For a Mother's Sins (19 page)

Lizzie nodded, too engrossed to answer him.

‘Lizzie, answer Doctor Thistlethwaite properly.’ Molly pulled her daughter up sharp. ‘Manners cost nothing.’

Molly put her cup down and continued to take in the doctor’s hut. The array of plants, trying to live in the bleak conditions, the rows of potions and bottles mixed in with the library of
books. There were good pieces of best china on display, but they seemed neglected as they jostled for prominence amongst the literature and decaying plants. The hut was definitely missing a
woman’s touch, Molly decided as she listened to Lizzie, not believing how easily her daughter talked to a man of education.

‘I do, Doctor Thistlethwaite, I love it.’ Lizzie dropped on the stool next to him. Her first impressions of him had not been favourable, but she had since found out that he was a
good man. She had grown very fond of him during her time in the hospital.

‘Well, I had dinner with James Ashwell, the contractor for the Midland, and he’s looking for a junior clerk. I know it’s highly irregular for a girl to be in an office, but
you’ve got brains and you can read and write, which is a lot more than some can do here at Batty Green. I think it would be an ideal job for you. It’s only at the contractor’s
hut, but they are a better class of people for you to mix with.’

‘You must be joking!’ Molly laughed. ‘That’s a lad’s job. Our Lizzie would be a laughing stock. Women can’t work in offices.’

‘She can here. There’s no one in these parts as clever as Lizzie and she’d be safe and warm. And it’s paperwork, there’d not be much physical work to do.’
Roger Thistlethwaite looked at Lizzie. ‘What do you think? Shall I have a word?’

‘No, Roger, I can’t have her showing herself up.’ Molly shook her head.

‘But she wouldn’t be. She takes after her mother and is a quick learner. Even you can’t say you’ve not enjoyed being shown the nursing I’ve taught you. Now
it’s Lizzie’s chance to shine.’

Lizzie lifted her head up. ‘Let me have a go, Ma. I can at least try, and it’ll be better than cleaning up for a living. I’m nearly fifteen, I can do it.’

‘You’ll be the death of me, Lizzie Mason. I’ll only agree if I can see this Ashwell man and where you’ll be working. I’m not having you in any danger, not
again.’ Molly couldn’t believe what she was saying. It wasn’t done, the girl should know her place.

‘Right, I’ll talk to him, see what he says. But I did happen to mention it the other evening, so I know his response already.’ Roger Thistlethwaite smiled and finished his tea.
‘On a different note, I believe we have missionaries amongst us. I understand they originate from Bradford, but at the moment they’re living in rented accommodation at Ingleton prior to
coming to live in our midst. A Reverend Tiplady, I believe, here to save our souls.’ He smirked.

‘Oh my Lord, that’s all we need – Bible preachers amongst us. The world’s gone mad!’ Molly threw her hands up in disgust.

‘My thoughts entirely, Molly. I’ve no time for religion, having seen what I’ve seen. However, I make an exception at Christmas. I know it’s a few weeks away yet, but
I’ve been thinking and . . . may I invite you both to my humble abode on Christmas Day? It would be a privilege to have you as my guests.’

Molly was shocked. To be asked to Christmas dinner at the doctor’s was a huge step up from sitting around a near-empty table in her hut.

‘Oh, Ma, can we? Please, Ma? It’d be lovely here and we wouldn’t be on our own.’ Lizzie’s eyes pleaded with her mother while Molly weighed the pros and cons of
being seen to have Christmas dinner with the doctor.

‘I don’t know, Lizzie.’ Molly struggled with the notion of sharing Christmas with an unmarried man and one way above her class.

‘Please . . .’ Lizzie pulled on her mother’s skirts.

‘My intentions are honourable. I’d welcome the company. Life can be lonely, when you are getting on in years and unmarried.’ Roger Thistlethwaite smiled and waited for a
response.

‘Go on then, we’ll come. Lizzie will enjoy it. And if it means you not being on your own at Christmas, I can see no harm in that,’ Molly succumbed. In honesty, she was quite
looking forward to it herself.

‘Now then, Mr Ashwell. I want to know will you be right with my lass? No taking advantage, no working her to the bone, she’s already been through enough without
being messed about again.’ Molly looked around the contractor’s hut. Plans of the railway lay everywhere and two men were concentrating on studying the path the line was taking while a
young lad sat gazing out of the window. It was a lot larger than most of the huts and had the benefit of two stoves to keep the occupants warm. She knew the men that worked there were renting
accommodation with local farmers; not for them the cold of a Batty Green shanty. This hut was purely for business, not for living in, as the only sign of domesticity was a kettle boiling on one of
the stoves.

