by H D Coulter
Mrs Hodgson placed the candles beside the basket. “Bob still vouches for her innocence.”
“Of course, he would. Who would want to believe their child could do that?”
“He says it was that other man... to be honest I can’t believe it myself; she seemed so nice when she used to come in for the shopping. Just the eggs, was it Mrs Richardson?”
“A sack of flour, if you please. What I can’t believe is the Mason boy stuck by her, even when his family disowned him, and cast him out. What spell did she have over him, that poor Joshua, for him to leave his family for her?” She repeated the sign of the cross, shaking her head.
The bell above the shop door rang in the background as someone entered.
“I’ll be right with you,” Mrs Hodgson called out, her back to the counter as she reached out for the flour on the third shelf.
“I overheard Mrs Dent say that she has given birth a month since. But unless my memory is two months ahead of itself, or the baby came altogether too early, that baby was conceived out of wedlock?”
“Maybe that is why he stuck by her?”
“I had heard rumours of them meeting alone, in secret. Whoever the father of the child might be, Beatrice Mason wasn’t the girl you thought she was.”
“Well, Bob told me about the man who attacked her - it all came out in court, every single detail – he took her maidenhood, poor thing - maybe it is his?” Mrs Hodgson placed the heavy sack on the counter with a thud.
“Attacked, you say?”
A loud cough behind reminded them they weren’t alone. Mrs Hodgson looked up and gave Mrs Richardson a warning look. She blushed as she turned around.
“Forgive us, we like to catch up on the local news...” She didn’t recognise the gentleman standing in front of her with golden tan and clean, fine clothes, compared to his more dishevelled appearance stepping off the ship. But Mrs Hodgson knew who it was straight away.
“What can I get for you Captain Hanley?” Throwing Mrs Richardson, a quick glance, she brushed a few specks of flour from the counter as her customer let out a sharp intake of breath, and the penny dropped.
“A ball of twine and a quart of oil, please Mrs Hodgson?”
“Of course. No trouble at all,” Mrs Hodgson replied briskly, searching for the items under the counter.
“Did I hear correctly that - Mrs Mason, is it - has had a baby?” Hanley looked directly into Mrs Richardson’s crimson face.
“Why yes, Captain,” Mrs Hodgson confirmed, reaching for the oil on the middle shelf.
“A boy or a girl?”
“A girl, I ” Mrs Richardson turned around, lowering her eyes as Captain Hanley stepped forward.
“I must congratulate them that is good news– how much do I owe you?”
“Two shillings and sixpence.”
Captain Hanley leaned past Mrs Richardson and placed three shillings on the counter and took the bottle of oil and twine with an elegant flourish. “Keep the change, ma’am.” He gave Mrs Richardson a broad smile. “This has all been quite informative.”
“Thank you, sir, good day...”
“Good day, ladies.” Captain Hanley tipped his hat and strutted towards the door.
Once they had heard the bell and were assured that he was gone, Mrs Richardson let out a deep sigh. “So that’s him then?”
“Yes.”
“Now I see.”
Chapter 12
August 1832, Beacon Hill, Boston.
JOSHUA STARED DOWN at the sleeping baby in her crib. She was three months old now, and he had only held her twice, both times at Bea’s insistence. She was showing character now, little chuckles and smiles when Bea was playing with her. He noticed how protective his wife was over the baby, not letting her out of her sight, monitoring every tiny sound and each recent development. But he couldn’t deny that being a mother suited Bea, and the baby brought back a side of her he had missed. There was a light in her eyes, and a genuine joy in her world once more. The tiny little girl was looking more like Bea every day, and for that he was unspeakably grateful.
He shuffled around the room on his tiptoes as he collected his shoes and jacket, cursing the creaking floorboards as the baby moaned and twisted in her blanket. Bea had only fallen asleep an hour ago, and he knew it would disappoint her if he couldn’t leave without waking the baby. As the moans got louder, Joshua dropped his shoes and jacket on the ever-faithful velvet chair and quickly made his way over to the crib.
