Field of Dust

by Angela Jean Young

  Kate stared in amazement. Not only would Lottie not like what she saw, but Andrew was hardly likely to be impressed by his new mother-in-law. Nor would they take kindly to being asked for money, which was undoubtedly the real reason for the visit.

  Bundling Mary and her tatty belongings into the front room to sleep off the drink, Kate wrapped herself up in a thick shawl and hurried off to the factory gates to catch Sam as he left work. Forewarned is forearmed, she thought. Lizzie was close to giving birth and she certainly didn’t need such a shock.

  ‘I am sorry that you have been involved in this, Kate,’ Sam sighed on being told the news, the colour draining from his face as he contemplated the outcome of Mary’s visit. ‘I shudder to think what damage she’s going to cause, and so close to Christmas too.’

  They stared at each other silently as dozens of men jostled past them on their way home from work.

  ‘I reckon I’ll need to keep Lizzie and her apart, then?’ he said with a sheepish look on his face.

  ‘Don’t you go looking to me for approval, Samuel Gant,’ Kate responded angrily. ‘There’s a lot that needs putting right here, and seeing as I am involved, you’re going to get a piece of my mind whether you want it or not. It’s not just your wife you need to feel responsible for, it’s those girls who thought you were their father. You should have gone looking for them years ago, whether they be yours or not. But you were too weak and feeble. It was easier to put them out of your mind. You’re just lucky that they’ve both turned out well so you don’t have nothing bad on your conscience. But mark my words, Mary’s after something and Lottie needs protecting.’

  Sam hung his head, knowing she was right. He couldn’t make amends for his past failings, but he could be strong now and do what was right. He needed to send Mary packing and be quick about it.

  The unwelcome visitor slept until midway through the next morning. No one was in, so she made her way to the scullery with an aching head, telling herself it was the harrowing scenes she’d experienced the day before that had left her so tired and drained. Bending forward to splash water on her face, the hairpins falling into the bowl were a reminder that her mane would need taming before it willingly lay flat under her bonnet.

  Ablutions complete, and with the house still empty, Mary searched her pockets and then those of the Baileys’ meagre clothing hanging over a chair near the range. Finding a few pennies, there was just enough time to see if there’d been any changes at The Huggens before seeking out her daughter.

  Downing a large gin, she was just ordering a second when she spotted old Tom Handley at the bar. Greeting him like a long-lost friend, Mary lurched towards him, spilling her drink on his coat sleeve. Alcohol on an empty stomach was hitting the spot with speed.

  ‘I got two letters on the same day, Tom,’ she said, trying to mop up with her grubby handkerchief. ‘One of them was from my Lottie, of course, telling me she was married. My little girl, married, to a Canadian Mountie from Scotland, who would believe it?’ Not waiting for an answer, Mary swayed before carrying on. ‘There was good news in the other letter, too, if only my darling girls will help out. You remember my mother, Tom?’

  Tom shook his head, wishing he had chosen The Plough for his pint.

  ‘Yes, you do – Fanny, Fanny Allen. She came to The Crick to help me with my confinement when Flossie came into this world. Anyway, she’s in Stone House. I went to find her yesterday, on my way down here. Found the poor woman in one of the airing grounds. She barely knew me, Tom. The paupers don’t get much looking after in the asylum. Still, praise be she’s not in Bedlam. Anyway, they’re offering to move her to a new private ward, just being built. I just need to come up with the money.’

  Mary looked at her empty glass, and realising that Tom was unlikely to buy her another drink, gathered up her shawl and bonnet and without wasting another word, hurried off, intent on finding bigger fish to fry back at Kate’s.

  Quarrelling one time too many with her son and his wife, Fanny Allen had left their uncomfortable home and finished up penniless on the streets of Spitalfields. Most of her days were spent slumped semi-conscious in doorways until her drunken, incoherent outbursts resulted in an arrest. Diagnosed with dipsomania, she was committed to the City of London’s lunatic asylum at Stone, three miles from Northfleet. Now with the recent changes in the Lunacy Act, the asylum was allowed to take in private patients, for whom better treatment could be exacted for a fee. It was all too obvious what Mary was after.

