‘Poor woman,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘But surely the wom—’ Maltravers started.
‘Surely what?’ interrupted Robert. ‘Surely she knows it’s an offence to procure the death of her child? I’m sure she does. Surely it’s her own fault for getting herself with child? I doubt it was her choice,’ Robert said harshly.
‘Surely it is a consequence of her loose morals?’
Robert’s eyes went back to the woman on the bed and saw Ellen instead of Kitty lying there struggling for breath. ‘Kitty Henry is probably no more than twenty-five and now she is dying.’
‘I was just looking to the justice of the situa—’ Maltravers said.
‘Justice!’ Robert’s head snapped around. ‘What of the man, Maltravers? Where is his justice in this?’
‘A man is a man, sir. This Danny fellow Miss Henry mentioned...’
Danny! It was a common enough name, but...
Robert shot back to the bed. ‘Miss Henry.’ She turned dimming eyes to him. ‘Danny
who
?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer, just looked calmly at him, then her eyes started to flicker as she began to slip into unconsciousness. He had to know.
‘Who, Kitty? Danny who?’
Her lips moved and Robert lowered his head to catch what she was saying.
‘Danny Donovan,’ Kitty whispered with a sigh. Robert drew back slightly, a cold hand over his heart.
Danny Donovan was not content with ruining Ellen, he had pressed his attentions on Kitty as well. Did Ellen know? Did she care?
Robert was pulled back from his thoughts by a knocking at the door, and the ward orderly stepped into the room. ‘Excuse me, Doctor, but Miss Henry’s sister is asking to come in.’
‘Yes, of course, she’s just in time,’ Robert said. ‘Gentlemen, there is nothing more to be done here, I suggest we—’ The words died on his lips as the door opened and Ellen, soberly dressed and with tears in her eyes, walked in.
She stopped dead when she saw him. For a brief second delight registered, then it was gone. She turned to Kitty, who was now breathing very shallowly, and dashed over to the bed. She knelt down beside Kitty and gently smoothed the hair off the dying woman’s face.
Young and Maltravers were waiting by the door for him, but Robert just stood staring down at Ellen, who now wept softly holding Kitty’s hand.
The soft sheen of Ellen’s hair glowed auburn in the light from the window.
‘I’ll join you presently, gentlemen,’ he said, then drew up a chair next to where Ellen knelt.
‘Oh, Kitty, you promised not to go to see...’ Ellen stopped as she felt Robert move next to her. ‘See who?’ Robert asked gently.
‘I thank you for what you’ve done for Kitty, but don’t let me keep you, Doctor Munroe,’ Ellen said with a catch in her voice.
‘Who?’ Robert persisted.
‘Some... some old woman Kitty was told about,’ Ellen said, not meeting his eye.
‘Why are you protecting the person who did this to your sister?’ Robert asked.
Ellen sat back on her heels and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘The person who did this to Kitty has dangerous friends, Doctor Munroe.’
‘But surely—’
‘Dangerous friends,’
she repeated.
She gave Kitty, who was now lying peacefully, a small, brave smile which made his heart melt. ‘I’m not actually her kin, but I’m the nearest thing to a sister that Kitty has and I had to see her before...’ Ellen trailed off.
A feeling of protectiveness swept over Robert. He wanted to take Ellen in his arms and tell her he was sorry for his abominable treatment of her in the Angel. To have her cry on his chest and for him to hold her safe, safe from everything.
What was he thinking of?
He stood up so abruptly that both Ellen and Sister Perry started. ‘I’ll leave you, Mrs O’Casey. I have...’
‘Yes, of course.’
Robert had to go, but still he stood staring at Ellen kneeling on the floor beside the bed.
‘If there is anything you need, just ask Sister Perry and she will attend to it I am sure,’ he said, still not moving.
‘Thank you, Doctor Munroe.’
‘And I’m truly sorry, Mrs O’Casey, for Kitty and’ - the nurse moved closer to them and put her hand on Kitty’s pasty cheek, Robert bit his lip - ‘and for the other night at the Angel.’
For a second, Ellen’s eyes softened as they rested on his face, then her reserved expression returned. She inclined her head as elegantly as a duchess, but said nothing.
Go, his brain shouted at his feet and reluctantly they responded. As he reached the door he turned to see Ellen on her knees, head down and a small string of rosary beads moving through her fingers as she prayed over the dying young woman.
