by Valerie Wood
He waited for what seemed like hours. A man came and lit a lamp which was standing on a shelf. It stank of old oil. He looked at Mikey but didn’t speak and then went away again. The woman came back.
‘You can have some supper if you like,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t really as you’re not a resident but I’ll mek an exception.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ he said weakly, ‘but can I have a drink o’ water, please?’
She nodded and led him into a small room containing a desk and two chairs and a fire in the grate. He went to the fire and put his hands towards the flames. He was shivering, and when he took the cup of water from her his hands shook so much that he spilt some of it down his shirt.
‘Your ma said you’d come looking for her,’ the matron said. ‘She said you were away. Where’ve you been?’
His mother obviously hadn’t said he’d been in prison. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know. ‘Out of town,’ he muttered. ‘Looking for work.’ His ma was an honest, proud woman; he wasn’t going to let her down now.
‘And did you find it?’ Her eyes were piercing as she gazed at him.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘It’ll be a pauper’s funeral, you realize? Unless you’ve money to pay for a grave?’
Again Mikey shook his head, and the matron sighed. ‘Do you want to see her then, before she goes?’
Mikey considered. Did he? Why had she died? ‘What did she die of?’ he asked.
‘Heart failure brought on by starvation. Doctor said she hadn’t eaten in days, weeks even. ’Bairns hadn’t either, but they’ve recovered. They’d been scavenging, apparently.’
And I was grumbling over the prison food, Mikey thought, whilst they didn’t have any.
‘Your ma probably had consumption as well,’ the matron went on. ‘She had a cough, anyway, when she was admitted. So that hastened her death.’
Mikey suddenly decided. ‘I don’t want to see her.’ He didn’t want to look at her thin and wasted. He would prefer to remember her lively, her sharp tongue chastising him, her last words shouted out in court as he was sentenced.
‘Can I see my brothers? And Rosie?’
‘Your sister’s not back from work yet, but you can see ’lads. Come wi’ me.’
She led him into a large room set with long tables where the children were eating their evening meal. Boys were sitting on benches at one table and girls at another. All were dressed in grey, the boys in knee-length trousers and shirts and the girls in flannel dresses with aprons over them. Their pale faces almost matched the colour of their garments.
‘Quinn boys!’ the matron bellowed. ‘Come here!’
There was a shuffling along one of the benches and Mikey’s brothers got up and came to stand in front of the matron, their hands behind their backs and their heads bowed.
‘You can look up,’ she said. ‘Your brother’s come to see you.’
They both glanced up at Mikey and then at the matron.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You can speak.’
‘Can we come wi’ you, Mikey?’ Tom, at five, was the youngest of the brothers. ‘We don’t want to stop here, do we, Ben?’
‘No, we don’t.’ Ben, though older than Tom, was the quiet one. ‘Our ma’s dead,’ he whispered. ‘We had to go and see her.’
‘I know,’ Mikey said. I’ve only been away a month, he thought, yet I feel much older, as if I’ve been away for years and I’ve grown up. He looked down at his pasty-faced brothers. ‘I’ve been told about Ma; but you can’t come wi’ me cos I’ve nowhere to live. I’ll have to find work of some kind otherwise I won’t eat.’
‘We have bread and a pot o’ tea for our supper,’ Tom said. ‘And suet pudding on a Friday.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ Mikey said with forced jollity. ‘That’s more’n I’ll be having.’
‘Can’t you stop wi’ us, Mikey?’ Ben said. ‘Rosie has to go to work.’
Mikey glanced at the matron, who gave a dubious shake of her head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But as soon as I’m in work, I’ll come and fetch you.’
‘Off you go, then,’ Matron told the boys, ‘before anybody eats your supper.’
They both turned their heads to look at Mikey before taking their places at the table again and he saw Ben pressing his lips together as if to stop himself from crying.
‘There’s nobody older than you who can take responsibility, I suppose?’ the matron asked as they walked back down the corridor. ‘You said you’ve no father?’
‘No, he died at sea. We’re orphans now.’
