No Place for a Woman Read online

  ‘Did she? That’s kind of her. Please give my regards to her and Mr Thornbury. I hope they’ve settled in and that Ada is looking after them.’

  Miss Goddard nodded and, murmuring her farewells, made a mental note to tell the Thornburys that their previous employee was living in dire conditions.

  As she walked back to Baker Street with Lucy, having left Edie at the top of the entry where she lived, she reflected on her good fortune. Although she and her brother lived simply, their parents had left them sufficient capital to survive quite comfortably, providing they both kept working to pay the rent on their tidy little house.

  Ada opened the door to them and Miss Goddard saw Mr Thornbury’s top hat on the hallstand. She hesitated, not wanting to bother him or his wife yet wanting to tell them of Mrs Harrigan’s circumstances.

  ‘Mr Thornbury is home early, is he not?’ she asked Ada in an undertone, speaking over Lucy who was telling the maid about Mary’s baby. ‘I was hoping to speak to them before I go home.’

  ‘I think it will be all right to knock,’ Ada answered. ‘Master seems to be in a jolly mood.’ She nodded significantly. ‘I’ve tekken ’sherry decanter in.’

  Whilst Lucy continued talking to Ada about Mary’s baby, Miss Goddard knocked gently on the sitting room door. On hearing Enter, she pushed open the door and found Mr Thornbury, looking very distinguished, standing by the window with a sherry glass in his hand. His wife was sitting by the fireplace, also with a glass in her hand, and smiling.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, sir, Mrs Thornbury, but I thought I’d report back on Mrs Harrigan and her child.’

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Mr Thornbury beckoned. He looked rather pleased with himself, she thought. ‘Mrs Harrigan? Ah! Mary, of course.’ He looked at his wife questioningly.

  ‘She’s been delivered of a girl,’ Nora told him. ‘Lucy wanted to see the new baby. Did you find them well?’

  ‘I’m – not too sure,’ Miss Goddard said haltingly. ‘I’m not familiar with babies, but I thought that Mrs Harrigan looked very tired and pale and not in the best of health. It’s very poor accommodation I’m afraid. Just the one room, I think, and she told me that her husband was on short time at work which must mean that they haven’t much money.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry to hear that,’ William Thornbury said. ‘She was a very robust young woman when she was here. Mmm.’ He put his hand to his face. ‘Well, thank you for telling us, Miss Goddard.’ He looked again at his wife. ‘We must see what we can do.’

  He sat down in the chair opposite Nora after the governess had gone. ‘It’s the way of the world, isn’t it, that one man’s fortune goes up and at the same time someone else’s goes down?’

  ‘That’s very true,’ she said. ‘But we were about to drink to your success and accomplishment. Very well done indeed, William. I’m delighted for you, but it’s only what you deserve.’

  ‘Good luck for me, but hard luck for Smithers becoming ill and deciding to retire,’ he said modestly.

  ‘You were obviously the right person for the position,’ she protested.

  He raised his glass and laughed. ‘It was changing into my frock coat that was the deciding factor, my dear, so here’s to you and your wisdom.’

  They both drank the toast. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘In view of our good fortune, what can we do for Mary?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lucy’s hand was enclosed within her aunt’s and they walked in silence towards the town; city, she reminded herself. Miss Goddard had said Hull was a city now and told her of the exciting plans the corporation had for the people who lived here.

  They were on their way to Mary’s. Aunt Nora had said she would like to visit her and enquire after the new baby and asked Lucy if she would like to come too. Of course Lucy had said yes, and that she knew the way. It hadn’t been long since her last visit so she didn’t expect that the baby would have changed much, but she still wanted to visit. Aunt Nora was carrying a basket that she said contained a few things for Mrs Harrigan.

  She began to ease her hand from her aunt’s but it was grasped more firmly as they crossed a road. ‘Don’t fidget, Lucy,’ her aunt admonished her, tightening her hold as they reached the top of Whitefriargate and paused to look in some of the shop windows to make sure that Lucy stayed on the inside of the pavement and away from the traffic, which was quite heavy today as workmen were digging up some of the roads in preparation for the rails which would carry the electric trams that were replacing the horse-drawn ones.