‘Mrs Mason, Lizzie will be doing small errands for me, perhaps writing the odd letter or two when I haven’t time, and just helping keep the clutter down. As you can see, us men are
not the most organized. I haven’t time because I’m too busy trying to see this blasted project stays on time.’ James Ashwell was well spoken, clean-shaven and a man of principles.
He’d little time for some of the hard-drinking navvies and the tricks they got up to. He walked away and studied some plans, his tall lean body bending as he read the papers by the light of
the window, giving instructions to the men he was obviously in charge of.

‘Right, as long as you know how it’s to be.’ Molly turned to leave. She couldn’t believe she’d stood up to the main man of the Midland, and now her nerve was
beginning to falter. ‘Monday, eight o’clock, a shilling a week and we’ll see how we go.’

James Ashwell lifted his head and watched the determined woman bustle her way outside. It took some nerve to lay down the law to him. He could understand now what his friend Roger Thistlethwaite
saw in her.

‘I’ll make sure she’s on time,’ said Molly, and closed the door behind her. He seemed a decent man. A bit sharp, but then he was in charge of the whole shebang so
he’d every right to be.

Molly hummed a tune as she walked along the path home. That was Lizzie sorted with a good job, and she was content with nursing. Things were taking a turn for the better. She’d pop into
Ingleton next weekend on the new train-tram that the Midland had rigged up running along the temporary train lines along the valley bottom. Now that she could afford it, it would be good to visit
the market and pick up a few bits for Christmas. Perhaps a length of cloth to make a new frock for Lizzie; she’d like that.

Her thoughts were of Christmas and presents as she rounded the corner of the huts, her head down, concentrating on putting together a list of wants.

‘Oof! Not so fast, look where you are going.’ She bumped head-on into a man coming from the opposite direction, knocking her hat askew.

It was John Pratt. She quickly set her hat straight and tied it firmly under her chin, giving him a curt glance as she walked on.

‘Molly, Molly, wait, wait. Talk to me.’ John ran after her and pulled on her sleeve. ‘I’ve missed you so much these weeks.’

‘Leave me alone, John Pratt. Go back to your mam, like a good lad.’ Molly pulled her sleeve away from him. She was about to walk away but the sight of his sorrowful face stopped
her.

‘Molly, stop it. You know I love you. I couldn’t help it. You don’t understand how it was. I’d have given anything to tell you, but our Bob was the baby of the family, I
had to keep quiet for his sake.’ John stood in the rain that had started to fall.

‘Aye, and how do you think I feel? Lizzie’s the only one I’ve got left and your lot lie and try to kill her. You don’t love me, John Pratt, you’re too busy looking
after your own.’ Molly stomped off, leaving John standing in the pouring rain and watching her.

It had been raining all week, but Molly and Lizzie didn’t care about the miserable weather as they climbed into the wagon of the train-tram. Each of the three
canvas-covered wagons that made up the tram was packed with navvies and their families. Just like a real train, the tram engine blew its whistle to signal it was time to depart, and the excited
Christmas shoppers were off. Babies screamed and children pulled on their mothers’ skirts as the excitement grew over the prospect of a shopping spree in Ingleton.

‘So, what are you going to buy with your first week’s wage? Don’t go thinking you can spend it all every week, mind. I’m only making an exception this week with it being
Christmas.’ Molly sat next to Lizzie on the cramped wooden plank that sufficed as a seat on the short trip. ‘You’d think they’d clean these wagons out a bit better before
using them for us.’ Molly peered at her laced-up boots, now covered in the mud that was at the bottom of the wagon.

‘I’m going to get Doctor Thistlethwaite an ounce of Kendal Twist for his pipe. I know he smokes that because I saw him unwrapping some the other day, when we were at his house. And
of course I’ll get you something, Mam, but that’s a secret. And some sweets and some . . .’ Molly paused for breath, thinking what she could do with her shilling.

‘It’s going to have to go a long way, is that shilling. Here, I’d better give you another sixpence – mind you don’t lose it.’ Molly handed Lizzie a silver
sixpence from out of her draw-string bag. ‘I’ll leave you to shop on your own, but we’ll meet up for dinner at the pie shop at one, all right?’

