Salem Street

by Anna Jacobs

  “I’ll go an’ get him,” said Kathy at once.

  “Ahem. I’ll send one of my men, miss. Not safe for a young woman to be out on her own at this time of the night. Farnham, go and ask the doctor to come out here to Mr Gibson, then go back to the shed and see to that bloody donkey. Ahem. Pardon the language, ma’am, but it’s not a very – er – easy animal tonight. Something seems to have upset it.”

  “Thank you. Is – is the cart all right?”

  “Bit scratched. Nothing much. And – er – perhaps you could suggest to your brother that he doesn’t drink so much in future, ma’am.”

  “Yes. Yes, I will. I most certainly will. I’ll do more than suggest it. He’ll get the sharp edge of my tongue when he wakes up, I can tell you.”

  The constables were grinning as they left.

  When they had gone, Annie tried to clean Tom up a bit, while Kathy lit the fire. It was a chill night. Annie was worried about Tom. How had he got knocked out? For a moment she was taken back in time to the night soon after her mother had died, when her father had hit Tom and she’d had to run for the new doctor. Tom was breathing in the same heavy way now. She sighed. She must pull herself together. She had to keep all her wits about her.

  Fifteen minutes later Jeremy Lewis arrived. He went straight across to Tom. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know exactly. The law officers found him like this down at the shed where we keep Blackie, our donkey. They think he was hit over the head by the person who stole the donkey and cart.”

  “He’s certainly had a nasty crack on the back of the head. And that’s a bad gash on his forehead, too. I seem to make a habit of sewing his head up, don’t I?”

  She smiled, as he had meant her to and their eyes met over Tom’s unconscious body. As usual, she felt comforted by his mere presence.

  As the doctor was finishing, Tom started to regain consciousness. “Don’t … Annie … stolen!” he muttered.

  “Shh! You’re all right,” she whispered, afraid he’d give something away.

  “He’ll probably be half-conscious like that for hours,” warned Jeremy. “It’d be best if someone stayed with him.”

  “I’ll sit up with him.” Annie forced herself to smile at the doctor. “Thank you for coming at this hour. You look exhausted.”

  Kathy came in from the back room. “I’ve just brewed some tea. Would you like a cup, doctor?”

  Annie could have screamed at her. All she wanted was to get Jeremy Lewis out of the house, in case Tom said something he shouldn’t.

  “I’d love a cup!”

  Jeremy Lewis stayed on for a quarter of an hour, chatting comfortably until Annie thought he would never go. At last, however, he stood up. “I must go and get some sleep, or I’ll be no use to my patients today.” He paused for a final look at Tom. “I’ll call in sometime tomorrow. Don’t try to move him upstairs until he can walk himself.”

  When he’d gone Annie slipped upstairs to check on William, who was fast asleep on the landing, with a tear-stained face. She carried him to his bed and tucked him in, kissing his cheek. As she was walking downstairs the tiredness and reaction hit her. She turned into the front room in time to hear Tom say loudly and clearly, “They’ll catch me! It’s stolen stuff.”

  She looked at Kathy, but Kathy’s expression remained calm. “It’s all right, Annie, love. I heard Tom come back earlier. I knew summat were wrong. What did he steal? Is it safe hidden? Is there anythin’ I can do to help?”

  Only then did Annie fall into a chair and start to sob.

  For the next few days Annie refused to speak to Tom. He soon began to pick up, for he had as strong a constitution as her own. She left his care mainly to Kathy and kept William away from his uncle as much as possible. She alternated between feeling furiously angry with her brother and coldly disgusted. The only time she did say anything to him voluntarily was when she asked him abruptly one day, “How did you get knocked out? You never said how that happened.”

  “I did it meself.”

  “ You did? I don’t understand.”

  “You said it was a pity you couldn’t knock me out properly. It seemed like a good idea, so I took a few swigs of gin and banged my head on the wall. I was a bit drunk. I banged too hard.”

  “Oh.”

  One day, two weeks later, Tom caught her on her own. “Annie, we have to talk about it.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. I just want you to keep out of my way.” Then suddenly the anger welled up inside her and erupted into a fury. “Go on! Get out!” she screamed at him. “I told you when Charlie died that I’d have no sharp practices, no dishonest dealings. And you’ve let me down!” She tried to push him towards the door, beating at him with her fists till he had to hold her off him.