“Shush now, baby.” He never spoke her name; calling her baby gave him the distance he needed to persevere with their new life as a family. He placed a hand lightly on top of her chest, reassuring her with a move he had watched Bea make repeatedly, to soothe and quieten her in moments of unrest. Her little hands reached out and clung on to his thumb, her eyes wide and wondering, gazing up at his face in complete seriousness. He wondered at her tiny fingers, and how enormous his hand looked against her body. She let out a gummy greeting. He smiled back. She let out a little cry, a sign to be picked up, and a demand for comfort. Bea stirred in bed, ready to jump at her baby’s command. Without thinking, Joshua quickly scooped Grace up. Supporting the head, he held her tightly against his chest, feeling the little heart thump against his, and the warmth of her body. He felt her nestle in against his shirt as her morning drool created a damp patch, but he didn’t mind. She smelt like Bea He lowered his head down further and took a deep breath into her wisps of hair. There was also a sweet, lavender smell, and within a few moments he could hear her own breathing become deeper. He relaxed with her; doing it on his own terms wasn’t so bad after all. For months before she was born, he had feared he would hate her, especially if she had been a boy, a consistent reminder of Hanley. To his relief, she was a girl, and he didn’t hate her, but he also found that no matter how many days passed, and how much happier Bea grew, he couldn’t love her either. The only thing that mattered to him in the first couple of days, weeks, and months was Bea, and the fear of her leaving him alone in this world and he would have to bring up Hanley’s child alone. But Bea had survived. More than that, she now thrived as a mother, knowing that this little person was her entire world, one that she could contain and celebrate always. And for Joshua, that was enough. To gain glimpses of an old version of his love was enough for now, and he was occasionally even hopeful that in time, she would return to him completely.
He lost all track of time, watching her little hands and feet clutch at his under-shirt as she dreamed, her lips forming a pout, desiring milk again. He would have stayed there until she woke if Sarah hadn’t come through the door and reminded him he had work.
She gave him a surprised smile, filled with warmth, at finding him holding the baby whilst Bea slept.
“She stirred, and I - I didn’t want Bea to wake,” he whispered, feeling awkward at being discovered.
“Sir, your breakfast is waitin’ for you downstair’, I’ll take her until Mistress wakes.”
“Very good, thank you Sarah.”
She lent in and scooped Grace out of his arms in one swooping motion, swaying on the spot to settle her once more. As Joshua left the room and made his way down, his arms seemed naked, missing the weight from her body and the smell of her head. He tried to shrug it off, make out it was all nonsense. But as he helped himself to coffee, he knew deep down that she had done it; she had broken through his barrier. He now saw what Bea was trying to tell him, that Grace was innocent of everything that had happened before.
Joshua devoured his breakfast and almost jogged to the stables. He was running late, and he was never late. Mr Goldstein was an old-fashioned individual with traditional values, and believed a man should only interact with his child on a Sunday afternoon for a few hours, or sent to boarding school once they had turned five, never to be seen again until they were eighteen. As for wives, his attitude was remarkably similar: “Women? Hmmm, they are strange creatures, I leave them to it; don’t get yourself mixed up with all their drama, my boy.”
“Ah - Mason, my boy, is it all done and sorted, then?” Mr Goldstein’s voice barked out the moment Joshua stepped over the threshold.
Joshua could make him out in one of the side offices. His broad frame always looked unusual against his small stature, but his rich, sonorous voice made him seem like a giant. Joshua paused for a moment. “Sir...!” Before he could begin, he heard scurrying footsteps on the floorboards above, followed by thundering footsteps coming down the stairs as George appeared, looking panicked. He had clearly covered for Joshua and was trying to save the situation before his line manager put his foot in his mouth. George held up a piece of paper on which Joshua glimpsed details of the ‘Lioness’ shipment, quickly dropping it when Mr Goldstein spun round, glaring at the interruption.
“Ah – Yes, sir, the... Lioness, is all sorted now.”
