FROM HIS MOTHER’S knee, Jonathan had a clear view of Grace, opposite. When she approached, his podgy legs kicked wildly, bringing chuckles from both women.
At four months old, he’d recently discovered the delights of solid food and would treat them to his hilarious dance each mealtime. His legs opened the show and his arms followed suit, as though performing a lively jig.
‘Ready for your pobs, lad?’ He answered Grace with a gummy grin and she laughed. ‘Pass him here, lass, afore he has a fit.’
Watching her feed him the gloopy white mixture of mashed-up bread soaked in warm milk and sugar, Sally smiled. When she’d first taken on the new venture, she’d worried herself sick whether Grace was ready to care for him again.
Peggy’s passing was still raw but the heartbroken mother had been delighted to resume the role, assuring Sally it was what she needed to take her mind off her grief. Grace loved nothing more than parading Jonathan around in his perambulator, proud to show off the bonny child.
‘Goodness. He hasn’t come up for air, yet!’
Grace smiled knowingly. ‘Secret’s in t’ sugar, lass. Aye, my Peggy loved her pobs, she did, would’ve ate it until it came out of her ears. Ay, now, don’t go starting all that nonsense about me looking after him,’ she added when Sally bit her lip. ‘I’d go barmy in t’ house all day on my own. He’s a tonic, he is. Ain’t you?’ she cooed, chucking him under the chin. Her tone caught Shield’s attention. Tail swishing, he nudged her arm and she laughed. ‘Lord, you’re a jealous beggar, you are. Aye, you’re a tonic, an’ all,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
Mercifully, Shield had made a full recovery and, as she did daily, Sally thanked God. Bar the knobbly scar on the back of his head, no one would guess he’d been attacked. Another failing on Joseph’s part, she thought in satisfaction then swiftly evicted him from her mind. His evil had no place in her life these days.
The past months had nurtured strength in her she’d never have believed possible. She too had mended, and not just physically. Her nose, though now slightly misshapen, and the multitude of bruises had healed, but so had her mental wounds.
She’d developed a somewhat detached approach to Joseph and all he stood for. She refused to be cowed. And she refused to run away as she’d previously considered. If he discovered her, so be it. As she’d done last time, and countless times before, she’d survive. She was bone-weary of fleeing. She had friends here, family, a life. She wouldn’t sacrifice those for anyone.
She’d give anything to live in peace but knew it wasn’t possible while he drew breath, so simply took each day at a time, resigned to the fact that he might find her but determined to live life as best she could. If she must get back up and dust herself off a thousand times, she would. She was damned if he’d win.
When her monthly bleed arrived, she’d sobbed and it spurred the healing. Her friends and family were also instrumental to her recovery – as was the bold project she’d undertaken. Her business, her sanctuary … She could scarcely believe it.
‘Eeh, it’s lovely we’re seeing that bonny smile of yourn more often.’
Sally sighed contentedly. The walk home after making peace with the Sharps had set her on a path of extraordinary adventure. ‘I was just thinking … I wonder what became of that mother and child, Aunt Grace?’
‘They’re well, I’m sure, thanks to thee.’
She’d witnessed an exchange outside a lodging house between the housekeeper and a woman clutching a baby who, by a farthing, was short for a bed for the night. Despite the woman begging her to show mercy for the sake of her child, who would surely perish if he spent another freezing night without shelter, the housekeeper refused admission.
Her plight had affected Sally deeply. It could so easily have been her and Jonathan but for the wonderful people in her life. She’d taken the sobbing woman to Maggie’s and from the envelope pressed several notes into her hand. Her grateful tears, and certainty they would sleep easy in a warm bed as a body deserved, touched Sally.
In that instant, she’d known what to do with the money. Not only could it benefit her loved ones, but many others, too. And so the germ of an idea formed: she’d open her own lodging house. Hers would be a refuge. She’d never turn anyone from her door.
