The Wrong Side of Happiness

by Tania Crosse

‘Really? We’m farm-workers, so we know all about tack an’ the like. Used to drive the milk cart, I did.’

  ‘Well, us makes all sorts o’ saddles an’ ’arnesses yere. Fer gentle folk what rides their ’orses or drives their traps. An’ then all the commercial vehicles fer the brewers an’ all the coal merchants, like.’

  ‘You don’t think they’d need anyone to see to customers, do you? I’m looking for work as well, an’ as I know all about that sort of thing—’

  ‘I doesn’t think so, and I doubts they’d consider a woman even if they did. But I’ll ask anyway. Have a good day, then, cheel.’

  ‘Yes, I will, thank you.’

  She stopped outside Pearce’s and watched Elijah continue across the small square. Nice fellow, she thought, but a pity he didn’t think there might be any work for her at the saddler’s. She’d have liked that, and she knew as much about tack as any man. But never mind. If Emmanuel’s job on the railway became permanent, finding work herself wouldn’t be as essential.

  She bought some more supplies and then made her way back up to the dairy. Perhaps they could afford a little milk on the strength of Emmanuel’s expected wages.

  ‘Good day, my lover,’ the pleasant woman greeted her cheerily. ‘’Ow’s you today?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. Can I have a gill of milk, please?’

  ‘Course you can. Got ort to put it in?’

  ‘Yes, this,’ Tresca replied, handing her one of their enamel mugs. ‘Hmm, has a certain smell, doesn’t it, a dairy?’ she observed, sniffing delicately. ‘Don’t make cheese, though, do you?’

  ‘No, my lover,’ the woman chuckled as she measured out the pure white liquid. ‘We sells most of our milk, an’ we turns the rest into butter. Sally’s churnin’ it now. Not found any work, then?’

  ‘No, but my father has. On the railway.’

  ‘Ah, good. But if I ’ears of ort fer yersel’, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs, er . . . ?’

  ‘Ellacott. Jane Ellacott. An’ you?’

  ‘Tresca Ladycott. So how much is that?’

  She paid for the milk and carried everything carefully home to the little attic room where she made herself some breakfast. Things were falling into place now, and she didn’t feel quite so much of a stranger. Perhaps she should call in to Assumpta Driscoll and let her know that her father had been taken on by Connor O’Mahoney. But much as she would have liked to see the friendly woman again, it was really more important for her to look for work. And so, feeling quite confident, she set off down the hill once more.

  She explored Bank Square, Market Street and Lower Back Street, just to make certain that she hadn’t missed anywhere the previous afternoon. The only place she hadn’t been into was the Tavistock Mineral Water Company, but they didn’t have any vacancies either, so instead Tresca turned up West Street away from the town centre.

  She decided to work her way up one side and down the other, enquiring at every establishment she passed. She found two butcher’s shops, two boot and shoe makers, a baker’s and a grocer’s, but none could offer her any work. The coal, corn and manure merchants scoffed at her for being a young girl, even though she insisted with spurning contempt that she had worked on farms since the cradle and knew as much about the relevant commodities as they did. She stood outside, fuming with anger. Perhaps she would have better luck in the florist, but the woman there turned her away when she couldn’t name the beautiful, exotic blooms in the shop – all grown in hothouses, Tresca supposed, since it was autumn. Seasonal chrysanthemums were the only ones she recognized.

  Oh, Lord, things weren’t going too well, were they? She certainly wouldn’t try the hairdresser’s or the gentleman’s tailors. She could sew a shirt for Emmanuel or a simple dress for herself, but you needed to be apprenticed for years in tailoring proper. She stopped next outside a confectioner’s shop, and her mouth watered at the display of delicacies in the window: fine, intricate work requiring artistic skill as well as knowledge of ingredients. She would love to learn how to make such marvellous treats.

  The two ladies inside were very interested in her, and Tresca’s heart lifted on a crest of hope, but they had only just taken on a new girl to train up. Disappointment showed clearly on Tresca’s face, and they gave her a chocolate truffle to make up for it. All done up in a tiny box of fancy card and tied with a little ribbon, Tresca had never had anything like it in her life, but it only served to deepen her sadness.