  ‘Oh, my beautiful little girl, my favourite,’ Mary cried, holding on to Lottie tightly. ‘How I have longed for this moment when you would return to the bosom of your loving mother.’

  Lottie recoiled, sickened by the cloying words and the stale smell of the alehouse that pervaded Mary. Both stood looking at one another for a few seconds until Lottie plucked up the courage to speak.

  ‘It’s been too long, Mother. I am not your little girl any more. I had to grow up all too quickly and now I am a wife.’ Feeling her resolve weakening and tears welling, she looked desperately at Andrew. The tall, reserved Scotsman who had been watching from the shadows now came forward and stood beside Lottie, holding her hand firmly.

  ‘So this is your man,’ Mary slurred. ‘How strong and serious he looks. May I kiss the cheek of my son-in-law?’

  Andrew bristled, making it quite clear by his stance that her kiss would not be acceptable. He had heard plenty about Mary Oxer, and for two farthings would have thrown her out on her ear forthwith. He hated seeing his Lottie so distressed, especially following a sleepless night worrying about this encounter.

  Feigning hurt, Mary slumped into a chair. ‘Please, please, don’t turn on me,’ she wailed. ‘I’ve come all this way for fear that I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of my darling daughter before you go to live in Scotland. Surely I must have been forgiven for what I did in the past, mustn’t I? I know there’s little point bringing it all up again, but I had to straighten things out with my rightful husband, your father. We are back together again now and making the best of it. He would love to see how you’ve turned out, dearest Lottie.’

  Having been so upset at the thought of seeing her mother after all this time, Lottie was surprised that she felt almost nothing but pity for the pathetic creature sobbing before her. There really wasn’t any point looking into the past again. After all, nothing could be changed. Nothing would make her look upon Henry Oxer as her father, and she certainly had no desire ever to meet him. No, instead she would look forward to her new life with Andrew, with children of her own to love and cherish. She must consider herself extremely fortunate.

  ‘I am only interested in the future,’ Lottie declared with a new resolve.

  The chill air in the room had a sobering effect on Mary. Her mind whirred. It seemed Henry was right. He had said that he doubted much sympathy, let alone money, would be forthcoming from the newlyweds. Knowing the Scotsmen he’d drunk with in the pubs of Ipswich, they were keen to keep hold of their money, so any nice little nest egg the McPhersons may have brought with them across the Atlantic wasn’t likely to be coming her way.

  Mary looked up at Andrew’s stern, unwavering face, convinced that he had turned her daughter against her. She needed to try another tack. Surely Lottie would want to sponsor her own grandmother’s care as a private patient in Stone House? As a pauper patient, the conditions were terrible, and no one should be expected to live like that in their old age.

  ‘If you could just see your way to giving us a shilling a week,’ Mary pleaded after giving a graphic description of what she had experienced the day before at Stone, ‘and maybe if you could talk to Flossie about giving us the same, especially since I hear she has a beau of her own, your grandmamma will be kept in a separate ward away from the paupers, with bedding rather than straw. She’ll get proper food and be able to wear her own clothes, too. Follow your conscience, think of the good you will do,’ she finis
hed sanctimoniously.

  Andrew had heard and seen enough. Being locked up due to alcoholism was the woman’s own fault as far as he was concerned, and it was very likely that Mary would end up the same way. Neither of the girls had ever known their grandmother and Lottie couldn’t even remember Mary talking about her. He felt certain that the money – should they be foolish enough to agree – would get no further than the Oxers’ pockets. Signalling to Lottie to get her coat, Andrew fixed Mary with a steely glare.

  ‘What do you know of conscience, woman?’ he snarled.

  Mary’s face betrayed a mixture of bewilderment and anger. She had done her best to appeal to Lottie’s good nature and to please Henry. Slumping into the nearest chair, she covered her face with her hands. Andrew opened the front door and, with his arm round Lottie’s shoulders, they both stepped out into The Creek.

