Molly rested against the pillow, nursing her baby and sipping tea. A frown furrowed her brow as she nervously listened to the noises and murmuring voices below. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? It was two days since the birth and today was Nanna’s funeral. Yesterday the undertaker had arrived with a coffin and until this morning the old woman had lain in state in the front parlour. Jack Fletcher had popped in to pay his respects but Em had not allowed him to visit Molly, saying she needed to rest. The girl would have liked to have seen him,certain he would have found some way to help her in the difficult position she was now in. She had also wanted to get up for the funeral but Em said certainly not. The weather had turned bitterly cold and what if she caught pneumonia? What would happen to her baby then? She mustn’t be thinking of herself all the time, there was the little one to consider now. Then Em went off to attend another confinement.
Was she selfish? thought Molly, gazing at her suckling daughter, feeling sympathy for the woman whoever she was, having to go through what Molly had just suffered. Her heart swelled with love and a smile softened her face. Her milk had come in with a rush yesterday and very uncomfortable it was, too. Her breasts felt like water-filled balloons. But at least she possessed the means to prevent her child from going hungry so she was doing something right. That was as long as she could keep it up. Em had said she must eat properly to keep good milk coming but where Molly was to find the money to buy food she had not said. Perhaps she and Mrs Smith thought there would be a nice lump sum left over after paying out for the funeral but there would be barely enough to cover the costs and Nanna’s savings had dwindled to virtually nothing in the last year. She had managed before, only with help from Molly’s mother.
Molly eased her daughter from her left breast and placed her over her shoulder, patting the tiny back to bring up any wind as Em had shown her. She gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she could eke out a living by taking in washing and ironing, not that she was very skilled at those things. Perhaps she could grow her own vegetables, as well as helping in the fields at harvest?
Her mother had told her of women who did such things when they’d lived here. They’d all feared the workhouse just as Mabel May had done. Where were they now? thought Molly. Where were their daughters and sons whom she had passed on her way to school with Nanna? She had never played out much with them. Nanna had always been nervous of her catching some infectious disease. Molly had made few friends so there was no one from her schooldays to whom she could turn. Reluctantly she accepted that Ma Payne had spoken the truth when she’d said Molly had not given enough thought to how she would manage. Without husband, family or friends her situation was desperate.
She set her baby to the other breast, resting her pointed chin on its downy head and wishing her mother was still alive, knowing she would have thought of some way out of this predicament.
Ten minutes had passed when Molly’s thoughts were disturbed by footsteps and voices below. Surely the funeral was not over already? She recognised Em’s surprisingly high-pitched tones but the other voice was deep. A man’s? Uncle Jack?
There were footsteps on the stairs and, despite her daughter’s mew of protest, Molly hastily made herself decent, buttoning up the flannelette nightgown and placing the baby in the top drawer of the chest which had been moved next to the bed. She reached for her shawl and pulled it about her shoulders.
It was not Jack Fletcher. The man who entered the room with the midwife looked to be in his early-twenties, of medium height, his face pale and drawn with high cheekbones that seemed to be threatening to break through the skin. He wore a green jumper and creased dark brown corduroy trousers. A dusting of what looked like sawdust clung to his hair and the wool of his jumper.
‘Molly, this is Mr Nathan Collins,’ said Em, coming to, stand next to her.
The name seemed vaguely familiar but she could not place it. ‘Hello.’ A hesitant smile hovered on her lips as she held out her hand.
His eyes were bleak but he gazed at her intently as he clasped her hand firmly. ‘Mrs Payne.’
‘How do you do?’
His grey eyes shifted to the drawer which contained her baby and he took a deep breath which shuddered through his wiry frame. ‘I can pay you five shillings a week. Is that acceptable to you?’
‘What?’ Molly’s tone was incredulous. She darted a look at Em but found no help there.
‘Midwife seems to think you’ll do it. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to agree.’
‘Pardon?’
‘She was right when she said you’re small. The strong part I’m not so sure about… but I’ll see you get plenty of milk and good food down you. It’s up to you then. Don’t let me down.’ His eyes met hers briefly and she felt as if he’d looked at her in such a way once before but could not think where. Then he turned and walked out of the room, clogs noisy on the wooden floor.
‘What was all that about?’ whispered Molly, looking at Em, scarcely able to believe her fortunes had changed so swiftly.
She smoothed the coverlet. ‘A job only you can do but he insisted on having a look at you first. His wife died in the night after giving birth. Their first child, a girl, and she’s struggling to live.’ There was sadness in her eyes. ‘I told him the little I know about your situation and suggested you might be willing to act as wet nurse to his child. You will, won’t you? You’d be a fool not to.’
Help a tiny baby to live and do herself some good at the same time! Molly could not believe it. She had pints of milk. It oozed from her nipples even when she wasn’t feeding, seeping through her camisole and the bodice of her nightgown. She could have fed half a dozen babies with it. The mouth that was a little too wide for her narrow face broke into a delighted grin. ‘Of course I will. Praise the Lord! Tell him: Hurry, hurry!’ She waved her hand frantically towards the door.
‘Wise lass.’ Em hurried out of the room.
