When she felt the hand stroking her hair she raised her head wearily, expecting to find Charlie standing beside her. When she saw Liz by her side, her plump face filled with concern, the surprise was so great she immediately stopped crying.
‘Here, take this and wipe your face before Charlie comes over to see what’s going on,’ she said gruffly handing over a large square piece of cloth.
Maggie took the makeshift handkerchief gratefully and began to rub her tear-stained cheeks. Minutes later a steaming mug of tea was deposited in front of her, and wrapping her hands around it she said shakily, ‘Thanks, Liz, just what I needed.’
But Liz was no longer listening. Her body fidgeting from side to side, she swept her gaze around the room as if seeking a solution from the four walls. The silence in the room lengthened, and just when Maggie thought she could take no more, Lizzie spoke.
‘I’ll ask round the factory tomorrow – maybe someone knows of a job going. But in the meantime, you get out and have a look around.’
Gulping down the last of her tea Maggie laid the mug on the table and asked, ‘What about the factory, aren’t there any jobs going…’ Before she could finish Liz leapt to her feet, her face red with anger.
‘No, it’s bad enough I have to work there, I’m not having you risk your health and maybe your life as well, so you can put that idea out of your mind right now.’ Her voice had risen, and Maggie watched in alarm as the irate figure paced the room.
‘But, Liz, you’ve worked there for years and you’re all right. I know there’s a danger working with matches, but if you can do it then so can I.’
Lizzie looked down into the wide brown eyes and shook her head sorrowfully. ‘You don’t know the half of it, Maggie.’ She was sitting down again, her hands laid out flat on the table.
‘If you’re lucky enough not to get “phossy jaw” there’s still the sulphur. It can rot your chest and throat if you inhale too much of it.’ Her eyes were staring over Maggie’s head and when she spoke again it was as if she were talking to herself.
‘The first week I was there, the woman next to me dropped at her bench. The lower part of her face was horribly disfigured and she could hardly breathe. She was carried out and dumped outside the gates with as much compassion as you’d show a pile of rags, and within the hour another woman had taken her place. I cried all day for that woman, and got docked three pence for falling behind on my work. I’ve lost count of the women and girls I’ve seen go the same way. But I don’t cry any more, I just pray, and thank God it wasn’t me.’
Maggie felt a lump settle in her throat. By refusing to let her work at the factory, Liz had shown how much she cared for her. This alone made Maggie more determined than ever to share the work load, no matter how dangerous it was. Jutting her chin out she said firmly, ‘It’s good of you to worry about me, but we don’t have a lot of choice in the matter, do we? I’ll come with you tomorrow and…’
‘And what?’ Liz asked, her voice flat. ‘You think you can just walk in and be given a job. There must be a couple of dozen women waiting for someone to drop so they can take their place. They’re outside the gates every morning waiting on the off chance that a vacancy will come up. There’s always plenty of jobs for home workers, but the pay is awful, tuppence farthing for every gross of matchboxes you finish. But it’s not just that the pay is so bad, you’d be bringing the same danger I face every day into the house, and you can’t do that – it wouldn’t be fair to Charlie.’
Maggie stared down at her lap, a feeling of hopelessness sweeping over her. Liz was right, she couldn’t put Charlie at risk, but there must be something she could do, there must be. Fighting down a rising feeling of panic she answered, ‘Perhaps I could get another job in a shop, I’ve got the experience, and I could get an evening job as well. If I earned enough money, you could give up the factory and…’
‘And maybe one day a lord or duke will come riding by and whisk us off to his castle and we’ll all live happily ever after,’ Liz’s voice cut in sardonically. ‘Grow up, Maggie, for God’s sake. You were damned lucky to get that job with Mr Abrahams – you won’t get another chance like that. Now be quiet a minute and let me think.’
Drumming her fingers impatiently on the table, she suddenly gave a short laugh, ‘We could always ply our wares up West. Teresa’s forever telling me I’m sitting on a fortune.’
