Farewell to Lancashire

by Anna Jacobs

  Jane realised she was lying on the floor and couldn’t for a moment understand why. Then she remembered and winced as she moved her head. Cassandra must have hit her hard enough to knock her out. Some would think she’d been stupid to help their prisoner escape, only she never could abide men selling women as if they were toys. It was one thing to choose a life like this, and for her, it’d been the only way to escape a life of poverty. But it was quite another to be forced into it and not paid at all for what you did. That was very wrong.

  Her head throbbed but she didn’t dare move. She wished they’d hurry up and find her.

  It seemed a long time until the door opened.

  A man’s voice exclaimed, ‘What the hell—?’ and someone knelt beside her. ‘Jane!’ He rolled her over as roughly as he did everything these days, muttering, ‘She’s alive, at least.’ There was a pause, then, ‘The bitch has escaped. Well, she’ll not get far.’

  Jane judged it time to start regaining consciousness and moaned.

  He was back beside her. ‘What happened?’

  She blinked her eyes, stared at him and shut her eyes again.

  He shook her. ‘Wake up, dammit.’

  She groaned loudly. ‘My head hurts. What happened?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you. Where’s that girl you were supposed to be looking after for me?’

  She judged it wiser to moan than try to answer.

  Someone else came to the door of the room and screamed. Thank goodness, Jane thought.

  The girl who’d been due to keep an eye on Cassandra next rushed across and helped her sit up. When Pete tried to question Jane again, the newcomer said fiercely, ‘Can’t you see she’s not regained her wits yet? Someone must have hit her very hard. Look at her poor head.’

  His voice came from further away. ‘That bitch must have taken her by surprise. But she’ll pay for this. She can’t have gone far. We’ll find her, wherever she is.’

  Jane let the other women fuss over her, pretending she had no idea what had happened. And actually, she was glad to be put to bed because her head was aching fiercely. It was worth the pain, though, to have foiled Pete and that horrible Blake woman who’d hired him.

  The main thing was, he didn’t realise she’d helped his prisoner escape. She was safe.

  She looked at the clock. An hour had passed since she last looked at it. Maybe Cassandra really would escape. She hoped so. Women like them had to stick together because it was a hard world.

  In the morning Phyllis and Mrs Rainey woke Cassandra before it was light.

  ‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong?’

  ‘My husband couldn’t sleep, he was so worried about you. He got up early and did some calculations. You know that he and the other ministers of religion in the town were consulted about sending young women who’d been affected by the Cotton Famine out to Australia?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, he studied all the information he’d been given, and realised that the ship carrying your sisters hasn’t sailed yet. If you leave today, you may be able to catch up with them, go to Australia with them.’

  Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat. ‘But will they allow me on the ship?’

  ‘I don’t know. We can but try.’

  ‘How am I to get away from Outham?’

  ‘By wearing your mourning clothes. We have all your clothing and some of your other possessions here. Your sisters left them with us. I can lend you a taffeta overskirt to wear with those mourning clothes your uncle bought you. I can give you a full veil too and they’ll not look at you twice. Phyllis will go to the railway station with you and you can get on the train together. Lean on her arm and pretend to be overcome with grief. Can you manage that, do you think? I’d like to give you longer to recover, but we need to leave straight away.’

  ‘I’ll manage it.’

  ‘My husband and I will travel on the same train, but separately. They might suspect us if they saw us escorting a young widow, but I doubt they’ll know who Phyllis is, and she’ll be wearing mourning too.’

  Cassandra flung the covers off the bed. ‘I’ll do anything to be reunited with my sisters. I can’t thank you both enough.’

  Isabel was woken early by someone knocking on the door. She let the maid answer it, wondering who could be calling at such an hour.

  When Dot came up to tell her that a man wanted to see her urgently, she was tempted to refuse, but suddenly wondered if he was here to say Cassandra had been taken to Manchester, as she’d ordered.

