Salem Street

by Anna Jacobs

  “Now, was that so bad?” he teased, stroking her hair.

  “Danny, I don’t … I can’t …”

  “All I’m asking is that you’ll still be here when I come back, so that I can court you properly. A year’s a long time. You won’t forget me, will you, Annie? You won’t go off with someone else?”

  She was beginning to recover her composure. “I don’t want to be courted by anyone.” She pulled away from him. This time he let her go.

  “You will one day, Annie, my love,” he said confidently. “One day you’ll want to marry again. And I’ll make sure that I’m around at the time.” Then his mood changed and he grinned. “Only I can’t miss out on this contract, for it’s going to make my fortune for me.”

  “I wish you luck, I’m sure.” She started patting her hair into place, afraid that someone would guess what had happened. She could not bear Bridie to think that she and Danny were … She dismissed the idea firmly from her mind.

  “It’s not luck, but hard work that’ll make my fortune,” he said soberly. “I don’t believe in relying on luck.”

  “I agree.” She turned to go.

  “Just one thing more, Annie, love.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  He reached out and grasped her wrist, swinging her round again to face him. “Make sure you are still free when I get back, for I’ll not let anyone else have you, wedded or no!”

  This time, when he released her, she fled to the safety of the farmhouse as fast as she could. Even so, his voice pursued her. “Remember, Annie!”

  Although she told herself she was relieved when he went, she found that she missed him. Bridie and Michael were lovely people, but it was just a little bit – well, boring – at the farm with only them and the animals, Danny had been able to talk about the wider world, and talk with assurance, too. She had enjoyed listening to his tales of the railway diggings and the men who worked there, though the shanty towns they lived in sounded worse than Claters End, even. She admired the way Danny had made something of himself, in spite of his humble beginnings. She intended to do the same – she was doing the same, she corrected. But she did not want another husband!

  Another of Annie’s admirers was Michael Benworth, her tenant. He was in his mid-forties, but still a fine figure of a man, with luxuriant curly hair only lightly flecked with grey, a flourishing set of whiskers and a flamboyant way of dressing. He was a widower, now, with all his children grown up and married, except one daughter, who kept house for him. Annie had expected him to move into a smaller house when his wife died, but Tom reported that Benworth wanted to stay on at Netherleigh Cottage in Moor Close, which he was welcome to do, as long as he paid the rent on time.

  Benworth turned up a few times at chapel, making it plain that it was Annie who drew him there. Once or twice he contrived to walk home with her and William, saying that he had someone to visit in the Rows. He did nothing to which she could take offence on those walks, behaving towards her in the most respectful way, but he seemed impervious to the mild snubs she gave him.

  If it had not been for her father, she would have told him to stay right away from her. It made her furious to know that people were already whispering about them. But John Gibson was showing his age, and Michael Benworth was the man upon whom he depended for employment. John saw how Annie felt and begged her not to offend Benworth. He even tried to encourage her to look upon him favourably, for he had never been reconciled to seeing his bonnie daughter ‘waste hersen’, as he put it.

  “Benworth’d make you a good husband, lass,” he said wistfully one day. “A proper husband! It’s been a good long while since all that other business. Now that your Charlie’s gone, you should start thinkin’ of the future, like. A woman needs a husband to look after her.”

  “I don’t. I’m doing very well as I am, Dad. I don’t intend to get married, not ever again.” She forced the image of Danny out of her mind.

  He sighed. “Eh, you’re missin’ a lot, love. I’m not sayin’ as you should marry where there’s no feelin’, but it’s a sad waste of a good woman if you don’t get wed. Me an’ your mam, well, we had some right happy times together. I still miss her. Em’ly does her best, poor old lass, but she’s tallow to wax compared to your mam.” He sighed again, then reverted to his original theme. “I would like to see you wed to a nice young fellow, though, one as you could love proper.”

  “Well, I don’t love Michael Benworth, nor ever could! And he’s not all that young, either. He’ll be about your age, I should think.”

  John shrugged, tiredly. “About that. A year or two younger, maybe. But he’s a well-set-up chap, he is, not like your poor old dad. I’m not the man I used to be, an’ that’s a fact!”

  She gave him a hug. “You’re still the best dad I’ve got.” She was delighted to see how his face lit up at her words. It had been nice having a talk with him. She did not see as much of him as she would have liked, because of Emily’s jealousy.

  He looked at her fondly. “I’m proud of you, love, proud of what you’re doin’, but don’t miss out on the other things, will you? Money isn’t everything, you know. And one child doesn’t make a family.”

  It hurt her to see him looking so old and careworn, and she blamed Emily for that. But it was his fault, too. He should never have married a younger woman. He should have found someone older, someone past childbearing. How could he ever hope to make ends meet, let alone put a bit of money by for his old age, with such a large second family and such a poor manager for a wife?

  Annie’s eldest half-brothers, Mark and Luke, spent a lot of time round at Number Eight, now that they had taken William under their wings and were no longer ashamed of their young nephew. William thought that Mark, who was turned eleven and almost old enough to work in the mill, was magnificent and tried to emulate him in every way possible. Annie thought that Mark was a nice lad, and kind too. If she could do anything for him, she would.

