Crooked Pieces

by Sarah Grazebrook

  Shortly after Miss Sylvia returned to the north, and Miss Kenney with her. The Wednesday meetings ceased and I forgot all about votes and rights and the like. Cook was teaching me to knit and I was working up a little coat for Will and a blanket for the new baby.

  I had not been home since I threw Alfie’s apple in the fire and, truth was, I feared it, not knowing how I should be received. Still, having saved near six shillings I was glad when the mistress said I might visit two Sundays on.

  The day before I was to go, Miss Sylvia and Miss Kenney returned, mighty sparky and full of plans which they seemed to think I should like to hear about. It being Saturday I was sat with a book and my knitting in the corner of the kitchen while Cook snored in the carver. Miss Kenney came jumping down the stairs. ‘Oh, there you are, Maggie. Will you take a cup of tea with Sylvia and me directly? We’ve something to ask you.’ She was gone before I could answer.

  I made the tea and carried it up. Miss Sylvia took the tray. ‘What’s this? Two cups? Stay here while I fetch another.’ I dared not think what Cook would say.

  When she returned we sat all three and Miss Sylvia insisted on pouring. ‘Well, Maggie, how have you been?’

  ‘Very well, miss.’

  ‘We have had a remarkable time. Quite remarkable, have we not, Annie?’

  ‘We have that.’

  ‘Do you still read the paper to Cook, Maggie?’

  ‘Sometimes, miss. The master asked she should go back to plainer food, so she’s not so keen as she was.’

  ‘So you won’t have read about the by-election?’

  I tried to look as though I might have.

  Miss Kenney burst in at this. ‘Sylvia, of course she’s not. Poor lass, give her a chance. Now, Maggie, here’s it in short: we have been away rousing the women of the north to fight for their rights, and come out bold in asking for the vote. We done so well we put the frighteners into the Liberals’ man, Churchill, and near lost him his place in Parliament with our protests. Now we must do the same down here.’

  She stopped and took a sip of tea. As did I, for else I would have had to speak.

  Miss Sylvia leant forward and spoke quietly but with great force. ‘Maggie, Annie has been sent to stir up support amongst the working women of London. What I would like to ask you – and remember, I’m asking not ordering – would you be willing to introduce her to your own mother, so that she could talk to her and maybe some of her friends? Nothing more. Just to talk to them.’

  Well, I fear my mouth must have been working like the Prime Minister man’s. The two of them sat quietly while I sought around for my thoughts then Miss Kenney said. ‘Happen the next time you go home, I could step along with you. I shouldn’t stay long, not to get in the way of your visit.’ She looked so hopeful – pleading, almost. What could I do?

  ‘I’m to visit tomorrow, miss, but my ma is fair gone with a baby. I doubt she’ll be thinking much about votes and that. And my pa can be a bit funny with strangers.’

  She laughed so happily. ‘As can mine, believe me, duck. Trust me, I’ll not bother your ma above ten minutes.’

  So it was. Come nine o’clock next morning the two of us set out. We took an omnibus to Whitechapel which Miss Kenney would pay for, though I doubt she has much more savings than I, and walked from there. She asked me to call her Annie, but it didn’t feel right, so we settled for Miss Annie which she said made her feel like a milliner! It was a fine day and for once I was neither too hot nor cold, although as we turned into my street I felt my hands begin to clam up for I knew not how we should be greeted.

  Outside our door we halted. I was set to knock when round the corner trots Lucy. She stopped and fair stared at Miss Annie, then on goes her Sunday School smile, all coy and gooey. I said, ‘Lucy, this is Miss Annie. Will you tell Ma she would like to speak to her.’ Lucy went round the back and after a few moments Ma came back with her, holding Will who had a bruise like a plum on his forehead. Ma looked worse than before. For all her belly was blown up like a carter’s wheel, her face was thin and yellowy still. She never looked so bad with Will and Evelyn. The others I don’t remember.

  I said, ‘It’s me, Ma. And this is Miss Annie Kenney.’

  Ma nodded. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I must go round and open the door to you.’

  Miss Annie would have none of it. ‘Mrs Robins, I’ve come in back door all my life. With your permission I’ll do so still.’ And she gave her her great sparkly smile. I could see Ma was nervous, but she made no objection.