‘What!’ Maggie’s face screwed up in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand… Oh.’ The import of Lizzie’s words suddenly became clear, and Maggie felt her lips stretching into a wide grin. The next moment both girls were laughing freely, united together in a rare moment of comradeship.
‘Oh, Liz, I didn’t think I’d laugh today,’ Maggie hiccuped loudly. ‘In fact I didn’t think I’d ever laugh again.’
‘Well, there hasn’t been much to laugh about lately, has there?’ Liz was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Anyway, we’d better get to bed, we’ve both got to get up early in the morning.’
Still chuckling they undressed and climbed in beside Charlie who was snoring softly on the edge of the mattress. ‘Goodnight, Liz.’
‘Goodnight.’
Turning over on her side Maggie smiled into the darkness as she recalled what Liz had said. Then remembering her earlier fears, she rolled over on her back and whispered tentatively, ‘You wouldn’t leave us, would you, Liz? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but I will get a job, I promise. You won’t have to look after me and Charlie for long.’
When no answer came she thought Liz had fallen asleep and was about to turn back on her side when Lizzie spoke.
‘Thanks, Maggie, thanks a bunch,’ she said, her voice filled with bitterness. ‘It just shows what you really think of me if you could imagine I would walk out and leave you and Charlie without any money coming in. And there was me thinking you really cared about me, when all you’re worried about is losing my wages.’
Shocked at the hurt in Lizzie’s voice Maggie propped herself up on her elbow crying, ‘That’s not true, Liz, I… I love you, honest I do, even if we are always fighting. And I do care about you working in the factory. I’d give anything to be able to get you out of there. Please, Liz, don’t be angry with me. I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s just that I feel so useless. Please say something, Liz, I feel terrible.’
‘All right, all right, don’t get yourself into a state,’ the voice came back at her. ‘I believe you. And… and I’ll probably never say this again, but I love you too. Now go to sleep before we get too soppy, we’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’
Heaving a sigh of relief Maggie settled down once more, and when she moved close to Liz for warmth she felt the body stiffen for a moment before relaxing against her. Snuggling down under the blanket she closed her eyes, and just before sleep overcame her she heard Liz mutter softly, ‘When Mr Bates comes on Friday, you’d better ask him about the basement. It won’t hurt to have another look.’
Four
The small, overcrowded room was stifling, the smell from last night’s dinner of herrings and cabbage lingering heavily in the dim, airless basement. In the middle of the room stood the table and four chairs, only inches separating them from the horse-hair sofa and armchair. Resting in the recess by the door was the wooden dresser, its shelves crammed with crockery, pots and pans and ornaments in an effort to conserve space. Behind the sofa lay the mattress piled high with pillows, blankets and clothing, and as Maggie looked despairingly around her new home, the familiar feeling of depression threatened to overwhelm her. They had been here for nearly six months, and during that time the relationship between her and Lizzie had deteriorated to such an extent that they now rarely spoke unless they had to. Poor Charlie, caught in the middle, had retreated even further into his shell, causing Maggie further worry. Despite her assurances that she would find another job, it had been over a month before the vacancy in the chocolate factory had come up, and then it had been only temporary. Within three weeks she had found
herself once more dependent on Liz’s money. Since then she had managed to find a few part-time jobs, but nothing permanent. The lack of employment wasn’t due to want of trying, for each day after Charlie left for school she would tramp the streets enquiring at factories and shops only to return tired and dispirited, the feeling of desperation growing inside her until she thought she would explode with worry.
