For The Sake of Her Family (16 page)

Still, maybe she could make it up with him once she started working more hours at the manor. Her mood lightened at the thought. She was looking forward to living in her own room at the manor two
nights a week, knowing that she’d be warm and well fed if Mrs Dowbiggin had anything to do with it. Besides, she couldn’t really call it work. Helping Nancy dress, keeping her company
and lending a hand in the kitchen – that wasn’t work, especially not compared to the Moon. She shuddered at the very thought of the place and horrid memories came flooding back to her.
Alice hadn’t dared show her face in the village since she left and hoped she wouldn’t have to for a while longer yet.

The cold, biting wind finally got too much for her and, wrapping her shawl tightly around her, she set off down the track to the cottage that she had started to call home. To think that just
over a year ago both her parents had been alive and she had been an innocent teenager. Life had certainly forced her to grow up since then, and she’d learned her lessons the hard way. But she
hadn’t let it beat her. Despite everything, she was still aiming her sights high: today the cottage, tomorrow the manor – and who knew where that would lead? She only hoped Mr Right
would come along soon.

She stopped by the water trough at the back door of the cottage to take a sip of the icy-cold water. As she leaned over the pump, she was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea. Her head felt so
light and giddy that she had to support herself by hanging on to the pump until the feeling passed and she felt well enough to continue into the cottage.

‘You’re white as a sheet, our lass. Are you all right?’ said Will, looking up from his seat at the kitchen table. ‘I bet you’ve been up in your new hiding place on
the fellside, haven’t you? I’ve never understood why you have to go out in all weathers just to have a think. You must be frozen, you silly devil.’

With shaking hands, Alice took her shawl off and hung it behind the kitchen door. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. ‘I feel sick, if you must know. Probably those duck eggs I had for
breakfast this morning. I didn’t know how old they were when I got them out of the pantry.’

‘They weren’t old – I only had them given to me the other day. Happen you’re sickening for something. You’d better have a lie-down for an hour or two, because
whatever you’ve got, I don’t want it.’ Will put his coat on and made for the door. ‘I’m off out. Will you be all right?’

‘I’ll be fine. I told you, it’s just something I’ve eaten.’ Alice managed a wan smile for her brother, but as soon as he was gone she collapsed next to the fire and
burst into tears. She knew all too well what was wrong with her, and it had nothing to do with anything she’d eaten. She’d begun to suspect when she missed two ‘monthlies’.
Now she knew she was pregnant; the nausea confirmed it. Why did she have to end up pregnant? Uriah and his wife had no children. How was it that he had managed with her something he’d been
trying for years with his wife? The last thing she wanted was Uriah’s bastard baby. What to do, though? She thumped her stomach hard, making her retch even more, trying to kill the unformed
baby. If only she had someone to turn to, someone who would know what to do.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Mrs Dowbiggin peered at her new help across the kitchen table of the manor. The last couple of mornings she’d come down from her
room looking pale and had not even touched her breakfast.

‘I’m fine, Mrs Dowbiggin. Thank you for asking.’ Alice smiled, trying not to show how she felt. Since moving into her room at the manor, she had enjoyed being part of the
little community and the last thing she wanted was to lose her new position. She especially liked the way Gerald Frankland bade her good morning personally every morning as she served him and Nancy
breakfast. His dark eyes smiling and watching her as she waited on his every word and instructions for the day.

‘Now, dear, I hope that you don’t think me presumptuous, but I don’t believe you. I’ve been around long enough to recognize a girl in trouble. You’re being sick
every morning, my girl – I’ve heard you. So what are we going to do about this little secret?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. There’s nothing wrong with me.’ Alice put on her haughty look; there was no way she was going to tell Mrs Dowbiggin her troubles. She would
be the gossip of the dale.

‘Don’t be stupid, girl – you’re pregnant. Another few weeks and you’ll not be able to hide it on that skinny frame of yours. And then what are you going to
do?’ Hilda Dowbiggin took a long sip from her teacup and studied the blushing Alice as she did so. She placed her teacup and saucer firmly down on the white linen tablecloth. ‘If you
don’t want it, you need to get on and do something about it. How long gone are you? And who’s the father?’ Seeing Alice’s reaction, she followed this with ‘Will he
stand by you?’

