No Cure for Love (17 page)

There was a low buzz in the room and Captain Merton, senior superintendent of the East India Company in Wapping and St Katharine’s Dock, cleared his throat.

‘While I and my fellow members applaud your efforts and diligence in the way you have highlighted the serious health problems of the area, I ... that is ...’ He looked around him for support and six or so members urged him to speak. ‘That is ... you don’t think we are being too hasty? Shouldn’t we wait for further direction from the government?’

Robert’s brow lowered. ‘We act with
haste
because cholera does.’

‘But to act with such force against the parish council and its officers is tantamount to saying they are negligent, ’ Murphy said, pulling a colourful handkerchief from his top pocket and wiping his damp forehead.

Robert folded his arms and regarded the company with a steady eye. ‘The parish council of St George’s in the east has been asked on three occasions in the past year to effect these repairs and nothing, nothing, has been done.’

‘But there are certain interests in the parish that will take exception to this,’ Mr Ridley from the Worshipful Company of Drapers said, and several heads nodded vigorously in agreement.

‘It is such
interests
that have let the situation become such as we find it now. Workhouses full of mattresses with no straw, accommodating starved, whey-faced men and women. A children’s wing with double the death rate of even the poorest streets of the area, and the whole place infested with rats and fleas.’

‘Even so, seven pumps—’ started Ridley, but Robert cut across him.

‘The pumps in question are by no means the only ones in need of attention. I count on your support in this matter or else I will take a vote against these measures as a vote of no confidence in my chairing of this board.’

‘I agree with the enforcement order,’ Mr Cooper, the elderly Quaker minister, said. ‘It is no more than our Christian duty.’

Robert gave him a small nod of thanks.

There was a silence. Then Murphy spoke again. ‘We have no quarrel with your chairmanship of the board, Doctor Munroe, and,’ he looked around at the table and a number gave him a quick nod, ‘we will support the enforcement order.’

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ Robert said, tapping his papers into a neat set on the table. ‘Our next meeting will be on 25th June at the same time. I wish you a good day.’

Members left and Mr Cooper made his way along the side of the table towards Robert.

The clergyman extended his hand. ‘Well done, Doctor Munroe.’ Robert took the minister’s hand and was surprised by his strong grasp.

‘Can I offer you some refreshment in my rooms, Mr Cooper, before you walk back to Wellclose Square?’ Robert asked.

After Bulmer had furnished them with two cups of steaming tea and a couple of small cakes, Mr Cooper gave Robert a considered look.

‘You know, of course, that Danny Donovan won’t like being forced to dip into the parish purse to carry out the committee’s order,’ he said, picking up a slice of cherry cake from the neatly laid tray on the table.

‘I guessed as much,’ Robert said. ‘Donovan has his hands deep in the parish finances.’

‘But some work has been done. The pump and houses in Anchor and Hope passage have been repaired,’ Cooper said.

Robert put his cup down with a clatter. ‘I have it on good authority that although Cashman & Sons were paid by the parish to fix the Anchor and Hope dwellings, it was Donovan’s navvies who originally got the money, although no work was done. It was only after I visited the area that Cashman’s men hurried down there with picks and shovels. Even now, I’m not impressed with the so-called repairs.’

‘Can you prove that?’ the older man asked, crossing his legs and sinking further back into the studded leather armchair.

‘No, and we both know why. Even the committee was reluctant to cross Donovan. If they, the rich and influential of the area, are afraid of him how much more so are the vulnerable poor?’

Mr Cooper nodded. ‘Danny Donovan is a villain of the worst kind.’

Robert gave a hard laugh. ‘He is, but until today I didn’t fully appreciate just how far his threatening shadow fell.’

‘Inspector Jackson at Wapping Police Station, is trying to gather evidence of Donovan’s illegal activities.’

‘I’ll have to pay Inspector Jackson a visit,’ Robert said. Kitty Henry came to his mind. ‘What do you know of a woman called Old Annie?’

