To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  ‘Oh, Issy, ’tis that I’ll never be for leaving that place.’

  ‘Never say never, lass. Eeh, that knight on a white charger still might come over the hill.’ They laughed at this. ‘Anyroad, love, it’s better than prison – at least I can visit, and if you get one of them tickets as lets you out for a day, we can go for picnics and walks. There’ll be lots for you to look forward to, I’ll see to that.’ She took Bridie’s hand, adding, ‘By, love, you’ve some calluses since we last met! What’s caused them?’

  ‘It’s the new job they gave me. I do oakum-picking now, but I am thinking, as I’m long-term, they will be taking me in to work in the infirmary. I told them I have a way in me for caring for the sick.’

  ‘Aw, that’d be grand for you. But what the Devil is oakum-picking when it’s at home?’

  ‘We sit for hours shredding fibres from old hemp rope. They are after saying as the material is used in shipbuilding – they mix it with tar and use it to line the wooden boats.’

  ‘See, you’re getting yourself an education. You know all about shipbuilding already.’

  ‘Oh, Issy . . .’ Bridie’s giggle verged on the hysterical, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to laugh her fear and heartbreak out, instead of weeping. There’d be many hours for doing that.

  ‘Well, enough funning. What happens now?’

  ‘They said I’m to be back here to catch the cart as takes everyone where they are to go, at around five. They said I had time with me friend, arranged for me by someone of influence, who had been after guaranteeing I wouldn’t run away.’

  ‘Oh, well, we know who that was.’

  ‘Aye, the bastard who was for putting me here in the first place. Oh, Issy, I hate him, I hate him with everything I am.’

  ‘Come on, love, at least he sent me to you. He told me to wait for you and spend some time with you, so he sorted that. Keep your energy for getting through this; don’t waste it on scum like him. There’s a cafe down the road. Let’s go and have a cuppa, eh?’

  Sipping the steaming hot, sweet liquid brought a calm into Bridie. She wasn’t yet ready for a bite of the huge cream bun; she wanted to savour it, look at it, be really ready to enjoy it and remember the experience of it. ‘You know, Issy, it seems a shame that the punishment that is rightfully Andrew Harvey’s is meted out to his wife. Has she recovered yet from the loss of her babby?’

  ‘She’ll never get better from that, not really. She were seven months, and the babby were formed proper, like . . . Oh, God, I forgot for a moment, Bridie! I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘No, away with you – I’d never be for taking anything you said as hurtful, Issy. It’s a fact as little Eric was like that, but that is for making me feel for Mrs Harvey even more. And for you, love, for you are in attendance when it happens, and you care.’

  ‘Ta, love. I let me tongue have its own path more than I should. Poor Miss Dvina . . . Eeh, that’s another thing: I can’t stop thinking of her as that. Anyroad, she’s not well. She’s taken to her bed, and Dr Payne is worried something sinister is ailing her. The weight has dropped off her. Her skin has yellowed, and she can’t eat without it coming back up. I’m feared for her, Bridie.’

  ‘It’s not for sounding good. Me mammy went that way. It should be him, not her.’

  ‘Well, he ain’t in good health, not since the whipping. They say he has a weak heart. He has to take it easy.’

  ‘At least that’s after some justice coming down on him, then.’

  ‘Aye, though I don’t think he deserved that whipping. The lowest of the low don’t deserve owt like that. And he suffers over Miss Dvina. In his own way he does love her.’

  Wanting to change the subject, Bridie said, ‘Thinking on little Eric, it’s his anniversary soon. Will you take Bridget up with some flowers for him? And I know as you’ll keep Will’s and Janet’s grave tidy. One day I’ll visit it, Issy, but I always have Will in the heart of me, so it won’t matter if I don’t.’

  ‘You will, love, and of course I’ll take care of them. Now eat that bun afore I pinch it off you.’

  ‘I’ve been saving it, enjoying thinking of eating it and what it will taste like, making the pleasure of it last, but I will eat it now. Tell me about me little Bridget whilst I do. Anything – anything you can think of – so that I can picture her and what she’s getting up to.’

