by Anna Jacobs
She started to stand up. “Thank you for your help, sir.” She winced and swayed dizzily.
He pushed her down again. “Give yourself a few minutes more, Annie. You’ve had a nasty shock. Besides, I want to examine you.”
She shrank away from him. “What?”
“You’ve got a cut on your head that needs dressing. You may have – other injuries. I’m a doctor. I won’t agree to help you unless you let me check first that you’re all right. Besides, we still have to think of a tale for Mrs Lewis and the others. She was angry when you didn’t get back on time. And if I’m not mistaken, your face is going to be badly bruised. You’ll be in no condition to work for the next few days.”
He busied himself getting some water, then asked her quietly to lie down on his couch. His touch was light and impersonal and, after the first minute or two, she lost a lot of her embarrassment. This was not a man; it was a doctor. She was not to know how hard it was for him to maintain that impersonal calmness at the sight of the bruises on her body, especially her breasts, and the dried blood between her legs. She had obviously been a virgin and had been taken very brutally.
“Now,” he said, when he had finished and had helped her to wash in water that smelt of clean herbs, “we must think what to tell them.”
He helped her up to the servants’ stairs and left her in a shocked Ellie’s hands. Next morning he told Mrs Cosden that Annie had had a bad fall in the snow and had been knocked unconscious. She had lain in the snow for hours. It would be a miracle if she did not develop a congestion of the lungs. She was to stay in bed for a few days.
He himself took in his wife’s morning tea tray and gave her an account of how Annie, half-frozen from lying unconscious in the snow, had knocked on his surgery door late last night and then fainted clean away again. From the way he told it, Ellie had come down to help him treat Annie.
Annabelle offered up some token words of sympathy and then started worrying about how long Annie would need to stay in bed and how she would manage with only Mabel to help her.
“As you managed before!” Jeremy said impatiently. “Now mind, I’m not having Annie disturbed or I won’t answer for the consequences! You don’t want her dying on us, do you?”
She pulled a moue of annoyance and told him pettishly to send Mabel to her, then.
Upstairs Annie spent a long weary day tossing around in bed, muffling her bouts of weeping in the lumpy pillow. Ellie popped in to see her a couple of times and Susan brought up her lunch on a tray, but she could eat nothing. The horrors of the previous night kept replaying in her mind. Worst of all was the thought of what she was going to say to Matt.
11
March 1838
Six weeks later Annie was forced to admit to herself that she must be pregnant. She’d missed twice, she who was normally as regular as clockwork, and what’s more, she was feeling queasy in the mornings and her breasts were tender.
Ellie had been appalled when Annie told her about that night’s horror, saying men like Fred Coxton should be taken out and shot. Afterwards, she had been kind, hugging her friend frequently, as if to show that it made no difference to her feelings for Annie. But the rape had made a difference to Annie. It still kept her awake at nights and it made her jump in terror if anyone came up behind her unexpectedly. The idea of a pregnancy from that man was too horrible to contemplate and for a long time she hoped she was mistaken.
Annie didn’t know what she’d have done without Ellie during those weeks. Many a night she’d woken up sobbing, to find Ellie’s arms ready to comfort her. But there was no comfort that Ellie or anyone else could offer that would help with an unwanted baby. Annie was filled with icy horror at the prospect, a horror that stayed with her night and day, and never left her for a moment. Mrs Lewis couldn’t fault her on efficiency – Annie did her job as well as always – but she noticed that the girl had not been the same since her fall.
Mabel noticed, too. She wasn’t sure what it added up to but she was pleased to see her enemy looking pale and strained. She kept her eyes open. You never knew what you could pick up.
In the end, Annie slipped in to see Dr Lewis while the mistress was out and told him what she suspected. He examined her and confirmed that she could indeed be pregnant, though it was a bit early to tell for sure.
“Sit down, Annie.” She sat in front of him, saying nothing. Her pallor worried him. “Have you thought what you’ll do?”
“Pray to lose it!” she said savagely. “Oh, doctor, isn’t there anything I can do, anything I can take that will …”
“No!” How he hated to hear women say this! He had to admit, though, that Annie had more justification than most. “Look, it’s not the baby’s fault. It’s done nothing to deserve to be murdered.”
She looked at him, startled by his vehemence.
“It is murder, Annie,” he insisted, “to kill an unborn child. And what’s more, women who try to get rid of unwanted babies often damage themselves permanently, so that they can bear no more children. It’s dangerous and it’s wrong. I would definitely call it murder.”
“What they’ll do to me will be worse than murder,” she said bitterly.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve lost my respectability. It doesn’t matter how it happened. People won’t care about that. As far as they’re concerned, I’ll be a loose woman from now on.”
“Have you told your young man yet?”
“No, sir. He’s still away, in Liverpool. I haven’t seen him since it happened. But he’s due back this week. On my next Sunday off I’ll have to tell him – somehow.”
“Surely, if he loves you, he’ll stand by you?”
“Perhaps.” Her voice was calm but hopeless. “But why should he father a bastard, sir? And a bastard with a real father like Fred Coxton!” She shuddered. “I know I’ll hate the baby for being his. I hate it already.”
