‘Will you give us board, Sarah, or do I have to go back through your door?’
It had taken him a week, but Robert had finally tracked down Patrick Nolan’s dwelling place. It was sheer chance that he overheard a lumper with a gash across his hand mention a Patrick Nolan. At first, like others, the lumper had been less than forthcoming in answering Robert’s questions, but finally in gratitude for saving the use of his hand, he gave him Patrick’s address. It had been a stroke of luck for Robert, and he had needed it.
That was two hours ago and now, at eight-thirty, after handing over the running of the casual ward to Benthan, Robert stood before the poor dwelling house with his heart pounding in his chest.
He uttered the same prayer that had been on his lips for the past seven days.
Please let her be here,
and then waited.
The door with brown paint peeling from it opened a fraction. The unshaven face of a man in his middle forties looked him up and down.
‘I am looking for Patrick Nolan,’ Robert said, his doctor’s gaze noting the too-florid complexion and thread veins in the whites of his eyes.
‘You’ve found him,’ he was informed.
Despair washed over Robert. Nolan was a common name and he had sought out the wrong Patrick Nolan. But no. He had described young Patrick to the injured man and he had agreed it was the same lad he sought.
‘The Patrick Nolan I am seeking is younger, sixteen or seventeen,’ he said, encouraged that the door hadn’t already been closed on him.
A stranger, especially a well-dressed stranger, asking for someone by name was treated with a great deal of suspicion in the Irish quarter of the neighbourhood.
‘I think you’ll be after our eldest, Patrick, named after the blessed saint and his old father,’ Pat Nolan told him, looking warily at him but unable to conceal a swell of paternal pride.
Robert gave a weary nod. ‘It is. I have been looking for him for days. I only found out an hour ago where he lived. I am Doctor Robert Munroe from—’
Patrick Nolan senior’s demeanour changed instantly. He wiped his soot-covered hand down his workaday trousers.
‘Let me shake you by the hand,’ he said, taking hold of Robert’s hand in a fierce grip. ‘It was a good day when God in His mercy sent you to see an end to Danny Donovan.’ He continued to pump Robert’s hand. ‘Already the work tokens are easier to come by from the dock gaffers and I hear that there is an East India Company inspector due at the tally office to look into the weight scales and such matters. And it is all due to you.’
From somewhere Robert mustered up a smile. ‘Thank you. May I come in?’
‘What sort of a man would I be letting a fine doctor such as yourself stand on the doorstep like the rent man,’ Pat said, flinging open the door.
Robert dipped his head and stepped inside the narrow passageway. Before he took a second step, the door to his left that led to the small front room was wrenched open and a kindly-looking woman slipped through it. She sent him a brief smile but then caught her lower lip with her teeth. She stood with her back to the door, her hands holding the door closed behind her. He guessed that it led to the family’s sleeping area.
‘This is me wife, Sarah,’ Pat said, swinging his arm as wide as he could in the confined corridor.
Sarah bobbed a little curtsy but held fast to the door handle. ‘I’ve seen you outside your surgery in Chapman Street.’ She gave her husband a sharp glance. ‘We are not up for company,’ she explained with a small smile.
‘I am not looking to inconvenience you. I just want a word with Patrick,’
‘If you would follow me, sir,’ Pat said, flourishing his hand towards the end of the cramped hallway.
Robert trailed after Pat, and Sarah Nolan, who had finally relinquished the door handle, followed behind him. Young Patrick would surely know where Ellen and Josie were hiding. Even before the day’s end he could find Ellen and put an end to this living nightmare.
‘Your son, Patrick, may I speak with him?’ Robert asked, his nerves stretched to snapping point. ‘You could, if he were here. He sailed for America on the
Jupiter
. You’re a week late,’ Pat told him.
Gone! Why could he not have found young Patrick last week? Why could the ship not have set sail tomorrow?
The cloud that had hovered around him for the past seven days descended. Would he ever find Ellen?
After his disgraceful behaviour at the Coopers’ house, his logical mind had taken control again and told him that that it wouldn’t be hard to find her in the close-packed houses of Wapping and Shadwell. How wrong he had been.
