Harry nodded eagerly. ‘Ollie . . . Ollie’s right, Ma.’
He glanced for confirmation at the knot of men trying to blend into the wood panelling, but they kept their eyes on the floor. Ma chewed her lips for a moment and glanced back at Charlie by the fire.
The left side of his mouth drooped and his left arm hadn’t moved since Harry had set him down, but his good eye was alert and she could see by the way it flickered between them that he understood the conversation. As the Atkins brat
was
now the same snotty-nose oick he’d always been, maybe in a day or two Charlie would recover, too.
She gave Harry a more considerate look. ‘’Appen he will. But Nolan’s still going to pay for it.’
‘I’ll go and fix him now, Ma,’ Harry said, dragging his knife out of his belt.
For a second Ma enjoyed imagining Patrick bleeding on the cobbles with his throat cut, and then she shook her head.
‘Patience, patience.’ She raised her hand towards Harry’s face and he flinched. She patted his cheek lightly. ‘You have to learn not to rush things,’ she said in a kind-hearted tone. ‘I don’t want Patrick Nolan to feel the sting of a blade just for a second, I want him to feel it every day of his life inching its way to his heart.’
‘How?’
Her thin lips drew back in an amiable smile and the men in the room recoiled. ‘Trust your ma. She’ll think of a way.’
Bobby opened the door to the dining room and found Lottie already at the table. Grandmama, sitting at the head, her hands neatly folded, acknowledged her as she walked in. Although Grandmama looked a little tired, her lips weren’t drawn tight as usual, even though Bobby was late.
Behind her, waiting to serve the breakfast was Daisy, her eyes swollen and her chin uncontrollably wobbly.
‘Sit down, Robina,’ her grandmother instructed in a light voice.
Bobby gave her sister a quizzical look. Lottie gave as much of a shrug as she could with her grandmother’s beady eyes upon her. Bobby was a little surprised to see Josie’s seat empty. Grandmama loathed tardiness, and it put her in a foul temper all morning if any of them was a minute after eight-thirty, so her sister made a point of being early.
‘You may serve,’ Grandmama said over her shoulder.
‘Josie’s not down yet,’ said Bobby.
Daisy let out a long sniff and her chin wobble became more pronounced. Strangely, Grandmama didn’t reprimand her, just dismissed her with a flick of her fingers. Daisy fled with her hands over her face.
The door slammed and Bobby and Lottie stared at each other in puzzlement. Grandmama placed her hand on her bosom.
‘Miss O’Casey won’t be down today - or ever again,’ she said in a doleful tone. ‘She is gone!’
‘Gone where?’ asked Bobby, not quite sure she was hearing her grandmother’s words correctly.
‘To be with her paramour.’
Although Grandmama’s expression was mournful there was a sort of happiness in her voice.
‘What’s that?’ asked Lottie.
‘She has turned her back on her family to live in a wicked, sinful liaison with that scoundrel, Patrick Nolan.’
Lottie’s shoulders dropped. ‘Oh, Grandmama, of course we’ll see her again. Mr Nolan’s house is only a walk away and Josie’ll be back lots of times.’
‘I am afraid that is not possible. You may be a little young to understand but Miss O’Casey is lost to her family forever.’ Grandmama put her hand to her forehead. ‘She has thrown all the care your father has lavished on her over the years back in his face. Ungrateful, dissolute girl that she is.’
Lottie’s lower lip jutted out and she glanced across at her sister. Anger rose up in Bobby. ‘You must be mistaken, Grandmama. Josie loves Papa and would never do anything to upset him.’
Her grandmama gave her a frosty look. ‘Your loyalty to Miss O’Casey is commendable but I have ruled on the matter.’
‘I want to see Josie,’ Lottie cried. She buried her head in her arms for a second then looked up with a tear-stained face. ‘I’m going to see Josie and I don’t care what you say.’
Mrs Munroe wove her fingers together and rested her hand on the table in front of her. ‘Do not make me lock you in your room until you repent of your wilfulness, Charlotte.’
An image of her grandmother holding Josie’s letter flashed into Bobby’s mind. She caught her sister’s eye.
‘
Charlotte
.’ Lottie sat still. ‘I am sure that Grandmama knows best.’
‘If you think so,
Robina
,’ Lottie replied. Bobby nodded and Lottie formed her face into an innocent expression. ‘Please forgive me, Grandmama. You are right in everything.’
Bobby wondered if that was just a little too much, her grandmother hadn’t noticed they were addressing each other by their full names, so probably not.
Mrs Munroe beamed at the two children and rung the bell by her hand. ‘Shall we eat?’
Bobby threw her oats and toast down her throat as quickly as she could then mumbled an excuse, dashed upstairs and slipped into Josie’s room. Tearing open her sister’s clothes cupboard she sifted though the billowing skirts. She ignored the fine silk evening dresses and pulled out three of Josie’s best day dresses and her old housework one, along with her quilted jacket and her strongest boots. She carefully folded them and tied them in her sister’s fringed shawl.
Then, just as she opened the door she spotted Waisy on the bed. Bobby leapt over, scooped it up and closed Josie’s door. With her grandmother’s voice echoing up from the front hall as she gave Daisy the tasks to complete before the family returned from church, Bobby sped up to her own room.
She put Waisy out of sight under her pillow, and then pulled out the top drawer of her dressing table. She scrabbled around at the back and found her small purse. Shaking out the ten shillings she’d been saving, but keeping a penny back, Bobby tied the coins in one of her handkerchiefs, stuffed it in the middle of the bundle and then hid it under the bed.
