A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  Directed by Lizzie, he took Maisie through to the girls’ room and placed her gently on the bed. Lizzie ordered everyone from the room. Frank went back out to the kitchen, vaguely aware of Rosie clamouring to be told all that had happened. He reached up to one of the highest shelves and took down a bottle Lizzie kept there for medicinal purposes. Frank could not remember what it contained; a glance at the label told him it was brandy. He took a glass from the bench, sat down at the table with bottle and glass, and poured himself a generous measure.

  He took a gulp. A line of heat traced its way down to his belly. Frank stared at the glass in front of him, but instead of the brown liquid he saw a long knife with a notched edge. He saw again the madness in Liam Feenan’s eyes. He felt himself begin to shudder. With an effort, he held the glass steady long enough to take another gulp.

  Rosie tugged at his sleeve, but Frank waved her away. He drained the glass, put it down heavily, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them, and looked around the warm, comfortable kitchen.

  Joe and the younger boys were sitting along one side of the table, looking at their father in some awe. Rosie seemed to have wandered out of the room; Kate had probably trailed after her. With all that was going on, Lizzie had somehow contrived to prepare a meal, and the pleasant aroma of whatever was keeping warm on the range filled the room. Frank became aware that he had stopped shuddering.

  There was an indignant squeal from the direction of the passage; Frank recognised Rosie’s voice raised in complaint. ‘That’s what you get for listening at keyholes,’ Lizzie said, shooing the little girls into the kitchen in front of her. ‘Frank, come up here, I want to talk to you.’

  Frank got up and followed her into the passage. Lizzie closed the door behind them, giving Rosie a warning glance as she did so, then led Frank far enough away from the kitchen to thwart any listeners.

  ‘How is she?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Bruised from head to foot, and those fellows put their hands where they had no business going, but nothing’s been done that won’t heal. It’s a good thing you got there smartly.’

  Frank slumped in relief. ‘The way that bugger talked, I wasn’t sure what he might’ve done already.’

  ‘It seems he thought you’d turn up tomorrow morning, cap in hand and with a pocket full of money. So him and those other fellows were in no hurry. From what she’s said, that Liam fellow told her what they were going to do with her, then they shut her in a room with her aunt—in the dark, if you please—they’d boarded the window up—while they sat around drinking. They thought they had all night to play with her.’

  The words that came to Frank were not ones he wanted to use in front of Lizzie. He shook his head, and swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘Well, we’ve got her back, and that’s what counts.’

  ‘I’m going to give her a good, strong dose of laudanum to make sure she sleeps, but she wants to see you first. Just for a minute, mind.’

  They went into the girls’ bedroom. Maisie was propped up against the pillows, dressed in a crisp, white nightdress. Her face shone with cleanness, marred only by a bruise on one cheek. She saw Frank, and lifted her arms like a child wanting to be picked up.

  Frank sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over so she could wrap her arms around his neck. She pushed her face close to his. Her breath tickled his ear as she murmured, ‘Thanks.’

  She released her hold and lay back against the pillows, smiling up at Frank. ‘I wasn’t going to let anyone take off with one of my girls,’ he told her.

  ‘So, are you happy now?’ Lizzie said, approaching the bed with a small glass. ‘Come on, my girl, a good dose of laudanum for you.’

  Maisie gave Frank a conspiratorial grin. ‘I told the missus I wouldn’t take it till she fetched you.’

  Frank watched as she obediently took the medicine. ‘You know, Maisie, it’s about time you stopped that “Mr” and “Mrs” business.’

  Maisie looked startled. ‘What should I call you, then?’

  ‘Uncle Frank and Aunt Lizzie, if you like. Or maybe…’ He glanced across the bed at Lizzie. She met his eyes, smiled, and nodded her agreement. ‘Maybe you should just call us Ma and Pa.’

  *

  Lizzie insisted that Maisie stay in bed all the next morning. At lunch time she allowed her to get up and join the family in the kitchen, but made Maisie sit quietly rather than helping. There was little chance of her tiring herself; Mickey and Danny vied with each other to pass her whatever she might need, to see that her glass was kept topped up, and to wrap a shawl around her shoulders when Lizzie asked if she was cold.

