Farewell to Lancashire (11 page)

As winter moved into its coldest months, everyone struggled to keep warm. Since they couldn’t afford extra coal, the sisters often went to bed early, lying chatting quietly to one another. They could hear voices in the rooms they’d rented to others, but their lights went out just as early. No one could afford to be extravagant with lamp oil or candles. No one could spare any fat to make old-fashioned rushlights, even. They needed what fat they did get for eating.

Cassandra often lay awake worrying after her sisters had fallen asleep. She felt responsible for them as well as for her father. It was hard, sometimes, being the oldest. And she worried about what to sell next.

One by one pieces of furniture they could manage without went, and at first this didn’t matter, because with other people in the house, their stuff was crammed together in the kitchen. These pieces fetched far less than they would have done before the Cotton Famine, which was heartbreaking, but at least Edwin wasn’t downstairs to notice the gaps.

The only thing they didn’t sell was their mother’s locket, which their father kept by his bed and often held in his hand.

‘It’ll go to you when I’m dead, because you’re the eldest,’ he told Cassandra. ‘She’d have liked that.’

She only hoped she could manage to avoid selling it.

The Prince of Wales got married on the 10th March and a special allowance of an extra loaf to each of the families on relief was voted by the Town Council in celebration of the event. There was also a children’s parade, which people watched for lack of something to do, then a meal for the well-fed children who’d been in the parade, all dressed in fancy new clothes, in spite of the hard times.

‘The money spent on that parade would fill a lot of bellies,’ Pandora said scornfully, watching the scrawny poorer children cluster near the food, one well-fed lad tossing the crusts to the poor ones and laughing to see them fight one another for this largesse.

What had been spent on the marriage celebrations held in town after town would have fed the whole of Lancashire for months, she was sure.

Francis was summoned for an interview with his father after breakfast.

When the two men had left the dining room, his mother glared at Livia across the table. ‘I hope you’re satisfied now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. But my Francis has had foolish ideas before, and he’s never carried any of them through. This one will be just the same, only he’ll be too far away for us to help him. You’ll see. You’ll end up begging on the streets.’

‘He’s very eager to go to Australia. And besides, the doctor advised him to move to a warmer climate.’

‘He persuaded the doctor to say that. Francis has always been delicate. That’s a reason to
stay
not go. He’s
not
the sort of man to make a success of farming. He’s a dreamer. And
you
encourage him. I hate you! Hate you!’ She burst into tears and fled the room, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes.

Livia went up to the bedroom to wait for Francis. The early morning fire had died down now and she didn’t bother to put more coal on it, but sat worrying. Her mother-in-law was refusing to see the truth. Francis was definitely ill.

He came into the room beaming and swung her into his arms, dancing her round the bed. ‘The doctor’s persuaded my father to help us, so father’s going to give me some money to help me set up as a farmer. Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘Yes, it is. But your mother is very upset, Francis. She won’t admit that you’re ill and she thinks she’ll never see you again.’

‘Of course she will. In a few years, once we’re established, we’ll come back to visit. People do it all the time. And I’m not ill exactly, just have a weakness of the lungs and am being sensible about it. I shall be fit as a fiddle in no time after a long sea voyage and then living in a warmer climate. You’ll see.’

She hoped he was right but didn’t want to destroy his hopes – or her own. ‘I’d better start packing in earnest then, hadn’t I?’

‘Yes and I’ll tell Reece to get ready as well.’

When he’d left, she sat motionless on the bed. Francis was so enthusiastic, so happy. Surely this was the right thing to do? His mother was wrong. The other projects had failed because they weren’t right for him. But look how happy he was working at the farm.

No, she couldn’t believe it was wrong to go to Australia. And Francis would be stronger, act more sensibly once he was away from his mother’s influence, Livia was quite sure of that.

What kept Cassandra’s spirits up most of all during this difficult time was Reece, who continued to visit them, trudging into town each Sunday through snow, rain or hail.

It was Mrs Southerham who told Cassandra the news first.

‘We’re leaving soon,’ she said one day. ‘We’ve booked passages on a ship called the
Eena
, sailing to Fremantle in Western Australia. I gather the passengers will be mainly colonists nominated by people already living there, plus the families of some convicts out there who’ve served their time and been given their tickets of leave. It must be dreadful to be separated from one another like that, but they’ve paid for their crimes now.’

What crime had she committed, Cassandra wondered, to be parted from the man she loved, and from a lady who was almost a friend. But she was well practised now in keeping such thoughts to herself, even when she was with Reece.

Livia stopped walking. ‘I shall miss you.’

‘I shall miss you too, Mrs Southerham. I’m sorry you’re leaving.’

‘I’m worried about what will happen to you without my protection.’

‘I’ll endure what I must. This war can’t go on for ever. We’ll get cotton and be able to work again one day.’

‘There’s no sign of an end to it yet and my husband doesn’t think the South is going to win. I don’t know what’ll happen to the cotton supply if they lose.’

‘They’ll get the cotton through to us again because they’ll need the money it earns, and people all over the world need cotton to make their clothing.’ Cassandra kept saying that to herself regularly. She had to believe things would improve one day.

‘Will you let me leave you a little money?’

‘No. From what you’ve said, you’ll need all you’ve got to set up your farm. Besides, we’re managing.’ She didn’t let herself think of what they would do once they’d run out of pieces of furniture to sell, didn’t dare. Even with the rent money from their tenants, and what they earned at the sewing classes, it was hard to feed five of them and pay the rent.

‘Things have changed a little. Old Mr Southerham is giving Francis a little money, so I insist on leaving you just a little, for emergencies only.’

