For a Mother's Sins Read online

  ‘Done.’ Molly spat in her hand and offered it to Rose.

  ‘Fine.’ Rose turned without shaking the outstretched hand. ‘I’ll go and get you her first month’s wages.’

  Molly stood on the steps, unable to hide her grin of delight. So far everything was going to plan. Rose Pratt might think she was hard and uncaring, but she’d show her. That money was going to be put away for Lizzie, though she’d be none the wiser until the time came to hand it over. In the meantime, Molly didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She was going to see to it that things changed for the better, and then she’d show the lot of them.

  4

  Molly stretched and yawned, gazing up at the tarred roof above her and then turning her head to the scrap of sacking that served as a curtain, screening her bed. The shanty was nothing to brag about at the best of times. In the cold light of day, especially when viewed through sober eyes, it was a sorry sight. She eased her legs out of the bed and pulled back the curtain. The sun shone through the murky windows, illuminating her squalid surroundings. Had she really come to this? Pain filled her heart as she took in the empty packing crate that had been baby Tommy’s cot. She hadn’t moved it since that horrible moment when she touched his little cheek and found it stone cold. A wave of sorrow hit her, making her long for a glass of gin to deaden the pain, but she reminded herself that drink had only made things worse. It might temporarily help her forget, but ultimately it was taking over her life, and she was better than that.

  She staggered out of bed and went to the mirror, recoiling with shock when she saw her reflection. Grief had certainly taken its toll on her. She pushed her hair off her face and examined the wrinkles that were beginning to creep like thin spider webs across her brow. Wincing as her chapped fingers snagged in her hair, she lifted a strand and inspected it. Her long silky auburn hair had always been her crowning glory, but now it felt like straw and hung lank and greasy. Cursing herself for allowing things to deteriorate to this state, she boiled a kettle and filled a bowl with boiling water, adding a little cold water from the butt before immersing her hair and scrubbing it clean with soap. When she was done, she gave it a final rinse with vinegar so that it would have a lovely sheen.

  Wrapping her damp hair in a towel, she set about cleaning the rest of her body, lathering a flannel and washing the places where Cloggie had put his dirty hands, trying not to think about how much she had enjoyed it after a bottle or two of gin. She threw her dirty skirt and bodice in a corner of the room and delved in her trunk until she found a dress that she hadn’t worn in months. She breathed in deep as she pulled it over her head, muttering, ‘Time to get your pride back, lass,’ as she buttoned it up the front. Twisting her still-damp hair into a plait, she fastened it at the back of her head with a pin. It would be more practical that way than hanging loose around her shoulders.

  Once she had finished cleaning herself, she filled the copper and lit the fire under it. While she waited for the water to boil she gathered up all the rubbish and empty bottles, shook out the mats and swept the floors. By this time the water was hot enough to wash the clothes and sheets and curtains. And then she scrubbed the table and cleaned the filthy windows till they sparkled.

  It was well into the afternoon, with nearly all the jobs done, when she turned to discover she had a visitor.

  ‘Mrs Pratt’s sent you some dinner.’ Lizzie stood on the step, quietly studying her mother. It had been months since she’d seen Molly looking this way.

  ‘Oh, she did, did she? Probably checking up on me, making sure I hadn’t hit the bottle, seeing as you all think I’m so dependent on it.’

  ‘No, she just noticed that every time she looked out of the window you were hard at work. She thought you wouldn’t have anything in, so she sent you this fresh bread and some slices of ham. There’s enough for supper as well.’ Lizzie walked into her old home, placed her basket down on the table and began emptying the contents out.

  ‘I don’t live on charity, Lizzie Mason – you know that. Put that stuff back in your basket and take it straight to her.’

