No Cure for Love

by Jean Fullerton

  Danny’s eyes narrowed and his mouth started to tighten. ‘Are you accusing me?’

  ‘No, but you’re right. This is a fortuitous meeting. Now you know of the discrepancies, I have no need to take the matter to the committee immediately, I will wait until you have looked into it first.’

  For one second Robert thought that Donovan was about to lunge at him, then the familiar expression of jovial good humour returned.

  He slapped his thigh and winked at Robert. ‘I said to my Ellie you were a powerful clever man, and that you are, sir.’

  With a great deal of effort Robert forced himself to remain composed. He stood up.

  ‘Do you see Mrs O’Casey a great deal?’ Robert asked, the question springing from his lips of its own volition.

  ‘Come, Doctor. You’re a man of the world.’ Danny gave him a mocking glance. ‘God love you, sir, Ellen and I are intimate friends.’

  With a satisfied grin on his face, Danny took up his top hat from the table. ‘I’ll have a word with my man at the yard.’ He flipped the hat on his head and tapped it down. ‘And I’ll give Ellen your regards when I see her later.’

  Stifling the urge to smash Danny Donovan in his puffy face, Robert forced out a ‘thank you’. Robert stood motionless for a good minute or two after the door closed on Donovan and the Trundles. He sat back down at the ledger, picked up his quill and tried to resume his study of the figures. He jotted down a couple of notes, then stopped and stared blankly at the paper.

  There was a loud crack. Ink splattered the crisp, white page. The pen in Robert’s hand was now snapped in half.

  Kitty lifted her blonde head as Ellen supported her back to her chair and sat her down. It was only half an hour before the entertainment was due to start and Kitty had been vomiting without cease for the past three-quarters of an hour.

  ‘You can’t go on like that, Kitty,’ Ellen said, giving her friend a glass of water.

  ‘I have to. Danny will sack me if I’m sick again,’ Kitty said, her bright blue eyes staring helplessly. She swallowed, then retched again into the bucket on the floor.

  Ellen watched, concerned and sympathetic. She and Kitty had started at the Angel within a week of each other and had shared the dressing room ever since. Kitty was willowy and ethereal and danced like a nymph over the water, but unfortunately Kitty had given in to Danny. Not that it did her any good. She still had to earn her wages like the rest of them, although she did get the occasional extra florin or two when she kept Danny company. For having Danny heave and grunt on her, Ellen thought she deserved every penny of it and more. But now Kitty was sick and she knew why.

  ‘What did you take?’ Ellen asked, as Kitty sipped the water.

  ‘I got this.’ Kitty reached into her pocket and pulled out a small green glass bottle. Ellen peered at the label. Someone had written ‘Gentlewoman’s Restorative’ on it in a scrawling hand. She uncorked the bottle and sniffed, then drew back and waved her hand over the opening.

  ‘How much of this have you taken?’ she asked, as Kitty leant over the bucket again.

  ‘Old Annie said to take a mouthful on rising, one midday and again as I goes to bed,’ Kitty said.

  Old Annie was a loud and quarrelsome woman. It was rumoured that in her younger days she had been a high-class whore up west. It might have been true, but around these streets Old Annie was known for one thing, and that was the flushing out of unwanted infants. Women came from miles around to seek the abortionist’s skills - and not all of them poor single girls like Kitty. Old Annie had a steady stream of married women who could not face the thought of another mouth to feed.

  ‘For the love of Mary, there is white vitriol in this brew. You’re poisoning yourself, Kitty,’ Ellen said hotly, then put her arm around her friend. ‘Why did you go to that old hag?’

  ‘The boiling in the bath and bottle of gin didn’t work this time,’ Kitty said, as her shoulders slumped.

  Ellen said nothing. What else could Kitty do? Danny wouldn’t help her. One of his women had been dragged from the Thames when she couldn’t get a child to budge, and Ellen was determined not to see her friend suffer the same fate.

  She stood up and got hold of Kitty’s cape. Putting it snugly around her friend she stood Kitty up.

  ‘You’re going home,’ she said, walking Kitty towards the door.

  ‘But what about Danny? He’ll be mad as the devil when he hears,’ Kitty protested weakly.

