Never Look Back

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘No, Rosa,’ she said, thinking her friend hadn’t realized. But as she spoke the second man stepped in front of her and looked her right in the face. She thought he was around thirty, his face was very flushed with drink, and there was a cold look in his eyes that made her even more nervous.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, holding out his arm. ‘We both know what we’re here for.’

  ‘You are mistaken in why we are here,’ she said with all the haughtiness she could muster. ‘We just came to look around. Now, if you are a gentleman kindly leave us alone.’ She quickly dodged past him and ran to Rosa who was already some distance away with the taller man.

  Grabbing her friend’s free arm, she hissed in her ear, ‘Come away. They think we’re gay.’

  But to her dismay Rosa only laughed and shrugged her off, turning her face up to her companion and resuming their conversation.

  Matilda thought perhaps the word ‘gay’ wasn’t in use in America and she was just opening her mouth to say something coarser, when the other man caught hold of her wrist and yanked her away.

  ‘Come on, blondy,’ he said. ‘Your pal knows what she’s doing and I bet you do too if the price is right.’

  Dozens of men had propositioned her in her time selling flowers, it was one of the perils of the job, but Matilda had quickly learnt that once a man actually caught hold of her, actions went a great deal further than words. She shook off his hand, tightened her right one into a fist and punched him in the chin.

  He reeled back, more with surprise than hurt. ‘Well, you little vixen,’ he said in astonishment. ‘What saloon did you learn that in?’

  If it hadn’t been for Rosa, she would have fled immediately. By hitting the man she had attracted attention to herself and the crowd around stopped to watch. Yet still imagining her friend was too innocent to know what was going on, she ran back to her and tried to pull her forcefully away from her escort. But as she caught hold of Rosa by the arm, the man she’d hit came up behind her and this time grabbed her right around the middle, trapping her arms.

  ‘Rosa, they think we are whores,’ she yelled.

  To Matilda’s dismay the gathering crowd let out a cheer and began clapping, perhaps thinking they were watching some kind of street act. But the humiliation of that was nothing compared to the shock of seeing Rosa turn to frown at her in irritation, and suddenly realizing she knew exactly what she was doing.

  ‘Let me go, you oaf,’ Matilda screamed out, but her bonnet tipped over her eyes as she struggled to get free and she couldn’t see.

  She heard a thud and simultaneously she was lurched forward. ‘Let the lady go if you know what’s good for you,’ a deep Irish voice called out. ‘Or I’ll break your head, so help me.’

  The sudden release from the man’s hands toppled her, but she recovered her footing, flicked her bonnet back on to her head and turned to see a tall, dark-haired man sparring up to the one who had caught her.

  ‘She’s no lady,’ he was saying with some indignation. ‘And what’s it to you anyway?’

  ‘She’s my girl, that’s what,’ the Irishman said and with that threw a punch that laid the man right out on the grass.

  Matilda backed away in horror. More people were rushing over to watch and someone among them was bound to know who she was. Rosa and the other man had disappeared.

  She moved then, picking up her skirt with both hands, and ran away towards State Street.

  ‘Don’t run from me, darlin’,’ she heard the Irishman call out behind her. ‘It ain’t safe to be out on yer own. Let me take you’s home.’

  She faltered at the edge of the Green. The bright lights were behind her now and in front was total darkness. She knew the man was right, it wasn’t safe to be alone, and besides, she ought at least to thank him for coming to her rescue.

  As he breathlessly caught up with her, and she saw the concern on his face, she suddenly began to cry with shock, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘Oh, me darlin’, don’t cry,’ he said. ‘There’s folks watching us and they’ll be thinkin’ I’ve hurt you.’

  He said his name was Flynn O’Reilly, and getting out a handkerchief from his pocket he mopped at her face. ‘Now, where are ye staying?’ he asked. ‘And what were ye thinking of to come out here at night?’

  She managed to get out that she was the minister’s nursemaid and that she lived in State Street, and that Rosa had let her down, but it was a second or two before she noticed how young and handsome the man was. His hair was black and curly, the lights behind him making it shine like wet seaweed. There wasn’t enough light to see the colour of his eyes, only the concern in them, and his teeth were very white.

