With an enormous effort she shook her arm free. ‘Did I not thank the good Lord every day of our lives together for the fact that Matthew was not like you, his own brother? No, indeed, you’ll never match him, if you live to be a hundred. A kinder, sweeter soul never walked God’s earth. As for you, you conniving, scheming, nasty b-’
‘Hold your tongue! I’ll have no blaspheming in my house.’
Polly gasped. ‘I think you have that wrong somewhere. This is my bloomin’ house.’
`Not any longer, Polly. It is our house, or perhaps even mine, since I now pay the rent.’ And he put back his head and laughed, an unpleasant sound that chilled her to the bone.
Yet still she paid no heed to the danger signals. This man didn’t care a jot for her or for her children. He hadn’t moved into her house out of sympathy or family duty. It hadn’t been kindness he’d practised towards her but his own special brand of despotic authority, even resorting to drugs to keep her dazed and distracted. Why had she not realised this before? He worshipped power, not God, and had some twisted motive of his own for hurting her child, one she couldn’t fathom.
Her instincts had been right to make her concerned about his discovering her friendship with Charlie. But by sweet Jesus and the Blessed Virgin, she’d stand up to him or die in the attempt, sooner than see her son suffer in this way.
Benny!’
Tears were raining down her cheeks but some of the old Polly reasserted itself, and she slapped Joshua full across his sanctimonious face. The marks of her fingers were livid against the white of his skin. But even as she again made for the door, he’d grasped her wrist and with one casual flick twisted it behind her back, to push her face forward against the damp wall of her own kitchen.
‘That was a big mistake, woman. You will pay dear for that little act of defiance. What did Lucy call it, a penance? That’s it. You will pay a penance, as your son is doing right now. I shall enjoy devising one especially to suit your volatile temperament.’
She had never known such pain. At any moment Polly expected to hear a crack as the bone in her shoulder parted company with her arm. Amazingly, his grip tightened further, jerking the arm still higher up her back till she felt nauseous with the agony of it. Inside her head she was screaming, yet forced herself to stay silent, determined not to let him see how he hurt her.
He put his mouth against her ear and chuckled with a cruel venom. ‘I like a woman with a bit of temper. Not like that madam who lives next door. She has no fight in her at all.’ Polly shuddered as the hiss of hot breath caressed her ear. ‘You bewitched him, my poor stupid brother. Because you’re a Jezebel, a whore!’
A redness was creeping into her eyes and Polly felt so light-headed she was certain that at any moment she would pass out.
Whether she would have done so, or what his reaction might have been if she had, Polly was not to discover for at that moment the front door banged open and Big Flo’s voice called out.
‘Its only me. By heck, it’s raining stair-rods out there.’ Hearing his mother’s voice, Joshua instantly released Polly from the punishing grip. She fell back against the wall, white-faced, eyes bright with unshed tears as she eased her arm tenderly into its normal position.
Her strange appearance earned her a keen-eyed stare from her mother-in-law as she entered the kitchen. Joshua was already heading for the back door, but not before Big Flo had spotted Benny in the yard.
‘What the hangment is that lad doing now? He’ll catch his death. Tell him to stop marleking about and get in here this minute, Joshua, or I’ll have his guts for garters. And you put the kettle on, lass, the daft boy will need warming up.’
As Polly gladly hastened to carry out Big Flo’s bidding, rubbing at her wrist and blessing all the saints for this unexpected rescue, she caught the old woman’s eye. It came to her in that startling moment of unexpected contact that Big Flo wasn’t half so ignorant, nor so accepting of her remaining son’s behaviour as Polly had supposed.
Inside her a child was growing, more than likely a cousin for young Lucy and Benny, thanks to their uncle, did they but know it. Eileen was secretly terrified. What would Terence say if he ever found out? Dear God, she daren’t think. What would it look like, this baby? They said that at the moment of birth a child looked more like its father than ever it would thereafter. She could only hope this one would be an exception.
