Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  Thus suitably primed, the still half-asleep toddler was given a hearty shove into the Hangman’s Rest where, presumably, he did his best to deliver his lines in true dramatic fashion, for in two minutes he was out again, but this time being held by the scruff of the neck by none other than a somewhat inebriated Auld Shuggie himself. The master plan had worked.

  Chapter 26

  The short winter day had already darkened and evening was closing in. Leerie with his pole was lighting the gas-lamps as Kate and Shuggie between them wheeled the barrow back round to Garth Street. True, the urchin, whose name she had since learnt was Archibald Strang, –otherwise known as Baldie – had offered to come with them and help unload the stuff at the other end. But when Kate considered that part of the deal would no doubt have included a free hurl in the already-bespoiled pram for Bugsie and his very active battalion of fleas and head-lice, she had declined with thanks, and suitable protestations of gratitude, his kind offer. At any rate, she reckoned if she carried the crib upstairs, even while befuddled with drink and still feeling no pain from the bucket or two of booze which he had so obviously imbibed, then Shuggie would surely manage to haul the pram up to her top-storey flat–even if it meant humping it up one step at a time.

  Much to Kate’s amazement, at last safely returned to her own close-mouth in Garth Street, Shuggie took one despairing look at his loaded barrow. Then, and with a pensive look on his face, after removing his flat tweed bunnet, he gave his balding head a thorough good scratch, as if in this way he could find the answer to whatever it was which was currently troubling him. At last, after an interval of several seconds, in the course of which he minutely examined whatever filth had accumulated in his black-rimmed finger-nails, he gave a long despairing sigh. If ever Kate had heard a sigh which prompted the immediate question of What’s wrong?’ it was that one.

  “Something up, Shuggie? Don’t tell me that with your track-record, you’ve actually got a hang-over. I thought you to be something more of a man, not to mention much more of a serious drinker than that.”

  Shuggie, on the same wavelength of pawky Glasgow humour with what – to the uninitiated – always came across as outrageous insults, grinned at her, threw back his head and gave a great belly laugh at her shaft of wit.

  “Hangover, did ye say, Mistress Kinnon? Hangover be buggered. And if you weren’t the respectable matron that you are, I’d soon show how you much of a man I am.”

  Together the oddly-assorted pair laughed in easy companionship. Then, as their laughter died away as clouds of vapour in the freezing night air, Shuggie’s face became serious. Turning to his fully paid-up customer, he frowned towards the barrowload of goods.

  “Well, I suppose in a manner of speaking, aye, there is a wee bit of a problem.”

  “Listen, Shuggie, don’t you worry your head about nothing. Between the two of us we’ll manage fine. I’ll carry the wee crib and you can hump up the pram. It’ll take us just a couple of minutes. Then you can get off and deliver the rest of the load to wherever it’s bound. For time’s getting on, you know.”

  These words were greeted in silence by the open-mouthed Shuggie and, if the look on his face was anything to go by, in something approaching stunned shock. Then, as if making a supreme effort to gather himself together, he shook his head slowly. But before he could say anything, Kate rushed to re-assure him.

  “Don’t worry, Shuggie,” she patted his hand, not only to lend extra weight to her words but also to give him some measure of obviously sorely-needed comfort.

  “There’s no problem, Shuggie. Honestly. Nobody will touch the rest of your precious cargo. What we’ll do is this, I’ll go on up first and you stay here and keep a weather-eye on the load. Then, it’ll be your turn to climb the stairs with the pram, while I act as guard. Now how does that wee ploy suit you?”

  When Kate looked into his face and still could see no sign of ready agreement to her simple yet well thought-out plan, she felt a spurt of anger rising in her chest.

  Either the man’s uncommonly stupid or else he’s even more drunk than I had imagined.

  The old trader started to laugh and went on laughing heartily until his entire body shook with the effort of it. When at last it seemed that he was again in control and would be able to speak coherently, his words were lost to her in a fresh outburst of merriment.

  All this while, Kate’s Irish temper was struggling for expression in either angry words or perhaps even a hefty and no doubt satisfying thump across the stupid man’s jaw. It was as well for both parties that, despite the fact that Kate had opened her mouth to speak, it was actually old Shuggie who got his word in first.

