The White Empress (8 page)

‘What is it?’

‘Some medicine Mrs Travis gave me. There’s some strips of flannel in there, too, but they have to be warmed up first. Where’s
our Shelagh?’

Maisey went to the door and bellowed for Shelagh to ‘Gerrup ’ere right now!’

Between them they managed to get some of the medicine down Ellen and a sullen Shelagh was sent to heat up the bricks in the
range. When she returned with the strips of red flannel wrapped around them, her demeanour had changed to one of concern.

‘Eamon said Joe Calligan has gone for a doctor. I didn’t think she was that bad!’

‘Yer wouldn’t! Yer never think of anyone but yerself! ’Ere, ’elp me with the flannel while Cat ’olds her up!’

When they had finished she looked a little less fevered but Cat insisted on pulling her own grey wool coat up around her mother’s
chin. She chaffed her arms. The room was damp and cold.

When the doctor arrived Cat cleared everyone out of the room although Maisey objected strongly. But with Joe’s help she got
her own way. She stood watching
while Dr Devlin examined her mother.

‘I’ve given her some of this, Doctor. What’s the matter with her, is it bad?’

He took the bottle from her and examined the label, then nodded.

‘I’d say it is pleurisy and she should be in hospital.’

Cat crossed herself. Hospital! Most people died in hospital! ‘Oh, does she have to go? Can’t she stay here? I’ll look after
her and Mrs Travis is so good I know she’ll help me, lend me blankets and coal! I’ll nurse her! Oh, don’t take her away, please?’

Dr Devlin was of the old-fashioned school who, while admitting that hospitals had changed greatly, still preferred his patients
to be nursed at home wherever possible. ‘This room is damp, is there another she could be moved to?’

Cat clutched at this straw. ‘Yes! Yes, I’ll find one! Just tell me what she needs, what to do . . . !’

‘I’ll write everything down for you but if she loses consciousness then you will have to call me straight away!’

Thankfully passing a hand over her own damp forehead, she nodded as, taking out a black pocket-book, he began to write.

Joe, with the help of Mr O’Dwyer and her Pa, but hindered by Eamon who in his anxiety insisted on helping, moved the bed downstairs.
They had cleared out some of the old furniture and rubbish from the front room. Joe went back to the house in Everton Valley
to inform Mrs Travis of the events and to ask for her help. He returned with sheets, blankets, two flannel
nightdresses, half a sack of coal and the promise that more would be delivered first thing in the morning by Mrs Travis’ own
coal merchant, and a message that Cat was to stay for as long as she was needed and that all bills must be sent to her.

For the next five days and nights, Cat nursed her mother, washing her, changing her nightdress, changing the soiled linen,
coaxing her to take the medicine Dr Devlin had left. The doctor called every day and Cat was grateful for these visits, knowing
they were prompted by her benefactress who had continued to give her support in every way, sending Joe down each day to report
on the patient’s condition and to ask if there was anything else she needed.

On the third night Joe insisted that Maisey sit up with Mrs Cleary as Cat was grey from exhaustion and worry and could barely
keep her eyes open. He had cradled her in his arms until she had fallen into a deep sleep, then he laid her gently on the
sofa and covered her with his own overcoat and left after giving instructions that if any of them woke her he’d personally
beat them black and blue! And it was on that night, while Cat slept, that her mother pulled around. The fever left her and
the pains in her chest subsided, leaving her weak and exhausted but breathing more calmly, her eyes clear.

They woke Cat who ran in and threw herself on the bed to be clasped in the thin arms, while she sobbed with sheer relief.

‘Hush. Hush now, Cat, you’ll make yourself ill and then where would we be?’

‘Oh, Ma! Ma! I thought I was going to lose you!’

‘Hush, the good Lord won’t take me until it’s my turn and only He knows when that will be. But I thank Him with all my heart
for giving me such a daughter as you, Cat.’ The words were barely more than a whisper.

‘An’ don’t ferget ’er Ladyship up there in Everton Valley! I never thought I’d see the day when one of them would ’elp the
likes of us, but she’s a saint, that’s what she is! Supplied everythin’, paid fer everythin’. God bless ’er!’ Maisey added.

