Josie’s brows pulled together. It looked as if she was telling tales but poor George had practically screamed the house down as the caustic substances scalded his skin. She held the pen aloft as she considered what to write next. It would sound like carping again but there was no other way of putting it.
I am afraid that after I confronted Mrs Munroe on the matter and about her readiness to reach for the rod, our relationship has cooled considerably.
That was to say they barely spoke and if one entered a room the other left; however, Josie felt she’d said enough. Besides, it wasn’t to tell tales on Mrs Munroe that she was writing to her mother. She filled the nib with ink again.
I have visited Sophie Cooper twice last week to undertake our regular pastoral visits and Mr Arnold called for tea. He is a very pleasant young man and I know it is your hope that I would look more favourably on him. I have tried but I cannot. It isn’t his fault, Mam, but he isn’t Patrick.
During the day, with her time fully occupied counterbalancing Mrs Munroe’s puritanical rule, Josie had almost convinced herself that she could wait for Patrick to be free, but the nights were a different matter. She jabbed the pen in the inkwell again.
Now, Ma, I know I should have told you this before you went but I hope you will forgive me that I did not and for what I am about to write . . .
Bobby and Lottie trod quietly past the half-open door of their grandmother’s bedroom and across the first floor landing. Holding her breath, Bobby nodded at her sister and Lottie nodded back. Bobby craned her neck forward and peeked in the room. Her grandmama was sitting on the bed with her eyes closed and her Bible open on her lap. Bobby knew that she should love her grandmother, but since she’d waved her parents goodbye they had all suffered - it was the only word she could use for it - under her grandmother’s miserable regime.
Pressing her back to the wall, Bobby took hold of her sister’s hand and they slid along the corridor towards Josie’s bedroom. Bobby knocked quietly and when Josie called ‘enter’ she and Lottie went through.
Josie was sitting at her small bureau scratching away at a sheet of her writing paper. She looked up from her task as they entered, and gave them a smile. ‘Bobby, I thought you were with your grandmother. I heard Daisy say she was looking for you a while back.’
‘Well, she didn’t find us,’ Lottie said, kicking off her shoes and jumping on Josie’s bed. She propped herself against the wooden headboard and crossed her arms across her white pinafore. ‘I know Papa wants us to love her but I don’t,’ Lottie announced.
‘She must be at least a hundred and she had a sort of dark smell about her.’
Bobby slipped her pumps off, too, and joined her sister on the bed while Josie resumed her letter.
‘Josie, you’re frowning again,’ Bobby said.
‘Am I?’
‘Is it because your friend Mattie is married and you’re not?’ Lottie asked before Bobby could nudge her.
Josie put a bright smile on her face. ‘Good heavens! What ever gave you that idea?’
‘Because Grandmama says you should have been married a long time ago,’ Lottie said, pulling her face into a creditable resemblance of Mrs Munroe’s long features.
‘Does she?’
Lottie nodded. ‘And she told us that she thinks it would have been better if you’d married someone in America and settled there.’
Bobby elbowed her sister in the ribs. ‘Grandmama thinks all sorts of odd things, Lottie. Like that girls should not eat meat as it inflames their spirits,’ Bobby said, thinking how Mrs Woodall’s tasty plates of steak and onions had been replaced by thin broths with grease floating on the surface.
She had overheard Daisy whisper to Nurse that there was more goodness in the washing up water and Bobby was inclined to agree. It was only after Josie had confronted Mrs Munroe on their behalf that they still had jam on the table in the morning.
Lottie continued undaunted. ‘But I said if you just wanted to be married you could marry Mr Arnold.’
Josie said nothing and turned back to her letter.
‘Are you writing to Mama and Papa?’ Bobby asked, before Lottie could speak again.
‘Yes I am. I know you’ve already sent your letters to them this week, but I’ll give them your love again if you like.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Bobby. ‘Will you be telling them about George and the plaster?’ she asked in as neutral a voice as she could.
Josie gave her a little smile. ‘I have put in a couple of lines,’ she admitted.
Thank goodness, thought Bobby, wondering how long it would take her sister’s letter to reach Edinburgh.
Josie scratched out a few more lines and Lottie picked up Josie’s old doll that lived propped up on the headboard.
Waisy was practically colourless now after years of washing and was almost the last reminder of Mama’s and her sister Josie’s old life.
Bobby’s eyebrows drew together. For some odd reason it was because of the terrible life Mama and Josie had lived before they met Papa that Grandmama disliked Josie so much. Bobby couldn’t understand it. Surely if Grandmama was a Christian, she should rejoice that Josie was no longer poor.
‘Josie,’ Lottie said, rocking her sister’s old rag doll in her arms. Josie looked up. ‘Are you going to marry Mr Arnold?’
Josie’s eyes looked suddenly very bright. ‘I don’t think so.’