‘If it’s the same Old Annie that I know, she lives around the corner from the mission in Dock Street. She minds children for some of the prostitutes. Why do you ask?’

‘I have had two women in the last month come to me with botched abortions. One we managed to save, the other was not so fortunate.’

‘You think it was Old Annie.’

Robert nodded. ‘I have heard the name whispered but I am not sure. Inspector Jackson may know more.’

‘I thank God for you, Doctor Munroe.’ The older man leant forward and looked earnestly at Robert. ‘You are the only person, so far, to challenge the corruption in the streets and alleys of the East End. If the poor souls whom we care for in our respective professions are ever to be set free from the squalor they live in, they will need men like you to stand up for their principles and beliefs.’ He stood up and retrieved his hat. ‘Now I must go. Thank you for my tea, and if you ever need my help in anything you know where to find me.’

When her turn came, Ellen took her place at the beech table and pulled out a small pouch from under her skirt. Josie came and stood next to her. Mr Armond, the vicar of Christ Church Spitalfields, ran his finger down the names in the ledger.

‘How much this week?’

Ellen handed over three shillings and with a steady hand Mr Armond wrote the amount next to her name.

‘A goodly sum,’ he said beaming at her over his half-rimmed spectacles.

It was the weavers who had first set up the penny bank in the church into which Ellen was now depositing her hard-earned shillings, but the area their industry had once made prosperous was now a rookery of destitution.

Mr Almond leant over the table. ‘You’ll soon have your passage money,’ he whispered. Ellen looked furtively around. ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll not tell a soul.’

Although a few people knew that she planned to take passage to New York, she didn’t want it to become common knowledge - not that she really minded who knew as long as it was kept from Danny Donovan.

‘Thank you,’ Ellen said to the kindly Reverend and turned to leave. Josie waved to Sarah Nolan, Patrick’s mother, who had just arrived. Ellen retied her bonnet.

‘Sarah,’ she said, embracing her long-time friend.

‘And a good morning to you, Ellen, and to you, Josie,’ Sarah said, leaving Ellen’s embrace and looking Josie up and down. ‘Why, as I live and breathe, my Pat said you were turning into a pretty young woman, Josie, but he told only half of it. You have the look of your mother about you and that’s no bad thing, I’ll tell you.’ Josie blushed and looked at her feet. ‘You’ll make some man a good wife someday soon I’m sure,’ she said crossing her arms over her substantial bosom and looking at Ellen. ‘My Pat’s got his own cart and rounds now, Ellen,’ she said slowly.

‘I thought he wanted to take up with the ships?’ Josie said.

Sarah waved away the statement. ‘A boy’s dream, no more. Having your own dray round with the taverns is where the money is, not slipping about in the mid-Atlantic in all weathers.’

‘But he said only last week th—’

 

Josie waited for her mother to speak for the whole length of Wentworth Street. Ellen said nothing, but as they passed the Aldgate Pump and the Saracen’s Head coaching inn she cleared her throat.

‘You didn’t mention that you saw Patrick Nolan last week,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact voice.

It was too much to hope for that her mother had missed her slip of the tongue. She shot Ellen a sharp look. It wasn’t fair. She would be fourteen in August and there were lots of girls her age with special fellas.

‘Didn’t I?’ Josie said, hoping she sounded uninterested. ‘I met him on the way back from school. He ...he gave me a ride home on his cart.’

‘Did he?’ Ellen said, tight-lipped.

‘There is nothing wrong with Pat Nolan, Ma,’ Josie said, her bottom lip jutting out.

In fact there was everything right about him, with his dark curly hair and ready smile. There was many a girl down the highway mad to have him single her out as he had Josie. There was nothing wrong with him at all. She fixed her mother with a challenging stare.

‘No, he is a fine boy,’ Ellen conceded. ‘Patrick is a credit to Sarah. It’s just that you’re too young to be thinking of young men in that way.’