Cat sat up. ‘She’s right, Ma. Without Mrs Travis I don’t know what I’d have done. The doctor wanted to put you in hospital.’

Like most of the poverty-striken, Irish labouring classes, the word hospital was synonymous with workhouse and Mrs Cleary
shuddered.

‘’E’d ’ave ’ad to get past me first! I don’t ’old with them hospitals! Once they get yer inside, yer don’t gerrout again, norr
in one piece anyway!’ Maisey muttered darkly.

‘The most important thing is that you’re on the mend now, Ma, but you’ll have to look after yourself! You’ll have to eat!’
She turned to Maisey. ‘Has he got a job yet?’

‘No, an’ not likely to’, sittin’ on his arse all day!’

‘Then he’ll have to get off it and find something! What about Shelagh?’

‘She’s gone to work at the B & A now, better money.’

‘And free fags, no doubt!’ Cat retorted. The British and American Tobacco Company was situated further down Vauxhall Road.
‘Then she can turn up more. I know Ma; what I give her she gives to you and Pa. Well,
I’m not working to keep him! If I give it to you will you see he doesn’t get his hands on it? Just make sure Ma and Eamon
get decent food. Our Shelagh can look after herself and if she spends all her money on clothes and drink, then let her starve,
Maisey!’

‘I’ll do just that, luv! Yer money will be in safe ’ands with me, I’ll see to yer Ma and meladdo there! Mick Cleary can starve,
too, or gerroff ’is backside an’ if either one of them complains, then out the door they’ll go, I’m sick of the pair of them!’

At the end of November Joe signed on a small freighter for a short trip to Hamburg. He broke the news to Cat and Mrs Travis
simultaneously, preferring to face the hurt of one and the wrath of the other at the same time.

‘So when do you sail?’ Mrs Travis did not appear to be too angry; in fact she seemed to be taking the matter complacently.

‘Day after tomorrow.’

‘And how much are they going to pay you and what prospects are there for the future?’

‘The wage is a bit more than you pay me and as for prospects, well . . . they did say if I suited they may sign me on again.’

‘So it’s for one trip only? A trial period? No firm promise?’

‘No. But that’s not unusual.’

‘Not for small-time tramp steamers. It would be different for a reputable line such as Ellermans or the City Line.’

He flushed, knowing what she meant.

Cat had remained silent, her eyes downcast.

‘And if they don’t keep you on, what then?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He couldn’t maintain his composure any longer. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help it! There’s a passion
for the sea that was born in me – me Dad and brothers are merchant seamen! I just can’t help it!’

The old lady’s eyes strayed to the framed photograph that hung above the mantelpiece. A portrait of a stern-looking man with
a full beard and moustache, in the old-fashioned uniform of a merchant captain. She sighed. ‘Someone else once told me the
same thing. We’ll miss you, Joe. Now, I have some letters to write.’ And with a wave of her hand she dismissed them both,
but as he reached the door she spoke again. ‘Will you be back in time for Christmas?’

‘Yes. A week before, I hope.’

‘Then we’ll see you then and if they don’t keep you on, I’ll keep your job open until the New Year.’

‘Why couldn’t you have told me first!’ Cat demanded when they reached the seclusion of the kitchen.

‘Because . . . because, well, I didn’t want to upset you!’

‘You mean because you were afraid to! You know I don’t want you to go!’

‘I’m not afraid of any woman and you knew sooner or later I’d go! You know how I’ve tried and tried to get a ship!’

She turned away but he placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘She understands, why can’t you?’

‘Because I’m not like her, that’s why! I . . . I’ve only
got my Ma and you . . . that I care about anyway, and now . . .’

‘It’s only for a couple of weeks, Cat! I’ll be back before Christmas and I’ll bring you something really nice and we’ll go
out on the town, and—’

‘I don’t want your presents! I won’t be fobbed off with presents and promises!’

‘I thought you cared for me, Cat?’

‘I do!’

‘Then stop yelling at me! Can’t you be happy for me?’

