The Dressmaker’s Daughter

‘It is, I agree. But, as I see it, being a father don’t entitle you to respect. Respect’s something you have to earn – even your own father has to earn it. Mine never earned any respect from anybody – not even his workmates – least of all from us lads. He’s nothing but a pig, Lizzie.’

‘Thank goodness you’re nothing like him.’ She put her arms around his waist and squeezed him warmly. ‘If I ever see you getting like him, I’ll remind you what you said.’

‘There’s no fear of it, Lizzie.’

‘I think I know that already, Ben,’ she said softly, all her love in her eyes. ‘I think you’re too considerate to be like your father.’

‘Despite him, or because of him, I understand the difference between right and wrong – between good and bad. I can see what makes folk happy, and I can see how some folk can make others unhappy, as if there’s a sort of sadistic pleasure to be gleaned from it. It generally all stems from drink, you know, like it does with him. Not that I’m against drink, Lizzie – I like a drink myself.’

‘There’s no harm in having a drink. It’s when folks get proper drunk … all the time.’

‘What about your own father, Lizzie. Did he drink?’

‘Like a fish. He liked a drink more than anybody, but at least he never knocked our mother about … And he always turned his money up. Mind you, I’ve found out, since I’ve been older, that he was fond of women. Rumours maybe, I don’t know for sure. But even our Joe thinks he had one or two other women in his time. I loved him dearly though. He was always kind to me, and to the others, as far as I know.’

‘Does your mother know he had other women?’

‘She’s never said as much. Not to me at any rate. Either way, it never stopped her being a good wife.’

‘It’s amazing how tolerant some women can be.’

‘Daft, more like. I don’t think I’d be as tolerant, Ben. I’m sure I wouldn’t. I’d be a suffragette.’

They walked on in silence for a few moments, the snow underfoot crisp with frost.

‘What do you think of the suffragettes?’ Lizzie enquired. ‘D’you agree with what they’re doing?’

‘No, I don’t. But I agree with what they stand for – the right for women to vote and all that – there’s nothing wrong with that. But I don’t agree with the way they’re going about it. The more outrageous the things they do, the more they alienate ordinary, decent folk.’

‘You’ll have to talk to May about Mrs Pankhurst, Ben. May thinks Mrs Pankhurst’s a saint.’

‘Mrs Pankhurst’s a bloody fool, Lizzie. Women would get the vote a lot sooner if she shut up. Women are denied the vote now out of defiance for the way she and her cronies carry on.’

‘Well, I think she’s a brave woman. May says the only reason women won’t get the vote yet is because the Liberals would lose too many votes to Labour. Campbell-Bannerman would be out of office.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t argue with that. It’s obvious as the Liberals would lose out. Labour supports the suffragettes, and most women would vote Labour. But it’d be Lord help us if that damn fool Keir Hardie ever got to be prime minister.’

Lizzie then had a précis of the life of Keir Hardie. The way Ben argued it she agreed with him that somebody less radical might be the best choice for Britain.

They reached the back door of 48 Cromwell Street, and Lizzie let her mother know she was home. They stood for five minutes at the top of the entry whispering to each other and giggling, punctuating their words with kisses. But the bitter cold precipitated Ben’s departure sooner than either would have preferred.

Lizzie was in love. Ben was never out of her thoughts, and seldom out of her conversation. It was like the time when she was infatuated with Stanley Dando; except that what she felt for Ben seemed many times stronger. Perhaps it was because her love was reciprocated. Perhaps it was because the memory of the heartache of that earlier unhappy time was fading. She did not have to cope with dejection, of wondering why this lad was avoiding her, for he was not; he would walk Great Britain to be with her. She had not told him yet that she loved him, but she suspected he knew. Anyway, it was up to him to tell her first. When they were together they were blissfully happy, joyful, easy with each other. Their affinity was strong, but not intense and, when they were apart, they relived over and over in their minds the moments they shared.

*

Jesse Clancey managed to catch sight of Lizzie one evening as she was returning from work. He’d walked to Brown Street to get his hair cut and buy a gallon of lamp oil, and as he came out of Totty Marsh’s shop carrying his can Lizzie was passing on the other side of the street. He called to her, and she turned round.

