Martha's Girls (27 page)

Anna was confined to her bed. At first the girls wanted to be with her, but Anna’s lethargy meant she showed little interest in them and within a week they had grown bored and only went to her room to say goodnight.

The doctor too seemed to lose interest. Martha had overheard him talking to Thomas in the hallway. ‘Physically she’s fine. Fit as a fiddle, you might say, but there’s no spirit there and I’ve no medicine to restore that.’

Martha knew of a herbalist on the Newtownards Road, Betty and Jack swore by him, and after lunch one day she went in search of his shop. The bell rang as she went in and moments later a small wiry man with prominent, yellow front teeth appeared.

‘Lying in bed all day, you say?’

‘Aye, she’s the strength to get up, but it’s as though she can’t face it.’

‘What about fresh air?’

‘When I suggest a walk, she seems frightened and won’t go over the doorstep.’

‘Food?’

‘Doesn’t want it, eats a few mouthfuls and hardly chews it.’

‘Talk much?’

Martha gave a humourless laugh. ‘One word answers, if you’re lucky.’

The herbalist stood a while and sucked his teeth, while Martha stared at the advertisements behind him: ‘Sloan’s Liniment’, ‘Conde’s Fluid’, ‘Surgical Stockings’. Eventually, he seemed to reach a decision.

‘You’re to make a pan of onion soup fresh every day, mind. By the end of each day she needs to have two pints of it down her.’ He waited for a response.

‘Oh yes, I’ll see to that, two pints.’

Satisfied with Martha’s commitment he went on. ‘Now I’ll give you a mixture of herbs to go in the soup. Two teaspoons full, one for each pint.’

Martha nodded. ‘That’s sounds grand. I’ll see she takes it.’

‘Yes, you will because you must be with her all the time she’s taking the soup.’

‘Yes. Thank you,’ said Martha.

‘I haven’t finished.’ He paused for her full attention. ‘Now this is the most important part of the treatment. You must talk to her the whole time, at first you’ll probably have to do most of the talking, but by the third day, encourage her to talk. It doesn’t matter at first what she talks about, but by the seventh day she should be ready to talk about what has happened to her. Let her speak of this for another seven days and she will be well on the way to a full recovery. Now will you remember all that?’

Martha assured him she would and left the shop with a bag of herbs and directions to the nearest greengrocers.

She was surprised to find Thomas home early and waiting for her when she got back. He called her into his study and asked her to sit down.

‘Martha, I want to thank you for what you’ve done these last few weeks. To tell you the truth I don’t know how we’d have managed without you. Unfortunately, Anna isn’t getting back on her feet at all and there doesn’t seem to be anything that can be done for her.’ Martha didn’t mention the herbalist and the onions.

‘I’ll come straight to the point. Would you be prepared to take on the role of housekeeper until such time as Anna feels up to running the house again?’

‘I don’t know, Thomas, my girls are older, but I wouldn’t want to leave them to fend for themselves any longer than necessary.’

‘But this would be a business arrangement, you’d be paid.’

‘It’s not that, Thomas.’

He carried on. ‘How about we make an agreement for three weeks at a time, at a wage of three pounds a week; you could earn yourself a tidy sum in no time. What do you say?’

Three weeks, thought Martha, time enough for the herbalist’s cure to take effect. Irene and Pat were sensible enough to run the house until then. She nodded. ‘Three weeks it is and we’ll see how Anna is by then.’

‘Good, good,’ said Thomas. ‘Now I’m having some important visitors this evening. We’ll be in the drawing room. Could you get a good fire going? Oh, and we’ll need a bit of light supper around nine o’clock. Do you think you could make up some sandwiches and a pot of coffee for us, nothing fancy? There’ll be a delivery of cooked meats and bread later this afternoon. Is that all right?’

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ said Martha. Good old Thomas, she thought, always gets his money’s worth, he’d be expecting her to call him ‘Sir’ next!

The men arrived around seven when Martha was upstairs reading a bedtime story to the girls. Thomas met them at the door. She checked on Anna around eight and on her way downstairs she was met by the smell of cigar smoke and the sound of raucous laughter.

She made the sandwiches, wondering how some people could still find thick cuts of roast beef and cured ham when rationing and shortages were beginning take hold. The nine o’clock news had just finished when Thomas popped his head round the door and said, ‘Ready when you are, Martha.’

She carried the sandwiches into the drawing room. The men were relaxing, typed papers lay about their feet. The man in the armchair nearest the fire was the oldest and somewhat old fashioned in his dress. There was something familiar about the cruel down turn of his mouth and the bags under his eyes, that and his air of authority. ‘Look here, Wilson,’ he was saying, ‘I hope you told these Westminster people that we run our own show over here.’

When she brought the silver coffee set and fine bone china cups she sneaked another look at him and something connected in her brain. Of course, she’d seen his picture in the
Telegraph
just last week, Lord Craigavon, Prime Minister of Northern Ireland. The tray rattled in her hand as she set it on the table. She straightened up and walked to the door. To her left, away from the others, a young man sat sorting papers. As she passed he lifted his head and Martha found herself staring into the face of William Kennedy.

They left about eleven and Martha went into the drawing room to clear away. Thomas was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, glass in one hand, cigar in the other. The cut glass decanter on the table next to him had about an inch of whiskey left in the bottom.

‘Martha, that was a very important meeting here tonight.’ He gave her a hard look and weighed his words. ‘You know the warning posters, “Careless Talk Costs Lives”?’ He waited. She nodded.

‘You know what that means?’

‘Of course I do, I’m not stupid.’

‘No, no. I didn’t mean that.’ He tried another tack. ‘You recognised someone here tonight, didn’t you?’

