The Girl on the Doorstep

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Tad and Frank returned to their boat leaving Rosie to think on what she’d told them. There was a sickness coming and she fervently prayed it would not be cholera again. She knew before too long Frank would be breaking his heart over the death of the boy he saw as his soul-mate.

  Shaking her head, Rosie sighed. There was nothing she could do to prevent her prediction coming true. She had warned them both as best as she knew how. Now it was up to the Fates to decide whether to intervene or not.

  Rosie fretted for most of the night as she sat in her living room, the firelight her only company. Eventually sleep claimed her but it was filled with dreams of people weeping, funerals and coffins. She saw herself standing on the side-lines unable to help anyone. It was like she was a ghost. Waking with a jolt, Rosie realised she’d fallen asleep in the chair. Getting to her feet she went wearily to bed, hoping she would enjoy restful sleep without the horrors of dreaming again.

  Forty-three

  Over the following months, John visited his mother whenever the opportunity arose. She had refused to see him saying she’d never forgive him for marrying the already pregnant Lucy.

  One fine morning as the summer made its approach, he stood at the back door of Daventry House.

  ‘’Er sez ’er aint’ talkin’ to yer,’ Dora said quietly.

  ‘Please tell my mother I’m not moving until she sees me. What’s more if she still refuses, I’ll shout loud enough to wake the dead!’

  ‘Ooh God, why am I allus in the middle? ’Ang on a minute,’ Dora replied leaving the door ajar as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  A moment later Sarah appeared with a face like thunder. ‘I told you I wanted nothing more to do with you after you married that… that…!’

  ‘Mum, Lucy’s almost to term so won’t you please come and see her at the house we have in Wednesbury?’ John pleaded.

  Looking at her big strong son Sarah almost capitulated, but the thought of her daughter-in-law having the gypsy’s baby stiffened her resolve.

  ‘No, John, I can’t. I’ll never take to her or the child she carries so I’m staying away.’

  John passed over a slip of paper with his address written in beautiful copper plate writing. ‘In case you change your mind.’

  Sarah saw the tears well in John’s eyes as she pushed the paper in her apron pocket. ‘How is our Frank?’

  ‘He’s working a boat called ‘Gypsy Dancer’ with a lad named Tad Jenkins. I think he’s here in Bilston at the moment though. I don’t see much of him these days, unless we happen to meet up at Rosie’s.’

  ‘Hmph! There’s another one I don’t much care for!’ Sarah sniffed huffily.

  ‘Rosie’s all right, Mum, everybody likes her. Dad thinks she’s the bees’ knees,’ John said defending his friend.

  ‘He would! I don’t understand it, him taking a fancy to a girl half his age!’

  ‘It’s not like that, Mum, he works the boat for her that’s all,’ John insisted.

  ‘Well I can’t stand here all day, I’ve work to do,’ Sarah snapped.

  John put his arms around his mother and gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll come again when I can.’

  Sarah could not find it in her to return the embrace. Then she watched him walk away, his chin down on his chest.

  Turning to wave at the end of the drive, John moved on, his sadness showing by his drooped shoulders.

  Sarah took out the slip of paper from her pocket and read the address again. Folding it neatly she returned it to her apron with a nod of her head. She had made her decision – she would visit Lucy on her next afternoon off. She had a lot to say to that young girl.

  *

  Tad Jenkins began to cough and sneeze and Frank was worried. Hot drinks and medicine from the doctor didn’t appear to be helping. The boy’s forehead felt hot to the touch and he was sweating. He shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around him as he lay on his small bunk. Frank bathed his face which caused Tad to shiver again.

  ‘This is more than a summer cold, Tad, I’m going to fetch the doctor again.’

  Tad, in his delirious state, didn’t hear the words or his friend leaving the boat. His lower jaw dithered and the sweat coursed down his temples. His body felt on fire then in an instant was cold as ice. He had no control over his limbs as they shook with the illness which held him fast.

  It was an hour later when Frank returned with the doctor. Taking one look at Tad tossing around on the bunk, Dr Phillips confirmed his previous diagnosis. ‘It’s the influenza all right, there’s not much more I can do I’m afraid. Get some fluids into him and keep him warm, see if he can sweat the fever out.’

