The Girl From Poorhouse Lane

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I will so.’

  ‘Better for the child, I thought darling,’ said Amelia sweetly.

  At which comment he seemed to pull himself together and smiled affectionately upon his wife. ‘If that is what you wish, my dear. Whyever not? Sounds a very practical, sensible arrangement.’

  Millie was surprisingly cool when she heard the news. Kate had returned to Poor House Lane, of course, to collect her few personal possessions: the cap her father had worn when he’d first crossed the sea from Ireland, the bible he’d given her when she was a small child, and a tiny pair of clogs Dermot had made for Callum to wear when he started to walk. She gathered other things into her bundle too, scrappy items of clothing mainly, knowing they’d be thrown away, probably burned, once she arrived back at the house on Thorny Hills but her strong sense of independence making her cling on to them all the same.

  Besides wanting her precious belongings, Kate naturally felt the need to explain all that had taken place that morning, to tell her friends of her good fortune. Surprisingly, their reaction was not at all what she’d expected or hoped for. She’d wanted them to be pleased for her, to wish her well. Instead, all Millie could say, over and over again, was: ‘You’ve given away your child? You’ve given Callum to Eliot Tyson? How could you do such a thing?’

  ‘For Callum’s sake, because it will be better for him.’ But no matter how forcibly Kate put her case, Millie wouldn’t even try to understand, which left her feeling sick at heart. Was it all a terrible mistake? Had she made the wrong decision? Yet just looking at Millie’s whimpering brood with their runny noses, scabs and sores all over their emaciated bodies, never mind the child who even as they talked lay in a feverish state watched over by an anxious Ma Parkin, and she knew that no matter what it cost her personally to give Callum up, it would be worth it. She would be providing her son with the best possible chance he could have. And she would be there with him, every step of the way. Where was the wrong in that?

  Clem said, ‘How can you trust that man after what he’s done to Dermot?’

  In a sudden flash of intuition, Kate realised that Dermot might see her action as a kind of betrayal, as if she’d abandoned him. It came to her that she’d been so taken up with her own concerns, worrying over whether to agree to this outrageous plan of Tyson’s; whether she could bear to relinquish her son to another woman, that when she’d made her decision, she hadn’t given Dermot a thought. Her brother’s plight had gone clean out of her head. She must make it clear that she hadn’t forgotten him, that she’d do something for him too. ‘It was Ned Swainson who gave Dermot the push, not Tyson himself.’

  ‘Aye, but from what you told us, Tyson got you your job back but left poor Dermot high and dry. I doubt your brother will see what’s happened to you as quite the good news you’re making it out to be. Good for Callum, happen, and for you too in a way, but it don’t do much for Dermot, poor lad, now do it?’

  ‘Tell him I’ll sort it, so I will.’

  Clem looked doubtful. ‘I’ll try, but whether he’ll believe me or not, is another matter. You said that before, Kate. Isn’t that why you went to see Tyson in the first place?’

  ‘I did try but got nowhere. But I’ll see it’s put right, to be sure. Make him believe that, Clem, please.’

  ‘I’ll do me best lass.’ Though he still looked doubtful.

  She went to say goodbye to Ma Parkin where she sat hunched in a chair, smoothing the child’s fevered brow with a cold compress, and kissed the old lady on her sunken cheeks. ‘I’ll come and see you Ma, to be sure I will. And the bairn’

  The old woman turned from the sick child to look into Kate’s eyes, imparting a knowledge about his condition in the glance exchanged between them that Kate would rather not have seen. The wrinkled old hands clasped hers hard, and the faded eyes were fierce. ‘Nay, don’t. Once you leave this yard, lass, don’t ever come back. You’s doing reet by that child o’thine, hard as it might seem. Don’t ever think otherwise. You’d do him no service to come back here and risk catching summat.’ ‘You’s med up thee mind. Stick by it. Don’t come back.’

  ‘Oh, Ma, what will I do without you?’ and she hugged the old woman tight, the closest contact there’d ever been between the two of them in all the long months they’d shared the misery of this single room. In all of that time Kate had been unaware of how deep the affection ran. She’d thought the old woman senile, but her shrewd advice gave the lie to that. Even now Amelia had denied Kate’s request to bring Callum with her, so that he too could say his goodbye’s to Millie and the other children.

