For a Mother's Sins (27 page)

Now that the subject had turned to smallpox, Molly saw her opening.

‘Lizzie, I’m sorry, love, but I have bad news. Florrie was admitted to the hospital today. She’s got smallpox.’

‘No!’ cried Lizzie. ‘That’s not possible. I talked to her only the other day. She said she was tired, but she always is. She can’t be poorly, she just can’t.
We’re best mates, I love her, Mam – what would I do without her?’

Molly wrapped her arm around her sobbing daughter. What she really wanted to ask was whether Lizzie had any idea whose baby Florrie was carrying. Both doctor and nurse had been shocked when they
had removed her voluminous skirts and seen Florrie’s extended stomach. Fourteen and already pregnant – who would have taken advantage of such a young lass? Batty Green might be a wild
place, but there was an unspoken code of honour among the navvies that prohibited such behaviour.

‘She might be all right, love. The next few hours will tell. I’ve volunteered to sit with her tonight, ’cause her mother’s having to serve behind the bar and her father
doesn’t want to know, uncaring bastard. When Doctor Thistlethwaite carried her out of the inn, all he said was that it’d be one less to care about. You’d have thought he wanted
her to die.’

‘He likes to hit her and her mother. Florrie was trying to save up and leave home. She’d do anything for money.’

‘Lizzie, she wouldn’t go with men for money, would she? She knew not to do that, I hope.’

‘No, she’s all talk. Flirts but runs a mile if anyone flirts back, she says her dad would kill her if she did.’ Lizzie turned pleading eyes on her mother. ‘Are you
leaving me on my own? I don’t want to be by myself, not tonight with Jim Pratt dead and Florrie dying. Please don’t leave me on my own.’

‘But, Lizzie, I promised. It’s better that Florrie’s got someone she knows with her.’

‘Please, Mum, don’t leave me . . .’ Lizzie felt as if she was surrounded by death. And now all she could think about was the horrible vicar refusing to bury Florrie because he
knew it was really her that had pinched the church money. ‘Please . . .’

Molly shook her head in frustration. ‘Lizzie, please, I’ll be back before you wake up. Just bolt the door like you usually do.’

‘I’ll come with you. Florrie’s my best friend, so I’ll come with you.’ Lizzie started to button her shoes up.

‘You will not! I’m not having you anywhere near that hospital hut. It’s bad enough that I work there, without you going courting death. Tell you what, I’ll ask John if
he’ll sit in with you. I haven’t had a chance to offer my condolences since his father’s passing, so I ought to call by in any case.’ She gathered up her shawl and wrapped
it around her. ‘I’m not that bitter over your baby brother to turn my back on the poor devil when he’s in the thick of it. He’ll need me now there’s nobody at home.
Stay here, and hopefully I’ll be back with him.’ She stopped in the doorway and fixed Lizzie with a stern gaze: ‘I mean it, Lizzie: you’re to stop here. No trailing off to
see Florrie while I’m across the way!’

Lizzie nodded her head, relieved that she wasn’t going to be on her own.

‘I’ll not be long, John. It’s just till dawn, then Nurse Gladys will take over. I wouldn’t ask, but I can’t leave Florrie. She’s in bad way
and only a baby herself – and then there’s the baby she’s carrying. I’m afraid neither one of them will survive.’ Molly knew John could be trusted with the news.
Although if Florrie lived to give birth it would be common knowledge soon enough.

‘She’s having a baby? But she’s even younger than your Lizzie! The bastard! Some fellas just want it cutting off.’

‘I tried asking, but she was in no condition to talk so I learned nowt. Listen, don’t say anything to Lizzie about Florrie expecting a baby.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ John picked up his jacket. ‘Away, Moll. I’ll stay with Lizzie till you’re back. Lord knows there’s not much joy sitting in
this hut on my own. I was beginning to feel maudlin.’

Molly touched John’s sleeve and looked into his blue eyes, pausing for a moment to breathe in deep. She realized suddenly how much she had missed the smell of him. It was the smell of a
true man.

‘John, I know I was like a mad woman the night your mother died, but I couldn’t cope with it. She’d already caused me so much pain and then for her to say that about Tommy,
when she was dying . . . it wasn’t fair.’ Molly stood on the steps of the hut, tears springing to her eyes despite her efforts to hide her grief.

