‘I don’t want to frighten you, ducks, but it looks like pneumonia to me,’ Mrs Simms said solemnly. ‘My Jim ’ad it a couple a years back. You know my Jim? The one that went orf and joined the Navy. Me eldest ’e is, but never got on wiv ’is dad, that’s why ’e left ’ome. Can’t say as I blame ’im for going, I don’t like the old bugger meself, but I don’t fink the navy would ’ave taken me.’ She chuckled softly, then seeing the frightened look on the young girl’s face she shuffled her feet awkwardly, her fingers scratching at the soiled, damp patch under her armpit.
‘Is she going to die, Mrs Simms?’ The question was barely above a whisper, and when the kindly woman looked into the white face, the brown eyes seeming to grow larger by the minute she drew her shoulders back and answered briskly.
‘Well now, my Jim pulled through it, so I don’t see why Liz can’t, it all depends on the constitution, like. Now then, you get that pot of water boiling, we’re gonna need plenty of steam to sweat it out of ’er. Charlie ’ere can ’elp by fetching the water from the yard, can’t you, love?’ she asked, directing her attention to the small boy who was still standing mutely by the door, bewildered at the sudden turn of events.
‘You heard what Mrs Simms said,’ Maggie said sharply, the fear inside her body making her angry. ‘Get as many pots and buckets as you can find and start filling them up, and don’t take all day about it.’
‘Yeah, all right, Maggie, I’m going,’ he answered quickly, pleased to be doing something to help. Gathering up three saucepans under his arm he made for the standpipe in the yard.
‘Right now, you ’elp me move the sofa nearer the fire. We’re gonna ’ave to get ’er as close as we can wivout setting the sofa alight.’ When that was done, Mrs Simms stood back, her round, homely face flushed with exertion.
‘That’s it, love, now all we can do is keep the pots boiling; plenty of steam, that’s wot’s needed, plenty of steam.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Simms, it was good of you to come down so quickly. I didn’t know what else to do.’
The round face broke into a wide smile. ‘Don’t be daft, love, that’s wot neighbours are for, ain’t it. Now look, Maggie, I can stay wiv yer for abaht an hour, then I’ll ’ave to be orf. I’ve got a cleaning job on today. Lottie’s off school wiv a cold, so she can look after the rest of ’em until I get back. And I’ll pop back later when I’ve given ’em their tea.’
Maggie’s heart dropped. She’d been trying to pluck up courage to ask her friend if she’d stay with Liz while she went to the factory to pick up some work, but now that avenue of help was closed. The only other person she knew to ask was Mrs Casey, but she too was at work. That left only Charlie, and she couldn’t leave him to care for Liz. If only it didn’t take so long to get to the factory and back she might have chanced it. With a resigned shrug of her shoulders she poured more water into the pot and stoked up the fire.
The heat in the room was almost unbearable. Maggie had taken off her patched brown skirt and pink cotton blouse. She was now clothed only in her thin shift and drawers, and they were both sticking to her skin. She’d been on her knees for most of the day, holding steaming pans close to Liz’s body in an effort to draw out the fever that was racking the tormented figure. Mrs Simms had returned as promised, and with her help they had stripped the unconscious form and rubbed the sweat-soaked body with warm towels. Mrs Casey had also come down, and the two elder women had stood to one side of the room, their faces grave as they’d discussed the situation, their faces breaking into false smiles of assurance whenever Maggie looked their way. They were both gone now, Mrs Simms back to her brood of children, and Mrs Casey to her evening stint at the hospital.
Now it was getting on for eleven o’clock, with a long night to look forward to, and Liz seemed to be getting worse every minute. Charlie was asleep on the mattress, exhausted by the constant trips to the yard carrying back heavy pots of water. She’d turned out the gas lamp and lit a few candles, placing them on the mantelpiece. Her eyes burnt with fatigue, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip as she listened to the tortured sound of Liz’s breathing. The urgent pressure on her bladder forced her to rise, only to fall back on the floor, her cramped legs refusing to support her. Gritting her teeth she got to her feet, grimacing with distaste as she relieved herself in the chamber pot, but she was too tired to get dressed and go outside to the yard.
