Theo lived a double life. To his new friends he was a successful businessman with interests in America and Canada. They had no idea that his real home was in the notorious slum area. Or that he had no business other than gambling.
While Beth didn’t like him disappearing for days on end, or the fact that she had no part in his other life, she was admiring of his talent for duping people into believing he was a man of means. He would book in at the Windsor Hotel, then send notes to his friends inviting them to dine with him. One night’s accommodation and the price of the dinner was usually enough to get him invited back to one of their mansions in the Golden Mile, and there he would stay for a week or so, being the perfect distinguished guest, who often relieved his hosts of hundreds of dollars at poker.
Beth sometimes felt aggrieved that he lazed around in luxury while she cooked for forty men, but she understood he was working on getting backers for a gambling house which would benefit them all. Besides, he did bring money back for her and the boys, and she knew in her heart that if he didn’t love her or didn’t consider Sam and Jack his best friends, he would have moved on long ago.
But Theo hadn’t included a baby in his long-term plans, and Beth feared it might upset the whole apple cart. It hadn’t been in hers either, and at first she’d been horrified. Yet as the weeks had crept by she had found herself reliving the joy of caring for Molly, and now she wanted this baby wholeheartedly. But the fact remained that the boys were likely to view it with dismay.
She couldn’t keep it secret for much longer. She reckoned she was four and a half months pregnant, the baby due in July, and the only reason no one had noticed her changing shape was because of the layers of thick winter clothes she wore. Even in bed she never removed her flannelette nightdress, and as she was mostly asleep when Theo came home, there had been no lovemaking for weeks.
‘I will tell him tonight,’ she resolved aloud. He didn’t usually go out before she got home, and she could leave him to tell Sam and Jack the news the following morning before they went to work.
It was difficult walking in such thick snow, and treacherous too as there could be hidden obstacles beneath it, and in the darkness it wasn’t easy to see a slight mound which might warn her. She took cautious little steps, her mind on her own fledgling plan for the future.
For all Theo’s faults, he was loving and caring, and she was fairly certain he’d marry her to give the baby his name. But she also knew that she couldn’t hope to turn him into a traditional husband who went to work each day in a bank or some other regular employment to keep his wife and child.
Beth’s idea was that they should rent a whole house in a better area, then she could take in boarders to make a living. Theo could carry on with his plans, and Sam and Jack too. Even if the boys had to move away from Montreal, she’d be secure, and if she couldn’t play her fiddle in public, at least she’d be mistress of her own house and wouldn’t need to leave her baby with anyone while she worked.
As she turned into Fuller Street where the bunkhouse was, she was so busy thinking of how she’d present this idea to the boys that she stopped looking at the ground in front of her. Suddenly her feet slipped from under her and she fell backwards on to the snow, jarring her buttocks painfully.
As she rolled over and got cautiously up on to her knees, she saw that she’d stepped on a sheet of ice. Someone must have thrown some water out and it had frozen solid.
She expected she would have a big bruise later, but thankfully her legs and ankles felt fine.
It wasn’t until she was in the bunkhouse, stirring the stove which had been banked up all night, filling the kettles and lighting the gas to start cooking, that she realized she felt a bit woozy and shaken up. But there was no time to dwell on that as the men would be up soon.
Breakfast was always more difficult than cooking the evening meal, for which she had all day to prepare. In the morning she had less than an hour to cook some eighty fried eggs, bacon and sausages in huge frying pans, slice up six large loaves of bread and make several pots of coffee and tea.
The bunkhouse had one large communal room where the men ate and relaxed. Their dormitories and washroom were out the back. The walls were rough, unpainted plaster and the floor was bare concrete. There were long, rickety deal tables, scarred wooden benches and a counter which separated it from the kitchen area. A noticeboard and pigeon holes for each of the men covered one wall; the second held pegs for outdoor clothing, for as the stove was kept alight day and night, wet coats and boots could dry out by morning.
The other wall had been decorated by artistic residents. There were sketches of bears and moose, caricatures of some of the men, and many voluptuous, semi-naked women that made Beth blush.
The first time she had gone into one of the dormitories to sweep the floor she had recoiled in horror at the stink of sweat and feet, but she supposed it couldn’t be otherwise when so many men slept in such a confined, badly ventilated space. Besides, they worked long hours and could only get to the bath-house further down the street about once a month. Yet mostly they kept their few possessions and spare clothes tidy in a box or kitbag beneath the bunks. These were nomads, moving anywhere there was work. They were a tough breed, unfettered by wives or family, oblivious to cold or heat and often to injury too. All they appeared to need was a few pals, drink and food and they were content.
By the time the first group of tousled men came in yawning and coughing, Beth had got the plates, trays of food and bread on to the serving counter and was there ready to dish up. She had put the coffee and tea at the end of the counter for them to pour themselves.
Most of them only grunted a greeting, for they were only half awake, but when the big American the men called Tex got his turn to have his plate filled he looked at her sharply and frowned.