  “Mistress Kinnon, do you still not realise? When you paid me that beautiful, golden sovereign – alas, now only of blessed memory–when you paid that, you bought not only the two items you’ve mentioned, but all the other bits and baubles on my barrow.

  Kate drew in a sharp breath of utter amazement. “What? Shuggie, I just don’t believe this. You’re drunk, you’re making sport of me. It cannot be true.”

  The old trader, now with a delighted grin on his face, and invoking the testimony of all the Holy Angels above, affirmed that what he spoke was nothing short of God’s Honest Truth. All the while that Shuggie had been crossing himself, appealing to the Angelic Holy Band above and even swearing on his dear-departed Mother’s grave, Kate had been stock-taking, with delighted amazement, the contents of the barrow, of which bits and baubles she was now the sole and very proud owner. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper, so emotionally drained was she at the shock of her sudden amazing good fortune.

  “Shuggie. Oh, Shuggie. God bless you. You’re a man in a million. Indeed that, you are. Here, let me give you a wee kiss.”

  Shuggie, now shuffling his feet in total embarrassment not only at the unexpected kiss planted on his withered cheek, but at the unlooked-for praise being heaped on his balding head, then did what he always did at such times of social unease. He withdrew from his trouser-pocket a red-spotted handkerchief, no doubt one of his own treasure-trove finds from Paddy’s Market, gave a hefty trumpet into its crushed depths, and finished the face-saving operation by inspecting the resultant contents of the handkerchief.

  Kate smiled and restrained a wild urge not only to bestow a further kiss on his bearded face, but also to give her kind-hearted saviour a hug. That she, in effect did neither, was due to her being afraid as to what an even more-embarrassed Shuggie might do for an encore to his nose-blowing efforts.

  Instead, she again smiled at him.

  “Just one thing, Shuggie. If all this lovely stuff now belongs to me, what exactly might be the wee problem you mentioned earlier’?”

  Shuggie sighed.

  “Well, Mistress Kinnon, although I promised when we sealed our bargain with the sovereign that I would carry everything up to the top-flat for you, I had not the drink taken at that point, if you get my meaning. The thing is, you’re such a decent wee body, paying me on the nose and all, the last thing I want to do is let you down.”

  Kate grinned with relief that this was the only problem on her immediate horizon. She grabbed the old man by his jacket.

  “Listen, Shuggie. When all is said and done, you’re not such a bad fellow yourself. Aye, you’re a pretty decent wee body. So, worry not, my good old friend. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll run upstairs and have a wee word with Mistress Docherty and –”

  “Mistress Docherty? Is that yon, wee shilpit, pardon-me-for-living woman with her own squad of Irish nawies –what is it, thirteen big strapping sons she has? God kens how she managed to bring in that Baker’s Dozen of big bruisers into the world.”

  Kate grinned an impish smile, already feeling greatly daring and light-headed with the excitement of it all.

  “I expect she managed it in exactly the same way as all we other poor, down-trodden wives. I don’t suppose she had much choice in the matter– just had to get on with the job, whether she liked it
or not.”

  Shuggie cackled in delighted appreciation, at the same time slapping his mole-skinned trouser-leg in his mirth.

  “Aye, you’re probably right there, Missus. Mind you, I don’t mind telling you this; I thank God every night of my born-days that I wasn’t born a woman. I don’t think I could stomach all yon bloody carry-on.”

  “Shuggie, listen; I can’t stand here chewing the fat with you all night, much as I’d like to, mind you. I’m off upstairs to have a wee word with Mrs Docherty. At least a couple of her sons should be back by now from work.”

  With that, a cheery wave to the patiently-waiting Shuggie and a muttered aside, The Docherty troops will soon lend us a hand. After all that’s what neighbours are for,’ she was gone, and in her excitement and haste, and with all previous tiredness forgotten, she raced up the steps two at a time.