Her face crumpled and he gathered her into his arms. ‘It’s only a couple of weeks, I’ll be back before you know it!’

She hadn’t gone to see him off and the day he sailed Mrs Travis called her into the parlour.

‘So, he’s gone?’

Cat nodded and picked at the edge of the duster she was holding.

‘Put that away and sit down.’

She stuffed the cloth into the pocket of her pinafore and sat on the edge of the Chesterfield.

‘How old are you, Catherine?’

‘Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen next June.’

‘With your whole life ahead of you. Oh, how I envy you, Catherine.’

Cat fidgeted, wondering where this conversation was leading. It was obvious she hadn’t been called in for just a chat.

‘You’re fond of Joe, aren’t you?’

She nodded miserably. She missed him already.

‘And how is your mother?’

The change of subject startled her; she was expecting a homily on etiquette. ‘She’s coming along very nicely now, thank you.’

‘Good.’ The old lady fingered the brooch at the neck of her dress. A brooch in the shape of a ship’s wheel. A brooch she was
particularly fond of. ‘Take my advice, my dear, don’t marry a sailor!’

‘Oh, Joe hasn’t . . . I mean . . .’

Mrs Travis held up her hand. ‘I didn’t for a minute think he had. But believe me, it’s a lonely life for a woman. Months of
waiting, wondering, worrying . . .’ She fingered the brooch again. ‘No matter how good a man is, it’s still no consolation
and so often they don’t stick to their principles.’ She paused. ‘You have to be mother and father to your children, except
that in my case I never had any. It was God’s will and I became resigned to it. But there are many women who would have changed
places with me. Women left alone to bring up families on a pittance or nothing at all. Often deserted . . .’

‘Joe’s not like that—’ she burst out, unable to stop herself.

‘I’m not suggesting he is, but he’ll never rise any higher than a deck steward.’ Again she silenced Cat’s protests with an
uplifted hand. ‘Think about your mother, Catherine. I expect she started married life in good health and spirits, and look
at what life has left her with! You’re a good girl, you’re not without intelligence and you work hard. I wouldn’t like to
think that you would end up like your poor mother. You can do better, much better, for I think you have sense beyond your
years. Think about it. Think long and hard. Have you any ambitions? Any plans for the future?’

Cat shook her head. She couldn’t tell Mrs Travis about her aspirations, she wouldn’t understand. She lived in another age.

‘Then you should start to think about some. Joe Calligan isn’t the only man in the world. It’s not more than five months since
you came here and look how you’ve changed. I saw potential in you. You’ve grown up into a pleasant, presentable young woman.
A long way from the scrawny child who sat there not so long ago. Given another year . . . I think you understand me. Don’t
fall into the trap, Catherine!’

‘There is something . . .’

‘I knew there was. I sensed it. You would have disappointed me if there hadn’t been “something”.’

‘I want to be . . . I want something I’ve never had! I want to be respected, admired.’

‘Very commendable. Is that all?’

She faltered for an instant beneath the penetrating gaze. ‘I want . . . I want to become a stewardess, but not just any stewardess
on any liner!’

‘Ah, so you, too, have salt water in your veins. Go on!’

‘I want to be a chief stewardess on a White Empress!’

To her suprise the old lady smiled wistfully. ‘Nothing is impossible, my dear. Highly improbable but not impossible. There
is nothing I can do to help you either, apart from a good reference, for the few men in the Canadian Pacific Line that I was
acquainted with through my husband are all dead. But work and don’t let go of your dreams! Let nothing and no one stand in
the
way of your ambitions! Oh, I know I’m an old woman, brought up in a different age, but women today have more choice. More
freedom to shape their own destiny. Don’t fall into the poverty trap, keep your goal clearly in sight and don’t be swayed
by arguments or promises! I wish I had the chances you have. The freedom and the rest of my life ahead of me instead of behind
me. Fight for your dream, Catherine, and don’t give up!’

Cat smiled at her, wondering what circumstances had driven her to speak so forcefully about freedom and choice. She had also
given her the encouragement she needed and a few harsh facts to think about. She rose. ‘I won’t! I won’t ever give up! I’ll
make it one day and you’ll be proud of me!’ Suddenly it became so important that this frail old lady should respect her.