Cassandra bowed her head and struggled with her conscience. What use to tell others they must accept charity if she didn’t do it herself? ‘Very well. But I’ll only use it for emergencies.’

‘Good. I shall feel better if you have something. There’s another thing ... Reece Gregory is going with us. I gather you and he are – friends.’

Cassandra couldn’t hide her sadness. ‘Yes. But we both know it can’t be more. I have my father to look after, my sisters are here and he has a new life to make in Australia.’

‘And if he succeeds out there?’

‘If he does, we’ll see what happens. He’ll be at the other side of the world and there will be plenty of other young women to catch his eye, I’m sure.’

‘If he loves you, he’ll wait for you.’

Cassandra shook her head. ‘I’d not ask him to, and he’s said the same to me.’

‘You’re both being foolishly noble.’

The anger spilled out then, just for a moment. ‘What’s noble about it? We’re not
free
to make promises – either of us.’

Noble, indeed. Her heart was near to breaking with the agony of losing him and she didn’t even have the privacy to weep about it in bed now.

When Reece came to visit them on the Sunday before he left, Cassandra steeled herself to stay calm and wish him well.

After saying farewell to her father and sisters, he turned to her. ‘Would you come out for a walk with me? It’s quite a fine day, feels like spring.’

‘I’d like that.’ She got out her mantle and bonnet, ashamed that they looked so faded, that the darns showed in the mantle, that the ribbons on the bonnet were limp and frayed.

He took her to the churchyard, as she’d known he would. ‘You have three sisters,’ he said as they stood looking down at his wife and child’s grave. ‘Can you not leave your father’s care to them? There might still be time to get permission for you to come with us – as my wife.’

A tear betrayed her, rolling down her cheek, followed by others.

He pulled her into his arms and held her while she gave in to her emotions. He murmured soft words into her hair, then kissed away her tears and folded her in his arms.

She couldn’t bear this for much longer. Best to say their farewells and be done with it. ‘He’s been the best of fathers. I
can’t
leave him like this, knowing I’ll never see him again. And my sisters need me too. I’ve always been the one who organises things, copes, minds the money. Perhaps later ... we could all come out to Australia. From what you’ve said, they need servant girls there, and we’d be willing to do anything.’

But she didn’t feel hopeful. When she’d mentioned that Reece and the Southerhams were going to Australia, her sisters hadn’t been able to understand it, had said they’d not leave their homeland like that. Pandora in particular had hated the mere idea of leaving Outham.

‘I’ll write to you.’ He traced a finger down her damp cheek.

Her words came out choked. ‘I’ll write to you, too, as soon as I have an address.’

He drew her into his arms again and for a few moments they forgot the rest of the world as they embraced and showered one another’s faces with kisses and caresses, murmuring words of love.

Her voice was shaking as she pulled away from him. ‘We must stop. I daren’t risk – doing anything else.’ Ah, but she wanted to, understood fully now what drove men and women to lie together heedless of the consequences.

His voice was rough with emotion. ‘I know. And I wouldn’t do anything to put you at risk, though heaven knows I want you.’

The Town Hall clock struck just then and he took another step backwards, waiting for her to tidy herself. ‘Come on. I’ll walk you home, then I must get back to the farm.’

When they’d disappeared from view, Isabel Blake, who had been standing behind a marble angel watching them, gave a triumphant smile. ‘I knew it. She
is
immoral. I was right to follow them today.’

Her smile faded as she stood thinking. It was even more urgent now to get rid of her nieces, all of them, before they blackened the family name, the name she shared. There had to be a way. Especially now that the Southerham woman was leaving. Without a protector, Cassandra would be so much more vulnerable.

She’d take action when the right opportunity presented itself. Or make an opportunity. Yes, she couldn’t risk waiting too long.

She’d walked out at dusk and seen streetwalkers waiting under lampposts. She knew which narrow alleys were frequented by the criminals of the town. Well, every lady knew to avoid such streets.

If she went to those streets now, surely she’d find someone who would help her? She’d enough money to pay them well.

The next day, without Livia Southerham, the sewing classes were a lesson in endurance. But Cassandra wasn’t going to allow the ladies to provoke her into what they’d call ‘impudence’. They were not going to find any excuse to drive her from the classes and deprive her of the two shillings and sixpence she earned from them each week.

The other girls were again furious and wanted to protest on the four sisters’ behalf, but they begged their friends not to cause trouble. They’d agreed with one another that if they gave way to their anger or resentment, then their aunt would have won.

What gave them the strength to do this was the thought of their father. Without the money they brought in, he’d have to go into the poorhouse. And he’d die very quickly in there, they were sure. They’d faced the fact that nothing they could do would save him, but they were determined that he would die in the comfort of his own home.

When spring began to brighten the year, Cassandra heard of a group of young people going into Manchester and singing on the streets to earn money. It was said they came back with enough to last a month, pay the rent and feed themselves decently. She decided to try the same thing. People said begging was shameful, and indeed she hated the thought of it, but she had run out of furniture to sell, had rent to pay and an invalid to feed.

She broached the idea to her sisters, who were horrified, but willing to do anything for their father.

‘After all, we’ve sung for years to amuse ourselves,’ she said bracingly. ‘And we’re better at it than most. We may not have strong voices, but we can hold harmonies and people say they enjoy our singing.’

‘Except mine. I can’t hold a tune even,’ Pandora said.

‘Which works out well because you can stay here to look after Dad.’

‘What about the sewing classes?’

‘We can say we ate something that disagreed with us.’

‘Will they believe that?’