The Girl From Pit Lane

by Gracie Hart

  ‘I’ll see you out, John.’ Mary-Anne bowed her head and walked to the doorway. ‘I’ll not come outside. When Eliza said goodbye early that morning on your last visit it set tongues wagging – our neighbours misinterpreted her actions and accused her of being too friendly. They are still not talking to us because of it.’ Mary-Anne stood in the hallway realising how close to her John was as he looked her up and down.

  ‘Then they’ve nothing else to think about in their lives, the poor buggers. It was all in innocence that kiss she gave me, although I suppose she should have known better.’ John stood across from Mary-Anne in the hallway before leaning over to her. ‘Not like this one … I’ve been meaning to do this since the first time I met you at your aunt’s.’ John held Mary-Anne tight in his arms and kissed her softly on the lips, before reluctantly letting her go. ‘You’ll look after yourself until I return and not do anything stupid?’

  Mary-Anne nodded her head, fighting back the tears yet again. Why had he come along at the lowest point of her life and when she was carrying another man’s child, a baby that she would never love? ‘I promise I will take care. Please keep what you witnessed to yourself, I don’t want anyone to ever know … especially Eliza.’

  ‘Goes without saying, Mary-Anne. You know where I am if you need me before my return.’ John held her hand tight and then stepped out into the last of the day’s sunshine, looking back as he closed the garden gate and tugging his cap as he made his way back down to the canal side.

  She could hear him whistling as he went, slowly disappearing along Pit Lane, her heart going with him with every step. He was going to be the reason she had to keep on going, but he could never find out about the baby she was carrying, else she might lose him forever, and that would never do.

  ‘The bastard!’ Eliza sat back and listened to Mary-Anne tell her about how Edmund Ellershaw had wiped his hands of anything to do with her pregnancy. ‘He knows it’s his baby; he’s got to show responsibility.’

  ‘Would you, if you were in his position and you’d taken advantage of me in the way he did? I’m nothing to him and if I told anybody, he’s so powerful people would listen to his side and just look at me like a common whore. There’s nothing I can do, I’ve either got to get rid of it, trust in Aunt Patsy and one of her concoctions or have the baby in secret and leave it at the orphanage with a note. I don’t want it and never will.’ Mary-Anne sighed.

  ‘And how are you going to explain all this to John Vasey? He seems besotted by you. He’ll soon lose interest when he finds you’re pregnant or if he finds out Aunt Patsy’s given you one of her special tonics.’

  ‘She wouldn’t say anything and if I decide to have it, I’d just have to disappear for the last month or so, when it’s too difficult to hide my shame.’ Mary-Anne had thought it through and had covered all options.

  ‘Well, I’m not taking you to Aunt Patsy’s; I still blame her on the quiet for the death of our mother. I’m not having your death on my conscience as well. And you think John Vasey will be satisfied with a quick peck on the cheek in the coming months? He looks at you as if he needs more than that already.’ Eliza exclaimed in disbelief of her sister’s thinking.

  ‘If he’s a gentleman he should be prepared to wait. And if I say I’m visiting relations, but still stay here out of sight, it won’t even be that I ask him to wait.’ Mary-Anne looked across at her sister.

  ‘And who’s going to bring this baby into the world? What if anything goes wrong?’ Eliza looked hard at her sister.

  ‘We’ll manage between us,’ Mary-Anne said sharply.

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve made your mind up.’ Eliza sighed. ‘But could you really give it up, Mary-Anne? I know who its father is, but even so. Can you turn your back on your own blood once it is born, having carried it that long?’

  ‘I hate it already; it was made out of shame and I wish it was dead.’ Mary-Anne patted her stomach and glared at her sister.

  ‘Oh, Mary-Anne, don’t say that. The poor soul.’ Eliza looked at her sister who usually was the kinder of the two of them.

  ‘If I dared I’d kill it now with one of Patsy’s potions and then get on with my life. As it is, I’ll have to wait and hope that it doesn’t survive birth.’ Mary-Anne stared out of the window, fighting back the bitterness and fear that she felt inside her and thinking that if John hadn’t found her when he did, then all her troubles would be over by now.

