To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  ‘No . . . I . . .’ She could, but none of it fitted with what this Ethel had said so far. A ladder? Mr Bartram falling? Something told her to hold her tongue and let Ethel tell her the version Mrs Bartram had given her.

  ‘Well, your stepfather beat you, me sister tells me. She said you arrived on her doorstep in a terrible state. Her old man was doing some repairs in the back. She took you through to take you upstairs, when he fell. You came off light, compared to him. That sod has his toes up and is six feet under by now, I should think. Though I ain’t sorry to hear of his demise. He gave me sister a hell of a life. She said in the letter as came with you to take care of you, and she’ll come as soon as the funeral is seen to.’

  ‘Where . . .’

  The woman had a way of not letting you finish a sentence. ‘You’re in my house in Leeds. I live on me own, since me husband passed on last year. I’ve never had young ’uns – me and me sister are the same in that. Don’t seem made for having them. Anyroad, do yer fancy a pot of tea? All this talking is drying me throat.’

  When she’d left the room, Bridget tried to make sense of it all. Memory hit her in painful jerks. Tears that she didn’t know whether to shed for her mammy, for what had happened to her own body or for the murder she’d witnessed streamed down her face.

  ‘If that helps, you have a good cry, lass. But listen. Things ain’t hopeless. You need never go back to him as done this to yer. Me sister intends to take care of you. You can stay here, if that’s what she has on her mind. I know she’ll tip up the money I’d need to look after you, and when you’re well again you can get a job and start a new life. Our Fanny’ll give you a reference. So, apart from the sadness in you as she says you just lost your ma, and the shock you’ve had and the beating you took, you’ve nowt to fret over. Get them out of yer and, thou knows, the world lies ahead of yer.’

  Bridget almost laughed. The list she’d reeled off had been enough for anyone to cope with, let alone saying things were all right apart from them! But she did stop crying, as she had another worry she needed to talk about. ‘I have a brother. I can’t leave him. I promised me mammy . . . he’s only five.’

  ‘Happen as he’ll be reet. Lads can take more than girls. Anyroad, until you’re on your feet there ain’t much as you can do about his situation, is there?’

  The realization of this truth helped. Ethel was right in all she said. She had to get herself settled before she could think about fetching Bert. In the meantime she had to find a way of living with the secrets inside her, because not to do so would damn Mrs Bartram and let the world know what had happened. And she couldn’t do that. Ethel’s next words put her mind at rest as to another question that she was about to ask.

  ‘And don’t think on what folk will say about you having gone. Me sister has put it all in her letter – though how she thought it all out after her tragedy and got it all dealt with, I’ll never know. She were always the timid one. Anyhow, she says as she’ll sort out your disappearance so no one comes asking. She’ll tell the police she got you away cos of your situation. She says they know of Bruiser and will understand, as will the folk around her. So I’d leave it to her. Sounds like she has everything sorted, and will tell us anything we don’t know when she comes calling.’

  Bridget lay back. Everything hurt. Pain racked her body and her head throbbed, but most of the hurt clogged her heart, to the point where she could have torn it from her. Oh, Mammy, Mammy, I won’t break me promise. I won’t. I’ll go back for Bert just as soon as I can . . .

  35

  August–December 1899

  The future generation

  Laura looked beautiful in every situation, Andrew thought. Jeremy had chosen well. He watched the small party of young people walk across the lawn to the summerhouse, on this beautiful August day. His eyes followed Laura in particular. He saw her throw her head back and could almost hear her lovely infectious laugh. Everything about her was focused on Jeremy, who had no doubt made a joke she’d found amusing. He hoped this love that his son and Laura obviously had for one another would grow and deepen.

  Andrew’s eyes looked heavenwards. Our son has chosen our own favourite place for his first official entertaining of Laura. What do you think of that, Old Thing? But I don’t have to guess, I know you will be as pleased as I am and think like me – that Laura will do very nicely.

