The waggon drew up outside the front door of an ordinary three-storey house with clean lace curtains at the sash windows. There was no garden or paved area and the door opened out on to the street. As Lily was helped down a woman in a plain grey gown and bonnet stood waiting to greet her.
‘Come along,’ the woman said. ‘Don’t be afraid. There’s no one here to bully or intimidate you.’
Lily gazed at her. As if anybody could, she was tempted to say, but held her tongue. She would find out what went on here before she asserted herself; and she needed to rest. She badly wanted to lie down. She was led into a small hall and then into a room which held two hardback chairs, a desk and another chair behind it. The woman sat in the desk chair and asked Lily to sit down in one of the others.
‘My name is Mrs Grant,’ she said. ‘I understand you’ve recently had a miscarriage.’ She looked down at a sheet of paper on the desk. ‘I take it that it was an untimely deliverance and therefore not registered?’
Lily nodded, suddenly beset by emotion. Poor little bairn, she thought. Poor little bairn! Was it a girl or a lad? Nobody said and I didn’t ask, but maybe it was too soon to say. She thought of Ted. What would become of him? Would Billy Fowler send him away? He had no affection for him, none at all, and neither did Ted like his stepfather. She no longer thought of her husband as Billy, but in rancour gave him his full name. She wiped away a tear with her shawl. ‘It didn’t go full term,’ she muttered.
‘Had it lived, would you have cared for ’child in spite of any difficulties?’ Mrs Grant raised her bushy eyebrows and Lily wondered if it was a gesture of surprise or just an involuntary action.
‘It wouldn’t have been ’bairn’s fault – ’circumstances, I mean,’ she answered. ‘Childre’ don’t ask to come into this world.’
‘Do you think that it’s God’s will?’ Mrs Grant’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘Don’t you consider that men have much to answer for in their pursuit of pleasure, and women too for allowing them that indulgence?’
‘Aren’t you a married woman, Mrs Grant? Don’t you understand about a husband’s rights?’
Mrs Grant drew herself upright. ‘I’m not married,’ she said primly. ‘I’m the housekeeper here, and called Mrs as a courtesy.’
‘Well, Mrs Grant, if you were a married woman, you’d realize that there’s no shame in coupling; it’s part of married life. Difficulty arises when a child’s born and there’s little money to raise it,’ she said wearily. ‘Or if ’husband refuses to accept it.’
Which is what happened with us, she acknowledged. Billy Fowler didn’t want this child. All he wanted was for me to housekeep and cook for him, and share his bed. He didn’t want the responsibility of another human being.
‘I don’t understand you!’ Mrs Grant said. ‘You speak as if you were a married woman. Do you have a husband?’
‘I did,’ Lily admitted. ‘Until yesterday morning. He brought me into Hull from where we lived and sold me in Hull Market Place.’
The woman clasped her hands in front of her face and gasped. ‘Sold you! But – how could that be? Surely it isn’t lawful?’
‘Whether it is or not, that’s what he did. He said that somebody else had done it some years back so that made it legal and it was what he was going to do.’
‘So who bought you?’ Mrs Grant’s eyes were wide, her eyebrows working furiously. Lily watched them in fascination, then shook her head.
‘Some young fellow. I can’t remember his name, but when he saw I was pregnant he said I was no good to him.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here; there’s been some kind of mistake. This place is not for you. This is a house for fallen women – unfortunate women who have succumbed to a life of degradation. We aim to show them ’error of their ways and send them home to their families.’
‘And what if their families don’t want them?’ Lily’s spirits plummeted. ‘Then what? Back on ’streets?’
Mrs Grant set her mouth in a thin line. ‘We try to find them work. Work where they can gain respect and rebuild their lives.’
‘That’s what I want,’ Lily exclaimed. ‘Please! Let me stay just for today, till I’ve recovered from my confinement. Then I’ll find work and repay you. I’ve a young daughter waiting for me,’ she pleaded. ‘What’ll happen to her if you turn me away?’
She saw the woman hesitate and added, ‘You say you onny tek fallen women. Well, I’ve fallen as low as I can get. There’s nowhere lower than ’gutter and that’s where I’ll be if you show me ’door. I’d walk back to Seathorne, but I know he wouldn’t tek me in, and neither would I want him to.’
As she spoke, she again felt dizzy and bent low; her ears began to ring and sparkling stars filled her head and seconds later she blacked out, crashing on to the floor.
