A Glimpse at Happiness (45 page)
Lucy didn’t argue, in fact, she slumped against Meg all the way home. Meg should have collected her children along the way but, in view of the state Lucy was in, she didn’t think Mrs Olly would mind if she were a bit late. After shutting the door to her room she guided Lucy to the easy chair, lit the fire and put the kettle on.
She turned back to find the young woman had closed her eyes and appeared to have drifted off to sleep. Her shawl had slipped off her head showing that, in addition to her other injuries, her friend had a line of torn skin on her forehead. Within a few moments the kettle was hissing and Meg made a cup of tea. She judged that Lucy needed something to build her up so spooned in the last few lumps of sugar in her tea.
‘There you go,’ she said, handing Lucy the mug.
Lucy opened her eyes and took the cup. She cradled it in her hands and gave as near to a smile as she could manage with her twisted lips.
‘I thought you’d be gone from the Boatman long before this,’ Meg said, as she watched Lucy sip up her tea. ‘I mean, with Charlie not too well and all.’
Although Charlie’s condition was common knowledge, most thought it no more then he deserved and a great deal more besides, but you didn’t speak about it if you knew what was good for you.
‘When Harry brought him back I thought he would be fine and dandy in a day or two, but now he can’t even hold his water and she’s got me tending to him like I was a nursemaid or something, cleaning him up, feeding him and the like. It ain’t right. I tried to leave but that old bitch wouldn’t let me.’
‘You’re not going back now though, are you?’ Meg said. ‘Not after this. I mean, you could be waiting for a space in the poor end of the churchyard instead of sitting here sipping tea.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I haven’t got anywhere else
to
go. It’s there or the workhouse.’ She looked around at Meg’s snug little room. ‘Could I come and live with you?’
to
go. It’s there or the workhouse.’ She looked around at Meg’s snug little room. ‘Could I come and live with you?’
An image of Ma Tugman’s wrinkled face floated into Meg’s mind and she shook her head.
‘Don’t think me hard, Lucy, but I have my children to think of and I don’t want her or Harry coming around here looking for you.’
Lucy shoulders sagged. ‘I understand.’
Guilt shot through Meg. As much as she didn’t relish the thought of any woman having to live with the Tugmans she really couldn’t take the chance of Ma turning her beady eyes on her and the children again. Then an idea came to her.
‘I know!’ she said sitting up straight and beaming at Lucy. ‘You can go around to the Mission hall in Settle Street and get saved.’
‘What?’
‘Get saved. The doxies in Whitechapel do it regularly. You go in and they ask you if you repent your sins. You say yes and then they give you a bath, a set of clothes and a bed with no questions asked.’
Lucy’s eyes popped open as far as they could. ‘Is that it?’
‘More or less. And then if you go to their Bible study each week they feed you again,’ Meg explained.
‘Sounds fair to me,’ Lucy said, looking quite perky at the thought.
‘I also heard that they are looking for suitable young women to go to Australia.’
‘Whatever for?’ Lucy asked as she finished her tea.
‘’Cos there are too many men there and they’re looking for wives,’ Meg replied. ‘Girl like you could do well there, I shouldn’t wonder.’
She left Lucy thinking about her words and went back to the table. She unpacked her basket and set aside the basin of chicken stew. She was going to save it but it would be a kindness to share it with Lucy. They were having mutton stew tomorrow in the doctor’s mess and there was bound to be some left over.
‘Why don’t you stay and have a bit of supper with me and the kids and go off to the Mission later? They don’t shut their door until midnight.’
‘You’re a kind soul,’ Lucy said, standing and joining Meg at the table. ‘Why don’t I do that while you go and get your little ‘uns?’
Meg let her take over setting the plates out and grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair.
‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said as she reached the door. She turned back as Lucy started to slice through the bread. ‘By the by, you didn’t say why Ma hit you?’
Lucy’s pale blue eyes looked across at her. ‘Because I told her that it wasn’t right to keep Patrick Nolan’s kids tied up in her cellar in Burr Street.’
The guard swung the chain at his waist, caught the dozen or so keys in his hand and unlocked the door to the room. He pushed Patrick in. From the other doors leading to the visitors’ room various prisoners shuffled forward for the once-a-month visiting hour.
The prison officers in their buttoned-up navy uniforms and peaked caps stood with their backs to the wall, batons in their hands. The long hall was devoid of all fittings except a bench. One side of the room was punctuated at regular intervals with arched, barred windows. It was through this grille, like the monkeys at a fair, that the inmates received their loved ones at the governor’s pleasure.
Pentonville, the New Model Prison, had been open for less than two years but was already filled to capacity. The silent regime kept men in their own cells for hours on end. When allowed to exercise, it was done under the watchful eye of the officers, who forbade all communication.
Even the officers were silent as they moved around the place. At first, this lack of noise suited Patrick, but over the last few days he had begun to wonder how he would manage if he was sentenced to years of this regime.
He was allowed his own clothes, although these were becoming dirty and he already had flea bites. With one bucket of water a day for personal use, it was almost impossible to keep himself and his clothes clean but he’d done his best. Years on board ships had taught him a few things, including soaking his smalls in urine before rinsing them through to help keep the lice at bay.