‘Thirsty, so thirsty,’ Liz called out weakly.
Maggie was quickly by Liz’s side, holding a mug full of water to the parched lips, only to have it knocked out of her grasp. Maggie looked down at the pool of water spilling over the floor, her eyes bleak, and even when she felt the wetness spread around her legs she didn’t make any move to wipe it up. Leaning back on her heels she put her face in her hands and began to rock back and forth. There was nothing else she could do. Liz was going to die, and she was powerless to do anything about it. She thought back down the years; her mind reliving every fight, every unkind word that had passed between them and groaned inwardly. The only time she could remember them being close was the night they’d admitted their love for each other. She also recalled the embarrassment they’d both felt the following morning; neither of them had ever referred to that night again.
And now she’d never have the chance to repeat those words – she had left it too late. Her shoulders began to heave as the first tears trickled between her closed fingers, then as if a dam had broken her whole body shook with grief, the torrent of tears gushing from her eyes. Adding to her grief was an overwhelming sense of guilt. She could have tried harder to make friends with Liz. Maybe if she’d been kinder, or a bit more understanding the rift between them wouldn’t have grown so big. If only she could take back some of the things she’d said, the hurtful words spoken in anger often followed by days of silence, both of them wanting to make up, but neither of them prepared to be the first one to say sorry. If only, if only: the most futile words in the world.
The height of the crisis came at three o’clock in the morning. Opening her eyes briefly Liz spoke, her voice racked with pain as she struggled to utter the words she needed to say.
‘Ma… Maggie, sorry, so… sorry.’ Her hand came up weakly and stroked the tear-stained cheeks of her sister, and Maggie, too full with grief and exhaustion, could only grip the hand and hold it tight against her breast, gathering the hot body close to her own. When the coughing started again Maggie screwed her eyes up in pain at the sound. She could feel Liz’s heart racing wildly as the sweat oozed out of every pore in her body, soaking them both. Maggie began to pray, her lips uttering every prayer she had ever learnt, the mumbled words scarcely audible against the rasping, choking sounds coming from Liz’s throat.
Time passed, and when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Joyce Casey standing by her side she showed no surprise at the unexpected presence but said simply, ‘She’s not going to make it, Mrs Casey.’
When she felt herself being pulled away from Liz’s body she made no protest, but rolled over on the floor drawing her cramped legs up to her chin. Wrapping her numb arms around her knees, she lay still.
Cradling Liz’s head in her arms the woman gazed down on the inert body, her eyes filled with sadness, and when she felt her shudder she thought for a moment Liz had gone. Then a soft sound came from Liz’s throat followed by a trickle of mucus from her mouth, and carefully removing her arm Joyce Casey laid the head back on the pillow.
‘Maggie, Maggie, love,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all over, she’s going to be all right, it’s all over.’
But Maggie was past hearing. Stepping over the sleeping form, the tall figure removed her shawl then settled down in the armchair and waited for the girls to awake.
‘Come on, Liz, try and drink your soup, please, you need to get your strength back,’ Maggie pleaded, then sighed with relief as the mug was taken from her hand and Liz began to sip at the hot beverage. When she had finished she handed the mug back wordlessly, her blue eyes looking out vacantly from the pinched, white face.
‘There, that’s better, we’ll soon have you on your feet again,’ Maggie said, trying hard to keep her voice cheerful. Leaving the silent figure she put the mug in a large pot of water for washing later, then leant her arm on the mantelpiece, her hand idly wiping away the deposits of soot that rested on the top. The silence in the room bore down on her, making her feel both restless and angry. It had been three days since Liz had taken a turn for the better, yet to all outward appearances she might as well have died. Oh no, don’t think that; she shook her head quickly, ashamed at her thoughts. But if only Liz would say something, do something, instead of just sitting in the chair expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Maggie didn’t expect her sister to jump up suddenly and run round the room, she knew only too well how ill she’d been, but it wouldn’t hurt her to try and make some kind of effort, however small. Maggie didn’t begrudge the time she spent looking after Liz, she just wished she’d meet her halfway.
