Mary's Child Read Free Page A

on, quieter now but still definite, ‘Not a penny! We want nothing off you! If that young fly-by-night’s father has something on his conscience he can pray! He’ll get no help from us in easing it!’
    Harry squeezed her arm and said gruffly, ‘Go canny now, lass.’ But the gaze he turned on Arkenstall was just as hostile as hers.
    Mary put a hand over Harry’s. ‘All right, all right. But that young feller took advantage of that lass, promised her the moon then left her when she fell for the bairn.’ She eyed Arkenstall and went on, ‘My Harry’s not a boozer like some, and I’m a good manager. The bairn is ours now, with a decent home and a decent life in front of her. The rest she can leave behind. All we want from you is to get out of here and leave us alone.’
    Arkenstall stood up. ‘Very well.’ They stepped aside to let him pass but he paused then and asked, ‘May I see the child?’
    Mary hesitated, suspicious again. ‘She’s just been fed. I was going to put her to bed now.’ She hesitated still, but then decided, ‘I can’t see any harm in you having a look at her. Let him see, Harry.’
    So Arkenstall stepped forward and peered down at the small pink face, the eyes closed, a wisp of dark hair. He did not see any resemblance to the alleged father of the child but she was only a couple of days old. As for any likeness to the mother, Martha Tate .  . . ? He decided there was not. There was only innocence in this small face. But maybe that would change as she grew – to be what?
    Mary said defensively, ‘She’s clean, well fed and healthy.’
    Arkenstall smiled at her. ‘I’m sure she is. But I can see that.’ He moved on to the door and opened it. He paused again for a moment then, hat in hand, to glance once more around the kitchen, comfortably warm with the fire in the grate compared to the chilly bareness of the passage. He knew that providing linoleum for the passage would be an expense shared with the family living in the three rooms above, and if they would not or could not pay . . . He said, ‘I think the child will do well with you. Good night.’
    As the door closed behind him Mary moved into Harry’s encircling arm, so he held her and the child. He stroked her hair and soothed her. ‘There now, he’s gone. Calm down.’
    She looked up at him, defiant. ‘I’m not sorry. I meant every word and I stand by what I said. That lass was badly done by.’
    ‘I believe you.’
    ‘You would if you’d listened to her, like I did.’
    ‘All right, you’ve sent him off.’ He was silent a moment, then added, ‘Mind you, one o’ these days we might wish we’d taken that money he offered.’
    ‘Never!’ She pushed away so she stood at arm’s length. ‘If we took that money then in a few years the father might try to claim the bairn back, and if he could show he’d paid for her keep all along because he’d meant to have her, then they might give her to him.’
    ‘Could they?’ Harry was appalled. ‘They’ were the courts and the law; he knew nothing of either, wished to know no more.
    Nor did Mary. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I’ll not trust them. I’m thirty now, we’ve wanted a bairn for nearly ten years and thought we’d never have one. Now I have I’m not going to risk losing her.’
     
    Arkenstall went to the railway station a week later, splashing through the puddles spotted with the falling rain. Inside the high-roofed, echoing concourse there were the mingled smells of damp serge, coal smoke, steam – and horse manure from the cabs ranked outside. Martha Tate stood by the ticket office. She wore a coat, shoes and silk stockings and a wide-brimmed hat that all looked new. So did the umbrella she held out from her side so its folds, collapsed now she was sheltered from the rain, would not drip on her finery. Arkenstall thought that there was some of the first fifty pounds he had given her; the umbrella alone must have cost four shillings. She