‘LASS, ARE YOU ready?’ Ivy rubbed her eyes with her shawl. There was a break in her voice as she added, ‘Eeh, I must be getting a cold.’
Sally didn’t attempt to hide her tears; they ran freely. Her gaze swept the kitchen, drinking in the image, knowing she might never see it again. She wiped her face and nodded.
The rain had ceased and the dew-drenched meadows winked in the weak sunshine like a sea of crystals. A fresh but biting breeze from across the hills whistled through the row as, head lowered against it, Ivy ushered them down the path.
Sally didn’t look at her cottage and hoped she never would again. She hadn’t been over the threshold since Ivy helped her across the day she gave birth, and she had no intention of ever doing so.
Other than the money, she’d retrieved nothing before leaving because the sad truth was, not a thing belonged to her besides the ragged shawl she’d left behind. An ancient one of Ivy’s which, much to Sally’s gratitude, Ivy insisted she have, lay across her shoulders. It was thin and matted but warmer than nothing.
Her patched dress and boots, issued to her the day she left the workhouse, were all she possessed. Joseph hadn’t spent a farthing on her throughout their marriage.
No, she’d never go back. Lifting her chin, she walked on.
As they passed through the row, she glanced at the tatty canvas bag in her hand and smiled tearfully. It held the baby’s clothes and a paper-wrapped parcel. This contained two cold sausages, a slice of bread and dripping and a hunk of currant cake to, in Ivy’s words, keep her going on her travels to ‘That Manchester’. This consisted of the upcoming cart ride, the train, then the trek from the station in Manchester to Grace’s district – a journey of some two hours, she surmised. And inside the bag there was another item she couldn’t quite believe was there.
Earlier, when the men were leaving for work, she’d shaken their hands and thanked them for their kindness. Arthur wished her well, as did Tommy – though she’d imagined he held her hand a little longer than his father. Before leaving, Shaun had rummaged in the dresser drawer and thrust something into her hand.
She’d blinked at his bowed head then looked down. It was the beautifully carved horse Tommy had showed her hours before. She’d gasped and tried to return it, insisting she couldn’t accept, but he’d stepped away mumbling, ‘Take it, for the babby.’
She’d never known such kindness, felt humbled to her very soul.
The coaching house came into view and she breathed deeply. This was it. Would she depart from Bolton undetected? Would she remember how to locate Grace’s home once in Manchester? Would she find her larger-than-life aunt there if she did?
Ivy’s voice broke her thoughts. ‘Oh, that’s all we need.’
Following her gaze, Sally groaned inwardly.
‘Good morning, Mrs Morgan, Mrs Goden.’ The stiff greeting belied the smile accompanying it.
‘Sir,’ they mumbled.
Noticing Ivy’s lips twitch, nervous laughter bubbled inside her. Clearing her throat, Sally met his steely glare. ‘Sir, allow me to apologise for my behaviour Friday. I acted disgracefully, throwing … throwing you …’ She paused as another wave of giggles threatened to escape. ‘I had no right evicting you from Mrs Morgan’s cottage. I hope I … didn’t hurt you when I threw you down the path.’
Ivy turned her snort into a cough. ‘Excuse me, sir. I’ve started with a shocking cowd this morning.’
The preacher’s nostrils flared and one eye twitched rapidly. ‘The Almighty has, I am certain, an appropriate punishment prepared for you come Judgement Day. However,’ he added grimly, ‘I’m prepared to forget the incident if you heed my advice and return to your husband today.’
She stiffened in outrage but before she could deliver a retort, Ivy flashed him a disarming smile.
‘We’ve spoken on that and realise you’re right. Sally sees she’s been hasty, that she should try and make her marriage work. She loves the bones of yon Joseph, despite their disagreements, and is on her way to catch the carrier’s cart to Bolton town. Going to his sister’s, she is, to beg his forgiveness. Aye, rest assured, she’ll do her best to smooth out matters. Won’t you, lass?’ she added with the briefest of winks.
‘Oh. Oh, yes. Indeed. It was wicked of me to tell such lies about him. I love my Joseph dearly.’
He looked at them in turn through narrowed eyes. After what seemed an age, he nodded. ‘I knew you would see sense. Your husband will be most pleased, though as I am sure you know, you have a great deal of apologising to do, madam. However, Mr Goden is a just man. He shall forgive you eventually. You should count your blessings to be married to one such as him.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Excellent. Well, I shan’t keep you.’ With a half-bow, he bade them farewell and strode down the lane.