  Evelyn was playing in the yard and she fair whooped when she saw me, although she was shy of Miss Annie and hid herself in Ma’s skirt.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse my kitchen, ma’am,’ Ma said. ‘This is my son, Alfie. He’s…’

  Alfie was sitting on the floor picking at a potato with his nails like he was scratching for gold. He showed no sign of heeding us. I would have gone and spoke to him but Ma caught my eye and shook her head. Fearing another storm, I stayed put, but it was hard to see him so.

  Ma sent Lucy to bring a stool from the front room. I wondered she did not show Miss Annie through, for it is a far better place than the kitchen, but I guessed she did not care to in case Pa came in. She looked fair put about with worry. ‘You must excuse me, ma’am. I must get the broth on for our dinner. I had not known Maggie was coming and with company.’ But Miss Annie would have none of it.

  ‘You seat yourself down here, Mrs Robins. Maggie and I will fix the broth between us, eh, Maggie?’ I was so flummoxed I could only nod, and Ma more so than I, for she fairly flopped on to the stool. ‘Your Maggie is a capital cook these days, did you know?’ Miss Annie went on, all the while scraping the potatoes and piling them in the pot. I did like with the carrots and Ma just sat there with Will on her knee, looking for all the world like she had landed on another planet.

  When all was done and the broth brewing Miss Annie wiped her hands and, leaning on the bench as though she had lived there all her life, started to ask Ma about when the baby would come, if she was well with it or ill, who would deliver her, and so forth. Ma was stiff to start but Miss Annie has such a way with her, you cannot but answer and not mind her way of questioning. Soon they were smiling together as though they had been friends or even sisters for years, for Miss Annie is nearer Ma’s age than mine, though she says she’s much too simple for one who has lived so long!

  The two of them being so thick in talk I made my mind to hurry to the butcher’s and see what I could buy to liven up our dinner. I had hoped Mr Green might be about his prayers but he was there, all slimy smile and fingers knitting. ‘Ah, Miss Maggie Robins. Quite the lady now. Gracious of you to grace our premises, I’m sure.’ I felt the spit rising.

  ‘I’ll take two slices of your finest ham and a half pound of sausages,’ I said, cool as water.

  ‘Your Ma must be glad you are earning so well,’ he said as he took my money. ‘Another mouth, soon, if I’m not mistook.’

  I said nothing but waited for my change. He made a great to do of finding a threepence and in the end handed me a load of farthings. I counted them out to see if he would try to cheat me again, but it was all there, though a great nuisance in farthings. On the way home I stopped at a stall and bought a loaf and some cheese and used them all up, then I walked along by the river for a while for I was nervous of what Miss Annie might say to Ma and was wishing I had never brought her.

  When I got back she had set up the big tin bath and was pouring water into it. Will was sat on Evelyn’s knee while she struggled to get his clothes off. Miss Annie laughed when she saw my face. ‘I’m giving Will a bath, then little Evelyn’s going to let me wash her hair, she tells me.’ I thought this very unlikely for Evelyn would rather drown than have her hair wetted. Just then Lucy came in with a pile of rags for drying them, all sweet as if she were a nice girl and not the little spider she is.

  ‘Where’s my ma?’ I should have said it better, but I was so unsettled to see Miss Annie, sleeves rolled up, just l
ike any worker woman in the street, that I forgot what was owing to her in manners.

  She put her finger to her lips. ‘I’ve sent her to lie down. She’s fair slattered and so near her time. Your brother, Alfie, I’ve asked to fill the buckets. And here he is,’ as Alfie, grinning like a monkey, came staggering in with two pails filled to spilling. ‘Thank you, Alfie. I’ll ask you to put them on the stove for me.’ This he did and stood by, still grinning, as he was waiting for his next orders. I thought her mighty bold to trust him near the fire, but then she wasn’t to know how Alfie can be sometimes.

  ‘I’ve brought some ham and sausages,’ I said. ‘To have with the broth. And bread and cheese for after.’

  Miss Annie smiled. ‘A regular banquet you’ll be having.’

  I shouldn’t have said it. I knew I shouldn’t, but it was out my mouth before I could stop it. ‘You are mighty welcome to join us, miss, if you don’t mind poor folk’s fare.’