  ‘Make the most of it,’ Lizzie remarked when their fussing had gone on long enough for Maisie to complain. ‘It won’t last.’ She fixed the boys with a hard look. Frank had given both boys a stern talking-to that morning about doing as they were told in future, especially when it involved looking after one of their sisters. He knew their contrition was genuine; like Lizzie, he also knew that it would not last long.

  Richard called in during the afternoon. Maisie declared that she did not need to be “poked at”; when she was backed up by Lizzie’s assurance that all was well, Richard gave in graciously.

  ‘I’m sure you know best, Lizzie,’ he said, demonstrating just why he got on so well with his mother-in-law. ‘Maisie, your aunt was asking after you, so I’ll be able to tell her how well you are. She’s in the infirmary at the convent, and the nuns are taking good care of her.’

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’ Maisie asked.

  Richard shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she’s not. She has a growth, and it’s quite advanced. But I’ll do what I can to see that she doesn’t suffer unduly.’

  Frank could see that the news did not come as a shock to Maisie. ‘Can I go and see her?’

  ‘As soon as Lizzie says you’re well enough for outings. I’ll be calling in to see her every afternoon, so I’ll tell her to expect you. It’ll give her something to look forward to.’ He looked over Maisie’s head at Lizzie. ‘Don’t leave it too long, Lizzie.’

  Frank walked with Richard out to his gig. ‘So Bridie’s pretty bad, eh?’

  Richard grimaced. ‘I thought I was inured to such things, but seeing that wretched creature has given me a new understanding of the tenacity of life. How a person can cling on in such a state… Her womb is rotten with cancer, Frank. It’s half eaten away. When I examined her, I found maggots there.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s the closest I’ve come to vomiting at the sight of a human body since I was a medical student.

  ‘I took a gamble that the nuns would take her in. It’s good of them, especially since I gather she hasn’t exactly been notable for her attendance at Mass. They’re excellent nurses, and they’ll see that she dies clean, and as comfortable as possible. That’s the best that can be done for her.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I’ll bring Maisie in as soon as I can. Bridie was the only one at that place who ever took any notice of her.’

  ‘Frank…’ Richard hesitated a moment. ‘To be quite honest, I’m not sure what I think about what happened last night. The idea of taking the law into your own hands like that—it seems like mob rule.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But certainties have a way of evaporating in the face of a frightened child. Whatever the law might say, it’s clear to me that Maisie belongs with you and Lizzie. And I’m glad you have her back, however you went about it.’

  *

  Maisie persuaded Lizzie into allowing a visit to Bridie on an afternoon a few days later. The cut on Maisie’s lip was already healing, and Lizzie helped her arrange her hair so that the bruise on her cheek would not be visible to a casual observer.

  Frank took Maisie in the buggy. They made their way to the convent tucked behind Ruatane’s Catholic church. A nun took them through to the convent’s infirmary, where they found Richard in a corridor talking to an older nun.

  ‘She’s on heavy doses of opiates for the pain,’ Richard said as he led them along the corridor. ‘
You may find she’s rather sleepy. But she should know you, Maisie.’

  He opened a door and ushered Maisie ahead of him. Frank followed Richard, and found himself in a small room with a metal-framed bed taking up most of it. The floor was bare wood, the walls were painted white, and a window looked out on a peaceful patch of garden.

  Bridie was propped up against the pillows. What Frank could see of her looked a good deal cleaner than on the previous occasions he had met her, but the skin was stretched taut over the bones of her face. Her hands rested limply on the bedcovers, all knuckle and sinew. Her hair had been cut short; it stuck out around her head like a dark halo.

  Maisie sat by the bed on the one chair the room held, while Frank and Richard stood against the wall opposite. Bridie seemed pleased, in a languid fashion, to see her. She listened while Maisie talked quietly, but her attention soon wandered. Her gaze drifted idly around the room until it fell on Frank. Her lips curved in the ghost of a smile.

  ‘Come here, handsome,’ she said, one hand moving slightly against the covers.

  Richard blinked. ‘Which of us do you mean, Miss Feenan?’

