Chapter 17

"Why can't I remember that not once have I ever seen a coin, whether grimy copper or bright gold, that had but one side."  Andrew Levkoff, A Mixture of Madness

-----

Chapter Seventeen

Mary had been successfully keeping up her ruse at the textiles factory for a month. What little money she had earned went into rent and food to keep Jamie occupied throughout the day.

Luckily, he had not wandered into the factory anymore after his first visit. Mary had been very firm with him, and he had obeyed her. What was more? He asked for his parents less and less. It had been several days since he had mentioned them.

Jamie was still very little. From what she could remember, she believed that he was approaching is third birthday. Could children forget their parents? If he could, they would make her crime so much easier. What had been a foolish and emotionally irrational crime could simply be forgotten.

So long as Mary continued to keep her head down, eventually the search for the most wanted child in Britain would cease.

The search for Jamie was still in the papers frequently. Her name was everywhere, as was her description, but luckily for her, there were countless slender women with dark hair in the country. The boy that they were searching for was blond. Mary's constant use of grease in Jamie's hair saw to that.

Jamie was not allowed outside anyway, but Mary never ran the risk.

That did not stop the questions from the women that she worked with, though. The warden, Mrs Dawson, was the worst of them. Every day she found her way to Mary's workstation, under the guise of inspecting her work, before she would ask her one question or another. Mary did her best to remember her story.

Mrs Dawson's questions were curious, but they sounded as if they came from a once clucky mother. Mrs Dawson looked to be a cold woman, stern woman, but Mary believed that seeing a small child had brought out some maternal sense in her. Mary only wished that she would show that maternal side to one of the other mothers in the factory. They always were talking about their children, complaining about their children, worrying about their children.

"There was absolutely nothing at the butcher today," moaned Bertha Stubbs, the woman who worked at the station beside Mary. "Nothing but scraps for the dogs."

These women were always complaining about something, but Mary could understand now where it came from.

Mary felt compassion for Jamie, no matter their situation, and she did feel terribly for what she had done. Everything decision she had made prior to taking Jamie away had come from love.

Whenever there was nothing decent to eat, and she had to put Jamie to sleep hungry, she felt the pain that these women felt when they could not feed their children.

Mrs Stubbs was a skinny woman with a bony face and even bonier hands, hands that were ideal for the needlework that she was tasked with. Everything she had, she gave to her husband and children. Her husband had been a poor foot soldier who had lost his leg in battle and could now no longer work.

"I managed to get a cabbage though. Might have to dress it up a bit to entice the little ones," Mrs Stubbs continued quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "But if they're hungry enough, they'll eat it." She set to work on the fabric in front of her.

Mary looked at the embroidery in front of her. She had nearly completed a beautiful rose in pink cotton and wondered what rich little woman was going to buy it. How few problems the rich had.

In that moment, her guilt for her crime against the rich Cassidys eased a little.

This was her life now. She would sit in a factory, in and amongst chattering, complaining, and worrying women in order to get her meagre wage. Perhaps, once the search for Jamie was over, she could travel to France, or somewhere in Europe to start afresh. She could perhaps work as a nurse again.

The look of her daydreaming had brought Mrs Dawson to stand in front of her table. "That embroidery is not going to do itself, Mrs Smith," she snapped. Mrs Dawson placed her hands on her hips and glared down at her. There was something eerily familiar about the glare she received from Mrs Dawson's brown eyes, but she could not place it.

It was at times like these that it was perhaps a good thing that Mrs Dawson was clucky over Jamie. Mrs Dawson had docked the women for less than daydreaming on the job and Mary needed every penny.

"I am sorry, Mrs Dawson. I was worrying about James. Mrs Stubbs was just telling me about the lack of meat at the butcher today," Mary feigned concern. Jamie had a loaf of bread to himself today. A three year old could last on that.

Mrs Dawson's hard glare softened. "Is he going to go hungry?" she asked softly.

"I will manage something," replied Mary. "Thank you for your concern. I am sorry for stopping."

Mrs Dawson pursed her lips. "I have some biscuits and a little pound cake saved for afternoon tea. You will bring the boy here at finishing time and he shall eat," she instructed.

