Authors: Dilly Court
A Mother's Wish
Contents
Chapter One: Three Mills, East London, 1870
Since the untimely death of her husband, young mother Effie Grey has been forced to live on a narrowboat owned by her tyrannical father-in-law Jacob. In spite of her own despair, she is determined to protect her brother Tom and her baby son Georgie from Jacob’s bullying ways – for she is all they have in the world.
But when Jacob hires villainous Salter and his vile wife Sal to run the barge, Effie’s life becomes even more unbearable, and Tom is sent packing without a penny to his name. Living on deck with little to shelter her and Georgie from the elements, tormented by the Salters, Effie is driven to desperation. And stealing Jacob’s hidden cache of money she escapes with her son. As she begins her frantic search for Tom, Effie vows that whatever happens she will make a home for little Georgie and keep him safe from harm.
Dilly Court grew up in North-east London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband and a large, yellow Labrador called Archie. She is also the author of
Mermaids
Singing
,
The
Dollmaker’s
Daughters
,
Tilly
True,
The
Best
of
Sisters,
The
Cockney
Sparrow,
A
Mother’s
Courage, The
Constant
Heart, A Mother’s
Promise,
The
Cockney
Angel,
The
Ragged
Heiress
and A
Mother’s
Secret
.
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
A Mother’s Promise
The Cockney Angel
The Ragged Heiress
A Mother’s Secret
Dilly Court
For Anne, Jean and Beryl,
the best of friends and inspiration
.
Three Mills, East London, 1870
THE LAST SACK
of grain swung perilously over Effie’s head as it was hoisted into the House Mill on the banks of the River Lea. The narrowboat rose a little higher in the water as if relieved to be divested of its heavy cargo, and a thick layer of dust settled on the decking like a generous coating of sugar on a sticky bun. Effie held her hand to her aching back, peering into the gathering gloom to catch sight of Tom, her younger brother, who had gone to collect their horse, Champion, from the patch of waste ground nearby.
‘Tom,’ Effie shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth in an attempt to make her voice carry above the splashing of the waterwheel and the grinding of the millstone, which was silenced only at low tide. ‘Tom, we’re ready to move.’
A faint answering cry confirmed that he had heard her, and from the cabin the high-pitched wailing of her infant son made Effie forget everything other than the need to tend to her child. Despite the fact that she had been on
her feet since dawn, navigating the vessel through seemingly endless locks on its journey from the Essex countryside to Three Mills, it only needed a plaintive cry from Georgie to galvanise her tired limbs into action. She made her way along the empty deck to the cabin, and a wave of heat from the cast-iron stove hit her forcibly as she opened the door. She stepped down into the confined space where the family lived cheek by jowl. Privacy was not a familiar word in the lives of canal people.
Her father-in-law looked up, scowling. ‘You took your time with the unloading,’ he grumbled. ‘You need to see to the child. You can’t expect me to run round after young Georgie now he’s toddling. It’s woman’s work.’
‘I’m sorry, Father-in-law,’ Effie murmured, biting back a sharp retort. ‘But I can’t be in two places at the same time.’
‘That’s enough backchat from you, girl. I may be a cripple but I’m still the boss round here.’ Jacob Grey fumbled in his pocket, producing a battered tin snuffbox from which he took a pinch of the brown powder and inhaled deeply. He wiped the excess off his upper lip with a handkerchief that might once have been white but was so stained with snuff that its colour matched that of the polished wooden bulkhead. ‘That young limb has had his fingers in
everything,’ he added, glaring at his grandson.
‘Georgie is just a baby,’ Effie protested, bending down to scoop her eighteen-month-old son up in her arms.
‘What took you so long?’ Jacob’s eyes watered and he sniffed, wiping his nose again and eyeing Effie with a scornful curl of his lips. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to be sizing up the next man now that my boy has gone to his Maker. I always said you were a conniving trollop.’
‘Mama.’ Tears welled up in Georgie’s blue eyes and he wrapped his chubby arms around his mother’s neck.
‘There’s no need to raise your voice, Father-in-law. You’re scaring Georgie.’ Effie held her child close, stroking his soft brown curls away from his forehead. ‘There, there, darling, it’s all right.’
‘Don’t change the subject.’ Jacob glared at her with a belligerent outthrust of his whiskery chin. ‘What have you been doing all this time?’
Effie held her breath, mentally counting to ten as she faced her father-in-law’s overt antagonism with an attempt at a smile. ‘There was a full load. I couldn’t leave Tom to see to it on his own. He’s only a boy.’
‘He’s thirteen,’ Jacob snapped. ‘My Owen was working the boat from the age of ten.
He was a wonderful son and he could have done better for himself than marrying a girl from the workhouse.’
The accusation hit a nerve, drawing a swift response from Effie. ‘If I was in the workhouse, it was through no fault of my own.’
‘You were a barmaid and that’s even worse. You set your cap at Owen because you thought you’d have an easy life with him, and you would have if he hadn’t been carried off by the same illness that took his ma. It was a bad day when he fell for your big brown eyes and all that yellow hair. I’ve always suspected that it’s dyed.’
‘I was born with hair this colour,’ Effie protested. ‘Living as we do it would be impossible to keep it secret if I put anything on it other than lye soap.’