  ‘Best he stay here with me, Kate, where he’s safe,’ had been her uncompromising decision. Quite rightly, as it turned out.

  Kate shook Clem’s only hand, then hugged him too, both aware of Millie standing close by, wringing her hands in silent anguish, pretending to be inured to the likely loss of another child, for all she never would be. ‘Take care of Millie, and the childer.

  He solemnly nodded, looking sad-eyed as the two young women faced each other for what each knew must be the last time.

  ‘Ma’s right. You’ll not venture round these parts again. I wouldn’t, if I were you.’

  ‘We might see each other about, round town. Kendal’s not so big.’

  ‘Aye, course we will. And we can have a bit of a crack.’ They both knew that if they did chance upon each other in the market place, for instance, there would be little possibility of Kate being allowed to acknowledge her friend let alone have time for gossip, not if she were accompanying her mistress on some errand, or wheeling Callum out in the perambulator as nursemaids of the nobs did. If she was on her own, mind, that would be a different matter.

  ‘You’ll always be my best friend, Millie. I’ll never forget you.’ And her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘Look at me, best bit of fortune I’ve ever had in me life, and I’m crying buckets, so I am.’

  Millie was crying too. ‘Oh, but we’ll miss you, love.’ They hugged each other tight, made all kinds of unlikely promises, and then Kate picked up her bundle and set out on her new life.

  Chapter Five

  Fanny, the stuck-up maid who’d thought so little of her mucky boots, was allotted the task of showing Kate around, and supplying her with the facilities to make herself presentable before introducing her to the rest of the staff. She brought out an old tin bath, placing it in one of the outhouses because she said she’d no intention of carrying pans of hot water up three flights of stairs, thank you very much. Together the two girls filled it and then, lip curled in distaste, Fanny waited for Kate’s clothes as she took them off one by one before carrying them away to put on the garden bonfire.

  When she returned, Kate was still standing shivering, not quite able to pluck up the courage to put even a toe in the water. Amelia had elected to mind Callum for a while to allow Kate time to settle in, the baby having already been bathed and changed and checked over by the doctor. But although Kate had seen how splendid he looked, she was less keen to try out the experience for herself.

  ‘Well, get on with it then. Have you never seen a bath before?’

  ‘Course I have. We got one every month or so at the Poor House, though it was generally cold.’ And the water shared with a dozen others, she might well have added. Kate had generally avoided them, not trusting what those who went in before her might be carrying.

  ‘Aye, and this will be too if you don’t look sharp about it.’ And then, looking more closely at Kate. ‘By heck, you’re as thin as a drink of water.’

  ‘So would you be if you’d lived on porridge and Poor House soup.’

  Fanny said nothing to this, but set about helping Kate to scrub herself clean, wash her hair and comb it free of any head-lice. Kate watched in amazement as the soap did its work. As Fanny scrubbed at the filth and the muck, little pink patches of flesh began to emerge among the bubbles and Kate was entranced. Although she’d done her best to keep clean by scrubbing her face and hands regularly with cold water, t
he rest of her body and hair had largely been left to its own devices, it being far too cold and damp to remove any item of clothing in Poor House Lane, even if there’d been such a thing as privacy. She’d never realised how very soft and silky was her skin, how gloriously soft and slippy her hair.

  ‘Well isn’t this the grandest way to spend an afternoon?’ Kate said, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I won’t know meself when yer done.’

  Fanny tightened her lips, staying oddly silent as she poured jugs of clean, warm water over Kate’s head, splashed and scrubbed at her back and shoulders. There was none of the jocularity or good hearted teasing one might expect from a couple of young girls set free from their labours to enjoy a little bath-time fun. She didn’t even seem curious about the newcomer, not asking a single question but remaining tight-lipped throughout.

  ‘There you are then. You’ll smell a bit sweeter and be nicer to be near, at least.’ Almost as if she were relieved that the task had come to an end.

