The Quietness (8 page)

‘What happened?’ I ventured. He didn’t seem to hear me.

‘When my father died,’ he continued, ‘she could have asked your father for help. For money. He has all this, after all.’ Jacob spread his arms wide. ‘But she didn’t. She had too much pride.’ He pressed down on the tiny white flowers with his foot, crushing them to powder. ‘We were so poor.’ He looked at me and his face had changed. It was hard and angry. ‘And here you are,’ he said, ‘with all this! All of this that could have been shared.’

‘I . . . I am sorry, Jacob.’ I didn’t know what to say. I suddenly felt awkward and wished Mary would come looking for me.

Then Jacob sat back down. He was smiling again. ‘Ah, Ellen!’ he sighed. ‘It is so good to breathe in this air and to see things alive and growing. You cannot know what it is like in that hospital. Darkness and death and rot.’

I was about to tell him that I did know, that I still had nightmares about that awful day Father had taken me there, but he turned suddenly and grabbed my shoulders, fingers digging hard into my skin. Tears sprang instantly to my eyes.

‘It is not the life for me, Ellen. But I
will
have the life I deserve!’ He let go of me and got to his feet.

‘Jacob?’ I said quietly. ‘Jacob?’ But he was walking away, back to the house. ‘Jacob!’ I called after him. He did not turn round.

As he disappeared from view I saw my tears had spilt on to my skirts and darkened the silk.

Queenie had been at Wild Street for nearly two months and already life with Mam and Da and the little ones seemed an age away. She hardly ever thought of them all. Only sometimes the little ones came to mind; mostly in the quiet of the evening when Mrs Waters had gone out, the babies had been dosed and Mrs Ellis had at last taken herself off to her room. Mrs Ellis was always about. Telling Queenie to sweep the brick floors of the kitchen, rake out the ashes and fetch in coal and wood from the yard. And always to mind the babies.

There were a couple of other ladies in the house too, timid things with growing bellies under their loosened gowns. They stayed in their rooms all day at the top of the house and Queenie only saw them when she took them their meals on trays. They were fallen women, Mrs Waters told her; unmarried ladies who had given in to temptation and were now with child. They were here to have their babes in secret. Queenie wished she could talk to them, but they never looked at her or even thanked her when she said, ‘Your supper, ma’am,’ or some such thing.

It was late now, gone ten, and the house was silent. It was Queenie’s favourite time of the day. Her jobs done, she fetched a plate of cold potatoes and bacon and set herself out a cup and saucer and a pot of tea on the kitchen table. She held her cup by its handle, like a proper lady, and washed down her food with tiny sips. She imagined how the little ones would gawp if they could see her now. Maybe she would go back and show them how well she was doing for herself. One day, she thought. But not just yet. She tried never to think of Mam or Da. Every time she did she saw Mam’s eyes, cold and uncaring, as another drunken stranger stood waiting his turn outside their room; and Da slumped drunk in a corner somewhere. So she hung an imaginary sheet across the inside of her head and kept Mam and Da hidden behind it.

Queenie had heard Mrs Waters leave a while ago. She kept strange hours, going out late in the evening and not returning until gone midnight. She often brought a baby back with her, saying she’d met a poor mother on the streets who had begged her to take in her child. The last one had been a feisty little thing with fat red cheeks that had fair hollered the house down. Until Mrs Ellis had dosed it up, that was. It was as quiet as the rest of them now, and as pale. When Mrs Waters had first brought it back with her it had been wearing a beautiful blue velvet cloak and a fine lace bonnet. Mrs Waters had been in high spirits and had sent Queenie out for a bottle of brandy and some hot roast beef. The sisters drank the whole bottle between them then fell to snoring in their chairs while Queenie ate the last of the beef, cold for her supper. She wondered why they had been so pleased with the child. She never saw the cloak and bonnet again, but supposed they had been put away, to be kept nice for when a new home had been found for the babe.

