‘We’d all be ill, if that was the case. All the row uses the same water supply. Sometimes we do get belly gripes, but not that bad.’ Bill took offence at the suspected uncleanliness of his yard, and that it could be his fault that his wife could not bear children.
‘But have any other women on this row lost babies? It could affect just that part of a woman.’ Adam had listened with interest when the parson at Haworth had informed him, on the day of their tea together, that some women had lost babies because of contamination in the water, especially near the ironworks.
‘There are no other women down here, except my family. No woman in her right mind would live down here and breathe this stench every day, and all the houses are in need of attention. My old lass and all mine complain about the yard most days. But that’s what you’ve got to put up with, if you are in my line of business,’ Adam grunted.
‘Then perhaps you should think about moving your family away from here, to protect them. Or at least channel the waste away from the house and water supply, because I bet that’s where your problems lie.’ Adam pulled up the collar of his coat and looked at the dawning on Bill Bancroft’s face that his words might carry some weight. ‘It’s worked in Haworth – the mortality rate for babies has nearly halved.’ The rain dripped down over his face and he hoped that Bill would take his words seriously, as he looked around him.
‘I’ll think about it – you might be right. But it’ll cost too much to move, and it’ll cost a lot to make drains for all the pits. I’m not made of money, not like some.’ Bill scowled at Adam and thought long and hard about his words. The drains of the yard needed his attention, and in wet weather like the current day, the pits did find their own drainage, running down the yard into the nearest drain near his back door.
‘You think about it. If you need help, I’ll give you a hand. It’s what neighbours are for.’ Adam patted Bill on the back and saw him giving time to his words, before setting off on his way home.
Bill stood in the yard and watched Adam walk back up to his home high on the moorland. Perhaps he was right: it could be his fault for not keeping on top of the yard’s drains. There were all sorts of chemicals and pollutants in the hides, not to mention the lime that burned skin and irritated eyes. If it stopped the worry of his Dorothy losing babies, then he would have to do something about it, whether money was short or not. He was thankful that Adam had not asked what had become of the baby. His secret was safe for now at least, and that was how he’d like to keep it.
Thomas Farrington looked around: the pits were silent, everybody was in their beds and the moon shone down ghost-like, throwing a haunting light over the flay-pits and the heaps of hides yet to be processed. All was quiet except for the squeaking of the rats that inhabited the yard, and the owls that flew silently down to catch them as their prey. He lifted his shovel and put his oil lamp down beside the lime pit that everyone who worked in the yard was forbidden to go near, by the outspoken Bill Bancroft. This was where he’d find the bastard’s money, Thomas thought as he dug deep into the pit. He’d worked hard for Bill all his life and had never been shown any respect by him or his family. Now was the time to pay; the time for him to grab the box of money that Bill obviously hid in the heap of lime, else why had he been digging in it in the early hours of the other morning?
He dug his shovel into the lime, where he had seen Bill digging. Suddenly his shovel hit something, but it wasn’t hard; it was soft, and Thomas bent down to throw it to one side to make way for the box of money he hoped was hidden underneath it. He pulled on the sacking, displaying the contents enclosed within it onto the lime pile. He felt his stomach churn and held his hand against his mouth to stop him vomiting. There in front of him were the skull and limbs of a baby. But not a normal babe; its limbs were not yet formed, and likewise its face and features. It was obvious to him that the child had been born too early and would not have survived even if it had been born full-term, by the look of its features. So this was Bill Bancroft’s secret: there was no hidden money, just a dead baby.
But it wasn’t the first time that Thomas had seen Bill digging there, so as he wrapped the deformed shape up, he decided to dig deeper, only to reveal the badly decomposed skulls of a further two babies, before placing the sack and its contents back into its white, acid-eating grave. The lime pile was a burial place for miscarriages, and he had witnessed the disposal of the latest one. They couldn’t be Lucy’s babies, for she was as thin as a lathe, so they must be those of Dorothy Bancroft. And Bill was flouting the law by hiding them in the lime pit without a decent burial; whether they were full term or not, they still had to be accounted for.
