With Love From Ma Maguire (22 page)

‘You’ll have more than a contract in your bonnet by four o’clock, Richard Swainbank. The child is pregnant, a condition she acquired while residing on your property.’

Richard’s jaw slackened. ‘She’s what?’

‘You heard me, sure enough. My ward – Miss Molly Dobson – is expecting a baby. She was not in that state when she last visited me, but she certainly is now.’ She watched Charles as he sighed with relief. Yes, that was the only proof she needed, for he’d doubtless consider himself away and off the hook with a pregnancy already diagnosed. She allowed herself a sour smile. What did he think Molly was? Surely he’d known she was untouched till he got his filthy paws on her?

‘You’re not suggesting that one of my servants stepped out of line?’ roared Richard.

‘No.’ Her tone was dangerously quiet.

‘Then what the hell are you saying, woman? Come on, out with it!’

She lowered herself slowly into the chair. ‘Your son has been messing about with my adopted daughter, Mr Swainbank.’

Richard cast a quick glance in Charles’ direction. ‘Who? This one or young Harold?’

Ma’s fingers tapped delicately on the edge of the desk. ‘Master Charles,’ she said. ‘The apple of your eye has ruined a good girl.’

Charles dropped his papers on to a side table. ‘Pregnant, you say?’

‘Yes.’ She spat this single word.

‘Then it’s not mine, couldn’t be.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes seemed to bore right through to his soul and he felt a sudden rush of colour to his cheeks.

‘Really?’ she repeated.

‘But . . .’ He looked towards his father. ‘It can’t be! It’s only a couple of weeks, three or four at the most—’

‘Since you deprived her of her virginity?’ Ma’s teeth were bared now. ‘I know it’s only a short time, but some women get sick very early. She is sick, sick as a dog morning, noon and night. I’ve not been a midwife all these years for nothing, Charles Swainbank. And you know you were the first—’

He swallowed. ‘Did she—’

‘No. She said not one word, but it doesn’t take a genius to work it out now, does it? She runs home leaving behind all the gifts you gave her, all those little things that were supposed to wear her down. And obviously did. Oh, I’m not stupid!’ She looked straight at Richard. ‘I’ve come across this before, haven’t I?’

Richard rose stiffly to his feet and crossed the room to where his son stood. ‘Is this right? Have you interfered with that girl?’ For answer, Charles simply hung his head until his father reached out and grabbed him by the waistcoat. ‘After all I said! You bloody fool! Look at me when I’m talking to you. Never once in my life have I spawned a bastard. Never once. Only idiots do that!’ He finished by delivering a terrible blow to the side of the younger man’s face.

Richard returned unsteadily to his seat, leaving his son in the corner, a massive handprint staining his cheek.

‘Well?’ he asked her now. ‘What do you want?’

Ma picked up her purse. ‘I want this filled for my grandchild.’

‘Your grandchild?’

‘Yes. If you co-operate, I’ll marry her off to my son with a bit of luck and no-one need be any the wiser about it.’

‘I see.’ He took a cigar from a case on the desk and rolled it between finger and thumb. ‘And if I don’t do what you want?’

‘Then I’m afraid Molly will have to become a sacrifice, a sort of heroine, if you like.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the door. ‘It won’t take much from me, Richard, to get that lot on the march. If they realized what your son has done to my adopted daughter . . . well . . .’ She sighed dramatically. ‘I couldn’t hold them, I’m afraid. They’re fit to burst as it is. If I wave your son’s bastard under their noses, they’ll have your hide. And his too.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Try me, Richard. Just try me.’

He lit the cigar slowly, giving himself time to think. ‘If I go along with this . . . blackmail of yours, will you stay away from my mills?’

‘No. I’ve a fancy to learn the weaving.’

‘What?’ He exploded in a bout of coughing. ‘At your age? And would I let you in here knowing you’ll have them on strike within a week?’

‘I will not have them on strike. But I want to get out of the house, let her become the housewife. So, I’ll need a job.’

‘Then get a bloody job somewhere else.’

‘I will have a job here.’

Charles began to walk towards the door, his steps quick and angry. ‘Stop!’ yelled his father. ‘This is your doing and you’ll stay for the finish.’

Ma took a deep breath while the young man hovered behind her. ‘You’ve shops in town?’ she asked lightly.

