The Favourite Child

by Freda Lightfoot

  Even the likes of Violet and her merry band of helpers were thoroughly investigated. Not an easy task, as Violet herself admitted, though for once she managed to curb her wicked sense of humour and answer the inspector’s questions in a proper fashion.

  ‘And how long have you been working here Mrs Howarth?’

  Too long, Violet thought. Time I retired and put me feet up. ‘Since it started,’ she answered with a polite smile.

  ‘And it is your task to encourage the patients to express their needs? To talk about their problems?’

  You try and stop ‘em. ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘And do you ever offer advice?’

  Nay, I tells them straight what they should do. ‘No sir. I advises them to speak to the doctor.’

  ‘Good, good.’

  Throughout the period of the inspection, nasty little pieces of gossip continued to appear from time to time in the local press, which often left Bella feeling sick to the pit of her stomach. She could only hope that when this mythical pregnancy did not materialise into a living, breathing child, the gossipmongers would grow bored. In the meantime, people would turn their curious gaze upon her as she passed by and whisper behind their hands. But Bella held her head high and walked tall, determined not to be cast down by anyone.

  ‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,’ she repeated, over and over. ‘Let people think what they like.’ There were still days when she jumped at the sound of clog irons scraping on the setts behind her, when she would glance sharply down a back entry and imagine she saw movement in the shadows, though less and less these days. Bella told herself she was far too busy to worry over such as Billy Quinn; that she must put the past firmly behind her.

  When all the visits, questions and reports were taken and written, they suffered another long wait while their case was considered.

  The verdict came at last. Bella took the envelope, handed to her by Mrs Heap and was forced to sit down in order to gather her strength. The future of the Mothers’ Clinic hung now on the decision of Salford City Council.

  ‘Well at least their decision will be fair, unlike that of Billy Quinn, or the vindictive Dr Lisle.’

  Bella unfolded the single sheet of paper which held their fate with some trepidation, feeling everyone’s eyes upon her. Quickly, she scanned the contents. Then she began to read it out loud.

  ‘The Salford City Council, following public opinion as referred to in the attitude of the press and the action of other towns, has decided that birth control advice can now be given for ‘medical reasons’ at the municipal welfare centres. Private clinics are, however, still necessary for cases not covered by the narrow interpretation liable to be placed on the phrase ‘medical reasons’. For instance, for economic reasons where the wage earner is unemployed. Such clinics can act as a centre for the instruction of doctors and nurses, where they have not had such teaching in medical school. And thirdly, they may be involved in research.’

  Below this statement was added a single sentence. ‘The Liverpool Street Mothers’ Clinic has been passed as a fit and proper place for this purpose.’

  ‘Can you believe it? We’ve won!’ Bella cried and, squealing with delight, hugged Dr Syd, Tilly, Violet and all of her ‘ladies,’ even Mrs Blundell.

  Following this excellent news, matters quickly escalated to an exciting level. Just as the protesters had once helped them to launch the clinic in the first place, now it seemed almost as if the scandal had lifted it on to a higher plane. Quite the opposite of what had been intended. They’d been checked, inspected and fully approved. Bella had no doubt that the controversy over the rights and wrongs of their work would continue for some years but the future of The Mothers’ Clinic was assured. It could continue, in spite of petty sniping. They were now free to concentrate on what they did best: provide good health care for the women of Salford.

  Inspired by this approval, Bella sought and found new sponsors. She opened a second clinic in new and better premises, this time fully equipped with surgical couches, screens and everything needed for the staff to do their job. There was even a suggestion that the City Council may well consider offering a grant in a year or two, should everything proceed smoothly. Which meant that, in time, the clinic would be able to pay proper salaries to its medical staff.

