by Hazel Aitken
The other woman’s keen glance took in Hannah’s blue woollen dress that matched the colour of her eyes, the well-worn cloak, her neat bonnet and clean appearance. “Tell me more, Miss Morley.”
Hannah did, then sat back with a sigh. “So you see, I cannot leave my mother completely unattended, but if there was a position that would permit me to be with her overnight, and if I was offered such a situation, it might be possible for me.”
“It might be entirely possible. Quite apart from maids, orderlies and attendants, the master and I are engaging two teachers, more nurses…but really, their work consists of mopping up and cleaning both bodies and floors, a tailor and his assistants, a cook who will make something more nourishing than thin vegetable broth…oh, I could go on. You are educated, you tell me. Explain.”
“My mother taught me to read, write, paint, embroider and play the pianoforte. Then, along with a couple of other local children, I received lessons from the tutor at Longwell Hall in his free time. He taught us mathematics, geography and English history.”
“Is there anyone in Longwell who might provide you with a reference, Miss Morley?”
“Yes, I am sure of it. The rector, an elderly gentleman now, the Reverend Horatio Lovatt-Browne, and our ex-landlady, Mrs Mariah Simpson.”
“Then I suggest you write to them. I think if all is satisfactory, you may be offered a position as a teaching assistant to some of the girls. Let us take one step at a time. There are such changes going on here, it is quite breath-taking.” Her pale face lit up and her eyes sparkled. “Mr Gidley is master here, a man from north Yorkshire. With funding approved, he has such plans to make sweeping changes for the better. Good gracious, I am getting carried away! But these are exciting times and if you join us, you will see for yourself. So…you get down to obtaining those references. What will be, will be. Any questions?”
“None that I can think of, but the place is so much cleaner and better organised than I had supposed.”
Mrs Stannard laughed. “I’m afraid that is not really the case and never will be. How could it be when so many people live in close proximity and with such a variety of human ills? But we are making a start, Mr Gidley and myself. This place was an anteroom to hell, believe me, but no longer. I do believe that with the good Lord’s help, we shall overcome the worst. Goodbye for now, Miss Morley.”
*****
Back in the attic room, Hannah brewed tea and handed Belle a cup.
“You were gone for hours, my dear. What kept you? Mrs Wilson brought me broth an hour since.”
“Looking for employment, Mama, and I may have found it.” She started to tell her mother of the morning’s adventures but Belle’s lips tightened.
“No child of mine is going to mix with vagrants, and coarse rough people who never soap their skin. Do not speak of it, I beg you.”
“Very well, Mama, we shall not speak of it.”
“And do not pursue the idea,” her mother continued. “I know you, Hannah. When you get an idea into your stubborn head, you are like a runaway horse.”
Hannah went to the trunk and produced writing paper, ink and a quill pen. “Quite right,” Belle said, “Write and tell whoever it is that you are not going to consider employment in a workhouse. I don’t know what came over you.”
“The threat of poverty, Mama. That’s what came over me. If you wish to know, I am writing to our old rector and to Mrs Simpson for references. For whether or not I am engaged at the workhouse, I shall require them. Now, please, let me consider what to write.”
Belle sighed with annoyance but kept silent. Finally, satisfied with the results of her labours, Hannah read aloud what she had written.
14 Blackfrairs Lane
Manchester.
20th November 1859
"Dear Mrs Simpson,
I trust all is well with you as it is for ourselves. Mama has been unwell but is somewhat recovered from a chesty cough and I am in excellent health.
We have lodgings at the above address but it is necessary for me to obtain references as I propose to earn my living by teaching infants. I hope you will feel able to give me a good character reference.
Mama asks that she be remembered to you and wishes you well, as do I.
Your affectionate friend,
Hannah Morley
“I have written in much the same tone to the rector but have requested that he comment on my academic abilities,” she told Belle. “Now I am going to post these when I have sealed them. I am sure we have sealing wax in the trunk. Ah, here it is. Now for the striking match.”
