To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  ‘Issy. Oh, Issy.’

  Memory slapped her. Oh, God! ‘Ma, Miss Dvina . . . ?’

  ‘She’s going along alreet, lass, thanks to your quick actions. Though the poor soul has lost babby as she were carrying.’

  ‘Oh, no. Oh, Ma . . . and De . . . Denny and . . .’

  ‘Aye, lass.’

  ‘Ma.’ Her throat tightened as if something had wrapped itself around it and strangled her words. She wanted to tear what felt like pain-filled tentacles from her, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even cry.

  ‘You’re going to get well again, love. You’ve hurt your ribs and have a lot of bruising, but you’ll be reet. You just need time. We both do.’

  Issy saw the agony of loss in her ma’s pale face, felt it reach out and connect with the void inside herself. She knew they both needed more than time. No amount of time would heal them. What had happened almost a week ago had ripped their hearts out. She for one would never get over it. She’d never recover from losing her da – the man who had loved her and taken care of her all her life – or from losing Denny, the man who had brought to her a love she didn’t know existed, making her bloom as if the sun had kissed her. And now she would never ever see him again. Oh, Denny, Denny . . .

  13

  Bridie

  Liverpool, March 1876

  The betrayal

  ‘Will you get out tonight after tea, Beth?’

  Wrapped up against a bitter March wind that she thought would bring snow, Bridie rocked the wooden pram as she spoke to Beth through the railings of the gate. Baby Eliza had fallen asleep at last, and Bridie had walked with her and the two older children to the back of the large house where Beth now worked.

  Everything had fallen into place these last three months. Beth was free and had settled in as a maid at a house just down the road from where Bridie herself had a position as trainee nanny to the bank manager’s children. Her aunt and uncle had been easy to sway, once she had lured them with the promise of giving her money to them. All that remained now was to await the release of the secure box, and their plans would fall into place. Every time she thought of it – the long boat trip, arriving in a foreign land and, best of all, becoming Seamus’s wife – excitement threatened to choke her.

  Beth shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to see. Problem is, it’s dark by the time I have all the dishes finished, and then we’re expected to go to our rooms.’

  ‘’Tis as if you have no more freedom than you had in the convent.’

  ‘Aw, it ain’t that bad, love. I know where I’d rather be. What are you planning for later, then?’

  ‘Seamus is wanting me to bring you to him. He says as there are papers we have to fill out and he needs details of you.’

  ‘Oh, Bridie, I’m not sure on all of this. Why don’t you go without me, just you and him? I’d only be a burden to you, lass.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Beth. ’Tis a wonderful life as awaits us. You are not for carrying on this drudgery, to be sure you are not, for I won’t let you. We are so near to having everything ready, and Seamus says we should be sailing away by the end of the month, so we should.’

  ‘You’re reet there; the land of plenty sounds a lot better than the land of scrubbing and doing others’ bidding. Leave it with me, I’ll sneak some paper and an envelope and, after a time in my room, I’ll ask if I can slip out to post a letter. That should do it. Meet me at the end of the road at around seven.’

  Bridie’s heart skipped a beat a few days later when Mr Proctor summoned her to his office in his home. Seamus had everything ready, just waiting for the money to pay for it all. And now, as she stood before Mr Proctor, she hoped he had news. For sure it must be her money he wanted to talk to her about, for he wouldn’t be the one to tell her if she had not pleased them as a nanny. That would fall to Mrs Proctor.

  ‘Well, Bridie, I’m having good reports of your work, and my children love you. You have made a big difference in their lives, bringing them some fun, which they were lacking before. I hope you are happy in your position here and will stay with us, even after you have your hands on what your father left for you.’

  Bridie could not look him in the eye. Deceiving him didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t tell him the truth, as Seamus had said she must not confide in anyone. He was fair afraid that if their plan got out and folk started to probe, his safety would be in jeopardy.

