A Glimpse at Happiness (33 page)
Even though Patrick took the stairs two at a time, when he reached the street Josie was already a hundred yards in front of him, running towards Stepney Green. Grasping the wrought iron railing he swung around and tore after her.
‘Josie!’ he called, but she didn’t stop.
The rain that had threatened all evening suddenly fell from the sky in heavy droplets that splashed onto his face and clothes as he ran. There was a crack of thunder overhead, then a streak of lightning illuminated the street, showing the glistening cobbles in an eerie grey light. The rain plummeting from the sky drenched the trees and pavements and, as Patrick stamped his boots in the newly formed puddles, splashed onto his trousers.
‘Josie!’ he called again and this time she slowed. The sodden hem of her gown clung to her ankles and impeded her progress. She staggered to a halt and slumped against a wall.
Rolling her head against the rough brickwork, she shut her eyes and tilted her face up towards the storm. The bodice of her torn dress was now soaked and it clung to her shaking shoulders as she sobbed uncontrollably.
As he stopped in front of her she opened her eyes. ‘Patrick,’ she said.
He gathered her to him and hugged her. ‘There, there, my sweet love,’ he said kissing her damp forehead.
Her arms slipped around his waist. ‘I love my Mam and Pa,’ she said, resting her head on his collar bone, her warm breath passing over the dip where his throat joined his chest.
He kissed her again. ‘I know you do and so do they.’
She nodded and looked up at him. ‘How could she say such hateful things?’ Josie asked, her eyes searching his face.
‘Because she’s a bitter, twisted old woman,’ Patrick replied.
He took his jacket off and slipped it around her shoulders then guided her away from the wall.
‘Now let’s get you home before you catch a chill.’
She turned to face him and took hold of his arm. ‘Oh Patrick, I don’t know if I can. Not after she has said all those awful things about me - and about
you
.’
you
.’
Patrick squeezed her shoulders. ‘Come on, Josie, it won’t be forever.’ He moved a damp lock of hair from her cheek. ‘And let her think of me as she will.’
Josie gave him a brave smile. ‘I know. But it’s at least another month or so before Mam and Pa are back. We were barely speaking before this but now I’ll be hard pressed to be civil to her.’
Several large rain drops had settled on her eyelashes. Patrick took advantage of the shelter from the house and drew her closer.
‘I know it’s difficult but you’ll have to, there is no other way,’ he said, savouring the feel of her in his arms. ‘No matter how dreadful she is to you I’m afraid you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear it.’
She nodded. ‘You are right. I’ll have to try to be polite to her at least. The children have suffered enough with Mam being ill. I don’t want them upset further by being caught in the bad feeling between their grandmama and me. And, I promised Mam I’d look after them.’ A determined expression spread across her face. ‘After all, if I’m not there who will kiss George better and soothe Jack back to sleep after a nightmare? Not Mrs Holier-than-thou Munroe, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s my Josie,’ Patrick said, looping her hand around his arm and wishing he was walking her home with him instead of back to number twenty-four.
The rain had eased a little and the thunder now rolled eastward towards the River Lea and Essex.
As they reached the top of the scullery stairs Josie turned. ‘Will you tell Mattie I’ll be around to go to Mass with her on Saturday?’
‘Of course I will. I’ll see you there myself,’ he replied. ‘And remember,’ he slipped his arm around her and drew her near. ‘Above all, remember that I love you.’
‘And I love you.’
They kissed briefly then Patrick let her go. She tripped down the steps and smiled up at him as she reached the back door. She turned the metal handle. The knob rattled in its housing but the door didn’t move. Patrick hurried down beside her and tried the handle himself. It released the catch but the door didn’t budge. He rattled it again knowing that it would do no good.
They both stared at the solid side door for a moment then he kicked the wooden panel, leaving a mark on the paintwork with the studs of his boots. ‘Damn, damn!’
Josie gave him a disbelieving look. ‘She’s locked me out.’
He glared at the unmovable door for a few seconds then turned his gaze to her as the full enormity of the situation swept over him.
Josie was an unmarried woman, her dress torn, her hair unbound, and bolted out of her house at night with a man. Unless he did something immediately, she would be utterly ruined.
Rosalyn Cooper poured the steaming milk from the small sauce-pan over the coco paste and stirred it vigorously. She had been awoken from a fitful sleep by the thunder. Her husband Henry was away for a few days and as usual she woke at the slightest noise. Although their house was secure enough, with bars at the lower windows and with a high wall around it, Wellclose Square wasn’t the nicest of locations to live in.
The elegant four-storied houses that lined the square had been built a century earlier by prosperous merchants. Other than the Coopers’ home, and one or two others, the rest of the dwellings in the square were now lodging houses, let by the room to any who had thruppence a week for the rent. Drunken sailors now brawled where liveried carriages had once rolled, while the solid blocked doorsteps once so diligently whitened each day now served as sleeping places for those unable to pay for a bed.
Of course, it was because Shadwell and Wapping were such destitute areas that the Coopers lived there. Mr Cooper was, after all, the superintendent of the Mission that sat across the square from their house, dedicated to rescuing young women from lives of vice and degradation. But, however worthy this vocation, it didn’t make living in such an impoverished neighbourhood any easier.
Rosalyn picked up the cup and lamp and was just about to return to bed when the door knocker rapped.
Her heart thumped in her chest. It was almost eleven o’clock and she wondered who on earth could be calling at that hour. It couldn’t be one of the trollops looking for shelter because they knew to present themselves to the warden on duty at the Mission and not at the house.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs above told her that Potter, their manservant, was on his way. Knowing that he would have a loaded pistol cocked and ready, Rosalyn put down her drink and left the kitchen.
By the time she’d reached the hallway Potter was already at the door and talking to someone on the step. He turned as he heard her approach.
