A Mother's Dilemma

by Emma Hornby

  Patting Fred’s shoulder with a chuckle as she passed him, Minnie stepped into the cobbled street. And as she closed the Nightingales’ door behind her, she was just in time to hear the new father rouse from his shock and his tearful laughter and heavy clogged steps as he rushed to his family’s side.

  *

  ‘Eeh, lass.’ Having filled Eliza in on the incredible occurrence, Minnie dropped into a chair at the table. ‘I’m in need of a strong sup after that, I am. Nay, bugger the tea, just fetch the brandy.’

  The girl obeyed, bringing down from a shelf the ready supply kept for rubbing on to the swollen gums of teething babies. She pulled out the stopper and pushed the bottle across. ‘A rum do is that. I ain’t never heard the like. Aw, bet the pair are fair daft with joy.’

  ‘They are that.’

  ‘Lord bless them.’

  Minnie took a draught of the fiery drink and her eyes flickered towards the stairs. What a day. One soul departs this mortal realm, another enters it. Such was the world over, every second of the day. It was a queer old doing, this thing called life.

  Her gaze moved to where Eliza limped around the fire, dragging her twisted leg behind her, busy at a fat-bellied cooking pot – preparing their evening meal of mutton broth by the smell of it. On impulse, she crossed the room and hugged the girl close. Eliza didn’t question it, simply returned the embrace. And Minnie breathed a slow sigh.

  It might have come late but those good people next door had got their happy ending. Not many did, that was for sure.

  This day, right now, all was well with the world.

  If she could have held on to the moment, kept it safe in her bunched fist and never let it go, she would have. Because for reasons she couldn’t fathom, a quiet panic had settled in her breast and she was powerless to shake it.

  Chapter 2

  ‘MADDOX, IS IT?’

  Minnie opened the door wider. The surly-faced woman before her whose harsh knocking had pulled her from her chores offered not a glimmer of a smile, and her next words were as hard as the first:

  ‘Well? Are you deaf or summat, or do I have the wrong dwelling?’

  ‘I’m Mrs Maddox, aye.’ And who the devil was this? she wondered. Certainly not the sweet young lass she’d been expecting, had the room upstairs all ready for, that was for sure. She eyed the shabby, squirming bundle in her visitor’s arms. ‘And what can I do for thee?’

  ‘What d’you think?’ Without waiting to be invited, she brushed past Minnie into the house. Here, in the kitchen’s glow, her features were more visible – Minnie saw instantly that she’d been crying, though she was doing her utmost to appear stony, unfeeling. Minnie felt herself soften towards her.

  She’d seen this stance a hundred times over. Some women wailed and wept the moment they entered and were still doing so upon leaving. Some ranted and railed, puce with rage, against life in general, while some were meek or as silent as the grave. Others adopted this one here’s approach, believed that in quelling the emotions the stab in their hearts at what was to come would be less and the wrench easier to bear. One did what one must, what suited each best, was right for them. Minnie neither assumed nor judged. But she felt, oh she did, for all of them, every last one. And their babes, too. Poor devils.

  ‘How much?’

  Minnie paused in her task of checking the teapot’s contents to glance over her shoulder. Hopping restlessly from one foot to the other, the woman was biting her lip. Minnie gave her a soft smile. ‘Sit thee down, lass, and take a sup. Let’s discuss matters proper, like.’

  ‘Nay, I ain’t got time for all that bother.’ Despite her thick, dun-coloured shawl and the room’s good fire, the woman shivered. ‘Just name your sum, then I can be away from here.’

  Minnie sat anyway and, before lifting her cup to her lips, enquired, ‘How did you come by my name?’

  ‘Friend of mine. You took her burden off her hands a fortnight past.’

  The slight but robust, monkey-featured mite who had taken so well to the bottle … Realisation brought a nod from Minnie. Only this morning she’d waved him on his way to a new life with a well-to-do childless couple from neighbouring Salford. If she remembered rightly, his birth mam had been an unfortunate of this city – one of many lost souls who plied what was between their legs on these mean streets. Was this acquaintance of the same trade? she wondered fleetingly, then cast her musings aside. It mattered not, at least to her. The well-being of the children was her concern, not how their mothers chose to survive this life. Her place was not to judge but to help. As usual, she would ask no questions. Not part of the deal, not her concern. Only the welfare of the child.

