'He drove past school just as we were coming out today,' she said carelessly. 'Mom, is this enough?'
'Just a couple more, love, and then it's time Ivy was in bed. Come on, chick, I'll take up the hot bricks while you get washed.'
'What sort of motor car?' Johnny persisted.
'A black one, I think, I didn't look much. Nasty noisy thing, it scared the little ones.'
'A black one! That's not much help! Mom, ask Mrs Nugent what it is, please? I'd love to have a ride in it.'
'I will if I remember. But I won't ask for a ride. The cheek of it! Ivy, what did I say?'
Ivy made token grumbling noises but went out to the scullery without further chivvying. Mary took the bricks out of the oven and wrapped one in a thick piece of blanket. She handed it to Johnny.
'Might as well put it in your bed early,' she said, and he took it into the front parlour where he slept now the girls, who shared a big bed in the back bedroom, were getting older. Marigold jumped up to take the other bricks upstairs.
'I'll do that, Mom, you look tired.'
'Thanks, you're a good lass. My back does ache a bit, but I want to finish this traycloth tonight.' She rubbed her eyes. 'I've got a lot to do. Mrs Nugent's bringing me some more work tomorrow and she wants it back soon, it's for a present.'
*
Sunday was the first hot day of Spring, and after dinner the whole family walked up onto the Chase. Ivy insisted on taking her hoop to bowl, and Poppy had a skipping rope. Many other townsfolk were taking the air, and a pair of Mr Coulthwaite's racehorses were being exercised.
'Two Grand National winners in four years, he's had, that's a good record,' John said admiringly as the riders trotted past.
'Will you have a bet on the next one, Pa?' Johnny asked.
'I might be tempted,' John replied, and Mary laughed.
'You'll never waste your money on such folly,' she said with utter certainty. Not for her John the gambling at pitch and toss, or on the horses, which made so many of his workmates poorer than they might have been.
'It's the only way people like us can get rich,' Johnny said provocatively.
'Don't you think the Liberals will bring in the schemes they've promised, now they've shown the Lords who rules Parliament?' his father asked.
'Not them. Now Members of Parliament are to get paid we'll soon have a Labour Government. They'll make sure the working class gets more money.'
John smiled. Johnny was just beginning to take an interest in matters outside football and what he and his pals were doing in their free time, and he encouraged the lad to think things out for himself.
Marigold frowned. 'How can they give more money to people if they don't work for it?'
'Higher wages, pensions for everybody, money when you're ill – lots of ways.'
'Where'll they get it from?'
'Rich folk, of course.'
'I don't think that's right. It's like stealing, taking from one lot of people to give to others.'
Johnny frowned. 'No it isn't, it's just that the bosses won't keep so much, more will go to the workmen. They can afford it. Look at the big houses they live in.'
'People should work for their money,' she insisted.
'However hard we work we'll never get a house like – well, like Mrs Nugent's. Owning it instead of paying rent to the colliery bosses.'
'No, I suppose not,' Marigold conceded. 'But they got their houses from their fathers, and so on back for hundreds of years. We must all have started out equal one time.'
'We are all equal, and a Labour Government would make us equal again.'
'Women as well, Johnny?' Mary put in, amused at this serious discussion between her two oldest. 'Would you give women the vote like the suffragettes are demanding?'
'That's different,' Johnny declared. 'Women can't think like men, they can't be proper judges.'
'If you want to make a bet, Johnny, I'll bet you a shilling women will be in Parliament one day, and rule the country!' Marigold said heatedly.
Johnny scoffed, but fortunately for peace he spied some of his mates and went off to join them, while Poppy persuaded her mother and Marigold to turn the rope for her. By the time they strolled back down the hill to the town Marigold had forgotten all about Parliament and politics. They had nothing to do with her, after all.
*
A few weeks later Marigold returned home from shopping one morning to find Mary huddled in the big chair over the fire.
'Mom, what is it? Are you poorly?'
Mary looked up at her, struggling to suppress the worry she felt. Marigold already carried more of a burden than she ought. She could do without learning of this latest calamity for as long as possible.
