Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  Josephine’s life story and fall in social standing was amazingly similar to Pearce’s own sad tale. She had fallen hopelessly in love with her father’s handsome young stable-lad, who had looked after Josephine’s horse, and had been cut off from her family with only the clothes she stood up in and with whatever jewellery she was already wearing at the time of her banishment.

  Her husband, before they left Ireland for good, had surreptitiously entered her parent’s home one night and ‘retrieved’ her jewellery, her personal box, and as many clothes as he could throw out the window and they could carry. That had finally severed her connection with her family.

  As Kate entered the room bearing a loaded tray with the vital requisites of scones, pancakes, fingers of shortbread and other such delicacies for a satisfying afternoon tea, she was in time to hear a burst of laughter from the precious pair. In fact, so engrossed in each other and in their shared reminiscences were they, that neither of them so much as looked up or in any way acknowledged Kate’s presence. Seeing this and feeling very strongly that she was the odd man out, Kate smiled grimly to herself.

  Humph. That’s rich, I must say, she thought. It looks as though their Highnesses have put me firmly into my rightful place, straight back to where I started, a humble, servile and damned overworked lady’s maid. That’s all I’ll ever be, a bloody skivvy.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Mrs Delaney give another girlish giggle.

  “And that, in a nutshell, my dear Pearce, is how I came to be in this hell-hole they call Glasgow.”

  Kate could not have cared less how Josephine Delaney came to be in the Second City of the Empire. As long as she paid her lodging and attendance fees regularly each Friday, that was all that really concerned Kate. However, in an effort to make her presence felt and insinuate her way into the conversation, she cleared her throat and asked of her lodger: “If I might make so bold as to ask, Mistress Delaney, what did bring you from Ireland to this dirty, drunken city of Glasgow?”

  Mrs Delaney looked put out at this direct questioning of her high-and-mighty self by one of her social inferiors. Then perhaps remembering her own place in the scheme of things in the Kinnon household, she decided to make a joke of the matter. She cocked her head on one side, made a great show of considering deeply the posed question.

  “What brought me from Ireland to Scotland, you ask? Well, now, let’s see. I do know that it wasn’t my Fairy Godmother. That much is sure. So, that being the case, I guess it might just have been the overnight boat from Lame to the Broomielaw, don’t you agree? And, of course, one’s handsome young lover of a stable lad, Dominic.”

  At this riposte, Pearce threw back his head and roared with laughter, obviously on the same wave-length of sophisticated humour as his new found friend. In that moment, Kate knew with absolute certainty that from hence, it was going to be a case of two is company; three is an upper class couple and their well below the salt maidservant. And no prize for guessing who would fill the latter humble, yet necessary and overworked role. Kate sighed. She had indeed made a rod for her own already overburdened back.

  She smiled grimly as through her mind raced an old Scots saw which she had recently heard one of her Glaswegian neighbours quote in an hour of sore travail.

  “Och, weel. The guid Lord above shapes the back for the burden.”

  Kate pursed her lips.

  If that’s true, then the good Lord has recently been hard at work in reshaping my back for this latest burden. For one thing is sure, it is myself that will have to carry the pampered Mistress Delaney and her voracious appetite. Myself and none other.

  Chapter 9

  Daniel jumped at the chance of the job with the newsagent and happily took over Mr McGregor’s early morning stint; opening up, unpacking the morning’s papers, and serving those men lucky enough to be employed with their early edition, and cigarettes or tobacco to see them through the day. That rush over he swept up; tidied up generally; cut and weighed out the larger tobacco packages into the one ounce, half ounce, and quarter ounce packets their customers could afford; and had the kettle on for tea for Mr McGregor’s arrival. Although that really completed the morning’s work he was paid for, Daniel, having left school on taking the job, stayed around, serving customers, reading the papers and the magazines – the penny dreadfuls – and running errands.

  In the evening Daniel again unpacked the late edition and the racing paper, bundled up unsold papers, and generally made himself useful.

