Mothering Sunday

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘Yer silly little cow,’ the woman scolded, helping her son to rise to his feet. She held up her candle-holder. A huge bump was already forming on her son’s brow. ‘Yer should be flattered he’s payin’ any interest in a little bastard from the work’ouse! This farm’ll be all his one day when owt happens to me an’ his dad.’

  ‘I’m not a bastard and I wouldn’t want him if he were going to inherit a castle,’ Sunday stormed, but she was shaking all over with shock after her narrow escape from rape. Now that Bill had tried it once, there was nothing so sure as that he would try it again.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The atmosphere was strained at breakfast the next morning but Sunday went about her duties as usual, trying to ignore the whole pack of them. Who did Bill think he was anyway, doing her some great honour by trying to force himself on her like that. And she had no doubt whatsoever that this was what he had intended to do. He certainly hadn’t climbed the ladder for a game of tiddlywinks, yet here were his parents, treating her as if she had done him some grave injustice. She didn’t even feel guilty when she saw the huge bruise on his forehead. It served him right and she’d do the same again if he repeated his attempt to deflower her! Maybe next time he’d break his horrible neck.

  Out in the laundry room she took out her frustration on the washing as she pummelled it in the dolly tub, and all the while her mind was busily working. By lunchtime she had devised a plan. It was the only option open to her now. She would wait until the early hours of the following morning and then slip away under cover of darkness, when she was sure that they were all fast asleep. They wouldn’t be able to stop her this time. She dreaded being out alone in the dark but knew that she had no choice if she were to escape. She planned to go to Mrs Lockett at the vicarage. Verity would help her, she was sure of it, but as yet she had no idea where she would go from there. For now it would be enough just to get away from the farm before Bill got the better of her.

  The day seemed endless but at last she was able to get up to her room where, instead of climbing onto the uncomfortable straw mattress, she hastily rolled her belongings into a bundle and shoved everything into her largest bag. Eventually she heard the family retire to their rooms and she strained her ears into the darkness, hoping that Bill was in too much discomfort to repeat the previous night’s attempt to come to her. Thankfully all was soon silent save for the creaking of the house as it settled and the sound of an owl in the tree outside. She waited until she heard the sound of the old grandfather clock strike one then cautiously began the climb down the ladder, praying that she wouldn’t be heard. When she finally reached the bottom, which was no mean feat when juggling her bag, she stole across to the back door and, placing her bag down, she grappled with the bolt. It was very stiff and when she finally managed to shoot it across, the sound cracked around the room like a gunshot. Sunday held her breath but thankfully all remained quiet so she opened the door and stepped out into the chilly air. The dog in the kennel came out, his hackles rising, but when he saw it was Sunday he slunk back inside and she moved on.

  It wasn’t until she was a good mile away from the farm that she finally paused to rest for a moment. Thank goodness no one appeared to be following her. She was away from the hated Barnes family and hoped she would never have to clap eyes on any of them ever again.

  It was a very long walk to Coton, and by the time the Chilvers Coton church spire came into view, she was completely exhausted and also reluctant to involve Mrs Lockett in her problems. And then it came to her: Tommy, or Tom as he now preferred to be called, would help her – she was sure of it – and he lived close to the church. Thankfully she knew most of the people who lived in the cottages in Shepperton Street so it was fairly easy to guess which one Tom was renting. She judged that it must be three or four o’clock in the morning by now and she hated to disturb him – but what choice did she have? After approaching the door, she tapped on it and waited anxiously, praying that she was at the right cottage. After a while she was beginning to think that no one had heard her but then the door suddenly inched open a crack and Tom’s bleary eyes peered out at her.

  Almost instantly he was wide awake. Taking her arm, he helped her inside and hastily lit the oil lamp that was standing on the table. She was embarrassed to see that he was dressed in nothing but his trousers with his braces dangling and she quickly averted her eyes as he asked, ‘What on earth are you doing out and about all alone at this time in the morning, Sunday? Has something happened?’ Then without waiting for an answer he crossed to the dying fire and after raking out the dead ashes he threw some more logs onto it. Then he pushed the trivet holding the soot-blackened kettle into the heart of the flames.