Now, she squeezed Grace’s hand, then – as she did each morning – gazed around the good-sized kitchen; her favourite room.
Pale-blue curtains hung from its two windows, lending it a light and airy feel. In the centre stood a large table and, to the left, were two comfortable chairs either side of the fire.
A scullery and pantry, with shelves for dry foods and marble slab for perishables, led off to the right. By the windows, another door led to a small yard, now home to half a dozen chickens which, as well as eggs, supplied unlimited entertainment for the children.
She’d set to work making her dream a reality immediately and had discovered a run-down, two-storey house on Pollard Street. The possibility of Joseph finding out and claiming ownership had struck fear and fury in her. She’d therefore asked Uncle Ed to bear his name on the deeds. She trusted him implicitly and Joseph would be unable to prove anything; he’d never get his hands on it.
‘It’s a far cry from what it were, eh, lass?’ said Grace, as though reading her thoughts.
She’d secured the nine-roomed property at a good price but it proved a mammoth task. However, she’d relished the challenge.
‘Alive with damp and vermin … holes in t’ roof … You’d never believe it were the same house.’
Sally nodded. With enough money left for supplies, the exterior’s restoration had reached completion in no time. Work on the interior then began and, during their free time, Con, Ed, Stan and Mr Lynch undertook the heavy duties, replacing the odd floorboard and smashed window and whitewashing the walls.
She, Maggie, Grace and Winnie then took over, while Ellen minded the children, and for days swept and scrubbed every inch of every room until the house gleamed.
‘It wouldn’t have been possible, Aunt Grace, without the many helping hands. Con’s market contacts, too, proved invaluable. The furniture, bedding, curtains, rugs, crockery and the million and one other necessities … Thanks to him, costs were minimal.’
‘’Ere, don’t go being modest, lass. You worked harder than anyone; threw yourself into it with gusto, you did.’
A soft smile stroked Sally’s lips. ‘The second week of the new year, when I opened for business, do you know what I did before affixing the “Beds Vacant” sign in the window?’
‘What, love?’
‘I drifted from room to room and cried tears of joy.’
‘Ay, Sally. You’ll have me blubbing in a minute.’
‘With unwavering dedication, we did it, together.’
‘Aye, we did that,’ murmured Grace with a watery smile.
Sally pressed her hand again then wandered from the room. The ground floor boasted three: one at the far end of the passage, one to the immediate right upon entering, and hers and Jonathan’s. Humming softly, she climbed the stairs. Each of the four rooms on this floor held three beds – the two larger rooms, on the second floor above, four apiece. This enabled rest and shelter for twenty people at any one time.
She could have squeezed in more but refused to conduct her establishment as many did. She’d heard of lodging houses in appalling states, beds crammed to the rafters, maximum profit the owners’ sole concern. Poor souls endured such conditions through sheer desperation; she’d been determined her guests wouldn’t share that fate.
Cleaned daily by herself and Maggie, each room had a rag rug covering the bare boards, a picture or two adorning the walls and a washbowl and pitcher, with hot water available upon request. It was no surprise that business was thriving.
‘I never dreamed I could be this happy,’ she whispered to herself, leaning against a doorway. ‘This time last year, life was as bleak as it’s possible to be.’
‘Aye, now look at thee. And no one deserves it more, lass.’
Sally turned to see Maggie, broom in hand. Smiling, she linked her arm. ‘Come. You look fit to drop.’ After leading the way to the kitchen, she poured her tea from a pretty green pot and when Maggie flopped into a chair, shook her head. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t tire yourself so. We’re meant to perform the chores equally.’
Her friend blew at a damp curl, which had escaped from the red scarf around her head. ‘And you fret too much. This is the best job I’ve ever had. Besides, I like keeping busy.’
‘You’re working yourself into the ground and there’s really no need.’
Maggie lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m grateful, lass, is all.’
‘Oh, Maggie. I’m the one who should say sorry.’