‘You all right, honey?’ heasked. ‘You look awful pale today.’
‘I slipped on some ice on the way here,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘No bones broken, just a bit shaken up.’
‘You take it easy for the rest of the day then,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to lose a pretty little thing like you!’
By ten in the morning Beth had finished most of her cleaning chores. She usually took a break then, had a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich and read the newspaper before starting on the preparations for the evening meal. But the meal tonight was stew, and as the meat the butcher usually sent was inclined to be tough, she liked to get it simmering early in the day.
As she hauled the big heavy stew pans from their shelf under the counter to the gas stove, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her belly. She got the pans up on to the stove, but then another pain gripped her.
She sat down on a chair, telling herself it was nothing but cramp, or that she’d just picked up the stew pans awkwardly. But then it happened again for the third time, and instinctively she clutched at her belly in exactly the same way she’d seen her mother do when she went into labour with Molly.
A feeling of dread washed over her. Could it be that she was going to lose her baby?
Maybe she hadn’t been delighted about it at first, but she’d grown to welcome the idea, and in the last month she’d thought of little else but holding her baby in her arms.
What did women do to make sure they didn’t lose their babies? Would lying down flat do it? Or should she ask someone to get a doctor for her?
But who? All the men were gone for the day. The bunkhouse was owned by Mr Sondheim, but aside from Friday night when he always came to collect the rent from the men, he only popped in occasionally. He had called in more often when she first started here, but it seemed he trusted her now and only came to pick up the food bills, and to check that no one had left or there weren’t any men staying here without his permission. He wasn’t likely to come today as he’d called the previous day.
Beth got up from her chair, hoping that the pain would just disappear, for Mr Sondheim wouldn’t be pleased if she failed to have the evening meal ready for the
men. She got as far as the counter where she’d put the meat ready to cut up when another pain came. This one was even more intense and lasted longer too. Somehow she knew then it wasn’t going to go away and she must get help.
Gingerly, she edged her way towards the door. As she reached it another pain hit her and this time it was so bad she cried out. As it abated she could feel a sticky wetness between her legs, which she thought might be blood. In fright she opened the door and looked out on to the street.
There was no one in sight, and although the closest house was only a few yards across the street, Beth was afraid to cross it because she might fall again in the snow. Any other time she’d come out of the door there were always people about, even in the snow, for most of the residents around here lived in such cramped conditions they needed to get out.
‘Someone come along, please,’ she pleaded aloud as yet another pain stabbed through her. To her horror the snow between her two feet was stained red with blood, and she immediately felt nauseous with fear.
She must have stood there for ten minutes, frozen to the bone, in pain and with the pool of blood at her feet growing larger by the minute, when she finally saw a man coming along the road, pulling a sledge behind him.
‘Help me, please,’ she called out as loudly as she could.
By the time he reached her she was clinging to the doorpost for support.
‘Are you in trouble?’ he asked.
She was aware he was young, no more than twenty, and Irish, with bright blue eyes. ‘Yes, I think I’m losing my baby,’ she blurted out, her fear cancelling out the embarrassment of saying such a thing to a stranger. ‘Could you go to my home and get my husband or my brother?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But let me help you inside first. You’ll catch your death of cold out here.’
He seemed to know his way around for once inside he went through the door to the dormitories and returned with a pillow and a blanket. He made her lie down on the floor and covered her up, and even took her hand as she cried out with another pain.
She rasped out where he had to go, and he promised he would run all the way.
The pain grew much worse as soon as he’d gone and it didn’t abate as it had before, but kept coming like waves, each one stronger and stronger until she couldn’t think beyond it or even see or hear anything else.
Dimly, through the red fog which surrounded her, she thought she heard Jack calling her name but she couldn’t answer him. She felt as if she was slipping into a dark tunnel from which there was no escape.
‘Mrs Cadogan! Can you hear me?’
Beth thought she was walking though a dark forest towards the man’s voice. When she tried to walk faster her legs wouldn’t let her.
‘Open your eyes now, Mrs Cadogan, it’s all over now.’
His voice so close made her realize it was a dream, and that she was in bed. She opened her eyes and saw a man with gold-rimmed spectacles looking down at her.
‘You are in hospital,’ he explained. ‘You’ve given your poor husband a terrible fright; he was afraid he was going to lose you.’
‘I lost the baby?’
The doctor nodded. ‘I’m very sorry, my dear, but you are young and healthy and you will soon be yourself again.’
‘Can I see my husband?’ she whispered.
‘For just a few minutes, then you must rest. I’ll send him in to you.’
She thought it must be late at night as there was only one dim light burning in the large room, and the people in the other beds appeared to be asleep. She was puzzled as to why she could remember nothing after the young Irishman came to her aid. What had they given her to make the pain go and for her to sleep for so long? Had she had an operation?
At the sound of footsteps she turned her head to see Jack coming towards her.
‘Where’s Theo?’ she whispered when he reached her bed.
