by Val Wood
‘But we’re not children, Ma.’ Bella couldn’t ever recall seeing her mother so dispirited. ‘Joe and William don’t need looking after, they’re practically grown men, and I don’t either, even though Nell does; and I’ll help you wi’ new bairn.’
Her mother didn’t answer but continued to gaze into space. Then, as Bella leaned across her to swing the kettle over the fire to make tea, her mother said softly, as if Bella hadn’t said anything at all, ‘So I’m relying on you to help me with it, Bella; I’m sorry, but there it is.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE WOODMAN INN had once been a simple country alehouse with a cellar for brewing and storing the ale, one small taproom with a table and bench for the customers, and an adjacent kitchen, which also served the household as a bedroom.
Over the years, as the narrow coast road opened up to the more adventurous travellers who braved the Holderness plain to reach the delights of sea and sand, the carpenter who lived there and his wife who brewed the ale decided that they should build on another room; they were often asked to provide accommodation for walkers, carriers and waggon drivers when they became bogged down in winter snow or mud. They were in any case short of space to house their four young sons and three daughters as well as themselves.
The carpenter called on his neighbours in the hamlet, as it was then – one a thatcher with not many calls on his time, one a labouring man and one a brickmaker – to help him build another room on to his house. After some ardent discussion over a particular tasty brew, it was decided that if they were to build two rooms instead of one, then so much the better, for the visitors, after enjoying a good night’s sleep, might also care to partake of a hearty breakfast in a cosy parlour.
A century later, when the carpenter, his wife and all his children had departed this life, the alehouse had grown significantly larger. It catered not only for the local trade but for even more visitors needing a rest stop as they traversed the countryside, and also as a meeting place for farmers, tradesmen, committee members and the like, of one club or another.
By the time Joseph and Sarah Thorp became tenants, the Woodman was a substantial square brick-building with a heavy wooden front door in the middle, a sash window on either side and two more above. At the side of the building could be seen the remnants of the original alehouse: a planked door into the kitchen, the slit of basement window set in the lower wall of brick and pebble and to the right of the door the original kitchen window, only now with three smaller windows on the floor above. Bella’s window was set in the roof, as was the narrow dormitory window at the rear of the building.
One cold November afternoon Bella took the sheets off the washing line in the paddock. In spite of the stiff easterly breeze that had been blowing all day, they were still damp. Annie had washed them on Monday, two days ago; yesterday had been wet and Bella had draped the sheets on the wooden clothes airer that hung above the range. She’d asked William to haul it up for her as the sheets were heavy and wet in spite of having been put twice through the mangle.
‘Who’ll haul up washing when I’m not here?’ he’d whispered. ‘Eh?’
She had shaken her head and said that she’d have to do it herself. ‘Don’t think that I can’t,’ she’d muttered, and today, even as her brothers ate their breakfast before going to work, she hadn’t asked them to help her pin the sheets to the washing line, but struggled to do it herself even though the wind had lashed them like the billowing sails of a ship.
She heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen door. ‘Bella. Bella! Can you come?’
Bella piled the sheets into the clothes basket and headed towards the house with it balanced on one hip. ‘I’m coming,’ she said. ‘What is it? There’s never a customer already?’
Her mother hung on to the doorframe. ‘No,’ she said. ‘At least I don’t think so.’
Now that her pregnancy was so far advanced Sarah kept herself mostly to the kitchen, where her main occupation was baking. She turned out scones and fruitcake, curd cheesecakes, Yorkshire parkin, small meat pies and various savouries, which Bella displayed under glass-domed covers on the counter in the taproom to tempt their customers.
Bella stifled a sigh. She had yet to fold the sheets and put them in the linen cupboard, and if they were still damp in the morning she would have to hang them outside yet again. She had asked Nell to set the table ready for when Joe and William came home; their meal, tea, as her mother always called it, was in the side oven keeping warm and they would all eat before opening the front door of the inn.
‘Bella,’ her mother said again. ‘It’s my time.’
