The Favourite Child

by Freda Lightfoot

  Mrs Blundell said she’d thought Billy Quinn were up to summat when she spotted him hovering about one day. ‘I told him to bugger off. Fat lot of good that did. I should’ve called t’police. Nasty piece of work he is, for all his pretty looks.’

  Aunt Edie brought her a slice of ginger parkin, and Mrs Solomon said that Dan happening along at just the right moment served only to show how things always turned out for the best. He came out of the tale a hero.

  ‘Now you can be friends again, like you used to be.’

  It seemed that Bella’s ‘ladies’ knew more about her affairs than they were letting on. In a way this increased her sense of shame, yet their reaction to her was entirely non-judgemental, as if accepting that a few wild oats must be sown in every young woman’s life.

  Violet’s condemning silence on the matter, however, was even worse than an ‘I told you so’.

  ‘All right. I should have listened to you,’ Bella wearily admitted. Violet merely buttoned up her mouth still tighter.

  But the episode dinted Bella’s confidence badly. Where once the thought of Billy Quinn had excited her, now she felt wary, even frightened of him. Whenever she ventured out, if only to the corner shop for a loaf of bread, she found herself constantly glancing over her shoulder and jumping at every shadow, just as if she were being followed, and not by the benevolent Dan. She took another week off work to fully recover. And as if this weren’t bad enough, by the time she was finally well enough to go out and about normally again, she’d lost the job at Kendal Milne.

  Dr Syd insisted that instead of seeking another, she give her full attention in future to the work of the clinic and to visiting the mothers in their homes. ‘It’s vital that someone keeps a regular check on them, else how will we persuade them to come in for their check-ups.’

  At any other time Bella might have protested but she was so shaken by the incident that she readily agreed. The clinic would be her sole concern, for the moment at least.

  In spite of Edward’s qualifications, his years of experience and his optimism, he did not simply walk into another job. Every day for a month or more, he combed the Manchester Guardian, The Evening Chronicle and any other paper he could lay his hands on. Even if he was fortunate enough to find a suitable position actually being advertised, which was in itself rare, whenever he telephoned it was only to be told that the post had been filled.

  ‘I’ll find work soon, love,’ he told an anxious Jinnie. ‘Don’t worry,’ and at first she didn’t. She believed in him utterly. They’d been married little more than a year, were a young couple deeply in love with every faith in a good future together. Besides which, being short of money was not unusual for Jinnie and certainly the Ashton’s idea of poverty bore no relation to her own definition of that state. Food still appeared regularly upon the table. Emily still took afternoon tea once a week at the Midland Hotel. She went shopping on King Street and bought a new gown or hat, should she desire one. Neither Mrs Dyson nor Tilly, nor even Sam the handyman/chauffeur had been laid off, so what was there to worry about? If Mr Ashton did not earn quite what he had once earned, they couldn’t claim to be on the bread line.

  Edward even continued to take her each week to the Ambassador Picture House at Pendleton or the Odeon cafe, though not so often as he once had and gradually, as he became concerned about dipping too deeply into his savings, the trips ceased altogether. People began to talk of a slump and as the situation worsened, Edward sank into gloom. Once, Jinnie tried to cheer him up by bringing out one of the sovereigns she had secreted away, suggesting they use it to award themselves a well deserved afternoon treat.

  ‘Where did you get that kind of money?’ he asked, appalled that she should even make the suggestion. ‘It’s not your place, as my wife, to finance an outing.’

  ‘What does it matter which of us pays?’ Jinnie protested. ‘It’s money I saved while I was working.’ She thought this answer perfectly reasonable and could very nearly be true, so long as she didn’t have to explain what kind of work. But Edward wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘If it’s just your pride what’s stoppin’ you, that’s stupid. A trip to the flicks to see Fatty Arbuckle would make us laugh, take us out of ourselves. Then we could go out for tea afterwards.’

  ‘I said no, Jinnie. If I can’t afford to take my own wife to the pictures, then I’m damned if I’ll ask her for a handout.’