'Just tired, I expect,' she said. 'Mr and Mrs Andrews have gone away for a few weeks to the south of France so there isn't much to do, just the children and the governess to cook for. I came home early, it won't matter for once.'
It would matter, she thought wearily to herself, when her pregnancy showed and she had to give up work. Each pregnancy had made her more and more exhausted, each birth had been more difficult than the last. She knew she ought not to have taken the slightest risk of ever having another child and John was as considerate as any good husband could have been, not wanting to put her through such peril again.
But he'd been so disheartened at not being able to do his old job, so full of self-condemnation as she and Marigold struggled to keep up the standards he'd originally acquired for them, the pleasant house in one of the better streets, with gas lighting downstairs and a tap in the scullery. Sometimes it was too hard not to take comfort from one another. She was to blame more than he was, and if she hadn't been frightened of the consequences she might even have gone to the same woman Mrs Whitehouse had tried to send her to when she'd been expecting Ivy. 'Ye're a daft bugger to let 'im put so many buns in it,' she'd said then. 'I've 'ad enough wi' our Art an' Janie. Catch me goin' through that agin! Mrs Simpkins down in Burntwood'll see ter yer, an' 'er don't charge much. Wouldn't get custom if 'er did!'
Mary had refused indignantly then, but she knew where old Mrs Simkins lived and had heard whispers of other women who used the old crone's services. Despite her fears of what this new pregnancy would do to her she was even more terrified of letting an old hag destroy a child she and her John had made with their love.
But Marigold needn't know yet, and with her job for the time being less arduous she might get over the worst before the Andrews returned and keep her job for a few more precious weeks. In the meanwhile she would have to save every penny possible, and now he'd been working full time for a couple of years Johnny must choose between Mr Todd and the pit. If she were forced to stay at home Marigold could go out to work. She was almost fourteen, old enough to be taken on full time.
Busily contriving ways and means Mary pushed away the thoughts of her own danger. After all, her own mother had produced ten children and eight of them had survived. And both her older sisters had six children. She was being fanciful to imagine she was not so tough.
She couldn't contain her fears that night though, and wept bitterly when she told John the news. Afraid of waking the children she tried to stifle her sobs by pressing her face into his shoulder as he held her close. 'There, there, love, don't fret,' he tried to console her, at the same time berating himself bitterly for the lack of control which had put his beloved Mary into this plight.
'What can we do? When I have to give up work we won't have enough money.'
'We'll manage. Johnny will be earning more soon, and Marigold can get a job. Between 'em they'll be bringing in almost as much as you do now. And my leg's getting better every day. I don't have to have so much time off now. I'll be bringing in more.'
Mary was in a strange way both comforted and dissatisfied by this answer. It was what she'd already worked out for herself, and she was thankful he didn't have any objections to it, but despite knowing deep down this was all they could do she'd hoped he might have something better
to suggest.
'Don't let's tell anyone yet,' she whispered, suddenly calm, and John was thankful to feel her relax against him. Tired from a heavy day's work he soon fell asleep, not perceptive enough to realise that Mary's apparent acceptance was the coldness of despairing resignation rather than willing consent.
For a week more she struggled to preserve a façade of normality, sitting up long into the night trying to do as much embroidery as possible. Always at the back of her mind was the thought she might never be able to finish it. Every night fears about the fate of her babies if she herself died brought tears coursing down her cheeks.
It was late one evening and John had just cleared away his bath, a task he'd insisted on doing ever since he learned of Mary's condition, when there was a sharp knock on the front door.
They were all seated round the kitchen table. Mary and Marigold were sewing, Poppy eagerly reading an old cookery book Mrs Andrews had given Mary. John whittled away at a carving and watched Ivy drawing flowers, copying the patterns on Mary's embroidery, while Johnny drew elaborate sketches of improbable motor cars.
They looked at one another in surprise. No-one ever came to the front door except Mrs Nugent or other ladies who had work for Mary, and they never came after dark. If a neighbour wanted something they came through the communal yard and knocked on the back door.
