‘That was my understanding too, sir,’ Dawson replied.
‘Didn’t you check the work before you paid the bill?’
Dawson looked indignant. ‘We have dealt with Mr Cashman for many years and I have never had cause to query his work.’
‘Well, I shall have to do so on behalf of the emergency committee,’ Robert told him, and noticed the two constables shoot a look at each other.
Dawson’s indignation turned to alarm. I am sure there is some mistake,’ he said.
Mr and Mrs Trundle flashed into Robert’s mind. Some mistake. That was Danny Donovan’s explanation for the discrepancies in the workhouse accounts.
The two constables had been introduced to Robert on his arrival at St George’s that morning but, other than acknowledging their presence on his morning’s walk, he hadn’t given them much thought. Now he studied them more closely. Both were big men, clean-shaven, with hands like shovels. They were neatly dressed - dapper, as the locals would put it - and looked as if they had been fashioned from the same mould. He turned away from the pump and walked to the end of the alley.
At the far end the stench from the rotting vegetation and human excrement was overpowering. He felt his eyes sting with the vapours drifting up from the floor.
God have mercy.
He had seen enough. He strode back to Dawson and the constables. They had remained at the pump and he could understand why. Even he was having problems with the contents of his stomach now.
Dawson looked visibly relieved when he saw Robert making his way back and took up his place behind him as they walked back up the alley. Half hidden in one of the doorways, a man watched them. Robert changed direction and marched over to him. Neither Dawson nor the constable followed.
The man regarding Robert from the low doorway stood at about five foot three or four. He wore a threadbare waistcoat over a stained shirt and breeches of an indeterminate dark colour, with bare legs and feet. He eyed Robert suspiciously.
‘Who are you?’ he asked before Robert could speak.
‘I’m Doctor Munroe,’ Robert told him, trying not to look at the lice crawling around the collar of the man’s shirt. ‘I am looking into the public works in the parish.’
The man’s face lost its belligerence. ‘Doctor Munroe, from Chapman Street?’ Robert nodded. The man snatched the hat from his head and touched his forelock. ‘Fergus Ryan’s me name and begging your pardon, sir.’ A grin spread across his face revealing a few lopsided yellow teeth. ‘We have all ’eard of how you have been fixing up the folks around ’ere, like.’ He screwed the hat in his hand. ‘And right pleased I am to meet you.’
‘Have you seen anyone come to fix the pump?’ Robert asked Ryan.
‘Me, sir? No, I ain’t seen no one. That old pump been like that since I came to live here three year ago.’ Ryan looked around and added quietly. ‘You’re a good man, sir, so I’ll tell you this and no more. There are a lot of people around here who say they are going to do this and that. But does any of it come our way? No. Because before the crumbs have fallen on the floor some fat Irish bird has swooped it away.’
Robert felt the two constables draw up behind him. Ryan gave them both a furtive look and stepped back into the house.
‘As I said, sir, I don’t know nothing,’ he said slamming the door.
Robert turned to face the two men standing behind him. They stood, as they had all morning, with impassive expressions on their freshly shaved faces.
Some fat Irish bird! As a prominent member of St George’s Parish Council, Danny Donovan would have had a say on any man appointed as a constable. It was a lucrative post in any parish and greatly sought after. He studied the constables again. It occurred to Robert that it might not have been only Dawson who was keen that he have the St George’s parish constables accompany him on his investigations.
The door creaked as Kitty pushed it open with a trembling hand. Inside the gloomy room, two small children sat together on the bare earth floor in front of the fire while an older child of about six or seven tried to feed them putty-coloured gruel. All three of them looked her way with wide-eyed wonder but didn’t utter a sound.
Holding her breath against the stench of stale beer, Kitty glanced around the room. Her room in Thomas Court was lavishly furnished compared to the one she was now standing in. Apart from the unlit fire, over which hung a pot on a chain, there was a small table barely sufficient for two people. In its centre was a bowl of what looked like three-day-old stew with a couple of flies darting around it. The floor was without the comfort of a rag rug which was the standard feature of even the poorest homes in the area. At the far end of the room was a old iron-framed bed with a striped ticking mattress on which Old Annie was taking her afternoon nap.
