It was a miracle from God, at least Jennet thought so and was ready to fall to her knees in prayer to that being to whom she and her father had offered their thanks every day. The pepper, heaped in Annie’s bloody hand, was thrust beneath Nancy’s nose and with half a dozen hefty sneezes from its mother the child leaped out into the world, complaining lustily at the inconsiderate delay.
“Never mind that, lass,” Annie snapped at her as Jennet sank beside the bed. “We’ve more ter do than gerron our bloody knees. See, gimme a ’and; and you two” – turning to glare at Rose and Mary who were edging forward to get a view of the child – “pass me them scissors an’ ’ave yer some ’ot water? Good lasses. There’s just t’cord ter do an’ then she’ll be right as bloody ninepence. Good strong girl like ’er. Now, go and fetch ’er a cuppa tea, an’ me an’ all while yer at it. And a basin o’ warm water fer’t babby ’oo’ll need a bit of a wash.”
And so, for the first time in her life Jennet Williams witnessed the beginning of life and from that moment when Nancy Brody’s daughter, still covered in the muck and blood of birth, was placed in her trembling arms, she loved her, which was just as well for her mother didn’t. She wanted to sit down and nurse her, gaze into the blood-streaked, indignant face, inspect the quivering, vulnerable gums, the mouth which was wide in a yell of disapproval and yet at the same time was beginning hopefully to suck on the empty air. Tentatively she placed the tip of her little finger in the baby’s mouth and at once the gums clamped down on it and began to suck vigorously.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered reverently, “oh, thank you, dear sweet Lord.”
“Never mind that, Jennet Williams,” the weak voice from the bed told her. “The Lord, whoever He might be, had nothing to do with this. It’s Annie you should be thanking. And where’s that cup of tea?”
11
Josh Hayes allowed his mare to pick her way wherever she pleased, guiding her only between the tree-trunks of the several small patches of woodland through which he rode, following the bridle path leading from Higher Broughton towards Cheetham and Harpurhey. Though Copper wanted to gallop and work off the energy that lay dormant in her, Josh kept her to a walk since he needed all his wits about him to mull over the dreadful predicament in which he found himself. And should he be surprised at it, he sighed, for he had been Evie’s lover for a year now and the consequence to that could not be unexpected, nor his father’s reaction to that consequence. Their relationship had begun last summer and in January she had told him she was with child. And now it was July and though he had not set eyes on her for weeks he knew she still hoped for something he could not give her. She held a place in his heart, did his loving Evie, for not once had she reproached him but had taken the burden he had placed on her as though it were all her fault. But he knew, even as late as this she hoped for . . . for . . . something though God alone knew what.
The sun shone from a cloudless sky at the zenith of which a skylark sang its heart out but he did not notice. In the fields, knee-deep in rich grass and clover, cattle turned their heads to watch him go by, their jaws chomping rhythmically on the juicy sweetness in their mouths. A farm labourer crossing the meadow with his dog raised his cap respectfully, recognising quality, not only in the young gentleman, but the fine animal he rode. His dog slunk at his heels, its tail down, but the man on the mare did not notice. The air was drenched in fragrance, for the hedges were a tangle of wild flowers with a fine festoon of dog roses and honeysuckle about them, but Josh Hayes did not notice. He put the mare to a small stream which she took elegantly, crushing under her hooves the delicate water figwort and water forget-me-nots which grew there in great abundance, but again, still deep in his reverie, he did not notice. Men and women were haymaking, the men scything in ordered rows, their weather-beaten faces set in lines of concentration, the women gleaning and gathering and stooking, their faces deep in frilled sunbonnets. Though the women nodded pleasantly, again he did not notice.
Beside a placid stream which wound through a stand of trees he reined the mare to a stop and slid from her back, then, leading her by the bridle, walked on, the mare lifting and shaking her head at the restraint. Though she had steadied since he had her last year she was still inclined to skittishness if her energy had not been run off.
“Whoa, lass, whoa. Calm down, will you. We’ll have a gallop on the way back, I promise you. Now stand, stand, I tell you.”
Josh kept his arm around the horse’s neck, leaning against her as though weary unto death, and together they studied the serene flow of the water.
