Memories Are Made of This (20 page)

‘Lavinia Crawshaw?'

He blinked at her. ‘How d'you know that?'

‘She'd circled the name in the Deaths section in the
Echo
. Lavinia was a suffragette and spent time in Walton gaol.'

‘Stupid woman,' he growled. ‘They wanted to go to gaol; wanted to be martyrs to the cause.'

‘Being force-fed wasn't nice, Dad. I don't think I could have put up with it,' said Jeanette, reaching for a couple of mugs.

‘I should hope you'd have more blinking sense,' said George fiercely. ‘She should have had more thought for those dependent on her.'

‘Who was dependent on her?' asked Jeanette, surprised. ‘Her father was a cotton merchant and rich, so hardly a dependant.'

‘She had a baby!' he burst out.

Jeanette stared at him. ‘But she wasn't married.'

‘You don't have to be married to have a child, girl,' he said, exasperated.

She thought he had never sounded so cross with her. ‘I know that. But how do you know she had a child?'

‘Because Aunt Ethel told me so, not half an hour ago.' He took a deep breath. ‘I shouldn't be talking about this to you. You're only a child yourself.'

‘No, I'm not,' she retorted, her eyes flashing with annoyance. ‘I'll be eighteen in December.'

‘That's as maybe, but you've been protected.' He looped his hands together and stared at her. ‘It's the eyes . . .' he muttered.

She wondered if the blow to his head had knocked him silly. ‘What d'you mean, it's the eyes?'

‘Your mother had the loveliest green eyes, just like yourself, and according to Aunt Ethel, so did this Lavinia Crawshaw.'

Jeanette sat down abruptly. ‘What are you saying, Dad?'

‘It's not me, it's Ethel! She says there was a baby girl born in the prison hospital. Apparently, this Lavinia Crawshaw told her that she couldn't keep the little mite and to take it away. Her father would have disinherited her if he'd known about it – as if the poor man didn't have enough to worry about with her involved in the suffragette movement.' George paused a moment, holding his head and wincing before continuing, ‘Worse was, she also believed in this free love business, but she kept that from him too, according to Aunt Ethel. He was a High Anglican and that would have been a step too far for him.'

Jeanette could not help but be fascinated by the story. ‘Was the baby born in Walton gaol?'

‘No, Manchester. Ethel was a prison wardress there at the time Lavinia Crawshaw went into labour.'

Jeanette moistened her lips. ‘Do you believe her, Dad? I find it incredible that she tells you all this out of the blue.'

‘It was seeing Lavinia Crawshaw's death in the
Echo
. It brought it all back to her. Now she's got it into her head that Grace is Lavinia's daughter, and I know why – she's convinced there's money in it!'

A flabbergasted Jeanette stared at him in silence, and several seconds ticked by before she said, ‘Surely she's mistaken. She'd need more proof than me having green eyes to convince a lawyer that I'm Lavinia's granddaughter. The birth was kept secret, wasn't it? We'd have to produce a birth certificate with Lavinia's and Mam's name on it and there isn't one, is there?'

‘Not that I know of.' He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, ‘Aunt Ethel has a bee in her bonnet over this, and if there's money I'd like you to have it.'

‘Heck, Dad, I can't believe that she's almost got you convinced!'

The kettle began to whistle and Jeanette made tea and toast. Her hands were trembling and she was thinking that it was like something out of a book or a film. It just couldn't be true! If her mother had been the baby in question, surely she would have grown to look a bit like Lavinia, and Ethel would have noticed a similarity between them when Grace had married George.

Another thought occurred to her as she sat opposite her father. ‘You say Aunt Ethel took the baby away as soon as it was born because she was told to do so by Lavinia Crawshaw. I hate to say this, Dad, but I think I know a different side to her than you, as do Sam and Hester.' She took a deep breath. ‘I'd be more inclined to believe that she'd have dumped the baby and let it die.'

