by June Francis
She came to a halt a couple of doors from home and looked at him, unsure what to say to bring the evening to an end. Would he be expecting a goodnight kiss? Hesitantly, she held out a hand.
Immediately Ally took it and shook it. ‘Are we being watched?’ he said in a low voice.
The words brought a smile to her face. ‘Oh, what the heck!’ she exclaimed, leaning towards him and kissing him. It was a mere brushing of lips before she drew away. ‘Goodnight, Ally.’
He moved purposefully towards her, kissing her in a way that left her breathless. ‘Goodnight, Hester. Till the next time!’ The words wafted to her on the breeze as he walked away.
She could hear the laughter in his voice and then he was gone. She had an urge to run after him, but instead she took a deep breath, walked the few yards to the house and opened the front door with the key she had received on her twenty-first birthday.
Fourteen
‘I spoke to Father Callaghan the other day,’ said Jeanette.
Hester and Sam gazed across the landing to where their half-sister stood in the bathroom doorway.
‘Why?’ asked Sam.
Jeanette tapped her toothbrush against her palm. ‘We discussed my mother.’
‘Your mam!’ exclaimed Hester, closing her bedroom door behind her.
‘He was here during the blitz and knew a number of the men involved in digging people out. He suggested I give him a photo of my mother and he’ll show it around and see if anyone recognizes her.’
Sam frowned in thought. ‘He could be lucky, but I wouldn’t build your hopes up too much, Jeanette.’
‘That’s what he said and I’m not!’ she said earnestly. ‘But what with the way Aunt Ethel goes on about Mam, I thought it was worth a try.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Hester in a comforting tone. ‘Anyway, there’s a good photo of your mam in Dad’s bedroom. You could ask to borrow it.’
‘That’s what I thought I’d do, although he might not approve of my involving a Roman Catholic priest.’
‘I wouldn’t have said Dad was prejudiced against Catholics,’ said Hester, surprised. ‘Anyway, he’d miss it if you didn’t ask and it’s a better picture than the one in the sideboard drawer downstairs.’
‘Thanks!’ She switched her attention from Hester to her brother. ‘I’m not daft, you know, Sam. I do realize it’s a long shot that anyone would remember her from a photograph after all this time.’
‘OK.’ He sighed.
She gave him a penetrating stare. ‘Are things OK with you? How’s Dorothy?’
‘She’s in Birmingham in some play. Different from the usual thing, she says.’ He pulled a face and reached for a cigarette. ‘Less middle class, more working class and down to earth.’
‘When will you see her again?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s hoping to be back here next week. The play’s experimental apparently, so it’s only on for a few days.’
‘Well, give her my best. Perhaps I’ll get to meet her one day,’ said Jeanette.
He nodded and lit his cigarette, his eyes narrowing against the smoke.
Jeanette and Hester exchanged looks and left him alone.
Shortly after, Jeanette asked her father about the photograph of Grace, but despite what Hester had said, she didn’t tell him the real reason she wanted to borrow it, just that she wanted to show it to her friend Peggy. Later, as Jeanette gazed at her mother’s likeness, she could not help wondering what might happen if Father Callaghan was able to connect her with someone who could provide them with a definite answer to what happened that night in May over thirteen years ago. What if her mother was alive and different from what everyone but Aunt Ethel believed her to be?
She decided not to wait until the weekend before getting the photograph to Father Callaghan, and instead placed it in an envelope with a short note and handed it to Peggy, asking if she could put it through his letterbox on her way home from work.
‘OK, if that’s what you want me to do,’ said Peggy. ‘What about Saturday evening? Are you doing anything? I wondered if you’d seen the twins at all?’
‘No,’ said Jeanette. ‘I take it you haven’t?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘I thought I might have caught sight of Pete down by the King’s Dock, but I haven’t.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Jeanette. ‘If they drop into the milk bar this Saturday, I’ll drop a hint that we wouldn’t mind going to the pictures with them.’
