The Doorstep Girls Read online

  ‘Because he’s grieved that you won’t work for him,’ Grace said bitterly. ‘And he’s out to make trouble for you and Edward Newmarch. Perhaps Jamie thinks Edward will leave you stranded and you’ll go back to him.’

  Lizzie came back within a few minutes and glanced towards the bed. ‘I’ve just heard some news,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all over ’area. Jamie’s ma, Nell, is going to be married – to a grocer! And Jamie, it seems, is hopping mad!’

  The day drew slowly on. Lizzie had found the agent’s house empty, and his neighbours un-communicative, so was at a loss to know what to do next. She busied herself making broth out of marrowbones which she’d begged from the butcher, adding lentils and potatoes to thicken it. Grace’s father came home and sat silently by the fire, and it was as if they were all holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

  ‘I have to go out,’ Grace said at last. ‘I feel as if I can’t breathe. Ruby, are you coming? Just for five minutes to get some air?’

  Ruby didn’t answer, but only shook her head. Grace borrowed her mother’s shawl, for hers was gone, stolen from Bessie’s shoulders, and stepped outside.

  The evening was warm and she realized as she went up the alley and into the street that it had been a sunny day, although in the houses of Middle Court, they hadn’t noticed it. The warmth, however, had brought out all the smells of the neighbouring seed mills and glue factories, and the stench from the blubber and slaughter yards.

  Grace’s stomach heaved. Mostly she didn’t notice the smells but sometimes in the summer it was so bad that she wanted to vomit. She walked slowly along, trying not to take a breath. The street was crowded with people coming home from work, and many were dawdling, glad to be outside in spite of the foul odours.

  She leaned against a wall watching the crowd. She didn’t want to walk far or to be out long, for she felt that Ruby was depending on her, but her attention was drawn to a small group down the street who were pointing at the ground where what looked like a small animal was stumbling. She could hear some of the people protesting, and some were bending down to it, reaching out their hands.

  Curiously she walked towards them. Sometimes a pig escaped from a slaughterhouse cart, making a bid for freedom. But then people would laugh and give chase, and they were not doing that now. Perhaps it has been injured, she thought, run over by a dray or carriage. Or maybe it’s a starving dog, for they were a frequent sight. The murmurings grew louder and she caught some of the words. ‘Somebody do summat!’ ‘Somebody should fetch help.’

  As she drew nearer her eyes opened wide. It wasn’t an animal, but a child, crawling in the gutter and pushing away the helping hands which were reaching towards it. It could have been a girl or boy: the hair was long and unkempt and hung over the child’s face. Its body was half naked, the shirt on its back ripped and torn and the skirt or trousers tattered, exposing raw and bleeding knees and bare feet.

  ‘Who is it?’ Grace asked a woman in the crowd.

  ‘Don’t know. Poor bairn.’ The woman wiped her eyes. ‘But he won’t accept any help. Just keeps saying he’s going home to his ma.’

  Grace felt a sudden palpitation in her chest and a tightening of her throat. She squeezed her way through the crowd to see the child more clearly. He was crawling a pace at a time, his head hanging low. She bent down to look at the child’s face. ‘Freddie? Is it you?’ She felt a rush of tears stream down her face. ‘Freddie! Tell me that it’s you!’

  He looked up. His eyes were enormous in his thin face and she barely recognized him.

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was cracked and hoarse. ‘It’s Freddie. I’m going home to my ma.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A man helped to pick him up and put him into Grace’s arms. He offered to carry him home.

  ‘No, thank you. He knows me, you see. He’ll feel safe now. Won’t you, Freddie?’ She put her face close to his and murmured, ‘I’ll take you home to your ma, and to Ruby. They’re waiting for you.’ She was choked with tears. Please God, she thought. Let Bessie still be with us.

  Though she felt frail and weak herself, somehow she found the strength to carry him. It’s like carrying a bag of bones, she thought. Is he going to survive? She remembered the sick child from Wakefield and saw that Freddie had that same haunted expression, as if he was hovering between life and death.

