Kate gave an angry toss of her head.
“’Tis enough to make a saint swear. But the fact remains, there is no way you are ever going to leave this house to run away with a married man. And most certainly not with that damned Ross Cuthbert. Is that clear?”
“But Mammy, I love him.”
“Love him? Well, if he’s that keen to have you, the bastard will first have to break down my front door and deal with me first.”
Jenny sank back into the chair and laid her head on her hands. Then, she slowly raised her gaze.
“Listen, Mammy. You might just as well face it. I do love Ross, but he’s not the only reason I’m leaving home.”
Here she let her eyes rove round the cluttered kitchen: a forest of clothes hanging from the wooden pulley above them, Hannah snoring in her hurlie bed, and Pearce slumped, asleep, in his easy chair. She sighed, and with a sweeping gesture of her hand, indicated the room and all it stood for. Seeing this, Kate at once leapt to the defensive.
“Oh, and just what is that grand gesture supposed to indicate, my fine lady? Would you tell me that?”
“If you must know, Mammy, I told you before. I cannot stick another moment in the same house, far less the same room as that miserable old curmudgeon of a father.”
Since there was little that Kate could have said to defend Pearce and his black, explosive moods, she made no answer. It was the next cruel barb that found its mark and really hit hard.
Jenny pointed a trembling forefinger towards the sleeping Hannah.
“And that useless lump of blubber ... that daft idiot. Honestly, Mammy. I’m ashamed to be seen out in the street with her, pushing that rickety old pram and ...”
Jenny never got to finish her sentence. Kate’s hand shot out and she slapped her errant daughter with such force that the sound echoed in the quiet kitchen.
Jenny gasped in pain and horror as she held a soothing palm to the side of her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
“Jenny, there’s plenty more of that, if required. And like I say, if that accursed Ross Cuthbert wants you, then he’ll have to come in person and beat that lion’s head on the door. After what you’ve just said about poor Hannah ... well, I might just hand you over to him. And good riddance to bad rubbish, say I.”
“Mammy.”
Kate shook off her daughter’s hand.
“Mammy, nothing. But if you’re going to sit there weeping all night, while awaiting your love, at least have the decency to weep quietly. We’re not wanting your Dadda and Hannah to waken. To say nothing of disturbing the peace of that nosey Mrs Delaney in the front room.”
Ross Cuthbert never did beat a tattoo on the brass lion’s head, or make any attempt whatever to claim his bride. He had flown, free as air, leaving his abandoned Jenny to face alone the consequences of their brief, if ecstatic and entirely illegal, union.
Chapter 16
In the days that followed that never-to-be-forgotten Wednesday night, Jenny went skulking around the house in the greatest huff, not even sparing a loving gesture, a kind word , or so much as a disinterested glance for poor Hannah. The only sounds coming from Jenny were in the early morning when she could be heard retching in the water closet.
One morning it got to be so bad that Mrs Delaney was prompted, with an assumed air of innocence, to ask of Kate when the latter brought in her early cup of tea and biscuits: “Is Jenny not too well this morning, then, Mrs Kinnon?”
Keeping a poker face, Kate laid the tray down on the bedside table.
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about, Mrs Delaney. Just a wee bilious attack, I think. She was very prone to them as a bairn, you know, and I have heard it said that you never really grow out of them.”
Even as she spoke the words, Kate already knew herself to be lying in her teeth.
Bilious attack, did I say? Humph. That will be right. But at least there is one thing true ... there is nothing for you to worry about, Mrs Delaney. But plenty to keep my mind troubled for many a long day, if I’m not far mistaken.
Even so, and despite the telling sounds each new morning, with Jenny in her present dark and uncommunicative mood, no words were spoken between mother and daughter, and certainly no reference was made to the subject uppermost in the minds of both women. Finally, it got to the point that Kate felt she would have to ask Jenny the question which had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks now.
