The Quietness (22 page)

‘No wonder the child is mithering. What were you thinking of, girl? This stuff is far too rich, and how are we meant to keep them hushed without
the
Quietness
?’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said Queenie.

‘Sorry?’ Mrs Waters banged her fists on the table. ‘How dare you! How long have you been doing this behind our backs?’ Mrs Waters was wild. Her eyes had narrowed to thin, black slits and her heavy bosom trembled with rage. Queenie hadn’t expected this. It was all happening too quickly for her to think.

‘I haven’t, ma’am,’ she stuttered. ‘Honest. This is the first time I’ve done it.’

The baby was still wailing and Mrs Waters put her hands to her ears in frustration. ‘Shut that child up!’ She rushed towards Queenie and grabbed the baby from her arms. She flung the child over her shoulder and pulled the kitchen door open. ‘Sarah!’ she screeched. ‘Sarah! Get down here!’

‘What are you doing, ma’am?’ Queenie was horrified. She stood up quickly. ‘What are you going to do with the little ’un?’

Mrs Waters said nothing. She stood tapping her foot while the baby pressed its red screwed-up face into her shoulder and began to hiccough between sobs. Queenie heard the scurrying of footsteps and Mrs Ellis’s shrill voice.

‘What is it? Whatever is happening?’

Mrs Waters shoved the baby towards her. ‘Just take it. Take the thing away from me. I can’t abide its noise. If it doesn’t stop soon, I shan’t be able to account for my actions.’ Mrs Ellis did not question her sister. She looked at Queenie in puzzlement and then hurried away with Miss Swift’s baby.

Queenie tried to stay calm, though her insides were turning over faster than a rolling barrel. Mrs Waters’ heavy breathing filled the now quiet kitchen. The other babies were still sleeping. Not one had been disturbed by all the commotion.

Mrs Waters glared at Queenie. ‘Don’t you ever do that again. Do you hear me, girl? You disobey my orders again and you’re OUT!’

Queenie looked at Mrs Waters. There was no hint of softness in her coarse face and no kindness in her angry eyes. Why would any mother hand their child over to a woman like her? thought Queenie. Those mothers had trusted this woman, had given her money to take care of their little ’uns. It weren’t right, thought Queenie. It just weren’t right.

She stood up tall and pushed her chin out. ‘You can’t talk to me like that no more,’ she said. ‘Cause I’m going anyway. Straight to the coppers.’ It felt good to see the shock in Mrs Waters’ eyes and to see her mouth go slack.

‘What on earth do you mean, girl? You can’t go to the police for a telling-off!’

Queenie snorted. ‘I ain’t going for that reason, am I?’

Mrs Waters shuffled her feet and crossed her arms over her bosom.

‘Well . . . whatever do you want to be going to the police for, then?’

Queenie stared at her for a moment. There was no going back now. ‘Where did you go this morning?’ she asked carefully.

‘Why . . . why . . .’ Mrs Waters spluttered. ‘That’s none of your business, girl!’

‘Well, I already know where you went,’ Queenie spat the words out. ‘You went to get rid of a poor, dead baby didn’t you?’ Queenie’s voice cracked and she was dismayed to feel her eyes filling with tears.

Mrs Waters stayed quiet for a minute. Then she pulled her shoulders back and the hardness returned to her face. ‘So what if I did?’ she said.

Queenie was taken aback. The hairs on her arms began to prickle and stiffen. ‘You . . . you murderer!’ she whispered uncertainly. Then louder. ‘I’ll get the coppers on to you!’ She started to move away, towards the back door.

Mrs Waters laughed: a soft, mocking sound. Queenie suddenly felt cold all over.

‘And what would happen if you
did
bring the coppers here?’ asked Mrs Waters with a half smile. ‘What would you tell them? That some poor unfortunate babies died?’

‘They didn’t just die!’ Queenie retorted. ‘You starved ’em to death!’

‘Listen,’ said Mrs Waters, her face growing serious again. ‘We just helped them along, all right? That is all. Sent them into the arms of Jesus. Do you not think they would have starved to death anyway, unwanted and out on the streets with mothers who can’t provide for them? We just speed it along. Help those children find peace and help the poor mothers out in their time of need. You must see that can’t be so very wrong?’