Queenie could hear cockroaches rattling around under the kitchen mats. A sure sign that spring had arrived. She filled a bowl with warmed water from the kettle to wash herself. She undressed and stood in front of the kitchen fire and wiped herself all over with a wet cloth. She rinsed out her drawers and hung them on the fender to dry. They would still be damp by morning, but she only had the one pair and she liked this new feeling of clean. She liked to see the pink of her skin and to smell clean cloth and watch the dirt and dust of the day fly away as she shook out her petticoats and dress. Mrs Ellis had given her the dress, petticoats and underclothing, saying they had belonged to ‘one of the young ladies that had been to stay’. The dress was Queenie’s pride and joy. It was sky blue with lace trimmings and it swished around her ankles as she went about her work. It had been the best feeling in the world to throw her old dress in with the potato peelings and other kitchen rubbish. She hadn’t even wanted to cut it up for cleaning cloths.

Queenie checked on the babies one last time before she went to fetch her mattress. Poor little mites, she thought. All of them unwanted by their mams, Mrs Waters had told her not long after she’d arrived.

‘They’d be left for dead on the streets,’ she’d said, ‘if Mrs Ellis and I didn’t take them in. We look after them as best we can until we find someone who does want them.’

Queenie thought the sisters must be do-gooders of some sort. Like the Salvation Army people that Queenie had seen near home sometimes, standing on street corners singing hymns and giving bread to children. The sisters might be a bit odd, thought Queenie, but they’d taken her in at least, and paid good wages too. Queenie thought of the pile of coins hidden in her skirts and promised herself a trip to the fancy goods shop to buy some yellow ribbons for her hair, as soon as she got a day off.

The babies were all lying still as usual, like little marble statues. Most had their eyes closed but a couple were staring into the distance, their eyes half open. They didn’t even blink when Queenie put her face to theirs. Queenie wondered sometimes why none of them seemed to be getting any better. Mrs Ellis was very strict with dosing them up with their medicine. She had taught Queenie how to mix it up and now Queenie made a jugful every morning. A piece of builder’s lime, as big as her hand, was left to stand for an hour in a quart of water. She would then add a dessertspoonful of the mixture into each of the babies’ bottles. ‘So the milk doesn’t curdle,’ Mrs Ellis said. Queenie wasn’t allowed to give them the other stuff, mind –
the Quietness
, as Mrs Ellis called it. A foul-smelling liquid from a sticky brown bottle that was kept in Mrs Ellis’s pocket.

‘Godfrey’s Cordial,’ Queenie read on the label.

‘A drop each morning and night,’ Mrs Ellis said, ‘and they’ll sleep without a murmur.’

Queenie thought that was half the trouble, though; they slept so much they were hardly awake to suckle their bottles. And they were all growing so thin.

‘Those children is ill, ain’t they ma’am?’ she’d said to Mrs Waters.

Mrs Waters had been angry at her. ‘Of course they’re ill, girl! Little bastards never fare well. But are we not doing the best we can by them? Are there not always full bottles waiting for them? They will feed when they’re hungry. They are sickly creatures and with so many of them our nerves can’t stand the fussing. Do you want your nights disturbed by their whinings? I would think not indeed. It is a mother’s blessing,
the
Quietness
, a mother’s blessing.’

Queenie didn’t mention it again; after all, Mrs Waters must know best.

There were only six babies on the sofa now. Mrs Waters had taken some of them away. ‘To healthy homes in the country,’ she’d told Queenie.

‘Not long for the rest of you,’ Queenie whispered. ‘Mrs Waters’ll find you new mams too, I’m sure of it.’

Queenie lay on her mattress and pulled a blanket over. It still felt strange having a bed to herself. Sometimes she missed the little ones snuggled into her and their snufflings and coughs. It was lonely on the kitchen floor, with the dwindling fire throwing strange shadows on the walls and lighting up the cobwebbed corners of the room. The silence hurt her ears. No squabbling neighbours or drunken caterwauling, no dogs barking or cats screeching. Nothing, not even the sound of another’s breath. She closed her eyes and wished one of the babies would stir. Just so she wouldn’t feel so alone.

‘What are those marks?’ asked Mary the following morning as she helped me dress.

‘What marks?’ I replied. Although I knew exactly the marks she meant. I had felt the grip of Jacob’s fingers on my skin all through the night. Now the bruises must be showing.

‘Your shoulders, miss. They’re black and blue,’ said Mary.

I sat heavily into my chair.

‘Oh, it is nothing,’ I said. ‘I fell from my bed in the night.’

I was ashamed of my lie, but more ashamed of the truth. Unwanted tears pricked at my eyes. I felt empty inside and desperate to see Jacob. He had not meant to hurt me, I was sure. Mary was looking at me, her eyes full of concern. I put my arms around her waist and buried my head in her soft stomach. Only Mary has ever truly loved me, I thought.