When he was a fair distance away, they broke into laughter.
‘Come on,’ Ivy spluttered, ‘we’d best get on. You don’t want to keep that saint of a husband waiting, d’you?’
‘Thank you, Mrs Morgan, for your quick thinking. But what about you? He’ll be furious when he discovers we lied.’
‘Humph! Don’t you fret over me, lass. I’m not frickened of him. He can rant and ask as many questions as he likes. All he’ll get from me is a clog up his arse.’
Dissolving into laughter again, they hurried to the waiting cart which, according to the sign in the coaching house window, departed for Bolton each day bar Wednesdays and Sundays.
‘Hello, Ivy! Lovely morning, in’t it?’
Ivy frowned at the murky sky but smiled none the less. ‘Aye, lovely morning, George.’
The carter, a thickset man with mutton-chop whiskers and a weathered face, grinned then turned his bleary gaze to Sally and tipped his cap. ‘Morning, lass.’
She smiled warily. This man was clearly drunk. She’d seen enough with Joseph to know. Hugging the baby closer, she whispered, ‘Mrs Morgan, I … believe he’s …’
Ivy nodded and strode forward. ‘George Turner, are you sozzled again? You’re a danger to your passengers, you are, driving that cart of yourn in that bloody state. Yon Sally here wants a ride into town and she’s gorra young ’un with her. You best mind how you go, or you’ll have me to answer to. Bloody shocking, it is.’ Hands on hips, she shook her head but a smile played at her mouth.
The waiting passengers chuckled when he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
‘Now, wench, you rest easy. Never had no accident yet, I’ve not. I allus have a nip of summat to warm my owd bones but these here hosses do the work.’ Brown eyes dancing, he gave the mares’ necks an affectionate pat. ‘Know the way closed-eyed, they would.’
Stretching to her full height, which barely reached his chest, Ivy wagged a finger under his nose. ‘Aye, well. You’ve been warned.’
Sally watched the exchange in astonishment. Men turned nasty with ale, didn’t they? They threatened you, hurt you in ways no one should be. Yet this one wasn’t angry, wasn’t snarling at anyone or threatening to thump them. He was smiling broadly and her lips stretched into one, too.
He swayed to the cart and hauled himself into his seat behind the horses’ rumps. Ivy chuckled. ‘Have no fear, lass, he’s harmless. He knows Bolton like the back of his hand. You’ll come to no harm with owd George.’
Sally tried to smile but her lips wobbled and with a sob she threw an arm around Ivy. ‘Oh, Mrs Morgan, I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know. Take care of yourself. And please, don’t ever change.’
Ivy sniffed, coughed, sniffed again. ‘No fear of that, love. I’d not change for no bugger, prince nor pauper.’
‘Ready, lass?’ asked the carter softly, and she nodded.
While she climbed aboard, Ivy held the baby. She gazed at him for a long moment then kissed his brow tenderly. ‘Goodbye, fella. Look after your mam, there’s a good lad.’ Eyes bright, she laid him in Sally’s arms. ‘Take care, lass. And just you remember, I’m here if you need me. Always.’
With a ‘Whey up, there!’ from George, the cart jolted forward.
Sally laughed through her tears and the passengers grinned when Ivy called, ‘Think on what I said, George. I’ll flay thee alive if harm comes to that lass or her babby. Just you mind where you’re going, you bugger.’
With a nod and a wink, he touched his cap. ‘Goodbye, wench!’
Standing at her father’s door, Nancy Skinner nodded a greeting to Ivy passing through the row. She received a watery smile in return and frowned curiously. That the older woman was upset about something was clear to see.
Turning back inside the shop, a thought occurred and her cheeks burned with excitement. Hiding her smile, she entered the back room and reached for a plate from the dresser.
She was right, she just knew it. She’d been awaiting this day for months and now, finally, things would go her way.
As she dished out leek-and-potato pie for her father’s dinner later, her heart danced. ‘Please, Lord, let it be true,’ she murmured, her smile spreading into a grin of pure delight.
Sally sat mesmerised as they rolled through Breightmet. After living as a virtual prisoner, as a workhouse inmate and then as Joseph’s wife, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The last time she’d passed through was en route to Spring Row shortly after her wedding but, consumed with fear and dread, she hadn’t noticed her surroundings.
