Mill Town Girl Page 7

  Then the tiny eyelids opened and a gleam of intense blue gazed into Carrie’s own. And, as she looked into the eyes of her baby, wave after wave of feeling overwhelmed her; primitive, protective feelings for her child; so strong they brought rolling tears she had to wipe away with the sleeve of her cardigan while Rose drank her fill.

  At last the baby let the nipple go and lay, her soft pink mouth open, head lolling against her mother’s breast in an attitude of such sweet contentment that Carrie had to avert her head before her tears fell on to the angelic face. It felt wonderful – her baby’s skin against her own, the tiny body relaxed and warm. Her arm encircled the miraculous being whose tiny head now nuzzled into the hollow space beneath her chin.

  She forced herself to move. ‘I’ll not do this again, Rose,’ she whispered as she laid the baby in the cradle. She buttoned her bodice and gazed longingly at her sleeping daughter.

  ‘Jane’s going to be your mother. Not me,’ she said. ‘But I’ll not let you want for anything. I’ll work for you. I’ll get another lodging house; save my money. I’ll keep it all for you, love.’

  The baby was sound asleep, breathing steadily as she tucked the coverlet around the child and gazed at the perfection that she had brought into being. ‘I’ll watch you better than I did with our Jane. This must never happen to you,’ Carrie continued. ‘At last, I’ve got something to live for.’

  She pulled herself upright and left the room. Her weary feet on the stairs made them creak and she wondered at her young sister who could sleep through the night’s activity. Jane was only fifteen. But she’d have to grow up quickly, now.

  Carrie pushed open the bedroom door. There they were, wrapped around each other like a couple of daft kids and him a man of twenty-five. She heard her feet, noisy on the boards as the couple slept on.

  ‘Wake up!’ Carrie shook her sister’s shoulder. ‘Come on. Don’t wake Danny.’

  Jane’s eyes opened. ‘What?’ she began, sitting up sleepily, pushing the dishevelled hair from her face.

  ‘Get up. Come downstairs. I’ve somethin’ to show you,’ Carrie ordered. She held out Jane’s check dressing-gown as Jane slid her feet to the floor and obeyed her, stumbling, only half-awake, after Carrie, as they made their way down the stairs and into the living room.

  ‘Look! There!’ Carrie demanded. ‘Go on. Look in the cradle.’ Jane padded across the floor and stared, incredulous, at the baby. Then she turned to face up to her sister. ‘Oh, Carrie,’ she cried, her voice thrilled yet anguished. ‘Did you do it all on your own? I thought you’d have sent for someone. You said you weren’t due for a month yet.’ Jane’s hands stretched out towards the child but she looked to her sister for permission before touching her.

  Carrie nodded her assent, her expression soft as she saw the delight on Jane’s face. ‘Pick her up,’ she said gruffly. ‘She’s yours now. I’m going to bed.’ She turned quickly and left the room to climb the stairs slowly, determined not to let her sister see the suffering in her eyes as she listened to Jane’s cries of joy as she held her new-born niece.

  Her room, at the opposite end of the narrow landing from her sister’s room was cold, the bed rumpled where she had lain earlier. Carrie closed the door carefully behind her before she crossed the almost empty room and sank face down on to her bed, pushing her face into the pillow to muffle the terrible cries that now she was alone she could give way to.

  When she awoke it was late in the afternoon. She had one more obstacle to surmount. She washed and attended to herself in the bathroom before going downstairs.

  Danny Kennedy stood with his back to the fire. He was of medium height, brown haired and blue-eyed with a good-humoured face and a jauntiness which Carrie believed displayed lack of character. Like his brother before him, he had deceived her. He had run away with Jane on the very day that she had found out the truth about Patrick. She wasn’t going to have him make any of the decisions.

  ‘Well now,’ he said in the Irish brogue that was so like his brother’s it sent quick, painful recognition through Carrie every time she heard him speak. ‘So you’ve had me brother’s baby then? And a fine-looking child she is. Are you going to write to Patrick?’

  Carrie knew he was trying to assert himself. ‘He’s not to know about it,’ she said, moving forward, her mouth set. ‘A criminal? Do you think I’d let him have anything to do with the child?’ Her voice was high and red spots burned on her cheeks.

