The Long Walk Home (7 page)

He cut through various dark passages and alleyways, past several inns where Turner had probably spent the evening, eventually coming out in Silver Street. He ran along it, looking back several times to make sure he wasn't being followed, and instead of turning right into the Market Place he continued on towards the old church of St Mary's, where his mother sometimes went to pray. There were seats for eight hundred people inside and many of them were free for the poor to attend the services. He knew his mother had worshipped there as he had followed her one Sunday some years ago, shortly after they had been given the news that his father's ship had gone down.

But Mikey wasn't going to pray. He was going to look for shelter beneath the archway which abutted the road. But there was someone there already and as he walked into its shadow he heard a woman's voice in the darkness asking, 'Hello, darling. Lookin' for company?'

'N-no.' His voice broke as sometimes it did when he was startled. 'I'm looking for shelter. I've got nowhere to stop.'

'He's just a kid, Peg,' the voice said, and another one butted in, 'Well, you're on our patch, laddie. You can't stop here.'

To Mikey's horror he started to cry. Great gulps of tears and sobs which poured out of him and wouldn't stop.

'Hey! Hey! Come on,' the first woman said. 'What's up?'

'My ma's dead,' he wept, 'and I've just come out of prison and 'rest of our bairns are in 'workhouse.'

'Phew!' one of the women whistled. 'You've got a skinful o' trouble, haven't you? What you been in prison for? Beating up some old lady?'

'No,' he sobbed. 'I stole a rabbit from 'butcher.'

'For your dinner, was it?'

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw that one of the women was young, the other probably the same age as his mother. 'Yeh.' He wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, feeling ashamed and humiliated that he had broken down in front of them.

'And you've nowhere to live? No pals who'd give you a bed for 'night?'

He sniffled. 'I did have, onny— onny I was chucked out. They said I couldn't stop cos of summat that happened. Onny it wasn't my fault.'

He heard the women muttering together. 'All right,' the older one said. 'You get bedded down here and we'll move along a bit, but if anybody comes lookin' for us, tell 'em we'll be in a shop doorway further on. Just for tonight, mind. Tomorrow we'll want our place back. Understood?'

'Yes. Thanks.' He knew that he should have said that he would take the doorway, but it would be draughty and less sheltered than here, and he also knew that they wouldn't stay long in the doorway. As soon as they had a customer, they would move along.

Prostitutes, that's what they are, he thought, without prejudice. The sort of women his mother had warned him against when she realized he was growing up. Full of disease they are, she had told him, so keep away. Not that they would want a poverty-stricken lad like you, she had added, and at first he hadn't understood what she meant. Now he did. Ma didn't say that they would be thoughtful, did she, he pondered, huddling against the wall. She didn't say they would be kind. Perhaps she didn't really know any.

There were not many hours left until dawn and he slept only fitfully until then; he was disturbed once by an old tramp who bent over to look at him and then moved on, and then by a mangy dog who sniffed him and lay down beside him. The dog stank and scratched and scratched and Mikey eventually shooed him away.

Horses and trundling carriers' wagons, carts with cages of clucking hens and squawking ducks on their way to the market, woke him and he remembered that today was his mother's funeral. He got to his feet and set off to look for a water pump where he could swill his hands and face. The two women had gone and he wondered where they slept during the day.

He arrived at the workhouse door at seven o'clock and the matron said he was far too early. 'You'll have to sit outside,' she grumbled. 'I'm busy with breakfast. I'll send your kin to you when they've had theirs.'

Mikey licked his lips. I wonder what they're having. 'Will there be owt left?' he said plaintively.

'No,' she said. 'There won't. I have to ration out my supplies. There isn't enough for waifs and strays as well as for 'residents.' Her benevolent manner of yesterday seemed to have disappeared and she was abrupt and offhand. 'Go and sit on 'steps in 'yard till we're ready.'

He sat on the steps to a hayloft with Mrs Turner's blanket round his shoulders and watched the comings and goings of the inmates. Young girls in shawls and heavy boots crossed the yard and went out of the gate; most of them were pale-faced and looked tired and he guessed they were on their way to work at the mills. Rosie wasn't among them and he hoped she had been given the day off to go to their mother's funeral.

