The Girl on the Doorstep

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘You’m pokin’ yer nose in agen,’ Abner admonished.

  ‘I don’t care a bugger! That situation needs sorting out cos when our John goes back to work – well, what’s gonna happen then? It’s ’im as looks after that babby, Lucy don’t give a damn for it!’ Margy was adamant.

  ‘Fair enough. We’ll make a detour and pay Rosie a visit tomorra then, if you think we should,’ Abner capitulated knowing his wife would not give in once she’d made up her mind.

  ‘You’m a good man, Abner Mitchell – I don’t know ’ow you put up with me at times,’ Margy laughed.

  ‘Nor do I,’ he grinned as he sidestepped the swipe of his wife’s arm.

  *

  The following morning saw Abner and Margy sitting in Rosie’s living room relating the tale of the girl’s total disinterest in her child.

  ‘Oh dear, I was afraid this might happen,’ Rosie said on a sigh.

  ‘Why? ’Ave you “seen” it?’ Margy asked.

  ‘No, but I think it’s because the baby reminds her of Jake,’ Rosie confided.

  ‘Oh ar, I never though o’ that,’ Margy said shaking her head.

  ‘Well, I’ll go over tomorrow and see for myself what’s going on. Maybe she’ll talk to me and tell me how she’s feeling. We’ve always got on well together so maybe she’ll open up to me,’ Rosie said.

  ‘That’s what we was ’oping for,’ Abner answered with a nod.

  Once that was decided, their conversation turned to other things.

  A knock on the back door and a ‘yoohoo’ heralded the arrival of Fanny and Molly from next door. Rosie smiled thinking she could never have visitors without her neighbours barging in to join them. Being brought up to date with the Lucy and Roma affair it was then that the bickering began.

  ‘She wants her arse smacked does young Lucy,’ Molly put in.

  ‘Blimey, Molly, what do you know? You ain’t got no kids!’ Fanny retorted.

  ‘Nor you ain’t, Fanny Bright!’ Molly spat back.

  On and on they went much to the amusement of all sat around the fireplace.

  ‘Well we’m gonna leave it with you Rosie. We ’ave to get going but we’ll be back soon,’ Margy said as she hugged them in turn. ‘The day you two stop arguing will be when one or t’other has died.’ She directed her words to Fanny.

  Laughter rang out as the Mitchells left. Seeing them out Rosie returned to her seat and pondered the problem of Lucy; she heard nothing of the bickering still going on between Fanny and Molly.

  *

  Lucy was miserable to be left alone with a crying baby when John returned to his work on the ‘Two Hearts’. It was that same evening that saw John pouring his heart out to his father.

  Bill listened attentively before he stunned John with one sentence.

  ‘It seems we’re both in love with women who don’t love us back.’

  Gathering his wits once more John asked, ‘Rosie?’

  Bill nodded.

  ‘Is that why you divorced Mum?’

  ‘No, son. I divorced your mother because I didn’t love her anymore. I was sick and tired of her vicious tongue and being treated like one of her kids instead of her husband. Nothing I did was right. She would call me out over the least little thing and eventually I’d had enough.’

  ‘So, when did you know you loved Rosie?’ John asked feeling strange to be asking his father about loving a woman who was not his mother.

  ‘I’m not really sure. I only know she’s stolen my heart. She’s so independent which I think is grand; I only wish she could love me – if only a little.’ Bill sighed loudly.

  ‘That’s how I feel about Lucy, Dad. I know she doesn’t love me and there have been times when I wished she hadn’t married me. I love her with all my heart, but I know we’ll never have a proper marriage.’ John gave a grim little smile and Bill understood exactly what he was referring to.

  ‘I’m sorry, son. What will you do?’

  ‘There’s nothing to be done, Dad, I just have to live with it.’ John was clearly resigned to his lot in life. ‘Dad, you should tell Rosie how you feel about her, you never know she may well have the same thoughts.’

  ‘I did consider it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want it to affect the good relationship we already enjoy, and it would have – if she hated the idea.’

  ‘I think you’d be surprised, Dad, I really do.’ John smiled in a knowing way.

