With Love From Ma Maguire (8 page)

‘I see. Then what do I call you?’

‘Mrs Maguire. Or Ma Maguire would be acceptable.’

While he replaced his sock and boot, she washed her hands at the scullery sink. ‘Please make him go now,’ she prayed inwardly. ‘Dear God, let me not submit to this thing I don’t understand. Give me the strength to fight what I am feeling, remove the temptation you have sent to me . . .’

Then she felt large fingers encircling her waist and moving up to cover her shaking body. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No!’ But expert hands turned her and she found his hard lips silencing the loud denial. For a second or two, she was overcome to the point where she almost began to respond in spite of shock and fear, then she pushed him fiercely away. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she snarled. ‘Whatever do you think I am . . . ?’ She was cold, so unbearably cold, angry too because her disobedient body was screaming to be warmed. By him?

‘Beautiful. And lonely too . . .’

‘But I’m not an animal!’

He smoothed his dishevelled hair. ‘What’s wrong with animal instinct?’

‘Nothing. If you’re a dog or a horse. The thing that separates us from the beasts, Mr Swainbank, is that we live for the future, not for the present.’

‘Ah.’ He took a step closer. ‘A philosopher too, I see. Not content to be nurse and midwife?’

She reached into the slopstone and picked out a large knife, the one she used to trim fat from meat for beef tea. ‘If it’s a toss-up between my virtue and your life, then there’s no contest, Sir.’ This last word was spat venomously. ‘You will go now from my house and you will never return.’

‘You talk of the future, Philly. I can give you one, all the money you need, clothes, an education for the boy . . .’

‘No!’ She brandished the knife before his face. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’ It was better to lie, that would be the smaller sin. Because she was lying. There was something here in this room, created by the two of them, uninvited, unwelcome, but compelling all the same.

‘Really?’ His lip curled. ‘That wasn’t the message I received a moment ago. Yes, like all women, you speak one thing while your body says another.’ He gazed around the scullery, apparently unimpressed by the six inches of steel she was waving so carelessly. ‘I can have you thrown out of here tomorrow. Your landlord’s a friend of mine . . .’

‘Oh yes? Well, see what do the neighbours say about that, Mr Swainbank. And not just in this street, but in many streets around. I’m useful here. I clean up the mess you make of their lives, treat cuts and bruises that should really be dealt with at the mill. All the illnesses you breed in those filthy holes are brought home and I cure them. Ask Doctor Flynn, why don’t you? And see did I ever miss my rent, see does the landlord want me out. I tell you now that he does not, for I have brought cleanliness to these slums. You don’t frighten me. A godless person never did frighten me.’

He looked her up and down. ‘And I could relieve you of that knife in two seconds.’

‘Do it, then.’

Their eyes locked in silent combat for several moments, then he turned on his heel and left the room. Swiftly, she followed him with the knife held out at waist-height, placing herself between him and the cradle that contained her sleeping son.

He snatched up his outer garments and made for the door.

‘Mr Swainbank?’

‘Yes?’ He looked at her, his hand resting on the gleaming brass door latch.

‘That will be two guineas, please. A guinea for the powder and another for my time.’

His lip curled into a snarl. ‘Huh! And what would you charge a mill-hand?’

‘Sixpence at best. But you need my medicine, don’t you? In future, you need not come here. Just send your boy now that I have seen the sore for myself. And take care, because my curse still stands.’

He threw some coins on to the table. ‘What curse?’

‘The one I laid at your door. Did you not know I have a reputation as a witch?’

‘Rubbish!’

‘Is it? Aye well, think about it when you lie in your bed with the blood flowing so slowly through your veins that you fear the heart stopping. But then, there may be nothing in it with me such a good Catholic woman. Close the door as you leave, please.’

‘Philly! Philly Maguire . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘You will live to regret this day.’

She stepped forward to pick up the money, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘I think you’ll find, Mr Swainbank, that the boot is on another foot altogether.’

Swearing beneath his breath, he opened the door.

‘And while we’re on about feet, I must warn you to watch out for the gangrene,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll recognize it sure enough, for the toes go black before they drop off. And I’ve no cure at all for that . . .’

He slammed the door behind him.