  “Annie! Annie, listen. Don’t chuck me out! I swear I’ve learned my lesson! I won’t do anythin’ like that again. I promise I won’t!” He tried to dodge her flailing fists.

  “I won’t have to chuck you out. They’ll come and take you away one day. It’s not like the old days, with one parish constable, you know. We’ve got proper town constables in Bilsden now.” She kicked him on the shins.

  He began to get angry, too. “You bloody vixen! Ouch! Stop it, will you!” He shook her.

  A small body hurtled across the room from the kitchen and attacked Tom from the rear. “You let go of my mother!”

  Tom pushed William aside and gave Annie another shake. “Damn you, our Annie! You can’t chuck me out. You need me! I’ve doubled the turnover and you know it. It’s my business too, now!”

  She sagged against him. “You rotten bastard!” For her to swear like that showed how upset she was. His grasp slackened and she pushed away from him and went to cling to the mantelpiece, for her legs were shaking. She stared unseeingly into the flames. William went and stood beside her, bewildered, but loyal.

  “Annie?” said Tom tentatively, after a few minutes had crawled past without a sign from her. “Annie – I know I’ve been a fool, but Annie, I don’t want it to end. It went to my head, I think, livin’ so posh, earnin’ good money, feelin’ free. I got greedy. And I’d had too much to drink that night. I give you my word that I won’t ever do anything like that again. Nor I won’t drink so much.” He shuddered.

  “Your word!” she flung back at him. “We agreed to keep things honest when you came in with me. You gave me your word then. Well, I can’t afford to take any more risks and I don’t trust your word. You’d better get out.” She spoke calmly now, her voice resolute and this frightened him more than her fury had.

  William, at her side, gave a sudden sob. “Don’t send Uncle Tom away, mother! I don’t w-want him to go. Please, mother!”

  She tried to gather the child in her arms, but he fought her off.

  “Tom’s done something wrong, William.”

  “But he said he was sorry. I heard him. He said he wouldn’t do it again.”

  “He’s said that before. I don’t believe him.”

  “It’s no good, William,” said Tom, touched by his young defender’s words. “She’s right. I’d better go.”

  “But – who’ll get the stuff for us? Who’ll look after the stall? I can’t do it yet. I’m too little.” William burst into noisy sobs. “You can’t send him away, you can’t!”

  Tom tried a desperate last appeal. “Annie, I swear I mean it this time. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not cut out for crime. I was scared witless. I don’t want to lose what we’ve got. Please, Annie, just …”

  She was wavering, but not yet ready to give in. “I could live off the rents of my cottages, you know,” she threatened. “With that and my sewing I’d manage all right. I don’t need you as much as you need me.”

  He played his last card. “But would you feel safe at nights?”

  She stared at him and let out her breath in a long shuddering sound. “I’ve got Sammy. He’s a good watch dog.”

  “He’s getting old. He wasn’t much help to you with Jim
Catterall when Charlie died, not with him shut outside in the yard. You need me, Annie, need me inside the house to protect you.”

  She looked at him, chewing her lip. She might have known Tom would work on her weak point. Should she trust him? Dared she trust him again? Only – how would she manage on her own? He’d struck home there. She was afraid to live alone.

  “If you give up the business, Annie, what’ll you do about our William? There’ll be no fancy schools for him if you have to cut back.” Tom let that sink in, waiting quietly, sensing that he’d hit the right note there. She’d do anything for William.

  She expelled a whoosh of breath and her shoulders sagged. “All right, then.” She spoke tiredly. “One last chance. But it really is the last chance. I can’t go through this again, Tom. I just can’t face it ever again!”

  William poked his head out from behind his mother. He scowled up at his uncle. “Promise to be good now, Uncle Tom! I don’t like it when you make my mother cry.”

  The tension relaxed and they both smiled down at the little boy.

  “All right, our William.” Tom ruffled his nephew’s hair. “I promise to be good.” He was near to tears, as he looked at Annie. “I mean it,” he said softly. “I really do mean it!”