'I'll go,' John said after a moment and took the oil lamp from the table, leaving them with just the flare of the single gas mantle and the glow of the fire.
They strained to hear voices but could distinguish only a vague murmur. Then John opened the door leading into the parlour, out of which the front door opened direct to the street, and called to Mary.
'It's Mrs Nugent, love. Wants a word with us.'
Mary rose to go out and put her hand to her back, feeling a sharp shooting pain.
'I wonder what she wants? More work, I hope, though it's odd of her to come at this time. Make a pot of tea, Marigold, and bring a slice of that fruit cake Johnny brought home yesterday. The good china cup, mind.'
'Yes, Mom.'
The kettle was always simmering on the hob, and it took only a couple of minutes to find the one tray they possessed and a cloth used only at Christmas. Marigold set out the teapot, some sugar Johnny had brought home last week, which they kept for Sundays, and the last of the milk which had been intended for Ivy's breakfast. Then she found the china cup and saucer, so little chipped it was barely noticeable, which John had bought in the market only last June for Mary's birthday. Meanwhile Poppy carefully cut a slice of the cake and laid it on the matching plate.
'I wonder if she'll be wearing a hobble skirt?' Poppy asked eagerly. 'She's ever so fashionable, Mrs Nugent, and they look so elegant. Or perhaps she'll have a motoring coat. I saw a lovely one the other day, with a red and black check lining,'
'Never mind that now. Open the door for me, Poppy, and I'll take it through,' Marigold said when she'd made sure everything was correct.
Eagerly, for she didn't often see Mrs Nugent, Polly went towards the parlour door. She flung it open and squeezed herself against it to give Marigold room. Just at that moment Mary, who had been standing in the middle of the room, uttered a faint cry and slid senseless to the floor.
'It was a miracle the tray didn't follow her,' Mrs Nugent told her husband later. 'But Marigold seems a very sensible young girl, it was the other one who started to scream with hysterics.'
Marigold herself didn't know how she'd managed to replace the tray on the kitchen table before rushing back to her mother. By that time Mrs Nugent had taken charge, casting off her hig-h crowned straw hat and grey alpaca dustcoat. She directed John to carry Mary upstairs and sent Marigold ahead to turn down the bed.
'Stop that caterwauling, girl!' she ordered Poppy brusquely, 'and look after your litte sister, don't let her come upstairs.' She looked at Johnny for a moment. 'You can bring up as many bricks as you have warming in the oven. Your mother looks as though she needs them.'
It was an hour before the terrified children, shooed out of the way and told to stay in the kitchen, saw their father again. Mrs Nugent appeared once and sent her uniformed chauffeur to fetch Dr Mackenzie. He came and went, shaking his head gloomily, and by the time her father and Mrs Nugent came downstairs Marigold was ready to scream with frustration and fear.
'Is she all right? Is Mom – ' she couldn't complete the thought, let alone the words.
'She'll be all right now. It's time you girls were in bed. You can go in and kiss your mother goodnight if you promise not to talk to her or ask questions. Will you make sure they don't, Marigold? Johnny, go and wait in the parlour until I call you. I must talk to you later, but for the moment I have something to say to your father. You can see your mother in the morning.'
*
'I'm so sorry, Mr Smith. I had no idea Mary was expecting another child. I shouldn't have told you what brought me here so abruptly,' she said ruefully when Johnny, wary and reluctant, had gone into the front room and closed the door.
'We'd not intended it, Ma'am, but you know how it is. I've been scared out of my wits worrying about her, she had a bad time with Ivy.'
'Well, that worry is one you can forget now. It's probably a blessing in disguise after all. But you heard Dr MacKenzie. Never again, or you'll almost certainly have a motherless family to cope with.'
'I heard, and there'll be no more risk, I promise. I love Mary, she's the best wife a man could have.'
'I knew she'd chosen well when you came courting her all those years ago at the Court. Though I was sorry to lose her, mind. She was one of the best maids we ever had. You say her present employers are away? Give me their direction and I'll make it right with them. She won't lose her job.'
