A Winter's Wish

Book 2: The Shaw Family in Liverpool

by Judy Summers

Genres: Sagas; Romance; Victorian Romance

Synopsis

Praise for Judy Summers:

'I thoroughly enjoyed this book... The characters are well drawn and believable' Lyn Andrews

'Fascinating insights into Victorian Liverpool and a heart-warming story make for an inspiring read' Mollie Walton

Can she save her family when they need her the most?

Liverpool, 1847. At seventeen, Delilah Shaw is the eldest of the eight Shaw siblings, and the one who must take charge when her mother and brother die in a tragic manner, and her father is left disabled in an accident at the docks.

Taking care of the cooking, cleaning, washing and childcare is hard enough, but when they can no longer afford to live in the family home, Delilah must make the heartbreaking choice to leave it and to take two of her younger sisters to the workhouse.

Determined to earn enough to get them back, Delilah conjures up a plan to start a flower-selling business, with the support of her new friends, Irish siblings Bridget and Frank, as well as trusted dockworker Abraham.

But as her father's drinking habit gets worse, and her siblings grow weaker, Delilah must ask whether she can really forge a better life for her family before it's too late?

Release date: October 26, 2022

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 432

Sample

Chapter One

Liverpool, May 1847

The baby was dead.

This was only the second of her mother’s lyings-in that Delilah had attended, but even from her place in the corner of the room she could see that the tiny, lifeless figure was very different from the squalling bundle that had appeared last time.

Ma had finally ceased shrieking, and was now emitting low groans and panting noises as the three women bustled about her. ‘What was it?’ she eventually managed, hoarse with exhaustion.

‘A boy,’ replied Ellen Jenkins, their next-door neighbour, wrapping the baby up in the swaddling cloth that was lying ready. The cloth that would now act as a shroud. She sighed and stroked the little face with one gentle finger before covering it.

There was a sudden exclamation from one of the attendants by the bed; the sad little group of neighbours who had helped with the birth became active once again. ‘Delilah,’ said Ellen, ‘why don’t you go downstairs? The others will be better hearing it from you, and your Pa will be home soon. Leave your Ma with us.’

Delilah cast a worried look over at the new bright blood appearing on the already soaked sheets, then made her way down to the main room. None of the boys were in, but Meg was stirring a pot on the fire and Rosie was in the corner rocking baby Annie on her knee. Annie was not yet one and a half, and Delilah wondered if Ma having another pregnancy so soon had resulted in the stillbirth. But some of the others in the family were closer in age than that, and babies died all the time, so who could tell?

She broke the news to the girls and comforted them all as they cried. It was the third baby Ma had lost altogether, but familiarity didn’t make it any easier.

The door banged open and William entered, dropping his school books on the table before making his way over to Meg. ‘Smells good!’

Delilah smiled sadly as she looked at them both. The single year’s difference in their age was beginning to look much greater now that William was growing like a weed while Meg was as petite as ever, hardly taller than Sam.

William noticed the sad faces. ‘Oh. Has Ma . . . ?’

‘Yes. She’ll be all right, Mrs Jenkins says, but I’m afraid the baby was born dead.’

William did what no other male in the family would think of doing, and embraced her. ‘Are you all right?’

Delilah had somehow managed to hold back the tears until now, but that made her cry. Fortunately she’d managed to wipe away most of the evidence before Pa and Jonny stamped in.

Pa looked at the table, saw nothing but William’s books and swept them away with an angry gesture. ‘Where’s my tea?’

‘Ma started her labour this morning, and she’s been lying in all day.’

‘So? I’m a working man, the head of this house, and I’m entitled to see my tea on the table when I get home, no matter what.’

‘Meg’s made boiled potatoes for the rest of us,’ said Delilah, trying to keep her voice level, ‘and I’ve sent Sam to the pie shop for you and Jonny. We didn’t have the chance to cook anything else.’

‘He’d better get back soon, then.’

Delilah was irritated enough to talk back. ‘Aren’t you even going to ask?’

‘Ask what?’

‘How Ma is?’

‘Well, I can’t hear no screaming, so it can’t be that bad. She should be used to it by now.’

‘It’s already over, Pa.’

‘Well then, what you making a fuss about? Boy or girl?’

‘A boy, but it’s dead.’ She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

Pa looked like he was going to say something, but then didn’t, for which Delilah was profoundly grateful. You never knew with Pa: on any given day he might react to the same thing with a smile or a vicious cuff to the back of the head, and she didn’t have the energy to cope with such unpredictability just now.

