Wildflower Girl (8 page)

‘Open … open,’ Peggy pleaded, pulling as hard as she could.

She gave one final desperate jerk. The bolt flew back and in a flash she was in the lane. It was littered with crates and battered boxes and horse droppings. With wings on her feet she made her escape.

TWO HOURS LATER, HAVING
walked around half of Boston in the early morning light, Peggy found herself sitting on the steps outside Mags Halligan’s, hoping for some sign that the household was awake. Every time a stranger came round the corner she was ready to run, in case it was Mona Cavendish coming to fetch her back. She had walked up past the huge market. Early-morning traders were beginning to set up their stalls. It must have been dark when the farmers had left their farms with their produce.

It was only when she went to try and buy a drink for herself that she realised she hadn’t been paid yet. She hadn’t a cent. She had nowhere to go. The only friends she had were at Number 49, Empire Hill.

‘Peggy! Is that you?’

Peggy nearly jumped with fright. Nancy was standing, brush in hand, on the step above her. ‘What in heaven’s name happened to you? Wait till herself sees you!’

Peggy was afraid to talk too much in case her tooth fell out again.

‘Come inside! Come inside!’ urged Nancy.

She helped Peggy in and down to the kitchen. There were sounds of movement upstairs, but no one else was up.

‘Would you like a cup of tea? They say it’s good for shock,’ said Nancy.

Peggy nodded.

The other girl put the water on to boil and then disappeared. A few seconds later she came back with Mrs Halligan. The woman was in her nightgown, her hair tumbling half-way down her back. Somehow she looked softer and younger.

Peggy was afraid to look her in the eye. Maybe she’d put her out on the street.

‘Well, what’s all this to-do about?’ she asked. Slowly she walked in front of Peggy, then reached out and tilted her face towards the light. ‘Who did this to you, child? Was it one of the men?’

Peggy shook her head. ‘It was herself, Mrs Cavendish.’

‘That old rip. Picking on a young one like yourself. I’ll not have it.’

Peggy wasn’t sure if it was relief, but she began to shake from top to bottom.

‘Peggy, come on upstairs, you’re all done in. Now, away up before the rest of the girls see you.’ Mags followed her up the stairs. ‘In here, pet.’ She led her to a room on its own. ‘Get into bed, I’ll fix your pillows.’

Peggy crawled into the bed. The mattress was soft and there were crisp sheets and a pink and green striped coverlet.

‘I’ll be back in a minute, Peggy.’

Mrs Halligan went out.

Hot tears began to roll down Peggy’s face, and once she started to cry she couldn’t stop. She felt like a little girl again and longed for someone to come and mind her. I hate America, I want to go home. Oh God, just let me go home! she thought.

Mags Halligan stood beside the bed with a bowl and a cloth.

‘Let me dab your lip, Peggy, and clean it up a bit. Is it very sore?’

Peggy couldn’t answer. She just let the sobs go on and on. The older woman ignored them and cleaned her face gently.

‘I’ll sit with you for a while,’ whispered Mags.

Peggy was ashamed as Mags watched her.

‘I’m so lonely,’ she stuttered. ‘I miss my sister and my brother and my aunt. I miss my friends – I just miss everything about home!’

Mags stroked her hair. With her eyes shut, Peggy could almost make-believe it was Eily sitting beside her.

‘Cry, little girl. Let it all out! If you don’t cry it will break your heart.’

Peggy stared at Mags. The woman looked tired but kind.

‘All of us here have cried, Peggy, believe you me. We all miss our homes and the ones we love. The years pass, we get older, but I don’t think it ever goes away.’

‘Never?’

‘It’ll ease, pet. Look at you, Peggy! Lying here half-scared in my house with your lip split and your face puffed and yet I’ll tell you those tears will save
you.’

‘But I don’t understand.’