  The next boy, Luke, was a bit on the slow side and very shy, hardly saying a word when he was round at her house, but he, too, had a nice nature. Both lads always looked hungry and Kathy often slipped them a bite to eat. She excused herself by saying that she knew what it was like to be hungry herself, but Annie only shrugged. She could spare the food easily enough.

  The older girls, Rebecca and Peggy, were not allowed out to play very often. They had to help their mother with the younger children and with the newest baby – and there always seemed to be a new baby at Number Three! And when the girls did come round, they could hardly be persuaded to open their mouths. She knew that all her half-brothers and sisters stood a little in awe of the fancy way she spoke and lived, not to mention the sharp edge of her tongue, but she had no time to bridge the gap between them, so busy was she.

  The frequency of Mark’s visits declined a little when she put William into a school that had just opened in Bilsden. She had been trying to teach him at home, but as the business grew she found that she had less and less time to spend on him and that he was running wild. The headmaster of the new school was a little dubious about accepting a child from the Rows, but Annie got Pauline to put a word in for her and the man rapidly changed his tune.

  William did not have an easy time of it there, because the other children made it very plain what they thought of someone from the Rows, while at home he had to prove several times that going to a fancy school had not turned him into a stuck-up sneak. Annie bit back words of rebuke and cleaned up his wounds, but she started to think seriously again of leaving the Rows. In the meantime, with calculated generosity, she volunteered to pay the school pence at a little cottage school for both Mark and Luke, so that William would not seem quite so different from the others.

  John accepted her help gratefully and Mark went wild with delight at this opportunity, rapidly improving his reading and writing, in spite of his mother’s gibes. Emily considered that it would have been better if Annie had found her half-brothers employment in her junk business, ra
ther than filling their heads with nonsense. The lads could learn to read as well as they would ever need to at Sunday School, but it was more than time they brought in a shilling or two to help out. She was the one who had to manage on John’s wages and growing lads never stopped eating.

  For once, John put his foot down and the two older boys continued to attend the little school. He thanked Annie privately, saying sadly that he knew he couldn’t give his second family the chances he’d given Tom. He seemed to have no similar concern about educating the girls. Remembering how he’d left her to find her own way to knowledge, Annie resolved to do something for them later, when she had a minute to turn round. She remembered how envious she had been of Tom when they were all children and wondered if Rebecca felt the same. How very long ago that seemed now!

  Annie had thought that she was eager to make money, but Tom’s hunger was even greater than hers. Their only quarrels were when he got into deals which she considered dubious or risky. Once or twice she was on the verge of telling him to get out, for she had a terror of smirching the good reputation she had worked so hard for. But the fuss all blew over and she decided that he had learnt his lesson.

  Then, one night in November, just as she was about to go up to bed after working late on a special order, Tom crept into the house the back way, gasping for breath, blood pouring from a cut on his forehead.

  “Tom! What’s happened?”

  “I … they nearly caught me.”

  Annie recoiled, sick with fear. “What?”

  Tom closed his eyes for a moment. He knew she’d go mad at him. She might even chuck him out. Suddenly he saw his lovely new life crumbling before him and an image of the mill looming behind it. He cursed the drinks that had made Billy Pardy’s proposition that they earn themselves a bit of easy money seem like a golden opportunity.

  Her voice was as cold as ice. “You’d better tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I – Billy knew a man who wanted some stuff moving quietly. He was willing to pay well. It seemed, I don’t know, it seemed an easy way to earn some good money.”

  “I suppose you mean stolen goods when you say ‘stuff’?”

  “I – yes. But I didn’t steal anything. I wouldn’t do that. I only agreed to move it …” His voice tailed away before the scorn on her face.

  “I can’t see much difference myself. Nor will the law. Go on.”

  “The town constables must have heard about it – or been told. They were waiting for us. They nearly got Billy and his friend, but they managed to get away. Only – oh, Christ, Annie, they’ve got our donkey and cart! They’ll soon find out who that belongs to. It’s got our sign on it.”

  She didn’t say anything. She felt physically sick with anger, so sick that she couldn’t speak for a moment or two. How could he jeopardise all she’d worked for? How dared he get involved in something illegal? If this came out, she’d not only lose her good name, but most of her dressmaking business. Women wouldn’t let the sister of a convicted criminal make for them. The realisation sent a wave of fury through her and she groaned aloud. Dimly she heard his voice.

  “Annie – please – you’ve got to help me!” Then a minute later, “Annie – for Christ’s sake, say something!”

  She forced herself to take a few slow, deep breaths, then she opened her eyes. “Tell me again what happened, Tom, exactly what happened.”

  He repeated his tale. “We went to pick up the stuff. They were waiting for us. They jumped on Billy. His friend hit one of the constables. I was behind them. I got away while they were fighting. I think the others got away, too. I heard shouts and a chase. They went towards the town centre and I came back here.”

  “Just a minute. I thought you must have been in a fight. You’ve cut your head.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes. I cut me head. I was that scared once I’d got away, that I just took off and ran. There wasn’t anyone chasin’ me – I just ran. I fell an’ banged me head. Annie, please …”

  “Shhh! I’m thinking.”

