Farewell to Lancashire (4 page)

‘I met your father at a lantern lecture, and once or twice at the library since. He’s an interesting man to talk to.’ He watched her smile light up her narrow face into near beauty.

‘He’s the best of fathers. He always makes me think about the world in ways I’d never have conceived on my own.’

‘How are you managing?’ No need to explain what he meant by that. It was a very common question these days.

She shrugged. ‘Dad is still on half-time. My sisters and I go to the soup kitchen three days a week.’

At the house Reece renewed his acquaintance with Edwin, shocked at how the older man had aged in the last few months. He agreed to come there the following Sunday to pick up the book they chose for him then walked slowly back to the farm, enjoying the fine but chilly day, wishing he didn’t have to live in another man’s house and behave as if he was a young man again. He’d been a man in charge of his own affairs before this damned war in America.

He thought about Cassandra Blake several times that week. She was a strange young woman, not like any he’d met before, expressing her opinions as freely as a man – and having more sensible opinions than most of the men he knew, too. And she might not be beautiful, but her eyes sparkled with intelligence as she talked and he wanted to spend more time with her.

He tried not to think such thoughts. A man with no means of earning a living had no right to be attracted to a young woman.

In January 1862 Wigan set up a Relief Committee to deal with the results of the Cotton Famine, the first town in Lancashire to do this in a thorough way.

It took until late March for the Poorhouse Board to come round to the idea of doing the same thing in Outham, and even then, they discussed it for weeks before actually doing anything. They should have started long before, Cassandra thought angrily, not doled out tiny amounts of relief to individuals here and there, forgetting others who were too proud to ask for help. The two soup kitchens now running, one in the parish church, the other in the Roman Catholic church, weren’t nearly enough. No one stayed strong and healthy on a few bowls of thin soup a week.

From now on, food was to be provided every day and there was to be a collection of clothes for children and babies, because even at times like this, new life still made its way regularly into the world. More men were to be set to work on breaking stones and it was to be better organised – which was desperately needed. The man in charge was a verger at the parish church, who didn’t know anything about the task. The new foreman was more experienced – and kinder, too, it was whispered.

Sewing classes were to be set up for the women and girls and those who attended would be paid. Cassandra and her sisters waited impatiently for this to be organised. What did the Board think people would do in the meantime? Sell their possessions, that’s what, she thought angrily. Some people had little left now except the clothes on their backs.

She was glad she’d never married because though it hurt her to see how unhappy her sisters were, how much worse must it be to watch the suffering of children born of your own body? Or to see them die? The number of paupers’ funerals was increasing steadily, and the ones with tiny coffins always brought tears to her eyes. As for little Timmy down the street, he was thinner than ever and she had nothing to spare for him.

With a sigh she slipped a little extra food on to her father’s plate as she served their simple meal and contented herself with what was left, spreading it out on her own plate to look like more. But as she looked down at her hand she was struck suddenly by how thin it had become. Two meagre meals a day were not enough. She glanced furtively at her sisters. They were the same, far thinner than before, their clothes hanging on them, their skin pale and their hair dull.

How much longer was this war going to continue? Did the people fighting it know how badly Lancashire was affected? Did the rest of England know?

Livia Southerham was always happy to escape from her in-laws’ house and go for a brisk walk on the moors with her new husband. She strode out beside Francis, glad the day was mild and she’d not been penned indoors with the other ladies of the family, who were far less vigorous than she was.

‘Did you have another talk with your father this morning? Do you know yet how long we’re going to be staying with your parents?’ she asked as they paused for a breather on the tops, where the dry stone walls ended and the moors took over from the farms.

He put one arm round her shoulders and sighed. ‘I’ve not yet managed to persuade Father to give his blessing for our move to Australia. I’m not asking him to give me a fortune, but we do need some money from him to set us up out there. He could easily afford to give me a share of my inheritance now, instead of leaving it to me when he dies.’

She didn’t say that his father was being cautious because from all accounts, he’d seen his son’s enthusiasms for various projects wax and wane before. But Francis was so eager about emigrating, had heard from his cousin in the Swan River Colony, and was being very practical about the whole matter. Well, as practical as such an easy-going man could ever be.

‘I don’t believe it’ll be easy to make a fortune,’ Francis went on, ‘Why should it be any different there to here? But Paul says there are excellent opportunities for an energetic man, and if we make a decent living, it’ll be enough for me.’

‘For me, too. I thought your father was softening a little from the way he spoke last night at dinner.’

‘So did I. But my mother hates the idea of me leaving England and has begged him not to fund us.’

‘She’ll miss you.’

‘She’ll miss controlling me, you mean.’

She heard how bitter his voice was and could only squeeze his arm in sympathy. Francis had been sickly as a child and had been a little spoiled, perhaps. He’d been educated at home and not raised to work or earn money. But he was the youngest son and once their parents died, his brother was unlikely to fund him.

‘I’m going to start learning about caring for sheep and cows,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll pretend to go out riding in the mornings, but instead I’ll be working on a farm. I met a man called Reece Gregory the other day when I was walking on the tops. He’s working for his cousin, who is a farmer and has said I can work alongside them, if I want. Reece has even offered to lend me some clothing so that Mother won’t suspect how I’m spending my days.’

There. That was truly practical, Livia thought. Could his father not see that this was not a passing fancy? ‘I wish I had something to take me out of the house and occupy my time.’

‘Why don’t you offer to help out with the relief programmes they’re setting up for those who have no work?’

She grimaced. ‘It’d mean working with the Vicar. I’m not fond of Mr Saunders – or of his band of lady helpers.’

