The Wrong Side of Happiness

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Assumpta gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Don’t I miss me own mammy and daddy something terrible. Not having seen them for eight years, and they’ve never met the children. Though haven’t me brothers and sisters given them enough grandchildren between them to populate the whole of Ireland. Some o’ them has gone to America, mind, and we’ll never see them again.’

  ‘America? Oh, that must be hard for you. But at least you have family. It’s just my father and me.’

  ‘That must be hard, too. Sure I’m lucky having all the little ones around me. And Caitlin’s so good at looking after her brothers and sisters.’

  ‘But . . .’ Tresca hesitated only for a moment. ‘Shouldn’t she be at school?’

  ‘So she should. And so should Niamh. But the Holy Mother knows we can’t spare the pennies for school. And doesn’t Miss Miles call in most days to give them some lessons and she’s as good as any teacher.’

  ‘Miss Miles?’ Tresca glanced at her in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean Vera Miles?’

  ‘Why, would you be knowing her?’

  ‘I met her the day we arrived here. It were she as directed us to Mrs Mawes.’

  ‘Ah, wasn’t she sent by the Lord Himself to help us all. A lovely lady, even if she is a Protestant. Didn’t himself object to her coming into our home at first, until he saw what a saint she is. Works among the poor of the parish, even though she’s as poor as a church mouse herself. Parents died when she was young, and ever since she’s lived on a tiny allowance from some rich uncle in Bath, provided she never sullies the family name by going out to work.’

  ‘Well, next time you see her, please would you tell her we found a room at Mrs Mawes’s house, and thank her for me?’

  ‘Why not have that cup o’ tay? Then you can thank her yourself. She’ll be here before too long.’

  ‘Do you know, I think I will! And we can all get to know each other better. Now, you’m Niamh and you’m Caitlin,’ she said, deliberately getting them the wrong way round. ‘And your brothers are Tom, Dick and Harry.’

  Caitlin frowned. ‘No, they’re Brendan, Patrick and Liam.’

  ‘That’s what I said. Tom, Dick and Harry.’

  ‘No. They’re . . .’ And then the grave child started to giggle as she saw the teasing expression on Tresca’s face.

  As Tresca hurried back up the hill, rain battered down from the sky, turning the road into a filthy stream as horse dung and other debris were washed away. Within those few minutes, the rain had soaked through Tresca’s shawl to her shoulders, but it was worth it for the few happy hours she had spent with Assumpta and the children. Vera Miles had appeared as predicted, although not a great deal of instruction had taken place. Tresca had told tales of her life on farms in the area, which Vera declared was as much a part of their education as learning their letters. Now Tresca’s heart was lighter than at any other time since she had come to the town.

  She hurried indoors and up the stairs, leaving a wet trail behind her. Emmanuel would be drenched working out in this all day, but at least he had a thick jacket and a waistcoat underneath, rather than her shawl and thin, flimsy dress. She shivered as she reached the first-floor landing. Should she dare to light the fire yet? The previous evening they had bought some coal and lit a fire in the small grate. The cramped room had soon warmed up, the coals glowing a comforting orangey-red. Tresca had been back to Mr Pearce for some tea and a couple of slices of bacon, and they had feasted on their first hot meal for days. She had planned a simple stew for tonight, and the idea made her mouth water. It would seem like a banquet – until she remembered the tasty and unlimited fare they had enjoyed at Tremaine Farm. She shook her head, driving the regret to the back of her mind.

  It was as she was climbing the second dark and narrow staircase that she met the lanky figure coming down. She was used to Bella now, though the older girl kept herself to herself. So her words took Tresca completely by surprise.

  ‘Aw, you’m wet through. I’s got a fire goin’ in my room. I’s just goin’ down fer the privy, but does you want fer go in an’ warm up?’

  It only took Tresca a moment to make up her mind. She could easily have declined, but she found herself rather liking Bella, and it was hard to associate her with her profession – if you could call it that.

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled back. ‘I’ll just change into some dry clothes.’

