The Forgotten Sister

Book 1: The Shaw Family in Liverpool

by Judy Summers

Genres: Historical Fiction; Family Life; Historical Romance

Synopsis

'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

Abandoned and alone, can she find new hope?

Liverpool, 1848. Meg Shaw is the middle child of eight siblings, not quite old enough to bring in a wage to help her struggling family, but not young enough to be a babe to be cared for.

When the family realise they can't feed all the children, Meg makes a choice. She volunteers to go to the workhouse for one season, and she'll take her little sister, Rosie, with her. As long as they are together, they can make it through.

But the moment they enter the workhouse, Meg and Rosie are separated. Abandoned and alone, Meg is determined to make it through, and soon finds herself surrounded by a new family of vulnerable girls in need of protection and love.

Meg does all she can for her new sisters, but when a season passes and no one comes for her or Rosie, can she find a way to keep them all safe?

Release date: March 31, 2022

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 448

Sample

Chapter One

Liverpool, October 1848

Meg heard the smack of her father’s knuckles connecting with her face before she felt it.

The pain arrived a moment later, as it always did, exploding into stars, dizzying; she staggered back with a hand to her stinging cheek, reeling from the combination of the blow, the shock and the fumes of cheap gin.

‘Pa! Stop that!’ That was Delilah, from the other side of the room.

‘Got a right to respect in my own house, haven’t I?’ he slurred, swaying. ‘She should have my tea ready if she knows what’s good for her.’ He aimed another backhanded swipe, but this time Meg was prepared and stepped out of the way. This seemed to enrage him more, and Delilah rose from her chair, but Sam was quicker – he darted in and kicked Pa’s crutches out from under him, making him overbalance, and then shoved him down on the sofa. There Pa flailed about, bellowing and cursing, before he subsided into angry muttering and, eventually, snores.

Delilah reached Meg’s side. ‘Your mouth is bleeding. Here, let me—’

‘I’m fine.’ Meg avoided her sister’s hand as deftly as she had her father’s, and scrubbed her face on her sleeve before kneeling to comfort Rosie and Annie, who had both burst into tears when they’d seen him hit her. At least it wasn’t them this time. She buried her face in their soft necks as they put their little arms around her, making soothing noises that were as much for herself as for them. Annie planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

Once they were quiet, and Meg was sure that she wasn’t going to cry in front of everyone, she sniffed, stood up and moved with what she hoped was briskness to the tiny fire in the grate. ‘He won’t want anything to eat now,’ she said, keeping her voice steady, ‘but we’d better save him some in case he wakes up later.’

‘What is there?’ Sam and Jem – Liverpool’s champion eaters, Delilah jokingly used to call them, back in their old life – were both looking at her like hopeful puppies.

‘We’ve no meat, and I couldn’t get potatoes today,’ said Meg, poking the pot with their remaining spoon. ‘But I’ve made a broth with those vegetables they were throwing out at the market yesterday, and it’ll do to soften the bread.’

Jem was staring at her blankly, and she realised she’d spoken while turned away from him in the dim light. She looked directly into his face and repeated the words ‘broth’ and ‘bread’ while making the signs he used for them. He brightened.

There wasn’t going to be much between seven – eight, if they saved some for Pa – but it would have to do. Delilah, the almost-adult, and William, who earned a wage, naturally got theirs first; after they had theirs Meg slopped some more broth out for Sam and Jem, smaller portions for Rosie and Annie, and the dregs for herself, leaving the barest scraping and the last crust of the bread for Pa, who probably wouldn’t come round until the morning anyway.

Meg found a corner of the mattress alongside her sisters, dipping Annie’s bread and feeding her piece by piece to make sure she didn’t spill or waste any of the precious hot liquid. Pa was taking up the whole sofa, snorting and sweating despite the cold, so Delilah and William used the two mismatched chairs by the table and the smaller boys sat on the floor with their backs to the door, their dirty, bare feet sticking out in front of them.

Hers was almost cold by the time she got to it, but it didn’t matter. As she ate – shame we couldn’t get an onion or a leek to go in it, that would have improved the taste – Meg briefly allowed her mind to wander back to the time when they’d lived in a whole house rather than one stinking, crowded room. But thinking of the past was no good; it only reminded her of those who were lost. Ma, baby Jemima, Jonny . . . all gone now, just like their home.

She checked herself. Dragging up these memories was no use, and besides, Delilah didn’t like them to talk about what had happened. Meg pushed the thoughts away as best she could, seeking to concentrate on something else, on those who were still here.

