by Gracie Hart
‘Hurry up, Mary, and stop encouraging the bargemen; they don’t need a lot. And you know that Ma would give you a clout if she heard you being saucy. We’ll miss the best buys on the market. You know old Mrs Fletcher will not hold on to her best stuff for long before she sells it on to someone else.’ Eliza was eager to go and rummage on the Fletchers’ rag-and-bone cart to find clothes that she and Mary-Anne could wash, repair and then sell on in their little lean-to shop in the centre of their village.
The clothes made them a small profit, which helped to boost the family income. They had an understanding with the rag-and-bone man’s wife that they had first choice of her best clothes providing they were there before seven in the morning. Otherwise they took their chances with everyone else rummaging through the cart, and this morning, after checking their mother was all right after the previous night’s skirmish, they were late. The prospect of knocking on doors asking for any old rags through the back streets of Leeds, like they sometimes had to, did not fill Eliza with joy. Too many times they had been shouted at – ‘no hawkers’ or worse. Once a dog had been set on her.
Mary-Anne finally rose to her feet and stretched. ‘I know, I’m coming. I don’t know about you but I’m tired. I tossed and turned all night thinking about things.’
‘So did I, and I don’t think Ma went to bed at all. She slept in the chair next to the fire, rather than disturb our stepfather. He hadn’t a lot to say to us this morning, I noticed.’ Eliza urged her sister to walk faster, as they ambled along the cobbled towpath. ‘He ate his porridge, grabbed his snap box and then left. I hope he’s regretting his night’s work and that he’s got a sore head this morning. Because I’m sure Mother will have one after his battering. Let’s hope he doesn’t come home in a state like that for a while now. I hate him when he’s in such a bad way.’
‘Heaven knows what next door thought,’ Mary-Anne replied. ‘Ada Simms was doing her best to find out what the noise was all about, and did you see her Bert’s face, when Bill went out of the house as black as he had returned to us last night? I’d like to be a fly on the wall next door tonight when he arrives home; I bet Ada never lets up.’ Mary-Anne strode out and smiled at her sister, knowing that Eliza was thinking the exact same thing. Eliza and she were so close; there was a bond between them that could never be severed. They had relied on one another for support since their true father had died, and now they were nearly both full-grown women, independent but the best of friends.
Making their way out of Leeds docks, Eliza and Mary-Anne arrived into a city that was bustling with life of all sorts, and the two sisters hurriedly made their way up to the market at Briggate. They passed by men who were surveying the site for the new building that was going to be the corn exchange, which in coming years would be busy, filled with local merchants bidding on and buying corn and maze. The smell of the tannery and slaughterhouse nearby wafted down, while street traders called out, making everyone aware of the wares they were selling.
The city was alive with street urchins, ducking and diving between the merchants and their customers, picking a pocket here and there, and the less bold or nimble begged on street corners for a farthing to keep them fed for the day.
The constant noise from factories spinning wool and cotton filled the air, along with the smells of the city, open sewers, smoking chimneys and cooking food from the stalls that were tempting people as they went about their business.
Eliza and Mary-Anne weaved and picked their way through the crowds, avoiding the worst of the dirt and horse manure on the busy street, arriving at the wide avenue filled with market traders called Briggate.
The spire of Holy Trinity Church rose above them as they walked up the rows of shops and traders that lined the route. Outside the printers’ shop they spotted Mrs Fletcher with her flat cart filled with rags and second-hand goods, bought and traded from the well-to-do houses around the Headingley and Kirkstall districts of Leeds, where the higher echelons of Victorian society lived.
‘Morning, lasses, I thought you were going to miss your chance this morning. I was just about to empty your sack onto my cart, thinking you weren’t going to show.’ Mrs Fletcher was as round as she was tall, tendrils of her long straggling grey hair were escaping from under a dirty white milk-maid’s cap and her dress was of a rough woven wool and was just as filthy. She grinned a toothless grin at her two best customers and wiped her running nose along her sleeve. ‘Got some good things for you today. My old man went up Roundhay; there’s a lot of well-off gents up that way and they have to keep their women suitably attired. What do you think of these then?’ She emptied her sack, uncovering an array of cast-off dresses, shawls and skirts all in need of washing, mending and a bit of care before being re-sold by Mary-Anne and Eliza.