  Bella’s name, and her achievements, became much more widely known as a result of this success and she was often called upon to give talks and lectures, to describe and explain the work they did at the clinic. Bella put all her heart and soul into this cause, for here was something she could do without qualifications. She seemed to know instinctively how to communicate, how to educate. This was her métier and her strength, and she embraced the task with enthusiasm and renewed energy. She still suffered opposition at public meetings but Bella was a seasoned campaigner, willing to take on anyone in this great debate. Her eyes would glow with passion and intensity, her tawny hair crackle with new life as she spoke of her deeply held belief that all women should, by right, have full access to birth control and to ante-natal care. This last was, of course, set to be her next campaign.

  The winter of 1932 was bitter and if it was thought that times were hard before, the people of Salford soon discovered that it could get harder yet. Unemployment allowances had been cut and a means test brought in, which was disastrous for those living hand to mouth on and around Liverpool Street. Britain had narrowly avoided bankruptcy by coming off the Gold Standard but the last dregs of optimism and hope finally melted, bringing with it news of several suicides in the homes of the upper classes and yet more thousands to add to the two and half million already drawing the dole.

  It was not a time for families to be taking on any extra mouths to feed, and Bella found some comfort in visiting Holly who remained at the home. She appeared to be well looked after by the sisters, always seemed pleased to see her, if a little tearful when Bella left.

  Bella too would shed a few tears, her heart aching for love of this child. If only she could take her home, but knew better than to ask. She was a single woman, only just recovering from a besmirched reputation. Besides, her life was rapidly moving in a different direction now. She was even invited to speak on the wireless, which she did so well that she was asked to repeat it, and soon she became a regular. She did a weekly ‘Chat to Mothers’ where she was supposed to confine herself to topics of interest to women though she would often stray into matters of politics, gambling, or the iniquities of the means test, which were previously considered not to be women’s business at all

  She was fearless, unafraid of overstepping the mark and speaking her mind; talked tough but with a real sense of compassion. Only Bella could get away with such an effrontery. The more controversial her comments, the more her listeners loved her. She developed a reputation for courage, intelligence and for being an ardent feminist, someone prepared to fight for the ordinary woman in the street.

  As a result, the people of Salford came to hold a special place for her in their hearts, all thoughts of past scandal long gone and forgotten.

  Manchester and Salford, two proud cities where once much of the country’s wealth had in the past been created, now faced their most testing time. By early May of that year, so did Simeon when Josiah Collins shut his mill gates for the last time and the operatives spilled out on to a street where there was nothing waiting for them but a bleak and hungry future.

  Even Emily took the news in complete silence.

  ‘You realise what this means, my dear,’ Simeon gently explained. ‘We shall have to sell the house and, since we must earn a living somehow, I thought we could buy a business.’

  Emily stared at him through wide, frightened eyes. ‘Business, what kind of business?’

  ‘A shop. Now I want you to stay quite calm, my dear, because the matter is not only decided, the deal is done. I have found a buyer for the house and purchased an excellent little business on the corner of Liverpool Street.’

  The silence which followed this te
rrible statement was so awesome those present could almost sense the aspidistra start to tremble. ‘A corner shop?’ You would have thought, Edward later told Bella, he’d informed Mother that he’d bought a brothel at the very least.

  ‘You needn’t give up your friends my dear. It is only just down the road.’

  ‘My friends will give me up.’ The scream of outrage and anguish was such that it must have been heard at the other end of Seedley Park Road.

  ‘Shall you go into the business with him?’ Jinnie asked her husband as they stood in the kitchen helping Mrs Dyson to wrap pots and pans and pack them in boxes, preparatory to moving. Not that the housekeeper was getting much packing done, as she spent a good deal of time lamenting over the loss of her beloved kitchen and comfortable way of life, every jelly mould bringing forth a rush of old memories and a fresh expulsion of tears. Jinnie was almost grateful that Bella wasn’t with them after all, because then Tilly would have come too and putting these three old friends together might well have turned the kitchen into a veritable torrent of tears.

