Authors: Mary Gibson
Milly shook her head. ‘It would be, if he weren’t in the nick.’
‘Yes, I heard about that from Mrs Donovan. Do you know for how long?’
‘It doesn’t matter, looks like I’ll be on my own,’ she said, wiping away another stray tear, ‘and I’ve got to do what I think’s best for me and... the baby.’
‘And what do your parents think is best?’ Miss Green asked.
‘The old man doesn’t know yet, not unless Mum’s told him by now. He’ll chuck me out once he knows, and I wouldn’t want to stay there anyway, not the way he is.’
Florence Green, like everyone else in Dockhead, knew of the old man’s violent temper. She said nothing about him, but uttered soothing sounds.
‘But your mother’s a good woman, surely she’d help you look after the baby?’
‘Yes, she is a good woman, Miss Green, but she’s a good Catholic too, and you know it’s such a... disgrace.’
Milly’s face betrayed all the despair she was desperately trying to hide. But just then, sounds from the corridor announced the arrival of other club members. Miss Green squeezed Milly’s hand. ‘Stay behind after and we’ll talk about it...’ She got up, turning sadly away from Milly’s defeated figure, hunched over the table, and began to greet the other girls as they arrived in cheerful, noisy groups for their night at the sewing circle.
The single women helpers of the Settlement lived in small rooms high in the gables of the Settlement building. As Florence Green drew the floral curtains across the tiny window of her room, Milly had the chance to look around. She was struck by how small it was, not much bigger than their kitchen. She had expected something grander. It was cosy enough, with a side table and lamp, a little desk and two armchairs either side of a fireplace, which housed a small gas fire. The iron-framed bed had been covered in a beautiful, bright patchwork quilt, no doubt made by Miss Green. But something about the room made Milly’s heart sink. She imagined the many evenings the young missionary might have spent alone here, quietly sewing, reading from the gold-edged, black Bible on the side table. Milly, with her longing to be free of their crowded home, had often imagined the luxury of having a room of her own, a room just like this one. But now, in the face of Miss Green’s seclusion, she realized, perhaps for the first time, the appeal of her own rowdy nights at the pub, and the crowded streets, which meant that she need never be alone if she didn’t want to be. Even to be squashed into a bed with her two warring sisters was a comfort, when cold nights encouraged a closeness never there by day. But what did she know of Miss Green’s life? Perhaps the woman had more friends than she did.
‘Now, Milly, let me make us some cocoa.’ Miss Green turned brightly to a small sideboard, on which stood a gas ring and some crockery.
Milly watched her silently as she made the cocoa, carefully making a paste in the pretty cups, then adding boiling water from the tiny kettle and finally adding condensed milk from a jar. She presented the cocoa on a tray with an embroidered cloth, making Milly feel as though she were a visiting duchess, rather than a jam girl from Jacob’s Island. The cocoa was sweet and thick and Milly sipped it slowly, waiting for Miss Green to speak.
‘Milly, tell me, what would
you
like to do about the baby?’ she asked.
I’d like to wish it back to where it came from
, Milly thought, but instead she said,
‘It’s not about my life any more.’ She repeated the words she’d rehearsed coming back from the river tonight. ‘Mine might be ruined, but I can still make sure my baby gets a good life. And that won’t be in Arnold’s Place, will it?’ Milly swallowed salty tears, along with a mouthful of sweet cocoa.
‘Oh, Milly, you’re too young to be writing off your own life!’ Miss Green was suddenly animated. ‘No matter how dark it seems, life has a way of persisting.’ She reached over to pat Milly’s hand. ‘I thought my life was over once, Milly...’ She paused, glancing up at a framed photograph on the mantelshelf, which Milly noticed for the first time. It was of a young army officer. ‘My fiancé, he was killed in the war,’ she said simply, reaching up for the photo and offering it to Milly. ‘I thought I’d never feel joy again, and it was a very long time before I did. But... as I say, life has a way of persisting with us, Milly, so don’t give up, not just yet.’
‘He was very handsome.’ Milly felt that her response was inadequate, yet it seemed to please the young woman sitting opposite.
Miss Green smiled, still proud of her dead soldier beau and Milly’s heart ached for her and for herself. For she knew that if Pat was put away for a lifetime, she wouldn’t grieve as this woman did. No, the loss of Pat wouldn’t rob her of her joy.