  ‘Well, I have news,’ Mr Proctor continued. ‘Everything is in order for you to come to the bank and access your box.’

  ‘Oh, to be sure that’s wonderful, so it is.’

  ‘Oh? I didn’t realize it still meant so much to you. After all, you are settled here and your friend is out of the convent. Have you further plans you want to put into operation, Bridie?’

  Thinking quickly, she remembered her promise to her aunt. ‘Aye, I have, sir. Me aunt is desperate to get out of the hovel she lives in.’

  ‘But . . . well, do they deserve your help? Did you not tell me they were treating you badly and they only had in mind to take what you have? I should think very carefully about this, Bridie. Have they got at you in some way?’

  ‘I . . . I think it was mistaken I was about them. I . . . I was hasty in me judgement.’

  ‘Well, the first thing is to see how much you have. You may have enough to give them something, but your future is what is important and I have given the matter some thought. You and your friend are well set up for now, but in years to come – well, when my children have outgrown the need for a nanny – you may need funds. You may want to set up a little business and a home, or you may meet someone you want to marry and set up home with. There are several longterm accounts that pay very good interest . . .’

  Bridie listened to him explaining the prudence of planning for her future. His voice droned on, and each syllable grated into her the difficulty of her situation. This man wasn’t for letting her just collect her money. He had in mind to take care of her interests, and she had no argument against him or the good sense he spoke. If only she dared tell him what she really planned to do.

  ‘So, Bridie, I want you to come to the bank on – let me see . . .’ His fingers leafed through a few pages of his desk diary.

  Sweat dampened Bridie’s clothes, and she stood as still as a deer sensing danger.

  ‘Monday, yes. I’ll arrange it with Mrs Proctor. The groom will drive you in at eleven. You and I and your box will have a meeting at half-past. Let’s hope, once you turn the key, you will find that the contents will give you enough to make a small gift to your aunt but, most of all, will secure your future. Well, is that settled, then? Good. Now, you had better get back to your charges before they cause mayhem.’

  It was all she could manage just to say ‘Thank you’ and give him a smile. He looked quizzically at her, but didn’t question her. With luck he might think it had all been too much for her to take in. Too much! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what was it that she was to do now?

  ‘Can you not go there before Monday, Bridie? Just walk in and ask for your box? ’Tis yours, is it not? Sure, no one can stop you.’

  ‘How? I have an afternoon off on Friday, but when I get to the bank, sure Mr Proctor himself will be there. He’ll see me or, if he doesn’t, that clerk of his will alert him, so he will. Besides, I haven’t the papers. Mr Proctor has them at his bank and—’

  ‘Shush a moment. ’Tis as you have so many barriers I cannot think.’

  Bridie had been dreading telling Seamus, and his reaction was what she had expected, as she knew he didn’t like things not going his way. She’d worried over it all for the rest of the day, and had had to lie her way out of the house to come and see him to tell him the news. She watched his brow knit together as he stood up and paced up and down, his fist tapping his forehead. Anguish and fear shivered through her body. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and inched nearer to the fire. Seamus always had a fire on the go. This one was set in a brazier made out of a ba
rrel that she imagined had once had a life as a container on one of the big ships. She had no idea how Seamus had got hold of it, but then his ways and those of his clan had always been a mystery to her.

  A delicious smell of potatoes baking came from the brazier, and she could see through the holes on the side that Seamus had poked two large ones into the embers. Although she wasn’t hungry, her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of them, but she shook her head against the memories invoked and concentrated on watching the can of water bobbing about as it hung over the fire on a rod. The steam from it blurred her vision of Seamus for a moment, so that when he did speak she jumped. But his words were for giving hope.

  ‘Bridie, you have to use the cunning I know you possess. You have to speak again with your boss and convince him you are powerfully worried concerning the contents of the box. Tell him ’tis as you always imagined being on your own when you opened it in case there is something of a personal nature inside, meant just for you. Tell him you would like to come in on Friday and have a moment in a room where you will not be disturbed.’

