Raging inwardly, Lucy found an opportunity over luncheon to stick a pin into that dreadful bastard child, making him scream out loud, though not a soul guessed why, despite Amelia flustering and fussing over him. The episode, small as it was, brought her enormous satisfaction. And she’d do it again, without question. She’d do worse than stick pins into the little monster if she got half a chance. Oh, yes indeed, she’d get her revenge one day. She just had to bide her time. Nobody treated her precious Charles in this cavalier fashion, least of all his own brother.
Much to everyone’s disappointment, conditions and pay for outworkers had not improved in the slightest with the departure of Charles Tyson from the firm, and Kendal folk began to worry that perhaps the firm itself was in difficulties. None of the workers at Tyson’s factory were particularly sorry to see the back of Charles, but they did regret that Swainson had stayed on as foreman. Many were convinced that he too was involved in the fraud, though no proof could be found, perhaps because Master Eliot was too trusting to look for it. As a result, the man still held sway where the handing out of work was concerned. Millie, for one, wished with all her heart for the man to vanish in a puff of smoke.
Soon after Kate had left, Millie decided she might as well put her friend’s departure to her own advantage, and went along to see if Swainson would take her on instead. If Kate could stitch uppers, then so could she.
Millie hadn’t much cared for the way he’d leered at her even then, or how he’d let his hands linger on her shoulder as he’d given her a kindly pat but he’d agreed to give her some work and for that she was grateful, Clem still having no luck in finding employment. In no time at all, though, she regretted this decision with all her heart, realising that she was to pay a high price to keep her babies from starving. She’d already known that the pay wasn’t good, that being an outworker brought yet more dirt and disease into the home, and that Swainson had his own set of rules, which must be kept if you were to see any money at all.
One of these rules was that two hours of work must be completed before breakfast. Most shoe manufacturers had stopped this practice, on the insistence and advice of the National Union of Boot & Shoe Operatives. When Clem tackled Swainson on this very point, accusing him of exploitation, he’d callously laughed and shrugged his shoulders with contempt. ‘Let NUBSO catch me at it, first. Your wife isn’t going to tell, is she? Not if she wants work from me in future. By way of punishment he’d left her without work for two whole weeks, during which time one of their youngest fell sick and very nearly died. Millie wisely urged Clem not to complain again.
Another rule was that an outworker was only allowed to call at the workshop to deliver the finished work and collect new material once a week, but that he was permitted to call upon the outworker at any time, to check she was doing the job right. The first time he’d appeared at her door, Millie had been surprised and flustered, worried that he might find fault with her work and not give her any more. She’d thought nothing of it when he’d brusquely told Ma Parkin to go for a little stroll while they discussed their ‘bit of business’.
‘And wait outside on the steps till I say you can come in,’ he’d instructed the old woman.
Only after she’d gone did Millie learn exactly what the bit of business amounted to, what working for Swainson actually entailed. Almost before the door had closed, he’d curtly ordered her, ‘Take off that filthy frock, don’t complain and do as yer told, if you don’t want your children to go hungry. And look sharp about it. I haven’t all day.’
When she’d resisted, loudly protesting that he’d no right to touch her, her being a married woman, he’d given a nasty snort of amusement and pushed her down on to the ramshackle bed where two of her youngest children happened to be sleeping. He’d ripped the dress off her, followed by the equally grubby shift. Millie had whimpered and begged, desperately trying to cover herself with her hands, pleading for mercy but he’d paid no attention.
‘What yer going to do, set yer one armed husband on to me? Nay, I’m shivering in me shoes. Just remember what happened to young Dermot. Folk who cross me live to regret it. If they live at all. Young Dermot were lucky, getting off with a few broken ribs and a black eye, but it could have been so different. Remember that, girl.’