‘Will you come to ’burial?’ she asked. ‘The boys will be excused their lessons so they can attend.’
‘Lessons?’ He was surprised. They’d never been to school; his mother never had money for such luxuries.
‘Pauper school,’ she said. ‘But onny for a short time. Soon we’ll all be moving to ’new workhouse and ’childre’ will be educated there.’
There had been a rumour for years that the workhouse was to be moved to a brand new building on the outskirts of town, but a rumour was all it had been. Now the matron was assuring him that it was about to happen.
‘So will you come?’ she asked him again. ‘To ’funeral?’
‘Yes.’ He didn’t want to, but he had to be there for the sake of the boys and Rosie.
‘Nine o’clock sharp,’ she said. ‘Don’t be late or we’ll go wi’out you.’
He didn’t know what to do or where to go next. He’d been looking forward to going home; to greeting his ma and promising that he’d never get into trouble again. He longed to hear her scolding him and then, when she relented, giving him a soft cuff round his head. Now he was quite alone.
He wandered across to the Market Place, but most of the traders were packing up to go home. He bent to pick up an apple that had fallen from somebody’s cart and put it in his pocket. Then he meandered about looking to see if there was anything else that was fit to eat. A few stray mangy dogs were doing the same.
A man was damping down a brazier. Mikey sniffed. Hot potatoes! He could eat one of those with no effort. It was a long time since his dinner at the prison and he was feeling hungry.
‘Got owt left?’ he asked the trader.
The man laughed. ‘Who are you kidding? I stop here till everything’s sold and ’fire’s out.’
Mikey nodded vaguely. ‘Just wondered, that’s all.’
He wandered off again, looking about him, but nothing caught his eye. Everybody had cleared up; no one could afford to leave anything behind. Not a green potato, not even a sprouting carrot. He sat on the church wall to have a think. In the winter, charity workers brought soup kitchens to the Market Place. But poor folk need to eat all through the year, he pondered. Not just in winter.
He thought of what the matron had said about his mother dying from starvation. She must have been feeding all of us and not herself. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember his mother ever sitting down to eat with them; bread, or potato soup, had always gone to the children first. He took the apple from his pocket and bit into it. It was green and sour and made his mouth crease with its sharpness. He threw it across the square and a pigeon flew down to peck at it.
Where can I go for the night? Who would give me a place on their floor? Tomorrow, he thought, after the funeral, he would be able to think straight, decide what to do, try for work. But tonight he just wanted to put his head down and sleep, and try to forget what had happened.
‘Mikey!’
He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry to see Bridget again. She always seemed to turn up from nowhere, as if she was constantly on the prowl. He nodded to her as she approached, but didn’t speak.
She jumped up beside him. The wall of Holy Trinity Church was a regular meeting place for young people in the town, though few of them ever ventured inside the building. ‘Did you find your ma?’ she asked. ‘My ma said it was a great shame that she had to go, but as I said to her, it’s better than living
out on ’streets.’
‘She’s dead,’ Mikey muttered. ‘Died this morning. I was too late.’
‘Oh, Mikey!’ She put her arm round his shoulder. ‘I’m really sorry. What’ll you do now? What about Rosie and ’boys?’
‘They’re all stopping at ’workhouse, but Rosie’s working at ’cotton mill.’
‘Rosie working?’ Bridget pulled a face. ‘Still, I suppose she’ll have to do summat to earn a crust.’
‘How come you don’t have a reg’lar job?’ Mikey asked. He felt rather peeved with her; she seemed smug about Rosie’s working at the mill. ‘You’re older than me. How does your ma manage wi’out wages from you?’
‘Oh, I do a bit o’ this ’n’ that,’ Bridget said airily. ‘I can bring in a bob or two.’
‘Doing what?’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘Just said. This ’n’ that. Errands and suchlike.’
‘Wish I could,’ he said gloomily. ‘Don’t know how I’m going to live. It was bad enough finding work before I went to prison. I haven’t even anywhere to stay tonight.’
‘Come to our place,’ she said eagerly. ‘Da will be out, he allus is, and Ma won’t mind. There won’t be any supper, though. There’s never owt left over.’