‘You? Nay, love, nay—’
‘Yes, me. When I returned to Aunt Grace’s at the start of the restoration … Well, during those weeks, this house wasn’t the only thing that slowly improved – my relationship with Stan did, too. Preoccupied with the first, magical Christmas with my family, all that was going on … I neglected you, Maggie.’
‘I’d not call assuring me a position for life once business was up and running neglect!’
‘But I failed to wonder how you’d manage in the meantime. When you revealed your landlord was threatening eviction … I was racked with guilt.’
‘Oh, lass.’
She’d made to tell Maggie she’d clear the debt but an idea had stopped her. She’d put the proposition forward – that they reside at the lodging house with her and Jonathan – and to her delight, her friend agreed. Sally’s joy, when she’d assigned the largest room, between her own and the kitchen, to the family, now returned.
‘You’ve no reason to prove your gratitude. I love having you all here and don’t you ever forget it.’
Maggie sniffed, swallowed hard, sniffed again. ‘Ta, love.’
They were sipping their tea in companionable silence when Grace asked, ‘Where’s your mam, lass?’
A grin spread across Maggie’s face. ‘Gone for a walk.’
‘With …?’
She nodded, and Sally and Grace grinned back.
‘Eeh, I were horrified in t’ beginning with thoughts of you all spending the nights with a houseful of strangers. You could have been robbed, attacked in your own beds, or owt. I thank the Lord that Mr Lynch provided a solution.’
‘Aye, so does Mam!’ said Maggie, winking, and they all chuckled.
Teddy Lynch Jr, a seaman of some thirty years, had recently left the waves behind. He hankered to settle down and, when his last ship docked, decided not to sign on for another voyage. His return, however, proved problematic. His parents’ house was bursting at the seams with children and grandchildren, and he’d found the squeeze tiresome.
Mr Lynch, Uncle Ed’s friend, had asked if his son could have a permanent bed at the lodging house until he found a wife, that he’d pay generously for the privilege. Sally readily agreed – having a man about would ease their concerns if trouble did arise with lodgers – and the kindly bear of a man, with a thatch of dark, curly hair and thick beard, took up residence on the first floor.
He and Ellen had hit it off immediately and all agreed wedding bells would be tolling in the not too distant future.
‘Are you going to the Roundhouse today, lass?’ asked Grace now, and Sally nodded.
Each Sunday, she visited the Sharps’ graves. Without them, the help she’d provided to so many wouldn’t have been possible. Half an hour of her time one afternoon a week to show her gratitude wasn’t asking much. It also gave her the opportunity to tend little Peggy’s grave.
Maggie drained her cup, and rose. ‘I’ll finish the rooms while you’re gone – and no arguments,’ she added before Sally could object.
Clicking her tongue, Sally donned her shawl. ‘I shan’t be long. When I return, I’ll prepare a lovely dinner – and no arguments!’ she said when Maggie, who usually cooked, made to protest.
Grace chuckled. ‘What are you like, youse two? Bloomin’ stubborn, they are, lad, the pair of them,’ she told Jonathan, and Sally and Maggie grinned.
‘Aye, go on. I’ll do the rooms and you do dinner,’ Maggie agreed, shooing her out. ‘Just try not to burn the soddin’ thing like last time!’
Sally was still smiling when she reached the church. Life at present was rosy. She had her family, friends, the business – what more could she want?
The answer came immediately. If within her power, she’d alter two things: Joseph’s existence and the Morgans’ absence from her life. Sadly, both were beyond her control and always would be. Joseph would probably live to a hundred just to spite her, and the Morgans could only ever be dear friends from afar.
As for her third, deeply concealed wish … That, she knew with certainty, could never be.
Her step faltered. Tommy might well be married by now. Dolly could be with child at this very moment. Her guts lurched, imagining them together, loving one another …
‘Stop it,’ she told herself. ‘Be happy for him and move on.’