Alice hung her head and fiddled with her handkerchief, not wanting to look into Mrs Dowbiggin’s prying eyes. ‘I’m three months, but I don’t want anyone to know.
It’s my secret and I’m not telling you who the father is.’

‘Well, it’s hardly going to stay a secret, now is it? If it’s that Jack Alderson’s, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. He should have kept it in his pocket!’
Hilda Dowbiggin stared long and hard at her. Then she smacked her lips and shook her head. ‘You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, but I thought better of you, Alice. I
thought you had more about you than some. There was me, trying to warn you about men, and all along you probably knew more than me.’

‘It wasn’t like that, Mrs Dowbiggin. I couldn’t help it, and it’s not Jack’s, so please don’t say anything to him, please, I beg of you. He would only be
hurt.’

‘Oh, hold your tears. It’s no good crying over spilt milk. What are we going to do now? That’s the question. I take it I’m the only one who knows? Else Miss Nancy
wouldn’t have got you working here three days a week. Let’s hope his lordship doesn’t find out, or we will be in for bother. Now, do you want to keep it?’

Alice sniffed and looked at Mrs Dowbiggin, bemused. ‘What do you mean? I’ve no option but to keep it, have I?’ A glimmer of hope was beginning to shine. Perhaps Hilda Dowbiggin
was more worldly than Alice had thought, and perhaps she was going to be her saviour. Even if she didn’t have a solution, it still felt better now that someone else was in on the secret and
she could talk about her situation with another woman.

‘There is a way out, if you want to get rid, but what I’m about to tell you, you keep to yourself, do you hear? And you don’t mention me if anything goes wrong. I need my job
and, besides, I’ve my reputation to think of. First, we’ll try gin and a hot bath. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll have a word with Mrs Batty; she’s good at her trade
and discreet.’

Alice looked at Mrs Dowbiggin in astonishment. She was beginning to see this sweet, dumpy elderly woman in a different light. How did she know about such things? The thought of Mrs Batty
performing an abortion on her – those hands of death working on her unborn baby – made her retch. Could she go through with it? She had to; there was no other way. If she wanted to make
something of her life, she couldn’t afford any bastard children clinging to her skirts. She cleared her throat and tried to draw on her inner strength. ‘Does she charge for her
services?’

‘What do you think, lass? Freedom comes at a price, but I’m sure you’ll find the brass if you are determined. Do you want me to have a word with her, then, just in case we
can’t get rid of it ourselves?’

Alice shook her head and bent it in sadness and horror at what she was about to do to herself. Mrs Batty, the horrible woman who had buried her mother, might soon be killing her baby.

‘OK, my love, I’ll make it right with her, but we’ll try a bath first. Better that way than getting rid with Mrs Batty. You’ll be all right, though; it won’t be the
first baby she’s got rid of, I can tell you that.’ Hilda Dowbiggin laid her hand on the trembling form of Alice and gently patted her. ‘Discreet, she is. There’s been one or
two young ladies visited her from here – friends of the master, needing to get out of a fix. She does a good service, very professional.’

Alice’s jaw dropped at the housekeeper’s words. So her brother had been right in warning her against Lord Frankland; he
was
one for the ladies. From here on, she would keep
him at a distance. All she wanted to do right now was get on with her life.

It was a dark winter’s night with only a week to go till Christmas. A few snowflakes fluttered down as Alice stood shivering at the back door of the funeral parlour. Her
stomach was churning in trepidation at what Mrs Batty was about to do. After all, it was nothing less than murder of her unborn baby. A baby that was not wanted, born out of rape, and would never
be loved – or so Alice had convinced herself. A single quick action and it would be no more; that’s what Mrs Dowbiggin had told her.