After waiting for about an hour, he got up and started pacing about. He was desperately tired and knew that if he sat much longer he would drop asleep. The workhouse gate swung fully open and a horse and cart drove in. On the cart was a wooden coffin, the wood so flimsy that he doubted it would be strong enough to hold a body. He started to shake. Was this for his mother?

He went back to the steps and put his hands over his eyes. He didn't want to see. He just wanted to shut out everything and not believe that this was really happening.

'Mikey!' A soft voice disturbed his seclusion and he opened his fingers to see Rose standing in front of him. 'Mikey,' she said again. 'You've to come now.'

He took his hands away from his face. Rose had been crying; her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy. She put her hand out to him. 'I'm scared,' she said. 'And Matron said I had to be brave for Tom and Ben's sake.'

He rose and took her hand. 'We both do,' he said. 'They're onny bairns, while you and me . . .'

Rose nodded. 'I'm grown up,' she said in a choked voice, 'and working at 'mill. I get a wage, two and sixpence, but I've to give most of it back to 'workhouse.'

'Where will they tek Ma?' Mikey asked. 'Do you know?'

She gazed up at him. 'There's a paupers' patch at 'General Cemetery. We've got to walk,' she added, 'and it's a long way.'

The four of them walked together behind the cart, which carried two coffins, their mother's and another. There were no other mourners. The matron rode in a hansom cab and Mikey thought that there would have been enough room for them all if she squashed up a bit. But she didn't offer and so they plodded on behind. In fact they enjoyed the walk. The day was sunny and for all of them it was the first time they had been out of town and into the countryside.

Spring Bank was a long and pleasant tree-lined road which culminated in the cemetery, itself laid out like a park with flower beds and shrubs. 'Ma'll like it here,' Rose murmured after the burial, which was in a corner set aside for paupers, away from the mass grave of cholera victims of a few years before. She clutched the hands of the two younger boys. 'It smells nice.'

Mikey agreed. Better by far than the obnoxious smell of blackened earth in the overfull graveyards of St Mary's and Holy Trinity. 'Mebbe you could come here on a Sunday to visit,' he said, as they started their journey back to town. 'If Matron'll let you out.'

Rose was doubtful. 'I don't think Tom and Ben'll be allowed.'

'Mebbe when we move to 'new place they'll let us,' Ben said enthusiastically. 'We're going to walk in procession up Anlaby Road to 'new workhouse and we're going to have new breeches; lads that is. These scratch,' he added. 'They mek my legs sore.'

'Will you come wi' us, Mikey?' Tom asked. 'I'll ask Matron again if you like.'

Mikey looked back into the distance. The road onwards was long and straight and he could see tall trees with their branches waving, and green grass, and far away the rise of low shadowy hills. 'I can't,' he murmured. 'I've to look for work and I might have to go out of town to find it.'

Rose started to cry. 'We might not see you again, Mikey, and if you go away I'll be 'eldest and have to look out for Tom and Ben.'

Mikey considered. If he stayed in Hull he might not find work. Every lad he knew was looking for a job of some kind and he'd never be able to earn enough to keep his brothers and sister. 'They'll be looked after all right, Rosie,' he told her. 'Until they're old enough to work and then they'll be able to fend for themselves. And you'll have a good job at 'cotton mill, I expect.'

Rose shook her head. 'Girls at 'mill said we're kept on eight hours till we're thirteen, when we can work for twelve hours, but after that we're put on short time and can't earn much.'

He was silenced. If that was the way things were, what could he do? Then he said, 'I'll go and try to mek my fortune, Rosie, and I bet that when I come back you'll be forewoman of 'mill or else married wi' a bairn of your own.'

'That means you'll be gone for a long time, Mikey,' Ben said sadly.

Mikey nodded. He felt choked. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'It might.'

Eleanor's day seemed even longer than usual. Miss Wright had a cold so they couldn't go out for a walk, and the maids were too busy to take her, so she had to be content with walking round indoors for exercise.