“Glad to hear it - it was a good thing you got here early, Mason, to sort it all out. Mr Carter, said customs wanted to make a search?” Trying to poke holes in his story, Joshua knew he hadn’t quite believed George’s explanation of his absence.
“Indeed, sir... One of their random checks. But I... I informed them of the rumours surrounding the recent Indian shipments. The fortunate result was that they postponed our checks for another day.” As soon as Mr Goldstein left, he knew he would need to inform the team on the boards to cover all bases.
Mr Goldstein let out an alarming gruff chuckle that Joshua hadn’t heard before. “Grand.”
Most of the customs men were endemic racists and took any excuse to throw their weight around with the more ‘exotic’ traders, searching their piers and shipments at the least excuse. Whilst Mr Goldstein liked to keep certain cargo on certain shipments on a low radar. The ‘Lioness’ being one of them.
“Men come at night, clear out part of the cargo and declare the rest in the morning... and if you want to keep your job sir, you don’t ask why... not even you.” George had told him on the first day working in the office.
“Now, Mason: Mrs Goldstein is organising a Gala to raise money for some sort of charity, you and your wife must attend. It’s in a month; I’ll get Mrs Goldstein to send out an invitation. A chance for you to meet your fellow employees.” It wasn’t a question; it was an order.
“It would please Mrs Mason and I greatly to attend. Thank you for the consideration, sir.” He knew Bea wouldn’t be happy about making the date, but once he explained he had no choice, he was sure she would understand. After all, now with Grace here, he couldn’t risk his job and reputation, not now their family was expanding.
Once Mr Goldstein had left, the office calmed down, and business continued as usual. With another strong cup of coffee in him, Joshua filled in the logbook, opened letters from ports scattered around the world informing him of any changes or difficulties they were currently facing, and replied to his local correspondents with advice or demands. The rest of the day passed with ease. He enjoyed his routine, slight break away from the desk, walking down the pier and have space to think. He loved the drive of necessity, and the satisfaction of motivation his job gave him from minute to minute. Here he felt needed, important, a boss with a voice; at home he wasn’t needed - not really. Bea had developed her own routine with Grace, and both Beth and Sarah aided her with it gladly. So, he left them to it, keeping to his study, out of the way. He couldn’t deny that their home life wasn’t what he had imagined back in Ulverston, planning their elopement and imagining his future with Bea. But on the whole, everything was better here. Working for the Mason company, he could never really own a role; his father had made him an overseer, but for six months, that had meant little. Unwilling to relinquish his control, not even to his son, left Joshua idle. Here, he could see a clear path in front of him, to control his own future with Bea by his side every step of the way.
At five o’clock, each pier started the changeover for the evening. Day and night workers huddled together, exchanging gossip and the day’s events. Envious stares from the new arrivals followed the day workers as they headed for a drink before home. A year ago, after work, like the labourers, he would have stopped by at the pub and had a couple of pints before heading home. That was one thing he missed from home, a good pub. Here they didn’t seem to exist; each community had meeting houses, a familiar gathering spot, or a workers’ tavern. In Ulverston, one might blur the lines between classes, as long as no one threw their weight around amongst the workers or talked too much politics. But in Boston elitism and professional snobbery were alive and well carried across the Atlantic from all over the globe, the only difference being that it was money that dictated the social strata. Beacon Hill was no exception; house by house, street by street, each community stayed in its patch: the wealthy upper classes, the self-educated middle-classes, the workers, the Irish, the free slaves, the rising black Americans, the Jewish families, the Eastern Europeans, and the tight-knit enterprising Asians. The diversity reminded Joshua of London, and the short couple of years he had spent roaming the streets and meeting people from around the world, listening to all the different languages. That was a problem with Ulverston; as a remote northern area of British Lancashire, it didn’t attract a diverse community. It had seen change, and the people there weren’t afraid to speak their minds, but most lived and died within a ten-mile radius of the same spot. Boston was a different world, and Joshua felt more and more that it was a better fit for his ambition and his own growth.
