For a Mother's Sins (33 page)

Molly turned and went into her hut. This little home of hers had seen so much hurt in the past year, but now it was going to see love and happiness. She hummed as she washed the pots and helped
Lizzie brush her long hair before helping her to twist and tie it in rags for her usual curls to be there come morning.

‘Mam, I love you and I love John, but promise you’ll not forget my dad, will you?’ Lizzie said quietly as her mother pulled and patted her hair.

‘No, pet, your dad was special and he’ll always be here in my heart. So I promise. But sometimes you have to move on, and John’s a good man. He’ll be good for us
both.’

‘We won’t ever leave my dad and baby Tommy, will we? They’d be lonely in the churchyard without us near.’ Lizzie was thinking of what the future might hold.

‘No, Liz, we won’t be leaving – not for a long time anyway. The railway’s yet to be finished and that viaduct’s a long way from being done.’ Molly patted the
last rag in place and sighed.

‘I’m never going to leave. If you go, you’ll have to go without me.’ Lizzie walked over to her bed and pulled the woollen blanket up to her chin. ‘I’ll stop
with my dad.’ She sighed and turned to look at the wooden wall.

‘Night, pet.’ Molly blew her candle out and pulled the dividing curtain; with each passing day Lizzie was growing to be more and more like herself – stubborn.

Molly strode out to the hospital. Another smallpox victim was being carried into the isolation ward as she drew near. The sight convinced her that she was making the right
decision; money wasn’t everything and life was for living. So far she’d been lucky not to have contracted the disease.

She waited patiently at the door as Gladys and Doctor Thistlethwaite comforted the new patient and eased him into what would probably be his deathbed. She watched Gladys glancing nervously up at
her, no doubt wondering what she was doing there this morning when it wasn’t her shift.

‘Molly! I wasn’t expecting you. Are you all right after . . . the little misunderstanding?’ Doctor Thistlethwaite took her by the arm and guided her back outside.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause a scene. I’ve decided I’ve had enough, you’ll have to find someone to replace me. Gladys can’t work with me, knowing
what she does. I’ll apologize right now on behalf of John – he’d no right to say what he did about you.’ Molly had thought about how she was going to say it, but it still
came out wrong.

‘It’s Gladys and I that should be apologizing, not you or John. We have played with people’s feelings and we should have known better. Please stay, Molly. We need you –
the patients need you.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite pressed her hand.

‘No, I’m not stopping. I don’t know what I am going to do, but I can’t play gooseberry between you and Gladys. You’ll manage.’ Molly started walking down the
steps. When she got to the bottom one she stopped and turned. ‘Thank you for all you’ve learned me. You gave me back my pride.’

And then she walked, head held high, up the road towards the newly built railway bridge and the Welcome Inn.

Doctor Thistlethwaite watched her go. She was a beautiful woman; proud, clever and above all gracious. How he wished Gladys was all those things.

‘So, you’re leaving us, you old bugger!’ John’s hut-mates hit him on the shoulder as he announced his forthcoming wedding.

‘Aye, but not yet. I want to see the tunnel finished, or at least get through to the Dent side and then leave it to you brickies!’ He pulled his braces up and laced his boots before
putting on his second layer of clothing. ‘See you tonight, lads. I’ll treat you to a gill or two to celebrate.’ Then he set off down the fellside, whistling with happiness at the
thought of his upcoming wedding.

‘So what are you going to do now then?’ Helen Parker looked at Molly staring into her cup of tea.

‘I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t have worked another minute over there, with the stench of death and that stupid cow Gladys watching my every move.’ Molly ran her
hands through her hair and took a long slurp of her tea. The two women had grown close since Florrie’s death and she felt that she could talk openly with Helen. ‘I just need something
to make a bit of money with until John finishes up at Blea Moor.’

Helen leaned over the bar, turning for a moment to yell at her children, who were squabbling in the back room. ‘Why don’t you come and help me? Ever since Henry did a runner,
I’ve been run off my feet. I could do with some help. Besides, the fellas like you behind the bar, I heard one or two of them admiring your assets when it was Florrie’s
funeral.’

‘Give over, Helen, I’m too old in the tooth for any of that. Anyway, I’m about to be married.’ Molly grinned, she liked to flirt and wind men up, but that was as far as
it went and most of them knew that.