  ‘Maybe, we’ll have to see. For now though I suggest we get some sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow.’ Bill gave his boy a hug and they retired to their respective bunks to mull over what had been discussed.

  *

  In the meantime, Lucy bundled Roma up and with a few things shoved in a carpet bag, she set off for the train station. She was headed for Birmingham. Roma was lulled to sleep as the train trundled along its iron rails and despite looking through the window, Lucy saw nothing of the countryside swishing past. She was deep in thought about her decision. She was going to ask Rosie to take Roma in and raise her in the gypsy tradition; something she prayed Rosie would agree to.

  Lucy felt guilty that she was about to abandon her baby, but she knew she would never love the child. She wanted her life back where she could come and go at her leisure without worrying about a husband and infant.

  She had taken the little she had saved and the house keeping money, a few clothes of her own, her sketchbook and pencils and Roma’s things all pushed into the bag. Now as she descended the train at New Street in Birmingham, her arms ached with holding the baby on the journey. Grabbing her bag in one hand and with Roma in her other arm, she strode towards Upper Marshall Street. She had no way of knowing that Rosie had set out on her own journey – to visit Lucy.

  Forty-five

  Jake Harding had led his kumpania from town to town in gypsy tradition trying to eke out a living. Pickings were meagre and his little band of followers were going hungry. Sitting around the central bonfire he finally drew in a long breath and stood to address those gathered.

  ‘I know it’s our way to travel and tout our wares, but since the cholera struck business has been terrible. I’m of a mind to disband and each to seek work wherever it can be found.’

  He listened to the shocked murmurings and saw the disbelief in eyes that glittered in the firelight. ‘The Romany traditions are dying out, people. You have to feed your children and it’s becoming harder to do that with each passing day.’

  Mutterings of agreement rolled round the circle of friends and even the children were taking note.

  ‘We’ve been to almost every town in England with no luck. The only place we are accepted – not made welcome mind you – is Birmingham.’ Jake again heard the ‘ayes’ pass among his friends. ‘I need to hear what you have to say. We have to make a decision and it’s one I cannot make alone.’

  Sitting once more on his three-legged stool, Jake waited. Quiet conversations began as questions were posed. Where would they live? Would they have to give up their vardos and try for a house? Would the schools take their children? Who would give them work? How would they manage if no work was forthcoming?

  Jake listened as soft voices rose in argument until he could stand it no longer and again he got to his feet. It was then that Queenie’s old cracked voice was heard.

  ‘I don’t say much, Jake, as you know. I warned you when young Rosie Harris was in trouble – remember?’ Casting her black eyes around the circle she saw the nods then brought her attention back to their Bandolier.

  ‘There’s too many “againsts” and not enough “fors” to disband. You’ve heard the questions with no answers. Then there’s us old ’uns, what would happen to us, eh?’ Queenie heard a child mutter in the gathering darkness which was followed by the sound of a slap and a howl.

  ‘That patch of land over in Birmingham, where we stayed afore, ain’t owned by anybody. There ain’t no reason why we can’t set the vardos there and make it our own small community. We can’t be run off as lon
g as we behaves ourselves.’

  Now the chatter from the people listening sounded more hopeful. It was a solution in part – they would have their own land, and if the roving spirit took hold again they could simply up-sticks and move on. It didn’t solve the problem of work or earning a living but they could address that once they were settled.

  ‘Tomorrow we strike camp and head for Birmingham!’ Jake yelled. Turning to Queenie he laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re a wise old bird, it should be you leading this lot, not me.’

  ‘It’s my job to see you do it right. As Bandolier you make the decisions and we follow; just now and then you need a little help to see a clear path.’ Queenie smiled.

  ‘Queenie, Queenie – a story, you promised!’ a gang of youngsters called as they gathered around her frowzy skirt.

  ‘Did I?’ she questioned with a sly grin.

  ‘Yes!’ the children chorused.

  ‘Oh well, what if I tell you the tale of the dragon?’ She grinned again as they jumped up and down with excitement. Winking at Jake, Queenie hobbled back to her chair by the fire. She nodded her thanks to a young man who had brought the old chair from her vardo and placed it near the flames.

