The Girl on the Doorstep

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Watching the storm clouds roil across the sky, Sarah smiled to herself. If Rosie Harris left the district, then Bill might come back. Sarah needed a reason to blacken the girl’s name; something to blame her for which the townsfolk would believe.

  A loud crack of thunder made her jump and she moved away from the window to continue the task she’d been sent to do.

  Returning to the kitchen, Sarah heard the cook berating Dora yet again. Poor girl, I wonder what she’s done this time, Sarah thought.

  ‘Oh there you am! You took yer time dusting that parlour!’ Mrs Poole turned on Sarah the moment she walked in.

  Biting back a sharp repost, Sarah simply nodded.

  ‘Right, you can chop them carrots – “Dopey” Dora’s cut her finger trying to do it.’ Mrs Poole looked over to the sobbing girl. ‘Get that finger wrapped and stop bleeding all over my kitchen!’

  Sarah moved to the young girl and pressed her handkerchief on the wound. ‘Come on, we’ll find a bandage for it,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Don’t mollycoddle her! It’s just a little cut,’ the cook admonished.

  Sarah’s temper flared. ‘That little cut could turn septic if it’s not cleaned and bound! Do you want her to die of septicaemia?’

  ‘That’s a bit melodramatic, ain’t it?’ the cook said not happy at being spoken to in such a manner.

  Sarah blew through her teeth in despair and frustration as she led Dora into the scullery to tend to the offending finger.

  Later as they sat down to their meal, the talk came round to the number of gypsies in Bilston and the surrounding areas. From what she could glean, they were definitely not liked or wanted.

  ‘They should be run off if you ask me,’ Mrs Poole said in her no-nonsense way.

  ‘They gotta live somewhere,’ Dora put in timidly.

  ‘Yes, but that somewhere ain’t ’ere!’ The cook was adamant in her belief.

  Sarah listened choosing not to comment. Her thoughts centred on Rosie Harris and how to land her in hot water.

  The gossip in the market the following day was worrying to say the least. It appeared there had been an outbreak of cholera in Birmingham and no one knew why. The doctors were doing their best to treat those affected, but it was felt they were flogging a dead horse.

  It was known that the disease was carried by contaminated food or water, and if left untreated it could kill in a matter of hours. People were told to boil their water before using it. Not everyone could afford the coal for the fires, even to boil their water, and so had dismissed the idea. Some lost their lives because of it.

  The dead were carted away and buried out on heathland in deep graves away from the town; their belongings were burned. According to the doctors it was the only way to contain and finally destroy the disease which was ravaging the town.

  Sarah listened to the frightened voices as the stall holders passed the message – boil water and cook food thoroughly.

  As she returned to Daventry House, Sarah recalled the stories about the cholera epidemic of 1832 and how it affected almost every town in the country. Certainly 700 people had died in Bilston – 37 in Temple Street alone where it was thought to have started. The contaminated water from Bilston Brook was considered to have been the cause.

  With an involuntary shiver Sarah stepped into the kitchen and relayed the news to Mrs Poole and Dora.

  ‘Oh God! What if it comes ’ere? Oh Lordy, we’m all gonna die!’ Dora wailed screwing up her apron in her fingers.

  ‘Shut up, you stupid girl!’ Mrs Poole snapped. ‘’ow is it thought to ’ave started this time?’

  Suddenly Sarah saw her chance.

  ‘Gypsies.’

  ‘I bloody knew it! Ain’t I been saying for years something like this would ’appen? Well now it ’as!’ Mrs Poole plumped up her ample bosom.

  ‘A young gypsy girl foretold of disaster it seems.’ Sarah added fuel to the fire.

  As she sat to her cup of tea made with thoroughly boiled water, Sarah could have no idea how close to the truth she was.

  Twenty-eight

  In the following days, the council did not come calling at Upper Marshall Street. They did however, visit the gypsy encampment at the far side of Crescent Wharf. The usual arguments took place about them moving on – the council officer saying they should – Jake Harding saying they shouldn’t.