Mary was certain that she went pale white as all blood drained from her face. She did not want Jamie out in public at all. "No need, that is very kind of you."

"Nonsense," retorted Mrs Dawson dismissively. "I will not have a little boy starve. You will bring him here or I shall dock your wages for child neglect." With that, she turned on her heel to go and bark at another worker.

"You are very fortunate," commented Mrs Stubbs. "I wish the old woman was as fond of my children as she is of yours. I wonder what her fascination is with your boy. She has only seen him the one time, and that was weeks ago."

"Yes," Mary managed to say. "I wonder." This fascination had to go beyond a fondness for children, did it not?

Mary could barely concentrate for the rest of the day. She could not get Mrs Stubbs' words out of her head.

At eight o'clock in the evening, the women finished for the day. Before Mary could even leave her work station, Mrs Dawson reminded her that she was expected back at the factory promptly.

Mary hurriedly made her way back to their little hotel. It was freezing cold. Christmas had come and gone, but the January air was still icy. She tightened her wrap as she came to the door of their hotel. She breezed past the little Italian man that sat behind the desk and made her way up to their room. She unlocked their door and her eyes fell on Jamie immediately. There was no light in the room, save for the glow of the moonlight coming in from the open window.

The room was freezing cold. Mary could see her breath in the darkness. Why was the window open? She raced over to the window and closed it before lighting a candle. Jamie was asleep, curled up on the bed. The pillows were blackened with the grease from his hair, but that was not what concerned Mary.

The boy was shivering. The bread that he had been given for the day was untouched, and the bed had been soiled. Mary felt the heat from his clammy skin as she touched his forehead. He was feverish.

She exhaled, frustrated. What was she to do? Surely she could not take him to Mrs Dawson like this. She would insist that he see a doctor. Her fondness for him would probably mean that she might even pay for it.

As a nurse, she knew that she needed to break the fever. If he got worse, he could get pneumonia. A terrible thought hit her. What if Jamie died? Three year olds could not fight illness as well as adults could. Children died from illnesses all the time.

A wicked thought crossed her mind. If Jamie died, she could be free. She could disappear.

She looked down at the child shivering in the bed and sighed. She could not let him die. No matter how easy it would be, she could not leave him. He was innocent in this.

"Jamie," said Mary in an effort to wake him.

Jamie stirred weakly. His eyes were droopy and his words were not entirely coherent. "Mama," he mumbled.

Was he asking for his mother? Or did he think Mary was his mother?

Mary lifted him from the bed and carried him over to the wash basin. She quickly removed his soiled clothes and washed him. She then washed his face and dressed him in clean clothes that she had made for him. These actions had woken him properly, however he was still very ill. If his mouth opened his teeth would chatter. His skin was still shiny with sweat and complained of pain whenever she moved his arms or his legs. So long as he was not coughing, Mary knew that she could heal him.

"We need to go to the factory. If Mrs Dawson keeps her word and docks my pay then we could be homeless. Do you understand?" Of course he did not understand. As Mary combed more grease through his hair, she said, "If you behave, eat what you are given, and do not say a word, I will buy you a sweet." The incentive of sweets seemed to work despite his illness.

Mary held Jamie on her hip as she locked the door to their room behind her. The walk through icy London seemed longer with a sick child. Jamie cuddled into her neck and pressed his face into her wrap to keep warm. Mary did not have the means to purchase him anything thicker than calico.

She was glad to finally reach the factory. The warmth inside was inviting. Jamie was half-unconscious on her hip, so Mary shook him awake before they met Mrs Dawson.

Mrs Dawson had prepared one of the work stations like a dining table. She had fixed three plates with biscuits and pound cake, one plate containing the most of course. Tea had also been brewing, Mary could smell it. The thought of a hot cup of tea was divine.

"I had always wanted to do a little tea party like this with my girls years ago," muttered Mrs Dawson when she saw Mary entering. "But I never did. Other things always seemed more important at the time. But they weren't really." She sighed, turned around and set her eyes on Jamie. She smiled warmly.

Mary still could not fathom this attachment. She had spent a month with the boy and was not as attached. Washing soiled clothing every day had seen to that.

"How are you, James?" cooed Mrs Dawson.