‘Bolton? Aye, I hold a property or two round and about. Why?’

‘I want a couple of adjoining shops. Not now, don’t get excited. But I’ll be needing the deeds or the lease – whatever – to some sort of business in . . . shall we say fifteen years? One shop for the child, one for the mother—’

‘Bloody hell! Would you like the coat off my back as well, the bread out of my mouth?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing so unsavoury, thank you. I want your grandchild – my grandchild too in a way – to have a decent future. Would you like to see a Swainbank stuck amongst mules all day sweating for a living?’

‘He will not be a Swainbank!’ Richard’s temper was about to erupt fully any minute now. ‘A Swainbank is always born in wedlock—’

‘What a happy accident that is.’ She turned to glare venomously at Charles. ‘Nothing to say for yourself?’

‘I’m sorry!’ he shouted. ‘I love the girl—’

‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ Ma said sarcastically. ‘That makes everything all right now, doesn’t it?’ She looked at Richard again. ‘Listen, you. If there’s anything amiss, if she loses the baby or if I’ve been wrong in saying she’s pregnant, then we’ll forget the whole thing. But I want it done all legal and proper, a payment each month for the child, a future for him – or her – in business and no more said on the subject. Molly does not know I’m here. She doesn’t even know what’s wrong with her yet, though the penny will drop in time. If you agree, then I’ll persuade her to marry Paddy and your son’s name will stay out of it.’

‘And what about your own flaming son? Can’t he count? Doesn’t he know it takes nine months for a baby?’

‘That will be my concern, not yours. Babies have a habit of arriving premature when the air’s filled with filthy smoke from your chimneys.’

He placed an elbow on the table and leaned his head against a closed fist. ‘You know, Ma, if you’d been educated you would have been really dangerous.’

‘Just because I don’t read – that doesn’t mean I’ve no brain. It’s time you started looking out for my likes, Mr Swainbank. There’s many of us could better you in an argument. Right.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll be seeing one of those lawyer fellers once I’ve sorted Molly and Paddy out. I suggest you do the same. Enjoy your meeting.’ She made for the door, brushing hard against Charles as she passed him.

‘Ma!’ he said, his tone subdued.

‘Yes?’

‘Give her . . . my regards.’

She approached him until there was barely an inch of space between them. ‘I’ll give her nothing from you, boy. Don’t you think you’ve already given her enough – a lifetime of grief and worry? She’s a lot to hide from the world and I’ll not burden her further by mentioning your name in my house.’ Stepping back, she delivered a resounding slap to the other side of his face. ‘There,’ she said, dusting her hands together. ‘Now your face is more . . . what’s the word? Even, that’s it.’ She opened the door. ‘Even,’ she repeated before stepping out into the corridor.

Right, it was done. The easy bit, anyway. Compared to Molly, those two were bunny rabbits, tame ones at that, eating out of her hand. Now the hard work must begin. She listened for a few moments as Richard screamed at his son, obscenities pouring in a seemingly endless stream out of his mouth and echoing throughout the office. Poor Richard. Whatever he was, he didn’t deserve this. Neither did she. Most of all, poor little Molly deserved none of what was to come.

She made her way along Deansgate and turned left for St George’s Road, shoulders rounded for the first time in her life. He looked ill, so very ill, did Richard. And what she’d perpetrated this day would not do much to improve the man’s failing health. But those closest to her had to come first as always. Richard was not her responsibility, never had been. But that history should repeat itself in such a cruel way . . . Oh, life could be unbearable at times, making it easy to sink into the deadly sin of despair. At her front door she paused, hand poised over the latch. Now, she really would have to become a magician, persuade Molly to marry Paddy, get the pair of them down the aisle as soon as possible. And with Molly in her present frame, none of it promised to be easy.

Molly Dobson lay still as a stone, hands flat against the woven quilt, unseeing eyes staring out towards the nothingness that was her life. Three weeks she’d lain in here now, twenty-one days of emptiness and near-starvation, just a bit of bread and a sip of tea now and again. She knew it was three weeks because Ma had said so this morning. And she’d said a lot of other stuff and all, things about marrying Paddy before the neighbours started talking, about Ma not being able to allow them both to stay unless there was a wedding.