  ‘He’ll be madder still if you walk onto his stage and spew over the audience. No buts. Leave Danny Donovan to me,’ Ellen said with more bravado than she felt.

  ‘You’re so good to me,’ Kitty said.

  Ellen gave her a mock frown. ‘That I am. Giving myself more work tonight while you sit snug by the fire.’

  A ghost of a smile crossed Kitty’s face. ‘You won’t mind when you see who I spotted taking his supper here tonight again.’

  Ellen’s heart started to pound.

  ‘You’re blushing, Ellen O’Casey,’ Kitty said with a trace of her old spirit. ‘Doctor Munroe’s fair enough on the eye, I suppose.’

  ‘Tom,’ Ellen called and the youthful stagehand came running. ‘Take Miss Henry home. She’s unwell. Tell Reuben I’ll sing two extra to make up her time.’

  ‘Right you are, Miss Ellen,’ Tom said, and offered Kitty his arm. ‘It’ll be fine and smart tonight. It’s a quiet crowd, intent on their victuals, and Mr Donovan’s gone to the Prospect to sup.’

  Despite her assurances to Kitty, Ellen felt mighty relieved to hear this piece of news. As she handed Kitty over into Tom’s care she gave her friend a sideways glance.

  ‘“Fair enough on the eye”?’ Ellen said in a low voice. ‘I say he’s powerful handsome is Doctor Munroe and no mistake.’

  As Ellen stepped out on the stage her eyes immediately sought out Doctor Munroe. She found him sitting in the far corner, his back against the wall and his head turned away. William Chafford was with him and both were intent on the plates before them.

  Disappointed but not over-perturbed, Ellen signalled for Reuben to strike up her first song. She expected that once Munroe knew that she was singing he would turn around as he usually did. As Ellen finished her fourth song and he still had his back to her, her heart was starting to sink.

  His attention and compliments had led her to dream that she and he might bridge the gap of status that divided them like a yawning chasm. Now he was pointedly ignoring her, and she wanted to know why.

  Taking her last bow and blowing a kiss to the applauding audience, Ellen sped back to her dressing room and wiped her face. She never went into the bar unless Danny forced her to. Why would she start now? She chewed her lip hard. Then she combed and repinned her hair and adjusted her dress. With a deep breath she left the dressing room and headed for the small door into the auditorium.

  The smoke drifted around the barroom in heavy clouds as Ellen came in. A couple of the regulars stared as she emerged, but after a sharp look they resumed their drinking. Doctor Munroe sat drinking with Doctor Chafford and three other gentlemen who had joined them. Ellen cast her eyes over the five men sitting around the scrubbed oak table.

  Doctor Chafford spotted her and stood up. ‘What a pleasure.’ She smiled at him, but watched Doctor Munroe out of the corner of her eye. He sat motionless.

  The three newcomers sprang to their feet and Doctor Munroe turned. Ellen forced herself not to look at him.

  Doctor Chafford continued. ‘May I introduce you to Doctors St John, Young and Benthan.’ The three young men bowed while Munroe threw back the remainder of his brandy and signalled for another.

  ‘We don’t often see you this side of the stage without Danny Donovan, Mrs O’Casey,’ Robert said with a drawl, as Ellen’s eyes rested on the face that haunted her day and night. On every other occasion that Robert had looked at her, his eyes had been warm and caressing, but not tonight. Now they were flint-hard and his mouth was turned up in a bitter smile as he spoke. ‘Are you sure he
wouldn’t object to you walking between the tables like the other women in here?’

  He waved his hand to where Lizzy and Mo were chatting and flirting with the men.

  William Chafford shot his friend a furious look. Ellen felt her face burning. She resisted the urge to turn and run and forced a smile.

  ‘I ... I came to wish you a good evening before I left,’ she said, looking at William Chafford. She inclined her head and turned to leave.

  ‘Your pardon, Miss, you’re not venturing out on the streets alone?’ Benthan asked in a serious tone.

  ‘She’ll be quite safe,’ Doctor Munroe told the young man with a faint slur to his voice. ‘She has Danny Donovan’s protection. Do you not, Mrs O’Casey?’

  Ellen rounded on Robert. ‘I’m thinking, Doctor Munroe, that I’m mighty surprised to find that you are such an intimate acquaintance of Mr Danny Donovan’s.’