  ‘Look ’ere, I’ve places to be. Now will you take this in or won’t yer—?’

  ‘All right, all right, calm thee down,’ Minnie interrupted the outburst. ‘If you’ve not the time for tea, you’ve surely some to spare to hear my terms.’

  The woman’s face relaxed a fraction. ‘You mean you’ll have it?’

  Her choice of the term ‘it’ brought a disapproving frown to Minnie’s brow. Nonetheless, she held her tongue and nodded. ‘Aye. Now, let’s iron out the details.’ She motioned to a chair and, this time, the woman accepted, perching on the very edge as though prepared for flight at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘I will start by saying I don’t normally, as a rule, deal with folk turning up at yon door as you yourself have the day. I solicit infants through proper and above-board means: adoption advertisements in newspapers, through nurses, midwives, keepers of lying-in houses, that sort of thing.’

  Though she had a single room upstairs, Minnie didn’t class hers as a lying-in establishment. Such places – private houses where poor, unwed women could pay to give birth and arrange for the transfer of their infants to women such as herself – were generally a saviour to those in need of them. She’d only take in a woman with whom she’d some connection: a family member of a friend, that sort of thing. Her main business was in finding new homes, new lives, for children. And she was proud of that fact.

  ‘I’m a respectable procurer,’ she continued. ‘Don’t turn no babby over to anyone else, unlike some of my trade I could mention. Pocket the initial fee, some do, then if they can’t find parents or are too impatient to look, dump the young angels on anyone with the promise of a cut of the brass – they’ve earned money for nowt, then, you see, and to hell with the child. Aye, it’s to them a quick and easy way to make a few bob. And the one what took it off their hands … Well, once their sum has run out …’

  She paused and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. Raising a child cost money. Disposing of the millstone round their neck, in whatever way their conscience saw fit, was soon to follow. She shuddered to dwell on the evil of humans. ‘Nay. Babbies comes to me from their mams and they stops with me until such a time as they are found new – permanent – homes with fresh parents. Good parents, to boot, aye. The best.’

  ‘How much?’

  The cold tone of the woman before her brought Minnie’s brows together again in a frown. It was as though she hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Such utter indifference, and at such a thing – on one so young, too – was unnerving. She’d be glad to rescue the infant from her, she admitted to herself, hoping God would forgive her for thinking such a thing. Mothers being separated from their babies … well, it wasn’t the natural way of things, was it? Yet with this one …

  ‘Well? Are you for bleedin’ telling me or have I to take the thing elsewhere?’

  Minnie was struggling to cling on to the last shred of her patience. If this unfeeling piece referred to the mite just once more in the way she kept doing, she’d be powerless to stop herself giving her a whipping from her tongue. ‘Depends,’ she forced out through gritted teeth.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether it’s weekly or monthly fostering you’re after, or a permanent adoption. I’ll require two shillings a week, or eight shillings per month – and at least with these options the child
would stop with me and you’d maintain contact, get to visit, like, when you dropped off payment—’

  ‘Nay, none of that. I want shot. Permanently.’

  ‘The cost will be greater, you understand?’

  ‘Aye, and worth every copper coin. The sooner I’m rid, and for good, the better.’

  Minnie nodded. ‘Then adoption it’ll be. I’ll find someone decent, no need to fret on that. A respectable couple what can give the precious mite a sound future.’

  For the first time a flicker of something flashed across the woman’s face, softening her features. She blinked twice, cleared her throat. Then the stony look returned and she nodded stiffly. ‘How much?’ she barked again.

  ‘Four pounds.’

  Eliza had been hovering nearby, and the woman thrust the child into her arms and extracted a cloth pouch from the folds of her skirts. She counted out the relevant coins and placed them on the table. Then without another word or glance to anyone, including her offspring, she swung on her heel for the door.

  ‘Wait.’

  Though she paused at the threshold, she didn’t turn.

