The Doorstep Girls Read online

  But then, he pondered uneasily, May is away. Is Edward making the most of her absence, even so soon after his marriage? Has he not given up his mistress as I have urged him to do?

  He walked slowly downstairs. The fever had left him feeling very weak. He had lost a great deal of weight and, as he paused to get his breath on reaching the bottom of the stairs, the maid opened the door to Edward.

  ‘Good heavens,’ Edward exclaimed. He had not seen Martin since he had become ill. ‘Are you not any better? You look pretty rough.’

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Martin replied wearily. ‘That’s very encouraging.’

  ‘What’s this about Father?’ Edward frowned. ‘There was a message at the mill when I got there this morning.’

  ‘Have you not been home yet? We left a note there on Friday for you to come as soon as possible.’

  Edward stared straight at his brother and nonchalantly smoothed his sideburns. ‘No,’ he replied flatly, offering no explanation. ‘I haven’t been home.’

  Martin swallowed. He hadn’t the energy to argue with him, and especially not at this time. ‘Father is critically ill,’ he said. ‘The doctor doesn’t hold out much hope. Mother has been at his side since Friday evening.’

  Edward’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t know it was so bad.’

  ‘No,’ Martin said coldly. ‘How could you?’

  Edward glared at him. ‘Don’t give me that holier than thou attitude, Martin. You must have known who I was with, even if you didn’t know where, and how was I to know that Father was ill?’

  Martin turned away. ‘No. I’m sorry. Of course you were not to know. It was unfortunate that it happened when you were away. But Mother needs our support now.’

  ‘I’d better go up then.’ Edward looked a little shamefaced. ‘Try to make amends.’

  Martin sat in his father’s library. A fire had been lit at his request, as his father’s papers needed to be attended to. His own illness had been slow in onset, beginning with a headache as he returned home with Miss Gregory and Mrs Westwood, and then tiredness, until he had succumbed to a raging fever which had subsided leaving him exhausted. His father’s illness had been swift and virulent and, in an older man, bound, said the sombre doctor who had attended them both, to have only one outcome.

  He looked at the pile of envelopes waiting to be opened and tried to conjure up the energy to attend to them. His father had many business interests, shares, and investments in many companies, all of which were now Martin’s responsibility as the elder son.

  There was one envelope addressed to him personally and on opening it he found it to be from Emerson, who had heard of his father’s illness, and was sending good wishes regarding his own continuing recovery.

  ‘I met a mutual acquaintance,’ he wrote. ‘Miss Grace Sheppard. She was selling home-made goods in the Market Place, and, apart from a beautifully crafted ship which she said a friend had built, they were of poor quality, made, I surmise, from whatever she could lay her hands on without the expenditure of money. I fear we have neglected her very badly since the tour, for she has no work and apparently no means of support. She also looks quite thin and ill.

  ‘In view of your present circumstances I will do what I can for her, and am this day putting pen to paper on her behalf as we discussed previously. She insists, however, that she does not regret her involvement in the tour, and on hearing of your illness showed great concern and begged that I send her good wishes for your speedy return to health.’

  Martin put down the letter, all thoughts of working on his father’s papers vanishing. I meant to communicate with her, he fretted, but I took too long in considering what reason I could give for my attention. The last thing I wanted was to appear patronizing, or worse – a knight errant! And then this dratted illness overtook me! And no-one else has had contact with her. Georgiana is away accompanying May, and Daisy Emerson is so wrapped up in herself she wouldn’t think of sending a card or letter.

  He was angry with himself and anxious at the same time. I trust she is not as destitute as Emerson implies. She must think that we have forgotten her. Used her, even! He got up from the desk and roamed about the room. And nothing, he deliberated, nothing could be further from the truth, for I think of her and her situation constantly.

  Edward returned home that evening to await May’s arrival, and Martin took his mother’s place by his father’s bedside. He sat in a chair with a blanket around him whilst a nurse constantly monitored his father’s progress. At three o’clock in the morning she shook him awake from a light slumber and asked him to fetch his mother, as the time was nigh when his father would depart from this world to the next. He gazed dazedly at her as she whispered to him, and allowed her to push him gently out of the room and in the direction of his mother’s.