  ‘I’ll get dressed. Ask him to wait.’

  When she went down to her parlour, she found Pete pacing impatiently to and fro. ‘I thought I told you not to visit me here.’

  ‘I needed to see you urgent, Mrs Blake.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘That niece of yours has run off.’

  ‘What? I thought you said she’d be carefully guarded.’

  ‘Last night she hit my lady friend over the head, knocked her out of her senses, she did, the bitch, and then ran off. We’ve hunted all over town, but she’s gone to earth. We’ll find her, though.’

  ‘You’d better, if you want the rest of your payment. Make sure you watch the railway station and that you keep her away from the police station. I don’t want her reporting this to the authorities.’

  ‘I’ve a man outside both places already, and they know her by sight.’ He grinned. ‘She won’t get past them. They’ve instructions to hit her on the head and pretend she’s fainted. But she’s got no money and none of her friends will have the fare, not in times like these, so I don’t see how she can buy a ticket. We’ll find her. She won’t get far on foot.’

  ‘She may have gone back to the cottage she used to live in. I’ll get you the key and you can check that she’s not hiding there.’ Isabel went across to the drawer of her writing desk and took a key out. ‘Check there on your way back.’

  When he’d gone, she began pacing up and down, furious that Cassandra had escaped. She had no doubt that her niece had gone to a friend’s house and was staying hidden. But who could it be? The Minister and his wife? Perhaps. Or one of the trollop’s men friends. That was more likely.

  Well, if Cassandra tried to follow her sisters, she’d be intercepted. Isabel already had someone watching the ship to make sure the others got away safely and that Cassandra didn’t join the other pauper lasses emigrating from Lancashire. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance, not one single thing.

  And she wasn’t burying her husband until after the Tartar had sailed, no matter what anyone said. She was quite determined about that. She wasn’t going to have those creatures interrupting the funeral, acting as if they were related to her.

  Within the half-hour, the maid came back to say the man wanted to see Mrs Blake again.

  She waited till the door had closed behind Dot. ‘Well?’

  ‘Your niece must have been at the cottage. The kitchen window’s been smashed, so she’ll have gone in that way. We checked every room but she’s not there now. I reckon she spent the night there.’

  ‘Why would she go back there?’

  ‘Wasn’t that where she lived before?’

  ‘Yes. But I checked to make sure they’d left nothing behind and she was told her sisters had left the country.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, missus, she can’t get out of the town without us seeing her, especially if she didn’t start out last night.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll find her and make her sorry, don’t you worry.’

  After he’d left Isabel went to stare out of the window, anger churning inside her.

  A little later it occurred to her that if Cassandra had been helped to run away, she’d not dare to come back to Outham, so although her niece wouldn’t be left penniless in the slums of Manchester, a punishment which had rather appealed to Isabel, the creature would still be on her own, still have memories of what had happened to her, still be separated from her sisters.

  She smiled. ‘They’re go
ne now, all of them. I always get what I want – in one way or the other.’ She saw Dot staring from the doorway and scowled. ‘What do you want? I’ll ring when I want something. Go away.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’

  The three Blake sisters sat at the long table that ran down the centre of the single females’ quarters on the ship, not speaking just getting used to their temporary home. The sides of this area had been divided off into tiny chambers with four bunks in each and a rough curtain for a door.

  They were sharing theirs with a young girl of fourteen, who’d been sobbing since she came on board because of being separated from the rest of her family. At her age she wasn’t allowed to stay in the married quarters and had been put with the single women.

  ‘I wish the rain would stop,’ Xanthe sighed. ‘We didn’t get a chance to look round on deck, they rushed us straight down here.’

  Pandora pulled a face as she heard someone being sick at the other end of the long room. ‘If people are sick now, what will they be like when we get out on to the open sea? The ship’s only rising and falling a bit. Matron says it gets much rougher than this.’

