For a Mother's Sins (25 page)

‘Put her here John, in the end bed. We’ll move the rest of the patients into the other half of the hospital. We really need an isolation ward, but this will have to
do. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial and I need to know where she’s picked it up from – she must have been in contact with someone who had the symptoms.’ Doctor
Thistlethwaite took off his jacket, his wedding corsage still attached to the buttonhole. He washed his hands in the enamel dish that Molly held and then set about examining Rose.

Much as she had disliked the woman, Molly wouldn’t have wished this on her. She’d never seen anything as bad as what the illness was doing to her body.

‘Her hearts weak, the rhythm doesn’t sound right.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite turned to John. ‘You’d better get your father – I don’t think she’ll last
the night.’

Molly touched John’s sleeve as he hurried past her, wiping his eyes. There were no words that would comfort him.

John walked homewards with heavy feet. As he rounded the corner of the track he saw the glow of a fire near the viaduct, the silhouette of his father outlined against the orange and gold dancing
flames.

‘Father, Father, come quick! The doctor says Ma mightn’t last the night. She’s bad, real . . .’ He fell silent as his father poked the straw mattress and bedding into the
flames.

‘She’s buggered, lad. She’ll not be here in the morning. I’ve seen it before and I don’t think I can take it again.’ Jim didn’t even turn round. He kept
his eyes on the blaze and kicking any stray bits of mattress that fell out back on to the fire.

‘That’s why you’ve got to come. She needs you.’ John turned, assuming that his father would follow him.

‘I’m not coming, lad. She’s got her God with her, and I want to remember her like she was. She’ll be the first of many. There’ll be a lot of tears yet.’

‘You’ve got to come – she loves you.’ John pulled on his father’s sleeve. He desperately wanted to get back to his mother.

‘Call that bloody preacher for her – she’ll want him. Rose’ll know why I’m not there.’

John looked at him. He didn’t understand: his wife was dying, surely he wanted to be with her. His foot slipped in the mud, nearly making him fall as he made off towards the hut where
Reverend Tiplady lived. He would call for him, she’d like that. His presence would give her solace.

Rose gasped for breath, the pain in her chest was increasing and every minute of life had to be fought for. She gazed around her at the people trying to make her last few hours
on earth comfortable. She could just make out the form of Molly Mason; that ginger hair, she was the only one at Batty Green with that halo of burnished copper. She had to tell her, get her
forgiveness before meeting her maker. She snatched her hand as she bent down beside her with her cooling cloth.

‘I need . . . I need to tell you, it . . . it was an accident,’ she whispered in a ghost of a voice.

‘Rose, you need to rest. Never mind about the accident.’ Molly mopped Rose’s brow, taking no heed of the ramblings of a dying woman.

‘I’ve got to tell you . . . I poisoned Tommy . . . by accident.’ The grip on Molly’s hand was so strong and her confession so terrible it stopped Molly in her tracks.

‘Tommy? You’re telling me you poisoned my baby – you killed my bonny lad?’ Molly looked in horror at the woman who had caused her more pain than anyone else in her
life.

‘It was an accident . . . I gave him some milk . . . in a bottle. It was John’s poison bottle . . . I didn’t know. Forgive me . . . forgive a dying woman.’ The words were
like a shard of glass in Molly’s heart and she watched as another shot of pain hit the pleading old woman.

‘You nasty old bitch! I hope you rot in hell! No amount of praying will save you – and no, I’ll not forgive you, nor any of your family.’ Molly pulled her arm away from
Rose’s grip. Her eyes glazing with hatred at the old woman, she threw her dish and cloth down and stamped out of the hospital. Doctor Thistlethwaite shouted after her, but she was too
consumed with rage to hear him. Her baby boy dead and her daughter only alive by a miracle – all because of that family. How could she ever look at John without being reminded of that? She
stood on the steps of the hospital and caught sight of him making his way across the track with the preacher Tiplady.

‘Aye, get her the preacher, because by hell she needs one! No matter how she prays, she’ll never get into heaven!’ Molly spat the words out like venom.

‘Moll, I haven’t got time for this. I know you don’t like my mother, but I thought you’d find some kindness in your heart for a dying woman.’ John brushed past her
with the Reverend Tiplady in pursuit.

‘I’d be careful what you say, Mrs Mason – God has ears,’ warned Reverend Tiplady, hurrying to the side of his parishioner.

