A Glimpse at Happiness

by Jean Fullerton

  He studied the constable, still scratching his quill across the open ledger. No, he couldn’t chance it. This venture was risky enough without telling any one else, even a decent looking station officer.

  ‘I’ll come back at eight tomorrow then,’ Patrick said as he headed to the door. The officer shrugged and returned to his paperwork.

  Patrick slipped back around the corner of the station and bit the pad of his thumb while he tried to get things straight in his mind.

  By eight o’clock, Ma’s stash would already be aboard the Mermaid and her contact would be waiting for him below the horse ferry jetty just past Westminster. He had to get to the superintendent before he set off, to allow him time to apprehend the shipment. There was nothing for it - he would have to go home, return at dawn, and pray that the commanding officer of H-division arrived early.

  Furious and frustrated but with no other course of action open to him, Patrick flipped his collar up around his ears again.

  St Dunstan’s church sounded out eleven o’clock in the distance. The back gate opened and the night patrol marched out with the sergeant in charge of the watch at their head. Patrick remained in the shadows as their boots crunched over the cobbles and then the lamp light illuminated the man at the head of the column. He almost laughed out loud and could have wept with relief. Plant!

  Patrick waited while the column of men disappeared. Plant would march his constables to their beats and then start his own supervisory patrol. Following the rhythmic stamp of their feet Patrick set his cap down over his face and emerged from the shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellen rested her hands on Robert’s shoulder as his hand encircled her waist. With a light step she jumped down from the dog cart and stood in the gravel drive in front of the hotel. She drew in a deep breath, noting that the temperature had already dropped.

  They had hired a local trap and spent a lovely day in the hills, walking and drinking in the spectacular scenery of Great Cumbrea Island. Mrs MacKay, the hotelier’s wife, had packed them a hearty lunch which they’d eaten at one of the island’s high spots, where they enjoyed the fine late summer day.

  ‘Ready for tea, Mrs Munroe?’ he asked and offered his arm as the groom led the pony back to the stable.

  Ellen smiled up to his much loved face. ‘I certainly am,’ she replied. ‘All that walking has given me an appetite.’

  A crease furrowed his brow. ‘It wasn’t too much for you?’ he asked, his experienced eyes looking over her face for any signs of fever.

  ‘Not at all.’ She squeezed his arm as they started towards the front door. ‘It’s been a beautiful day - one of the last I’m sure, as I feel autumn in the breeze.’

  ‘You like Scotland then?’ he asked, as they went up the steps together.

  ‘I don’t like Scotland, I love it. Next year we shall bring all the family with us,’ Ellen replied with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Just as the Queen and Prince Albert do.’

  Mr MacKay, the hotel manager appeared. ‘Good afternoon to you, Dr Munroe, Mrs Munroe. Would you like tea in the sitting room?’

  Robert looked at her.

  ‘May we have it in the conservatory so we can watch the fishing boats return to Largs?’ she replied, taking off her hat and gloves.

  Mr MacKay hurried towards the kitchen.

  Ellen and Robert sat beside the large windows looking out over the bay to where the small fleet of fishermen sailed in on the evening tide after a day of dragging their nets in the Firth of Clyde.

  Ellen settled back to enjoy the view until the tea arrived. Robert picked up yesterday’s copy of the Scotsman, which had arrived that morning on the early ferry, and pulled his glasses out of his top pocket. She felt her eyelids start to droop but it was from the healthy tiredness of fresh air and exercise, not the bone-weariness of illness she’d suffered when they’d first arrived at Robert’s sister’s in Sterling.

  After the dreamlike childbed delirium that had engulfed her, it had taken her weeks of rest before she’d begun to feel like her old self again. But thanks to Robert’s constant love and attention she had returned to full health.

  ‘You would think, with the House in recess, that the two sides would stop calling each other names over the Factory Act debacle,’ Robert said, shaking out the paper. ‘Don’t they realise that children are dying while they act like overgrown school boys?’

  ‘You’ll be back soon to put them straight,’ Ellen replied.

  At the end of the week they planned to continue their tour of the Western Isles, across to Arran and Bute for a month before travelling back to Edinburgh and taking the steamer home to London.

  Robert looked over his half-rimmed glasses at her. ‘Only if you are well, my love.’

  Mrs Mackay arrived with the tea tray ‘There’s some of my own plum jam you’re so fond of, Mrs Munroe, to go with the scones,’ she said, in her soft lilting voice as she set the over-laden tray beside Ellen. ‘And today’s post. It arrived after you’d left this morning.’

  Ellen thanked her and handed the two letters to Robert to open while she poured the tea.

  A twinge of disappointment tugged at her. She had hoped to hear from Josie a week ago but there was still nothing. Since they’d left London, the children’s letters had arrived regularly each week. The younger children wrote of what they had been doing and how much they enjoyed being with dear Grandmama, but Lottie’s and Bobby’s had phrases like, ‘we are following your progress on a map and see that you will be back with us in eight weeks’ and ‘Grandmama was pleased that, because of the rain, we were able to spend an extra hour at our prayer today’, which frankly unsettled Ellen. She had seen the disquiet in Robert’s eyes, too, but he hadn’t commented.

