No Cure for Love (30 page)

As the door shut behind Josie and Bulmer, Robert settled himself in the chair beside Ellen and looked down at her in the soft amber glow of the oil lamp.

Although the wounds on her face were still livid, the two nurses had washed the surrounding blood off and now, battered though she was, Ellen looked more like herself. With his trained eye Robert noted that her breathing was regular and even. He took her hand and drew out his fob watch as he felt her pulse. The steady thump reassured him further.

He settled back and watched her.

Why had Danny beaten her? Ellen promised not to go anywhere near Danny or the White Swan again and he knew that she would not have gone back on that promise. Had Danny met her in the street and tried to force himself on her? Maybe he had followed her home.

Robert’s head hurt. He had crashed through every emotion in his body over the last four hours. Bone-tired though he was he knew he wouldn’t sleep until Ellen regained consciousness. His eyes ran over the slender form outlined under the quilted cover.

I am going to marry her,
he vowed, his eyes on her bruised and swollen lips.

He had to marry her. There was no life for him without her. Now that the racing urgency of the past night had slowed to a bedside vigil, Robert allowed himself to sit and picture their life together.

It would be difficult, but society was changing. The House had debated the abolition of slavery and proper working conditions for the labouring classes. An image of his mother overseeing the local women’s benevolent group flitted across Robert’s mind. His mouth grew tight.

They could live in one of those new family houses in Tredegar Square in Bow - near enough to the hospital but in the country.

Family houses!

As the faint light of dawn crept under the shutters into the room, Robert allowed himself to think of the family that he and Ellen might have. Three, maybe four, children.

Up until now he had tried to avoid making Ellen pregnant, firstly by trying to control himself enough to withdraw at the crucial moment, and when that had proved impossible on several occasions he had resorted, much to Ellen’s annoyance, to purchasing condoms. A smile stole over his face as he remembered her look of utter horror when he first produced the fine gut sheaths, but he had insisted. Not because he didn’t want her to have his children but because he wanted her to agree to marry him, not be forced into it because she was pregnant as with her marriage to Michael.

But now he was not going to take no for an answer and they could consign the fiddly and unromantic condoms to the rubbish forever and let nature take it course.

Ellen gave a sigh and turned her head to one side. Robert leant forward and kissed her forehead. She sighed again, but didn’t open her eyes. He felt her warm breath on his skin. How close he had come to losing this wonderful woman. He would never, never let her go.

 

As an angel kissed Ellen’s brow her head exploded. She was surprised that in heaven - because that was where she surely was - you could still have a headache. And not just any old headache, but a headache to fair burn your brains out. She went to move her hand to her forehead and realised that in heaven you could also have pain like a nail driving through you as well.

She tried to open her eyes. A small glimmer of light stole in. She opened them again, only to realise that they were open already. Carefully, so as not to move her head which she was convinced would topple off her shoulders at any moment, Ellen looked around. She saw Robert, sitting in an old leather chair.

A small smile creased her lips, which she immediately regretted, as her jawbones ground together. She wasn’t in heaven above, she was in heaven below and Robert was with her. Somehow, Danny had not killed her.

Ignoring the pain, Ellen gazed at Robert. She took a deep breath and her ribs groaned. She tried her hand again. This time the fingers moved against the quilting but felt too heavy to lift any distance. She left her hand where it was and returned to watching Robert.

I love him, she thought simply. After looking death in the face in the guise of Danny Donovan nothing else mattered but being with Robert.

Josie! Where was Josie? Panic gripped Ellen’s chest. Forcing spit into her mouth and making her aching mouth work, Ellen forced out, ‘Josie?’

Robert left the chair and sped to her side. His hand was cool on her forehead and his eyes calm as they looked down on her.

‘She’s safe,’ he said, his fingers gently moving the damp hair from her forehead.

‘Dann—’

‘He is under lock and key in Wapping Police Station,’ Robert assured her, as his lips kissed her forehead. Ellen closed her eyes and let Robert’s love wash over her.