  Moving away from the window, he rang the bell, and as usual Jameson appeared as if he’d been standing just outside the door. Yet whenever Andrew went looking for the butler, he was never there, but downstairs in his office. Funny, that.

  ‘I think I will take tea now, Jameson. And let Wilson know I’d like a lie-down before dinner. Ask him to prepare for me going up in an hour, please.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  Sitting on the comfy old sofa that Dvina had brought from Tarrington House, she again came into his thoughts. How she would have loved to be here today – to have seen her son grow up into such a decent, kind young man, though one with a strong will when he set his mind to something.

  Like him, Dvina had loved this room. She had chosen the decor: silver-grey and soft green. She’d had this sofa covered in silver with a thin green stripe running through it, so delicate that it was hardly discernible. Other chairs were either covered all over in silver or with the reverse effect of soft green with a silver stripe. The silk drapes, in the same green, had silver edgings to them. With the occasional tables in rich mahogany, the effect was of restfulness and elegance. How often had they sat in here together, discussing all manner of things? He wished he could have that chance now – just to sit with her and go over his concerns. He’d ask her to persuade Jeremy to start his training to take over the mine. A laugh welled up in him, as he could almost hear her response: ‘You’re just being selfish, my dear. You want him to relieve you from the drudgery that your work has become to you. Well, he is a young person, not someone to do your bidding or make your life easier!’ He knew that Dvina would have been right, but that didn’t help.

  A knock on the door paused his thoughts. Jameson served his tea, passing idle conversation about the weather. He remarked on how happy the young people sounded and how the staff were thrilled.

  ‘Yes, I suspect the staff have had enough of nothing going on around here. And so had I, Jameson. It did me good – as I know it did them – to have something like the shooting party to organize.’

  ‘Yes, it has put a fire back into everyone. May I ask, sir, what time Lord and Lady Meriden are expected back from the visit to their friends?’

  ‘Oh, I’d think around six. They know dinner is at seven, and will want to change, of course. How are their staff fitting in with you all?’

  ‘One or two clashes – nothing we can’t handle – as you find that those who serve the titled think themselves above the rest of us. Their butler wouldn’t even condescend to tell me the expected arrival time of his master. But I have them in their place and following our routine, instead of us changing to suit them.’

  Andrew would have liked to laugh out loud at this, but out of respect for Jameson he just said, ‘Well done. You keep a good ship, and all runs very well. We can’t have the toffs coming in and upsetting things.’

  ‘Quite, sir.’

  Talking about domestic arrangements, and his amusement at the hierarchy of the servants, had taken him out of what could have become a morose mood. Sitting back and enjoying his tea, he made himself stay in the present. He had to do something about his situation. If Jeremy’s plans didn’t change, then maybe he’d hire a manager? Yes, that would be the thing. In fact, he could do with two of them – an estate manager, as well as one for the mine. One thing was for sure: he couldn’t keep up his current pace, or he’d never live to see his grandchildren.

  Now that the idea had planted itself, he let it really take hold. He even began to plan how he and Lilly would spend the extra time that he’d have with her. These were very pleasant thoughts – yes, all in all, everything could tur
n out very well. Laura would make a fitting and excellent mistress of this house, and Jeremy had promised he’d only give ten years to the Army. So, if he himself took semi-retirement in the meantime, and the managers could support Jeremy when he was ready to take over the mine, life in his dotage would be very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed.

  The last night of 1899

  Bridget shifted her heavy body. The babby inside her protested at the move by kicking hard into her ribs. She rubbed the area. Her babby wasn’t due for another five weeks, end of January, Sister Bernadette reckoned. Tonight the new millennium dawned. A time that all and sundry said would bring new hope to the world, but she wouldn’t be celebrating. Not after last night. What happened in the kitchen last night would be etched onto her memory forever and a day.

