by Nancy Carson
‘But a fat woman is hardly likely to be the object of a man’s desire when seeking a wife.’
‘Maybe that would depend if she’s got money or not …’
Dorinda sighed. ‘Then it is my fate to end up plump and penniless. I have no money, Arthur. My family are certainly not wealthy, you know.’
‘Well, I for one wouldn’t be looking for wealth in a woman, Dorinda. I can make my own way in life. I’d never depend on a woman for money.’
‘And you wouldn’t mind if she was fat?’
‘I wouldn’t marry anybody fat, but I don’t think I’d mind if she got fat when she was older. It’d show as she was well-fed and content.’
‘I’m sure that’s why Philip – that’s the navy chap I was engaged to – went off and married somebody else. Because he knew I’d get fat. I understand his Maltese wife is a petite little thing … and always will be, no doubt. No doubt he thoroughly inspected her mother before he committed himself, to make certain that fatness didn’t run in the family.’
‘I think he must have been a letter or two short of an inscription to have let go of you, Dorinda,’ Arthur declared sincerely, which elicited a look of satisfaction from his beautiful companion. ‘I wouldn’t have done it.’
‘A letter or two short of an inscription?’ she queried, wishing to be sure what it meant.
‘Short of brains,’ he explained.
‘Oh, I see.’ Dorinda beamed at him, her large green eyes alight with admiration. ‘Do you really think so, Arthur?’
‘I would never have given you up … A girl like you …’ Arthur’s heart was beating fast. Even he was perceptive enough to see where this could lead if he didn’t muck it up by saying something stupid.
‘Oh, Arthur, wouldn’t you?’ By the light of a gas lamp he could see the look of tenderness in her eyes.
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
Dorinda linked her arm through his, and he at once felt that he was important to her, and he felt a warm glow inside. ‘Cyril told me that you had a disappointment with a girl …’
‘He told you, did he?’
‘Yes. I felt quite some sympathy. You and I are like souls, I believe, Arthur. We’ve both been wronged.’
‘Yes …’ he answered pensively, reminded of Lucy.
‘Were you very much in love with the girl?’
He nodded. ‘I idolised her.’
‘Tell me about her.’
‘There ain’t much to tell … She’s just an ordinary girl. She works at a glassworks in Brierley Hill where I come from. Her father’s an ironworker, her mother goes to chapel regular …’ He shrugged. ‘She was decent enough … Nicer than most in her quiet, reserved way …’
‘Was she very reserved?’
‘She sort of made it hard to get close to her. Made it hard for me, anyway. Not the next chap who comes along though, I reckon.’
‘But she was special to you.’
‘Oh, yes, she was very special …’
‘Was she pretty?’
‘I suppose she was, yes. There was certainly something about her … She had the most beautiful pale blue eyes …’
‘Hmm … I don’t think I like blue eyes in a woman, you know, Arthur. Especially pale blue. Women with pale blue eyes can be so cold and aloof.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she answered decisively.
‘Well, I suppose she was a bit aloof.’
‘Then it proves my point, you see … Was she slender?’
‘Yes, but no more slender than you are.’
‘But is her mother fat?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call her fat … But she ain’t thin neither.’
‘Hmm,’ Dorinda uttered thoughtfully. ‘So what happened?’
Two seafaring men were engaged in a drunken argument outside a tavern on the opposite side of the street. Arthur and Dorinda quickened their step to be shot of their shouting and foul language.
‘I fell out with my father,’ Arthur continued when they’d passed them by. ‘All my life he’s never paid me much attention, except to moan and have a go at me. I couldn’t take it anymore, working with him as well as having to live with him. So I decided to leave and make me way elsewhere in the world. I just had to get away. I thought it was as good a time as any to ask Lucy – that’s her name, by the way – to marry me, so as we could be together all the time. But she said she wasn’t interested in getting married—’
‘Oh, but she must’ve been mad!’
‘Then, a month after I’d gone, she wrote to tell me she was seeing another chap and she was keen on him.’
