The Favourite Child

by Freda Lightfoot

  Bella looked at him and shuddered.

  There were no ropes, no boundaries other than that provided by the eager spectators. Tom Linx, the cellar man, had evidently been selected to act as referee and he now brought the two men together, made them shake hands. Dan did so with reluctance, Quinn with a snarling grin of contempt. Another roar from the crowd, echoing upwards into the vaulted ceiling; last bets were furiously being placed, though no doubt Len would not close the book until the last blow had been struck. Quinn meant to win, as always, and make money in the process.

  The referee held up his hands and a cathedral-like hush fell upon the crowd though in this place, they were here not to worship life but to challenge death. Fear gripped Bella’s stomach and she resisted an overwhelming urge to vomit.

  The signal came and it was Dan who flung the first punch. Quinn ducked and it missed its target. Again Dan lunged, this time connecting smartly with Quinn’s jaw, the crack of the blow snapping his head back. Dan gave the hand a little shake, as if he’d suffered as much from its impact as had the recipient. Then he flexed it, struck again and the hush of the crowd was broken by a roar of approval. There were plenty present eager to see Quinn brought to ground tonight. But where Dan had bulk, Billy Quinn had skill. He was spry, he moved well, he ducked and weaved and too often caught Dan off guard, not caring if a blow went below the belt, punching hard wherever he could and often holding on to his opponent with grim fury so that Dan couldn’t break free or position himself properly to strike.

  Blood was spilled, a tooth cracked, and the murmurs and jeers of the crowd grew in volume, their excitement palpable as many voices shouted out instructions.

  ‘Punch him in the puddin’s!’

  ‘Watch him Dan, he’d skin a flea for a penny.’

  ‘Eeh, that were a belter!’

  ‘Bloody Nora, don’t stand there like a stonejug. Put one on ‘im, lad.’

  There was worse language used but Bella fortunately either didn’t hear or didn’t understand more than half of it, so concerned was she with Dan remaining on his feet.

  Suddenly he wasn’t any more but sprawling backwards onto the sawdust-strewn floor. There were groans from the partisan crowd but the referee was holding Quinn back and counting. Dan staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, rocking on his heels and Quinn knocked him down again. This time Quinn moved swiftly in before the referee could stop him and began to kick Dan where he lay on the filthy floor, the toe of a steel tipped clog hammering against his rib cage.

  ‘Oh dear God, he’ll break his ribs. Dan will lose! He’ll be seriously injured. Why won’t the referee allow time for him to get up?’

  Edward said with bitter irony. ‘It’s a fight Bella, not a picnic.’

  But there were other voices of protest. ‘Bloody cheat!’

  ‘Stop him, ref.’

  ‘He’ll punce him to death.’

  Before the referee had time to move in, Dan caught hold of Quinn’s foot and yanked on it hard, toppling him to the ground. Then they were both sprawling on the floor, grappling and flinging punches as they rolled in the dirt and cigarette ends, just missing being trampled on by the feet of the noisy spectators.

  The referee finally managed to drag them apart, holding up one hand to allow Dan to struggle back on his feet and take a breather. His mates grabbed him, wiped the sweat from his face and the blood from his chin as he spat out a tooth, then began to whisper furiously in his ear, offering advice and encouragement. Quinn stood watching, grinning from ear to ear like the devil himself.

  ‘Ye shouldn’t come out to play with the big boys, Howarth. Stay home with yer mammy in future and leave Bella Ashton to a man who is a man, through and through. One who has tasted her charms and means to do so again.’

  Inflamed by the taunt, Dan let out a great roar and launched himself forward to plant one huge, clenched fist in the middle of Quinn’s face. It caught him off balance, the force of the blow taking him completely by surprise, and it was Quinn’s turn now to be sprawling flat on his back in the filthy straw. The referee began to count. ‘One - two - ‘

  The crowd jeered and yelled, counting with him. ‘Three - four - five ...’

