A Glimpse at Happiness

by Jean Fullerton

She smiled and several of the men around flinched. ‘Will I?’ she asked in a pleasant tone.

  Lucy forced her eyes to stop roaming and looked at her. ‘Well, it ain’t right to keep ’em. I mean, you got what you wanted and they are only young ’uns after all.’ Lucy eyed her nervously. ‘It’s sort of understood, aint it? Nippers are left be.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Ma asked in an icy voice.

  Harry stepped forwards and put his hand out. ‘Now, Ma, Lucy’s not—’

  Ma’s hand shot up and Lucy jolted back.

  ‘See the teeth marks?’ she said holding the back of her right hand close to the girl’s face.

  Lucy’s eyes focused on the curved row of teeth marks on the back of Ma’s hand. ‘Nolan’s snotty little bugger did that only yesterday. Drew blood, too, he did. And the other one, that girl, with her slanty dago eyes kept staring as if she’s trying to hex me.’

  Harry stepped forward and Lucy’s head lolled back as she grinned up at him.

  Lucy’s fair eyebrows drew together. ‘But you said yourself, ’Arry, it wasn’t right to keep them locked up in Burr Street.’

  Harry gave her a hard look and she put her finger to her lips and giggled.

  ‘Lucy’s a bit tipsy,’ he said, giving his mother a conciliatory smile. ‘You didn’t mean anything, did you, sweet?’

  Sweet! Ma’s eyes narrowed.

  She studied her eldest son. ‘So you think I should go down to the nasty dark cellar and untie dear Mickey and darling Annie, do you, Harry?’

  There were a couple of titters and he shuffled on the spot.

  ‘I . . . er . . . I’m just saying that now Nolan’s taken care of, if we don’t release his brats there’ll be grumbling in the streets.’

  Fury shot through her and she pulled her face into an ugly expression. ‘Grumbling! What the feck do I care about grumbling? And how you can stand there and say that after what that bastard did to your brother I just don’t know. Or have you forgotten?’

  ‘No I haven’t forgotten but—’

  Ma jabbed her finger towards Charlie. ‘Look at him,’ she screamed. ‘You, too.’ She grabbed Lucy and pulled her around. ‘Look what Nolan did to my darling boy.’ She let her eyes rest on Charlie’s contorted features for a moment then turned back to Harry. ‘And you say I should let his brats go so Miss Josie fecking O’Casey can trip off to the jail and tell him his kids is safe?’ She let go of Lucy and the girl fell against Harry. ‘I’ll tell you this. A man like Nolan could do a stretch and walk out smiling if his kids were safe, but I want him to suffer up here.’ She tapped her forehead with her finger. ‘Suffer every day of his life, just like my Charlie does.’

  ‘But even Pa and Popeye Wells didn’t touch each other’s families, ’ Harry said with a hollow laugh. ‘I mean, if they had, half of us wouldn’t be here now.’

  Ma cast her eyes around and unbelievably, she saw agreement in the men’s expressions. Alarm started in her chest. They looked loyal enough, but who knew for how long? There was plenty of life in her yet, but with Charlie injured there was only Harry to enforce her will, and what if he turned against her? Her eyes returned to Lucy.

  She’d always used the fact that men thought with their balls to her advantage - it was how she’d caught her Harry after all - but until now the women her sons had used to scratch their itch had come and gone. What if Lucy, with her willing smile and body, turned Harry to her ways? If he stood against his ma, the men he led would follow and then where would she be? She chewed the inside of her mouth with her few remaining teeth.

  With a lightning move her hand shot out and caught hold of a clump of Lucy’s blonde hair. The girl screamed but Ma dragged her closer until their faces were only a hair’s breadth apart.

  ‘Who asked your sodding opinion?’ she asked, shaking the girl’s head.

  Lucy’s face crumpled. ‘I only said—’

  ‘Who?’ Ma bellowed, shaking the girl’s head again.

  Lucy screamed and a thin line of red appeared along her hair line. ‘No one,’ she sobbed.

  Ma let go of the lank strands but grasped the back of her head and, digging her nails into the girl’s scalp, forced Lucy to look at her. ‘Then keep your fecking mouth shut, she shouted,’ then she smashed the girl’s face into the edge of the bar. There was a sickening crunch as she connected to the wood.

  Ma let go and Lucy collapsed among the empty bottles and sawdust on the floor, blood pouring from her nose. Harry made as if to bend down but Ma fixed him with a look and he stayed where he was.

  She gazed down at the unconscious girl as the splattered blood soaked into her gown and congealed on her cheek. Then she looked up, flexed her hand, and smiled. ‘Anyone else got an opinion about the Nolan kids?’

  Meg handed over her shilling and gathered up her bundle. She haggled with the rag seller and got down from sixpence to fourpence for a new dress for Polly, two shifts, a bonnet for the baby and a serviceable dark dress and petticoat for herself. Of course, she would have to soak the filth off the garments before they could wear them, but they would be sound enough when she had.