He held down Millie’s stick-like limbs and scrawny, malnourished body with easy indifference while he pawed her breasts, licking and sucking till he was panting with excitement. Then with no further ado, opened up his trousers, pulled out his cock and plunged into her, jerking and pushing with all his might. Millie bit down hard on her lip so that she didn’t cry out and startle her babies. So fiercely, blood trickled down her chin. Despite being bruised and ruthlessly used, she made not a sound.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he sneered as he buttoned his flies and buckled the belt at his waist. ‘All you have to do, girl, is keep me happy and the wages will keep on coming. I’d not mention it to that crippled husband of yours, if I were you, not if you want to keep him safe. Mind you,’…. and here he leaned down close to where she lay curled up in pain, desperately trying to stifle her whimpering. Millie could smell the stink of his genitals, see the hairs in his broad nostrils as he breathed heavily upon her ‘…. if’n you don’t come up to scratch, then you’re out. You have to please me with the standard of your work in every respect, do you see?’
Millie saw very well the trap that had opened up before her and could manage nothing more than a nod of agreement. A great wedge of fear had lodged in her chest as she realised with terrifying clarity that Kate had been right all along. This man was evil and pitiless in his demands, and there was no possible escape. Her children were better fed, but at what cost?
Over the following weeks and months, Ma Parkin would quietly withdraw, without being told, whenever the foreman appeared on the doorstep. She said nothing, kept her own counsel but fussed quietly over Millie on her return. Millie accepted the old woman’s ministrations without comment, just as she learned to endure and obey Swainson’s commands with silent contempt. He never showed a scrap of kindness to her, or any degree of gratitude. He took what he wanted, making more and more demands as time went by, devising all manner of titillating tricks to amuse himself at Millie’s expense. ‘Suck it love. Go on, get on with it. Don’t be shy.’ And all she could do was obey. Swainson held the power of life and death over Millie, and her children, in his vicious hands.
Chapter Fourteen
With the coming of summer, Amelia and Kate began to go out and about around town once more, perhaps calling in at Robert’s bookshop for something to entertain the children, or to John Brunskill’s woollen and linen draper in the Moot Hall. Unfortunately, these were not always such happy outings as evil tongues still wagged. The gossip had reached that state of fantasy and make-believe which all malicious talk achieves in the end. Now, not only was Eliot an unfaithful husband who had foisted his mistress and bastard on to his poor wife, but she was actually complicit in the outrage.
‘Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’ said the gossip-mongers with great glee.
Old friends and acquaintances appeared embarrassed to see Amelia, and would cross the road rather than speak to her, or walk past with their noses in the air. Never once did Amelia remark upon this, though it must have hurt her greatly. Perhaps she realised how utterly pointless it would be; like trying to hold back the tide. The busy-bodies of Kendal knew a scandal when they saw one, and this was one of enormous proportions.
Worst of all, her friends had stopped calling. Day after day Amelia would sit in the window of her small parlour and stare out at what seemed suddenly to be a bleak and empty landscape. The room in which she sat with its fine display of glass display cabinets, pretty porcelain and pictures became like a prison to her. She wanted to show off her lovely boy, to proudly boast to her friends about how he had learned to recite ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’, how he could manage his own little fork and pusher with very little assistance, and looked such a fin
e little man in his new tartan jacket. But nobody came. Nobody saw. Nobody listened.
She would sometimes sit in the summer house, staring gloomily at the slow passage of the River Kent, not showing any interest in helping Eliot to plant dahlia bulbs for the autumn. Or she’d saunter down to Nether Bridge, so that Callum could watch the cows wading in the water and the workmen clearing the heap of rubble where the Malt Kiln cottages used to stand. But depression was taking a firm grip and even her shopping expeditions were gradually curtailed.
Kate became deeply concerned and, unable to bear the sight of her poor mistress so sunk in gloom, made a suggestion. ‘Forget the shopping trips, why don’t you start your calls again? I expect that’s what all your friends are waiting for. Why wait for them to call on you?’
Amelia’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, do you think I should?’
‘I do. What harm can it do? You lost the habit from staying home to look after Callum, and somehow never got back into it when the wee boy got better. Time you did. At least you can leave your card.’