‘God has ears! That’s bloody rich.’ Molly pulled her apron off and left it on the hospital steps and started to make her way home. Her heart ached as she remembered the day she
had found Tommy dead in his makeshift cot. The harsh words she had said to Lizzie, and how she’d been driven to drink to cope with her grief. Tears welled up in her eyes, till she could
barely see where she was going. Why did she have to go and fall in love with that woman’s son? That was the cruellest thing of all. Had he known? Would he ever have told her? She got to the
bottom of the steps to her hut and looked across to where the Pratts lived. Beyond that, she could make out the bowed figure of Jim Pratt, standing next to some burning embers under the
viaduct.

She’d go and give him a piece of her mind. Lifting her skirts, she marched across to the lonely figure.

‘Now then, lass, you’ve crept up on me, that’s a fact.’ Jim turned and looked at the lass that his lad loved, the light from the fire catching the highlights of her
hair.

Molly stared at him as he sniffed into his hankie. He’d been crying and he seemed to have lost height and shrunk into an old man.

‘Well, did you know? Had she told you?’ Molly blurted the words out. She’d always been quite fond of the old man, but she needed to know whether the whole family had been part
of this conspiracy of silence.

‘What are you on about? Know what?’ Jim saw the anger in the young woman’s eyes and realized that there was something wrong.

‘My baby – your bloody wife killed my baby! Not enough that your son nearly killed my lass, your bloody wife killed my Tommy! Why? What have I done to you, except to be daft enough
to be in love with your lad?’

‘Nay, she’d not do that, not my Rose. She loves babies, she wouldn’t hurt a hair on its head.’ Jim was genuinely shocked, his whole world turned upside down.

‘She poisoned him with milk in a bottle. She said it was an accident, but I’m beginning to wonder. She’s always hated me!’

‘Nay, she’s not like that. It’d be an accident. She might be a stubborn old stick and protect her brood too much, but she’s not spiteful or cruel.’ Jim started to
walk off.

‘Don’t you walk away from me, I need the truth,’ Molly yelled.

‘That’s what I’m off to find out before it’s too late. I’m off to hear it from her.’ Jim spat out his chewing tobacco and strode out into the night towards
the lights of the shanties and hospital.

Molly stood watching for a minute and then ran to catch up with the heartbroken old man.

When he reached the hospital steps, Jim hesitated. He didn’t want to enter the hospital. He’d not set foot in one since his mother died. Now the memories came flooding back, the
cries of the dying and the smell of death. He breathed in deep and climbed the steps, Molly right behind him. He walked down the rows of beds to where Doctor Thistlethwaite and the dark shape of
Tiplady stood by the bed he knew to be his Rose’s. John rushed forward and put his arm around his shaky father, glancing at Molly but not saying anything.

John urged his father to the bedside. The doctor put his arm around Jim’s frail form and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, she passed away a few minutes ago. Reverend Tiplady is just
giving her a blessing.’

Jim bent down, knocking the preacher out of the way and squeezed Rose’s limp hand. Gazing into her white face, framed in long grey hair, he said, ‘I’m sorry, old lass. I should
have been here for you. You know I hate hospitals, vicars and doctors – can’t stand ’em.’ He bent over and kissed the pox-marked head of his beloved. ‘I’ll never
know the truth now, will I? Can’t tell this lass what you did or whether you meant it. Truth’s gone with you, my love.’ He gently kissed her once more and then rose. ‘John,
fetch her home. It’s what she’d have wanted.’ He patted his son’s shoulder and dragged his feet slowly out of the hospital, leaving the group watching him on his lonely
walk.

‘Well, I’m glad the old bugger’s dead, after what she did. She never did like me, always looked down her nose at all us lot. And what she’s died of is
going to wipe us all out – Doctor says it’s infectious.’ Molly banged her cup down on the table. ‘Stop your snivelling, our Lizzie. What we’ve got to worry about is
keeping you safe from harm. I don’t want you getting this smallpox.’

‘But she was all right, was Mrs Pratt. She looked after me and saved me from the workhouse. I remember that day she fed Tommy – she didn’t mean to kill him, Ma, I know she
didn’t. I remember her searching for a bottle and Tommy was crying so much and upsetting her, she didn’t bother washing it out. It was an accident, Ma, really. She was kind to us both
that day.’ Lizzie blew her nose and looked at her wild-eyed mother. ‘John loves you, Ma, so don’t turn your back on him, not when you’ve just got back together.’