‘Just know this – there isn’t a girl in this house that won’t shed tears like you’ve done. It may not be at this time, it may be in six months’ time or a year’s time or the day she will wed or have her first child. Sometime in her future. But you – you’re lucky it has happened so early on. You’ll get over it. You’re a born survivor.’

Peggy was baffled, but realised that Mags understood in some strange way how she felt.

‘Do you want to see the damage?’ asked Mags. She held up a small mirror.

Peggy couldn’t believe how bad her face looked. Her top lip was split and the whole of her mouth was swollen. The skin under her nose was bruised. It hurt to open her mouth. But at least the tooth was still there!

‘Mrs Cavendish knocked my tooth out,’ she murmured.

‘Was Mona drunk? Was that it?’

‘I think so.’

Mags nodded. ‘I’d heard rumours, but I wasn’t sure.’

‘Will she come to make me go back?’

Mags Halligan threw back her head and laughed. ‘Let Mona put one foot through my door and she’ll have me to deal with. I don’t think she’ll dare trouble you.’

Peggy yawned. She suddenly realised just how tired she was. Mags kept on talking but Peggy didn’t hear a word she said.

Hours later she woke to find Sarah sitting at the end
of the bed. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Peggy, I missed you,’ she said.

Peggy grinned ruefully. ‘Ow! it’s sore!’ Her face was stiff and it hurt to talk. ‘How are all the others?’ she asked.

‘The girls have all gone except me. I started at a job in Goldman’s shirt factory. It’s not too bad. So I’m a kind of boarder here now until the boys get us a place of our own. They both got work straight away. James is working for the railways and John is helping to build a bank.’

‘Did Mrs Halligan tell you what happened?’ Peggy asked. Sarah nodded. ‘I stuck it out as long as I could and then I knew I had to run away. I didn’t even get one cent for all the work I did. Oh, Sarah, I hope I get another job.’

After dinner that evening, Mags Halligan moved Peggy into a small room with Sarah. During the day Peggy helped Nancy with the housework, and as Sarah left for work at seven-thirty in the morning they had hardly any time together.

‘Why don’t you come and work at Goldman’s with me?’ Sarah pleaded. ‘We’d be together.’

Peggy shook her head. Sarah had told her how crowded and cramped the factory was and about her nasty supervisor, and anyway it wasn’t worth the extra money she’d get as that would all go on food and lodgings.

‘You know me and sewing,’ she said to Sarah, laughing. ‘I’d never manage.’

At the end of the week Mrs Halligan told Peggy she had found a new job for her.

‘It’s in a fine house a few miles outside the city.’

‘Will I be the only maid?’ Peggy asked.

‘No. They have a few other staff, so you won’t be lonely and this time there’ll be no nonsense. It’s a very respectable family called the Rowans that you’ll be working for.’

‘When will I be starting?’

‘I’ll take you there tomorrow. The housekeeper is an acquaintance of mine from way back,’ said Mrs Halligan.

Sarah hugged her when she heard the good news.

‘I’m delighted for you, Peggy, you deserve it! We’ll both have good jobs. We’ll be well on our way to making our fortune, just wait and see!’

Peggy tried to smile. But she was really anxious about the new job and leaving Sarah and the safety of Number 49 behind.

IT WAS A SWELTERING DAY
. Peggy O’Driscoll stood in the driveway staring in amazement at the enormous house with rounded columns at the front and bright painted shutters on each window.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ she whispered.

‘Close your mouth, Peggy, or you’ll swallow the flies,’ joked Mags Halligan.

The two of them had managed to get a ride in a pony and trap to the suburb of Greenbay. On one side of the curved avenue magnificent mansions stood surrounded by lawns and gardens, each one different, yet beautiful and visible from the road – unlike grand houses at home, Peggy recalled.

Rushton was like a Roman temple. The garden was ablaze with a myriad of summer flowers.

‘Oh, Mrs Halligan, I know I’ll be happy living in such a wonderful house!’ sighed Peggy.