  Dr Phillips left Frank to caring for the very poorly young Tad saying he had more of the same to see to in the town.

  Bathing Tad’s face, Frank recalled Rosie’s prediction. She had foreseen this and warned them to endeavour to stay well. All night Frank ministered to his friend and by the morning was exhausted but thrilled that Tad’s fever had broken.

  ‘You had me fair worried there,’ Frank said as he helped Tad to sit up. ‘Drink your tea, then get some sleep. We’ll stay here in Bilston until you feel well enough for us to move on. I’ve sent a message to the boss explaining so don’t worry about that.’

  Tad nodded and sipped his tea. As he settled back down he whispered, ‘I don’t ’alf luv you.’

  Frank smiled. ‘Me too.’

  It was the first time the boys had voiced their feelings for each other and Frank felt the thrill hammering in his heart. He thanked God for bringing his love through his illness as he set about making himself some breakfast. Tad, he saw, was already fast asleep.

  Early the following afternoon Frank sat on deck in the warm sunshine while Tad slept below. He saw a woman walking along the towpath and squinted against the sun’s glare.

  ‘Mum?’ he called out. There was no mistaking his mother’s gait. Straight backed, she walked purposely forward.

  Sarah waved as she heard his voice and hurried towards him as he jumped down from the boat. Mother and son enjoyed an embrace before Frank helped her clumsily climb onto the ‘Gypsy Dancer’.

  ‘I don’t know how you can live on this thing,’ Sarah huffed, carefully picking her way to the chair Frank had so recently vacated.

  ‘You get used to it, Mum. This is a nice surprise; I’ll get the kettle on.’

  Sarah followed Frank, her arms outstretched for fear of falling and once inside the belly of the boat, they sat at the small table. ‘However do you manage? It’s so tiny in here.’

  ‘We do all right. How did you know where I was?’ Frank asked.

  ‘John told me the other day. I was hoping you might have called on me too, but as you didn’t I thought to seek you out, although I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.’ Sarah saw her sarcastic barb hit the spot as Frank lowered his head. ‘John said you and another lad are working his boat.’ She cast a quick look around the interior and her nose wrinkled in dismay. She had hoped for far better things for her son than this.

  ‘Yes. Tad Jenkins – he’s in bed,’ Frank returned.

  ‘What! At this time of the day?’

  ‘He’s had the influenza, Mum, and he’s just getting over it. The doctor says he should rest up for a day or two before we move on. Frank’s spine tingled at the way his mother had immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, thinking Tad to be a layabout.

  ‘Oh I see. Well he should at least get up to meet me.’ Sarah was adamant she would meet this fellow her son was living and working with.

  Having made tea and producing a slab of cake, Frank went to rouse Tad. A moment later he was back. ‘He’s just getting dressed. So how have you been keeping, Mum?’ Frank asked shame-faced he had not visited her before this.

  ‘I’m all right considering what my family has put me through.’ Sarah’s intake of breath was sharp as she spied the green-eyed boy entering the tiny galley. He was pasty faced and still looking rather poorly; she was surprised he was so yo
ung.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Mitchell, I’m Tad. Pleased to meet yer.’

  Sarah nodded once as she studied him. Evidently very little education, regional accent, shabby clothes – very working class.

  ‘Where’s my cup of tea then?’ Tad asked Frank, a playful glint in his eye.

  ‘I can see you’re feeling better,’ Frank returned as he poured out more tea.

  Sarah watched the exchange with a scowl. Her eagle eyes seeing each movement, each look the boys shared and an uneasy feeling crept over her. Were this Tad and her son just working together? Or, was there more to their relationship than running the boat? Sarah felt sick to her stomach at the very thought.

  Taking their tea up top into the sunshine Sarah continued to watch closely the interaction between the lads, until she was convinced Tad Jenkins had led her son astray. Bile rose into her throat as she tried to push the thought away, but it would not leave her. Unable to hold her tongue any longer she ushered them both back into the belly of the boat.