  ‘I must get home now,’ she gasped out. ‘Thank you for saving me from that man. I won’t ever go there again.’

  He lifted her chin with his hand and smiled down at her. ‘You must stop shaking before you get home,’ he said in a soft and soothing voice. ‘Or your mistress will want to know what’s happened to you.’ With that his arms slid around her and before she could even think of protesting he was holding her tightly against him, stroking her back.

  She knew she shouldn’t be allowing such familiarity with a total stranger, but it was so good to be held, such a safe, warm feeling, and even though she knew nothing more of him than his name, she didn’t want to break away.

  ‘I said you was my girl back there without thinking,’ he said against the side of her bonnet. ‘But it seems to me now I’m holding you that a good fairy waved her wand tonight.’

  He moved her away from him, holding both her elbows, and looked into her eyes. ‘My, but you’re lovely,’ he whispered. ‘I just have to kiss you or die.’

  Reason told her to run, yet she couldn’t, an invisible force seemed to hold her motionless as his mouth came down on hers. She closed her eyes involuntarily, and his lips were warm and so soft, she just gave herself up to them. There were people walking by, perhaps even some who knew her, but in that brief moment of sweetness she didn’t care.

  ‘Am I to be told the name of the angel in the pink dress, whose lips taste of honey?’ he whispered as he finally drew away.

  She knew she ought to laugh, to think of a quick retort, yet she couldn’t. ‘Matilda Jennings,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Well, my little Matilda,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’d very much like to persuade you to stay out with me. But I guess you’d be in trouble if I did that, so I’d better walk you home.’

  At the door of the house in State Street, he squeezed her hand. ‘What day do you have off?’ he asked.

  ‘Usually Fridays,’ she said, whispering in case the Milsons should hear them and look out.

  ‘Will you meet me then?’ he said.

  She nodded, hardly able to believe she was doing this.

  ‘I’ll be at the Tontine coffee house between two and three in the afternoon,’ he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek lightly. ‘Now, go on in and keep calm. Don’t tell your mistress about your friend. She’ll be in deep trouble soon enough without you bringing it down on her.’

  He walked away as she put her hand out to turn the door knob. His step was so light she could scarcely hear it, but as she opened the door, he turned and blew her a kiss.

  Matilda had no idea how she managed to walk into the parlour, tell her master and mistress she’d enjoyed the dance, then join them in the evening prayers, all without giving anything away.

  As she said the Lord’s Prayer, her eyes tightly shut, the words ‘Forgive us our trespasses, and forgive those who trespass against us’ had real meaning for once. She ought to hate Rosa and that terrible bully of a man, yet if it hadn’t been for them she wouldn’t have met Flynn.

  Up in bed later, she whispered his name in the dark and when she relived his kiss she felt as if her whole body was on fire.

  ‘No good will come of it,’ she warned herself. Yet to wait six days before she could see him again seemed to be the worst aspect of it.

  Chapter
Seven

  Matilda’s heart seemed to be beating absurdly loudly as she made her way to the Tontine coffee house on Friday afternoon. She felt hot all over too, even though it had turned very cold with the sudden onset of autumn. They called it the fall here, but instead of golden leaves swirling around in the strong wind, like she remembered back in Primrose Hill, here there were only bits of rubbish, for there were few trees in this part of New York.

  She was wearing a straw boater-style hat which Lily had given her, but now she wondered if she had been wrong to replace the original dark blue ribbon with a bright red one. What if red was too forward a colour?

  ‘It’s too late to worry about that now,’ she said to herself. ‘He’ll have to take you as you are.’

  She had scarcely thought of anything else but Flynn all week, reminding herself constantly that she had only seen him in darkness, and then only for a few minutes, so he might turn out to be ugly, stupid, or even married. Yet for some strange reason it was the thought of him being married that frightened her the most.