She sat back on her heels to regain her breath, then went over to her writing desk to quickly scribble out a letter, address it and slip it in her pocket. The tall clock in the hall chimed nine o’clock. In a short while, they would have to leave to walk to church, so Bobby retrieved the bundle and opened the door to the landing again. At the end of the hall, through her grandmother’s open door, she could see her arranging herself for church.
Flattening herself against the wall, Bobby slid along to the top of the stairs and then dashed down the three flights to the kitchen.
She burst through the door just as Mrs Woodall was hooking a joint of meat on the jack.
She blinked in surprised. ‘Miss Robina, shouldn’t you be getting ready for Church?’
Bobby held out the bundle and Mrs Woodall’s gaze rested on Josie’s distinctive paisley shawl.
‘Mrs Woodall, I have heard of a deserving family in Walburgh Street - I don’t know what number. I would be grateful if you could ask Sam to take this to them,’ she said, wondering how long she would be locked in her room if she’d misjudged the cook’s loyalties.
Mrs Woodall studied her for a long moment, then wiped her hands on her apron and took the bundle.
Bobby pulled out the letter. ‘Would you also be kind enough to post this for me tomorrow? I have a penny for the stamp.’
Mrs Woodall took the letter and glanced at the address.
‘I don’t want to bother my grandmother with such a small errand,’ Bobby said with the hint of a squeak in her voice.
Mrs Woodall slipped Bobby’s letter in her pocket. ‘I quite understand, Miss Robina, I’ll take it to the post office myself in the morning. I’ll pay the stamp, so you just put your coin in the church collection and pray that the letter reaches its destination without mishap.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Josie kicked open the back door to the kitchen and set the pails of water down next to the fire. She straightened up and put her hands into the small of her back to ease the ache. With Sarah living with Mattie for the foreseeable future and Kate working from dawn to dusk at the bakery, the running of the house fell squarely on Josie’s shoulders.
She caught sight of the washing draped over the cast-iron clothes horse hanging from the ceiling and her lips twisted in a rueful smile. How many times had she seen such a sight when she was a child? Of course, then it was her mother and her gran who’d spent the morning up to their elbows in suds, not she. Although her knuckles were raw, Josie had a warm sense of satisfaction seeing Patrick’s shirts hung over the wooden rails all mended and clean.
She had risen that morning, as she had every morning since Brian’s funeral, to see Patrick off to work, then she’d queued at the pump with the other women in the street for water. She’d fetched her two pails back and boiled two kettles full, ready for the children’s morning wash, after which she’d strip the sheets from the beds and set them to boil in the copper as she waved Annie and Mickey goodbye. She’d clean and tidy the house before making her second trip to the pump for more water. Once she’d finished the washing, she would walk the half mile to Watney Street to buy the family supper. It was all a very far cry from her life at Stepney Green and, if she were to be totally truthful, she hadn’t yet adjusted fully to this new life.
Although she had cooked in America, and had helped Mrs Woodall each day, she hadn’t had to stand in line at the butcher’s counting the pennies or carry her own quart jug of milk back from Johansson’s Dairy on Fairclough Street. Tradesmen didn’t call to take your orders in Knockfergus; you had to go and fetch what you needed yourself.
Rolling her shoulders in their sockets to ease the stiffness, Josie picked up one of the pails of water she’d just carried back and carefully poured it in the huge kettle. She momentarily thought of the kitchen in Stepney with its own pump, and the cooking range with a built-in water heater, but she pushed the thought aside.
Thinking of the home she’d been forced to leave only amplified the nagging anxiety about her brothers and sisters. Bobby had sent her clothes and a note saying they all loved her but it wasn’t the same as seeing them. She knew she could rely on her eldest sister to look after the other children, but Bobby was only twelve after all and could hardly stand up to Mrs Munroe as Josie had done.
Also, she couldn’t rid herself of the fear that, with nobody to restrain her, Mrs Munroe’s regime would become even more dour and austere if that were at all possible.
The rattling lid of the kettle cut through Josie’s troubled thoughts. She used a cloth to grasp the handle and poured the hot water into the washing tub. As she set the kettle back, the yard door opened and Patrick’s mother walked in. Josie’s heart thumped but she gave her a friendly smile.
‘Morning, Sarah,’ Josie said.
Mrs Nolan gave Josie a guarded smile. ‘Morning yourself, Josie. I thought I’d drop by to pick up a few bits for Mattie.’
Josie and Patrick had thought it best to arrive separately at Brian’s funeral so as not to cause a furore on such a mournful day. Patrick had taken his mother aside later in the day and told her what had happened the night before. Sarah had come over and hugged her, but they had not had a chance to speak alone. When Josie visited Mattie two days ago Sarah had been friendly enough, asking about the children and such, but Josie knew that there was something on her mind.
Sarah went through the house and returned with a bundle of clothes.
Josie set the kettle back in the centre of the fire and spooned tea into the pot. ‘If you’re not in a hurry to get back why don’t you take the weight off your feet and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Sarah replied and sat in her usual chair.
Her eyes flickered over the newly washed windows and scrubbed table, then moved on to the rag rug that Josie had thrown over the washing line and beaten only the day before. Josie poured the tea and handed it to Sarah.
‘How’s Mattie?’ Josie asked, picking up the block of soap and setting the scrubbing board in the tub.
‘Not sleeping, and weeping fair to break your heart, but the baby’s kicking and her waist’s spreading, thank the Virgin,’ Sarah replied. ‘How’s my Pat? He tells me he’s all right but as you well know, him and Brian were as close as brothers. He looked like a ghost himself standing at the graveside.’