‘How much do you want for this one?’ Mary-Anne lifted up a green brocade dress with a tear where the skirt was attached. It had in its time been a stunning dress and must have cost a pretty penny when first made.
‘Sixpence?’ Ma Fletcher put her head on one side; her cheeks were ruddy with small veins that came from making her living so long outside in all weathers. She reminded Mary-Anne of a cheeky garden robin as she waited while both sisters inspected the garment.
‘Threepence? It will take me a long time to repair this and then it’s a bit fine for some of the ladies that come to our shop in the village.’ Part of the game was to haggle and all three knew it was what was expected.
‘Four pence and we have a deal.’ Ma Fletcher waited and watched as both sisters looked at one another.
‘Yes, go on, and all the rest from out of your sack for a sixpence?’ Mary-Anne watched Eliza holding up various items of clothing, inspecting them for the amount of wear and tear.
‘A silver sixpence and you can take the lot. It’s a fair price, there’s some good stuff. You’ll soon sell it in your shop in Woodlesford.’ The old woman waited.
‘A sixpence if you’ll include those boots.’ Mary-Anne pointed to pair of lace-up boots on the cart that looked to be about her size. They looked scuffed and dirty but they didn’t appear to have any holes in, unlike the ones she had on her feet.
‘Aye, you girls will be the death of me with your hard bargaining. But, go on, we’ve a deal.’ Ma Fletcher spit on her hand and held it out for either Eliza or Mary-Anne to shake.
Mary-Anne shook it hesitantly and found a sixpence from out of her coat pocket while Eliza pushed the traded clothes back into the hessian sack that they had come from.
‘What are you girls going to do now you’ve robbed me blind?’ Ma Fletcher watched as Mary-Anne picked up the boots by their laces and smiled, knowing that they had made a good deal.
Mary-Anne looked at her sister who was having a second look through what was left on the cart. ‘We might just go and see our aunt, now we’ve done our business. Do you think we should, Eliza?’
‘Yes, if you want, we have the time now.’ Eliza stopped rummaging and put the sack with contents over her back. She quite liked her Aunt Patsy and was keen to visit her as she was never welcome in their home. Their stepfather Bill would not allow her in his house because he thought her to be immoral; it was common knowledge that she helped young women in trouble with unwanted pregnancies with her herbal concoctions and potions. Patsy knew her plants, herbs and their properties well, and their mother often commented that if she had been born a century or two earlier her sister would probably have been branded a witch.
‘You give her my best wishes now, won’t you? She stopped me from nearly killing my old man when he had the toothache. I swear another day of him moaning and bellyaching around the house would have driven me to seeing him off. That oil of cloves soon put a stop to it; she’s a canny woman is your Aunt Patsy.’
‘I’ll tell her you were speaking highly of her. She’ll be glad to hear that she was able to help. Good day, Mrs Fletcher, we will be back to see you next week.’ Mary-Anne smiled; they may have been late to the market but so far it had been a good day.
‘We can’t let our stepfather know we’ve called in on Aunt Patsy. He’d only threaten us with a belting.’ Eliza stopped for a second to catch her breath as she reached Pounders Court, a small, enclosed square of old squat weaving houses where their aunt lived. It was in one of the poorer areas of Leeds. The gutters ran open with excrement from both humans and animals, and in the corner of the square was a midden piled high with waste from all the houses. Eliza pinched her nose, trying not to breathe in the stench.
‘I know, I wish Aunt Patsy lived somewhere a little better, but she never will, not until Uncle Mick finds work. You know what our mother thinks of him; she calls him a lazy Irish Paddy and doesn’t know what Aunt Patsy sees in him.’ Mary-Anne looked at her younger sister as they knocked on the door of their aunt’s house.