Patrick took his place on the stool opposite the grille. His mother sat on the other side of the bars with Gus, in his best suit, perched on a stool alongside her. She gave him a brave smile.
‘It’s good to see you, son. You don’t look as thin as I thought you might,’ she said. Her tone was too jolly.
‘It’s grand to see you, Mam,’ he said, thinking how old and tired she looked. He turned to his brother. ‘I’m even pleased to see your ugly moosh, Gus. How’s Mattie?’
‘As well as can be expected. Kate’s with her,’ Sarah told him.
‘Don’t you worry, Pat; I’m looking after everything just as you would. You’ll soon be out of here,’ Gus said.
Patrick managed a faint smile in response, thankful at least that the Nolan women had Gus to look out for them. ‘Have Annie and Mickey been found yet?’ Patrick dared to ask.
His mother shook her head.
He thought he was prepared for the answer, but hearing the words out loud crushed him all over again. He tried not to dwell on what might have happened to them but at night, in a bare cell, he could think of nothing else. ‘How’s Josie?’
‘Well enough, although out of her mind with worry, like the rest of us,’ Sarah told him. ‘She sent this.’
She unfolded a letter and held it up for him to read.
Patrick scanned the bold hand telling him of her love and renewing her promise to find the children. He read it three times to memorise every word before he allowed Sarah to refold it and slip it back in her pocket.
The sounds of voices echoed around him. He glanced at an old man beside him in the dark blue uniform of a compliant prisoner, then through the bars to the woman in rags sobbing quietly in the grille beside his mother’s chair.
‘God, I feel so useless!’ he shouted, and the warden tapped his stick on the side of his leg. Patrick forced himself to calm down. He was still bruised from the blow in the court.
‘Come on, Pat,’ Gus said, his eyes darting to their mother on the chair beside him.
Patrick nodded and pulled himself up. He gave his mother as much of a smile as he could muster.
‘What’s being done? Is Jackson back yet?’
‘No. And no one knows when he will be,’ Sarah said.
‘It was in the paper that he was helping the Northern police with a double murder,’ Gus told him. ‘The report said the victims were found in their own beds with their throats cut.’
Sarah gave her youngest son a sharp look.
‘I reported it to the desk officer,’ she continued. ‘But he said they had hundreds of missing children and didn’t have time to look for all of them.’
Despite his resolve to put on his best show for his mother, Patrick hung his head in his hands.
‘Don’t you mind none,’ Sarah said, moving her chair nearer to the grill. ‘Josie has the whole neighbourhood searching for them. She found some packing-case paper and made posters with Annie and Mickey’s description and has been from The Highway to Whitechapel High Street and everywhere in between, sticking them up in any shop that’ll take them.’
‘She’s done the same around the riverside eating houses, too,’ Gus added.
The chill in Patrick’s heart thawed slightly.
‘You should have seen her march into the Town to get the dockers and boatmen to help. Thanks to her they are keeping a sharp eye out to stop anyone trying to force Mickey on a ship.’
‘She’s even been down Betts Street and Rosemary Lane to have a quiet word with some of the trollops about Annie,’ Sarah added.
Images of Josie wandering down the dark alleys where every shabby house was either a brothel or gin shop filled him with horror.
‘Now, now, Patrick she came to no harm,’ Sarah said, seeing his shocked expression. ‘The women might pay Ma for their pitches but, as Josie said, most of them have a child or two to care for, and might just come forward with a bit of gossip as to Annie’s whereabouts.’
Patrick tasted bile at the back of his throat.
‘Josie, God and all his blessed saints preserve her, is a fighter and one of the best.’ Sarah went on. ‘I’ve known from the first moment I saw you and her together that you were made for each other. A rare pair you are and no argument in it. I’m glad you and she have made it together at last.’
‘I don’t think she’s glad,’ he said. ‘She gave up everything and what have I given her?’
‘Aroon, lad,’ Sarah said, in a tone he hadn’t heard for many years. ‘She’d rip your ears off if she heard you talking gloomy like that, and you know it.’
He knew his mother was right, and he wished he had Josie in front of him now as well, if only to give him one of her royal pastings for voicing such dark thoughts.
Of course, she couldn’t come as only legal wives were allowed to visit. As much as he didn’t want Josie to see him chained and dirty, being apart from her was sapping the life out of him. What with his fears about Annie and Mickey and his separation from Josie, Patrick was beginning to wonder if he’d survive with his sanity intact.
Sarah reached out and gripped the bar. The prison officer to one side of them placed his stick on the table. Sarah withdrew her hand and folded it on her lap.
‘Don’t fret, me lad,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Josie’s raised the neighbourhood and it’s only a matter of time before we find the children and bring them home.’
Patrick prayed that her words would reach the saints in heaven - and soon.
‘Although the boatmen were a bit unsettled about you getting involved with the police and all, once your Josie explained why, they’ve pledged a sixpence a week to pay for a solicitor for when you go to court,’ Gus added.
A lump formed itself in Patrick’s throat.
‘That’s really good of them,’ he said, touched by the gesture but wondering what difference it would make against Plant’s testimony.
‘Also, this arrived.’ Sarah put her hand into her pocket and drew out a large crumpled envelope.
Patrick stared at it. It had a colourful stamp on the corner and several ink marks over its surface. But what caught his attention was the large VR Fort William, Alexandria, stamped above his name.
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