‘OK,’ said Peggy. ‘But how will you let me know?’
‘I’ll drop in at Quiggins and tell your brother.’
Peggy grabbed her arm and said, ‘Wait!’
Jeanette looked at her enquiringly. ‘Something wrong with that idea?’
‘He’ll want to know everything. Where I met them and where we’re going,’ groaned Peggy.
‘No different from my dad or Sam then. I won’t mention the twins, so there’s nothing for you to worry about,’ said Jeanette in a comforting voice.
In the meantime, perhaps she should call in at Central Library and see if she could discover more about Lavinia Crawshaw and the suffragettes. Considering they had done so much for the cause of women’s rights, she didn’t remember learning anything about them at school.
So on Friday evening, Jeanette set out to walk to Central Library. During the blitz, the library and the museum had been badly damaged by firebombs and closed for quite a while, but after renovation they were now open.
After filling in a form and providing evidence of her name and address, she was given a library ticket and the newspapers of January 1910 were made available for her perusal. She did not have to read far before coming upon a report of a suffragette called Jane Wharton being arrested for throwing stones at an MP’s car in Liverpool. She was sentenced to fourteen days’ hard labour in Walton gaol.
Jeanette read on until she came to another mention of Jane Wharton, who was actually a Lady Constance Lytton in disguise. She looked frail in the newspaper, which was not surprising since she had been force-fed eight times and suffered a heart attack. Jeanette marvelled at the courage of the woman and continued her research. At last she found a mention of Lavinia Crawshaw. Not only had she spent time in Walton gaol, but also in Manchester for suffragette activities. Wanting to discover more about both women, she asked whether there were any books about them she could borrow.
‘Well, Lady Constance Lytton did write a book called Prisons and Prisoners,’ said the librarian.
‘Do you have a copy?’
‘Yes. It’s not read much these days, but I’ll find it for you.’
Within ten minutes, Jeanette had left the library with a thin book in her handbag. She began to read it on her way home and found it gripping. Lady Constance had spent time in Holloway and had planned to carve the words ‘Votes for Women’ on her body to prove how seriously she regarded their cause. Jeanette grimaced at the thought and then discovered that her ladyship had been prevented from self-harming by the authorities. But more importantly, her ladyship had become very sympathetic towards women prisoners who were poor and ill-favoured in appearance, so she had disguised herself as Jane Wharton, a seamstress, even going as far as cutting off her hair to make herself look less attractive to draw attention to their plight.
Jeanette had to stop reading as she had reached her destination, but she could not wait to find out what Lady Constance had to say about her time in Liverpool and whether Lavinia was mentioned in the book. To her relief the house was empty, so she made a cup of tea and a jam butty and went upstairs. She stretched out on her bed and ate the jam butty, making sure she wiped her fingers before reaching for the book.
She was almost at the end when she heard the front door opening. Marking her place, she went onto the landing and peered over the banister. Ethel was sitting at the bottom of the stairs dressed in black, whilst George was standing over her, speaking in an urgent low tone.
‘Dad, is everything all right?’ she called down.
&nbs
p; He broke off from what he was saying and called up, ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Jeannie.’
‘Don’t believe him,’ said Ethel, getting to her feet.
Jeanette hurried downstairs. ‘Have you been to a funeral?’
‘None of your business. Out of my way, girl. I want to go up and get changed,’ said the old woman.
Jeanette squeezed past her and only now noticed in dismay that her father had a bandage about his head. ‘What happened to you, Dad?’
‘A confrontation with some troublemakers demonstrating against the city councillors,’ he replied, removing his greatcoat.
‘Did they knock your helmet off? It was the kind of thing the suffragettes did. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘Thanks, luv,’ said George, looking drawn.
‘What’s this about the suffragettes?’ asked Ethel, thrusting her face close to Jeanette’s and seizing her wrist. ‘What’s your interest?’
Jeanette wrenched herself free. ‘Let go, Aunt Ethel!’ She slipped her hand through George’s arm. ‘You come and sit down and have a rest.’