She smoothed my hair. ‘There now,’ she said. ‘All will be well.’

A great shouting noise suddenly came from downstairs and made us pull apart. Mary frowned and went to open my bedroom door. Father’s voice rose up to us, loud and angry.

‘You will leave this house today, boy! I will not be threatened again! Be gone when I get back!’

I looked at Mary and whispered, ‘Jacob?’ Something crashed, a door banged and then Jacob’s voice.

‘Go to hell! I will ruin you! See if I don’t!’

I jumped from my chair and went to run downstairs.

‘No, miss!’ warned Mary. ‘You are in your dressing gown! Stay here. Let things calm down.’

‘But I need to go to him! He cannot leave! Oh, what has happened, Mary?’

‘I don’t know, miss. But I think it best if you don’t interfere.’ She went to the window and pulled the curtains to one side. ‘Your father has just left in the carriage.’

‘Then I must go and see Jacob straight away!’

‘No, please, miss! I don’t think you should get involved.’

‘But I
am
involved! I love him, Mary. He is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I cannot just let him leave! I
have
to go to him.’

‘Then at least finish your dress, miss. Please.’

I sighed. ‘Well hurry, then!’ I stood and let her lace me up. Then I stepped into my petticoats and gown and tapped my foot impatiently as she fastened the buttons at the back.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Just your hair now.’

‘My hair will be fine as it is,’ I snapped. ‘I must go!’

I rushed out of the door and lifted my skirts to run along the corridor and down the stairs. One of the housemaids was kneeling on the hallway floor sweeping up the broken remains of a vase. I ran past her into the dining room. It was empty. I went to the drawing room next. It smelt of father’s cigars, but it too was empty. He must be in the library, I thought. I slowed down and took a deep breath before I opened the door. A fire had been lit in the grate and the room was warm and expectant. It was my favourite room. The hundreds of whispering books which lined the walls from floor to ceiling had been my only friends. Until Jacob. But there was no sign of him.

I stopped for a moment and thought of how he had first touched me by the window. That soft, lemon-scented touch that had made me feel I was not alone for the first time in my life. He could not leave! I had to find him.

I ran back out to the hallway. The housemaid was just gathering up her brushes. ‘Have you seen Master Grey?’ I asked her. ‘Has he gone back to his room?’

‘No, miss,’ she said. ‘He went out into the garden a while back.’

‘Has a carriage been ordered?’

‘No, miss, I don’t think so.’

He could not be leaving immediately, then. I would have time to find him and talk to him and persuade him to apologise to Father for whatever had caused the upset. It would be all right. He would not go. Besides, he had nowhere else to go to.

The garden was shiny with the spring dew of morning and the bottom of my skirts grew damp as I hurried across the lawn. The sun was still pale in the sky, the air not yet warm. I wished I had brought my shawl. I knew where he would be and I could not get there quickly enough. There was the stone archway. I ran the last few steps, ducked under the archway and into the flower garden. He was there. Sitting on our bench with his head in his hands.

‘Jacob,’ I breathed. ‘Oh, Jacob, I have been looking everywhere for you.’

He sat still, not even lifting his head.

‘Jacob,’ I said again. ‘I have been so scared. You will not leave, will you? You will make better what has come between you and Father?’

His shoulders began to shake. He was crying. I could not bear it. I knelt down to put my arms about him. Then he looked up at me. I saw he was not crying. He was laughing. I pulled away and stood up. I was confused.

‘Is . . . is everything all right, Jacob? Have I been worried for no reason?’

He stood and smiled at me and I smiled back. Then he held his arms out to me. I moved towards him and he wrapped them tight around me. I relaxed into him.

‘Oh, Jacob,’ I murmured.

His arms grew tighter around me. My face was buried in his chest. It was becoming hard to breathe so I tried to twist my head to one side. Jacob gripped tighter. He bent his head to my ear and I could feel his warm breath.

‘You stupid girl!’ he hissed.

My heart stopped.

‘Do you really believe I ever felt anything for you? You are nothing. Less than nothing.’

I tried to pull away to see his face. To see if he was making fun of me. But he held me there. I could feel his heart beating steadily. Strong and loud.