She heard Mrs Grant calling for assistance and tried to lift her head, but the room was spinning and with a low groan she lay back on the floor. She felt arms lift her and carry her out of the room and was conscious of white walls and brown doors, stairs and another room, and then being put into a bed where she sank back with a sigh. ‘I’m bleeding,’ she whispered.
Another woman dressed in black stood over her. ‘When did you miscarry?’ she asked.
‘Yesterday, I think,’ Lily murmured. ‘I’m not sure.’
The woman put a cool hand on her forehead. ‘She’s very hot.’ Her voice sounded very faint and far away to Lily. ‘She might have childbed fever. Bring her some cool water to drink and wash her down. And bring some more sheets.’
Lily succumbed to the pleasure of being given sips of water, then being washed and covered over with a soft blanket. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m being a trouble.’
‘We’ll do what we can for you,’ the woman in black said. ‘But we’re not nurses. Rest now and I’ll look in again later.’
‘Thank you,’ Lily breathed. ‘I’m very grateful.’
She spent the rest of that day and all of the next feverish and restless, drifting in and out of sleep, yet conscious of the fact that if she made an attempt to wake up, she might be considered better and asked to leave. Each time she heard the rattle of the door knob, she closed her eyes and didn’t respond when spoken to. Nevertheless, she did feel weak, as if the terminated pregnancy had depleted her energy, whereas after the births of Ted and Daisy she had felt rejuvenated.
I had something to look forward to then, she brooded in her waking moments; a new young life and a hope of my husband coming home. Now I have nothing. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Ted again, or whether Daisy and I will survive.
On the third morning a young fair-haired woman brought her a tray neatly arranged with a bowl of gruel, a thick slice of bread on a plate, a spoon and a knife. She sat up in bed and knew she was back to normal. Her fever had gone and her body felt rested. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You’re a fine one, ain’t yer?’ The girl opened the curtains, letting in a stream of light. ‘When I was brought here they didn’t put me to bed!’
‘I’d childbed fever,’ Lily told her. ‘Why were you brought here?’
She shrugged. ‘Usual thing! I was “rescued” off ’streets.’
‘Didn’t you want to be?’ Lily tucked into the soothing gruel.
‘Not bothered really. I was persuaded to come. But I was doing all right. I don’t know owt else. How am I supposed to live otherwise? There’s no work. I’ll not go into ’workhouse and pick oakum and I’ve nowhere else to go.’
She was a pretty girl, Lily thought, bright and chirpy. She was dressed plainly in a grey dress with a white apron over it, which Lily guessed might be the standard wear for the residents here. ‘Don’t you have any family?’ she asked. ‘No ma or da?’
‘Yeh.’ The girl nodded. ‘But I had a bairn and his father wouldn’t marry me, so my da turned me out. Ma would’ve let us stay even though we already had my sister’s bairn at home. But Da said enough was enough and we had to go.’
‘So what happened to your babby?’
The girl’s face clouded. ‘I fostered him out. But he died.’ Tears glistened in her eyes and she dashed them away. ‘Anyway,’ she shrugged again, ‘that’s that. They brought me here to learn me for other work.’ She sat on the edge of Lily’s bed and gazed into space. ‘Don’t know what else they think I can do.’
‘What’s your name?’ Lily asked. She felt sorry for her. The girl’s position was worse than her own. My two children are fit and healthy – at least they are at the moment.
‘Betty,’ the girl answered. ‘What’s yours? You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘Lily. I come from a place on ’coast; and I’m not here for ’same reason as you. I’m an abandoned wife and I had a miscarriage. I was rescued too,’ she said. ‘Somebody took me in and then they sent me here. I’ll be leaving today though,’ she added. ‘I’ll have to find work of some kind. I’ve a daughter to care for.’
‘There’s no work in Hull,’ Betty said gloomily. ‘Mebbe scrubbing floors ’n’ that, but I don’t want to do that. I’m a bit particular.’
Lily finished off the bread. Not so particular if she earned her living as a street woman. ‘I’d rather scrub floors than sell myself,’ she said.
Betty got up and took the tray from her. ‘You might find that’s all there is,’ she said cynically. ‘Women don’t have much choice.’
She’s right, Lily thought as she swung her legs out of the bed and gingerly stood up. They get into trouble and there’s nobody to help them. At least Johnny married me when we found out I was expecting Ted, but then we were going to be married anyway. I never wanted anybody else but him, and he felt the same, I know he did. She sighed. She still loved and missed her soldier husband; she always had, even though she’d married Billy Fowler.