“I don’t know what the bloody hell to do, Copper, and that’s a fact,” he told the animal. “I feel I should be doing more than I am but there are so many people to consider. Father’s right but that doesn’t help Evie.”
He seemed to find nothing unusual in speaking thus to his mare, not here, at any rate, where there was not another human soul in sight to hear him. It was nearly three months now since Evie’s condition had been discovered by a triumphant Mrs Harvey who acted as though she were pleased to have had all her worst suspicions about the laundry-maid and the master’s son confirmed, for who else could be the father, though she did not say this to Mrs Hayes when she brought the appalling situation to her attention. Mrs Hayes had been justifiably upset, for no mistress likes to think that a girl in her employ has been “carrying on” and, of course, the girl must be dismissed at once, for she had an unmarried daughter of her own and it was not proper nor decent to have a fallen woman under the same roof. In fact, none of the maidservants could be expected to work with disgraced Evie Edward who must be sent home to her mother at once.
“Don’t worry, Evie,” he had whispered to her, holding her trembling figure in his arms the last time they had met in Kersall Dell. It had not been an agreeable moment. All the times he had held and delighted in her slender body were swept away by his awareness of the swollen bump that pressed against him and he felt the guilt strike like a knife, but there was nothing he could do except give her some money to tide her over until he could think of some way out of this mess.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured again into her hair, “I’ll always take care of you.” Though at that moment he wanted nothing more than to see her set off across the fields towards Park Meadows and the small cottage where her family lived. She had trailed her bundle of clothing behind her, looking back at him disconsolately again and again, her face still wet with her tears and he had felt something wrench inside him, for what a tempest of recriminations she would face, a disgraced daughter come home to bear an illegitimate child.
He had his own recriminations to contend with when he got home.
“So, you’ve been at it again, have you, lad?” his father had thundered, his fury so great he could not keep still but strode the study from window to desk and back again. “Can’t keep it inside your breeches, can you? Sniffing after every bitch that crosses your path like a randy dog. I told you the last time I would not stand it again and now I come home to find your mother in tears since it seems the laundry-maid has been dismissed and it doesn’t take much reckoning to come to the right conclusion on who the father might be. You’ve been seen hanging about her. Oh, yes, I made it my business to ask a few questions of the servants and though they didn’t like it I got it out of them. Now then, what have you to say for yourself? Though as far as I can see there’s not a lot to say.”
Breathing heavily his father had glared at him, drumming his fingers on the desk in an ecstasy of rage.
“Well, as you so succinctly put it, there’s not a lot I can say, is there, sir? I am condemned before I have had a chance to speak a word in my own defence.”
“Are you telling me you are not the father of the slut’s brat?”
“She is not a slut but a young girl,” keeping his temper with great difficulty.
“Who dropped her drawers for the master’s son and God knows how many others.”
“No, Father, only for me and . . .”
“Yes?”
“I think I should marry her. She comes from a decent family.”
“A labourer’s daughter!” His father was slack-jawed in amazement. “A decent family! You must be mad. You seem to have lost your mind along with your ability to show restraint. Dear God, lad, could you not do as other men do and go to some decent place where the women know exactly what is expected of them and are a trouble to no one. But let’s get one thing straight. There’ll be no talk of marriage, d’you hear? Your mother is distraught enough as it is. Can you imagine how she would react if I went to her and told her she was to have some common labourer’s daughter, her own laundry-maid, as a daughter-in-law? No, I won’t have it.”
“I don’t see how you could stop me, sir. I am over twenty-one, after all, and can do as I like.”
His father had become quiet then, his face like cold, grey granite, his mouth so tightly clamped he could barely speak.
“Is that so?” he managed icily. “Well, my lad, you’re right, you can do as you like and so can I. Let me warn you that trollop will never come over my doorstep as your bride, and neither will you if you marry her. I have another son, Joshua Hayes who, though he is still young, can take over from me in time, for there’s nothing surer than the truth that
you won’t
.”