Philly placed the knife on the table and steadied herself with one hand on the back of a chair. Ice-cold fingers groped in her pocket until they found a rosary, then she fell to her knees beside Patrick’s cradle. The sins of the flesh had not needed consideration before, for she had never felt so drawn to a man. Yet so repulsed at the same time! How could dislike and desire be partners in a person’s soul? How on God’s good earth could she care for one who made slaves of decent working people, who turned a blind eye to want and deprivation, a fiend without compassion or warmth in his soul? She didn’t understand any of it. For the first time ever, Philly had been a brief victim of passion. It had not been a comfortable experience and she would avoid it carefully in the future.

After feeding her child, she sat gazing into embers until the room became truly chilled. Would she ever feel warm again? There was no doubt in her mind now – Richard Swainbank was a force to be reckoned with. And so, because of her weaknesses, was Philomena Theresa Maguire.

Chapter 2

1905

It began with a headache, no more than that. As usual, Philly was on her rounds, pushing Seamus’ handcart around the streets of School Hill, selling her wares with the rest of the street tradesmen. She was a familiar sight now and people listened for the high-pitched tinkle of her handbell, came out in droves to buy a penn’orth of tonic and a ha’p’orth of liniment. Occasionally, she would be stopped and brought into a house of sickness, while many a time a child would arrive breathless from running, ‘Ma, me mam says she’s started’, then handcart and bottles would be abandoned for a household to mind until Philly’s various crises ended.

She always patrolled the same area, though good sense told her that her medicines could sell anywhere. But the folk of School Hill depended on her now that Mother Blue’s questionable assistance was no longer available, so she stuck rigidly to her own patch. In time, she got to know all the other traders. There was Billy Black who mended dolly-tubs, Old Sharpie – he honed knives and scissors on a dusty wheel, Hughie Burns who sold brushes, Tommy from the tripe shop with his basket of offal, black puddings and sausages, the ragman who traded small blocks of salt for old clothes.

It was March, still chilly enough, though the air held a muted promise of spring even here in the shadow of the mills. By three o’clock, Philly knew she had had enough. In spite of her extra shawl, she was shivering uncontrollably and her eyes seemed to be misting over with tiredness. She blinked several times to clear her vision, then pushed the cart, which suddenly weighed a ton, in the direction of home. When she reached Edie’s house, she hammered loudly at the front door. Edie put her head through the opened lower half of the bedroom window. ‘What’s up with thee? Can’t you open the door like everybody else?’

‘I’m sick.’

‘Aye, so am I! Your Patrick’s been doing a fair imitation of the opening of Parliament here, all noise and no bloody sense.’ She paused. ‘What’s matter?’

‘I’m coming down with something. You’ll have to hang on to him, Edie. I don’t want him getting it too.’

‘Keep him overnight, you mean?’

‘Yes. You know I’d do the same if it was Molly.’

Edie brought her lips together tightly before she said anything. The lad was past dealing with some days and this was one of them. Seven months old and he carried on like the blinking Kaiser if he didn’t get his own road all the while. ‘Can I do anything for you, lass?’ Aye, she did look a bit poorly, did Philly.

‘Keep away, please! If it’s what I think, you mind those babies till I’m over it and the house fumigated.’

‘Bloody hell!’

‘And don’t swear, Edie.’ Philly steadied herself against the cart. ‘Get Arthur to shove this into the yard later on. I’m well past meself. If I bang on the wall, get the doctor.’

‘I’ll get him whether or not. Go in that house this minute, Philly Maguire.’

She staggered up the stairs, gripping tightly on to the castiron rail. Her head swam as if she were drunk, while all four limbs felt as if they were weighted with lead. Incapable of removing her clothes, she fell on to the bed and drifted into a tormented sleep.

As soon as Arthur came in, Edie ran from the scullery to greet him. ‘Were it a bad day, lad? Well, it’s not over, ’cos Philly’s been took badly. You’d best get down for the doctor . . . What’s matter, love?’

His head drooped as he fell into a chair. He took a deep shuddering breath before looking up at her. ‘It’s Bob – you remember Bob Hawkins, him as come round with his Missus when I’d no work?’

‘That’s right. He made a collection, didn’t he? Gave us a few coppers every week till your arm got right.’