“New-fangled things,” grumbled Belle half-heartedly but Hannah made no reply, her thoughts leaping ahead to the replies she anticipated in response to her letters
Belle was certainly improving, in health if not in temper. Her list of complaints was not without foundation, for the trek to the outside privy was tedious and unpleasant, the backyard awash when it rained and there followed the ascent of narrow attic stairs to their room. To add to her misery were the dishes provided by their landlady, thin, gruel and something resembling dishwater that passed for soup. Then too there was the boredom she endured.
Hannah did her best to alleviate her predicament, helping her up and downstairs, buying bread and meat and cheese and the occasional chop from a nearby establishment, but her mother’s empty hours were difficult to fill.
“Mama, if we place your chair beside the window, there may be enough light by which to read or sew. Let’s do it now.” She hauled Belle out of the chair and then moved the furniture around. “That’s better. All right, you do not wish to sew, but I will obtain books for you. I imagine there is a circulating library and I shall find it, and I think we should attend a church. It will benefit us in every way and provide another interest. Maybe the Reverend Lovatt-Browne could suggest one in the area.”
“I am not sure, my dear. In Longwell we had some standing and my clothes were attended to. Here, I feel at a great disadvantage. It makes me irritable, I know, and then I feel guilty.”
“Poor Mama. I feel the same, but things will change. Wait and see.” A cry from Belle interrupted the conversation.
“Hannah, quickly dear, come to the window. There’s a poor child out in next door’s yard and she must be freezing. Oh, it isn’t right, not at all. She’s wearing hardly a stitch.”
“That’s Sal, the little girl I told you about. You remember, the child who was pulled indoors and slapped. I am sure of it.” Hannah stared down into the one corner of the yard that was visible. A pile of rubbish filled most of it and huddled next to it was Sal, thin bare arms clutching a poor-looking shawl around her shoulders. “Mama, I do believe she has no boots. She must be so cold. Whatever monster would condemn a child to such treatment? I have a good mind to go next door and demand that the child be brought in.”
“You would get short shrift, I have no doubt. Oh, it is pitiful, quite dreadful. Let us devise a plan to make her lot a little easier. Have you any ideas? You are usually full of ideas, Hannah.”
“Well…suppose you cut down one of the dresses in the trunk and sewed a garment for her. It wouldn’t matter if it was a trifle too big. A sash around the waist would fix that. I could hand it in and tell some story as to how we came to have it.”
Belle glanced up with more enthusiasm in her eyes than Hannah had seen since her father’s death. This was more like the mother she knew; compassionate if rather self-absorbed. “Look in the trunk, dear. Do look.”
A few minutes later, Belle was examining a tartan dress that Hannah secretly disliked owing to the garish-coloured dyes used to produce the pattern. But it was in fair condition and the material warm. With another anguished glance into the backyard below, she turned her attention to finding needles, thread, and the small pair of scissors which were all they possessed.
“Better start before the afternoon light fades,” she suggested, and Belle needed no further encouragement.
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br /> Chapter Four
It was almost by return of post that Hannah received replies from Mrs Mariah Simpson and the Reverend Lovatt-Browne delivered by a red-jacketed letter carrier whom she met as she was leaving the house. “And there’s one for Mrs Mary Wilson at this address.” Hannah returned indoors clutching the correspondence and leaving her landlady’s mail on a small hall table, climbed the stairs.
“These are replies from both Mrs Simpson and the Reverend,” she told her mother. “Let’s see what they say.”
The former wrote fulsomely, delighted to have heard from Hannah and to know that both she and her dear Mama were in fair health and had suitable lodgings. Hannah smiled grimly and wondered what her correspondent would say if she could see them now. “My dear,” she continued," I have no hesitation in providing you with the best possible character reference. In the years that I have known you and your family, I found you to be honest, polite and diligent. You are helpful and kind…there, dear, it is the truth and I hope it will satisfy any potential employer, who may contact me directly, of course."