  Kate looked at the mantle clock. She had arranged for Sam to come straight to her house after the finishing whistle went and time was getting on. They had decided it was best to keep his arrival from Mary as she would surely take herself off to The Huggens and be rendered incapable of making the train.

  In the event, she was just finishing a much-needed bowl of stew when the door knocker went. Kate let him in and Mary heard them talking quietly to each other in the hallway. For a second she seemed not to take in who was standing in the kitchen doorway. Then, as if a volcano was erupting, she hurled the bowl, as well as a torrent of abuse, at Sam.

  ‘Get your things together,’ Sam shouted, holding his ground. ‘You’re going back to where you came from. I’m taking you to the train.’

  Mary’s barrage of obscenities continued unabated. If this was the woman he had been so devastatingly attracted to, there was nothing left of her beauty. An all-too-thin creature in near-rags was all she was now, her grey, lined face ravaged by drink. If ever she felt remorse for what had gone wrong between them, it was clearly forgotten. Indignation and recrimination were all that she felt now towards her former lover.

  Sam could see no point in wasting his breath defending himself. Better to save his energies for getting her to the station. Recognising the old carpet bag he was pushing her things into, he gave an ironic smile. He had filled this before – when she left Ipswich with him, all those years ago.

  Cold air filled the room as he opened the front door. Kate hastily wrapped a chunk of bread and cheese and slipped it into Mary’s pocket. It was pointless bidding her farewell as the woman’s protests drowned out everything. Bundling Mary out and down The Creek, Sam could hear the foghorns on the river. He walked her up College Road, away from the temptations of The Huggens and nowhere near Lawn Road and Lizzie.

  Mary was silent by the time they reached the station in near-darkness. Moving under a gas lamp on the platform, Sam looked into her dull eyes.

  ‘I always thought it went wrong for us after our son – the boy you so longed for – died. You took that badly. So tell me, how could you have abandoned your new son, a healthy son, in the workhouse?’

  Mary’s face turned black as thunder. ‘What’s it got to do with you, Samuel Gant? But since you ask, Henry wouldn’t take me back with a child he hadn’t fathered.’

  ‘And you have no regrets?’

  ‘No regrets? I had no choice. It was the same with Flossie. You left me with no choice then. I couldn’t go back to Ipswich with her in tow, so I decided to leave both girls. It was a good place and at least they had each other. I know where my boy, William, is and maybe I’ll get him back one day.’

  Dumbfounded, Sam stared at her as a huge locomotive shuddered to a halt, enveloping them both in smoke. Straightening the tattered feathers on the top of her crumpled bonnet, Mary plonked it on her head and got on the train without so much as a backwards look.

  14th March 1892

  Dear Floss,

  I still cannot get used to writing to you from the Lowlands of Scotland rather than the Canadian prairies!

  It seems hard to believe that we have been back over a year and have been living in Glasgow for eight months. Andrew’s parents wanted us to stay in Argyll, but they understood that the move was necessary for him to find work, which fortunately proved true. My love is doing very well as a police constable in Glasgow – said to be the oldest police force in the world – and now that the city’s territory has doubled, he is kept very busy. He tries to tell me about it, but to I prefer to remain ignorant about the horrors of Sauchiehall Street on a Saturday night!

  We went to see Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show recently. I heard they were making Glasgow their only stop north of the border on their latest tour and I remembered your vivid description of the cowboys and Indians arriving at Tilbury some years back. Andrew marvelled at the marksmanship of the diminutive Annie Oakley, and the Indian attacks on the wagon train were so exciting! Sadly, though, the troupe has been seen far and wide across the city, quite often the worse for drink, and there is still no sign of some of them leaving despite the run having come to an end over six weeks ago. My brave love came home quite exhilarated and full of his exploits one night when he had to apprehend Charging Thunder after he assaulted the show’s manager. The Red Indian is currently languishing in Barlinnie Gaol!

