Ragamuffin Angel Read online

  But now, as the door was opened by a young child of indeterminate sex who stared at him warily, it was the smell that hit Dan first; the smell of unwashed humanity, of decay and rot and mould and a hundred other things besides, and he found himself wanting to retch.

  ‘Is –’ He had to take a deep breath and try again. ‘I’ve come for Doctor Turnbull. Is he here?’

  ‘He’s seein’ to me da, he’s had his leg smashed right bad at the docks the day,’ the child replied without much interest.

  ‘Can I talk to your mother then?’

  ‘Me mam’s deliverin’ the washin’ down near Mowbray Park with our Gertie an’ Jimmy.’ The child sniffed wetly, catching a drip from the end of its nose on the back of its hand. ‘You can come in if you want,’ it offered apathetically.

  ‘Right. . . Thank you.’

  Dan found himself stepping into a narrow hall, devoid of wallpaper, where the encrusted floorboards spoke of years of dirt.

  ‘You want to come in the kitchen?’

  ‘No, no thank you,’ said Dan hastily. ‘I’ll wait here if I may?’

  ‘Please yerself.’

  It seemed like forever to Dan before Doctor Turnbull emerged from the first door on his right, but within minutes they were back at the surgery and shortly afterwards bowling through the snowy roads in the good doctor’s horse and trap.

  The scene which met their eyes at the cottage was fractionally better than earlier in as much as the farmer’s wife had been true to her word and sent a good supply of logs and a sack of coal, along with another sack containing a whole ham, fresh milk, eggs and some other foodstuffs which were spread out on the table by the window. However, in spite of the roaring fire now blazing in the range the two rooms were still cold, and when Doctor Turnbull walked through to the bedroom, after a cursory glance at the drawer, his voice was sharp when he turned to Peggy – ensconced in front of the fire with her shawl pulled tight around her and her arthritis deepening the wrinkles of pain on her face – and said, ‘How long, exactly, has she been like this?’

  Peggy shrugged wearily. ‘The bairn gave her a bowl of broth once she’d cleaned her up just gone midnight, but after that. . .’

  The doctor glanced at the golden-haired child standing just within the bedroom, her brother perched on her hip, and his voice was tinged with the sense of failure and frustration he always felt in such situations when he said, ‘You looked after your mother, did you? That’s a good girl. You were quite right to give her the broth, she needed something inside her to fight the fever.’

  ‘Is . . . is me mam goin’a be all right?’

  ‘Of course she is.’ It was too hearty, and as Doctor Turnbull’s eyes met those of Dan – who was standing by the front door – he swallowed deeply, moderating his tone as he added, ‘But not for a few weeks I’m afraid. Do you think you can take care of her?’

  Connie nodded vigorously. Of course she could. It was her mam, wasn’t it!

  ‘I’ll give you some medicine for her, and you carry on giving her the broth several times a day, eh? And milk. Lots and lots of milk.’

  Hark at him. Lots and lots of milk. Peggy’s thoughts were bitter. And where would the money come from for this milk and broth he was rabbiting on about? That’s what she’d like to know. The doctor was a good man, oh aye, she’d give him that, but he lived in a different world to half his patients, and wasn’t that the truth. When had he and his good wife ever been so desperate for coal that they had sent their bairns out following the coal carts for the loose pieces of coke which rolled into the road when the wheels of the carts bumped and shook? Bairns as young as three and four darting under the wheels at risk of life and limb, and dragging their sack home at the end of the day, often with lacerated, bleeding feet.

  And how often had they seen the inside of a pawn shop? Aye, she’d like to know the answer to that one. When she’d been a bairn, come Monday morning, regular as clockwork, anything worth pawning would be wrapped in a parcel and taken to the pawn for a few pennies to see them through the week. If they’d been lucky it might be out on the Friday night, but by the end of the weekend the whole scenario would be repeated.