Molly hunched her legs and wrapped her arms round them. ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ she hummed to herself, thinking five shillings wouldn’t pay the rent but it would certainly help. And food! He was going to provide her with nourishing grub. She felt like getting up out of bed and dancing round the room but Em would have her life. Who was he? She wished she could put a name to his face. A couple of years older than her at St John’s? The name Nathan was from the Old Testament. Hadn’t he been some kind of prophet to King David? The King who’d sent Bathsheba’s husband to the front line after seeing her bathing on the roof of her house one evening.
The baby wailed and Molly reached for her. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Suddenly Frank was in her thoughts and tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘What would he have made of it? Me feeding another man’s child,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t think he’d have liked it. But what else can I do? We’ve got to live, haven’t we, baby sweetheart? And I have to help Mr Collins. Me and him, like, we’re almost in the same boat.’
She fell silent, feeling rather foolish. It was the first sign of madness, talking to oneself. She opened her eyes and looked out of the window. The sky was a uniform grey but even so she wanted to be out there in the fresh air. She was fed up of being bedridden, using the po, feeling strangely haunted sometimes by Nanna for sleeping in her bed.
Don’t think of her being buried in the churchyard! Don’t even think of death! Frank filled her thoughts again but she shut him out quickly. Think of that other baby. What would she be like? Fair? Dark? Nathan Collins’s hair was that pale brown shade that might turn golden in the sun. She looked down at her daughter, noticing she had no eyelashes worth speaking of. After a few minutes Molly removed her from the breast and put her back in the drawer, then she slid out of bed.
Her gait was unsteady as she made her way over to the window. She unlocked it and pushed up the lower sash so she could lean out and take deep breaths of air tinged with smoke from the chimneys. As she rested her elbows on the windowsill, her eyes searched the street. She spotted a dog snuffling in the gutter on the other side of the lane where the houses backed on to another street beyond which was the canal. She thought of Ma Payne and would dearly have loved to see her mother-in-law’s face when she found Molly missing. What tale had Cath made up to explain her absence? Molly put her tongue in her cheek and her eyes gleamed. How she wished she could have been an invisible spectator at that scene. Was it possible she and Cath could have become friends in time? It would be lovely to have a real friend.
‘Molly, what are you doing at that window?’ It was Em, standing in the street below bearing a muffled shape in her arms, rawboned face upturned to hers.
‘I was getting some fresh air. Is that the baby?’
‘Aye, poor mite. Now, shoo! I’ll expect you in bed by the time I get up there.’
Molly did as she was instructed because if the truth be told she was feeling a little shaky on her pins.
Em entered the room. ‘Here she is. Do your best. She’s already been christened just in case. Jessica Esther.’The baby was placed in Molly’s outstretched arms. ‘Her paternal grandmother’ll be coming to see her. She keeps house for her half-brother, Mr Barnes. You probably don’t remember him but he helped set up that candlemaking factory the other side of town. Apparently he wanted Mr Collins working for him but the lad wasn’t having any, so Mr Barnes went back to Liverpool where he has his main candlemaking business and put someone else in charge. Last I heard he was trying to persuade the lad to move to Liverpool.’
‘So Mr Collins isn’t poor?’ said Molly, easing back a fold of shawl and gazing on the shuttered, crumpled face of the baby.
‘She’s worn out. Put her to the breast right away. I’ll look in on you both later. I’m fair whacked.’ Em squeezed her shoulder gently and was about to leave when Molly repeated her question concerning Nathan Collins.
Em rubbed her nose absently. ‘He’s got a trade. Joiner or cabinetmaker, one or t’other. He married a lass from Newburgh way. Now she’s dead, perhaps he’ll go to Liverpool.’
‘He told you all this?’
‘Eee, lass, not all.’ Em smiled. ‘Next-door neighbour who’s known the family for years told me. I’ll leave you in peace now.’
For a few moments after she went Molly sat staring into space, trying to remember what she knew about Nathan Collins, but the memory proved elusive. Shaking back her hair, which was in two plaits for convenience’s sake, she began to undo her buttons. She rolled the baby’s name round her tongue. ‘Jessica Esther. Posh name for a little scrap like you,’ she said, stroking the corner of the tiny rosebud mouth. She had been taught by Em how to encourage a baby to root for the breast. Her daughter had caught on right away but this one was not overly interested. Molly persisted, squeezing droplets of milk from her nipple so they fell on the baby’s lips. The tip of her tongue caught a drop. Immediately Molly eased a nipple into the tiny mouth. Feebly the baby suckled, stopping after a few moments as if it was all too much effort. ‘Come on, Jessica! I’m not having this,’ Molly chided. ‘You’re going to keep us out the workhouse, my girl.’ She stroked the smooth cheek again and the tiny mouth worked.
The next two hours were frustrating and tiring for Molly. Her mind wandered, pondering what Em told her about Nathan Collins and his uncle. What were the odds he would leave Burscough now his wife was dead and take his child with him? Would he take her as well? Molly’s heart sank and she felt scared all over again. Dear Lord, she hoped so much he would want her and her baby! She gazed down at Jessica, no longer suckling, and lightly pinched her in an effort to get her to fight and feed. It was only her daughter’s crying that caused her to give up.
