Another Man's Child

by Another Man's Child (retail) (epub)

  Well, Molly didn’t need to work on anything as tough as khaki serge. She just wanted a few larger baby nightgowns. After several attempts, pricked fingers, useless turning of the balance wheel, and a whole lot of muttering under her breath of swear words picked up in her stepfather’s pub, she gave up and stood, easing her back and looking out of the window. It was then she saw the booklet on the windowsill half hidden by the curtain. She picked it up and whooped with delight. It was the instructions which must have come with the machine, yellowing and dog-eared but still legible.

  Immediately she set about reading and soon was practising stitching on a piece of another of Nanna’s red flannel nightgowns. Within the day she had made her daughter the nightgowns of which she was sorely in need. Delighted with her own achievement, Molly decided to drum up some business.

  Wrapping the baby in a blanket, she bound her to her with her black shawl, knotting the ends where she could reach them easily. Then with a wicker basket on her arm, she set out for School Lane. The first few doors she knocked on proved a waste of effort. Two were opened by maids who said their mistresses already had a woman to do their sewing. At the third house the owner appeared to believe Molly a gypsy and set a yapping Dachshund on her, which made her nervous and inclined to give up, which irritated her no end.

  It was not until she’d reached the safety of the other side of the gate that she plucked up the courage to shout, ‘My dog could make mincemeat of yours!’ despite having no dog.

  The thought made her smile. Three more doors and if she continued to get negative replies she would try another road, she decided. Bracing her shoulders, she banged the knocker of the next house. No answer.

  Three doors further down, still having had no luck, Molly decided to try one more house. The sky was rapidly clouding over and she was fed up, her confidence in her ability to make money draining from her. She marched up the next path, which was flanked by overgrown laurels and rhododendrons, and wielded the knocker several times before hearing footsteps in the hall. ‘Hold your bloody horses!’ shouted a male voice she recognised. She groaned, unable to believe her luck.

  The door was flung open by the overall-clad figure of Nathan Collins. His hair was coated in sawdust. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, frowning. ‘Is something wrong with the baby?’

  ‘No! And how would I know you were here if there was?’ Molly said in what she considered a reasonable tone. ‘I’m trying to drum up work and not having much blinking luck.’

  ‘You trying to make me feel guilty? Think I’m a skinflint?’

  ‘Of course not! I’m sure you’re being as generous as you can be.’

  He rested one shoulder against the door jamb and folded his arms, eyeing her up and down. ‘You look like a gypsy. What kind of work? This place is empty right now. I’m fitting extra cupboards for the new owner.’ Molly saw her opportunity and jumped in. ‘Perhaps you could mention me to the lady of the house? I’ve a machine for seams and I can do fine embroidery by hand as well as smocking.’

  ‘Can you now?’ he drawled. ‘I must give you my shirts. I’ve buttons missing on a couple of them and a rip under the arm of another. Now you’d best get home before the rain comes and you’re drenched.’

  ‘I expect payment if I do sewing for you.’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Did I say I wouldn’t pay you for the extra work?’

  ‘No, but you do cry poverty a bit.’ She peered into the lobby, wishing he would ask her in. She would have enjoyed looking over such a house.

  ‘We’re no different then, are we?’ he said sharply. ‘Now I’ve work to do to pay your wages.’ He slammed the door in her face.

  As the first drops of rain fell on Molly she scowled, thinking he could have given them shelter from the rain. Placing one arm protectively over the baby’s head, she hurried down the path. When she arrived home it was to find a stranger sheltering under a large black umbrella on her doorstep.

  ‘Mrs Payne?’ said the man.

  ‘That’s right.’ She eyed him curiously as he doffed the umbrella as though it were a hat. He was middle-aged and balding, his face round with fine purplish blood vessels criss-crossing his cheeks and rather squashy nose. He wore a brown suit and highly polished shoes splattered with rain. ‘Just the young woman I want to see.’ He smiled. ‘I take it this is little Jessica?’

  She nodded, continuing to stare at him as she reached inside the letter box for the key on the string.

  ‘May I come in?’ He folded the umbrella.