She watched William. He was fading away, so much thinner and paler than he’d been a year ago, but after Pa’s accident he’d had no choice but to leave his beloved school and get a job labouring at the docks. If only she could look after him properly, feed him more nourishing meals, have him look at her and appreciate how much she loved him. He was exactly a year older than her, their birthdays the same day, and by rights he should have been her special friend in the family, but he always looked to Delilah for everything.

Delilah. Seventeen, and she’d be eighteen before the winter was out; only four and a half years older than Meg, but it might be a hundred for all they had in common. Delilah, who had been left in charge of the family when Ma died, who had taken on her work and her worries and the thankless task of trying to keep Pa from killing himself with drink. Meg knew she should be grateful, that she should adore Delilah like all the others did, but somehow there was a cloud in the way.

The candle had almost burned down to the halfway mark scratched on its surface. Like everything else, it had to be strictly rationed – one every two days – and as with the food, they had all learned the hard lesson that using too much today would mean less or nothing for tomorrow. She and Delilah wrapped shawls and jackets around the smaller children and hustled them all outside to visit the two privies shared by the whole court, before the shadowy men and the raucous drunks appeared, as they would later. Meg shivered while she awaited her turn. After the almost comforting fug of broth, fire and warm musty damp inside the room, the cold outside was like a knife, even though it was only October, and it made her bruised face sting all the more. Still, at least it kept down the reek from the privies. They’d only lived here a month; Meg couldn’t bring herself to think about what it might smell like if they were still here next summer.

Once they were safely back inside their room with the door shut, and a chair pressed against it in case of unwanted nocturnal visitors, Meg busied herself tucking Rosie and Annie up on the mattress. Sam and Jem were at the other end, and Rosie giggled as Jem’s cold feet met hers and tickled them. The boys, tired out by the endless miles they covered scampering round the city during the day, were soon asleep. The little girls took longer to drop off, and Meg stayed with them, stroking their hair and singing softly, until their eyes closed and their breathing deepened.

The candle had been blown out by now; the only light in the room came from the dying embers of the fire. Pa hadn’t woken up, but he could have his bread and cold broth for breakfast, if he wanted to, and washing the bowls out could wait until the morning when Meg would be able to see better to draw water from the pump outside.

Yawning, Meg gently prodded Rosie until she rolled over, and then squeezed on to the edge of the mattress, cuddling up to her sisters for warmth. Delilah and William were still at the table, pushing round the day’s collected earnings, a pile of silver and coppers that Meg knew wasn’t big enough.

Pa had gone quiet at last, which meant he was either sound asleep or dead, and Meg didn’t much care which. She drowsed, listening to the soft breathing next to her and the low voices from the other side of the darkened room. She wasn’t sure whether she was awake or asleep and dreaming when she caught one word that stood out from the rest: workhouse.

* * *

It was warm under the blankets with all the little sleeping bodies, but when dawn broke Meg knew she had to get up. She could smell that Delilah had lit the fire, and she came in with water from the pump just as Meg got to her feet.

‘Breakfast will have to be a drink of tea on its own,’ said Delilah. She set the kettle to hang over the licking flames. ‘But I can give you some money to buy food while I’m out. I’ll have to go soon. We’ve a big load of sheets coming into the laundry today – can you manage?’

Was it still early? Meg automatically looked at the mantel over the fire, but the clock that had regulated their days for the whole of her life, one of the few things they’d brought with them, was gone now; it was in the front window of the pawnbroker’s on Scotland Road and the mantel was bare.

Before the kettle was even boiling William was ready to go – he had a long walk down to the docks these days, and to be late was to miss the opportunity of being picked for the day’s unloading work. Meg hastily reached for yesterday’s tea leaves, carefully dried so they could be used again. She spooned some into a cup and poured water over them. ‘Here. Something warm before you go out, at least.’ William drained the cup, and as he handed it back she pressed the last crust of bread into his hand. ‘You’ll need something.’ She cut short his protestations, looking scornfully at the sleeping figure on the sofa. ‘Never mind Pa. If he asks after it I’ll tell him a rat took it.’

William managed a tired smile and a brief press of her hand, and then he was gone.

Delilah was putting on her shawl, and she called Meg over to the table. ‘I’ve put aside the rent money already, so this is all for food. It’s Sunday tomorrow, so see what you can get for two days. When Sam gets up, that mending’, she pointed at some neatly folded linen in a basket, ‘is to go to Mrs Walker in Hunter Street on his way. All right?’

Meg nodded. Delilah stepped forward as though to kiss her, but she evaded the embrace. ‘I’ll see what I can get. Don’t worry about us.’

