Farewell to Lancashire

by Anna Jacobs

  Livia went across to the bed, crouching beside Cassandra, her full skirts billowing around her on the dusty floor. ‘What have you called her?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘Nothing. What’s the point? She’s going to die. I’ve hardly any milk.’

  ‘We won’t let her die.’ Livia stood up. ‘I’ve brought some baby clothes and I’ll find some goat’s milk for her and food for you. Maybe your milk will come back if you eat better.’ She turned to the husband and her voice softened. ‘I know it’s hard to accept charity, but for their sake, you must, Mr Wright. We’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  ‘Have you a jug?’ Cassandra asked.

  He got it down from the shelf and stared at its chipped rim for a moment. ‘It wasn’t good enough to pawn but it’ll hold the milk.’ He thrust it into Cassandra’s hands.

  As they closed the door, they heard his muffled sobs and his wife’s murmurs.

  Livia led the way to the baker’s on the main street, where she purchased a loaf, then they found a dairyman and bought the goat’s milk others used to help feed their babies. It was more expensive than cow’s milk, but what did she care for that? It was still only a few pence.

  As they came out she said, ‘We can get a few other things from Blake’s.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Cassandra warned. ‘If you give John too much, he’ll not take it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We must go slowly.’

  When they went back, the door was open so they knocked and went straight in.

  John gave them one glance then bowed his head, looking shamed.

  Cassandra went up to take his hand. ‘It’s only bread and milk. We’ll bring you tickets for the soup kitchen this afternoon. We’re all needing help in these troubled times. I’m doing sewing classes so that I can eat and earn a little money. It’s not your fault you can’t work.’

  ‘That Vicar fellow said—’

  ‘I don’t pay any attention to him! You should hear what he says of me.’

  For the first time a hint of a smile appeared on his face. ‘You’re a very determined woman, Cassandra Blake. Your father must be proud of you.’

  That brought tears to her eyes. ‘I hope he is.’

  Annie had pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘We’ve decided to give the baby your name, Mrs Southerham, if you’ll allow it. To say thank you.’

  ‘I’d be honoured. No one has ever named a child for me before. My name’s Livia.’

  ‘Livia. I like that.’ Annie smiled and cuddled the baby closer. But her eyes were on the loaf now.

  They left the Wrights to eat in peace.

  The other people they visited were not as proud, but it was the memory of the Wrights which stayed in both women’s minds.

  When they got back to the church hall, Livia went across to the Vicar. ‘We need to provide goat’s milk for new babies whose mothers can’t feed them.’

  He stared at her in shock. ‘Get them special milk! Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no money for that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ll pay for it. The man at the dairy knows a farmer who sends goat’s milk into town every day. I’ll keep a list of those who’re in need of such milk and Cassandra can take the milk round to them every day.’

  ‘There really is no need. These people breed like rabbits, you know. If the babies die, it’s nature’s way of culling the weak. They don’t have the same feeling for their children as we do, I promise you.’

  Livia closed her eyes for a moment, remembering what she had seen that morning and praying for patience, because if she said what she really thought, he’d prevent her from helping.

  As if taking this action for agreement, he added, ‘And how can we trust that Blake female to do the right thing? She’ll probably sell the milk.’

  Livia had had enough. She drew herself up and glared at him. ‘Are you telling me I’m so stupid that I can’t recognise a good woman from a bad after I’ve been working with her for weeks?’

  ‘You’re being fooled. You’re from another part of the country and don’t know these operatives as I do.’

  ‘I’ve considerable experience of helping the poor. Probably more than you.’

  He drew himself up, glaring at her, ‘My dear lady, I run several schemes for the deserving poor. And I simply cannot condone this plan of yours.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it without you. Our Lord’s commandment was to love one’s neighbour, all our neighbours, not just those you consider respectable.’ She wondered if he’d stop her coming here, but he said nothing.

  Once again, she supposed, the Southerhams’ standing in the county had helped her.

  Who would help those in the direst need, though, once she went to Australia?

  Cassandra watched them from the side of the room, but spun round when the lady in charge snapped, ‘What are you standing there idle for, Cass? You’re here to earn your bread not eavesdrop on your betters.’ She said the words slowly and clearly, as if talking to an idiot.

  ‘I’m waiting for Mrs Southerham to tell me what she wants me to do next.’

  Livia came across to join them, seeming to sense that someone was yet again trying to find fault with her protégée. ‘Thank you for waiting for me as I asked, Cassandra. I’d like you to start sorting out those clothes for older children next. Come with me.’

  As Cassandra followed, she saw the lady walk over to the Vicar and the two of them put their heads close together. She wondered what they were planning.

  Nothing good, that was sure.

  As 1862 wore to a close, Edwin Blake regained some measure of speech, but his movements were very limited and he couldn’t negotiate the stairs without help. He’d once fallen down them, taking Xanthe with him and bruising them both badly, so now he mostly stayed in his room. He ate so little they worried about him, wishing they could give him better food than their staples of bread, potatoes and cabbage.