  ‘But how will that help? I . . .’

  ‘Listen, Bridie, I have it all worked out. Take with you a bag in which you have put a book. There must be one you can be getting your hands on at the house? Make sure it is as heavy as, say, a jar of the home-made jam your mammy used to make, and no bigger than the Bible as stood next to my grandmother’s bed. Cos I am of the mind that your pappy would have put coins in the box – many a sovereign, in fact . . .’

  Bridie, still mystified but afraid to interrupt him, listened to his every word. Nothing seemed clear to her yet, or even like a plan that would work.

  ‘’Tis quick you will have to be, Bridie, for the next stage to work. You need to replace the contents of the box with the book, and then put into your bag everything you take out. Have something to cover it, and hold it to you; and whatever you do, don’t drop it. And don’t be showing the nerves you will be feeling. Nothing about you must suggest you are up to something.’

  ‘But on Monday . . .’

  ‘Bridie, will you try to think ahead? You won’t be going back to the house. I will wait for you and we will go to the other side of Liverpool until—’

  ‘But Beth . . .’

  ‘Is it an eejit as you are? Have I to work everything out?’

  His tone shocked her into silence. Never before had Seamus spoken to her like that.

  ‘Oh, me wee Bridie, I’m sorry. ’Tis fair worried I am, but I shouldn’t take it out on you. ’Tis as you who haven’t had the upbringing to make you as cunning in your thoughts as meself and me clan.’

  ‘You put a fear into me, Seamus. And you should know, I’ll not be standing for you doing that to me. ’Tis right as I haven’t had the schooling you have had in the duping of folk, but then wasn’t it me as taught you your letters!’

  ‘Ha! I deserved that, and I can see as I’m not going to get me own way with you. I like that, Bridie lass. I’ve always liked the spirit of you, and I can see your will is as strong when it comes to taking Beth with us as it has always been. I’ll give me mind to the solving of the problem if you will give me a moment.’

  Her anger boiled inside her. His saying sorry hadn’t settled it. How dare he? She turned her attention from him. The pot bubbled and spat. She would set about making the tea to occupy herself whilst he sat and mulled over the Beth problem. She’d seen Seamus open a hatch on the side of the Vardo and bring out the supplies he needed, so she went to it and opened it up. Inside she found the same tea caddy she’d seen in his grandmother’s wagon. The little key still hung from the latch, defying anyone to open it. As she took it out, the feel of it reminded her of the mission Seamus had talked her through. Would she be able to carry it out? Would she get to be alone with the box at the bank? She had to. She willed herself into thinking: I can do it . . . I can . . .

  By the time she had brewed two steaming mugs of nettle tea, Seamus had begun talking again. ‘There is only one solution I can come up with. Beth has to leave the house on Friday. She will have to get away under some pretence and meet up with you when you leave the bank.’

  ‘’Tis sure I am as Beth won’t be able to do that. It’ll have to be next Wednesday, as she has a day off then and we—’

  ‘Is it obstacles you still need to put in me way? So be it, then. Wednesday it is, but she is to play the innocent until then as to your whereabouts. Can she be doing that, do you think?’

  ‘Oh, you have no worries where Beth is concerned. Hasn’t she had to come up with many a trick at the convent to get Agnes’s letters and . . .’

  ‘And who is Agnes?’

  ‘She is a friend of Beth’s, but you have no need to worry about her. Sure she hasn’t been in touch for a while.’

  Seamus’s impatience showed in his sigh. He didn’t seem to understand that her tongue ran away with her when her nerves gave her the gyp.

  ‘Well, on Wednesday she is to make her way to the docks. I will meet her there meself and bring her to you. I’ll have a lot to do around that area, so I will. I have a man I have to meet who will supply us with our papers, and I have heard there is a ship due in. She sails for America on the following Friday. We have to be on it, Bridie. No matter what happens, we have to be on it.’

