It was this last, desperate plea which finally registered and the very next morning Simeon put on his three piece worsted suit, attached his stiffest white collar to his blue striped shirt, added his blackest tie and hat and left the house on the stroke of five-thirty, umbrella in hand.
Edward too, went to the mill as usual. Dr Lisle called regularly every morning and, little by little, the daily routine of the house returned to normal, save for the fact that Bella’s calls on Mrs Stobbs, Violet and her other ‘ladies’ must now cease. She regretted this hugely, since the hushed atmosphere which emanated from the sick room was so depressing she would have welcomed any respite with open arms.
Bella was also concerned about Jinnie’s continued avoidance of the subject of the “accident”. She’d finally admitted that she hadn’t yet got around to explaining it all to Edward.
‘He were - was - that excited when he asked me to marry him, I just couldn’t spoil it for him, for either of us, if I’m honest. Then he told me about how we’re to be engaged for two years afore we wed, so there’s plenty of time, eh? It don’t seem quite the right moment to tell him now, do it? He’s troubles enough on his plate.’
‘But you must tell him soon. You can’t agree to marry Edward without telling him the truth and the longer you leave it, the more painful it will be for you both. It’s my fault in the first place for making up the tale. Would you like me to explain?’
Jinnie was adamant that she would do it herself, even pleaded with Bella to say nothing. ‘I’ll tell him. I will. Soon as maybe.’
Yet even these worries became overridden by the deeper concerns about her own situation when it became clear that Emily’s condition showed little sign or hope of improvement.
Caring for the poor and needy was one thing but, for all she was more fond of her mother than she’d perhaps realised, being chained to her sick bed without hope of remission was quite another matter altogether. There had to be a better solution if Bella was not to entirely forfeit her youth and freedom. She set about finding it with renewed determination, resolving to discuss the matter with her mother’s physician at the very first opportunity.
Dr Lisle was a thin, wiry, bespectacled man who had clearly devoted himself to medicine since being, at well past forty, still single. Thin strands of fading hair were carefully stuck down over a polished pate, though he wore a bushy moustache above a narrow top lip as if to prove he had once been well endowed with a fine head of black hair. At either side of his small neat head protruded a pair of well shaped ears but none of this troubled Bella in the least, for though he was somewhat pedantic and formal in his approach, he possessed a cheerful enough aspect and an optimistic outlook that would be welcome in any sick room. His least endearing feature was a slightly fishy odour which seemed ever to cling to his clothes. This was caused by the fact that he occupied two rooms above Mr Solomon’s fish shop and, clean as the premises undoubtedly were, there was no escaping the aroma which rose from the heaps of wet fish to the rooms above.
He appeared to actively court Bella’s approval by frequently mentioning his work with the deserving poor, admitting to having given treatment on numerous occasions without any hope of being paid. ‘It is a sad fact of life that those who need it the most can afford it the least.’
Bella listened with some amusement to all of this but guessed that her father would receive a large bill for the care of his wife on this occasion, though she supposed Dr Lisle was at least assiduous in giving value for money. Yet she still hadn’t plucked up the courage to mention the subject of most concern to her.
As Christmas and New Year passed, the little doctor continued to visit on a daily basis. Eventually, she remarked upon it. ‘Perhaps you don’t need to come quite so often now, Doctor, though a nurse perhaps, would be beneficial.’
He smiled cheerily at her. ‘I’m sure you can give much better care for your dear mother than any nurse.’
‘That’s not necessarily the case but even if it were true, in all honesty, the task of caring for her is a hard one. I could do with a break now and then.’ Emily seemed to be adept at ringing her bell at night just when Bella had finally drifted off to sleep, and everyone else in the house appeared to be either constantly absent or stone deaf.
Dr Lisle tut-tutted sympathetically. ‘Of course it naturally falls entirely upon you, as the unmarried daughter.’
Bella attempted to smile through gritted teeth. ‘I would simply like a nurse to help me.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ But the following day he did not bring a nurse, only an invitation to supper. ‘As single people with similar interests, perhaps you and I could provide some respite to each other from the caring work that we both undertake so unstintingly. A little socialising would be good for us both. I thought that tomorrow, being Saturday, we could take a stroll around the Penny Bazaar. I know young ladies like to shop,’ he teased, eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps finishing with tea at the Lyons House on the corner of Princess Street, or have supper in my rooms if you prefer. Mrs Solomon could do us a nice bit of hake, I am sure.’
Bella felt a surge of panic. This wasn’t what she’d intended at all. Her benevolent view of him now quite gone, the very idea of spending an entire afternoon or evening with Dr Nathaniel Lisle filled her with horror. But how to refuse without causing offence? ‘It’s kind of you to offer but I couldn’t possibly leave Mother. Perhaps some other time, when she is feeling more herself.’
‘Of course. I beg your pardon for intruding. I shall ask again later.’
Bella sincerely hoped that he would not.
She felt a complete coward. Taking supper with the doctor, surely an obliging enough little man, might well have given her the opportunity she’d once craved to ask some pertinent questions and find the solutions Mrs Stobbs, for one, so eagerly sought. How was poor Mrs Stobbs managing without her? She must be well on with her latest pregnancy by this time. Bella was filled with guilt that she hadn’t been to see her, or any of her ‘ladies’, for weeks now. Nor had she done anything about the Marie Stopes book which Mrs Dyson had mentioned. Sadly, her mother’s ill health had driven all such concerns if not exactly out of mind, certainly out of her daily routine.
Dr Lisle’s persistent attentions did, however, remind her of another matter on her conscience. She went to her brother and asked if Jinnie had spoken to him yet.