George's lips tightened and he reached for his mug and gulped half the tea down. ‘I'm not as blind as you seem to think,' he said grimly. ‘I know she has strict rules that she feels she must abide by. She used to be forever saying that Mam spoilt me by letting me get away with this, that and the other, and she made up for it by making sure you lot toed the line. But Aunt Ethel wouldn't stoop to murdering an innocent baby. Lavinia Crawshaw was not the first woman to give birth in the prison hospital, you know. Apparently a number of mothers did so, and some kept their children because they had husbands, whilst some unmarried ones were allowed to keep their babies with them for a short time and then they were taken away for adoption. Lavinia Crawshaw had money, so apparently she told Aunt Ethel to hire a wet nurse for the child and see she was looked after. Ethel knew an organization that housed unmarried mothers and their babies until the children were weaned, so she got in touch with them.' George reached for a slice of toast and crunched into it.

‘You mean Barnardo's?'

‘No, it was a Church of England home. Once the baby was weaned, the mother was free to leave and the child was placed in the Home for Waifs and Strays up the coast in Formby.'

Jeanette's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘That's not so far away. We could go there and find out what happened to her.'

‘It's not that simple, Jeannie. Those in charge at the home aren't going to give away the identity of the couple that took the child in. Grace told me that she ran away because she was unhappy with them – but was she telling me the truth?' George finished his tea and toast before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

Jeanette wanted to ask him more questions, but he looked so tired and she was worried about that knock on his head. She should never have badgered him about this business with Lavinia Crawshaw. ‘You rest, Dad. This can wait,' she murmured.

George opened his eyes. ‘No, let's get it over with. Next question.'

Jeanette hesitated. ‘Was Mam legally adopted? I remember reading somewhere that families often just took a child in and cared for it when a mother died or could not cope with an extra mouth to feed. There was no law protecting such children for years. What if she was Lavinia's daughter and because Lavinia had money she was able to have a say in who looked after her child? What if Mam knew who her mother was and was deeply hurt because she had given her away.'

‘No, she told me that she believed herself to be the couple's natural child. The trouble came when she went for a job. Some companies insist on seeing a birth certificate for proof of age. How would you feel if you discovered the people you believed to be your parents weren't related to you? Whichever way you look at it, Jeannie, legally adopted or not, Grace was angry, hurt and rebellious.'

Jeanette gnawed on her lip. ‘So she went off the rails and ended up living rough. In that case we have no way of finding out if she was Lavinia Crawshaw's baby or not.'

‘No,' said George, his head drooping.

Jeanette said no more, but could not help considering how different her future would be if it could be proved that she was Lavinia Crawshaw's granddaughter.

‘Even after all this time, I miss your mother,' said George. ‘Having you around has helped me get over her loss, but sooner or later you'll meet a nice young man and get married and I'll be stuck here with Aunt Ethel. I had thought about trying to solve the mystery once I retire, but . . .' His voice trailed off.

Jeanette debated whether she should tell him the truth about why she had wanted the photo of her mother, but decided he might find the thought too disturbing right now. Instead she said, ‘Aunt Ethel is not going to be here forever, Dad. Anyway, if I can't find Mr Right, I won't be getting married.' She brushed crumbs from her chin.

‘What about the one who was hit with the bicycle chain, have you given up all hope of seeing him again?'

She shrugged and, getting to her feet, said, ‘Not completely. Is there anything else I can do for you, Dad?'

‘No, Jeannie. I'll just sit here for a while and rest.'

‘OK. I'll leave you in peace. I've a library book I want to finish.'

To Jeanette's annoyance, when she reached her bedroom she found Ethel sitting on her bed reading
Prisons and Prisoners
. ‘What are you doing, Aunt Ethel? I hope you haven't lost my place.'

Ethel looked up at her with an odd expression on her wrinkled face. ‘Lady Constance says we were kind to her. Must have gone wrong there.' She dropped the book on the bed. ‘If you were looking for a mention of your maternal grandmother, then don't bother. I do believe Lavinia Crawshaw must have asked for her name to be kept out of it. She caught religion, no doubt because she wanted forgiveness for her sins after her father died of a stroke when she was imprisoned for a fourth time.'

Jeanette sat down on the other side of the bed to the old woman. ‘How is it you're talking so freely about this to me now?'