  ‘Now. Tell me what’s going on.’ He led her to a chair and gently pressed her down onto it and she blinked as she stared up at his smooth skin and strong shoulders. He really was a man now!

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I was planning to go to Mrs Lockett’s because I didn’t know where else to go and . . .’

  As her voice trailed away and her chin drooped to her chest he took both her hands in his own. ‘You did exactly right to come to me,’ he told her softly. ‘Now start at the beginning . . .’

  And suddenly everything was pouring out of her as if a tap had been turned on. She told him about the way the Barnes family had treated her and what Bill had done last evening. She then told him about her suspicions about Lady Huntley and as he listened intently he whistled through his teeth. It was such a relief to confide in someone that she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest.

  ‘Have you confronted her?’ he asked.

  ‘No, what would be the point? Lady Huntley is gentry and if she really did wish to get rid of me, why would she go back on her decision now? Everyone knew that her husband wanted a son, so I must have been a huge disappointment to her. That’s probably why she got rid of me.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ Tom said stoutly. ‘If you ask me, there’s something fishy going on here. That doesn’t sound like her at all. Look how good she’s been to you and other children from the workhouse! Her husband might have wanted a boy but I wouldn’t mind betting she’d have been delighted with whatever baby she gave birth to. It just doesn’t add up, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t and I don’t know what to think, I’m so confused,’ Sunday said miserably as Tom went to collect two cups from the draining board and spoon tea leaves into a teapot.

  ‘Well, the only way to get to the bottom of it is to ask her outright,’ Tom sensibly pointed out. ‘Perhaps you have it all wrong and there’s some perfectly reasonable explanation for you being wrapped in that shawl when you were left on the steps of the workhouse. Perhaps it was one of her maids who got into trouble and stole the shawl because she was in no position to keep you?’

  ‘What? On exactly the same day as Lady Huntley had her baby? That would have been too much of a coincidence, surely? And what about the colour of my hair and my eyes? They’re exactly the same colour as hers – is that a coincidence too? Oh, Tom, one minute I want her to be my mother and the next I resent her because she could be.’

  ‘Then if you can’t speak to her, perhaps I could do it for you?’ Tom suggested, but Sunday shook her head, clearly in a panic.

  ‘Oh no, please don’t do that! I don’t know what I want to do about it yet.’

  ‘All right, all right, of course I won’t if you don’t want me to,’ he promised. She was becoming very agitated so he quickly changed the subject, saying, ‘And as for that Bill, I’ll sort him out tomorrow. By the time I’ve finished with him he won’t try to interfere with young lasses again a hurry, you can bet on it!’

  ‘Oh no, Tommy – I mean Tom! You mustn’t do that either, please. You’ll just make things worse. For now, it’s enough that I’m away from there.’

  She patted the waistband of her gown where her money was safely sewn into a little pouch. She’d left the
farm without the wages that were due to her since asking for them might have raised suspicions that she intended to leave, but she was thinking of asking the Reverend Lockett if he would collect them for her. Surely the Barneses would not refuse a man of the cloth? And for now she still had the money she had saved while she was working for Mrs Spooner, so if she was very careful she would be all right for a few weeks at least and by then hopefully she would have found another job.

  ‘Tomorrow I shall start to look for another post and rent a room in town somewhere. I just needed a safe place to stay for tonight if you don’t mind too much. I shall be perfectly comfortable in the chair by the fire.’

  ‘You will not sleep in the chair,’ he objected. ‘You can go and hop into my bed. I’ll sleep in the chair and there’s no need for you to go and rent a room. You can stay here.’