He looked down at his hands. What could he say? She knew her world and her young man better than he did.
“Would you mind not telling the mistress yet, sir? It won’t show for a while and I might as well earn as much money as I can before I lose my place.”
“There’s no reason for you to lose your place, Annie! Even if Annabelle doesn’t want you as her personal maid, we can keep you on in some other capacity.”
She looked at him indulgently. He was a kind man, Dr Lewis, kind and gentle, but he didn’t understand what the world was really like. He only knew about people’s bodies.
“The mistress won’t want me in the house when she finds out,” she told him patiently, as if she were talking to a child.
He drew in a deep breath and sat there for a minute, reluctant to face the thought of Annabelle’s reactions. Finally he sighed and said slowly, “I hate to admit it, but I suspect that you’re right. What shall you do, then?”
“I don’t know yet. That rather depends on Matt, doesn’t it?” She stood up, shoulders drooping. “And now, sir, if you can’t help me, I’ll have to get back to my work.”
Two Sundays later, Annie went out to meet Matt, feeling like a prisoner waiting to be hanged. She tried to tell herself that he’d help her, stand by her, want to marry her, in spite of the baby, but she couldn’t seem to believe it. Why couldn’t she believe it? Even Ellie hadn’t been able to make her believe that there was any hope, though Ellie herself was certain sure that Matt would not desert her.
Ellie had taken a message to Matt for Annie the previous week, asking him to meet her in the park before chapel, and he was there waiting for her, his face happy with anticipation. She walked slowly towards him and he began to look puzzled, for she usually rushed to throw herself into his arms.
“Annie, love!” He pulled her towards him and she stood there stiffly, willing herself not to burst into tears. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you well?” He held her at arm’s length and scanned her face anxiously.
“I’ve been ill. And – and there’s a problem. I have to talk to you. Can w
e walk round the park? I don’t want to go back to Salem Street yet.”
He fell into step beside her. It was a cold early March day and the park was bleak and grey, the trees still leafless and the few daffodils that had come out early looking as if they realised they had made a mistake.
“I – I don’t know an easy way to tell you this,” she began. “Two months ago I was – I was attacked on my way back to Park House.”
“Attacked? What do you mean, attacked?”
“Attacked and raped.”
“What!” He stopped, seized her arm and swung her round to face him. “Annie – no!”
She just stood and looked up at him mutely.
“Who?” He could hardly get the word out. He felt as if he were choking.
“Fred Coxton. I bumped into him going home and he dragged me to his room and tied me up.” She spoke tonelessly, factually. She knew of no words adequate to describe the horror of that night.
“Couldn’t you have screamed for help? Was there no one around?”
“I did scream. And I fought. There was no one to hear me. There was a howling snowstorm that day. Fred’s very big and strong. It was dark and s-snowing …” Tears were streaming down her face, and down Matt’s face, too. They stood in the chill wind like two frozen creatures, only the tears alive.
He didn’t move towards her, didn’t touch her, and somehow she knew then what his answer would be. She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak again. “There’s worse, Matt.”
“Worse?” His voice was a cry of anguish. “In God’s name, how can it be worse?”
She couldn’t look him in the face. She couldn’t put it into words with his eyes staring at her.
He took her arm and shook her roughly. “What can be worse? Tell me, Annie!”
“It looks like I’m having a child from it.”
Horror crawled over his face and he let go of her arm, taking an involuntary step backwards.
She saw the revulsion in his eyes and moaned. “Oh, Matt! Don’t look at me like that! Matt, I couldn’t help it. I fought …” She broke down completely, covering her face with her hands and sobbing broken-heartedly, but still he didn’t touch her.
Matt stood and looked at her, unable to think clearly. His Annie! Carrying Fred Coxton’s child! It wasn’t possible. It was disgusting … filthy … obscene! “Fred Coxton – threatened to get his own back – when I got him dismissed.”
After a long pause he added bitterly, “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that bastard!” But she knew he wouldn’t. Matt Peters would never kill anyone.
When Annie half-fell into his arms, Matt forced himself not to push her away. He knew he should be comforting her. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t. She was – he gulped back a wave of nausea – spoiled. Spoiled, rotten, like tainted meat. Filthy.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked woodenly. It was a huge effort to force any words through his stiff lips.
She pulled away from him, rocking to and fro with the pain of his rejection. “I wanted to see you first, Matt. I wanted to see how you felt before I – before I made any plans. Ellie said you’d still want me – but you don’t, do you?”
He didn’t answer. He stood there with a red face and tears in his eyes, looking down at her hopelessly.
“I knew it. I knew it inside all the time.” Her voice was steady now and she had stopped those anguished movements. “I’ve loved you since I was ten, Matt Peters. I thought you loved me. But you don’t, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t let this come between us. I was just suitable, I reckon, the sort of wife you would need one day. You don’t love the real me at all.”
“I’ll help,” he said desperately. “I’ve got some money saved. I’ll give it to you. You could go away somewhere. Start again.”