  Reece brought them the occasional extra, an egg most weeks, some misshaped cheese of his cousin’s making, a flask of milk, bits of ham fat which they could use to fry their bread and once a chicken, a scrawny old bird which they used in a stew. They made it last for several days.

  Of course Edwin wanted to share this largesse with the others living in the house, but Cassandra refused, weeping when he tried to insist and she had to deny him.

  ‘I won’t do it, Dad. We need the food ourselves.’

  ‘But they need it just as badly.’

  ‘If we had more, I’d share, but we’ve not got enough for ourselves.’

  ‘I’m disappointed in you.’

  She almost gave way then, but the sight of his frail body made her go against his wishes.

  She felt even more guilty when he apologised to her later for not trusting her to deal with the food.

  6

  On 1st January, 1863, President Lincoln emancipated all slaves in America. Later in the month an old friend, who came regularly to sit with Edwin, read about it in the newspapers and brought him the news. Her father was glowing with the joy of it when Cassandra came home.

  ‘It makes it all worth while,’ he said over and over again. ‘I know we’ve suffered here in Lancashire, but it’s nothing to the suffering of being a slave. I’m quite sure of that.’

  She wasn’t at all sure, but didn’t say anything to spoil his joy. Living his life in his bedroom, visited by people who wanted to cheer him up and who brought only the best news they could find, he’d become very unworldly. Occasionally he’d dip into his Greek books, murmuring the words to himself as his forefinger traced them across the page. His only other reading was the Bible.

  He spent a lot of time staring into space and his eyes had a translucent, faraway look to them that she’d seen in others at the end of their lives. That thought cost her a great deal of anguish.

  As winter moved into its coldest months, everyone struggled to keep warm. Since they couldn’t afford extra coal, the sisters often went to bed early, lying chatting quietly to one another. Th
ey could hear voices in the rooms they’d rented to others, but their lights went out just as early. No one could afford to be extravagant with lamp oil or candles. No one could spare any fat to make old-fashioned rushlights, even. They needed what fat they did get for eating.

  Cassandra often lay awake worrying after her sisters had fallen asleep. She felt responsible for them as well as for her father. It was hard, sometimes, being the oldest. And she worried about what to sell next.

  One by one pieces of furniture they could manage without went, and at first this didn’t matter, because with other people in the house, their stuff was crammed together in the kitchen. These pieces fetched far less than they would have done before the Cotton Famine, which was heartbreaking, but at least Edwin wasn’t downstairs to notice the gaps.

  The only thing they didn’t sell was their mother’s locket, which their father kept by his bed and often held in his hand.

  ‘It’ll go to you when I’m dead, because you’re the eldest,’ he told Cassandra. ‘She’d have liked that.’

  She only hoped she could manage to avoid selling it.

  The Prince of Wales got married on the 10th March and a special allowance of an extra loaf to each of the families on relief was voted by the Town Council in celebration of the event. There was also a children’s parade, which people watched for lack of something to do, then a meal for the well-fed children who’d been in the parade, all dressed in fancy new clothes, in spite of the hard times.

  ‘The money spent on that parade would fill a lot of bellies,’ Pandora said scornfully, watching the scrawny poorer children cluster near the food, one well-fed lad tossing the crusts to the poor ones and laughing to see them fight one another for this largesse.

  What had been spent on the marriage celebrations held in town after town would have fed the whole of Lancashire for months, she was sure.

  Francis was summoned for an interview with his father after breakfast.

  When the two men had left the dining room, his mother glared at Livia across the table. ‘I hope you’re satisfied now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. But my Francis has had foolish ideas before, and he’s never carried any of them through. This one will be just the same, only he’ll be too far away for us to help him. You’ll see. You’ll end up begging on the streets.’

  ‘He’s very eager to go to Australia. And besides, the doctor advised him to move to a warmer climate.’

  ‘He persuaded the doctor to say that. Francis has always been delicate. That’s a reason to stay not go. He’s not the sort of man to make a success of farming. He’s a dreamer. And you encourage him. I hate you! Hate you!’ She burst into tears and fled the room, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes.

  Livia went up to the bedroom to wait for Francis. The early morning fire had died down now and she didn’t bother to put more coal on it, but sat worrying. Her mother-in-law was refusing to see the truth. Francis was definitely ill.

  He came into the room beaming and swung her into his arms, dancing her round the bed. ‘The doctor’s persuaded my father to help us, so father’s going to give me some money to help me set up as a farmer. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Yes, it is. But your mother is very upset, Francis. She won’t admit that you’re ill and she thinks she’ll never see you again.’

  ‘Of course she will. In a few years, once we’re established, we’ll come back to visit. People do it all the time. And I’m not ill exactly, just have a weakness of the lungs and am being sensible about it. I shall be fit as a fiddle in no time after a long sea voyage and then living in a warmer climate. You’ll see.’

  She hoped he was right but didn’t want to destroy his hopes – or her own. ‘I’d better start packing in earnest then, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Yes and I’ll tell Reece to get ready as well.’

  When he’d left, she sat motionless on the bed. Francis was so enthusiastic, so happy. Surely this was the right thing to do? His mother was wrong. The other projects had failed because they weren’t right for him. But look how happy he was working at the farm.