In truth he would have found Ellen without trouble if she had wanted to be found, but after the first day of encountering a wall of silence when he asked about her, Robert’s optimism began to fade. Now, after a week of fruitless searching, his despair had returned.
Gripping the mantelshelf with both hands Robert let his head hang. Apart from the fire crackling in the grate there was silence in the room. After a long pause he turned.
‘Do either of you know where Mrs O’Casey and Josie O’Casey are?’ he asked.
Pat Nolan’s face cracked in an ingenuous smile. ‘Why bless my soul, she—’
Sarah stepped in front of her husband. ‘She came here after the trial but left soon after.’
Beside her Pat Nolan’s face took on an bewildered expression. His mouth gaped open then it clamped shut.
Robert’s mind was a riot of emotions. She had been here but had gone somewhere else. He looked back at the Nolans.
‘Where did she go?’ he blurted out, taking a step towards Sarah.
‘I can’t say as how I know, sir,’ she answered, smoothing the front of her apron in slow deliberation.
‘Didn’t she say anything? Give any hint as to where she might be heading?’
Not that I know of,’ Sarah replied in a firm voice. Beside her her husband was staring at a point just above Robert’s left shoulder with a closed expression.
Robert remembered Bridget talking about her other grandchildren in various places but could never remember Ellen talking about any of them. But then in their precious moments together they spent most of it loving each other, not talking.
‘Has she family anywhere she might have gone to?’ Robert asked.
Pat swallowed visibly and looked as if he was about to speak, but again Sarah answered.
‘She didn’t say. Er ... um ... Look, Doctor, maybe it’s better if you forget about Ellen,’ she said, looking at him with eyes full of sympathy.
‘Did she say that? Is there someone else in the area she might have gone to?’ Robert asked, hearing the desperation in his voice.
‘Well—’ Pat Nolan started.
His wife cut across him.
‘We don’t know where she is.’ Sarah Nolan smoothed her apron again but he saw the slight tremor of her hand.
‘It is of the utmost importance that I find Mrs O’Casey. I ask you again. Do you know where she is?’ he asked, looking her squarely in the eye.
‘No,’ Sarah Nolan replied, matching his forthright stare.
He saw her hand make a slight move and he knew that she was itching to make the sign of the cross to absolve herself from such a blatant lie. But what could he do? Fury, impotence and frustration boiled within him. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to lose his temper and demolish another room.
He glanced around the room, looking for he didn’t quite know what. A clue, a sign of something that would give him the smallest hope of finding Ellen. There was nothing, just the usual chipped cups, unmatched plates and battered iron pans. He pushed his hands through his hair, then picked up his hat.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Nolan,’ he said, forcing a smile and stretching out his hand.
Pat grasped it again. ‘I’m mad I couldn’t help you more, sir,’ he said. ‘And you’re always welcome to call here at ...’
Sarah’s eyes flickered in her husband’s direction and he trailed off mid sentence.
Robert lowered his head, re-entered the narrow passageway and made his way to the front door after his host, Sarah following behind. The Irishman stopped beside the door that his wife had emerged from on his arrival. He took hold of Robert’s hand again.
‘I wish you well in your search for Ellen O’Casey, Doctor Munroe.’ He leaned his head to one side and raised his tone. ‘If you would be asking my opinion, then I would tell you that Ellen O’Casey is a
fool
, yes, a blessed
fool
, to be hiding from a man such as yourself.’
Robert could almost feel Sarah Nolan’s eyes boring into her husband. It was a pity that Patrick Nolan hadn’t been alone. Robert was sure he would have been more forthcoming if his formidable wife had been absent. No matter. He would just continue his search and call back in a day or two when Sarah was out, although he wasn’t hopeful of getting more information out of Patrick. His wife was the type of woman whose rules were observed even when she was physically absent, much like his mother.
Tapping his hat on his head Robert turned and trudged towards the end of the cobblestone passage. After a couple of paces he stopped and looked back to number fourteen Cinnamon Court. Yawning emptiness engulfed him. He had come to the Nolans with such high hopes of ending his quest, only to be further away from finding Ellen than ever. Idly he watched Sarah Nolan shut the faded brown door. A draught moved the curtains in the small front window.
