The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘I can’t see her!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be there. Somewhere among that crowd of wives and mothers and kids, all waiting to get their hands on the wages before they get spent in the Caradock. See you in two weeks, Cat!’ Anne called.

  She smiled, then scanned the sea of faces below as she descended, hoping no one had come to welcome her home in case David or someone else should see them. Then she caught sight of Marie, waving madly.

  The two girls hugged each other and over Marie’s shoulder she saw Joe. As soon as Marie released her she hugged him. ‘Oh, it’s grand to see you! I’ve missed you both!’

  He clasped her tightly then held her at arm’s length. ‘You look worn out! Enjoy it, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes! I was seasick, homesick, run off my feet, but I loved it!’

  An uneasy glance passed between Joe and Marie when she asked how everyone was.

  ‘We’ll get a taxi, we can’t lug that case on and off the tram!’ Marie was already making her way along the side of the cargo shed.

  Her heart beat slowed. Something was wrong.

  ‘Joe, what’s the matter?’ She clutched the bag of gifts tightly.

  ‘It’s your Ma, Cat . . .’

  ‘Oh, not pleurisy again?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Then what?’ A nameless fear began to loom up.

  ‘Pneumonia. I’m sorry, Cat, I didn’t want to be the one—’

  ‘Where is she?’ She grabbed his arm and began to shake him, without realising what she was doing.

  ‘They don’t think she’s strong enough . . . she’s in the Royal Infirmary.’

  ‘Oh, Dear God! Why didn’t they get the doctor . . .?’

  ‘Cat, I was away myself and you know what Maisey’s like about doctors, if I’d been at home—’

  ‘But she could afford the doctor, she had the allotment!’

  ‘She didn’t . . . well, you know how your Ma is with your Pa, she never could refuse him anything.’

  All thoughts of houses and gardens, of the hopes of reforming him, the memories of childhood, vanished as though they had never even existed. ‘So while I’ve been working like a dog, thinking it would help her, she’s been giving most of it to . . . to—’

  ‘If I’d have known, Cat, I would have had a word with Maisey. I swear to God I would! Only your Ma could have signed for it, but then—’

  ‘She gave it to him! I’d have sooner thrown it overboard than give him a penny!’ She was shivering with a mixture of anger, fear and frustration and her heart sank further when they all got into the taxi and Joe instructed the driver to go to the Royal, Brownlow Hill. Her mother must be bad, very bad to have consented to go to hospital. She dreaded even the mention of the word.

  The infirmary was a grim, square, soot-blackened old building. Originally it had been a workhouse and as she followed Joe into the green-tiled waiting room, she felt it still retained that atmosphere of despair and sorrow. The air was permeated with the odours of carbolic soap and ether.

  They were directed up one flight of stairs and a sister in a starched white apron and cap ushered them into the ward with strict instructions that they could only stay for a short while and must make no noise to disturb the other patients. It was only because of her occupation that they were allowed in at all, she informed them curtly. It was most unusual and quite a concession.

  The ward was chilly although a wood-burning stove was set in the centre. The half-tiled walls heightened the illusion of coldness. Narrow beds with black iron bedsteads and uniform white counterpanes lined both sides and it was in the bed nearest the far wall that she found her mother. The walk between the rows of beds was the longest walk she had ever undertaken. She was horrified by what she saw. This woman looked so old, so haggard, so shrunken, her eyes closed and dark circled. Her lips tinged with bluish purple. She took one wasted hand.

  ‘Ma! Ma! It’s me, Cat,’ she whispered.

  Her mother’s breathing was laboured and a queer gurgling noise emitted from her throat, but she slowly opened her eyes and tried to smile.

  ‘Oh, Ma! Ma! Why did you do it? Why did you give it to him to drink away? Look where it’s got you and all the time I thought you’d be well and warm and comfortable!’

  Ellen Cleary tried to speak but the words were difficult to form, the effort it cost great. ‘He’s . . . my husband, Cat. Right or wrong, I vowed . . . better or worse . . .’