  Meg had been pleased when she’d heard that Miss Josie had moved in with Patrick Nolan. The news had shot around the streets like lightning and while some pretended to be shocked Meg had been glad for her. Of course, at the moment Miss Josie could do with some help from the Almighty with her man locked away and his children missing.

  Patrick Nolan was a good man. None better, as far as she was concerned. Everyone admired him for standing up to Ma Tugman, although much good it had done him and his own, and Meg couldn’t help but worry what would become of them now that Ma was back in control.

  And where were those poor children? It was the talk of the streets. Miss Josie had put up posters all over but there was still no news of them. It weren’t right taking children, no matter who their father was. Until they could do proper damage kids were left to roam. Someone knew where they were of course, but they weren’t saying, and Meg understood why. You might as well slit your own throat if you crossed Ma.

  Meg turned the corner into East Smithfield and knocked straight into a woman with a shawl pulled tightly around her face. She murmured her apologies and was about to walk by but then stopped.

  ‘Lucy Moss? Is it you?’

  The woman nodded.

  Meg and Lucy had grown up in the same street and although she had been fond of Lucy, she kept well out of her way since she’d taken up with Charlie Tugman.

  ‘Hello,’ Lucy whispered, moving the shawl away slightly.

  Meg gasped. Lucy had always had fine-boned features with sharp cheeks and a pointed chin framed by pale blonde hair, but now her once straight nose looked like a squashed and bloodied piece of offal on a butcher’s slab, and her pale blue eyes stared out of mauve, green and yellow bruising around their sockets.

  ‘For the love of God, who did that to you?’ she asked, as she stared in horror at the young woman’s battered face.

  ‘That evil old bitch, Ma Tugman,’ Lucy replied, sucking in the spittle that had escaped from her lips.

  An icy hand of fear clutched at Meg and she quickly looked around. Thankfully, the street was practically empty and those nearby couldn’t have heard what Lucy said over the noise of the wagons passing by. Meg drew her into the wall and out of sight.

  ‘I was out cold for a day after she smacked my head on the bar. And the pain! I can’t tell you,’ Lucy added.

  Meg could imagine. Even in the shadows it was clear to see that there wasn’t one part of Lucy’s face that wasn’t either swollen or discoloured. She must be in agony just breathing, never mind eating or speaking.

  Meg chewed her lower lip. She ought to go. The children would be waiting and, besides, anyone who’d fallen foul of Ma wasn’t someone you wanted others to see you hobnobbing with. There were plenty of people who would slip a titbit of information to Ma to stay in her good books.

  Meg adjusted the basket on her arms. ‘Well it’s good to see you agai
n, and mind how you go.’

  Lucy gave her a forlorn look, and Meg realised what a stupid thing she’d just said. Mind how you go?!

  The memory of how Josie O’Casey had defied Ma came back to Meg. Josie hadn’t turned tail and run; no, she’d stood up to her and sent her packing.

  Meg studied the downturned face of Lucy again. Thinking of Josie’s daring overcame Meg’s fear and allowed her motherly instincts to rise. As much as Ma Tugman’s face woke her from sleep in a cold sweat of terror, she couldn’t just leave Lucy as she was.

  ‘Right,’ she said putting her free arm around her old friend. ‘You’re coming home with me, my girl, and no argument.’

  Lucy didn’t argue, in fact, she slumped against Meg all the way home. Meg should have collected her children along the way but, in view of the state Lucy was in, she didn’t think Mrs Olly would mind if she were a bit late. After shutting the door to her room she guided Lucy to the easy chair, lit the fire and put the kettle on.

  She turned back to find the young woman had closed her eyes and appeared to have drifted off to sleep. Her shawl had slipped off her head showing that, in addition to her other injuries, her friend had a line of torn skin on her forehead. Within a few moments the kettle was hissing and Meg made a cup of tea. She judged that Lucy needed something to build her up so spooned in the last few lumps of sugar in her tea.

  ‘There you go,’ she said, handing Lucy the mug.

  Lucy opened her eyes and took the cup. She cradled it in her hands and gave as near to a smile as she could manage with her twisted lips.

  ‘I thought you’d be gone from the Boatman long before this,’ Meg said, as she watched Lucy sip up her tea. ‘I mean, with Charlie not too well and all.’

  Although Charlie’s condition was common knowledge, most thought it no more then he deserved and a great deal more besides, but you didn’t speak about it if you knew what was good for you.

  ‘When Harry brought him back I thought he would be fine and dandy in a day or two, but now he can’t even hold his water and she’s got me tending to him like I was a nursemaid or something, cleaning him up, feeding him and the like. It ain’t right. I tried to leave but that old bitch wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘You’re not going back now though, are you?’ Meg said. ‘Not after this. I mean, you could be waiting for a space in the poor end of the churchyard instead of sitting here sipping tea.’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I haven’t got anywhere else to go. It’s there or the workhouse.’ She looked around at Meg’s snug little room. ‘Could I come and live with you?’

  An image of Ma Tugman’s wrinkled face floated into Meg’s mind and she shook her head.

  ‘Don’t think me hard, Lucy, but I have my children to think of and I don’t want her or Harry coming around here looking for you.’