'It's very good of you.'
'The least I can do. Now about Johnny.'
John sighed, and turned haggard eyes towards Mrs Nugent. She was a tall, slender woman with a sharp-featured face, but as he had reason to know her frowning expression hid a kind, compassionate heart. Her servants were the best treated in the whole of Staffordshire, and she worked tirelessly to raise money for miners' charities.
'I didn't properly take it in,' he confessed. 'You say Mr Todd suspects he's been stealing from customers?'
'For several months Mr Todd has had occasional complaints from customers that some little thing was missing. He thought it was carelessness by whoever packed the order. Has Johnny brought unusual things home?'
John sighed despondently. 'Yes, butter and tea and suchlike. Good cuts of meat, too. He said he'd paid for them with tips, got them cheap from Mr Todd. He's a liar too, and we've tried to bring them all up decent and honest. They've always been sent to Sunday School.'
'I know, and I confess it has me puzzled.'
'If he won't give you a straight answer I'll thrash him within an inch of his life.'
Mrs Nugent looked at him curiously. She wouldn't have expected Mary's husband to be a violent man, and his eyes were too gentle, even now when he was bitterly angry with his son, for her to take his threat seriously.
'I must talk to Johnny.'
Mrs Nugent looked at the boy carefully. He was tall, like John, but straighter. John's back had been bowed by years of crawling through the pit along passages sometimes barely high enough for a man to pass. The boy's complexion was ruddy with the days he spent in the open, not pale and unhealthy like most of the men in Hednesford.
His eyes were shifty, though, sliding everywhere else in the room as though afraid to look at her. She was quite sure he knew why she was there, and was guilty.
'Why did you steal from Mr Todd's customers?' she demanded.
'How's Mom? What's wrong with her?' He ignored her and faced his father across the table.
'Answer Mrs Nugent!' John glared at him.
'You're old enough to understand, Johnny,' Mrs Nugent said quietly. 'Your mother was carrying another child and the shock of what I told her caused her to faint, so she lost the baby.'
'
Then that's my fault too,' he whispered, the words dragged painfully out of his mouth.
'Sit down, Johnny.' She marvelled that anyone could lose such a ruddy colour so suddenly and completely. 'It was inevitable, probably,' she explained gently. 'Your mother was ill and could have lost the baby at any time. Or if she'd had it she might have died herself. It could have been my fault for speaking too suddenly, or the fact that she hasn't been eating properly. I gather there is not always enough good, nourishing food?'
'That's why I did it!'
To her intense dismay the boy, for despite being as tall as a full-grown man he was still a boy, put his head on his arms and burst into noisy, racking sobs.
'Hush, Johnny, don't wake your sisters!' she urged, glancing up at the thin boards of the bedroom floor. 'That's better. Let's talk about it calmly. Is it true?'
He nodded, sniffing and wiping his sleeve across his face.
'I can understand you wanted to help out at home, but that's not the way, Johnny.'
'It was all my fault,' he managed to get out.
'What was?'
'Ivy, getting hurt. I wanted to make it up to her, bringing her little treats. I bought them to begin with, honest I did!'
'Why did it get to stealing?'
He cast a glance at his father, but John was looking down at his hands clasped together on the table. 'Everything went wrong,' he said in barely more than a whisper. 'Dad couldn't go back to work for ages, so Mom had to, and we had to pop – pawn almost everything we had, and the bits I brought home pleased Mom so much.'
'She wouldn't have wanted you to steal, though,' Mrs Nugent said gently. It was as she'd suspected, all resulting from John's loss of temper on one crucial occasion, and his son taking it to heart more than a boy who was regularly beaten.
'It was only just a few times at first, when I hadn't had many tips. Mom wouldn't let me give her the tips, like I did my wages,' he added with a rush. 'She said I had to have a few coppers for myself so as I could go out with my mates, but I wanted to bring something nice home, and it was easy, so – '
'So you took more and it was too difficult to stop? Is that it?' Mrs Nugent finished for him.
The Cobweb Cage Page 5