  How very strange, Tresca reflected, as she let herself into the tiny room that was home – at least for the time being. She had spent the morning in the company of two devout women who shared their dedication, if not their religion. And now she was about to befriend someone who lived the most ungodly life imaginable. But that was Bannawell Street for you, and Tresca found herself caught up in its mysterious web. Vera had explained that, since the clearance of the slums several decades ago to make way for the grandiose Town Hall and the new Market House, Bannawell Street was possibly the oldest and poorest area in the town. It was certainly known for being overpopulated, and so it followed that its inhabitants would be a mixed bunch, from Elijah Edwards and the homely Mrs Ellacott, to the unfriendly woman in the room below theirs . . . and Bella.

  Tresca hung her wet clothes over the bottom of the bedstead to dry and put on her spare set. Oh, wouldn’t it be marvellous one day to have a larger wardrobe of clothes? She said a little prayer that her father’s job would become permanent. She had spotted a coat on the second-hand stall in the Market House, and could purchase a length of a warm woollen material to make herself a dress for the winter. And she could work herself up a nightdress, too – a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed for some time, either!

  She felt uneasy as she entered Bella’s room, but she need not have worried. It was a little untidy, but no different from their own. It was only when Bella invited her to sit down on the bed, since there was not a chair in the place, that the bile rose in her throat as she envisaged what had gone on there a few nights earlier.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ Bella asked casually. ‘Or summat stronger?’ she added, jabbing her head towards a half-empty bottle of gin.

  Tresca gulped. ‘No, thank you. I’ve just come from a friend and I’m awash with tea.’

  ‘You ’as friends yere, then?’

  ‘I have now. Didn’t know them afore we came here.’

  ‘That’s good, then.’ Bella spoke on a wistful sigh. ‘Niver ’ad no friends, me.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ Tresca asked, bitten with curiosity. ‘You seem friendly enough to me.’

  ‘No, I’s not really. I ’as fer keep mysel’, well, apart, you might say. ’Ave fer in my line o’ business. Fer keep mysel’ safe. An’ when folk larns what I does, well, they treats us like the dregs o’ the earth. An’ that’s what I is. But you.’ She paused, fixing Tresca with dark, penetrating eyes, and Tresca saw the livid bruise that had spread over her cheekbone. ‘You’m different some’ows. Underneath you was afeared when us fust met, but you was determined not fer let it show. An’ when you larns what I be, you didn’t shun us like most folk does. In one so young, you’m either naive or very grown-up.’

  ‘Grown-up, I’d like to think,’ Tresca replied. ‘But have you no family either?’

  ‘If I ’as, I doesn’t know where,’ Bella scoffed. ‘Fust I knows o’ life were in a tumbledown cottage where a woman took in foundlings. Treated us like animals, she did, until one day I runs away. An’ bin lookin’ arter mysel’ ever since. Ten year old, I were.’

  A spear of pity and horror stabbed Tresca somewhere below the ribs. ‘That’s dreadful. But how on earth did you survive?’

  ‘Slept rough. Stole. Picked apples off trees and pulled carrots in the fields.’ Bella shrugged, but then her eyes hardened fiercely. ‘Wasn’t niver goin’ in no institution agin, not arter bein’ in that orphanage. Rather slit my throat than go in the work’ouse.’

  She jerked her head towards the top end of Bannawell Street where the huge, formidable building of the Tavistock Union Workhouse stood guard
like a fortress. But surely it couldn’t be that bad to be an inmate – and certainly preferable to earning a living lying on your back. Tresca couldn’t imagine anything so heinous and degrading. Poor Bella, to be reduced to that.

  ‘So did you never go to school?’ Tresca ventured.

  Bella gave a derisive cackle. ‘School? ’Ow could I ’ave gone fer school? Wish I ’ad. Mightn’t ’ave ended up like this. But you’m a clivor maid, I can see that.’ She narrowed her eyes as she met Tresca’s gaze. ‘Don’t you iver end up doin’ what I does, no matter what. It’s disgustin’, and I ’ates mysel’ cuz of it.’

  For a moment or two, Tresca didn’t know what to say. She felt strangely touched and wanted desperately to help, but what could she do when she herself had been traipsing round the town for two days in a vain search for work? ‘What about going into service?’ she suggested lamely, but she wasn’t expecting Bella’s reaction.

  ‘Huh, got mysel’ a job in service, all right,’ she snorted. ‘But then the son decided ’er fancied me. An’ ’er, well, ’er forced me, you might say. Said ’er’d find a way to ’ave me dismissed. But I were dismissed anyways. They said I were leadin’ on their precious son. All o’ thirteen, I were. An’ out on the streets agin. An’ then I discovered men’d pay fer what ’er took from me fer nort. An’ that were it.’