  ‘You’ll regret those words, Mary-Anne.’ Eliza sighed. She was going to have to be there for her sister.

  Twenty One

  Eliza stood at the gateway of Highfield House and breathed in deeply as she admired the grandeur of the house. She didn’t quite know what to do but she was going to do something. If Ellershaw wouldn’t pay outright for the baby that was his, he’d pay indirectly.

  In her simple home-made bag she had off-cuts of the fine silks and catalogues that John Vasey had left with her, and it was her intention to show them to Grace Ellershaw and persuade her to order another dress.

  So this was where the bastard lived with his little happy family and his many secrets, she thought. He didn’t deserve one brick of it with his morals.

  She looked at the well-situated double-fronted house with roses growing around the pillars that stood either side of the front entrance. She knew her place and knew full well if she called at the front door it would be slammed in her face. She followed the flagged path around the side of the house and quickly shot a glance through the small-paned tall windows of what looked to be the dining room of the Ellershaw home, noting that it was empty but filled with furniture of quality. Arriving at the kitchen door she hesitated for a moment before lifting the brass knocker and banging it down loudly.

  The door opened quickly and what she took to be the under butler stood in the doorway, looking her up and down. ‘No, we don’t want pegs, ribbons or anything else you’ve to offer, so bugger off.’

  ‘You can bugger off yourself, I’m no gypsy. I’ve come to see Miss Grace; she’ll be glad to see me. Just be a good man and tell her Miss Eliza is here to see her.’ Eliza changed her usually Yorkshire accent to a false posh one as she stared at the young servant in front of her.

  ‘She’ll not want to see the likes of you, unless you’ve come for the scullery maid’s job and that went last week, and it’s Cook you needed to see for that.’ The young man looked at her before trying to close the door, but Eliza put her foot in the way.

  ‘Oi, you sling your hook!’ the footman shouted at Eliza.

  ‘Not until I’ve seen Miss Grace.’ Eliza pushed the door open.

  ‘Whatever’s going on here? I can hear the racket from inside my kitchen.’ Cook came rushing to the back door, wiping her hands on her apron and demanding to know what the fuss was about.

  ‘It’s this girl demanding to see Miss Grace. I’ve told her she’ll not want to see her.’ The footman scowled at Eliza.

  ‘Now, then, let’s see now. You’re Eliza Wild; I used to see you with your mother, Sarah. I’m Mrs Bailey – Mary. What are you doing here? Have you come to see Miss Grace? She’ll be glad to see you from the noise she makes about your little shop. I’m sorry to hear your mother passed away, lass, she was a good woman.’ Mrs Bailey, the cook, had been an old friend of Eliza’s mother. Now she gave Eliza a warm smile, looking at the lass she had heard so much of from Miss Grace but hadn’t seen since she was a child.

  ‘You knew my mother?’ Eliza exclaimed.

  ‘Aye, we were in service together, but then she met your father and I got my post here.’ Mary turned to the other servant. ‘Well, what are you standing like a big lump for? Shut your gob else you’ll catch flies in it open like that, get a move on and get Miss Grace. This lass made that fancy dress she’s so keen on. She’ll want to see her.’

  Eliza grinned at the footman. That had put him in his place.

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything in front of him,’ the cook said once the manservant had departed, ‘but your mother ne
ver came here, that’s why you don’t know me. She had a strong dislike of Edmund Ellershaw and wouldn’t come to the house. I shouldn’t say it, but she was right; he’s a wrong ’un, even though he pays my wages. Then I heard that folk are talking about her and him. I said to myself that it couldn’t be right; the baby she was carrying would never be his. She hated him. So I wouldn’t worry your head about that, it’s only gossip.’ Mary hardly stopped for breath, not noticing the shock on Eliza’s face.

  ‘My mother was having Edmund Ellershaw’s baby? It was his she lost?’ Eliza looked with horror at the gossiping cook.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought that you’d have heard. I was only trying to assure you not to take any notice of what’s being said. I didn’t realise you didn’t know.’ The cook coloured up as she looked at the shocked young girl, realising she’d just ruined her memories of her mother. ‘Don’t listen to my big mouth, it runs away with itself.’