  With the children and adults around her, Queenie hooked a gnarled finger at Jake. She rocked her head as he joined the kumpania.

  ‘There was once a vile dragon who was constantly laying waste to the land. He burned everything with his fiery breath and everyone was afraid.’ Queenie nodded as the children collectively drew in a breath. ‘Now one day a gypsy king named Nicolaos had had enough and so he forged himself a set of claws made from iron.’

  Queenie threw up her old bony hands and the children gasped. ‘Nicolaos covered himself in seven ox hides, then called down the dragon. He challenged the beast to a test – not of strength, but of luck. The dice were cast and Nicolaos lost. The dragon claws took Nicolaos’ first skin. Again the dice were thrown and again the king lost. The dragon took Nicolaos’ second skin.’

  The old gypsy looked around at the children, some with fingers in mouths; all with eyes wide open.

  ‘The dragon began to sweat and again the dice were rolled.’ Queenie paused for effect. ‘The dragon lost the challenge and Nicolaos’ iron claws took the beast’s hide!’ The children cheered loudly.

  ‘Now it is said Nicolaos had the dragon scales made into armour which he kept in his vardo as a souvenir.’

  The children began to laugh and Queenie raised a finger for quiet. ‘The moral of this tale is – it’s better to be lucky than good.’

  Applause rang out before the children were ushered off to bed. Jake smiled as he carried Queenie’s chair back to her ’van.

  ‘You’d miss all this my chara if we disbanded,’ she said.

  Queenie had called Jake her ‘boy’ and he felt humbled by her very presence. ‘Sleep well, old woman,’ he said fondly.

  ‘I always do,’ she responded.

  Jake laughed and returned to the fireside to ponder what the future held in store for them all. Would they be lucky as foretold by Queenie’s tale? Only time would tell.

  The sun shone down full and strong as the kumpania packed their vardos and set off for Birmingham. Jake led the way clucking to his horse and he soon settled into a steady rhythm. As he travelled he wondered – no hoped – he would see Rosie once they were camped. She was never far from his thoughts and he felt again the sting of her refusal to wed him. Young Lucy would have married him had he asked her, but that would have been unfair to the girl for his heart would forever be with Rosie.

  Each town they traversed he saw the looks of disgust on the faces of the residents. The gypsies were seen as thieves and vagabonds. He smiled inwardly. Vagabonds they may be but thieves they were most certainly not.

  Jake knew it would take them a few days to reach Birmingham, and he set his mind to finding a decent camp site to overnight in.

  *

  Rosie was unaware that Jake and the clan were on their way to what she now considered to be her home town as she climbed onto the horse drawn omnibus. It would take her part of the way to Wednesbury but she would have to walk the rest. She hoped Lucy would be at home when she arrived.

  Chatting quietly with the others passengers the journey passed quickly and she was surprised to learn the omnibus had now extended its route right to the town. For how long, however, remained to be seen as the railway was taking more and more passengers, leaving precious few to travel on the omnibus.

  Rosie climbed down and asking directions she began to walk towards Lea Brook Square where Lucy and John lived. She was excited at the prospect of seeing the baby and she increased her pace.

  Finally reaching her destination she knocked on the front door then looked around her. All the houses were terraced and filthy with coal dust. Lucy’s, along with a couple of others, were the only ones with gleaming windows.

  Turning back to the door, she knocked again, louder this time.

  ‘Her ain’t in,’ a voice said.

  Rosie saw a woman’s head poking through the open window of the house next door.

  ‘Oh, I don’t suppose you know where she went?’

  ‘Nah, but her ’ad the babby an’ a carpet bag with ’er.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’ve come all the way from Birmingham to see her,’ Rosie said an uncomfortable feeling settling on her.

  ‘Seems yer’ve ’ad a wasted journey then. Looked to me like ’er was doin’ a moonlight flit, what with the bag an’ all,’ the woman replied.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosie said with a frown.

  The woman nodded, drew in her head and slammed the window shut.