Kitty paused. Guilt gnawed at her. She had promised Ellen she would not seek Old Annie out but what else could she do? Danny’s child refused to budge. She had even drunk the last of the Gentlewoman’s Restorative, but she had nothing to show from it but an acid stomach and cramping bowels.
Nervously she clutched the two shillings in her hand and listened as a faint snoring came from the huddled form on the bed.
After Ellen left her she had dreamed of the possibility of going to America with her unborn child, making a new life in a new land. But in the cold light of day it was clear that the child inside her was determined to stay put and she would have to seek out Old Annie to persuade it otherwise.
‘Missus,’ the young child called in the direction of the bed.
Old Annie stirred and looked around her. She spotted Kitty and heaved herself off the bed.
The old woman, who was almost as wide as she was tall, scratched through her greasy hair and yawned. Discovering a nit, she cracked it between her finger and thumb then discarded it behind her.
The rumour around the streets was that Annie had been a beauty once but if that were so, Kitty could see no evidence of it now under the layer of grime that covered the older woman’s face. In an attempt to revive her youth Annie had daubed French rouge on both cheeks, but it only served to highlight the jaundice hue of her complexion. Kitty judged that the old, high-waisted dress stretched around the abortionist’s substantial frame was of some quality, but the delicate pink and blue of the pattern was hardly distinguishable amongst the stains of beer and food spattered down the front.
‘What can I do for you today, Kitty my love?’ Annie asked, pushing back a tangled strand of hair from her face. ‘Is it still your little inconvenience?’
Not able to speak, Kitty nodded.
‘Have you got the required?’
Kitty opened her hand and held out the two shillings. Annie took the coins, scraping Kitty’s palm with her overgrown nails. She slid her fee into her clothing and smiled, displaying a yellowing set of teeth. Close to her now, Kitty could smell gin.
Annie took her elbow and led her towards the bed. The urge to snatch her arm away and flee from the squalid house swept over Kitty.
Leave, leave, her mind shouted, but her feet continued to follow the older woman. Halfway across the room Annie stopped and turned her attention to the children on the floor.
‘Take the babies in next door to Rose for an hour,’ she told the older child. ‘Tell her I have a bit of business and I’ll see her right for her help.’
Without a word the child gathered up the babies and carried them out of the room. Annie watched her go then turned back to Kitty.
‘Let us begin to solve your little problem, eh? It won’t take but a minute.’ She pushed Kitty back on the bed.
Kitty’s heart was galloping and her mouth was dry. She stared at the bare plaster wall beside the bed. From somewhere in her clothing Annie produced a bottle and thrust it at Kitty.
‘Have a mouthful of this,’ she commanded. ‘It’ll steady your nerves.’
Kitty did as she was told and swallowed a burning mouthful of cheap brandy.
Other women do this all the time. Belle told me she had seen Annie on th
ree occasions and was none the worse for it, Kitty argued with herself as she heard Annie open the cupboard. The brandy was already swimming though her brain, so she stole a quick glance. Annie had pulled out an enamel bowl and placed it on the top. Beside it was a china jug. Kitty swallowed and looked.
After this I swear I’ll not let Danny have his way with me any more, she vowed at the sound of Annie pouring water into the jug.
Annie knocked her arm with the bottle of brandy. ‘Take another.’
Kitty did. Again it burnt on the way down but now it joined its predecessor. It was making her thoughts swim. Her head rolled towards where Annie was preparing her equipment.
There was a flash of metal as she wiped a strangely curved blade with an almost clean rag. Kitty watched.
Carefully covering the bowl containing her implements Annie turned to Kitty.
‘Now, my sweet,’ she sniffed, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘It’s going to hurt like your monthlies but worse, that’s what the brandy’s for. And you won’t be able to do much until the child falls away but you should be as right as rain in a week. Do you understand?’
Kitty nodded.
‘Right then, lift your skirts, open your legs and let me get on with it.’
