Ragamuffin Angel Page 7

  The woman’s tone wasn’t hostile – flustered would have described it better – and Sadie stared at her for a moment before she said, ‘I . . . I have to see him – Jacob. I need to talk to him. Please.’

  ‘Lass, I’m telling you –’

  Whatever she had been about to tell her Sadie never knew, because in the next instant the door was opened fully and another woman stood in the aperture, her voice sharp as she said, ‘Kitty? What on earth do you think you are doing skulking out there, and who are these people?’

  This must be Jacob’s mother-in-law. This was her, Edith Stewart, the matriarch. Sadie’s heart was pounding and her legs felt weak as she looked at the small, smartly dressed woman in front of her. Edith Stewart’s plain, dark-claret brocade dress was deceptively simple, but the material which fell in deep folds to the top of her neatly shod feet was beautifully cut and the exquisite gold fob watch pinned to the ruched bodice of the dress was clearly expensive. Everything about the crisp, eagle-eyed woman spoke of wealth and authority. Her hair was still very black with merely a touch of grey, arranged high on her head in a loose bun, and her eyes – which were of the same gimlet hardness as her eldest son’s – were looking straight into Sadie’s terrified blue ones.

  ‘Well? State your business,’ the irritated voice continued coldly, ‘but if it’s a handout you’re looking for we have nothing to spare. I know you people, the word soon gets about, doesn’t it and –’ And then, like a steel trap snapping shut, the words were cut off and the ebony eyes opened wide for a moment. ‘No.’ It was a hiss. ‘No, it can’t be. You wouldn’t have the sheer affrontry.’

  ‘Mrs Stewart?’ Sadie’s voice was shaking even as she told herself she couldn’t afford to show any weakness in front of this woman. ‘I need to know . . . I have to see Jacob. I –’

  ‘You filthy, dirty trollop! You brazen huzzy, you. You think you can come here, here, to my home, with your ragamuffin brats and your whining! I’ll have you horsewhipped.’

  ‘Madam! Come back inside, please.’

  As Sadie took a step backwards from the enraged woman Kitty actually caught hold of her employer’s arm, only to be shaken off so violently that a less heavy or well-endowed woman would have been thrown to the ground.

  ‘Did you know? Did you know it was her?’ Edith asked her housekeeper, white flecks of spittle gathering at the comers of her mouth. And then, without waiting for an answer, she swung back to Sadie who had both children clinging to her skirts, and bit out, ‘I’ll see you rot in hell before you get your hands on my daughter’s husband again. They’ve gone, do you hear? Gone far enough away so you and your flyblows will never find him, and I’ll make sure they never come back.’

  Sadie was aware that Edith Stewart was showing her working class roots and that the genteel façade had been blown apart, but there was no victory in the realisation. The woman was dangerous – it was there in the narrowed eyes and snarling mouth – and she had no idea what she would do next.

  Kitty must have been of the same opinion, because again she caught hold of Edith saying, ‘Please, Madam, please. Don’t do anything rash.’

  ‘Anything rash?’ As Edith jerked her arm free her voice rose still higher. ‘I’d like to string her up by her thumbs and display her as the loose piece she is. Scum! The lot of them, scum! And flaunting her guttersnipe brats in front of my face when she was the means preventing Mavis having any by her legal husband –’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Sadie spoke through trembling lips, her voice low but clear. ‘You know that’s not true. She wouldn’t sleep with him, she went hysterical if Jacob went near her.’

  ‘Lies! All lies!’

  Larry was crying now, wailing into Sadie’s skirts, and as Kitty said, ‘Madam, I know you’re upset but when all’s said and done they are only bairns, this is not their fault, let’s leave it for now,’ Edith seemed as though she was going to have a fit.

  ‘Only bairns? Bairns? They are little animals born of a bitch on heat, that’s what they are, and Henry is dead because of that woman. Don’t forget that, Kitty.’ And then, as she advanced another step towards Sadie, ‘Did you know that, eh? Did you know you’ve got a man’s death on your conscience besides another being crippled? My husband was too decent a man to be able to stand your association with his daughter’s husband and it killed him.’