‘What? Sorry? Time for what?’ She wasn’t really listening, but only thinking of what else there was to do; Joe and William would serve the customers while they were open, but after they had closed it would be left to her to clear away the dirty glasses and wash them, clean the counter and empty and wash the slop tray beneath the pumps, sweep the floor of tobacco ash and dirt from the customers’ boots, riddle the fire, and put up the guard. Then she would have to turn down the lamps and check that there were no candles burning in the smaller rooms. These rooms, the snugs, William called them, she cleaned out every morning, for lit only by candlelight she never felt comfortable, disturbed always by memories of her father.
‘Time,’ her mother repeated. ‘For birthing.’
‘For birthing?’ Bella mouthed the words. ‘Oh! You mean—’
‘What else?’ her mother said sharply. ‘Go find Nell and tell her to ask Mrs Simmonds to come.’
‘Don’t you want ’doctor?’ Bella licked her lips. ‘I can get Joe or William to—’
‘No. I don’t want any doctor.’ Her mother stepped back from the doorway to let Bella through. ‘Stupid girl; course I don’t want any man here. Why would I? Ada Simmonds knows what to do better’n any doctor.’
Bella put down the wash basket and kicked off her rubber boots, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She hadn’t been expecting this yet.
‘Are you sure, Ma?’ she said breathlessly.
‘Course I’m sure,’ her mother said abruptly. ‘Haven’t I had four bairns already? Don’t I know ’signs? Anyway,’ she said a trifle more tolerantly, as if she had just realized that Bella wouldn’t have known, ‘bairns come when they’re good and ready and this one’s ready now.’
‘Erm, had you better come in and sit down? Where is Nell? Has she laid ’table like I asked?’
‘I don’t know,’ her mother said wearily and turned towards the kitchen. ‘I’ve called and called, but she hasn’t answered.’
Bella went to the bottom of the stairs and called up. ‘Nell! Nell! Come down now. You’re needed for an errand. Be quick.
‘She’s not there and she’s not outside,’ she said, coming back. ‘I’d have seen her. And she hasn’t done ’table! She’s gone off somewhere. Should you be upstairs, Ma? Shall I take you up before I run for Mrs Simmonds myself?’
‘There’s no need to run.’ Her mother lowered herself on to a kitchen chair. ‘It won’t be here for hours, mebbe not even until morning.’
‘Oh! As long as that.’ Bella didn’t know how long it took. She had watched lambs being born, and puppies and kittens, and they seemed to pop out very quickly. She didn’t remember Nell being born, being not much more than a baby herself at the time. ‘So – do you want Mrs Simmonds to come now?’
‘I want her to know that things are happening,’ her mother explained slowly and carefully. ‘If she comes now, or at least as soon as she can, then she’ll be able to say how long it’ll tek. They have a way of telling,’ she added.
‘So will you be all right on your own while I run down to ’village? If I see Joe or William I’ll ask them to go and then I’ll come straight back.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother arched her back slightly as if it ached and put her hand there. ‘I’ll be all right. And when you come back mebbe you’ll wrap up a hot brick to put against my back.’
‘I’ll heat
it now.’ Bella went to the cupboard where they kept a clean brick especially for the purpose, wrapped it in a piece of old sheet and put it in the oven. ‘It’ll be warm when I come back. Don’t try to go upstairs on your own, will you?’ she said, lacing up her boots. She had a sudden vision of her father going down the cellar steps and then not being able to get up them again. ‘I’ll not be long,’ she said nervously as she went out of the door.
She saw her brothers walking up the hill and ran towards them.
‘Where’re you off to?’ Joe said. ‘Have you got tea ready? I’m starving.’
‘Ma’s started wi’ babby,’ she said, flustered. ‘I’ve to fetch Mrs Simmonds. Your tea’s in ’oven, but don’t start till I get back.’
‘What ’we having?’ Joe asked. ‘You didn’t give us much packing up for dinner.’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ she snapped. ‘I just said that Ma’s started wi’ babby and all you’re bothered about is your empty belly!’
‘I’ll fetch her,’ William offered. ‘Mrs Simmonds, I mean. Where does she live?’
‘You know where Lizzie Stephens lives? Next door to her. It’s ’cottage with ’green door. Can you ask her to come as soon as possible, please?’
