They’d had to move their father into the smallest bedroom and even so, it was a squash to fit four of them into the middle bedroom.
Their Minister’s wife organised a roster of people to sit with Edwin or read to him so that all four of them could go to the sewing classes and earn their sixpences. Mrs Rainey was good at organising practical help. Mr Rainey also came to visit Edwin once or twice a week, sitting with him, chatting quietly, offering up a prayer.
Reece still came on Sundays, sitting with Edwin now that he was a little better, talking gently about the week’s happenings at the farm or the book he’d been reading. Cassandra joined them upstairs for part of the visit, at least, but it made her sad that Reece no longer made an effort to hold any private conversation with her.
He looked at her, though, devouring her with his eyes. She wasn’t fooling herself about that. His looks betrayed what he was feeling, though he held back the words.
She kept telling herself he was right to go. Well, he was in practical terms. She was sure of that. But anything could happen on a voyage to the other side of the world. And who knew how long it would be before they met again – if ever?
She didn’t want him to go!
She continued to hold her temper in check at the sewing classes, but it was particularly hard on the days when Mrs Southerham wasn’t there.
And one thing troubled her greatly. Even at this time, her uncle didn’t come to see his brother. Surely he wanted to make his peace between them before Edwin died? Another sack of food was sent round to the house, but no message. He could at least have sent a kind message with it!
She considered going to the shop and begging her uncle to come and see his brother, but was afraid he’d refuse and send her away. She didn’t dare do anything that might stop the food coming. It made such a difference.
And anyway, a visit wouldn’t really mean anything unless her uncle came of his own accord.
There was another reason she didn’t go. She didn’t want to encounter her aunt. She passed Isabel Blake in the street occasionally and the way the older woman looked at her, the hatred in her eyes, filled Cassandra with a nameless dread.
She was quite sure that if her aunt could ever hurt her – or any of her family – she would do so.
Livia walked along the street with Cassandra, looking at her list of people to visit. ‘I’m told there’s a family here with a new baby.’
‘Yes, the Wrights.’
‘You know them?’
‘My father does. They’re very proud people. I’m not sure they’ll accept charity, not even baby clothes, though they will occasionally accept a little food from their friends. Mr Wright was injured a while back and can’t work at breaking rocks.’
Livia shook her head sadly. Lancashire folk were so independent compared to the poorer folk she’d grown up with in the south. There had already been a few cases in Outham of old people dying for lack of food rather than go into the union poorhouse. She’d had words with her mother-in-law about that, because Mrs Southerham refused to take even the smallest interest in the current problems or make a contribution towards helping the operatives.
‘This is their house.’ Cassandra knocked on the door and called out her name. ‘I’ve brought Mrs Southerham to visit you. She and I have been mending some old baby clothes that no one wants.’
The room was almost bare, the only furniture left being a rickety old chair and a table made from battered planks. In the corner was a pile of sacks being used as a bed. On it lay a young woman, pale and too languid even to look up. In her arms was a sickly infant, whose head she was stroking gently. It was fretting, its cries faint, as if it had no energy for more than a whimper.
The father of the baby stared at them defiantly. ‘If you’ve come offering charity, you can—’
Livia stepped forward. ‘Only a few clothes for the child, Mr Wright.’
The mother spoke. ‘Please, John.’
He turned to his wife. ‘Did we not agree? No charity?’
‘That was before the baby. I’ve changed my mind now. I want her to live.’ She began to weep, another thin, piteous sound. Like her child she didn’t seem to have the strength to cry properly.
Cassandra went across to kneel by her, holding her hand and looking up at the young man. ‘John Wright, what are you thinking of, letting your wife clem like this? She needs food and so does the baby. Don’t you care that your child will die if it’s not looked after? That Annie can hardly lift her head and is like to die too?’
He had tears in his eyes and Livia went to catch hold of his arm. ‘Please let us help you, Mr Wright. We’ve brought clothes for the baby, and we can come back with food and tickets for more. Surely there’s no shame to accepting the same help as your neighbours do?’
‘I’d accept it if I could work for it. But with this –’ he gestured to his foot, ‘– I can’t break stones like the others.’
Cassandra swung round, her voice harsh, ‘So you’ve decided that three people must die because of your pride! That’s wrong, John.’
‘I’ll not go into the union.’
‘We don’t want them to separate us,’ Annie said. ‘They always do in that place.’
‘Then we’ll find another way to help you,’ Livia said. ‘But you must promise to accept what we offer. Please. I can’t bear to see you die when I can help.’
There was silence, and it seemed to go on for a long time. He stared first at her then at his wife and child.
Annie called from the bed. ‘John, John, do as she says. If this baby dies like the other, my heart will surely break and I’ll die too.’
Livia went across to the bed, crouching beside Cassandra, her full skirts billowing around her on the dusty floor. ‘What have you called her?’
Annie shook her head. ‘Nothing. What’s the point? She’s going to die. I’ve hardly any milk.’
‘We won’t let her die.’ Livia stood up. ‘I’ve brought some baby clothes and I’ll find some goat’s milk for her and food for you. Maybe your milk will come back if you eat better.’ She turned to the husband and her voice softened. ‘I know it’s hard to accept charity, but for their sake, you must, Mr Wright. We’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘Have you a jug?’ Cassandra asked.
He got it down from the shelf and stared at its chipped rim for a moment. ‘It wasn’t good enough to pawn but it’ll hold the milk.’ He thrust it into Cassandra’s hands.
As they closed the door, they heard his muffled sobs and his wife’s murmurs.