  Doctor Munroe rose slowly to his feet and towered over her. ‘And I’m thinking,’ he said, mimicking her accent, ‘that for all your show of respectability, I am mighty surprised that you are an intimate acquaintance of Danny Donovan too, madam.’

  Ellen’s hand itched to slap his mocking face. She held her hands together in front of her and gave him the iciest of looks. She turned to the others, who stood open-mouthed around the table looking at her and the doctor.

  ‘Gentlemen, I bid you goodnight,’ she said, sweeping past Robert and towards the door just before tears made their presence known. It would seem that men, be they doctors or dockers, were all the same.

  Seven

  Josie walked beside her mother to Raine’s school in Charles Street. She carried her satchel with her lunch and books; Ellen held a large basket on one arm and a pint flask in the other. As they crossed Commercial Road into Sutton Street, Josie gave her a questioning look.

  ‘Have you been crying, Ma?’ Josie asked.

  ‘No. Whatever put such a thought into your head, child?’ Ellen asked.

  Josie wasn’t fooled. She had heard her mother weeping softly for over an hour after she slid into the bed last night.

  ‘Oh, your red eyes and the way I felt you shaking in bed last night,’ she replied.

  Ellen turned to the basket over her arm and shifted its weight. ‘If you must know, I was, because... because ... I’m worried about Kitty. She was sick last night.’

  ‘Is she in the family way?’

  ‘Josie! What do you know of such matters?’ They sidestepped the remains of a dead rat. The cat, whose kill it was, returned to the half-eaten rodent as they passed.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ma. I know about these things. I know she went to see Old Annie a few months ago when her monthly stopped. I heard you and Gran whispering about it.’

  Behind them a wagon’s wheels rattled over the cobbles. The driver gave a shrill whistle.

  ‘Morning to you, sweet ladies,’ he said, whipping off his worn leather cap, the lad beside him following suit. It was Patrick Nolan.

  Josie felt her cheeks glow. She lowered her head, but not before she saw her mother’s eyes on her. She glanced back up to the wagon to find Patrick smiling at her. Josie raised her eyes and smiled back at him, noting his curly black hair, and sea-blue eyes as she did so.

  ‘That’s Patrick Nolan, Ma, my friend Matte Nolan’s brother,’ she said, with a soft lilt in her voice. ‘He’s grand handsome, don’t you think?’

  Her mother gave her a surprised look, but couldn’t hide a small smile. ‘He’s a good-looking lad, I’ll grant you, but you’d better be looking at your books, not grand handsome young men, Josephine Bridget O’Casey.’

  Josie grinned at her mother. ‘See you later, Ma.’ She gave her a loud kiss on her cheek as she turned towards Clark Street. ‘Give Kitty my love.’

  Even though she was used to the stench of decomposing refuse, Ellen wrinkled her nose as she entered Thomas Court. The cobbles beneath her feet disappeared and were replaced by slippery mud. In the centre of the narrow court was a large lake of stagnant water in which could be seen the contents of emptied night buckets. As she made her way, Josie’s words remained in her mind.

  Yes, Patrick was a handsome lad. Michael had been, too... Thank God she was only a pound or two short of the passage money. They would be gone by Christmas.

  Lifting her skirt and stepping carefully around the foul water, Ellen made her way to the end of the alley and number thirty. Giving the sow and three piglets in an improvised sty in front of the small house a wide berth, Ellen entered the front door and made her way up the dark stairs to Kitty’s room. A baby cried and a man’s voice cursed from below as she knocked on Kitty’s door. On hearing a feeble ‘Come in’ Ellen opened it.

  Kitty gave her a warm smile. She was sitting by the small kitchen range sipping a mug of tea and, to Ellen’s relief, she looked a great deal better than she had the night before. She put her basket on the table, and asked, ‘Have you eaten this morning?’ Kitty shook her head. ‘I thought not. That’s why I brought you some oats and bread.’

  ‘Oh, Ellen,’ Kitty said with a croak in her voice as Ellen unpacked a pot of porridge and a small fresh loaf.

  ‘Tush,’ Ellen said, and held up a waxed paper package. ‘There’s a bit of best dripping too and, although I spoil you and I shouldn’t, I brought you one of these to help you on.’ She held up a fat orange. ‘They’re good for you, you know, if you’re poorly.’