  ‘Mrs Pratt said you’d say that. She also said to tell you that was what good neighbours were for, helping one another out. She’s all right, Mam, honestly. She’s not said a bad word about you.’ Lizzie chewed her lip nervously, waiting for her mother to explode into one of her fits of temper.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Molly, registering the fear in her daughter’s eyes and understanding the cause. ‘That’s the trouble with me: I’ve a terrible spiteful tongue in my head sometimes, but you know how hard life’s been lately. I am grateful that she’s kept you from the workhouse and given you a roof over your head. Only until I get back on my feet, mind!’

  Molly pulled a chair up to the table and patted the one next to it, inviting Lizzie to sit down next to her.

  ‘Do you want a brew, our Liz? I can run to a cup of tea, you know.’

  Lizzie smiled and sat down on the wooden chair, eyes following her mother’s every move as she poured the tea and removed the crocheted cotton doily from the top of the milk jug, the heavy weighted beads clanging against the side of the milk jug as she lifted it up to pour.

  ‘What do you reckon, our Lizzie, does it look cleaner? I’ve been at it since first thing this morning. By God, there was some muck! I can’t believe how lost I’d let it get.’ She stared at her feet, unable to meet her daughter’s eyes. ‘Seems that up-his-own-arse vicar’s done me some good after all. Not that I wouldn’t like to knock his block off, mind. Fancy trying to tell me my daughter is a thief – and us with young Tommy still warm in his grave. I know better of you, Lizzie, and I’m sorry I let you down.’ She reached for her daughter’s hand. ‘Tell Rose Pratt she can have your bed – but only for the time being, because you’ll be back with me soon. She must be struggling to fit you in with all that lot, so get her to send one of her lads for it later on.’

  Lizzie looked at her mother through tear-filled eyes. She was so relieved to see signs that her mother had come to her senses and was getting back to her old self.

  ‘I’ll tell her, Mam. I’m sure she’ll be glad of the bed – two of her lads were sleeping head to toe last night. I don’t think they like me much for that.’

  Molly smiled. ‘Mind you look after yourself. Don’t go letting her fill your head with all that Bible rubbish. Remember the old saying: them that go to church usually need church.’

  Lizzie grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Mam, I’ll be fine. I know I’m going to have to work for my keep, but I don’t mind. At least it’ll be better than working in service, and I’ll still be near you. She says I can come across and see you any time I like.’ Lizzie pushed her chair back and stood up. She moved towards her mother, wanting to give her a hug before she went, but hesitated, still uncertain of how things stood between them.

  ‘You know I love you, don’t you, our Liz? I’ve been unwell, that’s all. You’ve got to forget all those hard words I said. I didn’t mean any of it. Tommy was a sickly baby, he could have gone any time, it wasn’t your fault.’ Molly held out her arms and hugged her daughter, her eyes brimming with tears. Though Lizzie would only be living across the way it felt as though she might as well be a million miles away. It was obvious that the cruel words she’d spoken had caused a hurt that would be slow to heal, and as a result she’d lost a part of her daughter’s heart for ever.

  As soon as her mother released her from the embrace, Lizzie was gone. She badly wanted to believe Molly’s promises, but she’d fallen for such promises before, only to find that her mother had abandoned all her good intentions the minute she started drowning her sorrows in gin.

  Alone once more, Molly sat and opened the packages Lizzie had left on the table. There was a newly baked loaf and five slices of home-cured ham, all carefully wrapped in greased paper. The smell of the fresh bread made her mouth water and her stomach rumble, as she suddenly realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. She made herself a sandwich and then went to stand in the
doorway while she ate it. The view of the bleak moorland and the bare bones of the viaduct that would stretch from one side of the valley to the other inspired mixed feelings in her. She took a mouthful of her sandwich and chewed on it wistfully. It was going to be a fair piece of engineering, that viaduct – assuming it ever got built. It must be costing the wool merchants in Bradford and Leeds a small fortune; she’d heard folk say that it was built on bales of wool. Molly knew better. It was being built on the lives of the navvies, with no compensation for their grieving families. While she would always be proud of the part her husband had played in building it, the sight would always remind her of the loss she’d suffered.