  Hope flared briefly in his eyes.

  “Where were you before you went off on this wonderful job?”

  He winced at the biting sarcasm in her voice. “We were drinkin’. Down at Ma Corry’s boozer.”

  “People saw you there together?”

  “Must have.”

  “And you left together?”

  “Yes. No! What am I thinkin’ of? Billy went first to arrange things. I stayed on for half an hour or so. Had another drink. Then I went and joined him.”

  “Where?”

  “Down at the shed where I keep Blackie an’ the cart. It was all arranged. Poor old Blackie. I hope he’s all right.”

  “Never mind that stupid animal! It’s you I’m worried about. You said there was another man. What about him?”

  “Billy brought him along. It was old Mac. He’s all right. He won’t give me away.”

  She looked at him in disgust. “All right! Nothing’s all right! If I don’t help you, I’ll be known for ever as the sister of a thief. If I do help you and I get caught, I’ll be put in prison, too!”

  He winced again. “Annie, I’m sorry! I am! I promise you I won’t do …”

  “Keep your promises till you’ve learned not to break them. And keep your voice down! I don’t want you waking Kathy and William up. The fewer people who know about this the better.”

  “But you will help me?”

  “Yes!” she spat at him, “Yes, I’ll help you now, but for my own sake, not for yours. And once this has all died down, that’s it. You can get out. I told you before – I’m not getting involved in anything dishonest.”

  “Annie!”

  “I mean it! You’ve put everything I’ve worked for at risk and I’ll never forgive you for that! Now, be quiet and listen. Your story is that you left Ma Corry’s tonight and you went to feed the donkey. Someone hit you over the head, which is why you’re bleeding, and that’s all you can remember. Right?”

  “Yes,” he breathed, face lighting up. “Yes, that might work.”

  “Go back to the stables now, as quickly as you can, and lie down somewhere as if you’d been hit. If anyone comes, moan a bit and pretend that you’re only half-conscious. I don’t care how cold it is, you must just lie there till they find you. It’s a pity we can’t knock you out properly, but we can’t, so you’ll just have to act the part. See that you make it convincing, that’s all. I’ll go back to bed, and if anyone comes round here, for whatever reason, I shall say I know nothing, except that you went out tonight for a drink. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  She had another idea. “Have you got a bottle of gin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then have a swig, so that you smell of it, and tip some over yourself. You were drunk when they hit you. You know nothing of what happened after that. Now, go on! You’ll have to be back at the shed before anyone goes there to check. Go out the back way and don’t make any noise.”

  At three o’clock in the morning Annie, lying tense and sleepless in bed, heard footsteps come along the street and pause at her door. Someone beat a firm rat-a-tat on it. Deliberately she waited for whoever it was to knock again and wake Kathy before she stirred. She’d grown used to sharing a room with Kathy now, because with Tom in the house she had no choice, but she still sometimes longed for a room of her own and a little privacy.

  Kathy sat up in the other narrow bed. “Annie! There’s someone at the door!”

  “Mmm. I heard. Who can it be at this time of night? I’d better go down and see. You stay here!”

  “No. I’m coming with you.”

  As they stumbled down the dark stairs the knocking started again. Annie flung open the door, simulating anger. “What do you think you’re doing? It’s the middle of the …” Her voice faltered when she saw three constables in the light of a lantern that one of them was holding. The other two were carrying a limp body.

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. It’s Mrs A
shworth, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your brother’s had an accident, I’m afraid.”

  There was real fear in her voice when she answered, because she could see that Tom was genuinely unconscious and his head was covered in blood. “Bring him in! What happened?”

  The two men laid him down on the rug in front of the hearth and stepped back to let her examine him. As they did, a voice quavered from the stairs, “What’s wrong with my Uncle Tom? Is he dead like Dad?”

  Kathy flew across to William. “No, love, he’s just hurt himself. You go back to bed.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed.”

  Annie spoke sternly. “Go to bed, William! You’re in our way. We have to see to your uncle. I’ll come up to you later.”

  He knew that tone of voice, so he turned reluctantly and made his way up the stairs, but for once he disobeyed her and stayed at the top out of sight, listening.

  Annie looked at the man who seemed to be in charge. “What happened?”

  “Someone must have attacked him, ma’am.”

  She had heard how polite the new town constables were, but she had never had cause to deal with one before. “But why? He never carried much money on him.”

  “We found him down by the sheds at the end of Church Lane. We think someone hit him over the head and then took your donkey and cart.”

  “Took Blackie? What for?”

  “To move some stolen goods.”

  “What! Did you catch the thieves?”

  “Er – no. Unfortunately there were several of the villains. We were misinformed about numbers and there were only the three of us. We found the donkey and cart but the thieves got away.”

  She bent over Tom to hide the relief that she was sure must be showing on her face. How had Tom got knocked out? She made a pretence of examining his injuries till she had control of herself. “This cut looks bad. I can’t stop it bleeding. I think I’d better send for Dr Lewis.”