  Well, sister, it seems you are moving up in the world… Kate told me in her last letter that you no longer look to the Knight family for your employment now that Miss Elizabeth has left university and is studying to be a doctor of medicine. I suppose she has no need of a lady’s maid any more. How brave she is to enter what has always been a man’s world. So perhaps it is her pioneering spirit that has inspired you, too, to work for the first ever women’s trade union? My principled older sister, a campaigner! I am so proud of you. You and Henry are to be commended for your efforts to improve working conditions. Together you make a formidable alliance!

  Kate also mentioned that Joe Ollerenshaw is on reduced hours, forcing his wife to take in washing to make ends meet. It’s certainly a grim time for all the families in The Crick now that so many of the cement factories are failing. It seems doubly unfair that a shocking number have perished from influenza throughout the winter, particularly the old and the young. It was a great relief to hear that Sam and Lizzie’s brood have recovered, especially baby Florence Gertrude. I know there were great concerns for your namesake for a while.

  And so, my darling, this leads me on to my own exciting news. I have amazed myself that I have managed to keep it till last.

  I am expecting Andrew’s child! We are overjoyed, of course, as are the rest of the McPherson clan, and were beginning to think it would never happen. (I have to admit I was somewhat frustrated when I heard that Jess and Stanley are now on to their second child.) I have been quite nauseous of late, but that seems to be passing and we are so looking forward to our long-awaited bundle of joy arriving in August.

  Please write soon, I know you are extremely busy, but I so love hearing your news. Your life is so different from my own.

  Your loving sister,

  Lottie

  PS: I trust your lodgings are comfortable?

  Flossie folded Lottie’s letter carefully and placed it back in its envelope. Her lodgings in Nevern Road, Earl’s Court were indeed comfortable, and from her window she watched the servants disappearing down the steps to the basement entrance of the mansion next door. Less than a year ago she might well have been one of them. Instead, here she was, in secure employment enabling her to pay rent to a professor of mathematics and his wife, who took in boarders. Elizabeth Knight had provided an excellent reference to overcome the landlord’s initial reluctance to take in a single woman, Flossie being the only female out of the six lodgers, each with their own room.

  Dear Elizabeth – what an influence she had turned out to be. Having filled her lady’s maid’s head with new – often radical – ideas whilst studying classics at Newnham College, Cambridge, she had made Flossie realise that there wa
s a world out there to which she could contribute rather than simply being in service. At the same time Elizabeth had confided in Flossie her decision to give up classics and leave Cambridge in order to train for a career in medicine. For both women, the course they now chose would require great strength of will and commitment.

  Both Elizabeth and Henry were in no doubt that Flossie should apply for the post of campaigner at the Women’s Trade Union League. Initially she was afraid she wouldn’t be good enough for such a responsible job, but Henry especially gave her the confidence to try. There was a widespread belief, even amongst trade unionists, that letting women work threatened men’s jobs. Henry was different, though. He believed that women had the right to choose their own destiny, but knew that emancipation involved struggle.

  ‘I am so proud of you,’ he told Flossie on hearing that she had been accepted for the job. ‘It takes courage to do something you believe in, but it’s hard getting on in this world when you don’t have a head start.’ That’s why she loved him. He was always there to support her.

  A bewildered Jess, on the other hand, couldn’t understand how her friend was even contemplating such a job. ‘You’ll be married and laden with a bairn soon,’ she said. ‘My Stanley wouldn’t hear of such a thing if I were to think of doing so.’

  Flossie had become used to such comments. Women got married and had children. That was what was expected of them. Jess and Lottie were content with producing children, so why shouldn’t she be? Why should she be any different?

  But that was the point. She was different. Her experiences had made her so. Never forgetting the girls at Dr Barnardo’s, from factory worker to matchstick girl, their stories had left a deep impression on her. By joining the Women’s Trade Union League, she would be able to do something useful at last. Reading about Emma Paterson, the league’s activist founder, Flossie realised how much this courageous woman had achieved during her short lifetime. Forced into the labour market after the death of her father, she became involved in union activities and suffragism at an early age. Her organisation set up over thirty trade unions. From dressmakers and upholsterers to bookbinders and typists, all benefitted from her vision. One of the first female delegates to the Trades Union Congress, she had, early on, pressed for equal pay for women.