No Cure for Love (3 page)

 

Ellen surveyed the audience to include them in her next song, ‘The Run to the Fair’. Once the audience was focused on her there was less background noise. She was intrigued by the man sitting opposite Danny and her gaze returned to him.

Danny’s guest was wearing a dark navy frock coat of some quality. Next to her boss’s garish outfit it looked positively sombre, but he was elegant in a way that Danny never would be. The light from the candelabra above fell on the angular planes of his face, highlighting the strong jaw and chin. His mop of light-brown hair, showing almost blond in the soft light, was trimmed neatly, but an unruly lock tumbled over his forehead. He leant back in his chair in a casual manner with his arm on the handrail, his strong, sculptured hand resting on the polished oak.

His large frame all but blocked the man sitting behind him and to Danny’s right, yet he wasn’t stout like Danny, but muscular, with long legs that extended under the table to the edge of the raised platform.

As her eyes came back to his face, his dark eyes rooted her to the spot. Reuben struck the chord again and Ellen jumped out of her daze.

She smiled broadly and tried to slow her pounding heart. The man leant forward, putting his elbow on the rail and resting his chin on his hand.

Forcing herself to break free from his gaze, she started the song. Within moments the people in the supper room had picked up the tune and were swaying and singing along with her.

She stole a glance at Danny’s guest. He was still staring intently, a small smile on his lips.

Suddenly Ellen’s heart took flight. This man, whoever he was, approved of her, his expression told her so. He was handsome and he was looking at her. She was enjoying a man’s admiration in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to for a very long time.

The song was exuberant, so Ellen took advantage and jigged a little herself. Roars of approval rose from the floor. She finished with a quick swirl and swept her audience a bow, then gave the crowd two more songs in quick succession. She didn’t look at Danny’s guest again, but she was singing for him.

She caught Reuben’s eye and he smiled at her with a toothless grin. She signalled for him to slow the pace. The violin sent out a melancholy note and then started to play the haunting bars of another Irish tune. The audience quietened as the tempo of the music slowed.

Ellen usually finished with a sentimental song. ‘The Soft, Soft Rain of Morning’ was one of her favourites. It was a ballad, set to a well-known Irish folk tune, about the heartache of being exiled from the home one loved. It would mellow the audience, many of whom were indeed a long way from the land of their birth.

She could hear her voice tremble a little as she glanced around the room, knowing all the while that the stranger had his eyes fixed on her. Thankfully, only she noticed the lapse and soon women could be seen wiping the corners of their eyes as she sang the sorrowful ballad.

Unexpectedly, the sober mood caught Ellen’s emotions. The gaiety of the past moments was suddenly lost as the reality of her life came back to her - a life could never include a man such as the one who hadn’t taken his eyes from her all the time she was on stage.

Disappointment settled on her. She had met the type before. Danny often entertained them. Rich young men who came east for drink and women.

He had introduced her to men like the one looking at her now, and she had seen their eyes light up in the hope of pleasures to come. Ellen had always dashed those hopes smartly. She might have to sing for her supper, but she didn’t have to entertain unwanted attentions for it. She bowed, and left the stage to rapturous applause.

Without speaking, she shot to her small room and slammed the door behind her. She sat in front of the mirror and found her hands were trembling.

There was a light knock on the door and Tom’s head popped around the door. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs O’Casey, but Mr Donovan says you’re to join ’im and ’is party for a drink.’

The sweet notes of ‘The Soft, Soft Rain of Morning’ drifted over them as Danny studied Robert Munroe from under his ebony brows. He chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully.

To Danny’s mind Robert Munroe looked a mite young to be a doctor, and with his well-tailored appearance Danny would have thought him more at home in a ballroom or at the races than in a bloodstained hospital ward.

‘Sings like one of the celestial choir, does she not, Doctor Munroe?’ he said, studying the other man’s face intently.

Doctor Munroe was still looking towards the stage, although Ellen had already left and the curtains were closed. He turned and pulled the front of his waistcoat down.

‘She does,’ he smiled, ‘she does indeed.’

He picked up his glass and downed a mouthful of brandy.

‘Striking too,’ Danny continued, watching Robert’s eyes for a hint of his feelings.