  Turning back the way she had come Rosie was baffled. Where on earth could Lucy be going with a bag and a new-born child? Had she moved out permanently? John would probably not know as he was away working the boat with Bill.

  Rosie rushed back hoping to catch the returning omnibus but she was too late. With a fresh set of horses in the harness, the vehicle had set off post haste. The only other option was the train. Her thoughts whirled as she made her way to the station. Wherever Lucy had gone, Rosie prayed she would get in touch soon.

  Arriving back home, Rosie noted no movement next door. Fanny and Molly must be at the market. Letting herself in through the front door, she swung the fire crane over the low embers and piled on more coal to enable the kettle to boil. As she walked into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich she heard a mewling and Rosie, thinking it to be a stray kitten, opened the back door. She had the shock of her life to see a very young baby lying on the doorstep. The child was warmly dressed and wrapped in a thick woollen shawl.

  ‘Oh my goodness! Oh, you poor little thing!’ Rosie picked up the baby and saw a note pinned to the shawl.

  ‘What’s this then little one?’ Reading the note Rosie checked the carpet bag that had been left next to the baby; all the things to enable caring for the infant were inside.

  Stroking the child’s face gently Rosie had immediately known this was Lucy’s child. As she laid the tiny bundle on her bed upstairs she said, ‘Oh Roma, what has your mummy done? Where has she gone?’ Pulling out a drawer from the dresser she went on, ‘You won’t fit in here for long Roma, but it will do for now.’ She packed the shawl inside it. Placing Roma in her new makeshift bed, she carried it carefully downstairs.

  Warming some milk, she fed the baby, changed her soiled napkin and settled her to sleep. Finding an old bucket, she filled it with water and dropped the dirty nappy in covering it with the bucket lid.

  Making herself a cup of tea, her sandwich quite forgotten, she sat at the table and read the note again.

  Rosie,

  Please take care of Roma and raise her in the gypsy way, or give her to Jake. I’m sorry but I can’t love her as I should.

  Thank you, Lucy.

  Rosie remembered Lucy had problems with her letters but saw there were no mistakes in the writing. This would have taken her a long time to do which meant Lucy had seriously thought abo
ut giving up her child.

  Sipping her tea Rosie shook her head. It was a big responsibility to raise a child, moreover it would be difficult for her regarding Romany traditions now she was no longer a traveller. She doubted very much that Jake would relieve her of that responsibility. Then there was John to consider, he loved Roma like she was his own, but he couldn’t look after her whilst working the boat. Poor John, he would be devastated.

  Her thoughts were shattered by the arrival of her neighbours. Both were as shocked as she had been when they saw the baby and read the note.

  ‘Whatever am I to do?’ Rosie asked mournfully.

  Fanny and Molly shook their heads, both relieved the onus was not on them.

  Forty-six

  It was happenstance that Margy and Abner called on Rosie a couple of days later.

  ‘Have you let our John know?’ Margy asked.

  ‘I went to the wharf yesterday and asked a message be passed that Roma is with me. I didn’t want his business bandied about so I thought a quick message would suffice. I can explain and show him Lucy’s note when he gets here,’ Rosie responded with a loud sigh.

  ‘That’s good of yer, gel,’ Abner said rocking the tiny bundle in his arms.

  Margy watched her husband and knew what he was thinking. ‘Abner, we can’t take ’er in, it ain’t right. Besides we’m too old now.’

  ‘I know that luv, but just look at ’er. I can see ’ow our John fell in love with ’er,’ Abner chuckled as Roma grabbed his finger.

  Margy rolled her eyes saying, ‘You’m a big softie, Abner Mitchell.’ Then to Rosie said, ‘I ’ear the gypsies am on their way back so maybe you should check if it’s Jake’s lot.’

  ‘I will. I’ll take Roma with me rather than leave her with Fanny and Molly, it might help to persuade Jake to realise the consequences of his actions and take ownership of them.’

  ‘Don’t bank yer ’opes up cos I can’t see it ’appening,’ Margy said in her inimitable no-nonsense way.

  ‘Truth be told neither can I, but I have to try,’ Rosie answered as she passed the bottle to Abner to feed the now crying Roma.