‘Don’t mind about that,’ Mikey said, though ideally he wouldn’t have chosen to stay at Bridget’s place. She made him feel uncomfortable, always coming up close to him, touching his arm or taking hold of his hand, as she was doing now. ‘I just want somewhere to sleep. Ma’s funeral’s tomorrow,’ he added.
‘Shall I come wi’ you?’ she offered.
‘No. Thanks. I’ve to look after Rosie and Tom and Ben. We’ll be all right on our own.’
He went home with her, and Mrs Turner made him welcome and said how sorry she was about his mother. She’d just heard the news, she told him. ‘You’ll have to get a job, Mikey; something settled, like a butcher or baker’s boy. Pity you can’t be apprenticed to a trade, but who’s got the money for that? Not poor folk like us, that’s for sure.’
‘I might go to sea, Mrs Turner,’ he said. ‘Ma didn’t want me to, she said she’d allus worry about me, but now that she’s gone …’ He left the sentence unfinished. There was no one to worry about him now, except his brothers and sister, of course, but they’d have to choose what to do with their own lives when the time came.
‘Sure and your mammy will be looking out for you, Mikey,’ Mrs Turner said softly. ‘Sure she will. Have no worries on that score if that’s what you want to do.’
‘I don’t want to, Mrs Turner,’ he explained. ‘It just seems ’only option open to me.’
She managed to find him a slice of bread for his supper and a cup of weak tea, and as darkness drew on she gave him a blanket to sleep on. ‘There’s only the floor I can offer you, Mikey. If Mr Turner comes in, then curl up small and he’ll not even notice you. Ten to one he’ll be drunk anyway and think you one of his own.’
‘You’re very kind, thank you,’ he managed to say, for he was overcome with the emotion that had been gathering ever since he’d left the workhouse. ‘I’ll not be a bother.’
He wrapped the blanket round him and lay down on the floor at the side of the fire, near where Bridget had made up her bed.
‘G’night, Mikey,’ she said softly. ‘Sleep well.’
He didn’t answer, but pulled the blanket over his head. He thought he would never sleep well again, never in his life. His thoughts were in turmoil: the loss of his mother, what to do, where to try for work; but in minutes, through sheer exhaustion, he fell fast asleep.
A few glowing embers of the fire stopped the room from being totally dark when he awoke and felt the warmth of one of his brothers curled up next to him. ‘Move up, Tom,’ he muttered. ‘You’re pushing me out.’
He felt an arm creeping over him and then a hand touching his face. He shifted away. ‘What ’you doing?’ he grumbled. ‘Tom! Stop it.’ Then he took in a sharp breath. It wasn’t Tom, or Ben either; he was suddenly aware that whoever it was was wearing very few clothes, for he could feel naked flesh, bare legs and thighs wrapping round him.
He opened his mouth to speak but a hand was put over his lips. ‘Shh,’ Bridget whispered. ‘Don’t mek a sound or you’ll wake Ma.’
She took her hand away and ran it down his body; she had undone his shirt buttons already and was now trying to unfasten the waistband of his trousers.
‘Don’t,’ he gasped, his senses aroused, his body throbbing. ‘If your ma should hear …’
She pressed closer to him; he could feel her breasts next to him, her nipples erect. ‘You can touch me if you like, Mikey,’ she breathed. ‘I want you to.’
‘No,’ he whispered, his voice strained. ‘It’s not right.’
‘It is,’ she insisted, her hands wandering over him. ‘It’s what I want, Mikey.’
A sudden crash came from the bed and Mrs Turner exclaimed, ‘Damned brick! It’s all right. The brick’s fallen out of bed.’
Mikey froze and Bridget held her breath as Mrs Turner threw back her blanket and bent to retrieve the hot brick which she had put in the bed to warm it. As she straightened up she saw Mikey and Bridget together on the floor.
