For a Mother's Sins (6 page)

‘Aye, well she should have known better than to send you. It’s no place for a young girl. There’s some funny buggers up here that wouldn’t ask twice about your age.
I’ll have to have a word with Ma tonight. Trouble is, she always thinks the best of everybody.’ John fixed her with his forget-me-not-blue eyes as he said this, then ran a hand through
his dusty hair. ‘Seems she thinks she’s got to provide a home for waifs and strays too.’ He finished his mouthful of sandwich and took his pipe out. ‘She’s always
wanted a lass, but she ended up with us three lads. Even so, it’s a rum do, taking on another woman’s lass – especially at her time in life.’ He lit his pipe and drew hard
on it before standing up. ‘Get yourself back home and don’t talk to anyone,’ he admonished her before turning away. ‘And mind the sinkholes – if you’re not
careful you’ll find yourself on top of them before you know it.’

Lizzie remained where she was, gazing after him as he walked down the fellside towards the gaping hole. He didn’t look back at her once, pausing only to pat a man on the back before
disappearing into the dark cavity.

Slowly she got to her feet and brushed her skirt down, musing over what he had said as she started to make her way down the fell. John wasn’t the only one mystified by his mother’s
decision to offer Lizzie a home. Grateful as she was that Rose had saved her from the workhouse, Lizzie had no idea why she’d stepped in to save her. She was puzzled too by his talk of folk
who wouldn’t ask her age. She’d soon tell them she was fourteen if they wanted to know.

The bumps in the grassy fellside meant she had to keep constant vigil else she’d turn her ankle, but Lizzie enjoyed her walk back down into the valley. She hummed a tune to herself, a
secret smile playing about her lips as she thought about how blue John Pratt’s eyes were and what a lovely laugh he had, but then she recalled what her so-called friend Florrie had said about
feeling things and her face turned crimson with embarrassment. The blush faded as she told herself it was all right for her to like John Pratt, but then she began thinking of liking him in more
than a friendly way and the blush returned, ashamed at the direction her thoughts were taking. He was too old and she was too young. It was that Florrie who was to blame. Lizzie had never
entertained such thoughts before she met that little thief. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the crafty little minx had almost got her thrown in the workhouse for stealing! Now here she was,
having lustful thoughts about men. No wonder the vicar said she’d burn in hell – she probably deserved to.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do: you can pay me a shilling a month and then I’ll let you keep my lass. You’re not having her for nothing – I
know your game. You only want her so she can run around after you, fetching and carrying and cleaning the house. Well, you’re welcome to her – but it’ll cost you.’

Having hatched her plan, Molly had made her way to the Pratts’ hut, keeping out of sight until she saw Lizzie emerge with the package of sandwiches in her hand and set off up the hill.
With four men earning, the Pratts could surely afford a shilling a month. And why shouldn’t she profit, especially since she’d have to do without Lizzie’s help, thanks to
them.

‘You’re wrong, Molly,’ protested Rose. ‘I only took her in to save her from the workhouse – and you know it. I was doing you a favour.’ She kept her voice
low, not wanting any attention being drawn to her doorstep. The last thing she wanted was Molly making a scene. If she wasn’t careful, others might start asking why Rose Pratt had taken in
the Mason girl, and they wouldn’t be satisfied with the explanation that she did it to keep the girl out of the workhouse. After all, it wasn’t as if Lizzie was kin to her. No, if she
was to keep her guilty secret, the best thing might be to go along with Molly. So in a resigned voice she said, ‘All right, Molly, if that’s what you want we’ll strike a deal. If
you promise not to spend it on drink, I’ll give you your shilling a month and Lizzie can work for me. Lord knows I could do with another pair of hands.’

‘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.

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.’