Calico Road (18 page)

‘I wanted to be sure.’

‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter – women get strange fancies in their heads when they’re expecting – but tell me straight off next time, love. It’ll be better to have the babby in the summer. Makes it easier with the washing. They use a damned lot of clouts at first.’

Meg burst into tears. ‘I didn’t want a baby yet! I wanted to save some more money.’ She looked round. ‘I’ve spent too much on furniture. I wish I hadn’t now.’

He put his arms round her. ‘Don’t be silly. I’m earning enough to keep you and the babby. And you’ll love it when it’s born, see if you don’t. They’re grand little creatures, babbies are.’

She watched his expression grow sad. ‘It must have been hard to lose your wife and child like that.’ He nodded, his lips going into a thin, tight line. She’d already found that he didn’t like to talk about his loss. ‘My mother says you shouldn’t love babies till you’re sure they’ll live.’

‘She would, the old witch! I don’t reckon she loves anyone but hersen. Any road, you allus lose some of the childer. Life’s like that. But you can love ’em while you’ve got ’em, can’t you?’

Meg shivered, then grew angry. ‘Don’t talk about losing them, Ben! It’s asking for trouble.’

‘Sorry, lass. But it’s best to face facts. Any road, we might not lose any of ours. Some folk don’t. You’re a strong, healthy lass. My first wife were allus sickly, even afore the child. No, we’ll be all right, you and me.’

But she knew he was just saying that to keep her happy. Every family lost a child or two. Even her mother had had other children, one born dead, one losing its life after a few months. Was that what had soured Netta, or had she always been so unkind?

Well,
she
intended to be kind to all her children, loving them equally. She’d never treat one as she’d been treated. Even now, months before it was born, Meg was starting to love the child lying so cosy in her belly. That had surprised her.

PART 3

1829

9

M
ay that year was a month of contradictions, warm days followed by cool, rain and on one memorable occasion sleet, which brought people gaping to windows and doorsteps, and played havoc with the tender young plants.

The first week of June showed little improvement and everyone kept saying how poor spring had been, that summer was shaping to be the same, that the weather hadn’t been as chancy as this when they were young.

Ben’s hands had been raw and chapped all winter, and he’d grumbled about the snow and frost which he hated with a passion. He’d started to drink more heavily, giving as his excuse that a man had to have something inside him to keep the cold out, his eyes daring Meg to answer him back. She’d have spoken up if she’d felt it would make any difference, but she knew it wouldn’t. The more she nagged him the more he drank, so she’d learned to keep quiet.

But she felt cheated after all his promises, and his drinking made her even more determined to continue working. She made sure her employer could never say that her condition affected her work but some days she grew so tired that when she got home she spent the whole evening lying on some sacks in front of the fire huddled in a blanket, too exhausted even to think properly let alone prepare a meal.

Ben grew increasingly worried and began urging her to stop work, but she refused. She hadn’t told him but was still hoping to return to work soon after the birth. With only one child, that should be possible, surely?

As the baby was due within the month she would have to speak to Peggy about it and beg her mistress to continue employing her. Surely she had given enough satisfaction to merit that? Peggy would easily be able to find someone temporary to help her out for a few days till Meg had recovered from the lying-in because there were always people seeking work.

She’d have to find someone to look after the baby but Meg thought Rhona next door might do it, because she had a baby of her own – though Rhona wasn’t as careful with her child as Meg would have liked. But everyone in their road was short of money and glad of a chance to earn a penny or two extra. Meg didn’t know her other neighbours very well because she worked such long hours, just enough to nod to or pass the time of day mostly. She ought to make a bigger effort to talk to the other women in the street and would do if only she wasn’t so tired all the time.

She was serving a customer when a man rushed into the pawn shop, calling, ‘Come quick, missus, your man’s hurt!’

After a startled glance at Peggy, Meg ran after him, snatching her shawl from the hook as she passed it because it was another cool day.

‘What’s happened to Ben?’ she called to the man, who was already hurrying off.

He turned to look at her, hesitated, then said brusquely, ‘He’s had a fall. Hurry up! Mr Brooks said to fetch you quick.’