  Jake’s point of view was, while the cholera was raging it would be irresponsible to move to another town. The officer had to agree with the logic and relented, allowing the camp to remain until it was evident all trace of the disease had been eliminated.

  However, the contretemps in the market had reached Jake’s ears and he knew he and his little band of Romanies would not be welcome in town. Regardless, they had to sell what they had made in order to buy food from the market. Jake realised life would be harder than usual whilst on their enforced layover.

  The one saving grace was, he was likely to see Rosie when she was out and about. There was something about that girl that still haunted him. She was fiery like a Romany, but her temper calmed quickly. She was beautiful with her shiny dark hair and sparkling eyes. She did not suffer fools gladly, for had she not put him firmly in his place previously? Jake smiled at the memory then sighed deeply. What he wouldn’t give to have her as his wife.

  His mood was sombre as he heard the others ready themselves to tout their wares around the town. Another hard day lay ahead of them, for very few would open their doors to the gypsies today, and probably long into the future.

  In a sudden flash of inspiration Jake called out, ‘Stay away from the town today, let’s try our luck at the canals. The ‘cut-rats’ are always looking for cheap pots and pans to paint. It’s my reckoning we’ll do better there.’

  The clanking of tin pots rang clear over the small camp as they were collected together ready for selling. The rush mats the children had woven together pushed inside bags which were slung over already aching shoulders. The little band moved off in all directions after first securing the locks on their vardos.

  Jake wandered along Crescent Wharf banging a metal spoon on a tin kettle to alert the boaters he had goods for sale. He was surprised at how quickly he sold out – obviously the canal folk were avoiding the town too.

  Returning to the camp, he loaded up again and hurried back to the wharf. It was then he spied the twins. Where the boys were, the father would not be far. Bill Mitchell had given him a hiding the last time they met, and Jake thought it prudent to keep his distance. Turning on his heel, Jake marched swiftly in the other direction.

  Bill Mitchell had caught sight of the retreating gypsy and smiled. He watched with mounting pride as his boys helped to unload the cargo of fresh vegetables from the ‘Two Hearts’. Their back load wasn’t due for a few hours yet – enough time to visit Rosie. He needed to assure himself she was safe and well in the midst of what people were calling the ‘plague’.

  ‘Come on, boys, let’s call on Rosie while we wait for our load,’ Bill called.

  John’s face cracked a huge grin, not lost on his brother who began to tease him.

  ‘Happy to be seeing Lucy Richards again?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Give over,’ John responded but smiled good-naturedly.

  They all noticed, as they walked through the town, how quiet it was. People were staying indoors, fear preventing them from venturing out.

  As they reached Upper Marshall Street, Bill stopped and stared at the crowd of women gathered outside number two.

  ‘What’s going on, Dad?’ John asked.

  ‘I don’t know, son, but I think we should find out,’ Bill answered as he strode forward.

  The three men stopped outside Rosie’s home and Bill asked, ‘What’s happened?’

  A woman eyed him suspiciously as the stranger addressed her. ‘That bloody gypsy is in there and we want ’er gone!’ The woman jabbed a finger at the front door.

  ‘Why?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Why? I’ll tell you why. H
er’s brought this bloody plague with her damned “readings” an’ all!’ The woman’s words were venomous.

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Bill was shocked at the ignorance being portrayed by these women. ‘Have any of you spoken to a doctor?’

  The whole crowd shook their heads.

  ‘Then I suggest you go from here and do so immediately. Ask him how cholera is spread, and he’ll tell you. Ask him where it came from and when you find that out, you can come back here – to apologise for this disgusting behaviour!’ Bill was furious as he banged on Rosie’s door.

  ‘Rosie, it’s the Mitchells – open up.’

  The door opened just a crack and Lucy’s face peered out. ‘Oh, thank God!’ she gasped as she let the men inside and quickly slammed the door shut. Going to the window she saw the women outside disperse then disappear.

  Rosie sat at the table in floods of tears and before he realised, Bill had taken her in his arms to comfort her.