  Quinn was up, flailing his arms about helplessly like a man drunk but still ready to fight. Dan walked up to him, grabbed a fistful of his lush hair and almost spat in his face. ‘How about that for a taster then, just to let you see what you’re up against. I’m going to be kind and let you live but you keep your filthy hands off my girl in future. Right? Or you’ll learn, to your cost what I’m really like when roused.’ With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he thrust him away. Quinn’s knees buckled and he seemed about to fall but as Dan turned to go, lifting his arms in readiness to meet the jubilation of his appreciative audience they shouted a warning. Dan swung round just in time to find Quinn hurling towards him like a steam train. He tensed and with no time to plan, not a second to think, flung a random punch, putting everything he had into it and met Quinn head on.

  The crack of knuckle on jawbone resounded throughout the voluminous cellar and there was a sharp and collective indrawing of breath as Quinn’s feet lifted from the ground and he seemed to float backwards, almost in slow motion, falling into an unconscious heap on the floor. It didn’t take the referee’s meticulous counting to tell them that the fight was over and Dan had won. The roar that greeted this result could surely have been heard down at the Police station, had they bothered to listen. Len Jackson found himself instantly under siege as eager men yelled for their winnings, or blamed him for losing their hard earned cash.

  Dan was clapped on the back, hugged, thumped, congratulated and finally lifted high on shoulders to be heralded a hero. At last, for the moment anyway, Quinn had been given a well-deserved walloping.

  Bella pushed her way through the crowd till she reached Dan. The next moment she was in his arms, touching his face, the tender bruises on his skin, the cut on his mouth. She could feel the hard muscles of his young body, smell his sweat, was furious with him for taking such a stupid risk, and loving him for it all at the same. ‘Are you all right?’

  He tried to grin at her, put a hand to his face and winced. ‘I think so. I love you, Bella.’

  ‘And I you.’

  ‘Keep the child if you must, but don’t ever leave me.’

  ‘Oh never, my darling, never, never, never.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was February, the melted slush of dirty snow covering the ground. Bella peered through the cracks in the dirty wooden fence and watched the long weary line of men and women standing in line, each with enamel mug in hand, hoping for a sup of tea or hot soup to ease the ache of hunger. The scrape of clog irons as they shuffled forward cut her to the heart. Their grubby, tattered clothes, grey faces and grim expressions; the silent oppressiveness that hung over the scene, were terrible to behold.

  She could smell the appetising aroma of vegetable broth and Bella felt her own stomach rumble, reminding her that she too had eaten nothing that day, for all there was food in the house. She had sausage, cheese and streaky bacon in the meat safe down the yard. One of Aunt Edie’s fresh loaves stood untouched in the blue and white enamel bread bin but Bella knew that her purse held nothing more than a few coppers, so whatever she had in her cupboards must be made to last for as long as possible. It was a chastening thought and a chill crawled down her spine. How near was she to that line?

  The money she earned from the clinic was barely enough to pay rent and food for herself at the best of times, and she’d earned little above subsistence level over these last weeks while she was recovering from the attack. She still hadn’t found Baby Holly’s mother and although it was a great relief that Dan had dropped his opposition to her keeping the child, temporarily at least, Bella did worry about how she would ever manage. What kind of future was she building for herself, let alone an abandoned baby?

  Her one aim had been to help women lead a better life, safe from the yearly drudge of child re
aring. She had risked everything to bring this about. She’d suffered vilification in the press, been attacked at meetings, had bricks thrown through her window and been largely cast out by her own family. Bella knew what it was to feel alone, unappreciated and unwanted. Had it not been for Violet, where would she have gone that day her father had flung her out on the street? How would she have survived? How would she have got through these last weeks without her good friends, who’d repaid her a thousand fold with their good will and kindness, since only Jinnie and Edward had visited from Seedley Park Road.

  Bella made her way into the workhouse yard, pushing the bassinet before her as she walked the length of the line. A few dull eyes glanced her way, though with no real interest. A woman with a child was not an unusual sight but as she neared the front of the queue, their attitude subtly changed.

  ‘’Ere missus, end of queue is back there. We haven’t stood ‘ere all day for thee to shove in front of us.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not. Really I was only ...’

  ‘Aye, get back. ‘Oo the bleedin’ hell d’you think you are?’

  The crowd, once so passive, now appeared threatening. Several men broke away from the queue to move towards her, their faces hard and angry. Bella backed quickly away, suddenly afraid. ‘I’m looking for someone, that’s all.’