  ‘If Paddy’s a criminal then he’s one of your making,’ Danny said quickly, cutting, defending his brother. ‘It was you who prosecuted. You called the charges: fraud and false pretences.’

  ‘Yes. And he deserved it. I sold all we had; the hotel and everything to help you two when you got beyond yourselves, building, building, going on building before the first ones were sold.’

  ‘You know nothing of the building trade.’

  ‘No. And I knew nothing of Catholics. I knew nothing of the Irish. I knew nothing of seducers and liars. But I know now!’

  ‘Me brother didn’t know you were with child, Carrie,’ Danny was saying, trying to calm her she supposed. ‘If he’d known he’d have . . .’

  ‘He’d have what? What would he have done?’ Carrie flung the question at him. ‘Made a bigamist of himself? Would he have said “I’ll send for Bridget”. Eh? Was he waiting until I’d given him every penny I had?’

  ‘Lent him, Carrie. You knew he’d pay you back when the houses were sold.’

  ‘Oh! And he’d have settled himself and Bridget in one of them and left me living in the worst street in the town, the laughing stock of Macclesfield.’

  ‘He didn’t know, Carrie. You never told him. Don’t you see? Patrick would have looked after you. He’d have wanted to. His wife, Bridget – it was all over years ago. She’s a lot older than him. They have no children.’ He began to cough, as he did after a long speech.

  ‘So he married her for her money an’ all, did he?’ Carrie said contemptuously.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Danny said, but there was weariness in him.

  ‘And I don’t want to. I don’t understand you either. But I know that we’ve had all this out,’ she continued, ‘in Dublin.’ She made her voice harsh as she went on, ‘Our Jane’s only fifteen. She needs permission from me to wed. And you knew it when you married her.’

  He did not answer.

  ‘You’re going out this afternoon, Danny Kennedy,’ she said with what she hoped was finality, ‘to register that baby as the legitimate child of your marriage. I’ll keep my part of the bargain. I’ll keep you both – and your children if needs be. But you’ll do as I say. You’ll bring that child up as if she were yours. You’ll go to work too. I’ve got you a job in the insurance offices.’

  ‘You’re not in a position to make all the rules, Carrie,’ Danny protested.

  It was a poor show of strength. Carrie saw it in his eyes. He’d do as he was told. He wanted to live here with Jane. He said nothing when she continued.

  ‘And if you don’t like the arrangement, Danny Kennedy, you can take yourself back to Ireland and wait for your brother to be released. But I don’t think you’ll do that, will you?’ she finished.

  He made no reply. Jane’s footsteps were heard on the stairs and she came into the room, her face a picture of happiness.

  ‘I’ve put her in the bedroom, Carrie,’ she said. ‘She’s lovely.’ She went to Danny’s side and he slipped an arm across her slight shoulders as she spoke. ‘Can you bear to leave her?’ she said. ‘I couldn’t if I’d had her. You could stay at home. Be a proper mother.’ She looked up at her husband for confirmation. ‘We could all live here together. Danny’ll be earning, won’t you love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he said, before you came down, Carrie, that he’d be happy to look after us all. And when Patrick’s done his five years, he could . . .’ her voice began to trail away as she looked at Carrie’s face, ‘ . . . live here as well,’ she added in a fearfu
l tone.

  ‘You know what I said. The child’s yours. I can’t keep her.’ Carrie’s voice was slow and resolute. ‘And I never want to see her father.’

  Tears sprang to Jane’s eyes. ‘Don’t you feel anything for her, Carrie?’

  There was a silence before Carrie answered. ‘I’ll tell you this, Jane.’ She paused, all at once fearing that she would break down before them. There was a hard, painful knot in her throat. She took a deep breath before saying, ‘I’ll never feel for another human being what I feel for that child. But I’ll not let my feelings ruin her life.’

  ‘Oh, Carrie,’ Jane pleaded, ‘you’re making a mistake. She’ll grow up loving me and Danny and you’ll find you’re getting jealous and bitter.’

  ‘No, I’ll not,’ Carrie replied.

  ‘You own this house. You could live here. You could bring your child up. Be a mother to her.’