George allowed himself to be ushered into the kitchen. He was feeling a bit faint if the truth were known. He sank into a chair and closed his eyes. ‘I’m getting too old for this game,’ he muttered.
Jeanette gazed at him anxiously. ‘Did you go to the hospital, Dad?’
‘Naw, I much preferred coming home.’
‘But what if you’ve cracked your skull? It could be serious.’
He opened his eyes. ‘If I have fractured it, there’s nothing they can do. It’ll have to mend itself. Anyway, I’ve a day off tomorrow, so I’ll have a rest.’
Jeanette knew it was no use arguing with him. Maybe Sam would be able to talk sense into him and make him go to the hospital. She put the kettle on before turning to him. ‘Has Aunt Ethel been to a funeral?’
‘Aye, some woman she knew years ago,’ he said shortly.
‘Lavinia Crawshaw?’
He blinked at her. ‘How d’you know that?’
‘She’d circled the name in the Deaths section in the Echo. Lavinia was a suffragette and spent time in Walton gaol.’
‘Stupid woman,’ he growled. ‘They wanted to go to gaol; wanted to be martyrs to the cause.’
‘Being force-fed wasn’t nice, Dad. I don’t think I could have put up with it,’ said Jeanette, reaching for a couple of mugs.
‘I should hope you’d have more blinking sense,’ said George fiercely. ‘She should have had more thought for those dependent on her.’
‘Who was dependent on her?’ asked Jeanette, surprised. ‘Her father was a cotton merchant and rich, so hardly a dependant.’
‘She had a baby!’ he burst out.
Jeanette stared at him. ‘But she wasn’t married.’
‘You don’t have to be married to have a child, girl,’ he said, exasperated.
She thought he had never sounded so cross with her. ‘I know that. But how do you know she had a child?’
‘Because Aunt Ethel told me so, not half an hour ago.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t be talking about this to you. You’re only a child yourself.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she retorted, her eyes flashing with annoyance. ‘I’ll be eighteen in December.’
‘That’s as maybe, but you’ve been protected.’ He looped his hands together and stared at her. ‘It’s the eyes . . .’ he muttered.
She wondered if the blow to his head had knocked him silly. ‘What d’you mean, it’s the eyes?’
‘Your mother had the loveliest green eyes, just like yourself, and according to Aunt Ethel, so did this Lavinia Crawshaw.’
Jeanette sat down abruptly. ‘What are you saying, Dad?’
‘It’s not me, it’s Ethel! She says there was a baby girl born in the prison hospital. Apparently, this Lavinia Crawshaw told her that she couldn’t keep the little mite and to take it away. Her father would have disinherited her if he’d known about it – as if the poor man didn’t have enough to worry about with her involved in the suffragette movement.’ George paused a moment, holding his head and wincing before continuing, ‘Worse was, she also believed in this free love business, but she kept that from him too, according to Aunt Ethel. He was a High Anglican and that would have been a step too far for him.’
Jeanette could not help but be fascinated by the story. ‘Was the baby born in Walton gaol?’
‘No, Manchester. Ethel was a prison wardress there at the time Lavinia Crawshaw went into labour.’
Jeanette moistened her lips. ‘Do you believe her, Dad? I find it incredible that she tells you all this out of the blue.’
‘It was seeing Lavinia Crawshaw’s death in the Echo. It brought it all back to her. Now she’s got it into her head that Grace is Lavinia’s daughter, and I know why – she’s convinced there’s money in it!’
A flabbergasted Jeanette stared at him in silence, and several seconds ticked by before she said, ‘Surely she’s mistaken. She’d need more proof than me having green eyes to convince a lawyer that I’m Lavinia’s granddaughter. The birth was kept secret, wasn’t it? We’d have to produce a birth certificate with Lavinia’s and Mam’s name on it and there isn’t one, is there?’
‘Not that I know of.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, ‘Aunt Ethel has a bee in her bonnet over this, and if there’s money I’d like you to have it.’