  As she passed by the Arkwrights’ house she glanced up at the windows. It was one of the smart Federal-style houses, four floors and a fan-shaped window over the front door, and she imagined it to be very elegant inside. She wondered if Rosa was watching her pass by from behind the lace blinds, and feeling ashamed.

  Matilda hadn’t gone to the Bible class on Wednesday because she couldn’t face seeing the girl again. Yet maybe she should have gone, if only to find out why Rosa behaved as she did. Was she so stupid that she imagined that was the way to find a ‘gentleman’ who would fall in love with her and marry her? Or was it because she needed the money to help out her family? Yet whatever the reason, she shouldn’t have taken Matilda along with her, or left her there when everything turned nasty.

  But as Matilda turned the corner and saw Flynn waiting outside the Tontine coffee house for her, she forgave Rosa. The first thing that struck her about him was that he was even more handsome than she’d imagined. The second was that he looked very poor.

  This surprised her most, for his voice and confident manner had evoked in her mind the image of someone from the upper classes. Even at a distance of some thirty feet she could see his suit had been bought second-hand off a barrow, it was shiny with age and too large for his slender frame. Yet the grey derby hat tilted back on to his dark curls gave him an appealing, rakish air, and the joyful smile that lit up his face as he saw her coming suggested he shared her excitement.

  ‘Matilda!’ he exclaimed, opening his arms wide as if intending to hug her there in the street. But then, as if remembering this wasn’t the way things were done, he stopped and grinned sheepishly. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Jennings,’ he said, raising his hat. ‘How do you do?’

  Matilda giggled. ‘Very well, thank you, Mr O’Reilly.’

  His eyes were almost navy blue, fanned by long, thick, dark lashes, and his teeth were every bit as white and perfect as they’d appeared in the dark. She thought no man had a right to be so handsome, just looking at him made her feel light-headed.

  ‘Am I really to call you Miss Jennings?’ he said. ‘In the old country you can call a girl by her Christian name once you’ve kissed her.’

  ‘You can call me Matty, but you must forget you kissed me,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘I wasn’t myself after what happened.’

  ‘So who was it I kissed then?’ He put his head on one side and made a comic face. ‘To be sure, that colleen looked like you.’

  His soft Irish lilt, his gentle teasing were as appealing as his face and she had to smile.

  ‘It’s a touch cold for walking,’ he said, looking up at the grey sky. ‘Shall we go and find somewhere warm to have tea?’

  She was very glad he didn’t suggest going into the Tontine coffee house, it was a place where merchants gathered to auction goods, and to buy and sell shares, and some of them might know the Milsons. She knew they wouldn’t approve of her meeting any man on her afternoon off, not unless she’d met him through the church and they knew all about him. But she wasn’t going to spoil the day by thinking about such things.

  Flynn led her speedily through the narrow streets over to the west side of the island, explaining as they went that he knew a little place with a nice view of the Hudson river. He asked too how long she’d been in America, and if the rest of her family were here too. When she told him that Reverend Milson was a minister at Trinity Church he looked a bit concerned. Imagining this was because he had similar views about clergymen to those she’d once held, she quickly told him Giles Milson wasn’t what she’d call a Bible-basher.

  The place he took her to was little more than a wooden shack above a warehouse, furnished with rough wood tables and benches. A few men were eating meals, but in the main the clientele were people much like herself and Flynn, young women who could be maids or shop girls with a male companion, all drinking tea. As Flynn was greeted very warmly by a very fat black lady in a red turban, who immediately cleared the table down by the window for them, Matilda imagined he must be a regular visitor.

  The view of the river with schooners in full sail, huge steamships, tugs, ferries and fishing boats was so evocative of her father and her childhood that for a moment or two she forgot all about Flynn and just drank it in with nostalgia. The Milsons had made her promise that she would keep well away from the wharves, as they considered them and the men who worked on them dangerous. She had abided by what they said, but at times when she felt homesick it was very tempting to disobey them. Lily could pretend she was back in England by going to church or tea parties with other English women; for Matilda, the docks were a bit of home, the sights, smells and sounds just like London.