  ‘You are wrong, my mother would never do that.’ Though even as she denied it, Eliza thought about the mornings her mother would disappear for an hour or two and the bottles of ‘tonic’ that Aunt Patsy supplied to her on a regular basis. And then she thought of Mary-Anne and the baby she was carrying … had history repeated itself? Was Mary-Anne used by Edmund Ellershaw, just like her mother had been?

  ‘I’m sorry, lass. I really am.’ Mary looked at the crestfallen girl standing in her kitchen and wished she had kept her mouth shut.

  ‘Can you give Miss Grace this material and pattern book? Please tell her that she can catch me in the shop if she’d like to know more. I’m going to have to go home, I can’t wait any longer.’ Eliza passed Mary the samples and pattern book and walked away, leaving the cook in the doorway as she closed the kitchen door, shaking her head.

  Eliza walked quickly through the village, not noticing how fast her feet took her, thinking only of what Mary had told her. She had to get back and speak to Mary-Anne, tell her what seemed to be commonly known and see how she felt then about the baby she was carrying. Her heart ached with the thought of what her mother had done. How could she? Had she been forced to do it just like Mary-Anne to keep a roof over their heads, or had it been a sordid affair?

  Eliza stood in front of Mary-Anne, her face wet with tears. ‘You knew! Why didn’t you tell me? It’s even worse now that you are carrying his child. How could our mother do it? I thought she loved Bill … had she no shame?’ Eliza sat down, slouching in her chair. She looked up at her secretive sister.

  ‘I only found out when Edmund Ellershaw told me to hurt me and make me know my place in his world. Don’t think badly of our mother, she did it because she loved us so much. She did it for the same reason as I did: to pay the rent. Though for her it was also to keep useless Bill in work. He’s the one you should blame, spending all his money on drink and going drunk to work. There will always be men like Edmund Ellershaw who take advantage of women like Mother and me. They have power over us and don’t give a damn what hurt they do to us, as long as there is something in it for them. I’m sorry you had to find out in this way. I should have told you. Our mother always said Mary Bailey was an old gossip just like her next door. They are just bitter and twisted old women who haven’t got enough in their lives to keep their noses out of others’.’ Mary-Anne ran her hand over her sister’s shoulders. ‘She did it for us, Eliza, just like our mother did everything for us. Don’t think badly of her.’

  ‘Did you know Mother was friends with the Ellershaw’s cook? That they were in service together? Why didn’t I know?’ Eliza sobbed.

  ‘I wouldn’t say close friends; they had a fall out when our mother married our father. Mary had always had her eye on him and never accepted that Mother won his heart. Can’t you remember her coming to tea once? You’d only be five or six, and her and mother had a row because she kept making eyes at Father. I suppose you were too young. She never came back after that. Mother was always polite enough to give her time of day, but other than that I don’t think they spent time together, especially with her being cook for Edmund Ellershaw. Surely you heard her whisper, “birds of a feather, stick together” as we passed the gates? It was always aimed at Mary.’

  ‘I just thought she meant the Ellershaw family because they all had money, I didn’t realise that Mary Bailey existed.’ Eliza wiped her eyes and looked across at her sister. ‘Oh, Mary-Anne, what a state we are in! Everything we value has just disappeared, and all because of that family.’

  ‘That is why, dear sister, you have to carry on getting money off Grace Ellershaw. Impress her with your needlework and take her for what you can get out of her and her friends. It’s time for them to pay a little, because, let’s face it, Grace and her brother will inherit the woollen mills of her grandfather one day and Rose Pit makes a good penny or two for them all to live on at the moment – they’ve more brass than they know what to do with.’ Mary-Anne had lost the feeling of despair, now she just felt angry. As soon as the baby she was carrying was born, she was going to get her revenge. She didn’t know how, but get it she would.

  ‘Just look at your baby brother, Grace. Isn’t he beautiful? He’s walking well now and he’s so bright.’ Catherine Ellershaw’s face beamed with pride as she watched her youngest son toddle across the morning room of Highfield House. ‘He’s growing up so quickly; before you know it, he’ll be going to help your father run the pit. After all, it will be his one day, along with your brother William, of course.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, he is growing quickly. It must be good to have your life planned out for you before you can even walk. I, of course, have not had that, being a girl.’ Grace watched her young brother gurgle and stumble to his nanny’s arms, to be picked up and shown the garden outside for his amusement.