  The one consolation Ellen had was knowing that Josie was with the children. However, whereas the children’s letters were usually full of what Josie said and did with them, the batch that arrived last week hadn’t mentioned their older sister at all, which is why Ellen was even more concerned. She hadn’t had a letter from Josie for almost three weeks.

  ‘Hermione sends her love and says she hopes we enjoy the rest of our holiday and looks forward to visiting us in London in the Spring,’ Robert said, refolding his sister’s letter and picking up the next one. ‘Hello,’ he said slipping his finger under the seal. ‘This looks like Bobby’s handwriting. I wonder why she didn’t send it with the rest.’

  Robert scanned the page and his mouth dropped open. ‘I cannot believe what I am reading!’ He handed her the letter.

  The words seemed to rush at her from the page and dance in front of her eyes. ‘Robert!’ she said, as the paper fluttered to her lap.

  He jumped to his feet and pulled on the rope by the fireplace. He snatched his glasses from his nose and clasped his hands behind his back. With his mouth pulled into a tight line he stared out of the window. Although he stood stock still with his broad shoulders pulled back and an impassive expression on his face, Robert’s knuckles showed white.

  Ellen read Bobby’s letter again and tears sprang into her eyes as fury swept over her. ‘How could she? After all—’

  Mr MacKay stepped into the conservatory and Robert turned. ‘Mr MacKay, I am afraid that we are required at home immediately. My wife and I will be leaving tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would make arrangements for our luggage to be collected for the morning ferry. Please convey our regrets to you wife for us having to leave your establishment so abruptly.’

  The hotelier bowed and left the room. Robert glanced down at his mangled spectacles then threw them in the fire grate. ‘I don’t know why she did this, Ellen, but I’m going to damn well find out.’

  Annie held tight onto her brother’s hand as they made their way along The Highway to their school. She smiled when she felt her long plaits bounce against her back, knowing that each one was tied with a bright blue ribbon that Miss Josie had said suited her dark hair perfectly. Annie had always been conscious that she was darker than most of the oth
er children in the Highway School but Miss Josie, when she was combing out her tangles after their bath, pointed out that freckled faces and fair hair were two a penny in the playground, whereas Annie’s raven hair and creamy skin was distinctive.

  Since Miss Josie had come to live with them, everything in Annie’s life had changed for the better. She had two new dresses and Mickey had two new shirts and a pair of trousers; they both had new boots, and a new coat each for the winter. They were much too big for them but, as Miss Josie said, they would have to last a few years before they could be replaced.

  Pa wanted her and Mickey to call Miss Josie Mam, but Annie couldn’t quite manage it yet. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want to or had some loyalty to the mother she couldn’t remember, it was just that, even dressed in the same poor clothes as all the other women, Miss Josie was still different.

  And she wasn’t the only one to think so. When the news got around that Miss Josie had come to live with them it was on everyone’s lips. Whenever she went into the corner shop or passed a group of women they had nudged each other. She even heard a couple of the younger women call Miss Josie dirty names, but when she asked Gran about it she’d told them they were just jealous because Patrick loved Miss Josie and not them. And Annie knew it was the truth of the matter because Pa did love Miss Josie and Miss Josie loved him.

  They laughed for no reason in that special way that Aunt Mattie and poor Uncle Brian used to do. Pa was always hugging Miss Josie and, although she pushed him away and told him to stop, Annie could see she didn’t really mean it.

  But Miss Josie had been quiet this morning when she filled their new satchels and waved them off. She looked tired too, with dark rings under her eyes and hugged them for a long time before she’d let them go.

  Annie thought it was because Miss Josie’s tummy had been upset for the past few weeks. She was worried at first to think that she might have to go home, but when she told Gran and Aunt Mattie about it they gave each other one of those looks that told Annie it was the sort of thing women knew about but didn’t mention out loud, so she was reassured.

  As they reached The Highway, Annie took hold of Mickey’s hand more firmly. With the wagons rolling by in both directions they had to keep their eyes peeled so they didn’t end up under the hooves of the huge horses that pulled them.

  ‘Come on, Mickey,’ she said, as she spotted a gap that they could dash across.

  They started off but halfway there Mickey let go of her hand.

  ‘I’ve dropped my satchel,’ he called, as a heavy horse with his muzzle in a sack cut him off from view.

  Annie turned to follow him but was blocked by a brewery cart so she continued onto the other pavement then turned to look for her brother. Crouching down so she could see under the traffic, she tried to spot his legs amongst the people making their way to work on the other side of the road, but she couldn’t.

  Straightening up again, she retraced her steps but he was nowhere to be seen. Normally she would have thought he had slipped away from her to bunk off, but since Miss Josie had been helping him with his letters Mickey had been eager to go to school and had even talked about getting the form reading prize. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t waiting for her with his retrieved satchel.

  She looked around and spotted a fat, squat man who seemed to be in danger of bursting out of a brightly checked jacket.

