The Girl From Poorhouse Lane

by Freda Lightfoot

  Kate shivered. ‘Well, they’ll feed us up there, at least. We’ll manage, don’t you fret.’

  She’d meant to sound jaunty and decisive, but the words emerged as a hollow sounding squeak because she could barely get them out for the lump of fear and bitter disappointment that was clogging her throat. Why was it that everything turned sour for her? What had she ever done to deserve such ill luck? Kate didn’t care on her own account. Hadn’t she endured the rough and ready ministrations of the Board of Guardians for years? But what Millie said was true. She did want something better for Callum.

  Besides, they’d take him away from her, she knew they would. They’d put him to work along with the other children by the time he was five or six, crushing bones for fertiliser, or breaking stones. That’s if they hadn’t already given him away to some better-off family in need of a fine healthy son. For as sure as the Virgin Mary is on the side of all sinners, he wouldn’t stay healthy for long, not in that great, huge monstrosity of a place where hundreds of men, women and children were slowly reduced to human wrecks.

  It was said that the bed frames were already rusty as the mattresses were rarely dried properly, let alone aired. Kate knew well enough that this was the overseer’s way of discouraging malingerers, just as if anyone would willingly choose to be incarcerated in such a hell-hole.

  ‘I’ll go and see himself. Put this mess right. Mebbe he’ll change his mind and keep us both on, if I ask him nicely.’

  ‘You think Tyson will listen to you? Don’t make me laugh, Katy. He’ll not even see you.’

  ‘He will, so. I’ll make him see me. He won’t be able to resist.’ Kate gave a little smile, for hadn’t she seen a flare of interest in his eyes? She might be poor and uneducated but she knew when a man liked the look of her right enough.

  Dermot rubbed his hands through the wild thatch of ginger fair hair that topped his round head and gave a grunt of impatience. ‘There ye go again, so damned sure of yourself, so filled with yer own self-importance. He’s a happily married man, Kate, and even if he weren’t, he’d never be interested in the likes of you, a girl from Poor House Lane.’

  ‘He will so. You’ll see. I’ll put it right, so I will.’

  Kate had hoped to leave baby Callum with Millie while she put her case to Eliot Tyson, or even with old Ma Parkin, but when it came to it she changed her mind. The youngest Parkin child had woken fractious and burning up with a fever this morning and Kate had left the cottage as soon as she possibly could, anxious to get away, frantic that whatever was ailing Millie’s children this time, Callum wouldn’t come down with it too.

  Fortunately, he never seemed to catch their coughs and colds, or their frequent bouts of diarrhoea and had so far proved himself to be a happy, healthy child. Even so, Kate never stopped fretting about him, not in that place. It was a breeding ground for disease and fever of one sort or another. Rarely a week passed but what some child in the yard didn’t have measles or chicken pox, whooping cough or mumps, and too many of them didn’t have the strength or the will to survive. Lice and scabies were all too common, and sometimes there were more serious complaints such as diphtheria or scarlet fever that could carry off an entire family of children in the blink of an eye.

  So here she was, dashing across Nether Bridge with her baby tucked under her shawl, the rain sleeting down in typical Lakeland fashion, soaking her to the skin and Kate still hadn’t decided what, exactly, she would say when she got to the factory.

  ‘I’m a blethering idiot, so I am, Mr Tyson and I’d like you to sack me instead of me brother because he’s desperate to wed.’ Would that do? No, that wouldn’t wash at all. He’d take her for the fool she claimed to be, laugh fit to bust and probably sack the both of them. Oh, this was a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake.

  She paused to wait for a waggonette to go by, stepping quickly back as it sprayed yet more mud and water on to her skirts. ‘Shall I say that your clever uncle Dermot is the one with the skills, or is that going too far?’ She pulled the shawl closer around Callum so he didn’t catch cold as she addressed the question to him. The baby beamed up at her, a happy, toothy grin, and kicked his legs against her hips, making her laugh. ‘Or shall I simply say that he’s the man, and deserves a job more than me?’