Jamie barely lifted his head in acknowledgement.

"His is very tired," explained Mary.

"I can see. It is so peculiar. He reminds me so much of someone," Mrs Dawson said thoughtfully.

Mary had never seen her so cheerful. "Who?" she asked curiously. Perhaps this could be the source of her attachment.

Mrs Dawson smiled sadly. "My daughter," she replied simply. "She looked like James when she was little. Startlingly so." Mrs Dawson's brown eyes were very sad as she looked at Jamie. "She is very ill, my daughter."

"Oh, I am sorry," murmured Mary.

"As am I. I received a letter about a fortnight ago from my eldest informing me. But she does not want me to visit. She does not want to burden me, she said." Mrs Dawson shook her head. "She did not even tell me what hospital she was in." Mrs Dawson's lower lip trembled but she managed to stop herself.

Mary was very uncomfortable seeing Mrs Dawson this way. The warden was never so candid. Mary wanted Jamie to eat his pound cake so that they could leave.

Mary sat Jamie down on her lap and began feeding him the pound cake. He lazily accepted the food.

"She was always so quiet, my eldest," said Mrs Dawson as she sat down beside Mary. "Always did as she was told. I had no idea that she hated me so."

What was Mary supposed to say? She had no interest in Mrs Dawson's problems with her daughters. Really it was none of Mary's business, and it was inappropriate for Mrs Dawson to be sharing.

"I wanted the best for my girls. I did not marry as well as I should have liked to, and so I wanted to ensure that they married into rich families. My girls were beautiful. Stunning young ladies. I had to practically beat the unworthy men off of my doorstep with a broomstick." Mrs Dawson laughed to herself. "But I found a good match from my eldest. She was the prettiest of her sisters, so promising a rich man a beautiful wife always made it easier."

Mary pursed her lips. It was possibly that Mrs Dawson had schemed more than her! But it was clear that she was full of regret. Her daughter ill now and she could not go to her.

"That is when it all fell apart. Her husband had ideas on how I should have reared my girls, and I was sent away, with my younger two remaining behind." Mrs Dawson leant an elbow on the bench and rested her head on her hand. "You do all you can for that boy, Mrs Smith. He will only stay young for a little while. Make too many mistakes and he will not want you with him when he could be at his end." Mrs Dawson could not stop her trembling lip this time. A few stray tears fell from her eyes.

Mary looked away awkwardly. "Mrs Dawson, I –"

"She is the one they write about in the papers you know," Mrs Dawson interjected. "I had no idea until I received Annaliese's letter. My beautiful Isabella."

Were Mary's mouth not shut, she was sure she would have emptied her stomach onto the floor. She had never felt such a sudden wave of terror. Not when she had stabbed Luke. Not when she had pushed Isabella down the stairs. Not even when she realised that she had kidnapped Jamie.

She suddenly realised why the glare from Mrs Dawson's brown eyes was so familiar. She gulped. She had received the same glare from Isabella. The resemblance was clear to her know, and she felt violently ill. No wonder Mrs Dawson was so fond of Jamie. He looked just like Isabella as a child.

Did Mrs Dawson know? No, she could not possibly. Mary needed to leave. Now. She needed to run somewhere else immediately. Mrs Dawson's curiosity would only increase now.

"The missing boy they talk about is her son," continued Mrs Dawson sadly. "My grandson. I did not even know Isabella was married."

"Well, we had best be going!" Mary announced hurriedly, lifting Jamie roughly back into her arms. The angle at which she held him made his head hang. His eyes and rolled back into his head and his shivering had increased.

"Mrs Smith, what is that on your neck?" remarked Mrs Dawson, before she gasped as Jamie's head fell backwards. She leapt out of her chair and placed her hands on his head before Mary could stop her. She then scrunched up her nose as her hands came away black. "Is this grease? What on earth?" Mary realised that Jamie's head must have left grease on her neck.

"Leave it!" snapped Mary.

Mrs Dawson was taken aback. "This child is ill," she retorted as she placed a dirty hand on his forehead. "My word, he is burning up!" she gasped.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Dawson, but I will tend to him." Mary tried to hurriedly leave but Mrs Dawson blocked her angrily.

