The Girl From Pit Lane

by Gracie Hart

  The Eaveshams stepped gingerly down the steps and past the open gutter and onto the road. Grace held back for a second and whispered her thanks to Eliza and her apologies for any offence that Priscilla’s mother may have given as Eliza held the door open for the trio to leave. Grace was aware that that Eliza had bitten back any response, she had not failed to notice the look upon her face as Alice’s cutting remarks wounded her. Grace was certain that if she had her way Eliza’s name would one day be one of note in the fashion world, despite their humble beginnings.

  Eliza sat back in the kitchen chair and looked at Mary-Anne; she’d been telling her about the caustic comments of Alice Eavesham.

  ‘“Perhaps you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” Sarcastic old cow.’ Eliza growled. ‘I’ll give her a sow’s ear. Does she know that her daughter’s about to marry a pig’s son and that he probably won’t be much better?’

  ‘Don’t let it worry you. As long as you get the money, that’s all that matters. When are you taking them to the Hall? The sooner you get them delivered the better.’ Mary-Anne put a plate full of potato-hash in front of her sister and watched as she picked up her fork to eat.

  ‘Tomorrow, then we will have some good money to go at once they are paid for. That’s another thing, she expects an itemized bill. I wrote it out after they had gone. Old cow.’

  ‘I just hope they pay. You never know with their sort and we both know the Eaveshams had no money last time she ordered something.’ Mary-Anne looked across at her angry sister.

  ‘They’ll pay, because if they don’t I’ll go in and stop the bloody wedding. If both of us can’t be happy, then why should they? Bloody toffs.’ Eliza slurped her food and swore under her breath. She was bitter; life was not treating them well but surely it was time for the tables to turn.

  John Vasey sat on what in the broadest terms could just be called a bed, its planks covered by a straw-filled mattress and a stained pillow that held the sweat from many a former dockhand’s head. He picked up the letter that had found its way to him in the grim surroundings of the boarding house that had been his home for the last seven weeks. He looked at the handwriting and recognised it to be of his former landlady, Patsy.

  He breathed in deeply. He’d hoped to have left any memories of Leeds behind him, but a haunting picture of Mary-Anne possessed him and kept him awake each night, leaving him thinking about her and the life he could have had if it had not been for the unborn child. He played with the letter, not wanting to break the seal and read the contents, as he knew that her name would be mentioned within, probably bringing back more heartache and sadness.

  He sighed and ran his thumb under the wax seal, to reveal the contents of the letter that Patsy had felt her duty to write, to reclaim the lives of the two people that she knew deserved happiness. His hands shook as he read the words within, how Edmund Ellershaw had used Mary-Anne’s mother and had controlled her for years with the threat of eviction and his hold over her and the useless Bill Parker. He swore as he read that he had continued in the same vein with Mary-Anne, how he had used and abused her, threatened her with the same and for this she had been easy prey for him to do as he liked. Hence the baby she was carrying now – a bastard child, conceived not through love but through greed, rape and manipulation of a young woman.

  John looked around the grubby dockside boarding house; another week and he would have enough money and more besides for his passage to America, leaving the hovel he was in behind and the memories of Mary-Anne Wild. He was bound for a new life and he didn’t want the ties of another man’s bairn to burden him. He was best forgetting her; no matter how the baby had come about, she should have had more pride and respect for herself. She obviously took after her mother, and a woman like that was no good to any man, no matter how good her intentions were towards her family and husband.

  Three babies, Patsy had said, three babies her sister had lost to the bastard Ellershaw, and that was only the three she knew about. His mind was filled with mixed emotions. How could any woman go through that? And then for their daughter to fall into the same trap …

  He cast his mind back to the tearful Mary-Anne and how he’d not listened to her pleas. She’d raised her skirts for another man and that was all he’d been able to think about as he had stormed away, and that she had deceived him for all those months while she was carrying the child.

  No, no matter what had happened, Mary-Anne was not for him. A new life was calling. Why should he start it with the worries of an old dirty one? Mary-Anne and her baby would have to survive as best they could because it would not be with him, no matter how much Patsy pleaded for the innocence of her niece.