The Rector of Longwell came straight to the point; his written remarks aimed not at Hannah but at whoever might consider offering her employment.
“I have known Hannah Morley for many years and I am acquainted with one who tutored her, again for a substantial amount of time. I am informed that she attained a high standard in the following subjects, these being: arithmetic, written English and English history. My understanding is that she is proficient in watercolour painting, sewing and the playing of the pianoforte…”
His name was signed with a flourish: Horatio Lovatt-Browne. B.D.
Leaving her mother to her sewing, Hannah informed her that she intended walking to the workhouse with a view to discussing employment. “And don’t worry about me. I assure you that armed with such references, I could become a governess in many a grand household. But I have no mind to do that, Mama. They are subservient, put-upon creatures belonging neither to upstairs nor down.”
Walking briskly, she reached her destination within half an hour. The porter seemed to recognise her and on this occasion gave a crooked smile that revealed broken black stumps of teeth. As before, there was the unlocking of an outer door when she reached the main building and then she being ushered into the same drab office where some attempt had been made to create order. Again, she waited for Mrs Stannard to appear and when she did, the lady seemed agitated.
Hannah, having been told to seat herself, handed the letters across the expanse of an old wooden desktop. “I can see I have taken you away from your duties, so may I leave these with you and call again at a more convenient time.”
“There is no convenient time in a place such as this. You will hear sooner or later because word gets out. Today a lunatic jumped from a third-floor window and died in the concrete yard below. We are in the process of repairing and replacing bars, but for this unfortunate soul, we were not in time. The building has been left to rot and the inhabitants with it. I feel in need of a strong cup of tea to restore myself. You may join me.” She crossed to a bell pull and when a tall young woman wrapped around with a large grey apron answered the summons, requested that a tray of tea be brought. Hannah noticed that she smiled at the woman and when the tray appeared, thanked her graciously.
“We have started a programme whereby some of the young women are being trained for service. As you may know young girls, children no more, are sent to decent homes where one hopes they are treated well and receive training. But some girls have been here for years and my idea, of which the guardians approve I may say, is to try and train these older girls and get them out into the real world. Oh, dear, I am riding my hobby horse again!”
“It is a wonderful idea, Mrs Stannard. May I ask what other reforms are underway?”
“You may, but if I begin to tell you we shall be here all day!” She paused to reach into a cupboard for two china cups and began to pour thick brown liquid into them. “My goodness! This tea is so thick a mouse might tap dance on it! Now, your references. She spread the sheets of writing paper and bent over them. Mm…these people speak highly of you, Miss Morley. Since we last met, I have given thought to what we require and how you might fulfil the need. I mentioned previously that we will be engaging a teacher and an assistant. We have someone to oversee the girl’s tuition and if you are interested in becoming her assistant, I will ask someone to show you the schoolrooms and tell you more about your duties.”
“There is the question of my mother, Mrs Stannard. I cannot live in.”
“Indeed not. I would expect you to arrive here no later than half past six in the morning because your day will begin with helping the small children wash and dress and take nourishment before the start of lessons. However, I go too fast. The guardians have to agree to most appointments and your application will be submitted to them.” She halted to draw breath. “No less than three of the guardians must attend a meeting but this is a large Union and we shall have more than that present when they meet next week. Now, my dear,” she rose to her feet, “you have to know what you are applying for and be shown around so I shall find our self-appointed housekeeper. There’s a conundrum for you! There is no such position here but Agnes Blair, one of our inmates, believes differently. I think she was housekeeper to a rather grand family at one time and is still an efficient woman despite her weaknesses.”
The woman proved to be a heavily built, sandy haired Scotswoman whose weight did not affect the speed with which she led Hannah on a tour of inspection. “Ye’ll not see the whole place, dinnae think it. Ye could stay a week and not dae the rounds, but I’m to show ye the schoolrooms and I’ll tell ye about the rest. There’s aye some sad folks and that’s a fact, and who should know better than auld Agnes.” Then she brightened. “Youse are a pleasant looking lassie.”
