A Woman Undefeated (20 page)

“Do yer know when the babby is expected, me darlin’?,” Jack was asking, breaking into her thoughts when he saw the softness of expression on her face, presumably interpreting it to be a satisfied one. She couldn’t answer, she had no knowledge of how or when a baby arrived. All she knew was that it involved a lot of screaming and grunting. Maggie, like Jack, was completely mystified.

“We’ll ask me mother,” he said. “She and Dad will be so happy when we see them on Christmas Day. Which reminds me, here’s ten shillings. Get presents for the family and something fer yerself as well.”

That night they cuddled up together, Jack too frightened of hurting his baby to assuage his manly need. He was so happy he
could hardly sleep, but he also had a niggle on his mind.

“Maggie, could yer do somethin’ fer me tomorrow?” he asked quietly. “I’m really worried about the money belt. I’ll bring home some sacking and you can sew me a few bags, then I’ll go to the village and get a couple of bolts fer the doors.”

Next day, Maggie stood in awe as she looked at the coloured lanterns that festooned the many market stalls. There were people selling holly, ivy and mistletoe from round wicker baskets, though she couldn’t see why the shoppers were buying it, when it was free if they were to walk into the countryside. Geese, capons, chickens and rabbits hung upside down on one farmer’s stall, with homemade cakes, biscuits and sweets on another. Whipping tops, dollies, necklaces and woolly hats sold out rapidly, while the voices of carol singers, vibrant and warm, sang popular tunes of the day.

It did Maggie’s heart good as she stood and listened to the good-natured bartering of vendor and customer, and saw women laden with Christmas fare. With the smell of chestnuts from a smouldering brazier and ginger-snaps available from a rotund man, Maggie’s first Christmas was about to begin.

Knowing the second hand clothing trader now as “Lily with her barrow”, Maggie watched as the woman stomped her feet to get the feeling back, and rubbed her hands, which were cold from the chill in the air. She saw her taking nips from a small bottle in the pocket of her apron. A swig of French brandy which her seagoing son had brought her, in an effort to keep her limbs from turning to ice.

“Last Neston market afore Christmas,” Lily started shouting. “Last chance te buy a present fer a loved one.”

Maggie smiled to herself when she heard her. Lily was making sure she returned to Liverpool with an empty barrow and plenty of money to tide her over until after New Year.

Well, she had plenty of money this time to spend with Lily. That is if the barrow held what she had in mind.

She had been dreaming all day of a cloak made of velveteen. One that would cover her from head to foot and keep her warm
on frosty days. It had to have a hood and hopefully be trimmed with fur, and it didn’t matter about the colour, as long as it was cosy for the cold, draughty days. She shivered under her shawl as she looked through the few items left on the barrow, her heart sinking as she realised that Lily must have sold a lot that day.

Her trawl found her nothing. Just a pair of young girl’s pantalettes, a black fringed shawl only suitable for wearing at a soiree, a frilled lace bonnet, two red flannel petticoats and a pair of black leather boots. What a disappointment. She had been looking forward to this moment all day.

“Nothing there fer yer, queen?” asked Lily, seeing Maggie standing there, looking forlorn.

“Yer should have come earlier, I was full te nearly overflowing this morning. I really have done a good trade today.”

She rattled the money bag that she kept hidden under her coarse cotton apron.

“Wharrabout these boots? Will these not fit ye? They look as if they could be your size.”

“No, I was after a cloak. It would be warmer than this tatty old shawl I’m wearin’. Though I might come back later to try on the boots, as these shoes I’m wearin’ have seen better days. I’ll take that lacy bonnet fer me mother-in-law and one of the red petticoats. I think it would fit me neighbour’s girl.”

“I knows where yer’d get a cloak, but it’ll cost ye,” Lily said helpfully. “That fancy shop in the High Street had one in the winder. Didn’t yer pass it on yer way?”

Maggie replied that she hadn’t. She had come along the coastal path, a favourite way to reach the village, as she could look across to the mountains, breathe in the salty air and watch the sea birds as they ducked and dived in the waters of the sea.