  Edward smiled softly at his adored wife, then shook his head. ‘No, I feel it’s time for us to branch out on our own. I’ve found us a house to rent not too far away from the docks. We’ll manage.’

  ‘And I still have my job,’ Jinnie added, smiling confidently back. It sounded little enough on which to embark upon this new phase of married life but at least it gave them the chance to be independent at last, free from Emily’s influence. Emily was not with them this morning, nor helping in any way with the move. On hearing that she was to lose the last of her servants, she had taken to her bed.

  Sam had been given his notice and left some weeks ago, now it was the turn of Mrs Dyson. Having nowhere else to go, the housekeeper was to retire to Scarborough and help her sister run a small boarding house. This wasn’t what she’d planned for her retirement but found she had little choice in the matter. Apart from what little she’d managed to save throughout a long lifetime in service, Mrs Dyson had no home of her own to go to, couldn’t even remember the last time Mr Ashton had paid her any wages beyond her excellent keep and the comforts of her beloved kitchen, of course. It would all be different in Scarborough with sister Olive in charge.

  Emily showed not a morsel of sympathy for her servant’s plight. She considered their own downward progress into Liverpool Street to be far worse; even Tilly ending up begging for soup at the workhouse paled into insignificance beside this ignominy. It was a disaster of calamitous proportions. This was the end. She could see no hint of salvation for them in the future. Any friends who had clung on through the shame of Bella’s shockingly immoral behaviour and Edward’s scandalous marriage, would now desert them entirely. They would become outcasts in their own city.

  While his wife lay weeping in bed and his servant and family packed up his home around him, Simeon sat in his study and wrote to inform Bella that, as the only unmarried daughter she would be expected to move back in with them and look after her mother. She could always help in the shop as well, now that she was unemployed, and stop wasting her time on lost causes.

  Bella read the letter in a state of shock. ‘He only ever contacts me when he wants something. Never when I ask for his support. Maybe that’s how it has always been, all I ever was to him: a by-product of his life to show what a fine man he is; to parade before his guests and business acquaintances as his ladylike daughter to be admired and petted, or else to perform some required task and be made use of in a practical way,’ Bella raged, incensed by the suggestion. ‘How dare he order my return to do his bidding! Why can’t he admit for once that I’m right, that I’m a success? I’m my own person with a life of my own. So have Edward and Jinnie. Thank goodness they are leaving at last. It’s time they too got on with their own lives.’

  After which display of temper, she burst into tears.

  Edward and Jinnie settled quite comfortably in their modest two up and two down on Cross lane. The house was clean and sound, comfortably furnished with items from Seedley Park Road and, best of all, completely private. If they wanted to make love on the rug before the fire, they could. They could eat whenever they felt like it, without having to sit in formal splendour at Emily’s mahogany table being careful not to spill the wine on her pristine white damask tablecloth. On Sundays they could get up when they pleased, instead of having to be down to eat breakfast en famille, though they did miss Mrs Dyson’s crisp bacon and devilled kidneys. Or they could stay in bed all morning, if they preferred.

  Not that there was much time to linger in bed the rest of the week. They both of them worked hard to keep their jobs, ill paid though they might be.

  ‘Things can only improve. We can climb the ladder again, all the way to the top,’ Edward would constantly remark and Jinnie would adoringly agree. If in his terms they were now poor, in Jinnie’s they were rich. In that respect they would always see the world through different eyes.

  From Cross Lane it was but a short walk to the docks each morning where Edward would stand in line with Dan and the rest of the men, hoping to be taken on for a day’s labour on the docks. Dan was always more fortunate in this respect than himself but he was gaining a name for reliability. Edward didn’t intend to spend the rest of his life as a dock labourer. Once this slump was over, he had plans. He was saving every penny and one day meant to have a business of his own. Then Jinnie could give up her job as a cleaner and help him to run it. But he certainly had no intention of getting involved with his father’s plans.