  Her face went all stern and I thought she was vexed at the liberty, but she shook her head. ‘There is nothing I should like better, Maggie, but I cannot take food from those who need it more. Here’s a growing family.’

  ‘If my husband will agree it, we will be honoured to have you eat with us, ma’am.’ Ma was standing in the doorway, her face all flushed but looking better than I had seen her for a long time.

  Miss Annie, who had just taken Will from Evelyn, put him down again. He started to howl. ‘Mrs Robins, it’s very kind, but really I must not. What food you have you need for yourselves.’

  Ma bent over, so awkward with her great belly bulging, and picked up Will. I took him from her and dumped him in the bath so he shut up. ‘If we are to fight for better times, ma’am, we must fight together. I have spoken to my neighbour, Mrs Grant, and she will stop by when she has visited her daughter.’

  ‘Mrs Robins, that is wonderful. Perhaps Mrs Grant’s daughter could be persuaded to join us, too?’

  Ma sort of smiled and shook her head. ‘Mrs Grant’s daughter is in the graveyard, ma’am. She was burnt pulling her son from a tallow vat. She and the lad are buried together.’

  Miss Annie put her hand on Ma’s arm. ‘Maggie and I will make do here. Go and rest now. If your husband agrees it, I will stay, but it is no matter. I have done what I came to do.’

  Ma did as she was told and between us we got Will washed and Evelyn, too, for it seemed she would do anything for Miss Annie and scarce cried at all at the tangles in her hair. Alfie lifted the buckets so carefully he hardly spilt any, well, not for him.

  All the while my heart was churning – part for fear of what Pa would say, but more to know what had passed between my ma and Miss Annie. That Ma should go out and speak to Mrs Grant and bid her come by the house was just so…strange for, though they are neighbours and like each other well enough, they are not close. At half past midday I heard Pa’s footsteps. I ran to meet him in the yard. He was glad to see me and gave me a great hug and lifted me in the air, then made out I was heavy as an elephant and that he would fall with the weight of me. Although he seemed merry enough, still I hoped somehow to save myself from what I must ask. Indeed, I was saved, for at that moment, out ran Evelyn, polished like a new penny. ‘Pa, we’ve got a new ma. Come and see.’

  This did not seem a very good way of sorting things, but Pa was so confounded that he had no time to be vexed. At that moment Miss Annie, sleeves rolled down, stepped out of the kitchen and made him the most fetching bob of her head. ‘Mr Robins, forgive me. I am a friend of Maggie’s and she was kind enough to bring me home with her and introduce me to your fine family. I’ll take no more of your time, sir, and I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.’

  Pa looked as he would forgive anything she desired, for it is true, Miss Annie is powerful handsome with her soft brown hair and dancing eyes. I took my chance. ‘Pa, if it does not unsettle you, I would like Miss Annie to eat dinner with us. Ma is agreeable. I’ve bought ham and sausages and cheese and a loaf.’

  Poor Pa did looked quite perplexed. I did not understand how he could delay, but Miss Annie, who is not simple at all, it seems to me, lowered her eyes and said, ‘Your Maggie only bought the goods as we knew you were not expecting us, Mr Robins.’

  We had a very jolly dinner. Pa sent Alfie to bring in two jars of porter and when we had done he asked Ma if she would sing for us. She said she could not for she had no voice, but Pa and I rebuked her and she sang a very fine ballad about a maid at a fair who was spurned by her lover and went mad. We all clapped and cheered and then in came Mrs Grant, looking very sad and would not take a glass of porter, so I asked Pa if he would walk with me along by the river and show me the salmon leaping as he did when I was little. So he and I and Evelyn set off, leaving Alfie, who could not take his eyes off Miss Annie, and Ma and Will and Lucy.

  We walked for half an hour and Pa carried Evelyn on his shoulder so she was higher than any of us and kept reaching up for the branches. Hardly a word passed between us, yet we were happy. At last, as it grew dark and we turned to go home, Pa said, ‘Your Ma is not well with this baby, Maggie.’

  I said I thought she looked more tired than usual.

  ‘Tired? She’s worse than that. I never saw her so… Not even with little Samuel. She’s hardly strength to wash the clothes. She keeps no eye on Alfie when I’m out. He has the run of the street.’