Gurgling streams meandered alongside fields snuggled by farmers’ cottages, surrounded with thick trees and snow-white sheep, grazing peacefully. Closing her eyes, she drew in scented air. Despite everything, she’d miss this little community.
She’d prayed for years in the dead of night, as Joseph lay snoring beside her, to make her escape but knew it wasn’t Spring Row she’d craved to leave. She consoled herself with hopes that, one day, she and her child might again live amongst these hills, happily.
‘Eeh, he’s a bonny young thing. Your first?’
The innocent question, from a woman in her middle years seated beside Sally, stabbed her heart. She’d never forget the poor souls born to her too soon, nor cease to wonder whom they might have grown to become, but in a way, this child was her first. The first to survive the Devil’s evil.
‘I’m not prying, lass, just making conversation. Passes the journey quicker, is all.’
The soft words snapped her from her reverie. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, he’s my first. And he’s so good, hardly ever cries.’
The woman chuckled. ‘Aye, well, enjoy it. Others will follow soon enough and peace will be nowt but a memory.’
She forced a smile. If only you knew, she thought bitterly, glancing to her left hand.
Ivy had stopped her wrenching the thin band from her finger this morning with the sage advice, ‘Whatever that there ring represents, it’ll bring thee respectability. And when times are lean, it’ll fetch a few bob at the pawnshop.’
Though the sight of it turned her stomach, she’d left it where it was for now.
As they neared the centre of town, fields petered away. Rich green turned to grey as they weaved through crooked streets flanked by houses, shops and inns. Huge chimneys, almost shrouded from view beneath an overhanging pall, dotted the skyline, belching out dense smoke, and her chest tightened.
From what she knew, Bolton, situated in a natural valley on a vast sweep of moorland, developed on the banks of the River Croal. The upsurge in textile manufacture saw it gradually spread out as more and more people arrived, seeking jobs in the cotton trade. Sally remembered the noxious smell of the factories from her childhood; Manchester, some ten miles south-east, was also a thriving manufacturing town, on an even larger scale.
‘They’re an eyesore, ain’t they, lass?’ murmured the woman. ‘Mill Town, folk are calling us, and no wonder. Everywhere you look a fresh ’un’s sprung; nigh on seventy, now, so says my husband. We’ll not see our hands afore our faces in a few years, I’m sure.’
Nodding agreement, Sally covered her nose and mouth. Despite the rapid growth throughout many towns, Breightmet remained relatively untouched, and the clogged air wrapped around lungs now unaccustomed to it.
Her heartbeat quickened as they approached one of Bolton’s oldest roads, where she and Joseph lodged before and shortly after their wedding: Deansgate. Dark and miserable, riddled with ruinous, one- and two-storey homes and shops leaning shoulder to shoulder with as many alehouses, the grinding poverty was tangible.
Beneath Alice’s roof, she’d had the role of slave forced upon her immediately. She’d rebelled, yet quickly realised her error. The punishments Alice doled out for her insolence had known no bounds. Without mercy, she’d lash out with fists, feet, even teeth, while Joseph looked on in amusement.
Yet despite her loathing for Sally, Alice had told her brother in no uncertain terms to get a band on her finger. Whatever her faults – and they were plenty – she wouldn’t condone the mortal act of living in sin, thus shackling them for life. For that alone, Sally reciprocated Alice’s ill feelings tenfold.
The preacher said Joseph was dwelling here. What if he saw her and snatched the baby? Surprise brought a smile when her inner voice growled, ‘Let him try it.’
Her emotions were up and down. One minute, she was drowning in rage and the next – proven this morning – a quivering wreck at the thought of seeing him. It was a terrifying notion but she was determined to leave the fear behind. Her old hardness was increasing steadily and she was glad of it. Nevertheless, when the cart passed her sister-in-law’s street, she sighed in relief.
Hope and excitement stirred. Not long, now, and she’d be free of him.
‘Whoa there, my bonny girls!’ At the carter’s command, the horses slowed to a walk.
The woman smiled as they rattled to a stop. ‘Here we are, lass. Want a hand down with the babby?’
Sally couldn’t speak. Since escaping, she’d revelled in new experiences: speaking and laughing with others; eating more than she ever had; being free of the beatings that were part and parcel of daily life – all a wonder. However, the sights, sounds and smells before her now were like nothing she’d encountered.
She gazed in awe towards New Market Place, which Ivy had spoken of once or twice. Situated on an area of land to the south side of Deansgate, it claimed to be the finest uncovered market in the country.