Losing her nerve, she felt like running, but it was too late. The door opened and, raising her finger to her mouth, Mrs Batty led her into the makeshift surgery she had set up in the mortuary.
Alice needed no urging to keep silent; she was too numb to speak. Once inside Mrs Batty helped her out of her coat and then held out her hand for the blood money. Alice dropped the florins into her
palm, remembering how she had come by them and the indignities of Old Todd’s advances. She waved her to the mortuary table and gestured for her to lie upon it. Still not a word was uttered.
Alice wondered whether the woman was frightened that her husband might hear her going about the deadly task. She gave Alice a stick to bite on to combat the pain. And then she finally spoke,
whispering, ‘You’ve had your pleasure, now you must pay for it.’ And then she set about her cruel practice.

The pain was excruciating. Alice felt dizzy and wanted to yell out for the old crone to stop digging and scraping and to leave her be and for the baby to live. Sweat poured off her and her head
pounded with pain; then a deep, dark blackness stole over her as her body tried to block out the agony by numbing her senses. With the deadly deed done, she passed out.

The wooden cart rattled up the dale, the wheels and the trotting of the horses drowning out Alice’s groans.

‘Be quiet, will you – I don’t want to end up with a noose round my neck.’

Mrs Batty was panicking. She’d had to load Alice into the funeral cart all by herself, and now she was taking her home: if she was going to die, it was better that she did it on her own
doorstep.

Leaving the cart at the bottom of the lane, she pulled Alice’s arm over her shoulder and began dragging her towards Stone House marble works. ‘For a little frame, you weigh a
lot,’ she complained. To her relief, the girl was still breathing when they got to the cottage. She gently knocked on the door, fleeing into the darkness as soon as she heard movement from
within.

‘Alice? Alice, what the hell have you done!’ Was that the voice of her brother? Her head was spinning. Her body ached and her clothes felt damp and she could feel snow falling on her
face. ‘Who’s left you in this state? Who knocked on my door and left you like this? If this is anything to do with Gerald Frankland, I’ll kill him. I’ll bloody well kill
him.’ She felt Will’s tears falling on her face as he gently carried her inside, swearing when he got her into the light and saw her blood-soaked clothes. ‘Who’s done this
to you, our lass? What have you been up to? For God’s sake talk to me, I don’t want to lose you as well!’ he cried, panicking at the sight of his young sister in such a state.

Alice muttered feebly, ‘Sorry, Will, I had to do it. I’d no option. I can’t be weighed down by a baby. I had to get rid of it.’

‘You stubborn, selfish woman! Will you never learn, you bloody headstrong article? Why can’t you be content with your lot for once instead of looking for trouble?’

But Will’s words were wasted on Alice. Once again a cloak of darkness descended, easing her pain and torment. Tomorrow would be another day and, with the grace of God, she would make it
through the night to continue with her search for a perfect life.

The snow had been relentless, with biting northern winds clawing at people’s faces, making them red and weather-beaten. Snowdrifts were whipped into peaks along the wall
tops, and sheep huddled underneath the walls in the belief that they would be safe from the weather, only to find themselves imprisoned in an icy snow grave, trapped until farmers came to free
them, alerted by the frantic digging of their sheepdogs. The dale’s human inhabitants huddled round their fireplaces, setting aside all thoughts of travel until such time as the blizzards
should cease. The workers at Stone House sat in their quarters playing cards and dominoes, venturing out only to collect a few sprigs of holly for Christmas decorations and to curse the weather for
stopping their work.

In the foreman’s cottage, Will nursed his feverish sister, glad of the weather that covered her sin. Glad that no one suspected the terrible thing that his young sister had undergone, and
that the weather would explain her absence from the manor. For four days she had drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherent phrases; the makeshift abortion had almost cost her her
life. The morning of Christmas Eve found her coming out of her fever, able to sip some beef broth that Will gently fed her. After he’d finished spooning the salty, nourishing liquid into her,
she laid her head down and dozed off again. Will sat by the bedroom fire, exhausted from worry and lack of sleep. For the first time since he was a small boy, he’d prayed. He prayed that his
sister would be spared, that she wouldn’t go to join the rest of the family and leave him all alone in the world. He prayed, too, for the soul of the baby whose life had been torn away before
it had even begun. Then he sat watching the early grey glow of dawn filter slowly over the great hill of Whernside, and he wondered who the bairn’s father was. Anger tearing at his insides,
he swore that he would kill the bastard who’d got her in the family way and then paid her to get rid of it.