Ragamuffin Angel (4 page)
Connie didn’t mind the walk in the summer, in fact she enjoyed it when the birds were singing and the air was warm, but she hated it on dark winter mornings. However, all her pleas to attend a school nearer to their home had gone unheeded. Due to her connections with the East End Peggy had sent Sadie to the Catholic school there, and so, it was reasoned, Connie must go too. The fact that Sadie had never learnt to read or write was neither here nor there. But this particular morning it wasn’t the thought of leaving the blazing fire for the bitter winter’s day outside, or the fact that it was inspection day, when all the children’s heads were combed for lice and their necks scrutinised for boils, that was causing Connie to dawdle as she cut herself two chunks of bread and dripping and wrapped them in her handkerchief for lunchtime. She didn’t want to leave her mam today, she had a funny feeling . . .
‘Connie, get a move on, hinny. You’ll miss Miss Gibson if you don’t hurry.’
She didn’t care. Connie wandered to the bedroom door and stood in the doorway looking at her mam and Larry snuggled in the big bed, and her gran still lying in the pallet bed. Her mam was always up first as a rule, but she’d felt tired this morning she’d said, and she still looked white and peaky, her eyes all red-rimmed.
‘Mam –’
‘You’re goin’, Connie.’
‘Aw,
Mam.
’
Mam.
’
‘An’ less of the aw, mam.’ For a moment Sadie was tempted to give in to the unspoken entreaty in her daughter’s deep-blue eyes but then she hardened her heart against the silent supplication. This child of hers was as bright as a button – look at how she was already reading a bit and writing, and her only a bit bairn – and if she was going to get anywhere in the world she needed education. Education was the key to rising out of the mire; that’s what Jacob had said time and time again and she believed him. Jacob was educated and he was wise and clever.
Jacob
. Oh, oh, Jacob . . .
Jacob
. Oh, oh, Jacob . . .
‘It’s not
fair
.’
fair
.’
‘Neither is a blackbird but it still sings.’
It was Sadie’s stock response and normally brought a reluctant smile, but today Connie wasn’t having any of it.
‘I didn’t take me penny yesterday, Mam,’ said Connie hopefully, ‘an’ Miss Gibson paid me tram fare.’ There had been no money in the house the day before, Sadie having spent their last few pennies at the weekend on flour and yeast, twopennyworth of peas, beans and barley, and threepennyworth of scrag ends to make the stews and bread that would hopefully see them through a few more days. Connie had shuddered at the scrag ends – the lungs and intestines were black with congealed blood and had sawdust sticking all over them – but she had nevertheless cleaned them in the tin bowl and chopped them into as small pieces as she could manage.
‘Aye, I know.’ Sadie knew all her daughter’s manoeuvrings. ‘Your Uncle Jacob’s seen to that. Take what you need out of the jar an’ make sure you give Miss Gibson what you owe her.’
Connie’s heart plummeted. Her mam hadn’t liked Miss Gibson having to sub her the day before and she’d known she wouldn’t have let it happen again. You could make out you’d forgotten once, as she’d done the day before, both with the tram fare and her penny for the week for school, but no one would swallow the same story twice. ‘An’ Mrs Johnson said it’s tuppence if we want to bring our sewin’ home.’
‘Do you want to?’
Connie thought of the crumpled, creased apron she had laboured to make which was spattered with blood drops from pricked fingers, and now her face said one thing and her lips another. ‘Aye, Mam.’
Tuppence. By all that was holy them teachers lived in a different world. Tuppence would buy enough fish at the dockside for a good couple of dinners. ‘Well take that an’ all then,’ Sadie said heavily, ‘an’ don’t lose it, mind. Keep it in your glove not your pocket.’
‘All right, Mam.’
Sadie pressed her teeth into her lip and shut her eyes for a second before she said, ‘An’ for goodness sake take that look off your face. Miss Gibson’ll think you’ve got the bellyache or somethin’.’
