Chrissie had heard it often before and sat in silence as Mary went on, now in a normal tone but still forceful, ‘You want to learn all you can while you’re at school, so you can get a good job, like a teacher, maybe. Then you won’t have to go out waiting on or take in somebody else’s washing or gut fish on the quay.’ She had done all of them. ‘A good job and a place of your own, that’s what you want.’ Chrissie could recite it word for word, like an article of faith.
They walked up the passage wearily. Harry Carter had gone to bed because he was working the next day, but he woke when they entered and asked, ‘How did you get on?’ Mary opened her mouth to tell him of Chrissie’s wrongdoing, but the girl was looking up at her solemnly, mouth turned down at the corners, and Mary thought that Harry needed his rest. So she just answered, ‘Fine.’ She stooped and kissed Chrissie. ‘Bed now.’
Mary put out the light and undressed by the glow from the fire in the kitchen next door. She asked Harry, ‘What did you do while we were out?’
He mumbled, ‘Went down to the Pear Tree for a pint and a game o’ dominoes.’
Mary saw that Chrissie was in bed and crawled in beside Harry. She asked, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Aye.’ His arm wrapped around her and, conscious of the child in her own small bed in the corner, he whispered in his wife’s ear, ‘There was a feller in there, off one o’ the ships that runs down to London. He said Vesta Nightingale is doing well on the halls down there. Always dressed to the nines and on the arm o’ some flash feller.’
Mary tensed and whispered back, ‘The bairn’s better off here with us.’
He agreed, mumbling, ‘Oh, aye.’
Mary felt his arm loosen with sleep and began to relax herself. But the events of the evening worried her. Chrissie had always had the looks of her mother, the wide-mouthed, fine-boned face, dark hair and eyes. Mary wondered if this was the first sign that Chrissie was going to follow in the footsteps of Martha Tate, known as Vesta Nightingale? She would have to watch the girl until she was grown. Mary lay awake a long time thinking of the years ahead. Soon she was no longer worried but still caring. She was determined she would make the most of those years.
Chapter 4
January 1901
Harry Carter lifted his suit out of the wardrobe. It was the same navy blue serge he had worn for his marriage to Mary fifteen years before and it smelt of camphor. She had sewn a thick band of black crêpe around one sleeve and bought him a black tie. Mary had not bought a black dress but had a dark blue one dyed. She had to wait some days for that to be done because a lot of women were practising the same economy. The old queen, Victoria, had died six days ago, on 22nd January, 1901.
Now on this dark winter evening the table had been cleared after tea and the washing-up done. Mary handed the last wet plate to Chrissie to dry and said, ‘I’ll ask Mrs Collins if Chrissie can stay with her for an hour or so tonight.’
Harry took his best boots from where they were tucked under the wardrobe and came into the kitchen, asking, ‘That auld witch?’
‘She’s not a witch, Dad.’ Chrissie, big eyed and solemn, reproved him.
He grinned at her. ‘Just a bit o’ fun, lass.’ It was a year since the old woman came to live in the rooms next door and now they were used to her.
Mary told Chrissie, ‘We need some water. Go and fill the jug, there’s a good lass. And put your shawl on: it’s cold out.’
It was a device to get rid of the girl. When Chrissie went out to the tap in the yard, Mary said, ‘I’ll not leave her with them upstairs. I don’t mind her playing with the two boys – Ted and Frank are all right, though it’s a miracle they are with him for a father.’ She was talking of Reuben Ward. ‘Did you see his wife’s face this morning? He’s been knocking her about again.’
‘Aye.’ Harry had dug out the tin of boot
They walked up the passage wearily. Harry Carter had gone to bed because he was working the next day, but he woke when they entered and asked, ‘How did you get on?’ Mary opened her mouth to tell him of Chrissie’s wrongdoing, but the girl was looking up at her solemnly, mouth turned down at the corners, and Mary thought that Harry needed his rest. So she just answered, ‘Fine.’ She stooped and kissed Chrissie. ‘Bed now.’
Mary put out the light and undressed by the glow from the fire in the kitchen next door. She asked Harry, ‘What did you do while we were out?’
He mumbled, ‘Went down to the Pear Tree for a pint and a game o’ dominoes.’
Mary saw that Chrissie was in bed and crawled in beside Harry. She asked, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘Aye.’ His arm wrapped around her and, conscious of the child in her own small bed in the corner, he whispered in his wife’s ear, ‘There was a feller in there, off one o’ the ships that runs down to London. He said Vesta Nightingale is doing well on the halls down there. Always dressed to the nines and on the arm o’ some flash feller.’
Mary tensed and whispered back, ‘The bairn’s better off here with us.’
He agreed, mumbling, ‘Oh, aye.’
Mary felt his arm loosen with sleep and began to relax herself. But the events of the evening worried her. Chrissie had always had the looks of her mother, the wide-mouthed, fine-boned face, dark hair and eyes. Mary wondered if this was the first sign that Chrissie was going to follow in the footsteps of Martha Tate, known as Vesta Nightingale? She would have to watch the girl until she was grown. Mary lay awake a long time thinking of the years ahead. Soon she was no longer worried but still caring. She was determined she would make the most of those years.
Chapter 4
January 1901
Harry Carter lifted his suit out of the wardrobe. It was the same navy blue serge he had worn for his marriage to Mary fifteen years before and it smelt of camphor. She had sewn a thick band of black crêpe around one sleeve and bought him a black tie. Mary had not bought a black dress but had a dark blue one dyed. She had to wait some days for that to be done because a lot of women were practising the same economy. The old queen, Victoria, had died six days ago, on 22nd January, 1901.
Now on this dark winter evening the table had been cleared after tea and the washing-up done. Mary handed the last wet plate to Chrissie to dry and said, ‘I’ll ask Mrs Collins if Chrissie can stay with her for an hour or so tonight.’
Harry took his best boots from where they were tucked under the wardrobe and came into the kitchen, asking, ‘That auld witch?’
‘She’s not a witch, Dad.’ Chrissie, big eyed and solemn, reproved him.
He grinned at her. ‘Just a bit o’ fun, lass.’ It was a year since the old woman came to live in the rooms next door and now they were used to her.
Mary told Chrissie, ‘We need some water. Go and fill the jug, there’s a good lass. And put your shawl on: it’s cold out.’
It was a device to get rid of the girl. When Chrissie went out to the tap in the yard, Mary said, ‘I’ll not leave her with them upstairs. I don’t mind her playing with the two boys – Ted and Frank are all right, though it’s a miracle they are with him for a father.’ She was talking of Reuben Ward. ‘Did you see his wife’s face this morning? He’s been knocking her about again.’
‘Aye.’ Harry had dug out the tin of boot
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