'I wish you could come out with me, Nanny,' she had said as they ate their lunch of cold chicken. 'It would do you good, you know,' she added seriously. 'Perhaps put some colour into your cheeks.'

Nanny laughed. 'Or I could use some from out of a box like Miss Wright does.'

'Oh! Does she? I hope Papa never notices it.' Eleanor was dismayed; it wasn't that she would be concerned about losing Miss Wright if she should be dismissed for wearing rouge, but the thought of having a new governess who might be even stricter than Miss Wright filled her with fright.

'He won't,' Nanny said. 'Gentlemen rarely notice such things unless it's made very obvious. Now, dear, run along and find something to occupy you. I have a million things to do.'

Including having a nap, Eleanor thought. But what am I going to do until supper time?

She wandered about upstairs, even going along the corridor and up another short flight of uncarpeted stairs into the attic where the maids slept. She wasn't supposed to go up there and she felt quite a thrill because she was doing something forbidden. She peeked into the maids' bedroom; the walls were whitewashed and two narrow, neatly made beds were set close together. A washstand with a bowl and jug was against one wall and a chest with two drawers stood against the other. The floorboards were bare apart from a thin rug by the bed nearer the door.

Much like my room, she thought, except that I have oilcloth on my floor, and I have an oil lamp to light the room and they don't. Only a candle. Oh, but they don't have a fireplace either. How cold it must be in winter.

She slipped downstairs and then down again on to the landing of the first floor. She'd heard the front door slam and wondered if it was her father late home for luncheon. Perhaps he was not returning to his chambers. Sometimes he brought legal papers home and worked on them in his study. He looked after the wills and estates of rich clients.

Eleanor peeked over the balustrade and saw a pale pink patch on the top of her father's head as he went across the hall and into the morning room, where her mother would be waiting for him. She thought he wouldn't be pleased at her seeing his thinning hair, for he always kept it carefully groomed and held in place with some greasy, spicy-smelling ointment.

She gave an anxious sigh. She much preferred it when her father was away from home. The maids tiptoed about when he was in the house, and her mother was tense and distracted, flitting from room to room to make sure that everything was in place and exactly how her husband liked it. He was extremely particular that his living style reflected his successful position. The flowers were changed every day in the drawing room, the curtains must be draped just so— he would twitch at them if they were not— and the furniture was always replaced in the same spot after cleaning; only the finest table linen was used whenever they had guests, though he condescended to second best when he and his wife dined alone.

Mrs Kendall complied with his every whim and had done so since the day they were wed, when he had made it quite clear that this was what she should do if she wanted to please him and so enjoy a happy and successful marriage. She had even provided him with a son and daughter in the proper order.

Eleanor shrank away from the stair rail as the morning room door opened and first her mother and then her father came out. 'I will not discuss the matter before luncheon,' she heard her father say. 'You know that my digestion suffers if I am contradicted over any issue.'

'I did not mean to contradict you, Edgar.' Eleanor had to strain her ears to hear her mother's submissive voice. 'I only meant—'

'No more!' he snapped. 'I said no!'

Eleanor, listening, flushed and then grew cold; she shouldn't have been eavesdropping. Her father would be furious if he found out. But she was curious. What was it that her mother had said or asked that made her father so irritable? Was it something about her? Had she done something wrong? Anxiously, she tried to analyse her morning's activities. Had she unthinkingly done something to displease one or both of her parents?

But I haven't seen Mama this morning or Papa either, so perhaps they were not discussing me. Maybe it was Nanny! She had once heard her father debating what the old lady cost them in food, and it wasn't until her mother had pointed out that she saved them the expense of another servant to look after Eleanor— for Nanny didn't have wages, only her bed and board— that he had reluctantly conceded that on this occasion she was right.

If Nanny should have to leave, then I would run away, Eleanor thought, for I would be quite alone. She sat with her back to the wall as she deliberated. But Mama wouldn't want Nanny to leave. Nanny had always been there as a comfort to Mama as well as to herself, and once, when Eleanor had caught her mother in tears, she had seen that Nanny had had a consoling arm round her. If only Mama and Nanny and I could find a nice little house to live in, and leave Papa here. I'm sure he would be perfectly happy with just the servants to look after him.