William handed his work bag to Joe, turned about and sped back the way he had come. Bella watched him go with some relief; she had felt uneasy leaving her mother alone, the image of her father dominating her mind.
She turned back and began to run up the hill.
‘Hey,’ Joe called after her. ‘Put ’kettle on for a cup o’ tea.’
‘I will,’ she muttered. ‘But not for you.’
She made her mother a pot of tea, told her that William had gone for Mrs Simmonds, and put the warm brick at her back. She asked her if she’d like something to eat but Sarah said not. Bella hovered, not knowing what to do next, and her mother sighed.
‘Just get on wi’ whatever you have to do, Bella,’ she said. ‘Don’t just stand there. Set ’table for tea; ’lads’ll be here in a minute. Wherever has Nell got to?’
‘I don’t know, and it’s getting dark. I don’t want to have to go and look for her.’
There came a clamour of voices from outside and the door was opened by Joe, who was followed in by Nell.
‘William’s on his way,’ Joe said. ‘He’s halfway up ’hill. Hey up, Ma! You all right?’
‘As right as I’m ever likely to be,’ she mumbled. ‘Where’ve you been, Nell?’
Nell spun round in a circle with her arms held high. ‘Just larkin’ about,’ she said airily.
‘Larkin’ about!’ Bella said furiously. ‘You were supposed to be setting ’table. Do it now. Then I’ll dish up. There’s a clean cloth in ’drawer.’
With a resigned grimace Nell did as she asked, but she put the cloth on the table so that it hung lower on one side than the other and then spun round again as if dancing.
‘Cutlery!’ Bella thundered. ‘For goodness’ sake, do I have to tell you every little thing?’
‘Bella!’ her mother said sharply. ‘You’re mekkin’ my head ache. Do it yourself if she can’t do it right.’
William came in. ‘Mrs Simmonds’ll be half an hour, Ma. Is that all right? She said to run back if it isn’t and she’ll come straight away. I think she was just putting ’food on ’table.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Yes.’ She handed Bella her cup. ‘I think I might go upstairs,’ she murmured. ‘Will you come up wi’ me?’
Bella put down the handful of cutlery and jabbed sharply with her forefinger to indicate that Nell should finish setting the table, then went to help her mother out of the chair.
‘I’m not an invalid.’ Her mother shook off her proffered hand. ‘I can manage. I just want to tell you what I’ll need.’
‘I’m starving,’ Joe said and sat down at the table. ‘What ’we having?’
Bella sighed. It seemed that she couldn’t do right for doing wrong. ‘Cheese pudding and boiled ham,’ she muttered. ‘Like it or lump it.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
BY THE TIME Mrs Simmonds arrived everyone had eaten and Bella had asked Nell to clear away and start the dishes. Her sister had begun to grumble but stopped when Mrs Simmonds knocked on the kitchen door and came straight in.
‘Come up, please,’ Bella said. ‘Ma said she wanted to have a lie-down.’
‘Quite right,’ the midwife answered, glancing round. ‘Better get her rest now while she can, though I expect she’ll be pleased to have your help; still, you’re all old enough to be able to look after yourselves, aren’t you?’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Bella said ironically as she saw both Joe and William with their legs stretched out before the fire. ‘It’s nearly time to open up,’ she said to her brothers. ‘Are you going to get out of your working clothes?’
William got up immediately and headed towards the stairs before Bella did, but Joe still sat there without moving.
‘When I’m good and ready,’ he muttered. ‘Not before.’
Mrs Simmonds gave a little shrug and turned down her mouth. ‘Lads,’ she muttered. ‘He’s not like your da, is he? He was a worker all right, and it’s a pity he’s gone.’
‘Yes,’ Bella said quietly. ‘This way, please, Mrs Simmonds.’
The child, a boy, was born in the early hours of the following morning.
‘Well, there’ll be no more, you can be sure of that.’ Ada Simmonds wiped the sweat off her own brow before wrapping the baby in a clean towel and bending over the mother to put him in her arms.
‘Give him to Bella,’ Sarah said, turning her head away. ‘I just want to sleep.’