  ‘Mrs Stewart –’

  ‘You’re scum, girl. Scum. Not fit to draw the same air as decent folk –’ And then Edith’s words were cut off and her breath ejaculated as a small missile hit her stomach.

  Connie hadn’t understood half of what was being said, but she knew the lady from the big house was being nasty, really nasty, to her mam, and she had stood it long enough. As her head hit Edith’s midriff her legs and arms were kicking and lashing out, and such was Edith’s utter shock and surprise that she was frozen for a good few seconds as the screaming child battered at her.

  Sadie, impeded by Larry still clinging to her skirts, only succeeded in dragging her daughter off the staggering figure when the couture dress was ripped beyond redemption and the bun hanging in dishevelled disarray halfway down Edith’s back, and it took both her strength and that of Kitty to hold the child back.

  They left in the midst of a tirade the like of which Ryhope Road had never heard before, and which was far more in-keeping with that of a fishwife down at the docks, and Sadie didn’t stop or let go of Connie until they had passed Barley Mow Cottage and then Ivy Cottage, and turned into the Cedars. She walked swiftly for some few yards down the tree-lined street, still hauling both Connie and Larry – the latter having lost his footing numerous times – violently by their arms, and then she stopped, letting go of Larry and hitting Connie a resounding slap across one ear followed by a second across the other ear that took Connie clean off her feet.

  Connie couldn’t see or hear for a moment such was the swirling of her head, and then when the darkness receded and she saw her mother’s face and heard Larry’s crying, she managed, ‘Mam, oh, Mam. I’m sorry, Mam. I am, I’m sorry.’

  And then she felt her mother’s arms about her and realised her mam was sitting in the mud alongside of her, the tears streaming down her face, as she murmured over and over again, ‘Oh me bairn, me bairn, me bairn. May God forgive me. Oh me bairn. I’m sorry, hinny. I’m sorry.’

  How long they sat there in the sludge and dirt Connie didn’t know, it was enough that when they eventually rose to their feet her mam was kind with her again and her voice was soft when she said, ‘Come on, me wee brave bairn, let’s go an’ tell your granny she was right after all, eh? That should please her,’ and funnily enough it was at that moment that Connie wanted to cry.

  Chapter Five

  The sky was a transparent silver expanse and of such a brilliant hue that it hurt the eyes to look upwards, but Sadie wasn’t looking upwards as she stumbled along in the bitterly cold afternoon, picking her way through the bulging sacks, barrels, crates and miscellaneous bundles that were strewn all over the wharf. It had been a long shot, applying for work at the grain warehouse, and she knew her physical appearance had been against her. They wanted big strong females – on the limited occasions when jobs for women were available at all – and she was too thin and slight, too pale and fragile-looking after losing the baby, to inspire confidence in future employers.

  Every day for the last week, ever since the visit to Ryhope Road, she had trudged the three miles into Bishopwearmouth, enquiring at all the warehouses, the shops, the factories, even the fish quay and the curing houses, but to no avail. She had sent Connie ‘on tick’ to the farm, and the bairn had managed to secure enough logs and food to tide them over to the present time, but now there was no fuel and no food on the table, and the farm would want payment before they obliged again.

  She had even gone to see Father Hedley a couple of days ago, in desperation, but although the priest had been sympathetic he hadn’t been able to hide his condemnation of the circumstances that had brought her to
this point, and the two or three jobs he had known about had been ones she had already been turned down for. What was she going to do?

  Of necessity they were all going to bed once darkness fell and rising with the dawn, there being no money for oil for the lamps, and the long nights seemed endless as she tossed and turned and racked her brains for a way out. But there wasn’t one – saving the workhouse. And that wasn’t a way out; she would rather see them dead than incarcerated in that soulless prison where the children were separated from their mothers and fathers on entry; and someone like Peggy would end her days in the infirm ward. It was her mother’s secret fear that she would be consigned to the workhouse in her twilight years, and she couldn’t let that happen.