  Tresca stared at her, appalled. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she breathed, her voice trembling with compassion. ‘That’s a terrible story. But I tell you what,’ she added, suddenly decisive. ‘One day, if I ever have a big house – and I’m determined I will one day – I’ll take you on as my housekeeper and no one will ever hurt you again!’

  Bella turned to her, a rueful smile on her face. ‘It don’t do no ’arm fer dream, I s’pposes. But . . . can us be friends anyways?’

  ‘Of course we can! But right now, I must start preparing the dinner.’ She made for the door, but glanced over her shoulder with her hand on the latch. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Bella.’

  And as she went out, she saw tears collecting in her new friend’s eyes.

  By the time Emmanuel came home, the room smelt tantalizingly of the stew Tresca had cooked. She turned to her father in happy anticipation, but the smile slid from her face as she saw him.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she barely had the voice to utter. ‘Don’t say you haven’t been working? You hardly look wet at all—’

  ‘I’s bin workin’ all right. But Mr O’Mahoney ’ad a spare waterproof in ’is ’ut, an’ ’er lent it to us.’

  Tresca breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘That were kind of him.’

  ‘Well, ’er could see I were workin’ real ’ard, like. Most o’ the men ’as waterproofs, but I niver ’ad one. There be usually summat that needs doin’ indoors on a farm if it’s that bad. But fust thing I’s doin’ when us ’as a bit more money, like, is fer buy mysel’ one o’ they waterproofs. An’ you’ll ’ave a proper warm coat an’ all.’

  ‘Oh, you gave me a fright, then,’ Tresca laughed. ‘So, it’s still going well?’

  ‘It is that! An’ I’s famished an’ that there stew smells mortal good. Eh, my little princess!’ Emmanuel laced his arm about her shoulders and hugged her tightly. ‘You an’ me, us is good together, bain’t us?’

  Tresca’s mouth moved into a smile, but somehow it didn’t reach her eyes – or her heart. Yes, their situation was improving, but she would far rather they had still been at Tremaine Farm. Most of all, Bella’s tragic tale was haunting her. Later, when Emmanuel had eaten, she would relate it to him. Much as he would abhor Bella’s way of life, she knew he would be as appalled as she was when he heard how the poor girl had ended up that way. Oh, yes, he was a good man, her father, despite his faults, and she was so lucky to have him.

  Six

  ‘I reckons this calls for a celebration!’ Emmanuel grinned, cock-a-hoop, as he emptied his pockets on to the bed. ‘Fifteen shilling fer a full week’s work. On top o’ the four days’ pay from when I started midweek last week. Us is rich, princess, proper rich! An’ O’Mahoney says I can stay on proper, like.’

  ‘Oh, that is good news. I’m mortal proud of you, Father. But we can’t afford to be complacent yet. You need that waterproof and I bought that coat—’

  ‘Two shillin’ in the market! You could ’ave treated yersel’ to a fancy new one. My princess deserves—’

  ‘No, Father. We’ve a long way to go yet. The rent’s due again and there’s coal to buy now it’s getting colder. And I still haven’t been able to find a job. You know the only one I were offered were as a live-in housemaid, and I didn’t want that.’ She looked at him fondly, trying to hide her true thoughts. The image of him lying drunk in the barn while the hay smouldered around him had faded little over the weeks. Though her insides screwed in protest, she knew that she couldn’t trust him to keep sober.

  ‘Look on the table,’ she told him.

  ‘Oh, my little princess, some baccy an’ a bottle of beer!’

  ‘Now, you make it last all evening. I’ll not have you go out tonight. It’s Saturday, and I know what Assumpta said. You’ll get mixed up with some of the lads you know on the railway and I won’t see you till the morning.’

  ‘Aw, you’m an ’ard woman,’ Emmanuel teased. ‘But you’m my treasure, an’ all! Let me wash my mucky ’ands, an’ then you can tell us what you’ve bin doin’ all day. Apart from cookin’ this fine smellin’ meal. Now, ’as you seen that Vera Miles agin?’

  ‘I have indeed. And I think she’m expecting us in church tomorrow.’