  ‘Right!’ she said slamming her cup onto the table. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ She saw the lads exchange a frown. ‘I’m not stupid, Frank, I can see what’s happened. This one…’ she jabbed a finger in Tad’s direction, ‘has drawn you into something unwholesome! Do you realise what you’re doing? Have you any idea what would happen if the law found out? You’d both go to jail!’

  ‘Mum, you don’t understand, Tad didn’t—’ Frank began.

  ‘Of course he did! I didn’t raise you to become a… to become like that!’ Sarah was furious, her hatred for Tad evident in her glare.

  ‘Mum! It was my decision to come aboard and work with Tad. As for our relationship – I’m not ashamed. I know in the eyes of the law and society it’s seen as wrong but – we love each other!’

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open as she swooned down onto the bench. She watched Frank move to Tad and saw the boy smile. Her stomach lurched. Jumping up she pushed them apart. ‘You get away from my Frank!’

  Sarah’s arm whipped out and her hand caught Tad a stinging blow to his cheek. ‘Don’t think I’ll get used to this because I won’t!’ Turning to Frank she went on. ‘Now you get your things together, you’re coming with me. I’ll get a message to your father that you’ll be going back to him!’

  ‘No, Mum! I’m staying here with Tad.’ Frank was shocked at his mother’s actions and moved to comfort his friend who was still holding his stinging cheek.

  ‘Oh no you’re not! I swear to God I’ll report you both to the police myself!’ Sarah’s anger increased as did her desperation to take her son away from what she saw as an unholy alliance.

  ‘You do what you must, but I’m staying put. I warn you though, Dad and John – as well as the two of us – will never forgive you if you spoil this for me.’ Frank’s voice was kept low but held an underlying threat. ‘You get us sent to jail or the lunatic asylum and none of the family will ever have anything more to do with you. You will be forever alone and the shame of your actions will follow you wherever you go.’

  Sarah knew he was right; she would not be forgiven if she took those steps. The story would be in the newspapers and she would be ostracised by all. She would lose her job and most likely end up back in the workhouse.

  Suddenly all the fight went out of her. ‘Why, Frank? I don’t understand why you and he…?’ She could say no more as a paroxysm of weeping overtook her.

  Tad made more tea as Frank tried his best to explain. Using Rosie’s words, he said, ‘Mum, it’s just the way we’re made. There are others out there but you don’t notice them. There’s nothing wrong with our brains like the doctors appear to believe. We are simply put together differently.’

  ‘Is our John…?’ Sarah asked between sobs.

  ‘No, Mum, he’s madly in love with his wife. There was never anyone else for him but Lucy, as there will never be anybody other than Tad for me.’ Frank smiled at Tad as he placed a cup in front of Sarah.

  ‘Frank, I couldn’t bear it if you went to jail or worse still if you got found out – you could be killed for it!’ Sarah’s tears flowed again.

  ‘Mrs Mitchell, we won’t be found out,’ Tad tried to assure her.

  ‘Well I knew, didn’t I? Who else has noticed? How long before the police come to haul you off to jail?’ Sarah spat her words at the boy she saw as her enemy.

  ‘Mum please don’t spoil this for me. We none of us know how long we have on this earth, so let me have this time to be happy with Tad,’ Frank begged.

  He had no idea just how short that time would prove to be as he saw his mother nod her grudging acceptance.

  Forty-four

  Lucy’s labour pains started almost a month early and although she had a neighbour to help she was still afraid. Getting into her nightdress she lay sweating as the pains rolled over her. Through gritted teeth she cursed Jake Harding for putting her in this position. She swore at herself for falling for his charms and she yelled out her misery of having married a man she did not love. Mrs Bloxey, Lucy’s new friend from next door, dismissed the ranting as she safely delivered Lucy of a beautiful baby girl.

  ‘Theer yow goo ma girl, ’ere’s yer babby,’ the woman said passing the child to its mother.

  Lucy stared down at the baby in her arms. A fine layer of dark hair covered the tiny head and Lucy knew she would have the same brown eyes as her father.

  Passing the child back to Mrs Bloxey, Lucy turned over and promptly fell asleep.

  Laying the baby in the crib John had made, Mrs Bloxey left to see to her own brood. I can see trouble theer, that girl ain’t gonna tek to that babby! she thought as she went.

