The Most Precious Thing (17 page)
‘I’m glad.’ Renee had obviously been hoping for more. ‘I thought David would be happy, Walter said he’d suspected David had liked you for years, but you’d never mentioned him.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Carrie shrugged. ‘Perhaps I did and you weren’t listening.’
Renee’s hand went again to her stomach and she winced. ‘I think I’ll get along home, lass, and let Walter look after me for a change when he gets in. Although I could be half dead and he’d only notice if his dinner wasn’t on the table,’ she added with the bitterness which had so disturbed Carrie before. ‘These stupid marches, what good do they do?’
Carrie watched her sister leave with deep sadness, and it was only when she was alone that she realised just how much the last few hours had taken out of her. If what Renee said was true and Walter really had deliberately tried to get her pregnant, even knowing how she felt about having a bairn, that was inexcusable.
She turned to survey the room, her eyes drawn to the rumpled covers on the bed and then the chamber pot beneath it.
But to do away with the baby?
She glanced across to the baking board as the reality of what had just occurred hammered in her head, and, her mind seeking temporary refuge in the mundane, she found herself murmuring, ‘I must get on, else I won’t get my quota done.’ Earlier she had placed a damp towel over the papers which had been stiff and difficult to roll that morning, but now it would be quite dry. She’d have to dampen it again. But still she did not move.
Renee had got rid of her baby, but was she any different? She’d wished the child inside her dead a hundred times since Alec had forced her.
No, it
was
different. It was as if there were two arguments going on in her head. Renee was married and she had been courting Walter for over two years before they had wed. Their child had been conceived in love, or at least respectability. Renee might not have liked the end result but she had lain with Walter because she wanted to; her sister would be the first to admit she liked a bit of making on.
was
different. It was as if there were two arguments going on in her head. Renee was married and she had been courting Walter for over two years before they had wed. Their child had been conceived in love, or at least respectability. Renee might not have liked the end result but she had lain with Walter because she wanted to; her sister would be the first to admit she liked a bit of making on.
But a bairn was a bairn, wasn’t it? No child asked to be born, its birth was a result of a man and a woman making on, and who gave anyone, even the mother, the right to take away a life or wish the unborn child dead? Why was it wrong for Renee to want her baby dead because she was married and the bairn was her husband’s, and right for her to wish hers gone because of how it had come into being? Her hand touched the mound of her stomach. She was a hypocrite, that was the truth of the matter, but she couldn’t help how she felt. Nevertheless, she had to face the fact that this bairn inside her was the innocent one in all of this, just as Renee’s had been. But that tiny life had been extinguished now, flushed out and disposed of in the privy where the scavenger’s shovels would deal with it.
She put her hand to her throat, the lump there threatening to choke her. Oh, Renee, Renee, what have you done? Carrie worked the skin of her neck for a moment, struggling to get a hold on the emotion beginning to swamp her.
She couldn’t think of this now, not Renee’s dead baby nor her live one. Her hand moved to massage her forehead where a pulse of pain was throbbing. She’d think about it later, when she was lying quiet in the darkness with only the sound of David’s breathing disturbing the night. Then she could re-examine everything that had gone on and all that Renee had said, along with these thoughts about her own baby.
She made herself walk across to the lumpy old armchair, settled the small table holding the baking board in front of her and sat down with a heavy sigh. She must concentrate on getting as much work done as she could before she walked along to the corner shop. She’d make sure she allowed enough time before David came back; Mr Marley would be more likely to agree to let them have a few things on the slate if she went to see him herself. He was a nice man at heart.