She watched her sister leave and then took the now boiling kettle off the fire again and shook Sam and Jem awake. A few quick slurps and they were out the door, carrying the basket between them.

Meg turned to the table. The coins stacked on it added up to three shillings and sixpence, and her mind began to work. For two days they would need at least four four-pound loaves, at eightpence each, which was two and eight, leaving – she frowned, having much preferred reading to arithmetic during the Sunday school sessions they used to have – tenpence. That wasn’t bad; allowing for enough potatoes for Sunday dinner, she might be able to get a bit of salt beef to add to make a stew. She picked up the coins and went to wake Rosie and Annie.

Rough hands suddenly seized her, and she let out a shriek. Dear Lord, she had forgotten about Pa, and had made the catastrophic error of stepping within his reach with money in her hand. He must have woken up while she was counting and waited for her to move away from the table.

She tried to clench her fist tightly round the coins as she struggled against him, but it was no use. The accident that had crippled his legs had left his arms uninjured; the action of dragging himself round on crutches had made them even stronger. He wrapped one round her like a vice, holding her fast, while with his other hand he forced hers open.

‘Please, Pa, it’s for food. For all of us!’

But she knew he didn’t care. His face, close to hers, was sweating, and his eyes were wild and yellow. There was only one thing on his mind. Slowly her fingers were prised apart, and then he had the money.

She wasn’t about to give up that easily. She might not be able to move her arms, but he wasn’t holding her head; she bobbed it down and bit into his forearm, sinking her teeth in hard. He swore and loosened his hold, allowing her to lash out and send some of the coins flying across the room. ‘Quickly!’ she shouted to Rosie, who was out of bed and cowering at the sight before her. ‘Pick them all up and run outside.’

Rosie scuttled across, keeping well out of Pa’s way as he fell back exclaiming at the bite mark. Meg, released from his grip, stayed where she was, glaring at him. She rubbed the bruises on her arm where his fingers had dug in. ‘Give that back.’

He made a derisive noise as he looked blearily at the coins in his palm. ‘This’ll do for now.’ He looked up at her. ‘Anyone asks, you lost the money, you hear? You dropped it somewhere. If you know what’s good for you.’

She was about to retort that she didn’t care when his next words, in a more vicious tone, turned her blood to ice. ‘Or if you know what’s good for Rosie, anyway.’

Meg stopped dead. He wouldn’t, would he? He wouldn’t threaten to harm an innocent little girl, his own daughter? Of course, he hit Meg, but she was older than Rosie. But then she looked into his eyes and saw the despair and the craving. He would let nothing get between him and his drink. She scooped Annie up and ran outside.

Rosie was already there, with what remained of their coins clasped in her fist. Meg hurried them both away from the door, but stopping in the middle of the court was no good – the place was full of curious faces and the last thing she needed to do was to stand out in the open and count money.

She mustered as much dignity as she could in front of the audience. ‘Ah, there you are, Rosie. Come on, we’re going to the market.’ With Annie balanced on one hip, she held out her other hand to Rosie, who took it. ‘Keep tight hold of that money till we find somewhere quiet,’ she murmured under her breath.

Once out of the court she had to stop to orient herself, still not used to the maze of narrow alleys and dead ends that pressed together behind the semi-respectable façade of Gerard Street. Eventually she found the one that would lead them to the main road, and they picked their way through it, avoiding the slimy rubbish-strewn cobbles and a few barefoot toddlers covered in sores. There was one particular court entrance they hurried past, the one that contained what Delilah primly called ‘a house of ill repute’, and what the local men called something far coarser. No respectable woman or girl walked anywhere near it at night, for fear of being mistaken for one of those who worked there – or for fear of being attacked by a drunk who couldn’t tell the difference – but there was little danger this early in the morning. All was quiet, and indeed the madam herself was standing outside her door catching the air, her red hair bright against the dingy walls. Still, Meg hustled her sisters past the archway quickly.

Once they were on the public street, Meg stepped into the shadow of a shop doorway. ‘Right,’ she said, grimly, ‘let’s see what he’s left us.’

She counted each coin into the pocket of her apron as Rosie handed them over one by one. One shilling and tenpence. Not as bad as it could have been, but only just over half what she had started with. Not enough to buy even three loaves, never mind four.

Rosie was crying. That pushed the food shopping out of Meg’s mind for a moment. She stooped to give her little sister a fierce hug. ‘It’s all right, darling. He can’t hurt you out here.’