  And she dare bet he didn’t get his fruit down at the market like some of a Saturday night, scrabbling under the stalls and in the gutter for dirt-encrusted, mouldy bits that were perhaps all they’d eat that day. No, his maid would go out to see the fruit man in the back lane when he called, choosing this and that and having it on account most likely. And would one of his bairns be down the mines from as young as seven or eight? Twelve it was supposed to be, legal like, but who could afford to take notice of the law when it was either sending the bairns out for any work they could get or the workhouse?

  And now here was her bonny lass, as near death as dammit. The gates of the workhouse were opening in front of Peggy’s eyes and filling her with dread. But her Sadie wouldn’t die, not now, not with the doctor to see to her and the cottage warming up. But if it wasn’t for the young lad standing here there’d be no fire in the hearth and no food on the table. Mind you, he’d been part of this trouble that had come upon them, although – and she glanced at Dan now – he was of a different stamp to the rest of them fiends. Beneath that lanky, gangling exterior he was nowt but a stripling.

  When Doctor Turnbull shut the bedroom door in order to examine his patient it was this last thought of Peggy’s that made her say, her voice low, ‘Look, lad, don’t think I’m not grateful for you helpin’ our Connie the day, an’ for takin’ the trouble to come, an’ for the coal an’ food an’ all, but them brothers of yours will take it out of your hide if they know you’ve come here.’

  ‘Art wouldn’t,’ said Dan uncomfortably, aware of Connie’s eyes tight on him as she stood, still holding the toddler balanced on her small hip, just outside the bedroom door. The bairn didn’t like him but then who could blame her? he reasoned silently. ‘I discussed it with him yesterday and he understood.’

  ‘Well I dunno about that, lad, but that little one – John, is it? -now he’s right dangerous if you ask me, an’ we’ve enough on our plate without havin’ another visit from the likes of him, an’ that’s what it’d mean if he found out you’d been consortin’ with Jacob’s other family.’

  Jacob’s other family. Dan stared at the old woman. He had never thought of them in that light but that’s clearly what they considered they were.

  ‘So’s it’s best all round if you don’t let on about all this an’ you don’t come back. I don’t want the bairns hurt.’

  ‘John wouldn’t –’ Dan stopped abruptly, shocked to discover that he couldn’t say, in all honesty, that he was sure his brother wouldn’t hurt Sadie Bell’s children. His mouth was slightly agape and after closing it he swallowed twice before saying quietly, as though to himself, ‘I don’t understand how all this has happened. Everything, everyone, has changed.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s changed, lad. It’s just that life has a way of bringin’ the scum to the surface.’

  They said nothing more until Doctor Turnbull left the bedroom two or three minutes later. After placing a large bottle of medicine on the mantelpiece with instructions that Sadie be given a dose every four hours, he carefully lifted the tiny bundle from the drawer and made his goodbyes.

  Dan followed the doctor to the door, but turned on the threshold and looked at Peggy again. ‘I’ll see to his bill.’

  ‘Aye, all right, lad.’ She didn’t thank him and Dan did not expect her to, but they both knew that because of the things of which they had spoken, this was, of necessity, his last visit to the house in the wood.

  ‘Goodbye, Connie.’ When Dan transferred his gaze to the child he saw her small chin lift slightly and the rose-bud lips tauten, but she said nothing, merely eyeing him with a hostility which was more than a little daunting in so young a child. But he had seen the dart of anguish crumple her face when the doctor had picked up the body of the baby and the movement – instantly checked – that she had made
towards the man.

  He stared at her for a moment more, his heart going out to her, and she stared back, not giving an inch, and then he turned, stepping out into the bleak cold world outside, and shut the cottage door behind him.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Mam, I know exactly what you’re sayin’, ’course I do, but we don’t have any choice. Surely you see that?’

  ‘What I see is that you might bring that madman down on our heads agen an’ that won’t help us or Jacob.’

  ‘Larry is Jacob’s child an’ he knows that, an’ if I have to create a scene the like of which they’ve never seen before I shall make sure I see him, however ill he is. I have to see him, Mam –’ Sadie stopped abruptly, her hand to her chest as she gulped at the air for some moments before saying more slowly, ‘I have to.’

