A Handful of Sovereigns

by A Handful of Sovereigns (retail) (epub)

  Maggie sat still for a moment, her face wreathed in smiles, silently hugging herself with glee as she anticipated Liz’s reaction when she heard the news. Turning slightly she made to rise from her chair, only to freeze in shock at the sight of her sister leaning against the door, her face ashen, her eyes screwed up tightly as if in pain.

  The smile slipping from her face Maggie ran to the distraught figure, crying in alarm, ‘What’s the matter, Liz? You look awful, come on, put your arm round my shoulder, that’s it.’

  Taking the weight of the limp body against her own she looked to where Charlie still sat at the table, his eyes wide with surprise and shouted crossly, ‘Don’t just sit there, help me get her on the sofa.’

  Startled into action he came to his sister’s aid, and taking hold of Liz’s other arm he helped Maggie lead the trembling figure the short distance to the sofa. With a soft moan Liz slid down onto the worn cushions, her head lolling to one side. Dropping to her knees Maggie took hold of the ice-cold hands and began to rub them vigorously, her eyes never leaving the white face.

  ‘Say something, Liz,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

  Immediately she cursed herself for her stupidity, and placing her hand gently on the pale forehead she said, ‘That was a silly question, wasn’t it? Look, you lie quiet while I fix you a hot drink, I won’t be a minute.’

  Leaving the prostrate figure, she picked up the ladle from beside the grate and poured two generous scoops of soup from the pot hanging over the fire into a tin mug. Holding Liz’s head gently she placed the steaming liquid to the blue lips.

  ‘Here you are, love, try and drink this. It’ll make you feel better.’

  Propping herself up on one elbow Liz tried to do as Maggie said, but after only one small sip she weakly pushed Maggie’s hand away crying piteously, ‘I can’t, it’s too hot, and I feel sick.’

  Maggie sat back on her heels, not knowing what to do next. She’d never known Liz to be ill. Oh, God, no; her head jerked on her shoulders – not the diphtheria, it couldn’t be, there hadn’t been a case since the epidemic. No, of course it wasn’t, she chided herself, you’re panicking over nothing. Just calm down for a minute, it’s probably only a cold. But her silent protestations did nothing to ease her mind.

  When Liz started to shiver, she raced over to the far side of the room, quickly returning with two blankets. Wrapping them tightly round the trembling body she said earnestly, ‘You’ll be all right, Liz. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. Look, you rest, you’ll feel better after a few hours sleep, wait and see.’

  Liz heard the voice, but it seemed to be coming from a long way away. She wanted to answer, to hear her own voice, but the effort was too much. It was so much easier to lie here, not talking, not doing anything. She’d known for days she was coming down with something, colds and flu were common at this time of the year. But she’d never had a cold like this before. Every bone in her body ached, her throat was sore and her chest felt tight. Every time she breathed deeply, she experienced a sharp pain below her ribs as if someone was stabbing at her with a knife. A sudden fit of coughing brought her body doubled over, a harsh, racking sound that tore at her chest.

  ‘Oh, Liz, Liz, shall I fetch Mrs Simms, she might know what to do.’

  With all the effort she could muster Liz opened her eyes and stared bleakly into the frightened face leaning over her.

  ‘Just leave me alone for a while, Maggie. Please, just leave me alone.’ Her head dropped back on the arm of the sofa, her breathing laboured as she sank into an uneasy sleep.

  Maggie and Charlie stood side by side, their faces as pale as the one lying restlessly before them. Swallowing hard, Maggie squeezed Charlie’s hand, muttering thickly, ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be all right, it’s just a cold, that’s all; just a cold.’ The words hung heavily in the air, bringing no comfort to herself or the young boy by her side. Giving his hand another squeeze she left him and began to clear the table in preparation for their dinner.

  * * *

  By the following morning Liz was in a high fever, her body thrashing from side to side, her hands trying to throw off the blankets that covered her. Maggie had dragged the sofa nearer the fire, her own body drenched with sweat from the searing heat as she bathed Liz’s face and hands in an effort to keep the agitated figure comfortable. Laying a wet cloth on Liz’s forehead she slumped to the floor, her head resting wearily on the edge of the sofa. She’d been up all night, afraid to leave her sister alone even for a moment, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Her eyelids felt like stone, and within seconds of laying her head down she was asleep.