  An excitement tingled in her, but fear mingled with it as she realized how soon everything was to happen. And what about clothes, and his Vardo and his horse – there was so much they hadn’t discussed, and she didn’t think she could get out again on a pretext of needing some air. Mrs Proctor already showed signs of suspecting there was more to her little walks.

  ‘Don’t be firing off at me again, Seamus. It may be as I sound like an eejit, but a lot is on me mind.’ She outlined her worries.

  ‘There’ll be money enough for you to buy essentials, and I have thought of the clothing you will need. There’s a shop. It is for taking in frocks and coats and stuff from those who still like to think of themselves as ladies of means. They sell their stuff on to this shop, and the money they’re due comes off the making of new outfits. ’Tis run by the wife of the man I told you of, who is to get our papers. It seems the pair of them get up to many tricks, but are after making a fair living, so they are. You and Beth can go there on the morning of the sailing. I’ve already spoken of it to the owner, and she will close to all other customers so as not to delay you. And for the money I am to give them they will have a trunk ready to pack with whatever you choose to buy.’

  As she listened, her nerves calmed. Seamus went on to tell her about a clan of Romany gypsies in the area who would take his Vardo and horse and all the belongings he would no longer need. He really had thought of everything. She had nothing to worry about.

  Seamus had paced up and down for an hour now. He’d even walked up the gangplank once, but had turned back just as the steward had started to welcome him aboard. Where were they? Hadn’t he hired a hansom cab to take them to the shop and to wait for them until they were ready? Sure, they should have been here an hour since. His own trunk had gone on, and the steward loading it had asked him if it should go in the hold or into his cabin. He’d been for choosing to have it with him, as it contained the rest of his and Bridie’s money. Now upwards of a hundred people had boarded. Most seemed to have crowded onto the decks and were hanging over the rails, waving at friends and family milling around the dock.

  The boat had been in Liverpool for a week, and every day he’d come down to gaze at her and watch her crew prepare her for her journey – his journey, the one that would change his life and put him into safety forever. He looked around once more. The girls were nowhere in sight. As he turned back, Seamus caught a glimpse of one of the dockhands and his heart stopped. Joseph Kilroy! If he was to look up and see Seamus, he’d be lost, for wasn’t Joseph in the pay of the Fenians, and wouldn’t he know of the price on his head?

  The choices that he’d had now left him. There was no longer the option of waiting for Bridie, and maybe tra
velling on the next boat if she didn’t make it. His pace as he sprinted up the gangplank would have earned him a first in any race. He shook the hand offered to him, accepted the ‘Welcome aboard, sir’ and hurried inside the ship.

  Sweat rolled off his face, and he loosened his cravat. Bloody silly piece of attire, if ever he’d seen one! Why wear a scarf in such a way? Wasn’t it good enough just to tie it around your neck and have done with it?

  Finding an empty couch in what seemed to him like the inside of a palace, he sat down to try to think what to do next. In his hand he held the papers that would give passage to Bridie and Beth, and he’d only given them enough money to purchase a few outfits.

  Could he take their papers to the steward at the top of the gangplank? But then, weren’t they after being forgeries? And wasn’t it possible the man would notice that, if he held them long enough?

  Fear held Seamus back from going out onto the deck to look out for the girls, in case Joseph happened to look up and see him. There was nothing he could do other than leave without them. The heart of him felt heavy at the decision, but he had to accept it. Wouldn’t he come back and fetch Bridie in a few years anyway? Once all the fuss had died down, there would be nothing to stop him. Bridie was very young and would fare well. That bank manager fellow seemed to have taken to her, and didn’t she say she’d left him a note in her box telling him how sorry she was, and explaining that she had plans she knew everyone would stop her from following? And in it she asked him to forgive her, and not to worry about her as she would be safe. Sure enough he’d be after looking out for her. He’d take her back. Bridie would be all right . . .

  ‘Please, please find a way around this. To be sure, there must be another route you can take. We have a boat to catch.’