Pauper's Gold (26 page)

Puffing, Jim said, ‘By heck, you can’t half move for a girl.’

She chuckled. ‘I thought I’d better stop. Folks might think you were trying to arrest me.’

He laughed too. ‘You’re right at that. But as long as it hasn’t stopped you remembering where you’re headed.’

Hannah straightened up. ‘Oh no. I can remember very clearly now. We go right to the end of the road and then turn left.’ She frowned. ‘But I can’t remember anything after
that.’

‘You will when you get there,’ Jim said confidently. ‘Come on. It sounds as if it’s Bridge Street we’re wanting.’

But when they turned the corner, Hannah was still puzzled.

‘This is a silk mill on the left here,’ Jim prompted helpfully. ‘Is this where your mother worked?’

Hannah stared up at the building. ‘I . . . I seem to remember it. I suppose it could be.’

‘Maybe it’s only familiar because you walked past it on your way home from the school.’

They walked a little further, and then suddenly, Hannah stopped on a corner where another street crossed Bridge Street. She stood looking down the sloping street to her left.

‘This is Paradise Street,’ Jim said. He waved his arm to the other side of the road. ‘It carries on up there as well.’

Her voice was little more than a whisper, but there was no denying her excitement. ‘This is the street where we used to live.’

‘You sure?’

She nodded. ‘It was very clever of you to suggest retracing my footsteps like that.’

He smiled and shrugged off her compliment, yet she could see he was gratified. Her face sobered and she frowned. ‘You’d’ve thought I ought to’ve remembered the street
names. After all, I lived here till I was nine. And I ought to remember the people we lived near. How dim am I?’

‘Well, mebbe you sort of . . . sort of blocked it out. Didn’t want to remember it. You know?’

She wasn’t sure she understood what he meant, but he continued, trying to explain. ‘Folks sometimes try to forget unhappy times in their lives.’

‘But I wasn’t unhappy. Not here.’

‘But when you left here,’ Jim persisted, ‘you went into the workhouse, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly.

‘Well, that’s not a very happy experience, is it? Maybe you’ve tried to blot that out from your mind and the rest’s gone as well.’

‘There’s worse things that can happen,’ she murmured. There was suddenly a bleak, haunted look in her eyes. The last few weeks at the mill had been far more traumatic than life
at the workhouse, grim though that had been. Luke’s death had been the worst thing – the very worst thing – that had ever happened to her. Guiltily, she realized that his death
had affected her far more deeply than hearing that her own mother had died. She supposed she could accept the death of her mother – although not the fact that it had been kept from her
– because it was the natural progression of life. What was hard to bear was the loss of her young sweetheart, the boy she’d hoped to marry one day.

Jim glanced at her and saw the tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sure there is.’

Hannah took a deep breath and brushed her tears away with an impatient gesture. ‘But I see what you mean. And maybe you’re right.’ She lifted her face and smiled bravely.
‘It’s all coming back now and it’s thanks to you.’

Hannah stood a moment, gazing down the street at the terrace of tall, three-storey houses. The longer, small-paned windows on the top storey were the telltale sign that they were weavers’
garret workshops. One of those very rooms had been where her own grandfather had worked, Hannah thought.

Children played in the roadway and women stood in front of their houses, keeping an eye on the youngsters and gossiping with their neighbours. Suddenly, Hannah’s glance came to rest on a
woman standing at the bottom of the three steep steps in front of her house and leaning against the railing, a small, round woman with her arms folded across her ample bosom. She was chatting to
another woman standing on the pavement beside her.

‘Auntie Bessie,’ she whispered, then louder and louder until she was shouting and running down the street, her arms outstretched. ‘Auntie Bessie,
Auntie
Bessie
!’

She flung herself against the woman, who, taken by surprise, sat down suddenly on the bottom step.

‘’Ere, what d’you think you’re . . . ?’ the woman began indignantly as she grasped the railing and hauled herself up. But Hannah put her arms around the
woman’s plump waist and hugged her hard, pressing her cheek against her.

‘What a’ you doing?’ The woman grasped Hannah by the shoulders and prised her away. She did not throw her off entirely, but held onto her, looking down into her upturned face.
Behind them Jim had caught up with Hannah in time to hear the woman add, ‘Who are you?’

He stood quietly, watching and waiting.

Hannah opened her mouth but before she could speak, the thin, grey-haired woman who had been gossiping with Bessie suddenly cackled with laughter and prodded Hannah with a bony finger. ‘I
know who you are, girl. I’d know you anywhere.’ She glanced at her friend. ‘Can’t you see it, Bess? You know who she is, don’t you?’