Mrs Simmonds raised her eyebrows, but said nothing and opened the door. Bella was sitting at the top of the stairs with her head bent to her knees.
‘Come on in, lass,’ the midwife said. ‘Your ma’s fair worn out.’
Bella scrambled to her feet, almost falling over with tiredness. Everyone else had gone to bed, the bedroom doors firmly shut.
As Bella took the child from Mrs Simmonds and saw his damp dark hair, his flickering eyelids and rosebud mouth, she had a sudden vague memory of another baby, Nell, who had taken her place at her mother’s breast. A recollection of being pushed away so that the newcomer could suckle instead of her, and of howling in dismay until a sharp slap on her leg made her catch her breath.
Now she looked down at this sleeping babe and smiled. ‘He’s beautiful, Ma, simply beautiful.’
Her mother didn’t answer, but lay gazing towards the window, not seeing, only remembering.
‘What’ll we call him?’ Bella asked softly. ‘I wish we could have called him Joseph after Father, but we can’t cos of Joe.’
‘Henry,’ her mother murmured. ‘It was your father’s middle name.’
‘Henry! I never knew,’ Bella said. ‘That’s a good name. Does he need feeding? Will he be hungry?’
‘He’s all right for a bit.’ Mrs Simmonds took him from her. ‘Let’s put him down for a rest whilst your ma has a sleep; he’s had a rough old journey, haven’t you, my lovely?’ She stroked his cheek. ‘He’s a right bonny bairn. Look at all that hair – he’s going to look just like his da.’
She placed the baby in a crib, one that Sarah had asked William to bring down from a cupboard in the dormitory loft only a week ago and Bella had all but forgotten was there.
‘I’m going home now,’ Mrs Simmonds said. ‘I’m fair wore out. I’ll be back later in ’morning. If bairn cries,’ she added to Bella, ‘give him a drop o’ cool water on a spoon till your ma’s ready to give him his first feed. Not too cold, or you’ll give him belly ache. And not too hot either.’
Bella drew in a breath. Oh! She hadn’t thought that she’d be responsible for him; what if he cried and she was asleep?
‘What if I don’t hear him?’ she said.
Mrs Simmonds gave a wry grin. ‘You’ll hear him,’ she said. ‘But keep your bedroom door open.’
Bella bit on her lip. ‘My room�
��s in ’roof,’ she said. ‘I might not.’
‘Sleep in ’chair, Bella.’ Her mother’s voice came from the depths of the bed. ‘It’s onny for one night. I’m that tired.’
‘All right, Ma. Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother’s voice was a mere whisper. ‘Good girl.’
Bella brought a pillow and a blanket from her bed and pulled the basket chair nearer to the crib. Henry was wrapped so tightly she could only see the top of his dark head. I hope he doesn’t suffocate; what if he can’t breathe? With one finger she eased the sheet that swaddled him and made a space near his throat, then ran her finger down his cheek. So soft and smooth. His skin not pink now as it had been, but pale, the colour of the inside of a sea shell, she decided; ivory, that’s what it might be, not that she had ever seen a piece of ivory, only read about it in a book of poetry.
She wrapped the blanket round her shoulders and tucked the pillow behind her back and heaved a sigh. How long would it be before her mother could take charge again? And how would she run the inn with a baby to tend? Of course she had done it before, but Bella’s father was the innkeeper then, her mother doing the cooking and the housework.
Joe, she thought sleepily. He’s been dropping hints that he should give up his apprenticeship and come into the inn full time. But he’s lazy. He won’t get up in a morning. Their father had always been an early riser until his unfortunate illness. Everything had been prepared for the opening of the inn at precisely ten o’clock each morning except Sunday when they were closed all day. They closed at three on a weekday until five so that Joseph might have a rest, but were open all day Saturday from ten o’clock until the last customer left, which in this country district was usually half past nine.
Joseph had suggested these hours when he’d first applied for a licence but they were not hard and fast, and since his death Bella and her mother had varied them during the day to suit not only their regular customers but themselves too. In the evenings, their busiest hours, Joe and William served in the bar as soon as they were washed and changed and had finished their meal.