Jonny, meanwhile, had spotted the chink of weakness in his eldest sister’s voice. ‘Oh dear,’ he began, in a mocking tone. ‘Is poor little Delilah upset about the bay-bee? Ahh.’ He poked at the remains of the tears on her face.

She slapped his hand away angrily. ‘You wait until Ma hears you talking like that.’ She drew herself up. ‘And anyway, I’ll have your wages for the tin, seeing as she’s not here to do it herself.’ She held out her hand.

Jonny glanced at Pa, who nodded, and then reluctantly dug his hand into his pocket. He handed over a small pile of sixpences; Delilah counted them and then gave one back.

Delilah then turned to Pa, who poked through his own shilling pieces, laboriously counted out half and passed them over, and then re-pocketed the rest. ‘I’ll need to get out the house this evening, what with all this women’s business going on.’

Jonny, bored while he waited for his meal, turned his attention to the younger ones. As Meg walked past him with plates for the table he stuck out one foot; she tripped and only narrowly avoided being sent flying, plates and all. When she returned with the teapot he tried it again but this time she evaded him, leading him to hiss in annoyance and loom instead over Rosie, who cowered and tried to shield Annie from him.

Delilah stepped in front of him. ‘Leave them alone.’

Jonny almost raised a hand, but although he was by now much larger than she was, Delilah’s additional year of seniority still held, especially here inside the house, the women’s domain. She stared him down until he retook his seat at the table, tapping on it impatiently.

Further trouble was saved by the arrival of Sam and Jem carrying two hot pies. ‘About time, too,’ said Pa, biting into his straight away without waiting for anyone else to sit down.

Jem sidled forward to put the second pie in front of Jonny, skipping back as soon as it touched the table to avoid the expected clip round the ear. Having missed his target, Jonny crossed his eyes and made imbecile grunting noises at his youngest brother.

‘You stop that,’ called Sam, furiously. ‘He’s not stupid.’

Jonny made a derisive noise and turned his attention to his pie, making much of its meaty taste in the full knowledge that his siblings would eat only potatoes.

Delilah ushered the rest of the children to the table, aware that nobody had come down from the bedroom yet and trying not to worry about Ma. She motioned Meg to a seat as far away from Jonny as possible and watched her take Annie on her knee, mashing up her potato and feeding it to her little by little, not touching her own until it had gone cold.

Once the meal was finished, Pa pushed back his chair. ‘I’m off to the pub.’

Jonny did likewise. ‘Me too.’

‘Oh no you’re not, boy – not with me, anyway. It’s bad enough having you around all day at work – the pub’s for real men, not half-grown lads still wet behind the ears.’

He walked out, leaving Jonny humiliated and thus even more dangerous to anyone unlucky enough to have witnessed the put-down. Fortunately he took one look at Sam’s smirking face and stormed out himself, shouting something about finding his friends and slamming the door much harder than necessary.

There was a collective sigh of relief. Meg began to stack the dishes and William reached for his school books.

‘You go off outside,’ Delilah said to Sam, ‘while it’s still light. Take Rosie with you and stay in the street here.’ She turned to Jem and motioned the signs he used for ‘outside’ and ‘play’, pointing at Rosie. He smiled and took his little sister’s hand.

As Delilah and Meg washed the dishes, Delilah couldn’t help her attention straying to the stairs. Eventually she crept up and knocked at the door. ‘Ma? Ellen? There’s tea in the pot if I can bring you some?’

The door opened a crack. ‘Don’t you worry about your Ma, love. She had more of a bleed than we were expecting. We reckon she’ll be all right now, but we’ll stay a while longer. A cup of tea would be nice, and put sugar in hers if you’ve got any.’

‘Won’t James be needing his tea?’

‘He was home at dinnertime today so I told him he’d best get himself something from the bakehouse or the pie shop tonight. He won’t mind – he knows your Ma and me are good friends.’

Delilah was jealous on Ma’s behalf of a husband who would make no fuss about that sort of thing, but there was no point dwelling on it. Pa was no worse than many others.

She poured the tea and took it up, then returned to settle in a chair and catch up on the evening’s mending work while there was still light. Most of it was due tomorrow, and they would need the money. Besides, it looked like she would have to do all Ma’s laundry work on top of her own sewing for a few days – the last thing they needed was customers going elsewhere because Ma was too ill to work, and then never coming back.