‘She’s off her head … Oh, poor Arthur …’ She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘Well, it’s her loss. I wouldn’t have let go of you. I’d have clung to you for dear life, no matter what.’
He smiled at her sheepishly, hardly able to credit what he was hearing. ‘D’you mean that?’
‘Oh, I do,’ she said with emphasis. ‘I think you’re such a decent, gentle soul. Oh, looks are all well and good in a man, but not that important. Not like they are for a woman, I always think. So, although you are no Adonis, Arthur, you’d be an excellent catch. Your Lucy must have been mad to let you go.’
‘But if she didn’t feel strongly enough about me …’
‘It sounds to me that you’re making excuses for her, Arthur. You are still very loyal to her, aren’t you? Would you still be loyal to her if you and I were walking out together?’
‘You mean if me and you was a-courting?’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’
‘Lord, no,’ Arthur was quick to deny. ‘If you and me was a-courting, Dorinda, I’d be loyal to you. I wouldn’t give her a second thought.’
‘That’s so nice to hear.’
‘Well, she had her chance …’
A silence fell between them; Arthur was tongue-tied. He perceived well enough that Dorinda might be offering herself to him, and he was so inordinately flattered and overwhelmed that he did not know how to take this situation that vital single step further. When there was no response from him, Dorinda had no option but to believe that he was not particularly interested in her after all. So they walked on as if nothing significant had been said. Arthur looked up at the sky self-consciously, feeling more and more foolish and inept because he knew momentous words had been spoken, and it was up to him to acknowledge the fact. He finally realised that if he didn’t ask her outright, she would feel slighted and he would lose his chance with this lovely girl.
‘Dorinda,’ he uttered tentatively. ‘I … I’m not one for making fancy speeches and things like that, but … but would you consider …? What I’m trying to say is …’
‘Are you about to ask me to be your girl, Arthur, by any chance?’
He smiled, half embarrassed, half terrified of being rejected. ‘If … Only if you’re prepared to consider it. I’d be that privileged if you’d be prepared to think about it …’
‘Oh, Arthur!’ she stopped walking and held on to his arm proprietorially, turning to him. She looked up earnestly into his eyes. ‘Nothing would make me happier. I’d be the privileged one. Of course, I’d be honoured to be your girl.’
‘Honest?’
She laughed. ‘Dear Arthur. You sound as if you don’t believe me.’
‘It’s just that … Well, I hardly expected—’
‘Goodness …’ She giggled infectiously. ‘I hope you’re not regretting it already.’
‘Oh, no. I’m … I’m … God, I’m so pleased, Dorinda. Should we go back and tell the others as we’ve started courting, d’you think?’
‘Oh, no, not yet. Let’s walk along the New Cut. We don’t have to rush back. If we rush back I shan’t have you to myself, shall I?’
Chapter 16
One Saturday afternoon during that same windy March of 1858, Moses Cartwright struggled up South Street’s steep incline, hobbling on his crutch. It was a day of low racing clouds and flurries of rain, and a booming,
blustering wind that strove to separate him from his only means of physical support. He cursed his ill luck at having lost a perfectly good leg fighting a war that he regarded now as folly, and too expensive in human lives and limbs. He reached the top panting from the exertion, and a hail of dirt and small twigs met him as he turned the corner. From where he was now, on Church Street, it was all downhill and he expected to quicken his pace. He pulled up his collar for protection. Smoke was being torn from the tops of chimneys by the vicious wind and hurled into the swirling oblivion of the low clouds. Folk with any sense at all would avoid going out on a day like this unless they had a pressing purpose. But life for some required them to go out. Moses nodded cursorily to such folk, some of whom he knew, unwilling to stop and talk however, because he had a purpose and there was no time to lose.
He reached the Piddocks’ cottage. Neither of the dogs were about. Unusual. They had some sense after all, those dogs, hiding somewhere from the storm. He tried the door, lifted the latch and opened it.
‘Hannah!’ he called. No reply. He called again. Still no reply. He tried yelling for Lucy, but Lucy did not reply either … Out … Damn. Just when he desperately needed them.