Livia led the way to the baker’s on the main street, where she purchased a loaf, then they found a dairyman and bought the goat’s milk others used to help feed their babies. It was more expensive than cow’s milk, but what did she care for that? It was still only a few pence.
As they came out she said, ‘We can get a few other things from Blake’s.’
‘Don’t!’ Cassandra warned. ‘If you give John too much, he’ll not take it.’
‘But—’
‘We must go slowly.’
When they went back, the door was open so they knocked and went straight in.
John gave them one glance then bowed his head, looking shamed.
Cassandra went up to take his hand. ‘It’s only bread and milk. We’ll bring you tickets for the soup kitchen this afternoon. We’re all needing help in these troubled times. I’m doing sewing classes so that I can eat and earn a little money. It’s not your fault you can’t work.’
‘That Vicar fellow said—’
‘I don’t pay any attention to
him
! You should hear what he says of me.’
For the first time a hint of a smile appeared on his face. ‘You’re a very determined woman, Cassandra Blake. Your father must be proud of you.’
That brought tears to her eyes. ‘I hope he is.’
Annie had pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘We’ve decided to give the baby your name, Mrs Southerham, if you’ll allow it. To say thank you.’
‘I’d be honoured. No one has ever named a child for me before. My name’s Livia.’
‘Livia. I like that.’ Annie smiled and cuddled the baby closer. But her eyes were on the loaf now.
They left the Wrights to eat in peace.
The other people they visited were not as proud, but it was the memory of the Wrights which stayed in both women’s minds.
When they got back to the church hall, Livia went across to the Vicar. ‘We need to provide goat’s milk for new babies whose mothers can’t feed them.’
He stared at her in shock. ‘Get them special milk! Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no money for that sort of thing.’
‘I’ll pay for it. The man at the dairy knows a farmer who sends goat’s milk into town every day. I’ll keep a list of those who’re in need of such milk and Cassandra can take the milk round to them every day.’
‘There really is no need. These people breed like rabbits, you know. If the babies die, it’s nature’s way of culling the weak. They don’t have the same feeling for their children as we do, I promise you.’
Livia closed her eyes for a moment, remembering what she had seen that morning and praying for patience, because if she said what she really thought, he’d prevent her from helping.
As if taking this action for agreement, he added, ‘And how can we trust that Blake female to do the right thing? She’ll probably sell the milk.’
Livia had had enough. She drew herself up and glared at him. ‘Are you telling me I’m so stupid that I can’t recognise a good woman from a bad after I’ve been working with her for weeks?’
‘You’re being fooled. You’re from another part of the country and don’t know these operatives as I do.’
‘I’ve considerable experience of helping the poor. Probably more than you.’
He drew himself up, glaring at her, ‘My dear lady, I run several schemes for the deserving poor. And I simply cannot condone this plan of yours.’
‘Then I’ll do it without you. Our Lord’s commandment was to love one’s neighbour, all our neighbours, not just those you consider respectable.’ She wondered if he’d stop her coming here, but he said nothing.
Once again, she supposed, the Southerhams’ standing in the county had helped her.
Who would help those in the direst need, though, once she went to Australia?
Cassandra watched them from the side of the room, but spun round when the lady in charge snapped, ‘What are you standing there idle for, Cass? You’re here to earn your bread not eavesdrop on your betters.’ She said the words slowly and clearly, as if talking to an idiot.
‘I’m waiting for Mrs Southerham to tell me what she wants me to do next.’
Livia came across to join them, seeming to sense that someone was yet again trying to find fault with her protégée. ‘Thank you for waiting for me as I asked, Cassandra. I’d like you to start sorting out those clothes for older children next. Come with me.’
As Cassandra followed, she saw the lady walk over to the Vicar and the two of them put their heads close together. She wondered what they were planning.
Nothing good, that was sure.
As 1862 wore to a close, Edwin Blake regained some measure of speech, but his movements were very limited and he couldn’t negotiate the stairs without help. He’d once fallen down them, taking Xanthe with him and bruising them both badly, so now he mostly stayed in his room. He ate so little they worried about him, wishing they could give him better food than their staples of bread, potatoes and cabbage.
Reece brought them the occasional extra, an egg most weeks, some misshaped cheese of his cousin’s making, a flask of milk, bits of ham fat which they could use to fry their bread and once a chicken, a scrawny old bird which they used in a stew. They made it last for several days.
Of course Edwin wanted to share this largesse with the others living in the house, but Cassandra refused, weeping when he tried to insist and she had to deny him.
‘I won’t do it, Dad. We need the food ourselves.’
‘But they need it just as badly.’
‘If we had more, I’d share, but we’ve not got enough for ourselves.’
‘I’m disappointed in you.’
She almost gave way then, but the sight of his frail body made her go against his wishes.
She felt even more guilty when he apologised to her later for not trusting her to deal with the food.
O
n 1st January, 1863, President Lincoln emancipated all slaves in America. Later in the month an old friend, who came regularly to sit with Edwin, read about it in the newspapers and brought him the news. Her father was glowing with the joy of it when Cassandra came home.
‘It makes it all worth while,’ he said over and over again. ‘I know we’ve suffered here in Lancashire, but it’s nothing to the suffering of being a slave. I’m quite sure of that.’
She wasn’t at all sure, but didn’t say anything to spoil his joy. Living his life in his bedroom, visited by people who wanted to cheer him up and who brought only the best news they could find, he’d become very unworldly. Occasionally he’d dip into his Greek books, murmuring the words to himself as his forefinger traced them across the page. His only other reading was the Bible.
He spent a lot of time staring into space and his eyes had a translucent, faraway look to them that she’d seen in others at the end of their lives. That thought cost her a great deal of anguish.