Well, no matter how Liz was tomorrow, Maggie would have to leave her on her own. She’d already lost her job at the knickerbocker factory, a fact that had been driven home forcibly yesterday when she’d made the journey to Shoreditch, leaving Liz in the care of Mrs Simms. She had tried to explain to the foreman the reason for her absence, and when that had failed she had resorted to pleading, but all to no avail. The job she had been offered was no longer available to her, and all because she’d committed the unpardonable sin of putting family before work. That sort of behaviour was frowned upon by employers, who looked upon their workforce as objects to be used solely for their own benefit, objects that could be cast aside when they were no longer of any use. Working conditions were still poorly paid at best, and hazardous at worst, and Maggie couldn’t see the order of things changing in her lifetime.
When she heard the soft knock on the door she smiled, glad of the prospect of company. Both Mrs Simms and Mrs Casey had been marvellous over the past few days – she didn’t know what she would have done without their help and support. Smoothing down her grey corded dress she called out, ‘Come in, it’s open.’
When the door was pushed open and Teresa walked timidly into the room, Maggie’s mouth opened in surprise.
‘Why, hello, Teresa,’ she stuttered awkwardly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you. Liz, Liz, look who’s here,’ she said loudly, her mind whirling in alarm. Although Liz worked with Teresa, she wasn’t the sort of girl her sister would choose for a personal friend, and certainly not the kind of person she would encourage to visit whatever the reason.
Forcing a smile to her lips she said lightly, ‘Can I get you a drink, Teresa, something hot? You must be frozen.’ Her eyes dropped to the dirty, bare feet and Maggie felt again a surge of pity at the life this young girl was forced to endure.
‘No fanks, Maggie, I can’t stop, me muvver’s waiting for me to get ’ome. ’Ello, Liz, ’ow you feeling?’ she called out to the figure silently sitting in the armchair, her fingers nervously plucking at the filthy, tattered piece of black cloth that passed for a shawl as she studiously tried to avoid meeting Maggie’s anxious gaze.
Maggie saw the furtive actions, and trying to stem the tide of alarm that was rising in her chest she asked quietly, ‘What is it, Teresa, is it about Liz’s job? Is that why you’ve come?’ She watched as a deep flush rose over the girl’s face, and put her hand to her throat waiting for the words she knew were coming.
‘I’m sorry, Maggie, I didn’t want to come,’ she answered, her embarrassment making her head bounce wildly on her shoulders. ‘But the fing is, well…’ She broke off for a moment. Then, hanging her head, she whispered, ‘She’s been given ’er notice, Maggie, the gaffer sent me round to tell ’er and give ’er wot’s owing to ’er. We all ’ad a go at ’im, ’onest, but… but ’e only got nasty and said if we didn’t mind our own business we would join ’er. I’m sorry, Maggie, reely I am, but there’s nuffink we can do.’
Gulping twice Maggie tried to keep calm. Taking a deep breath she said, ‘I thought you had a union now, I remember Liz telling me about it after the strike.’
‘We ’ave… well, sort of, and like I said, we all tried to keep Liz’s job for ’er, but the union don’t want anovver strike, a lot of the women are still trying to make up the money they lost in the last one.’
Seeing the girl’s evident distress and knowing it couldn’t have been easy for her coming here, Maggie said gently, ‘It’s all right, Teresa, don’t upset yourself, it was good of you to come.’
Her mission over, Teresa turned to leave, anxious to get away, only to turn back suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth as she exclaimed worriedly, ‘Eh, I nearly forgot to give you Liz’s money, ’ere it is, Maggie.’
‘Thanks, Teresa.’ The money lay on the table, and Maggie didn’t even look at it.