‘Quite,’ Robert replied coolly, but Danny saw what he was looking for. Just for a split second there was a flicker of interest in the doctor’s brown eyes, then it was gone.

He didn’t blame Robert. Ellen
was
striking. There were prettier women who worked in the Angel but none caught hold of a man’s attention like Ellen.

‘Our Ellen has admirers from all over the city who come to hear her sing,’ he said, trying to see if he could spark Robert Munroe’s interest again.

‘I have no doubt of it,’ Robert replied in a bored tone, but his eyes were still warm.

Danny’s mouth drew into a leer. Educated doctor he might be, a man of letters even, but in his trousers Robert Munroe was just the same as any other man.

On the pretext of greeting some customers behind him, Danny turned away from the table, but out of the corner of his eye saw Chafford lean towards Munroe.

‘I see you think our Ellen a tempting armful, Robert,’ William said in a low voice.

A chair scraped on the floor. ‘I think Miss Ellen is a fine singer,’ he heard Robert reply. There was a change in his voice. ‘And she is fair on the eye.’

William gave a chuckle. ‘Don’t give me that, Munroe. Dash it, man, she’s a looker and no mistake.’

Danny spun back to the table just in time to see Robert smile broadly in agreement. ‘I’ve asked Mrs O’Casey to join us for a glass of port, gentlemen,’ he said.

‘Mrs O’Casey?’ Robert said.

Danny winked. ‘There ain’t a Mr O’Casey, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ Danny pointed with his fork to Robert’s abandoned dinner. ‘Eat up, Doctor Munroe, your dinner grows cold.’

As if she knew she was the topic of their conversation, Ellen appeared from the side of the stage and made her way around the tables towards them. Robert’s dinner remained untouched.

As she snaked around the table she smiled and greeted the regular patrons, Danny watched Robert study her. She hadn’t changed after her performance and still wore the simple cotton dress, its folds clinging to her as she moved. She laughed a couple of times, sending the soft curls of her dark auburn hair rippling around her shoulders.

Her rich throaty chuckle caught Danny deep within. Fury rose in him. Smile at others, would she, but too fine a lady to give him a jig? He should ignore her. He had other women - Kitty and Red Top Molly in Cable Street - but Ellen’s rejection of him only made him hanker after her more. When he had first taken her on in the Angel and Crown he thought her refusal was just her way of raising her price. Others had tried the same thing and, as anyone would tell you, he was a generous man who didn’t mind putting his hand in his pocket for his pleasure. But after a month or two he realised that she wasn’t greedy but respectable: well, as respectable as any woman singing for money in a public house could be.

His gaze flicked back to Robert, who had risen from his chair and awaited her arrival. Anger rumbled around inside Danny as Ellen reached the table.

The tall and soberly dressed doctor and the impoverished supper-room singer stood for a long moment gazing at each other. Danny remained seated and slowly explored his front teeth with a silver toothpick.

‘Ellie, my dear, you have a new admirer,’ he said at length. ‘Doctor Munroe, may I introduce Mrs Ellen O’Casey?’ With a swift movement Danny grabbed her hand and kissed it loudly. She tried to draw her hand from his grasp, but he held on tighter. ‘Ellen, this is Doctor Munroe, a man of letters, and a celebrated doctor from the hospital who has come to cure us of all our ills. And you know Dr Chafford already.’

Ignoring Danny, Robert bowed. ‘It is my great pleasure to meet you, Mrs O’Casey.’

‘Doctor Munroe is
wild
to meet you, me darling,’ Danny said, his kindly expression not reaching his eyes.

Alarm flashed across Ellen’s face for a second. Then she wiped the back of her hand against the tablecloth and offered it to Robert.

‘I am pleased to meet you, Doctor Munroe,’ she said in a clipped tone.

Her manner at the table was like that of a rabbit caught in the yard by the house dogs. Taking her small hand, Robert bowed over it again. He gazed down on soft, clean fingers and noticed her short, ragged nails. Mrs O’Casey did more than just sing for her living.

‘You sang most wonderfully. So clear and such a range,’ he said, smiling reassuringly at her.

‘You have a musical ear, Doctor Munroe,’ Ellen said.

Robert found that he was looking at the fluid movement of her mouth and thinking how Caroline’s was more often than not drawn together in a sulky pout. Despite her friendly manner Ellen O’Casey was ill at ease. Was it him, William or Danny? Robert didn’t know, but he wanted to dispel the feeling and see Ellen O’Casey smile at him with her eyes.