Kitty nodded and, pulling up her skirt, positioned herself so Annie had access. Turning her head away and staring at the wall, again she heard the scrape of metal on enamel.
Eight
The woman in the bed looked as white as the sheet she was lying on. Her blue eyes had smudgy dark rings around them and were sunk deep in her head. Her almost-white blonde hair was plastered to her skull with sweat. She stared up at Robert.
‘I’m done for ain’t I, sir.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘I am afraid you are, Miss Henry,’ he agreed. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘Call me Kitty,’ she said, in a whisper of a voice. ‘I did it to myself when I let that pig Danny at me again.’
‘I mean who helped you abort the child?’ Robert said, moved by the stoical manner in which the young woman on the bed approached her death.
‘I don’t know her name, sir.’
‘What did she use?’ Robert asked in a tender voice.
Kitty gulped. ‘A small hook on a long stick-like thing.’
‘Have you been to her before?’
‘All the girls go to her from time to time if the mother’s ruin and a bath don’t work,’ Kitty told him.
He had seen the result of too many mismanaged efforts to be rid of an unwanted child. Most women got away with it, for a time, but for some, like Kitty, a trip to the local old woman was a trip to the grave and a painful trip at that. For one awful second a picture of Ellen under the hand of this abortionist came into Robert’s mind.
Kitty’s face contorted in agony and she grabbed hold of her stomach, drawing up her legs. Robert left his uneasy thoughts and beckoned the nurse.
‘Sister Perry, if you please, a measure of laudanum for Miss Henry every three hours.’
‘Yes, Doctor Munroe.’ Sister Perry made her way to the chest in the corner of the room and took her keys from under her white apron.
Robert sighed and placed a hand on Kitty’s clammy forehead. She shivered as a rigor swept over her and her teeth chattered. Sister Perry bustled back and spooned in a measure of syrup, then adjusted the covers. Kitty settled and Robert stepped back to consult with the two medical students. He shook his head and glanced back at the now quiet young woman.
‘Poor woman,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘But surely the wom—’ Maltravers started.
‘Surely what?’ interrupted Robert. ‘Surely she knows it’s an offence to procure the death of her child? I’m sure she does. Surely it’s her own fault for getting herself with child? I doubt it was her choice,’ Robert said harshly.
‘Surely it is a consequence of her loose morals?’
Robert’s eyes went back to the woman on the bed and saw Ellen instead of Kitty lying there struggling for breath. ‘Kitty Henry is probably no more than twenty-five and now she is dying.’
‘I was just looking to the justice of the situa—’ Maltravers said.
‘Justice!’ Robert’s head snapped around. ‘What of the man, Maltravers? Where is his justice in this?’
‘A man is a man, sir. This Danny fellow Miss Henry mentioned...’
Danny! It was a common enough name, but...
Robert shot back to the bed. ‘Miss Henry.’ She turned dimming eyes to him. ‘Danny who?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer, just looked calmly at him, then her eyes started to flicker as she began to slip into unconsciousness. He had to know.
‘Who, Kitty? Danny who?’
Her lips moved and Robert lowered his head to catch what she was saying.
‘Danny Donovan,’ Kitty whispered with a sigh. Robert drew back slightly, a cold hand over his heart.
Danny Donovan was not content with ruining Ellen, he had pressed his attentions on Kitty as well. Did Ellen know? Did she care?
Robert was pulled back from his thoughts by a knocking at the door, and the ward orderly stepped into the room. ‘Excuse me, Doctor, but Miss Henry’s sister is asking to come in.’
‘Yes, of course, she’s just in time,’ Robert said. ‘Gentlemen, there is nothing more to be done here, I suggest we—’ The words died on his lips as the door opened and Ellen, soberly dressed and with tears in her eyes, walked in.
She stopped dead when she saw him. For a brief second delight registered, then it was gone. She turned to Kitty, who was now breathing very shallowly, and dashed over to the bed. She knelt down beside Kitty and gently smoothed the hair off the dying woman’s face.