Taking her leave, Teresa glanced over her shoulder to the huddled figure in the armchair. Eh, she looked stuffed, nothing like the girl she had worked with for so long, it was scary. She wouldn’t fancy being shut up with her all day, not like she was now; poor Maggie. Still, couldn’t spend your life feeling too sorry for other people, it was hard enough work living your own. Just before the door shut behind her she caught a glimpse of Maggie’s face. The look of desolation in the large brown eyes sent a shiver down her back and hurriedly pulling the black shawl up and round her face she walked up the basement steps.
‘I’m hungry, Maggie.’
Charlie sat at the table, his hands splayed out in front of him and stared into the brown eyes so like his own.
‘I know you are, love, we all are,’ Maggie answered patiently. ‘But you know how things are. I’ve only got enough potatoes and cabbage for one more meal and I’m saving that for tomorrow.’
‘But I’m hungry now, Maggie,’ came the plaintive reply. ‘I feel sick, and my stomach hurts. Please, Maggie.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, let’s eat it now. Things aren’t going to be any better tomorrow or the next day, so why bother saving it?’ Liz had joined her brother at the table and as Maggie looked down at the pair of them she felt a rush of anger rising in her breast. Tearing her gaze away she stared down at the empty grate, the sight of the bare, iron slates yet another reminder of the plight they were in. It was nearly eight weeks since Liz had lost her job, and she still showed no signs of looking for another one despite Maggie’s urging. Every time she brought the subject up, Liz complained that she needed more time to recover from her illness, professing herself too ill to work. She was quite content to let Maggie take on any menial work she could find in order to support them all. The fact that her sister hadn’t been able to find any work for the past two weeks didn’t seem to bother her. Even when Maggie had told her all the savings were gone and they were two weeks behind on the rent the cloud of detachment stayed in her eyes. It was as if the illness had drained all the life and feeling from her body and mind.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear Maggie reflected on the ironies of life. Less than two months ago she had knelt in this room praying and begging for the life of her sister to be spared, now it was all she could do to stop herself from jumping on Liz and pummelling her to the floor.
‘Well, are we going to eat now or not?’ Liz’s petulant voice cut into her thoughts and with an impatient toss of her head Maggie picked up the pot containing the leftover stew and banged it down on the table.
‘There, have it,’ she shouted angrily, ‘but you’ll have to eat it cold. There’s no more coal for the fire, just a few pieces of wood left to boil a kettle for a hot drink later.’
‘I’ll go down the market before school tomorrow and see if I can scrounge some wooden crates off the stalls, all right, Maggie?’ Charlie piped up timidly.
‘You’re not going to school tomorrow,’ she yelled back at him. ‘You can’t last all day on an empty stomach, you’ll likely pass out and you know what’ll happen then? Probably have some nosey parker from the authorities come snooping round here, and that’s the last thing I need right now.’
Charlie lowered his head so that his sisters wouldn’t see the tears that had sprung to his eyes. He had only been trying to help, and he’d still got it wrong. His hand trembling he picked up a spoon and began to eat the congealed mess in front of him. It didn’t taste very nice cold, but he didn’t dare make any comment for fear of a further outburst from his favourite sister. Peeking out from under his eyelids he made sure Maggie wasn’t watching him and quickly wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He would go down the market tomorrow, and when he came back with a pile of wood and maybe some bruised fruit and vegetables that had fallen off the stalls and rolled into the kerb, then Maggie would be pleased with him again.
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,’ Liz was saying as she picked over the food on her plate. ‘Mrs Simms and Mrs Casey always help out, you’ve only got to ask.’
Maggie rounded on her furiously, ‘That’s right, Liz, I only have to ask; me, not you, me. I’m sick of asking for handouts, and especially from people who aren’t much better off than we are. There’s such a thing as abusing friendship, Liz, and I think we’ve just about used up our quota of favours from the neighbours.’ Pulling up a chair she sat down beside Liz, and placing a hand on her arm she asked urgently, ‘Don’t you have any pride left, Liz? How long are you going to sit around expecting other people to
support you without lifting a finger to help yourself?’