  ‘She does wonderful drawings. Here, she sent one for you. It’s a cat playing with a ball.’

  ‘Would you look at that? That’s grand, so it is! Isn’t she for taking after her pappy? He loved to draw, so he did. Oh, Issy . . .’

  ‘I know, love. I feel your pain. Let’s leave it, eh?’

  ‘No, don’t let me tears put you off. Tell me more. I can cope. I need the thoughts of her to get me through, so I do.’

  Issy went on to say how Bridget loved the doll’s house Tom made for her third birthday last February . . . and now, here she was, my little babby, just four months off being four years old! Issy’s voice penetrated Bridie’s thoughts once more: ‘She likes swapping and changing the rooms around and living a little life in it with the corn-dollies.’

  ‘Oh, bless the heart of her. Maybe if you have time you can start to teach her her letters, so that she can write to me?’

  ‘I were coming to that next. Look on the back of the picture. She’s written her name.’

  ‘’Tis clear as well! Oh, love, you are for doing a wonderful job. I can’t find the words to thank you.’

  ‘She is thanks enough; she brings us so much happiness. And you putting faith in us to take care of her; that means a lot.’

  ‘’Tis as you and Tom will make wonderful parents.’

  ‘I know, and it’s not for the want of practising that we’re not as yet. It just doesn’t seem to happen.’

  ‘It will. One day it will surprise you. Just keep trying. Every dream is worth waiting for, as long as you’re ready to catch it when it comes to you.’

  ‘That’s like the saying on your locket as I keep for you, ain’t it? They’re lovely words. Maybe one day they’ll come true for you, love.’

  ‘At times it’s been for being a reality, but the curse that is in me has always destroyed it. Maybe it’s right I should take me punishment. Maybe after that – if ever there is an end to it – things will be right for me.’

  ‘You don’t deserve punishment! You’ve been sinned against and that has made you make some bad choices, but yes, love. It will come right, I know it will.’

  Bridie bit into the bun. Even though it tasted like Heaven, it didn’t dispel the dread in her that her life would never come right again.

  Exhaustion, his constant companion of late, hit Andrew when he arrived home. The last six weeks had drained him, but now it was over. Not a bad result, all in all. The death sentence passed on Paddy Docherty had shocked him somewhat, but then – if he thought of how the bastard had done a lot of the dirty work for Seamus and of his involvement in murder, as well as the child abductions – he knew the man had received his just deserts.

  Jameson took his coat. ‘May I ask, sir, how it all went?’

  ‘Of course.’ Andrew gave a short account of the events, ending with, ‘I think a whisky would go down well, please, Jameson, and will you let Wilson know I am home? Tell him to run a hot bath for me and prepare my morning suit. And ask Mrs Harvey’s nurse to come to me, will you?’ He took the letters off the platter offered to him. ‘Thank you.’

  As he waited for the nurse, the heaviness in him seemed to take on extra weight. He just didn’t know how he would face losing Dvina. The doctor had warned him he should prepare himself for doing so, but, Christ, how did one prepare oneself for such a thing as that? How did you face losing the love of your life? Somehow, he knew this was his punishment.

  Bridie came to his mind. It had been a shock to hear her call out her love for Seamus. She must feel like he did, having lost someone she loved – and for the second time, too! In that, he felt sorry for her, but her admissi
on had confirmed that he’d been right: the two were in cahoots with each other, even if not on the day he’d suggested they were. And now he had no doubt that she’d gone willingly, despite what Isabella had heard.

  Nothing about that afternoon had come out in their testimony. Just as Richard had said, neither the questions asked by the prosecution, nor those asked by the defence, had allowed it to. The jury had taken his version of events as the truth. It had shocked Andrew that the barrister for the defence hadn’t pursued it. He could have made something of it in Seamus’s favour, so there must have been some oiling of palms. And that probably accounted for Richard asking for more money. He’d said it was a one-time thing, and they could go back to their usual arrangement after the trial.