‘But . . . but you get money for them! And you don’t even give them a proper burial!’ Queenie’s mind was in a whirl. She thought back to the baby at home. It was true it had died of hunger; it had been so weak. But Mam and Da had loved it. And Da would have made sure it had a proper burial. She thought of him twisting his precious neckerchief round and round in his hands. ‘You ain’t sent any of ’em to new homes in the country have you? I’ll tell the coppers that. I’ll tell ’em you just dumped the poor little mites!’

Queenie was spitting mad now. But she was scared too. A wave of fear ran up and down her body. She wanted to get out quick, to run back home to Mam and Da and spill it all out. Maybe they would come to the coppers with her, and she would feel safe again?

Mrs Waters calmly untied her bonnet and put it on the kitchen table. She shook out her hair and began to untie her cloak. ‘You run along to the police if you want,’ she said, as she fiddled with the knot at her throat. ‘But just you mind, girl. They find we’ve done anything wrong . . . then you’re up to your neck in it too. You work for us don’t forget. And no one will believe you didn’t know what was going on. Shame for someone so young to have to face the hangman’s noose.’

Queenie froze.

‘On the other hand,’ continued Mrs Waters, ‘we could just carry on business as usual. You’re a good little worker. You could join us and earn more money than you ever dreamt of.’ She took off her cloak and put it over her arm. ‘And don’t forget,’ she said, ‘we are providing a good service. You think those mothers don’t know what happens?’

Queenie couldn’t answer. She was finding it hard to breathe, imagining a noose around her neck.

‘I’ll leave you to think it over, shall I?’ said Mrs Waters. ‘You’ll see I’m right.’ She picked up her bonnet from the kitchen table and, without waiting for Queenie’s answer, she left the room.

Queenie sat down and put her head in her hands. Mrs Waters was right. She had known what was going on all along. She’d just closed her mind to it. Taken in by coins in her pocket and new boots and ribbons. She’d turned a blind eye. Even now, she was tempted by Mrs Water’s offer of more money than she could dream of. It would all be so easy.

She groaned out loud again. Then she thought of Mam selling her body to feed their bellies. She thought of Tally, Kit and Albie and how just a crust of dry bread would make them smile. She thought of Da and her out on the streets selling apples. Everyone looking out for each other. She thought of Miss Swift begging her to take care of her baby. She thought of Miss Swift needing her baby, and her baby needing its mam.

Then Queenie was struck by a notion; a notion so plain and simple that it must have been there all along but she just hadn’t noticed it. That was it, wasn’t it? she thought. That was what it was all about. Being needed by someone was what made being alive worthwhile. Being needed by someone and looking out for them was more important than all the money in the world. Queenie stood up. She knew what to do now; she had a purpose and it felt real and proper and good. These babies all needed her, they all deserved a chance. Miss Swift needed her too and, Queenie thought, whether they liked it or not,
she
needed Mam, Da and the little ones more than she’d ever needed them before.

Queenie walked fast. Every step that took her away from Wild Street made her feel lighter and safer. She prayed she hadn’t left it too late for Miss Swift’s baby. She headed straight for Waterloo Bridge and only stopped for breath when she was halfway over. She looked across the brown stretch of river at the hundreds of rooftops, smoking chimneys, church steeples and at the foggy outlines of fat grey buildings. Down in the river, despite it being Christmas Day, steamers and barges pushed through the water and Queenie heard the voices of the boatmen and the sounds of machinery. She looked along the bridge, back the way she had come, and she looked ahead of her towards home. Part of her wanted to stay where she was forever and not have to choose. But then she heard the sound of children’s voices and she looked down to see a bargeman hoisting a small child onto his shoulders while another danced around his legs. She smiled to herself and set off walking again, knowing she had made the right choice.

Queenie stepped quietly through the doorway at home. They were all of them there, sitting around the fire with plates of steaming taters balanced on their knees. Mam saw her first. She dropped her plate on the floor and her hands flew to her mouth. Then Da turned to look and a huge smile spread across his face.

‘My big gal!’ he breathed. He was across the room in two strides and he lifted her from the ground and swung her around.

Then Mam was there covering her face with kisses and Kit and Albie were pulling at her skirts and singing, ‘Queenie! Queenie! Queenie!’

Only Tally, all grown up and shy now, held back for a minute. But when Queenie held her hand out to him, he shuffled his feet, then grinned and rushed over to put his arms around her waist. Queenie was filled with peace. She knew she was home and she never wanted to leave again. Amid all the clamour, Queenie began to speak, and they gradually all quietened down and listened as she told her story.