  ‘Church? Oh, you knows we’m chapel—’

  ‘We’m not anything in particular, you old fraud! I want you brushed up in your Sunday best for Matins.’

  ‘Huh, what Sunday best would that be, then?’

  ‘I washed your other shirt and it’s ironed and ready. And I shall wear my new coat so you’ve no excuses.’ She lifted her head haughtily as she dished out a plate of sausages and creamy mashed potatoes that she had managed to cook on the fire during the afternoon. ‘Now get yer chops round that!’ she cried in the most common way she could, and they both burst out with laughter.

  Sunday dawned bright and clear. After all the recent rain, such a dry and sunny day was most welcome. Although the fallen autumn leaves were soggy beneath their feet, those that were still on the trees in the churchyard glinted copper and gold in the sunlight. The difference in the weather made the town centre appear fine and inviting, and Tresca felt her heart lift as they came out of the church. She had spoken briefly to Vera, who had been delighted to see them in the congregation, but she told Tresca that she had to discuss something with the vicar.

  ‘Good morning to you!’

  ‘Good day to you, Mr O’Mahoney, sir,’ Tresca heard Emmanuel return the greeting.

  She turned to the tall, broad figure that had appeared beside them. Mr O’Mahoney looked so smart in a well-cut suit, a grey cravat folded about the winged collar of his snowy shirt, and shoes polished to a mirror-like shine.

  ‘Miss Ladycott,’ he smiled, revealing strong, even teeth.

  ‘Mr O’Mahoney.’ She dipped her head, feeling awkward at her own humble attire and almost wishing she had bought herself a new coat at the outfitters instead of the slightly worn second-hand garment she had settled on. But then she pulled herself up short. It was all right for Connor O’Mahoney. He was doubtless well paid and probably had no one else in the world but himself to spend his wages on. ‘I didn’t see you in church,’ she added somewhat coolly.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t,’ he answered quite affably. ‘I’d have gone to confession and then to mass if such a thing were to be had hereabouts.’

  Mass? Oh, of course, how stupid of her. He must be Catholic like Rory and Assumpta. Tresca felt quite foolish and found herself muttering something about the weather.

  ‘It surely is a fine day,’ Connor replied, seemingly oblivious to her embarrassment. ‘Would you care to take a stroll along the old canal? Or have you other plans for the
morning? In which case, I shall detain you no longer.’

  His eyebrows lifted above his intense eyes, which in this light appeared an almost peacock-blue, and Tresca considered that, despite his heavy brow and angular jaw, he was actually quite a good-looking fellow. She glanced at Emmanuel and was disappointed at the shuttered expression that came over his face. But this was his boss, and though she herself would have preferred to have made some excuse, she could also see that it might be to their advantage to socialize with him.

  ‘Yes, we should love to, wouldn’t we, Father?’ she replied enthusiastically, throwing Emmanuel a glance that told him he must obey. ‘It’d be grand to take some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up indoors these past two weeks nearly.’

  ‘Don’t I know how you feel,’ Connor agreed. ‘Sure I’m outdoors working all the time, but you don’t get the views and don’t I miss the mountains at home. It’s this way,’ he gestured, indicating the opposite side of the churchyard.

  Tresca followed, wishing Emmanuel wasn’t dragging his feet as they reached the road on the far side. ‘Mountains?’ she asked, smiling sweetly.

  ‘Beautiful, so they are. Take your breath away.’

  ‘But we have Dartmoor. Some of the tors are quite high.’

  ‘So they are. And didn’t I help build the railway that goes up to Princetown. Wasn’t a ganger then, I wasn’t, but I really enjoyed working out on the moor. The most scenic line I’ve ever worked on, and haven’t I worked all over the country. But sure, it’s not home.’

  They had crossed over the road and reached the large open space which the disused canal cut through as straight as a mine rod. The land was used for grazing, but the owner, the benevolent Duke of Bedford, allowed public access, so Tresca had heard. As Connor had implied, it provided a pleasant spot for a stroll, ambling alongside the ribbon of water that had once bustled with commercial activity when copper mining had thrived in the area.

  ‘Do you ever go home, Mr O’Mahoney?’ Tresca asked, willing Emmanuel to join in the conversation, but it seemed he had his mouth resolutely shut.