“I wouldn’t take your money! And I’m not going away!” She spat the words at him, then turned suddenly and ran from him, not caring who saw her crying, making towards Salem Street, because it was the only place left, because her father was the only one she could turn to now. If he didn’t help her, she’d kill herself.
Matt stood there and watched her go, fists knotted by his side, tears blurring his eyes. He despised himself, but he couldn’t take her, not with another man’s child in her belly. He couldn’t even touch her any more. She was tainted. “Tainted. Filthy.” He realised that he’d said the words aloud, cursed and turned grimly towards Claters End. The only relief he could think of was the relief of beating Fred Coxton to a pulp.
It was easy to find Fred’s old room, but Fred had left Bilsden over a month ago and no one knew where he’d gone. The woman Matt spoke to seemed to think that was a good thing.
Matt walked aimlessly along the street and stopped in front of an open door, from which sounds of a fiddle scraping out tunes tempted passers-by to enter. It was the first time he had ever been into a gin house and the first time in his life he had ever got drunk. Two hours later, he was so drunk that he had to be carried home by some men who knew that he was Sam Peters’ lad.
When Matt woke in the morning, with a thumping head and a dry sour taste in his mouth, he refused to tell his horrified parents why he had got himself into such a condition.
“I’ll not do it again. I was troubled about something. But drinking doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I won’t – I can’t talk about it – not yet. Just leave me be.” And he set off for work without waiting for his breakfast, leaving his mother in tears. He would tell them about it later, he decided; at the moment, he couldn’t bear the thought of their sympathy, or his mother’s joy at his release from his engagement.
When she left Matt, Annie ran all the way home to Number Three. She burst in and leaned against the front door, gasping for breath, her face so white that they thought at first she was ill.
“Nay, lass!” exclaimed John. “What’s wrong?” He came over to her and she fell into his arms sobbing wildly. He sat her down and looked at Emily, who had come in from the back room.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emily asked in amazement. She’d never seen Annie cry, even as a child, let alone falling about and sobbing aloud like this.
“Send – send the kids out.” Annie managed at last. “Send them out! I can’t tell you with them listening.”
Lizzie and May were bundled out into the cold with orders to take young Mark and Luke for a walk. John himself cut short their protestations.
“Get out, an’ don’t come back till it’s time for chapel! Em’ly, get the lass a cup of tea.”
Annie sat cradling the warm cup in her hands and in a tense, clipped voice she told them what had happened and what Matt had said to her. They listened in stunned silence, then John put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have to come home then, love. If Matt Peters isn’t man enough to marry you, then you’ll have to come here.”
“How can she? Where can we put ’er?” asked Emily shrilly. The last thing she wanted was for her stepdaughter to come back. With Annie around, it’d be a lot harder to manage John. “We’ve no room. Tom’s already sleepin’ down here. She can’t come back!”
John turned on her. “We’ve allus got room for my children! I’m still master here an’ she’s still my daughter! If she’s in trouble an’ she needs somewhere to go, then we shall make room.”
In open-mouthed astonishment, Emily fell silent and offered no more protests. She’d never seen John quite like this before, because she hadn’t known him when Lucy was alive.
Annie held her father’s hand and managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d let me down, too. Thrown myself in the river, I think.” She turned to Emily. “I’m sorry, Emily, really I am!”
Emily sniffed, but dared make no comment.
“I don’t need to come here yet,” Annie went on. “It won’t show for another month or two. I’ll go on working, get a bit of money saved.”
“Aye, that’d be best,” said John. “We’ve not got a lot to spare. The more brass
you can save, the better, lass.”
“We must tell Mr Hinchcliffe,” said Emily abruptly. “He’ll be able to advise us.”
“No!” Annie’s voice was sharp and they both looked at her in surprise. “We won’t tell him yet,” she amended. “If it gets out, if she finds out, I’ll lose my place. Let’s just wait, eh? Go on working and wait.”
12
April 1838
But the news soon got out, in the Rows, at least. Matt, under the influence of the gin, had confided his woes to a sympathetic listener. The listener, more accustomed to his drink, had not forgotten the tale and the whisper was soon round the Rows that Annie Gibson was expecting a child.
Serve the stuck-up bitch right, said some of her contemporaries, who had not been fortunate enough to get a place in service and who had been swallowed up by the drudgery of the mill. Serve you right, too, Matt Peters, said some of the lads still working at lowly jobs in the mill where he had been given such preferential treatment. If you will go off to Liverpool and leave a pretty lass like that on her own, what can you expect? No one seemed quite sure of the exact details or who the father was, however.
Matt was aghast when one of his drinking companions made a few sly digs about ‘unwanted babbies’ and he realised what he must have done. He didn’t remember much about that day. Surely he hadn’t told a complete stranger about Annie? While he was still trying to think what to do, the rumour came to Mabel’s ears. She knew at once that this was her chance to get even and she seized it with both hands.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said to Mrs Lewis after breakfast. “May I have a private word with you?”
Annabelle’s assent was cool and uninterested. She was wondering how soon Jeremy would let her make another visit to Brighton.
“It’s about Annie Gibson, ma’am.”