  ‘Leave her be, it’s Miss Isabella from the clinic,’ a voice called out and some of the men backed off while others looked confused, still not too sure who she might be but noting the respect others held for her.

  ‘Miss Isabella? Is it really you?’

  Bella didn’t, at first, recognise Tilly and then there she was, standing in line open-mouthed, a hunched and shivering figure patiently waiting to be fed. The little housemaid seemed like a scrawny child or, worse, a browbeaten animal, drawn, grey-faced and ill, so unlike her normal round-cheeked, cheerful self that Bella was appalled. One glance told all. Tilly was starving. Without pause for thought, uncaring now of the curious men who still hovered around, Bella elbowed her way through, calling her name above the murmur of protesting voices.

  ‘Tilly. Oh, Tilly!’ Then Tilly was in her arms, sobbing and crying her thankfulness, and Bella’s one desire was to get the poor girl safely home beside a warming fire and with a good meal inside her, all thoughts of economy forgotten.

  When her visitor had eaten every scrap of the sausages and mash placed before her, as well as two slices of Aunt Edie’s bread, all washed down by several cups of strong tea, Bella handed over Simeon’s Christmas gift which she’d kept safe all these weeks. Tilly sat bemused before Bella’s fire, face flushed with happiness for all huge fat tears slid silently down her grubby cheeks. At first Bella was horrified, thinking she truly was ill but then the words of gratitude came spluttering out through the gush of tears and running nose.

  ‘Eeh, I can’t tell you how I app...’ Words deserted her in a fresh paroxysm of gasping sobs. ‘I thought I’d done summat wrong for him to dismiss me like that. It’s not like Mr Ashton, I said to meself. He were always that good to me, your pa, once of a time, miss. I swear he changed when you left home. Never stopped sniping from dawn to dusk, he didn’t. Not himself at all. Then he up and chucks me out, just as he did you. I couldn’t believe it. I really couldn’t.’

  Bella sat rocking Baby Holly gently on her lap, half smiling as the child suckled hungrily from the curved feeding bottle, half listening to Tilly’s tale and inwardly growing increasingly worried by her words. Could there be something seriously wrong with Pa? Surely not. What could possibly go awry with the safe and ordered life of Simeon Ashton? It was really long past time he got over these silly moods.

  Though, as Tilly said, it was quite unlike him. As this thought took root in her mind, Bella began to worry if perhaps there was something truly wrong after all. She still called regularly every other Sunday afternoon and had seen no indication of a problem, except for a certain tightening of the belt which was fair enough in these straitened times.

  Suddenly Tilly got to her feet, rubbing one hand over her face to wipe away the tears. ‘Nay look at me. Crying when I should be smiling. You feeds me a good meal and all I do is grizzle and complain. I’m that grateful, really I am but I’d best be off now.’ So saying, she snatched up her coat and made for the door.

  Bella sat up abruptly, making the baby jump as she called after Tilly. ‘Where are you going? To your grandmother’s?’

  Tilly hesitated with her hand on the door knob and gave a little shake of the head. ‘She couldn’t manage to put me up, much as she’d like to. Gran hasn’t two halfpennies to rub together, can barely manage to feed herself let alone...’ Her expression looked suddenly hunted. ‘Not that I asked her to, you understand. T’wouldn’t have been right. No, I made out I’d just dropped by to see how she was, it being Christmas. I give her some of me wages and ...’

  ‘Some?’

  ‘Well, most of ‘em. But she’s old, Miss Bella, and I’m young enough to work for me keep. I’ll be right as ninepence now with what you’ve just given me.’

  ‘But it won’t last for ever. Where have you been sleeping?’

  ‘Here and there. Don’t worry, this’ll tide me over nicely till I manage to find work, eh?’

  ‘But what if you don’t find any work?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Tilly seemed to have forgotten that she’d been looking for nearly three months, with no sign of a job. ‘I’ve been given a good character, after all. Anyway, thanks again.’ She pulled open the front door and a blast of icy cold air gushed into the tiny house, blowing the baby’s nappies off the wooden clothes maiden that stood drying by the fire. Tilly bent to pick them up, to smooth them back into place.