Bessie stared at her friend. ‘No, I don’t know.’ She glanced between the thin woman and Hannah, seeming not to know quite which of them to ask. In the end, she asked them both.
‘Who is she, Flo?’ And turning again to the girl, ‘Who are you?’

‘It’s as plain as the nose on her face,’ Flo piped up, and cackled again with laughter at her own joke. ‘Though it’s a pretty little nose. Good job you didn’t
get his nose as well as his blond hair and blue eyes.’

‘Flo,’ Bessie was becoming impatient now, ‘just cut the funning, will yer, and tell me who she is?’ She turned back to Hannah and, still holding her shoulders, gave her a
little shake. ‘Or you tell me.’

Hannah grinned up at her. ‘It’s me, Auntie Bessie. It’s Hannah. We used to live next door to you. I used to come into your house when me mam was at work.’

‘Hannah,’ Bessie said wonderingly. ‘
Hannah!
Aw, love—’ Suddenly, Hannah was swept into the woman’s arms and pressed against her softness. ‘Fancy
me not knowing you. Aw, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ She held her at arm’s length again. ‘Let’s ’ave a proper look at you.’

Hannah had no choice but to submit to her scrutiny. Beside them, Flo said softly, ‘See what I mean, Bess? You remember
him
, don’t you? She’s his kid, all right, even if
Rebecca would never say. There’s no mistake now. Not now, there ain’t.’

Hannah glanced at Flo, the question written on her face.

Bessie frowned. ‘Shut up, Flo,’ she muttered. ‘You’ve said enough. More than enough, by the look of it.’

‘Oh, sorry, I’m sure,’ Flo said huffily. Then she bent towards Hannah. ‘You remember me, ducky, don’t yer? I’m yer Antie Flo.’

Hannah stared into the thin face, the grey eyes, the gaunt cheeks, the beak-like nose and the thin-lipped mouth. Oh, she remembered her all right. She remembered Florence Harris. How she’d
called after Hannah and her mother, calling them names as they walked down the street. ‘No better than you ought to be, Rebecca Francis. And that girl of yours’ll be the same.
It’s in the breed. Her father’s a good-for-nothing womanizer and you’re nothing better than a whore!’

Oh yes, Hannah remembered her now, but instead, she smiled sweetly into Flo’s face and said, ‘No, sorry. I don’t. I only remember Auntie Bessie. She was always so kind to
us.’

Flo straightened up and with a disgruntled ‘Huh!’ turned away. She began to walk back to her own house, next door, but with a parting shot, she pointed at the young constable and
said, ‘What’s he doing here, then? In trouble already, is she? It’ll be no more than you could expect. You want to be careful of her, Bess. Bringing trouble to your door.
That’s what she’ll do.’

But Bessie was chuckling softly. ‘That’s put ’er nose out of joint. You come along in and tell me what’s been happening to you. But first,’ she glanced up at Jim.
‘What is this bobby doing here? Are you in bother?’

‘No, no, Auntie Bessie. He’s been helping me find you. Well, helping me find where I used to live. I . . . I couldn’t remember . . .’ Her voice faltered and faded.

‘Couldn’t remember?’ Bessie seemed shocked.

Jim stepped forward and, clearing his throat, he spoke for the first time. ‘I think she’s blotted a lot out of her mind. She – well, she’ll no doubt tell you herself
– but she’s not had it easy . . .’ Now, he too stopped, unsure what to say next.

‘Ah,’ Bessie said and nodded, catching on quickly. ‘Well, let’s go inside and we’ll all ’ave a nice cup of tea and a bit of a chat, eh?’ She grinned at
the constable, her merry eyes almost lost in her round, red cheeks. ‘You too, young feller. I ain’t never ’ad no cause to be frightened of the bobbies and I ain’t
goin’ to start now.’

Jim smiled back. ‘Ta all the same, missis, but I’d best be getting back on me proper beat, else it’ll be me in the trouble.’ He nodded towards Hannah. ‘But
I’ll keep in touch. I’d like to know how she goes on.’

Bessie chuckled inwardly.
I bet you would
, she thought, as she saw the way the young man’s eyes rested on Hannah’s pretty face.
Oh, I bet you would.
Aloud, she said,
‘Well, lad, like I say, you’re welcome in my house any time you like. In or out of your uniform.’

Hannah turned to him. ‘Thank you so much for all your help. You . . . you’ve been wonderful. And please – thank Mr Robinson for me too, won’t you?’