  ‘You’re not well, lass,’ said Peggy pleadingly, her eyes on her daughter’s ashen face. ‘It’s only bin three weeks since the – since you were took bad, an’ Doctor Turnbull said –’

  ‘Doctor Turnbull said a lot of things,’ Sadie interrupted wearily, ‘but we’ve only enough food for today an’ the coal an’ logs are all gone. You know how things are, Mam. Don’t make it worse.’

  ‘Well, leave the bairns with me then. Don’t drag them along.’

  ‘I’m goin’ with Mam. Larry can stay here but I’m goin’.’

  Connie’s voice had been fierce but now Sadie lifted her hand for her daughter to stop. ‘You know full well why I’m takin’ ’em, Mam.’

  ‘Aye, I do an’ all, an’ no good ever come out of blackmail.’

  ‘That remains to be seen, but they’re comin’.’

  ‘Eee, I don’t understand you no more. You’re me own, but I don’t understand you. Your da must be turnin’ in his grave with the shame you’ve brought down on our heads. I told you at the beginnin’ they never leave their wedded wives, now didn’t I? But you knew best.’

  ‘He would have left her,’ said Sadie dully.

  Connie hated it when her mam and grandma fought like this and they were doing it all the time now, her grandma’s voice low and bitter and her mam’s sort of dead sounding. Connie looked at them both before she turned to Larry who was sitting on the hard-wood saddle and said softly, ‘Come on, I’ll get your coat on.’ He nodded at her, scrambling down at once, but he didn’t speak. He hardly ever spoke, and when he did it was in a baby gibberish of his own devising, even though he was well past his second birthday. But he sensed how things had changed in the last few weeks, she was sure of that, and she’d noticed that more and more it was her he came to when he was tired or he’d hurt himself. And her mam was so thin and peaky. Beautiful still, she assured herself quickly in the next moment, as though the thought had been a criticism. Her mam was still the most beautiful person in the whole wide world and always would be, but she did look poorly.

  There had been a thaw over the last week, a gradual thaw which meant the severe flooding of the year before had not been repeated, but still the ground outside the cottage was a quagmire. Walking became easier once they reached the road but already her mam was as white as a sheet and making little gasping noises with each breath.

  ‘Give Larry to me, Mam. I’ll piggyback him.’

  Connie looked up at her mother as she spoke and when Sadie made no reply, but simply stopped and positioned the toddler on to Connie’s small thin back, her anxiety increased.

  Connie’s legs were aching long before they reached St Bede’s Terrace off Mowbray Road, but although she had stopped a few times and humped Larry up further on her back – even persuading the reluctant toddler to walk a little way once or twice – she said not a word of complaint. She liked the look of St Bede’s Terrace. It was a tidy street, and it had front gardens too, not like near her school.

  The thought of school brought Connie nipping at her bottom lip. She had found, much to her surprise, that she’d missed not going to school over the last three weeks. It wasn’t like when she was on holiday, not with the other children still going, and now Ethel Miller would be crowing she was in front of her with her reading and she wouldn’t be top of the class any more. Normally her mam went on and on about how she had to go to school and be educated, but since that night when her mam had got sick she hadn’t mentioned her going back.

  The memory of that night with all its attendant horror was held fast in her mind, and however much she tried to think about something else she only had to shut her eyes to experience it all again. She wished she could talk to her mam or her grandma about it but somehow she knew she mustn’t. It would only make their quiet fighting worse if she said anything; her grandma knew she was still upset about it, and her mam had been different since that night. She couldn’t say anything to her mam. But once she was back at school she’d go to confession and tell Father Hedley. Aye, that’s what she’d do.

  ‘Connie?’ Her mam’s arm across her small chest brought her to a halt. They were standing on the pavement in front of one of the neat thin gardens now, and unlike most of its neighbours – which were quite devoid of snow – this one still had a remnant left here and there. ‘I want you to stand here with Larry – put him down now, that’s it – an’ say nothin’, you understand me? Not a word, mind.’