  ‘Perhaps once the baby is born she will be better again.’

  Pa gave a sort of laugh. ‘Maybe. I hope so, Maggie, for if we should lose her, I cannot mind what’s to follow.’

  A cold wind – more than cold – a wind of brick-hard ice seemed to have wrapped me round. That my pa could hold such a thought.

  ‘Ma will be well,’ I said, clenching my hands together. ‘Once the baby comes.’

  ‘And there’s another mouth to feed.’

  I know not what stirred me but I could bear it no more, his complaining. ‘Pa, do you not put the babies in Ma? Why can you not stop?’

  We both stood still and Evelyn, who was cold, began to squeak.

  Pa stared at me, quite blank with fury. I knew then how Ma must feel when he takes his hand to her. He raised his arm and Evelyn, wobbling on his shoulders, caught hold of it and squeaked the more. He lowered his arm again and turned away. We walked home without a single word between us, having seen no salmon.

  When we got back all the pans were washed and the dinner things away. Mrs Grant had gone and Ma was sat in the front room with Will tearing at her hair. If ever I have a child I will shave my head, I think, for there can be nothing worse than to have it dragging at you every moment.

  Miss Annie said we should leave soon if we were to take the omnibus as Sundays are difficult. Ma came with us to the door. ‘I thank you, ma’am, for all your kindness today.’

  Miss Annie shook her head. ‘The kindness is yours, Mrs Robins, to listen to me and spare me your time.’

  As we walked to the stop I wondered if she would tell me what they had spoken of while Pa and I were out walking. She seemed deep in thought but once we were settled on the bus she turned to me. ‘Maggie, I cannot thank you enough for today.’

  I was surprised, for it seemed little of a day to me, to be at someone’s house washing their children and cooking the dinner.

  ‘I have talked with your ma and Mrs Grant and they will speak to the other women in the street.’

  ‘What about, miss?’ I asked, feeling very dull.

  ‘There is to be a rally. On February 19th – the day Parliament re-opens – as many women as we can muster will meet at Caxton Hall in Westminster to hear if the King’s Speech contains a bill for suffrage – giving women the vote. Mrs Pankhurst will address the assembly, and Miss Christabel, too, with luck. It will be a mighty occasion. But I have been charged with stirring up the women of London and it is not an easy task. Your ma can help me talk to some I would not otherwise meet and we must hope they will spread the word about.’ She wiped her hand across her brow and for a moment looked very tired.
‘Oh, but it is a big job and no mistake. A mighty job. Still,’ she squeezed my arm and again looked very chirpy, ‘we have made a good start, you and I, today.’ Though I had not understood one word in six of what she had told me, I felt exceeding proud.

  Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie have been rushed off their feet these last few weeks. Ladies have come and gone bringing leaflets and posters, all to be stacked in Miss Sylvia’s room till it looks like a paper factory. Once, the old man who we saw at the theatre, that winked at me, came. He showed no such impudence this time, I am happy to say, or he would have found mud on his coat when it came time for him to leave. Miss Sylvia seems very fond of him and listens to him with great respect.

  The Wednesday meetings are back and this week we were all given handbills about the rally at Caxton Hall. I did not know what to do with mine so showed it to Cook who made a ‘tch’ing sound and put it straight on the fire. Though she does not say so, I think she is vexed with me for spending so much time above stairs, yet the mistress truly encourages it and is herself much occupied with writing letters to the newspapers.

  Miss Sylvia asked me to help her with rolling up her posters but I spent so long admiring them that in the end she did it all herself. She did not seem to mind. When I told Cook, she said if I had nothing better to do she would find me something and made me unpick two whole rows of Will’s new coat. I had better make haste, else it will be too small. The baby’s blanket is finished. I do not think I can ask to go home again yet, for it is less than a month, but if Miss Annie is really to talk to the women in our street, perhaps she will take it for me.

  Well, thank goodness for Mrs Drummond. Just when Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie seemed fit to drop and everything an utter muddle, arrives Mrs Drummond with a typewriter. I am ashamed I did not believe her the first time, for then it seemed impossible that she should have use of such a thing. Now, after three days of her sweeping in and out, I think there is not one thing impossible for her, except, perhaps, to speak English that I can fathom.