A Mother's Dilemma

by Emma Hornby

  The entrance itself was reached by a bold flight of over two dozen wide steps. Either side of these near to the top stood a pedestal, intended to hold a large stone lion. Alas, the beasts had not been completed in time for today’s grand opening and so potted shrubs were positioned in their place.

  The finishing touch was the tower, boasting four clock faces and stretching two hundred feet into the sky. The overall impact was, in a word, magnificent.

  Inside consisted of a large meeting hall, council chamber and committee rooms, mayor’s parlour, reception and banqueting rooms as well as numerous offices. Little Bolton town hall, the modest building that held the county sessions court, constabulary station and lock-up and was situated at the nearby junction of St George’s Street and All Saints’ Street, which had served them until now, paled dramatically in comparison.

  Bernard had followed Jewel’s gaze. He puffed out his chest, face holding pride; smiling, she did likewise. Everybody in the town was inordinately proud of their new structure, which had taken seven years to construct, and deservedly so.

  ‘Not long to wait, now,’ her uncle announced, glancing from the clocktower to his pocket watch then adjusting the latter to run at ‘town hall time’, as did Bolton’s inhabitants and industries alike. ‘It’s a pity Wigan town had His Royal Highness before us – I read in the paper he’s just opened the new infirmary there. But no matter, no matter. Better late than never, eh?’

  Jewel nodded in agreement. Then she, too, glanced at the hour, and frowned. Her mother should have been here by now. She’d hate for her to miss something as momentous as this.

  Here, from the Powells’ private quarters above their shop, they had the best view possible. For weeks, they and the owners of surrounding premises had been inundated with offers from people desperate for a clear vantage point to rent out their rooms – some even prepared to brave the rooftops – and willing to pay handsomely for the privilege. Fortunately, her aunt and uncle, not wanting to miss the proceedings themselves, had flatly refused.

  She’d just told herself she’d give her mother another five minutes then go and collect her when she heard the door opening. She turned expectantly but, to her dismay, it wasn’t Flora but a pimply, overweight youth who entered the room – her cousin, Benji. He smiled at her and she forced one back.

  ‘All right, my lad?’ Esther’s tone was sickly sweet. ‘Come on over here next to your mam. I’ve saved the best spot for thee.’

  Benji crossed the space. As he normally did any opportunity he got, he stood as close to Jewel as he could, their hips touching, his arm pressed against hers. His hot breath fanned her bare neck and, after making sure her aunt wasn’t watching, she shoved him away with a narrow-eyed look. Mild hurt flitted across his face then the corners of his mouth lifted. He resumed his position and she swallowed a sigh of irritation.

  His unwelcome attentions had begun out of the blue several months ago. They had never really been close – even as children, they did nothing but bicker – but lately, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Of course, her aunt wouldn’t believe a word of it, so what was the point in complaining? Whether her uncle would, she couldn’t say. Not that it would matter either way. His wife would turn his thinking, had the final say with their lad, always did. Her precious son could do no wrong in her eyes – sunbeams shone from his earholes, as far as she was concerned, aye. She’d defend him to the death, no matter the issue. Besides, Jewel was no tell-tale. She could handle this – him. She’d show him if he dared push his advances. If he went too far with her, he’d bloody well regret it.

  ‘I don’t know where Mam could be,’ she announced now, catching sight of the time again. ‘I’d best run home and fetch her; she’ll miss the royal pair, else.’

  ‘I’ll walk with thee, shall I?’ offered Benji.

  Jewel shook her head. ‘There’s no need. It’ll not take long.’

  ‘You reckon?’ He jerked his head at the crowds outside. ‘You’ll have a job getting through that lot. I’m bigger than you; I’ll get us past the mob in half the time.’

  As he’d spoken his arm had moved without her noticing; discreetly, he fondled her buttock. Incensed, she dug her nails into the back of his hand then gave it a thump for good measure. She stalked to the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll manage, I’m sure.’ And when her aunt mumbled something about her being an ungrateful piece for turning down her son’s generous offer, Jewel quickened her step before her temper boiled over.