  ‘I don’t know about that. You might look like an elderly cherub but that doesn’t mean to say you’re an angel. How do I know I can trust you?’ Molly said suspiciously.

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. There was something very infectious about that sound and she smiled too. ‘It’s true!’ she said. ‘But I suppose I can take a chance on you.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he spluttered. ‘If I tell you I’m this child’s Great-uncle William, Mr Barnes, will that ease your fears?’

  The man with the brass. Hope tingled in her veins. ‘You don’t look a bit like I expected.’

  ‘Ah! What has the lad been saying about me?’

  ‘Not much.’ She presumed by the lad he meant Nathan. ‘Only that you want to turn him into a candlestick maker.’

  ‘I want to make him my heir,’ he said, wheezing slightly as he followed her indoors. ‘But I will not hand everything I have to him on a plate. He has to work for it – do something for me in return. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair, Mrs Payne?’

  ‘I would. You don’t get naught for nothing in this world.’ Molly was starting to realise that in a way she had never done before. There had to be give as well as take. She entered the kitchen which was dark due to the miserable weather outside and waved him to a chair, thinking she would have to light the fire to make the place appear a bit more cheerful now she had such an important guest.

  He sat down heavily, leaning on the handle of his umbrella. ‘He’s a young, hotheaded fool and will end up with nowt if he’s not careful. As for you, my dear, you’re just like your mother.’

  ‘You knew her?’ said Molly, although perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. ‘Your sister says I don’t have her good looks.’

  He clicked his tongue against his teeth, gazing down at the baby where Molly had placed her on the rug. ‘My sister’s a sight too keen to say what she thinks. Is the child all right on the floor? Can I not…?’ There was a wistful note in his voice.

  ‘Of course you can hold her. That’s if you want a wet and smelly knee you can.’ Molly put a match to the fire, thinking how easy he was to talk to. ‘She needs changing and so do I,’ she added ruefully, gazing down at her skirt.

  ‘Are there not such things as rubber pants, my dear?’ he said gently. ‘I have looked into the items a baby needs since my great-niece’s birth.’

  His great-niece! Oh, Lord! Another person she was deceiving. It hadn’t seemed so bad when she hadn’t met him. Still, too late to go back now. Molly cleared her throat. ‘If there are, I can’t afford them. And neither can Mr Collins.’ She sat back on her heels, picking up her baby, feeling a sudden need to stake a claim to her. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘I came to see the child and suggest you and she come and live in my house.’

  Molly almost dropped Jessica. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Her spirits rose instantly, imagining herself in a big house, bigger than the ones she had visited this morning, with enough food in her stomach and fuel in the winter and nice clothes for Jessica and no worries about where the rent was coming from. Then the vision faded. ‘Have you asked Mr Collins?’

  ‘No.’ He sighed. ‘But he might come round to my way of thinking if I had you and little Jessica living with me. A bird in the hand, my dear, is worth two in the bush. I could threaten that I’d change my will and leave little Jessica all my property. So what do you think about coming with me now and I’ll have a note
popped through his door saying where you’ve gone?’

  Molly’s jaw dropped. She was tempted to do as he said. She really was! It was a short cut to her dream coming true. Her daughter, heiress to all this man possessed! Then as if someone had stamped the image on her brain she pictured Nathan as she’d first seen him and the corners of her mouth turned down. Molly shook her head. ‘That wouldn’t be very loyal of me, Mr Barnes, would it?’ she said gently. ‘Nathan’s my employer and has only just lost his wife. For me to do the dirty on him wouldn’t be right. Jessica’s all he’s got.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be doing the dirty as you put it. You’d be doing him a favour.’ Mr Barnes settled himself more comfortably in the rocking chair, placing the tips of his fingers together under his treble chins. ‘My sister seems to believe this lovely little baby upsets him. Reminds him too much of his wife’s death.’

  ‘That may be true sometimes but he’ll change,’ Molly said confidently.

  ‘He’s stubborn.’