She couldn’t keep up with him. He kept looking back at her impatiently and urging her on, but in her condition she couldn’t move any faster and soon had to stop for a moment, panting and bending over as she got a stitch in her side. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked when she could gather enough breath to speak.

‘To the brewery.’ He set off walking again.

She followed, but more slowly this time. ‘I thought Ben was delivering on the south side of town this morning?’

‘He got back, didn’t he? Needed to fetch another load. Now save your breath and get a move on!’

So Meg forced herself onwards, stumbling, trying to ignore the stitch in her side and the increasing heaviness of her legs.

There was a crowd of people at the gates of the brewery, peering into the yard and talking excitedly to one another. They parted when they saw her coming and she heard mutters as she passed through the gap.

‘That’s the wife.’

‘She’s only young.’

‘Eh, poor thing, she’s expecting.’

Meg slowed down, as much from fear as from lack of breath now. Why were they calling her ‘poor thing’? Inside the yard she saw a group of men behind one of the drays, with the owner of the brewery standing a little apart from the others and looking unusually solemn.

When Mr Brooks saw her he hurried across. ‘Your Ben’s bad, Mrs Pearson. He fell off the dray backwards and hit his head. He’s still unconscious.’

She blinked and the words began to repeat themselves inside her head, though without real meaning.
Fell. Hit his head. Still unconscious
. She couldn’t utter a word so pushed past Mr Brooks. The men parted to let her get to her husband, who was lying frighteningly still on the ground.

She knelt beside him. ‘Ben?’ She shook his arm but his eyes were closed and he wouldn’t look at her. ‘
Ben, wake up!Ben!
’ She could smell beer on his breath and asked, ‘Had he been drinking?’

The men muttered to one another and when she looked at them, avoided her eyes. She knew then. Knew what had caused Ben to be careless. She pressed her lips together to hold back the red hot wave of fury. Drink! She hated it.

Then she looked back at her husband and the fury faded, leaving only pity. He was pale and still, his breath hardly stirring his chest. And he was a kind man in spite of the drinking, had never laid a finger on her, didn’t deserve this.

The bystanders started muttering again but none of their comments made any sense to Meg because she had suddenly caught sight of the blood on the setts below his head. Ben’s blood. A whole puddle of it. She moaned, pressing one hand to her mouth and collapsing across his body, sobbing, begging him over and over again not to leave her, to wake up, come back to her.

They had to pull her away when the doctor arrived. He conducted a cursory examination and shook his head as he stood up. ‘There’s very little we can do for the injuries to his head, I’m afraid.’

‘But he’s not dead?’ Mr Brooks asked. ‘Surely there’s a chance?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘There’s always a chance as long as they’re breathing. You can never tell with head wounds. Has he moved at all? Moaned? Twitched?’

‘I wasn’t there when it happened.’ Mr Brooks looked at the men, who shook their heads.

‘Then it’s just a question of wait and see.’

As soon as the doctor stepped back, Meg flung herself down by her husband again.

‘Nay, we can’t leave her there.’ A man bent to tap her on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have to get up now, missus. We need to move your husband. We’ll bring him home to you and you can look after him.’

The doctor looked at her and stepped forward. ‘Is this the wife?’

‘Aye. Not long wed.’

‘She looks very close to her time.’ He raised his voice, speaking slowly and loudly, as if to an idiot. ‘How long until the child’s due, Mrs . . . um . . .’ He looked round for enlightenment on her name.

‘Pearson.’

‘Thank you. How long now, Mrs Pearson?’

She replied without taking her eyes off Ben. ‘Just under a month, doctor.’

He spoke to the men again. ‘She can’t look after him, not in that condition. He’s too heavy. And as you can see, she’s taking it badly, not thinking clearly. It’s her condition. Childbearing affects the female brain.’ Once more he raised his voice, ‘Are there no relatives to assist you, Mrs – um – Pearson?’

She shook her head, feeling impatient with his questions, wanting only to be with Ben for when he regained consciousness.