  It wasn’t that Lucy objected to holding her aunt’s hand; it was just that sometimes she was reminded of another hand that had held hers. A soft hand with long delicate fingers that had brushed lovingly across hers. She flexed the fingers on her other hand and remembered that sometimes both hands were held at the same time, one in a bigger, firmer and stronger grasp that felt safe and comforting. She tried, time and again, to put a face to whoever was holding her hands, but the picture was always hazy; she saw dark hair and a slender body on one side and a taller, more solid one on the other. But the images made her feel sad, as if her feet were weighted down, and she put them away.

  She guided them successfully to the entry, although her aunt asked more than once if she was sure this was the right way, and Lucy saw her wrinkle her nose as she did so.

  ‘It is a bit of a stink,’ Lucy said, paraphrasing Edie’s comments about Hull’s old housing. ‘But that’s because of the privies.’

  Aunt Nora took out her handkerchief and covered her nose. ‘Or lack of them,’ she murmured. ‘And Lucy, it’s an odour, not a stink.’

  ‘An odour,’ Lucy mouthed. ‘Yes.’

  Unlike her last visit, they were not expected, and they could hear the baby crying as they approached the house. When Mary opened the door she looked flustered and ill.

  ‘Oh, ma’am! Miss Lucy.’ She pressed her lips together and then said, ‘I’m afraid everything’s upside down. Babby’s rather fretful. But come in, please come in.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mary,’ Nora said. ‘I hope it’s not inconvenient.’

  ‘No, ma’am. It’s all right. I wasn’t going anywhere. Won’t you sit down?’ She waited until Mrs Thornbury was seated and then picked up the baby from where she was lying in a drawer lined with a thin blanket.

  ‘There she is.’ She held the baby so that they could see her.

  Mrs Thornbury nodded. She hadn’t known any babies until she’d had Oswald, but she smiled at this one with her rosebud mouth and fuzz of red hair.

  ‘She’s lovely.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘You were quite right, Lucy. She’s very pretty.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, ma’am?’ Mary asked.

  ‘No, thank you. I had a cup just before we left.’ She reached down into her basket. ‘But as I was drinking it, I thought that you’d be getting a lot of visitors to see the baby and you’d be sure to offer all of them a pot of your precious tea, so I’ve brought you some.’ She took out a tin of tea and another one containing biscuits and put them on the table. ‘It’s astounding how much tea is consumed when visitors arrive, isn’t it?’

  She leaned forward. ‘I was wondering also whether you could use some good quality sheets for which I have no further use? You’ll remember them from your time with Dr and Mrs Thornbury. I brought our own with us, you see, and it’s a pity to leave the others languishing in a cupboard. They’ll make good cot sheets,’ she added. ‘I could make up a parcel and send it with Bob?’

  Lucy saw Mary’s eyes fill with tears and wondered why she would be tearful on being offered a gift; but Mary pressed her hand to her lips and murmured her thanks.

  Before they left, Lucy heard her aunt whisper, ‘Things are bound to get better, Mary. Keep positive. Think how lucky you are to have such a sweet child and, I hope, a good husband. I trust he’ll find work soon.’

  Mary nodded and wiped her eyes and wondered if she had misjudged her former employer. Kindness and understanding from Mrs Thornbury was un
anticipated and it had touched her. She had previously thought her cold and unfeeling. She had been totally wrong. ‘Folks are saying that things are looking up in the town. I hope they’re right.’

  When they got home Aunt Nora asked Lucy to find something to do until teatime as she had a headache and was going to lie down for an hour. ‘Do you have a book to read, or lessons to learn before Monday? Or perhaps you’d like to draw or paint?’

  ‘I wish Edie could come on a Saturday,’ Lucy said plaintively. ‘It’s a long time until Wednesday.’

  Nora nodded. ‘I agree, it is. But doesn’t she help her mother on a Saturday?’

  ‘Yes. She goes shopping and then she helps in the house. Her mother says she’s a very useful girl. Could I make some biscuits?’ Lucy asked eagerly. ‘Before Cook goes home?’