‘Don’t you dare grumble about the way we live, my girl. You were quick enough to accept Owen when he proposed marriage. You didn’t complain about the cramped conditions then so don’t you dare start now. This is my boat and I can send you and your brother packing any time I feel so inclined.’
This harsh remark brought Effie’s chin up. ‘And how would you work the canals on your own, crippled as you are?’
Jacob’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘That’s right: throw my misfortune back in my face. I was
a strong fellow before the accident that broke both my legs and I wouldn’t have sat here listening to a scrawny wench criticising my vessel. As it is I only keep you on out of respect for my dead son.’
‘And you never miss an opportunity to remind me of that fact,’ Effie cried, close to tears at the constant reminders of her husband’s premature death. ‘You never let me forget that I am beholden to you.’
‘And you would leave me to fend for myself at the first opportunity, don’t pretend that you wouldn’t.’
‘All I want is a decent life for Owen’s son, and you’re right, Father-in-law, if I had a choice in the matter I would leave you and this wretched narrowboat and take my son with me. All I wish for is the chance to raise my child properly and give him the opportunities in life that were denied to me. Surely that’s not too much to ask?’
‘Poppycock! You want everything given to you on a plate. One day you’ll flutter those long eyelashes at some poor bloke and he’ll fall for your pretty face just like my boy did. You’ll be off so fast it will make my head spin, no matter that Owen would have wanted you to care for his old father.’
Effie turned away, sighing as she put Georgie down on the padded seat which at
night doubled for their bed. She knew that she would lose this argument as she had lost so many in the past. She moved to the stove and lifted the lid from a bubbling pan, selecting a wooden spoon from an earthenware pot and stirring the beef bones and vegetables that had been stewing gently all day. ‘We’ll have supper as soon as we’ve moved the boat to our berth in the canal basin,’ she said, in an attempt to steer the conversation onto safer ground. She had learned long ago that attempting to gainsay her father-in-law would only lead to further conflict. Jacob had ruled his family with a rod of iron and Effie was convinced that Owen had secretly been afraid of his father, even after the old man had lost his physical strength.
‘You should have seen to that the moment the last sack of grain was taken off,’ Jacob said impatiently. ‘Where is that good-for-nothing brother of yours?’
‘He went to fetch Champion.’
‘Then for God’s sake go out and hurry him along. The boy dawdles at the best of times.’
Effie did not dignify this unfair remark with an answer, and Georgie slid from the bunk to clutch at her skirts. He smiled up at her as if in his baby way he understood that she was under verbal attack. She bent down to kiss his
chubby cheek. ‘Let’s go outside, Georgie. We’ll find Uncle Tom and maybe he’ll let you ride on Champion’s back.’
‘And the child will fall off and break his neck,’ Jacob muttered. ‘You’ll be quite free from the Grey family then.’
Refusing to be goaded, Effie swung Georgie into her arms and climbed the steps leading out of the suffocating heat into the cool night air. It was twilight and the scent of hawthorn mingled with the aroma of freshly milled grain and the pungent odours emanating from the distillery. The bonded warehouse was sited on land below the mill and from there the narrowboat would be loaded with barrels of alcohol to be transported back to London. It was a circular trip that the Grey family had undertaken for the past twenty years or more, long before Effie met and married Owen. She smiled as Georgie twined his fat little fingers around a lock of her hair and she held him close, breathing in the scent of him as she gazed up into the sky. Noisy starlings swooped and soared, forming dense black clouds against the pale evening sky. Livid streaks of purple and fiery red were all that remained of the sunset, and a silver sliver of moon was accompanied by the evening star. Effie sighed. There was so much beauty in the world and yet so much sadness. She still
mourned the loss of her husband. At just twenty-three, Owen had been too young to die, but the insidious disease that had rotted his lungs had taken him from her when she was still a bride and not yet a mother. Georgie had been born six months after Owen’s death and the birth had not been easy, but Effie would have willingly suffered the pain again and again to hold her baby in her arms. He was so like his father, with blue eyes that smiled with delight every time he saw her and hair the colour of a sparrow’s wing. Very early on he had smiled and this had developed into a throaty chuckle when something amused him. When Jacob was in a good mood he often claimed that Georgie was a true Grey, but to Effie he was all hers; the only thing in her twenty-two years that had truly belonged to her.
She came back to earth with a jolt as Tom hailed her from the towpath. ‘Shall we cast off now, Effie?’
‘Yes, Tom.’ She set Georgie down on the deck and ran lightly to the bows to catch the mooring rope. Within minutes they were on the move, the narrowboat seeming to skim the dark water of the canal basin as Tom led Champion towards their berth for the night. First thing in the morning on the turn of the tide, they would be on their way back to
Limehouse Basin and the circuit would begin again.
Next morning when the first crack of light appeared in the eastern sky, Effie was at the tiller with Tom trudging along the towpath leading Champion. The heavily laden narrowboat was low in the water but gradually gathered momentum and picked up speed as Champion plodded on towards London. The distinctive twin towers of the Clock House Mill and the now derelict windmill gradually faded into the distance and street lights shone like strings of glow-worms along the banks of the River Lea. As they left the river and entered Limehouse Cut, passing through brickfields and market gardens, the cool morning air was heavy with the stench from the manufactories. The mixed odours of varnish, chemicals, India rubber, manure, tar, alum and glue made from animal bones hung in a miasma above the murky waters of the canal.