by Gracie Hart
Mary-Anne looked up from her sewing and heard a man’s voice talking to Eliza at the front door, recognising the soft Irish lilt of John Vasey’s tones immediately. She quickly put her sewing down and checked her hair as best she could in the reflection of the copper kettle before Eliza brought him into the kitchen.
‘Mr Vasey, how good to see you. What brings you out at this time of night?’ She couldn’t help but admire his dark hair and chiselled chin as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen – as well as the heavy sack he was carrying on his back.
‘This does, my young ladies, as well as your lovely company. I could hardly bring you stolen goods in broad daylight, now, could I?’ John Vasey grinned at the two girls as he heaved the heavy sack onto the table. ‘You said you wanted material, Eliza? Well, here you are, straight out of the docks of Liverpool, slipped away from a barge that I unloaded last night.’ John Vasey grinned as he pulled several lengths of brand-new silks, cottons and taffetas out of the grubby sack. ‘No questions asked but payment is going to cost you dearly.’ John smiled as he saw a glimmer of alarm cross Eliza’s face. He chuckled. ‘A pot of tea and something to eat and a roof over my head for the night. That’s the payment I demand … And then I’ll take myself home again on a Tom Pud as soon as it’s light.’
John smiled as he noticed the excitement in Eliza’s face. She picked up each covered board of material clearly imagining the clothes she and Mary-Anne could make.
‘I don’t think that you ask enough in payment, Mr Vasey,’ Mary-Anne interjected quietly. ‘There’s a small fortune in material here in front of us.’ Mary-Anne felt the quality of the materials on their kitchen table and looked up at their most welcome late-night visitor. ‘Will it not be missed and get you into trouble?’
‘Nay, it’ll not be missed. Besides, a few boards of material mean nothing to the wealthy retailers in Leeds. I thought you two could put it to better use.’ John stood next to the fire and warmed his hands.
‘Please sit down and warm yourself and I’ll make you some supper.’ Mary-Anne pulled the Windsor chair that was her usual seat closer to the fire and urged John to make himself comfortable as Eliza showed her appreciation of the fine materials being delivered by putting the kettle on to boil.
‘So, what sort of a Christmas did you girls have? It would be a queer sort for you both with you just losing your mother.’ John sat back and watched both the girls as Eliza took the material from off the kitchen table and into the parlour, and Mary-Anne sliced some bread and brought a slice or two of ham and some cheese for him to eat.
‘It has been strange; heartbreaking, in fact. We both miss our mother so much and if I was truthful even Bill in a strange way. He might have been a bastard, but he was always here and was alright when he was sober.’ Mary-Anne sat across from John as Eliza brewed his tea and watched as he took his first sip.
‘That brute … I didn’t think a lot of him. If I hadn’t been there that day when he called in at your Aunt Patsy’s, I think he would have killed her, for sure.’
‘He did have a temper on him, especially in drink. We used to fear for our mother when he was in his cups.’ Mary-Anne looked at the soft-spoken man who was enjoying his supper.
‘I’ve no time for a man that lifts his hand to a woman, drink or no drink. They can’t call themselves a man in any shape or form.’ John looked across at Mary-Anne, who had caught his eye when he had first seen her at his new lodgings. He couldn’t help but notice that some of the bloom had left her cheeks and that she looked a little drawn. ‘You are better off without him if you couldn’t trust him in drink.’
‘I hated him; he wasn’t anything like our true father.’ Eliza looked at their guest and poured him another cup of tea, making him feel welcome in their home; it was the least she could do as she was so thankful for the material that he had brought. Tomorrow she would sit down and work out some designs, and between Mary-Anne and herself they would create and sew the most desirable dresses that anyone could possibly imagine.
‘Your Aunt Patsy said your da was a good man; tragic that he lost his life down the pit, and that your mother was left to fend and look after you two without any help. She must have had it hard, and then for her to marry a bastard like Bill. The poor woman.’ John shook his head and looked into the fire.
Mary-Anne swallowed hard and tried to control her feelings, holding back her knowledge of just how far her mother had gone to protect their family and keep them all fed and warm. ‘How are Aunt Patsy and Uncle Mike? We usually see them over Christmas but didn’t get into Leeds this time.’