It wasn’t only the lack of work that was getting her down, but rather the responsibility she had taken on of running the household. The fact that she only had to manage one room didn’t make the problem any easier; if anything it made her task more difficult. There was no scullery now in which they could wash in private, but what seemed worse to her was the fact that there was no stove to cook on. Instead she had to light the fire every time they needed hot water, so that even the simplest task of making a cup of tea had turned into a chore, for the burning coal gave off thick black dust which settled all around the room. She was constantly washing down the walls and sweeping the bare floorboards in a futile effort to keep the place clean. Then there were the bedbugs to contend with, tiny almost invisible parasites that had invaded the mattress they slept on. She had tried valiantly to rid their makeshift bed of the verminous creatures by banging and shaking the mattress every morning but all to no avail until finally she had accepted defeat. She couldn’t even get any air into the room, for opening the door meant admitting the hordes of houseflies and bluebottles that hovered outside in the street. She’d tried hanging fly-traps from the ceiling; but the foul-smelling, sticky paper had soon become dark with the swarm of writhing bodies, which had turned all their stomachs and she had been forced to take them down.
Added to all these hardships there remained the problem of lighting. With no window the room was in permanent darkness, and the use of the gas lamp was necessary even in the daytime. This was yet another reason she got out of the basement as much as possible – she just couldn’t afford to use too much gas. All of Lizzie’s wages went on rent and food, so there was no money left over for any luxuries. In a way it was fortunate that the strained atmosphere caused them to go to bed early to avoid more confrontations. If the relationship between her and Liz wasn’t so fraught they would probably stay up late talking and using up the precious gas supply.
Running her fingers wearily through her hair she tidied the clothes and bedding into a neat pile on the floor then heaved the mattress up against the wall, wondering as she did so why she bothered. Charlie always wanted to go to bed straight after his dinner, and this she could understand, for she too would go to bed as early as possible rather than endure the deathly silence that now existed between them all. Every evening she would mumble a curt ‘goodnight’ to Liz, then climb in beside Charlie in an effort to blot out yet another cheerless, depressing day, always hoping that tomorrow would bring something good, something, anything, that would lift her out of the drab, boring and frightening existence that was now her life.
The room tidied, she was about to leave, when a knock came on the door.
‘Why, hello, Mrs Casey,’ she exclaimed in surprise when she saw who her visitor was. Joyce Casey had lived in the third floor flat for as long as Maggie could remember; a quiet, reticent woman in her mid-50s who had always kept herself apart from her neighbours, preferring her own company. But when the disease had swept the house, she had been at the forefront, running errands and helping to nurse the sick despite the risk to her own health. She had sat with Maggie’s mother during her last days, sponging the sick woman down and encouraging her to drink the hot broth that Maggie had made. Since the funerals, though, she had retreated to her flat, never intruding upon the other occupants’ lives until now.
‘Hello, Maggie, how are you?’ she enquired kindly.
‘Oh, not too bad, Mrs Casey,’ Maggie answered lightly, not wishing to burden the woman with her troubles.
Joyce Casey looked at the young girl valiantly trying to maintain a brave front, knowing full well the plight she was in. Well, maybe she could help. Shifting her canvas shopping bag further up her arm, she adjusted her black woollen shawl more firmly across her chest before saying, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m interfering, Maggie, but I might know of a job going if you’re interested.’
‘Oh, Mrs Casey,’ Maggie cried out in delight, ‘nobody could ever accuse you of interfering, and yes, I would be interested, very interested. Please, won’t you come in for a minute?’
After refusing the offer of a drink, the tall, sparsely-built woman concentrated her attention on the excited girl, trying not to let her dismay show at the sight of the crowded, poky room the three young Paiges now occupied. It was a lot cleaner than she had imagined, and for that she silently applauded Maggie. She couldn’t help but notice that the dirty old patterned wallpaper had vanished to be replaced by white-wash, through which the damp was already beginning to show. But none of these improvements could hide the sickening sweet-odoured presence of bed bugs that pervaded the room.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a cockroach running across the floor and shuddered.
Drawing herself up to her full height, she said briskly, ‘Now, don’t get too excited, love, it may already be gone.’ She saw the look of startled dismay cross Maggie’s face and added quickly, ‘I’m not saying it will be, just preparing you for the worst. It’s like this; you know I’ve got a cleaning job at the hospital?’ Maggie nodded silently, her eyes never leaving the thin face.