  ‘But, Ma, he took the same vow, but he’s never honoured it!’

  ‘Two wrongs . . .’

  She pulled the stool close to the bed and buried her head on her mother’s shoulder, thinking about the hours of backbreaking work, the agony of seasickness, and all for . . . this. She raised her head. ‘I’m staying with you, Ma. I won’t move until you’re better!’

  She felt a tap on the shoulder and looked up

  ‘The doctor wants to see you, Cat,’ Joe said softly.

  She rose. ‘I won’t be long, Ma.’

  The doctor was sympathetic. Her mother’s condition had been too advanced when they had brought her in. He couldn’t hold out much hope of recovery. She was worn out, her constitution undermined by malnutrition, poor housing, worry and despair. Her chest had been weak ever since the attack of pleurisy. He expressed the opinion that probably it had been weak for years.

  She faced him white-faced and dry-eyed, clenching her hands tightly. ‘You are telling me she is going to die?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Cleary, but that is the only conclusion I can come to. If she had been brought in sooner. If she had had proper care. If she had looked after herself . . .’

  ‘If! If! If! Doctor, I left money so that she would be well cared for, money that only she could draw upon, but . . . I’ll kill him! I’ll swing for that swine!’ she cried bitterly.

  He remained silent. He’d seen it all before and with such dreary monotony that it had almost become commonplace. The days when he had railed against the conditions his patients suffered were long past but he sympathised, for in her he saw a flash of his young self.

  She fought down her anguish. ‘May I stay with her, I nursed her through the last time?’

  ‘It’s not allowed, I’m afraid.’

  She was outraged. ‘You tell me my mother is dying and then you tell me to go! To leave her here to die among strangers – alone!’ Her voice had risen to a scream.

  ‘Miss Cleary, please! Remember where you are!’

  ‘How can I forget! I’m staying right here or we’re both going home now! I swear I’ll carry her myself and you won’t stop me, if she dies in my arms it will be better than dying here! It’s no better than the workhouse!’

  He began to lose patience. ‘Miss Cleary, pull yourself together! You are a young woman of some common sense, those days are over, she will receive the best attention!’

  ‘I’m staying and you’ll have to call in the police and have me dragged away screaming!’ Her voice was steady, almost cold, and the hard light that blazed in her eyes drew a grudging admiration from him. She meant what she said.

  He had relented and she stayed. She sat on the hard, wooden stool beside her mother’s bed, listening to the increasingly laboured breathing, the ugly gurgling of the fluid that was drowning her lungs and she prayed as she had never prayed before. All the pleasant memories of childhood, few though they were, came flooding back and when she thought of the plans she had made for the future – for their future – her heart felt as though it were being torn to shreds. She loved this gentle, self-effacing woman so much. She had tried so desperately to ease all her burdens. The pain of grief, despair and guilt grew as the hours passed.

  She was with her at the end, as was Father Maguire and Shelagh. She had flatly refused to allow Eamon in and had confronted her father like a virago, grief turning to blind fury as she dared him to take one step inside the ward. She had smelled the drink on his breath and a red mist danced before her eyes as he had slunk away.

  In the end s
he went peacefully, quietly. So quietly that it was the priest who took her hand from within Cat’s own.

  ‘She’s gone. She’s at peace now, past all pain and suffering. She’s with God.’

  For the first time in years the two sisters clung to each other, all past enmity forgotten. Cat blamed herself for her ambition and gullibility. Over and over she muttered, ‘I should have known! I should have known!’

  Joe was waiting with Maisey and Eamon who buried his head in Maisey’s skirt when he saw them.

  Maisey dabbed her reddened eyes with a handkerchief and crossed herself. ‘God ’ave mercy on ’er soul! She never ’ad a bad word ter say about anyone! Cum on, Eamon, lad, I’ll take yer ’ome, now.’