  Bella said, ‘How do you feel about being a nursemaid to a small baby, just until I find the mother. I’ve been a bit under the weather myself but now that I’m better, I’m itching to get back to work. I’ve calls to make, a clinic to run yet I can’t bring myself to just hand her over to the Board of Guardians. I keep hoping I’ll find Holly’s poor mother. I can’t pay you, I’m afraid. Just your food, so long as we’re not too greedy, and a roof over your head, of course. I’m offering you a home, Tilly, if you’re prepared to work for your keep, at least until things improve. We could ride out this slump together, what do you say?’

  The tears this time were pitiful little sobs and hiccups which became more and more effusive, threatening ultimately to turn into a flood of adoration which Bella would find hugely embarrassing. She forestalled such a scene by promptly putting the baby into Tilly’s outstretched arms and, after planting a kiss on Holly’s cheek, then one on Tilly’s, said, ‘Right, that’s settled then. I’ll get back to work.’ And gathering her coat, she almost ran from the house.

  Bella went thankfully back to her old routine, the sessions at the clinic and her regular home visits. One of her first calls was upon the new Mrs Clarke. Bella was appalled to discover that the girl was already far gone in her first pregnancy and didn’t seem to be thriving on the condition. She was far too thin and looked thoroughly washed out, if her pasty face and hollow eyes were anything to go by.

  ‘If only you’d agreed to come to the clinic for help,’ Bella said, glancing despairingly around the stinking hovel Reg Clarke called home. There seemed barely a stick of furniture in the room beyond a kitchen table cluttered with unwashed pots despite the presence of a brown, slopstone sink. One wall was taken up with a filthy old range in which a pitiful fire burned and the other by a bed upon which several bare-bottomed children crawled, fought, screamed or sat eating large jam butties along with the snot from their runny noses.

  The smell of stale urine emanating from the tumble of bed clothes almost made her gag.

  Restraining a shudder, Bella turned a deliberately bright smile upon the young girl whose name, she learned, was Alice. Bella explained how she’d chanced to be in the street anyway, so thought she’d call to see how she was coping with the children. ‘Sally was always telling me what a handful they were.�
� In fact, she’d been hovering for an hour or more, hoping Reg would go off to work as, eventually, he had, thus giving her the opportunity to take advantage of his absence and pay a call upon his new wife.

  The girl’s expression was sulky and mutinous and Bella could tell that she was making little impression. ‘We can manage. Reg’ll help. He’s already said so. Children are a blessing and a woman’s labour is only a part of the Cross we are all expected to bear,’ she dutifully recited, as if she’d learned the words off by heart.

  No offer of a cuppa had been made, though after an hour in a draughty street Bella was gasping for one. ‘How about a brew?’ Glancing along the mantle shelf in search of the tea caddy.

  ‘Shurrup, you lot,’ Alice screamed, struggling to separate a tangle of arms and legs and make the children sit still. Little more than a child herself, she seemed on the verge of tears. Bella helped her to restore order then swung the kettle over the fire.

  ‘Have you not brought any with yer?’ Alice wanted to know, watching her fill the pot with boiling water. ‘Reg says that were the only reason he ever let you in th’house. ‘Cause you’d happen brought summat good.’

  ‘Sorry, but times are hard.’ It was surely true that at one time she might have brought the girl a packet of tea or a loaf of bread to help eke out the pitiful resources. But Bella was in almost as dire a state herself these days. No, not quite, she corrected herself, as another scream issued from the heap of filthy bedclothes.

  ‘You’ll have to wet the used tea leaves in the pot then.’

  Bella did so, recalling it wasn’t the first time she’d enjoyed the dregs of a pot. Hot and wet at least, it was welcome on this chill day, though without even a drop of milk it would bring little sustenance to this poor girl.

  They sat on the edge of the bed, which seemed the only place available in the overcrowded room, and sipped at the scalding weak brew. Bella looked at the children and saw hunger in their wizened faces, open sores on their stick-like limbs and an alarming pink rash all over their small bottoms. ‘Does he help you now, with the four you’ve already got?’