  Ach, how could she even think to say such a thing? Didn’t she have a little man in her arms who deserved the best that life could offer? Besides, it went against the grain to put herself lower than the male of the species. Even for the sake of her own brother. Come to think of it, particularly for her own brother. Had she lost her senses completely to even be thinking of saving Dermot’s position?

  ‘Doesn’t he lose most of the money he earns on the dogs, the cards, or the booze anyway?’

  With her head down against the tearing wind and rain, she made a dash for it across Aynam Road, splashing through puddles and getting further soaked for her troubles.

  Yet, she couldn’t let him starve, now could she? Not her own brother. What would Daddy have said? Kate let out a bubbling laugh. ‘He’d have said, that son of mine is the greatest lump of useless pudding that I ever had the misfortune to . . .’

  She got no further with the thought.

  Kate didn’t even see the carriage coming full tilt from the direction of Thorny Hills, where the nobs lived. Wasn’t aware of its presence as she rehearsed her thoughts aloud, entranced by her sweet memories, the rain drumming on the pavement and the wind howling in her ears. Not until she smelled the horses, heard the jingle of a bit and a warning snort of alarm from wide, flaring nostrils. The next instant she seemed to be tangled in a mesh of harness, desperately trying to fend off two terrified animals and prevent them from ploughing down herself and her precious child under their prancing feet. Then she felt Callum slip from her grasp.

  When she came to, the world was spinning slowly round and small explosions of light were going off inside her head. Kate came to reality with a start and tried to sit up. ‘Callum! Callum!’

  ‘Ah good, we have life.’ Hands pressed her gently down again, a round, cheery face swam into view. It bore whiskers and side burns, steel-framed spectacles and there was the strong smell of burning feathers under her nose. The stink was appalling.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s me son?’ She seemed to be on some sort of couch, evidently inside a doctor’s surgery and there was no sign of Callum anywhere. The doctor had turned away, was walking to the door as if not wishing to answer her question and Kate’s heart plummeted, feeling certain that the bile she could taste in her throat would erupt at any moment, all over the doctor’s clean floor. ‘Mary, mother of God, will ye tell me where he is before I go demented. Is me babby all right?’

  The doctor hurried back to her at a brisk pace, quietly hushing her yet his expression remained stern. ‘By some miracle the baby is well. Must have bounced like a rubber ball for there’s barely a bruise on him. You have a fine healthy son, my dear, so stop fretting, and stay calm while I fetch him for you.’

  Kate sank back on to the leather couch with a sigh of relief, letting the tears slide down her cheek. What would she have done if she’d lost him? It really didn’t bear thinking about.

  By the time she heard the door open again she was sitting up, making some attempt to smooth her muddy skirts. She’d pushed the tangle of hair from her face, arms wrapped about her thin chest for she felt chilled to the bone in spite of the thin blanket the doctor had draped about her shoulders. Still dazed and in shock, Kate looked up eagerly, arms reaching out for her child. It wasn’t the doctor bringing Callum but quite another figure altogether. He emerged from the shadows, bearing down upon her like the angel of doom. His voice rang out, resonating with anger. ‘What the hell do you think you were you doing, running around the town with a babe in your arms in this weather?’

  Kate took a quivering breath. She recognised him instantly. Oh, why did things always go wrong for her? Wouldn’t Dermot kill her, to be sure. She cleared her throat, reminding herself to take c
are to address him correctly. ‘I was coming to see you, as a matter of fact, Mr Tyson, sir.’ It was amazing that her voice sounded so calm, when inside she was a turmoil of emotion. Where was Callum? Was the doctor lying?

  ‘If you mean to beg for that wastrel brother of yours, you can save your breath. Swainson is certain he cheated with the leather and in any case, I’m reliably informed that he generally spends three days working and two drinking. He can be replaced by a dozen better men any day of the week. As for you, young lady, you should be ashamed of yourself, taking a child out in such a rainstorm. Don’t you realise he could have caught a chill, got pneumonia even.’