Bobby drew in a deep breath. ‘Are you going to marry Patrick?’
Josie struggled to keep the bright smile in place. ‘Of course not, we are just friends, that’s all - friends.’
Bobby felt, rather than heard, the sob in her sister’s voice.
Ever since the wedding, Josie had been her lovely sister on the outside - all smiles and kindnesses - but Bobby knew that inside Josie was sad. She knew that Patrick was the reason Josie appeared at breakfast each morning with red-rimmed eyes. A wave of compassion welled up in her.
‘Oh, Josie.’
Josie bit her bottom lip as her eyes filled with tears. Bobby slid off the bed and Lottie did the same. Both of them dashed over to their sister and hugged her tightly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bobby said as she felt the sting of tears in her own eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned Patrick.’ That brought another huge sob from her sister. Bobby patted her shoulders, feeling very grown up.
Josie lifted her tear-stained face and wiped her wet eyes with her fingers. ‘I’m just being silly.’ She kissed Bobby and Lottie. ‘Now I have to get on with this letter. Mam and Pa are only staying with your aunt Hermione for another week and then they catch the coach north, and who knows how long it will take for the letter to reach them. I must finish soon so that Sam can take it to the post office.’
Lottie skipped back and took Waisy to the window where she started a game with her. Bobby sat back on the bed and studied her sister. Why did Josie say that Patrick was just her friend when it was obvious that she loved him? And why couldn’t she marry him?
Anger rose up in Bobby. It was Grandmama again, she was sure. Grandmama disliked Patrick because he captained a boat on the river and didn’t have any money. But if Josie loved him and he could make her happy then surely God wouldn’t be angry, as Grandmama always said he was. Besides, Papa, who knew almost everything, said that a man should be judged by his actions, not his money.
Josie signed her name with a flourish and smiled at Bobby. ‘That’s done then,’ she said, flipping the envelope over and sealing it.
Lottie propped Waisy back on Josie’s pillow and Bobby jumped off the bed. ‘We had better go down to the parlour; Grandmama will be waiting for us.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll put your letter on the table by the front door.’
Mrs Munroe closed the Bible and looked at the three children ranged on the sofa in front of her. Robina, Charlotte and George regarded her respectfully. Tenderness rose up in her as she contemplated her precious angels, and again she thanked God fervently for bringing them back to her.
Altho
ugh she hadn’t realised it when she’d arrived, it was clearly God’s will that she should be here to care for her grandchildren while their mother was so ill. Their futures were precarious to say the least. It was true that Robert now had the ear of the Prime Minister no less, but the scandal of his marriage to Ellen could be so easily revived and where would these beloved darlings be then?
Her heart missed a beat and she drew in a deep breath to steady it. Trust Him, she commanded her terrified mind, and the pall of dread surrounding her faded.
Her timely visit, the stillborn child, Ellen’s illness and Robert’s decision to take his wife away to regain her strength were all part of His plan to bring these treasured children under her protection.
Although her joints ached and she couldn’t remember small details as she used to, Mrs Munroe wasn’t daunted by her years. Moses himself was over eighty when he led his people to the Promised Land, and she still had a few years on him. Although the children could be noisy, they weren’t quite as quarrelsome as the tribes of Israel. However, those doing the Lord’s work could always expect opposition and Josie O’Casey was certainly that. She cast her gaze over her pretty granddaughters sitting either side of their brother.
Despite being late, Robina had read the passage faultlessly. George’s concentration hadn’t wandered and even Charlotte hadn’t fidgeted too much.
She clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘Now, children, what do we learn from this story?’
‘That if you fall out of a window and are killed the dogs will eat everything but your feet hands and skull,’ George said, raising his hands like claws and looking at his sisters.
‘Before that, if you please, George,’ Mrs Munroe said, sharply.
‘If the King sends his troops after you you had better run like Elijah did,’ George replied, smiling at her.
The corners of Mrs Munroe’s lips lifted. George had such a fine instinct for all things military, she thought - just like her dear brother.
She studied each child in turn. ‘But it wasn’t the King who ordered the death of Elijah, was it? No,’ she said answering her own question. ‘It was his wicked queen, Jezebel.’
The children’s eyes opened wider and Mrs Munroe continued. ‘It was her wicked nature that brought about the ruin of her husband and his kingdom,’ she said, picturing the godless queen of Israel with long auburn hair and screaming the order to kill the Lord’s prophets in a faint Irish accent.
She pointed at the children. ‘Because of her unrestrained passions and her sin of worshipping a heathen god, Jezebel was cast down from God’s grace and tainted her whole family. It is a lesson for us all,’ she concluded in the same solemn tone in which her husband had used to end his sermons.
Robina glanced down at the Bible on her lap. ‘The passage doesn’t mention her family.’
Mrs Munroe raised her hands and held them, palms together, in front of her. ‘Let us pray,’ she said, ignoring Bobby’s comment.
