Mai stared listlessly around the bedroom. Nothing could lift her spirits at this moment. Not even the wallpaper, her pride and joy, with its brilliantly patterned orange-red poppies and white daisies flaring against the leafy green background.
Her racing heart, which had earlier caused her to faint, had steadied. But despite the doctor’s cautious optimism that the frightening attack had harmed neither her nor the baby, she was still plagued with a nagging worry.
‘You have a touch of dropsy, Mrs Bramwell. If we wish to keep this child, we must be sure and rest,’ he’d told her, spouting the ‘we’ as if he shared her condition. ‘And I do not mean in between serving customers.’ He’d looked sternly at Henry when he’d said that. But Henry was in no way to blame for what had happened. He’d cautioned Mai against visiting the asylum but she’d ignored him, as she had ignored his pleas for her to rest more. Idleness did not come easily to her.
‘And your corsets, Mrs Bramwell. I would strongly advise you to discard them. They’re little more than instruments of organ torture.’
Mai assured him that she never wore any ‘instruments of organ torture’, let alone within three weeks of confinement. To allow for her expanding waist she had sewn skirts and blouses that fitted neatly, yet were loose enough for comfort. The cleverly designed garments had made her appear pleasantly plump, as Henry fondly referred to her these days, rather than with child.
It was all very well for the doctor and Henry to say she should rest. She knew Henry and Jimmy could manage without her help in the shop, but their domestic skills left much to be desired. Who was to see to the cooking and cleaning while she lay idling away the hours? She imagined vast piles of soiled sheets and clothes spilling out of the washhouse, Henry and the boys not eating properly, and the house looking as if a litter of pups had been let loose.
They would have to employ a woman to help in the house. Her mood lifted at that. It seemed fate may have stepped in to champion Anne Gilpin.
Henry’s reaction to Mai’s suggestion was exactly as she’d expected.
‘Dammit, Mai, the woman’s decent enough when she’s sober. But if we employ her we’d never have a moment’s peace of mind. We’d be forever wondering when she was going to hit the bottle again. How can we risk that, I ask you?’
Mai knew he might be right. ‘But then again,’ she argued, ‘Anne may never touch another drop of alcohol, and how will we know if we don’t give her a chance? And haven’t I heard you say before that you wished you could match a barmaid’s wage so we could employ her?’
‘That was before I knew of her drinking habit.’ Henry frowned, though his jaw didn’t set in quite its usual stubborn line.
Encouraged, Mai pressed on. ‘Henry, you saw Anne today. A woman more shamed and repentant I have yet to meet. After being thrown in jail and then locked up in the asylum I should think it will be a very long time before she’s tempted to so much as sniff a bottle of alcohol, let alone drink from one.’
‘Yes, but she could very well drink it from a glass,’ Henry muttered.
‘It’s not long since you were down on Jimmy for not offering the woman marriage,’ Mai reminded him. ‘So how can you not take her in if you think Jimmy has let her down? Would you not be as bad as he?’
‘That’s an entirely different affair,’ he said weakly.
‘And …’ Mai continued, ‘where are we to come by a reliable and hard-working domestic at such short notice?’
‘Surely there’ll be some woman somewhere who is experienced and can be relied upon not to take to the drink?’ Henry responded.
Mai knew that Agnes Roberts, for one, would be glad of a few hours’ daily work. For a moment, thinking of Bert Roberts’s downtrodden wife, she was tempted to let Henry have his way. But giving Agnes employment would, in all likelihood, be the same as handing money straight to her drunken brute of a husband, who would hand it straight to Minnie Cullen.
Torn, she thought of the Roberts children, permanently hungry, and barefoot even in the coldest winter months. Then she pictured Anne locked away in the asylum, surrounded by people who were little more than shells. Without her help, Anne was likely to remain there indefinitely.
‘Henry, I know and trust Anne. I would feel far more comfortable having her around than a virtual stranger.’
‘I hope you’re not making a mistake,’ Henry said, dubious but clearly conceding.
‘So you’re happy for Anne to come here?’ Mai knew she’d all but won her argument.
‘Hardly happy. But if it will please you, then yes, she can come. But only until the baby’s born and you’re on your feet again.’
The next day Anne was told she was to be discharged from the asylum.
‘How … why?’ she asked Matron Gribben, surprised and elated, but immediately wondering how on earth she would tell Libby. Since Anne had rescued the young girl from the eternally masturbating Bishop Banger, Libby had become Anne’s shadow. She couldn’t go anywhere without Libby following.
Jimmy stared at Henry as if he’d suddenly grown a boil on his nose. ‘Henry, do you think having the woman here is such a good idea?’
‘I can’t see why not,’ Henry replied, annoyed at Jimmy questioning his judgement and, because of that, perversely sweeping aside his earlier misgivings about employing Anne Gilpin. ‘Why are you so set against having her here?’ he asked, then added, tongue in cheek, ‘I’m aware you may know her … ah … in the biblical sense, but I should think that would make —’
‘You can stop right there, Henry! I’m sorry to say you’re as bad as the rest of the buggers. Have you all got nothing better to do than natter, natter all day about mindless, useless tittle-tattle?’
Knowing Jimmy’s own fondness for a meaty bit of gossip, Henry struggled to keep a smile off his face. ‘Now see here, Jimmy, I seem to remember calls for you to become the town crier because you were always so well informed of goings-on around the town. And why should it bother you that folk know about you seeking some solace with Anne Gilpin?’
An exasperated Jimmy shook his head slowly, his cheeks puffed out so far Henry thought they were in danger of exploding.
‘Of course,’ Henry continued with an exaggerated air of innocence, ‘having her here means you’ll either have to share a bed with her or find yourself other lodgings, seeing the only place for her to sleep is in with you and the boys.’
‘Oh! This doesn’t bear thinking about!’ Jimmy stomped over to the weighing table and proceeded to vent his irritation on a round of cheese, slicing it into chunks so forcefully Henry worried he might slice through the table as well.
Chuckling, he left Jimmy to see to the shop while he proceeded to hang a curtain that could be drawn across one corner of the kitchen where Anne Gilpin was to sleep.
After the shop closed, Jimmy, oozing reproachfulness, packed his belongings and moved into the Exchange Hotel.
Anne’s heartbeat quickened erratically as Henry hauled the wagon to a stop outside Bramwell’s Store. She dreaded facing Jimmy again. It would have been different if he’d shown some sign of returning her affection. She would have fairly flown into the shop rather than feeling she was about to face a firing squad. But then, if he had given her the slightest encouragement, she wouldn’t have gone on a bender in the first place and wouldn’t be in this situation.
Henry dismounted and helped her down.
She’d fretted for nothing. Jimmy merely nodded as she walked through the shop, the polite sort of greeting one reserved for a stranger.
Mai was waiting in the kitchen. Anne had a devil of a job hiding her shock at her friend’s appearance. Black shadows underlined her puffy eyes, and her feet, too swollen for shoes to fit, were bare.
Anne had seen other pregnant women in this condition. Few had survived the birth.