Down Weaver's Lane by Anna Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page B

and people regarded her with suspicion. Some women drew their skirts aside as she passed, so they must know who her mother was already.
    She was feeling weary today because it was like the bad times when she was younger. Now she had to sit outside their room on the stairs at night while her mother had men in to visit her. Sometimes it was George himself, but other times it was strangers, some of them quite well dressed and very furtive, hiding their faces behind their hats as they passed her. Others were drunk, falling over their own feet and making a lot of noise.
    Her mother said nothing about these men, but she looked unhappy most of the time now. Emmy had tried to persuade her to go back to Manchester, but all she would say was, ‘There’s no going back, lovie. There never is.’
    As she walked home Emmy saw an older lady come out of one of the cottages, a funny little place that had been crammed in between two others and always looked slightly crooked. The lady looked pale, as if she had been ill, but she smiled at Emmy so the child slowed down and offered her a tentative smile in return.
    ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’ The lady turned her face up to the warmth of the sun.
    Emmy stopped walking. ‘It is. An’ your garden’s lovely, too, missus.’ It was a tiny patch of ground, but it was crammed with flowers and Emmy often stopped to admire it. She had thought the lady old, but now realised she was only a bit older than her mother, but very frail-looking.
    The lady nodded, her eyes lingering on the flowers, then she sighed. ‘It’s getting too much for me. I can’t bend down properly any more.’
    ‘I could help you with it if you’d show me how,’ Emmy offered. ‘I’ve got nothing else to do an’ I like flowers.’
    ‘Do you know anything about gardening?’
    ‘No, missus, but you could sit on the step and tell me what to do, couldn’t you?’
    After a pause the lady nodded. ‘Why not? But you must let me pay you for your toil, child.’ She could see that the girl was poor, with much-mended clothes, so even the few pence she could spare would help, she was sure.
    The woman next door looked over the low stone wall dividing the gardens from one another and clicked her tongue in annoyance at the sight of Emmy. ‘Get away from here, you!’ she shouted, flapping one hand.
    Tears filled Emmy’s eyes and the little bubble of hope burst, but she turned away obediently.
    ‘No, wait a minute, child!’ the lady called.
    The woman next door began to whisper to her, gesturing towards Emmy with many frowns and shakes of the head.
    When she had finished speaking she scowled at the child while the kind lady stood thinking. Emmy waited, hardly daring to breathe. Would she be allowed to stay? To work in this pretty garden? To learn how to grow flowers?
    ‘I think I’ll make my own judgement, Hessie, thank you. The child isn’t to blame for what her mother does.’ Again the lady beckoned to Emmy. ‘Come in and tell me about yourself, dear.’
    Hope began to bloom again as Emmy followed her inside. The door led straight into a little sitting room that was just like her best dreams. It had a wooden floor, shiny with polish, and a neat rug in front of the fireplace, though there was no fire lit on this warm spring day. There were curtains at the window and ornaments on the mantelpiece, with a rocking chair and a sofa set temptingly to either side.
    ‘Eeh, it’s lovely in here!’ Emmy exclaimed.
    The lady looked round as if she’d never seen it before. ‘I suppose so. I’m used to bigger places, but this will have to do me now. Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a cup of tea together, shall we?’
    So Emmy sat down at the table while the lady fussed to and fro, brewing the tea in a pretty china teapot and serving it in china cups with matching saucers. She brought out some scones, too, and set butter and jam in front of Emmy with a simple, ‘You look hungry, child.’
    Daintily, remembering the