On the following Saturday night, Jenny had gone out with Lizzie, supposedly to the weekly soiree at the local church hall. And no sooner were they out the door than Kate made a decision, and one which she knew she should have taken weeks ago. As she sat at the kitchen table with a pile of darning in front of her, she resolved, that very night she would sit up, awaiting her daughter’s return and then finally have it out with the girl once and for all. Having come to this decision, she already felt happier in her own mind as, with a smile on her face, she drew the basket of darning towards her and set to with a will on the ever-present task. As she plied her needle, her thoughts kept on racing even faster than her nimble fingers. If the situation was exactly as she feared, then she knew that come what may, she would still be able to face this latest challenge, as she had already faced so much in life. She would weather the storm. And in view of her own history, she would also be able not only to sympathise with her daughter, but also stand by, encourage, and help her in her hour of need. She nodded her head with satisfaction.
And another good thing, at least we’ll be having no dealings with that bastard Ross Cuthbert. He’s done a runner to Edinburgh, they say.
As she got up to make herself a mug of cocoa, she stretched her arms above her head to ease her aching muscles. As she again lowered them to her side, she glanced over at both the hurlie bed and the wall-bed to check that their respective occupants were sound asleep. Kate stretched forth a hand, meaning to stroke Hannah’s brow, but then thought the better of it, lest she should awaken the girl, who would then start demanding a mug of `ko-ko, ko-ko’ for herself. Instead, Kate tip-toed over to the range. As she heated up the pan of milk, the thought came to her: Well, Jenny lass, I just hope that when your time does come, the child will be perfect in every detail and not in any way like poor Wee Hannah, God help her.
As she sat at the oilcloth covered table and stirred her mug of steaming cocoa, she gave free rein to wild thoughts of young Jenny left not only with a bastard child, but one who was even more physically and mentally handicapped than her own Hannah. Sinking ever deeper into a pit of depression, she shook her head, as if in this way she could abandon such gloomy thoughts.
She bunched her fist and, raising her arm, pounded the air, with all the while, a look of vehemence on her face.
Men. Humph, every one of them are absolute bastards. Never met a good one yet. Out only for that one thing. Then it’s off with the old and on with the new. Bastards. Never mind, Jenny lass, you and I will struggle through somehow. And surely we couldn’t end up with two damaged baims in the one family? No, the wee one will be fine. And come to think of it, it will be real cosy having another wee bairn about the house. Yes, we’ll manage just fine.
This thought was still uppermost in her mind when, having finished her bedtime drink, she was just sitting in reflective mood before the dying embers of the fire. She shivered as the room started to grow cold and would have liked to add a few new coals to the fire, but considered this an unwarranted luxury, especially since she knew that Jenny would be in soon and then she could get to bed and snuggle into Hannah’s warm body. She rose to her feet and turned down the gas mantle to its lowest peep. Taking her plaid wool shawl from its hook behind the door, she cowled it around her head and waited in what comfort she could for her daughter’s return.
Always a positive thinker, Kate mentally planned what knitting and crochet she would need to do in readiness for the baby’s coming. She still had the Christening Robe and beautifully hand-made shawl which a kind neighbour had gifted to her in an effort to assuage h
er grief and pain over the difficult birth she’d had with Hannah and its dire consequences. So those two items would be at least a start. In addition, she could have a good scout round the Clothes Market, which Glasgow Corporation had opened round in Greendyke Street, and from which piles of fine old hand-me-downs were periodically sent to Ireland. From the waiting bales of cloaks, jackets, gowns, petticoats, shirts and shifts, she would be able to extract something which with a little alteration could be adapted to fit the needs of a new baby. Yes, the more Kate thought about it, the more enthusiastic she became, and the more eager for Jenny to return from the soiree.
Already in her own mind, she had decided exactly what she would do ... the very moment that Jenny arrived back, she would fling her arms around the anxious young girl.
“It’s all right. Don’t you worry yourself any more. You see, I know. And we’ll manage fine together and without the help of any of those bastard men.”
In her mind’s eye she could see the look of amazement on Jenny’s face, not only that at long last her guilty secret was out, but also at the understanding and totally unexpected way in which her mother had so obviously accepted the unlooked-for news. Her cosy mental picture expanded to the sight of a softly-weeping Jenny, huddled against her mother’s breast. She even had a little joke, or play upon words with which she would lighten the tense, fraught situation.
