Angel Meadow Read online

  With a screech Nancy launched herself across the cracked cobbles at him and, since he had not expected it she had scratched both his cheeks almost to the bone with her clawed fingers before he could defend himself. The blood sprang forth and he screamed a curse before lifting a fist, a fist that could fell a man as heavy as himself and smashed it against her cheekbone. She fell like a stone.

  They stood like pillars of frozen ice, every man and woman in the street. They had been enjoying the spectacle and had been rooting for Mick, since there was not one of them who had not felt Nancy Brody’s contemptuous eye upon them at some time since her mam vanished, but this was just a bit too much for even them to stomach. They stared at her crumpled figure, so pretty in her rosy pink frock, her hair falling like a living curtain across her face, her arms flung every which way, her legs the same. They began to shake their heads and as though at a signal her sister, Mary that is, not Rosie, and that friend of hers, flew out to her, crying her name, for surely he had killed her. The blow she had received had been enough to fell an ox. They watched in silence as the pair of them struggled to lift her, one at her head the other at her feet. The hem of her frock fell back to reveal her legs almost up to her thighs and one woman moved forward and compassionately pulled it down, then helped them to carry her across her own doorstep, placing her on the bit of carpet of which they were so proud. The baby hiccuped broken-heartedly on the settle but was, for the first time in her young life, ignored. The woman emerged and walked down to her own front door, shutting it quietly behind her. They all began to drift away then, turning back to look at Mick, and there was not one there, rough, uneducated, brutalised as they were, who did not believe that what Nancy Brody had said, much as they disliked her, was the truth.

  The Brodys’ front door opened once more and from it stepped their Rosie, carrying a bundle. She stood hesitantly in front of Mick who had his hands to his bleeding face. She waited submissively, as she was to wait for the remainder of their lives together, for him to tell her what to do.

  “Don’t just stand there, yer daft cow,” he snarled. “Give us a ’and up ter me mam’s.”

  Somehow they got her to Angel Street where they found a hansom cab who was willing to stop. The trouble was the cabbies who drove by looking for custom thought they were drunk as they heaved her along on her tottering feet, somehow carrying Kitty between them since they had no one to leave her with and had no time to fetch Annie. Kitty was whimpering in shock, reduced to an almost senseless state by the events of the past half-hour. Nancy’s face had come up like a balloon. It was cut to the bone which showed white and shattered through her grey flesh and the scarlet blood which seeped from it; and though neither of them knew how they knew, Jennet and Mary were aware that if they didn’t get help for her soon she might never come out of the state of semi-consciousness into which Mick’s powerful blow had knocked her. She mumbled in pain as they bundled her into a cab, the driver of which, seeing the child and the women’s decent clothing, the dreadful injury to one woman’s face, decided to stop.

  “The hospital, please, and quickly.”

  “Which one, lady?”

  Which one? Dear God, which of Manchester’s hospitals? Several of them were no more than infirmaries for the poor and needy, glorified workhouses which, though they served a useful purpose, would have no doctor to treat the terrible injury Mick O’Rourke had inflicted on Nancy Brody. Mary was of no use, only in as much as she provided strong arms and a strong back, for the whole appalling incident had frightened the wits out of her and though she obeyed Jennet’s instructions to the letter she could not be said to be thinking with any degree of comprehension.

  Then, her brow clearing, Jennet remembered an article she had read in the Manchester Guardian. Two gentlemen, Doctor Merei and Doctor Whitehead, had taken a lease on premises at number 8 Stevenson Square, which was not far away, where they had established a hospital specifically for women and children. The article had spoken of medical and surgical treatment of children and certain forms of disease peculiar to women: surely this fitted into one of these categories?

  “Stevenson Square, please, Cabbie. Number eight.”

  Nancy lay in a spotlessly clean bed for almost a fortnight, in what was known as the Clinical Hospital and Dispensary for Children, which stood between Ancoats and Angel Meadow. Her face was wrapped about from brow to chin with bandages, from which her slitted eyes glared at Doctor Whitehead and his nurses as though they were personally responsible for this catastrophe that had struck her down.