‘They are doing grand. She’s a good woman, is your aunt. Makes me feel at home and treats me like one of the family. I’m grateful for her for giving me a roof over my head while I earn my passage.’ John smiled at the two sisters and noticed Eliza yawning. ‘Are you tired, girl? Don’t stop up on my account. I’ll make myself comfortable in this chair next to the fire and will let myself out in the morning.’
‘I am slightly, but, no, you must sleep in our parents’ room; the bed is already made up and aired.’ Eliza stood up and yawned again.
‘Get yourself to bed, and thank you for the offer of your parents’ bed, but it wouldn’t be proper, me sleeping upstairs; you hardly know me. I’ll be all right down here. I appreciate you letting me stay.’
‘I think it is us that should show our appreciation, Mr Vasey. I can’t thank you enough for the material that you have brought us tonight, and it will make all the difference to us keeping a roof over our heads.’ Mary-Anne cleared his mug and plate away and smiled. ‘You are more than welcome to sleep upstairs; it is the least we can offer you.’
‘Nay, I’ll stop down here. I’ll just visit your necessary before I make myself comfortable. That is unless you would like to sit with me a while, Mary-Anne? I can see Eliza is ready for her bed but perhaps …’ John stood up and waited for a reply.
‘The privy is out in the yard.’ Mary-Anne opened the back door and showed him the lavvy at the bottom of the yard. ‘Yes, I’ll stop up with you for a while – just a while, mind. We have a busy day in the morning.’ Mary-Anne smiled at their guest and gave a glance to Eliza.
‘Aye, you will now you’ve something to work with … There’s more where that came from, so don’t you worry lasses, I’ll keep you supplied. I’ll bid you goodnight, Eliza. Get yourself to bed, I’ll not keep your sister too long. And you can trust me with her, I promise,’ he said reassuringly, as he walked out of the back door and up the flagged path to the lavvy, guided only by the light from the oil lamps in the kitchen.
‘Goodnight, John, and thank you again for the cloth,’ Eliza shouted up the yard. ‘Will you be all right left with him?’ she whispered to Mary-Anne as soon as he was out of sight and inside the lavvy. ‘Do you trust him on your own?’
‘I’ll be all right, don’t worry. He’s not exactly like Edmund Ellershaw, he’s even concerned that he is sleeping here under the same roof as us two. Besides, he’s a friend of Uncle Mick, and he wouldn’t have anything to do with him if he thought he was a wrong ’un.’
‘Well, if you’re sure … you can always shout if he tries anything on.’ Eliza kissed Mary-Anne on her cheek.
‘I will, now get yourself to bed. Not that you’ll sleep, you’ll be too busy thinking about what you can do with the material. I think John Vasey is the answer to our prayers, yours especially!’ Mary-Anne hugged her sister and then watched as she made her way down the passage to climb the stairs to bed. She then added another coal or two to the dying embers of the fire, prodding it into action with the poker before sitting in the chair across from where John Vasey had previously made himself comfortable.
‘Now don’t be putting too much on that fire. We’ll not be staying up that late, you’ve your work and I’ll have to be leaving at first light.’ John smiled and sat across from Mary-Anne.
‘No, I’ve just added a bit to keep the chill at bay.’ Mary-Anne smiled back at him.
‘Eliza mad
e for her bed then? I hope I’m not keeping you up. I’m more of a night person myself, especially since moving to here from Ireland. My thoughts won’t let me sleep, I dream of all the atrocities and things that happened over there.’ John sighed and went quiet.
‘Eliza likes her bed, but I’m a bit like you – I’m a night owl, I don’t need much sleep. Tell me about Ireland, if it doesn’t make you too sad … I know you left because of the famine but other than that I don’t know much. It might as well be the other side of the world to me, here in Woodlesford.’ Mary-Anne sat back in her chair and looked at the sorrow on John’s face.
‘I don’t mind talking about it at all. I love my country but how do I tell you of a place that’s so close to my heart but is dying with every breath it takes? And a country that has taken all of the people that I love.’ John looked at her and breathed in heavily.