  Chapter 27

  Later still that same evening, when, with the help of many willing hands, all the goods had been transferred to Kate’s best front room, there was a celebration to wet the baby’s head such as put even the best Hogmanay shindigs in the shade. Instead of getting the promised fag and a cup of tea, Shuggie, who had instantly become the hero of the hour, was treated to a pipeful of best Virginia Dark from father Docherty’s battered and well-used tobacco pouch; and perhaps even better and even more to his taste, several hefty measures from Granny’s medicinal bottle of whisky. By the time good auld Shuggie, as he was now intimately and affectionately known to Kate’s immediate neighbours, was leaving, he was in a fine old state of inebriation. So much so, he would have been hard put to say exactly what festivity it was he had been celebrating: Christmas, Easter, the riotous wake of a dear-departed friend, the safe birthing of a new-born heir or heiress, or even his own prowess as a canny man of business. As the party guests waved off his somewhat staggering departure down the many stairs to the close, several of the departing guests hung rather precariously over the spiral stairway and, with loud shouts of encouragement, monitored his progress. That done, and having seen he had safely negotiated the stairs and was now – albeit slowly – taking the breadth of the close in his stride, then making his way out into the gas-lit street beyond, some of the more responsible guests headed for Kate’s front-room. From the great height and bird’s-eye view of this eyrie, they could just make out the silhouette of man and now-empty barrow as together they negotiated a somewhat unsteady course for the shadowed end of Garth Street and distant points Eastwards.

  As Kate later saw off her other guests, the Docherty clan, she then turned to survey her best-front room, which now resembled nothing so much as an Aladdin’s cave. She crossed her arms in front of her body, as if hugging to herself the many delights and surprises of the wonderful day. Apart from the disinfected satin-lined crib in which wee Rosebud was already sound asleep by her mother’s side next door in Granny’s cosy single-end, the rest of the treasure-trove lay in wait for the years ahead.

  There was a high-chair, a baby’s bath, a smart go-chair in addition to the carriage-built pram, a wicker-basket full of the most beautiful baby clothes, not least of which was a magnificent Christening Robe grand enough for a Royal Princess, and even a stout wooden-box crammed full of toys of every description.

  Where or how Auld Shuggie had come by this assortment, Kate was not entirely sure. True, while in his cups, he had muttered something about a woman in a posh house in Monteith Row whose baby had been stillborn and who just could not bear to look a minute longer at the accoutrements of childhood. But the very mention of Monteith Row – far less the thought of its posh houses and their upper-class tenants–was enough to set Kate trembling, so that she did not pursue the matter further. Even at this distance in time the very name of those handsome houses, overlooking Glasgow Green, the scene of her shame and humiliation, was enough to upset her. With the drift of her thoughts to those long-ago events, she suddenly gave a start, remembering with a rush of guilt that it was some time since she had looked in on Pearce. She tip-toed through the darkened hallway and into the back kitchen, where, as she opened the door, she hoped against hope that for once it would not squeak in its usual fashion. But her hope was in vain. Hannah on the hurlie bed immediately stirred, opened her eyes and started crying. This in turn awoke Pearce who sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and demanded to know: “What the hell is going on now? Is there no peace to be had?”

  Kate sighed in frustration. However, she was determined that nothing and no-one on earth – and most certainly not her irascible husband – would spoil this memorable day nor even a fraction of the sheer delight which she felt at the birth of her first grandchild.

  As she bustled around getting Pearce and Hannah a hot cup of tea with which to settle them yet again for the night, she smiled to herself at the turn her thoughts had taken.

  Bastard or not, that child is going to get the very best out of life. And I for one, as her Granny, will see that she does. She will never have to scrimp, save and work like a navvy in the way that I’ve had to do. I don’t yet know how we’re going to manage it. And yet look how things have turned out today. It’s all been like a miracle. Yes, that wee darling’s life is going to be a whole lot different from mine and from her own Mammy’s. That wee pet will never have to be a sweeper in a mill. No, nor a kitchen skivvy neither.

  And with these thoughts still uppermost in her mind, Kate reached up on tiptoe, and turned down the gas to its night-time peep.

