No Cure for Love

by Jean Fullerton

  With a mighty shove, Robert got himself away from the wall and plunged into the surging bodies around him. He lost his hat and let it go. He was pulled on all sides as people recognised him. Well-wishers slapped his back and blessed him. Robert fixed a bland smile on his face and pressed forward.

  As he burst out of the courtroom, the cold November air took his breath for a second but it cleared his head. His eyes darted along the street towards Cheapside. Ellen was nowhere to be seen. People were collecting together by the back entrance of the court waiting for Danny Donovan to emerge on the prison cart for his short trip back to Newgate.

  Turning north, Robert was about to walk briskly along the street when he heard his name called and a number of men rushed over to him.

  ‘Doctor Munroe, can you tell the readers of The Examiner if you are satisfied now that Danny Donovan has been brought to justice?’ a young man with a scrappy beard and ink-stained fingers asked him.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Robert answered. ‘I am satisfied that an evil man has been judged as such, but I am not satisfied with the way that Mrs—’

  ‘I’m from the Standard, Doctor Munroe. I understand that Earl Grey would welcome you into the House. Are you considering standing for Parliament?’ a bald man with discoloured teeth asked.

  Another rotund individual pushed to the front. ‘Viscount Melbourne, the Home Secretary, is a close friend of yours, is he not?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say frie—’

  ‘The readers of the Weekly Visitor would like to know when you and Mrs O’Casey first met,’ a thin man with oiled hair plastered to his head asked, as he grinned at Robert.

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ Robert said abruptly, walking on.

  ‘Will you be continuing to see Mrs O’Casey now that Danny Donovan has been convicted?’ the grubby reporter from the Weekly Visitor enquired.

  Robert spun around on his heels and gave the slovenly individual an icy look, but before he could give his biting retort, a shout went up from the mass of people gathered by the back gate as it slowly began to open.

  A hellish howl rose around him as, under the bar of the gate, came a wooden cart drawn by two dray horses. It travelled over the cobbles and the occupants were forced to hold the rails to remain standing. The same two jailers who had stood next to Danny throughout the long trial now stood sentry while he took the short journey to Newgate, but Robert’s eyes were riveted to the man in the front of the wagon with his hands shackled together in front of him.

  All around Robert, rotten fruit and vegetables and dirt flew through the air. Some missiles splattered on the planks at the side of the cart while others, thrown by those with a truer aim, hit Danny Donovan as he stood erect and unmoved.

  As if he knew Robert was there, Danny Donovan looked over to where he stood. Robert saw a small flicker of his old humour as the stout Irishman held his gaze. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, then, just as the wagon turned the corner, Danny lifted his hands, touched his forelock at Robert and gave a wink.

  Anger flooded over Robert. Was he satisfied, the reporter had asked. No, he bloody wasn’t.

  If it had been difficult for him to marry Ellen before, it now was near on impossible. Danny might be condemned to death, but he had condemned Robert and Ellen to another kind of death alongside him.

  Josie should have been furious with her mother for forbidding her to attend the trial, but she wasn’t. Although nearly everyone from the surrounding streets who was able to go was crowded into or around the Old Bailey, Patrick Nolan wasn’t among them. That was because on the very day that the judge was making Danny Donovan an overdue appointment with the gallows, the Jupiter, Patrick’s first ship, was sailing out of the Port of London bound for New York. Ellen’s absence had allowed Josie to wave him goodbye without having to answer any awkward questions.

  Sitting in the window looking out towards the river Josie hugged herself and gave a little smile. Despite her opposition to his choice of career, Patrick’s mother had been on the dockside to see off her eldest son and, much to Josie’s satisfaction, Mrs Nolan’s presence hadn’t stopped Patrick kissing her noisily just before he threw his seaman’s sack over his shoulder and mounted the gangplank.