  At first, after what Mr Bartram did to her, it had seemed everything would turn out fine. She had only to try to forget. That hadn’t been too difficult, as she had no memory of what Mr Bartram had done to her. She only remembered how she got to the shop, and the last bit, when she’d come round. Sometimes she could still feel the weight of him and how it had crushed the breath from her. At such times she could hear the animal-like noises he was making. But the other – the killing of Mr Bartram – that never went. It came into her nightmares, but she was learning to cope.

  She liked Ethel, and Ethel had taken to her. Mrs Bartram had got away with the story she’d made up and, free of her husband’s bullying and the misery he caused, she’d begun to thrive. She’d paid Ethel to take care of Bridget, and had even told Bridget to look into lessons for her to improve her education. And not just reading and writing – she’d talked of her becoming an accountant, saying she was good with figures, and she’d mentioned something about speaking proper English, like the rich. But then the sickness had started and Ethel had asked when she’d last had her bleeding, and it had all come crashing down.

  ‘I can’t keep you, lass. Me name’d be mud, with an unmarried living with me, and me being upstanding in the community. I’ll sort sommat out for yer,’ she’d said. What she’d sorted out had been St Michael’s, a home for unmarried mothers run by the nuns.

  Meeting Lucy Grampton had made life bearable here. Even though Lucy was top-drawer, they’d got on as if they’d known each other all of their lives. And now Lucy was dead.

  With both of them just five weeks off having their babbies, they hadn’t been sleeping well. Last night Lucy had had a thirst on her, and they’d crept down to the kitchen. They’d giggled with the thrill of their out-of-bounds escapade, and it had turned into a right game. Bumping into things and making a clatter in the dark, they had dodged a Sister on the way to the lav, and then Lucy had accidentally trodden on the cat and made it squeal. But that giggling had turned to horror when they entered the kitchen: Lucy had slipped and fallen, hitting the edge of the worktable first, had then crashing onto the slab floor.

  Bridget curled up now as best she could against Lucy’s screams, which still reverberated around her head. They had pebbled the flesh on her arms last night, just as thinking of them was doing now. She rubbed her forearm, trying to dispel the shock of what had followed: the pool of blood, the draining of colour from Lucy’s face, the awful moans, the agonized pushing, and the babby slipping out into a bath of her mother’s life-fluid. It had been a relief when Lucy finally lost consciousness, because then she could no longer cling onto Bridget and stop her going for help. Wrapping her nightgown around the babby, she’d run naked through the corridors, screaming for someone to come. Help had come too late for poor, lovely Lucy, but her little girl had lived.

  The door at the end of the dormitory creaked. The soft tread and the jangling of keys told her it was Sister Bernadette, whose gentle Irish lilt cut her heart with pain, it was so like her mammy’s. ‘Is it you in here all alone, Bridget, and that being the worst thing for you? Didn’t I tell that Ruth to stay with you till I could come to you?’

  ‘I just don’t want to be with anyone, Sister. I have so much hurt in me that it’s making me angry.’

  ‘I am for understanding that. ’Tis as you have been through a lot before you came to us, and with what happened last night it can be too much to bear. But ’tis as they say: sharing a problem can be halving it, so let us have a talk.’

  ‘How’s Lucy’s little girl?’

  ‘Oh, isn’t she the bonny little thing! We are having to take extra care as she is early coming into this world, but she will thrive, she is determined to, demanding attention at all hours. She’s after having dark hair, and though her eyes have not yet settled on what colour they are going to be, they look as though they will be dark, too. Just like Lucy’s, God rest her soul.’

  ‘I can’t believe it . . .’

  ‘’Tis God’s will, and none of us are for knowing how He does his work or the greater plan He has for us. Now, Lucy’s parents are here. They are wanting to see you, but ’tis as I have a powerful worry, as there could be trouble. What was it Lucy was for telling you of her circumstances?’

  ‘She told me a lot. Did you know as she was tricked, Sister Bernadette? Tricked by her own aunt?’

  ‘I am for knowing some of it, but I’m thinking we will need to tread with care. Let me sit next to you, wee one, as I am after wanting to know all you can tell me.’