  ‘If Cook agrees.’ Nora put her hand to her head. ‘But try not to get in her way and don’t forget to wash your hands first,’ she called after her as Lucy ran off towards the kitchen.

  Nora eased off her shoes and then stretched out on the bed. She hadn’t expected that the sight of Mary and her baby living in such dire conditions would affect her in the way it had. It had brought back painful memories, memories that she had successfully pushed to the very back of her mind since marrying William; William, so dependable, kind and caring. It was true that she had married him because she realized he could be her salvation and back then had thought she would never come to love him but would always and for ever be grateful to him; she hadn’t thought she was capable of loving anyone but Oswald, the child who, when she was expecting him, she had been determined to give away, but then couldn’t. She had been wrong on both counts.

  She sat up and adjusted the pillows. She felt nauseous. The fish they ate at lunchtime must have been off; she could feel it churning inside her. She reached over to pour some water into a glass but pressed her hand to her mouth. She was going to be sick, and rolling off the bed felt beneath it for the chamber pot.

  She retched and retched until her throat was sore and then staggered to the water closet on the landing. Thank heavens for Thomas Crapper, she thought as she pulled the chain and rinsed the pot, and thank heavens for Dr Thornbury who had spent the money and had the WC fitted.

  She went back to lie down again, and recalled how sick she had been when she was expecting Oswald. She had been so young and terrified that she was going to die; it was an old man living in the next room who had heard her and knocked on her door to ask if she was all right, had looked at her and gone away, returning a few minutes later with a cup of hot water.

  ‘Drink this,’ he’d said. ‘My wife always drank hot water when she was nauseous with her babies.’

  She hadn’t known, until he’d uttered those words, that she was pregnant. How kind he had been. She closed her eyes and breathed out; she had forgotten about him until now and couldn’t even recall his name. There were some men who were kind and understanding after all.

  Her eyes opened and she sat up with a start. Surely not? Not after so long! She ran her hands over her abdomen and her breasts. Her breasts had felt tender lately but she’d never considered, not for a moment … and, she thought, she hadn’t marked her diary for months. There never seemed to be any need.

  Can it be true? I think it must be. An innate sense told her it was. What will William say? Will he be pleased, or not? And Oswald, will he be jealous? Lucy will be delighted, of course. But I, what do I feel? Here I am expecting a child when Oswald will be nine next June. And, she thought, I’m living a different life. She had recently joined a women’s charitable group; they had been pleased to accept her, a bank manager’s wife, and with her London accent seemed to consider that she was a cut above what she knew she really was: a nobody.

  Will a child fit into this new settled life? She put her head back against the pillow. She was happy. Yes, she thought. It will.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was decided to tell Oswald that his mother was expecting a child when he arrived home for the Christmas holidays. Then they would also tell Lucy that she was to have a cousin.

  Oswald was embarrassed when he was told and didn’t know what to say or how to respond. He went up to his room; William went up to see him later, knocked on his door and spoke confidentially to him.

  ‘Look here, Oswald, I’ve been thinking, old fellow,’ he said genially. ‘I know it’s been rather difficult for you over the last few years, with me coming into your life and sharing your mother. You’d only be two or three when your mother and I married, weren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Oswald said, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Lucy doesn’t recall much from when she was that age either.’ William linked the two concepts to make the children equal. He sighed. ‘She was three and a half when her parents died, and that’s not so long ago.’

  ‘Was she?’ Oswald looked up. He frowned. ‘But she’s got the same name as you.’

  ‘That’s because she was my brother’s daughter,’ William reminded him. ‘So this is what I’m proposing. When your mother has the baby it will have the name Thornbury, and I was wondering – how would you feel about changing your name from Milburn to Thornbury, so that we’re all the same?’ He paused. ‘We can do it through adoption, so that legally you’d be my son, just as our new son or daughter will be, but if you don’t want to do that, then you could simply change your name by deed poll.’

  Oswald pondered and his eyes roamed from side to side of the room. ‘Would I have to call you Father?’