  ‘Saint, you are,’ Kitty said as Ellen handed her the porridge and poured on a quantity of milk.

  Ellen poured herself a mug of tea and sat opposite her friend. ‘Did it work?’

  Kitty shook her head dolefully. ‘No.’ They sat in silence for a moment. ‘I’ll have to go to Old Annie again and see if she’ll set me right.’

  ‘Have you lost your wits? That old bitch will kill you.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Kitty looked around the room with its damp walls and bare furnishings. ‘I can barely support myself, let alone a baby.’

  ‘Devil take Danny Donovan’s black soul,’ Ellen said fervently. ‘’Tis he who should have his innards poked with Old Annie’s hook, not you.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Kitty said wearily as she put down the empty bowl.

  ‘Come and stay with me and Mammy for a while and then come with us to America. It’s only three pounds for stowage passage in winter.’

  ‘Three pounds! I couldn’t lay my hands on three shillings.’

  ‘You could put some by each week in the Thrift bank like I do. We’ll be leaving before Christmas, God willing, to join my brother Joe in New York.’ She put her arm round Kitty and gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘What do you say, Kit?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kitty answered listlessly.

  Ellen took hold of her shoulders and made her friend look at her. ‘Promise me you’ll not go to see Old Annie,’ she said The girl nodded her head very slightly and Ellen let her go. ‘I have to get back to Mammy, but before I go I’ll peel you this,’ she picked up the orange.

  Kitty smiled. ‘How’s that dear heart child, Josie?’

  ‘She sends her love and is noticing young men with wild curly hair,’ Ellen answered, peeling back the orange to reveal the soft juicy segments beneath.

  ‘As you were at her age,’ Kitty said, popping a piece of orange in her mouth.

  ‘That I did. I noticed Michael O’Casey’s wild curly hair when I was fourteen and was heavy with his child at fifteen,’ Ellen said. ‘That’s not the life I want for my Josie.’

  She wiped the orange juice on her hands down her skirt and stood up. ‘I’ll have to go, but I’ll call after Mass on Saturday.’

  ‘Saint you are, Ellen,’ Kitty said again, her blue eyes soft as they rested on Ellen. ‘And give my love to yer Mammy and Josie.’

  Ellen wagged her finger at her with a mock frown on her face. ‘Eat your orange, drink your tea and I’ll see you on Saturday.’

  The sewage that ran down the centre of the narrow passageway crept over the welts of Robert’s shoes. Beside him h
e could hear Mr Dawson, clerk of works for St George’s parish, gag. Watching them from out of the doors and windows that fronted the alleyway were the sunken-eyed residents of Anchor and Hope Passage. Robert took in the appalling scene and then stepped forward towards the communal pump.

  ‘Surely you’re not going down there, Doctor,’ Dawson asked in a horrified tone.

  ‘Of course,’ Robert replied.

  Dawson signalled to the two men lounging against the warehouse on the other side of Tench Street. They stood away from the wall, pulled the front of their short jackets down and straightened their half-crown hats. In Robert’s view it was totally unnecessary to have two parish constables accompany him as he inspected the parish but Dawson had insisted. After a short discussion Robert had agreed. Flanked by Dawson and the constables, Robert entered Anchor and Hope passage.

  Although the day was bright the narrow alley, the sides of which could be touched by a man with outstretched arms standing in its centre, was in almost total shadow. The houses had been built a century ago as fine, three-storey terraces, but had long since lapsed into crumbling dosshouses.

  Robert unfolded the leather wallet in his hand and scribbled a few notes.

  As the inhabitants of the surrounding houses watched them, Robert and his small entourage continued further down the airless alley. They stopped at the hand pump, the sole water supply to the houses of the area. It looked as if it had been adapted from an old cannon and sat six inches or so off the upright. The handle dangled listlessly.

  Robert took hold of the handle and wrenched it up. There was a loud creak and after some resistance it moved. Having got it to its full height, he pushed it back down. There was another creak and a small spurt of discoloured water fell on the cobbles.

  He turned to Dawson, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Robert opened the leather file again.

  ‘According to my records, this pump was replaced six months ago.’ He fixed Dawson with an iron stare.