Ma had seemed to struggle more with each pregnancy, or at least those that Delilah could remember. They’d been so many and so frequent that it was hardly a surprise she looked worn out sometimes. Delilah was sixteen, Jonny fifteen, William twelve, Meg eleven, Sam eight (Delilah smiled as she recalled that he would note hotly that he was ‘nearly nine’, as though that made him a grown man), Jem seven, Rosie four and little Annie not yet a year and a half. And there had been two stillbirths as well – three, she corrected herself, counting today’s – so Ma had been almost perpetually expecting or nursing for all those years. Poor Ma. And she was still young enough to have more; how much longer would she be able to keep her health and strength, at this rate?

Delilah shied away from thinking about what they would do, how they would manage, if Ma was no longer around. It was just too terrible an idea to contemplate. Best to keep busy to take her mind off it all, and Delilah could at least help by taking on extra work and allowing Ma to rest before she had to get back to her daily grind.

She was still going with her needle and thread some hours later, her fingers and her eyes sore as she looked blearily at the clock on the mantel. The house was quiet; Pa and Jonny hadn’t yet come back and the little ones were all in bed, Meg, Rosie and Annie in the girls’ room upstairs and Sam and Jem on their mattress over near the fire down here. The boys were sound sleepers so wouldn’t be disturbed by the candle that burned on the table between Delilah and William, or by the two of them speaking in low voices.

Earlier William had been doing arithmetic. He was the only one who had ever been to a proper elementary school, rather than just free Sunday school for a couple of hours a week, and it cost them precious pennies out of the household budget to send him up to St James’s every day. But he was brilliantly clever and had always been Delilah’s pride and joy for that very reason: when Pa or Jonny bullied him about it she stood up for him, backing up Ma in her argument that he should be allowed to stay on, even at an age when other boys would have left, so he could get an education. They had won their case so far, Pa grudgingly agreeing to the expenditure on the basis that it was an investment in the family’s future: if William could get a salaried position as a clerk it would mean a guaranteed income each week that was not dependent on precarious daily paid labour at the docks. Besides, as he had always cuttingly added every time the subject came up, it wasn’t like ‘little Billy’, as he always called his despised second son, was much good for anything else, pale and weedy as he was. And so William had his books and his daily respite from the rest of the family; and his teacher, pleased to have such an unusually able pupil, helped and encouraged him to study over and above what was necessary.

William had now put aside the columns of figures and was looking at some pages of text. Delilah had been to Sunday school with the others when she was younger, and she knew how to read – if a little haltingly – but as she gazed at his book she couldn’t make out any of it. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’

‘Latin,’ came the enthusiastic reply. ‘I’m translating a passage from Cicero.’

‘Who? Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter – just make sure you’ve put all that away before Pa gets home. You know what he thinks about it.’

‘Latin?’ said William, in a passing imitation of Pa’s outrage. ‘What use in God’s name is Latin? That’ll never get you a job. You learn your reading, writing and arithmetic, boy, and get yourself a position so you can support us when we’re old.’

Delilah smiled, but before she could reply she heard the sound of the bedroom door opening and several pairs of feet descending.

Ellen gave her a tired smile as the other two local women nodded and left. ‘She’ll be all right now, I think, but she must stay in bed for a good few days, you hear? If that bleeding starts up again it might not stop.’

‘I understand.’

‘I’ve piled up all the soiled sheets in the corner of the room. You’ll need to put them in to soak and then do them with all your other washing, else they’ll never get clean. You know what you’re doing, don’t you?’

Delilah looked at the baskets of dirty linen that were already piled up, these ones from paying customers, and sighed. ‘I’ll get up early to make a start.’

‘You’re a good girl.’ Ellen hesitated for a moment. ‘I’ve left the . . . the baby upstairs in the room. Do you want me to call in at the church tomorrow morning?’ She looked close to tears.

‘No, thank you,’ replied Delilah, in a voice she hoped was steady. ‘It’s family business so it’s my responsibility while Ma’s poorly. I’ll deal with it. But . . . thank you for all you’ve done. You know we’re grateful.’

Ellen managed a watery smile. ‘Your Ma and me, we’ve been best friends since we were younger than you are now. We look out for each other.’ She patted Delilah on the shoulder. ‘I’ll be off now, then.’

Delilah saw her out the door and then returned to her chair to sew and to contemplate what the morrow would bring, and the days after that.

* * *

September 1847

‘There’s been an accident at the docks.’

Delilah wasn’t halfway through the day’s backbreaking laundry yet, and these weren’t the words that she wanted to hear. She straightened to see the worried face of their next-door neighbour, and was immediately sorry for her selfish thoughts. We look out for each other. ‘Oh dear, has something happened to James? Do you need . . .’

