post,’ said Eliza sharply. ‘But obviously she cannot be writing now. I thank you for staying with her, but I think you should be on your way, young man.’

  ‘I could wait in the other room to make sure I am not needed any more.’ Jeremiah’s face was a picture to behold: pink with embarrassment. He felt like a naughty schoolboy.

  ‘I dinna think so,’ said Eliza, lapsing into the local idiom. ‘What will people think? Any road, I have to see to her. Close the door on your way out.’

  Jeremiah found himself led to the door and out on to the street without quite knowing how it happened. He stood for a moment, then walked away. His own horse was whickering to Eliza’s pony on the opposite side of the road, where tufts of lush grass were pushing through the holes in the fence. Swinging up into the saddle, he trotted off towards North Road and the office.

  ‘Did I hear you talking to Mr Scott just then?’ asked Lottie, as she settled down after Eliza had bathed her and the baby. They were in the front room by now, with Lottie in a single bed brought down by Jane’s husband and son.

  Eliza shook her head disapprovingly. ‘You did, lass. I never heard anything like it, a strange man delivering a baby. Was there not a woman about at all? What was he doing here, any road?’

  ‘He just came by,’ said Lottie lamely.

  ‘Aye, well, it’s a good job Jane was in,’ said Eliza.

  Lottie gave her a quick glance. Was Eliza thinking something must be going on? No, of course not, she thought when she saw her mother-in-law’s bland expression. Eliza had picked up the baby from the dresser drawer and now she started cooing over her.

  ‘What are you going to call the bairn? Charlotte, after you? Or, what was your mother’s name?’

  ‘Minnie,’ Lottie replied. ‘But I’ve decided on Thomasina.’

  ‘Thomasina, eh? It’s mebbe a bit outlandish,’ Eliza commented but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was pleased. ‘There’s not been a Thomasina round here that I know of. It’s nice, though. Like a name from a fairy tale.’ She smiled fondly at the baby before handing her over to Lottie to suckle. ‘She has a look of our Thomas, though.’

  Lottie yawned widely and Eliza immediately became the professional nurse-midwife again. She tucked a bedjacket around Lottie’s shoulders, before checking Thomasina was suckling correctly.

  ‘Not that she’ll get much nourishment at first, but it will help your milk to come,’ she commented. ‘Now, I’ll send Jane’s lad, Jackie is it? I’ll send him for Mrs Corner.’ Eliza moved towards the door. ‘You’ll be all right for a little while on your own?’

  Lottie lay quietly, communing with her baby. Thomasina’s eyes were a medium blue, but then most newborn babies had blue eyes. They might turn brown like her own or dark blue as Thomas’s. Or Jeremiah’s either, she thought drowsily. Mother and baby drifted off to sleep. Eliza came back and lifted the baby gently from Lottie’s arms and laid her in her makeshift cradle. When Lottie awoke, Mrs Corner, the monthly nurse she had engaged for her lying-in, was already there and Eliza had gone.

  ‘She said she’d call in the morrow,’ Mrs Corner volunteered. ‘She had patients to see. Now, I bet you could take a nice drop of broth and a cup of tea, my dear.’

  Mrs Corner was a plump, white-haired woman in her fifties and a widow. She had brought up six children since her husband had been killed by choke damp in the pit, but now they were married and away she did it for the love of it. Each job lasted a month, helping out new mothers until they were properly on their feet again. Lottie watched as she bustled around, noticing things that needed doing and doing them. She felt extremely happy and content as Thomasina lay close by, making the occasional snuffling noise.

  Surely nothing could spoil her contentment, her hopes for the future now? She had her baby and Thomasina was healthy. And Jeremiah knew the truth and loved her.

  Thirty

  The bells of the old cathedral were ringing out the last hours of the old year as Ina, holding tightly to her mother’s hand, skipped along the pavement to where the horse-bus stood in the marketplace of Durham City. Her mother carried a basket covered with a cloth and they were going to her grandma’s house in North Road to see in the new year. It was the only night of the year when Ina was allowed to stay up until midnight and for all it was so late and the sky so dark the marketplace was lit up with the lights from the shops, which were still open, and the Christmas tree from Norway still stood in the centre by the statue of Lord Londonderry on his horse, and it too was lit up. She tugged at her mother’s hand in her excitement and Lottie almost fell over as she stepped down from the kerb.

  ‘Ina!’ Lottie cried. ‘You nearly made me drop the basket!’

  ‘Sorry, Mam,’ said Ina, slowing to a walk. They didn’t want to lose anything from the basket. It had all the goodies in it to celebrate bringing in the new year. There was a fruit cake and fudge and a stone bottle of dandelion and burdock pop and a bottle of home-made ginger wine.

  ‘Lottie! How nice to see you! And you too, Thomasina. What are you doing out so late?’