Bridget awoke with a start as the front door slammed. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the window. The light was almost gone. It must be nearly seven. Standing up she went to the range and moved the simmering kettle back onto the full flame.
Ellen almost fell into the room and threw herself onto the spindle-leg chair. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed loudly.
‘Good heaven’s, child, you’re soaking,’ said Bridget, crossing the room and placing a hand on Ellen’s shaking shoulders. ‘Take off that coat and warm yourself by the fire before you catch your death.’
Ellen rose and stumbled to the fire as Bridget stripped the sodden jacket from her back.
‘Whatever has happened?’
Ellen turned a tear-stained face to her. ‘Kitty’s dead.’
‘Dead! How dead?’
Ellen’s eyes darted around the room. ‘Where is Josie?’
‘She’s with Mrs Nolan helping with the twins. Patrick said he’d bring her back. Now tell me what’s happened.’
Ellen sobbed out the story then threw her head down on her arms. Bridget put her arms around Ellen and hugged her close.
After fifteen minutes or so Ellen looked up. ‘Kitty and the baby could have come to Joe’s in America and met someone better than Danny. Someone to love her and who would treat her right, not blame her for being caught in the family way.’ She looked mournfully at her. ‘And Josie asks me why I haven’t married again.’
‘Did Kitty know you? At the end I mean,’ Bridget asked.
Ellen nodded. ‘She did. When I got there she was in a side ward. There was a physician and some of his students looking into her case. The physician, Doctor Munroe, had ordered her to be given a draught of laudanum so she wasn’t in too much pain.’ A tear skidded down Ellen’s cheek and she wiped it away. She looked up at Bridget. ‘You should have seen her lying there, as white as a sheet with her breath hardly making it past her lips.’
‘Did she know you were there?’ Bridget asked, thinking of the poor young woman who now lay on a cold mortuary slab.
Ellen nodded. ‘She watched me as I prayed through my beads. Her lips moved but she never said a word, and finally she drifted off into a deep sleep and then slipped away without any fuss. I sat with her for a while then left.’ She glanced up. ‘I’m so thankful that it was Doctor Munroe on duty when Kitty was brought in.’ Ellen said in a softer voice. ‘He was very gentle with her and actually looked as if he cared, whereas I could see that some of the others thought that Kitty got no more than she deserved.’
‘You knew the doctor?’ Bridget asked studying her daughter closely across the table.
‘I met him in the Angel a few weeks ago,’ Ellen told her, not meeting her eye. ‘Danny introduced him.’
Bridget clucked her tongue and jerked her head back. ‘He’s one of those in Danny’s pockets then, is he?’
Ellen’s gaze rested on her hands as her expression became thoughtful. ‘I thought so, but I hear that he got the sewage cart to clean in Wapping Dock Street.’
There was something again in Ellen’s expression that caused Bridget to pause. Then tears welled up in Ellen’s eyes.
‘He was good to poor Kitty.’
Both women lapsed into silence, the only sound in the room the tapping of the rain on the window. Ellen took a deep breath and stood up. She rubbed the remaining tears from her eyes and smoothed her hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck.
‘I told the ward orderly that I was Kitty’s sister, that’s how they let me in. So that means the wake will be here then.’
Danny handed his hat and cane to the clerk as he walked into the main office of Cashman & Son, builders. The half-glazed door closed behind him as he took a seat. The other side of the desk from him sat Herbert Cashman, owner of one of the most lucrative building companies in East London.
Herbert Cashman was about Danny’s own age, but without his abundance of hair. Unlike many who tried to cover their baldness by combing what remained across the head, Cashman had dealt with his by shaving his whole head closely. Although it had been many years since he had wielded a pick or shovel himself, his hands were still deeply calloused, with a faint rim of grime under the nails. He looked up from the account book on his desk as Danny took his seat.
The chair creaked as Cashman leant back and gave Danny a long look.
‘I gave Black Mike my insurance last week.’
Danny reached out and took a cigarette from a silver box in the centre of the desk. Casually, he struck the flint lighter and drew on the cigarette, his eyes never leaving Cashman’s face.
‘How is the little woman? And those darling children of yours?’ Danny asked, crossing one leg over the other with difficulty.
‘Edith’s well. Charlotte is attending Barnsbury College for Young Ladies and young Bert is down in the yard learning the business the hard way like I did from my father.’