  John didn’t find out about the baby Lucy had named Roma until a week after the birth when he returned from a trip to Manchester. He was delighted and revelled in being a step-father, but was disappointed Lucy had not thought to get word to him earlier.

  Lucy however showed no affection for the child. She fed, changed and bathed her but other than that, there was no interest. Her temper was short when Roma cried and Lucy often ignored the whimpering baby.

  John stayed home for a few days to help out with all that entailed looking after a new baby, Bill having assured him he could manage the ‘Two Hearts’ alone for that short time.

  Lucy would give no reason for her disinterest in Roma; she was tired was all she would say. Deep down she knew it was because even at a couple of weeks old, Roma had the gypsy look to her which was a constant reminder of the mistake she’d made by lying with Jake. Staring down at the child sucking heartily on the bottle, Lucy frowned. Roma Mitchell, for John had insisted she take his name, would be a thorn in Lucy’s side for many years to come.

  While she was pregnant Lucy had decided to return to her sketching and had produced and sold quite a few of her pictures. She had secreted away the monies gained from these sales, unaware at that time how useful this would prove to be.

  Now as she burped her baby, she was formulating a plan. She could take her savings and run away to London. If she was ever to have her own gallery, that would be the place to start. England’s capital city boasted bigger and better shops and more wealth – at least that’s what she had heard.

  Roma spewed milky vomit down Lucy’s front as the trapped wind finally escaped. Sighing heavily, Lucy lay Roma in her crib and went to wash the baby sick from her blouse. ‘Bloody child!’ she muttered as she went.

  Returning to her drawings, Lucy’s thoughts continued their path. London; high life and drama – it all sounded so exciting. Hearing Roma whimper she wondered how to manage her escape with a baby to care for. It would be impossible. She couldn’t manage to find lodgings, look after a child, draw then sell her creations by herself. There was only one thing for it – she would leave the baby behind. Lucy Richards was about to make a name for herself and dragging baby Roma with her was definitely not an option!

  Two days later saw Abner and Margy on one of their rare visits. ‘Roma, what a lovely name. What does it mean?�
� Abner asked.

  ‘One with shiny hair,’ Lucy answered disinterestedly.

  The Mitchells had heard on the ‘cut’ grapevine that Lucy had given birth to a daughter and they had purposely made a visit that second week.

  ‘She’s as good as gold,’ John said as he watched his grandma cuddle the tiny bundle.

  ‘Her’s a beauty,’ Margy said.

  Lucy was busy setting the table for a meal for all and muttered, ‘Except when her throws up, cries and messes her napkin that is.’

  Margy glanced up and was surprised to see no mirth on Lucy’s face. It was at that moment she decided Lucy needed a visit from Rosie. Something was very wrong here and the only one who could sort it out would be Rosie Harris and her ‘sight’.

  John settled Roma down to sleep before joining the others at the dinner table. A meal of mashed potatoes, brisket and vegetables covered in onion gravy was set before each and they all tucked in hungrily.

  Abner and John washed the dishes and Lucy and Margy sat by the small fire. Even in summer the house was cold, no sunshine ever coming in through the front window.

  Roma began to mizzick and Margy was amazed Lucy made no move to comfort the child. John however came bustling through to see to his step-daughter. An hour later, Margy and Abner left with hugs and thanks for the lovely meal. As they strolled back to their boat Margy remarked on Lucy’s unusual behaviour.

  ‘The little ’un is only a couple of weeks old, Margy, give the lass a chance to get used to being a mother.’ Abner laughed.

  ‘Her don’t need a chance, Abner, her’s ’ad months to prepare for it. No, there’s summat amiss there and either our John don’t see it or he don’t want to see it. ’E already loves that kiddie like her is ’is own.’ Margy shook her head as she ambled along.

  ‘You’m readin’ too much into it, luv,’ Abner said.

  ‘I ain’t I’m a mother and grandmother and I’m telling you…’

  ‘All right, keep yer ‘air on!’ Abner blew through his teeth at his wife’s outburst.

  ‘I think as Rosie should be told,’ Margy said emphatically.