  Thirty

  ‘Mary-Anne, I’m home! Put the kettle on, let’s celebrate. In fact, do you fancy a drop of gin? I’ll go to the Boot and Shoe for a gill. I’ve never held as much money in my hand.’ Eliza slammed the front door shut and yelled along the passage to the back kitchen as she placed her shawl around the banister at the bottom of the stairs. She was grinning widely; the Eavesham’s had paid her outright for the wedding garments as she delivered them and now she could have cried with joy at the thought of having security for once in their lives. ‘Mary-Anne, where are you?’ Eliza quickly hurried into the kitchen, sensing something was wrong as she heard no response from her sister.

  ‘What’s wrong, are you ill?’ Eliza went over to her sister who was gripping the pot sink with both hands and looked pale. She looked down at the pool of water that lay at her sister’s feet and realised at once that the baby was on its way.

  ‘Sorry Eliza, it started as soon as you left the house this morning; the pain is getting stronger every time.’ Mary-Anne caught her breath as another bout of pain swept her abdomen and she cringed and bent double as it cut through her speech.

  ‘Here, let’s get you upstairs and then I’ll go for Henry to get Aunt Patsy.’ Eliza gave Mary-Anne her arm and led her up towards the stairs.

  ‘I’ve managed to fill the boiler outside and it’s warming nicely, just like Aunt Patsy instructed us. Please don’t be long finding Henry and sending him for her. I think she will be too late in coming anyway, the pains are that bad.’ Mary-Anne gripped the baluster rail and stopped in her tracks as another wave of pain hit her, leaving her breathless and panting.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Eliza lead Mary-Anne into her bedroom, and laid a folded old sheet under where Mary-Anne was to lay. ‘You’ll be all right, I won’t be long. It’s best we send for her just in case there are any complications.’ Eliza helped Mary-Anne out of her dress and into her night shift, fumbling as she undid the buttons and laces of her dress and boots, and conscious that it would not be long before the baby made an appearance into the world.

  ‘I’ll not die, will I, Eliza? You’ll not let me die. I keep remembering Mother.’ Mary-Anne gasped and held onto Eliza’s arm, her nails digging into Eliza’s skin.

  ‘No, I won’t let you. Now I’ll only be a second, I saw Henry playing marbles in the lane as I came in home. I’ll yell of him to run like the wind and give him threepence for his bother. And then Aunt Patsy will soon be with us.’ Eliza stood in the doorway and looked at her sister lying in bed. She knew that the baby would be born long before Aunt Patsy could get to them both. She flew down the stairs and out of the front door, listening to the moans of her sister as she hastily gave Henry the money and a message for Patsy to come quick.

  The young lad’s eyes shone with the silver threepence in his hand and his marbles scattered in the path as he memorised the address and message that he had been trusted to take.

  Eliza watched as the ragged urchin ran down Pit Lane; it would take him at least an hour to reach Leeds, no matter how fast his legs took him. And at least an hour more for Patsy to make the journey back. Two hours or more in which the baby would be born alive or dead; whichever the case, it would be hours that would test her to the limit. She’d never seen a baby enter the world before, but she was all that this one had t
o help make its appearance. ‘God have mercy on their souls,’ she whispered to herself, as she poured hot water into an enamel basin from the copper and stood at the bottom of the stairs, as Mary-Anne let out another moan.

  ‘I’m coming, Mary-Anne. Henry’s gone for Aunt Patsy. You’ll be all right.’ Eliza’s legs felt like jelly as she climbed the stairs with towels and hot water. She’d do what she could and just hope that neither mother or baby would end up in the graveyard like her mother.

  The sweat ran from Mary-Anne’s head as she gave a long last push. All she wanted was to be free of the pain and to expel the baby that was causing it.

  ‘That’s it, Mary-Anne, it’s coming. I can see its head! It’s coming … another one and it’s here.’ Eliza sat on the side of her sister’s bed, holding a towel in one hand and squeezing her sister’s hand with the other.