  Perhaps, Kate thought, she preferred cleaning out fire grates to scrubbing filthy paupers. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘I reckon you’ve left half of Poor House Lane behind you in that bath water. We could happen grow a crop of spuds in that muck.’

  Kate simply laughed, not caring a jot if Fanny did make rude remarks about the amount of filth which caked the surface of the water; she couldn’t ever remember feeling so wonderful in all her life. The water had been piping hot, the soap rich with frothy bubbles. Her hair felt marvellous, so clean it squeaked after being thoroughly washed and scoured with sulphur soap, and rubbed dry with a rough towel.

  Fanny handed her a set of clean clothes. Fresh flannel underwear, a clean shift, then a simple, pale grey cotton frock with a belt that buckled about her waist, darker grey woollen stockings and shiny black boots that were exactly her size. Kate couldn’t remember ever having boots that fit before. Fanny attached a stiff white collar about her neck, fastening it with a stud at the front. Last, but by no means least, there was a crisp, white apron which almost completely covered the dress.

  And as Fanny helped her to do up buttons, tie laces and apron strings, Kate risked a few enquiries of her own, ‘Are there many servants? I’m thinking they’d be needed in a grand big house like this.’

  ‘Not that many, not enough in my opinion, and we’re a motley crew. There’s Askew the gardener, he’s getting on a bit and should retire, only he loves his garden too much. Dennis the coachman, he’s my intended, so keep yer hands off him.’ Fanny’s round cheeks went slightly pink at this. ‘Then there’s old Jinny who comes in daily to do the laundry, and Mrs Petty She’s the cook and housekeeper all rolled into one, and a right roly-poly she is too. There’s Ida, the skivvy, who helps with the veg and the washing-up, and such like. We’ve no butler here and Beckworth, the master’s valet, recently retired, is not to be replaced, apparently. Again, to save a bit of brass, I reckon. And there’s me. I’m the only maid so I have to run up and down all them stairs, clean all the rooms, answer the door, take in tea, the whole bloomin’ lot. Run off me feet, I am, most of the time.’

  ‘And now there’s me.’

  Fanny cast her a sideways glance as she carefully parted Kate’s hair down the middle and, looping it loosely back over each ear, set about tying it firmly and tidily into a bun on the top of her head before pinning on a cap. The latter was, apparently, looked upon almost as a badge of office. It was sternly plain and stiff with starch, without any of the frills that distinguished Fanny’s own cap. ‘Aye, well, we’ll see how long you last. Most new maids don’t stop long. Too much like hard work, or they find it lonely and prefer to work in the finishing room at the factory where they can gossip with their friends. They’re usually gone afore the month is out.’

  ‘I won’t leave. I’m different.’

  ‘Oh, aye, ses who?’

  ‘I shall stay because of Callum, my baby. Mrs Tyson is . . .’ Kate started to explain but Fanny cut in.

  ‘Aye, I saw the bairn when you arrived,’ and giving a loud sniff of disapproval, continued: ‘Lucky you had that accident with Mr T’s carriage. Soft as butter, the mistress is, over bairns, since she’s none of her own, more’s the pity. A year or two back you wouldn’t have got yer foot through t’door. So what wages will you be getting?’

  Surprised by her obvious hostility, Kate quietly responded, ‘I – I don’t know. I haven’t been told yet.’

  Fanny had begun to ladle water from the bath, now she paused in her labours to look at her askance. ‘Nay, that should be the first question you ask. I get eighteen pound a year. It should be twenty, by rights, being the only housemaid. But you should get less since you’re new.’

  Kate quickly picked up another can and began to help. ‘Why is the work so hard? There’s only Mr and Mrs Tyson to see to, is there not?’

  ‘Aye, usually, though we do get visits from the two aunts, Miss Vera and Miss Cissie from time to time. Right pair they are. Create more work than a houseful of nippers would, had the mistress been fortunate enough to hang on to ‘em, that is. Clever of you to win her round with the bairn, appealing to her soft side, ‘cause she’s been telling me for years we don’t need another housemaid.’

  ‘It’s not like that at all.’