  Lucy shoulders sagged. ‘I understand.’

  Guilt shot through Meg. As much as she didn’t relish the thought of any woman having to live with the Tugmans she really couldn’t take the chance of Ma turning her beady eyes on her and the children again. Then an idea came to her.

  ‘I know!’ she said sitting up straight and beaming at Lucy. ‘You can go around to the Mission hall in Settle Street and get saved.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get saved. The doxies in Whitechapel do it regularly. You go in and they ask you if you repent your sins. You say yes and then they give you a bath, a set of clothes and a bed with no questions asked.’

  Lucy’s eyes popped open as far as they could. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘More or less. And then if you go to their Bible study each week they feed you again,’ Meg explained.

  ‘Sounds fair to me,’ Lucy said, looking quite perky at the thought.

  ‘I also heard that they are looking for suitable young women to go to Australia.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Lucy asked as she finished her tea.

  ‘’Cos there are too many men there and they’re looking for wives,’ Meg replied. ‘Girl like you could do well there, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  She left Lucy thinking about her words and went back to the table. She unpacked her basket and set aside the basin of chicken stew. She was going to save it but it would be a kindness to share it with Lucy. They were having mutton stew tomorrow in the doctor’s mess and there was bound to be some left over.

  ‘Why don’t you stay and have a bit of supper with me and the kids and go off to the Mission later? They don’t shut their door until midnight.’

  ‘You’re a kind soul,’ Lucy said, standing and joining Meg at the table. ‘Why don’t I do that while you go and get your little ‘uns?’

  Meg let her take over setting the plates out and grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair.

  ‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said as she reached the door. She turned back as Lucy started to slice through the bread. ‘By the by, you didn’t say why Ma hit you?’

  Lucy’s pale blue eyes looked across at her. ‘Because I told her that it wasn’t right to keep Patrick Nolan’s kids tied up in her cellar in Burr Street.’

  The guard swung the chain at his waist, caught the dozen or so keys in his hand and unlocked the door to the room. He pushed Patrick in. From the other doors leading to the visitors’ room various prisoners shuffled forward for the once-a-month visiting hour.

  The prison officers in their buttoned-up navy uniforms and peaked caps stood with their backs to the wall, batons in their hands. The long hall was devoid of all fittings except a bench. One side of the room was punctuated at regular intervals with arched, barred windows. It was through this grille, like the monkeys at a fair, that the inmates received their loved ones at the governor’s pleasure.

  Pentonville, the New Model Prison, had been open for less than two years but was already filled to capacity. The silent regime kept men in their own cells for hours on end. When allowed to exercise, it was done under the watchful eye of the officers, who forbade all communication.

  Even the officers were silent as they moved around the place. At first, this lack of noise suited Patrick, but over the last few days he had begun to wonder how he would manage if he was sentenced to years of this regime.

  He was allowed his own clothes, although these were becoming dirty and he already had flea bites. With one bucket of water a day for personal use, it was almost impossible to keep himself and his clothes clean but he’d done his best. Years on board ships had taught him a few things, including soaking his smalls in urine before rinsing them through to help keep the lice at bay.

  Patrick took his place on the stool opposite the grille. His mother sat on the other side of the bars with Gus, in his best suit, perched on a stool alongside her. She gave him a brave smile.

  ‘It’s good to see you, son. You don’t look as thin as I thought you might,’ she said. Her tone was too jolly.

  ‘It’s grand to see you, Mam,’ he said, thinking how old and tired she looked. He turned to his brother. ‘I’m even pleased to see your ugly moosh, Gus. How’s Mattie?’

  ‘As well as can be expected. Kate’s with her,’ Sarah told him.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Pat; I’m looking after everything just as you would. You’ll soon be out of here,’ Gus said.

  Patrick managed a faint smile in response, thankful at least that the Nolan women had Gus to look out for them. ‘Have Annie and Mickey been found yet?’ Patrick dared to ask.

  His mother shook her head.

  He thought he was prepared for the answer, but hearing the words out loud crushed him all over again. He tried not to dwell on what might have happened to them but at night, in a bare cell, he could think of nothing else. ‘How’s Josie?’

  ‘Well enough, although out of her mind with worry, like the rest of us,’ Sarah told him. ‘She sent this.’

  She unfolded a letter and held it up for him to read.

  Patrick scanned the bold hand telling him of her love and renewing her promise to find the children. He read it three times to memorise every word bef
ore he allowed Sarah to refold it and slip it back in her pocket.

  The sounds of voices echoed around him. He glanced at an old man beside him in the dark blue uniform of a compliant prisoner, then through the bars to the woman in rags sobbing quietly in the grille beside his mother’s chair.

  ‘God, I feel so useless!’ he shouted, and the warden tapped his stick on the side of his leg. Patrick forced himself to calm down. He was still bruised from the blow in the court.

  ‘Come on, Pat,’ Gus said, his eyes darting to their mother on the chair beside him.

  Patrick nodded and pulled himself up. He gave his mother as much of a smile as he could muster.

  ‘What’s being done? Is Jackson back yet?’