‘Oh, you are right. Sitting here moping does no good at all. We won’t let Lucy’s ill manners spoil everything for us, will we, my little man? We’ll beard them in their dens. What should he wear?’ And in great excitement she began to get ready. Not for one moment could Kate imagine Amelia being turned from anyone’s door. She was too lovely, too kind, had too much class and had always received complete respect from everyone, neighbours and servants alike. She was far too nice a person ever to be treated with contempt. Kate was disastrously wrong.
She had to go too, of course, to wheel the big pram, and so that she could mind Callum while the ladies took tea and chatted. Unfortunately, the afternoon did not go according to plan. Neither Mrs Gilpin nor Mrs Hetherington were at home, although it was quite obvious that the latter certainly was, as chattering voices could be heard quite plainly coming from the drawing-room. The Greaves’ maid accepted the card but made no offer to relay it to her mistress, simply setting it on the tray in the hall. This happened at the next two houses they called upon as well. At the Whiteheads, the moment Amelia and Kate began to walk up the path, they saw a curtain twitch in the parlour, but no one came to the door, despite their rattling the brass knocker for some moments.
‘At least we have given Callum a nice walk,’ Amelia said, determined not to be downcast by their failure. ‘And I’ve left my card in several households. Perhaps that will help. But I think we’ll take tea at home after all, Kate, don’t you?
By the end of the year, the Gilpins, Hetheringtons, Whiteheads, Greaves et al were further rewarded with yet more fascinating news from the Tyson household. Poor dear Amelia Tyson who had foolishly allowed her husband to use her in that appalling way, and suffered so much as a result, was said to have practically faded away to nothing. She was, apparently, most dreadfully unhappy, which they did not wonder at. Moreover, that girl was still living there, resident in the house complete with that child. Quite shocking! And poor Lucy Tyson, Amelia’s own dear sister-in-law, was still not allowed to so much as set foot in the place.
The matrons blamed Eliot entirely for Amelia’s sorry state, not recognising the possible impact of their own malicious tittle-tattle, or thinking to offer any degree of support to their erstwhile friend. And then just as they thought they had heard everything, and could never be shocked again in their morbid fascination with the Tyson marriage, they were startled to learn that poor dear Amelia had discovered that she was not ill at all, but enceinte.
Eliot and Amelia were naturally both delighted and if their Christmas that year was quiet with no family at all present, not even the aunts, at least it was a happy one. Only Kate worried that perhaps with a child of their own they might then reject Callum, and how would that make him feel? She ventured to mention this fear one afternoon to Amelia, as the pair of them sat with their knitting.
‘As if we would, Kate. What do you think we are? Callum is our son now, and always will be. Another child would be a bonus, not a replacement.’
Eliot showed little of his concern in front of his wife, yet he was troubled, and fearful for her well being. She did not have a good history where child bearing was concerned and he was anxious that she be properly looked after. He urged her to call in the doctor at an early stage, but Amelia only laughed at his fears.
‘See how well I am! Now that I have Callum to love, and Kate to look after me. I’m perfectly fine, Eliot, don’t fuss. This is women’s business, leave it all to us.’
And so he did just that. Eliot had his hands full in any case, now that he had to carry out Charles’s duties as well as his own. The business had suffered a serious blow as a result of the fraud and it was less healthy than before. The accountants and bankers were concerned by Tyson’s heavy losses, and anxious for these to be replaced. He still took no pleasure in acting as a travelling salesman and this was not the moment to start, not with Amelia pregnant. He hated to leave her for any length of time but he was impatient to set matters back on a proper footing.
Perhaps, he thought, the problem lay in the vast number of workers they employed. Not only at the factory but the outworkers as well. Although outworkers were still used for some tasks, some time ago Eliot had decided that hand stitching each individual shoe was too expensive and had brought in machines to do the task at a fraction of the cost, employing girls to operate them as they were much cheaper than men. This move had very nearly caused a strike but the latest sewing machines were much better, and he’d met with no opposition at all when installing them. So the lesson surely was to stick to his guns, to do what he thought best for the company and to hell with anyone else.