  ‘I don’t feel very well, either,’ Maia said. ‘I think you’d better get me one of those buckets, just in case I can’t reach the water closet in time.’

  They’d been pleasantly surprised to find a water closet for their use. It emptied its contents into the sea and you used sea water to clean it.

  One of the other women had protested about that, wanting the familiar comfort of a chamber pot next to her bed, but Matron had told her sharply not to be silly. A chamber pot would spill its contents everywhere in rough weather.

  Maia dashed off suddenly and Xanthe followed her twin. A few minutes later a white-faced Maia went to lie down.

  ‘She was sick,’ Xanthe said unnecessarily.

  ‘Poor thing. I feel fine. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s not much fun sitting here below the deck, is it?’

  ‘Matron says the weather’s not looking good and we may be locked down for days. I do hope it won’t be stormy.’

  An hour later Matron came and clapped her hands for their attention. ‘Gather round, please. Come out of the bedrooms.’ She waited till the group of young women had gathered.

  Pandora studied her travelling companions. The Lancashire contingent were thin, looking peaky. There were one or two with suspiciously short hair, women with hard expressions, maybe they’d been in prison, where women’s hair was cropped short. If so, what were such people doing here? She turned her attention back to Matron, who was speaking again.

  ‘We need to organise you in messes, groups of eight. The mess leader will get your food from the cook and share it out. Sometimes she will be required to help cook the extra allowances of food. The easiest way is to take two cabins to one mess.’ She pointed out the pairs of cabins and asked for volunteers to be mess leaders.

  Since the other members of her own mess were looking woebegone and avoiding Matron’s eyes, Pandora volunteered. If it hadn’t been for her worries about Cassandra, she’d have been enjoying the novelty of this, though she still wasn’t reconciled to leaving Lancashire for good.

  She was sure her father would have approved of them seeking a new life for themselves, though. His life had been so restricted, yet he’d never complained. She had one of his Greek books in her luggage. She couldn’t understand a word of it, but she stroked it sometimes and thought of him.

  The twins were so close to one another, seeming to know what the other was thinking half the time, that Pandora felt left out a bit. She’d always felt closer to her eldest sister.

  ‘Right. Mess leaders come and get the food. It’s just a simple cold meal today. There won’t be proper cooked meals until we’re under way.’

  Pandora followed Matron up to the deck and was shown the cook’s area, waiting in line for food, which turned out to be a generous supply of bread, butter and jam. Her spirits lifted. She felt hungry all the time these days, hated to see her thin face and dull hair in the mirror, and couldn’t wait to eat her evening meal. She was told how much to serve and to keep the rest of the bread for breakfast, but there was plenty, so that would be no hardship.

  She sighed as she set the loaves down on the long table. If only Cassandra were here, perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad. She kept worrying about her sister. Was Cassandra even alive? Would they ever see each other again?

  Pandora didn’t want to leave England. Something deep within her felt it was home as another land could never be.

  13

  Two ladies dressed in rustling black silk and the deepest mourning got down from a cab and walked into the station. Both were heavily veiled, the younger one leaning on her companion’s arm and raising a black silk handkerchief to her eyes from time to time. A porter fussed over them and the older lady left her companion drooping on a bench while she went to buy their tickets.

  Mr Rainey came into the station separately, bought tickets for himself and his wife and then escorted her across to the W. H. Smith’s bookstall to buy her a magazine and himself a newspaper. They stood beneath the clock, chatting quietly as they waited for the train to arrive.

  An obliging porter had wheeled the luggage of the two bereaved ladies on to the platform and was now leaning on it, waiting for the train to arrive. When it did, he found them a first-class compartment, lifted their carpet bags up into the rack then loaded their trunk into the luggage van at the end of the train. When he came back from doing this, the older lady gave him a tip and he touched his cap to her, whistling as he pocketed the money and walked back down the platform.