  She felt a burning anger building up inside her. I’ll find the vigour from somewhere, she resolved, I’ll stand firm to fight this terrible injustice, and I’ll do it alone if no-one will help me. She staggered down the alley and into the court. ‘We’re here, Freddie,’ she said breathlessly, but the child had closed his eyes. She kicked hard against the door and her father opened it hurriedly.

  ‘What—!’ He took a breath and turned towards the room. ‘Ruby, quick.’ He took Freddie from Grace’s arms and carried him towards the bed, where a bewildered Ruby was standing with her arms outstretched. Together they laid Freddie next to Bessie.

  ‘Ma,’ Ruby’s voice was choked with tears. ‘Here’s Freddie. He’s come back like you asked.’

  Bessie half-opened her eyes. ‘You’re a good lass,’ she breathed, and Ruby lifted her mother’s arm to put it around Freddie.

  Lizzie put a blanket over him, then poured some broth into a cup, and taking a teaspoon she trickled a small amount of the liquid into Freddie’s mouth. He ran his tongue around his lips and gave a dry swallow.

  ‘Would you like some water?’ she asked and when he nodded, she poured water from the kettle into another cup and spooned that into his mouth. He gave a half-smile and a sigh and snuggling closer to his mother, murmured something and fell asleep.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ Ruby watched him anxiously. ‘I couldn’t bear it if he should die.’ She gazed at Grace, who was sitting in her father’s chair with her head cradled in her hands. ‘Where did you find him, Grace? Where was he?’

  ‘He was crawling along ’street,’ Grace said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know where he’d come from, but he’d found his way here somehow.’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘It’s not right. It’s just not right.’

  The day after his father’s funeral Martin drove into Hull to offer his resignation at the mill as manager, though retaining his shares and those of his father’s which had been bequeathed to him. He had decided to do this so that he would have a voice at the shareholders’ meetings. After he had concluded his business there and spoken briefly to Edward, who had been extremely morose since his father’s death, he asked his driver to go into the High Street where he intended calling on Emerson.

  He was shown into Emerson’s library. The older man rose to greet him. ‘Newmarch! Dear fellow! I am this very moment writing to you!’ He indicated his desk, where writing materials were laid out. ‘I have a letter here for Miss Sheppard from Miss Morris, who asks if I would forward it to her. I thought perhaps you might have her address – from when she worked at the mill, you know.’

  ‘Miss Morris?’ he queried. ‘Ah! erm – yes, I think I might be able to obtain Miss Sheppard’s address.’ In fact he knew where Grace lived, although he had never visited the area. He had looked through the lists of employees’ addresses specifically to find it, when she had led the delegation of women to obtain their wages. He had been curious at the time to know what kind of address she came from.

  ‘I took it upon myself to write to her – Miss Morris,’ Emerson explained, ‘after I had seen Miss Sheppard in the Market Place. You remember we had discussed the possibility that she might have some suggestions regarding that young lady. It seems such a waste of obvious intelligence. Besides which,’ he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gazed at Martin, ‘I did think that she looked quite exhausted. She had that grey look of poverty which was not apparent previously.’

  Martin felt his spirits sink. Was she not getting enough to eat? There were thousands of people out of work, mostly men, dock workers, factory workers, and this had a devastating effect: the women then bec
ame the breadwinners, and their low wages were insufficient to feed and clothe their families.

  ‘Her parents were both working,’ he murmured. ‘But perhaps now they are not.’

  ‘She would not, I think, accept charity?’ Emerson queried, and Martin shook his head in response. ‘I did pay more for the ship she was selling than I would normally have done, but I felt that she was in need of the money.’

  ‘Perhaps I should deliver this letter myself.’ Martin tapped it against his hand. ‘Would it be –’ He looked at Emerson, whom he had always regarded as being wise. ‘Would it be in order to do so, do you think? To search her out?’

  Emerson smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘You are a good fellow, Newmarch, as well meaning and benevolent as anyone I know, but there are times when you hold back when you should go forward. Miss Sheppard will not be offended, I am sure, if you call.’ His smile widened. ‘You will not need to leave your card or arrange a visit.’

  ‘No.’ Martin returned the smile. ‘I’m sure you are right.’ It’s just that I’m afraid of what I might find, he pondered as he was shown out of the door.