She took a breath and Mikey saw the shock and outrage in her expression. ‘Holy Mary! He’s taken my daughter in sin!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘No. No I haven’t, Mrs Turner.’ Mikey struggled to get out of the blanket to show Mrs Turner that he was still fully dressed. ‘It’s – it’s …’
He didn’t want to get Bridget into trouble, although she was the one who had come to him.
‘I was cold, Ma.’ Bridget slipped out of the blanket. ‘Mikey was nearer to ’fire. That’s all. Nowt happened.’ She gave Mikey a glance of disapproval, blaming him, he felt, because nothing did.
‘Nothing happened? Nothing happened?’ Mrs Turner glared furiously at Mikey. ‘If the brick hadn’t fallen out of bed, then something might have! Get out of my house, you jailbird! I give you food and shelter and this is how you repay me? Seducing my daughter right in front of my nose! What would your poor mother think?’ She crossed herself. ‘God rest her soul.’
Mikey hurriedly fastened his shirt buttons and hitched up his trousers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘It’s not how it looks, Mrs Turner. Honest to God it isn’t.’
‘Honest to God!’ She aimed a futile blow at him. ‘Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain with your lies. Get out!’ She turned to Bridget. ‘And as for you, you brazen hussy, if your father had been here you’d have felt his belt all right, and you still might if I choose to tell him.’
Bridget clutched the neck of her shift. ‘Please don’t, Ma! Please don’t tell him. It was a mistake. I was cold. It wasn’t Mikey’s fault,’ she finally conceded.
‘You can still get out,’ her mother told him. ‘I’ll have no libertine taking advantage of my daughter. She’ll stay pure until she’s wed.’
Mikey picked up the blanket. I don’t think she will, he thought. Another few minutes and we’d both have been deflowered. Or maybe, he pondered as he headed for the door, just maybe, Bridget had done this before.
He kept on uttering his apologies as he went out and it wasn’t until he came to the top of Todd’s Entry that he realized he was still clutching Mrs Turner’s blanket. He daren’t take it back in case she started haranguing him again, and as he hesitated, wondering what to do, he recognized the drunken figure of Bridget’s father swaying in his direction.
Mikey started to run. The last thing he wanted was to be in the way of Turner’s fists. He was well known for his violence, both towards anyone who disagreed with him or got in his way and to his wife and family. I just hope that Bridget and her mother have settled their differences and got back into bed before he crashes through the door.
He cut through various dark passages and alleyways, past several inns where Turner had probably spent the evening, eventually coming out in Silver Street. He ran along it, looking back severa
l times to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and instead of turning right into the Market Place he continued on towards the old church of St Mary’s, where his mother sometimes went to pray. There were seats for eight hundred people inside and many of them were free for the poor to attend the services. He knew his mother had worshipped there as he had followed her one Sunday some years ago, shortly after they had been given the news that his father’s ship had gone down.
But Mikey wasn’t going to pray. He was going to look for shelter beneath the archway which abutted the road. But there was someone there already and as he walked into its shadow he heard a woman’s voice in the darkness asking, ‘Hello, darling. Lookin’ for company?’
‘N-no.’ His voice broke as sometimes it did when he was startled. ‘I’m looking for shelter. I’ve got nowhere to stop.’
‘He’s just a kid, Peg,’ the voice said, and another one butted in, ‘Well, you’re on our patch, laddie. You can’t stop here.’
To Mikey’s horror he started to cry. Great gulps of tears and sobs which poured out of him and wouldn’t stop.
‘Hey! Hey! Come on,’ the first woman said. ‘What’s up?’
‘My ma’s dead,’ he wept, ‘and I’ve just come out of prison and ’rest of our bairns are in ’workhouse.’
‘Phew!’ one of the women whistled. ‘You’ve got a skinful o’ trouble, haven’t you? What you been in prison for? Beating up some old lady?’
‘No,’ he sobbed. ‘I stole a rabbit from ’butcher.’
‘For your dinner, was it?’
As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw that one of the women was young, the other probably the same age as his mother. ‘Yeh.’ He wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve, feeling ashamed and humiliated that he had broken down in front of them.
‘And you’ve nowhere to live? No pals who’d give you a bed for ’night?’