  Once she’d moved up to make room on the bed, Sister Bernadette took Bridget’s hand. She looked into the nun’s lovely, soft, twinkly eyes and thought what a pretty face she had. And, as she often did in her dealings with Sister Bernadette, she wondered how she came to take the Holy Orders. She couldn’t have been more than about thirty, and with her looks and shapely, slender figure she would have attracted a husband easily.

  ‘Go on, my dear. Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘Well, Sister, Lucy thinks – thought – her aunt planned everything. She told me her mammy had had her very late in life, and her mammy’s sister still hadn’t had a child and was approaching the time when it would be too late. She was desperate, as there were rumours her husband would leave her. Lucy said he had a mistress. Anyroad, the aunt invited Lucy to go on holiday with her – well, it were more than a holiday. She’d taken a place in the south of France, and it was to last a year. Lucy said as she were that excited, as her life had been so dull.

  ‘Whilst she was there, a nephew of her uncle’s came to stay. Lucy fell in love with him. She said as she came under the spell of him. She thought that was down to her thinking of herself as on the shelf, cos she’d had no coming-out Season. With her parents being so old, they hadn’t wanted to bother with it all. So, she said, she did a silly thing and let this man’s attentions go to her head, but she came to realize that he was using her love for him in a blackmailing way. As if she was only in his affections if she did what he wanted her to. She liked the feeling of having someone of her own at last, and he took advantage of that.

  ‘One night he tried to go further than he should, and Lucy couldn’t fight him off. But she said as she didn’t try after that first time, as she loved him so much and he’d talked of marriage . . . She will go to Heaven, won’t she, Sister? Even though she did things out of wedlock?’

  ‘That is for the good Lord to decide, but I know Lucy attended confession and Mass, so it is likely she asked for forgiveness. In which case, yes, ’tis as she is with our Blessed Lady at this very moment, because I am for thinking our dear Mother in Heaven would take it on herself to greet all those who died trying to give birth.’

  Bridget hoped so, because that sounded lovely for Lucy. She might have had money, but from what she said, she’d had very little love. To think of her with the Holy Mother put a joy in her.

  Sister Bernadette interrupted her thoughts, asking, ‘Why was Lucy after thinking it was planned?’

  ‘Well, as soon as her condition was realized, her intended went off, and her aunt seemed to have everything sorted as to what was going to happen. She booked her in here and told Lucy no one would know, as she would take the babby as her own, and th
at would be that. Once Lucy had travelled back to France with the babby, she could return home with her uncle and aunt as if coming back from holiday and as if nothing had happened, other than her aunt finally having got a child of her own.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Now isn’t that cunning? Wouldn’t it be easy for the aunt to say she’d become pregnant, with her away from all of her usual companions? Yes, I’m thinking ’tis as Lucy thought, for hasn’t the aunt this good while given money to the convent? Now this is for being a secret between us, Bridget. You are not to tell a soul.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise, Sister.’

  ‘I know ’tis as I can trust you, and ’tis important for the future, so I can put things into place to benefit everyone. ’Tis as I am for thinking the Reverend Mother has the full knowledge of it all and has played her part. She was after telling us one evening that Lucy was very special and had to be treated as such, without the other girls realizing it. She said the girl was related to someone she had known at school. You see, it is as the Reverend Mother herself once came from money, only I understand her family lost everything they had. Sure, ’tis as what she did, she did to attract funds. But didn’t she bask in the glory of finding a beneficiary of such generosity? ’Tis sad, but an institution such as this rarely attracts one, and the bishop is very pleased, and for that small accolade my superior has facilitated a dreadful act on a defenceless girl, so she has.’

  Bridget didn’t know what to say. It all seemed like something you’d read in a book.

  ‘Bridget, ’tis a sad tale all round. Now, before I can do anything, I have to speak with you about the reason I asked you to meet me here. ’Tis as we have to discuss what will happen to your own child.’

  ‘I don’t want it taken from me, Sister . . .’

  ‘Well, now, my wee one, have you something sorted where ’tis as you can take care of it?’