He closed the door behind him and ventured back into the squalling rain that was creating fleeting, transparent butterflies on the back yard, and called again as he approached the privy. There was no reply from the privy either. He lumbered back to the street. Behind the roar of the gusting wind he heard the whistle blast of a locomotive and watched its column of steam forced up from the cutting as it left the station, only to be scattered in the boisterous wind. That’s why Lucy wasn’t at home. She would be aboard that train on her way to do her courting in Wolverhampton. But where was Hannah? He knew where Haden would be, in the Whimsey. But Haden would be no use at all, more hindrance than help.
He could not afford to hang around. He turned himself around on his crutch and headed back home to South Street as fast as he could, arriving panting for breath.
At the bottom of the narrow bending staircase of his cottage he left his crutch and sat himself on the bottom-but-two step, then shoved himself upstairs on his backside.
‘Am yer all right?’ he called to Jane.
‘Quick, Moses,’ she called back in some anxiety. ‘The pains am a-coming quicker now.’
He scuffled urgently up the last few rough wooden steps and stood up on his one leg using the stair rail to haul himself up.
‘There’s nobody in at your mother’s.’ His face was an icon of angst. ‘Lord knows where your mother is, but I bet any money as Lucy’s gone a-courting with that dirty Dickie.’
Jane’s face was contorted in her agony. ‘Put some water on the hob to boil, Moses,’ she uttered through clenched teeth. ‘You’ll need some to clean up after. Then see if you can find somebody to help. P’raps Mrs Goodrich, or the old woman from next door.’
‘Mrs Goodrich has got her work cut out tending to the old man, Jane. It wouldn’t be fair to drag her away.’ He shook his head sombrely. ‘An’ I ain’t having her from next door anywhere a-nigh either, the dirty old bugger. I ain’t a-gunna leave yer, Janie. Not now. If it comes to the put to, we can bring this babby into the world weselves. You know what has to be done. I’ll be here to do it.’
‘Then put some water to boil,’ she gasped. ‘And plenty of it.’
Moses got down on his backside again and slid down the stairs. He picked up his crutch, lurched over to the fireplace and lifted the kettle off the hob. There was water in it but not much. He nestled it securely onto the coals, then picked up the pitcher Jane always used and stumbled awkwardly through the door, back into the wild wind and rain, heading for the water pump in Silver End. Jane’s waters had just broken, enough to fill a bucket, he reckoned. If he’d known water was needed he would have fetched it sooner, but he did not know. Anyway, why should he know? It was sod all to do with men. Birthing was women’s work and he’d expected that a woman would be present now to do it. The fact that there wasn’t meant he’d have to fulfil the duty himself, but he would do it gladly for his Jane.
He reached the pump and laid his crutch against it while he pumped with one hand and held the pitcher beneath the water’s flow with the other. He struggled to carry the laden pitcher using one hand, and a couple of times he had to stop to relieve the strain on his wrist. When he arrived back at his cottage he topped up the kettle that was already steaming, and called up to Jane once more.
‘Quick, Moses,’ she yelled back.
He shuffled his way hurriedly up the stairs again. He saw that Jane had kicked away all the bed clothes and she sat propped up against the brass bedstead clutching the sheets, her nightgown around her backside, her legs apart and her knees up. She was grimacing, her hair was awry and her knuckles were white as she gripped the bedrail in her absolute agony.
‘How close is it?’
‘Lord knows,’ she gasped and winced with the pain. ‘But I hope to God it’s quick.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Oh, no … it’s like being on a bloody picnic,’ she rasped and screwed her eyes up. ‘Course it hurts.’
He grabbed his other crutch, the one he kept against the stairs rail in their bedroom, and plodded over to her. He leaned it against the wall and sat on the bed with her.
‘I swear it’s coming,’ she shrieked.
‘Is there summat you have to do to help it out?’
‘I’m supposed to push.’
‘Well, push then.’
‘I am bloody pushing.’ Beads of sweat were forming on Jane’s forehead. ‘Put another towel under me, Moses.’ She relaxed as the spasm receded. ‘Make sure it’s a clean one.’