‘My mother doesna’ think so,’ he said with a light laugh. ‘Five years of music lessons and I could barely whistle a tune. My music teacher suggested that I take up the most traditional of Scottish instruments, the bagpipes, because no one could tell if I was in tune or not.’

Robert laughed, and Ellen and William joined in, ‘her tension vanishing as merriment rose up. He wanted to make her laugh again.

‘No,’ he continued. ‘I am afraid I must leave music to those who have the talent for it. I have a more scientific mind, not at all given to fanciful thoughts,’ he said, trying to look grave and serious. The small twitch of his lips gave him away.

‘As would befit a doctor, and a man of letters,’ she said, taking the seat between him and William.

Danny handed her a glass of port. She placed it on the table untouched.

‘You brought a tear to our eyes singing about the “Old Country”,’ Danny said, flourishing a none-too-clean handkerchief and dabbing the corner of his eye. His hand slipped under the table.

The tension returned to Ellen’s shoulders and she gave him a tight smile. ‘Thank you, Danny.’

‘You know how much I
admire
you, Ellen dear,’ Danny said as his hand came back into sight. He drummed his fingers lightly on the table and cocked his head towards Robert. ‘As does Doctor Munroe.’

The mask that had just lifted from Ellen’s face snapped back down. Robert silently cursed the Irishman.

‘As do we all,’ added William.

Robert leaned forward and let his eyes settle on her face. He saw her eyes open a little wider under his admiring gaze.

‘The green of your gown suits your colouring, Mrs O’Casey,’ he said, wanting to coax that smile back.

‘Ho, ho,’ Danny snorted, shoving her hard from the side and towards Robert. ‘Admire! I’d say the good doctor here was good and smitten with you, sweet Ellen. No wonder he wants to know you better. Am I right, Doctor Munroe?’

Ellen placed the glass of port on the table carefully and glanced up him. ‘I’d be thinking that for a gentleman with a
scientific
mind, who is not at all given to
fanciful
thoughts, that’s powerful poetic, Doctor Munroe,’ she said in a broad Irish accent. ‘You must have practised that line on many a poor girl to turn her head.’

She was wrong. He doubted he had ever remarked on the colour of a woman’s eyes before, not even Caroline’s.

He felt Danny Donovan’s glance on him, mocking him for her rebuff. Anger shot through him. How dare she? A respectable young woman was supposed to thank one for a compliment.

Respectable! Robert almost laughed. Ellen O’Casey was no respectable woman. She was a supper-room singer, only a step up from the garishly clothed women who plied their trade in the Angel. Whatever was he thinking of?

‘You have to watch our Ellen, Doctor Munroe. She might have the look of an angel, but she has the bite of the devil,’ Danny said, flexing his hand a couple of times.

‘I must be off home,’ Ellen said, standing up swiftly. William and Robert rose to their feet.

A sly expression crept over Danny’s face and he looked across at Robert. ‘But will you be disappointing the good Doctor Munroe here? And him just saying he wants to get to know you better, my dear.’

A tight smile fixed on Ellen’s face as she looked back at them. ‘I’m sure there are other women you could introduce him to in the Angel who would be more accommodating company than me.’

Ellen and her mother, Bridget, rose as the first rays of light pierced the bedroom curtains. Silently they gathered their things and left Josie to sleep in the cast-iron bed that the three of them shared. They made their way down the bare-board stairs to their small living room. Kneeling at the blackened range, Ellen coaxed the kindling to flames while Bridget collected the buckets and yokes from the yard.

‘You look tired, Ellie,’ Bridget said, as her daughter threw a shovelful of coal chips on the fire.

Ellen forced a cheery smile and looped the yoke through two of the buckets. ‘I didn’t sleep much.’

Her mother shouldered her two zinc buckets and struggled to stand. Ellen bit her lip. Although Bridget would have cut her own tongue out before admitting it, the daily trip to the pump at the end of the street was getting too much for her. It needed both of them to fetch the water for the laundry they took in daily or they would never get it finished in a day, but seeing the blue hue around her mother’s lips, Ellen wondered how much longer she would be able to make the journey.