Mrs Halligan stopped suddenly and turned to face her. ‘Peggy, this is a society house in a society town. Look at the gardens, go on, have a look around you. Oh yes! you may look at all these beautiful flowers, lilies, roses and orchids, admire them … but do not
dare to touch or pick them. You and I are from a different world – it’s buttercups and daisies we were raised to. You’ve got sense in that pretty head of yours, so use it. Be polite and good-mannered – it’s what they like – but keep your spirit and dreams secret. A good capable girl is what they want and that’s what they’ll get.’

Peggy understood what Mags was trying to tell her. Her stomach was in a knot and she felt sick with nerves. Mags knocked on the door. It was opened by a tall middle-aged woman who showed them into a sunny drawing-room. They all sat down and the tall woman, who was Mrs Madden, the housekeeper, began to chat to Mrs Halligan.

‘Is she strong and willing to work?’ Peggy blushed. ‘She seems a good type of girl, but has she any kitchen experience?’

Half-afraid, Peggy began to tell the housekeeper about Castletaggart and the shop in Market Lane, and about helping Eily and the aunts.

The woman nodded and then turned to Mrs Halligan and began to discuss conditions and pay, an hour to attend Sunday Mass and time off. Peggy listened attentively to what they were saying. Then the mistress of the house came in. Mrs Madden introduced them to Mrs Elizabeth Rowan.

‘Well, Mrs Madden, have we got ourselves a new kitchen maid?’ enquired Mrs Rowan.

Peggy blazed red from toes to ears.

The housekeeper nodded her head. ‘Yes.’

Mrs Rowan turned to talk to Peggy. She had marvellous wavy brown hair and a gentle face.

‘Well, Peggy, welcome to Rushton. I hope you’ll be happy in service here.’

When Mrs Rowan smiled Peggy couldn’t help but notice how small and even her teeth were, almost a perfect match for the set of pearls around her neck.

‘Now, Peggy,’ said Mrs Madden, ‘I’ll take you downstairs to meet Mrs O’Connor the cook, and Kitty, but first of all say your goodbyes to Mrs Halligan.’ They all went into the hallway.

Peggy shuffled a bit. She felt awkward and strange, and didn’t trust herself not to get upset.

‘Now, Peggy, don’t let me down. This time things will be fine.’

Peggy nodded, struck dumb. She wanted to thank Mags Halligan, but she couldn’t get the words out. She stood looking up at the staircase as the women walked to the door and said farewell to each other.

‘Good luck, Peggy,’ called Mrs Halligan, as she turned and waved goodbye from the steps.

The hallway was dark and cluttered with hat stands and all kinds of bric-a-brac. Standing there Peggy could see right up through the three upper stories of the house, to some kind of glass square which was hidden in the roof. The sun pushed its way through this, creating a pattern on the tiled floor. Peggy followed Mrs Madden down the stairs to the kitchen.

She pushed in a green-painted door. Although it was a bright sunny day outside, very little sunlight managed to creep in through the kitchen’s small narrow windows.

‘This is young Peggy O’Driscoll, our new kitchen maid,’ announced Mrs Madden.

The cook turned around.

‘Welcome, my dear, I’m Mrs O’Connor. I’m the cook and head of the kitchen. I’ll be the one who’ll train you in and show you what’s what. Kitty, will you come here a minute and leave what you’re at.’

A girl who looked a little older than Peggy was peeling a large basin of potatoes. She wiped her hands and sauntered over.

‘Now, Kitty, will you show this lassie where your room is, as I’m too busy to be traipsing up to the top of the house. My feet are killing me anyway with this heat.’

Nodding, Kitty turned and led the way through another green-painted door, across patterned tiles and up narrow wooden stairs. It was a steep four flights up and the other girl never once looked back or stopped to offer Peggy a hand. By the time they reached the bedroom, Peggy was out of breath and panting. The room was small but clean, with two narrow beds.

‘That’s mine,’ stated Kitty, pointing to the bed nearer the window. ‘Yours is the other one.’