Looking at the figures, Eliot decided that the cost of manufacture and employing all those people to carry it out, was still far too high. They needed to expand and bring in more profit. The solution, he decided, may be to buy in shoes ready made. What’s more, he would employ a salesman dedicated to the task of selling them. If this worked and earned him a fair profit, then costs could be further reduced by trimming down the work force. Not that he would allow this fact to be widely known. Not at this stage.
By April 1907, five months after Amelia’s excited announcement of her ‘delicate condition’, Kate finally persuaded her to call in the doctor. He came with some reluctance, since he found pregnant ladies something of a trial. They were always full of fears and questions over what was, after all, a perfectly natural process in his opinion. Generally, he thought it best to leave them in the very capable hands of Mother Nature until it became necessary to call in the midwife. On this occasion, however, he had stretched a point since this particular patient had suffered more than her fair share of losses in the past. It had come as a great surprise to learn she’d fallen with child again, which didn’t bode well for the poor woman.
Now he put his stethoscope to Amelia’s swollen abdomen and gave one of his non-committal grunts. He gave her a full examination, embarrassingly thorough so far as Amelia was concerned. Kate was, of course, obliged to remain present throughout, watching with anxious eyes.
When the doctor had washed his hands and asked a few questions about whether Amelia was sleeping well, if she was eating properly and so on, he begged leave to withdraw and have a word with Mr Tyson.
‘There’s nothing wrong with the baby, is there?’ Amelia begged the doctor as Kate plumped pillows and smoothed down sheets. She’d done nothing but worry ever since her monthly courses had stopped, despite her excitement over this unexpected development.
‘Of course not, dear lady. Do not fret yourself. We don’t want one of your attack of nerves, now do we? It is vitally important that you remain calm.’
‘For the baby’s sake?’
‘Of course.’ Again the doctor glowered reproachfully. ‘For the baby’s sake.’
‘I do get most dreadfully tired, but it’s all so exciting. It would be so wonderful to give Callum a little brother or sister.’
‘Indeed, indeed.’ Doctor Mitchell glanc
ed at the young child leaning against his nurse’s knee and sniffed loudly, not quite masking his disapproval of this unconventional situation. So this must be the child from the poor house. ‘You must stay in bed and rest, dear lady. Keep up your strength. Perhaps with some beef tea,’ he suggested, glaring at Kate from beneath bushy eyebrows.
‘Oh, don’t say that. Kate is always nagging me to eat,’ Amelia laughed. ‘Now she’ll be offering me beef tea every single day.
‘Then see that you drink it.’
The doctor left Kate to her ministrations and went straight to Eliot whom he found in his study. The doctor felt a nudge of pity as the young man rose to meet him with a smile of welcome on his good-natured face. Doctor Mitchell was sorry that he must be the one to cause that smile to fade.
‘I don’t think I quite understand? What exactly are you implying, doctor?’
‘I am implying nothing. Rather, I am stating a fact Mr Tyson. There is no baby, no child, nor will there ever be one. Your wife is not pregnant, she has a growth, which should have been removed months ago. It’s a pity I was not called in sooner since now I fear it is too late.’
‘Too late? No child?’ Eliot was staring in disbelief at the doctor. He’d been equally stunned when his wife had told him of her suspicion that she was pregnant in the first place, but, as her stomach had swelled, giving every impression of a growing baby within, he had naturally come to believe her. Now he was being told not only that Amelia had been mistaken, but that something was terribly wrong with her.
‘You’re saying that my wife is ill?’
‘I’m saying that your wife is dying.’
‘She will get better Kate, won’t she? I truly cannot imagine a world without my darling Amelia.’
Kate couldn’t think what to say. Despite all the care the poor lady had taken to keep Callum safe, she couldn’t hold back the inevitable so far as her own health was concerned. It had been all too clear for some time that Amelia was fading, but the pair had been so wrapped up in their hopes and dreams for her to have a child of their own they’d refused to see it. As her abdomen had swelled, so the weight had fallen away from the rest of her body.
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 17