  Mary-Anne bore down as her aunt had instructed her previously, her face screwed up in pain and determination. ‘You will be born.’ She gritted her teeth and pushed.

  ‘It’s here, Mary-Anne.’ Eliza stood up and pulled on the newborn’s head and shoulders as the rest of the body followed, laying squirming, red and crying between Mary-Anne’s legs. Eliza looked at the newborn baby and then at Mary-Anne before getting a sheet and wrapping the newborn in it.

  She set the child to one side as the pains took hold of Mary-Anne once more. ‘I don’t know what to do with all this.’ She looked at the spluttering red-faced baby and the cord that was still attached to its tiny body and the afterbirth.

  ‘You cut it off and knot it.’ Mary-Anne lay back and caught her breath. ‘That’s what Patsy said. Get Bill’s penknife from out of those drawers and use that.’ She pointed to the chest of drawers where Bill had left some of his effects and then lay back exhausted.

  Eliza left the baby between Mary-Anne’s legs and got the penknife. ‘What if I hurt you or the baby?’ She stood hesitantly over them both.

  ‘You won’t … Aunt Patsy will tidy us both up when she arrives, don’t worry. Do I have a boy or a girl, Eliza. Can you tell me?’ Mary-Anne lay back and watched as Eliza went about the job of separating the baby from the afterbirth.

  ‘Well, now I know what’s what, dear sister, I can tell you that you have a beautiful little girl, although she pulls the most strangest of faces and is just slightly wrinkly.’ Eliza wrapped the small gurgling baby up in a blanket and passed it to Mary-Anne. ‘Should she look like that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a wrinkly prune. And she’s so tiny, I don’t like holding her in fear that I’ll drop her.’ She looked at Mary-Anne as she passed her to be held her in her arms and could see the love that automatically comes between mother and baby. ‘I’ll clear this soiled sheet away. You’ll feel better then.’ Eliza pulled the under sheet from beneath her sister and looked at Mary-Anne and her daughter, hesitating, before going downstairs with the dirty linen.

  ‘Thank you, Eliza. I couldn’t have managed that on my own. I’m sorry I had to put you through it; she came so quickly.’ Mary-Anne pulled the blanket away from the baby’s face and looked at her with awe. ‘She is beautiful, but, as you say, a bit wrinkly, but you would be if you’d been squashed up inside my belly for nearly nine months.’ Mary-Anne closed her eyes and put her head back on the pillows. ‘I’m so tired, and my work has just begun if I choose to keep her.’ Mary-Anne smiled at her baby and then closed her eyes again. She may have smiled at her baby but inside she was in turmoil, not knowing whether to keep her or not.

  ‘I’ll leave you to sleep. I’ll bring Aunt Patsy up to make sure you are all right when she comes.’ Eliza, with her arms full, struggled to close the bedroom door, feeling a pang of relief that the baby had been born safely and that Mary-Anne was still with her. She smiled as she went down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was an aunt … Aunt Eliza to the bit of a thing that was asleep in her mother’s arms. Now what would Mary-Anne call the baby and, more to the point, would she keep it now it was here and with her? Secretly Eliza hoped she would. After all, she had brought her into the world and she felt a bond with the baby already. Although the baby had not initially been wanted, it was part of them and always would be, no matter what became of it.

  ‘Well, you’ve not done a bad job between you.’ Patsy looked at Mary-Anne and the baby. ‘The baby is only small but it’ll soon fill out once it’s had a feed or two. I think Eliza looks the most exhausted out of the three of you.’ Patsy sat at the bottom of the bed and watched as the small newborn suckled on Mary-Anne’s breast. ‘Have you decided what’s to become of her? If you are to leave her at the orphanage or workhouse, you want to do it soon, before you get too attached.’ Patsy watched as Mary-Anne looked down upon her child.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I’m all confused. Now she’s here it’s different … she’s mine. Not just something that is a nuisance.’ Mary-Anne sighed and looked at her aunt. Her heart told her to keep her child but her head told her not too. It would bring hardship into their lives, and the child would grow up with the stigma of being Edmund Ellershaw’s bastard.