But Ellen was shaking her head. ‘No – it’s not him, he’s fine. In fact it was him who ran up to bring the news. No, I’m afraid it’s . . .’ She trailed off.

‘Pa?’ asked Delilah, her heart sinking. ‘Or Jonny?’

‘You’d better get down there,’ was the only reply.

Ma was in bed. She’d gone down with the childbed fever soon after the stillbirth in May, and been so sick that it was a miracle she’d pulled through at all. She was more or less recovering now, but was still weak as a kitten and could hardly manage an hour at a time at her chores. Delilah was just about managing to keep up with both her mother’s washing work and her own sewing piecework, although she never stopped while she was awake and hardly slept, dragging herself through the days in a fog of exhaustion. Luckily Pa and Jonny had been able to get plenty of work over the summer, with ships coming into the docks every day and needing their cargoes unloaded. But if they were injured and couldn’t work for days, or even weeks . . .

As she accompanied James Jenkins the short way down Brick Street to the docks, skipping to keep up with his long strides, Delilah tried to get some information out of him. He didn’t speak much even at the best of times, and all he’d say now was, ‘Maybe it’s not as bad as it looked – we’ll see when we get there,’ which only made her worry all the more. She hoped against hope that it was minor, a broken arm or something, and Pa would soon be back to—

Delilah stopped dead as they rounded the corner of a warehouse and she became aware of the two unmoving, covered figures on the ground. It was as though she’d hit a wall. She was gasping for breath. But there was no choice: she forced herself to push through it and make her way forward, slipping like a ghost through the crowd of gawping men.

‘Pa? Jonny?’ Her voice wavered.

One man broke off from the group of onlookers to approach her; it was Mr Bradley, the dock supervisor who was responsible for picking men for each day’s work. ‘Delilah,’ he began, barring her way with one arm and then curling it round her waist. ‘Don’t go any closer, not just for a moment.’

‘What happened?’

‘A whole cartload of barrels came loose and fell right on top of them.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure how it happened yet, but it looks like Abraham might have been slack. I’m sorry.’

A man was kneeling next to one of the prone figures. His shoulders went rigid for a moment, and then he got to his feet. Delilah recognised Abraham, a dark-skinned American who was one of the few dockers to treat her with respect whenever she brought down meals for her father and brother, instead of unleashing a constant stream of lewd comments like all the rest. Indeed, he’d sent a few younger men packing in his time, when he felt they weren’t being polite enough to her.

He looked at her with those hazel-green eyes, so unusual in a man of his colour, and spoke with a quiet but firm courtesy. ‘That’s not true, Mr Bradley. I checked those ropes only this morning.’

Mr Bradley snorted. ‘As if I can believe anything your sort might say.’

Abraham ignored him and turned those sorrow-filled eyes to Delilah. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Delilah. Your Pa might make it through, but I’m afraid Jonny is dead.’

As if in a bad dream, Delilah tottered the few extra, unsteady paces towards the scene that would haunt and shape the rest of her life. Mr Bradley’s arm slipped away as he looked at his pocket watch; she heard his voice as if from a great distance as he told all the other men to get back to work and start clearing up the mess of broken barrel staves and spilled cargo.

Delilah knelt first by the body that was completely covered.

‘Are you sure you want to see?’ asked Abraham, gently. She nodded, and he folded back the sacking from her brother’s face.

Jonny was big and strong for his age, but when all was said and done he was a boy, just fifteen. Now, in death, he looked even younger than that. Delilah’s feelings were in turmoil, churning, changing almost every second. She mourned him. But she couldn’t mourn such a vicious bully who had terrorised the little ones. But she should feel guilty for thinking like that. But it would be such a relief not to have him back in the house. But that wasn’t a Christian way to think. But how on earth were they to manage without the wages he brought in? And . . .

‘You’re shaking,’ said Abraham, who had remained by her side. He took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. He’d always been so kind to her, making her feel safe whenever she was at the docks, and asking politely after Ma and the younger ones. And if ever Delilah needed a bit of kindness, it was now.

She reached out one hand, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the day. She left it hovering a moment, unable to bring herself to touch Jonny’s face. Then she remembered the cheeky toddler he’d once been, and that gave her the courage to pluck the little flower from her shawl and lay it on his chest before smoothing his hair.

She sat back on her heels. ‘You can cover him now,’ she said, hearing her own voice as if it came from someone else. ‘I’ll have to arrange for him and Pa to be brought home.’