‘Well, one of the women I work with, her friend does some outdoor work making knickerbockers – that is, she did. She died yesterday, just popped off in her sleep. Anyway, my friend says there’s a chance the factory owners haven’t had time to replace her yet. She’d go herself, ‘cos it can pay up to six bob a week if you work hard, and an extra four or five bob if you can find someone to do the finishing on them. But as she says, she’s happy at the hospital and piece-work’s always a bit dodgy; anyway, you’d better get moving, because like I said, somebody else might get there before you.’
‘I’m ready now, Mrs Casey,’ Maggie answered eagerly. ‘I was on my way out when you knocked.’
‘You’ve left the lamp burning, and you’d better put on your bonnet, it’s going to be hot today.’
Laughing gaily, Maggie hurriedly did as she was bidden, while her neighbour watched the excited figure twirling round the room. Once outside the building Mrs Casey handed Maggie a slip of paper.
‘Here’s the address, love. It’s somewhere in Shoreditch, so you’ve a bit of a walk ahead of you.’
‘I don’t mind, and thank you again, Mrs Casey. It was good of you to think of me.’
‘Don’t thank me until you’ve got the job. Now get going before someone beats you to it.’
The woman stood on the pavement waving until the slim figure disappeared from view, her face solemn, hoping that her young neighbour’s journey wouldn’t be in vain. Then with a heavy sigh she set off for work.
* * *
Maggie walked unsteadily over the cobbled pavement, her arms piled high with bundles of material as she tried to peer over the top of the bulky packets to see where she was going. Sweat poured down her face and her arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets, but she didn’t care. She had work, lots of it, enough for the week and a promise of more to come.
Carefully picking her way down the basement steps she lowered the parcels to the floor while she opened the door. The blast of hot air hit her as soon as she walked into the room, making her catch her breath sharply. Leaving the door open to get some light into the room she carried the packages into the flat before lighting the lamp. Pouring some tepid water from the jug into the basin, she sluiced her face and hands before turning her attention to the pile of material on the table. Taking a note of the time from the mantel clock she began to unwrap the parcels, smiling all the while.
* * *
‘Coo, Maggie, it’s hotter in here than it is outside,’ Charlie breathed tiredly as he flopped into the armchair.
‘Here, get that down you,’ Maggie said, handing him a mug of lemonade. She waited until he had drained the tin mug, then gesturing towards the table she asked airily, ‘Haven’t you noticed anything, Charlie?’
Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, Charlie turned his head, his face lighting up as he surveyed the mountain of material piled high on the table.
‘You got some work, Maggie?’
‘What does it look like?’ she answered happily. ‘And the man said there’s plenty more where that came from.’
‘Wait till Liz sees that lot – that’ll cheer her up, won’t it, Maggie?’
The question was couched in the form of a plea, bringing home to Maggie just how much her brother was suffering because of the strained relationship between her and Liz. Placing her hand on his head she ruffled his hair fondly.
‘Well, we can’t expect miracles, but it should make life easier for us. And don’t be too hard on Liz, you can’t blame her for being so miserable. If it wasn’t for her we’d be out on the street by now, so try and be a bit kinder to her, eh, Charlie.’
‘I do try, honest, but she ignores me most of the time. I don’t think she likes me very much.’
‘Now, don’t say that,’ she came back at him. ‘If she didn’t care she wouldn’t still be here. She could have walked out months ago, but she’s stayed, so it must mean she loves us.’
‘I suppose so.’ The small voice carried no conviction, and Maggie, anxious not to put a blight on the day, said briskly, ‘There’s no “suppose” about it, now get yourself out of that chair and start getting the dinner ready. There’s some potatoes and cabbage to boil up, and there should be enough bread left to go with it. Come on, get moving, lad, it’s all hands to the pump. I can’t be expected to make dinner, I’m a wage earner now you know.’ The jocular words had the desired effect as Charlie reluctantly left the comfort of the armchair to do as he was bid.
A Handful of Sovereigns Page 4