‘But I don’t like it!’ wailed Rosie, with Annie now starting to sniffle too. ‘I don’t like it, I’m scared of Pa, and I’m hungry. I want to go back to how it was before!’

So do I, thought Meg, and for a moment all she wanted to do was collapse in a heap and join them both in their hopeless weeping. But that would never do; she had to be stronger than that. She bit her lip in an effort to stop it trembling. ‘It’ll get better, don’t you worry, darling. We’ll make it better, William and me. And Delilah.’

Rosie raised a woeful face. ‘Promise?’

Meg knew she was telling a lie, but what else could she do? ‘Promise. Now, wipe your faces, both of you, and we’ll go to the market to see what we can get. And when we get home, Pa won’t be there.’ Because he’ll be at the gin shop all day, she added to herself. And then he’ll come home drunk again and it will all start over. But she would find a way past all this, find a way to look after her little sisters. She didn’t know how yet, but she would.

As they left the shop doorway and headed in the direction of the market, the sun came out. It was a weak, autumnal sun, without much warmth, but still better than the unceasing grey and the chill wind of the last few weeks. Meg took the hands of both her sisters and lifted her face to the sky as she walked on.

* * *

Two loaves of bread, an onion, a very small pile of potatoes and a tiny offcut of bacon were all that lay on the table once they got home. Meg was hungry and tired, but none of it could be touched until that evening. The whole situation had been made worse by having to walk past the pie shop – just starting to bake the wares that would fly off the shelves when the hardworking dockers, labourers and market traders finished their working week on Saturday night – and now her stomach was growling out loud, while Rosie and Annie made eyes at the food.

The only thing to do was to try to take their minds off the hunger. Some girls were playing outside, so Meg sent the others out to join them, giving Rosie strict instructions not to leave the court and not to let Annie out of her sight. Fortunately their room was on the ground floor – the first one you reached as you came in the building – so she could see them through the window and run out if she needed to. She busied herself sweeping the floor and trying to take a scrubbing brush to the patch of black mould on the wall under the cracked glass and the rotting sill.

She was there, on her hands and knees next to the table, when she heard loud male voices outside. That was unusual during the day. She raised herself to peer out; two men were supporting a third between them, and her heart sank as she recognised her father.

One of the men was addressing the group of little girls. ‘Which of you knows John Shaw? We were told he lived here.’

Rosie pointed wordlessly at their door, and the men dragged Pa inside. It was only once they were in the room that they noticed Meg, who was keeping the table and chairs between her and them, just in case, but to her relief they slung Pa down on the sofa, dropped his crutches next to him, and turned to go. ‘Early home for him, I expect,’ one of them said, gesturing to the prone form, ‘but he ran out of money and they didn’t want him cluttering the place up no more. Lucky for him the gaffer said to bring him home and not kick him out into the street.’

‘Aye,’ said the other, looking on the drunk man with contempt. ‘But only so he’ll be back for more another day. They don’t want to lose such a good customer, do they?’ He laughed.

The first man must have seen Meg’s wide eyes, or noticed her trembling legs, and he spoke more kindly. ‘Not to worry, lass – he’ll be asleep a good long time, till your mother gets home, at least. Just leave him where he is.’

They left, and Meg heaved a sigh of relief. But the man’s words, however kindly he had meant them, had stung: if she could have one wish, it would be that her mother really would come home. But Ma was cold in her grave, dead four months ago after giving birth to a baby they couldn’t hope to look after. They’d given little Jemima away, and now they lived without Ma – without her love, her protection or the money she’d earned.

As the autumn dusk drew in Meg called the girls inside and lit the fire again, looking with dismay at the almost-empty coal bucket. But there was no other way to heat water, and the least she could do was to have something hot ready for when the working members of the family came home. She hoped it would be soon, for Pa was beginning to stir much earlier than she’d hoped. How much alcohol would he have got for a stolen shilling and eightpence? How drunk could you get when you robbed the food out of the mouths of your own children?

Sam and Jem were first back, and she made them sit on the floor by the fire to warm up, telling Sam to stay out of Pa’s reach and keep any earnings in his pockets until the others got home. He gave Jem a look – they never seemed to need words to communicate with each other – and they sat down, Jem soon delighting in playing a silent game with little Annie that involved a lot of finger waving and her giggling. Meg smiled to see them.

William and Delilah came through the door together, having met each other on the way. They both looked exhausted, but Delilah carried more mending to work on into the evening. Meg was glad to see them, for Pa was now fully awake and attempting to sit up. She bustled round, hoping to get a cup of hot tea into them before Delilah noticed the pitiful victuals on the table.