  Outside the room, she paused to take some deep breaths. Swine! She’d give him a tongue-lashing later, all right. He was growing up, she understood this – most lads were beginning to get certain urges, such as he clearly was, at his age – but still, he had no right to mess with her like that. She frowned as a sudden thought occurred: was he in love with her? Was it possible that he knew what love was at fifteen? Even she didn’t, today at seventeen. Did she? She was very fond of Jem Wicks, a handsome lad who dwelled in the next street whom she’d been courting for several months, it was true – but love? She honestly couldn’t say.

  Smoothing her long, red plait, as thick as a man’s wrist, over one shoulder, she donned her shawl and left the shop. The very air buzzed with feverish anticipation; all thoughts of Benji and lads in general melted from her mind as, once more, the atmosphere of the day swept her up and made her giddy with excitement. With smiles and apologies, she fought her way through the throng. Then, reaching the edge of the square, she picked up her skirts and ran, past the mouth of Exchange Street and the Grapes Hotel pub on the corner and on down the narrow, cobbled road adjoining it.

  Her clogged footsteps rebounded off the buildings’ sooty bricks as she continued at a sprint for the two rooms she and her mother occupied in a tumbledown dwelling at Back Cheapside. When she burst inside, breathless and laughing, her mother whipped around with a gasp from where she stood by the fire.

  Jewel grinned. ‘Sorry to make you jump, but we must hurry. The time …’ Her words petered out as, on closer inspection, she saw that Flora’s face was wet with tears. ‘Mam? Mam, what is it, what’s to do?’

  The older woman quickly scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Ah, nowt to fret over, my lass. Smoke from yon fire is all it were. Sets my eyes astreaming, it does.’ She flashed a bright smile. ‘Now, what is it that had you tearing in here and frickening me half to death?’

  ‘Lord, Mam, surely you ain’t forgot? The royal visit!’

  ‘Oh, that. Course I’ve not forgot. I were just about to join youse at the shop when you came careering in.’

  It hadn’t looked that way – she’d seemed in a world all of her own, Jewel thought, but nodded nonetheless. Then her mother moved to fetch her shawl from the nail in the wall by the door, and that’s when Jewel saw it: a small, cream-coloured heap on the hearth. Mam must have dropped it when she’d startled her. She went to retrieve it and discovered it was a baby’s woollen vest. Frowning, she held it up. ‘Mam?’

  ‘I’ll take that.’ Hurrying over, Flora almost snatched it from her grasp. She folded it carefully and placed it in a cupboard against the far wall. ‘Right then, let’s get going afore we miss the event altogether,’ she said, heading for the door.

  ‘Mam.’ Jewel’s voice had softened; she took her mother’s hands in hers and squeezed. ‘That were my vest from when I were a babby. You were looking at it, reminiscing, afore I came in, weren’t you? Is it because it’s my birthday? Eeh, Mam.’ She chuckled, then kissed the lined brow. ‘Whatever my age, I’ll allus need thee. You know that, don’t yer?’

  ‘My baby. My daughter.’ A single tear accompanied Flora’s whisper and splashed to her cheek. Then, blinking, she reached out to stroke her hair with a loving touch. ‘My precious Jewel.’

  ‘And you’re my precious mam. And there ain’t none better in the land than thee. And now we must hurry – come on!’ she finished on a laugh, shooing a now-smiling Flora into the street.

  The crowd’s furore had intensified further still �
� the air crackled with expectancy. Glancing at the clocktower, Jewel gasped. It was just a few minutes to the appointed hour. ‘Quick, Mam!’

  Pulling Flora behind her, she shoved and elbowed her way through the mass of bodies to finally fall, puffing for breath, through the shop door. With no time to waste on catching their composure, they rushed upstairs.

  ‘Well, youse are cutting it fine! Come on, they’ll be here any moment.’ Esther shuffled closer to Bernard and Benji, Jewel and her mother squeezed in close, and they waited in charged silence.

  When the clock chimed, releasing three long bongs into the grey afternoon, they and every other spectator craned their neck towards the man-made arch. Then there it was. Flanked by an entourage of dragoons and territorial volunteers, the royal carriage glided into the square. The crowd broke into warm cheers, waving hats and handkerchiefs, beaming from ear to ear, and the family following the proceedings from the umbrella-shop window matched their vigour entirely.