Immersed in thought, her mind didn’t at first register the crouched figure up ahead. Doing a double take, she gasped in surprise.
On all her visits, she’d never seen any indication that someone else had been. Who on earth …? Was Mr Stockton mistaken when he’d said the Sharps were without kin? If so, why didn’t they attend the funeral? She was debating whether to make her presence known when suddenly the woman turned.
Sally’s mouth dropped open. She knew who this was. There was no one else it could be.
Deep embarrassment replaced the woman’s shocked expression. Tugging her shawl over her face, she leapt up and ran for the trees.
‘Wait! Please, wait!’ Sally picked up her skirts and sprinted after her. ‘I mean you no harm. I simply—’ To her relief, the woman halted. ‘I just want to talk. Please.’
Keeping tight hold of her shawl, the woman half turned. ‘Leave me be. I’ve nowt to say.’
‘You needn’t fear me, nor should you have fled. You’ve as much right as I to visit Miss Sharp’s grave. I know who you are—’
‘And I know thee. Now please, let me go. I must go.’
Despite this, she made no attempt to leave and Sally stepped closer. Tentatively, she touched her shawl. ‘Please, let me see,’ she said softly. The woman sighed but didn’t object, and Sally eased it from her face.
‘Take a good look. Take a long, hard look then get down on your knees and thank the Almighty you were spared. It could well have been you bearing this disfigurement.’
Her words sent ice down Sally’s spine. Pale-pink patches stood stark against what hair remained. Further down, clumps of puckered scars marred a face that might once have been beautiful. But it was her eyes, pools of melted hazel, lucid with unspeakable sorrow, which tore at Sally. They told of a deeper suffering than her flame-ravished skin ever could.
‘Was she the cause of that? Did she wield that poker at thee, an’ all?’ the woman asked.
Sally’s fingers fluttered to her nose. ‘No, no. This happened at another’s hand. Mrs Sharp never … I saw the results of her attacks on her daughter, but she didn’t attempt it with me. I loathed that poker with a passion. I once threw it through the window.’ She nodded when the woman lifted an eyebrow. ‘Oh yes, straight into the street. Of course, she ordered Miss Sharp to retrieve it—’
‘And so sealed her own fate. And by God, she deserved nowt less.’
Silence hung between them.
‘What happened? Why you? One could say I gave her cause to lash out numerous times, yet she didn’t. What happened that dreadful day?’
Hugging herself, the woman’s eyes strayed across the churchyard, but instead of answering the question she murmured, ‘I weren’t surprised when I heard. A body can only take so much, you know? Mam begged me not to come but I had to, had to tell Miss Sharp she weren’t bad, that she weren’t to blame. I saw you and another wench with Father Collins. I saw what he did for Miss Sharp. Did you …?’ At Sally’s nod, she smiled faintly. ‘Thank you.’
Sally held out a hand. ‘I wish you’d approached, but a belated introduction is better than none. I’m Sally.’
She hesitated then shook it. ‘Anna.’
‘Do you visit often, Anna? I’ve never seen—’
‘Only Miss Sharp. Never her. And then only when it’s quiet.’ She tugged her shawl self-consciously. ‘I don’t venture out much; the stares, you see. It’s allus the stares what bother me most. The jeering and name-calling, aye, they hurt, but the silent stare … eyes young and owd filled with disgust … They’re the worst. Aye, they’re the worst.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Nowt will cure folk of their ignorance. I manage as best I can. Mam’s an angel from heaven; without her … I discovered long ago no employer wants a face like mine amongst their workforce. Mam works her fingers to the bone, takes in washing from the big houses up in Salford. A purer heart you’ll not find. I pity Miss Sharp that most. She never knew a mother’s love.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘I discovered summat she’d forgot.’
‘You …?’
‘The day she sent me stumbling into the fire. I’d discovered summat she’d forgot.’