  ‘And have them all pointing a finger at her? Have them whispering about us? No!’

  ‘Why care so much about what people say, Carrie?’ Jane pleaded. ‘People forget. In a few years’ time . . .’

  ‘Of course they don’t forget.’ She was recovering her composure now. It was vital that she did not go to pieces. ‘They still talk about what folks’ grandparents did. And I want my daughter looked up to. That’s all that matters. That she can hold her head up.’

  ‘If she’s to be brought up as our child then she’ll be brought up Roman Catholic. Have you thought of that?’ Danny said, emboldened by his wife’s show of courage. ‘You’ll not be able to prevent it.’

  ‘Then you must make sure she knows what’s right, mustn’t you? You must see she doesn’t grow up believing she can do wrong and have it all forgiven over a few prayers,’ Carrie answered bitterly.

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ Jane began.

  ‘Tell that to Patrick then,’ Carrie interrupted, ‘when he comes out.’

  Danny put his arm protectively around Jane. ‘We’ll not argue on the day me brother’s child’s born,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring her up as our own.’

  ‘Then get yourself down to the registry office before it closes,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m expecting Martha Cooper soon and I’ll want a bit of privacy.’

  Chapter Five

  Rose Kennedy was a healthy baby. She had hair the colour of copper, like her mother’s and her aunt’s, eyes of deep sapphire blue and a pale skin that freckled on her nose and chubby forearms. And as she grew she was quick; as quick to learn as any child ever had been.

  Rose had been aware of Aunt Carrie from her earliest days. Her aunt did not live with them but came to the house every evening after she finished work at the mill. She came on Saturdays for her dinner, which they ate at one o’clock, and she came on Sunday afternoons.

  Aunt Carrie went to chapel on Sunday mornings and again at night. She sang in the chapel and with the Macclesfield Choral Society choir in a clear soprano voice that was nothing like her speaking voice. Her speaking voice was high-pitched when she was annoyed and lower, with a strong local accent when she wasn’t.

  Aunt Carrie wanted people to look up to her but she didn’t seem really to like other people very much. She didn’t want anyone to know their business. She didn’t like friends coming to the house. She advised them to ‘keep themselves to themselves’ and said they should ‘have no truck with folks’.

  Rose loved her but she knew the tempers and moods of Aunt Carrie and tried hard to please her.

  Wells Road joined Chester Road at the top end and there it was that Rose’s church and school were set. Chester Road was busy with cars and horses and carts but there was no need for her to cross the road because both church and school were on the side that adjoined Wells Road and Rose had, from the start, walked to school alone.

  She would have liked Mum to meet her out, as some of the other mothers did, but she was a big girl now – five years old. Her sister, Mary, was two. The baby, Vivienne, was one year old.

  Today, careless of the autumn rain, she ran with a headlong eagerness home to Mum and her sisters as soon as school was out. Mum had taught her to read before she went to school and Sister Theresa let her take a book home every day; she could never wait to read a new chapter to Mum or show her the page of sums with blue ticks against her answers.

  ‘Look what I’ve done today, Mum,’ she shrieked as she flew into the living room and threw herself on to Mum’s lap. Mum was laughing with her and trying to get her to simmer down.

  ‘Rose, darling. Be patient.’

  Mum always said that, but she said it in such a kindly way that Rose gave her a huge hug and a great hard kiss and tried to push down the love and excitement that constantly bubbled up inside her.

  As soon as the little ones were in their cots, she and Mum had their tea together, sitting at the table that was laid for Dad’s supper. Mum cut thick slices of bread and spread them quickly with yellow margarine before placing big spoonsful of plum jam in the centres and folding the pieces across so that Rose had to open her mouth as wide as it would go.

  When she had eaten, Mum said, ‘Go upstairs and take your school dress off, darling. Fold it nicely. I’ll get Dad’s supper ready.’

  Rose went upstairs and changed out of her school dress and pinafore. She put on her nightdress and untied the hair ribbon, which she then wound tight round the back rail of her bedroom chair, pinning it carefully so it wouldn’t fray, making it flat again to tie back her tangly red hair next morning. Then she went downstairs again and helped Mum before Dad came home.