Shops bordered all sides, taking advantage of the customers who flocked each week: cloggers, grocers, butchers, beer-sellers and bakers huddled alongside pawnbrokers, drapers, haberdashers and hatters, all jostling for business around the bustling square.
Accepting the woman’s help, she stepped from the cart. She barely heard her warm goodbye, returning it just in time. Alone, she looked about and smiled. All around stood carts and stalls piled high with produce mostly locally grown and made. Meat and poultry, bred on the surrounding homesteads; fruit and vegetables; confectionery; grain; seeds; hay; straw – the variety seemed endless.
She was wandering through the swell of people when a hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. Spinning around, she almost cried out in relief to see George’s beaming face.
‘Eeh, sorry if I frightened thee, but you’ve left summat behind.’
She stared at the carter in puzzlement. The sleeping baby lay in her arm and she was clutching the canvas bag. She possessed nothing else. ‘You must be mistaken, Mr Turner. I have everything I set out with.’
‘Nay, lass. You’re wrong there.’
She followed his gaze. What she saw at his feet astonished her. Panting heavily, tongue hanging from the side of its mouth, was the dog from Spring Row.
George chuckled and patted its back. ‘This fella’s followed us from Breightmet. Watched him all the way, I did, running alongside the cart. And d’you know summat, lass? He never once took his eyes off thee.’
‘But he’s not mine, Mr Turner! I have seen him around, but—’
‘Well, I’d say you’ll have a job getting shot. Took a shine to thee, he has. He’s a bonny chap; bit on t’ thin side, mind.’ Eyeing an inn behind a stall, he licked his lips. ‘Anyroad, I’m off forra jar afore I wither with thirst. Think on with that there dog. He’s a big ’un if ever I saw one.’ His eyes softened. ‘He’d be sound protection for them as needs it.’
She smiled gently. ‘Thank you.’
‘Take care, lass. I’ll be sure to tell Ivy you survived the journey!’
When he’d gone, she looked down. ‘How about it, Dog? Do you fancy a trip to Manchester?’ It answered with a shake of its tail. ‘Come along, then. We need to take the train.’ Following Ivy’s directions, she turned for Trinity Street Station.
Stallholders’ and customers’ chatter, peppered with laughter as they haggled and indulged in banter, enveloped her as she passed, the dog close on her heels. Men predominated but bonneted women in long aprons also sold their wares and their shrill voices, as they urged the townsfolk to buy, carried further:
‘Fresh produce, here, lovies. No better in t’ whole of Bolton. Golden butter! Delicious cheese! Eggs not long left my hens’ backsides, still warm!’ one rang out, followed by another at the next stall, and the next.
‘Three and six for three pounds of butter? A prime swindle, that is! Throw in a few of them eggs and you’ve gorra sale. And none of them shit-smeared ’uns, neither,’ a customer cackled.
The stallholder roared with laughter but, hurrying on, Sally missed her reply. Alice’s home was too close for comfort; she couldn’t hang around.
Minutes later, however, she had to stop; Jonathan seemed to grow heavier by the second. She moved him into her other arm and flexed the aching one he’d vacated.
The man whose stall she’d halted by smiled sympathetically. ‘Little things, babbies, but they’re dead weights after a while, ain’t they?’
‘Indeed they are!’
‘Strap a saddle on that big beggar and let the babby ride on its back.’ He nodded to the dog and laughed. ‘Travelling far today, lass?’
Her smile froze. No one could know where she was heading. For all she knew, this kindly looking man might know Joseph or Alice. ‘Some distance, yes,’ she answered cautiously.
‘Aye, I thought as much. You don’t talk like folk round here; speak reet nice, you do.’ He rummaged around his stall, shoved aside boots, kitchenware and medicine bottles containing colourful liquids. ‘Not like the nobs what sound like they’ve a hot poker up their backsides but still, you speak nice. Proper, like.’ He moved other mismatched items then, grinning, held up a basket. ‘Lay a blanket in here and the babby will be lovely and snug.’ He produced one and placed it inside. ‘Will that do thee?’
‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ From Jonathan’s coverings, she extracted the bundle of coins from the eaves. ‘How much, please?’
His eyes widened. ‘Oh, call it a crown, eh, lass? Good quality that there blanket is,’ he stated, fingering the coarse material, ‘and the basket’s in sound health, an’ all.’