‘That’s my mother calling the kettle black,’ Eliza whispered as she heard footsteps from the other side of the door. ‘She isn’t exactly married to the most upstanding man in society.’
‘Come in, my dears, it’s lovely to see you. How’s that sister of mine and what brings you knocking on my door?’ Patsy was open with her welcome as she ushered them into her humble two-room home. The bigger of the two rooms was full of drying herbs and plants that hung from the low dark beams and filled the many jars that lined the small badly lit room. After the stench of the courtyard, Aunt Patsy’s aromatic home was always a pleasant relief and the girls felt almost heady from the scents that filled it.
‘Ma is as well as to be expected and we’ve just come on a short visit after doing some business with Mrs Fletcher, who, by the way, asks to be remembered.’ Mary-Anne sat down at the scrubbed clean wooden table across from Eliza and her aunt.
‘Ah, she’s an old devil – would take the clothes off your back if you let her. You just take care when it comes to her.’ Their aunt nodded in the direction of the sack at Eliza’s feet, and smiled. ‘Looks like you’ve bought some stock. I hope she didn’t fleece you. Now tell me … your mother, you say she’s as well as to be expected. She’s not ill, is she? Or is it that good-for-nothing man that she married after losing your father? Too fond of his drink is that one.’ Patsy looked across at her nieces; they seldom visited unless there was a reason, and the reason was usually their stepfather. ‘He’s been hitting her again, I take it? That brute of a man. Say what you like about my Mick but he’d never hit a woman, it’s a coward that does that, especially in drink.’
‘We found her on the kitchen floor last night, he’d hit her head against the wall before going to bed. She’d made us stay in the wash house knowing he was the worse for drink.’ Eliza hung her head.
‘But she’s all right now?’ Patsy looked at both the girls, concerned. ‘Else you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Yes, we left her washing the linen and our stepfather’s gone to work down the pit.’ Mary-Anne sighed and looked at her aunt.
‘She should never have married him,’ Patsy whispered low. ‘How he keeps his job at the mine, I don’t know. Some days he must still be drunk when he’s at the seam. It’s your mother I feel sorry for, she’s always having to put right his wrongs.’
‘Well, he does keep his job, and for that we should be grateful. He’s not a bad man when he’s sober.’ Mary-Anne knew Bill had taken them all in when he didn’t have to. Whatever his faults he had put a roof over their heads.
Eliza shook her head; she never gave her stepfather any credit and had little time for him. ‘No, he’s just a drunken bully and I hate him.’
‘Now, hate is a strong word, Eliza, you should use it sparingly. Although I do tend to agree with you.’ Patsy sat back in her chair and looked at her two nieces, wishing there was something she could do for them. ‘Lawks! Can you hear that baby next door? All it does is screech. That’s Ruth Watt’s youngest, poor hungry little beggar. Ten kids already and her Davey out of work the best part of this year. There will be heartache at that house before long; they can’t continue living like they do. It would have been better if she’d got rid of it, than get attached.’ Patsy sighed, she was very matter of fact when it came to children, never having been blessed with them herself. ‘It will waken my Mick up if it doesn’t shut its mouth.’ Patsy glanced at the door to the back room, waiting for her husband to stir from his bed after having his usual mid-morning nap.
‘Is Uncle Mick all right?’ Mary-Anne asked her aunt.
‘Aye, he’s fine. Still a martyr to his bad back and he can’t seem to get a job because of it, but we are not starving unlike the ones next door.’ The girls knew that their aunt often got paid, or paid in kind for her remedies. ‘Mick has got an old friend of his coming to stay with us for a while, from Ireland. A man called John Vasey.’
Mary-Anne looked around the small house curiously, wondering where any visitor could possibly stay. Her aunt saw her expression and answered accordingly: ‘He’s going to be renting the cellar from us, so his bit of extra money will help keep the wolf from the door. I’ve just made him a bed up and put him a chair to sit on down there. It’s not much but I don’t suppose he’s expecting a lot after the famine in Ireland. Which is good because we haven’t got a lot.’