‘I don’t know,’ he whispered back. ‘It was me who came to you at the bunkhouse — Sam had already gone to work. I said I was your husband because it would look better. Did Theo know you were having a baby?’
Beth shook her head weakly. ‘I was going to tell him tonight.’
‘But they said you were over four months gone! I had to pretend I knew. Why didn’t you tell any of us? We wouldn’t have let you work at that place if we’d known.’
‘There was never a right time to tell you,’ she said wearily.
Jack bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘A bit strange.’ She sighed. ‘But I’m not in pain any more. What did they do to me, Jack?’
‘The doctor will explain to you in the morning,’ he said.
‘But you must go to sleep now, I’ll go and find Sam and Theo and tell them. We’ll come to see you tomorrow.’
It was after ten at night and as Jack walked through the deserted snowy streets, his eyes filled with tears when he thought of what the doctor had said.
‘I had to perform an emergency operation to remove the parts which had not come away naturally, and sadly I have to tell you it is highly unlikely she’ll ever be able to bear another child.’
Many women Jack had known wouldn’t much care if they never had a child, and anyone who had ever seen Beth playing her fiddle would think that being a mother would be unimportant to her. But Jack knew different. He’d heard the sadness in her voice when she spoke of Molly, and knew that giving her sister up was something she’d never quite reconciled herself to, however much she declared she had. At Christmas, when she received a photograph of Molly, she had looked hungrily at it for hours. He had always thought that it would only be when she had a child of her own that she’d recover fully.
Now she’d lost that chance.
Theo didn’t come home that night, and Jack lay awake hating the man for treating Beth so casually. Theo didn’t of course know she was in hospital, but Jack was unable to understand how any man with a girl as lovely as Beth could bear to stay away from her for even one night.
Sam had looked incredulous when Jack told him the news. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ he kept repeating, as if he thought that if she had done, none of this would have happened. But even Sam, close as he was to his sister, expressed the opinion that it was perhaps for the best.
‘The best for who?’ Jack had roared at him. ‘For you and Theo maybe, so you can do what you want without any hindrance! But not for Beth. A part of her will have died with the baby, and when she finds out she can’t have any more, what’s that going to do to her?’
It was close to daybreak when Jack heard Theo come in. He and Beth shared what she laughingly called the parlour, which was the slightly larger of the two rooms downstairs and the one with a fire. She had to cook on that, and she’d made herself a little kitchen by putting a wooden crate with a cloth over it in the alcove beside the fire, and arranging all the crockery, pots, utensils and foodstuffs in or on it.
Her ability for home-making astounded Jack. She’d covered the bed with a bright-coloured quilt, and made cushions for the two wooden armchairs. Most people around here lived in squalor, defeated by poverty and hardship, but Beth kept the place spotlessly clean, and was always adding something to make it more homely.
Since working at the bunkhouse, she’d acquired a small table, and on Sundays when they were all home, they ate their dinner at it sitting on crates. She’d stuffed cracks around the windows with newspaper to keep out the draughts and covered the stains on the walls with theatre posters and pictures cut out of magazines. Sitting there beside a roaring fire on Sundays, a tasty dinner in front of them, they could forget the bitter cold and grimness outside for a few hours and be a real family.
Since he met Theo for the first time, Jack’s feelings towards him had swung away from jealousy because he’d snatched Beth away from him and indignation that he allowed her to think he’d masterminded her rescue from the cellar. He had eventually grown to like him once they moved to Philadelphia.
For all Theo’s fla
shiness, smart clothes, cut-glass accent and impeccable breeding, he was no snob. To him there were only two kinds of people: those he liked and those he didn’t. What they had or where they came from didn’t enter into it.
Once Jack had put away his old resentments, he found Theo to be generous, kind-hearted and an amusing companion — smart too, always one jump ahead of the next man.
Jack wasn’t scandalized by him cheating at cards. He felt he’d have probably done the same if he’d lost a heap of money. But what he had fully expected was that Theo would run off and leave him and Sam when Sheldon died.
But he hadn’t. He’d taken charge, organized their escape to Canada and paid for their tickets, and because he’d proved himself, Jack had trusted him implicitly ever since.
Yet as he heard Theo come in, and thought of where Beth was, Jack felt murderous. He leapt out of his bed and ran into the adjoining room wearing only his long underwear.
Theo had lit a candle and he was just standing there holding it, still in his top hat and fancy cloak, looking stunned because Beth wasn’t in bed.
‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘In hospital, you bastard,’ Jack snarled. ‘She’s lost her baby, and you want stringing up for not being with her, for letting her work in that place.’
‘She was having a baby?’ Theo gasped, his face suddenly pale. ‘I didn’t know!’
‘You never gave her a chance to tell you, you’re never here,’ Jack roared at him. ‘You swan in and out, eating meals she makes you, putting on the clean shirts she washes for you, treating her like a little skivvy!’
Gypsy Page 27