  ‘No, no, stop it, go away, stop it, no, no, no!’

  Maggie’s head jerked back painfully on her neck, her eyes springing open at the hoarse sound of Liz’s voice.

  ‘It’s all right, love, I’m here, I’m here. I won’t leave you, Liz, don’t worry,’ she said soothingly, gripping the trembling hands, but Liz seemed unaware of her sister’s presence.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, her blue eyes sweeping sightlessly over Maggie as she moaned. ‘I’m scared, don’t let me die, I don’t want to die.’

  ‘You’re not going to die, Liz, I promise. Do you think you could manage a drink? It’ll ease your throat.’

  But the eyes had already closed again, leaving Maggie staring fearfully down on the sister she’d spent her whole life fighting with. She could feel her throat swelling with tears, but before she could give vent to her feelings the door opened and Charlie came into the room, his footsteps dragging as he walked over to the table and sat down heavily on the wooden chair. Maggie had sent him down to the factory early this morning with the bundle of work she’d finished during the night, along with a scrawled note explaining her absence. Her eyes flickered nervously. Why had he come back empty handed? She’d asked in the note for more work, so where was it?

  Her voice shaking with apprehension, she asked quietly, ‘What did the foreman say?’

  Charlie lifted his eyes reluctantly – he’d been dreading this moment since he’d left the factory gates.

  ‘He wasn’t best pleased, Maggie,’ he stuttered. ‘He said if you want the work, you’ll have to go and get it yourself. And, Maggie, he… said that if you didn’t go today, then not to bother going back. He gave me your money, look.’ Eagerly Charlie plunged his hand into his pocket, bringing out a small handful of silver and coppers, a tremulous smile hovering on his lips. Maggie looked down at the outstretched palm for a moment, then taking the money she counted it carefully. Four and threepence. God, that wouldn’t even pay the rent. For a second she thought she was going to fall, and quickly took hold of herself.

  ‘Didn’t you explain what had happened, Charlie? Did you remember to give him the note?’ Her voice crackled with alarm, while her stomach tightened painfully.

  ‘Of course I did, Maggie, what do you take me for? But he said it wasn’t his worry. And if you don’t want the work, there’s plenty more that do.’

  A sudden bout of coughing bought Maggie’s attention back to Liz.

  Turning quickly on her heel she called over her shoulder.

  ‘Go and get Mrs Simms. She might know what’s the matter with Liz. Hurry, Charlie.’ The boy needed no second bidding to leave the room, and within seconds the door banged behind him.

  Taking the cloth from Liz’s forehead she soaked it thoroughly in the pitcher, then returned to the sofa. While she waited for Mrs Simms to appear she thought about what had happened. How could the foreman be so unfeeling? It wasn’t her fault Liz was ill, and she couldn’t leave her, not like this. Another thought suddenly struck her; what if Liz lost her job as well? Oh, God, no, that prospect didn’t bear thinking about. Thank heavens she had held onto her savings – if the worst did happen at least they’d have some money to live on. Shaking her head in despair she clenched her fists tightly.

  She’d see what Mrs Simms had to say. Maybe her neighbour could sit with Liz while she went
to the factory and collected more work. And Liz wouldn’t lose her job because of a few days off sick. No, she was worrying over nothing. What she needed was a good night’s sleep, she couldn’t think straight at the moment. Nodding to herself she watched the door, her ears listening out for the footsteps on the stairs.

  Six

  ‘I don’t want to frighten you, ducks, but it looks like pneumonia to me,’ Mrs Simms said solemnly. ‘My Jim ’ad it a couple a years back. You know my Jim? The one that went orf and joined the Navy. Me eldest ’e is, but never got on wiv ’is dad, that’s why ’e left ’ome. Can’t say as I blame ’im for going, I don’t like the old bugger meself, but I don’t fink the navy would ’ave taken me.’ She chuckled softly, then seeing the frightened look on the young girl’s face she shuffled her feet awkwardly, her fingers scratching at the soiled, damp patch under her armpit.