She placed Jessica at the other end of the large drawer, hoping Mr Collins would bring spare clothing and nappies next time he called. She was going to be stuck if he didn’t. She lifted her daughter, yawned and stretched out on the bed to start the feeding process all over again.
Nathan Collins turned up early the following morning. Fortunately Molly was awake, dressed and having a cup of tea. If anything he looked worse than he had the day before. The rings beneath his eyes were so deep they looked like bruises. He was carrying a wooden cradle and without speaking placed it just inside the lobby. She noted that it contained blankets and clothing for the baby.
‘Ta. I was wondering about those,’ said Molly, making an effort to sound cheerful and friendly.
His only response was to take hold of her right hand and press two half crowns into it. ‘There’s your money. I’ll see you again next week. And I’ve told the grocer up the road to deliver some provisions to you. Good morning.’
‘Hang on!’ called Molly as he turned away, taking her courage in both hands. ‘Don’t you want to see your daughter?’
‘What?’ He stumbled on the step and appeared to lose his balance.
‘Steady. You don’t want to break a leg,’ she said, taking his arm. His head turned and there was an expression in his eyes that sent a quiver right through her. If looks could kill, she thought. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought it would help you to see her,’ she stammered.
‘I’m not paying you to think!’ He sounded quite savage and suddenly Molly remembered who he was and was half scared, half annoyed. Fancy it being him! Did he remember her? Oh, Lord! She couldn’t resist opening her mouth and repeating just what she had said then. ‘Yes, Nathan Collins. Three bags full, Nathan Collins!’ She tugged an imaginary forelock.
‘Don’t you be giving me any cheek,’ he said wrathfully, his face colouring. ‘I’m paying your wages and don’t you forget it! My mother’ll be round some time today to see the baby. Now I’ve things to do. A funeral to arrange.’
‘Yes, Mr Collins. I’m sorry, sir,’ she said meekly, lifting the cradle with both hands. She turned her back on him and kicked the door with her heel. It was not her intention it should close with a slam but it did and she wondered what he’d made of that.
Grimacing, she walked through into the kitchen. It was not until she’d placed the cradle on the stone floor that she felt ashamed for reacting to his rudeness in the way she had, but it was odd he had not asked to see his child. Speaking of whom… Molly hurried upstairs to feed the babies, wondering when Mrs Collins would arrive. Not that her vague memories of the woman made her keen to see her.
By dinner time there was still no sign of Mrs Collins but the delivery boy arrived with the provisions. Lots of lovely bacon and eggs, butter, cheese, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions and potatoes, as well as milk. Molly emptied the milk in the boy’s jug into another and returned his to him. As she put the groceries away she realised how weary she was but there was still washing to do.
She had brought rags with her to bind herself and a day’s supply was all that was left. Em had given her three tiny nightdresses, brushing aside her offers of payment, two of which were also in soak. Molly was finding that babies were messy and time-consuming and hoped she could cope. For the first time in her life there was nobody to correct any mistakes she might make and that was scary, as well as a challenge.
She lit a fire under the copper in the outhouse, which wasn’t easy because the wind blew beneath the door and kept shifting her waxed taper. In the end she managed it but her fingers were sooty. She put everything in to boil together.
Hunger gnawed at her insides as she fried bacon, onion, sliced potato and cabbage in the blackened frying pan. It was her most substantial meal in days and tasted heavenly when washed down with two cups of sweet, milky tea. She felt almost a new woman and her worry about being pert to Nathan Collins eased. Even so she must be nice to him. It was obvious the poor bloke was feeling pretty dreadful about losing his wife. She knew what that was like so should have been more understanding. A yawn escaped her and within minutes Molly was asleep.
She woke to hear a baby’s screams. Feeling stiff, she hurried upstairs. It was chilly in the bedroom so she carried both babies downstairs. Placing Jessica in the cradle she saw to her daughter’s needs first, knowing she would have to give more time to Nathan’s child. ‘I should give you a name,’ she said, cuddling her daughter. ‘Perhaps I should name you after your gran.’ She kissed the fluffy, soft-as-silk hair, placing her at the opposite end of the cradle to Jessica and lifting her out. Molly kissed her, too, thinking: Poor little mite, having no mam.
The child was lethargic and took hardly any milk. Molly was worried and hoped Em would call as promised. She hung the washing on the line, dismayed to find that the whites were no longer white but streaked pink and red. Stupid! Why hadn’t she thought of washing Nanna’s red flannelette nightie separately? Still, no use worrying now.
She made another attempt at feeding Jessica but could not wake the child so sat in the rocking chair, nursing her. Molly dozed off. When she woke the fire was almost out, a baby was crying and there was someone knocking at the door.
‘Wait! Please wait!’ she called, placing Jessica on the chair.
It was not Em as she’d hoped but a woman she realised must be Mrs Collins.
Her gaze swept over the bedraggled Molly, who involuntarily glanced down at herself and saw that her skirt was soiled. ‘You are Mrs Payne?’ The older woman’s tone was chilly.
‘That’s right.’ She made an attempt to appear in control of the situation. ‘P-Please, come in. Fm-Fm afraid you’ve caught me offguard. I-I fell asleep.’