  ‘He loves her, I know he does!’ Molly argued fiercely, wanting to believe it. ‘He’s just frightened of letting himself feel too much at the moment. After you’ve lost someone you love, you’re frightened it’s going to happen again.’

  ‘That may be so, my dear, but I don’t want to wait until he comes round to seeing things my way or yours. I’m not getting any younger.’

  Molly wrinkled her nose, seeing his point. ‘Why can’t you find him a job in his own line? He’s a craftsman.’

  ‘We make candles, incense burners and sanctuary light holders, my dear, not furniture.’ Mr Barnes rubbed his chin against the tips of his fingers. ‘He has accused me of being a moneygrabbing shyster, lacking an eye for beauty and without a soul. What d’you think of that, hey?’

  ‘Not very wise of him,’ she said, not surprised. ‘You’d think he’d know which side his bread was buttered on, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘You would indeed. But there it is, my dear, you see what I’m up against.’ Mr Barnes spread both his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  She knew all right and her spirits sank as she saw the promise of the good life fading into the distance. There was silence except for the crackling of the fire as she tried to think of some way of convincing Nathan to take up his uncle’s offer. ‘Isn’t there any thing he could do with wood in your factory?’

  ‘We’re thinking of going into the vestments and church hangings business next, so I’m afraid not.’ From a pocket he took a packet of cheroots and with exquisite civility asked if she minded his smoking. She nodded her agreement graciously, considering him a real gent. Not snooty at all but well-mannered and considerate of even the likes of her. He lit the cheroot and drew on it. ‘There is also my partner, Mr Braithwaite, who is in charge of the Leeds factory. I have to think what he might say.’

  ‘I see.’ Molly chewed her lip, wondering if Mr Braithwaite had an heir. The baby in her arms woke suddenly and began to root against her breast. She sighed. ‘Nathan made Jessica a beautiful cradle. It’s a pity you’ve never thought of making church furniture. Pews, pulpits, screens, lecterns… couldn’t you do them instead of vestments?’

  ‘We’ve already bought the sewing machines, my dear.’

  Molly sighed. It was a shame. She could not think of anything else to say so sat watching him smoke, wishing she didn’t have a conscience and could do what he suggested and go off with him right now.

  Finally Mr Barnes threw the butt on the fire and stood up. ‘Your advice has not been wasted on me,’ he astonished her by saying, ‘I have a room standing empty at the moment. If my nephew can raise half the money then maybe I could find the rest from my private income. He would have to drum up business himself, visit churches and see what comes of it. You must put it to him, though, seeing as you appear to have his and Jessica’s best interests at heart.’

  ‘I’m sure it would be better coming from you,’ Molly said hastily. ‘I know nothing about business, sir.’

  ‘But you can sketch in an outline of your idea. If he’s got an ounce of Lancashire nous, then he’ll be hotfooting it to my door.’ Mr Barnes smiled, fumbling in an inside pocket and pulling out a Morocco leather notecase. From it he extracted a five-pound note and handed it to her. ‘I think you’ll be able to buy some rubber pants with that and maybe a pretty white lace-trimmed frock for when you bring my great-niece to visit me?’ Molly could not disguise her joy at such largesse. ‘I’ll do that as soon as I can, sir. Thank you very much.’

  ‘And here’s my card if you need to get in touch with me. I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Mrs Payne.’

  She managed to get to her feet, still clutching the baby. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you a cup of tea but I’m going to have to feed Jessica now.’

  ‘Of course. She’s looking very well. No, no.’ He held up a hand as she made to follow him out. Til find my own way. You see to the child.’ And on those words he limped out of the room.

  Molly glanced down at his card. There were two addresses on it, a business one in Liverpool and his home address in Blundellsands. She placed it under the clock on the mantelshelf, and as she fed her baby, pondered on the best way to approach Nathan with her idea.

  * * *

  As soon as Molly set eyes on Nathan she could tell he was in a bad mood. His brow was furrowed like a newly ploughed field. He flung three shirts and a pair of trousers on the dresser and sat down in front of the fire. ‘D’you know, the owner of that house had the nerve to complain about my work?’ he muttered, a brooding expression on his face.