  Molly set aside her sandwich, wrapping the remainder up for later in the day. Checking her appearance in the battered old wooden mirror, she draped her shawl over her shoulders and put on her boots. It was time to make a change in her life. What she had in mind wouldn’t be easy, but now that she had no children to look after there was nothing to do but give it a try.

  She walked along the rutted track through the shanties until it joined the main road leading to Hawes and Ingleton. On one corner of the junction stood the hospital. Molly had been so busy staring at the hospital that she didn’t notice Cloggie sitting by an open fire with three of his mates until she was level with them. God, she really didn’t want to walk past him, especially when he was in the company of his Scouser cronies. The four of them had worked on the docks together, until they came to Ribblehead in the hope of making more money for fewer hours working on the railway. They’d work four days and then spend the next three drinking away their earnings. They were passing around a bottle now. Cloggie was just raising it to his mouth when he spotted her.

  ‘Hey, Moll,’ he yelled, gesturing her over with the bottle. ‘Come and join us. I’ve been telling the lads all about you.’

  His friends immediately staggered to their feet, calling, ‘Come on, girl – come and have a drink, we won’t bite!’

  Mollie walked on, wrapping the shawl more tightly around her.

  ‘Hey up, girl, sit here,’ said Cloggie, moving his wiry form along the fallen tree they were using for a bench.

  ‘No, I’m not stopping. I want nothing more to do with you, Cloggie McFarland. Now let me be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Cloggie jumped to his feet and hurried towards her. ‘Come and sit down – have a drink, you know you want to.’ He grabbed her arm, leering at her and offering her the bottle in his other hand. Though short in stature, Cloggie had a reputation as a dirty fighter. Most of the navvies gave him a wide berth, knowing how dangerous he could be when his temper flared.

  ‘Leave me be, Cloggie. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.’ Though inwardly she was petrified, Molly yanked her arm free and carried on walking.

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. I didn’t hear you complaining when I spread your legs,’ roared Cloggie, grabbing at her shawl. He brought his face close to hers, the reek of his foul alcoholic breath wafting under her nose.

  ‘Let go of me, I wish I’d never let you touch me.’ Molly glared at him without flinching, even though she feared for her life.

  ‘Why you stuck-up bitch!’ Cloggie lifted his hand to hit her.

  ‘Go on then, what’s stopping you?’ Molly stared him in the eye.

  ‘Ah, fuck off! You weren’t up to much anyway.’ Cloggie let go of her and wandered back to his mates, who were gawping at her, their filthy faces split in toothless grins. A cry of laughter rang out and Molly heard her name and a string of filthy comments, but she walked away, her legs shaking with fear as she crossed the road to the hospital.

  When she reached the hospital doorway, she paused to take a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts and calm her pounding heart. ‘Well, Moll, you’ve nailed that one dead, and made an enemy into the bargain,’ she told herself. But she had no doubt that she’d done the right thing. Cloggie was nothing but a chancer. Even under the influence of a gin-fuelled haze, it was hard to understand what she’d ever seen in him.

  ‘Is there something I can do for you, or have you just come begging?’ asked Doctor Thistlethwaite briskly, looking up from a patient to inspect the woman standing in the open doorway. It took him a moment to recognize Molly Mason: she’d tidied herself up since the last time he had seen her, on the day he called at her house to write a death certificate for her baby. When her face wasn’t twisted in grief, she was quite a good-looking woman.

  Molly was trying hard not to lose her nerve. The sight of the hospital interior, the groans of the patients and the overpowering smell of carbolic soap mingled with ether had brought back painful memories. She tried to focus on the doctor and shut out the surroundings. He was a dapper gent with penetrating almond eyes that seemed capable of reading into your soul. ‘I was wondering what you do with your dirty bedding. I thought maybe I could wash it for you. Say a farthing a sheet . . . ?’ The speech Molly had been rehearsing during her walk to the hospital had failed her. Faced with the doctor’s stern gaze, her words came out in a faltering, almost incoherent jumble.

