‘BITCH, GET IN here!’
Sally tore another strip from the bedsheet. She found a cracked pitcher holding several inches of murky water and dipped the rags in.
‘D’you hear me, whore? In here now!’
With neither fire nor candle to light the room, she wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist and guided her to a stool by the window.
‘Christ, my guts … You bitch, wait ’til I—’ Whatever threat Joseph meant to deliver was lost in a string of retches.
She tilted Rose’s head and, by the full moon’s glow, studied her appearance.
‘Oh, oh God … Do as you’re told, bitch!’
Her mother glanced to the door fearfully and Sally took her hand. ‘It’s all right, Mam. I’m going to get us out of here very soon, I promise.’ Gently, she began cleaning dirt, mucus and dried blood from Rose’s face.
‘He struck me, lass. I needed to relieve myself and kept asking to go, for I were desperate. He struck me; it ain’t half sore.’
She lowered her head. You bastard, you bastard, she silently screamed. She’d kill him for this. With her bare hands, she’d kill him.
‘I, I’m soiled, Sally. The smell … I’m sorry—’
‘Oh, Mam.’ She dropped the rag and took her in her arms. ‘Don’t fret so. We’ll be home soon and everything will be all right.’ Avoiding her gaze for fear of breaking down completely, Sally untied the string from her mother’s hair and gathered her grey-blonde locks into a tidy bun.
‘I’ll wring your neck when I get my hands on thee! Come here, I need—’
She frowned slightly when again violent retching cut Joseph’s speech. She guided her mother to the bed then crossed the room.
‘Nay, lass! Don’t go to him!’
‘It’s all right, Mam. I’ll be back in a moment. Rest a while.’
There wasn’t an ounce of fear in her; bubbling rage blotted out all else. She thrust open the neighbouring door and charged inside.
The sight momentarily threw her.
‘Dear God, don’t just … stand there. Fetch … help. Now, you gormless bitch, I’m in ag—’ A stream of vomit erupted from his mouth.
She stared at him coldly. Whatever ailed him, she neither knew nor cared.
Crouched in the foul-smelling fluid, arms around his middle, he squinted up. ‘Fetch … someone. Need … help.’
‘All those years. You had me believe my mother was dead all those years? I hope you burn for eternity for all you’ve done, you evil bastard, you.’
Pain contorted his face. He clutched his head then his stomach again. ‘For the love of God, help me!’
‘Help you? Help you?’ she murmured incredulously. ‘After everything you’ve done to me, my friends, my mother?’ She crossed the small space, halting inches from his bowed head. ‘You’ve made my life a misery for more years than I want to think, and you want me to help you?’
He tried lifting his head and failed. ‘Please …’
‘My mother and I are leaving. If you try to stop us, if you ever come near me again, I swear to God, Joseph, I’ll kill you.’
‘You … bitch.’
Kicking at his feeble attempt to grab her foot, she spat on the ground and turned.
A hacking cough sounded next door and she paused. She glanced at the tankards on the table. One was empty, the other quarter-full, and this she lifted to take to her mother.
Between retches, Joseph’s voice followed her. ‘Get back here. Get back … here!’
‘It was all I could find, Mam.’
Rose held the tankard to her lips then pulled back, grimacing at the strong ale’s smell.
‘Drink it, it will ease your cough,’ Sally encouraged her.
Yet as her mother tilted it to take a sip, Sally frowned when, in the moonlight, she glimpsed something at the bottom.
‘Wait. Let me see that.’ Turning the tankard this way and that, her frown deepened at the blackish substance. She sniffed the contents then set the tankard on the floor. ‘Never mind that. Let’s get you home. Here, put your arm around my neck. That’s it, take your time.’
Slowly, Sally guided her from the room. Looking left when they entered the passage, she halted. ‘I shan’t be a moment. There’s something I must do before we leave.’
Joseph lay on his side, eyes half closed. His corpse-grey, sweat-slicked face twisted as she approached.
‘Whore. Workhouse … whore.’
From beneath the folds of her skirt, she extracted coins from a pouch attached to her waist by a ribbon. She selected a shilling, stooped and pressed it into her husband’s hand.
‘You own me no more, do you hear me?’ she whispered. ‘You own me no more.’
His eyes widened as she rose. ‘No. No, wait. Bitch! Bitch!’
Without a flicker of emotion, she turned her back on the devil incarnate and walked away.