  She went outside and her despondent gaze searched about her. It didn’t seem that there were any more shops further up the hill, so she crossed over the road. Perhaps luck would be on her side in the extensive hardware and ironmonger’s shop that she came to next. Tresca glanced up at the name over the door: Trembath and Son. From the window display, it appeared they specialized more in household goods, with prettily decorated china and glassware, cutlery and kitchen appliances as well as hinges, door handles, screws and nails and such.

  An elderly man in a calico apron approached her as she strode into the shop, and a little bell over the door clanged tunelessly. ‘What can I do for you, miss?’

  Tresca came straight to the point. ‘I’m looking for work, actually. I’m used to—’

  ‘Aw, it’ll be young Mr Trembath you want to see. You hold on here and I’ll fetch ’en for you.’

  The fellow called through a door behind the counter and Tresca waited patiently, avidly taking everything in: furniture polish, beeswax, blacklead, shoe polish, brushes and brooms. Items as familiar to her as the back of her hand. She turned, her face a study of confidence, as a figure emerged on the other side of the counter.

  ‘I understand you’re looking for work, miss?’

  The young gentleman gave her an affable smile. At least that was a good start. He was somewhat older than she was, in his mid-twenties, she reckoned, and had an open, approachable face. With any luck, she could persuade him of her worth.

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied at once. ‘I’ve never worked in an actual shop before, but I’ve been doing a milk round for some time, so I’m used to dealing with customers and handling money. I’m a dairymaid really, but I’ve often worked in farmhouses as well, as a maid and in the kitchen, so I know all there is to know about the sort of merchandise you have here. So I’d be as good an assistant as any man.’

  She held her breath, lips pursed softly, as she watched the young man’s reaction. She had worded her approach in the most professional manner she could, and she observed as the man’s face broke into an amused but not unkind smile.

  ‘I’m sure you would, and I’d have no objections to a young lady serving in my shop. In fact, I think it would brighten things up a little. But the fact is that we don’t require anyone at present. I really am sorry.’

  Tresca sucked in her lips and nodded. At least he had given her the time of day – but not a job. And she supposed he couldn’t just invent one any more than any of the other shopkeepers could. Thank heavens Connor O’Mahoney had taken her father on. She just prayed that the job became permanent.

  She hadn’t realized how much time her fruitless search had taken, but there weren’t many more shops before she would be back where she’d started. At the back of her mind lurked the old saying that you always found what you wanted in the last place you looked, and she felt convinced that she would be taken on in one of the remaining establishments.

  She wasn’t. She stood outside the last shop, defeat gnawing at her heart, but still she refused to give up hope. There was Duke Street that led into Brook Street, both lined with shops and other commercial concerns. But it was getting late now, and her stomach cramped with hunger. Children who had been at school earlier were playing outside, the narrow streets in shadow and the air turning chilly.

  Tresca pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. She had completely grown out of her coat last year and hadn’t had one for the whole of the previous winter. But if matters went their way, she could buy a second-han
d coat at a stall she had noticed in the Market House.

  The steep climb up Bannawell Street warmed her up, and she let herself into the house. It was much quieter today, with only the faint sounds of young children coming from the crowded family room on the first floor. The stairs creaked as she went on, and as she turned the corner she came face to face with the lady of the night who occupied the attic room next to theirs.

  Tresca stopped dead, feeling so awkward that crimson flooded her cheeks. The realization of what had been going on through the flimsy dividing wall had shaken her to the core. She mumbled some evasive greeting under her breath, averting her head and squeezing past as she tried to make her escape. Her heart turned a cartwheel, though, when the woman grasped her arm.

  ‘I’s proper sorry if I disturbed you last night,’ she apologized, her voice low and hesitant. ‘I . . . I doesn’t usually bring . . . bring people back yere. Only last night, there weren’t nowheres else to go, an’ I were . . . I were desprit. Please don’t say ort, I begs you. Mrs Mawes’d throw me out an’ I’ve got nowheres else to go.’

  Tresca lifted her eyes to the older girl’s face. She really did look as desperate as she claimed to be. There was a burgundy mark on her cheekbone, spreading towards her eye. A result of the clout she had been given by her client, no doubt.