Joshua entered through the front door; Bea had successfully made the case that they shouldn’t disturb Sarah in her tasks just so they could walk through their own front door. He had felt foolish, thinking back to all those years he had made his family butler open doors for him, as though he weren’t able to do it for himself, but his father wouldn’t have considered any other way. Another difference to their upbringing. He placed his bag on the side-table and hung his overcoat on the peg. For a moment, he stood and listened to the flowing noises of the house and how happy it seemed now. Downstairs, the sound of Sarah singing drifted in from the kitchen as she finished making the dinner for everyone. Upstairs, Beth was pottering about, talking to herself, a trait of Bea’s, making lists and thinking out loud. Instead of the muffled sound of Bea and Grace from behind their bedroom door, there was a louder, clearer conversation which came from the sitting area. It wasn’t a room that they had used much at first. Before Grace, Bea mostly stayed in her room, apart from when she was helping Sarah with jobs around the house. Beth used it occasionally when she was not sitting with Bea in their bedroom, or taking time alone in hers. When they were all at home, Joshua kept mostly to his study, his own sanctuary, and sat in front of the fire with a glass of whiskey before dinner. After dinner was done, Bea would return to the bedroom, tired, and Joshua would return to his haven and contemplate life whilst watching the flames dance and lick their way up the chimney breast. Now, however:
“What a lovely surprise.” Joshua stood in the doorway, grinning at the startled Bea, on the floor with baby Grace laying on top of a blanket, wriggling around.
“I hope you don’t mind; Grace was getting restless in the bedroom and I thought a change of scenery would do her good.”
Joshua walked over and instead of giving her the usual kiss on the forehead, he knelt beside her. Without saying a word, he stroked her blushed cheeks and gently kissed her on the lips. He couldn’t stop smiling at Bea’s reaction. “Mind, why would I mind? It’s good to see this room getting used.”
“You’re in a good mood. How was your day? I heard you were late.” She gave him a playful smile, brushing her hand across his shoulders in a familiar gesture. “It was nice to hear you had a moment with Grace.” Bea tickled her free hand over the baby’s stomach, making her giggle.
“I didn’t want her to wake you – and yes, it was... nice... holding her.” Joshua nudged closer to Grace and watched her smile up at him, reaching out her chubby arms towards him, taking him by s
urprise.
“I think she wants another cuddle from her Da.” The words finally sunk in; to Grace, he was her Da, and she was no one else’s daughter. She carried nothing of the pain or jealousy he did; she only wanted to be held by him, taught by him, raised by him. They were a family; a complicated family, but one that none could break apart. He was her father. Without another thought, he reached down and picked up the giggling baby, as she kicked out her legs in a jerky, excited motion, stretching her arms out, determined to touch his face. He laughed in surprise and felt with a jolt that he was happy; they were finally happy.
Chapter 13
May 1820, Georgia.
JESSIE READIED HERSELF, the same as always, once a month. She cleaned up the small wooden hut, wiping off the thin layer of muck that lay dusted over the few pieces of furniture she had gained. A discarded dresser that the main house had thrown out, no longer suitable with its broken leg, which she propped up with a stick, and a drawer missing, the gap filled with her one pair of home-made shoes. She didn’t have a great deal of clothes to put in it, but she kept it because it made her hut look more presentable, and less like the grimy cotton-picker’s shack, which it was. Its last inhabitant had somehow gained a chipped bedside table, certainly without the other women knowing otherwise it would have been gone before Jessie had arrived. She reshuffled the wildflowers, weeds to anyone else, in the glass beer bottle she had found in the tall grass near the woods. She placed it first on the dresser, and then on the bedside table, back and forth, unable to work out which one looked best. She decided on the dresser tonight; if she kicked her legs out, she might knock it off the table, so it would be safest there. She unwrapped the thin piece of cloth with faded flowers and splashes of greens and purples from around her head. It had once been her Mama’s, a gift to remember her by on the day they sold away her daughter. She let the deep brown, frizzy, tight curls descend like a waterfall, crashing on to her shoulders. She pulled out one of the dresser drawers and carefully placed the folded piece of cloth inside.