Sleep hovered, but Ellen forced herself to stay awake.

‘Robert. Take Josie to—’

He kissed her lightly again. ‘Shush, my love. I’ll look after Josie.’

‘No. Robert, it’s very important.’ She had to tell him where Danny’s ledger was hidden because then, and only then, would Robert and Josie be safe.

‘You are important at the moment.’

Ellen lifted her good hand and took hold of Robert’s sleeve. The pain in her arm was almost overwhelming but she had stay conscious for just a few more moments.

‘Take her to my mother’s grave at St George’s—’ Robert opened his mouth to speak but Ellen hurried on. ‘You’ll find it under the wooden cross.’

‘Find what?’

‘Danny’s ledger with all the names inside,’ Ellen told him.

‘Donovan’s ledger?’ Robert said.

Ellen let her hand drop back on the bed cover. ‘Yes. I buried it there.’

Robert face wore an expression of total puzzlement. ‘How did you get it?’

I ... I picked it—’ she swallowed painfully.

‘You took it from his person?’
The raw anguish on his face now sobered Ellen. She could understand his horror. She had been shaking so much before she left the house she had had to have a brandy because she was so petrified of Danny.

‘I had to,’ she whispered, and sipped from a glass of water Robert held to her lips. ‘Take Josie... she knows which is Ma’s grave,’ Ellen said, as the darkness around her vision started to close in on her.

‘I will.’ Robert gathered her broken fingers and took them to his lips. ‘But first, I want to tell you just how much I love you.’ His lips brushed hers lightly. ‘And ask once again, Ellen, will you marry me?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, just as unconsciousness enfolded her and soothed her pain again.

The sun was just touching the horizon when Robert, Josie, and Inspector Jackson carrying a waterman’s lamp entered St George’s graveyard through the creaky iron gate. Although it was still dark, the sound of carts rattling along Ratcliffe Highway towards the City broke the silence. Around their legs wisps of early morning mist swirled as it hovered over the moist earth. They were not the only early morning visitors to the parish burial ground: the sexton and his assistant were already digging graves for today’s crop of cholera victims. The bags of lime used to sprinkle on the corpses to hasten decomposition stood ready against the church wall.

Robert had left Ellen’s bedside just before dawn but only after he was completely satisfied that she was out of danger. He then went back to his rooms, changed his shirt and dashed to the Wapping Police Station. He had arrived at 5.30, just in time to catch Inspector Jackson before he left at the end of what had been a long night shift.

He had explained to the inspector how Ellen had acquired Danny Donovan’s account book as they made their way to the Coopers’ house. Robert hadn’t slept at all, neither had Inspector Jackson, and, by the look of the dark circles around Josie’s eyes, nor had she. Thankfully, the chill of the early morning air helped to keep their tiredness at bay.

‘Gran’s grave is over by the back wall,’ Josie said, gripping Robert’s hand tightly. She hadn’t let go of it since she left the Coopers’ house half an hour before.

Carefully picking their way between the granite and marble slabs of the wealthier graves the three of them made their way to where the poor were laid to rest. Josie stopped in front of the last row in the far corner of the churchyard.

‘That’s Gran’s,’ she said, pointing to a mound of earth with a small posy of violets on top. Robert stared down at Mrs Shannahan’s last resting place and thought of Ellen’s mother. He wished she were still alive so he could tell her he was going to marry Ellen and that she didn’t have to worry about her daughter and granddaughter any more.

‘Where did Mrs O’Casey say she hid Donovan’s reckoning book?’ Inspector Jackson asked, lifting the lamp higher to light the area before them.

‘Under the cross,’ Robert said, hunkering down and peering at the cross planted at the head of the grave.

‘Patrick’s da made the cross for us,’ Josie said. She had let go of his hand but stood so close to him that Robert could feel her shaking.

He carefully picked up the violets and handed them to Josie. ‘Hold these for me, would you?’ She took them and held them to her chest.