  ‘Well, child, no matter what you decide, there will be heartache. There always is with offspring. She’s got a fine head of dark hair, which must be from her father, because it’s not on our side of the family. Every time you look at her, it will remind you of him.’ Patsy looked at Mary-Anne; if it had been up to her she’d have done away with it, smothered it at birth and told her that it had been born still. But she’d arrived too late to do as she had planned, so now she had to convince her to abandon her baby. Better that than a life of poverty like her next-door neighbour.

  ‘I’ve always wanted dark hair. She will be so pretty when she grows up,’ Eliza said as she sat on the other side of the bed.

  ‘You’ve got your mother’s looks,’ Patsy said, stopping Eliza short. ‘You should be proud of those. This’en will always question where hers come from. Poor little bastard. Fancy growing up, not knowing who your father is, because it wouldn’t be right to tell her, what with him only living down the road and owner of Rose Pit. And his lad to be wed and become the new master of High Watermill. He’ll certainly not want any scandal or to see her face when he walks out through Woodlesford. That’s for sure, she’ll always have a stigma, no matter where she goes if you keep her.’ Patsy tried to influence both girls, just as she had their mother. She couldn’t see the point of having unwanted children and had always felt bitter when they were born, more so since she had realised that she could not have a child of her own.

  ‘We will make something up to protect her.’ Eliza spouted up. ‘There’s no need for her to know the truth. Besides, it’s up to you, Mary-Anne, but now she is in the world, I feel different towards her and if she was mine I’d keep her. After all, she is our blood.’ Eliza reached out her hand and placed a finger into the minute hand of the baby who automatically grasped it tightly, making both Eliza and Mary-Anne smile.

  ‘Well, I can see which way this argument is going. Think long and hard, Mary-Anne; you could be throwing your life away, and you are both making a rod for your backs. I could take her back into Leeds with me tonight, leave her on the workhouse steps and nobody would know where she came from or who she was. Then you could gain your lives back.’ Patsy looked at the three sat on the bed together and she knew she was wasting her breath. They were besotted by the infant.

  ‘I’m going to keep her, Aunt Patsy, to make up for the one that my mother lost. She’s my little lost girl, who I will do my best to do right by and will love no matter who her father is.’ Mary-Anne looked down at the baby who could hardly open its eyes without squinting because of the strong light, and kissed her on the head. ‘She can’t help how she came about. She isn’t the first and she won’t be the last to be brought into the world that way.’

  ‘On your own head be it, lass. I don’t doubt you’ll regret it; it’s no bed of roses bringing up a bairn.’ Patsy stood up and went to the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be off back to my Mick. You know wher
e I’m at if you need me for anything.’

  ‘I’ll see you out, Aunt Patsy.’ Eliza gave Mary-Anne a quick backward glance as they both left her room.

  ‘We both thank you for coming and we know you mean well,’ Eliza whispered as she saw her Aunt to the door. ‘Mary-Anne had every intention of not keeping the child at one time. But now it is born, she’ll not see it abandoned.’

  ‘Aye, well, she’s as soft as her mother. And look where that got her. Take care, Eliza. Call in and see me when you are next up’t town. If you can’t cope let me know.’ Patsy hesitated for a second, wondering whether to convince Eliza to get Mary-Anne to see her point of view, but knew she’d be wasting her breath.

  ‘I will, Aunt Patsy, thank you again.’ Eliza watched her aunt trundle down the road and at the same time saw next door’s curtains twitch. ‘Piss off, you nosy bitch!’ she yelled before closing the door on the prevailing evening.

  Trust them to be watching the comings and goings of the day, she thought.

  ‘Eliza, these are beautiful.’ Mary-Anne looked at the carefully stitched garments that lay on her bed.

  ‘And I’ve made her some napkins. We can wash them daily until she learns to use a pot. I couldn’t have her going without, so I’ve been making these secretly, when I had time. Even if you had abandoned her, I’d have given her them, just to prove to her when she was older that someone once loved her. It must have been coincidence that there was some flannelette in the batch that was sent with that horrible man by John Vasey; it was just ideal for some clothes for her.’