This sickness was an awful terrible mess, nothing Ma could put a name to. No fever, no spots, no sneezes or soreness in the throat. Her stomach felt as if it had been ten times through the mangle, not a drop of moisture left to squeeze out, just a dry and empty sack. What was it? She rolled her head and stared through the window. Everything outside seemed to be carrying on as normal, ragmen shouting, women gossiping, children playing their noisy games . . . Her heart suddenly lurched. Children playing. An appalling idea lurked on the edge of conscious thought, had sat there for several days now, a monster whose tentacles reached a little further with each passing hour, waiting for her to open her mind. It couldn’t be! Not after just the once – oh no, not that!

As if propelled from a gun, she sat bolt upright in the bed, her head spinning from this quick movement. Yes! She was late, a week late. And she’d always been like clockwork up to now. Her hand moved slowly downward until it reached her abdomen, but there was no swelling yet. Nothing but this vile sickness, nothing at all.

She leapt from the bed and pulled on her clothes, tearing and ripping in her haste. There was no time to think, to consider the options – and anyway, there were no valid choices. Her life from this moment was dictated completely, had been mapped out in another moment three weeks ago. She slowed her movements deliberately, determined not to let the panic show. After fastening her dress, she sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, her last minutes of individuality and freedom. Yes, she’d watched what happened to women hereabouts, dragged down by children and hardship. What she had done so far was wicked; what she half planned to do in the future could only be described as evil. And so it must be.

Ma listened as Molly reached her conclusion, tuned in while the message finally dawned, heard the scuttling, the haste, then the quiet. Her heart went out to the poor girl, but she brushed away the tears savagely. This charade would have to be acted right through to its end, each member of the cast having a difficult part to play, some deceiving, some deceived. Little Molly would have to act as both victim and perpetrator, while Ma herself would doubtless be the sorceress, the one who made it all happen, the one who would be blamed should things go wrong.

‘Ma?’ The trembling girl stepped into her welcoming arms. ‘I’ve decided to stop,’ she sobbed. ‘Me and Paddy can get wed as soon as the Father will do it. I’ll . . . I’ll turn later on, so it’ll have to be mixed to start with—’

‘That’s fine then, child. Sure we can always ask for a papal blessing later on, after your baptism. We can get the banns waived – I’m sure of that. Not that there’s any real need for haste,’ she added quickly. ‘Only you know how these streets are, everybody chattering as if I’m keeping a bad house with the two of you not married.’

Molly giggled hysterically. ‘I think I should have told Paddy first, though.’

‘Ah, he’ll be in soon and I won’t say a word. Make your announcement and I’ll do me best to look surprised.’

Molly continued to shiver violently, the truth hovering on the tip of her tongue, for she felt she could never live with this deception. Ma patted the shaking back. ‘It will all turn out well, pet. You know he worships the ground you walk on – didn’t he fetch you that fearsome bunch of half-dead flowers just the other day? And did you ever see the likes? I wonder which graveyard he stole them from, eh?’

‘Oh Ma—’

‘Yes, he’s a character. When I saw the roses wrapped in Saturday’s sports page with all the footballers on it, I nearly keeled over. “Wherever did you get this lot?” I asked him. But he said not a word, just swapped the
Evening News
for a sheet of greaseproof. There’s no bad in him, Molly. Sure, you’re both a bit young for it, but the neighbours know he loves you and they’re waiting for the wedding. So. I’ll go up and visit the presbytery, get everything sorted out.’

‘I don’t want . . . I don’t want a white frock.’

Ma pulled the girl closer. ‘No. White is a very peculiar colour – no colour at all, really. I find it very drab myself. A little cream suit with a matching hat would be nice. How’s your tummy?’

‘A bit easier.’

‘Good.’ She drew herself away and gazed into the pale face, unable to quite meet the eyes where a terrible grief showed so plainly. ‘Yes, the job was too much for you, Molly. I’m glad you had the good sense to leave when it made you so ill. I’ll . . . er . . . go out a while, child. Better if you and Paddy are alone just now and I’m wanting some baking soda.’ She reached for her coat.

‘Ma?’

‘Ah yes – there’s me purse. Do you fancy anything special for tea?’

Molly shook her head.

‘Try to cheer up a bit. I know you aren’t too well, but this is supposed to be a happy time, is it not? Get a cold wash and comb your hair. When I get back, you’ll no doubt be engaged to me-lad-o.’

Molly dropped into a dining chair. ‘Ma?’