  ‘All right, Mam.’ Connie felt a little hurt. Her mam had talked as though she was telling her off about something, she thought a mite resentfully, as she watched Sadie pick her way carefully down the path to the front door and knock twice with the brass knocker.

  After what seemed like a long time to Connie, her mother knocked again, and then, after another wait, a third time.

  ‘Who is it you’re wanting?’

  Connie saw the next door neighbour’s head emerge from the bedroom window but Sadie didn’t answer at first. And then Connie saw her mother straighten and answer, very evenly, ‘Mr an’ Mrs Jacob Owen. I understand they live at this address?’

  ‘Not any more, lass.’ The woman peered down at Sadie, her gaze moving to the children at the gate and then back again before she said, ‘Who is it that’s enquiring?’

  With a touch of asperity Sadie replied, ‘A friend of the family. I understand Mr Owen was involved in some kind of accident recently.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. Nasty it was. The poor devil’ll never be any use again, that’s what my Cecil says.’

  ‘Really.’

  Connie wriggled a little. She didn’t like it when her mother spoke in that cool thin tone, and she could tell the neighbour didn’t like it either when she said, ‘I’m surprised, if you’re a friend of the family, that you expected to find them here anyway. Mrs Owen’s been staying with her mam since the accident and when he come out of hospital that’s where he went. Didn’t no one tell you?’ The woman’s tone was tart.

  There was a longer pause this time and then Sadie said, ‘No, no one told me.’

  ‘Aye, well that’s where you’ll find them. Ryhope Road, you know it? The Stewarts have got a right canny house just down from Backhouse Park. Big stone place it is, with pillars either side of the front door. It’s nowt but ten minutes or so.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  Her mother’s back was very straight when she turned and walked up to the pavement, and she bent and lifted Larry into the crook of one arm before taking Connie’s hand in a firm grip. They didn’t pause in their brisk walk, not even when they entered Mowbray Road, and it wasn’t until they had reached Ryhope Road that Sadie suddenly leant against the high stone wall that bordered this very pleasant, affluent street and set Larry on his feet. There were huge trees bordering all the gardens; in some places they reached over the road on both sides forming an arch, and Connie was just thinking this must be a very nice road to live in when she noticed her mother’s face. ‘You all right, Mam?’

  Sadie had her hand pressed to her chest and her face was white, and it was a moment or two before she said, ‘Aye, I’m all right, hinny, but hold Larry a while, would you, lass.’

  They passed t
he gatehouse to Backhouse Park and within a few minutes were looking through substantial wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall at the house the neighbour had described. The house was not the largest in Ryhope Road, nor did it possess a great deal of land, but it stood aloof and proud in the bitter chill of the winter’s morning and it was very imposing. The short pebbled drive was immaculate, the large, gracious, horseshoe-shaped steps to the front door numbered six or seven, and there were ten windows along the front of the house alone. Moreover, it was surrounded by giant oaks at the back and sides which increased the air of grandeur.

  ‘Do you want me an’ Larry to wait here, Mam?’

  Sadie hesitated. She didn’t know how this was going to go except that it would not be pleasant. She found herself wringing her hands and stopped abruptly, glancing down at the two children. The whole point of bringing them was for them to be seen, and what with this great wall and the gates they might not be noticed. ‘No.’ Sadie opened the gate as she answered. ‘You come with me an’ put your brother down now. He’s bin carried all the way here, he’s got to walk a bit sometimes.’

  They walked along the drive with Larry between them swinging happily on their hands, and then Sadie went up the steps and pulled the bell before returning to stand with the children.

  The door was answered by a pretty, plump woman wearing a black dress and an apron, and whatever she had been about to say never left her lips as her mouth fell open in a gape. She darted a glance behind her before pulling the door partly to and venturing down two of the steps. ‘What do you want? You must be mad coming here. Get yourself away now, go on.’

  ‘I’m –’

  ‘I know who you are, lass. There’s nothing that goes on in this family that I don’t know about, even if certain members of it would like to think differently. Aye, I know who you are all right. I nursed Jacob when he come out of the infirmary and he described you to a tee.’