She would hold her daughter close and murmur into her hair: “That’s right, darling. Just you have a bit weep to yourself, you’ll feel the better for it. Then we’ll get on with the business in hand, or maybe to be strictly accurate, I should say, the business in your belly.”
She was sure that Jenny would have a real good laugh at that.
In her mind’s eye, she could see her daughter, with much of the tension already removed from her face, throwing back her head and giving her old, infectious, and almost school girlish giggle.
With the big decision taken and thus feeling happier in her mind than she had done for many a long day, Kate soon drifted off to sleep; a lovely cocoa-induced sleep. When she awoke with a start, it was to the realisation the fire had long since gone out, she was feeling cramped and cold and she was alone in a silence that could be felt. Her first thought was to check the time. She got slowly to her feet, and in the dim gaslight peered at the grandmother clock above the mantelpiece. With a gasp at what she saw, she drew back. Then in disbelief, she again crouched closer for another look at the dial with its pattern of painted sun, moon, and stars. The hands still pointed to three o’clock. Seeing this, she frowned, then with a tut of annoyance decided in her own mind that Jenny had already arrived home but, finding her mother asleep before the fire, rather than disturb her, had instead crept off quietly to her own sofa-bed out in the narrow hallway. Kate frowned even more deeply and she slapped a bunched fist into the palm of her left hand as the realisation hit her.
Damn. So much for my grand plan of a reconciliation scene. I really did want to be awake to give the poor lass the big welcome home and assure her that I would definitely be sticking by her. And now, dammit all, I’ve missed the perfect opportunity. I’ll just have to wait till another time now. Nothing else for it.
Deciding since that was obviously the case, she might just as well get ready to pop into bed beside Hannah, she first tip-toed out to the water closet to pay a last visit before settling down for the night. Reaching the door of the cludgie, she looked over to her left, to see Jenny cosily tucked under the patchwork quilt on the horse-hair sofa, a recent purchase from one of the many street-traders. But to her amazement, the bolster and patchwork quilt itself were still neatly folded at the end of the sofa, still awaiting Jenny’s return.
Kate, with all thoughts gone of settling herself for the night, stumbled back into the kitchen in a state of shock. In the dim gaslight and now with her entire body trembling like a leaf in a gale, she again peered at the clock. Yes. She had been right, it had not been a figment of her imagination, not an isolated part of a dream, although nightmare it most certainly was. The hands on the clock now showed a few minutes after three o’clock and still there was no sign of Jenny.
Kate sat down heavily into the one and only armchair which was normally reserved for Pearce, but right at that moment, she could not have cared less had it been reserved for His Holiness the Pope himself.
Where on earth can Jenny be till this time? She has never been this late in her life before. Not even when she was secretly seeing that accursed Ross Cuthbert. Suppose she’s been in an accident? Knocked down and killed by a runaway horse? Oh, God, where is the girl?
Then an even darker thought flashed through her head as she pondered the fate worse than death.
Worse still, what in God’s name can she be doing till this ungodly hour of the morning?
Kate did not have long to wait for an answer to her prayers. Just a few minutes later, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. This was followed by slow, rather hesitant footsteps in the hall. Then the door burst open and her daughter was there with her in the dimly-lit kitchen. The moment she saw her, Kate immediately leapt to her feet and went towards the girl. Kate froze to the spot. For the Jenny who had reeled into the room was a totally alien person, never before seen by her loving mother.
The girl was riotously drunk, and sodden with the sweet-cloying stench of gin. Looking at the scene through an alcohol haze, Jenny swayed on her feet and would have fallen but for the quick thinking of her mother. Just in time, Kate stretched forward and grabbed hold of her daughter before she fell headlong across the table. As Kate tried to get her seated in the armchair, it was like trying to cope with a rag-doll. Finally, with great difficulty, she got the girl seated and threw a crocheted shawl around her shoulders.
With a wary eye on the sleeping Pearce, she knelt before Jenny and tried to make some sense of her drunken ramblings.