  When Dad had eaten his supper and Aunt Carrie had arrived, they all sat at the big table; and these were the times Rose loved best, when they were all together and content. Rose brought her wooden pencil box and placed it on the cleared, unpolished table and watched Aunt Carrie reach into her deep brown bag, bring out the exercise book and carefully write the date at the top of a new page. Then Rose, in her best lettering, had to write down all she’d learned and finish off with a crayoned picture. The picture, she understood, must never be of Our Lord or Our Lady.

  Rose liked to see the look of satisfaction that was nearly a smile, on Aunt Carrie’s face when the work was done.

  Afterwards she went upstairs and climbed into bed and made a nest for herself in the deep flock mattress that Mum shook every day. She could hear the tinkle of teacups and, although she could not make out the words, she could hear the comforting mumble of voices from downstairs, which were punctuated every few minutes with the high-pitched tones of Aunt Carrie.

  Downstairs, Carrie faced Danny across the room. He’d been getting a bit cocky lately, had Danny, since he’d been promoted. She asked him to repeat the announcement he’d just made.

  ‘What are you going on about?’ she demanded. ‘You only went to see your brother last week. You said you’d spoken to Douglas McGregor about it. About what?’

  ‘I’m talking about me brother’s release. He comes out next month. The prison governor’s written to Douglas at the Swan, to see if Douglas will house him,’ Danny said. ‘Patrick’s wanting to see you.’

  ‘He wants to see me?’ Her voice had gone high. Alarm was rising quickly in her, making her face flush. ‘You’ve told him! You’ve told him about the child, haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t,’ Danny answered quickly, then, in a slower voice added. ‘He’s known all along, Carrie. He knew, right at the start, when I told him that Jane and I had had a baby.’

  ‘Knew what?’ she interrupted. ‘Knew what?’

  ‘He said he knew I was doing it to save you, knew you’d have to save your reputation, knew that it was you, that you’d had his baby.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him it was true, did you?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Danny answered. ‘I denied it. It hurt me to do it to him, but I told him the child was ours.’

  ‘And Douglas McGregor? What’s he interfering for?’ She took a step backwards. She didn’t want Danny getting thick with Douglas McGregor again. If sh
e thought they talked about her and her business behind her back . . . ‘Why has he said he’ll take him in?’

  Danny looked troubled; he didn’t have the strutting look he’d been putting on recently.

  ‘Douglas knows nothing,’ he answered. ‘We lived at the Swan when we first came to Macclesfield. He and Patrick were in the navy together. We built his house. He was a good friend to us. That’s all.’

  ‘I expect it’s the priests. They’ve put him up to it, have they?’ Carrie blazed.

  ‘Oh, Carrie. Don’t you think you should tell him? Let him see her?’ Jane burst out.

  ‘No!’ she answered sharply. It was a shock to her. She should have expected it and she hadn’t. ‘He’ll never see her. She’s mine. Not his.’ She turned on Jane. ‘And she’s not yours either. So don’t tell me what I should do.’ She didn’t normally lose her temper with Jane and she saw a leap of angry retaliation come to Danny’s face. She sat down. ‘Give me a minute to think,’ she said.

  Carrie saw Jane’s agitated expression, saw her sister’s troubled face as she left the room to comfort her crying baby. Danny had opened the door for Jane and now he closed it and came quickly back to stand over her, his face distorted with anger. ‘And I’ll not have you speak to my wife like that ever again,’ he said. ‘How do you think we feel? We don’t want to lose Rose.’ His face was inches from hers, his mouth drawn into a tight line. ‘But I have to help my brother. It’s my bounden duty to do so.’

  She was not going to be able to ride roughshod over him. He was holding himself back from striking her. He was revealing his true feeling for her. It was written all over his face. He hated her. ‘I owe you nothing, Carrie Shrigley,’ he said. ‘If it were not for Jane I’d see you in hell before I’d lift a finger for you.’

  His voice went lower now but there was disgust for her in every word as he added, ‘He’s forgiven you, you know. He thinks he got what he deserved. He thinks that going to prison, pleading guilty, was the only way to see that you got the money. He’ll not hear a word against you.’