  Tresca felt herself soften. ‘No, I won’t,’ she found herself saying. ‘But please don’t do it again. It’s not very nice when you’m just next door.’

  ‘Oh, bless you.’ The girl’s taut face sagged with relief. ‘I promises not to bring anyone back yere again.’ She held Tresca’s gaze, making her feel uncomfortable, but then the girl’s full mouth moved into a smile. ‘Bella,’ she said, nodding her head so that her halo of unkempt hair bounced up and down. ‘Best you knows no more ’bout me than that.’

  Tresca felt a twinge of sympathy. ‘I’m Tresca,’ she introduced herself. ‘And my father’s Emmanuel. He’s been taken on on the railway. I just hope it works out. I’ve been looking for work all day but I’ve not found any.’

  ‘Well, good luck. You’d ’ave a better chance than me, I can see that. Not too bright, me. That’s ’ow I ended up . . . But you doesn’t want to ’ear ’bout that,’ she ended wryly. ‘I’ll see you later, I expects.’

  ‘Yes, I expect so,’ Tresca murmured in reply.

  Prostitute, she pondered as she went inside. She wasn’t too young to know what that was. The idea appalled her, and she had imagined some coarse and bawdy trollop, foul-mouthed and legless from drink. Bella, if that was her proper name, was nothing like that, and a touch of pity brushed against Tresca’s bemused heart.

  But it wasn’t her problem and she had things to do. Emmanuel would be tired and hungry after his long day. It would be a pleasant welcome for him to have his meal set out ready and waiting, and the truffle in the little box would be a nice end to their meal.

  ‘How did you get on today?’ she asked, dancing with enthusiasm when he eventually came in.

  ‘Mighty well. ’Ard work, mind, an’ look at us. Niver bin so muddied in all my born days, not even pullin’ mangolds. Let me wash mysel’, an’ then I’ll tell you all ’bout it. An’ what ’bout you, princess? Any luck wi’ a job?’

  ‘No,’ Tresca sighed dejectedly. ‘I went all up West Street. Took me all day and no luck. But I’m getting to know some of the neighbours. And I bought a drop of milk from the dairy. Mrs Ellacott, she is.’ She paused, wondering if she should tell him about Bella; she knew his opinions on morality. She was saved from the dilemma as she looked down. ‘Oh, your boots are muddy, aren’t they?’

  ‘An’ my trousers. Bound to be when you’m shiftin’ so much earth. That Connor O’Mahoney were right. I cas’n quite keep up wi’ the regular navvies. ’Er drives them pretty ’ard. An’ ’er won’t stand no nonsense, I can tell you. Mind you, ’er’s only one foreman out o’ many, so p’r’aps others isn’t so strict.’

  ‘And are most of them Irish?’

  ‘No, not at all. I means, lots o’ them is. But I’s ’eard all sorts o’ different accents. An’ they’m not a bad bunch. O’Mahoney couldn’t be standin’ over me all day, so the others showed me what to do, Rory Driscoll especially. I cud imagine some o’ them gettin’ drunk an’ causin’ a right aud uproar, but most o’ them is decent enough. Now then, my stomach thinks my throat’s bin cut, so let’s ’ave this supper afore I faints from ’unger. An’ what’s that there?’ he demanded, frowning at the little coloured box that contained the chocolate truffle.

  ‘Oh, that’s a surprise!’ Tresca answered, tossing a carefree laugh into the air since Emmanuel’s day appeared to have gone so well. ‘You’ll have to wait and see!’

  Five

  When Tresca knocked at number twenty-nine, the door was opened by the child she recognized as Assumpta’s eldest daughter, Caitlin.

  ‘Good morning. Caitlin, isn’t it?’ Tresca smiled. ‘Do you remember me? I’m—’

  ‘I do so,’ the little girl said flatly. ‘Are you wanting to see Mammy?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Tresca answered, taken aback at her directness. Poor child seemed aged beyond her years.

  She led Tresca down the hallway to a door at the back of the house. Tresca took in the room at a glance. It was a decent size, with a small range in the chimney breast, but a double bed on either side left little enough room for the rustic table that stood in the middle. Assumpta, Rory and their six children evidently lived in this one room, just like the noisy family who lived in the room on the first floor at Mrs Mawes’s house. But this space at once radiated with a sense of calm and happiness, and Tresca noticed a large crucifix hanging on the wall.