"I do not understand your attitude, Mrs Smith, but this boy needs a doctor!" she said firmly.

Mary was frazzled, panicked, and frantic. She could feel her pulse beating faster and faster, and there was no way Mrs Dawson was letting her leave without an explanation. "I will see to it!" exclaimed Mary.

The noise of their quarrel had stirred Jamie once again. Very lethargically, he moaned, "I want Mama."

"I am here," hushed Mary impatiently.

"No, I want my Mama," Jamie whined.

It had not been a bad dream. Jamie had uttered those words, and Mrs Dawson had heard them. For a moment it looked like an angry Isabella standing in front of her. Realisation dawned on Mrs Dawson's face as she looked between Mary and Jamie. "His ... his mother?" she whispered. "Grease," she whispered again, as she looked down at her dirty hands. "He ... he is the image of my Isabella at that age. You match the description of the woman who took him. Mary."

Just hearing her name sent a chill down her spine. Mary had practically swallowed her tongue, she felt so ill.

"If what I think is true, you will give me the boy, and I shall let you leave," Mrs Dawson said darkly. "I may not be able to be there for my Isabella but I can certainly protect her son."

Mary looked down at the very ill Jamie in her arms. There was a third option that she had never considered. It was not run or get caught. Could she really give the boy to Mrs Dawson and leave?

Mrs Dawson held her arms out expectantly. Mary took careful steps towards her. "You have to understand, it was never my intention –"

"God will punish you," snapped Mrs Dawson.

Mary exhaled and placed Jamie in Mrs Dawson's arms. No sooner was he nestled against her shoulder did Mrs Dawson's fist come flying towards Mary's face. Mary heard a sickening crack, and she felt the warmth of the blood that came gushing from her nose.

"And so will I," Mrs Dawson added darkly before marching from the work room.

----

I'm back! Thanks for waiting so patiently for me!

I had a very good reason, I promise you! I've missed you all! This is my first time writing for you as a 22 year old! Since we last spoke I had my birthday! I feel so old.

Okay, so about 2.5 months ago, I was swinging my arms (as you do!) heading towards my staircase. I banged my right hand into the balustrade/banister whatever you call it so hard I thought my hand was going to fall off. But I thought it was like a stubbed toe. The pain would go away in a few minutes. But it didn't. After a few days of complaining, mum sent me off for an x-ray, and sure enough, finger is broken. The doc splinted and taped it for me and said I would be fine in a few weeks.

But the pain never stopped, and it's supposed to when it's strapped. I was in so much pain I could barely use my hand. You can imagine how hard this would be to do assignments for uni, let alone write chapters!

After two weeks I went back to the doctor and he told me to leave it strapped and I'd be fine. I wasn't. I went back after a month still complaining of extreme pain and he told me I have soft tissue damage in my finger. I have soft tissue damage in my knee from three years ago that still causes me pain. Soft tissue damage can take AGES to heal. I was so upset. He told me to leave the strapping off and build up my pain tolerance/wait and see how it goes.

So it's either healed or I've built up my pain tolerance! I think the latter. It still hurts but I'm okay to type now. You can imagine how useless I've been with a limp right hand for weeks and weeks!

Onwards and upwards!

So what's been happening since last we spoke?

I taught a class of Grade 4 kiddos for 4 weeks. Definitely know teaching is for me.

Finished my second semester of my Master's Degree with only having pulled 2 all-nighters.

Alex won The Bachelor Australia and I totally called it from Day 1.

Have tipped Lee to win The Bachelorette Australia. I have a gift for these things. P.S. I need a life.

And have just binge watched the new ITV series "Victoria" until 5 in the morning. If you have't seen it yet, and you love all things old fashioned like me, this series is for you. It's like "The Young Victoria" but way more detailed. I am in love. The finale episode airs in the UK Monday morning my time so I cannot wait!!!

Also watched the new "Scorpion" when I got home from work today. I want Walter and Paige togetherrrrrrrrrr. I hate Tim. Loved him on "Heart of Dixie" but he needs to go.

Well, if you're still reading my ramblings, I'm impressed.

Other than that, life's pretty normal. How have you all been?

Love xx