‘About what?’
Bella’s heart plummeted. She was wishing more and more that she’d never made up that tale of the runaway horse. This mythical accident was turning into a nightmare to haunt her. Yet what else could she have done? Mother would never have taken Jinnie into the house if she’d known the truth. ‘There’s something she wants to tell you.’
Edward’s expression brightened. ‘Has she decided that she’d rather marry me now, and not wait for two years?’
Bella sighed. ‘You must ask her that yourself. I’m sure she will explain everything to you, in her own good time.’
Jinnie could hardly believe her good fortune. In her pocket jingled twelve shillings and sixpence, evidence of a proper week’s work for the first time in her life. Up until now she’d never earned more than five bob, doing a bit of washing or charring here and there. Quinn had always been at pains to explain how she wasn’t employable, being one of the undeserving poor, and therefore entirely dependent upon his generosity to keep body and soul together.
It was Saturday and the mill had shut its gates for the weekend. She, along with hundreds of other girls, had joined the exultant exodus, free to do as she pleased till six o’clock on Monday morning. The clatter of clogs on the setts, competing loudly with the chatter and happy laughter, not forgetting the blare of the mill hooter, seemed to bounce off stone walls and wet pavements, filling the damp air with an atmosphere which, to Jinnie at least, seemed to be the very essence of joy.
They piled onto tramcars, jostling and joking, planning to spend the afternoon on the Flat Iron market, perhaps treating themselves to a toasted tea cake at the Broadway Cafe, take in a flick or go to a dance at the Empress Ballroom on Church Street. The men would look forward to the Saturday match, a new packet of Woodbine or a threepenny bet on the two-thirty and, win or lose, finish off with a bit of forgetfulness in the local pub. Simple, ordinary pleasures which Jinnie, for so long, had been denied.
Now she was one of the crowd. She had a job, albeit one spent filing or running errands at the beck and call of the terrifying Miss Tadcaster. But it was a start, oh dear me yes. She also had regular meals every single night of the week. Even a bath, should she ever feel the need of one.
Then there was Edward.
Jinnie’s insides melted to water just thinking about Edward. He was the dearest, sweetest man she’d ever met, and so determined that they wed, the excitement was at times almost too much for her to bear. It made her feel sick with a funny sort of fear. What if she wasn’t good enough for him? What if he got bored by her stupidity and ignorance, or she embarrassed him by picking up the wrong knife or making a daft remark? And there was the thorny question of children. Edward hadn’t yet brought the subject up, being a shy man and them being new to this courting lark, but it was bound to be mentioned eventually. What should she say? Should she explain what she’d got Sadie to do? It was all right Bella telling her to be honest and truthful but one thing led to another. If she told him the truth about that dreadful night, then she’d have to explain how she came to be in that condition in the first place, which led to all sorts of complications.
Jinnie grasped the coins in her pocket and smiled to herself. Oh, but she’d worry about all that when the time came, for now she was on cloud nine. She was in love, just like Vilma Banky with Rudolph Valentino in that film
The Son of the Sheik
.
It was as she swung around the corner into Unwin Street that she ran into him, full tilt. One minute her life was perfect with a glint of sunshine on the horizon, the next it was tippling down and she was drenched in fear.
‘Hello Jinnie girl. Long time no see.’
Billy Quinn. He was lounging against the wall as if he’d known she would come, if he waited long enough. Happen he did know. Happen he’d been following her for days, just waiting for Saturday when the mill loosed early. A cold nub of fear churned in her stomach. If she’d waited an hour or two longer, till Edward had finished some accounts he was working on, she could’ve walked home with him. But she’d wanted to be one of the girls and now look what a pickle she’d put herself in as a result.
‘Hello Quinn,’ she said, praying the tremors inside weren’t revealing themselves in her voice.
‘Ye look well. In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing ye look better. Is it the new job that agrees with ye, or the company ye keep these days? Quite the swell, eh?’
Jinnie decided that she’d no option but to brazen it out. She even managed the semblance of a smile. ‘I’m doing all right, thanks. And yerself’?’
‘Fair to middlin’, as you Lanky’s say.’ He had on his Saturday suit, a houndstooth check jacket and waistcoat over matching trousers, a white cotton muffler tucked into the collar. On his head he wore a slouch cap, tilted cheekily to one side, and the inevitable cigarette drooping from the corner of those full lips. Jinnie had forgotten how very good looking he was and for a moment her stomach clenched, remembering those nights when he’d instructed her in what he termed ‘the arts of satisfaction’. Billy Quinn never made the mistake of mentioning love. ‘It took me a while to work out where you’d gone. Haven’t seen you about for weeks.’
‘I’ve been ill.’ Jinnie could have kicked herself for owning up to even this much, in case he should start questioning what had caused the illness. But as he blithely continued, saying how sorry he’d been to hear of her loss, it soon became all too clear that it was too late to worry. He knew already. He must’ve got it out of Sadie. Jinnie didn’t care to consider how and felt even sicker at what this meant for her own future.
‘I’m wondering why ye didn’t think to come to me first,’ he mildly remarked, and Jinnie mumbled something about not wanting to trouble him but Quinn only laughed; a harsh grating sound that held not a scrap of humour in it. ‘T’would’ve been no trouble. No trouble at all. If ye’d explained how you were worried over having a babby, don’t ye think I would’ve taken care of ye better than daft Sadie? Tis a pity ye had such little faith in me that ye couldn’t mention such an important matter to me first. And now these secrets are making even more trouble, are they not? Tis a terrible mess ye’ve brought upon yerself.’