The extent of her girth made working at the table difficult but there was nothing to be done about that. As her fingers began to move swiftly with monotonous regularity, Carrie became almost oblivious to the papers and paste in her hands. Her thoughts sped on. David wouldn’t like it but she would continue making the firework cases at home even once he was in work. They had weeks of rent to clear for a start, but it wasn’t only that. They had to get out of this one room and into either the upstairs or the downstairs of a house at some point; they couldn’t stay here for ever. She
wouldn’t
stay here for ever. Five shillings for ten gross of crackers might not be much in the way of things considering the hours involved, but it wasn’t to be sneezed at either. And she would make every penny work for them, just like her mam had done at home. Like that fishwife had said to her the night she’d found out Alec was going to marry Miss Reed, you had to take life by the scruff of its neck and bash its face in. She hadn’t felt much like doing any bashing lately, but maybe it was time.
wouldn’t
stay here for ever. Five shillings for ten gross of crackers might not be much in the way of things considering the hours involved, but it wasn’t to be sneezed at either. And she would make every penny work for them, just like her mam had done at home. Like that fishwife had said to her the night she’d found out Alec was going to marry Miss Reed, you had to take life by the scruff of its neck and bash its face in. She hadn’t felt much like doing any bashing lately, but maybe it was time.
Her fingers became still and her heart began to thump hard. She wasn’t going to let Alec Sutton taking her down ruin her life, not while there was breath in her body.
And David? The thumping intensified. She knew if she was being truthful that she still had to steel herself if he so much as touched her hand. What about the rest of it, the making on which would be bound to happen once the bairn was born? She couldn’t expect otherwise. How would she stand that? Fear and revulsion rose up in her throat but again she cautioned herself, saying silently, enough, enough. Don’t think of this now. Wait till the bairn’s born and see what happens. He’s a nice man, you above anyone have had proof of that. Take it a day at a time. Just a day at a time.
Carrie was standing on the doorstep when David turned the corner of Brooke Street later that day. She had been standing there for quite a while, ever since she had gone to see Mr Marley. It had been then that she had seen the first of the miners who were beginning to straggle back into Monkwearmouth, bruised and battered and bleeding, and had heard what had transpired on Whitburn sands.
David paused when he caught sight of her. Her shawl was wrapped round her body in a vain attempt to hide her swollen belly, and she was leaning against the doorpost as though she was spent.
Seeing her standing there, for all the world as though she was an ordinary wife and theirs was an ordinary marriage, drained him of all strength for a moment. Then he forced himself to walk on, trying to ignore the pain in his hand which was making him sweat, along with the sick giddiness which had been with him ever since he’d lost his footing in the crush shortly after the incident with Billy, and a passing policeman had thought it opportune to put the boot in. In contrast, Ned had seemed to improve on the way home, which was something to be thankful for because he doubted if he could have helped Walter much with their da the way he’d begun to feel. When he had left Walter and his father, he had continued on with men who lived close to him and he responded to their farewells without taking his eyes off the figure on the doorstep. He could see her face was as white as bleached linen, her distress apparent to him when he was still some good few yards away.
As he neared the house, she called, saying, ‘Oh, David, David,’ a moment before the bulky form of their landlady filled the space behind her.
‘I’ve tried to make her come in an’ take the weight off for the last hour an’ more, lad, but she was havin’ none of it,’ Ada bawled as though he was two streets away rather than two houses. ‘Stubborn as a field full of cuddies in their second wind, your lass.’ And then, as he reached the two women, Ada added, ‘Landsakes, lad. It looks like they’ve done a number on you.’
He obviously looked as bad as he felt. Carrie had gone a shade paler still. David stretched his mouth in what he hoped resembled a smile, his gaze on his wife as he said, ‘I’m all right, Ada. Come on, let’s get inside.’
‘If you’re all right I’d hate to see the poor blighters who aren’t feelin’ too good,’ Ada returned, ushering the two of them inside and following them into their room. ‘Damn pollises chargin’ about on their horses an’ thinkin’ they can do whatever they like. There ought to be a law against ’em.’
David couldn’t help but smile. Ada’s plump face was perfectly serious and highly indignant which somehow made what she’d said all the funnier. He hadn’t thought he could work up a real smile after what he’d seen the day and how he was feeling, but then he hadn’t accounted for Ada.
‘Sit down, David.’ Carrie’s voice was quiet but firm, and when she pushed him down on to the bed he found he was glad to sit back against the iron headboard. The last half-mile or so he’d begun to wonder if he was going to make it home under his own steam. ‘Let me look at your hand.’