“Lizzie. It was Lizzie. Yes, Mammy, she told ...”
When after several minutes of this, of which Kate could understand nothing, she finally rose to her feet and bustled about making the semi-conscious drunk a mug of hot sweet tea. Then, holding it up to her daughter’s lips, at the same time almost throwing up with the stink of gin, she said: “Jenny, listen to me. Drink this down you. Then, hopefully once you’ve sobered up, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get some sense out of you. Yes, and this very night.”
Kathleen further insisted that Jenny also get some food down. So, eventually after almost force-feeding her with one piece of soda-bread after another, and two cups of tea, Jenny slowly began to sober up a bit. Suddenly aware of her surroundings, she blinked a couple of times and gazed around as if coming out of a very deep sleep. When she saw this latest development, Kate immediately asked: “Now then, my fine lady, and what exactly is all this about? What in God’s name has happened to you this night, Jenny?”
Eventually, after a long look at her mother and an even longer silence, hesitantly at first, Jenny started speaking.
“Oh, Mammy. It was terrible, so it was. Just terrible. You see, Lizzie made me drink that stuff. I gagged and retched something awful at the very taste of it. But Lizzie made me drink it all up, said it would help my problem. And would make an end to it.”
Kate took hold of her daughter’s hand and held it so tightly with her nails digging into the flesh that the girl winced and would have withdrawn her hand, had such a thing been possible. But Kate held on like grim death, all the while urging her daughter on with her sad tale.
Apparently, the well-meaning, if misguided, Lizzie, who seemed to be knowledgeable about such matters, had proffered yet another piece of advice in addition to the efficacy of drinking a large quantity of gin. Hearing this, Kate frowned and said: “Oh indeed, and what exactly did the famous Lizzie tell you to do? Or, if I’m not much mistaken, Jenny, what did the stupid little bitch tell you to take?”
That last barb really struck home. Even so, it took a bit more prompting on Mammy’s side before the whole degrading story
was finally out in the open.
As if deep in thought or prayer, Jenny held her head in her hands and it was left to Kate to prise them away so that she could better understand what it was the girl was muttering.
“It was Lizzie, Mammy. She told me to take some pills that she had managed to get for me. She said that between the pills and the booze ... well, that should do the trick. It was Lizzie. Honestly, Mammy, Lizzie told me to take them.”
Kate’s eyes were wide with disbelief and, had it not been for the sleeping forms of Pearce and Hannah, she would there and then have given her daughter the loudest telling-off of her young life. So, controlling with the greatest difficulty her urge to shout and yell obscenities at the hapless girl before her, she stage-whispered: “Oh, indeed, madam. So Lizzie told you to toss back a box of pills and a bottle of gin to wash it down. That’s right, eh? Well, and I suppose if the bold Lizzie told you to go jump in the River Clyde, then you’d do that too? Is that so? Anyway, don’t you tell me that dear Lizzie, just out of the goodness of her heart, spent all her hard-earned money on a tramp like you? If you think I’ll believe that, madam, then you must think I’m really simple.”
Jenny made no answer beyond a heart-felt sigh. Kate went on: “Oh no, my fine lass, the money must have come from somewhere, for such items do not come cheap. Mind you, lately I’ve noticed the odd threepenny bit, yes and now I come to think of it, even a whole sixpence missing from my purse. I said nothing at the time, but I’m ashamed to say I suspected poor Hannah. Not that she would either know the value or have any use for money, but I thought perhaps the twinkling silver had attracted her.”
The look on Jenny’s face was confession enough
“Aha, so that’s the lie of the land. And no doubt while you were stealing the bread from our mouths, you were also raiding my savings from my best tea-caddy?”
Kate rose to her feet and went towards the mantelpiece on which rested the gleaming brass caddy. Jenny put out a restraining hand. Her mother looked down in disgust, then slapped away her daughter’s hand, but still made no move to lift down the cache of carefully-hoarded farthings, halfpennies, threepenny bits and sixpences. There was no need to investigate further, for already she knew what she would find.
Fortunes of the Heart Page 19