  ‘Is she going to die, Mrs Simms?’ The question was barely above a whisper, and when the kindly woman looked into the white face, the brown eyes seeming to grow larger by the minute she drew her shoulders back and answered briskly.

  ‘Well now, my Jim pulled through it, so I don’t see why Liz can’t, it all depends on the constitution, like. Now then, you get that pot of water boiling, we’re gonna need plenty of steam to sweat it out of ’er. Charlie ’ere can ’elp by fetching the water from the yard, can’t you, love?’ she asked, directing her attention to the small boy who was still standing mutely by the door, bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

  ‘You heard what Mrs Simms said,’ Maggie said sharply, the fear inside her body making her angry. ‘Get as many pots and buckets as you can find and start filling them up, and don’t take all day about it.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, Maggie, I’m going,’ he answered quickly, pleased to be doing something to help. Gathering up three saucepans under his arm he made for the standpipe in the yard.

  ‘Right now, you ’elp me move the sofa nearer the fire. We’re gonna ’ave to get ’er as close as we can wivout setting the sofa alight.’ When that was done, Mrs Simms stood back, her round, homely face flushed with exertion.

  ‘That’s it, love, now all we can do is keep the pots boiling; plenty of steam, that’s wot’s needed, plenty of steam.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Simms, it was good of you to come down so quickly. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  The round face broke into a wide smile. ‘Don’t be daft, love, that’s wot neighbours are for, ain’t it. Now look, Maggie, I can stay wiv yer for abaht an hour, then I’ll ’ave to be orf. I’ve got a cleaning job on today. Lottie’s off school wiv a cold, so she can look after the rest of ’em until I get back. And I’ll pop back later when I’ve given ’em their tea.’

  Maggie’s heart dropped. She’d been trying to pluck up courage to ask her friend if she’d stay with Liz while she went to the factory to pick up some work, but now that avenue of help was closed. The only other person she knew to ask was Mrs Casey, but she too was at work. That left only Charlie, and she couldn’t leave him to care for Liz. If only it didn’t take so long to get to the factory and back she might have chanced it. With a resigned shrug of her shoulders she poured more water into the pot and stoked up the fire.

  * * *

  The heat in the room was almost unbearable. Maggie had taken off her patched brown skirt and pink cotton blouse. She was now clothed only in her thin shift and drawers, and they were both sticking to her skin. She’d been on her knees for most of the day, holding steaming pans close to Liz’s body in an effort to draw out the fever that was racking the tormented figure. Mrs Simms had returned as promised, and with her help they had stripped the unconscious form and rubbed the sweat-soaked body with warm towels. Mrs Casey had also come down, and the two elder women had stood to one side of the room, their faces grave as they’d discussed the situation, their faces breaking into false smiles of assurance whenever Maggie looked their way. They were both gone now, Mrs Simms back to her brood of children, and Mrs Casey to her evening stint at the hospital.

  Now it was getting on for eleven o’clock, with a long night to look forward to, and Liz seemed to be getting worse every minute. Charlie was asleep on the mattress, exhausted by the constant trips to the yard carrying back heavy pots of water. She’d turned out the gas lamp and lit a few candles, placing them on the mantelpiece. Her eyes burnt with fatigue, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip as she listened to the tortured sound of Liz’s breathing. The urgent pressure on her bladder forced her to rise, only to fall back on the floor, her cramped legs refusing to support her. Gritting her teeth she got to her feet, grimacing with distaste as she relieved herself in the chamber pot, but she was too tired to get dressed and go outside to the yard.

  ‘Thirsty, so thirsty,’ Liz called out weakly.

  Maggie was quickly by Liz’s side, holding a mug full of water to the parched lips, only to have it knocked out of her grasp. Maggie looked down at the pool of water spilling over the floor, her eyes bleak, and even when she felt the wetness spread around her legs she didn’t make any move to wipe it up. Leaning back on her heels she put her face in her hands and began to rock back and forth. There was nothing else she could do. Liz was going to die, and she was powerless to do anything about it. She thought back down the years; her mind reliving every fight, every unkind word that had passed between them and groaned inwardly. The only time she could remember them being close was the night they’d admitted their love for each other. She also recalled the embarrassment they’d both felt the following morning; neither of them had ever referred to that night again.

