Born to Trouble

by Rita Bradshaw

  Looking up into the blue, blue sky, she longed for Seth like she hadn’t done for years. And with the thought of one brother, memories of James and Patrick crowded in. They had been little more than babies when she had been forced to flee the East End, now they’d be lads of nine and ten. She was old enough to stand up to her mother this time round, so why shouldn’t she seek her brothers out? She was free now, free to do what her heart told her. Once she was reunited with James and Patrick, she could make enquiries and see if she could find out which prison Seth and the others were held in. Or maybe they were back in the community? Whatever, she’d try to trace them.

  The melancholy calls of lapwings in the stubblefields picking off the plentiful supply of grubs and beetles drifted on the air. Halimena had taught her that those birds were the host of departed human spirits who could find no rest and were doomed to wander the earth; their cries, which sounded like, ‘Bewitched, bewitched!’ were proof of this and were thought to bring evil down upon all who heard them. Halimena had plenty of stories like this and all contained gloom and destruction.

  Pearl closed her eyes for a moment. She had always thought the birds beautiful with their distinctive raised crest and prominent black and white markings shot with iridescent specks of metallic turquoise. Halimena had seen death and darkness, while she had seen beauty and grace. The lapwings were birds, that was all. Halimena was wrong.

  She opened her eyes. And if she could be wrong about the lapwings, she could be wrong about the curse. Christopher would live, Byron would be reunited with his family in time, and she? She would find James and Patrick and the others.

  Rising to her feet, Pearl picked up her small bundle of belongings and set her face for the town she had left behind eight years before.

  PART FOUR

  Atonement

  October 1908

  Chapter 14

  It was the first week of October – a cold, bleak October with icy rain and bitter winds. Pearl was standing outside the forbidding building of the Union Workhouse and she was trembling, not so much because of the weather, although her thin coat and felt hat offered little protection, but because she had every reason to believe James and Patrick were incarcerated behind its walls. She had knocked on the workhouse doors earlier in the week but had been told to come back on Visiting Day by the porter who had barred her way.

  Like all working-class folk, Pearl had a fear of the workhouse which bordered on horror. Everyone knew that to enter its walls was to give up hope. Men were separated from women, thus breaking up families, and both groups were divided into the able-bodied, the aged and children. The sick and mentally ill had their own quarters, and this ward could be smelled as soon as you stepped through the workhouse doors. She knew this, along with the fact that all inmates wore hideous uniforms, and the hair of both boys and girls was cropped, subjecting them to ridicule if they were taken out of the workhouse confines, because her mother had told her so. Many a time Kitty had threatened to leave her children at the workhouse doors where they’d be taken in and made to eat food infested with cockroach droppings.

  Pulling her hat more firmly on her head, Pearl nerved herself to go inside. It was the only way she could check if her brothers were really inmates, and although she didn’t want them to be there, if they weren’t she didn’t know where else to look for them.

  She hadn’t arrived back in the town until the middle of September due to the fact that on her journey she had found a few weeks’ work picking fruit at a big farm. The farmer’s wife had been a kind, genial soul, allowing Pearl to sleep in one of the hay barns at night and providing her with the leftovers from their evening meal. With the fruit she’d eaten whilst working, this had meant Pearl had been able to save every precious penny of the wages she’d earned, rather than spend anything on food and lodging. The work had been exhausting but welcome; she’d fallen into the hay each night too tired to think.

  When she had left the farm and reached the town, she’d had enough money to rent a room in a lodging house in the East End. She had visited the Old Market and bought herself some cheap second-hand clothes and once she was tidy immediately looked for work, procuring a job at the pickling factory two streets away the next day. She hated the work; the brine was so strongly impregnated with salt that it made her hands raw, and the overpowering smell of fish worked its way into her hair, skin and clothes, but the worst thing was the fact that the four walls of the stinking factory seemed to press in on her after years of living in the fresh outdoors.

  That very first weekend, she’d made her way to Low Street only to find strangers living in the house in which she’d been born. They hadn’t any knowledge of what had become of her mother and brothers. She had knocked on neighbours’ doors but got no joy that first visit, but when she’d returned later in the week she had recognised a face from the past, a Mrs Weatherburn who lived at the end of the street. Mrs Weatherburn had invited her in and made her a cup of strong black tea, after which she’d informed Pearl that her mother had died years ago after falling into the fire whilst drunk and badly burning herself.

  ‘Dreadful business it was,’ Mrs Weatherburn told her. ‘Lingered for days, she did. Everyone said it was a merciful release when she went.’

  And her brothers? Pearl had asked. What had happened to James and Patrick?

  Mrs Weatherburn had looked at her compassionately. ‘Why, the workhouse of course, lass. They were put in the workhouse as I recollect, there being no family to take ’em.’

  No family. Pearl swallowed hard and then stepped up to the front door. Well, James and Patrick did have family – and if they were in this terrible place, she intended to get them out.