  Bridie glanced at him for barely a moment. ‘Ah, you’re all right for those as fancy pretty boys, but this fellow’s an old flame of mine. He gave me five pounds once, I’ll have you know. He’s the only man who ever did that.’ Her hand moved again, in what seemed to be an attempt to pat the covers invitingly. ‘Come on. I won’t bite you. Well, not unless you want me to.’

  There was surely no harm in humouring her. Frank crossed the room to stand beside the bed. ‘That’s better,’ said Bridie. ‘Now I can look at you properly. Who’d have thought I’d end up with the nuns, eh? Do you see who I’ve got here?’ A slight tilt of her head directed Frank’s attention to a small painting on the wall above her bed. It showed a young woman dressed as a nun, smiling mildly down as if on the bed’s occupant. ‘That’s Saint Bridget. She’s me name saint, see? The nuns put her up there to keep an eye on me.’ Bridie smiled, and Frank saw a trace of the spark he had once noticed in her dark eyes. ‘Ah, but she’s an Irish lass, so she’ll not be one for passing judgement on the likes of me. What about a kiss, then?’

  ‘Eh?’ Frank said, startled. ‘I don’t know about that!’

  ‘Ah, go on. There’s no harm in a kiss, is there? Don’t worry, I won’t be carrying tales to your missus. Come on.’ She pursed her lips.

  Frank looked across the bed at Maisie. Her expression was unreadable. He looked down at the plea in the eyes of the dying woman, and admitted defeat. He leaned over to give her a chaste peck on the cheek, but Bridie tilted her face just in time to ensure that the kiss landed on her lips. Her breath was like a cesspit; it was all Frank could do not to gag. As he straightened up, he saw her hands moving. He strongly suspected that, had she had the strength, she would have wrapped her arms around his neck.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘That’ll have to do me, then. I’m not likely to get another in here.’

  A nun came in with a pile of clean bedding. ‘And what are you up to, Bridie Feenan? Trying to lead respectable married men astray, are you? You’re a shameless creature.’

  Frank felt an irrational rush of guilt as he stepped quickly back from the bed, but when he met the nun’s eyes he saw a twinkle there. ‘You’d best be getting along,’ the nun told him. ‘I’ve things to do for this saucy piece. The girl can stay if she likes, though I’ll be dosing Bridie up before I start on her.’

  Richard went out into the corridor with Frank, leaving Maisie in the room. ‘She looks pretty bad,’ Frank said.

  ‘Yes. The nuns have done fine work cleaning her up and making her comfortable, but she won’t last long. I shouldn’t think it’ll be worth bringing Maisie again—another day or two and her aunt won’t know her. I doubt if she has more than a week of life left in her, if that. She’s livelier today than she’s been since I brought her in.’ He gave Frank a sidelong glance, and smiled. ‘Though I must say you brightened her up rather more than Maisie did.’

  ‘I can’t say I grudge it, the poor beggar. Do you want to know what I gave her five pounds for?’

  ‘Out of Christian charity, I expect. It’s none of my business, Frank.’

  ‘I don’t mind telling you. It was when I gave Maisie’s father the ten pounds. I slipped Bridie five pounds as well, just for taking a bit of notice of Maisie.’

  ‘Well, you obviously made quite an impression on Bridie Feenan, one way or another,’ Richard said, still smiling. ‘You might like to tell Maisie her cousins and their crony have left town—I imagine she’ll be relieved to hear it.’

  ‘I’ll say she will! They didn’t hang around long, eh?’

  ‘No, and I might have had just a little to do with that, as it happens. I took it upon myself to call on Sergeant Riley and tell him about an upstanding citizen being threatened with a knife in front of witnesses. I suggested rather strongly that it wasn’t something authority could ignore. I’ve heard since that he paid Feenan a visit—I presume he took a few burly chaps with him—and gave the fellow to understand that if he didn’t take himself away from Ruatane rather promptly, the consequences would be unpleasant. Feenan’s not likely to return, either, knowing he’d be facing arrest if he did so.’