  What he found was a narrow dark court of twelve houses which led into an even narrower darker passageway, which in turn led into another court with a high brick wall at the end of it. There was no name on the wall indicating where he was, but this was where he was sent when requesting directions for Middle Court.

  She can’t surely live down here? There was no light, and he involuntarily glanced up to see only a thin oblong of blue sky between the buildings. It was humid, too, as if the air had been sucked out through that same oblong. He looked along the row of terraced houses, six on each side. One door and two windows, one at the top and one below. Some were boarded up; only one had curtains at the window.

  So which house will it be? He hesitated, then chose the first one where he could see movement within the room. He rapped twice with his knuckles and waited. The door was opened by Grace, who gave a slight gasping breath as she saw him.

  ‘Mr Newmarch!’ She dipped her knee as he took off his hat. ‘Sir! Why are you here?’

  He swallowed hard. Emerson was right, she did look ill, so frail and slight with no colour to her cheeks. ‘I –’ He was so taken aback by her appearance that he was lost for words or reason for his visit, though he remembered that he had come to deliver Miss Morris’s letter. I think that is why I have come. Or did the letter prompt me to follow my original intentions of seeking her?

  ‘Grace!’ A woman’s low voice called from within the room. ‘Either bring ’caller in or go out, there’s a draught from ’door.’

  ‘Sorry!’ She seemed to pull herself together, lifting her chin and gazing at him, with, he thought, a slight defiance in her blue eyes, so large in her thin face. ‘Would you like to come in, Mr Newmarch? Though we have some worry and distress in our home at the moment.’

  ‘Oh? Then I would not wish to trouble you, unless of course I can be of any assistance?’

  She opened the door wider. ‘Perhaps you can, though I doubt it. Please come in.’

  He followed her into a small hallway from which rose narrow rickety uncarpeted stairs, and through another doorway into a downstairs room. He narrowed his eyes, for the room was dim. There was no light, not a lamp or candle, though a fire was burning in the hearth. A bed took up most of the space and in it he could see two people, or perhaps they were children, he thought, though I’m sure Grace’s mother said that Grace was the only child and had no siblings.

  Then he saw Grace’s mother kneeling by the bed. She didn’t get up, but nodded in acknowledgement of his presence. She was stroking the head of a child in the bed who was lying next to someone whose face he couldn’t see, only white hair streaked with dark.

  ‘Is someone sick?’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you need a doctor?’

  Lizzie Sheppard looked down at the child and gently stroked his cheek, then stood up. ‘Aye, we do, Mr Newmarch, for this poor bairn, and somebody’s gone to try and get one.’ She turned towards the bed and said quietly, ‘It’s too late for his ma, though she’s still gripping hold of life, but we hope to save her lad.’

  He glanced around the room and saw the other mattress in the corner. ‘Is this the only room you have? Have you no separate room for the sick?’

  Grace’s lips turned up, although he didn’t feel that it was a smile, but something like derision. ‘This room is where we live, eat and sleep, Mr Newmarch. The sick are our friends and neighbours whom we have taken into our care in their last desperate hours.’ Her voice tightened and he saw her mouth tremble. ‘We are fortunate that we are usually only three to a room, unlike those Irish we visited in the Groves. I’m sure you will remember several families housed in one room there?’

  Martin gazed at her. There was something she was trying to convey to him. Some passion was building up inside her and she was trying to contain it. He glanced at her mother. She too was much thinner than when he had last met her.

  ‘What is wrong with the child?’ he asked. ‘Has he caught some disease from his mother?’

  Grace shook her head and again he saw that disdainful look. ‘No, his mother’s disease is self-inflicted. She has had such a wonderful life that she has ended it with opium. Her son was sold to a chimney sweep and he was so battered, bruised and burned that he climbed down from his last chimney in Nottingham and walked home.’ She stared at his look of disbelief. ‘He crawled through ’streets of Hull on his hands and knees.’

  He saw her hands clasp and unclasp and she gave a small sob. She was wide-eyed and her mother glanced at her and murmured, ‘Grace!’