Connie continued to look at her mother for one more moment, her azure eyes reproachful, and then she turned and walked back into the sitting room. She dragged one of the hard-backed chairs across to the fire, before climbing on it and reaching up for the blue and white pottery jar on the wooden shelf above the range. There were a collection of coins inside now; several farthings, halfpennies and pennies, along with the silver glint of a sixpence, one shilling and two bright half crowns. Connie’s eyes widened. Coo, her Uncle Jacob was rich. He must be to give her mam all this money, mustn’t he? Nevertheless, she only took the penny for school and what she owed Miss Gibson, along with the tram fare for that day. She didn’t want the silly old apron, she had just thought it might put her mam off sending her if she thought she’d got to pay for that as well.
‘’Bye, Mam.’
Once more Connie was in the doorway, surveying her mother’s pale drawn face, and such was her expression that it caused Sadie’s countenance to mellow and her voice to be soft as she said, ‘’Bye, me bairn, an’ don’t fret now. We’ll be all right here until you come home, lass. I promise.’
Connie nodded, the weight that had been on her heart since the scene outside the night before lifting at the note in her mother’s voice. They would be all right, and her Uncle Jacob would be back soon – hadn’t her mam said that very thing when Larry had cried so much he had made himself sick?
Her Uncle Jacob loved them and he loved her mam. Sometimes, when she saw her mam and Uncle Jacob look at each other, their faces seemed to sort of shine and it made her feel all nice and warm and safe inside. She wanted to laugh and jump up and down and hug herself on those occasions, like when she saw the first snowdrops in the wood or watched a field of golden corn turn and wave in the bright sunlight. Her mam was beautiful, she was the most beautiful person in the whole wide world, and Uncle Jacob would be back soon. He would.
Two weeks later and Jacob Owen had still not returned to the house in the wood, but when Connie heard the knock on the door followed by the sound of Father Hedley’s voice calling, ‘Hallo there! Is anyone in?’ she knew that one of her prayers, at least had been answered.
She had been to confession twice in the last fortnight, straight from school on a Thursday night, when they were marched into the church by the teachers and made to sit in the hard wooden pews whilst they reflected on the sins they had to confess when it was their turn for the penitent box.
Connie didn’t mind confession and she never tried to get out of it like some of the other children by pretending to be sick or having stomachache; at least she didn’t mind it when the priest was Father Hedley. Father McGuigan was different. He was tall and stiff, with eyes like pale-blue ice, and the last time he had come to the cottage in the autumn and she and her mam had come in from gathering wood to find him talking to her granny, he had just stared at her mam for ages. And then her granny had sent her and Larry outside to play, and when the priest had left and they’d gone indoors her mam had been white and she’d kept saying, ‘It isn’t fair, Mam, it isn’t an’ you know it. Some of ’em have had more men than I’ve had hot dinners an’ got away with it, an’ I
love
him.’ And then her granny had stuck up for Father McGuigan and her and her mam had had a row and everything had been horrible for a few days.
love
him.’ And then her granny had stuck up for Father McGuigan and her and her mam had had a row and everything had been horrible for a few days.
But Father Hedley was lovely. And this last Thursday in confession she’d told him all about the men hurting her Uncle Jacob, ’cos everyone knew that the second a priest stepped out from the confessional box his memory was wiped clean of everything he’d been told. And the Father had said everything would be all right and she wasn’t to worry and she hadn’t . . . until she’d got home again. Her mam had been poorly since the weekend and she hadn’t gone into school yesterday, and she had been praying Father Hedley would come and talk to her mam and take the frightened look out of her eyes. And now he was here.
‘Good morning, Peggy.’
‘Good mornin’, Father.’ Like her granddaughter, Peggy had sent up a swift prayer of thanks that it was Father Hedley who had called. How they would have coped with Father McGuigan the day she didn’t know. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea, Father?’
‘That would be most welcome.’ The bedroom door was open and Sadie was lying with the old feather bolster wedged behind her, and now the priest’s voice was softer still as he said, looking straight into the pale beautiful face, ‘Not too good the day, Sadie?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Not this influenza I hope?’