  ‘Oh, and wouldn’t the gossips just love that?’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Imagine what they would say. Pinnegar and his henchmen have already spread it all around the town that I’m a loose woman, and if it got out that I’d stayed here it would just add fuel to the fire.’

  Tom paused in the act of pouring the boiling water into the teapot and a slight flush rose in his cheeks as he said, ‘They wouldn’t if you were to marry me.’

  Sunday was so shocked that for a moment she could only stare at him but then she said, ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to go to those lengths,’ although she was deeply touched that he cared enough to offer. ‘I shall be perfectly all right so long as I can keep out of Pinnegar’s way. He’s still got it in for me, you see, even now. That’s why I left Mrs Spooner’s and went to work at the farm, but I think he found out where I was, because lately I’ve sensed that someone’s been following me – and once or twice I’ve thought I’ve seen someone hovering around the farm. Thank you, Tom, for taking me in.’

  Her eyes roved about the little room then and Tom said sheepishly, ‘Sorry it ain’t very special. I’m out working for most of the time so I haven’t had time to fancy it up much. It needs a woman’s touch.’

  Sunday couldn’t have agreed more, although she didn’t say so. The room was indeed very sparsely furnished with only the barest of necessities, although she noted that it was spotlessly clean. There weren’t even any curtains hanging at the window but she could imagine how comfy it could be with a bit of tender loving care.

  She yawned then and seeing how exhausted she was he quickly poured the tea, ordering, ‘Here, get something warm inside you then go and get tucked up in my bed. We can talk more in the morning.’

  She gratefully accepted the chipped cup he slid across the table to her and soon after she went and sank into Tom’s bed and within minutes despite all that had happened was fast asleep, feeling safe for the first time since she had left Mrs Spooner’s. It was strange that, she found herself thinking just before sleep claimed her. She had always felt safe with Tom.

  She woke next morning to find a note standing against the sugar bowl on the table,

  Dear Sunday, I didn’t want to disturb you but I have had to go to work. We will talk more later, Love Tom xx

  She smiled at his thoughtfulness then went to have a thorough wash in the tiny kitchen. As she had told him the night before, she didn’t want to become the talk of the town so the sooner she found herself somewhere to live and got another job the better.

  It was mid-morning before she found a room to rent. There were any number available but some of the ones she had looked at were so filthy she had cringed at the thought of entering them let alone sleeping in them. Others had been far too expensive but the one she was shown in Edward Street was within her means and fairly clean so she accepted it immediately and handed over two weeks’ rent in advance. She had left her bag at Tom’s. There had seemed no sense in carting it about with her but now her priority was to find employment. She could collect her bag later.

  She found a job late that afternoon. It wasn’t ideal because it was in a baker’s in the centre of the town, which meant that Mr Pinnegar might easily spot her, but now that Tom was back in Nuneaton she wasn’t quite so afraid of what he might do. The pay was modest and the hours were long but even so she was grateful for it and promised to start work very early the next morning. As the baker, a huge rosy-cheeked man had explained, they had to start early to get the first batch of cakes and bread into the shop before opening time.

  With her accommodation and somewhere to live settled, she then went to the vicarage where she asked the Reverend Lockett if he would kindly collect her wages for her from Yew Tree Farm. When she explained to him what had happened, both Edgar and his wife were appalled at the way she had been treated and Edgar promised he would visit them the very next day.

  ‘You should have come straight here to us,’ Verity Lockett scolded gently. ‘We would never see you without a roof over your head, surely you know that?’

  Sunday was grateful for her concern but deep down she knew that she could never have stayed there. She might have brought trouble down on them when Pinnegar discovered where she was and she couldn’t risk that happening to the dear little family. Especially now they had Michael, their new baby son, to care for.

  ‘I’m fine now really, but very grateful to you,’ she told her friends sincerely and then after a short while she went back to Tom’s to find him already home from work and cooking them a meal.

  ‘I hope you like steak and onions with jacket potatoes?’ he said when she appeared. ‘I’ve learned how to look after meself although I admit I can’t cook anything fancy. But now tell me how you’ve got on today.’