‘Aye, that’s him. Well, he’d six childer up to last Sunday, four lads and two girls, a bonny lot too. By this morning, he’d got one left and that’s poorly.’

A hand flew to her mouth. ‘Dear God! Whatever is it? Scarlet fever?’

‘Nay, lass.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘That doesn’t kill many, just leaves them deaf and with weak insides. No, it’s the other.’ He almost choked as he whispered, ‘They’re saying it’s the dip again, Edie.’

‘Diphtheria?’

‘Aye, that’s what most of the doctors are putting it down as. Anyroad, they’re falling like flies with it, streets of kiddies just wiped out.’

‘No!’ Patrick began to scream again and Edie looked anxiously at the two children on the rug. ‘What if . . . ?’

‘Don’t think on it, lass. Just keep her in the house till it’s all passed over.’

‘But we’ve Patrick too! She says I have to hang on to him while she’s ill. What if he’s got it? What if he gives it to our Molly?’

‘The Lord will look after us, Edie. He knows she’s too precious – aye and Patrick too. Anyroad, I’ll go and get the doctor for Missus next door.’

After he had left, Edie fed the two babies on thin stew followed by rice pudding then breast-milk. It was not uncommon for one woman to feed both children if the other was busy. She examined the infants carefully. They looked well enough and were weaning early, so happen they’d find the strength to fight whatever this was. She bathed them and put them to bed, glancing from time to time at the slow-moving clock, wondering what was keeping Arthur so long.

When at last he returned, his face was grimmer than ever.

‘Did you get the doctor? Where’ve you been all this while?’

For answer, he threw his cap on to the table and rubbed a hand across coal-rimmed eyes.

‘What is it, Arthur?’

‘There is no doctor, lass.’

‘No doctor? Why, is he out on a call?’

‘Aye, you might say that, Edie. His last call.’

‘Arthur!’ She ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘Not Dr Flynn! No!’

‘This morning. He’d been treating them, you see, so he caught it and passed away before dinner. I reckon Philly’s been near it too, lass, so we must prepare for whatever comes.’

Edie burst into tears while her husband, whose own grief was not far from the surface, held her tight in his arms. ‘There’s nowt at all we can do, girl. I ran down St George’s Road to see if I could find the other feller, only he’d the shutters up. Happen he’s laying low and looking after his own.’

She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with fear and panic. ‘What about Philly? We can’t just leave her, yet I daren’t go near in case I fetch summat home to the babies. Whatever shall I do?’

He reached for her hand. ‘Make a brew while I think on. There must be a road round this . . .’

Two hours later, after scouring the town for medical help, Arthur returned once more to his wife. ‘That’s it,’ he announced quietly. ‘The doctors are all out or not answering, then the hospital said they were full up, no more room for isolation cases. But there again, we mun look on the bright side – she might not have it, Edie. Happen it’s a chill or the scarlet fever. See, I’ll go in . . .’

‘No!’ Edie’s voice was fierce. ‘She wouldn’t want that, Arthur. She must have something bad, else she’d have been knocking on the wall or trying to get to see us. And if she’s poorly, then for Patrick’s sake and for our Molly, she’d never let us in.’

‘She might be too poorly to know who’s in and who’s out . . .’

Edie shook her head determinedly. ‘We’re none of us going in there. You stop here, lad. I’m off to find the one person who will take this on for a few bob.’

‘Nay . . .’

But she was already fastening the shawl about her head. ‘It’s our only chance, Arthur. And whatever happens, thanks for trying. You’re a good lad and I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

She was gone. Arthur washed himself down at the scullery slopstone then pushed his dried-up stew around the plate for a while. At about nine o’clock, Edie returned with a subdued and unusually sober Mother Blue in tow. After sending her husband upstairs, she dragged in the tin bath and ordered Mother to get a good scrub. By this time, Philly had been alone next door for many hours and Edie was once more anxiously watching the clock. Fortunately, the two women were much of a size and within another few minutes, Mother Blue was dressed in Edie’s cast-offs.

Edie sat her down by the fire. ‘Right. Remember what I told you. The food and your gin will be left on the doorstep every morning. If it’s nothing serious, you’ll likely be on your way in a day or two, but if she’s bad, then you have to promise to stay in there with her till it’s all over one way or the other. All right?’