He was feeling peculiar, really peculiar now, but he held out his hand to her, feeling her flesh touch his very gently. His fingers had swollen to twice their normal size on the hand the policeman had hammered at, and he could feel the broken ends of the bones in his thumb and first three fingers. Only his little one still seemed intact although bruised.
‘You’ve a nasty bump on your head,’ Ada commented helpfully at the side of Carrie. ‘Egg size, it is, an’ there’s a gash the size of a kitten’s tail alongside it. You got any laudanum in the house, hinny?’ When Carrie shook her head, Ada said, ‘I’ll go an’ get mine, he’ll need somethin’ the night an’ I always keep some by for when me rheumatism’s givin’ me gyp. You’re goin’ to need a doctor for that hand though, lad.’
‘We can’t afford one, Ada.’ Carrie didn’t look at her as she spoke. ‘David, my da broke two of his fingers last year and I helped my mam when she saw to him.’
This wasn’t a question but he answered as though it was, saying, ‘Aye, have a go then, lass.’ He just hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself in front of the pair of them and give way to the nausea making his mouth water. He’d only broken fingers; he’d seen worse injuries every day down the pit and men still able to act the cuddy even as they were being stretchered away.
‘What’ll you need, lass?’ Ada’s voice was low now.
‘Bandages, any clean rags will do, and some pegs for splints for each finger. Oh, and a flat piece of wood to fix the whole hand to at the end.’
‘I’ll go an’ see what I’ve got.’
Ada bustled away, and when they were alone Carrie said, ‘I’ll be as careful as I can but it’ll hurt, David. My da yelled a bit.’ He hadn’t, but she thought it would make David feel better if he had to. David’s hand was twice, three times worse than her father’s had been.
Once the little table was clear of the baking board and fireworks and had one of Ada’s old towels spread over it, Carrie made David sit in the armchair, his hand spread palm down on the flat surface of the table. Along with the strips of linen and other things, Ada had brought a half-bottle of brandy. ‘Always keep a drop by me for when I’m not feelin’ too good,’ she said, pouring a generous measure into a glass and handing it to David as she spoke. ‘Nothin’ like a spot of brandy for puttin’ fire in your belly.’
David wasn’t about to argue with this. He drank the neat spirit straight down, feeling it burn a path down his throat and into his stomach where it took care of the nausea. After another glass, the debilitating sensation of faintness went too, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad.
It took an hour and a half, but by the end of that time Carrie had succeeded in bandaging his thumb and each finger to small wooden splints made from Ada’s pegs. After she’d finished setting the individual breaks, she bandaged the whole hand to one of Ada’s big flat wooden table mats with a picture of the late Queen Victoria and Prince Albert painted on it. These had been a wedding present and were the old woman’s pride and joy.
Ada stood at Carrie’s side the whole time she worked, passing her whatever she needed, and now, as the last piece of linen was tied tightly into place, she said, ‘Well, lad, if the infirmary had done the job you might have got a more professional finish than havin’ the old Queen an’ Prince, bless ’em, starin’ up at you but I doubt you’d have had such a bonny nurse.’ And then, as Carrie tried to straighten up and almost fell over, she added, ‘Steady, lass, steady. You’re all done in.’
She was exhausted. Carrie felt a pain slice through her abdomen, pulling downwards, and in repudiation of it she rubbed her hands vigorously together, saying, ‘David’s the poorly one, not me. Shall I give him some of the laudanum now?’
‘Wait a while, lass. The brandy’s still holdin’ the pain for the moment but he’ll need everythin’ he can get in an hour or two.’
He wished they wouldn’t speak as though he wasn’t present. He rose from the armchair, his voice gruff as he said, ‘Thanks, lass, but Ada’s right, you are done in. You’ve looked after me so now go and lie down a while.’
‘The both of you take the weight off.’ Ada scuttled about, gathering the remnants of the pegs and strips of linen. ‘I put a couple of taties in the ashes earlier an’ there’s half a pot pie goin’ beggin’. The pair of you need somethin’ hot the night so no arguin’, lass. All right?’
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