‘How are you, Lizzie?’

He crossed over to join her, and she replied with an open smile that she was well. She knew she must meet up with Jesse sooner or later, for she had not seen him since the fiasco of New Year’s Eve; but she’d been dreading the moment.

‘You look well, Lizzie. You always look a picture.’

She smiled and thanked him again.

‘You’re courting strong, I hear. Is it the same chap as was at Joe’s on New Year’s Eve?’

She nodded with a self-conscious smile as they turned the corner into Cromwell Street. They passed a woman and her daughter, poorly dressed, pushing a small handcart containing a few lumps of coal along the gutter. Jesse greeted them cheerily, then turned to Lizzie.

‘I expect you’ve heard about Sylvia and me, eh?’

She looked up at him. ‘No, nothing, Jesse. Not a thing.’

‘We split up that night, you know. Well, you saw how wicked she was when she copped us together.’

‘I’ll never forget it, Jesse.’ She blushed at the memory of Jesse’s stolen kisses.

‘Well, when she calmed down, I walked her back home. I told her then as I didn’t love her, and there was no point in carrying on. And that was that, really. I’ve neither seen her, nor heard from her since.’

‘I guessed you must’ve broken it off, Jesse, but I hope you told her I was innocent of everything.’

‘Oh, I did. I made that plain.’

‘Well, maybe you didn’t make it plain enough. There’s none of the Dandos been a-nigh our house since that night. Something’s been said and they must’ve taken the hump, but there’s no need for my Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah to stop calling to see my mother. She had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t her fault.’

‘I’m sorry if it’s caused her any trouble. I really am.’

‘It’s caused her no trouble in that sense, Jesse. She knows nothing about it. They haven’t been to church since, either. I guessed Sylvia must’ve told them what had happened, and I knew they’d blame me if she did. I suppose Mother’s all part of the conspiracy in their eyes. They’re bound to avoid her. It’s a shame, though, Jesse, a crying shame … So what does your mother think of it all?’

‘She went mad. Mother liked Sylvia. She liked her a lot. And Sylvia liked Mother. Matter of fact, Sylvia’s been up to our house since to see her – when I’ve been out, of course, as you might expect.’

‘I bet my name’s mud …’

‘Does that bother you, Lizzie? You know in your own mind as you weren’t to blame.’

‘Your mother never speaks to me as it is. I don’t see why I should appear the worse for being accused of something I haven’t done.’

‘I told Mother as you had nothing to do with it, Lizzie.’

Jack Hardwick was just sweeping sawdust out of his little butcher’s shop as they were walking past and he hailed Jesse. Jesse paused to pass the time of day and Lizzie took advantage of the opportunity to bid him cheerio. As she went indoors the aroma of lamb stew met her. Eve was tending it on the hob, but greeted Lizzie when she entered. Lizzie took off her coat and hung it on a nail at the back of the cellar door. It was time to inform her mother that she had seen Jesse; time to break the news that he and Sylvia were no longer courting; time to explain how it had all come about. And Eve was not so stupid that she could not put two and two together. She would soon conclude that this was the reason she had not seen Tom and Sarah.

Eve was very understanding, however. She accepted that none of the blame was Lizzie’s, but explained why Sylvia would perceive it differently, since she was hardly likely to blame herself. It was in Sylvia’s own interest, Eve said, to remain the injured party.

*

On 4th of March, a Wednesday, Lizzie overheard two men who’d stepped off the West Bromwich tram talking about two dozen miners that were said to be trapped underground at the Hamstead Colliery at Great Barr. The thought of such a catastrophe, if it was true, horrified her. Ben was certain to know about it but, as he was working the night shift, she was unlikely to see him; unless he called for her at dinnertime, as he sometimes did if he rose early from his bed.

Next day she gleaned other snippets from customers and there was no doubt that what she’d heard was true. But, again, Ben failed to meet her at dinnertime to verify it. So she went out to buy a newspaper to try and find out more. It turned out that a fire was raging underground at the colliery, and rescuers were doing all they could to get twenty-eight missing men out.