‘Heck, Dad, I can’t believe that she’s almost got you convinced!’
The kettle began to whistle and Jeanette made tea and toast. Her hands were trembling and she was thinking that it was like something out of a book or a film. It just couldn’t be true! If her mother had been the baby in question, surely she would have grown to look a bit like Lavinia, and Ethel would have noticed a similarity between them when Grace had married George.
Another thought occurred to her as she sat opposite her father. ‘You say Aunt Ethel took the baby away as soon as it was born because she was told to do so by Lavinia Crawshaw. I hate to say this, Dad, but I think I know a different side to her than you, as do Sam and Hester.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’d be more inclined to believe that she’d have dumped the baby and let it die.’
George’s lips tightened and he reached for his mug and gulped half the tea down. ‘I’m not as blind as you seem to think,’ he said grimly. ‘I know she has strict rules that she feels she must abide by. She used to be forever saying that Mam spoilt me by letting me get away with this, that and the other, and she made up for it by making sure you lot toed the line. But Aunt Ethel wouldn’t stoop to murdering an innocent baby. Lavinia Crawshaw was not the first woman to give birth in the prison hospital, you know. Apparently a number of mothers did so, and some kept their children because they had husbands, whilst some unmarried ones were allowed to keep their babies with them for a short time and then they were taken away for adoption. Lavinia Crawshaw had money, so apparently she told Aunt Ethel to hire a wet nurse for the child and see she was looked after. Ethel knew an organization that housed unmarried mothers and their babies until the children were weaned, so she got in touch with them.’ George reached for a slice of toast and crunched into it.
‘You mean Barnardo’s?’
‘No, it was a Church of England home. Once the baby was weaned, the mother was free to leave and the child was placed in the Home for Waifs and Strays up the coast in Formby.’
Jeanette’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘That’s not so far away. We could go there and find out what happened to her.’
‘It’s not that simple, Jeannie. Those in charge at the home aren’t going to give away the identity of the couple that took the child in. Grace told me that she ran away because she was unhappy with them – but was she telling me the truth?’ George finished his tea and toast before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.
Jeanette wanted to ask him more questions, but he looked so tired and she was worried about that knock on his head. She should never have badgered
him about this business with Lavinia Crawshaw. ‘You rest, Dad. This can wait,’ she murmured.
George opened his eyes. ‘No, let’s get it over with. Next question.’
Jeanette hesitated. ‘Was Mam legally adopted? I remember reading somewhere that families often just took a child in and cared for it when a mother died or could not cope with an extra mouth to feed. There was no law protecting such children for years. What if she was Lavinia’s daughter and because Lavinia had money she was able to have a say in who looked after her child? What if Mam knew who her mother was and was deeply hurt because she had given her away.’
‘No, she told me that she believed herself to be the couple’s natural child. The trouble came when she went for a job. Some companies insist on seeing a birth certificate for proof of age. How would you feel if you discovered the people you believed to be your parents weren’t related to you? Whichever way you look at it, Jeannie, legally adopted or not, Grace was angry, hurt and rebellious.’
Jeanette gnawed on her lip. ‘So she went off the rails and ended up living rough. In that case we have no way of finding out if she was Lavinia Crawshaw’s baby or not.’
‘No,’ said George, his head drooping.
Jeanette said no more, but could not help considering how different her future would be if it could be proved that she was Lavinia Crawshaw’s granddaughter.
‘Even after all this time, I miss your mother,’ said George. ‘Having you around has helped me get over her loss, but sooner or later you’ll meet a nice young man and get married and I’ll be stuck here with Aunt Ethel. I had thought about trying to solve the mystery once I retire, but . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Jeanette debated whether she should tell him the truth about why she had wanted the photo of her mother, but decided he might find the thought too disturbing right now. Instead she said, ‘Aunt Ethel is not going to be here forever, Dad. Anyway, if I can’t find Mr Right, I won’t be getting married.’ She brushed crumbs from her chin.