‘Oh, thanks, Mam. I didn’t know how I was going to buy your Christmas present without you seeing and now I can buy Mr Ashwell some snuff. He’s been so good with me this week.
At times I’ve felt daft when he’s had to show me what to do, but he says I’ll soon get used to his ways.’

‘I’m glad he’s all right with you, but I still think you’re in a funny job for a lass.’ Molly pulled her skirt from under the bottom of a well-endowed woman and
gave her a glare as she did so. ‘Some folk have no manners,’ she whispered to Lizzie as they both giggled.

The Christmas market at Ingleton was heaving with locals, tradesmen, navvies and their families all buying that little bit extra for the two holiday days. The butcher’s stall had unplucked
geese hanging by their feet, or if you wanted a live one there were some in a pen behind the stall. There was a display of carcases and joints, with rabbits, pigs’ heads and trotters and
shoulders of mutton – all tempting fare for Christmas dinner.

It was hard to make yourself heard above the sound of tradesmen touting their wares with shouts of ‘Fresh Bread and Cakes for your sweetheart’ from the baker competing with local
farmers’ wives yelling about the quality of their milk, eggs, butter and cheese.

‘Remember, I’ll meet you at one, outside the pie shop. Lizzie, are you listening? Mind what you’re doing – don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.’ Molly
pulled her hat tight around her head.‘This blooming weather, you’d think it could stop dry just until we get our shopping. Are you all right then?’ She looked at her daughter, who
was absorbed in taking in the market scene.

‘Yes, I’ll meet you at one, I’ll keep an eye on the church clock.’ Lizzie couldn’t wait to go shopping on her own.

Molly watched as she walked away, still dragging her leg a little. But a bit of a limp was nothing; it was a miracle that she was alive. She sighed, it had been quite a year – one
she’d rather forget. The sooner Christmas was over and the New Year started, the better. Happen, it would bring better luck with it.

She went over to the butcher and haggled over a piece of ham she intended to cook and share with Roger Thistlethwaite. He’d assured her that Christmas dinner was all in hand and she
wasn’t to worry, but she felt she had to make some contribution. Then she went on to the draper’s and picked out a length of material for Lizzie: a purple woollen fabric that would be
both practical and warm. She could soon stitch something together, once she’d convinced her daughter to stand still long enough for measurements.

The shopkeeper wrapped her purchase and she put it in her canvas bag to keep it out of the rain. The bag was getting full now; another few bits and that would be Christmas taken care of. She was
smiling at the prospect of lunch with Lizzie as she stepped out of the shop doorway and found herself face to face with Rose Pratt.

Rose put her head down and pretended not to see her.

‘Go on then, pretend I’m not here. Trouble is, I am – and whenever you see me or my lass you’re going to remember what your lad did to us!’ Molly lashed out, still
angry at the lengths Rose had gone to, covering her lad’s tracks.

Lizzie ran up to her mother, her leg impeding her slightly. ‘Sorry I’m late, Mam, I had to wait for my mistletoe. There was a courting couple trying it out and the stallholder got
cross with them.’

‘I should think so too! They should know better and be decent.’ Molly pulled a disapproving face and looked shocked, just to please her daughter, but really she was thinking back to
when she was younger and courting Lizzie’s dad. The first Christmas they spent together they had shared a loving clinch under the mistletoe.

‘I wish I had a beau. No one ever gives me a second glance.’ Lizzie gazed wistfully at a couple passing by.

‘There’ll be time enough for that, my girl. You’re only fourteen, the less you know about men the better. They use and abuse you – most of them are only good for one
thing, and sometimes they’re not any good at that!’ Molly snapped at her daughter.

Lizzie had no idea what her mother meant, but she judged now was not the time to ask for an explanation. Instead she followed her mother into the pie shop in silence.

‘Pie and mushy peas twice, and two pots of tea – and there had better be a decent bit of meat in them pies, not all tattie and turnip.’ Molly gave the young serving girl her
instructions and peered out of the steamed-up window. ‘This rain’s never going to stop. No doubt the beck’ll be flooded.’

Lizzie was unwrapping her gifts to show her mother – all bar one, which she kept hidden under the table. ‘I’ve got Doctor Thistlethwaite his baccie . . .’ Lizzie placed
the long twisted length of brown, almost black Kendal Twist on the table. ‘Mr Ashwell his snuff . . . Florrie some sweets, ’cause her dad never buys her anything. And of course I
didn’t forget you, Mam, but that one’s a secret.’