Mrs Collins stepped over the threshold. She was of medium height with a well-corseted figure, dressed neatly in a black jacket and a long black serge skirt. Her grey hair was almost concealed by a black bonnet. ‘You’re very young but I appreciate what you’re doing,’ she said stiffly.
‘I’m grateful for the job,’ said Molly, leading the way in, certain the other woman had not recognised her. She went to the rocking chair and picked up Jessica. She was about to say, ‘Here’s your grand-daughter,’ when she saw something in the baby’s face that turned her own heart to stone. Molly pressed her cheek to the child’s. It was cold and she could feel no breath in her.
At the same time Mrs Collins spotted the cradle and hurried forward, bending over the crying baby. ‘Shouldn’t you feed my grand-daughter first?’ she said impatiently, reaching in and lifting up Molly’s daughter.
The words ‘That’s not Jessica’ died on Molly’s lips and her mouth went dry. In a voice she barely recognised as her own, she said, ‘If you’ll just give me a minute, I-I must change my skirt.’
She hurried out of the room, up the stairs and into the front bedroom with Jessica clutched to her bosom. She felt sick, really sick. Trembling, she sat on the bed, staring down at the dead child in her arms. She could hear her own baby screaming downstairs. What was she to do? Oh, Lord, what do I do? she thought frantically. Mrs Collins called upstairs, demanding that she hurry.
Swiftly Molly placed the dead child in the drawer and covered her up. Then she glanced down at her own soiled skirt and revulsion struck her. Shaking she went over to the alcove in the corner of the room and pulled back the curtain. Behind it hung several skirts and a coat that had been Nanna’s. She took out a skirt and found a clean rag in a drawer. With trembling fingers she undressed, taking out a clean blouse to replace the one that was damp with milk.
Feeling faint, she leaned heavily on the bedpost, trying to slow her rapidly beating heart. After a few moments she felt a little better but could not bear to look in the direction of the drawer where she had placed the dead baby. Trying to blank out all thoughts of Jessica, she went downstairs to find Mrs Collins standing by the fire, fingers in her ears.
‘There you are! And about time, too,’ she said crossly, lowering her arms. ‘I can’t stand hearing a baby cry. Feed my granddaughter immediately. She’ll give Nathan something to live for once he’s done with mourning that woman.’
Molly dredged deep inside her for the right way to say that this baby was her daughter. That if Nathan Collins’s future depended on his child’s being alive then he didn’t have one. But a thought struck her, as painful as a blow from a dagger. What if they blame me for the baby’s death? I might end up in prison! And what will happen to my baby then? Oh, Lord!
She sat down and with trembling fingers unfastened her blouse. As her child began to suckle Molly’s mind worked overtime. What were the odds against Nathan Collins recognising his own child? He had scarcely given either baby a glance, for all his mother seemed to believe his child would be his saving grace.
Molly looked at Mrs Collins and saw the woman frowning as she watched her. She forced a smile, wondering what was going on in the visitor’s head. She couldn’t possibly have any suspicion that the baby Molly was feeding was not her granddaughter. After all, she had laid claim to her herself. Nevertheless Molly felt guilty and closed her eyes, wanting to shut out the older woman’s face. Suddenly she thought of Em and Mrs Smith and felt chilled to the marrow. Would they be able to distinguish which baby was which?
‘You shivered,’ said Mrs Collins abruptly. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with something.’
‘No, I’m fine. Just tired,’ murmured Molly, willing herself to keep her nerve.
‘I think I knew your mother,’ said the elder woman, eyes narrowing. ‘Wasn’t she Mabel May?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. She was one for the lads. People used to say how attractive she was.’ There was a peculiar note in her voice. ‘You’re not like her, though. You’re no beauty.’
That’s a bit of an insult, thought Molly indignantly. Who was this woman to say such things about her and her mother? ‘No better than she should be,’ she remembered Nanna saying about Dorothy Collins once. As for her son… Molly remembered once coming across him with his bum hanging out of his pants when he’d been scrumping plums. The owner had suddenly come out of her house and Molly had called to Nathan, telling him to hurry but to be careful and not break a leg. He’d come down that tree too fast and torn his pants and she had laughed and laughed, partly from nerves, thinking he might get shot and she’d be implicated as well, and partly because his expression was so comical. He’d been furious and boxed her ears and told her not to tell anyone, that he was depending on her to keep it quiet. In those days he and his mother had been as poor as she and hers, his farm hand father having been kicked in the head by a cow and killed.
There was the sound of someone at the door and Mrs Collins went to open it. Em entered the room and Molly’s heart began to pound. The moment of truth. She took a deep breath. ‘My little one hasn’t been too good today. I wonder if you could take a look at her, Em? She’s upstairs sleeping.’ ‘Course I will,’ said the midwife, stopping in the middle of the room and running a hand over the cradle. ‘This is a lovely piece of craftsmanship. Your son’s got a real talent, Mrs Collins.’
‘It’s not what I wanted for him,’ she said stiffly. ‘But he’s always been stubborn, like his father before him. I believe I’ve you to thank for saving my grand-daughter.’
Em sighed. ‘I was only sorry I couldn’t save the mother. Sad it was.’