  At the end of his first week he precipitated a major row when he refused to hand his shilling wage over to Pearce, instead insisting on giving it to Kate.

  “That’s no fit job for a man, anyway,” Pearce finally shouted.

  “But’s one job more than you’ve got,” Daniel shouted back, and fled the house.

  Kate pacified Pearce, but kept the shilling.

  As the year wore on, between Kate’s work with Mrs Scott, her cleaning jobs, Daniel’s minute wage from the newsagent, and Mrs Delaney’s lodging and attendance fees, Kate managed to keep the house with just under half of what Pearce had been earning at the Fruit Market. Granny Gorbals took care of Hannah when Kate was out working and although reluctant to do so at first was prevailed on to take sixpence a week for her trouble.

  Pearce, with Mrs Delaney to converse with, spent a great deal of time in the front room with her, and was more animated, at least when he was with her. With his family in the kitchen he still tended to sit in morose silence at the fire, but the violent outbursts of temper became less frequent. He and Daniel avoided each other when they could and when contact was unavoidable, as at a family meal, each behaved as if the other was not present.

  Daniel had a growth spurt over the year and although not yet as tall as his father, he began to fill out and show signs of becoming a well built young man.

  Just before Christmas, Mrs Scott had Kate do a special clean for her and buy in all sorts of Christmas treats. Kate wondered if Mrs Scott was going to have visitors and if that would involve much of a clean-up later. When she arrived at her usual time on Friday, December 23rd she was surprised to find the table set for two and a mouth watering smell of cooking and baking permeating the air.

  “Who are you expecting, Mrs Scott?”

  Mrs Scott smiled at her.

  “You, Mrs Kinnon. Since you won’t be back now till after Christmas I thought we would have a little celebration today, just the two of us. Sit down.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. You sit and let me serve you.”

  “This is my house and today you are my guest. Sit down.”

  For the first time in her life, Kate sat at table and was served her meal. Compared to what she usually ate this meal was gargantuan. She finally pushed back her chair.

  “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “I have a little medicinal spirit, Mrs Kinnon. Will you take a drop with me?”

  Kate nodded and they toasted each other and drank.

  “I’ll clear up now,” Kate said. “You have a seat.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. We’ll clear up together. You can wash or dry. You pick.”

  Finished, Kate insisted on making a pot of tea for them and they sat chatting.

  “I’d better get started or I won’t finish today,” Kate said.

  “No, I had you do a special clean on Monday and Wednesday so that we could have this little party today. Before you go, I have some cake and shortbread wrapped for you to take with you.”

  Kate was overwhelmed by Mrs Scott’s kindness. She had felt that the pair of them had got on very well together, more of a feeling of one friend helping out another than the mistress servant relationship she knew only too well, but she had not expected this.

  At her usual time to go Kate put on her coat and hat then collected the parcel Mrs Scott had ready for her. As she turned to leave, Mrs Scott handed her a crown, twice her usual weekly pay of two shillings and sixpence.

  “I can’t take this, it
’s too much,” Kate protested, trying to thrust the money back into Mrs Scott’s hand.

  “Nonsense, girl. It’s only money and what else do I have to spend it on? I’ve never stopped blessing the day when I was nearly run over by that tram car. Take it and welcome. Merry Christmas.”

  Chapter 10

  Dazed, Kate left Mrs Scott’s home, but instead of heading straight for home she turned and walked in the direction of the book barrows. These handcarts, a Glasgow institution in their own right, were to be found throughout the city, sited on many a busy street corner, when they were not actually being trundled through the dense traffic.

  Today one book barrow, just off Hope Street, caught her attention and she stopped to browse through the selection of second hand books on display. She had taken Dr Clancy’s advice to heart and taken up a hobby, reading, and found she could lose herself and forget the trials of her busy life immersed in the pages of a book. First she had read the books that Daniel brought home from the library, but had come across the book barrows and found the books there were affordable and, better still, some of the owners would let her exchange books she had read for a different book. Some charged a small fee for this, some didn’t, and Kate enjoyed the haggling involved.