The schoolrooms were situated on an upper floor, the first overlooking what appeared to be a small graveyard. “Pauper’s burial ground,” was the explanation. “That’s why there are the wee markers for some and nothing for others. For mysel’ I dinnae think the bairns should be looking at such a gloomy place and mebbe it’ll change, but this is what we have for the noo.”
The room was large and cold but far from airy. The low ceiling proved claustrophobic. In a fireplace at one end burned a fire that threw out little heat and did not dispel the dampness. Hannah shivered. The walls were bare and a black chalkboard stood at the front beside a tall oak desk, presumably the teacher’s. On every other desk was a writing slate.
“They tell me there’ll aye be changes and they cannae come too soon. The bairns are always ill wi’ coughs and sneezes and twa died of the pneumonia a week ago and Mr Gidley was fair upset. I heard that from Mrs Stannard. She’s a guid women, that one. Aye, a guid woman.”
“If I am engaged, will I be in this room?” asked Hannah. Agnes shook her head.
“Nay lass, not unless ye are to be top teacher! Ye’ll be in the room across the passage, but to my mind it’s the better o’ the twa. I’ll show ye before the bairns return from their midday meal.”
The room was marginally brighter but the square windows were placed high in the walls and it left much to be desired. Hannah imagined pictures on the walls. “Have you met the ‘top teacher’ as you call her?”
“I have. Miss Phipps. I’m told she once taught the children of gentry. Say nae mair!”
“Then I shall not enquire but make up my own mind should we be working together.”
“It’ll nae be like that lass. Ye’ll be working for the besom. Oh, dearie me. My tongue is an unruly member as the Good Book says. Tak nae heed.”
“I shall forget you ever mentioned the lady,” Hannah promised as they descended a wide stone staircase and she was rewarded with a broad smile. There came the clatter of utensils but no voices. As if Agnes Blair caught her thoughts, she said, “Nae speakin’ at meal times. Things are changing with Mr Gidley in charge but auld habits die hard, as they say, and the goings-on her
e were cruel, so they were. Here we are then.”
They stood at the entrance to a hugely proportioned room. On one side and seated at long trestles were small boys, almost certainly all under eight years of age. On the other side and similarly seated were small pasty-faced girls. The boys sported close-cropped hair but the girls’ heads were covered by navy blue caps and they were uniformly clad in navy serge which must have scratched and irritated delicate skin.
“Aye, weel, the food has improved wi’ a new master and matron,” Agnes Blair informed. “Meat twice weekly it is noo, bread baked in the basement kitchens and fruit in season. The wee souls won’t know their born.”
“That sounds a little too optimistic,” Hannah said, her voice husky with emotion. “Haven’t you noticed? Their eyes are dead.”
“Aye, but at least these bairns are safe.”
Were they? Hannah hoped so. Leary and Sal came to mind. As soon as Mama finished creating the tartan dress, she would take it next door and if there was enough leftover material, there might be one for Leary too.
“It will be a week or so before I hear anything from Mrs Stannard,” Hannah informed her parent a day or so later. Belle frowned.
“I told you I do not wish you to find employment in that place.” Mama could not bring herself to say the word, thought Hannah. “With those references you could find something else, if you must.”
“You know I must,” Hannah said crossly. “We cannot live on air. Now I think of it, you could take in sewing. You are good with your needle and that dress is excellently made.”
“I am not saying I will never do so but not whilst we live where we do. Who would come to this door and leave their alterations or orders? Their confidence would drain away as soon as they turned the street corner, and if by chance they arrived on the doorstep, Mrs Wilson would scare them away. There, that is the last stitch in the hem, thank goodness, for it is getting dark and my eyes are sore peering at tiny stitches. I had to finish with white thread as I had run out of red, but nobody will notice.”