  No, she couldn’t believe it was wrong to go to Australia. And Francis would be stronger, act more sensibly once he was away from his mother’s influence, Livia was quite sure of that.

  What kept Cassandra’s spirits up most of all during this difficult time was Reece, who continued to visit them, trudging into town each Sunday through snow, rain or hail.

  It was Mrs Southerham who told Cassandra the news first.

  ‘We’re leaving soon,’ she said one day. ‘We’ve booked passages on a ship called the Eena, sailing to Fremantle in Western Australia. I gather the passengers will be mainly colonists nominated by people already living there, plus the families of some convicts out there who’ve served their time and been given their tickets of leave. It must be dreadful to be separated from one another like that, but they’ve paid for their crimes now.’

  What crime had she committed, Cassandra wondered, to be parted from the man she loved, and from a lady who was almost a friend. But she was well practised now in keeping such thoughts to herself, even when she was with Reece.

  Livia stopped walking. ‘I shall miss you.’

  ‘I shall miss you too, Mrs Southerham. I’m sorry you’re leaving.’

  ‘I’m worried about what will happen to you without my protection.’

  ‘I’ll endure what I must. This war can’t go on for ever. We’ll get cotton and be able to work again one day.’

  ‘There’s no sign of an end to it yet and my husband doesn’t think the South is going to win. I don’t know what’ll happen to the cotton supply if they lose.’

  ‘They’ll get the cotton through to us again because they’ll need the money it earns, and people all over the world need cotton to make their clothing.’ Cassandra kept saying that to herself regularly. She had to believe things would improve one day.

  ‘Will you let me leave you a little money?’

  ‘No. From what you’ve said, you’ll need all you’ve got to set up your farm. Besides, we’re managing.’ She didn’t let herself think of what they would do once they’d run out of pieces of furniture to sell, didn’t dare. Even with the rent money from their tenants, and what they earned at the sewing classes, it was hard to feed five of them and pay the rent.

  ‘Things have changed a little. Old Mr Southerham is giving Francis a little money, so I insist on leaving you just a little, for emergencies only.’

  Cassandra bowed her head and struggled with her conscience. What use to tell others they must accept charity if she didn’t do it herself? ‘Very well. But I’ll only use it for emergencies.’

  ‘Good. I shall feel better if you have something. There’s another thing ... Reece Gregory is going with us. I gather you and he are – friends.’

  Cassandra couldn’t hide her sadness. ‘Yes. But we both know it can’t be more. I have my father to look after, my sisters are here and he has a new life to make in Australia.’

  ‘And if he succeeds out there?’

  ‘If he does, we’ll see what happens. He’ll be at the other side of the world and there will be plenty of other young women to catch his eye, I’m sure.’

  ‘If he loves you, he’ll wait for you.’

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘I’d not ask him to, and he’s said the same to me.’

  ‘You’re both being foolishly noble.’

  The anger spilled out then, just for a moment. ‘What’s noble about it? We’re not free to make promises – either of us.’

  Noble, indeed. Her heart was near to breaking with the agony of losing him and she didn’t even have the privacy to weep about it in bed now.

  When Reece came to visit them on the Sunday before he left, Cassandra steeled herself to stay calm and wish him well.

  After saying farewell to her father and sisters, he turned to her. ‘Would you come out for a walk with me? It’s quite a fine day, feels like spring.�
��

  ‘I’d like that.’ She got out her mantle and bonnet, ashamed that they looked so faded, that the darns showed in the mantle, that the ribbons on the bonnet were limp and frayed.

  He took her to the churchyard, as she’d known he would. ‘You have three sisters,’ he said as they stood looking down at his wife and child’s grave. ‘Can you not leave your father’s care to them? There might still be time to get permission for you to come with us – as my wife.’

  A tear betrayed her, rolling down her cheek, followed by others.

  He pulled her into his arms and held her while she gave in to her emotions. He murmured soft words into her hair, then kissed away her tears and folded her in his arms.

  She couldn’t bear this for much longer. Best to say their farewells and be done with it. ‘He’s been the best of fathers. I can’t leave him like this, knowing I’ll never see him again. And my sisters need me too. I’ve always been the one who organises things, copes, minds the money. Perhaps later ... we could all come out to Australia. From what you’ve said, they need servant girls there, and we’d be willing to do anything.’

  But she didn’t feel hopeful. When she’d mentioned that Reece and the Southerhams were going to Australia, her sisters hadn’t been able to understand it, had said they’d not leave their homeland like that. Pandora in particular had hated the mere idea of leaving Outham.

  ‘I’ll write to you.’ He traced a finger down her damp cheek.

  Her words came out choked. ‘I’ll write to you, too, as soon as I have an address.’

  He drew her into his arms again and for a few moments they forgot the rest of the world as they embraced and showered one another’s faces with kisses and caresses, murmuring words of love.

  Her voice was shaking as she pulled away from him. ‘We must stop. I daren’t risk – doing anything else.’ Ah, but she wanted to, understood fully now what drove men and women to lie together heedless of the consequences.