  25

  January to March 1845

  Just after Christmas, Sally came into Number Eight, flushed and tremulous. “Annie, love! Oh, Annie!”

  “Why, Sally! What’s the matter?”

  “Such news! I don’t know whether I’m on me head or me feet!” She collapsed into a chair and sat there, shaking her head from side to side and trying to find the words to tell her news.

  “Well, come on, what is it?” Annie demanded, uncertain whether the news was good or bad.

  “It – it’s my Harry,” Sally got out at last.

  “What about your Harry? Is something wrong with him? He didn’t come to see you last week, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t come. But he came yesterday. And there’s nothin’ wrong – not wrong, no. I – it’s his wife. She – she died last week. That’s why he couldn’t come to see me. She’s been ailing for years, but no one thought she was any worse. But anyway, she just died in her sleep. Harry came to see me last night and he said – he— Oh, Annie, he asked me to marry him.” She burst into tears and buried her head in her apron.

  Annie went and put her arms round her friend. “But Sally, that’s marvellous news!”

  Sally looked at her through swimming eyes. “I – I can’t seem to take it in. Imagine it! Me, a respectable married woman!” The tears flowed again. “He – he says we’ll have to wait six months or so, but then we can get wed and go to live in his house in Oldham. He’s only got one daughter and his youngest son left at home now. He says they can like it or lump it.”

  Annie hugged her again. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time!”

  “Yes, but – but what if someone found out about me – about what I was?”

  “Why should they? You’ve been away from that sort of thing for how long – sixteen years? Who’s to remember anything?” She sat down and sighed. “But I’ll miss you, Sally. It won’t be the same in the street without you. Everyone I grew up with will have left when you go.”

  “Then you think I should go ahead? Accept?”

  “Of course I do, you daft thing! No question of it!”

  Sally shook her head. “I told him to go an’ think it over for a week or two, but he said he’d already thought it over and he’d marry me tomorrow if he could, only that’d put people’s backs up.”

  “Well, he couldn’t say fairer than that, could he?”

  “No – I just – it’s been such a shock. An’ I do want to do the right thing by him. He’s a lovely man an’ he’s been that good to me. I really love him, Annie.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  They shared a cup of tea, then Sally remarked inconsequentially, “It’ll give me time to grow me hair grey, any road.”

  “Your hair?”

  “Aye. I’ve been touchin’ it up a bit. But we’re to say I’m a widow, so it’ll look a bit more respectable, like, if me hair’s grey.”

  Annie refrained from smiling.

  “And I want you to make me some new clothes, Annie, love.”

  “New clothes?”

  “Yes. Something a bit quieter, like, but good. A silk for best and some dark dresses. My stuff’s too bright. I like a touch of colour, but widows don’t have orange dresses, even I know that. I’ll need some fancy caps and aprons, the frilly, lacy sort. You know.”

  “Don’t you think you should go to a proper dressmaker in Manchester? I’ve never made a silk dress.”

  “You are a proper dressmaker! You always get a lovely fit, even with that second-hand stuff, an’ you’ve a rare way of settin’ in a sleeve. It takes a good dressmaker to cut a sleeve just right, ’specially with these tight sleeves. A full sleeve can hide a lot of faults, but a tight one has to fit without wrinkles.”

  So Annie found herself with her first silk dress to make. When she confided her fears to Pauline Hinchcliffe, she was told in no uncertain terms that it was about time she started making for ladies. After she’d finished doing Mrs Smith’s dress, she could make up a new silk for Pauline. It’d be good practice for her. They’d start studying The Ladies’ Fashion Calendar together, so that they could pick out something suitable. Not that she, Pauline, wanted one of those ridiculous creations one saw illustrated, with skirts so wide you couldn’t get through a door, but she owed it to her position to dress well.

  A few days later, faced with twenty yards of lustrous lavender silk, Annie felt her mouth go dry and her scissors turn to lead. “I can’t!” she whispered to Alice. “I daren’t! What if I ruin it?”

  “Get on with you!” retorted Alice, who had no such sensitivities. “You work miracles with the old stuff an’ with cheap woollens, an’ them’s as hard to make up as anythin’. I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ what you do with this.”

