Free The Quietness by Alison Rattle

seemed an age away. She hardly ever thought of them all. Only sometimes the little ones came to mind; mostly in the quiet of the evening when Mrs Waters had gone out, the babies had been dosed and Mrs Ellis had at last taken herself off to her room. Mrs Ellis was always about. Telling Queenie to sweep the brick floors of the kitchen, rake out the ashes and fetch in coal and wood from the yard. And always to mind the babies.
    There were a couple of other ladies in the house too, timid things with growing bellies under their loosened gowns. They stayed in their rooms all day at the top of the house and Queenie only saw them when she took them their meals on trays. They were fallen women, Mrs Waters told her; unmarried ladies who had given in to temptation and were now with child. They were here to have their babes in secret. Queenie wished she could talk to them, but they never looked at her or even thanked her when she said, ‘Your supper, ma’am,’ or some such thing.
    It was late now, gone ten, and the house was silent. It was Queenie’s favourite time of the day. Her jobs done, she fetched a plate of cold potatoes and bacon and set herself out a cup and saucer and a pot of tea on the kitchen table. She held her cup by its handle, like a proper lady, and washed down her food with tiny sips. She imagined how the little ones would gawp if they could see her now. Maybe she would go back and show them how well she was doing for herself. One day, she thought. But not just yet. She tried never to think of Mam or Da. Every time she did she saw Mam’s eyes, cold and uncaring, as another drunken stranger stood waiting his turn outside their room; and Da slumped drunk in a corner somewhere. So she hung an imaginary sheet across the inside of her head and kept Mam and Da hidden behind it.
    Queenie had heard Mrs Waters leave a while ago. She kept strange hours, going out late in the evening and not returning until gone midnight. She often brought a baby back with her, saying she’d met a poor mother on the streets who had begged her to take in her child. The last one had been a feisty little thing with fat red cheeks that had fair hollered the house down. Until Mrs Ellis had dosed it up, that was. It was as quiet as the rest of them now, and as pale. When Mrs Waters had first brought it back with her it had been wearing a beautiful blue velvet cloak and a fine lace bonnet. Mrs Waters had been in high spirits and had sent Queenie out for a bottle of brandy and some hot roast beef. The sisters drank the whole bottle between them then fell to snoring in their chairs while Queenie ate the last of the beef, cold for her supper. She wondered why they had been so pleased with the child. She never saw the cloak and bonnet again, but supposed they had been put away, to be kept nice for when a new home had been found for the babe.
    Queenie could hear cockroaches rattling around under the kitchen mats. A sure sign that spring had arrived. She filled a bowl with warmed water from the kettle to wash herself. She undressed and stood in front of the kitchen fire and wiped herself all over with a wet cloth. She rinsed out her drawers and hung them on the fender to dry. They would still be damp by morning, but she only had the one pair and she liked this new feeling of clean. She liked to see the pink of her skin and to smell clean cloth and watch the dirt and dust of the day fly away as she shook out her petticoats and dress. Mrs Ellis had given her the dress, petticoats and underclothing, saying they had belonged to ‘one of the young ladies that had been to stay’. The dress was Queenie’s pride and joy. It was sky blue with lace trimmings and it swished around her ankles as she went about her work. It had been the best feeling in the world to throw her old dress in with the potato peelings and other kitchen rubbish. She hadn’t even wanted to cut it up for cleaning cloths.
    Queenie checked on the babies one last time before she went to