‘I can do that,’ came James’s deep and sympathetic voice, ‘if you’ll allow me to borrow a cart for an hour, Mr Bradley.’

‘Anything to ease the lady’s distress,’ replied the overseer.

Delilah moved to Pa. He was lying on his back, quite still except that he was fluttering his eyelids. ‘Pa?’ she said. And then, a little louder, ‘Pa? Can you hear me?’

His head jerked and there was a tremor in his arm, though nothing from his legs. Delilah looked at Abraham, who grimaced. ‘It was a fair weight that fell on him, and more on his back than his head and neck, like Jonny. He might get the feeling back and he might not – there’s no way of telling just now.’ He paused, before adding, ‘I shouldn’t be intruding my concerns on you, Miss Delilah, not when this has just happened, but I swear I checked those ropes earlier and they were properly tied.’

Between him and Mr Bradley, she knew who she believed, and nodded without speaking.

‘Is your Ma still in bed most of the time?’ came Mr Bradley’s voice.

Delilah stood up and brushed the dust from her dress, composing herself before she turned to him. ‘Yes.’

‘Why, that must be three months now.’ He added something under his breath that might have been ‘Women!’

Delilah didn’t catch the word, but she did understand the tone. ‘She nearly died, Mr Bradley,’ she said, with some asperity. ‘We’re lucky she didn’t. And she’ll be up and about as soon as she’s able, you can be sure of that.’

She shouldn’t have spoken to the overseer like that, she knew she shouldn’t. There were so many men vying for work at the docks that anything could be used as an excuse not to pick them, and the family’s women talking back to a male figure of authority would be near the top of the list. But it didn’t look like anyone was going to be looking for a day’s work any time soon, so what did it matter? Besides, Mr Bradley seemed only amused. ‘I like to see a girl with spirit.’ He licked his lips. ‘So, in the meantime, you’re going to manage without help, are you? Your Ma and Pa both ill, and – what is it, six younger ones to look out for?’

Delilah nodded. ‘Yes, yes I will. They’re my family and my responsibility.’ She looked the faces of the three older men around her, feeling young and inexperienced and scared and female, but she took in a breath and drew herself up to her full height, pulling her shawl around her. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get Pa home, break the news to my Ma, and then arrange to bury my brother.’

* * *

May 1848

Delilah watched as Ma laboured in the bed, writhing in pain and letting out an occasional groan. Poor Ma. Following the accident Pa wouldn’t be fathering any more children, but it was just her luck to find out soon afterwards that she’d fallen pregnant already. Delilah was under no illusions about how babies were made, and she was ashamed that Pa hadn’t been able to leave Ma alone even when she was still bedridden after the stillbirth and the fever. She’d been unwell through the whole pregnancy; thin despite her swelling belly, hollow-eyed and dragging herself around in an attempt to keep up with her washing so that she could take some of the load off Delilah. It was a far cry from the hearty Ma, face red from the steam, who shared raucous chat and jokes with the other women in the street and who dealt out hefty slaps to children – her own or anyone else’s – who gave her cheek or who got too close to the boiling water.

Despite – or perhaps because of – Ma’s pregnancy and illness, she and Delilah had grown even closer over the last few months. Life had been very hard indeed with so much less money coming into the house, but their solidarity, the idea that it had been the two of them acting together against the world, had helped to get them through. Delilah felt that she had grown up and assumed a new position in the family: no longer one of the children, needing Ma’s care and attention the same as the others, but rather Ma’s friend and supporter, helping her to care for the younger ones. And once this baby was born Delilah would love and cherish it along with all the others, helping Ma to recover in the certain knowledge that she’d never have to be pregnant again. The old Ma would return and everything would get better.

The labour had been going on for a long time, and Delilah tried to remain positive by wondering if the new arrival would be a boy or a girl. She didn’t mind, really; another little sister would be nice, but a brother would be useful later on to help support Ma and Pa when they were older.

She sighed, thinking of their financial situation both current and future – something that had been a constant nagging worry since the day of the accident and one she couldn’t ignore even while she watched over Ma. Pa had survived but his legs were crippled and he couldn’t work; all he did these days was drink away the money the rest of them brought in and lash out at anyone who came near enough for him to reach. They’d lost Jonny, the other breadwinner, and the others were so young. Poor little Jem would probably never be able to work anyway, for who would employ him? So that only left William and Sam plus whatever she could bring in herself, helped by Meg, Rosie and Annie when they were older. But women never got paid very much, no matter how hard they worked.

M. . .