  Sadie pulled her worn felt hat – cleaned that morning with salt and flour – more securely over her golden hair as the fish-tainted air froze her ears, and turned into Long Bank away from the quays. The Bank joined Low Street and High Street, and she had just passed a kipper-curing house and stepped round a horde of children – most of whom were in dirty tattered clothes and with bare legs and feet, or old cracked boots that were falling off their feet – who were playing in and around a small fishing boat at one side of the road, when she heard her name being called.

  ‘Sadie! I thought it was you, lass.’

  As she turned she recognised one of the female packers from her days of working at Henry Stewart & Co., a large, jolly, red-haired girl with whom she had struck up a friendship for a time. ‘Hallo, Phyllis.’ She didn’t really want to talk to anyone but she forced a smile.

  ‘What you doing round these parts then?’ the other girl asked as she reached her side. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen hide or hair of you, lass.’

  Sadie hesitated a moment. Phyllis had been a convivial companion at the warehouse, but she remembered the red-head had also been somewhat ribald and suggestive on occasion, especially when there were men about. But there weren’t any men about now, she told herself in the next instant, and besides, after her affair with Jacob who was she to judge anyone? Nevertheless, her voice was strained when she answered, ‘I’m lookin’ for work. Do you know of anythin’, Phyllis?’

  ‘Nay, lass. There’s nowt goin’ I know of, but I’m a married woman now, expectin’ me first bairn end of May so me workin’ days are over.’

  Sadie nodded slowly. She was feeling most peculiar, faint and sick, and it must have shown in her face because the other girl said, ‘You all right, lass? You look all done in. Look, I’m just off to get me an’ Frank’s mam’s dinner – we lodge with her ’cos he’s away on the boats most of the time – so why don’t you come an’ have a bite an’ a sit down for a while?’

  ‘I. . . I don’t have any money with me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry your head about that, lass,’ the other girl said breezily. ‘I can stand you to a meat pie or faggots an’ peas, whatever you like. Frank’s mam always has cow-heel an’ tripe, she’s a one for her tripe, she is.’

  Sadie hadn’t had anything in her stomach except one slice of bread and dripping first thing and she knew there was nothing to eat when she got home; the temptation was too much. ‘Ta, thanks, Phyllis.’

  Once in the pie shop the smell brought the saliva running in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten properly for days – what food there had been she had tried to save for the children – and now the hunger was threatening to overwhelm her. So when Phyllis, after a long look at her white face and thin frame said, ‘I always have a couple meself, same for you, Sadie?’ she could only nod her thanks weakly and swallow hard.

  She watched Phyllis order four meat pies and her mother-in-law’s cow-heel and tripe, and present the can for the peas which was duly filled, and then they were out of the dilapidated shop and making their way back along Long Bank to Low Street and the harbour.

  Sadie was holding the pies which were wrapped in a piece of newspaper, and the smell and heat of them were filling her senses so much it hardly registered when Phyllis opened a door in one of the houses and pushed her inside.

  Phyllis’s mother-in-law’s house was filthy but there was a blazing fire in the hearth and it was lovely and warm. From what Sadie could make out the two women did nothing but sit and talk all day, certainly there was no evidence of any housework or cooking, but the old lady was friendly and insisted Sadie join her and Phyllis in a glass of stout from the grey hen – the large stone-ware bottle she fetched from the scullery. Sadie had only tasted stout once before in her life, and she had thought she didn’t like it then, but after a couple of glasses with Phyllis and her mother-in-law the grimy room seemed brighter and more appealing, Phyllis’s conversation more quick-witted and amusing, and the world in general a more benevolent place. For the first time in weeks Sadie found herself relaxing. She was replete after the big meal, as warm as toast in front of the roaring fire, and as the women chattered and dozed the winter’s afternoon away – aided and abetted by several more glasses of stout – Sadie lost all sense of time and purpose.

  So it was with a sense of shock that she heard Phyllis say, after what Sadie thought had only been an hour or two, ‘It’s gone five, Mam. I’ll light the lamp, shall I? It’s nearly dark outside.’

  ‘Five o’clock?’ Sadie jumped up from her flock-stuffed chair only to find she had to hold on to the table for a moment or two as her head spun. ‘Phyllis, I should have bin home hours ago. Me mam an’ the bairns’ll be worried out of their minds.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry, lass,’ said Phyllis comfortably. ‘You’ve got to have a life of your own an’ all. Stay an’ have a bit of supper, eh? There’s some chitterlings with bread an’ cheese, or a pig’s trotter if you’d rather?’