  The twins exchanged a glance at their father’s reaction but said nothing. Lucy set about making the obligatory cup of tea.

  ‘Oh Bill, I’m so glad to see you – all of you,’ Rosie said. She released herself from his arms but inside she wanted to stay there. It was a feeling of safety and comfort, but mostly she felt a love for this man that grew stronger with every meeting.

  ‘Whatever is wrong with these people?’ Frank asked as he smiled at Lucy offering him tea.

  ‘Ignorance.’ Lucy returned his smile.

  ‘It needs someone from the General Council of Medical Education and Registration to issue a statement,’ Bill added, his eyes firmly fixed on Rosie. Even with red puffy eyes she was beautiful.

  It was then that a knock came to the front door which made Rosie start.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Bill said feeling full of thunder.

  A moment later he returned with his parents following close behind him.

  ‘Margy, Abner! How lovely to see you!’ Rosie threw herself into Margy’s outstretched arms.

  ‘Thank God you’m all safe!’ Margy said on a sob. Then she hugged her son and was filled with an overwhelming joy as the twins came to her for their cuddle.

  Lucy sighed and again made tea as everyone sat to discuss the happenings of moments before.

  Fanny Bright had seen the Mitchells arrive and had joined them all via the back door, freshly baked cake in hand.

  ‘So that was what all the noise was about. I ’eard it from my kitchen but I was up to my armpits in pastry,’ Fanny confessed as the story was told.

  ‘Well, clearly I’m not wanted here, so maybe it’s time I moved on,’ Rosie said soulfully.

  ‘Why should you? It ain’t your fault, as I keep tellin’ you,’ Fanny retorted.

  ‘Maybe if I leave—’ Rosie began.

  ‘Don’t you dare go believing all that bloody nonsense them women was spouting! I thought you ’ad more sense than that!’ Margy cut across.

  ‘Margy!’ Abner admonished his wife for her sharp tongue.

  ‘No, Abner! This cholera will die off soon enough; Rosie leaving Birmingham won’t ’elp it any.’ Margy harrumphed as she looked at each person in turn. All nodded their agreement.

  ‘I know you’re right, but those women were adamant it’s all down to me, even though I know it’s not,’ Rosie said feeling utterly wretched.

  ‘If you left, what would ’appen to me? I couldn’t afford to rent this ’ouse from Fanny on the odd few coppers I get for me art work,’ Lucy said sadly.

  ‘Oh Lucy! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think – I was so wrapped up in my own misery. Please forgive me. Of course, I’ll stay. How could I leave you all?’ Rosie mentally berated herself for being so selfish.

  ‘Now that’s settled, I’d love another bit of yer delicious cake, Fanny,’ Margy said with a grin.

  The tension in the small house was broken and conversation turned to work on the canals and how it was a little slack at the present time.

  Frank and Lucy had their heads together over her drawings much to the amusement of the others. No one could have guessed at the jealousy building inside John as he watched them. Sitting quietly, he wondered if it would always be like this, he and his twin brother falling for the same girl. Was it the fact that Frank was older by two minutes that gave him that confidence? The boys had always shared everything but now Lucy had appeared on the scene, and John knew this was something they could never share. He felt the resentment mounting and he was surprised it was aimed at Lucy rather than Frank. If he was not careful, this girl could easily come between them and spoil the special relationship he shared with his twin.

  ‘Right, lads, time to go. Our load will be waiting by now,’ Bill said snapping John’s attention away from Lucy and Frank. ‘If you need me, just send a message.’ Bill’s eyes were now firmly locked on Rosie.

  ‘Thank you, Bill,’ she answered shyly.

  Margy and Abner took their leave along with their son and grandsons. An eerie quiet then descended in the living room of number two.

  All remained quiet in Upper Marshall Street during the following week and Rosie opted to do her ‘readings’ along the canal and stay away from the town.

  However, with her food stock depleting she knew she would have to venture to the market to replenish certain items.