  ‘Only if you’d like to,’ William said patiently. ‘Though I would rather like it if you did. Or Pa, if you prefer; that’s what my brother and I called our father. But only if you want to. But we’d have a proper grown-up relationship, wouldn’t we, now that you’re no longer an infant and don’t have to rely on your mother any more?’

  It was as if a light had been switched on and Oswald’s face lit up. ‘Especially as she’ll be busy with the new baby,’ he agreed, ‘and it being sick and other smelly things.’

  ‘Exactly.’ William grinned. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

  ‘I expect Lucy will enjoy all that though, won’t she? Being a girl.’

  William laughed. ‘They do seem to, don’t they? We haven’t told her about the baby yet, by the way. We wanted you to be the first to know and I wanted to sort out the business of the name. So, what shall we do? I mean, if you’d prefer to stay as Milburn then that’s all right, but you know, if I introduced you to anyone, I’d rather like to say Have you met my son Oswald? What do you think? Would you like to sleep on it? You don’t have to decide now.’

  Oswald stood up and hesitated before speaking, biting on his thumbnail. Then he said, ‘I – don’t want to be left out of it, different from everybody else … not part of the family. So, if you don’t mind, sir, I mean Pa, I’d like you to adopt me.’

  William stood up too and put out his hand to shake Oswald’s before holding out his arms to give him a hug. ‘Splendid!’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go and tell your mother.’

  ‘Can I tell Lucy?’ Oswald asked eagerly. ‘And tell her that we’ll be sort of related cos we’ll be part of the same family?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ William smiled. ‘She’ll be delighted, I’m sure, just as we all are.’

  ‘She will be, won’t she?’ Oswald drew himself up tall at the prospect. ‘Splendid!’

  ‘So does it mean I’ll have two cousins when the baby comes?’ Lucy asked eagerly when they explained about the baby and Oswald’s change of name.

  Nora and William glanced at each other. ‘Yes,’ they said simultaneously.

  ‘That means I’m nearly catching up with Edie,’ she said excitedly. ‘She’s got hundreds of cousins.’

  ‘Not hundreds,’ Oswald said pragmatically, and conscious of asserting his place within the family and enjoying the sense of belonging he went on: ‘but she’s got a lot more than us. Shall we try and add them up?’ He went to the bu
reau to pick up his notebook and gave her a sheet from it. ‘You write down how many you know and I’ll write down how many I know, though I expect you’ll know more than me cos you went to that wedding.’

  But it turned out that Lucy could only remember Max and none of the names of any of the others so she wrote down Edie’s brothers’ and sister’s names instead: Ada, Bob, Stanley, Joshua and Charlie.

  ‘You’ve forgotten another cousin,’ Nora reminded Lucy. ‘You’ve forgotten Mary’s new baby, Sally. She’s a cousin of Edie and Joshua, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Lucy said, and wrote down the name, and then she remembered Max’s sister Jenny, whom she didn’t know, but who was also a cousin of Edie’s, and Oswald gloomily remarked that he didn’t think they would ever catch up, whilst Nora and William glanced significantly at each other again, delighted that at last the two children were having a conversation together.

  The baby was due in August and Lucy hoped that it would be born on her birthday, but it missed by two days and was born on the twelfth, when a girl with a mass of dark hair was delivered; Lucy now knew what delivered meant and much to her delight Uncle William told her that she too had had a lot of hair when she was born.

  ‘People might think we’re sisters,’ she said excitedly, ‘and not cousins.’

  Oswald had peered down at his new half-sister and murmured, ‘Mmm. She’s very small, isn’t she? Look at her tiny fingers and toes and little fingernails. What do you think, Mother? Will she grow all right?’

  Nora smiled. ‘She will, Oswald, but we’ll need to take care of her, won’t we? All of us?’

  He nodded solemnly, ‘Oh yes, we will. I don’t think I dare pick her up until she’s bigger, but I’ll listen out for her in case she cries.’

  ‘Thank you, Oswald,’ his mother said. ‘I’m so pleased to think I can rely on you. What name shall we give her?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know many girls. Perhaps we should ask Lucy.’