‘Aye. But he married against my wishes, you know. Still he’s only young and can marry again and have a son the next time.’
‘Well, that’s up to the good Lord,’ said Em shortly. ‘I’ll go upstairs, Molly, and take a peek at your little lass.’
‘She seems to be having trouble breathing.’ That was true all right, poor little mite. ‘I’ve wrapped her up well and put her to sleep in the drawer.’ She lifted her head, knowing there was no need to pretend to look worried because she was scared out of her wits.
Em’s expression softened. ‘Don’t thee be fretting, lass. I’ll see to her.’
As the midwife left the room Molly’s back ached with tension and her ears strained to catch every sound overhead. When Em’s footsteps stopped Molly fixed her eyes on her sleeping daughter. She must start thinking of her as Jessica. She rocked her gently as Em’s footsteps came hurrying downstairs. She held the dead baby in her arms and anyone looking at her would have known instantly that something was terribly wrong.
‘What is it?’ said Molly, voice trembling.
Em’s eyes fixed on her face and the girl had to force herself to hold that stare. Did Em suspect? Surely she delivered so many babies she couldn’t possibly remember what each individual looked like? Em sighed and said gently, ‘I don’t understand it. Molly, I’m sorry but your baby’s dead.’
‘No!’ she screamed, rising in the chair and thrusting her own child at Mrs Collins. The woman caught it to her hastily as Molly held out her arms for the dead baby. Em hesitated only a second before handing her over. The tears the girl shed were real as she went through the motions of verifying Em’s statement. She only had to dwell on Frank’s death or Nanna’s to be filled with sorrow.
Mrs Collins appeared embarrassed and although she expressed sympathy, kept her distance. Then she said unexpectedly, ‘I don’t know if I should let you take care of my grandchild any longer. I mean – to allow your own child to die says something, doesn’t it?’
Molly was dumbstruck but Em turned on the woman. ‘Molly hardly allowed it! There but for the grace of God goes your son’s daughter, Mrs Collins. It is the Lord who decides who to take and who to leave. If it weren’t for Molly you wouldn’t be holding a live baby in your arms right now.’
‘You’ve got a nerve, speaking to me like that,’ said the older woman, turning scarlet. ‘This is my grand-daughter, and I’ll say what’s right for her.’
Terrified she was going to be parted from her baby, Molly found her voice. ‘She’s not your child, though, is she, Mrs Collins? Your son hired me to look after her. I think he should have the final say as to whether I’m fit or not to look after her.’
‘I agree,’ said Em, folding her arms across her chest. ‘And I’m willing to go and see Mr Collins right now in his workshop and tell him what’s happened here.’
Mrs Collins looked affronted and her eyes flashed. ‘You do that! And tell him to come right away.’
Em hurried out.
Molly and Mrs Collins stared at one another resentfully. She hates me, thought Molly, wondering why. Am I mad to put myself in a position where this woman has a say in my daughter’s future? Might as well have stayed with Ma Payne. Might as well tell the truth. Yet where would that lead?
They’d want to know why I pretended it was my child who was dead. They might think I deliberately killed Jessica. She glanced down at the dead baby in her arms and realised just how thick her eyelashes were. Had Em noticed? Had Nathan Collins? Terror gripped her as she imagined the hangman’s noose.
Without a word to Mrs Collins she left the room and went upstairs. Once more she placed the dead baby in the drawer and covered her with a blanket. She thought of Nathan Collins and his attitude to the child; of Mrs Collins and the way she spoke of her son being stubborn. Molly considered how Mrs Collins had called her daughter-in-law ‘that woman’ and so obviously been against the marriage. Could it be that there was little love lost between mother and son? Molly smiled tight-lipped, convinced it was so, and thought, surely he wouldn’t have noticed such a thing as the length of his daughter’s eyelashes? When he arrives I’ll put on the act of my life, playing the role of grieving mother with such conviction there won’t be any doubt in his mind that the dead baby is mine. I also have to convince him that the surviving child cannot possibly survive without me.
Nathan leaned against the dresser, arms folded, staring at Molly. The tears were still damp on her cheeks. They were alone except for the baby sleeping in the cradle. He had told his mother to get out. She had refused at first but when he had shown signs of evicting her forcibly had left, protesting volubly.
Suddenly he spoke and although Molly had been waiting for him to do so, she jumped. ‘Sorry!’ She cleared her throat and although she’d heard what he said, asked him to repeat it.
‘I said, won’t you find it upsetting, Mrs Payne, feeding my child when your own is dead? Taking care of her as if she was your own?’
‘I think that goes without saying, Mr Collins.’ Molly’s voice was low but distinct and she resisted the urge to pleat the skirt of her apron between her nervous fingers. She wished she could read his thoughts. He knew who she was all right. Probably had done immediately Em had mentioned Nanna’s death and gave him this address.
‘I don’t want you breaking down…’
‘I won’t,’ she said earnestly. ‘I care about Jessica’s well-being.’
He raised his thick dark eyebrows. ‘Maybe.’