She knew he wasn’t talking about William Kennedy. ‘You mean, Lord Craigavon.’

‘Yes. Now look here, Martha, you must not tell anyone he’s been here. Do you understand?’

‘Of course.’

He paused, considering the need to explain further and went on. ‘Sometimes, I deliver messages on his behalf when I travel to England.’

Martha nodded. ‘Was that why you booked on the mail boat as Mr and Mrs Goulding?’

He looked at her sharply. ‘So you know about that, do you?’

‘I saw the passenger list. That’s how I found you at the docks.’

‘Well I’m trusting you, Martha. You know what I’m saying? These are troubled times.’

*

On Esther’s first morning in the shop, Peggy showed her how to remove each section of records and dust down the shelves. Then on to the rest of the stock; Peggy would say the English word and Esther would repeat it.

‘Wire-less.’

‘Wire-less.’

‘Gram-o-phone.’

‘Gram-o-phone.’

Then on to the instruments.

‘Trumpet … saxophone … cello …’

Esther pointed. ‘Violin.’

‘You know that word?’

Esther nodded enthusiastically and took the violin and bow from the display stand. She positioned it under her chin, placed the bow on the strings, closed her eyes and began to play. The shop was filled with the sound of Vivaldi. She looked like a child, so small and thin in her pinafore dress, ankle socks and buckled shoes. Peggy had the strangest urge to hug her. Esther seemed to sense Peggy looking at her, stopped playing and opened her eyes.

‘You know what, Esther, now you’re working in the shop, I think your uncle should treat you to some suitable stylish clothes. We’ll ask him when he comes back.’

*

The ladies’ department at Robb’s was an elegant place; carpeted in soft grey Axminster, with mahogany counters and shelving. Peggy had never had the money to shop there and might have felt intimidated, were it not for the fact that one of the sales assistants was Grace McCracken, sister to John and Aggie. Grace, a reed of a woman with strong features like John’s, was behind a counter folding silk scarves when Peggy and Esther got out of the lift.

‘Hello, Peggy, I haven’t seen you in months. You’re looking very well.’

‘Hello, Grace, how are you doing?’

‘Well, I’m a martyr to the rheumatism in this damp weather but, apart from that, I’m grand.’

‘This is Esther, Grace. Did Mammy tell you about her?’

‘Oh, the wee girl from Poland, indeed she did.’ She shook Esther’s hand. ‘Thanks be to God that he kept you safe.’

Peggy explained their mission.

‘Should we start with some measurements?’ suggested Grace, removing the tape measure from around her neck.

‘Now, these black skirts are what we wear in Robb’s. They’re very good quality and hard wearing. Never show a mark. You’ll also be wanting a couple of white blouses,’ and from one of the drawers behind the counter she took a plain blouse with a revere collar.

Esther pulled at Peggy’s sleeve and pointed to a mannequin torso dressed in a fuchsia pink blouse, yoked at the shoulders.

‘So, Miss Poland, you have a sense of style, have you?’

Esther went into the changing room a skinny school girl and emerged, a few minutes later, a slim and stylish young woman.

Grace turned to Peggy and smiled. ‘Well, I think that’s the work clothes sorted.’

‘Not quite,’ said Peggy, pointing at Esther’s ankle socks.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Grace, ‘Stockings certainly and, I presume, under garments?’

‘Yes,’ Peggy laughed, ‘the lot!’

Finally, they bought two dresses in a soft woollen material one in a lovat green colour, the other blue as cornflowers. Grace wrapped everything separately tying each parcel with string that ran from a spool in the ceiling to the counter and as each item was wrapped Peggy named it:

‘Skirt’

‘Blouse.’

‘Dress.’

And Esther repeated each word.

At lunchtime Peggy and Esther ate their sandwiches together in the back office and as soon as they had finished Peggy got her comb out of her bag.

‘Esther, would you like me to do your hair?’ She mimed combing and shaping.

Esther’s hair was thick and dark, not unlike Peggy’s. She wore it parted in the middle and pulled back into a bun. When she undid it, Peggy saw the potential for a very modern style. She plaited it to both sides and brought each plait up to meet on top of her head. The effect was startling, drawing attention to Esther’s heart-shaped face and large brown eyes.

The following morning when Peggy arrived at work, Esther was already there in her fuchsia blouse, black skirt with her hair plaited on top of her head.

Peggy clapped her hands. ‘You look wonderful!’

‘Wonderful … you,’ said Esther.

‘Just one more thing.’ Peggy delved into her handbag and produced a lipstick. ‘Stretch your lips.’ She demonstrated, Esther copied and Peggy applied a thin layer of pink lipstick. ‘Perfect!’

‘Perfect,’ came the echo.

Between them Peggy and Esther could complete all the routine chores by mid-morning. It was quiet then until lunchtime when workers from the offices and businesses in the city would call in to browse and listen to some music. During the lull Peggy would be the customer and Esther the shop assistant. They started with simple phrases: ‘Good morning’ ‘Good afternoon’ ‘Thank you’ ‘Goodbye’. Over the next few weeks they progressed to ‘May I help you?’ ‘Would you like to hear the record?’ As soon as Esther learned to count in English they moved on to the prices. As with everything Esther was quick and eager to learn and soon she could name everything in the shop and its price in English. Sometimes they even persuaded Goldstein himself to join in. He would try to catch Esther out by asking for some obscure item, but so thorough had been Peggy’s teaching that Esther would smile and say, ‘Yes sir, we have that in stock,’ and she would fetch it and tell him the price.

After one of these sessions he announced, ‘Now that both you girls are running the shop so efficiently, I can begin to relax a little. I might even devote more time to the Barnstormers. It’s time we had another concert organised, don’t you think, Peggy?’