  ‘No, no I have to go. But thank you.’

  ‘As you like, lass. As you like.’

  She wished she hadn’t had all those glasses of stout. As Sadie pulled on her coat and hat her head was whirling. And what was she going to say to her mam? It would be seven o’clock before she was home.

  When Sadie stepped out of the front door after further goodbyes to Phyllis and her mother-in-law – both of whom were a little the worse for wear after the stout – the freezing air hit her like a solid wall and made her gasp. It must have snowed a little at some time during the afternoon because a light layer was lying on the ground and the frost was making it sparkle like diamond dust. But night was falling rapidly now, it was dark already and the temperature was a good few degrees colder than earlier in the day. Sadie thought of the long walk home and her shoulders drooped, but what was even more disheartening was that she had no good news to impart at the end of it. Suddenly all the pleasure and cosy enjoyment of the afternoon was gone and reality was back with a vengeance, made all the more stark by the serenity of the hours she had enjoyed at Phyllis’s.

  Sadie hurried along Long Bank, cutting into Silver Street from High Street East, and then into Prospect Row from whence she was intending to take a short cut across the town moor into Hendon, before striking westwards past the Hendon Ropery and towards Mowbray Park.

  It had been years since she had been out on the streets after dark – four years to be exact, ever since she had taken up with Jacob and left her job at Henry Stewart’s – and although the lamplighter had already lit some of the streetlamps the back lanes and alleyways were dark, unknown places, places where things were sometimes done that were . . . not nice.

  She had just stepped on to the path that would lead her across the moor, past the bandstand and the Trafalgar Square almshouses and on to Hendon Junction, when she was conscious of someone just behind her, and with the knowledge came the realisation that this someone had been there for a few minutes. She was being followed.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Her voice was overloud, and almost immediately a man stepped out of the shadows, shushing her as he said, ‘Quiet, lass, quiet. I was just wonderin’ if you’re doin’ the business the night, that’s all.’

  ‘Doin’ the business?’

  ‘Aye. I
know it’s a bit early but when I saw you turn on to the moor . . . I like it private like, always have done. Can’t be doin’ with visitin’ houses meself, too much chance of bein’ seen.’

  He was a tall man, and burly, but his manner wasn’t threatening – indeed it could be said to be sheepish – and now Sadie stared at him for a long moment before she said, ‘You think I’m a . . .’

  ‘Look, lass, don’t get on your high horse. If I’ve made a mistake I’m sorry, all right? But I’m prepared to offer a couple of bob if you’re game.’ And then, when Sadie continued to stare, ‘All right, two an’ six then, but I’d want to see you for that, mind, up top. An’ you won’t get a better offer the night, I’m tellin’ you.’

  Two and sixpence? He was willing to give her two and sixpence? That was nearly a week’s rent in some places, and a half crown would mean she could pay the farm what she owed and get the lads to bring a load of logs and maybe a sack of taties on tick.

  Whether it was the stout, or the memory of how it had felt to be snug and full to bursting, or yet again the recollection of the occupants of the cottage all huddled in the brass bed for warmth as she had left that morning, their faces pinched and hungry and Larry crying because his stomach was empty, Sadie didn’t know. But when she found herself nodding and walking deeper into the blackness of the moor it was as though it was happening to someone else. It wasn’t real, the whole afternoon hadn’t been real.

  And so it had begun.

  Part Two

  1905

  The Workhouse

  Chapter Six

  How do you measure time? In the last five years England had seen the creation of the Labour Party by the trade unions, the death of Queen Victoria, a state of emergency declared in Ireland, along with the crowning of Edward VII. 1903 saw the formation of a new militant movement – The Women’s Social and Political Union – whose fiery and determined leader was a Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst. Two years later, an MP who stated that ‘men and women differed in mental equipment with women having little sense of proportion’, whilst emphasising that giving women the vote would not be safe, succeeded in seeing the Suffrage bill fail, and the first suffragettes were sent to prison for their beliefs.