  Charles Newmarch’s passing was peaceful, more peaceful than his busy life had been, and Martin looked down at him and knew that he had inherited his mantle. His estate, his house, everything that his father owned would come to him apart from a bequest to his mother and Edward.

  I am a man of substance, he reflected. I can now give up my position at the mill, for I have long been unhappy with the management of it, and can follow my true instincts. It will be expected that I shall marry in the conventional manner. Uneasily he thought of Georgiana, with whom he had a kind of understanding, and felt a heaviness of regret. But I shall not do what is expected of me. Not if I can avoid it without causing distress.

  The next morning he received another letter from Emerson, not imparting any news, but accompanying an envelope which Emerson had been requested to forward. He looked at the enclosed envelope curiously. It was made of coarse brown paper and neatly stitched to seal it. His mother was in the room with him and he asked if he might borrow her sewing scissors to cut the stitches.

  ‘What a singular thing to do,’ she commented, passing her scissors. ‘How very charming. Someone has taken the time and effort to make the receiving of the message so personal.’

  ‘Indeed they have.’ He removed the sheet of paper from its casing. It was tissue-thin and looked as if it had been cut from a piece which might have wrapped a gown or piece of clothing. He saw the neat but unformed writing and knew immediately who it was from. He folded it and put it into his waistcoat pocket to read when he was alone, and not when there were so many pressing things to attend to, as there were now. ‘But I feel, Mother, that the sender has no means of obtaining writing paper and envelopes and so used whatever was available.’

  She looked up from her own correspondence. ‘Do you mean that they are not able to go out to obtain writing paper, or that they cannot afford to buy it?’

  ‘The latter is what I mean.’

  She considered, tapping her fingers to her mouth. She had prepared herself calmly and philosophically for her husband’s death, and was now writing to inform personal friends of his demise, whilst Martin would send out official notifications. ‘Someone so poor to use such initiative! It has to be a woman,’ she declared, ‘and it must be an important letter that such effort has been made in order to send it.’

  She searched his face for clues, and, seeing that there were none, added, ‘I sincerely trust that it is not a begging letter, for now you have come into your father’s estate, you must be aware that you will receive many.’

  ‘I am conscious of that, Mother,’ he smiled. ‘But as no-one outside our family circle yet knows of Father’s death,’ he touched his waistcoat pocket, ‘then this letter cannot possibly be seeking charity. However, I do know who it is from, and without reading the contents, I am convinced that the sender is someone who has compassion within their heart and would far rather give than receive.’

  His mother observed him gravely, and, in an appeased tone, replied, ‘Then a rare creature indeed.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Grace’s father went to collect Bessie’s mattress to bring home. ‘I don’t see why ’Blakes should have such comfort,’ he gr
umbled. ‘They’re living rent-free in a room with a hearth and sleeping on somebody else’s bed, whilst we’re sleeping on ’floor!’

  Mr Blake didn’t say a word or offer to help him with it, though Mrs Blake showed a sad and reproachful expression as he carried the mattress out.

  They left Bessie on their bed, for it didn’t seem right to move her. Her condition was worsening – she wasn’t eating, although Ruby was bringing in boiling fowl and pieces of bacon for Lizzie to add to the broth, but Bessie simply turned her head away when it was offered. Her nightmares increased and she sweated and shouted throughout the night, so that they were compelled to increase her doses of opium to quieten her as Mr Cooke instructed.

  Ruby spent most of the daytime with her mother, and went back to Wright Street each evening. Edward didn’t come until the Thursday morning, however, when he told her that his father had died, that the funeral was to be the next day and that he must spend time with his family for the rest of the week. ‘I shall miss you, Ruby,’ he said fervently. ‘I can’t bear not to be with you.’

  She told him that her mother too was very sick and that the apothecary was treating her with opium.