  As the ropes were thrown off the ship and it weighed anchor, Josie stood among the other seamen’s women, sobbing as the sails unfurled and the wind filled them. She waited until the topsail had disappeared around the Woolwich reach and then she drifted back to Mr Cooper’s snug house. Although she enjoyed the company of Mr Cooper’s daughters, Elsie and Violet, she was pleased that they were both out. Repairing to the small room she shared with her mother, Josie took up a book and settled herself in the window. Her eyes skimmed over the page without seeing any of the words as she lost herself in dreaming of the future and her new life. The new life she would have when her mother married Doctor Munroe.

  She pictured herself living in a house much like the one she had been staying in for the past twelve weeks. A snug house with oil lamps instead of tallow, where the tea was brewed with tea leaves that hadn’t been used, dried and resold. A house with proper carpets on the floor, and a clock. No one she had known before had actually owned a clock, but Mr Cooper had three, and she was certain Doctor Munroe must have at least one or two. But more than that, she dreamed of a house that was a home, where she and her mother would be cared for. That was just what he had promised. Not in so many words, but in every action towards her mother. There was the same softness as they spoke each other’s names and the same warmth as they looked at each other. It made Josie feel tender inside. She was just about to hug herself again when the door flew open and her mother appeared. She jumped off the sill and beamed at her, but there was no answering smile. Ellen, who looked ashen, pushed past Josie and threw herself on her knees before the trunk under the window. Josie watched her scrabbling around for a few moments, then asked, ‘Is the trial over?’

  ‘Yes, and we are leaving,’ Ellen answered, as she threw their few scraps of clothing into the middle of the candlewick counterpane.

  ‘Leaving? Shouldn’t we wait for Doctor Mu—’

  ‘Now!’ bellowed her mother. Josie started back in surprise at the sharpness in her mother’s voice. A sad smile stole over Ellen’s face. ‘The trial went badly. We have to leave before Robert arrives. It is the only way.’

  ‘But I don’t...’ Josie’s face crumpled as she watched Ellen tying the corners of the bedspread together into a bundle. ‘I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. I want you and Doctor Munroe to be married—’

  ‘That can never be now,’ Ellen said in a strangled voice. She went back to her task, tugging and clawing the bundle to shape it. Then she started to sob. ‘It’s... it’s... my ... fault. I ... I should ha ... have realised.’

  The vision of the house with carpets and clocks began to fragment in Josie’s mind as other, less pleasant thoughts crowded in. What had happened? Had Danny been found not guilty? Was he coming for them? Was that why they had to leave?

  ‘But Ma—’

  ‘It was doomed from the start,’ her mother told her, tears coursing unchecked down her cheeks.

  Josie couldn’t bear the pain in her mother’s voice. She caught hold of her. ‘Ma?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my sweetheart, so sorry,’ Ellen said, her hand resting lovingly on Josie’s cheek. ‘We have to go. I’ll explain on the way. But be my good girl and do as I say now.’

  What could she do? Her mother was now sobbing almost uncontrollably as she scraped together the last bits, and there would be no reasoning with her in the condition she was in. She hadn’t been as bad as this when Gran died. Josie gave a heavy sigh, picked up her school books and tucked them under her arm.

  She followed her mother down the servants’ stairs of the Coopers’ house, across Wellclose Square and out into the fading sunset of a cold autumn evening.

  The sun was just touching the church spires of the city behind him when Robert burst into the hall of Mr Cooper’s homel
y residence. He had run all the way from St Paul’s, oblivious to the stares of amazement his sprint along Lower Thames Street caused. Twice he had nearly found himself under the wheels of a loaded cart fresh from the docks, but dodging all obstacles in his way he forced himself on. As the maid opened the front door Mrs Cooper came out of the parlour to greet him. She was still in her coat from her afternoon parish visiting.

  ‘Doctor Munroe, how—’ she began, with a welcoming smile, then froze where she stood.

  Robert wasn’t surprised. He probably looked as wild as he felt, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have time to exchange pleasantries. He had to find Ellen. His very life depended on it.

  Almost knocking Mrs Cooper off her feet, he dashed past her up the stairs to the small attic where Ellen and Josie were lodging. As his aching muscles propelled him up the final few steps he prayed silently that he would find Ellen waiting for him. Distraught yes, shaken yes, but waiting.

  With the breath burning deep in his lungs he shoved open the door to find what he most feared, an empty room.