‘Tuh! Don’t know what to make of that ’un. I hope he keeps away for a while, for more reasons than one. If he comes and you answer the door, keep him on the door step – I
don’t want any of his disease coming into my house. It’ll be bad enough these next few weeks. Doctor Thistlethwaite says more folk will be catching it. Muggins here will be in the thick
of it at the hospital, but we must keep you clear.’

Molly wasn’t about to let Lizzie catch smallpox. What happened to her didn’t matter, but not Lizzie. The girl was all she had left.

‘Are you all right, Father?’ Mike put his arm around his dad, he’d not seen him for a while and he was shocked at how small and fragile he had become. This
was the man that had always been there for them, that in years past could wield a pick like Hercules himself and always took care of his family. Now he was so frail it was as if all the life had
been sucked out of him. He sat with his hand on the corpse of Rose, which had been laid out in her best nightclothes with two pennies on her eyes to pay for her safe passage into the next world.
The coffin was nothing fancy but would serve its purpose and was awaiting the passage to the churchyard of St Leonard’s. Jim had argued with the doctor, insisting that he be allowed to keep
vigil on Rose. He knew her body should be quarantined, but he’d nothing to lose now that the most precious thing in his life had been taken from him.

‘Aye, I’m all right, lad. Life goes on – I’ve you and John to think about, and happen now I’ll get to have a look at that granddaughter of mine.’ He patted
Mike’s hand. He wasn’t a bad lad, he’d come as soon as he’d heard his mother had died and now he’d taken over the funeral arrangements, insisting that the funeral tea
would be held at Gearstones. Rose would probably have had something to say about that, but he’d insisted. At least they were keeping the cost within the family.

John beckoned Mike over to him. ‘Have you heard what our mother confessed to on her deathbed?’ John had wanted to talk to someone about it since his father told him, but didn’t
want his father to have more worry.

‘Apart from trying to control all our lives?’ Mike shrugged, but then paused when he saw the anguish on his older brother’s face.

‘She confessed to Moll that she’d killed her baby, Tommy. She fed him milk out of my rat-poison bottle.’ John pulled on his brother’s sleeve, urging him not to speak
until he’d finished. ‘Trouble is, our Mike, I think it’s true. Lord knows it was an accident, but I remember coming home and seeing a teat stuck on the bottle. When I asked what
she’d been doing with my rat bottle, I remember her going white and running out of the hut. It wasn’t long after that she started doing all she could for Molly: taking Lizzie in,
sending her to take food to her mother. I couldn’t understand it at the time, but when I heard about Tommy I started to put two and two together.’

‘Aye, God, why didn’t she say?’ said Mike, stunned by the news. ‘She’s been living with that guilt all this time! No wonder she didn’t come and see our bairn,
it would only have reminded her. And what with Gearstones being her idea of hell on earth, I bet that just put the top hat on it, the stubborn old fool. What does your Molly make of this?’ It
had been bad enough that Bob had turned out to be such a black sheep, but his mother . . .

‘Haven’t been near,’ said John. ‘I know Moll, she’ll not want to see me yet. Best to let her calm down in her own time. I bloody well love the bones of that woman
and if this has put space between us again I don’t know what I’ll do,’ John sighed.

Mike, always the joker in the family, jostled his brother’s arm and said, ‘You mean you love bedding her, our John. I still owe you a shilling, don’t I?’ He laughed
loudly, making his father stir.

‘A bit of respect, lads! This is your mother lying here – and don’t think I can’t hear what you’re talking about. As soon as your mother’s in her grave
I’ll be away across to see Molly Mason. We’ve done her wrong twice and the poor lass doesn’t deserve it. As for you, John – if you love her so much, best let her know it,
else you’ll lose her.’

The brothers exchanged glances. Their father had the ears of a bat, that was for sure, even if he looked nearly ready for the grave himself.

Rose’s grave was the last plot but one in the tiny churchyard. The vicar prayed over her while worrying what would happen when that last grave was filled. He’d
conducted more funerals in the eighteen months since the railway had arrived in the dale than in all the preceding years put together. And now the doctor had warned him that, with the coming of
smallpox, this burial would be the first of many.