  He nodded. ‘Finest thing,’ he agreed. ‘Take a drop of laudanum myself occasionally. Makes me feel good.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ she begged. ‘My mother is addicted to it.’

  He laughed. ‘Nonsense! It’s perfectly all right, providing you’re sensible about the dosage. You should try it, Ruby.’

  She shook her head and silently reflected that her mother wasn’t sensible and probably never had been. He left to go to the mill, but returned within the hour as she was preparing to visit her mother. She heard the slam of the cab door and the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs.

  She opened the door to him. ‘What’s happened?’ she said as she saw his agitated expression.

  He propelled her inside the room. ‘You tell me, Ruby! You tell me!’ He took hold of her by the arms. ‘Who have you been talking to? Who knows about us?’

  She prised his fingers from her arms. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she cried. ‘What do you mean? Nobody knows.’

  ‘Your friend! What’s her name? She knows.’

  ‘Grace?’ She was nonplussed. ‘Of course. But what –?’

  He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Somebody has put it around the mill that I have a mistress who used to be a mill girl. God damn it, Ruby,’ he shouted. ‘They even know your name!’

  ‘Not from me, they don’t,’ she retaliated. ‘Nor from Grace, she doesn’t work there any more and besides she would never tell!’

  ‘Well, somebody has told,’ he said angrily. ‘Somebody told the workers and they told the foremen. It went all around the mill before going to the office workers and the directors.’

  She looked at him. His face was red, his eyes flashing. ‘Are you ashamed of me?’ She was angry and hurt. ‘I thought that men in your position took a mistress because their wives don’t like to –’

  He paced the room. ‘They do take a mistress, but usually from their own class,’ he said distractedly. ‘They don’t have a long-standing relationship with a—’ He stopped when he saw her stricken face. ‘Ruby!’ He gathered her to him. ‘No! I’m not ashamed of you. You’re wonderful just as you are, but you must realize what this would mean if it gets out to my family, and especially to May.’

  ‘You mean that it wouldn’t matter so much if your mistress was a lady?’ Her voice trembled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. People would think that I was a bit of a loose fish. A Lothario, but nothing more.’

  ‘Whereas, with me,’ she said in a hushed voice, ‘they’d think you were playing in the dirt with a drab?’

  He fell silent and with his arms around her, rested his head on hers. ‘Yes,’ he whispered after a moment. ‘That is what they’d think.’ He pulled away and looked down at her. ‘Even though it isn’t true.’

  She sat down after he’d gone, for he was on his way home again, and pondered. I don’t understand. Wives don’t like to sleep with their husbands, but ladies from the same class become mistresses. It doesn’t make sense.

  She walked slowly to Middle Court. Was this the end? Would Edward now give her up? If his wife found out then he would have to. She sighed and muttered, ‘Pity. I’ve got used to ’good life. It’s nice not to have to worry about where ’next meal is coming from and to know that ’rent is paid.’

  As she pursued her thoughts she remembered that the rent for her mother’s room was overdue. It should have been paid on the Saturday she was away, but with the worry over Bessie she had neglected to go in to the rent office. Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll go in first thing, I just might need to live there again.

  ‘Your ma’s asking for you.’ Lizzie greeted her as she arrived at the door. ‘She wants to tell you summat.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ruby breathed. ‘She’s talking then?’

  ‘Aye,’ Lizzie said. ‘After a fashion. She’s asking for you anyway, and for Freddie.’

  But not for Josh, Ruby contemplated as she knelt at the side of her mother’s bed. Well, that’s just as well, for I won’t tell her. No need to add to her misery.

  ‘Ma,’ she said softly. ‘It’s me. Ruby.’

  Her mother opened her eyes. ‘I never told,’ she muttered. ‘I told him nothing.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Ma. Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Ssh!’ her mother whispered. ‘Can’t tell. Don’t know his name. I want Freddie,’ she moaned. ‘Bring him back. Ten shillings! Give him ten shillings.’