Men took advantage of you, she knew that well enough. They used you and then threw you away like an old dish mop. Even the idle Terence was staying out later than usual these days, and it couldn’t be work that was keeping him. She was beginning to worry that he might have another woman on the side somewhere. He hadn’t been interested in her for weeks, and that filled her with fear too.
After supper, the minute her husband had gone out, Eileen again washed herself from head to toe, and inside and out, just as she had done night after night since the attack. She’d hoped and prayed that the non-arrival of her monthly curse had simply been due to shock, rather than the thing she most dreaded. But she recognised all the signs of pregnancy and desperation set in. Bearing a child that had been forcibly inflicted upon her was bad enough; bearing one of Joshua Pride’s was more than she could stomach.
It was Sunday morning and Lucy had risen early so she could hurry next door to make arrangements with Eileen. There would be rugs to finish off, the hand cart to clean and get ready for the week ahead. Following his usual lively Saturday night, Terence always had a longer lie-in on a Sunday so they were rarely interrupted. Lucy slipped in through the unlocked back door and crept across the kitchen flags on tip-toe, anxious not to risk waking him. Hangovers did not improve his temper.
In the event he wasn’t there at all. Lucy found the children sitting on the stairs, their nightdresses soaked with urine and tears rolling down their puffy cheeks. She wasted precious moments tending to them before finding that it was Eileen, for once, who was still in bed. Her eyes were closed and sunken with dark rings beneath, her face pale and pinched. Lucy was appalled and instantly alarmed.
‘Eileen? What is it? Are you ill? I’ll fetch Mam.’
‘No, no,’ she weakly protested. ‘There’s nowt she can do. She’s enough on her plate, without me an’ all.’ The words were hardly out of the poor woman’s mouth before she began to retch and vomit. Lucy waited no longer but turned on her heel and ran.
Within minutes she’d fetched Polly, who needed only one glance to guess what had happened.
‘Sweet Jesus, what have you done to yourself this time Eileen? What’ve you taken?’
She couldn’t exactly remember, hadn’t she tried just about everything these last weeks? By the time she’d mentioned a few, including Penny Royal and Slippery Elm, and putting laxatives where they were never meant to go, Polly was frantic with fear.
‘Aw, the Lord bless us, it’s a doctor you’re needing, and quick. Lucy, run and fetch Doc Mitchell. Go now - fast as you can!’
Lucy ran with the wind on her tail. But by the time she’d argued the toss with the doctor’s wife, who claimed that since it was Sunday and the doctor’s day off he would only come out for emergencies, and could they afford to pay him if he treated this as such, it was far too late. He set down his bag, gave a perfunctory examination to the sick woman as he listened to the sad tale, then declared there was nothing to be done. Eileen’s system had been poisoned by all the potions and preventatives she’d used in her efforts to rid herself of the unwanted child.
Polly stared at him, incredulous. ‘What d’you mean, nothing to be done? We can’t just let her die. Do something, drat you!’
Eileen was taken to Ancoats Hospital where her stomach was pumped out, but if this was unpleasant the miscarried remains of a dead foetus was even more so. Polly made Lucy wait outside, thinking it no place for a young girl.
The volunteer nurse on duty shook her head, indicating there was little hope. ‘She’s lost too much blood, I’m afraid. And now septicaemia has set in. We’ve done what
we can.’
Eileen lay close to death, eyes riveted upon Polly’s lovely face. ‘You were me best friend. Only one I’ve ever had.’
‘I still am your best friend.’ Tears streamed down Polly’s face as she grasped the frail hand, stroking it as if she could instil her own strength into Eileen through the blue veins that threaded it. ‘Aw, don’t give up, lass. You can fight this. Why did you do it? Why didn’t you go to that flipping clinic?’
‘It wasn’t my fault, it were ‘im.’ The voice was rasping and faint, but the eyes were filled with a bitter hatred.
‘Who, Terence? We’ve sent for him. He’s on his way.’
‘No, not Terence. Him!’ The effort to speak was almost too much for Eileen and she broke into a fit of coughing. Polly hushed her, urging her to rest.
‘I must talk - while I still c-can. I must s-save you.’