His face had softened then and his voice too, ready to implore his lad not to give up all he had for nothing more than a bit of “sport” which, he supposed, all young men indulged in. He’d done it himself at the same age and even now he had a pretty young woman set up in a smart little villa on the outskirts of Newton Heath, far enough away for discretion and yet near enough for him to visit whenever he had the need. Mrs Hayes, of whom he was very fond, did not care for that side of marriage which was what he had expected when he married her, for she was a lady. She had given him his two sons and a daughter and he had left her alone after that.
“Son, I know you think you are obliged in some way and it does you credit but you are . . . you need not feel responsible. She can be taken care of. Like the other one. A husband will be found for her, if that’s what she wants but I’m sure you will discover that she will settle down among her own sort, who, let me add, are not at all as particular as you seem to think about the need for marriage. If you feel the urge to help her and the child then that’s up to you, perhaps a cottage of her own and money to support her, but surely you can see that marriage between you would be disastrous, and not just for the pair of you who have nothing in common but for your family. How do you think she’d fit in here in our home among women with whom she was once a servant? And even if your mother and I were to accept her no one else would. We’d be shunned. Your mother and sister would no longer be welcome among our own kind. Your sister’s marriage prospects would be seriously harmed. So you see there is not just yourself and . . . and her to consider.”
The more his father placed before him the good, logical reasons why he should desert – he could think of no other word – Evie, the more reasonable it all seemed. But still he could not forget her woebegone face, her dragging figure, the slump to her shoulders, hampered by the bundle of her clothing as she set off across the fields towards her father’s cottage. He wished now that he had gone with her. Would he beat her, her father? God almighty . . . he couldn’t stand the thought nor the picture his father painted of the treatment his mother and sister would suffer at the hands of their acquaintances should this get out. Nor could he cope with the idea that his father, who always kept his word, would totally disinherit him if he followed Evie across those fields. He was just beginning to get a good grip on the business and he revelled in his own growing knowledge and expertise. He was to go to America in the autumn and there was talk of markets in other parts of the world where Hayes cotton might be sold and he was to go and look for them. His father was giving him more and more freedom to make his own decisions, trusting him, and he found he liked it.
Edmund Hayes sensed the indecision in his son. Josh had been foolish and Edmund had been furious, but at the same time he did not want to lose him. He was becoming an asset to the firm and he would miss him, apart from any family ties which would be painful if they were broken. He watched his son’s face and, like the clever adversary he was in all matters to do with business, he drew back a little, not pressing any advantage but letting it simmer quietly.
“Don’t do anything hasty, lad. Give it a day or two. Let it settle, then, if you think it necessary you can ride across to . . . to her home and do as you please with her.
But think about it first
. You’ve a lot to lose and I promise you she’ll be well looked after.”
So, taking the coward’s way out, he was well aware, he had done what his father asked and was rewarded, not only by his mother’s discreetly whispered but nevertheless heartfelt relief and gratitude at his sensible view of the matter but by his father’s approval. A weekly sum of money was to be settled on Evie so that if she felt the need she could be independent of her family but he had been told that she remained with them and had been seen laughing in the lane outside the cottage with a labouring man.
There was a path of sorts but it was hot in the midday sunshine so Josh took the mare to the shade of a group of trees and tethered her, though she was not pleased. She snorted and sighed dramatically, then, as her master drifted away from her, as though sensing his abstraction, she bent her head and began to crop the thick grass.
Josh slowly sank to his haunches, his arms round his knees and stared into the slow, clear water of the stream, watching intently as though his life might depend on his description of it as a small twig floated by in the tiny ripples. The child was due any day now, so he had been told by a sympathetic Mrs Cameron who was cook to the Hayes family and who had made it her business to keep in touch with Evie of whom she had been fond. A nice little thing Evie had been in her opinion, good-natured and kind-hearted which was probably the reason she was in this pickle. But she had known the consequences of making free with the young master of the house and should have kept her hand on her halfpenny, a thought Cook had kept to herself. None of them blamed Master Josh for not marrying her; the very idea was ludicrous and surely even she had not expected it of him. She wasn’t the first to become involved with the young man of the house and wouldn’t be the last and in one way she was lucky in that she was to be looked after financially by the family, which didn’t happen to most. Turned out by employer and family alike, many of them drifted away and into menial jobs until they could no longer work, then took up prostitution as the only way to support themselves and their infants. At least poor Evie had been spared that.