  Chapter 28

  On the last day of 1898 Kate made her way to Mrs Scott’s. She hadn’t seen the old lady since their pre-Christmas party on the twenty-third when Mrs Scott had given her the five guineas. Kate had some tasty bites for her and presents from both Hannah and Jenny. Although Mrs Scott had said not to bother coming to her until Kate’s regular day on Monday January 2nd, 1899, Kate had decided she would pay her employer a visit to tell her about the baby’s unexpected early arrival and Shuggie’s barrow load of baby goods.

  Kate tugged at the brass bell-pull on Mrs Scott’s door. Despite having pulled the bell a number of times, there was still no answering call from her employer.

  For good measure, she gave the brass lion’s head a fierce tattoo. But when even this brought no response, laid her basket down carefully on the doormat, prised open the gleaming brass letter-box and put her mouth to the opening.

  “Yoo-hoo. Mrs Scott. It’s only me. Kate Kinnon. Only me. Take your time in getting to the door. No hurry.”

  When still she could hear neither movement nor reply from inside the flat, despite listening intently, Kate sighed wearily.

  Ah, well. So much for that bright idea. Some day I’ll learn to do what people tell me. Mistress Scott said not to bother coming till Monday. So, what do I do? Ignore her, go my own sweet way, as usual.

  Kate stooped down to retrieve her basket from where it sat on the coarse-fibre door-mat. Then, hooking the basket over her left arm, she started making her way out of the close.

  Perhaps Mrs Scott has gone to a relative to bring in the New Year tonight. After all, who wants to be alone on Hogmanay? It can be a sad enough occasion at the best of times. Or perhaps she’s in visiting with a neighbour.

  By now out again in the rain-drenched street, Kate stopped.

  Mrs Scott, in visiting with a neighbour? Wait a minute. She hates the lot of them: stuck-up, self-important bitches, that’s what she’d called hem. Not the same friendliness here as you have in your close, Kate. All right, so she’s staying with a relative?

  She wheeled round and started to run back to Mrs Scott’s door.

  Mrs Scott has no relatives. Oh, God. She must be there in the flat. Something’s dreadfully wrong. I just know it.

  This time she took the brass lion’s head in both hands and gave it such a wallop that the door of the flat opposite opened, and a wizened prune of a woman peered out. With lips pursed and nostrils flared, as if getting the reek of stinking fish, this woman looked Kate up and down from head to toe. Then, just as Kate opened her mouth to spe
ak, the woman took a step back into her own hallway and slammed the door with a clunk of finality.

  Not much help to be had in that quarter, thought Kate grimly.

  Again Kate shouted through the letter box, but this time instead of standing back to await admittance, she cocked her ear to the flap which she held open with her trembling fingers. As she strained to hear something, anything which might reassure her, she thought she detected a faint movement of some sort.

  Yes. I was right. There it is again.

  Only this time the faint beating sound was followed by the words: “Kate. Thank God. Let yourself in. The key’s on a string behind the letter box.”

  Kate did. And once inside the flat, she was aware of an intense cold, as though there hadn’t been a fire on for days. She looked first into the sitting-room, nobody. In the kitchen, it was the same story; neither fire nor any sign of Mrs Scott. It was at that point that she heard a weak voice calling from the bedroom.

  “Kate. In here. Oh, Kate. You’re a God-send. Come away in.”

  When Kate opened the bedroom door, she stopped in amazement at the sight which met her eyes. Mrs Scott was propped up in bed, her favourite pink bed jacket draped round her shoulders, a filmy net on her head, while on the bedside table rested an enormous box of chocolates, a tumbler and a stack of books.

  But, and this was what struck Kate as so utterly incongruous, everything, including Mrs Scott, was covered in a fine layer of soot. Automatically, Kate’s eyes swivelled to the coal-fire on the other wall and at once she could see what had happened. Obviously there had been a fall of soot from the flat above – perhaps the result of a neighbour’s over-zealous pre-Hogmanay cleaning. But Mrs Scott’s own fire had gone out, the room itself was freezing cold, and every surface, including the beautiful marble mantelpiece, which was the old lady’s pride and joy, was covered in an inky-black film. Kate blinked in amazement, especially when she took a closer look at her friend and employer. She opened her mouth and before she could stop herself, the words were out.