‘No, Father. I’m . . . I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘Aye, well, better that than influenza, eh? I hear there are fifty a day dying in London and we’re not too far off that here. The grave-diggers are working day and night, and the London hospitals can’t cope with the epidemic. You just make sure you keep well away from anyone who might have it if you’re not feeling yourself.’
‘I will, Father. I . . . I don’t go out much with the weather bein’ so bad.’
‘Quite right, quite right.’ The priest smiled at her before turning to the fire in the living room and holding out his long bony hands to the blaze. ‘By, Peggy, it’s a fair walk from the last tram stop and with the wind trying to cut you in two.’ Peggy held out a mug of tea to him without replying and he took it from her with a nod of thanks, smiling at Connie as he pulled one of the straight-backed chairs close to the fire, and seating himself before he said, ‘Well, and how are you feeling today, Peggy?’
He hadn’t come to talk about her health. Peggy looked straight into the kind, thin face of this elderly priest she had known most of her life, and she knew he knew. Somehow, he had found out about the happening of two weeks ago. Could it have been the bairn? She glanced at Connie and the clear bright eyes stared back at her without any hesitation or evasion. No, it hadn’t been the bairn. But then the priests knew everything so she shouldn’t be surprised. ‘I’m all right, thank you, Father.’
‘Good, good.’ Father Hedley was looking at the frail, crippled figure on the hard-wood saddle but he wasn’t really seeing her as his mind grappled with how to get round to the main purpose of his visit. After the child had spoken to him on Thursday night he had made it his business to find out all he could, and in the process he had become deeply disturbed.
This was a nasty business, a very nasty business, and it could well get nastier. He knew of the Stewart family; not intimately, they were not of the true faith but of Protestant persuasion so he understood, another thing which had sent Father McGuigan into a holy frenzy when he’d discovered Sadie’s association with the brother-in-law. The Stewarts’ housekeeper’s aunty was in his parish and she had told him her niece, Kitty McLeary, was a Catholic of sorts, or had been in her native Ireland. Apparently, the wife, Edith Stewart, ruled the family with a rod of iron, but there was no doubt they had a fair bit of influence in the town, and their prestige over the last few years had grown considerably since Henry Stewart had moved his central and commodious warehouses and offices to William Street. This night-time visit the child had spoken of had been hushed up right enough, but the outcome of it was sending ever widening ripples in its wake.
‘Can I offer you a shive of sly cake, Father?’
‘Aye, you can, Peggy. I’d have to be six foot under to refuse a piece of your sly cake, now wouldn’t I?’
‘I made it, Father.’ Connie had just taken a mug of tea into her mother, and as she emerged from the bedroom with Larry perched on her hip, the toddler having woken from his morning nap, her voice was shy as she continued, ‘Me mam’s been feelin’ poorly an’ Gran’s hands have been bad, so I’ve been doin’ the cookin’.’
‘Is that so?’ Father Hedley smiled at the fine-boned, fairy-like child as he reflected, and not for the first time, that this delicate-looking little lassie was stronger than she looked. Which was just as well all things considered. ‘Then I’ll enjoy it all the more, eh? But don’t let on to your granny mind.’
‘Oh, Father.’ Connie smiled her sweet smile before glancing at her grandmother, who was also smiling, and saying, ‘I’ll see to it, Gran.’
‘Ta, me bairn.’
The sugared pastry, rich with currants, having been disposed of, and the big brown teapot having been refilled and then emptied twice, Father Hedley sat forward slightly and cleared his throat three times.
To anyone who knew him – and Peggy certainly knew him, indeed it could be said she even loved him, if her reverent adoration could be couched in such disrespectful terms – this meant the priest was coming round to the real purpose for the pastoral call. And when Father Hedley hesitated, clearing his throat yet again, Peggy’s apprehension increased tenfold.
‘I was attending Mrs McClough’s mother on Saturday night, her that lives in St Bede’s Terrace,’ Father Hedley began quietly. ‘The old lady hasn’t been able to get to mass for some weeks now and Mrs McClough mentioned she was fretting. And while I was there she happened to mention that one of her neighbours, Jacob Owen, had had a fall at work and been hospitalised for some days.’
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