  Straight ahead across the river was New Jersey, but though she could just make out the ferry landing, the Waifs’ and Strays’ Home was too far inland to see.

  ‘Are you shy?’ Flynn’s question made her turn back to him. ‘Or are you thinking that this is a terrible place I’ve brought you to?’

  She blushed furiously, suddenly aware she hadn’t spoken since they sat down. ‘No, of course not. I’m so sorry to be so rude. I was just enjoying the view of the ships and thinking about some orphans Reverend Milson and I took to a Home in New Jersey last week.’

  Tea and doughnuts were brought to them by a small black girl in a ragged dress. She smiled shyly at them, revealing a lack of front teeth, then scuttled away.

  ‘That’s just one of Sadie’s eleven children,’ Flynn said. ‘But tell me about these orphans.’

  Matilda explained.

  ‘You went into Five Points and took kids out?’ He whistled between his teeth. ‘Bejesus Matty, that’s no place for a girl like you.’

  ‘It’s no place for an orphan child either,’ she said tartly. ‘I shall be going back there too, to round up some more.’

  He looked at her in utter horror. ‘Does this Reverend Milson have anything between his two ears?’ he said, his voice raised in indignation. ‘He could be killed in there, and you with him. I once spent over two weeks in that fearful place, and I count myself lucky I got out alive.’

  ‘Reverend Milson has a better brain than any man I’ve ever met,’ she retorted. ‘And why should anyone kill us when we are trying to help?’

  Flynn shook his head, his navy-blue eyes suddenly doleful. ‘Oh Matty,’ he sighed. ‘You can’t know how it is there. When word gets around you are taking babbies away they’ll be queuing up to offer you theirs, and demanding money for them too. Those aren’t just poor folk in there, they are animals. I know most of them are my countrymen, but Jesus save their souls, they are the scrapings of the barrel. I can’t begin to tell you how they live.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘I came from one of the worst slums in London myself and I know exactly how the people live. It’s only luck and the kindness of Reverend Milson that I’m not still there.’

  His mouth dropped open in shock. ‘But I took you for a country girl,’ he said in little
more than a whisper.

  Matilda wished she’d stopped to think before blurting that out. Even to her ears it sounded like she was a reformed whore. She was just about to rephrase it when she stopped herself. Why should she justify herself to a man who called the poor the scrapings of the barrel?

  ‘I suppose you are descended from the Kings of Ireland?’ she said with some sarcasm. ‘Most of the Irish in London claim to be.’

  ‘You have a sharp tongue, Matty,’ he replied, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Maybe I am of royal blood, us Irish have more children than any other race I’ve ever met, but then there’s little else to do in Ireland but grow the potato, cut the peat for our fires and make love.’

  She had heard many men use the cruder words for sex, but somehow ‘making love’ sounded so intimate that she blushed and lowered her eyes from his.

  He laughed softly. ‘Drink your tea and eat your doughnut,’ he said. ‘I promise not to embarrass you again today. I come from a very poor family too, twelve of us, and me the third from eldest, with no hope of a shilling, let alone a fortune coming to me. We lived in a croft near Galway, and when the potato failed for two years running, it was hunger that made me walk all the way to Cork to try and find work.’

  ‘How old were you?’ she asked.

  ‘About twelve, with nothing in me head but dreams, and rags on me back. Luckily a fisherman there needed a lad to help him and I stayed with him and his wife for two years. He couldn’t pay me, but at least I didn’t starve. They say fish is good for the brain!’ He smiled. ‘It must have been, for I worked out for myself that Ireland was no good for me and left soon after.’

  She had been wondering how old Flynn was all the way here. His quick, jerky movements, his slender body were all very boyish, but the adult way he spoke suggested he was far older than he looked.

  ‘You came straight to America at fourteen?’ she fished. Lily had said it was impolite to ask anyone’s age.

  ‘No, first I went to sea as a cabin boy, then I went to England to dig canals. Finally I signed on a ship as a deck hand and arrived here three years ago. I was twenty-two then. A whole ten years since I left Galway.’