  The officer on duty in the vestibule was sitting at a long wooden desk with several big heavy ledgers in front of her. Two more female officers were standing by a pair of wooden doors which led into the hall of the building. There was a middle-aged couple in front of Pearl and a short stout man in front of them. Pearl watched as the man gave his name, then the name of the person he’d come to visit followed by a number. A ledger was opened, pages turned and then the sitting officer called a name and ward number to one of the officers by the door as the stout man walked across to them and disappeared into the hall. Pearl had never been to a prison but she couldn’t imagine the procedure was much different.

  The couple in front of her repeated the process and then it was her turn. Nervously she looked at the thin-faced officer. ‘My name is Pearl Croft and I’ve come to see my brothers, James and Patrick Croft.’

  ‘Ward?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The ward number.’

  ‘I – I don’t know the ward number.’

  ‘They’ve been recently admitted?’

  ‘No.’ Pearl was conscious of other folk behind her. ‘It was years ago.’

  ‘Which year?’ the officer asked woodenly, seemingly uninterested.

  ‘I think it was 1903 or maybe the beginning of 1904.’

  ‘Ages on admittance?’

  Pearl gulped. ‘James would have been five or thereabouts. Patrick’s a year younger.’

  A ledger was opened and pages flicked. ‘Croft, James and Patrick, West Five,’ the officer called without looking up.

  Pearl walked over to the wooden doors, her heart pounding.

  The smell which had been faint in the vestibule was stronger in the hall. A composite of urine and cabbage was the only way Pearl could describe it to herself. She was directed to a small wooden table which had two pairs of stools either side of it. There were many of these dotted about the hall. The stout man was sitting with a very old couple, probably his parents, Pearl thought. The old folk looked to be holding hands and they were sitting in silent misery, staring at the man who was talking jovially. The old man must have come from the men’s quarters and the woman from hers. This visiting time, once a week, would be the only time they would see each other.

  Tearing her eyes away from the pain in the old people’s faces, Pe
arl stared down at her hands clasped in her lap. She felt sick with horror and guilt that her baby brothers had ended up in such a place, terrified they would hate her, confused as to how she’d go about getting them out, and wildly elated that she was going to see them again.

  The couple who had been in front of her had just had a young girl brought to them by an officer. She was an odd-looking girl and appeared to be simple minded, but she was dressed in the distinctive yellow uniform which stated she was an unmarried mother. Pearl could hear her begging her parents to take her home. Her mother was crying but her father’s face was stony and the next moment he had seized his wife’s arm and pulled her up from her seat, literally dragging her out of the hall as their daughter’s wailing increased. The girl was ushered away by one of the officers present but no sooner had the door at the far end of the room closed than it opened again to reveal an officer with two children.

  Pearl’s heart lurched and jumped up into her throat. She had been frightened she wouldn’t recognise her brothers but they both bore a strong resemblance to Seth. She hadn’t expected that, and it tore afresh at her heart. They walked silently towards her, and although she was smiling through her tears there were no answering smiles on their pale thin faces. The calico shirts and trousers they were wearing looked clean enough, but James’s shirt was too small, his arms extending in an ungainly fashion from the sleeves like two sticks on which his red, chapped hands appeared too large.

  ‘Sit down.’ The officer’s voice was not unkind and she glanced at Pearl as she added, ‘They haven’t had a visitor before so the procedure’s unfamiliar.’

  Pearl kept her eyes on the small pinched faces in front of her as she said, ‘I’m their sister but I’ve – I’ve been away for a long time.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, you have an hour.’ With that the woman turned away and walked off.

  ‘Hello,’ Pearl said softly as she wiped her eyes on her handkerchief. ‘Do you remember me?’

  For a moment she didn’t think they were going to respond as they stared at her. Then as Patrick slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face, James whispered, ‘There was a pram an’ you used to push us.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She wanted to gather them up in her arms and hug and kiss them. ‘We used to go for walks and play games and sing songs. Can you remember any of the songs we knew?’

  James did not reply to this. What he did say was, even more quietly, ‘Mam said you left because we were naughty and you didn’t like us no more.’

  Pearl jerked as though she had been slapped across the face. Her mother had been a wicked soul. She had, she had. And she was glad she was dead. ‘That’s not true and Mam was very bad to lie to you like that. I was ill, I had to go far away to get better. I hated leaving you both. I cried every night for a long, long time. I – I missed you very much.’

  Patrick shot a quick glance at his brother but James kept his eyes on Pearl. ‘You didn’t say goodbye.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ How could she explain what had happened to two small boys? But then as she looked into James’s tense face, the eyes that stared back at her willed her to try. Bending forward, she swallowed to dislodge the lump that was choking her. ‘I was ill when I left because I’d been hurt. I – I’d been attacked, by one of the men who used to come and see Mam. Do you remember them?’

  Both boys nodded at this and Pearl told herself that of course they’d remember; their mother had been on the game right until she had died and the boys had been big enough at that point to recall how things had been.

  ‘Well, this man hurt me so badly I nearly died. For a whole week I was unconscious. Do you know what that means? It’s . . . it’s like when you sleep and don’t know anything that’s happening around you, only with unconsciousness you can’t wake up until you’re made better. The people who looked after me did make me better but they took me far away. I was only a little girl, James. Two years older than you are now. I wanted to come back to you and Patrick but I couldn’t.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let you?’