  What made Jewel look past the regal scene, she couldn’t say. Some fifty years earlier, when the square was created, a striking ornate gas lamp had been donated to mark the occasion – and there, leaning against the circular water trough surrounding its base, stood Jem Wicks. However, her usual smile of delight upon seeing him didn’t appear now. For by his side was a lass she vaguely knew from their cluster of streets – a loose piece, to boot, if rumours were correct. Of all the …!

  Anger rose up in her and she swallowed hard. She saw him laugh at something the girl had said and slip an arm around her waist. To her utter shock, they then kissed, right there in public – on the lips!

  Before she knew what she was doing Jewel was leaning out of the window: ‘Jem!’ But he was too far away to hear her – though several others certainly did, and had turned to gawp up at her. ‘Jeremiah Wicks, you rotten dog, yer! I’ll tear you limb from limb, just you see if I don’t!’ she yelled across the square, her burning fury overriding thought and reason, until:

  ‘Mother of God. Oh, the shame of it!’

  Her aunt’s horrified squawk brought her back to the present. Following the quivering finger as Esther pointed outside, Jewel slapped a hand to her mouth.

  Whilst her attention had been on the cavorting couple, the carriage had pulled up by the broad town hall steps and the royal pair had alighted. And it was evident that the prince had heard – he was looking over his shoulder towards the shop! A terrible thought occurred: what if His Highness had caught only part of her outburst, believed her insult and threat were meant for him? Her aunt was right: Lord, the shame!

  With a squeak, she ducked out of sight, face ablaze. She’d never been so embarrassed in her whole life. Damn and blast Jem Wicks – and so, too, this infernal tongue of hers!

  As if Jewel didn’t feel bad enough, Esther shook her roughly, hissing, ‘Why, you devil-tempered article – look what you’ve done! Sullied our name and reputation to royalty, you have. God above, future monarch King Edward VII at that! Oh, I’ll never forgive you for this, never!’

  ‘All right, woman, don’t fret so.’ Bernard spoke placatingly, though definite laughter danced behind his eyes. He motioned to the square. ‘See, look. The Prince and Princess have forgot the incident already.’

  Jewel braved a peek over the lip of the window ledge – sure enough, the pair had ascended the steps, their attention once more on the task in hand. ‘Terrible sorry, truly,’ she murmured. ‘D’you think the Prince can forgive me?’

  ‘Now, lass, enough of that.’ Flora didn’t try to mask her amusement; she chuckled quietly, much to her sister-in-law’s annoyance. ‘What’s done is done; and it’s that young bugger Jem’s loss, aye. Come on, ruddy hiding down there, up you get.’

  Jewel allowed her mother to help her stand. She tried her best to enjoy the proceedings but, for her, the day was ruined. Esther’s sly, angry glances didn’t help none. Jem Wicks, the low-down dog – she’d believed him to be fond of her. She’d been a fool. He’d bloody pay for this!

  The grand opening of the new civic building, constructed for the needs of present and future generations, had brought out high and distinguished guests. The town’s leading gentry and political and industrial dignitaries joined, amongst other important people, the town clerk, councillors and Mayor. Even the building’s talented architects were in attendance, on the steps. Men, impeccably dressed in dark frock coats and top hats, predominated but several ladies, in colourful bustled dresses heavily adorned in pleats and ruffles and wearing magnificent hats, were included in the smiling party circling the royal couple.

  Jewel couldn’t help stealing a glance at her own clean but heavily patched skirts in comparison. Though the dream of owning clothing like these ladies flitted into her thoughts, it quickly vanished again – a reality such as that would never be. She accepted this without a flicker of resentment. Your station in life was determined at birth and no one got a say in it, to choose. It was how it was.

  After being welcomed by the Recorder of Bolton, who read an address on behalf of the Mayor, the Prince offered his and his wife’s gratitude for their visit to the town today. He touched upon its importance as a manufacturing centre and announced it gave him and the Princess very great pleasure to be present on such an important occasion as the opening of the new town hall of Bolton. Jewel tried to listen but ignoring her embarrassment was difficult. And at one point, when thanking everyone for the beautiful appearance of the streets – and the order that was kept – she was certain the Prince looked her way. She ducked out of sight amidst her family’s laughter – all but Esther’s, in any case.