With her hopes up, she couldn’t wait to leave the market and sped along the High Street as if her bottom was on fire. Just to see it, maybe touch it, this cloak that she really wanted that was only a few minutes away. And Lily was right, there was a cloak in Anne Rosemary’s window. By the side of a grey satin day dress trimmed
at the cuffs and hem with ivory lace. It was a dark blue garment, plainly cut, with no fur on the hood. More a cape than a cloak really, because it didn’t look long enough to touch the floor. But it was made of the velveteen she wanted and it had pretty fringes at the bottom of the hem. There was no price though, nor on the dress, so she probably couldn’t afford it anyway.

Maggie looked through the window and saw an elderly, white haired woman stitching in the room beyond. If I don’t ask, I’ll never know, she thought and with the woman looking quite approachable, she took a deep breath and walked in.

“Can yer tell me the cost of the cloak in the window, Missis?” she asked nervously. Even to her own ears, she sounded coarse. She tried again, this time trying to modulate her words with an accent more refined.

“Sorry. Could you possibly tell me, how much does the garment cost in the window? I’m interested in purchasing the cloak.”

She saw the woman smile gently to herself before she looked up from her sewing, no doubt thinking that this must be the young girl that she had heard the grocer next door speak about. She pointed to a seat nearby and asked the girl to sit herself down.

“It’s quite expensive, Madam, I’m afraid,” she said, treating Maggie to the same courtesy as if she was an alderman’s wife. “‘Tis the best quality velveteen and has the price of seven pounds.”

Betty Brown, (Anne Rosemary was her trading name), watched as the girl blanched at the price, then cast her mind back to what it had been like when she had been Maggie’s age. When she had aped her betters, copying her mistress’s clothes when she was a lowly sempstress in one of the gentry’s homes. Her rise in status to a shop owner had only been due to her father, when he had left her his money in his will.

He had been a sea captain, who made his money selling goods that he had brought home from foreign shores. There had been enough left after he died for her to rent the shop and the accommodation above it. She was clever with her needle and made a good living, though her eyes were not as keen as they had been,
and her bony fingers sometimes gave her pain.

Maggie got up to go. Seven pounds. It would take her half a year to earn it. The ten shillings that Jack had given her didn’t seem to be so much anymore, so she thanked the lady for her time and walked away despondently. One day I will afford a cloak like that, she promised herself, and the dress in the window as well. It just needed Jack to keep on winning the fights that he had planned.

“Excuse me, before you go, could I ask you a question?” Miss Brown, asked kindly. Maggie turned back quickly at her words.

“How are you with a needle? If you bought the material and I showed you how to cut it, would you be able to make it up yourself? It is Christmas after all. Goodwill to all men.”

Maggie could have kissed her. Of course she was good with the needle. Didn’t she used to have Mistress Filbey at her back, watching over her stitching, making sure she did a neat hem?

“How much have you got to spend, dear?” she continued, getting up from her treadle and walking over to join her customer.

“Only nine shillings. I’m sure it wouldn’t be enough for such good quality velveteen.”

She had been lovingly stroking the garment whilst Miss Brown had been talking, as the hem was hanging over the back of the dais of the window display. But Maggie knew if she parted with all of the money, there would be hell to pay from Jack and none of the presents he had sent her to get.

“What about a length of woven wool that I have on the end of a roll?” the owner continued. “It’s black and not as pretty, but it’s hard wearing and will last you for years. You can have it for six and five pence and I’ll throw in the thread that you’ll need.”

Maggie’s eyes began to fill up with tears. She realised that she had made a friend in Neston that day. When she looked back down the years it was to that moment, when Betty Brown gave her a new direction to her otherwise humdrum life. It was arranged that Maggie would return next day and if Betty wasn’t busy, they’d make a start on the cloak.

It had to be said, it could have been the best Christmas that Maggie had ever experienced. It started well, but slowly went downhill. At least it was one that Maggie would think on for many years to come.