  And so Sunday seated herself at the table and told him all about it, and soon after they ate the meal he’d prepared for her and very nice it was too. They then washed and dried the pots together and he tentatively remarked, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said about Lady Huntley and I reckon you should have it out with her. At least then you won’t be constantly fretting over it.’

  Sunday’s curls danced about her shoulders as she said proudly, ‘I most certainly will not. If she didn’t want me then why should she want me now? No – what’s done is done and I certainly won’t go begging her to acknowledge me as her daughter!’

  Tom sighed. He knew how stubborn Sunday could be but he thought she was making a big mistake. Lavinia Huntley certainly didn’t strike him as the sort of woman to ever abandon a child. Everyone knew how much she had always longed to be a mother and how badly she had taken little Stephen’s death. Even so, he was sensible enough not to argue, for now at least, so changing the subject he suggested, ‘Well, at least we’ll be able to eat together each evening if you like. You might get a bit tired of pork chops and cold mutton, but it will be better than eating bread and cheese in your room on your own.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Sunday said quietly. It would be something to look forward to at the end of a long working day.

  Later that evening, Tom walked Sunday to her new home. It would have been nicer, he thought, if she had agreed to stay with him, although he could understand her reasons for turning him down. Folks hereabouts liked a bit of scandal and it wasn’t considered seemly for two young people to live together without being wed. Still, at least he would see her every day now – and that was more than he could have hoped for.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sunday had been working in the baker’s for a week when the inevitable happened. She was serving at the counter early one morning when the shop bell tinkled and Albert Pinnegar strolled in. Seeing her there, all the old feelings of desire, frustration and anger rose in him, threatening to choke him. Quickly recovering from the shock, he pulled himself together.

  ‘Well, well, and look who’s here.’ He grinned maliciously as he twiddled with his waxed moustache. ‘I heard you’d run away from the farm. News travels fast around these parts.’

  How very convenient it was, to have her back in town and close at hand, he thought. ‘I didn’t run away, I chose to leave,’ Sunday muttered as she looked aw
ay from his hated face. Why, oh why couldn’t he just disappear in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again!

  ‘What can I get you?’ she asked then as if he were any other customer.

  ‘I’ll have one of your large cottage loaves.’

  Sunday briskly wrapped a loaf in brown paper and placed it on the counter. ‘That will be fourpence, please.’ She took his shilling piece, gave him his change in two threepenny bits and two pennies, then ignoring him completely she attended to the next customer who had come in closely behind him.

  She could see the hatred he now felt for her burning in his eyes. Outwardly, she was as cool as a cucumber but inside she was quaking. He could always have that effect on her and she tried to quash the memories of his violations on her body. When he left a few seconds later she breathed a huge sigh of relief, but then she found herself glancing towards the door for the rest of the morning.

  It was early afternoon, just after Sunday had had a short break for lunch, that the shop door opened again and in waltzed Mrs Spooner. Now here was someone she was pleased to see and the girl’s face broke into a smile. However, there was no answering smile on Biddy’s painted lips.

  ‘So what do you think yer doing working here?’ the old lady snapped, rapping her cane on the floor for Sunday’s full attention.

  ‘I left the farm,’ the girl explained, glad that there were no other customers at present to eavesdrop on the conversation.

  ‘Hmm, an’ I can guess why. That randy son o’ theirs try it on again, did he?’

  When Sunday nodded the old woman scowled. ‘So why didn’t yer come to me then? You know I said there’s always a home fer you at my house.’

  ‘I didn’t want to bring any more trouble to your door,’ Sunday muttered meekly, which caused the old woman to snort with annoyance.

  ‘Huh! That Pinnegar has somethin’ to answer for, so he does, scarin’ harmless lasses an’ preying on innocent folk. Why, I’d like to clout him around the head wi’ me cane, knock some sense into the bugger. Now, are yer coming home or what?’