She held her breath. ‘What, Anna?’
‘A letter. Nay, norra letter as such – a receipt, I suppose you might call it. Miss Sharp had a child, a daughter.’
‘Yes. She drowned.’
Anna shook her head. ‘No, she didn’t. Mrs Sharp had her committed to New Bridge Street Workhouse.’
Sally’s mouth fell open but horror chased away a response.
‘She paid the master a tidy sum to take her in. I found proof bearing his signature.’
He bought as well as sold … Sickness rose within her. ‘I … don’t … Why would she do such a thing? All those years, to have Miss Sharp believe …’
‘I dropped a button while darning a nightdress and it rolled beneath the bed. Careful not to make a noise, for she were sleeping, I felt around. That’s when I found it, a reticule covered in dust and cobwebs. I were curious. Happen it were wrong … I looked inside.’
‘And Mrs Sharp—’
‘Aye, wakened and caught me reading it. Happen she hadn’t trusted the master, wanted in writing that he’d uphold his end of the deal in keeping his silence. She thought she’d destroyed it years afore, begged my silence, insisted she’d done it for her granddaughter’s own good.
‘Her hatred for her grew daily; she were scared she’d harm the girl, said she’d had no choice, that it were for her safety. She’d been certain Miss Sharp would get over the loss.’
‘Well, she was wrong! That poor woman suffered until her dying day.’
Anna nodded, eyes steely. ‘She fooled everyone, concocted the whole canal tale for her own ends, watched her daughter mourn a child very much alive.’
Sally felt light-headed, had to grasp Anna’s arm for support. Had gaining the child’s trust been nothing but a ploy? Was she pretending all along, so not to arouse Pru’s suspicion once she put her plan into action? Realisation sickened Sally to the core. She’d forgiven Mrs Sharp, excused her behaviour as a result of mental trauma. This sin was too despicable to excuse.
‘I cannot believe it. That poor, poor girl. How utterly terrified and confused she must have been.’
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t tell Miss Sharp what I’d discovered. I wanted to, truly. I told Mrs Sharp I couldn’t keep silent about summat that dreadful. She pleaded, said it were pointless, for the past couldn’t be changed.
‘She said she’d had word from the workhouse years afore that the child died, that revealing all to Miss Sharp would break her heart all over again. I’d not listen and as I made to leave, she turned wild with fury. She said she’d destroy me and all I held dear if I spoke out, said she had the money and means to have me locked away. Then she grabbed the poker.
‘When the force of the blow had me stagger into the fire, d’you know what she did? D’you know what I heard as I fell into the flames? Laughter. She laughed, Sally, laughed as I burned. She were more evil than Satan hisself.’
‘Mother of God, I cannot …’ Words failed her.
‘Keeping silent haunts me. I heard later she’d told Miss Sharp she caught me stealing and lost her temper, that my fall were an accident. I should’ve told her the truth.’
‘And your mother? Did she advise against it?’
‘Aye. She said if the child were dead, then I should say nowt. Better Miss Sharp remained ignorant than know the truth of her mother’s actions, of her poor daughter’s suffering. The pain of it would’ve sent her mad.’
‘Anna, I have a terrible feeling …’ She ran a shaky hand across her mouth. ‘Mrs Sharp was lying, I’m certain of it. If her granddaughter’s still languishing in that place … Mrs Sharp’s money paid for my home and business. If she’s alive, she’s entitled to it, to everything. I could never keep it, knowing … I must find out.’
‘Oh, Sally, d’you really think …? Will you meet me here next Sunday, tell me of your findings? Dear God, if she were lying …’
‘I’ll be here. Her name, Anna. I must know her name.’
Backing away towards the trees, she nodded. ‘Aye, it were on t’ receipt. It’s Isobella Dickinson.’
For a full minute, Sally stood frozen.
‘Dicksy …!’
Her cry floated above the cold gravestones as she sank to her knees.