‘I’d like the baby to go to a good home, but I don’t think I want it to go to the Sisters.’
She knew her mother would want her to go to the Sisters of Mercy at Dockhead. They had homes for ‘fallen women’. But just as she didn’t want to bring a baby into the old man’s house, so her heart rebelled against handing over her child to Sister Mary Paul.
‘But the Sisters do wonderful work, and if it would make things easier for your mother, mightn’t it be best?’
‘No!’ Milly was adamant. If all the sisters could be as angelic as her beloved Sister Clare, it might be a different matter.
Miss Green nodded. ‘As you wish, Milly. There is a country home we have contacts with. It’s a very lovely old place, in Kent. Normally girls go there early on in their pregnancies, work at sewing or suchlike – which you’d be very good at!’ She smiled encouragingly, as though this were a new job they were talking about. Milly nodded for her to go on. ‘Then once the baby is born, the child is placed in a good home.’
‘Yes, that’s what I want to do.’ Milly forced out the words through dry lips and constricted throat. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘Sorry it’s not better news, Milly,’ said Freddie Clark. ‘I feel bad for Pat, seeing as I got away scot free, it don’t seem fair.’
‘Two years seems a lot!’ Milly looked from Freddie back to Kitty. They were sitting at a corner table in the Folly the day after Pat’s sentencing. ‘For a few tins?’
Freddie looked hesitant. ‘Well, it was a bit more than a few. That wasn’t my first delivery to Pat’s yard, but it wasn’t just that. Someone tipped ’em off he was involved in that Post Office job in Jamaica Road, the one where the bloke got shot... couldn’t prove nothing but...’ Freddie sipped his beer awkwardly. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but if I was you, I’d take your chance to get clear of him. He’s my mate, but he’s no good.’
Kitty, sitting next to him, nodded in agreement.
‘But, Mill, if there’s anything I can do for you while he’s away, you know, anything for you or the baby...’ Freddie let out a yelp as Kitty kicked him under the table. Then, blushing, he apologized. ‘Sorry, I’m not meant to know, am I?’
Kitty raised her eyes in disbelief. ‘I told him
in confidence
!’ she said, scowling at Freddie.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Fred, and thanks, but just keep it to yourself till I’ve gone,’ Milly said. No doubt she would have to get used to people talking about her behind her back.
‘Are you telling Pat where you’re going?’ Kitty asked.
‘No, what’s the point?’ Milly looked thoughtfully into her empty glass, and Freddie lifted it from her hands. ‘I’ll get another round in,’ he said quickly.
Milly studied Kitty, as her eyes followed Freddie. ‘Fred’s a decent feller. Are you two getting serious?’
‘Not serious, but I do like him,’ Kitty said, in a dreamy way that told far more than her words had. ‘Oh, Milly, I’m going to miss you,’ she said suddenly. ‘When are you giving your notice in at Southwell’s?’
‘Next week, then I’m off to the home the following week. I’ll miss you too, Kit, but I’ll be glad to be out of Arnold’s Place. I feel like a leper at home. The girls won’t come near me now, not even to annoy me. I wish they would come and get in my way, or pick a fight... something! But no, they just look at me as though I should be in the nick, as well as Pat.’
Her mother had told the girls that Milly would be going to work as a domestic in a big country house. But her sisters’ reaction had taken her completely by surprise. They’d turned sullen and accusing. Though Elsie had guessed the true reason, Amy didn’t have a clue why she was leaving. One night after she’d lain tossing and turning for hours, debating the wisdom of her decision about the baby, she gave up thinking and nudged Elsie. The truth was, she felt lonely. She knew she was in this on her own, but sometimes, in the middle of the night, she wished she had someone to reassure her. Now, in her isolation, she risked rousing Elsie’s slumbering temper, which could be dragon-like if she was woken suddenly. ‘What you doin’?’ Elsie mumbled, yanking the blanket over her shoulder. Milly nudged her again. ‘Els, Elsie!’ she whispered.
‘What?’ The young girl rolled over.
‘Why are you blaming me for going away? You know why I’ve got to, don’t you?
Elsie’s unblinking, grey cat’s eyes were all she could make out in the darkness.
‘I know,’ she said flatly.
‘I thought you’d be glad to get rid of me, we’re always arguing.’