‘I’d pay you well and you’d get fed. Are you any good at cooking?’ Helen started to think seriously about her proposal. Always a shrewd businesswoman, she was sure
Molly’s presence behind the bar would boost her takings.

‘Cook – me! Happen I can make a good beef sandwich or a tattie stew, but nothing like you can.’ Molly laughed, but she was beginning to think it was perhaps a way of making a
bob or two.

‘Well, you can serve behind the bar then. Will five bob a week do ya?’ Helen put her head to one side and smiled at her mate. It would be good to have back-up and someone she could
trust; besides, Molly had a reputation of not taking any nonsense and men respected her for that.

Molly hesitated for a minute. ‘Five bob! Go on then, for pay as good as that I’ll give it a try. But what if Henry comes back? He’ll not want me here.’

‘Don’t you bother about him. He’ll not be coming back, trust me.’ Helen smiled a knowing smile and winked at Molly. She would have liked to tell her friend that
she’d seen to it he was deep in the bottom of Batty Wife’s Hole, but daren’t.

‘I’ve got a new job, Lizzie. I’m going to be helping Helen at the pub.’ Molly broke the news to Lizzie while they sat eating their supper.
‘I’d had enough at the hospital – and it’s only until John comes and lives with us, you’ll be all right with that, won’t you, pet?’

‘Mr Ashwell says Henry Parker won’t come back so he’s been seeing about the wages with the big bosses from Leeds.’ Lizzie spooned broth into her bowl, not looking up at
her mother. ‘From next weekend everyone’s going to be paid partly in tokens and a Midland clerk is going to give them out with a constable on hand in case there’s any trouble. So
I don’t know why you’d want to work at the Welcome.’

‘What do you mean, folk are going to be paid by token?’

‘One of the snooty bosses was horrified at how much drink was being sold at the Welcome, so he decided on this token system to make sure the men’s families were being fed instead of
them squandering all their wages on drink.’ Lizzie dipped her bread into the last dregs of her broth and sat back to look at her mother. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine with you there. I can
come and play with Florrie’s brothers and sisters, keep them from under your feet.’

Molly, still wrestling with Lizzie’s news about the tokens, said, ‘But that’s not right, Liz. A man earns his money, he should be able to spend it where and how he
wants.’ She realized this might not be good news for the Welcome Inn.

‘Well, all the local traders have been told that they’ll get paid direct from the Midland when they hand in the used tokens. And the railway’s provisions hut will deal in
tokens from now on. You won’t be able to get goods on tick there, the way you used to.’ Lizzie was surprised at the way her mother was taking the news. When Mr Ashwell explained it to
her, it had sounded like a good idea.

‘It’s another way to make money out of us poor buggers,’ Molly sighed. ‘It’ll be for the good of their pockets, not ours. You can tell your Mr Ashwell
there’ll be trouble if prices go up with the arrival of his tokens.’ She knew why the Midland was reassessing their wage structure and it had nothing to do with the immorality of drink.
They had found a way that the railway and local traders could work in league to profit from the workers, and at the same time ensure that the navvies would be more sober when they reported for
duty.

‘I’ll tell him, Mam, but he’ll not listen to me. I’d be thinking twice about your new job, though. Florrie’s mam might not need you.’ Lizzie helped herself to
another slice of bread before clearing her dish.

To Molly’s surprise, Helen Parker wasn’t too concerned when she told her about the new token system. Once Henry had gone, she’d wasted no time in searching
out his life savings. It turned out they’d made a pretty penny. Another few weeks and she meant to be away from Batty Green.

‘We’ll be all right, Moll, don’t you fret. The fellas will still want their drink, just not as much. Happen I’ll be able to get to bed at a decent time.’ She
pounded her bread dough, flour dust powdering the air. ‘Mop the back kitchen floor for me, would you? Then we’re about done.’ She wiped her brow with the back of her floured hand
and watched as Molly grabbed the mop and bucket. She couldn’t understand why Molly was so worried about who controlled the navvies’ pay; as long as they had enough not to go hungry,
with a bit left over for a drink and a smoke, then why should they worry if they got paid in tokens or brass? She was a strange one, was Molly. Wages was man’s business, not a woman’s
affair.