‘That’s fine,’ agreed Peggy, touching the brass rail and feeling the cover. It was multicoloured, as if lots of odds and ends of material had been stitched and joined like bunches of autumn leaves gathered together. It looked old and well washed, but Peggy thought it was beautiful.

‘That’s American quilting,’ Kitty informed her. ‘Here, put your things in the bottom two drawers and there’s hooks on the wall for hanging things. Come on, we’d better get back down or Mrs O’Connor will
eat us and there’s mounds to do before dinner time.’

Back in the kitchen Kitty disappeared into the scullery. Mrs O’Connor was busy cutting meat into thin slices.

‘Here, girl, roll up your sleeves and give a hand with finishing the potatoes. Then you can get a start on preparing fruit for a summer tart.’

Peggy stood there. No one had chatted to her or asked her where she came from. A flash of Eily working in the kitchen back home in Market Lane stabbed like a knife. She bit her lip and decided to concentrate on her work. In no time all the potatoes were peeled and shone palely in the bowl. Mrs O’Connor then plonked a large basket of strawberries, raspberries and plums down in front of her.

‘Now, sort through that lot – and no picking, my girl.’

Peggy could feel tears well up in her eyes but she didn’t give in to them. She could hear Kitty banging pots and pans and singing to herself in the scullery. Mrs O’Connor was moving over and back between a large range and the pantry. Every so often she would go to the kitchen door and pull it backwards and forwards to send a breath of fresh air into the kitchen. It was a hot clammy day. At times Peggy caught a glimpse of the housekeeper outside in the garden.

About half an hour later, Peggy realised with a start that the cook was standing in front of her.

‘Now, girl, here’s a glass of my own lemonade to cool you down.’

A large jug filled with ice and water and lemons stood on the table. Peggy took a sip from her glass. It
was sharp and bitter, yet just what she needed.

Mrs O’Connor winked at her as she took a long gulp from her own glass. ‘Got to look after my own! We’ll have that dinner on in no time and when all the hubbub has died down we’ll have a chat. Tell Kitty to come in here and get a drink too.’

Peggy fetched Kitty.

‘If there’s one thing I hate, it’s pots! They’ll be the death of me,’ groaned Kitty.

There were just finishing off the lemonade when Mrs Madden appeared in the doorway, her arms laden with flowers. They were tumbling all over the place. Peggy ran to help her. She had never touched such blooms.

‘Well, Mrs O’Connor, how I envy you the time to relax and have a cool drink in the midst of preparations for dinner guests,’ said the woman as she made her way to a small area with a large white sink surrounded by shelves of jugs, vases and containers of every size and shape.

‘That old rip!’ muttered Mrs O’Connor under her breath, her face purple with annoyance as she motioned to Kitty to get back to work.

The housekeeper produced a sharp scissors and began to trim and cut the flowers and arrange them deftly. She then curtly announced to Kitty where they were to be put.

‘Drawing-room, Kitty.’

‘Main hallway.’

‘Bottom of the stairs.’

‘Landing.’

‘Dining-room, girl.’

Peggy felt like laughing as Kitty slopped water along the tiled floors and rushed up and down the stairs. She pulled a face at Kitty.

‘You, girl, stop making silly faces and get a mop and dry up that floor,’ ordered the housekeeper before going upstairs with the last floral arrangement.

It was long after dark when Peggy stopped work. Her shoulders and arms and the backs of her legs ached. Earlier she had felt her eyes shutting while Mrs O’Connor was telling her something. At seven o’clock she had managed to eat quickly a few slices of meat, some thick crusty bread and a piece of rather stale sponge cake. At eleven o’clock she trudged up the stairs at last. She just about managed to hang her dress on the hook before stretching out on the bed. The room was warm and she let the bedclothes cover just the lower half of her body. She wanted to stay awake and chat to Kitty and find out about the place, but exhaustion won the battle against curiosity.