  ‘Oh, so he’d be better off catching scarletina in the stews of Poor House Lane would he?’ Kate retorted, cocking her chin up in exactly the sort of truculent manner she’d vowed not to use with him again, and taking enormous satisfaction from the stunned expression that came upon his face.

  ‘Scarletina? Are you saying there’s an epidemic about?’

  ‘I’m saying he’s no worse off in the rain than staying in the pit we call home.’ Had the man lost his wits completely? But then, wasn’t she supposed to be trying to butter him up, to wheedle him into a more benevolent mood so that she could indeed put Dermot’s case? She softened her stance, attempted an alluring smile. ‘Look, the fact is that me brother had done nothing wrong, nought but help me get started with the stitching.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard.’

  ‘He showed me what Swainson should have told me himself, if only he’d had the patience. And there was nothing at all wrong with the boots Dermot made neither. Your precious foreman was just determined to be nasty and have his own way, so help me.’

  The look he gave her was scathing. ‘What are you saying? That he wanted to have his wicked way with you, is that what you’re accusing him of now? What else? Murder and mayhem too perhaps.’

  Kate flushed with annoyance, hating how he kept sidetracking her from the point she was trying to make. She wondered whether she dare accuse Swainson of having wandering hands, but decided that was too risky, even for her. Besides, she couldn’t prove a thing. But recklessly, not wanting to be beaten, she decided to try a different tack. ‘If ye think Tyson’s is still producing the quality work it allus used to when your father was alive, ask your precious foreman to prove it.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Go on, why don’t you? Me brother says there’s no comparison with the old and new.’

  ‘We’re not discussing Tyson business here.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘We are discussing how you risked your own child’s life in order to save that useless brother of yours.’

  ‘I did not risk my child’s life!’

  ‘Running around not looking where you’re going. Do you realise that the child could have been killed?’ He kept his voice low although it crackled with wrath. And it showed no sign of the harsh overtones of a Westmorland accent or the slightest hint of a flat vowel, as one would expect from one of the gentry.

  ‘That was not the way of it at all. If you hadn’t been tearing down the road so fast in that fancy carriage of yours, ye might have seen us. Do you always drive so recklessly?’

  ‘A gentleman doesn’t drive his own carriage.’

  ‘Aw, now why didn’t I think of that? Doesn’t that make all the difference in the world. Well then you should employ someone who isn’t half blind or plain daft. A woman with a babby can’t be that difficult to spot, surely to God, even in the rain.’

  ‘You were reckless in the extreme, so don’t try to turn the blame onto me, or on to my driver. Not for this unfortunate accident, nor for that other little matter.’

  ‘Little matter?’ Kate was incensed. ‘Tis our livelihood we’re talking about here. You robbed us of it, turned me brother off without a penny.’

  ‘Accept what fate and his own folly has brought, Kate O’Connor. I never back down from my decisions. Never! As I understand it, he got what he deserved. You both did.’ His anger and obduracy suddenly seemed awesome, leaving Kate stunned into silence for a whole ten seconds before she found her voice again.

  ‘Then you understand wrong.’ Despite her defiance, a tiny shiver ran down her spine at his vow that he never backed down from a decision, rather like a premonition, just as if a goose had walked over her grave.

  Tyson stepped closer in a manner she took to be threatening, except in that moment she became aware, for the first time, how very handsome he was. He had a chiselled, sensitive mouth, an arched forehead from which sprang dark, wavy hair that just touched the collar of his greatcoat. The nose was perhaps more hawk-like than aquiline but no one could deny the fine bone structure, even if the lines of his face did look as if they’d been dragged down by some disappointment or other. The eyes were a deep chestnut, yet worry and strain seemed to have created a fog of abstraction in them, the sentiment echoed in the slump of his shoulders.

  Until that moment Kate had never imagined it possible to be both rich and unhappy. It somehow seemed a contradiction in terms but she knew hurt when she saw it, only too well, and this new insight surprised her. She longed to reach up her hands and stroke away those cold, harsh lines, to ask him what had put them there. But then the doctor came in, carrying Callum in his arms and the moment passed.