Elsie rolled over, turning her back to Milly. ‘There’s worse things than arguing. I told you before, once you’re gone, he’ll start on us again.’
Milly had lain awake for a long time after that, her hand resting lightly on her swelling stomach, a tight knot in her chest and a stream of salt tears making their slow progress towards the corners of her mouth. Her poor sisters.
She left Southwell’s with little fanfare. Tom Pelton, the foreman, had said she could have her job back if she didn’t take to ‘domestic service’. She doubted he, or anyone else at the factory, were taken in by the lie, but if it helped her mother get through the disgrace, then Milly would gladly play along. After work Kitty, Peggy and some of the other jam girls had met for a last night at the Folly, though her heart wasn’t in it. Now it came to leaving the bounded enclave of docks and factories that had been her home, she found herself conjuring fears out of the river mist. She’d believed she had no love for the constricting place that had for too long felt like a cage to her, but now, all the unknown tomorrows made her want to stay. If she could only hide here, find a haven for herself and the baby, she wouldn’t care if it were in the meanest court on Jacob’s Island. She quailed at the thought of the country home, staffed by other Miss Greens, sad-eyed, sympathetic and unsurprised at her fallen state. The countryside of Kent, however lush with apple orchards and blossoms, no longer held any attraction for her. She didn’t deserve its beauty. She would concentrate on having the baby, and steeling herself to give it away. And then she would leave Kent and never go back, not for all the hop harvests in the world.
June 1924
Milly lay in the narrow, iron-framed bed, staring up at the sloping ceiling. The long dormitory stretched from one gable end to the other, and ancient oak floorboards sloped down towards the door, giving the room a rakish tilt that made her nauseous. But that was nothing new. She’d spent most of her pregnancy feeling sick. She turned her head towards the oriel window; one of its five oak-framed panes was propped open. The edge of the curving terrace wall that fronted the house was just visible from her bed, nearest to the window. From the terrace, the grounds fell away towards a copse and a reed-fringed lake. Beyond, she could see the hazy green layers of the Weald of Kent, disappearing into a purple smudged horizon. A cool, early morning breeze came through the open window, bringing the scent of dew-wet grass into the low-beamed room.
She eased herself on to her elbow, wincing as the baby shifted, catching on some invisible nerve with a probing toe or finger. Milly pulled the white bedspread up over her arms and sat up, leaning back against the iron bedstead. None of the other girls were stirring, but Milly often tried to wake up early. It was the best time of day to enjoy the quiet beauty of the place before the high-pitched chatter of the nine other girls in the dormitory intruded. She liked to play an early morning game of make-believe, that this was her very own house. The other girls vanished, and their gentle snores and mutterings faded away. She let her eyes rest on the wood panelling and the dark old paintings of religious scenes, and lastly she turned to the magnetic view from the window. For a few minutes each day, she’d been able to forget that her residence here was a temporary penance; she’d even sometimes managed to blot out the life she’d left behind.
But beyond the copse was a cluster of oast houses, rising above the treeline, and sometimes their pointed wooden cowls spun round like accusing white fingers. Then all her daydreams would be shattered as she remembered why she was here. Anyway, the baby was getting too big to pretend away; no amount of daydreaming could make the huge bump beneath her nightgown vanish. Soon her child would emerge to take its first look at the world, and Milly was torn between wanting the day to arrive and wanting to stave it off forever. His arrival would mean her departure, and she dreaded having to leave a place that, against all odds, she’d become attached to. The house was called Edenvale, yet like all Edens, it had its viper and its share of shame.
‘Oooh!’ She started as a sharp scratching feeling in her stomach caught her unawares. The baby had a peculiar way of getting her attention; sometimes it felt as if its little finger was deliberately stroking her from the inside. It was an odd sensation, not painful, but insistent and impossible to ignore. She might as well get up.
Quietly, she got out of bed, but the old springs creaked so that Rita, the sixteen-year-old from Whitechapel, in the next bed, stirred. Rita had been terribly homesick, though Milly couldn’t imagine why. She’d told Milly one of her own family was the father of her baby, though she would never dream of naming him.
‘Morning, Mill,’ the girl said, stretching. Her eyes, sticky with sleep, forced themselves open and her oval face emerged, white as the bedspread. She’d had an even worse pregnancy than Milly. ‘Gawd, I do feel sick! What day is it?’