‘I’m sorry, perhaps it is better that you don’t talk about it.’ Mary-Anne realised that the man across from her was as heartbroken as her and waited for his reply.
‘Nay, it’s something that should be told and it is the reason why I aim to go and look for a better life in America. I’ll tell you about my family and I’m sorry if it upsets you.’ John paused briefly. ‘Our family – my mother and father and my brother and two sisters – farmed on our small croft in County Mayo. It wasn’t the biggest of farms, just six acres, but it kept us fed, with our main crop being potatoes and a few hens scratting about in the yard. Our landlord had cut our acreage down in previous years for him to raise cattle on to send back over to England, where he came from. We could not protest as it was happening to a lot of the farmers around us and no one argued with the English landowners. It would have fallen on deaf ears anyway and he’d not have thought twice to have demanded all his land back. Then when I was ten, the worst thing that could have happened did and I still remember walking through our fields full of potatoes and my father nearly sobbing as he touched the potato leaves that were blackened and wizened with blight. They were to have fed us all year around, the only way to keep us fed on such a small portion of land. With nothing on the table, and no means of income, it was decided that my older brother would leave home and go across the water to America to make his living. My mother cried when he went with next to nothing in his pocket to board the ship at Bray but little did she know she was going to cry more in the following years. John stopped for a moment and looked across at Mary-Anne who gazed at him with sympathetic interest.
‘Go on, please tell me more.’ Mary-Anne listened intently.
‘The prime minister Peel did what he could for us all, purchasing tons of Indian corn from America but it arrived late March, leaving us with empty bellies all winter. My sister was the first to go – she always had been a sickly lass and the lack of food left her so weak, she died the week before the corn came. Later in the spring our spirits rose as the few potatoes that we had planted looked healthy and we hoped that the coming autumn things would be back to normal, but it wasn’t to be. For five years the blight hit our crops, I lost my father, mother and my youngest sister. The workhouses were full and along the roadside people begged and died while walking to what they hoped to be salvation, but in truth there was nowhere to go and nobody wanted us. With all my family bar myself dead, the landlord evicted me and set fire to our croft, leaving me with nowhere to rest my head. I remember watching and crying behind the hedge as the bailiff’s men set the thatch on my beloved home alight. I was cold, hungry and alone and I thought the good Lord had forsaken me. The whole of Ireland was starving and dying, and nobody looked to be doing anything except the Quakers and the poor houses that couldn’t cope with demand. It was then I found Mick for the first time. I’d made my way to Ballina because I’d heard there was a soup kitchen there. You were fed only so long as you were prepared to work, building the roads that the English government had decided that we could build for them to earn our daily crust. We met while building the road and decided to have an easier life and find work in the north; it hadn’t been hit with the famine that year as bad as the west and east coast where we were. Mick was a bit older than me, a bit wiser and crafty with it, I soon found out as we walked and begged our way to Belfast, nearly dying on our journey but determined to survive after so much hardship. We’ve been friends now for the last twelve years. He found work in the shipyards at Belfast and then in Liverpool, before marrying your Aunt Patsy, and I stayed in Belfast working on the docks. How we survived those years I don’t know. Has Mick never mentioned them to you?’ John warmed his hands by the fire’s flames as he waited for Mary-Anne to reply.
‘No, he never talks of it. To be honest we weren’t allowed to associate with Uncle Mick; Bill didn’t like him nor my aunt Patsy. You’ve had a terrible time of it,’ Mary-Anne whispered. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss and your hard life; it makes me feel quite humble.’
‘Nay, you’ve nothing to feel sorry for, it’s none of your doing. You can’t change the past, and, besides, I’m happy with my lot in life at the moment. I’m saving up for my fare to finally join my brother in New York and then we will be together again at last. He’s making a name for himself over there buying land and has gone into the construction business, so some good has come out of life’s trials.’ John smiled at the beautiful lass sat across from him. ‘If it hadn’t have been for Mick taking me under his wing, I don’t think I’d have made it. I owe him a lot. So when Eliza asked for some material, I thought nothing of it. A bit of material taken from under the noses of those who can more than afford it is my way of payment for his kindness, and, besides, I’d like to be there to help you, from one who knows what it’s like to be down and out.’