The sisters looked at one another. Their aunt was keeping her family afloat as both they and their mother had tried to do, but her solution had given them Bill to deal with also.
‘We’ll get back and make sure our ma is all right, and get these clothes washed before Bill comes home and needs his bath filling. I’ll just change my boots, these I’ve got on have got more holes than leather.’ Mary-Anne bent down and started to un-lace her old boots.
Patsy looked at her niece swapping her boots around, picking up the old boots and looking at the hole in the bottom of their soles. ‘What are you doing with them? Can I have them?’
‘Yes, they’re worth nowt to me. Have them if you think you can use them. They let the water in and you can see one’s got a huge hole in it.’ Mary-Anne stood up in her new boots and tried them for size while watching her aunt examine her old ones.
‘I’ll give them to Ruth. Mick will re-sole them for her. It’s better than having no boots at all, providing they fit.’ Patsy smiled at her nieces.
‘She’s got no boots?’ Eliza exclaimed. ‘She’s got nothing on her feet?’
‘She’s got nothing, lass, apart from a lot of hungry mouths to feed. So you be thankful for what you’ve got because your lot in life could be a lot worse than it is.’ Patsy put the boots down and reached for a small jar from one of her shelves. ‘Here, girls, could you give this to your mother? She will probably have run out of the last bottle she asked from me. Tell her it’s a bit stronger than usual and to take it with care. Make sure your father doesn’t see you give it to her. You know what he thinks of my potion-making.’
Eliza took the bottle and thanked her aunt. Her mother had always a bottle in her bedroom drawer. Her mother had called it her pick-me-up when Eliza had asked her one day what it was for and had quickly re-hidden it out of the way of her stepfather.
‘Give my love to your mother and keep out of the way of your stepfather.’ Patsy opened her door and watched the two girls leave her home. They were good girls but compared to her life in the city they didn’t know how lucky they were. She closed the door behind her and sat down at the table looking at the boots with a hole in them. Her Mick would fix them and make sure they got a good home next door. She put her hands over her ears to stop the noise of the baby wailing, it should never have been born, its father needed gelding. She bet that there was probably another one on the way already, he was that irresponsible. She gazed out of the grimy windows and sighed, feeling a moment of despair. You were born and you died; that was life full stop.
Mary-Anne and Eliza made their way home in relative silence, both thinking that their lives were perhaps not so bad and that they shouldn’t have gone moaning to their Aunt Patsy with their worries.
‘Mary, don’t let me ever marry a useless man like Mick and Bill or Davey Watts and have children I
can’t afford.’ Eliza stopped on the dockside and looked around at the barges being loaded and unloaded with goods. Men were shouting, ponies were being whipped into action as they pulled heavy carts laden with goods for the city and women were selling themselves along the dockside for a few pence.
‘Let’s make a pact between ourselves that we both will find a wealthy man that will keep us in a suitable fashion. I don’t want to live like my aunt Patsy nor be used like our mother.’ Mary-Anne linked her arm into her sister’s.
‘Yes, let’s set our sights high; I don’t want to just make do. We will wait until the right man comes along and not be rushed into marriage.’ Eliza looked back at the disappearing docklands and then turned around to face the unfolding countryside where they lived. She hoped that she would never lead a life like the one they had just left behind. She and Mary-Anne were worth more than that – of that she was sure.
Three
Highfield House
‘Father would like us all to go to luncheon tomorrow.’ Catherine Ellershaw looked at her husband across the breakfast table as she shooed the servant away from offering her another portion of poached eggs.
‘Aye, well, I haven’t the time nor the inclination to be having luncheon with your father.’ Edmund Ellershaw owner of Rose Pit answered his wife from the relative safety of behind the morning’s paper, the Leeds Intelligencer.
‘He said he was looking forward to talking to you as he wanted to know how the colliery was doing now that coal is being transported by rail and canal.’ Catherine bit into her toast and placed her knife down sharply on her plate to gain her husband’s attention. ‘You know we owe father a lot. We wouldn’t be living here at Highfield House if it wasn’t for him. The least you could do is to be sociable with him.’