‘She just wanted forgiveness. It was a mistake, a stupid mistake, that cost poor Tommy his life. Why she didn’t say anything at the time, I don’t know. I remember her running
out that evening, and when she came back it was like she’d seen Lucifer himself. But she insisted she was all right and wouldn’t tell what had upset her. I never connected it with her
using my rat-poison bottle earlier in the day. Moll, I’m sorry we’ve caused you so much pain.’ John hesitated, and then blurted out the decision he’d come to, sitting alone
in the hut that he’d shared with his parents: ‘I’d best tell you now, I’m off to lodge with the tunnel gang up at Jerusalem. I can’t do with being on my own here. So
you’ll not have the sight of me to remind you of things. Best we move on, eh?’

As soon as the words were out, he ran down the steps, leaving Molly stunned. It took a few moments for her to recover and run after him.

‘But, John, I need you,’ she cried.

‘You don’t need me. You’re the most spirited woman I’ve ever met – stronger than any fella I know. And Lizzie’s turning into a bonny young woman; she’ll
soon have a lad whistling after her.’

Molly pulled hard on his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks and clasping his firm chin in her hands to make him face her straight on.

‘But I love you, John. I can’t live without you. I’ve no one except our Lizzie,’ she pleaded.

‘Aye, and I love you. But after all the harm that’s been done, after the deceit and fighting, we’ve both lost the ones we love. I think we both need a bit of peace, at least
for a month or two, to give us time to think.’ John tore himself away from her grasp and walked on to the hut where Lizzie was waiting for him. Molly followed, dragging her feet in the mud,
feeling as if her very soul was draining from her.

‘Hey, Lizzie Mason! I hear you’re waiting for a charming, sophisticated gent like myself to sit with you while your mother’s at work.’

The door flew open and Lizzie ran into John’s arms. He picked her up and swung her around, showing all her petticoats as he did so.

‘You’re too old for that sort of carry-on, Lizzie,’ said Molly sternly. ‘And I expected you to be in bed before John got here.’ The devastating impact of
John’s words had sunk in during the walk home and she had gone into self-protection mode. She would show John Pratt that she didn’t need him. After tonight, she’d make it on her
own, without any man’s help.

‘Come on, Molly, we’re only playing.’ John didn’t care for this side to Molly. He’d seen it before: when things weren’t going her way she had a tendency to
lash out and hurt people, not thinking what she was saying.

‘Aye, well, playing leads to other things. Lizzie – bed. John will sleep in the chair until I get home.’

‘Moll, stop it! You know I wouldn’t lay a finger on Lizzie, else why am I here? Don’t be daft.’

‘Daft? Aye that’s what I’ve been, all right, falling in love with someone who has no feelings, who can walk away from me when I need him the most.’ Tears welled up in
Molly’s eyes as she walked out the door, closing it sharply behind her.

Inside the hut, the two people she loved stood looking at each other in silence, wondering what they had done.

Molly stroked Florrie’s hair, trying to comfort her. The child’s fever was out of control, leaving her delirious with pain, writhing and thrashing on the mattress.
Her long hair was matted and soaked with sweat and her face was covered with pus-filled blisters. If she survived, the scars would be horrendous. No one would ever look at her again. Her cries of
distress mingled with those of the three other smallpox victims in the isolation ward.

‘Shh, little one,’ Molly told her, leaning into the candlelight so the child could see her there. ‘I’m right here, I won’t leave you. And don’t you go leaving
us – our Lizzie’ll miss you. She’s not like me, she takes after her father – a right soft lump. Shh, shh, little love, we’ll get through this together. And whoever
that baby’s father is, we’ll get even with the bastard and make him stand by you.’

Molly kept vigil over Florrie all night, filling the hours by talking softly, pouring out all her worries. Only when the first grey shards of dawn started creeping across the sky did she leave
the bedside, stepping outside to empty the dish of water she’d used to mop the child’s fevered brow in an effort to keep her temperature down. As the water trickled away down the drain,
Molly gazed out across the dale. The early morning mist mingled with smoke from the huts, casting a veil over Whernside that allowed only occasional glimpses of blue sky. It promised to be a good
day, she thought, lifting her head at the sound of someone approaching from the shanties. As he emerged from the darkness, she saw that it was Doctor Thistlethwaite, on his way to carry out the
first inspection of the day. Despite the long hours he was putting in, dealing with the epidemic, he seemed a happier man now that he’d married Gladys. She, too, was less of a Starchy Drawers
now. The death and devastation brought about by smallpox had made them all realize how lucky they were to be alive, and any animosities had been forgotten as the three of them worked together,
battling to keep their patients alive.