  This was an arrangement that he must address. He couldn’t go on making these regular payments. It wasn’t that they hurt him financially, but he had to account for them somehow. He’d offer a settlement – a very generous amount; or maybe buy a house for Richard and Anna and put it on a long lease, then leave it to them, or their next of kin if they didn’t outlive him. Yes, that could be the thing. They could sell their present home, which he knew they owned, as it had been part of Anna’s inheritance. That would provide them with adequate funds to continue the lifestyle they’d taken up.

  These thoughts settled him. It seemed he could put this whole sordid affair behind him at last. He sipped his whisky and thought of his beloved, Dvina. After losing their fifth child at seven months, Dvina had deteriorated before his very eyes. The weight had dropped off her and her body had been racked with sickness. A tumour in her womb had been diagnosed. A dread settled in him, but no. There was hope. There had to be!

  A tap on the door made him jump. Jameson stood there announcing the nurse.

  ‘Come in, Nurse. Please take a seat. How is Mrs Harvey?’

  ‘She is comfortable, sir. She has slept most of the day.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good, very good . . .’

  ‘No, it isn’t, sir. Sorry, sir, but in my experience this peace does come just before . . . before . . . Anyway, I took the liberty of sending for the doctor earlier. He came, and he says the same. I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Good God! Are you saying she is dying? Now? But I thought . . . I thought she might get better . . .’

  ‘No, sir. I’ve never seen anyone get better when this takes them.’

  ‘But the doctor said he thought the tumour had reduced.’

  ‘It is difficult to say, but it’s possible she has others inside, where we can’t see them. She is fighting, trying to stay with you, sir, but . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Nurse, I understand. I’ll come up later and sit with her. You can take a break then. If she wakes, tell her I am home and will be with her shortly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Somehow he made his way to his bathroom. Once undressed, he dismissed Wilson. He resisted the hot water for a moment, dipping one toe in, then taking it out, and it took him a while to get fully in. When he did, he let the heat soothe him. When he relaxed his head back on the pillow Wilson always hung over the end of the bath, a huge sigh left his body. With it came the tears. And not just tears: huge sobs choked him, giving him no time to breathe in between. It felt to him as if his whole world was weeping, and everything had either tumbled or was about to tumble around him. Oh God, Dvina really was going to die. She really is going to leave me. How am I to bear it, how? His body trembled with the exertion, but he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. The cathartic effect gave him some relief. When at last the wave of agony subsided, he rang his bell. Wilson came through the door in an instant. ‘Have you been standing out there, Wilson?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir. I was worried about you. I heard you as I was putting your clothes away. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No, of course not. It was good of you to think of my safety. And to allow me that time to let out my grief. I suppose you and all the staff are aware of how things are with Mrs Harvey?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I am deeply sorry.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll just put on some pyjamas and my dressing coat, please, Wilson. Not the morning suit. And will you tell Cook I won’t want dinner tonight, but if she could leave some soup ready for me and anyone who might arrive, perhaps you will serve us later.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and Wilson, I will need a letter delivering to my mother. And I don’t want any callers, not tonight – only my mother if she is well enough to come over, and any medical people. Anyone else, just inform them that Mrs Harvey’s death – well, it is imminent and only family should be here.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  Dealing with the practical things made him feel a bit better, giving him a sense that he could cope. Once he’d accomplished everything, he went through to Dvina.

  She lay in a peaceful sleep, her hair spread over the white pillow. The care it had received over the last years had rendered it less wiry and had put a sheen on it. The sight of her gaunt face cut into his heart.

  Telling the nurse to take an hour’s break, he climbed onto the bed and lay as close as he could to Dvina. Her eyes opened, and her voice was weak as she said, ‘Is it done?’

  ‘Yes, darling, the trial is over. Everything happened as Richard said it would.’

  ‘And Br-Bridie?’

  ‘She surprised us all by declaring her love for Seamus, though she didn’t jeopardize the verdict, as it was just prior to her sentencing. She has been officially declared a pauper, so is committed to Deanhouse until such time as she can come up with fifty pounds.’

  ‘P-pay the sum – clear the slate, darling.’

  This shocked him. Had he never fooled her? Did she know what really went on?

  ‘I can’t do that, my dear. It will look so bad on me.’

  ‘Pay it . . .’