  Kate leaped from the couch and ran to gather her child to her breast. Callum stretched out his arms to her, giving her his cheeky, toothy grin and her heart melted with love for him. Cradling him close she began to quietly sob, breathing in the dearly familiar, baby smell of him, admittedly much fresher and sweeter than of late as someone had evidently bathed and changed him, dressed him in clean clothes she didn’t even recognise. He looked quite the little dandy, but he was still her babby. Her lovely Callum, whole and well.

  ‘Leave us,’ Eliot Tyson instructed the doctor with a brusque nod, and the man discreetly withdrew. ‘Sit down. I’m not done yet. There are things which need to be said, matters requiring attention.’

  Kate pouted her resentment. ‘I thought it all settled. You said you never changed your mind.’

  ‘I’m not talking about that dratted brother of yours, but this child here, and your inadequate care of him.‘

  ‘Inadequate? How dare you, I. . .’

  ‘Don’t interrupt, girl, when I’m speaking.’ He was ranging about the room in a restless, agitated manner, as taut as a coiled spring and, wisely, Kate sank back on to the couch and held her tongue.

  ‘I assume there’s no husband,’ he snapped, glancing across at her with open contempt, and Kate bridled.

  ‘There was once, but he was drownded, God rest his soul. Saved me life, as a matter of fact, but lost his own.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He didn’t sound in the least bit sorry, or even convinced by her tale, but Kate let it pass. He was striding about the room again, rubbing a hand against his chin, apparently deep in contemplation of something or other and she began to feel alarmed and very slightly troubled. Why didn’t he just let her take Callum and go? He’d made it perfectly clear that he’d no intention of relenting over his decision not to give Dermot any more work. This whole trip had been a complete waste of time. She’d put herself and her child through all this agony for nothing and nearly got them both run over in the process.

  He was speaking again, in slow, measured tones, almost as if the facts of life had only just become clear to him. ‘You can’t pretend that your situation is ideal. Living in Poor House Lane as you do, trying to get by on an outworker’s wages, running around town in rags and with your child in a pitiful condition.’

  Kate gasped, cut to the heart by the insult. ‘Pitiful condition? Isn’t he the finest boy you could ever hope to see? Sturdy and strong and full of good spirits.’

  ‘Indeed he is. Surprisingly healthy in fact.’ There was a moment’s silence while he paused to consider the baby seated on her lap, which, as the silence dragged on and lengthened, became ever more strained and awkward, makin
g Kate fidget with discomfort. Finally, he seemed to stir himself and recollect what he’d been saying. ‘That’s exactly my point. He deserves better.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that what I’m trying to do for him? Which is why it’s so important I get regular work with decent pay.’ She made a sound of disgust deep in her throat. ‘Only it seems you have to be on the right side of your foreman to get it.’

  ‘You can’t blame Swainson. He’s only doing his job. He has to guard against scoundrels who are only too anxious to cheat me.’

  ‘You think everyone is dishonest, just because they’re poor? Let me tell ye, there’s plenty in the same situation as me, and once you’re down, there’s no way back up that flaming ladder to a decent life, or so it seems, but that doesn’t make us all cheats and liars. Honest to a fault, that’s me, so help me God, though not a living soul cares.’

  She noticed that he very nearly smiled at this, but then thought better of it. ‘I dare say there are indeed plenty in as bad a situation, but that doesn’t make it right – for you.’

  ‘Why should you care about me?’

  ‘I don’t, not in the least. It’s the child I’m thinking of.’

  ‘Then think about all the other children, and their poor mothers.’

  He ignored this. ‘ Wouldn’t you like a decent life for him? Something better than Poor House Lane?’

  Kate felt suddenly overwhelmed with frustration at his stupidity. He was so naïve, so blinkered, he couldn’t seem to recognise the day to day reality she had to live with. A situation not helped by a nasty foreman with wandering hands. Didn’t she do her level best for her child, poor as she was? Kate got to her feet, filled with a sudden impatience to leave this clean sanctuary, this man whose wits had clearly been addled by soft living. Annoyance flared once more into hot temper.