‘Unfortunately, I doubt that I’ll live long enough to see that day, but I have great faith in you!’

Cat drew out the duster. There was work to be done and she wasn’t going to sit around moping for the likes of Joe Calligan.

‘Remember what I said. Don’t marry a sailor!’ The gentle voice with overtones of humorous remorse floated after her as she
left the room.

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEK IT
snowed and the roads and pavements quickly became treacherous as a heavy frost set in. It was Mrs Travis’s custom to take
tea with Mother Superior at the Convent of Notre Dame every Wednesday afternoon. For many years she had been a benefactress
to both the nuns and the church of Our Lady Immaculate in Saint Domingo Road. Cat, who on the Wednesday after Joe’s departure
had no desire to go to Eldon Street, offered to escort her, seeing how slippery it had become underfoot.

‘I’ll come back here and keep the fires banked up, finish the mending and then nip back for you. You usually leave about five
o’clock don’t you?’

‘That’s very kind of you, Catherine, it is difficult to cross that road even at the best of times.’

So, wrapped in heavy coats, scarves and galoshes, they walked slowly and carefully the few hundred yards to the convent gates.
Cat helped her mistress up the steep flight of steps but as a black-robed figure opened
the door, she turned and left. As she stepped out on to the icy pavement she collided with another girl and they both slipped
and landed on their buttocks. Cat was about to launch into a tirade of accusations when she noticed that the girl was wearing
the regulation uniform of the convent school and that she was laughing.

‘What a cut we must look!’ she gasped. ‘Here, give me your hand and I’ll pull you up or we’ll both have wet drawers!’

Cat took the proffered hand and they stumbled to their feet. Cat’s own eyes were full of laughter at the black velour hat
with the wide brim, that Joe had described as looking like a po, for the fall had knocked it over one of the girl’s eyes.
It also amused her to hear this convent-bred girl talking of ‘drawers’. Whenever she had seen the girls from the convent,
walking in single file and flanked by the nuns, they had all looked so prim and proper. This one certainly didn’t fit into
either category.

The girl smiled at her. ‘We’ve just been let loose for the holidays!’

She presented a comic figure in the long navy blue coat, black wellington boots, navy blue woollen gloves and that awful hat
on which was pinned a badge depicting a sprig of Lily of the Valley and some gold lettering. Cat smiled again.

‘What’s so funny?’ The girl demanded.

‘That hat!’

She straightened it but it didn’t look much better for it seemed to rest on her ears. A fringe of sandy-blonde hair protruded
from beneath the brim and hung in loose
curls over her shoulders. ‘It’s bloody awful, isn’t it, but we have to wear them otherwise there’s hell to pay! What’s your
name? Mine’s Marie Hazel Gorry.’

Cat was shocked. Only men and sluts like her sister used words like that. ‘Cat Cleary, it’s short for Catherine,’ she stammered,
forstalling the usual question.

‘Do you live round here?’

‘Sort of. I’m in service with Mrs Travis.’

‘Oh, her! She’s the one who comes to tea with Mother Exterior every week!’

‘Don’t you mean “Superior”?’

‘No. All those sweet smiles and pious looks are “exterior”, underneath she’s a holy terror! Where are you going?’

‘Back to Mrs Travis’s house, I’m collecting her at five.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.

‘Aren’t you going home? Do you live round here?’

‘No, I have to get the tram to Walton.’ She brightened. ‘Walk down Royal Street with me, there’s a park at the bottom – Lester
Gardens – we can talk!’

‘It’s freezing!’ Cat protested.

‘It’s not that bad!’

Cat warmed to her. She had experienced little company of girls of her own age, although this one looked a bit younger. Cat
surmised that if your parents could afford to pay for you to go to an expensive school, then you obviously stayed there a
lot longer than if you went to an ordinary school. She nodded and so hanging on to each other for support they made their
way precariously across the road, presenting an incongruous and rather comical sight.