Ethel smiled grimly. ‘You mentioned suffragettes, so I reckoned you already knew something. Did your mother ever say anything to you about her being adopted?'

‘Of course not! I was only a little girl when she vanished, if you remember. You're not going to be able to prove anything, so there's no way you're going to make money out of me.' Jeanette picked up her library book and flicked over the pages until she reached where she had marked her place.

Ethel fixed her great-niece with a baleful glare. ‘You always have to think the worst of me. It's you I want the money for.'

‘Thousands might believe you, Aunt Ethel, but I don't. You've never liked me and now because of the death of a woman I've never heard of until recently, you're saying you want to help me claim an inheritance. Well, I'm not going to play ball, even if you come up with a way of proving the whole thing. And, as my mother is missing, I don't see how you can do that.'

‘She left a note.'

For a moment Jeanette thought she had not heard right. ‘What did you say?'

Ethel chomped on her lower lip. ‘Grace left a note.'

Jeanette felt a surge of anger. ‘I don't believe you. You'd have never kept it secret from Dad and me.'

‘Why not? I could have just wanted to keep you guessing.'

‘You called her a whore and said that she had run off with a man! A note would have proved you were right. I think you're going doolally in your old age and making this up.'

Ethel flushed. ‘Believe what you like, but it's true. I destroyed the note. I didn't want George hurt.'

‘That remark doesn't hold water. If you didn't want him hurt you'd have never spoken of your suspicions that she'd run off with someone else.'

‘Your mother's alive. I just feel it in my bones. She left a note and I destroyed it.'

‘Rubbish!'

Ethel smirked and folded her arms across her chest. ‘You're starting to have your doubts, aren't you?'

‘No,' said Jeanette fiercely. ‘You've never given me reason to trust you to tell the truth about my mother.'

Ethel poked Jeanette in the chest. ‘I've helped rear you, haven't I? You haven't turned out too bad, although you have far too much to say for yourself. George is too soft with you.'

Jeanette drew back. ‘Don't poke me! One day I'll retaliate and forget you're an old woman and you'll be sorry!'

Ethel's expression turned ugly. ‘Who d'you think you are to threaten me? Your mother was just the same.'

‘I heard you used to row. Was that why she walked out – because she couldn't put up with you any more?'

Ethel did not answer immediately, but she was obviously struggling with her emotions from the way she was biting her lips and clenching her hands. ‘She threatened me, told me to get out!'

Jeanette's eyes narrowed. ‘So what did you do? Follow her and bash her over the head then hide her body where nobody would think of looking for it?'

Ethel flinched. ‘You think you're so clever! Well, let me tell you this, girl. She didn't care a bugger about you.'

‘You'd like me to believe that, but I don't because Hester and Sam don't.'

‘You'll never know the truth unless you find her, so why don't you get looking for her?'

‘Just to please you, you old witch! You can get lost,' said Jeanette, her green eyes glinting with anger as she walked out of the room.

Ethel shambled after her and, as Jeanette reached the top of the stairs, seized her by the hair. ‘Don't you call me an old witch! You come back here,' she snarled.

‘Will you let go of my hair!' cried Jeanette, fearing that if she struggled too much, they'd topple down the stairs.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps below and the next moment George shouted, ‘What the hell d'you think you're doing, Ethel? You just let her go!' He started up the stairs.

Jeanette felt Ethel's grip tighten. The pain was excruciating and, reaching up, she attempted to prise her great-aunt's fingers from her hair. They swayed backwards and forwards and for a moment Jeanette thought they were both going to fall down the stairs, but then she became aware of her father acting as a bulwark a couple of steps below. He reached over her and seconds later the pain lessened in her scalp and she was free.

‘Thanks, Dad,' she gasped.

George eased her past him and told her to go downstairs and put some coal on the fire. She hurried to the foot of the stairs and then turned and looked up to see what was happening.

‘Don't you ever do that again to her!' roared George, gripping Ethel's arm. ‘It's not in the rule book and you could have both been killed, you stupid old cow!'