Robert carefully moved the earth around the small cross. Ellen could only have spent a few moments in the graveyard and would not have had time to bury the ledger deeply but he didn’t want to disturb the grave too much. As respectfully as he could, Robert dusted off the top layer of soil and then slowly inched his fingers deeper. To his great relief he felt something just under the surface. Hooking his finger around it, he teased it up.

‘What is it?’ Inspector Jackson asked, as Robert lifted a slim parcel free from the earth. He shook the dirt and insects off and unwrapped it.

‘Bring the light nearer,’ he said. Jackson did so, and the pale light from the oil lamp illuminated the ledger.

As Robert opened the pages and scanned the well-fingered pages his mouth grew dry. The hand that had written the entries was unschooled, like a child’s writing, but they were clear enough.

‘Well, man?’ Inspector Jackson asked, craning his neck around to get a better view.

Robert stood up and closed the book. He smiled at the police inspector.

‘It’s all here. Names, dates month by month and columns of money paid. All Donovan’s misdeeds and extortions are written here in black and white,’ he said, holding the slim volume high.

Inspector Jackson’s tired face suddenly became calm. ‘Thank God,’ he said simply.

Robert turned to Josie, who was still cradling the violets to her chest.

‘We only came yesterday to put those flowers on Gran’s grave,’ Josie told him with a tremor in her voice. ‘And now Ma’s ...’ She started to cry softly. Robert took her in his arms and held her to him for a moment or two then she stood back and looked up at him.

Poor child, what she has gone through, Robert thought, smiling down at her tear-stained face. Josie would be his daughter soon, part of his family, and Robert found himself very pleased at the prospect.

‘Josie, I promise you that your mother will be well again very soon.’ Josie gave him a tight little smile. ‘But thanks to her bravery, Inspector Jackson now has all the evidence he needs to send Danny Donovan and his gang to the gallows.’

 

Ellen remained in hospital for four weeks after Danny’s murderous attack. For the first two weeks she suffered so much from headaches that Robert began to fear that there was some underlying damage to her brain that he had missed. Much to his relief, these finally began to diminish and, over the last ten days, they had disappeared. Ellen’s bruised flesh moved through the spectrum of colours from deep mauve to pale yellow, as it healed.

With a long look at her resting figure, Robert went back to his desk and picked up his quill pen.

Taking up the letter he was struggling to write he resumed chewing the ragged end of the feather. The letter was to his parents. He scanned the text again.

The first few paragraphs were fine, just the usual news about his work at the hospital and life in London. Nothing controversial there. But now he was on the fourth paragraph and the real reason why he was writing. Ellen.

Despite the onerous task before him Robert’s face softened as he thought of the woman who had made his life complete. The woman who had put herself in mortal danger for him.

Every blasted letter his mother had ever written him since university had urged him to marry a good woman. He gave a wry smile.

Good women, as far as his mother was concerned, were not immigrant Irish women who had been pregnant and married at fifteen. They didn’t keep themselves by taking in washing or singing on a stage. And they certainly weren’t Roman Catholics.

Now to the heart of the matter.

A loud knock on the door cut through Robert’s thoughts. He shouted ‘Come in!’. William strode into the room, his usual relaxed expression replaced by one of annoyance. He threw his top hat on the stand, where it swung wildly for a second or two then settled.

Robert smiled up at his friend. ‘Cha—’

‘Is it true?’ William asked, leaning across the desk and glowering at Robert.

‘Is what true?’

‘This ridiculous rumour that you are going to
marry
Ellen O’Casey.’

Robert straightened up and glanced at the back of the leather chair. ‘There is nothing ridiculous about me marrying Mrs O’Casey.’

‘For heaven’s sake, man,’ William expostulated. ‘I know you’ve been captivated by her since you set eyes on her, but I thought getting her in your bed would have sufficed.’

The chair scraped across the wooden floor as Robert rose to his feet. ‘I love her.’

‘For God’s sake, man, what of your career?’ They stood glaring at each other for a moment, then William let his gaze drop. ‘A beautiful woman, I own,’ he said with a heavy sigh.