Her new-found friend chattered on while Cat listened, mesmerised, of tales of life at a convent school as seen through the
eyes of Marie Hazel Gorry. When she could get a word in edgewise, she asked her about her rather unusual name.

‘Well, our Mam – only I’m not supposed to call her that, I have to say “Mother” or “Mummy”,’ she grimaced, ‘wanted to call
me something different, a bit unusual and she’d read this novel where the heroine’s name was Hazel. But when they took me
to be baptised they had to have a good Catholic name as well, so I got both.’ She jerked her head back in the direction of
the convent and the hat slipped down again. She pushed it up. ‘They call me Marie, ’cos when I started there – when I was
six – Mother Exterior said Hazel was the name of a nut and that there was nothing remotely saintly about a nut, so everyone
must call me just Marie. Everyone at home calls me Marie, too, except our Mam.’

‘Have you been at the convent since you were six? How old are you now?’

‘Nearly sixteen. I’m leaving soon, once I’ve matriculated.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Passed my exams.’ She indicated the satchel slung over one shoulder.

‘What will you do then?’

‘Oh, they’ve already sorted that out – not that I had much say in the matter! I’m going to Machin & Harper’s Commercial College
in Colquitt Street, off Bold Street. To learn shorthand and typing and “Office Procedures”. I’m to be a secretary when they
get finished with me.’
Again she jerked her head in the direction of the convent. ‘They wanted me to go on and be a teacher, but I’ve had enough
of kids and schools to last a lifetime!’

They had reached the bottom of Royal Street and crossed the road, trudging through the grey slush churned up by the trams,
carts and lorries, for Walton Road was a main road and always busy with traffic. As they entered Lester Gardens a group of
urchins who had been pelting each other with snowballs, stopped and stared at them. Then one lad, bolder than the rest chanted
mockingly:

Marie Hazel glared at him.

she yelled back.

It was obvious she was well used to dealing with the insults frequently hurled at known Catholics in this mainly Protestant
area. The religious divisions were deep and cut across all sections of society, but among the poorer classes were more virulent.
Cat herself had been the object of this kind of abuse on more than one occasion. On St Patrick’s Day and Orangeman’s Day there
were always fights between the rival factions which had been known to degenerate into full-scale riots.

The lad came closer, thinking he was dealing with
one of the quieter, more refined girls from the convent. ‘Eh, girl, lend us yer ’at, we’re ’avin’ soup!’ he mocked and the
others doubled up with laughter.

Marie Hazel was nonplussed. ‘You should be on the stage, lad! The landing stage, feedin’ bread to gummy pigeons!’

This time the laugh was on him and he bent down and picked up a handful of snow. Marie Hazel was too quick for him. With a
well-aimed swipe she caught him across the head with her satchel. He roared with pain and the others fled.

‘You wait, girl! I’ll get me Da onter youse, ’e’ll sort yer out! Bleedin’ Papist!’ he bawled.

‘Oh, aye, him and whose army? I’ll get my Da and my six brothers to sort you lot out! Now sod off!’

Cat fell on to the park bench, convulsed with laughter. She’d never met anyone quite like this girl.

Marie Hazel had snatched off the offending headgear and sat down beside her. ‘Our Mam doesn’t know what I have to put up with
from this lot round here! It’s the same every day!’

‘Have you really got six brothers?’

‘Don’t be daft!’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Me, my elder sisters Doreen and Marlene, my eldest brother Tom, but he’s married, and Mam and Dad, of course.’

It was still a big family, Cat thought, and they couldn’t be short of money either. ‘What does your Dad do?’

‘He’s in business. Coal. We’ve got four lorries. He owns some houses, too, and rents them out.’

She had deduced correctly.

‘He inherited the business from my grandfather. He started with one horse and cart. A right rum old thing he was, too. Married
my grandmother when he was sixty and she was only in her twenties. She came from Ireland. You’re Irish, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, from Dublin.’

‘She came from Tipperary. We went there on holiday once. It rained every day!’