  Today as she rummaged through the books on the barrow she was aware of the owner watching her for some time before he stepped forward.

  “Are you looking for something in particular’?” he asked in a soft Irish brogue very like Kate’s own.

  “No, just something to read.”

  He laughed. “I think you may find something here. As you see, I don’t sell fruit or vegetables.”

  Kate smiled, more at his accent than at the feeble joke. “Aye, that I can. I’ll just look for myself, thank you.”

  “They’re arranged more or less by subject.” He came and stood beside her. “To the left of this cardboard up to the end of the barrow you’ll find text books and non-fiction. Between the two cardboards is all fiction, and in the last three rows you’ll find poetry.”

  “I don’t think any of the other barrows do that,” Kate said. “It’s very helpful.”

  He laughed again. “And good for trade. Students from the Uni know just where to look for used texts without wasting time going over my whole barrow.” He turned to face Kate. “You have a lovely accent, mistress. Have you been in Glasgow long?”

  Somehow it seemed quite natural to talk to this complete stranger and Kate replied: “Since 1877.”

  “And have you never been back to the Old Country since?”

  “No, never.”

  “I go back every now and then to buy books and visit my old mother.”

  He shook himself as if suddenly aware they were drifting away from business.

  “Just take your time then, Mistress ...”

  “Kinnon, Kathleen Kinnon,” Kate said, without pausing to think.

  “Terence O’Neil, at your service, Kathleen Mavourneen.” Kate left Terence’s barrow with two books and a feeling that she would be back soon.

  Over time, Kate became something of a regular customer. Terence, in addition to a fine stock of second-, third-, and sixtieth-hand books, also had a grand line in Irish banter–definitely one who’d kissed the Blarney Stone. Each time he saw her approach, his laughing Irish eyes would sparkle and he’d call out: “Why, if ’tis not Kate Mavourneen herself. And ’tis Terence O’Neil here, entirely at your service, Ma’am.”

  No matter the day, the time, or the weather, the genial greeting never changed. And somehow, the panache, the cheeky grin with which he so obligingly offered his services, always left Kate with the feeling there might well be other commodities on offer apart from the more mundane books. No matter what her family problems, Kate always felt the better for a chat, no matter how brief, with Terence.

  After the first few visits, Kate took to bringing with her a few fresh baked scones and they would stand by Terence’s barrow discussing the books Kate had read. Terence introduced her to the pleasures of poetry – something Pearce had never attempted although in their early days she had often asked him what he found so enthralling in his books of verse.

  Chapter 11

  The morning of Monday, March 20th , 1893, started off like any other day for Kate, and she set off reasonably contentedly for Mrs Scott’s. There she and Mrs Scott chatted as Kate went about her work, then, as usual now, they sat and gossiped over a cup of tea before Kate left.

  I’m really lucky, Kate thought. Things are working out pretty well. Mrs Delaney seems to keep Pearce happy and quiet, and even though she can be a nuisance, her money is regular. Jenny is doing well at school and Pearce has agreed she can stay on and maybe even become a teacher. Danny seems happy enough with Mr McGregor, even if he’d like a job with a bit more money. And I’ve got a good job and a good friend with Mrs Scott.

  Kate surfaced from her daydream and looking round her, realised she wasn’t on her way home. She was headed towards the book barrows.

  Well, why not? It’s a fine day. I don’t need to rush back to make a lunch for Mrs Delaney; she said she would be out till time for her afternoon tea and there’s plenty of bread and cheese in the house. Pearce can fend for himself for once.

  Terence saw her approach and met her with his usual effusive greeting. They stood side-by-side at his barrow animatedly discussing a book Terence had recommended to her.

  “Excuse me,” a familiar voice said from the other side of the barrow, “I asked how much this book would be.”

  Kate looked up and there across the barrow was Mrs Delaney staring at her.

  Terence took the book and named his price.