‘Well, we really do appreciate it and you’re welcome to visit us anytime you wish. Eliza’s face lit up when you showed her the material, it will keep her out of mischief for days.’ Mary-Anne smiled as she rose from her seat and yawned.
‘Get yourself to bed, Mary-Anne. Don’t sit up any longer with me, you look tired.’ John rose and poked the fire. ‘I’ll say goodbye now as I’ll be gone before you wake in the morning.’
‘I am tired, life’s been hard since we lost my mother, but how can I complain after what you have told me?’ Mary-Anne smiled and touched his arm lightly.
‘If you need anything, you’ll let me know. I’ll always be there for you if you think I can help.’ John smiled back at the young woman and thought how bonny she was.
‘Thank you, John, that means a lot. I’ll go to bed now, but if there’s anything you want, just help yourself. You never know, one of us might be awake in the morning to say goodbye.’ Mary-Anne made her way to bed.
John sat in front of the fire and looked around him at the sparse kitchen; it was a pity he had made his mind up to go to America, as he could have felt quite at home here with Mary-Anne by his side.
‘Aye, our Ada, those lasses are going to end up in bother.’ Bert looked out of his bedroom window as he pulled the bedroom curtains open, letting the early morning light into the room.
‘What do you mean, Bert?’ Ada came to the window and looked down to the next-door’s gateway. Both gasped as they watched Eliza give the dark-haired man a parting kiss on his cheek. ‘The hussy, he must have stayed the night!’
‘We should have known what they’d be like if they were left to their own doing, their mother was no better, Ada.’ Bert moved away from the window. ‘I hope it’s just a one-off and that men aren’t going to be calling day and night.’
‘Oh! Bert, we can’t have that, not next door! I’ll have to say something.’
Sixteen
Eliza and Mary-Anne looked at the reams of material laid out on their cutting table that, between them, they had managed to carry all the way to their little shop.
‘Well, you said you wanted material.’ Mary-Anne looked at the smile on Eliza’s face.
‘I know, isn’t it exciting? I don’t think I’ve ever seen as much material in my life. Just look at this blue brocade; I’m just i
magining the dress I could make with this! I’ll have to get a move on, though, and have a play around with a pattern or two. See if we can entice our Miss Grace back, if no one else.’ Eliza ran her hand lovingly over the brocade that she aimed to make the most of.
‘What did John say when you said goodbye to him this morning? I felt awful that I wasn’t up in time to see him on his way, but I was so tired … I haven’t been sleeping well of late.’ Mary-Anne had left her sister to give her thanks and farewells to their welcome visitor but now she was wishing she’d stirred herself from her bed.
‘He didn’t say a lot. I think he was embarrassed that I gave him a kiss on the cheek to show my gratitude. He mumbled something that I couldn’t make out and then sloped off to the canal. I bet he’d have shown more interest if it had been you. I think he likes you, Mary-Anne, I kept seeing him looking at you last night. I wasn’t really tired, I thought I’d leave you to get better acquainted. However, I was a little worried that I had left you with a man we hardly know, so I lay in my bed and listened to you both talking. I just wanted you to be safe after your terrible experience with Edmund Ellershaw.’
‘Eliza! How could you be so forward? What would he think of you? You can’t just kiss him! As you say, we don’t really know him and he might have misunderstood your intentions.’ Mary-Anne shook her head. ‘However, I think he’s harmless. John told me about his past last night. He’s really had a hard life and only has a brother left alive and he’s over in America. That’s why he’s so determined to go there.’ Mary-Anne made herself busy, not wanting her sister to know that she had enjoyed her evening with the dark-haired Irish man.
‘Well, I think he is quite good-looking; no money though, which is a bit of disappointment. I suppose it’s rare to get both and if you do there’s always a downside – like Grace Ellershaw’s brother. He’s got the social skills of a gnat – the way he acts he must take after his father,’ Eliza said unthinkingly with a laugh, as she unrolled the material.