Molly took a deep breath. ‘What are your choices if you sack me? Will your mother feed her with cow’s milk from a bottle? Em says that can upset a baby’s stomach. Or will you search for another woman who’s just given birth? The trouble with that is, her husband might not like the idea of her feeding another man’s child.’
His expression froze. ‘Is that how your husband would have felt? You’re a very young widow, Mrs Payne. Did you really have one?’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘That’s an insult! If my mother were here to hear you say such a thing, she’d swipe you one! You’re not a very old widower, Mr Collins. What kind of girl do you think I am?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know you very well.’
‘You do know me, though?’ she challenged.
‘Aye, I remember you,’ he said softly. ‘You told the whole school about me falling out of that tree and tearing my pants so my arse stuck out. You told them I was a scaredy cat.’
‘I said nothing of the sort!’ she said indignantly. ‘That must have been Anna Hepple-white. I happened to meet her going home after it happened. I was crying because you really hurt my ear when you boxed it and she wanted to know what was wrong. Bum… that’s what I said to her. And “the whole school’s” an exaggeration. And weren’t you scared? Old Mrs Howarth had a shotgun.’ She folded her arms. ‘Anyway what’s that got to do with here and now? It’s no good reason for implying I lack morals.’
‘I think it’s everything to do with it! You lack respect for me.’ His eyes did not leave her face.
‘I do have respect for you,’ muttered Molly. ‘Although Nanna always said respect must be earned.’
‘What!’ He glared at her and took a step forward. ‘Are you saying I have to earn your respect?’
‘No!’ she squeaked, stepping back a pace. ‘I’m sure you’re very respectable now. And so am 1. I only said what I did because I was hurt. Of course I had a husband. I must have done if I’m a widow, mustn’t I? You didn’t doubt it before the baby died. Or did you? Perhaps you didn’t but do now because you think I killed her?’ Molly said boldly.
He looked astonished. ‘Have you gone off your head?’
‘Of course not!’ Her dire situation struck her afresh. ‘I’ve just had one shock on top of another. It’s not surprising I’m in a bit of a state. Aren’t you feeling terrible with your wife dying?’
He said nothing but his lips tightened as he went over to the cradle and looked down at the sleeping child lying snugly wrapped in a shawl so that only the top of her head showed. He put out one hand. ‘Don’t disturb her!’ Molly’s heart danced a crazy, terrified he might suddenly remember what his baby had looked like. She hurried over to him. ‘Look at her, so peaceful.’ Her voice was soft and loving. ‘Let her sleep. Why don’t you come and see her tomorrow when she’s awake?’ It was a daft thing to say because how was he to know when the baby would be awake?
‘The funeral’s tomorrow.’ The pain in his eyes reminded her of a dog her stepfather had once kicked. The poor creature hadn’t understood why it was booted out of the pub just for cocking its leg.
Nathan moved away from the cradle and slumped into a chair. He dropped his head into his hands. ‘You didn’t know my wife.’ His voice was muffled. ‘She wasn’t from the village but Newburgh. Near enough so she could visit her family when she wanted.’
Her family! Molly’s heart performed that crazy rhythm again and she felt dizzy, reaching out to clutch the cradle. She hadn’t thought of his wife having sisters or a mother. Perhaps she should take her daughter and run?
‘Are you all right?’ His words seemed to be coming from a long way off. Molly made no answer, fumbling with the blanket instead. He sprang to his feet and took her arm. She struggled but he forced her across the room and down into the rocking chair, gazing down at her remorsefully. ‘I’m a selfish sod, I haven’t even said I’m sorry about your baby.’
‘Your wife’s family?’ she said faintly. ‘Will they want to take her?’
‘Hell, no! Her brothers have families of their own. Jess was like a mother to them for years after her own ma died.’
Molly felt giddy with relief. She watched him sit down opposite her in a wheel-backed chair, elbows on his knees. ‘She was a few years older than me but there was a goodness and understanding in Jess that drew me to her. She let me talk and would really listen, She encouraged me to stick to my guns and do what I wanted when Ma was at me all the time to drop my apprenticeship and go into my uncle’s factory. She hit the roof but I married Jess anyhow.’ He stared at her. ‘So who was he, this husband of yours?’
She told him how she’d met Frank and about his being lost at sea. ‘If it hadn’t been for the baby, I might have given up.’ Molly’s voice cracked and tears stung her eyelids.
‘Don’t be upsetting yourself,’ said Nathan roughly, clasping his hands tight between his knees. ‘I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said what I did. It’s lousy to lose your baby as well as your husband.’
‘Terrible,’ she managed in a choking voice, feeling guiltridden, hardly daring to look at him. ‘If it wasn’t for you and Jessica, I’d throw myself in the canal.’
‘You mustn’t do that!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can stay on here, looking after little Jess. I’ll see if I can find you extra money.’
That was good news. Surprising, though. She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, relieved. ‘How?’
He was silent for so long she thought he’d gone into a trance like she did sometimes when unable to think straight.
‘I’ll ask my uncle for it.’
‘The one with the factory?’
He nodded. ‘He turned Papist but he’s strong family feelings for all that.’
She looked at him and said dubiously. ‘Will he give you money if you aren’t going to work for him?’