All the traders, the constable and a Midland official were lined up behind the table that had been put out in front of the Midland Railway office. While young George Ashwell
opened the token tin, the other official opened the cash tin. The queue of navvies began to get unruly as word spread back down the line that part of their wages would be paid in tokens instead of
cash.

‘Give me my bloody wages! I don’t want any of your bloody tin money.’ The outspoken ganger of the length-men banged his fist down hard on the table. ‘You bloody thieving
lot! I’ve worked all week and I’ve a family to feed – what good’s this bloody stuff.’ He flipped one of the tokens into the air.

The constable pulled his truncheon out, but the Midland official rose from his chair, urging him to put it away. Then he addressed the crowd:

‘These tokens can be spent at any of these traders’ stores. See, here’s Elijah Allen, Ben Lawson, and the clerks from Martindale’s and Pickthorn’s.’ He waved
his arm at the traders. ‘And the Midland’s own provision shop will offer goods at lower prices just for you men and your wives, so you can spend your tokens wisely and keep your family
well fed and still have your money for a gill or two. It’s no different from money – in fact, it’s better, because you get more for your money.’

The official stepped down and quietly took the arm of the ganger, who was still complaining. Leading him out of earshot of the navvies, he whispered, ‘You’ve two choices. Either you
take this pay and tell all these it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard of – and I pay you double. Or I get this constable here to arrest you, and him and his pals will break every
bone in your body. Do you understand what I’m saying?’ The Midland officer’s mouth twisted into an ugly grin as he gripped the ganger’s arm.

The burly man considered the threat and looked at the constable, clutching his truncheon, ready for action. He turned to the crowd: ‘It’s fine, men. Sounds like a good deal –
tokens for grub and money for drink, what more do we need?’

The crowd still rumbled with discontent and the ganger glared darkly at the clerks as he held out his hand for his double pay. As he walked away, he shouted at the merchants: ‘Get your
arses moving then – we’ll need to spend these bloody tokens.’ He was inwardly furious with himself for being bought so easily, but he’d a wife and five young ’uns to
think about. They’d never survive if he was locked up or unable to earn.

Young George Ashwell counted the tokens out and passed them into the rough hands of the working men who were giving their all for the building of the Settle-Carlisle line. It was hard not to
shake with fear when they sneered at his lily-white hands and soft nature. He vowed that when he was a older and the viaduct was finished, he was going home to Leeds to get a job in a nice clean
office. The Midland was not for him. He wasn’t going to follow his father, who’d help plan nearly every railway line in the region, and make it a career. He looked up and saw Lizzie
watching him, along with her mother. She was bonny enough and clever for a young woman, but she was a navvy’s daughter. He could do better and he knew it.

The token system had taken its toll on trade at the Welcome over the last few weeks and the navvies were growing restless.

‘Give us another gill, Moll. I’ll trade my wife for another drink,’ pleaded one of the Welcome’s regulars, desperate for another mouthful of ale.

‘Sorry, mate. No money, no drink.’ Molly winked at the disgruntled navvy. ‘You can thank the Midland for that.’

‘Bloody crooks! Even the bloody flour is full of sawdust! I’d burn that bloody Midland store down if we didn’t need it so much, now we can’t go to market and buy goods
where we like.’ The disheartened man picked his cap up and wandered aimlessly out of the pub.

‘Something’s going to have to be done, else we needn’t be here. You can’t be making enough to pay me at the moment.’ Molly clanked the tankards together as she
placed them under the bar.

‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that all day, but I haven’t had the chance.’ Helen slumped down in a wooden chair next to her bar and tapped on the ale-swilled
table. ‘I’m moving on, Moll. I’ve decided I’ve had enough of running this spot. I’m putting it up for sale.’ She could hardly bring herself to look Molly in the
eye. She hated letting her best friend down.

Molly felt deflated. Not only was she about to lose her friend but also her job. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said. ‘And what if Henry comes back?’

‘I’m really sorry, Moll. You really look as if you belong behind that bar. Don’t worry about Henry – he’ll not be coming back. I’ve had a letter from him.
He’s living with another woman, up in the northeast.’ Helen could feel her cheeks flush, she hated lying to her friend.