  ‘You great pig-headed, soft lump. Aw, what am I to do with you?’ It was the closest they’d come to a quarrel and if Jinnie hadn’t felt so swamped with love for him, and such a rush of pity for his foolish pride, it might well have degenerated into a proper one. Instead, they ended up going early to bed and making love.

  ‘At least they haven’t worked out a way to charge us for this, eh?’ she teased. ‘Not yet, anyroad.’

  ‘I’ll find work soon,’ he assured her, as if by repeating this declaration often enough would make it happen

  But as the months of fruitless searching slipped by, Edward began to feel something akin to fear deep in his belly. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t yet found a job. Perhaps he’d been looking in the wrong places, ringing the wrong firms but in his view, unemployment did not happen to people of his ilk, only to those with no skills of any sort to offer, the feckless and the layabouts. He watched, appalled, as his savings became depleted to a dangerously low level and he was finally driven, along with his working class counterparts, to walking the streets of both cities; to knocking on doors, calling on offices, to standing in line in a desperate quest to try every firm and factory which seemed likely to have work. And Edward discovered, like many another in Salford and Manchester and around the country, that qualifications and skills counted for nothing in today’s job market. He could find no work because there was none to be found and, like them, was forced to go to the Labour Exchange and sign on. It was a humiliating experience.

  For Jinnie, the worst part of seeing her husband suffer in this way, was that she believed it was all her fault.

  The fact that no friends had attended their wedding had been but the beginning. By marrying into the Ashton family she’d obviously turned them into social pariahs. None of their old friends would have anything to do with them. They were virtually ignored by everybody. The stigma of being linked to someone who came from the lowest streets: a girl no better than a common thief or harlot and might well have been either for all they knew, was too dreadful to contemplate. Consequently they had no further wish to be associated with the Ashton family, despite what amounted, in some cases, to years of unblemished friendship.

  Simeon might object to Bella’s lack of moral rectitude. Emily might be frequently heard to complain of her daughter degrading herself by going to live in squalor, bringing shame upon them all but none of this made any impression upon Jinnie. She was entirely convinced that the reason Edward had been sacked and Simeon’s wages reduced was because he had chosen to marry her, a street urchin, little better than a harlot. As a result, the sanctimonious mill owner had been only too glad of any excuse to be rid of the embarrassment of employing him.

  If Jinnie had imagined that Emily would understand these sentiments, or her increasing sense of isolation, she was soon disenchanted. Relations between mother and daughter-in-law suffered something of a set back by these events. Jinnie was again treated to the cold draught of Emily’s displeasure. She began to deeply regret having given up her job as a weaver which she’d only agreed to do in order to please her. Even working short time would have been better than nothing. It would have given them some disposable income of their own and a degree of self respect. Jinnie knew that Edward worried about what would happen when all his savings were gone. If he didn’t find work soon, they would be entirely dependant upon Simeon for every penny.

  She decided that, with or without Edward’s approval, she must seek work herself. She could hardly take in washing, not at Seedley Park Road, and the mill wasn’t taking on any new hands but
Jinnie was convinced there must be something she could do. They needed to have some money coming in. There must be work of some sort, somewhere. She only had to find it. When she’d found herself a decent, respectable job, it would be too late then for Edward to disapprove.

  Following this change in their circumstances, Simeon’s temper grew ever shorter. He would storm about the house seething with suppressed fury, making Mrs Dyson and Tilly run for cover whenever he approached while Emily beat her fists with despair, constantly reminding her husband how she had warned him against this very danger.

  ‘We’ve been cast out. Ostracised. Let down by our children. Oh, what are we to do?’

  In the end, driven to the limits of his patience by her complaints Simeon turned on her, for once standing up to his wife. ‘This has nowt to do with Jinnie, or even our Bella. It’s the fault of Parliament, politics, world trade and those stupid enough and greedy enough to invest in fantasy instead of new technology.’

  Emily burst into a fit of tears and ran from the room.