  A man lounging near the entrance had studied the ladies as they went into the station, but his eyes didn’t linger for long on such well-dressed people and he went back to scanning the others entering the station. He stared at the Raineys rather more carefully, recognising the Minister and his wife. But they were alone. In fact there was no one like the young woman he was seeking.

  As the train left the station Cassandra felt shuddering relief sweep through her. ‘We did it, Phyllis. Did you see the man by the entrance? He was one of them.’

  ‘I noticed him, but he hardly looked at us.’

  ‘Are you sure? I was having such trouble walking so that I’d look shorter that I had to concentrate on that.’

  ‘You did well, dear. Now, why don’t you have a rest? Mr and Mrs Rainey won’t be able to join us in this compartment until the next stop.’

  But Cassandra couldn’t rest. She wasn’t only escaping, she was saying farewell to Lancashire, probably for ever. The rhythmic clacking of the train wheels seemed to pound into her head and she found herself putting words to it: Saying farewell, saying farewell, saying farewell ...

  At the first stop, Mrs Rainey came to join them in the compartment while a porter transferred their luggage and Mr Rainey went to purchase a hamper of food for the journey.

  ‘Three shillings!’ he exclaimed as he brought it back. He looked inside it and scowled. ‘Highway robbery. It’s nothing but sandwiches and cakes.’

  Cassandra had lifted the mourning veil from her face and tucked it back over her bonnet, but as people walked past their carriage on the platform, she kept her face averted, wishing she could continue to hide behind the veil. She hated how her hair looked now, wondered what people must think of it being so short.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Mrs Rainey asked gently.

  When she tried to answer, her throat thickened with tears and she could only shake her head blindly.

  As the train rattled along again, Mr Rainey turned to another point of grievance. ‘Did you see that fellow at the station entrance in Outham, staring at everyone? Did he expect to abduct you from there in broad daylight?’

  ‘He might have done if I was alone. It’s very easy to hit someone on the head and knock them out.’ Cassandra shuddered. She hated the thought that she’d hurt Jane.

  ‘I’d never have believed it if I’d not seen
it with my own eyes! You were right, Cassandra. They were indeed trying to recapture you. The effrontery of these people! I shall take a greater interest in law and order from now on. It’s no use saving people’s souls unless their bodies are safe.’

  By the time they reached London, Cassandra was so numb with tiredness and reaction to her ordeal that she could hardly force her wobbly legs to move. She reached up to pull her veil across her face.

  ‘No need for that now,’ Mrs Rainey said.

  ‘I’d rather keep it on.’ She still felt as if people could read what had happened to her from her face, still felt sick at the thought of it.

  ‘You do what you want, dear,’ Phyllis said, offering the support of her arm again, gruff as ever, but there.

  Everything was happening with such bewildering speed Cassandra hardly knew what to think. Would she really find her sisters again, go to Australia with them?

  Could she really make a new start?

  When they arrived in Gravesend, it was quite late and they could do nothing but find a hotel until the various offices opened the following morning. Again, Cassandra slept like the dead in the room she was sharing with Phyllis, but it was a heavy, unrefreshing sleep and she woke with a dull headache.

  She and Phyllis joined Mrs Rainey for breakfast.

  ‘There’s no time to waste, with the ship leaving tomorrow, so my husband is already out making enquiries about a passage for you.’

  Cassandra nodded. She didn’t feel hungry but ate a little to please her companions, both of whom were worried about her, she could see. Her main feeling was of numbness. She didn’t seem to know herself any more so for once, she let the others guide her.

  Mr Rainey still hadn’t returned by ten o’clock, so they waited for him in the guests’ sitting room.

  Her companions tried to make conversation, but soon gave up the attempt to include her, for which she was grateful. She was having trouble concentrating.

  Gerald Rainey went first to the docks to make sure the Tartar had not yet sailed, and an obliging old sailor, who was leaning against a bollard smoking a pipe, pointed it out to him.