Young and Maltravers were waiting by the door for him, but Robert just stood staring down at Ellen, who now wept softly holding Kitty’s hand.
The soft sheen of Ellen’s hair glowed auburn in the light from the window.
‘I’ll join you presently, gentlemen,’ he said, then drew up a chair next to where Ellen knelt.
‘Oh, Kitty, you promised not to go to see...’ Ellen stopped as she felt Robert move next to her. ‘See who?’ Robert asked gently.
‘I thank you for what you’ve done for Kitty, but don’t let me keep you, Doctor Munroe,’ Ellen said with a catch in her voice.
‘Who?’ Robert persisted.
‘Some... some old woman Kitty was told about,’ Ellen said, not meeting his eye.
‘Why are you protecting the person who did this to your sister?’ Robert asked.
Ellen sat back on her heels and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘The person who did this to Kitty has dangerous friends, Doctor Munroe.’
‘But surely—’
‘Dangerous friends,’ she repeated.
She gave Kitty, who was now lying peacefully, a small, brave smile which made his heart melt. ‘I’m not actually her kin, but I’m the nearest thing to a sister that Kitty has and I had to see her before...’ Ellen trailed off.
A feeling of protectiveness swept over Robert. He wanted to take Ellen in his arms and tell her he was sorry for his abominable treatment of her in the Angel. To have her cry on his chest and for him to hold her safe, safe from everything.
What was he thinking of?
He stood up so abruptly that both Ellen and Sister Perry started. ‘I’ll leave you, Mrs O’Casey. I have...’
‘Yes, of course.’
Robert had to go, but still he stood staring at Ellen kneeling on the floor beside the bed.
‘If there is anything you need, just ask Sister Perry and she will attend to it I am sure,’ he said, still not moving.
‘Thank you, Doctor Munroe.’
‘And I’m truly sorry, Mrs O’Casey, for Kitty and’ - the nurse moved closer to them and put her hand on Kitty’s pasty cheek, Robert bit his lip - ‘and for the other night at the Angel.’
For a second, Ellen’s eyes softened as they rested on his face, then her reserved
expression returned. She inclined her head as elegantly as a duchess, but said nothing.
Go, his brain shouted at his feet and reluctantly they responded. As he reached the door he turned to see Ellen on her knees, head down and a small string of rosary beads moving through her fingers as she prayed over the dying young woman.
Bridget awoke with a start as the front door slammed. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the window. The light was almost gone. It must be nearly seven. Standing up she went to the range and moved the simmering kettle back onto the full flame.
Ellen almost fell into the room and threw herself onto the spindle-leg chair. She buried her head in her arms and sobbed loudly.
‘Good heaven’s, child, you’re soaking,’ said Bridget, crossing the room and placing a hand on Ellen’s shaking shoulders. ‘Take off that coat and warm yourself by the fire before you catch your death.’
Ellen rose and stumbled to the fire as Bridget stripped the sodden jacket from her back.
‘Whatever has happened?’
Ellen turned a tear-stained face to her. ‘Kitty’s dead.’
‘Dead! How dead?’
Ellen’s eyes darted around the room. ‘Where is Josie?’
‘She’s with Mrs Nolan helping with the twins. Patrick said he’d bring her back. Now tell me what’s happened.’
Ellen sobbed out the story then threw her head down on her arms. Bridget put her arms around Ellen and hugged her close.
After fifteen minutes or so Ellen looked up. ‘Kitty and the baby could have come to Joe’s in America and met someone better than Danny. Someone to love her and who would treat her right, not blame her for being caught in the family way.’ She looked mournfully at her. ‘And Josie asks me why I haven’t married again.’
‘Did Kitty know you? At the end I mean,’ Bridget asked.
Ellen nodded. ‘She did. When I got there she was in a side ward. There was a physician and some of his students looking into her case. The physician, Doctor Munroe, had ordered her to be given a draught of laudanum so she wasn’t in too much pain.’ A tear skidded down Ellen’s cheek and she wiped it away. She looked up at Bridget. ‘You should have seen her lying there, as white as a sheet with her breath hardly making it past her lips.’
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