‘That’s the big question. He wants me to be an ecclesiastic candlemaker.’ Nathan sounded disgusted at the prospect and held out his hands, staring down at them. Molly stared at them, too. His fingers were long and straight, skin roughened in places, fingernails short. ‘I’ve got a trade in these. I love working with wood.’ His voice held a fierce pride.
‘You’re his nephew. Are you sure he actually wants you making the candles?’
‘If I’m not making them, he’ll have me in an office. I’d have to give up all I’ve worked for.’
‘What is it you’ve got exactly?’ she saidreal interest.
‘Don’t you start!’ He rubbed one hand over his stubbly chin, frowning. ‘It takes time to build up a business.’ Molly said nothing, staring at him, thinking she wished she had a rich uncle who wanted her for his heir. ‘You’re thinking I’m stupid, aren’t you?’ growled Nathan. ‘But candles are a thing of the past.’
‘I was reading about a church in Liverpool being wired for electricity.’
‘Exactly!’ He got to his feet. ‘I must tell my uncle that. I bet everybody’ll be using electricity one day.’
‘Maybe. They said gas was dangerous but lots of people have it now. St John’s is lit by gas.’
‘I’m not interested in gas,’ said Nathan, pacing the floor. ‘Wood, Molly, that’s what I enjoy working with.’
‘Nice. I’m good at embroidery.’ She looked at him but could tell he wasn’t listening. She sighed and got back to the subject in hand, the one that really interested her: his paying her more wages. ‘But if you don’t go and work for him, how are you going to get more money to pay me?’
He didn’t answer but sat down again, elbows resting on his thighs. ‘I don’t know. People might talk, but you could always come and live with me?’ he suggested tentatively.
She was astounded. ‘What d’you mean – might? I’m not having my reputation torn to shreds.’
‘You’d be perfectly safe.’ He scowled at her. ‘I’ve just lost my wife. I’m not about to start fancying you. Anyway, let’s give it a week then see what happens. In the meantime…’ He hesitated.
‘In the meantime, what?’ Molly’s eyes alive with interest.
‘Your baby.’ His expression was sober. ‘It’ll have to be buried, won’t it? And that’ll cost money.’
The brightness in her face faded. Another thing she hadn’t thought about. She felt sick.
‘I know it must upset you but you have to think about it. You can’t leave her up there.’ He jerked his head ceilingwards.
Molly almost choked on her guilt and her eyes filled with tears.
‘Don’t cry!’ He hesitated before taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it.
‘That hurts,’ she mumbled.
He dropped it. ‘I’ve an idea. I’ve got a nice piece of oak in my workroom. If I go home now I can knock something up to place her in. It won’t be a proper posh coffin but you can wrap the baby up snug and she’ll be OK in it. She can be laid to rest with Jess. That would save you money.’
Looking into his embarrassed face, Molly was almost too moved to speak. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
‘Don’t! Don’t cry, I keep telling you!’ he shouted. ‘It makes…’ His voice broke. Getting to his feet, he strode out of the room, hands in pockets, head bent.
Molly was so astonished by his behaviour she scrambled to her feet and rushed after him. But he was already out of the house and halfway down the street by the time she reached the front door.
Nathan was as good as his word, arriving late the following morning with a plain oak box, sandpapered smooth as silk and so newly varnished the surface was still tacky. He looks dreadful, thought Molly. ‘You must have been up all night,’ she said, guilt- ridden again, taking the tiny coffin from him.
‘It had to be done,’ he muttered, fumbling in his pocket and bringing out some large nails. ‘You’ll have to nail the lid down.’
At this blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her dizzy and shaking to think of shutting a tiny baby away in a box. Still she managed to thank him, eyes avoiding his, fixing instead on his neck where the starched white collar had caused a red weal on his skin. He was dressed in a black suit, which made his skin look even paler. She cleared her throat, feeling she needed to saymore. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done. I’m grateful, too, that you told the vicar about the baby.’
‘He came to see you?’
Molly nodded. ‘He was kind. Mabel May he christened her.’ She cleared her throat again, hoping that God didn’t mind the dead baby’s being christened twice while her own child wasn’t baptised at all.
Nathan made no comment, swaying with weariness. He placed a hand on the door jamb to keep himself upright. She felt concerned for him. ‘D’you want to come in? See Jessica? Have something to eat?’
‘No food.’ He followed her indoors.
The baby lay in the cradle, eyes wide open, waving her tiny fists in the air. He stared down at her and Molly’s heart began to beat in a crazy manner but Nathan did not comment or touch the child and after a moment said he would have to go.
After seeing him out, she hurried indoors and picked up her daughter. Molly cuddled her, rubbing her cheek against the petal soft face and covering it in kisses before placing her in the cradle. Then, with a deep sigh, she bent and picked up the tiny coffin. Bowed down with sadness, she went into the parlour. She had refused Em’s offer to lay out the baby, fearful that even at that late hour she might suddenly recognise Nathan’s daughter.
Earlier Molly had dressed her in one of the nightgowns Em had brought, fastened a bonnet Nanna had knitted on her tiny head and wrapped her in a blanket. Now she lined the coffin with red flannel cut from one of Nanna’s nightgowns. Red for warmth, she thought, wanting to believe it would do just that for Jessica Esther in the grave.