  It was the nice man, the one who sometimes gave her mother money for the stories she wrote. She liked him; his name was Mr Scott and he always spoke to her nicely and sometimes gave her a threepenny bit. She could buy three separate things with a threepenny bit: sweets and chocolate and a penny lucky bag.

  Ina looked up at her mother, who had that funny look on her face she sometimes had when she met Mr Scott. Her face was sort of pinkish, and she had a faraway look in her eyes. Ina decided she had better answer him herself.

  ‘Hello, Mr Scott. We’re going to Grandma’s to see in the new year. And I can stay up until after midnight but I can’t go first-footing.’ She frowned as she thought of the first-footing. Only lads were able to go first-footing and it wasn’t fair.

  ‘I’m not allowed,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘I’m a girl.’

  ‘I hope you are allowed to accept a new year’s gift,’ said Jeremiah. He dug into the pocket of his waistcoat and brought out a sixpence, then looked enquiringly at Lottie.

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ said Lottie. ‘You’ll spoil her.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, it is a special occasion su
rely, the turn of the year, is it not?’ Jeremiah smiled down at the two of them, the little girl with shining blue eyes in a face that was full of excitement, and the woman he found himself thinking about more and more. It was more than four years since the day that he and Lottie had come together, and he still remembered every second of it. It was almost four years since he had delivered the child, Thomasina, on the clippie mat by the kitchen fire, and that too was etched on his mind. He could remember the smell of the woollen clippie strips, the sound of ash falling through the bars of the fire, the heat of the fire on his face.

  He brought his mind back to the present with a wrench.

  ‘I’m meeting my father in half an hour but I have a little time to spare. May I walk along with you? Or I can give you a lift to where your mother-in-law lives, near North Road, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Here, give me your basket.’

  They fell into step, walking side by side with the little girl between them, her hand in the pocket of her pinafore clutching the sixpence he had given her. Ina was quiet, thinking of whether to spend it all today or keep threepence for tomorrow. She was so absorbed with the problem that she didn’t even hear the conversation between her mother and Mr Scott.

  Lottie was surprised. In the time since Ina was born, he had rarely spoken to her except formally or in connection with her articles. In fact, she had often gone home feeling hurt because he had seemed so distant. He regretted what had been between them, she had decided. It had hurt at first but she had gradually got used to it. In any case, she was finished with men, they brought her nothing but grief. She and Ina could get on fine without a man.

  Her books were doing well enough and providing a modest income, enough to live on. And there was a little extra from the Durham Post, enough for the odd treat for Ina and still some to save for emergencies.

  ‘How are you, Lottie?’ His question broke the growing silence between them.

  ‘It is so long since I spoke to you as … as a friend.’

  ‘It is.’ She glanced up at him, surprised. ‘I’m in good health, thank you for asking,’ she answered his question.

  ‘Good.’

  They were walking down Silver Street by now, almost to Framwellgate Bridge over the Wear at the bottom. They paused for a moment, unwilling to part, and Ina stood on tiptoe and peered over the wall at the black waters below. Jeremiah put out a restraining hand in case she leaned over too far.

  ‘Careful,’ he said.

  Ina was affronted. ‘I’m not a baby,’ she declared.

  ‘Indeed, you are not,’ he replied gravely. He looked over her head to her mother and smiled. ‘Perhaps I could call to see you tomorrow,’ he said, surprising her.

  He rarely came to her little house nowadays. In fact, it must be months since he had. She felt as confused as a young girl asked out for the first time, which was quite ridiculous. But then, perhaps it was in the line of business he was coming; she shouldn’t read anything into it. Though she usually saw him in his office in that case.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be home about ten. We’re staying to see the new year in at Eliza’s tonight.’

  ‘I’ll call at eleven. I’m looking forward to it.’ His smile enveloped and warmed her. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘the pony and trap are just over the bridge at the blacksmith’s yard.’

  They walked over the bridge, swinging Ina between them, just like any parents with a young child might. It was as though the intervening years had never been, thought Lottie; yet she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly had changed between them.

  They drove up to the home of Peter and Eliza with Ina between them chattering away, complaining again that girls couldn’t go first-footing and it wasn’t fair but then she forgot about that particular injustice as she told Jeremiah of the doll Father Christmas had brought her with eyes that opened and closed. He nodded or shook his head and grunted at the appropriate moments, which was all she seemed to need or want.

  It was but a short journey until the pony was stopping outside Eliza’s house and Jeremiah got down and swung both of them to the ground, leaving Lottie breathless and Ina giggling.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said again. ‘Happy New Year!’

  They stood by the gate as he climbed back on to the trap and handed down Lottie’s basket. He picked up the reins and was off, back down the hill and up the opposite side to the marketplace.