For one brief instant, a spark of anger flared in Liz’s eyes and then vanished, leaving Maggie to wonder if she’d imagined it.
Maggie let her hand drop to the table and said bitterly, ‘All right, I’ve done all I can, and I’ll go on trying, but the bits of work I’ve been getting are barely enough to keep us in food. Unless you get up off your backside and help, the next step is the workhouse, and I’m not joking, Liz. Right now I can’t see any other way out.’
She had saved the threat of the workhouse as a last resort, thinking that if all else failed the mention of the grim building would spur her sister back to life, but Liz merely shrugged her shoulders listlessly and carried on eating.
Frustrated beyond endurance Maggie leapt to her feet crying, ‘Right then, the workhouse it is. You’d better get your things ready, because when Mr Bates comes on Friday and there’s no money to give him we’re all going to be out in the streets.’
‘Oh, no, Maggie, not the workhouse,’ Charlie screamed, his eyes wide with terror. Jumping from his chair he rushed to Maggie’s side and threw his arms round her waist, his big brown eyes staring up at her in mute pleading. Her throat swelling with emotion Maggie could only draw him closer to her. She wished with all her heart she could say something to take the fear from his face, but it would be cruel of her to fill him with false hope. Picking him up in her arms, she walked unsteadily to the mattress and laid him down gently. And when he tried to plead with her once more, she placed a finger to her lips and shook her head sadly.
The sound of his sobs tore at her heart as she slumped down into the armchair and closed her eyes wearily. How could things have gone so terribly wrong? Just a short time ago life had seemed so bright. Now the darkness was closing in on her, pressing down relentlessly so that her very breath seemed to have been stilled. She would go out again tomorrow like she did every day, and maybe she’d be lucky and find a morning’s work, or even a couple of days’ work. But even if she did what good would it do? The few shillings she could expect to earn wouldn’t pay the rent and keep them in food. Then there was the coal to buy – they hadn’t had a proper fire for days. She had managed to find enough bits of wood and old newspapers lying in the streets to start a blaze in the grate just long enough to cook a meagre meal or boil a kettle, but it wasn’t enough. They were in the midst of winter, and had so far managed to keep warm by wearing two lots of clothing day and night, but they couldn’t go on like this. It would be different if Liz was helping her, but as things stood she was only putting off the inevitable by trying to keep them all together. There was no way she could get enough money together to pay Mr Bates on Friday, no way. Yes, there is, the voice in the back of her mind whispered to her.
The thought that had sprung unbidden to her mind caused Maggie to jump forward in the chair. Running a hand over her face she shook her head in denial. No, dear God, no. She couldn’t do that, she couldn’t. Despite the coldness of the room she found herself sweating as she listened to the voice in her head. It’s either that or the workhouse, which would you prefer? the insidious little voice taunted her. Once you’re inside that building you might never get out, and Charlie will be taken away to the children’s section, you’ll never see him again. All you have to do is go to the nearest pub and wait outside, it’s easy. You’re young and pretty, you won’t have any trouble finding a customer, and it won’t be forever, just a few nights till you get enough to tide you over. She remembered vividly the night when Liz had said jokingly that they were sitting on a fortune. How they had laughed…
The candle flickered and went out, plunging the room into total darkness. She heard Liz say goodnight, and mumbled a reply as she tried to gather her jumbled, confused thoughts into some kind of order. For weeks now she had tried everything she knew to keep them from being thrown onto the streets. Every ornament and knick-knack had been sold; even their treasured clock had found its way into the pawn shop in an effort to keep body and soul together. There was nothing left to pawn – except herself. Rising slowly from the armchair she walked through the pitch darkness of the room and opened the door. A gust of icy wind blasted her body, lifting the top of her shawl from her head, but she scarcely noticed. Keeping a tight rein on her emotions she let her mind go blank and slowly climbed the stone steps. A passing carriage drove over a large puddle, splashing her boots and the bottom of her dress, but she kept on walking, her eyes firmly on the street ahead. Nothing could touch her now; she was past caring.