For the love of God, Ellen, where are you?
Twenty-Two
Icy fog swirled around Ellen. She tugged the knitted shawl tighter over her head and covered the lower half of her face with a corner of it. As she and Josie made their way down New Gravel Lane towards London Docks the only other person to see them pass was the hollow-eyed night watchman.
Chilled to the bone, Ellen put down the bundle she carried and blew on her hands. She turned to Josie who dragged along behind her. She gave Ellen a sullen look.
‘Won’t be long, sweetie, and we’ll be on board,’ Ellen said with false jollity. Josie shrugged and looked away.
‘You’ll have to talk to me before we get to Uncle Joe’s,’ she said. Josie adjusted her bundle and glared at her mother with her lips firmly pressed together.
Ellen gathered up her bundle and carried on her trudge over the wet cobbles. The low boom of empty coal barges nudging into each other grew louder as Ellen and Josie approached London Docks.
Listening to her daughter’s feet tapping on the cobbles behind her, Ellen’s face drew into a frown.
Does she think I want to go? It’s my heart that’s ripped to shreds,
Ellen thought, as the tall masts of the ships moored in the docks became visible in the fog. She didn’t want to flee her home. But she had to.
Her resolve had been sorely tested when she peered out of the window and saw him standing on the Nolans’ doorstep. Even in the gathering gloom he looked as hollow-eyed and wretched as ever she was. It was only her iron determination that rooted her to the floor and stopped her flying into his arms.
Banishing these unsettling thoughts, Ellen braced her shoulders and joined the small huddle of people who stood waiting to board the S.S.
Kentish Man.
‘It’ll be a cold crossing,’ the woman beside them, with three small children around her, said to Ellen as they waited. ‘You off to relatives?’
Ellen nodded. ‘My brother in New York,’ she replied, hearing Josie snort beside her.
‘Me too, to join me sister and her man,’ the woman informed her. One of the children started to whimper. She soothed it with a soft word.
She, like Ellen, was dressed in warm clothes, and the children clinging to her legs looked to be wearing every piece of clothing they possessed. She sniffed and shook her head. ‘There’s snow in the air.’
‘That there is, Mrs...’ Ellen agreed, thankful for someone to talk to.
‘Anne Collins,’ the woman said with a smile, her breath visible in the cold November air.
‘I’m Ellen, Ellen... Shannahan,’ Ellen said and felt Josie’s hot stare at her.
‘We’ll have many a day at sea, so it’s as well to be friendly,’ Anne said as the gangplank was lowered and the crowd surged forward.
‘Get to the back in the middle,’ Anne said. ‘That’s where the best berths are.’
With Josie at her side, Ellen scrambled onto the ship. Finding themselves a corner between the stout upright beams, Ellen and Josie staked their claim to a small area that would be their home for the next eight or so weeks. Around them others did the same. Fretful children were wrapped in ragged blankets and settled. The air below deck was warmer, but still cold. In the corner, some of the men amongst the passengers had lit the small stove at one end. When the hatch was closed they would be warm enough.
Below deck there were some sixty people crammed together; the rest of the cargo was tightly packed below in the lower holds. Untying her bundle, Ellen took out a warm blanket and fashioned it into a bed. Josie made a show of doing the same next to her.
Josie gave her a sideways glance. ‘You do know he has been searching for you like a man possessed?’ she said. ‘He has been to Mr Cooper’s house three times already this week in case there was news of you. Sophie Cooper told me Doctor Munroe cried when her father told him no one could find you.’
Ellen spun around. ‘Do you think I
want
to leave him?’ she said in a low voice to Josie as she wedged herself against the wooden beam.
‘Then why, for the love of God, are we on this stinking ship?’ Josie asked.
‘Because I love Robert Munroe too much to ruin him,’ Ellen said with a sob.
Josie scrambled over and hugged her mother. ‘But surely he should be the judge of what will ruin him or not?’
Ellen tried for a brave smile, but it would not come. Another tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I wish it were so. But he’ll insist on marriage.’