  It was simpler to nod and agree. ‘No, they wouldn’t let me. But they were kind and looked after me so I grew strong again.’

  James’s strained stance didn’t relax. He was mechanically rolling and unrolling the corner of his shirt. ‘Are you going away again?’

  ‘No, hinny. I’m never going to go away again, I promise.’

  The child tried to speak, but couldn’t. Such was the look on his face that Pearl forgot about everything and everyone else. Rising, she moved to their side of the table and knelt down, putting her arms round their thin bodies and squeezing them close. For a moment both boys were as stiff as boards and then as one they relaxed. Pearl sent up a swift prayer of thanks as their arms went round her and they buried their faces in her breast.

  ‘I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I can.’ After they’d stopped crying and she had wiped their faces, she continued kneeling between them. ‘You’ll come and live with me. It’ll be a squeeze, as I’ve only got one room, and we’ll have to manage carefully if we’re going to have enough for food and rent, but we’ll get by somehow, won’t we?’

  Both boys nodded vigorously, Patrick a few seconds after James. Pearl had the feeling he took the cue from his big brother in everything.

  ‘I don’t know how soon it can be arranged, so you’ll have to be patient for a bit, but you can do that, can’t you?’

  This time James was slower to nod. ‘But you will let us come and live with you?’

  ‘I promise.’ How they would manage she didn’t know. Her room was only large enough to take a single bed, one rickety chest of drawers and one small armchair which was so moth-eaten she was constantly picking up the straw filling and stuffing it back inside the holes in the arms and seat. But it was because of this it was so cheap to rent – that and the poor district. ‘But you’ll have to be good boys until it can be sorted out.’

  The hour passed quickly and when a bell clanged signifying the end of visiting time, both boys clung to her again. The officer who had brought them to her reappeared, and at a word from her James and Patrick immediately let go and stood with their heads down like small whipped dogs.

  No amount of blinking could keep the scalding tears from falling as Pearl watched the boys being led away, and once they had disappeared through the far doors she took a moment or two to compose herself and dry her eyes. Then she left the hall which was full of people saying goodbye and went to the desk in the vestibule. A different officer was sitting there but like the first one, her face looked as though it would crack if she smiled.

  ‘Yes?’ She looked up as Pearl stopped in front of her.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me?’ Pearl began politely. ‘I need to know the procedure for taking my brothers out of here.’

  The woman looked her up and down. ‘Taking them where?’

  ‘Home. Home with me.’

  ‘You say you are their sister. You have proof of this?’

  ‘Proof?’ Pearl repeated, slightly nonplussed.

  ‘A birth certificate?’ the officer said, speaking in such a way that suggested she suspected she was talking to a simpleton. ‘And we would need to know your address and the name of your husband’s employer. I take it you are married?’

  Pearl shook her head. ‘No, I’m not married.’

  ‘But you are living with family?’

  Again Pearl shook her head. ‘I have a job,’ she said desperately. ‘I can keep the three of us.’

  The woman sat back in her chair. ‘How old are you?’ she asked baldly.

  As Pearl didn’t have a birth certificate she thought she’d lose nothing by adding three years to her age. ‘Twenty-one,’ she lied, without blinking.

  A small smile touched the stern mouth. ‘You’re game, lass, I’ll say that for you,’ she said, quite kindly now. ‘But you haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting your brothers released into your custody. There’s rules and regulations, see? And
we have to be seen to abide by them. What if you took these lads and put them to work on the streets or something like that? Oh, I’m not saying you would, not for a minute, but you’d be surprised how many try and pull the wool over our eyes.’

  ‘But I have to get them out – I’ve promised them.’

  ‘What’s this job you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s in the pickling factory in the East End.’

  ‘And you earn what? A few bob a week?’

  Pearl nodded. Four shillings to be exact, and one shilling and thruppence went immediately on rent.

  ‘Lass, forget all about this notion. It’ll be kinder to you and them in the long run. In here they’re clothed and fed. They have a roof over their heads and schooling. Come and visit them when you’ve a mind, but leave it at that. Without a man behind you a young lass like you wouldn’t be considered a suitable person by the guardians, not in a month of Sundays.’

  Pearl was wringing her hands in her despair. ‘But I promised them.’

  The officer straightened, her eyes dropping to the papers on her desk. Her voice brisk, she said, ‘Well, you shouldn’t have.’ It was clearly the end of the conversation.

  As Pearl stood undecided, the outer doors opened and a man and woman strode through. The officer she’d been speaking to sprang immediately to her feet and the ones by the wooden inner doors opened them, nodding deferentially as the two sailed past.

  The couple hadn’t noticed her or glanced her way, but Pearl felt the blood draining from her body. She would know Mr F anywhere, and such was the shock, she felt sick and faint.

  As the officer sat down again she glanced at Pearl. ‘You all right, lass?’ she asked, her voice kind again. ‘Look, don’t take on so. Your brothers are all right.’