She glanced at the numerous holes where the wicker had snapped through age and use, but nodded none the less and counted money into his hand. She didn’t like to question the price, not when he’d been so kind and thoughtful and, besides, he was the trader, not she. He obviously knew best.
Suddenly, a child no older than five years appeared from nowhere. Her bare feet were filthy, as was her ragged dress, which was several sizes too small for her scrawny frame. Sally’s eyes softened with pity but the stallholder’s hardened.
Holding his gaze through long tendrils of hair the colour of rats’ tails, the girl addressed him boldly. ‘At it again, Bob?’ She pulled a face at Sally’s purchases. ‘You’re a robbing owd goat. Falling to bits, them are, and you’re asking a crown? You’ve a cheek asking tuppence, you swindler, yer.’
His face turned puce. ‘Bugger off, you young imp, afore I ram my boot up that raggedy arse of yourn.’
‘Your crusty owd legs wouldn’t catch me. Give the lady a fair deal. You’re trying to swindle her and you know it.’
Sally turned to him, hurt, and he flushed further. He looked at the coins in his hand. Then he poured the majority into hers without a word.
The girl grinned, snatched up the basket and steered her to the edge of the market.
They halted by an ornate drinking fountain and after laying Jonathan inside the basket, Sally smiled wryly. This child, who clearly knew the ways of the world better than she, had saved her a fair amount of money and she was grateful, if not a little embarrassed. Her naivety would be her undoing unless she wised up, and fast. ‘What’s your name?’
The girl wiped an arm across her dripping nose. ‘Folk call me all manner of things, missis, but my proper name’s Lily.’ A grin spread across her face when Sally laughed.
‘Well, Lily, I think you deserve this for your help back there.’
‘Bloomin’ hell. Ta, missis!’
Her stomach knotted as she handed over a silver shilling. She hated those coins with a passion. ‘You’re very welcome.’
Watching her replace her purse beneath the baby’s covers, Lily frowned. ‘You want to watch that bag of brass, missis. Hide it under your skirt on a bit of string. It’ll be safer there.’
‘Do you know, you may be right? You are a clever little thing, aren’t you?’
The child smiled in delight. ‘Ta, missis. You’re nice, you are. You don’t half talk queer, mind. Where you from?’
‘You don’t miss a trick, do you?’ Talking about Dicksy had brought back painful memories. Unwilling to relive them again, especially with a child, she said, ‘I’m from Manchester. Have you heard of it?’
Lily snorted. ‘Have I! Went with Father, I did, last year. My sister skivvied in a big house up there but let the nob’s son get her in t’ family way, silly cow. Slat her out, they did, and Father went and thumped the son, right on t’ nose. My father made his father give our Lizzie some money and we fetched her home.’
‘What happened then?’ Sally asked, agog.
‘She gorra belting off Mam for her loose ways and losing a steady wage, and ran off in t’ night. We’ve not seen her since.’ She wiped her nose again. ‘Don’t matter. There’s too many children at home. Didn’t want another there, anyroad.’
Sally bit her lip. Despite the indifferent tone, tears pooled in Lily’s eyes. She extracted the parcel of food from the canvas bag and the young face brightened instantly as delicious aromas wafted from within. ‘Are you hungry?’
The child smiled at what she clearly deemed a daft question. ‘Do fishes have a fondness for water?’
Chuckling, Sally handed her a sausage and the hunk of currant cake. She gave the salivating dog the other sausage, re-wrapped the bread and dripping and returned it to the bag. She watched with pity as the girl devoured the food ravenously. ‘Better?’
Lily ceased licking crumbs from her grubby fingers to pat her stomach. ‘Aye. Ta, missis.’
‘Well, I have a train to catch so I’m afraid I must be going. Look after yourself and thank you again for your help. Goodbye.’ She made to turn but Lily gripped her shawl.
‘Will you take me with you? Please? Mam won’t mither. Let me come home with you, missis, please.’
The sheer desperation in her eyes brought a lump to Sally’s throat. ‘You cannot come with me. What about your family?’
‘They’ll not mind, honest. And Mam’s an ’orrible pig; she’d be glad to see the back of me.’
‘Oh, lass. I cannot just take you with me, much as I like you. I’m sorry.’
Fat tears rolled down Lily’s cheeks but she nodded miserably.
Sally took the remainder of the food from her bag. ‘Here, take it. Goodbye, Lily.’
She hurried for the station without looking back. Guilt and the memory of Lily’s sad blue eyes followed her all the way.
The sooner she was out of Bolton, the better.