  For the first time in his life Simeon did not rush after her, or offer any sort of palliative to subdue her woes. He took off his spectacles and began to polish them vigorously on his pocket handkerchief. After a moment he put his head in his hands and permitted the swell of fear which had been growing inside like a cancer to swamp him. It beat in his head like a drum, flooded through his weary body in a hot tide of terror and for several long moments he remained thus, overwhelmed by events.

  He knew why he hadn’t gone after Emily. Because there was yet more bad news that he still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell her.

  Work at the mill was rapidly drying up. Each morning he opened the post with an increasing sense of foreboding as he found it comprised mainly bills and invoices, with no fresh orders coming in. The office telephone remained ominously silent and Mr Josiah was conspicuous by his absence, which must be a bad sign. It indicated to Simeon that his employer was either avoiding reality, or feathering himself a nest somewhere else, in order to make his escape.

  Simeon felt the kind of unrest an animal experiences when a storm is brewing. He was aware that the cotton boom was on the wane, that foreign competition was beginning to take its toll. During the war, unable to get supplies of cotton goods to India, their biggest customer, the Indians had taken to producing their own. Hadn’t he warned Mr Josiah to expand their market before it was too late? Hadn’t Simeon strongly recommended a hundred times since that they’d be better able to compete if he invested in new technology, but the man had refused to act, to even listen to his manager’s advice.

  It wasn’t difficult to work out why his employer had taken this line. He was short of ready cash because he’d invested too much on the American Stock Exchange, presumably in the hope of making an instant fortune like many another greedy fool. If so, it was surely only a matter of time before there were further cut- backs. Mr Josiah could very well decide to save even more wages by sacking his manager and running the mill himself.

  What in heaven’s name would he do then? Simeon didn’t dare to think. He knew there was little chance of his finding another mill to take him on. Too many had closed already and the rest were all on short time, suffering in exactly the same way. And he certainly knew what to expect in the open market place. Watching his son fall into that listlessness so evident in the unemployed, cut him to the heart.

  He sank into his chair, still with his head in his hands and almost sobbed out loud with the pain that gripped him. Despair weighed heavy and Simeon longed with all his heart for Isabella, his darling daughter, his favourite child. In that moment he needed her beside him, to offer comfort and love. Hadn’t they always supported each other over the years? He’d always encouraged her in her philanthropic work, believing it was right and proper for people in their station of life to help those less fortunate than themselves, but she’d surely overstepped the mark. He expected her always to behave like a lady yet she’d gone beyond the bounds of propriety. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn, so utterly outrageous.

  And if only he hadn’t been so damned puritanical about that dratted clinic, a small voice in his head pointed out. But then how could he, a stalwart of the chapel, have condoned such outlandish, immoral behaviour? No, the fault was entirely hers for putting him into such a difficult position.

  After a time Simeon replaced his spectacles, smoothed his whiskers and lit a cigar which he smoked in contemplative silence. The action soothed him and he began to feel calmer, more in control. Even Isabella must acknowledge that circumstances had changed and if family problems compelled her to abandon her racketing life style, then the ill wind had blown some good at least. Simeon slid a sheet of paper from his bureau and began to write.

  He sent a note instructing his daughter to come home at once. Tilly delivered it to Bella at the clinic. It informed her that since Edward and Jinnie were temporarily unemployed, her mother’s health still uncertain and he himself on reduced wages, it behoved her to return home. They needed whatever contribution she could make to the household expenses. ‘Your first responsibility is to your family, not to the Howarths or to the clinic. The wages you are paid by Kendal Milne, however inadequate, are now required here.’

  Saddened to hear of her family’s straitened circumstances Bella knew she could do nothing to help, even had she still worked at the store. Her family were not alone in their troubles. About half of the husbands and sons of her ‘ladies’ were also on short time or out of work and she took careful note how they coped with increasing poverty, digging ever deeper into their meagre resources. They would try anything rather than relinquish their pride and ask for official help.