‘Are you well enough to leave?’ the woman in black asked when Lily presented herself downstairs. ‘We’re not so unkind that we’d turn you out before you’re ready.’
‘You’ve been very kind,’ Lily told her. ‘And I’d like to repay you. What can I do? Wash ’sheets mebbe; clean ’room that I slept in?’
The woman, Mrs Thompson, hesitated. ‘Well, you could spend the morning helping the staff. Some light housework perhaps?’
‘Yes, I can do that,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve never stayed abed afore when I had a child. There was never anybody to wait on me.’
How hard it was, she remembered, especially after Ma died; her mother had always helped her with looking after the children until her final illness, and then Lily had had to cope on her own. The parish helped her when she reached rock bottom, but she took work wherever she could, always taking the children with her, since she was never able to afford to pay a childminder.
She brushed the stair carpet and swept the hall, washed the paintwork on the front door, then scrubbed the doorstep until it was almost white.
‘That will do, thank you.’ Mrs Thompson came out to her. ‘You’ve more than repaid us. The driver is going into the Market Place after dinner to pick someone up, if you’d like a lift back.’
Lily washed her hands, tidied her hair and collected her shawl. The dinner smelt good. She sniffed; beef. Will they offer me a bit of dinner before I go, I wonder?
A place had been set for her at the large wooden kitchen table. She sat next to Betty, who had set the table for eight: herself, Lily, Mrs Grant, Mrs Thompson, Cook, the maid of all work and two young women, who from their appearance Lily guessed had also been ‘rescued’.
The two young women made swift inroads into the beef and dumplings as if they hadn’t eaten in a long time, and then looked up eagerly as they were offered treacle pudding.
One of them was very young, Lily surmised, barely sixteen, and the other not more than eighteen. Though their hands and faces were clean, they were dressed in what could only be described as rags: thin skirts with torn hems and unkempt frilled bodices that had seen better days. The younger girl shivered constantly and bit on her fingernails.
‘After we’ve eaten,’ Mrs Grant said to them, ‘we’ll find you some more clothes to wear. Yours are onny fit for ’rag bag.’
Both girls glanced at Betty, who surreptitiously pointed a finger at her own neat gown as if she was showing them what to expect.
‘I like what I’m wearing,’ the older girl stated flatly. ‘It came from Rena’s. It was a supper gown once.’
‘Never! Not in a million years!’ Cook pronounced. ‘Even I can tell that and I know nowt about fashion.’
The girl scowled at her. ‘No, I can see that! Rena told me this skirt was made for a nopera singer.’
‘Well if you’re so fond of it, Lizzie, you can keep it once it’s been washed,’ Mrs Thompson said mildly. ‘But whilst you’re here you must wear something more suitable, especially if we’re to find some other employment for you.’
Lizzie glared at her too, but said nothing, only glowering at them all in turn through narrowed eyelids. Lily hazarded a guess that Lizzie wouldn’t be staying long in this establishment. She’ll be off as soon as she’s satisfied the pangs of hunger and forgotten the pain of her bruises. The girl’s thin arms were black and blue and she had a fading yellow bruise and cut beneath one puffy eye.
The younger girl, Cherie, scrunched her arms about her waist and said she would like something warm to wear. ‘It’s that cold at night out on ’streets,’ she said huskily. ‘I thought I was going to freeze to death.’
‘And how much worse it would be in winter,’ Mrs Thompson murmured. ‘But we’re hoping that you won’t go back to that life, Cherie. We’ll find you something else to do.’
‘Huh!’ Lizzie groused scornfully, and pushed her empty plate away. ‘Like what? There’s nowt else for such as us wi’ no money or place to live. We know we can earn summat out on ’streets. Enough to buy us a meat pie or a glass o’ gin, anyway.’
‘So don’t you want to stay?’ Mrs Thompson asked in the same mild manner as before. ‘You don’t have to. Nobody is forcing you.’
Lizzie pouted and tossed her head. ‘I onny said I’d come cos of Cherie. I knew she’d get ill if she didn’t get warm and have a bit of a rest and a proper bed to lie on; and she wouldn’t come wi’out me.’
They’re living on the streets, Lily thought in horror. They’ve no place to stay. She took a deep breath of trepidation. Is that my fate? Is that what will happen to me?