  ‘All right, now, don’t worry. I’ll see to it, as long as Bridie agrees to move away from this area. She should do so anyway, as there were threats made against her.’ He had no intention of paying the fine, but he couldn’t distress Dvina by not agreeing. A smile formed on her dry, cracked lips. It tore him in two. ‘Dvina, my darling, I love you.’

  ‘I . . . I love you, too.’

  ‘I can’t bear to lose you.’

  ‘I know. Talk about something. T-talk about that day . . .’

  He knew which day she meant, so he gently held her hand as he said, ‘The sun was shining, and we had nothing particular to do. So we had a picnic sent to the riverside and rode our horses. We travelled over the fields, jumping small hedges and discovering routes we didn’t know were there. Over the terrain we rode, laughing and calling out to one another. On the edge of the wood, where the stream runs across the road, we dismounted and walked hand-in-hand through the trees while our horses refreshed themselves, drinking from the clear water. We came across a clearing under a huge oak tree. We kissed. Then we made love. The sun dappled through the branches and danced on our naked bodies. It was a magical moment. Afterwards we rode the horses to the picnic site. We drank champagne and ate cucumber sandwiches. When we had finished, we swam naked in the cold water. It was a wonderful day and one I shall never forget, darling.’

  She sighed. It was a happy-sounding sigh. Andrew waited, but she did not draw the breath back in. Her face relaxed, and the hand in his went limp.

  ‘No, no! No, Dvina, don’t go – please don’t go . . .’

  The door opened. ‘Come on, Mr Harvey. Come along. She’s no longer in pain now. That is something to be grateful for.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it is, Nurse. Oh, God, Dvina . . .’

  ‘Your mother is downstairs, sir. She’ll help you. The doctor is with her. Will you have him informed?’

  Getting off the bed, he walked round to the side where Dvina lay, and stroked her hair. In his mind he said, ‘Goodbye, old thing. I’m sorry for the many times I hurt you. You rest in peace now. Rest in peace, my love.’

  Outside the door, his body gave way and he slumped to his knees.
His face was soaked with tears that he couldn’t even feel coming from his eyes. How had it come about, this love he had for her? Hadn’t she repulsed him in the beginning? Hadn’t the marriage been just a convenience? Despite his questions, he knew how. He’d seen beyond the plain frumpiness; he’d seen the beauty of her, and he’d been given that beauty, the serene grace that was truly his Dvina. Many times he’d nearly lost her, but now he really had. He had lost something so precious. The love of his life . . . of his very soul.

  30

  Six years later – June 1893

  The escape

  Issy’s concern for Bridie over the last six years had grown. Bridie had taken a while to accept her fate, and trying to help her do so had been a strain. The time after Seamus’s execution had been the worst, but the following year Bridie began to settle, and conditions improved for her as she took on the role of nursing the sick. She loved the work, and the nature of it helped her to cope with how her life had turned out. But the drink had caused her downfall. How she got it, or afforded it, Issy dared not think, but – when caught – Bridie’s punishment didn’t fit her crime. Put on latrine duties, she had to sluice the buckets and the pans that the staff used at the hospital, as well as laundering the soiled linen from the wards, which was sometimes caked in excrement.

  Working near the cesspit caused her to suffer bites from the vermin and insects around it. Her food rationing had dropped to the minimum level: workhouse broth twice a day. The thin, sloppy stew contained no goodness, and the weight dropped off the bones of her.

  Looking at her as she came through the door, Issy’s heart lurched. Walking in small, shuffling steps, with her shawl wrapped around her, even though it was a warm day – the Bridie who was approaching her had aged. Her body was bent forward, her hair frizzed out in some places, but matted in others. Bridget, now nine years old, fidgeted by her side.

  ‘Here she is. Here’s Mammy.’ Though it had been nearly a year since they had last visited, due to the restriction on the number of passes Bridie could now get, Bridget hadn’t forgotten her mother. Issy felt grateful that her efforts to keep Bridie in the little girl’s mind had paid off. The little hand tugged in hers. ‘Can I go to Mammy, Aunt Issy? Can I?’