New York, January 1869
IT WAS A MISERABLE, cold day and the snow had turned to sleet. Pulling her scarf up over her mouth, Margaret set out across Washington Square. Two weeks had passed since Susannah’s letter had reached her. She had settled down happily to read her account of the Christmas party, and could not, at first, take in the contents of that terrible addendum. It took some moments, gazing at the tear-stained paper, before the awful news sank in.
Even now, she could scarcely believe that Sebastian was gone. The initial shock had given way to a deep sadness that was not only grief for the man she had once imagined herself in love with but also a profound sense of sympathy for Susannah and all the men, women, and children of Lambeth whose lives he had touched and improved. How could Sebastian, who had been so full of life and so filled with love for his God and his flock, have been so cruelly and so casually struck down? Why had he been so foolish as to intervene? A silly question, for Sebastian would have been incapable of turning a blind eye, even though he’d be perfectly aware he was taking a risk.
Poor, dear Sebastian. Margaret’s days at Lambeth seemed so long ago. Recalling the naive young woman she had been then was like remembering someone else entirely. She had long ago ceased to believe she and Sebastian could ever have been happy as man and wife, but he held a place in her heart as one of the few people to value her. Poor Susannah, though, must have been utterly bereft.
It was her words which had led Margaret to undertake the mission she was embarking upon today. The one consolation for my loss is knowing that by continuing with my work here, I am honouring my brother’s memory.
Sebastian would not wish anyone to grieve for him, but he would be delighted to know that his life’s work was being continued. By Susannah and Mr. Glass in Lambeth. And now hopefully here in New York, too, where Margaret was determined to pay her own practical tribute. Today she had an appointment at the Ladies’ Five Points Mission. A Methodist institution, which had been established in downtown New York almost twenty years ago, it was a day school and more importantly a lifeline for a large number of the poorest children, providing the neediest with food and clothing as well as an education.
Its practical efforts being made to relieve suffering reminded Margaret so much of Sebastian, when she had heard of them from Bina and Mouse, that she had taken it for a sign and written, offering her services. The sisters were appalled when she told them what she had done. Five Points had a dreadful reputation, an area where only the completely destitute or those without hope or prospects would live, but her maids’ protests only made Margaret more determined, thinking that Five Points was precisely the sort of parish Sebastian would choose, were he in New York.
Knowing that the sisters would do everything to dissuade her, Margaret had left this morning after breakfast without telling them where she was headed. Emerging from the park onto Broadway, she swung herself on board the white-topped streetcar; paid the driver for her ticket; and took her seat, taking shallow breaths while her oversensitive nose adjusted to the raw odour of humanity.
Outside, New York rushed past at its usual heady pace, and Margaret felt a surge of excitement knowing that she, like everyone else, had her own destination, her own part to play in this vast, continual performance. The streetcar rumbled along on its tracks, with private carriages, hansom cabs, horses and carts, and men with barrows all jostling for space. To the rattle of horses’ hooves on the cobbles and the clang of carriage wheels was added the thump and clatter of building works. There was the usual constant bustle, an air of excitement, as if something significant was just about to happen. There were men in drab brown and black attire, labourers in leather aprons, working women in starched aprons. Crippled veterans from the Civil War sat on street corners, reminding her of Fraser Scott, which in turn reminded her to check that her purse was secure in her petticoat pocket.
As they headed farther south, the sidewalks became busier still, the roads more clogged, the noise deafening. At a wide intersection very far downtown, the impressive building of white marble which was City Hall loomed into view and Margaret, realising she had missed her stop, hurried to join the other passengers in disembarking. Looking around her, she could see few signs of poverty, but her experience in London and Dublin had taught her it took but a few steps from the wealthiest sections of a city to find the poorest. Her excitement faded a little, giving way to unease. In Dublin, she’d had Breda by her side. In Lambeth, she’d had Donald. Ought she to have brought Mouse or Bina with her after all?
Undoubtedly, but it was too late now, and it wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with such environments. It was broad daylight. A combination of confidence and wariness were all that were required, Margaret told herself. A man hawking newspapers looked like a good candidate for providing her with directions, but he was on the opposite side of street. Spotting a fleeting gap in the traffic, she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could across the road, feeling the hot breath of a cart-horse on her neck, hearing the angry yell of its driver. Heart pounding, she reached the other side. “Pardon me,” she said to the newspaper seller, “I’m looking for the Mission at Five Points.”
The man frowned. “There’s two of them, you know which one you’re after? The Ladies’ Mission is on Park Street, and the House of Industry is on Worth. You need to go back up Broadway four blocks and then onto Worth. You can’t miss them, one is diagonally opposite the other.”
“Thank you.”
“You watch your step now, miss.”
“I will.”
Margaret walked quickly away in the direction the man indicated, trying to maintain the confident expression of a woman who knew perfectly well where she was going. Turning onto Worth Street, the thoroughfare narrowed and very quickly became down at heel, the brick buildings interspersed with wooden shacks. She could still hear the roar of the traffic on Broadway, but it was clear she was entering another world entirely. The cobbles gave way to mud from which horse manure was the prevalent but far from the only smell. Water dripped from stand-pipes into the gutter. The traffic consisted largely of carts and rusty wagons. The shops were dingy: a grocer’s, a second-hand clothing shop, a shop that sold single boots and shoes. The houses had sagging roofs and cracked walls, brown paper holding broken windowpanes together. Rickety stairs led up the outside of some of the tenements, and washing hung limply in the cold, sooty, stagnant air, reminding her of the very poorest parts of Sebastian’s parish.
Irish brogue, Italian, and German voices mingled with the New York twang and the heavily accented drawl of the American South. Black-skinned men and women were very far from being a noticeable minority, as they were farther up-town. It was she who stood out here, despite her shop-bought woollen gown and plain winter cloak. It wasn’t the colour of her skin, or even her red hair, but the lack of darns and patches on her clothes, the lack of holes in her boots. She was sure that even the pristine fur lining of her mittens was visible.
In Lambeth and in Dublin, people had eyed her covertly as an obvious stranger. Here, they stared openly at her as she passed. Finally seeing her destination, Margaret gave a huge sigh of relief. The substantial angular edifice loomed high into the grey sky, its identity proclaimed in block capitals fixed under the roof and painted on the side of the building. Diagonally opposite were two large brick buildings which must be the House of Industry. The sidewalk in front of the mission was paved; the front door, offset on the left, was imposing. Margaret stood before it, beset with nerves. They might reject her. They might think her a fraud, coming here with no testimonials, for it had not occurred to her until now to try to obtain any. She had never applied for work before, had never had to justify her experience or her credentials.
From behind the high fence came a squeal, then a peal of laughter. “Race you to the wall,” a small child cried out.
These were the children she hoped to help teach. She had conquered the formidable Lambeth Ladies. She had won over the Enniskerry infants and their schoolmaster. She was here to honour Sebastian, and she was determined to do him proud. And Donald, too, though he would never know it. His continual bolstering of her confidence had given her belief in herself.
Ignoring the familiar pang the thought of him evoked, Margaret squared her shoulders. “First things first, M.,” she said to herself. “You’ve still to persuade them to take you on.” Stepping up to the door, she rapped the knocker.