  ‘My good woman, the Midland Railway Company ensures that hospital laundry is collected once a week. And besides, with the best will in the world, you would never be able to cope with the demands. A few days of bad weather and you’d be unable to deliver.’ He stepped forward, intending to wish her good day and close the door firmly behind her, but at the last moment it occurred to him that the hospital might yet have a use for her services.

  ‘Tell me, does the sight of blood bother you? I could do with an assistant, but you’ll be no use to me if you swoon whenever you see a spot of blood. I’m looking for a jack of all trades, someone willing to turn their hand to anything – there are lots of menial tasks around the ward that the nurses don’t have time for, as well as little jobs like writing letters for patients. I assume you can write?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I can write.’ Molly bobbed a curtsy and smiled, sensing that there was a job within her grasp.

  ‘Show me your hands.’ He gestured for her to step into the light so he could scrutinize her hands, which were spotlessly clean. She thanked the Lord that she had scrubbed under her nails after she finished cleaning the house earlier. Satisfied with their condition, Doctor Thistlethwaite gave a nod of approval and beckoned her to follow him to his desk. ‘Now write your name on this piece of paper.’ He handed Molly an ink pen and writing paper, on which she dutifully wrote her name.

  ‘Excellent. The job is yours. I’ll see you here, first thing on Monday morning. There’s no way of knowing how many hours you will be required each day – much will depend on events beyond our control. In the event of an accident at the construction site, we have no option but to work on until our patients have been attended to. We can discuss the matter of your pay when I’ve had a chance to see how well you manage. You will be under Nurse Gladys’s supervision – I’ll introduce you to her on Monday. Report here at six a.m., not a moment later. We run a tight ship – can’t afford to do otherwise.’

  He escorted Molly out and briskly shook her hand before closing the door behind her. She stood on the step, head reeling, wondering what she had let herself in for. Still, a job was a job. Soon she’d be earning money and proving to everyone that she’d turned the corner. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be on top of her life again.

  ‘Now then, Lizzie, don’t forget – tomorrow’s Saturday, the day when my men get paid and we all go into Ingleton for supplies. I expect your mam used the provision hut run by the Midland.’ Rose couldn’t resist a sniff of disdain at this, but quickly recovered herself: ‘Of course, there’s nothing wrong with the provision hut, but I like to go and get myself something decent, and there’s a right good butcher’s in Ingleton. Plus you never know what you might pick up at the market. But whatever you do, keep clear of them hostelries.’ This was accompanied by a shudder of disapproval and shake of the head. ‘Such drunkenness, you wouldn’t believe! Why the sinful goings-on in those places on a Sat
urday evening . . . Well, you won’t see any of my men indulging.’

  ‘Not for want of trying,’ mumbled Jim Pratt under his breath.

  ‘What was that, Father?’

  ‘I said, Aye, it can be very trying.’ Old Jim winked at Lizzie, knowing that she’d heard his original response. He found the religion a bit wearing at times, and always turned a blind eye when his lads slipped away for a quick gill while Rose was shopping, only wishing that he could escape her watchful gaze occasionally.

  ‘You won’t get any of mine spending their wages on liquor, like most of them do around here. I blame that Henry Parker, him as runs the Welcome Inn. The railway never should have given him the job of doling out the wages. He picks the money up on a Friday night from Ingleton and then he pays the men on a Saturday morning – and by Saturday night most of their earnings have been spent in his establishment. The man’s not daft.’ Rose sighed and cleared the table of breadcrumbs.

  ‘Leave him be, Mother. Henry’s only making a living like the rest of us.’ Jim kept his head down, puffing on his pipe and reading his paper, not bothering to look up.

  ‘And why aren’t you working today? We’ll not have as much coming in this week if you’ve only worked four days.’ Rose stood with her hands on her hips, face red with annoyance at her husband’s defence of a man she considered to be a denizen of the bowels of hell.

  ‘I’m fifty-two, woman, with three grown lads. Let them keep us for a while.’ Jim folded his paper down and defiantly met Rose’s gaze.