‘Morning, Molly. How are the patients?’ Doctor Thistlethwaite knocked the mud off his shoes before entering the isolation ward with her.

‘No change. But at least there have been no new cases overnight.’ Molly led the way to Florrie’s bedside, letting out a gasp when she saw the pale arm hanging lifeless from the
bed. Gently clasping the hand and tucking it in under the covers, Molly looked into Florrie’s face. She’d passed over silently, in the blink of an eye, as if she’d just been
waiting for the moment she was on her own. Molly sank into the chair beside the bed, unable to hold back the tears.

Doctor Thistlethwaite put his arm around Molly as she sobbed.

‘She didn’t have a chance. Don’t blame yourself, you did all you could. Come on, Molly, you need to be strong now. There are others who need you. I fear this is just the
beginning . . .’

Molly and Nurse Gladys carried Florrie’s body into the makeshift mortuary. Another coffin for the carpenter to build; he was going to be a wealthy man at this rate. Molly
couldn’t help but wonder where this poor soul would be laid to rest. Tomorrow Jim would be buried in the grave next to Rose, leaving Florrie and other smallpox victims with nowhere to go.

‘Listen, that sounds like a train!’ exclaimed Nurse Gladys. ‘I heard they’d almost finished laying the track to where the station will be, but I didn’t think
there’d be a train on it so soon. How exciting – the first train! I wish I could go and see it, but I’m needed here. You go, Molly. You must be ready for home, you’ve been
here all night. Go on, go – and tell me all about it later.’

Molly was exhausted. She wanted to get home to Lizzie, but she couldn’t face her daughter while her mind was on Florrie, lying there in the morgue with no last resting place for her
body.

She picked up her shawl. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll call by the Welcome Inn and tell Helen Parker that her daughter’s dead. From what I hear, her
father won’t be bothered. He doesn’t bother about anything, that one, except drink and money.’

Seething with anger at the injustice of it all, Molly reached the platform edge of what was going to be Ribblehead station. The train was just coming to a halt, filling the air with a great
cloud of steam. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to greet the train, and they cheered as the engine driver climbed down from his cabin. As the cloud of steam subsided, Molly spotted John and
Lizzie standing near the engine. She made her way through the crowd to join them.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been home – there’s something I have to do first. I expect you’ll be at work by the time I’m done, Lizzie, but I need to tell you .
. .’ Molly’s voice trailed off as she noticed a small man in a bowler hat being helped out of one of the first-class carriages by Lizzie’s boss.

‘It’s all right, Moll. Lizzie and me decided last night to come and watch this. We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, would we, Liz?’ John was so awestruck by the
steam engine that he failed to notice the expression on Molly’s face. ‘Did you hear the whistle blow and the chuffing that she made when she came around the limestone cutting? What a
magnif—’

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Molly cut in. ‘There’s something I must do.’ She broke away from them, almost running in her haste to get to the first-class
carriages.

‘Hey, you!’ Molly shouted at the top of her voice, causing the bowler-hatted businessman and Mr Ashwell to turn in astonishment. ‘Yes, you – the toff from
Leeds.’

‘Mrs Mason! Stop this right now. This isn’t the time or the place to deal with any problems you may have.’ Mr Ashwell turned away, keen to usher the visiting dignitary away
from any unpleasantness. ‘Come and see me in my hut later, if you must, but this is our director and he hasn’t the time—’

‘Don’t you turn your backs on me! I’ve sat up all night with a dying lass. Now she’s dead and there’s nowhere to bury her. I haven’t a problem, but he has
– ’ Molly poked her finger at the speechless director. ‘If he doesn’t come up with the money to extend that churchyard, I’ll see that not another length of track or
another brick on that dammed viaduct gets laid.’

Hands on her hips, Molly stood her ground, staring defiantly. Behind her, there were murmurs from the onlookers. Though none of them were prepared to be as openly defiant as Molly, it was
obvious the navvies and their families shared her opinion.

‘Well, what are you going to do?’ Molly demanded.

‘Mrs Mason, please . . .’