Her hopes were to be disappointed. Delilah was halfway through a sentence when her eyes fell on the food, and she stopped mid-word.

Meg braced herself.

‘Is that all you got? For three and six? That can’t be more than two shillings’ worth, surely.’

In fact it had been two shillings’ worth of food – Meg had only got it for one and ten because she’d spent an hour helping the potato seller unload heavy sacks from a cart, even though she could hardly reach up to the tailgate. But what would be the point of attempting to say any of that?

She was desperate to let out the whole story, to tell them about what Pa had done, to see them look on her with sympathy instead of condemnation, but in the room’s rapidly dimming light she could see Pa behind Delilah, tapping the side of his nose and casting a significant look at Rosie.

There was nothing to be done. ‘I lost some of the money.’

‘What?’

‘I lost it. It was all in separate coins, and while I was in the market some of it must have fallen out of my pocket. I’m sorry.’

Delilah looked ready to burst with anger – either that or to cry, Meg wasn’t sure which. ‘You lost it?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘William and I work every hour God sends to try and earn enough to keep us all, and I give you the money and you lose it?’

Meg felt a shadow at her side. It was Sam, ready to stand by her. Had Rosie let something slip to him about the events of the morning, while they were sitting by the fire? She looked at him and gave the smallest shake of her head, trying to get the situation across to him without words, and he seemed to understand, slipping away again with a grim face.

William was looking at her in sad disappointment, and that was worse than all Delilah’s fury. She waited for the storm of angry words to break, but they didn’t come. Delilah sat down, seemingly defeated. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, dully. ‘We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.’

And that was even worse.

* * *

It was a hungry Sunday. They’d only had half as much bread as usual for their meal the night before, dipped in tea, and they all awoke ravenous. The potatoes and the onion went in the pot, but when dinnertime came there wasn’t nearly enough to go round – the meal was gone in minutes, every bowl scraped and licked clean, every eye looking about to see if anyone else had left any. The piece of bacon was so small there had been no point in chopping it up; it had gone in whole and Meg had put it in William’s portion, glaring and defying any of the others to argue.

Meg was just clearing the bowls, and Delilah was beginning to tell the youngsters to go out and play, when there was a loud knocking at the door.

‘The rent man?’ William looked even paler than usual as he spoke.

But Meg could see that Delilah was relieved, rather than afraid. ‘Good. I’ve got it put by and I’d rather pay it over before Pa comes home so he can’t get his hands on it. I hid it but I know he’s been trying to find out where.’ She went to one corner of the room and slid out a brick; she removed a pile of coins and then replaced it. ‘All right, open the door.’

The man on the threshold was belligerent, as well he might be given how many of the court’s residents were inexplicably not to be found whenever he called. ‘Rent.’

Delilah stepped forward and poured the coins into his outstretched palm. ‘Eight shillings.’

He counted it laboriously and then grunted his acceptance.

‘Write it down.’ That was William.

‘Eh?’

‘I said, write it down. In your book. To say that we’ve paid you in full for this week.’

The man looked displeased, but Jem had already sidled up to him and removed the book that was sticking out of his coat pocket. He skipped back as the man looked to wallop him.

With great ceremony and a baleful glare, the man took out a pencil, licked it and wrote laboriously. ‘There.’

‘Thank you.’

Meg now expected that the man would leave, but he did not. He folded his arms and rocked on his heels. ‘Rent’s going up.’

‘What?’ Delilah sounded aghast.

He grinned a nasty grin. ‘So many people wanting housing these days, it’s getting expensive.’

‘But it’s only a couple of weeks since you put it up last time!’

The man shrugged. ‘Ten shillings, next Sunday.’ The grin vanished abruptly. ‘Or you can get out, and I could have an Irish family in here before you could say Paddy O’Hara.’ He stabbed one pudgy finger at Delilah and growled. ‘Ten shillings.’ And then he was gone.

They didn’t light the fire that evening. There was hardly any coal left at all, and there was nothing to cook over it anyway. There was nothing in the morning, either, except cold tea, for the one remaining loaf of bread had to be kept for the evening. Meg rarely went to the market on Mondays, as Sundays, being a ‘day of rest’, meant that nobody earned any money.

By Monday evening she felt light-headed. Everyone was hungry and irritable. The little ones were whining, Delilah looked exhausted and William was almost dead on his feet. There had not been a full day’s work at the docks, and he’d only brought home half his usual pay. Jem was dozing. Sam was the only one still with a spark of energy, but when he looked at his evening meal of one sl. . .