  And now she’d never have the chance to repeat those words – she had left it too late. Her shoulders began to heave as the first tears trickled between her closed fingers, then as if a dam had broken her whole body shook with grief, the torrent of tears gushing from her eyes. Adding to her grief was an overwhelming sense of guilt. She could have tried harder to make friends with Liz. Maybe if she’d been kinder, or a bit more understanding the rift between them wouldn’t have grown so big. If only she could take back some of the things she’d said, the hurtful words spoken in anger often followed by days of silence, both of them wanting to make up, but neither of them prepared to be the first one to say sorry. If only, if only: the most futile words in the world.

  The height of the crisis came at three o’clock in the morning. Opening her eyes briefly Liz spoke, her voice racked with pain as she struggled to utter the words she needed to say.

  ‘Ma… Maggie, sorry, so… sorry.’ Her hand came up weakly and stroked the tear-stained cheeks of her sister, and Maggie, too full with grief and exhaustion, could only grip the hand and hold it tight against her breast, gathering the hot body close to her own. When the coughing started again Maggie screwed her eyes up in pain at the sound. She could feel Liz’s heart racing wildly as the sweat oozed out of every pore in her body, soaking them both. Maggie began to pray, her lips uttering every prayer she had ever learnt, the mumbled words scarcely audible against the rasping, choking sounds coming from Liz’s throat.

  Time passed, and when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Joyce Casey standing by her side she showed no surprise at the unexpected presence but said simply, ‘She’s not going to make it, Mrs Casey.’

  When she felt herself being pulled away from Liz’s body she made no protest, but rolled over on the floor drawing her cramped legs up to her chin. Wrapping her numb arms around her knees, she lay still.

  Cradling Liz’s head in her arms the woman gazed down on the inert body, her eyes filled with sadness, and when she felt her shudder she thought for a moment Liz had gone. Then a soft sound came from Liz’s throat followed by a trickle of mucus from her mouth, and carefully removing her arm Joyce Casey laid the head back on the pillow.

  ‘Maggie, Maggie, love,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all over, she’s going to be all right, it’s all over.’

  But Maggie was past hearing. Stepping over the sleeping form, the tall figure removed her shawl then
settled down in the armchair and waited for the girls to awake.

  * * *

  ‘Come on, Liz, try and drink your soup, please, you need to get your strength back,’ Maggie pleaded, then sighed with relief as the mug was taken from her hand and Liz began to sip at the hot beverage. When she had finished she handed the mug back wordlessly, her blue eyes looking out vacantly from the pinched, white face.

  ‘There, that’s better, we’ll soon have you on your feet again,’ Maggie said, trying hard to keep her voice cheerful. Leaving the silent figure she put the mug in a large pot of water for washing later, then leant her arm on the mantelpiece, her hand idly wiping away the deposits of soot that rested on the top. The silence in the room bore down on her, making her feel both restless and angry. It had been three days since Liz had taken a turn for the better, yet to all outward appearances she might as well have died. Oh no, don’t think that; she shook her head quickly, ashamed at her thoughts. But if only Liz would say something, do something, instead of just sitting in the chair expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Maggie didn’t expect her sister to jump up suddenly and run round the room, she knew only too well how ill she’d been, but it wouldn’t hurt her to try and make some kind of effort, however small. Maggie didn’t begrudge the time she spent looking after Liz, she just wished she’d meet her halfway.

  Well, no matter how Liz was tomorrow, Maggie would have to leave her on her own. She’d already lost her job at the knickerbocker factory, a fact that had been driven home forcibly yesterday when she’d made the journey to Shoreditch, leaving Liz in the care of Mrs Simms. She had tried to explain to the foreman the reason for her absence, and when that had failed she had resorted to pleading, but all to no avail. The job she had been offered was no longer available to her, and all because she’d committed the unpardonable sin of putting family before work. That sort of behaviour was frowned upon by employers, who looked upon their workforce as objects to be used solely for their own benefit, objects that could be cast aside when they were no longer of any use. Working conditions were still poorly paid at best, and hazardous at worst, and Maggie couldn’t see the order of things changing in her lifetime.