  Mrs Delaney paid without quibble.

  “My landlady, Mrs Kinnon, can take it home for me to save me carrying it about town. Don’t let Pearce see it. It’s a surprise for him. Put it in my room.”

  She turned and walked off without a backward glance.

  “Now there’s a polite one,” Terence said. “Not as much as a, ‘Nice day,’ or `How’d you do,’ to you, and you her landlady.” He glanced at the book. “And I don’t think much of her choice of poetry either. Here, Kathleen, I hope her husband enjoys it.”

  Kate didn’t correct his misconception. The day was spoiled. She said her goodbyes and left for home.

  She entered the house to the sound of raised voices. Hurriedly, she hung up her coat and hat and walked into the kitchen.

  Pearce and Daniel stood facing each other on either side of the table.

  “I will not make your damned tea,” Daniel shouted. “What did your last slave die of?”

  “Don’t you use that language to me. You are my son –”

  “Then treat me like one. Mr McGregor’s more like a father to me than you’ve ever been.”

  Kate stepped forward.

  “Sit down both of you. You’re quarrelling like children over who’s to make the tea? I’ll make it.”

  “Who cut off his legs?” Daniel said. “You’re out working all day, every day, while he sits here on his backside ordering everyone about – “

  “That’s enough out of you,” Pearce shouted. “You’re not too old yet for a thrashing–”

  They were both on their feet again and Pearce stepped to one side. Kate moved to step between them and Pearce with an oath pushed her. She stumbled, her foot caught on the rug, and she fell heavily. Ignoring her, Pearce advanced on Daniel, slackening his heavy leather belt as he did so.

  “Not again, Dadda, never again,” Daniel said, and taking advantage of the fact that both his father’s hands were engaged, landed one heavy blow on Pearce’s midriff, followed by a right uppercut to his jaw.

  Pearce fell and, before he could rise, Daniel looked down at him.

  “If you’re wondering where I learnt to do that, I had a fight near every day at school just because I was the son of the Laird o’ Candleriggs.”

  Daniel turned and walked out of the house.

  Kate struggled to her feet. She put out a hand to Pearce t
o help him up, but he ignored her and stood by himself.

  “If that boy ever sets foot in this house again, I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life.”

  “Don’t talk daft, Pearce. Don’t you see he’s way past that. He’s not a wee boy to stand still for a leathering. He’s nearly your height. He’d fight back.”

  For answer Pearce kicked Kate’s basket across the room. It tipped over and Mrs Delaney’s book fell out. Pearce pounced on it.

  “More rubbish from your damned book barrows?” He glanced inside. “Aye, rubbish it is. Can’t you even recognise bad poetry when you see it? Here, take your damned book.”

  He threw it across the room at her and turned around to see who she was staring at.

  Mrs Delaney stood framed in the kitchen doorway.

  “Mistress Kinnon, your ruffian son almost knocked me down on the stairs. I’ll not put up with it. I’ll have my afternoon tea now, if you please. Pearce, would you care to join me?”

  With Pearce and Mrs Delaney ensconced in the front room with their afternoon tea, Kate took the opportunity to go to Mr McGregor’s shop. As she suspected, Daniel was there.

  “Are you all right, Mammy? I’m sorry, but he was after me all afternoon, the tea was the last straw.”

  Mr McGregor appeared at the counter.

  “Mrs Kinnon, come away into the back shop and have a seat. Danny, put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea –”

  He looked puzzled when both Kate and Daniel burst out laughing, and Kate hurried to tell him of the afternoon’s event.

  “Danny can stay with us for a spell, Mrs Kinnon, if that will help.”

  “We wouldn’t want to put you out,” Kate said.

  “Nothing grand, we have a wee truckle bed that he can sleep on in the hallway of the house or we can bring it down here for him to sleep on in the back shop.”

  “Thank you, Mr McGregor. I’ll bring your stuff down to the shop for you, Danny. I don’t think you should be up there for a while.