  ‘I’ll find him, Ma. I’ve got ’money.’ Tears pricked Ruby’s eyes as she feared it might be just too late for her mother and for Freddie. She rose to her feet and turned to Lizzie and Grace. ‘I’ve got that agent’s card back at Wright Street. I’m going to fetch it and find him. He’s somewhere in Hull.’ She tensed her lips. ‘He said not to bother him except in an emergency.’ Her voice broke. ‘This is an emergency.’

  ‘Shall I go?’ Grace offered, but Ruby shook her head.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Lizzie said. ‘He’ll listen to me!’ Ruby hesitated. That was true. People did listen to Aunt Lizzie. She had a determination that most folk didn’t like to cross.

  ‘Go fetch his card with his address on, and I’ll go,’ Lizzie repeated. ‘Then you can stop with your ma.’

  Ruby hurried off. Her mind was confused and she was so afraid. Her mother was dying, she knew that now. Josh was dead, Freddie could be anywhere in the country and she didn’t hold out much hope of finding him. Her shoulders heaved as she wept. I should have looked for him before. Why did I leave it until it was too late? And now Edward is angry with me over the gossip, and it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault! She brushed away angry tears. Who knew about us and why would they tell? What would they gain?

  She heard in her head her mother’s moaning insistence that she didn’t tell. Didn’t tell. Told him nothing. She stopped in her tracks. Told him nothing! She frowned. Where had she heard that before? Told who nothing?

  A woman called to her, laughing. ‘Hey, Ruby! Heard about your gentleman. Can you lend us a couple o’ bob?’

  She hurried on. Was this how it was going to be? Edward would leave her for sure if it was. He wouldn’t want the indignity or the embarrassment, and then what would she do?

  ‘I’ll not tell him owt.’ Her mother’s voice came to her loud and clear, and Ruby stopped again and took a breath. Jamie! She’d told her mother not to tell Jamie that she was going again to meet the gentleman, and she had protested vehemently that she wouldn’t. She put her hand to her head to control the throbbing. Was it Jamie who had been asking the questions, and why?

  She ran up the stairs to her rooms, glad to be inside for she felt as if there were prying eyes staring at her. She sat down for a moment and tried to collect her thoughts. Jamie had tried several times to find out if Edward was the same man he had procured for her, but she had avoided him as mu
ch as possible. Ma doesn’t know Edward’s name, she pondered, or anything about him. But Jamie wouldn’t know that she didn’t. She gave a small sob. Not Jamie, who had been their neighbour and friend for so long? Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel and vindictive as to bully and attack her mother?

  ‘Bessie’ll not last ’day out,’ Grace’s mother said in a low voice after Ruby had left. ‘That’s why it’s best that Ruby stops with her.’ She glanced at Grace, whose face had drained of colour. ‘You’re not well, bairn. Can you cope with death?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Grace said shakily. ‘But I have before when the ferry went down. But I must stay with Ruby. She’ll need comfort.’

  Her mother nodded. ‘That she will, and you’re ’best person to give it, which is why I said I’d go to see ’agent in her place. Not that it’ll do any good. He’ll not know where Freddie is. Poor bairn will be lost for ever.’

  When Ruby came back, she and Grace sat side by side, holding hands, whilst Lizzie went out on her futile errand. Mr Cooke had been and given Bessie a sedative which had calmed her, so that she was no longer thrashing around as she had been doing previously.

  ‘I want to tell you something, Grace,’ Ruby began in a low voice. ‘I think Jamie did this to my ma.’

  She outlined to a shocked Grace why she thought it was Jamie. ‘Ma said he’d given her some bad laudanum once before, and I think that he gave her some more to find out about me and Edward.’

  Grace gasped and told Ruby what the old woman in the inn had told her, that Jamie had given Bessie raw opium. ‘She said he had a bag full and grumbled that he wouldn’t give her any, but was giving it to Bessie.’

  Ruby wept. ‘I’ve no proof that he hit her, but I’ve seen his anger when he’s provoked, and he wouldn’t believe Ma if she’d told him that she knew nothing. But why would he want to know?’