  The important thing was that he and his wife were happy, deliciously content together. Not for a moment had he ever regretted marrying her, for all he realised now that there would be no children. What did that matter when he had Jinnie, his lovely sweet wife? Each evening as they sat cosily together before the shining black kitchen range where a bright fire burned, she would happily plan the painting and refurbishment of their front parlour, reminding him that it was the first time in her entire life that she’d ever possessed such a room.

  ‘And I’ve no intention of putting up a green paper blind to block out the sunshine. I shall buy some pretty cotton off the market and make curtains. Do you think we should paint the walls cream, Edward, or can we afford to paper them?’

  ‘Whatever you wish, my love.’

  Simeon and Emily, on the other hand, were finding life on Liverpool Street very different from Seedley Park Road. They were not managing quite so well. For one thing, Emily had to rise early each morning and sweep the shop and pavement outside before opening sharp at eight. This had come as a great shock since she had expected Simeon to do all of these menial tasks. But it was a part of his job to visit the markets and buy in fresh fruit and vegetables for them to sell, and since Bella remained stubborn, who else could open the shop except Emily?

  ‘It’s teamwork,’ Simeon would say, bringing her a cup of tea each morning before he left at six, to encourage her out of bed. ‘I depend upon you utterly, my dear, as you depend upon me. Fear not, we shall prevail.’

  Emily would stand behind the counter in her twin set and pearls and sniff disapprovingly at anybody who dared to touch her apples with no intention of buying. ‘They aren’t put there to be pawed about,’ she’d crisply remark and too often the poor miscreant would hastily depart without buying anything.

  Simeon painstakingly explained to her on numerous occasions how the customer was always right but Emily couldn’t quite seem to grasp this maxim. Customers, in her opinion, were an evil who must be endured.

  Edward and Jinnie were expected for tea every alternate Sunday. Never to lunch. Emily did not cook lunch. It was, she explained, quite beyond her. ‘Some things,’ Simeon would regretfully explain to Edward, ‘never change.’ During the week, he would get by on pies or black puddings while Emily picked at the odd piece of haddock which he kindly poached for her. Sometimes Jinnie would call in with a dish of hot pot or liver and onions for them. These were treats that they both looked forward to and enjoyed. On Sundays
they always took lunch at the Midland Hotel. They certainly couldn’t afford to but Simeon felt it was the least he could do for his long-suffering wife.

  At tea time, the four of them would sit around the table eating tinned salmon and bread and butter with whatever fresh salad was left over from the week’s trading, followed by tinned peaches. Jinnie would always bring a cake she had baked specially, knowing that Emily didn’t bake either. There was never a great deal to eat. Not that this mattered as the atmosphere was so oppressive, Jinnie’s appetite on these occasions was always small. Her mother-in-law, surprisingly enough, was not ungrateful for her efforts.

  ‘What a blessing she is,’ Emily would murmur as Jinnie sliced the cake and handed her a sizeable piece. Emily was exceedingly fond of cake. She seemed long since to have forgotten her initial objections to this girl, a one-time street urchin. But then not only had she made her beloved son happy, she’d also proved to be an excellent daughter-in-law.

  Isabella, once their only daughter and Simeon’s favourite child, was never mentioned.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dan judged the moment to make his approach with care. He’d spent a miserable winter deeply regretting the critical attitude he’d so foolishly adopted yet unable to abandon his pride sufficiently to heal the breach between them. With the coming of spring and the prospect of this bleak life without Bella continuing throughout summer and beyond, he made up his mind that the time had come.

  He chose one evening in late June and waited, as he often used to do, in the cook shop for Bella to emerge from the rooms above. For all she now had a much larger, grander clinic, he knew she still spent a great deal of time up there working with Dr Syd, presumably seeing some of her local ladies or making plans for further fund raising. He lingered for an hour or more chatting to Mrs Heap and the women who came and went buying pies, a currant tea cake or half a loaf, eyeing him up and down with critical amusement.