Danny took a handkerchief out of his pockets and blew his nose loudly. ‘You’re a blessed man, so you are, Bert.’ Another loud blow. ‘Two children and a loving wife to come home to.’
Cashman’s weatherbeaten face cracked in a smile. ‘From what I hear you’ve a nipper or two running the streets and
several
wives to go home to if you fancy.’
‘Well, you know how it is.’ He drew long on the cigarette again. ‘How’s Cissy?’
Cashman shot a nervous glance at the door then gave Danny a nonchalant look. ‘The same as ever.’
‘She was a sad loss to the Angel. She sang like a linnet,’ Danny said, thinking of the fiery redhead who used to draw drinkers from miles around before she clapped eyes on Cashman and cajoled him into setting her up.
‘Well, you’ve got Ellen O’Casey now to take her place.’
Danny’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Ellen had taken Cissy’s place on the stage but not where Danny really wanted her, underneath him. The familiar rumbling rage that was ever present when Ellen’s name was mentioned started in his gut. Pushing her from his mind, he returned to the man on the other side of the desk.
‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ he said, sweeping his hand around the oak-lined office.
Cashman took a cigarette himself and lit it. ‘What do you want, Danny?’
Danny leant forward and stubbed out the cigarette on the desk blotter. Cashman glared at him.
‘I’m guessing you’ve heard about Doctor Munroe who’s been appointed to the Parish Emergency Board.’
Cashman relaxed back into his chair. ‘I did. So?’
‘It seems that Doctor Munroe has been asking around about a few things.’
‘That’s his job. But what’s it to me? I’m a builder.’
‘The builder who was contracted to refurbish the dwelling houses in King Street and to replace the pumps in the parish.’
A sheen of sweat appeared on Cashman’s forehead. ‘I let the work out to your boys, and paid you for it.’
Danny leaned back and tucked his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat. ‘Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t.’
Cashman stood up and slammed his hands flat on the table, red-faced and glowering. Danny also rose to his feet. He saw Cashman’s gaze falter for a second and smiled.
‘Because, Bert, when our good doctor comes to ask about the parish repairs it’ll only be your name he’ll be finding on the dockets.’
‘But we shook hands!’ Cashman told him.
Now it was Danny’s turn to slam his hands on the desk. He did so, making the inkwell and quill jump with the force. ‘Get them fixed.’
‘Seventy guineas I paid your men to do the work,’ Cashman said. He jabbed his index finger at Danny. ‘There may be no papers to show but someone will tell him.’
‘Make sure it’s not you,’ Danny said. ‘I don’t care how you do it. Solder patches on the pumps, shove some plaster on the walls. As you said, you’re the builder. But know this, Bert.’ Danny balled his hand into a fist and held it at Cashman. ‘If the repairs don’t get done then Munroe will go poking around in all our businesses, believe you me, he will. There will be no young ladies’ colleges, no more of your old lady playing at being gentry and no business for young Bert to learn, because that bastard Munroe will finish the lot of us.’
Danny stood up, straightened the front of his striped jacket sharply, walked to the door and grabbed the worn brass handle. Then he turned back to the builder. ‘Oh, and will you be giving my warmest regards to Cissy, when you see her.’
Nine
Emptying the water from the jug into the china basin, Robert picked up the tar soap and washed his hands thoroughly. Many of his colleagues thought his excessive use of soap and water to be something of an eccentricity but, as he pointed out to his students, if one decaying apple can spoil a whole barrel, cannot debris from one putrid wound contaminate another?
It had been a long afternoon. Over twenty people and their families had arrived since Thomas had opened the door at one-thirty. This was not unusual.
Robert had seen a variety of cases in the last four hours. Sickly infants with loose motions, for whom he prescribed a mild binding mixture of ground chalk and syrup, others with colic who were given carminative powders, with strict instructions to their mothers about dosage, and a coal merchant with a foul-smelling wound for which he instructed Thomas to mix tincture of myrrh and aloes. He had grappled with tooth pincers as he pulled rotting teeth from both children and adults with gum boils and then packed the cavities with brandy and marigold paste to stem the bleeding. Ten or so children with worms all received a dose of purging worm powder. One poor trollop with the cartilage in her nose eaten away by syphilis was told to present herself at the hospital’s medical school on Friday so that his students could see one of the more uncommon effects of the illness. Lastly, a mother of six with a canker in her breast was sent away with vinegar of squill in cinnamon water.