  Nevertheless, the Prince couldn’t fail to lift her spirits – his effusiveness held the inhabitants in the palm of his hand – and she was soon smiling, along with the rest. When he praised the townsfolk’s declaration to the throne and his high gratification with the very sunny, gladsome reception he’d received, she cheered with everyone else – which reached a crescendo when he stated that he wouldn’t fail to inform the Queen of the truly loyal manner in which they had been welcomed. He finished by saying he would not very easily forget his visit to Bolton – this time, there could be no denying his twinkling glance in the shop’s direction – but now, though her cheeks again flamed brick-red, Jewel couldn’t contain a giggle. His affable nature was a treasure and she loved him for it.

  The crowd erupted in rapturous applause – even her aunt managed to crack a smile. The vicar of Bolton then opened with prayers and, when he’d concluded, there came the moment they had all been waiting for: stepping forward, the Mayor presented a silver key and asked the Prince if he would be kind enough to accept it. The spectators held a collective breath as he unlocked the door. When he turned to the assembly and formally declared the town hall open for public services, every man, woman and child cheered for all they were worth.

  The double doors were thrown wide open and the Prince and Princess were escorted inside to the Great Hall for the banquet. Not quite sure what to do with themselves now, and unwilling to bring an end to the event, the townsfolk milled around the square in their soggy boots.

  Tomorrow, the newspapers would be singing with details of the bill of fare those dignitaries had enjoyed – most of the foodstuffs listed, the poor of this smoggy little town wouldn’t ever have heard of, never mind be able to imagine how they tasted – and all the while, most folk found it a daily struggle to keep body and soul together. And yet the lower orders flocked to events such as this, marvelled at the evident wealth of their betters, their clothing and carriages, acknowledged their lofty demeanour and superior station with easy acceptance. It was as normal to them as breathing, this strict hierarchy. Such was life, and most never thought to question it at all.

  Jewel and Flora went to make a pot of tea whilst Esther, still carrying a definite air of annoyance, took herself downstairs to the shop. Bernard, with a slight roll of his eyes to his sister and niece, who smiled, followed his wife to attempt to calm the waters.

  ‘Jeremiah Wick
s don’t deserve thee. Tha knows that, aye?’

  Her mother’s words, calm but warm with love, brought tears to Jewel’s eyes. She blinked them back. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Young swine. He’ll think so when our paths next cross.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mam. He ain’t worth the aggravation.’ She didn’t want Flora involved. She’d be the one to dole out the tongue-lashing he had due to him.

  ‘Aye well. He’ll rue his folly the day. You’re worth a dozen of him.’

  Benji had been hovering nearby; at this from the older woman, he nodded, saying, ‘Aunt Flora’s right. By, he wants his brain looking at snubbing thee.’ I’d not, his gaze added, boring into Jewel’s. Frowning, she looked away.

  ‘You off soon to continue the festivities at Bolton Park, lad?’ Flora asked him, oblivious to the tension between the two. She smiled when he confirmed he was. ‘Take our Jewel along with thee, eh? She could do with cheering up – and her that’s had this rotten fortune on her birthday, to boot! What says thee?’

  ‘I say it’s a gradely idea, Aunt Flora.’ He beamed. ‘Jewel?’

  She shrugged. She may as well go. Better that than moping around here for the rest of the day with Esther’s acid presence.

  ‘Right, well, you leave them cups, lass, and fetch your shawl. Youse take a slow walk there, enjoy the air. I’ll see thee later.’

  Many were still present in the square, whilst others, hoping for a last glimpse of the Prince and Princess, had walked the short distance to Trinity Street Station, where, soon, the royal train would depart for London, bringing an end to the brief visit. Others of a similar mind to Jewel and Benji were heading in the direction of the park situated on the west side of town by Chorley New Road; at a leisurely pace, they joined the throng.

  Created from meadow and pastureland following the Bolton Improvement Act of 1864 and officially opened two years later, the beautiful pleasure grounds were a favourite amongst the townsfolk. Some fifty acres, surrounded by lakes and woodland, it featured grassy slopes and curving paths generously planted with shrubbery, trees and immaculate flowerbeds. By the time the cousins reached the pavilion in the centre of the park, thousands of spectators were already gathered in readiness. By five o’clock, the heaving mass of bodies, swelling in number by the minute, spread as far as the eye could see.