  Sitting on one of the beds with the baby in her arms, the young woman looked up and her drawn face at once brightened into a smile. ‘Failte! Come in! Sure it’s pleased I am to be seeing you again. Rory says your daddy talks about you such a lot, and haven’t I been wanting to get to know you meself.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, yes. So will you be sitting down,’ Assumpta invited her, gesturing towards the other bed.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The small children who were sat on the bed shuffled along to make room for her. She noticed there were pillows at both ends, so the children must sleep head to toe. It was something Tresca had heard about but never seen. She supposed it was little different from sleeping in a barn on a bed of straw shared with the mice and the occasional rat – which she had done often enough herself.

  ‘Are you settling in well? Do you mind if I feed the babby? She has a bottle sometimes, but I’m feeding her as long as I can meself.’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  Nevertheless, Tresca tried to avert her eyes for the sake of Assumpta’s modesty, but her gaze was drawn back by the serene picture of motherhood and the little snuffling noises made by baby Maeve as she sucked greedily from her mother’s breast. Meanwhile, the other children were staring at Tresca as if they expected her to perform some magic trick. Even Niamh managed a shy smile. So with Assumpta busy with the baby, Tresca felt it was up to her to start a conversation.

  ‘Now, let me see if I can remember your names,’ she said, putting on an exaggerated frown. ‘Caitlin I remember, and I think you’m Niamh.’

  The little girl nodded, her eyes wide, but her elder sister put in solemnly, ‘Bet you can’t spell it, mind.’

  ‘Spell it?’ Tresca raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, let me see. Is it

  N . . . E . . . V . . . E?’

  ‘No, sure it’s N . . . I . . . A . . . M . . . H.’

  ‘Really? Well, I can see you’ve a lot to teach me!’ Tresca gave a hearty chuckle and was pleased to see Caitlin’s serious face move into a half smile. ‘Is that Irish spelling? You must be very clever. And what was that word your mother said just now? Fail-something?’

  ‘Failte. Means welcome.’

  ‘I must try to remember that.’

  ‘We try to teach them their mother tongue as much as we can,’ Assumpt
a told her, ‘even though none o’ them has ever been home.’

  ‘Never been to Ireland?’

  ‘Rory and me, we came over here looking for work as newly-weds, so we did. Never been back, though me heart aches fer the place. Met Mr O’Mahoney on the boat over. A fine man, even if he were so young then. Already been working on the railways, he had, and took Rory along with him. Rory works hard, but Mr O’Mahoney always understood the engineering side o’ things. And sure that’s why he’s a ganger now and Rory’s just a labourer. We could do with his wages, mind, but there we are.’

  Assumpta paused to change the baby over to her other breast, and Tresca’s gaze wandered about the cramped room again.

  ‘It must be hard for you to manage,’ she sympathized.

  ‘Sure it is, but isn’t each little soul a blessing from above. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and Rory’s a good man. Never goes out getting himself drunk or thieving like some o’ the navvies do.’

  ‘Do they? I know they have a reputation for it, but I’ve not seen ort like that.’

  ‘Not been here of a Saturday night yet, have you? Stay indoors, so you should. It’s not all the navvies, o’ course it’s not. But many o’ the bachelor laddies from the hut villages come into town, and can’t they run amok when they’ve been drinking. Well, now, acushla macree, I think your mammy’s run dry.’ She moved Maeve on to her shoulder, doing up the buttons of her blouse with the other hand. ‘Shall you be having a cup o’ tay with us, young Tresca?’

  ‘No, thank you. I just came to thank you for telling us about Mr O’Mahoney. I don’t know what we’d have done if he hadn’t taken my father on. I spent all day yesterday and the day afore looking for work in a shop but without success. So I thought I’d try some of the big houses next week. Try and go into service. It couldn’t be a live-in position, mind. I couldn’t bear seeing my father for just a few hours each week.’ Tresca bit her lip at the half lie. The truth of it was that she needed to be there all the time to make sure Emmanuel kept on the straight and narrow and didn’t succumb to his weakness.