  ‘I can’t bear it any longer,’ she cried, and Martin took a step nearer and reached out his hand. ‘It’s just not fair.’ She turned towards him and raised her voice. ‘Why should poor folks be treated as if they were nothing? Why should they beg and prostitute themselves in order to eat?’ She clenched her fists so hard that the knuckles showed white, and to his utter dismay she began to beat him on the chest. ‘It’s not fair! It’s not fair.’ She started to weep, and as he grasped her wrists he felt the birdlike bones and was seized with alarm at her fragility.

  He caught her as she fell weeping and exhausted, and her mother rushed forward. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Put her in her da’s chair.’

  He carried her to the only chair by the fire. She was so light that he panicked that in her frail state she might succumb to illness. ‘A pillow! Have you a pillow?’

  ‘No. We don’t have such luxuries. My shawl.’ She took the shawl from her shoulders and rolled it up for a pillow which he placed at the back of Grace’s head.

  ‘A blanket?’ He was almost afraid to ask.

  She took a blanket from the bed and he wrapped it around Grace’s lap. They both looked down at her as she lay with tears streaming from beneath her closed eyes, her body shaking with sobs.

  ‘I’ll make her some tea, that’ll revive her.’ Lizzie placed the kettle over the fire.

  ‘When did Grace last eat?’ Martin asked, then glancing at her, said, ‘When did any of you last eat?’

  ‘Last night at supper,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘Ruby brought us a piece of bacon and I made some broth.’

  ‘Ruby?’ he queried, something ticking in his memory.

  She pointed to the bed. ‘Bessie’s daughter. Young Freddie’s sister.’

  ‘Is she living here too?’

  Lizzie turned away. ‘No. They have a house further down ’court, onny Ruby’s not in it at ’moment. She’s – she’s living in at ’place of her employ, so to speak. I have to say, though, she’s been good to her ma and to Freddie. It’s her who’s gone for ’doctor.’

  Grace stirred and opened her eyes, wiping them with her fist, and Martin knelt down on the rug at her feet. ‘Are you feeling any better?’ he asked softly.

  She had looked vacant for a moment, then blinked. ‘Mr Newmarch,’ she murmured. ‘What –?’ Then her face cleared as she remembered. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Did
I –?’

  ‘Yes, you did, my girl.’ Her mother put a few sparse leaves in the teapot and poured boiling water on them. ‘You gave Mr Newmarch a right old beating. You’d best apologize.’

  ‘There is no need.’ Martin put his hand on Grace’s shoulder and felt again the frailty of her bones. ‘You are overwrought and unwell, and disturbed too, I imagine, by what has happened to your friends.’

  She nodded, then said, ‘I’m sorry nevertheless, if I offended you. It seemed as if –’

  She turned her head away and he finished the sentence for her. ‘As if I and people like me are to blame?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘And yet I know that it isn’t true. It’s society who’s to blame, not individuals.’

  ‘Yet individuals must make a stand,’ he asserted. ‘It is an individual who builds houses like this and makes a profit out of filling it with as many people as possible.’ He gazed at her. ‘And I do remember our visit to the Groves. I haven’t been able to get those people out of my mind.’

  ‘Nor I,’ she said softly. ‘And there are so many more.’

  The door opened and Ruby came in, but she was alone. ‘Doctor says he’ll come when he can.’ Then she saw Martin Newmarch kneeling by Grace, and, startled, stopped what she was going to say next. ‘Mr Newmarch!’

  He stood up and looked at her, and was struck by her look of well-being and vitality compared to Grace’s. He gave a small bow of his head.

  ‘This is my friend, Ruby,’ Grace said. ‘She used to work with me at ’cotton mill.’

  Ruby? Realization flooded over him. Edward, in a slip of his tongue, had spoken of Ruby. So was she –? He saw perception and apprehension dawning on Ruby’s face, and the colour flooding her cheeks, as she faced her lover’s brother and knew that he was aware of her.

  ‘I’m sorry for your troubles,’ he said quietly. ‘I know of a local doctor, one who attends the mill when we need him. If you will permit me, I will go for him now and bring him back. What is actually wrong with your brother?’