  Shelagh groped for Maisey’s hand and Cat looked up at Joe, dry-eyed. He took her into his arms, holding her close and stroking her hair. ‘Oh, Cat! Cat! What a homecoming! I’d give anything to have spared you this!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE REQUIEM MASS WAS held at Our Lady’s and the whole street attended it. Maisey wore the fur hat Cat had brought from Montreal for her mother, and had gently laid the leather-bound missal and the maple leaf brooch – which she had treasured – on top of the coffin.

  Throughout the service Shelagh had sobbed loudly and continuously, her exhibition of noisy grief grating on Cat’s already shredded nerves. She herself had stood the whole expense of the funeral. Shelagh had confessed with loud lamentations that she was ‘flat broke’ and after telling her father in no uncertain terms what she thought of him, Cat refused to speak to him or allow him to contribute a single penny, which she doubted he had anyway. Joe and Mr O’Dwyer had been her towers of strength, dealing with all the official formalities. She had told Joe that despite custom, there would be no wake. She didn’t care what the neighbours would say or think, she wasn’t having the usual drunken do which frequently ended in a brawl. Her mother was going to be buried with some dignity.

  ‘But what will the neighbours say, Cat? They’ll say she ’asn’t been given a proper send-off an’ that yer flyin’ in the face of tradition!’ Maisey had demanded, still swollen-eyed.

  Shelagh had started to cry noisily again.

  ‘I don’t care what anyone says! My mother is going to be buried with dignity! We’ve nothing to celebrate and neither have they and I’m not having my money spent on beer for the whole street! It’s enough that he drank it all and put her in her grave!’ she had yelled furiously, spurred by grief.

  So after the interment she went home with Marie, accompanied by Joe. Mrs Gorry had laid out a small meal for them in the dining room and after hugging Cat and patting Joe’s arm, left them alone.

  ‘Cat, you must try to eat something,’ Marie pleaded, passing her a plate of sandwiches.

  Under Joe’s gaze she took one and nibbled at it.

  ‘Cat, don’t bottle things up inside. “Grief should come out,” Mum says. You haven’t cried, not one single tear!’

  ‘It’s . . . it’s not that . . . I can’t, Marie. I just can’t! But I’m crying inside, in here.’ She pressed her clenched hand against her chest.

  ‘Mum says you can stay here, if you want to. Until you sail.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful if I can, Marie, I can’t go back there, there’s nothing there for me now, not with—’

  ‘When do you sail, Joe?’ Marie cut in.

  ‘In two days and it will be a longer voyage this time, I’m afraid. Will you be alright, Cat?’

  She nodded, the bread tasted like sawdust and stuck in her throat. She coughed. ‘Then I won’t see you for months, Joe. We’re cruising this time. I’ll be away for over four months.’ She leaned wearily back in the chair. She was tired, bone tired. She hadn’t slept for the last two nights.

  Marie looked worriedly at Joe. ‘She will be in and out of New York.’

  ‘I’m bound to be in New York at the same time, even if it’s only for a day. I’ll try and see you then.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Maybe it’s best this way, Cat. It will help you try to forget . . . you won’t have time to . . . brood.’

  ‘We don’t know what we would have done without you, Joe, and I really mean that,’ Marie said quietly.

  He managed a smile. He liked Marie. There was no snobbishness about her, despite the fact that they were comfortably off. ‘I know at least she’s in good hands here, Marie, that helps. Seeing as how I have to leave so soon.’

  ‘It’s a pity I can’t go with her.’

  ‘How much longer have you got at that college?’

  ‘Oh, ages yet!’

  ‘Have you never thought of applying for a job as a stenographer?’

  She looked surprised and he saw the flash of interest in Cat’s eyes.

  ‘I could, couldn’t I? By the time you get back from cruising, Cat, I should nearly have finished my course. If I can get them to let me take my exams early, then I could apply.’

  ‘I’d feel happier if you were with her. It’s no picnic on those ships – even cruising, and if she starts to neglect herself, not eat . . .’

  ‘Will you both stop talking about me as though I wasn’t here!’ she snapped. Her nerves were raw, her grief so intense, didn’t they understand that? How could they go making plans when her world had crumbled?