George and Charlotte immediately followed her example and squeezed their eyes tight shut, but Robina gave her a perplexed look. Grandmother and granddaughter stared at each other for a moment, then the young girl put her hands together and closed her eyes.
Robert was right. Robina did have a quick mind but she would have to learn that if a young woman appeared too clever she was likely to find herself a spinster long after her less intelligent friends had found husbands.
Mrs Munroe lowered her eyelids, but kept them open a crack to ensure the children remained respectful throughout the intercessions. Then, when all and everyone had been prayed for, she dismissed the children to the nursery for their afternoon refreshments, letting them kiss her cheek dutifully before they departed.
She stood up and stretched, then pulled on the bell to summon tea. Knowing Josie would take her tray in her room meant that Mrs Munroe had an hour or so to herself before overseeing the children’s evening meal. She had designated it as her time of quiet reflection but more often than not, after the tea tray was removed, she nodded off to sleep. She glanced at the door and frowned. Where, she wondered as she stifled a yawn, was Daisy.
She stood up and opened the door. She peered down the hall towards the kitchen and then back. Her gaze rested on an envelope lying in the silver salver in the middle of the mahogany hall table. She went over, picked it up and recognised Josie’s handwriting. She glared at the rectangular envelope addressed to her daughter’s house in George Street, Edinburgh.
Since Robert and Ellen had left, Josie and the other children had written regularly to their parents and received letters back, but the weekly letters had been sent on their way four days ago. Why was the girl bothering them again? Mrs Munroe’s heart thundered unevenly in her chest.
The blister plaster!
The fluttering increased as she imagined what her son would say. When she suggested slitting Jack’s gums to relieve teething ache he had told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of such remedies. He would be furious if he knew what she’d done to George.
Selfish girl, to worry her mother so, she thought. George had recovered, so the whole incident was of no consequence.
Picking up the letter she turned it over and slipped her nail under the edge. It lifted a little. She heard a sound behind her and turned to find Robina at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Ro . . . Robina, I thought you’d gone up to the nursery,’ she said.
‘I left my handkerchief on the chair,’ Robina told her as her gaze rested on the letter.
The area between Mrs Munroe’s shoulder blades prickled under her granddaughter’s frank gaze. She raised the letter.
‘I thought I would write and tell your Papa just how well you are all getting on,’ she said, replacing the letter.
Robina walked into the parlour and then returned with her handkerchief in her hand. She studied her grandmother for a long moment before starting back upstairs.
‘Tell Nurse I’ll be up at the usual time,’ Mrs Munroe called after her granddaughter as she turned at the top of the banisters.
Robina looked down. ‘Yes, Grandmama,’ she said, and then disappeared.
Mrs Munroe stood with her hands in front of her until she was sure Robina wasn’t coming back down, and then she picked up Josie’s letter and went back to the parlour.
Sitting on the sofa she turned the envelope over and studied it, then in a swift movement she slid her finger under the seal to snap it open. Ripping out the letter she ran her eyes over the pages and her lips tightened.
Lies, all lies! she thought as she read Josie’s words to her mother. Wicked shameless girl. Bleating on about such trivia when poor Ellen was still recovering, even implying that the children weren’t happy being cared for their own grandmother. What nonsense!
Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest again. Perhaps she was a little too quick to call for the switch, but she couldn’t afford to spare the rod because she loved them so. An undisciplined child grew into an undisciplined adult. In her considered opinion the moral crisis of idleness and dishonesty that was so manifest in society was the direct result of parents who ignored that particular scriptural command.
It was abundantly clear that out of spite and malice Josie O’Casey would do anything and tell any lie to twist the children’s affections away from their grandmother.
She continued to the bottom of the page, then her hands clenched the paper, creasing it where her fingers curled as the second part of the letter sprang off the page.
Now, Mam, I know I should have told you this before you went but I hope you will forgive me that I did not and for what I am about to write.
She read on for a moment then she let the letter fall on her lap and clutched her hand to her chest. Under her fingers her heart was beating erratically.
Naturally, it gave her no satisfaction to say so, but hadn’t she known from the moment she clapped eyes on her that if ever there was a young girl on the road to destruction it was Josie O’Casey. The way she chased
after that rough fellow Patrick Nolan. Pretending she was helping his sister with her dress while it was as clear as the nose on your face that she burned for him. The lust in her eyes when she spoke his name was a disgrace to behold.
Closing her eyes she took a deep breath. She felt her pulse steady and picked up the letter again. What a viper her son had nurtured in his bosom, she thought as she read Josie’s confession of love and desire for Patrick Nolan, a married man. Her heart galloped again.
I fear that although it is wrong and would cause my ruin, I have such tender and enduring feelings for Patrick that I can deny them no longer.
Mrs Munroe could not believe her eyes. How could a young woman think such a thing let alone write it down?
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 19