  Fanny gave a half shrug and setting aside the ladling can, gave Kate’s apron strings a final tweak and said, ‘There you are then. All done and dusted.’

  Kate twirled about in her new crisp uniform. Beaming with delight, eyes gleaming with such excitement and happiness that even the tight-lipped Fanny was moved to say, ‘By heck, you look grand. A new woman.’

  ‘I feel like one too.’ Kate had never felt so fresh, so clean, so bright and shining in all of her life. It was a miracle. ‘Do I get to keep all of this?’

  ‘There’s another set, for when this one’s in t’wash, and work aprons, of course. Brats, we call ‘em. None of it’s new. These uniforms have been in the family for years. You wouldn’t believe how penny-pinching they are in this household. Still, better than having to pay for it, like in most places, so mind you look after it. You’re expected to keep it neat and tidy, wear yer flippin cap at all times, and don’t lose owt or you’ll be fined a shilling. The mistress has been a bit below par and neglectful of her duties of late, but slatternly maids give a house a bad name and if she don’t sort you out, Mrs P certainly will.’

  Not these dire words of warning, nor even the undercurrent of Fanny’s disapproval and hostility could dent Kate’s high spirits. She felt wonderful, so clean! Reborn.

  Fanny herself was smartly attired in a well starched print, covered by an equally capacious work apron in a matching plain blue, a frilled white cap perched precariously atop a mass of dark curls. She was a plump girl with boot button dark eyes, and had she chosen to smile a little more, might well have been pretty. ‘Happen you’re ready now to meet your doom in the shape of our Mrs Petty. Don’t be put off, her bark’s worse than her bite. Generally speaking.’

  Kate would have liked to ask what was meant by this, but no opportunity was given her. They had to finish emptying the bath, wipe the floor clean, put the towels to dry, and all at record speed as Fanny had to change into her black uniform dress and white frilly apron before serving afternoon tea. And Mrs Tyson was most particular about meal times being punctual.

  ‘Look sharp,’ she said, then she was off, clattering across the yard in her button boots and Kate had no option but to run after her and save any further questions for later.

  Mrs Petty was the fattest woman Kate had ever seen in her life. But then there hadn’t been sufficient food in Poor House Lane for obesity to be much of a problem, so everyone seemed plump and well fed to her. Mrs Petty, in her turn, took one look at Kate, then set her hands on her ample hips and shook her head in despair, her several chins shaking with mirth.

  ‘By beck, what have we here? Is it a sparrow or a stick insect? You’re that thin, lass, one puff of wind would blow thee away. I’ll have to take care
not to cough too loud. Come from the pauper’s cottages in Poor House Lane, I’m told. Well, no fault o’ thine, I suppose. Don’t you fret, we’ll soon fatten thee up. Put some meat on them bones.’

  Kate politely thanked her. Already her mouth was watering at the wonderful appetising smells emanating from the huge, cooking range that stood in the chimney inglenook in the big kitchen. Oh, and hadn’t she fallen on her feet here right enough?

  ‘Course, you’re lucky to have got tekken on. Workhouse children normally only get a position with small time shopkeepers, shoe makers and the like. Most folk don’t care for the scraggy appearance of a pauper child, wondering where they come from, what their background was. You’re fortunate, girl, that our mistress is a sweet, generous-hearted lady who doesn’t trouble her head over such things. Play your cards right and you’ll be set for life here. You could work your way up to my job, if you’ve a mind to it, once I retire to the Fylde Coast with me sister Annie, that is. I’ve told that to our Fanny here. Not that she listens. Too starry-eyed over our lovely Dennis to bother. You strike me as a different kettle of fish altogether. Good head on them shoulders, I’d say. Nobody’s fool, eh?’

  ‘I try not to be. I can stick up fer myself, for sure.’

  ‘Aye, You do right. Many of them poor nippers, like our Ida here, were badly treated, beaten and ill-fed by folk what thought they could treat a workhouse brat like muck. You’ll get none of that here.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  Mrs Petty briskly nodded, as if she’d said her piece, then turning to Ida shouted. ‘Nay, have you not mashed them spuds yet. Gerron wi’ it, girl. I’m fair clemmed.’