  Shaking her head – Minnie had never encountered anything quite like this, like her, in all her days – she crossed the space towards her. ‘I’d like some details: your name – the child’s, too, and age,’ she added. ‘And Lord in heaven, besides owt else, won’t you be wanting to say your farewells, like?’

  ‘Nay.’

  ‘Lass, listen to me. Don’t come to regret your haste. Once new parents have been found, you’ll not—’

  ‘No goodbyes.’ Still she had her back to her, and Minnie could gauge nothing from her tone. ‘My name’s Webster. Miss Webster, if you’d not already guessed.’

  ‘My place is not to judge—’

  ‘Huh! You’d be the first, then, let me tell thee.’

  Pity stirred within her. Whatever the woman’s attitude – and to all intents and purposes, it could very well be a front to hide how she really felt; though, by God, if so, she was a fine pretender – she didn’t know her story, did she? Neither did she know what had driven her to this point in her life, this day, here. Nor who was to blame. After all, unless she was the reincarnate of the Holy Mother, women didn’t get a bellyful of baby by themselves. ‘And the child?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I gave birth three weeks ago.’

  ‘A name?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘But … surely you’ve been calling the mite by summat these past—’

  The slamming of the door at the woman’s sharp exit was the only answer. Minnie and Eliza shared a shocked and saddened look.

  ‘A queer ’un, she were, and no mistake.’ Eliza moved to the window to pull aside the length of faded curtain. She flicked her gaze left and right along the street. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Aye well. Pass the child to me, lass. Let’s take a look at what we’ve got here.’

  ‘Reet cold, weren’t she?’ the girl continued as she handed the grubby bundle over. ‘Nowt beating in that breast of hers at all, I’d say.’

  However, Minnie wasn’t so sure. Why, if she cared nought for the infant, take the trouble to seek her – a respectable, trustworthy minder – out? Her friend had clearly told her that Minnie was clean-living, God-fearing, honest, and the woman just now had sought her out on the strength of that reassurance to offload her child. And paid a small fortune to do so.

  There were a hundred and one other avenues she could have chosen to dispose of the child if she’d a mind to; plenty that wouldn’t have cost her a penny. Countless others did, in the most heinous of ways. And if you hadn’t the nerve or stomach to do it yourself, this city and beyond were teeming with unscrupulous characters who would willingly take the task on for a lot less than four pounds. The canal, not an arrow’s flight away, which she’d likely passed on her way here, was another example. Lord only knew how many people, desperate or otherwise, had taken advantage of its dark, watery belly to rid themselves of unwanted life.

  Yet she hadn’t. And though still it told nothing of her decision, her choice to come here instead said it all. Spoke a thousand words, it did, aye.

  ‘Now then. Who’ve we got here? Oh, would you look at that.’ Having laid the child in the centre of the table and drawn aside the swaddling, Minnie stood back to fully assess her latest charge. Eliza shuffled to her side and Minnie smiled down at her. ‘What d’you reckon?’

  ‘Bonny as the day is long, Min.’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  The child was a picture of health, despite its somewhat grubby appearance. The nose and eyes were clear of discharge and crust free – good signs that illness wasn’t present – and the cheeks held a soft bloom. Breathing sounded steady, no rattling in the chest indicating bad lungs. Minnie counted the little fingers and toes – all present and correct.

  She nodded, satisfied. ‘A fair size, an’ all. Looks to have entered the world near full term. Good, good.’

  ‘’Ere, is it a lass or a lad? I don’t recall the mam saying, do you?’

  Minnie blinked, surprised to realise she’d allowed the oversight and that Eliza was right. She peeled back the child’s clothing. ‘We have a girl. Mind you …’ She motioned downwards and Eliza nodded understanding.

  The tender flesh was raised in shiny red pimpled patches, and caked powder in the creases of her thighs and groin had hardened, causing further irritation. However, it wasn’t the worst case of napkin rash she’d seen. The skin wasn’t broken; there was no spotting of blood on the sopping material. This could be put down more to lack of parental experience than neglect. The infant was well fed and free of injury. All in all, the waspish woman from before had provided adequate care, despite her stance that she worried not for her daughter’s welfare.

  ‘Poor love. Looks sore, that does,’ stated Eliza.