  The items they’d once prized so highly as proof of their status and respectability: a gramophone perhaps, the family piano, or a bicycle which a husband had used to take him to work, or even a silver watch and chain left by some beloved parent had long since been sold or pawned. Fenders and fire irons, jugs, mugs and ornaments, even a mantel clock presented at a family wedding or anniversary would go the same way. After that, women were reduced to pawning bundles of clothes, a Sunday suit or coat which would otherwise hang idle in the cupboard all week, or a husband’s only decent pair of boots. Anything to bring in a few shillings to see them through to the next pitiful dole payment.

  Bella admired their fortitude even while she wept for their distress. Not for a moment had she expected her own family to suffer in a similar fashion. She asked Tilly if it were indeed true.

  The dark fear in the little housemaid’s eyes answered the question even before the vigorous nod and the ready tears. ‘Mrs D reckons her and me’ll be out on our ears before the month is out. Lord knows where I’ll go, Miss Isabella. I’ve no home but Seedley Park Road. I’ll end up at the workhouse, I know I will,’ and the poor girl burst into noisy sobs.

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that, Tilly,’ Bella said, doing her best to console her. Despite the peremptory tone of the letter, she couldn’t believe the situation to be half so bad as her father made out. No doubt he’d been egged on by her mother’s usual hysterics. ‘Tell Pa that I’m sorry. Truly sorry. Unfortunately, I have no paid employment either, except for the few shillings a week I get for working here at the clinic. A pittance by anybody’s standards. It barely covers my food and keep.’

  This only resulted in a fresh paroxysm of tears and Bella became anxious for Tilly to leave. ‘I couldn’t tell him that, miss. I couldn’t. He’d be that cut up. Couldn’t you do summat to help?’

  Bella’s throat tightened with emotion as she recalled the relationship she’d once enjoyed with her father. It broke her heart to be so at odds with him but he was asking the impossible. She couldn’t give up the clinic and certainly not to find paid work to keep her mother in the manner to which she’d become accustomed. ‘I’m sorry Tilly. Times are hard for us all.’

  She wrote a short, polite note informing her father of these facts. She politely pointed out that he’d chosen to curtail h
er allowance the day he’d thrown her out and, in spite of her efforts to heal the breach between them since, neither their relationship nor her financial situation was in any way improved. Bella wrote that she was no longer employed by Kendal Milne but earned her living, such as it was, through her work at the clinic which she could not, and would not, give up. ‘In the circumstances, I regret I can be of little use to you. Nevertheless I remain, as always, your loving daughter, Isabella.’

  When Simeon read the letter, handed to him in his study by Tilly with some trepidation, he swore loudly and comprehensively, quite unlike his normally mild mannered self. He flung several interrogative questions at her which only brought a flood of tears and finally he ordered the quivering maid to leave. As she fled, he tore the letter into shreds and tossed it into the flickering flames of a paltry fire.

  He was painfully aware that the entire household depended upon his income, modest though it now was, and looked to him for a solution to the family troubles. Yet he could not be held responsible for everyone. Whether Emily liked it or not, savings would have to be made. He would begin in the kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bella and Dan seemed to be back on their old good terms. They began by meeting up every Monday evening for a walk in the park or by the Irwell. She no longer showed any interest in going up Dawney’s Hill. Afterwards, Dan would buy them each a fish supper for tenpence which they would eat with their fingers as they walked along the street, content to be together. Then their meetings grew to twice a week, three times, till she saw him most days at some point or other, even if it was only for him to walk her home from the clinic, and Bella was glad.

  She was afraid now, of walking home alone in the dark.

  On one never to be forgotten evening as they reached her door, before she had time to guess his intention Dan grasped her by the arms, almost lifting her off her feet, then pulled her against the breadth of his great chest and kissed her. Finally! At last! Of his own free will. And it was surely worth waiting for. Dan’s kiss, unlike Quinn’s, managed to be both passionate and tender, gentle yet irresistibly seductive and in a strange sort of way far more compulsive, leaving her utterly breathless. After it was over he set her carefully back on her feet and they stood there on the doorstep, alone in the moonlight, with his arms wrapped around her and she snuggled close and warm against his chest.