Cat digested all this. It had never occurred to her that an Irish immigrant could end up a wealthy man, owning a thriving
business to pass on to his son. If he could do it, so could she and she remembered her conversation with Mrs Travis. At the
thought of her mistress she also remembered her promise. She stood up. ‘I’ll have to go now. I was supposed to bank up the
fires and do some mending before I collected her at five. What time is it, do you know?’

Marie Hazel had a watch and she pushed up the sleeve of her coat. ‘Nearly quarter to five. I’d better go myself or our Mam
will have the police out looking for me!’ She seemed reluctant to go, even though it was dark and they were both shivering.

Cat guessed that with no sisters at home close to her own age, and because quite obviously she wasn’t the usual type of pupil
at the convent, she was looking for a kindred spirit. ‘Well, it’s been grand talking to you. I’ll have to run back now.’

‘You won’t get into trouble will you for not doing the chores?’

Cat smiled, she seemed genuinely concerned. ‘No,
she’s as good as gold to me and it really is my afternoon off.’

‘Do you get other days off?’

‘Sundays, but I usually go to see my Ma, she lives in Eldon Street.’

‘Oh.’ There was a note of disappointment in her voice.

‘But I don’t stay all day, not every week,’ she replied, thinking of Joe.

‘Come to tea on Sunday afternoon then?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’

‘Why not? We’re not snobs, everyone’s welcome in our house! I’ll tell them you’re coming, they’re always asking me why I don’t
bring friends home like the others do!’

Cat was perturbed. She liked Marie Hazel Gorry but she doubted that Mrs Gorry would be very impressed with her daughter’s
choice of friend. Probably the friends of her other children came from the same background they did and that was still very
different from hers.

‘Come at three o’clock. It’s number eighteen Yew Tree Road, it’s at the top of Rice Lane, past Walton Hospital! Get the number
twenty-two or thirty tram – it stops on the corner. Tell you what, I’ll meet you! Oh, here’s my tram! See you on Sunday!’

Cat watched her running along the pavement, slipping in her haste. She caught the tram and stood on the platform, waving her
school hat. ‘I haven’t got much choice!’ she said aloud. She’d just have to go and endure it. She shrugged. She’d usually
had enough of her family
and the O’Dwyers by lunchtime anyway and with Joe away . . . Oh, why not, she thought, it would be an experience. Even if
she was politely shown the door after one quick cup of tea. At least she could go and see for herself the proof that an Irish
immigrant could become rich and respected.

She alighted from the number twenty-two tram on the corner of Yew Tree Road at 2.55 to find Marie waiting for her. She was
dressed in a bright red coat with black velvet collar and cuffs, her long, strawberry blonde hair covered by a red Tam-o’-Shanter
edged with black velvet. Cat’s apprehension deepened as she pulled her bottle-green, plain, tweed coat closer to her. A small
green beret was pinned to her hair and she felt plain and dowdy.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come. You didn’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘You didn’t give me much choice. What did your mother say when you told her?’

‘She said, “Good, it’s about time you had a friend of your own age.”’

‘Didn’t you tell her that I don’t go to your school, that I’m in service?’

‘Of course I did! I told you she’s not a snob!’

Cat looked around at the houses as they walked up the quiet street. They were large and well built but not grandiose. The
road was wide and tree-lined and quietly affluent. Some of the houses even had cars parked outside. Even Mrs Travis didn’t
own a car.

Marie pushed open the wrought iron gate that led
into a well-kept garden and Cat followed, slowing her steps as her new friend opened the front door. The hallway was wide
and a staircase swept up one side of it. On her right was a door with stained-glass windows which proved to be a cloakroom.

‘She’s here!’ Marie called. ‘Give me your coat and hat!’

Cat complied and the garments were duly hung up while she smoothed down her dark-grey skirt and pulled down the grey jumper
to which she had added a small lace collar. Both had been bought from Marks & Spencer for the occasion. Marie wore a paisley-patterned
wool dress that was obviously expensive.

‘Come on in and meet everyone, they won’t bite!’

With mounting apprehension Cat slowly followed her into a large room furnished with good, solid furniture. Heavy curtains
reached from the ceiling to the floor and flanked french windows that opened out on to the walled back garden. A roaring fire
burned in the modern fireplace.