  Her mouth as dry as ashes, Annie made a hesitant first snip along the lines she’d chalked in so carefully. She’d already checked them several times, but she put her scissors down again and re-checked her measurements. Finally, unable to postpone the moment any longer, she slowly cut out a bodice front. Her movements gathered speed and in a short time, she had a pile of neatly-folded pieces on the table in front of her. She then cut out the lining, after which Alice and Kathy pulled their stools up to the table and began to help her to baste the pieces together.

  “Lovely, it is!” said Kathy reverently, stroking the shiny material.

  The dress was, of course, a success, not only perfect in fit and fashionable in style, but also subtly flattering to Sally’s plump figure. Pauline Hinchcliffe, taking, Annie felt, an over-keen interest in the whole business, came along and demanded to be shown the results of her labours, so Sally had to be called in to parade her new dress.

  “Er – this is my neighbour, Mrs Smith,” said Annie, wondering what Pauline would say if she knew of Sally’s past. She had to cough to hide a chuckle at the thought.

  “How do you do?” Pauline shook hands graciously with Sally. “I hear you are soon to be remarried, Mrs Smith. Please accept my best wishes for your future happiness.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “Now, turn round and let me look at the fit. Oh, yes, excellent! Annie, you’re even better than I had thought. No doubt about it, you shall make me some dresses for the spring. A nice fawn, I think, or grey.”

  Annie, to her own surprise, heard herself daring to contradict her benefactress, “Not fawn,” she said firmly, “nor grey, either! You should never wear those colours with your colouring, Mrs Hinchcliffe.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Pauline didn’t know whether to be amused or offended.

  Annie swallowed. “I said – not fawn or grey. You should wear soft pinks or blues, or even certain greens, though not bright colours. Fawn and grey are the worst possible colours for yo
u!”

  A hint of annoyance crept into Pauline’s voice. “I like fawn and grey. They are particularly suitable for a minister’s wife.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, thought Annie, who had longed for years to do something about the way Pauline Hinchcliffe dressed. “Well, I’m not making you a dress that won’t suit you. If you want me to do it, you’ll have to choose a colour that flatters you.”

  “You can’t tell a customer what colour she should choose!” exclaimed Pauline.

  Alice stood at the back of the room like one turned to stone. Had Annie gone mad? Here she was, being given a golden opportunity and she was arguing with a customer! Sally, also horrified, tried to catch Annie’s eye.

  “What’s the point in me making dresses for you, if they don’t flatter you?” persisted Annie. “You’ve been on at me for a while to set up as a fashionable ladies’ dressmaker. Presumably you’ll be kind enough to tell everyone that I make for you. But that won’t be much good, unless your dresses look different and better than the ones you’ve been having made. So I won’t make you a dress in a colour or style that doesn’t suit you.” She folded her arms and nodded her head decisively. Alice’s heart sank. She knew how stubborn Annie could be when she set her mind on something.

  Pauline decided to be amused. “Annie, I know that you mean well, but you can’t dictate what a customer should buy or wear! You have to let your customers choose what they want, even if you know it’ll look awful. Not that I consider fawn and grey will look awful in my own case!”

  “If I set up as a ladies’ dressmaker – I say if, because I’m still not sure I want to – but if I do, then I’m not going to be just any provincial dressmaker,” Annie declared, unconsciously using one of Mrs Lewis’s favourite phrases. “Every time I go into the town centre, I see ladies wearing things that don’t suit them.”

  “Yes, well, that’s their own choice, Annie.”

  “And,” Annie went on, determined to make her point, “Miss Pinkley has been dressmaking in this town for years, but nobody has a good word for her, nobody, and it’s partly because she lets her clients choose unsuitable styles and materials. Her sewing’s not that bad. The ladies let her make for their daughters – she does Miss Marianne’s clothes – and they let her make an occasional everyday dress, but for their best things they always go into Manchester – and they still choose wrongly! I worked for Mrs Lewis for years and she has the best dress sense of any woman I’ve ever seen. You couldn’t help learning what looks right with what, if you worked for her. So, if I decide to set up as a proper dressmaker, I’ll put what she taught me into practice. I will not make up things that I know are wrong!”