  He stood for a second then let out an almighty howl and punched the wall to his side. There was an instant pain in his knuckles, but it was a pale imitation of the pain tearing through his body.

  Behind him he could hear the sound of others in the house making their way up the stairs. Mrs Cooper’s voice could be heard calling for her husband in a tone charged with concern, but it barely infiltrated his brain. All his mind could register was the vacant room.

  He had to find her. There might be something that would give him an inkling of where she could have fled to. He scanned the room and spied a small travel chest under the window, then he exploded. He wrenched the lid open so forcefully that it hit the window sill and fell back, narrowly missing his hands. Robert lifted the lid and peered in.

  Nothing.

  Next he caught sight of a small chest of drawers against the back wall. He pulled open the top drawer in the small cabinet. It came out and clattered on the wooden floor, empty. He ripped out the drawer below. That was also empty and joined its fellow on the floor.

  His gaze fell on the bed. She might have left something under the mattress. Gripping the patchwork counterpane Robert wrenched it off and threw it behind him.

  There was a scream in the room. It seemed to come from a long way away. Robert ignored it. He clutched hold of the mattress hurled it off the frame, exposing the slats underneath. Again there was nothing.

  Blood was pounding in his ears and there was sweat on his brow. With his hands balled into fists Robert looked around the room. He saw Mrs Cooper in the doorway, her downstairs maid sobbing beside her. He spied the picture on the wall just above her head and reached for it. The maid let out a scream and fled back down the stairs. Robert didn’t give her a second’s thought, he just continued towards the picture. Maybe there was a note secreted behind it.

  ‘Doctor Munroe,’ he heard someone say in a distant voice. His fingers curled around the papier-mâché picture frame.

  ‘Munroe!’

  Robert stopped, picture in hand and surveyed the wreckage of Ellen’s room. He blinked twice and stared at the Mr Cooper. He let the picture in his hand fall to the floor.

  ‘Ellen ran from the court and I have to find her,’ Robert told him. He picked up the bedlinen and started to pull it apart.

  The minister gave his wife a small nod and she left the room. Mr Cooper took hold of the cane chair, one of the few pieces of furniture that had escaped Robert’s attention, and sat down. Robert continued to sift through the debris on the floor.

  ‘What happened?’ the minister asked calmly.

  ‘I have to find Ellen.’ Robert repeated. He stopped his frantic upheaval of sheets and quilts and stood uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘And so you shall, but why don’t you tell me first what happened at the trial,’ Reverend Cooper continued in the same unruffled voice.

  The thoughts and emotions racing around in Robert’s brain started to slow. He relaxed his hands. He flipped the lid of the travel chest down and sat on it.

  ‘Donovan was found guilty?’ Mr Cooper asked.

  ‘Oh yes. No jury could do otherwise. The evidence was overwhelming. With Danny and his gang in custody many have found the courage to come forward and testify. Jackson had two constables transcribing statements for the last week in readiness for the trial.’

  ‘It’s your pursuit of justice that has made that possible, ’ Mr Cooper told him. But Robert would not be flattered.

  ‘Justice? I wasn’t very just towards Mrs O’Casey, was I?’ He dropped his head in his hands for a moment as the memories of the trial came back to him. ‘What I let my poor Ellen suffer in court!’ He shot a glance at the man opposite him. ‘I hadn’t mentioned it before because I didn’t want to embarrass you and Mrs Cooper, but Mrs O’Casey and I are—’

  ‘I think I understand the nature of your relationship with Mrs O’Casey. She is, after all, a handsome woman,’ Mr Cooper said with just a trace of censure.

  Robert pulled back his shoulders and, now, with his mind returned to its usual clarity he fixed the man opposite with a firm stare.

  ‘I don’t think you do,’ he replied. ‘I love Ellen and I intend to marry her as soon as I can.’ Mr Cooper’s shaggy eyebrows shot upwards. ‘In fact I should have married her before the trial. That would have saved her from being mauled by Smyth-Hilton in the witness box.’ Robert punched the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. ‘In front of the whole court, including the press, he made her out to be a whore, a liar, a drunk and a thief.’