  ‘Well, that’s a bit of good news, all right,’ said Frank. ‘I didn’t think he’d be fool enough to try anything like that again, but Maisie wouldn’t have been easy in her mind, knowing he was still around.’

  ‘No, I imagine not. I’ve found out somewhat more of what’s going on in her old home—the nuns are rather a good source of news. Someone from the church has been out there to check on Maisie’s father, and it’s been decided to ship him off to an Old Men’s Home. And it seems the family’s many creditors are clamouring for payment, so the property will be auctioned and any proceeds put towards the debts. The house will be torched first—it seems generally agreed that would increase the value of the property rather than the reverse.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have the place if it was offered me for nothing,’ said Frank.

  Maisie came out a few minutes later, when Bridie had lapsed into unconsciousness. Richard went back to talk to Sister Bernadette, the nun tending Bridie, and Frank took Maisie out to the buggy. He waited to help her up into it, but she stood looking across the road. Frank followed her gaze, and saw two young women there, staring back. They were dressed decently enough, albeit somewhat gaudily, but the elaborate care with which he saw several women take a wide berth to pass them told Frank just what profession they followed.

  ‘That’s my sisters,’ Maisie whispered. ‘They must’ve heard about Aunt Bridie.’

  Frank studied Maisie’s face, trying to decide the right thing to do. ‘Do you want to go and talk to them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Yes,’ Maisie said in a small voice, but she did not move. She clutched at Frank’s sleeve.

  Frank sighed. ‘Do you want me to go with you?’ Maisie nodded.

  It was easy to imagine what the main topic of conversation would be in many Ruatane homes that evening, Frank reflected as he led Maisie across the road. “I saw Frank Kelly talking to a couple of the whores from the Royal Hotel—right there in the main street!” It was a good thing Lizzie was too wise to be bothered by such talk; though Frank rather hoped Arthur would not hear this particular piece of gossip.

  Close up, the two looked much younger; almost like girls dressed up in their mother’s clothes, Frank thought. Until he looked into their faces, and saw eyes that seemed far older than Lizzie’s.

  ‘This is Sally and this one’s Norah,’ Maisie said. ‘This is Mr Kelly.’ She looked down at the ground.

  Sally was easily recognisable as Maisie’s sister, though she was not quite as small. She had the same sharp features, and the same dark eyes. The wicked glitter in those eyes reminded Frank of the first time he had met Bridie. He managed with an effort not to show any sign of recognition at her name; Sally Feenan had a certain fame am
ong the young men of Ruatane, and Frank had occasionally heard her mentioned during his visits to the dairy factory. He had noticed that the boys who spoke of her in the most awestruck tones were those who were clearly too young to have enjoyed her services, and he was quite sure the stories were exaggerated. But the fact remained that Sally had a reputation for entering into her work with enthusiasm.

  Norah came closer to being pretty than did either of her sisters. Her hair was thicker and somewhat wavy, and her eyes were large and a dark blue. They were currently directed on Frank in such a baleful glare that for a moment he wondered if Norah had mistaken him for someone else. He saw bitter resentment there, mingled with defiance and just a hint of something else. She hid it well, but Frank remembered how Maisie had looked at him before she learned to trust him. He recognised the same fear deep in Norah’s eyes.

  Frank had never felt the least temptation to visit the whorehouse, but he could understand why an unmarried man might occasionally crave some willing female company. But it was beyond his comprehension how any man could take pleasure in buying the reluctant services of Norah Feenan. He slipped a protective arm around Maisie’s shoulders, and blessed the day he had brought her into his house and away from the shadow of her sisters’ fate.

  ‘How’s Aunt Bridie?’ Sally asked without preamble.

  ‘Bad,’ said Maisie. ‘She won’t last long. She says it doesn’t hurt any more, though.’

  ‘Who’d you get this from?’ Norah asked, fingering the bruise on Maisie’s cheek and turning her glare back on Frank.

  ‘Liam.’ From the scowls on her sisters’ faces, Frank was sure they believed her. ‘He caught me and took me back to the old place. But he,’ she pointed to Frank, ‘came and got me off him.’ Her eyes met Frank’s for a moment; Frank could see that she was too shy to call him “Pa” in front of her sisters.