He turned to the men and said in a low voice, ‘Dealing with the weight of a man’s inert body could bring on the birth too suddenly and that might be dangerous for both her and the child. You’d better take him to the Spotland Workhouse. They’ll see to him. Tell them I’ll call in later to arrange admission.’

There was silence at this. The workhouse was a place of last resort for old folk who had softening of the brain or lunatics or those dying of a growth. Most people would do anything rather than go in there, although the overseer at Spotland was a decent man, at least, and looked after his charges better than most folk in his position did.

‘I’ll fetch my wife to help her,’ Frank said suddenly. ‘Livvy’s good when there’s trouble.’

The doctor nodded. ‘I’ll leave you to take him to the workhouse, then. I have other patients to see. I’ll call in there on my way home to check how he is.’ After another glance at Meg he left, shaking his head and looking solemn as he walked across the yard with Mr Brooks.

It was ten minutes before Frank returned with his wife, minutes during which it began to rain. After a hurried consultation, the men persuaded Meg to move away and carried Ben into one of the sheds on an old door.

She followed, weeping quietly but with such a tone of despair in those soft sounds that the men shuffled from one foot to the other, each wishing another would think of something to say to comfort her.

When Livvy Price pushed her way through the group, plump and capable, there was a collective sigh of relief.

She pulled Meg gently to her feet and put an arm round her. ‘Eh, this is a bad business, it is that.’

But Meg didn’t even look at her.

‘See how she’s shivering, poor lass!’

‘I think we should get her home,’ one man said. ‘Stands to reason she’ll be better off there.’

Like the doctor, Livvy raised her voice slightly when addressing Meg, who didn’t seem to understand what was going on round her. ‘We’ll have to get you home and warm, love, or you’ll hurt the babby.’

At last the words sank in and she shook her head. ‘I’m going with Ben.’

Livvy looked round questioningly. ‘Where’s he going?’

Her husband supplied the information. ‘Doctor said to take him to the workhouse, said she can’t look after him in that condition.’

‘Then why is he still lying here on the ground? Why haven’t you taken him?’ Her voice was filled with scorn.

Someone went to consult Mr Brooks, who had retreated to the warmth of his office, then they came back and lifted Ben on to a small cart belonging to the brewery.

Meg wouldn’t leave his side, or even consider returning home.

‘We’ll ride with him on the cart then,’ Livvy said in the end.

At the workhouse the overlooker received them, gazing at Ben’s inert body then back to Livvy, who seemed to be in charge. When told the doctor had ordered the man to be admitted, he sighed and showed them where to carry the unconscious figure.

‘You’ll have to leave now,’ he told Meg. ‘We’ll see to your husband, don’t worry.’

‘Wait outside for us,’ Livvy hissed to the men who’d brought them. ‘She’s in no state to walk home.’

‘I want to stay with him,’ Meg protested.

The overlooker shook his head. ‘Sorry, love. No visitors are allowed until the doctor has examined the patient and given his instructions.’

‘But the doctor’s just seen him!’

‘Well, he hasn’t given
me
any instructions, and anyway we only allow visiting in the mornings except for the dying.’

‘You need to get home and warm yourself up, love,’ Livvy interrupted. ‘Think of the babby if you won’t think of yourself.’

Meg found herself without strength to resist any longer and walked out with her companion. At the gates she turned round to look at the workhouse and the high walls that surrounded it, with the River Spodden flowing behind. ‘I don’t like to think of him shut in there.’

‘You can’t look after him yourself, you know you can’t. Come on. We’ll take you home.’

But when Meg tried to walk pain shot through her and she doubled up, crying out and clutching her belly.

Livvy put a hand on her abdomen and felt its rigidity. ‘Dear Lord, she’s started having the baby! It’s the shock that’s brought it on.’ She looked round. ‘Maybe we should take her back inside.’

Meg wasn’t so far gone in pain that she didn’t understand this. ‘I’m not having my baby in that place! I’m having it in my own home.’

Livvy sighed in resignation. ‘I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t, either.’ She turned to the two men from the brewery. ‘Help me get her on the cart.’