  ‘You lost your brother?’ he asked in a cheery voice, the cigarette dangling from his lips wagging up and down as he spoke.

  Annie nodded.

  ‘He went down there.’ He jerked his head backwards to the narrow alley behind him, nearly dislodging his short-crowned hat as he moved.

  Annie peered around him but couldn’t see Mickey. She bit her lower lip.

  Pa, Gran and Miss Josie had told her to stay on the main road and not to stray into the narrow passageway that ran through the neighbourhood, but the school bell would be rung soon and she didn’t want to have to explain to Miss Porrit why they were late.

  With her heart thumping in her chest she stepped past the man lolling against the wall and into the alleyway. There were stacks of boxes on one side and a couple of doors leading in to the shops but she couldn’t see Mickey.

  ‘Mickey must be hiding,’ the man said.

  Annie spun around to find the man right behind her. ‘How do you know—?’

  One of the doors opened and another man stepped into the alley. He grinned at her and the breath left Annie’s lungs as her gaze fixed on Harry Tugman.

  ‘Hello, Annie,’ he said with a grin. ‘My ma wants a word with you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ma couldn’t remember when she’d felt so jolly. Sitting on her chair in the corner, she swung her legs backwards and forwards as she watched the door.

  ‘Give us a brandy,’ she barked at the girl cleaning the bar.

  Nine o’clock was a little early, even for her, but she was celebrating and thought an exception just this once wouldn’t hurt.

  The door to the back parlour opened and two of her men struggled through with Charlie hanging between them. His head still lolled a bit but his good leg managed to find its footing with the forwards step although the other scraped along behind.

  ‘Put him here,’ Ma said indicating the chair beside her. ‘And you—’ she slapped the girl who’d just brought the brandy, ‘—go and fetch him his breakfast.’

  The girl scarpered away.

  They heaved Charlie into the chair and Ma stuffed the cushions in place to steady his balance, then went back to watching the door.

  She patted her son’s arm. ‘You’ll enjoy this.’

  Charlie grunted and his focusing eye followed her gaze to the door. Almost immediately, it swung open and Patrick pushed through with Harry and Ollie close on his heels.

  Ma forced the smile off of her face as she studied him striding towards her. She ran her eyes over him, understanding why the O’Casey woman had turned her back on her comfortable life. Even the two sluts at the bar were giving him more than just a passing glance. He stopped just before her with a furious expression on his angular face.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed that you would stash the gear overnight and I’d turn up and sail off as I always do. Instead of which I have these two,’ he thumbed at the men behind him, ‘stop me in the middle of the docks, in front of everyone, and haul me back here. I thought this trip was a show of goodwill on both our parts.’

  Goodwill! She’d give him goodwill, all right. Lying, cheating bog-trotting bastard that he was.

  Ma smiled artlessly. ‘There’s a bit of a change of plan,’ she said, hardly able to keep her merriment from bursting out. ‘When Harry went down at dawn there seemed to be a nabs fair on by the docks. Know anything about it?’ She fixed him with the stare that had made grown men blubber like infants.

  ‘No,’ he replied, without moving a muscle.

  ‘The place was swarming with Peelers so I told Harry to wait,’ Ma said. ‘And while I waited I got to thinking. Say some one had slipped along to the police station and told a few tales they shouldn’t . . .’

  ‘Then we’d be in trouble wouldn’t we,’ Patrick said, his expression unchanged. ‘If you’ve just called me to tell me that then I’ll be on me way.’

  He was fecking good and no mistake, Ma thought. There weren’t many who could stand there with a face like the archangel Gabriel, knowing they’d double crossed you. She reached under her chair and grabbed the articles hidden beneath her skirts and slammed them on the table.

  Patrick eyes focused on them and his nonchalant expression vanished.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ he shouted, moving to snatch Mickey’s satchel and Annie’s blue ribbons off the sticky beer-stained surface.

  He lunged at Ma but Harry caught him and he pitched forward, taking Harry with him. Another one of the men in the bar stepped in to hold him.

  ‘Where are my children?’ Patrick bellowed.

  Ma savoured both the
agonised look now spreading over his face and his impotence against the forces holding him pinioned.

  ‘Somewhere safe,’ she said, and let her smile grow wider. ‘For now.’

  He tried to surge forward again and almost broke free. ‘You hurt one hair on their heads and Holy Mary Mother of God, I’ll kill you with my own hands, so I will.’ The studs on the sole of his boots scraped the floorboards as he fought to be free.

  Ma continued to smile. ‘They’ll not get hurt as long as you keep up your end of the bargain. But if, say, the police were to get wind of our arrangement, or you decide to negotiate your own price for the cargo . . . ’ She shrugged and went on, ‘Well, there’s many a ship in port would pay fifty pounds for a boy.’ She winked. ‘Especially those Arab ones off on a long voyage. And as for that sweet Annie of yours. I could name you a dozen fine gentlemen who would snatch her off my arm for the chance to purchase her innocence.’ Horror took hold of Patrick and he tore his arm away from the henchman’s grip and punched him square in the face.