The Bobbin Girls Read Online Free Page A

issued his wife with this order, James strode from the room, certain he had finally succeeded in showing he was the one who made the decisions in this house.

 
    Chapter Two
    The next morning when the inhabitants of Applethorn Cottages were busily righting their dustbins, which they always had to do following Hallowe’en, Dolly Sutton had her head in the scullery sink.
    She wasn’t sure whether this queasiness she felt was the result of eating too much supper or stemmed from a more sinister reason, one too frightening to contemplate. In case it was the latter, she had, over the last several days, jumped off every stair for as high up them as she could manage. She’d taken a dozen baths, whenever her mother was out, most of which had been stone cold because she’d used up all the hot water from the back boiler, but all the more painful for that. She had also taken more than the odd nip of her mother’s gin. But despite all her best efforts, there was no sign of her monthly visitor. What she longed for more than anything right now was that familiar dragging pain in her belly. Instead of which all she felt was a ball of breathless fear in her chest.
    She remembered reading in some newspaper or other how even the Archbishop of Canterbury himself had given the go-ahead for contraception, so long as it wasn’t for selfish reasons, which seemed a bit contrary to Dolly. The only trouble was, the article didn’t explain how you went about it. And she’d never dared ask her mother.
    She stared into the grubby medicine tin which bore a picture of Queen Victoria’s jubilee on the lid, no doubt indicating the age of its contents, in the hope of salvation. Fenning’s Fever Cure. Dolly shuddered. Kill or cure, more like. It would take the coating off her tongue, and even if she was prepared to suffer it, she doubted it would solve her problem. Vic’s Vapour Rub. Fat lot of good that would do. And a bottle of Indian Brandee, good for belly ache caused by a period. But would it bring one on?
    She heard the back door open and her mother’s voice raised in argument. What was wrong now? That old nosy-parker from next door causing trouble again?
    Dolly’s head ached abominably and she laid a cold flannel against it with tender care. Perhaps that third nip of gin had been one too many and that was why the top of her head felt as if it were being screwed off like the stopper from a stone ginger bottle.
    Mrs Sutton’s voice rang out. ‘I wish I’d done it meself, you nasty old witch!’ Then the kitchen door slammed, reverberating throughout the small cottage and doing no kindness to Dolly’s headache.
    If only she were older, she thought, after retching another thin stream of bile-like liquid into the sink. It wouldn’t have mattered so much then. She might even have been pleased, on the basis that Tom Townsen would have to marry her. But although he was near enough twenty, she was only sixteen, seventeen come February which was only four months away. Not that being seventeen would help in any way with this problem.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Mrs Sutton asked, as she watched her daughter peck at a slice of dry toast. Not known for being picky with her food, Dolly usually demolished two or three thick slices in five minutes flat. Her mother’s face cleared. ‘Ah, you’re on one of them new-fangled diets, is that it? To go with the shorter skirts.
    Dolly looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment since nothing could be further from the truth. Admittedly she was not a small girl: well-built some might say, plump certainly, voluptuous being the kinder term. Her face was pretty and she was pleased enough with that. Her hair was thick and brown and lustrous. She had good legs too, with dainty slim ankles, and was never short of admirers. So if the rest of her wasn’t quite what it might be, it certainly didn’t trouble Dolly.
    But right now it seemed easier to agree with her mother that, yes, she was on a diet. Better than