But in the end, desperate to get out of the overheated house and away from her mother-in-law’s inanities, she took up his suggestion and volunteered her services to the ladies’ committee. And of course they took her up on this offer eagerly, because the county gentry didn’t usually mingle with the ‘shopocracy’, as her mother-in-law called the town’s ladies scornfully.

Perhaps she could do some real good until they left England, as she had when she helped her father in his parish duties before her marriage. She hoped so.

When Reece went back to the Blakes’ house the following week, he found Edwin ready for a chat, and a book about Australia waiting for him,
Our Antipodes
by a Mr Mundy.

‘Cassandra chose this. She said you enjoyed books about travel.’

‘I do.’ Reece opened it and stared hungrily at the pages filled with information, then realised this was bad manners and closed it resolutely. ‘Is she not here today?’

‘She and her sisters have gone out for a walk. They’ll be back soon to make us a cup of tea.’

Clearly, Reece was expected to sit and chat, and he did, finding Edwin’s wry observances about the world entertaining. But what he really wanted was to see Cassandra again, even if his interest in her was hopeless at present.

When the four sisters returned, he accepted a cup of tea but refused anything to eat, knowing how short of food most people were. ‘I eat better than most at the farm, even though my relatives can’t pay me much of a wage.’

‘Shall you stay on there?’ Cassandra asked.

‘Until I see my way more clearly. I’ve come to realise that I don’t want to go back inside a cotton mill. I like the fresh air and feel healthier for it, and I enjoy caring for animals. My cousin Sam works with wood and he’s sharing his skills with me, while Ginny makes cheeses to sell at market and that’s interesting too.’

As he walked back, with the precious book tucked inside his jacket to protect it, Reece felt happier than he had for a good while. He’d made some new friends and – an image of Cassandra popped up in his mind and he knew it was more than that. He’d met an intelligent woman with a lively interest in the world, who attracted him in so many ways.

Till better times came, they could at least be friends, couldn’t they?

He looked down at the book. It’d be particularly interesting to read about Australia and find out why Francis Southerham couldn’t stop talking about that faraway country.

‘He’s a fine young man, that one,’ Edwin said after Reece had left.

His daughters all stared at him suspiciously.

‘Are you matchmaking, Dad?’ Xanthe asked.

He shrugged. ‘No harm in you meeting a fellow or two. How else are you to get wed?’

‘A man who isn’t in proper employment can’t afford to wed,’ Pandora protested. ‘And anyway, Reece is too old for me.’

‘And too solemn for me,’ Xanthe said.

‘He doesn’t take my fancy at all, too dark and serious.’ Maia turned to tease Cassandra. ‘So that leaves you. Shall you go a-courting Reece, love?’

Her sister surprised everyone, herself included, by blushing. She tried to cover it up by saying loudly, ‘Don’t be silly!’ and clearing up the teacups, but she was only too aware of the raised eyebrows and knowing looks of her family.

To her relief they said nothing more about Reece Gregory. Nor did she.

But in bed that night she admitted to herself that he was ... more interesting than most. She had really enjoyed talking to him, felt comfortable walking with him as well, because he was taller than her, unlike most men. And what had Maia meant by saying he was ‘too dark’? She loved his dark hair and his dark brown eyes. He was actually very good looking, not a pretty boy, but a man grown.

By June of 1862, the Blakes had little left in their pot of money.

‘Dad, you can’t give any more to people,’ Cassandra said. ‘Not a single penny. We need all you bring home for ourselves.’

‘I can’t see a babby starve to death.’

‘Can you see us starve to death instead?’

The anguish on his face upset her, but he had to face facts. Without his generosity, their savings would have lasted much longer.

When it was announced that sewing lessons were at last to start up for women who had no work due to the lack of cotton, it seemed like a godsend to the sisters. They would be paid sixpence each if they attended for four hours and worked hard, it appeared.

‘Other relief committees offer ninepence,’ Pandora grumbled. ‘Mary’s cousin gets that much where she lives, anyway.’

‘We must be glad of anything we can earn,’ Maia said, ever the peacemaker.

‘I don’t see why they can’t treat us fairly.’ Xanthe was the angriest of them all about their current predicament, unlike her gentler twin, and was fretting over the lack of meaningful activity to fill her days. She wasn’t looking forward to the classes, knew she would be shown up for her poor sewing skills. Like her sisters she’d rather read than sew or cook. Their mother had taught Cassandra the basics of needlework, but had been ailing after the birth of the twins and hadn’t been able to make the same effort with her other daughters.

After their mother’s death, Cassandra had stayed at home to look after the house and once the three younger sisters started work, the long hours in the mills hadn’t left much time for sewing. Besides, with five adults working, they’d been relatively well off as a family, and had had the money to pay others to make or alter their clothes.

‘Well, at least I’m getting the occasional day’s scrubbing,’ Maia said. ‘I don’t know whether Mrs Matterley from chapel really needs me or whether she’s just doing her bit to help, but I make sure she gets good value for her money. She says she’ll mention me to her friends to help on washing days, just a day here and there, but every little helps. Though I don’t enjoy washing. It leaves my hands so red and sore.’

‘I’d change places with you in a minute,’ Xanthe said with a sigh. Mrs Matterley was very kind to her sister and gave her a hearty meal as well as paying her a shilling for her long day’s work.

She helped Cassandra clear away the dirty dishes and made sure the fire was damped down to save fuel. It was strange how most of the time she wasn’t hungry, or if she was, she didn’t notice it. You just grew used to the empty feeling and the way you had less energy than usual. But then, there wasn’t as much to do, and as long as she got something to eat once a day, she’d manage.

To her horror, Cassandra found that her aunt was in charge of the sewing class. Beyond an outraged widening of her eyes, Isabel Blake again showed no sign whatsoever of recognising her relatives.