A cold thread of fear uncurled in Polly’s stomach. She felt as if she were trembling on the brink of a precipice, from which at any moment she might fall. ‘What are you trying to say, Eileen?’
‘The bugger r-raped me. He give me this child.’
‘Who?’ Polly hardly dared ask, for some part of her was already supplying the answer.
On the faintest breath of remaining life, it came. ‘Your b-bloody brother-in-law. He f-forced himself upon me. The day we swapped clothes. H-he thought I were you.’
The enormous effort this took Eileen resulted in a bout of coughing and retching that seemed unlikely ever to stop. Polly could hardly bear to watch but sat holding Eileen’s hand all night, offering what comfort she could and praying with all her strength.
But despite everything possible being done, by dawn Eileen was dead. Like many another desperate woman before her, in attempting to rid herself of an unwanted child, she had succeeded only in ending her own life.
Polly put her head in her hands and sobbed out all the misery that welled in her heart. A still, frail figure, like a small wax doll, Eileen was borne away and given a pauper’s funeral, since her husband didn’t even have the money to bury her. Polly at least made sure it would be a decent Christian one by persuading the nurse to record the death as caused by blood poisoning, with no other explanation.
Eileen was gone, and Polly seemed to be the only one to weep for her.
On learning of his wife’s death, Terence dabbed away a tear which he managed to squeeze out, blew his nose, then moved in with his ‘fancy piece’, who fortunately was landlady of the Bull and Bear so he’d be sure of regular food and beer. Unfortunately she wasn’t too keen on children, so the four girls were taken into a home, probably the same one that already housed Polly’s previous neighbours, the Murphy children.
It was not until the house next door again stood empty that Polly saw the carpets, neatly stacked in the back bedroom.
‘She tried to keep things going for you,’ Lucy explained, sniffing back tears. ‘We both did, as a matter of fact. Eileen took out the barrow while I looked after her children and helped a bit with the sewing, though Eileen did most of that too.’
Polly was dumbfounded. All those endless months of grieving and she’d been completely unaware of the machinations going on right under her nose. Polly had found the carpet trade hard enough work, even with Big Flo helping. For Eileen to attempt it as well as see to her family and do much of the sewing in the evenings, must have been crippling. The thought of such selfless friendship brought fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
She was even more astounded when Lucy handed her a small draw-string purse which jingled with coins.
‘What’s this?’
‘The takings. She bought the odd bit of carpet, if someone offered it to her, but didn’t have the nerve to go round houses as you did. Instead she saved every penny she could. Eileen always said it was your business, so the profit was rightly yours too, which you might need one day when you were better.’
Polly opened the purse and looked inside. She could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes. This money could surely save them, herself and the children. ‘So while I sat in a stupor, you two were working the market for me?’
Lucy nodded.
For a moment she could barely speak. Typically, when she did, it was Eileen’s welfare which most concerned her. ‘I hope she took proper pay for her work?’ Lucy assured her that each week Eileen had taken out the sum Polly had always paid her.
‘But that was nowhere near enough, not for all the extra work she was doing. She should have taken more.’
‘Eileen was happy with what she earned.’ Lucy smiled. ‘She said it was the most pay she’d ever earned in her life for keeping her legs crossed, and you were her best friend so she owed you everything. No one else had ever cared twopence for her.’ Lucy was crying now, searching up her sleeve for a damp hanky, and Polly gathered her close.
‘Oh, Lucy love, what a mess.’ She felt humbled, stunned by her friend’s foresight and generosity. It brought back memories of the painful, lingering death she had suffered, and through no fault of her own. Polly sat down quickly on a stool and put her face in her hands. What was it Eileen had said with her last breath? That Joshua had raped her. Your bloody brother-in-law forced himself upon me. Could that be true? If it were, no wonder she’d wanted rid of the child.
But was Joshua capable of such a despicable act?