  ‘Mr Scott is a nice man, isn’t he?’ said Ina. ‘Is he someone else’s daddy?’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ her mother replied. Ina gazed after the pony and trap until it was out of sight. It wasn’t hard to tell what she was thinking. ‘Howay, Ina,’ Lottie said sharply. ‘Come on in, your grandma’s waiting.’

  Jeremiah drove back to the blacksmith’s at the bottom of Silver Street, hung a nosebag of hay around the pony’s head and turned him over to the care of the blacksmith’s boy, before walking up the steep road which led to the marketplace. He was lost in his own thoughts, barely noticing the thinning crowd, the shops already putting up their shutters.

  In the last few years, he had managed to keep his feelings for Lottie pretty well bottled up. He did not admit them even to himself. After all, they were not fitting when his wife was so recently dead. There had to be a decent period of mourning for Harriet, he owed her that. But seeing how Ina had grown, he had realized that that time of mourning must be coming to an end in anyone’s eyes.

  Only that morning, his father had asked him if he knew when Lottie’s new novel was coming out and he had had to say he did not. ‘Though it surely cannot be long now,’ said Jeremiah.

  ‘Lottie must be earning a fair income from her books by this time,’ Mr Scott senior had speculated. ‘I wonder she still finds time to write articles on local current affairs for a newspaper such as ours. What do you think, Jeremiah?’

  ‘I have no idea how much Mrs Mitchell-Howe earns,’ Jeremiah had replied stiffly.

  ‘Perhaps she just likes our people here?’

  ‘Perhaps she does.’

  The elder Mr Scott gazed at his son. ‘And that is all you have to say? Righto then, that’s all right.’ He had walked over to the window and stood gazing out at the Durham plain, which was just visible, rising over the tops of the houses. ‘I will wait until you have something to say.’

  ‘Father, I don’t know what you are talking about.’

  ‘No, of course not. But it is almost five years since poor Harriet died,’ his father said, before quickly leaving the room and going back down to the front desk.

  Had the way he felt about Lottie been obvious after all, at least to his father? Jeremiah wondered as he strode to the top of the narrow medieval street, and up to the bank where he had said he would meet his father.

  It was almost as if the meeting with Lottie and little Thomasina was meant to be. Though it was just a coincidence of course, he told himself. But he had at last come to the place where he could ask Lottie to marry him. Today he had finally believed that she might feel for him as he felt for her.

  The next day Lottie was up early, even though they had stayed up until midnight to see in the new year and she had spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, unable to sleep. For no matter how many times she told herself that he most likely wanted to discuss a new article he wanted her to write, the wild hope that it was something more personal he wanted to talk about would not go away. She tidied and cleaned the little sitting room and had the kettle singing on the hob in the kitchen so that she could offer him tea.

  ‘Why are we wearing our best dresses, Mam?’ asked Ina.

  ‘Because it is New Year,’ Lottie replied. ‘Mind you keep yours clean now. Go on upstairs and play with your new dolly. We’ll go for a walk this afternoon, if you like.’

  Ina pulled a face but went upstairs anyway to find her doll, while Lottie sat down before the fire and gave herself up to daydreaming. Whether it was the warmth from the fire or the lack of sleep the night
before, the next thing she knew she awoke with a start and jumped up, as she realized there was the dark outline of a man between the window and herself.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she cried, completely disoriented, then, ‘Oh, Jerry, it’s you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lottie, I knocked but you didn’t hear and as the door was unlocked I came in. I should not have startled you, but you looked so sweet sitting there with your glasses falling off your nose and your cheeks pink from the fire that I just stepped forward to watch for a moment.’

  He caught hold of her hand and held it to his chest. ‘Lottie, I did wrong by you all those years ago but now I have come to put it right. I was not free before, but now …’ He paused, realizing that had not been what he meant to say. ‘I don’t mean that is the reason I am asking you to marry me, Lottie, oh no it is not.’

  ‘You are asking me to marry you?’

  Lottie left her hand in his as she gazed up at him. She couldn’t make out his expression, not properly, until she realized it was her twisted glasses and put up her other hand to straighten them. Oh, his eyes were such a deep blue and his expression so open and honest. He was a straightforward man – a lovely man, as Thomas had never been.

  His hand tightened on hers as he took a deep breath and said, ‘I am. Yes, I am. Though of course you don’t have to answer me yet, I don’t want to rush you …’

  ‘I will. I will, of course I will. I thought you wouldn’t ask, I thought it was too late for us, I really did. Oh, Jerry! I love you.’

  He gathered her up in his arms, knocking her glasses askew once again, and kissed her, a long and lingering kiss. From behind her came Ina’s voice.

  ‘Mr Scott, if you marry my mammy, will you be my daddy?’ she asked.

  ‘I will, Thomasina, I will,’ he replied fervently.

  Read on for an extract from:

  The Coal Miner’s Daughter

  Also by Maggie Hope

  Available now from Ebury Press