  ‘Sorry, but you know how we both worry about you, Cat.’ Marie ignored the outburst.

  She stared into the fire. The feeling of loss was so great that at times it was as though part of her had died too. Suddenly she thought of David, thinking detachedly, that it was the first time she had thought of him. Over the past days it was as though he had never existed.

  ‘Will you come to see me off?’ Joe asked.

  She nodded but Marie shook her head.

  ‘It would be better if you came here. She’s exhausted . . .’

  He knew she was right. Parting would be another painful burden for her. It was best done in private. ‘I’ll come on Monday morning.’

  It was a tender farewell in Mrs Gorry’s parlour. She had relied on him so much and now they were to be separated for months. She did feel a little better. Sleep, rest and supportive company had helped.

  ‘You look better, Cat.’

  ‘I feel better. They’re so good to me, Joe.’

  ‘Cat, you must not feel guilty, you must try not to grieve. She wouldn’t want that. She was so proud of you, you know. You gave her hope and dignity. Maisey said she showed all your letters to everyone. She never had much out of life, you did give her something to show for the sacrifices she made. But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Cat.’

  ‘Mrs Travis once said that. She said she envied me.’

  ‘She was right. You’ve got to look to the future.’

  ‘But it looks so bleak, Joe, there doesn’t seem much point . . . now!’

  He took her in his arms. ‘You’ll soon forget all this misery. You’ll never forget her, Cat, but just try to think about the places you’ll see, the people you’ll meet. It’s a world away from all this!’

  ‘Time heals, Mrs Gorry says.’

  ‘She’s right, Cat, look to the future.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, Joe, I often think of you.’

  ‘I think of you, too, Cat.’

  ‘Oh, Joe! I know I can always rely on you, lean on you, you’re always there when I need you most!’

  ‘Isn’t that what friends are for, Cat?’

  She leaned against his shoulder and so didn’t see the flash of pain in his eyes.

  It was a week after Joe’s departure and she was busy getting her white uniforms, caps and shoes ready for packing when Marie came to tell her that Shelagh was at the door asking for her.

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘I don’t know, she wouldn’t say. But she looks upset.’

  ‘She’s probably lost her job, is broke or Maisey has thrown her out, or all three.’

  Marie sighed. ‘Cat, she is your sister and she is very upset.’

  Cat nodded. ‘I know, perha
ps some good has come out of . . .’

  ‘I’ve put her in the dining room.’

  Cat ran down the back stairs, through the kitchen and hall and into the dining room. She hadn’t seen her sister since the day of the funeral. Shelagh was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, dressed in a shabby, cheap, red coat. She looked pinched and drawn and utterly dejected. Cat’s heart softened.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She sat down in the chair opposite.

  ‘I’ve come to ask you something, Cat.’ She was near to tears.

  ‘What is it? How much do you need?’

  ‘It’s . . . it’s, not that. I don’t need money, not really. Can you . . . well, can you get me a job like yours?’

  Cat was surprised. So surprised that she didn’t answer at once. Then she gave a sad little laugh. ‘Shelagh, are you daft in the head? You know how hard I had to work, at evening classes, elocution . . . everything! They’d just never have you and I’m not being unkind. I went once, when I worked for Mrs Travis. They wouldn’t even take my name! They looked at me as though I was a piece of rubbish!’

  There was nervous desperation in Shelagh’s face. She shifted her position in the chair. Pulled a grubby handkerchief from her coat pocket and clenched it in a tight ball in her hands. ‘Can you get me something, anything, in the kitchens . . . anything! I’ll do anything, Cat, just get me on a ship going anywhere!’

  Her words brought back a well-remembered feeling of apprehension. ‘I don’t have that kind of influence, I don’t know anyone! What’s the matter, what have you done?’

  Shelagh jumped up, stuffing the handkerchief back into her pocket and clutched Cat’s arm. ‘You’ve got to help me, Cat! You’ve got to help me get away!’