Moses got up from the bed again, sought his crutch and a clean towel from a drawer, and returned. ‘Lift your arse up.’
Jane complied entirely without inhibition.
‘What a sight,’ he declared, attempting humour to lighten the situation. ‘It’s enough to put yer off your dinner.’
‘You’ve bin quick enough after it till now,’ she replied, and her face brightened with an amused smile. ‘Dirty devil.’
‘Well, I was trying to shove summat in there afore. This time you’m trying to shove summat out. There’s a world o’ difference.’
‘I’m trying to shove out what you let in,’ she said wryly, taking advantage of the temporary lull in her contractions. ‘Remind me never to let you do it again.’ She looked at him sideways, which evoked a smile from Moses.
Their banter relieved the tension and they remained quiet, unspeaking for a few minutes while he watched his suffering wife intently. The wind and rain were lashing the window panes and Moses wondered whether the roof would come off. Jane had her eyes shut and he anxiously watched her face contort again as the agony of pain passed over her. He shuffled across the bed to sit beside her and held her in his arms comfortingly.
Jane let out a shriek.
‘Shove,’ he whispered into her ear.
She gripped his hands tight that were held against her bare hips. ‘I’m shoving,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, Lord!’
‘I wish I could suffer this for you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d do it gladly.’
‘I wish you could as well … Oh, Christ!… ’ She gripped his hands with a renewed strength, digging her nails into his flesh, shrieking with the torment of pain. ‘You wouldn’t believe the agony,’ she said presently.
‘You’m being very brave, our bab,’ he gently consoled. ‘You’m doing well …’
This went on for some time, and Moses wondered whether the child was ever going to make an appearance. He listened alternately to his poor wife’s harrowing screams and the wind whistling through the joints of the window frame. The squalling rain spattered the panes in spasms that were coming and going like his wife’s contractions, and with comparable vigour. As daylight began to fade, Jane informed him that she could feel the child almost there.
‘Come round and look,’ she gasped.
Moses unhan
ded her and shifted down the bed. ‘Christ, I can see its little head.’
‘Little?’ Jane whimpered. ‘You could’ve fooled me.’
‘What shall I do?’ Moses exclaimed, in a sudden panic of excitement. ‘I think I’m gunna faint.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Jane hissed through her teeth. ‘I need you to help. I’m trying to shove it out before my hips are torn apart … For God’s sake, grab hold of it gently and pull …’
He watched, mesmerised as the little being emerged into the world all wet and greasy. Its tiny face, what he could see of it, was all purple and pinched. He leaned forward and lifted the child, inspecting it, checking that God had blessed it with a full set of limbs, fingers and toes. It felt slippery and he was worried he might drop it, and it was still attached by some fleshy-looking rope to Jane. The little bundle began to cry, weakly at first, but more robustly within a very few seconds. Jane was smiling now. Moses was smiling at her. He had never seen such a look of pure joy on her face. Her arms were outstretched, waiting to receive the baby in her arms. His baby. He shuffled across the bed, holding the child as if it were the most fragile, the most precious thing in the world, and placed it on Jane’s belly. At once she embraced it.
‘It’s a girl,’ he said inadequately, his voice taut with emotion. ‘It’s a girl, Janie.’
Moses was sure he was going to cry. Tears filled his eyes. Never had he seen anything like this. Nothing so sublime, so wondrous. He had seen soldiers dying in screaming agony in the Crimea, had witnessed too many fine decent men prematurely departing this world. But he had never witnessed a new life coming into it before, and it was a stunning, emotional experience. It filled him with immeasurable joy, with hope for the future. This was the start of a new phase in their lives. A baby was another mouth to feed, an added responsibility, but it was a responsibility he welcomed with all his heart. His lack of a leg would be no handicap. He would continue to overcome it as he had before, but with a greater determination now that he was the father of a beautiful new child. His responsibility.
He shuffled to Jane’s side and put his arm around her. ‘You did well, my flower. I’m that proud of you.’