‘Ma, I met Patrick on the way home. There is nothing wrong in that, is there?’

‘No, but—’

‘The same as there’s nothing wrong with your meeting Doctor Munroe when you’re out walking, is there?’

Her mother’s cheeks flushed crimson and that told Josie a great deal.

‘Of course not,’ Ellen said, not meeting her gaze.

Josie really didn’t want to lie to her mother but she didn’t want to stop meeting Patrick either. She waited.

‘Patrick Nolan is a great deal better than most of the young men around here. He’s seldom out of work, turning his hand to most things to put money on the table. I suppose if you have to be sweet on a young man, Josie, you could pick a lot worse than him,’ Ellen conceded with a sigh.

A huge weight of guilt lifted off Josie’s shoulders.

Josie threw herself at her mother and hugged her around the neck planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. Ellen hugged her back, and then set her back on her feet. Her face grew stern.

‘You can tell Patrick that he can meet you from school, but he must bring you straight home. You’ve been brought up properly and he had better respect that or I’ll be after him,’ Ellen told her. Josie hugged her mother again until Ellen protested that she couldn’t catch her breath.

‘He will. We just hold hands.’ Well, that was just a tiny lie, but the odd kiss wouldn’t do any harm, would it?

‘I know his ma says otherwise, but Pat is going to sign on a merchant ship in a month or two when they sail for the Indies. He says he’s going to make his fortune shipping raw cane back to England, then in three or four years he’ll be able to take a wife,’ Josie said, wondering if she had given too much away. Patrick had told her he couldn’t marry yet but when he did he wanted her for a wife. He had told her that as they kissed and cuddled in one of the wharf doorways in the Highway. But it was supposed to be their secret.

Ellen laughed, her eyes twinkling as she said, ‘So I’ll not be losing you to Patrick as his wife for a few years yet.’

Josie giggled. ‘Who knows? I might be losing you to Doctor Munroe as
his
wife before then.’

Ellen’s face fell and a haunted look came into her eyes. ‘Doctor Munroe? Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘Oh, the way he looks at you and you at him,’ Josie said. Why did her mother deny it? She had seen the way they stared at each other, and so had Patrick.

‘Doctor Munroe and I are—’

‘It’s all right, Ma. I like Doctor Munroe, so does Gran. You deserve a man like him to look after you so you don’t have to scrub people’s dirty linen or sing in Danny Donovan’s pubs any more.’ She took hold of her mother’s hands and felt them trembling. ‘You can have a proper house with lace curtains and new clothes, not darned and repaired ones.’ In her mind a vivid picture of her, her mother and her grandmother living one of the big houses in Stepney formed itself. ‘Who knows? In time I might even have a little brother or sister.’

‘That could never be,’ Ellen said walking resolutely on.

Josie ran in front of her and blocked her path. ‘Why not? If you love him and he—’

‘Enough!’ Ellen snapped. Josie stopped dead in her tracks, her face crumpling. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, my love,’ Ellen told her, slipping her arm through Josie’s and squeezing it affectionately. ‘But you must see. Even if Doctor Munroe and’ - she paused for a second - ‘and I did have feelings for each other, we could never marry. It would ruin him. His family would see me, an Irish Catholic immigrant who sings for money in a tavern, as little better than the girls who keep sailors company on the Ratcliffe Highway. They would cut him dead for marrying so far beneath him.’

‘But Doctor Munroe’s not a lord or an earl or something, is he?’ said Josie, struggling to understand.

Ellen gave a short laugh. ‘No, he’s not a earl, as rich as some, but the few pounds I have in the penny bank wouldn’t pay for the clothes he stands up in. And even if he asked me to marry him, which will not happen, I wouldn’t.’

‘Why?’ asked Josie. ‘If you love him and he loves you, then surely nothing else can matter.’

Ellen gave a heavy sigh. ‘I thought the same at your age, but believe me, if I truly lo - loved him...’ her voice cracked for a second, ‘I would love him enough not to destroy him.’