Dressed in the new cloak that Betty and she had worked hard on, and wearing the only slightly too big boots from Lily’s barrow that she had run back to purchase, she had walked along the lane to Ruthie’s. Oh the joy she had felt, when she handed over a fruit cake she had made herself, the red flannel petticoat for Annie, a dressed dolly for Katie and a penny for each of the boys. It was Christmas Eve and the children were flushed with excitement. She could see that they had decorated the fir tree with paper lanterns and shells dangling on twine. They had been with their mother to the market, and were looking forward to the biscuits, sweets and fruit she had bought them and the capon that Briggs had sent from the farm.

She had felt a lump in her throat at the reaction of Annie to the petticoat. The child had put it on straight away and danced around the room. She had been dressed in a cast off summer dress of very faded fabric. With a tight fitting bodice and a full skirt, it looked quite incongruous in the setting of the bare, empty room. There was nothing on Annie’s feet, which made Maggie want to shudder. The memories of her own barefooted days had long since gone. She wondered why Ruthie had never knitted the children stockings. How much did it cost for needles and wool?

“Yer the proper Lady Bountiful, arn’t yer?” Ruthie had observed, looking scornfully at Maggie, who had changed from the raggedy immigrant that Ruthie had chanced upon only weeks before.

“Yer all dressed up in yer cloak and button boots, with nowhere else to go. Well this year my lot are gettin’ proper presents. Our Solly has bin workin’ hard making them things from bits of wood. He’s whittled a flute, a wooden top and a set of little animals. He’s made a wooden box fer Annie and I’ve stuck on some shells. I managed to find a little jacket on Lily’s barrer for Lenny. When Solly finishes the cart he’s started making, the lad will need one to keep him warm. And he’s given me five shillings from what Jack give him, fer fixing things up.”

Maggie’s ears pricked up when she heard her husband being mentioned. The children were playing a noisy game and most of what Ruthie had been saying she couldn’t understand.

“Yer mentioned Solly’s bin fixing somethin’ fer Jack, Ruthie?” she shouted above the din. “Jack’s bin so busy nowadays, that all he does is fall asleep when he gets back home.”

“That’s because they’ve had to catch up with all that ploughing. Farmer couldn’t decide which fields and which crops he was going to sow. The ground was like iron, because of all the frost we’ve bin havin’ lately. He’s fixed up a match with a man named Feeney. He’s the undispooted champion from Liverpool, Solly says. The purse will be worth more than twenty pounds, and there’ll be a lot of people coming from far and wide.”

Trust Ruthie. Maggie had had to go to her neighbour’s to find out what was going on. Though all the words in the world wouldn’t stop Jack from fighting. It was his dream to make big money, especially if he was going to have a son.

Earlier that night, Jack had made her feel so very guilty. He had produced a little parcel, all wrapped up in coloured paper. Inside lay a golden wedding ring. He took it out and put it on her finger, saying that she had to have one to wear, now she was expecting his child. It was a perfect fit, though Jack said it could be
altered if it had been necessary. All Maggie had got for him was a muffler. She had blown all the ten shillings he had given her, mostly on herself. Though he had complimented her on the neat stitching and cut of her new cloak, she had the feeling he was disappointed. Maybe even thought she’d been extravagant, but as he had kept her short of money all those weeks before, it had been difficult to stop. She had felt ashamed when she thought of Ruthie, who had been pleased with the money she had got from Solly and had blown the lot on her family.

The next day had been Christmas and she proudly wore her new black cloak, new boots and new wedding ring to Mass at St. Winefred’s. She wore her shabby blue dress under her lovely cloak, but no one in the congregation could see that she was not dressed as she longed to be. Outwardly she looked like a proper English housewife, with her long chestnut hair pinned into a curly bun on top of her head, similar in appearance to the other young wives who attended the service with their families. Gone was the weary looking ragamuffin, to be replaced by a woman who wore her clothes with dignity. She felt as good as any person in that community. With Jack in his Sunday best, and Alice, Michael and Seamus, who accompanied them, looking tidy and neat too, no one would have known that they were immigrants. Their first Christmas Day in a new country together and Maggie felt they were fitting in very well.