Without further consideration, some instinct told Polly that he most certainly was. He was a man riddled with contradictions. He may claim to be devout but Joshua Pride was nothing short of a nasty-minded, power-hungry bigot. Not only did he tolerate no other form of worship than his own, but he bullied the entire family into sharing his beliefs whether they wanted to or not. Hardly a Christian way of going about things. He allowed them no freedom, either of opinion or movement; insisting they obey his every command. Worst of all, he over-reacted when the children were naughty, not simply because he made no effort to understand them, but because, being young and naturally rebellious, they were harder to keep under control and he resented that fact.
What he had done to Benny had been unspeakably cruel, for which Polly would never forgive him. From that moment on she had seen him with new eyes.
As for herself, he’d actively encouraged her to continue to grieve and remain a prisoner by her own fireside. The blinkers off now, she recalled her futile efforts to shake herself free from her depression; the times she had put on her coat or shawl and he had taken it from her. The few occasions she’d got as far as the corner shop and he had scolded her afterwards, as if she’d committed some crime.
She remembered her trip to the tram stop in an effort to find and seek comfort from Father Thomas, and met Charlie. Then how Joshua had brought her back home like a wandering puppy. He’d kept her virtually a prisoner, both in mind and body, ever since Matthew’s death, constantly telling her that she was incapable of coping or of living her own life, or even looking after her own children.
Polly recalled the day of the attack on Eileen with particular clarity. He had wanted her to go out, positively urged her to do so, against all his previous warnings. She’d taken Eileen’s advice and gone to find Charlie, then foolishly panicked and run home again like a lost child.
In the meantime Eileen had suffered an attack meant for her, simply because she had dressed in Polly’s shawl and skirt in order to act as decoy.
‘Oh, dear God, what have I done? Polly moaned.
The truth was that Joshua, her own brother-in-law, had raped her best friend. And that act of violence had led, indirectly perhaps but all too certainly, to Eileen’s untimely death. Not for one moment did Polly doubt her story. How could she, since he had used violence on her too? In any case, why would Eileen lie, knowing she was dying?
Lucy, unaware of all this, thought Polly wept only over the carpets. She put her arms came about her. ‘Don’t cry, Mam. Eileen wanted you to make something of yourself, and now you can, thanks to her.’
As the tears flowed, Polly could only nod her head in agreeme
nt. Eileen had constantly urged her to pull herself together, if not quite so brutally. Now, thanks to her friend, whom she would miss to her dying day, she did indeed have the means to start up her business again. She even had a few stitched rugs ready for her first day’s trading. Polly hugged her weeping daughter close.
‘You’re right. It’s time to stop crying, m’cushla. We have work to do. Time to make a fresh start. If Eileen isn’t to have died in vain, then from now on, you and me are going to be very busy.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Polly might very well have moved into Eileen’s house there and then, was tempted to do so, but still stunned by her friend’s death, couldn’t get her thoughts together quickly enough. And then Benny arrived home in obvious distress with his jacket torn. While she scolded him for it, annoyed that he wouldn’t explain how it had happened, another family had moved in, beating her to the house.
The woman stood on Eileen’s doorstep that very same evening, arms folded, cock-a-hoop with her success in finding somewhere to house her large brood. She looked as worn out and encumbered with children as Eileen had been when she’d first arrived, or poor Mrs Murphy before her.
But this time, although Polly made herself known and was as friendly as politeness dictated, she vowed not to become too involved with her new neighbour. She offered no treats of sad cake in her kitchen, no gossipy chats over countless cups of tea. It seemed Eileen had barely been laid to rest before strangers were occupying her kitchen and sleeping in her bed, and Polly wanted none of it.
Sighing with regret, she turned her attention to her son’s woes. ‘I’ll not have you fighting. Whatever possessed you?’ And she became embroiled in a fierce discussion over whether she should go and complain to his teacher about the damage. In the end Benny was so clearly upset by this threat, that Polly felt forced to back down.
‘Well, take it off then and let me stitch it. I’ll not have a child of mine going about with his elbow out.’ Benny obediently peeled off the jacket, hoping his mam wouldn’t demand further layers to be removed, or she might discover that there was more to worry over than a torn sleeve.
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