  Lucy and Fanny accompanied her as moral support as well as helping to carry the shopping home. Rosie was afraid she might be attacked by those believing she was the cause of bringing the sickness to their town. Ridiculous she knew, but this did not allay her fears.

  To her surprise and delight she was greeted with cheers by those brave enough to stand their stalls. One of the women handed her a newspaper and she read the front page article aloud for the benefit of Lucy and Fanny.

  The General Council of Medical Education and Registration have issued a statement confirming the cholera, caused by contaminated water, was now under control and it was hoped it would be eradicated in the following few weeks.

  A further article stated,

  The local council have been inundated with angry parishioners demanding the water pipes leading to their stand pipes be renewed. Work has already begun in various parts of the town.

  ‘It’s about bloody time! That’s exactly what Rosie ’as been sayin’ all along!’ Fanny said angrily.

  Rosie smiled and sighed with pure relief. She hoped now she could settle down to a normal life once more.

  Twenty-nine

  Simultaneously over in the small town of Bilston, Sarah Mitchell was also reading the articles aloud. Mrs Poole was baking, and Dora listened avidly being illiterate herself. When she’d finished Sarah ran a warm flat iron over the newspaper in readiness to be taken up to the master in his study.

  ‘That ain’t ’alf a relief!’ Dora said timidly.

  ‘I ’ave to agree with that,’ Mrs Poole muttered blowing flour from her hands.

  Sarah however was fuming. She had hoped that the pernicious rumour would have seen Rosie Harris ostracised and driven out. She knew how quickly gossip travelled and that blaming the travellers would reach Birmingham in a matter of hours via the canal system. Now with this article, the medical council had messed up all her plans.

  The newspaper had compounded her already foul mood and Sarah stomped from the kitchen with the tea tray for Mr Daventry.

  She had, that very morning, received notification of the divorce from Bill’s solicitor. The man must have searched high and low to find her. If she wanted to win her husband and boys back, she had to work quickly. Otherwise in a few short weeks she could find herself a single woman with the disgrace of divorce trailing behind her.

  Hearing her name called, Sarah made her way to the parlour where Eileen Daventry sat wringing her hands.

  ‘Sarah, is Cook boiling our water?’ she asked but before Sarah could answer she went on, ‘this dreadful illness has come back after all these years!’

  Sarah sighed. ‘It would seem it’s under control, ma’am.’

  �
�Nevertheless, make sure every drop is boiled. I want to ensure no one in this house goes sick.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. Tea please and be sure it’s made with—’

  ‘Boiling water, ma’am,’ Sarah finished for her mistress.

  Eileen Daventry dismissed her maid with a wave of her hand.

  Slowly over the following days and weeks the sickness died out and thankfully didn’t take too many people with it. During this time Sarah tried desperately to think of a way of reconciling with her husband. However, she was left wanting for she had no idea where he might be. She knew he was working the inland waterways, but he could be in any of the towns in the ‘Black Country’.

  As time wore on, Sarah’s spirits dipped lower and her temper flared at the least little upset. Time and again she crossed words with the cook, especially at how the woman treated the scullion, Dora. The young maid was grateful to have a protector in Sarah and slowly her confidence grew.

  It was early one morning when Dora’s self-assurance peaked. The rain had begun during the night and it was now coming down in sheets. It didn’t look like letting up any time soon.

  ‘Go and fetch a couple of pails of water from the standpipe “Dopey”,’ the cook said without taking her eyes from the eggs in the frying pan on the range.

  No answer was the stern reply.

  ‘Did you ’ear me girl?’ Mrs Poole called.

  Again, she was met with silence. Looking across the kitchen she saw Dora standing with her hands on her hips, a scowl painting her face.

  ‘Well what yer waiting for?’ The cook’s anger was building.

  ‘I ain’t goin’ out in that!’ Dora said sharply as her arm shot out towards the window.

  ‘Yer’ll do as yer told and we’ll have less lip from yer an’ all!’ Mrs Poole couldn’t believe her ears.

  Sarah stood by the large scrubbed table and watched the exchange. This was something she’d not seen before and intended to await the outcome.