Mrs Smith had volunteered to look after the baby while Em accompanied Molly to the church at Burscough Bridge. She remembered Nanna telling her that St John’s was a Waterloo church, built as were many others in the 1820s and 30s with money put aside for memorials to that momentous battle. It was built of stone, some of it carried by barge from Parbold quarry not far away. Molly had been christened in that church and remembered singing there lustily in later years alongside her mother and Nanna.
The service was as she’d expected a sad and sombre occasion. After a swift glance at Nathan and his mother, Molly kept her gaze averted. The sight of him caused her more guilt and anguish and she was glad that the old-fashioned hat with veiling which she’d found on top of a cupboard concealed her face.
It was not until they were standing in the churchyard at the grave, the tiny coffin already in the ground alongside the larger one, that Mrs Collins approached Molly. ‘I’m not pleased with you,’ she said, looking down her nose at the girl. ‘What right have you to bury your child here at my son’s expense?’
Molly felt like saying, ‘You choose your moments, don’t you?’ but instead gazed down at her boots, the heels of which had sunk into the grass. She closed her eyes and prayed, tears oozing from beneath her lids. She thought of Frank, wondering what he would have made of her burying another man’s child as theirs.
‘Tsk! You’re as bad as your mother. She could turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat,’ sneered Mrs Collins.
‘What! Not my mother,’ said Molly in surprise. ‘She was strong.’
‘Humph! Not at your age, she wasn’t. She knew exactly how to softsoap the men.’
‘Leave her alone, Mother. Where’s your heart?’ snapped Nathan.
Mrs Collins sniffed and walked away. Molly’s eyes met his briefly before he turned and left the graveside.
Em touched Molly’s arm. ‘Time to be going, I think,’ she said gently. ‘You don’t want to linger. Best say your goodbyes and go.’
Molly nodded, her heart a little lighter because of the midwife’s words. She must have convinced her the baby in the grave was her own. But now she had to look to the future. ‘Can you point out Mr Collins’s uncle to me?’
‘He’s not here, lass. Had an accident.’
Molly was put out. She wanted to see the kind of man Mr Barnes was for herself. What did he feel about his nephew having a daughter?
‘Pity you didn’t think of placing the little one to sleep with Mrs Fletcher,’ said Em.
Molly realised her mistake and her heart sank. ‘I haven’t been thinking straight. I’ll visit her grave now.’
‘Natural in the circumstances.’ Em took her arm and they walked between gravestones until they reached a freshly heaped mound of earth. There she left Molly alone with her grief.
It was here Jack Fletcher found her. ‘You’ve heard?’ she said when he spoke her name, and looked up at him with limpid eyes.
‘About thy baby? Aye, lass. And I’m more sorry than I can say.’ He took one of her hands between his two large ones and held it there. ‘I’ve come to see if there’s owt I can do for thee? If thee wants to go back to Bootle, I can take thee.’
‘Thanks, Uncle Jack,’ she said warmly. ‘But I’ve been hired to look after Mr Collins’s baby. You probably heard his wife died?’
‘Aye. But I’m not sure thee’s doing the right thing there, lass. His mother’s a poisonous woman. She hated your mam. Thee’s best not having anything to do with that family.’
Molly could see his point but she had made her decision and she was not going back on it. ‘The baby needs me – and it helps knowing I can do some good.’
He frowned and shifted his stance. ‘If that’s what you want, but keep your distance, lass.’
What did he mean by that? thought Molly. Distance from whom? Mrs Collins? She cleared her throat. ‘Mrs Collins wants her son to work for his uncle. Do you remember him?’
‘He could do worse,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Barnes is a good man. Does thou know where his factory is, lass?’
‘Liverpool.’
‘Aye, not far from Athol Street gasworks.’
‘Not the most salubrious of districts,’ said Molly wryly. Athol Street was a long thoroughfare starting at the junction between Stanley Road and Scotland Road and ending in Great Howard Street where the North Docks Good Station was situated. The Leeds-Liverpool canal cut through it.
‘His uncle’s a warm man. Got no kiddies of his own. The lad’ll come into it all if he uses his head and accepts the offer.’
If, thought Molly, thinking there was little hope of her persuading Nathan to see the sense in what Uncle Jack was saying. He would have to reach his own decision. Then what a future there could be for her daughter! Molly’s heart lifted. She pictured her little love as the darling of both uncle and nephew. Plenty of food, pretty dresses, and handsome, rich beaux one day.
‘Are you listening to me, Molly May?’
‘What?’ She fixed him with a vacant stare.
‘It doesn’t matter, lass.’ Jack patted her shoulder. ‘Thee just remember, if thee needs any help…’
She nodded and thanked him as they left the churchyard together. They parted at the bridge.The days ahead were not going to be easy, she thought. Playing the role of grieving mother and widow should not be difficult but hiding her love for her baby would be. No one must guess the truth if her daughter was to have that rosy future. And if she herself was caught out in such a deception? Molly shivered. It was just as easy for her to imagine climbing the steps to the gallows while her poor daughter was taken from her to some dreadful orphanage as it was to imagine her child the daughter of a rich man.