  She did not know what to say so picked up one of the shirts and inspected it.

  ‘I don’t know how I stopped myself from hitting him. He wanted a cheap job and I told him good workmanship doesn’t come cheap.’

  Molly saw an opening. ‘You’re a craftsman. Cupboards are beneath you, really.’ Her tone was casual. ‘When you think of the workmanship in old churches… it’s wonderful, isn’t it.’

  ‘Old churches! What are you going on about?’ He knuckled his eyes and yawned. ‘He thought I was green behind the ears. Too young, not enough experience.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of pews and pulpits and things until today,’ said Molly, sticking to her side of the conversation. ‘But your uncle called and he made me think about the craftsmanship involved in such things.’

  ‘My uncle?’ Nathan blinked and stared at her. ‘What the hell did he want?’

  ‘To see Jessica, of course.’ Molly began to root through her sewing box. ‘He wanted us both to go and live with him.’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ Nathan’s scowl deepened. ‘Big house, rubber pants, lacy frocks, no bugs, and enough coal and food to make anyone happy,’ murmured Molly, picking out a reel of pale blue cotton and biting off a length.

  ‘Rubber pants?’ His expression was puzzled.

  ‘You wouldn’t have a wet knee then if Jessica sat on it.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could get such things.’ Nathan paused. ‘I suppose he went on about me working for him?’

  ‘He thinks you should go into business for yourself making church furniture. He’s got an empty workroom you could have and he must know lots of churches.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nathan, getting up.

  ‘You could give it a try.’

  ‘Shut up, Moll.’

  She began to set neat stitches, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye. He was clasping the brown teapot in both hands. ‘Where d’you keep the tea?’

  ‘In the caddy on the mantelshelf. There’s not much. Are you going up to see Jessica?’ ‘Maybe.’

  She felt impatient with him, wanting her daughter to have a proper father who cared about her. Molly had missed out on that herself and knew it was important. But how could he be a proper father if he blew hot and cold towards the baby? Sometimes he wanted to nurse her, sometimes he didn’t.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Nathan.

  ‘What’s what?’ She did not lift her head.

  ‘My un
cle’s card. Why’s he given you this?’ She jumped to her feet, dropping his shirt on the floor and snatching the card from him. She had a sudden inspiration. ‘It’s for me if I need to get in touch with him. He’s opening a sewing room. I thought there might be a chance of a job in it.’

  ‘You’d leave Jessica?’ He looked dumbfounded. ‘I thought I could depend on you. I’d have to find someone else to look after her then and I’ve got used to you, Moll.’

  She was touched, thinking she had got used to having him to talk to as well. There really wasn’t anyone else in her life except Mrs Smith and the delivery boy. She’d wanted to speak to the other mothers round about but was too shy. Still she kept silent, thinking if he wanted her round that much he might change his mind about a few things.

  He turned his back on her, fingers gripping the mantelshelf so the knuckles shone through the taut skin. Molly took the teapot from near his hand and made tea, covering the pot with a teacosy. Then she went upstairs and brought Jessica down. ‘Your wife gave her life for this child. Was her sacrifice for nothing?’ she said quietly.

  He whirled round and his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. Molly felt guilty then. ‘Bitch!’ he said passionately before reaching out and putting his arms around her. He almost squeezed the life out of her and the baby. Then he began to cry with great sobs that wracked his body, shocking her to the roots of her being. He upset her so much that she began to weep as well.

  * * *

  Molly watched Nathan eat the last of the bacon, sliced fried potatoes and two eggs, and some of her guilt evaporated. It had been terrible watching him go to pieces but he’d soon pulled himself together. To get them both past that moment of weakness she had handed him the baby and poured two cups of tea, asking when he had last eaten. ‘A round of bread at breakfast,’ was his answer.

  Now he wiped the plate clean with a chunk of bread, ramming it into his mouth and chewing. After swallowing that last morsel, he said gruffly, ‘I promised Jess I wouldn’t go back on what we’d decided about building up my own business and staying on in Burscough. She wanted our child brought up round here, near her family.’