  ‘I am sure no one who knows Mrs O’Casey would believe that,’ the minister said.

  ‘That is not the point. She should never have been made to suffer that. All those now so eager to give evidence against Donovan can only do so now because of Ellen’s bravery.’ Robert ran his hands through his hair. ‘For the love of God, Cooper. You didn’t see what she looked like when they brought her in to the hospital that night. It’s a miracle, and I mean a true miracle, she wasn’t killed. And after all that, I let Danny’s greasy barrister abuse her in front of everyone.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, Munroe,’ Reverend Cooper argued.

  ‘I don’t. If it hadn’t been for my own stupid pride, arrogance, self-importance, call it what you will, I would have done the honourable thing and married her as soon as she had recovered, whatever the cost. She put herself in danger because she loved me and I should have protected her. Instead of which I allowed myself to be persuaded to keep our relationship a secret because of my reputation.’ Self-loathing swept over him again. ‘My reputation! Huh! As if I should give a damm about it, compared with what Ellen did.’

  He stood up and Mr Cooper looked alarmed. Robert put out his hand and patted the air. ‘Don’t worry, I am myself again.’ He glanced around the room and lifted the corner of his mouth slightly. ‘Please send my apologies to Mrs Cooper and tell her I am sorry for the disruption to her household,’ he said, indicating the ruins of the small room. ‘I will, of course, make good any damage. If you would excuse me. You’ll understand that I have to press on because I will not rest until I have found Mrs O’Casey and done what I should have done weeks ago, and make her my wife.’

  With her breath nearly gone Ellen collapsed against number fourteen Cinnamon Court. She grasped hold of the wooden knocker and pounded on the faded brown door. Several dogs barked warningly at the sound and glimpses of light showed in windows. Pulling the shawl closer around her head, she hid her face as curtains across the street were pulled back. Josie stood rigid beside her. In their dash from Wellclose Square she and Josie had passed not a word. They didn’t need to. Her daughter’s protest at their flight was written in every angle of her unyielding posture.

  Just as she was about to knock again the door opened and Sarah Nolan stood with a raised pan above her head.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Ellen,’ she said, lowering her weapo
n and letting them into the small hallway. ‘And Josie too. What’s the to-do?’

  Josie stepped into the hall but didn’t follow as the two women started down towards the scullery at the back. Taking firm hold of her daughter Ellen dragged her along with her.

  ‘I don’t understand why we are running away like this,’ she hissed at her mother.

  ‘I do, and that’s all you need to know,’ Ellen replied tersely.

  With Josie lagging behind her Ellen entered Sarah’s scullery. Sarah and Patrick Nolan and their seven children lived in only the lower half of the house. Mr and Mrs Strazskoski, the Polish tailor, his wife and their four children lived above.

  In the crowded scullery Josie’s school friend Matte stood at the sink, up to her elbows in dirty water, washing the supper plates, while around a scrubbed table sat ten-year-old Anna, the snotty-faced seven-year-old Katie and an equally snotty-nosed four-year-old Fergus Nolan. Sitting together on a rug in front of the black iron range sat the year-old twins, Peter and Paul. Pat Nolan, the head of the family, sat by the fire in the only armchair, smoking a pipe. He acknowledged Ellen and Josie with a wink as they came in, but continued to draw on his pipe, a glass of dark beer at his elbow. For a second Ellen wondered where Patrick was, then remembered Josie saying that his ship was sailing that very morning.

  Sarah pulled Ellen aside while her children continued their supper of potatoes and tripe stew.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ she said, pouring a small glass of beer from a jug on the mantelshelf and handing it to her. ‘The word is that Danny’s goin’ to swing. I thought you’d have somewhere cosier to be tonight than here. I thought you and the Doctor would be—’ She stopped and gave Josie a quick glance. ‘You know.’

  Ellen took the drink and found that her hands were shaking. ‘I ... I ...’ she started, then began sobbing.

  Sarah clapped her hands sharply and the children looked up. ‘Come on, finish your supper,’ she commanded. ‘Matte. Get the young ’uns to bed.’