  ‘Grace, anyone would think you were jealous. Of course your life has been planned out for you. It’s just that the right man has not made himself known to you yet. When he does, you’ll get married, have a family and be content. Just like I am.’ Catherine Ellershaw looked across at her daughter and scowled.

  ‘What if I don’t want to be just content? Married with children? What if I want to do and make something of my own? Our William will no doubt get a position in Grandfather’s woollen mills, seeing that he is now worming his way into his affections after realising that Priscilla Eavesham is penniless and Father will more than likely leave the Rose entirely to George, after his day. So that leaves me with nothing.’ Grace put the catalogue that Eliza had left her down next to her and looked across at her mother.

  ‘Grace, hold your tongue; we all aim to be around for some time yet. You are talking as if we are about to meet our maker. Nothing is certain in this life. You should be grateful for what you’ve got already; you want for nothing, we have made sure of that. It will be up to your husband to provide for you, although I’m sure your father will make sure you don’t leave the family home penniless.’

  ‘What if I wanted to start a business of my own; one I know will succeed?’ Eliza fingered the gauze material lightly and thought of the combination of material and patterns, something she knew would have the ladies of the district queuing for fittings.

  ‘Don’t be so silly, darling. What on earth would you do? Women like us do not work, that is for our husbands and fathers to do, to supply homes and keep us comfortable. I really don’t know what’s got into you.’ Catherine Ellershaw looked across at her daughter and sighed.

  ‘But a lot of ordinary working-class women work, Mamma.’ Grace sat on the edge of her chair and looked at her mother.

  ‘You see, you’ve said it yourself: “working class” … those without means. Not like us. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to join George and his nanny in the garden. I’ve had enough of this silly talk.’ Catherine rose from her chair and her skirts swished as she walked past her daughter into the garden.

  Grace looked at the material and patterns. One day she would employ Eliza Wild and set up a fashion business, no matter what her mother said. Women were as cle
ver as men any day, if not more so, it’s just that society always kept them in their place, tending to children and running homes. One day things would change, of that she was sure.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Eliza; I think I will go and see Aunt Patsy, ask her for something to get rid of this baby. I can always say I’m helping a friend, she’ll not suspect it’s for me because she knows I’m not courting anyone. And I’d hope she thinks better of me than to think I’d raise my skirts for anybody.’ Mary-Anne tied her boots ready for her trip into Leeds.

  ‘No, don’t, you’ll regret it. I’m surprised you are even thinking about it, after finding our mother dead. She might even think it’s for me and you know how she has a way of quizzing us; she seems to know the answers before we reply anyway.’ Eliza stood at the table and looked at her sister. She didn’t want her to go to Aunt Patsy for a solution for the problem that was growing daily inside her.

  ‘I’ll just try not to look at her, because I know what you mean. It’s as if she can read your thoughts. Mother always said she had strange powers and used to tease and call her a witch.’ Mary-Anne looked across at her sister.

  ‘She is a bit that way; the house is dark and filled with the smell of herbs and she’s always dressed in black. Perhaps Mother was right.’ Eliza smiled at her sister. ‘If you are going there, I can’t let you go on your own. I’m coming with you; besides I know that you are hoping to see John Vasey, either on the wharf or at Aunt Patsy’s. And I could do with him being reminded of his promise of more material. Not that I’ve had any new customers of late.’ Eliza looked across at her sister. ‘You are playing with fire there, Mary-Anne, he’ll drop you for sure when he finds out you are carrying a child or he’ll break your heart when he leaves to go to America.’

  ‘He might not do either if I win his heart and ask him to stay, and he need never know about this baby once it’s gone.’ Mary-Anne picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her. ‘Come on then, get a move on if you are joining me; some of us still deal with rags and working folk, not la-di-da toffs.’ She grinned and picked up her bag, watching while Eliza banked up the fire.