I could still taste the sour coating of vomit in my mouth as I lay on my bed feeling more wretched than I ever thought possible. Mary was hovering around me, unsure of what to say or do.

‘I have to leave here,’ I said weakly. ‘I cannot stay and marry Mr Rumble.’

‘But, maybe given time?’ said Mary hopelessly. ‘Maybe he will come round to the idea and accept the baby?’

I shook my head. ‘No, Mary. Trust me. That will never happen. If I stay, I will never see my child again.’

‘But miss,’ Mary pleaded. ‘Where will you go? How will you manage?’

I did not answer.

I will pack a bag tonight, I thought. And leave before the household rises in the morning. I knew there was a locked box in Father’s study where he kept money to pay the staff wages. I would find a way to get into it. At least then, I could fetch my daughter and pay for a boarding house and food for a few days, until I could settle on what to do.

Mary looked distraught. ‘Miss,’ she said. ‘You have no idea what it is like out there in the world. I fear you will not survive. And I couldn’t bear that.’

‘I will not survive if I stay here, Mary. That is a certainty.’ I needed her out of the way so I could begin to gather my belongings together and collect my thoughts. ‘Mary, will you please leave me for a while?’ I asked gently. ‘I need to sleep a little.’

‘Very well, miss,’ she said, her eyes wide with worry. ‘But promise me you will not do anything hasty.’

The lie slipped easily from my mouth. ‘I promise,’ I said. Poor Mary. I would miss her more than she would ever know.

She closed the door gently behind her. I rose from my bed. It was strange to think I would spend only one more night in it. I comforted myself with the thought that wherever I found to sleep after that, I would have my daughter with me. We would be together, and that was all I wanted in the world.

I lifted my gowns from the wardrobe. I would wear my oldest and dullest, I decided. I did not want to attract too much attention in the places I may be forced to go. My best dresses could be packed with my brooches and jewels. I hoped I could sell them and get a good price. My brushes, and my mirror too. I would no longer need them, but I would need every penny I could get. I rolled my gowns up tightly to make room for them in the carpet bag. I looked at my brooches. They meant nothing to me any more, and I began to wrap them in a petticoat. Suddenly Mary burst through the door. She looked a fright. Her face was drained of colour and her hand was shaking while it gripped the doorknob.

‘Mary?’ I rushed over to her. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘You’d better come quick, miss,’ she said. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’

Someone to see me? Jacob’s face flashed through my mind and my heart jumped into my throat. ‘It is not . . . it is not Jacob, is it?’ I asked.

‘No, miss. No. It’s the girl you told me about. It’s Queenie, miss.’ A strange expression crossed her face. ‘And she’s here with her mother.’

‘Where are they?’ I asked as I ran out of the door. ‘She must have news of my daughter! Is everything well?’

‘They are in the kitchen, miss. Ninny is giving them tea.’

I ran down the back stairs with Mary panting behind me. I prayed that we would not see Father, Mother or Mr Rumble. Mary caught up with me in the hallway. ‘Something must be wrong,’ I whispered to her fiercely. ‘And why is her mother with her?’

Mary put her finger to her lips as we passed by the drawing room door. The strange expression passed over her face again and I knew there was something she was not telling me.

Queenie was sitting at the kitchen table with a pot of tea in front of her. She looked out of place and smiled at me nervously. Next to her was a dark-haired woman wearing the poorest of clothes. Beneath the grime on her face I could see she was fine featured with startling green eyes.

‘Queenie!’ I ran to her and she stood to greet me. I pressed her to me quickly. ‘It is so good to see you,’ I said. ‘But what is wrong? Is everything all right with my daughter?’

‘Miss.’ Queenie greeted me. She seemed awkward and embarrassed and darted looks at Mary and at the woman who must be her mother.

‘Queenie?’ I was frightened now. What had she come to tell me? ‘Please,’ I pleaded. ‘Is my daughter quite well?’

‘She was well when I last saw her this morning, miss,’ said Queenie hesitantly. She looked to Mary as if asking for help.

‘Then if she is well, why are you here? What is the matter?’

‘Miss,’ said Mary, coming forward, ‘I think it best you sit down a moment.’

I sighed in frustration and made a show of pulling a chair out and sitting in it heavily. ‘Now. Will somebody please tell me?’ Queenie’s mother was staring at me as though I was an exotic exhibit. I wondered again why she was here. ‘Well?’ I looked at Mary in expectation.