‘It’s for you, Ma’am,’ he said, standing back to let her pass.
Tugging her nightcap over her hair, Rosalyn stepped forward and gasped as her eyes rested on Josie O’Casey standing on her doorstep with a man beside her.
Josie wore no coat or bonnet and her unbound hair cascaded in wild abandon over her shoulders. Her thin summer dress was soaking wet, and clung to her, and was muddy around the hem. Instead of looking like the well-to-do young woman she knew, Josie O’Casey looked as if she’d been rolled in the gutter.
‘Miss O’Casey?’ Rosalyn was scarcely able to believe that the bedraggled girl standing on her doorstep was the same young woman whom she’d seen walk off arm in arm with her daughter Sophie that very afternoon.
The young man stepped forward. ‘Mrs Cooper? Apologising Ma’am, but Miss O’Casey has been attacked.’
‘I can see that,’ Rosalyn said, handing the lamp to Potter and putting her arms around Josie’s shoulder. ‘My poor girl. Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you home.’ To the man with Josie she said. ‘I am obliged to you for helping Miss O’Casey. Potter will give you something for your trouble, Mr . . .?’
‘Nolan,’ he replied firmly. ‘Patrick Nolan.’
Rosalyn studied him more closely. Nolan? Could that be the man Sophie had talked of, she wondered. Certainly, he had a confident air about him that was at odds with his rough appearance and he held her gaze in too bold a manner for her liking. He was also standing closer to Josie than he ought, and Rosalyn also noticed that Josie’s arms were clutched across her chest to hold her ripped clothing together.
‘And Josie can’t go home,’ Patrick added.
Rosalyn looked from one to the other. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because Mrs Munroe has locked up the house and won’t let me in,’ Josie replied. She and Patrick exchanged a glance then Josie gave her an ingenuous smile. ‘It’s a terrible misunderstanding. While I was distributing food packages today I heard that . . .’
As Josie recounted the events of the day Rosalyn’s mind whirled into a confusion of panic. It was as clear as the nose on her face that Josie and this Nolan were more to each other than old friends and, although everything Josie was telling her had the ring of truth about it, it placed Rosalyn in an awful dilemma.
Josie O’Casey’s stepfather might be lauded in high places for his contribution to public health and services to the poor, but her mother once took in washing and sang in public houses. Although Josie was a very likable and caring girl, Rosalyn couldn’t help but worry about whether her background made her a fitting companion for her daughter Sophie. She had privately chided herself several times for her lack of charity and strove to overcome her doubts, but with her husband in knotty negotiations over their elder daughter Amelia’s engagement to a Harcourt, Rosalyn couldn’t afford to have the family’s name linked with even a breath of scandal. Seeing the tender smile and glances that passed between Josie and Patrick Nolan, and hearing that Josie had been turned out from her home by Dr Munroe’s mother, the words disgrace and dishonour screamed in Rosalyn Cooper’s head.
Josie’s voice cut through her unsettling thoughts. ‘I tried to explain to Mrs Munroe that I had been attacked but she wouldn’t listen.’ An expression of hurt and anger crossed her face. ‘She was just horrid, and said some dreadful things about Patrick. I was so hurt I ran out of the house. I was gone for no more than five minutes but when I went back Mrs Munroe had bolted the doors. I thought I might stay with you until she became more reasonable.’
Rosalyn had been introduced to Mrs Munroe at the recent Widows and Orphans’ Benevolent Society tea and while she would not describe Robert Munroe’s mother as a warm individual, she was clearly a woman of high morals. Although her conscience told her she should take Josie in, Rosalyn reminded herself that there was a great deal more at stake.
She squared her shoulders and looked Josie straight in the eye. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ she said. Josie’s jaw dropped and the colour left her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry Josie, but if Mrs Munroe felt it necessary to exclude you from your own home then I cannot give you shelter in mine. I have my own daughters’ reputations to consider. I hope you understand.’
Patrick placed his hand on the half closed front door. ‘Do you understand what you’re doing to Josie by turning her from your door?’ he asked, his gaze running accusingly over her face.
Of course she did. If she refused to offer Josie refuge the young woman would live without protection and could fall prey to any manner of evil. Rosalyn thought of her two daughters asleep upstairs. If they were to find themselves set upon in such a manner she hoped someone would offer them assistance. She opened the door.
‘After a good night’s sleep you and Mrs Munroe will be able to iron out this misunderstanding I am sure,’ she said smiling at Josie.
Patrick’s shoulders relaxed and his face lost its anxious expression. ‘I’m right grateful, Mrs Cooper,’ he said. He gave Josie a warm smile which she returned. ‘Poor Miss O’Casey has been through enough today, what with Brian’s death and being attacked by Charlie Tugman, the last thing she—’
‘Charlie Tugman!’ Rosalyn exclaimed in a horrified tone.
Josie gave her a nervous look. ‘I told you. He and Harry caught me on Patrick’s boat as I was looking for him. Patrick fought them off and pitched Charlie over the side, after which . . .’
Rosalyn’s mind careered off to the image of her poor Henry lying on his own doorstep beaten and bleeding after being set upon by Charlie Tugman. Terrified thoughts added momentum to her racing heart as her imagination moved from Henry being injured to the nightmare of his being killed. Her vision blurred for a second and her stomach knotted.
Other books
Ghost in the Hunt by Moeller, Jonathan
Love's Haven by Catherine Palmer
The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber
Werewolf Parallel by Roy Gill
The Destroyed by Brett Battles
The Spirit of ST Louis by Charles A. Lindbergh
Navy SEAL Captive by Elle James
Starting Over (Treading Water Trilogy) by Force, Marie
A Hell of a Dog by Carol Lea Benjamin
Invasion Rabaul by Bruce Gamble