  ‘Aye. Sour smelling, an’ all, she is, but we’ll soon remedy that.’ Minnie rolled up her sleeves before filling a large, chipped ceramic bowl with water still warm from the kettle. ‘Go on, lass,’ she told Eliza, ‘give her a good soaking whilst I sort her with a fresh rig-out. Gentle, mind, as I’ve shown thee. And be mindful of supporting her head.’

  As the girl softly splashed water over the baby’s body with a clean rag, cooing and smiling, Minnie lowered herself to her knees and opened the deep bottom drawer of the dresser. This was filled to capacity with woollen clothing in various sizes, each piece knitted by her own hands and which had served countless nurslings to have passed through her care. After selecting what she needed and leaving them by the fire to warm, she went to fetch the bottle of olive oil for use on the angry rash. Then she went to stand beside Eliza.

  The baby, rosebud mouth pursed in mild interest at the proceedings, offered no resistance. Her violet eyes flicked about, taking in everything. In turn, Minnie watched her keenly. She seemed to possess an intelligent, almost wise air; Minnie was charmed.

  ‘Look see at this.’

  ‘What, lass?’

  Eliza tilted the child with a jerk of her head. ‘The shoulder, there.’

  Minnie stooped to finger what she’d indicated – a neat, coffee-coloured stain the size of a farthing coin. She smiled. ‘Only a simple birthmark, nothing to fret about. I think it’s fair becoming, actually. It has the uncanny shape of a sycamore leaf, you see?’

  Eliza nodded, though no doubt she couldn’t rightly say she’d ever seen one, never mind the trees whence they sprung. Industry had swallowed up their city’s green spaces long ago.

  ‘Right, let’s be having her. You clear away her old clothes and her blanket – oh, and put that soiled napkin in the pail of cold water ready for washing and boiling at the day’s end. Good lass.’ She wrapped the wet body Eliza held up in a scrap of towel and, sitting in a fireside chair, dried the baby before the heat of the flames. All the while, that cut-glass gaze remained locked to her face, beautiful and bright with implicit trust. Minnie softened towards her further.

  She’d find this one a
n extra-special home, she determined. Not that she let her charges go anywhere but the best she could find. She always made sure she’d selected the right parents before setting a child loose from her fold. However, this one deserved that extra bit more care, she reckoned.

  Returning to the table, Minnie dried the infant’s sore skin thoroughly and applied olive oil to the affected area. She’d just folded around her a clean napkin and was securing it in place with a pin when a knock came at the door. ‘That’ll be the lass we’re expecting, come to make use of yon room upstairs,’ she said, indicating for Eliza to admit the visitor. ‘She’s a bit late, mind— Oh, it’s thee, hello wench,’ she added, face spreading into a smile, when instead Flora entered the room.

  ‘Hello, Minnie, love. Glorious day, in’t it?’

  Her smile spread into a grin to see that, though Flora’s greeting had been meant for her, she’d directed it instead to baby Jewel, cradled tenderly in her arms – her friend had eyes only for her daughter these days. The change in the new mother was nothing short of a miracle. Minnie knew she wasn’t exaggerating – her friend looked to have shed at least two decades in appearance; every worry line, every grey hair seemed to have faded, the dark circles gone from beneath her eyes just as sure as the pain of want within them had. Radiant, that’s what she was – there was no other word to describe it. She shone from the inside out with happy light. It was lovely to see.

  Minnie left the new baby to Eliza to dress and crossed to the fire, saying over her shoulder, ‘Sit yourself down whilst I brew a fresh pot, wench.’

  ‘Oh, no tea for me, ta, Minnie. I can’t stop. I’ve my purchases to make if I’m to have summat on the table for Fred’s evening meal. I just nipped in to say hello, like, on the way.’

  And show off the precious being in her arms, no doubt, thought Minnie with warm amusement. Flora did so any opportunity she got and Minnie neither blamed nor begrudged her it one bit, bonny babby that she was. ‘Now don’t talk daft – sure, you’ve time for a quick sup,’ she told her on a chuckle. ‘Take the weight off, go on, and I’ll see to the kettle.’