‘I will, miss. And . . . and good luck,’ he added as he put on his hat and turned away, raising his hand in farewell as he strode away up the street. ‘By the way, don’t
forget to collect your bundle of things from the station, will yer?’

‘I won’t. And thank you.’

‘Now, love,’ Bessie said, putting her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. ‘Come along in. It’s high time you and me did some catching up.’

Two hours later they were still sitting either side of Bessie Morgan’s table, tea grown cold before them, exchanging their stories of the years since they’d
last seen each other. Hannah had poured it all out – every bit of it – and she, in turn, had listened to Bessie’s tale.

‘Your gran was always good to me, love, ’specially when I lost one of me little ’uns with the scarlet fever.’

‘I remember that,’ Hannah said gently. ‘I wasn’t allowed to play with Peggy for weeks.’ She leaned forward. ‘Is . . . is Peggy all right? I mean . . .’
She faltered. It was difficult asking about Bessie’s large family. Perhaps there had been more tragedies. There had. Bessie wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘She’s all
right.’ Bessie’s generous mouth was suddenly tight. ‘Far as I know, that is.’

‘Far as you know . . .’ Hannah began and then stopped. But she had gone too far to pull back now. ‘What . . . what do you mean?’

‘I don’t see her. I don’t even know where she’s living. Not for sure.’

Hannah waited. The questions were tumbling around in her mind, but she held them in check, waiting for Bessie to continue in her own time. ‘Peggy was always a wild one,’ Bessie was
saying, and Hannah was remembering the bright, fair-haired tomboy she had played with. ‘She met this lad when she was fifteen. I didn’t like him. He was an idle beggar. Into all sorts,
he was. Him and all his family and not always on the right side of the law. But she wouldn’t listen to me. It was about – about the time I lost my Bill.’

Hannah gasped. She hadn’t thought to ask about Bessie’s quiet, unassuming husband, Bill.

‘Oh no, not Uncle Bill.’

Bessie nodded and her eyes filled with tears again. ‘He got injured at work in ’fifty three and died just before Christmas.’

‘That was just before they sent me to the mill,’ Hannah murmured, but Bessie was lost in the telling of her own tale now.

‘What I’d have given to have your gran and your mam still living next door,’ she went on, ‘I can’t tell you. And that was when madam,’ Hannah guessed she was
referring to her wayward daughter, Peggy, ‘decided to up sticks and leave. Packed ’er bags, she did, and off she went with ’im. Went to live with his parents in Davies Street.
Well, I say parents. His dad’s in gaol, by all accounts.’

Hannah touched the woman’s hand. ‘Oh, Auntie Bessie, I’m so sorry to hear all this. You’ve had it worse than me.’

‘No, love, no. Things like that shouldn’t happen to a young girl. When you get older – to my age – well, you expect to ’ave to take a few knocks.’ She smiled
through her tears. ‘Worst of it is, though, they’ve all left home now. The lads are working away. Ben is in Manchester and Micky went to London. Doing very well, he is. Got a job in an
office, so he says. He writes regular, but he can’t get home much. Neither can Ben, even though he’s only in Manchester, it might as well be a million miles away.

‘What about the others?’ Hannah asked tentatively, fearing more bad news.

‘Young Billy’s at sea. Joined the navy, ’ee did, and Sarah’s married.’ Bessie was smiling now. ‘Got a babby. Bonny little girl. Called her Elizabeth after me.
Beth for short. But they live in Liverpool. Her husband works on the docks, so I don’t see a lot of them either.’ Her face fell again. ‘It’s hard, you know, Hannah, when
you’ve had a house full of family and then, all of a sudden, you turn round and there’s no one left but you.’ Bessie forced a smile as she added, ‘But I should count my
blessings. The landlord let me stay in me home, even though I don’t work in the weaving trade any more. Not now poor Bill’s gone. There’s a nice feller rents the garret.’
She jerked her thumb upwards, indicating the attic rooms of her house. ‘But he’s a quiet sort. Comes and goes and I never see him.’ She pulled a face. ‘No company there, if
you know what I mean.’

Hannah could hear the loneliness in Bessie’s voice. She held Bessie’s hand and leaned forward. ‘Well, I’m hoping to find a job in one of the silk mills and stay in
Macclesfield.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘As long as Edmund Critchlow doesn’t catch up with me and have me dragged back to serve out my term. Anyway,’ she went on briskly and
with more hope in her tone than she was feeling inside. ‘I’ll come and see you often. I promise.’