  “I can’t stay here,” she told them, or at least that was what they thought she told them, for her mouth was partially covered by the bandages and the words came out in a sort of muffled gasp.

  “Sip your broth, Miss Brody, and stop trying to talk,” the nurse told her briskly. “Doctor Whitehead won’t like it if you don’t take nourishment.”

  “I don’t care what Doctor Whitehead would like. Let him drink the bloody broth. I must get out of here. I have a business to run.”

  “So you keep saying, Miss Brody,” the nurse answered absently, not in the least concerned with Miss Brody’s business.

  “If you’d just loosen these damned covers and let me up.”

  “Miss Brody, will you please keep your mouth shut. I don’t mean to be rude but if you don’t relax your face and give it a rest it will never heal. Your cheekbone was fractured quite badly and you were lucky to find Doctor Whitehead here when you were brought in. He’s wonderful with bones.”

  “And I’m grateful, but nurse, I have so much to do. The constable who came on the night I was admitted said I was to give a statement when I was well enough.”

  “And so you shall, when you are well enough and Doctor Whitehead will decide when that is.”

  “But the bastard who did this to me—”

  “Miss Brody, there are children in this ward and I will not have language.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And so you should be. Now go to sleep.”

  They came for her in a cab, Jennet and Mary. They had left Kitty at home with Annie, they said, their faces glowing with some inner excitement, begging her to be careful on the stairs and telling her how well she looked even with the dressing which had been reduced to a thick, well-padded patch on her cheek. Though one or the other of them had visited her each day she had been wrapped about in her bandages and they had not quite realised the extent of her injuries. They were considerably distressed by the bruising that still showed, and her eyes which reminded them, they told one another later, of a picture of a panda bear they had seen in a zoological magazine in the reading-room of the library. Set in deep purple sockets, they were, and even her nose seemed out of true, forced to one side by the damage to her cheek. Would she ever be the beautiful girl she had once been? they agonised, but not in her hearing.

  She had not seen her own face since Mick had broken it, and didn’t want to, for it didn’t matter what she looked like, did it, unless it frightened her customers. She cared not a jot for what a man might think of her or her appearance, for there was not one in this whole world who concerned Nancy Brody, except Mick O’Rourke, and the moment she was well enough she meant to see him incarcerated in New Bayley gaol. Doctor Whitehead was to give evidence for her. She had given a statement to the constable from the police station on St George’s Road, as had Jennet, and Mick O’Rourke was to be taken into custody. Had he gone easily? she had begged Jennet and Mary to tell her but they seemed curiously vague, saying they had not seen him go and she was not to worry about it now. She was to rest and get herself better, for that was all that mattered and she could get nothing else out of them.

  The cab moved smartly along Thomas Street but, when it came to Shude Hill, where she meant to insist they stop so that she could slip into the workroom and check on her business, instead of turning right it turned left.

  She twisted in her seat, peering out of the small window at the rear.

  “Where are we going
?” she demanded.

  “Home,” they told her and it was then that the truth and wonder and incredible rightness of it, of where they were to go, washed over her and from her poor, swollen eyes tears of relief and happiness welled. She would never have to see Church Court again!

  “You got it?” she breathed reverently.

  “We did.”

  Always the business woman. “At what rent?”

  “Seven and sixpence a week but if it had been seventeen and sixpence I would have taken it to get us away from . . . well, you know.”

  “You would not.” But she held Jennet’s hand tightly, for she knew what this was to mean not only to her and her family but to Jennet who had known better things.

  “And . . .”

  “It is all ready for you, dearest. There’s not much furniture but we thought you might like to . . .”

  “Dear sweet God . . . oh, dear Lord, what a day that was when I found you, Jennet Williams. And what a blessing you have been to me, my sweet Mary. Was ever a woman so fortunate. And Annie?”

  “She moved in when we did. She . . . well, you will see when we get there.”

  The cab drew up to the front gate of the house in Grove Place. As though to welcome her, to remind her that this was her special day, for she had made this happen, the sun shone in a haze of golden light, reflecting in the windows which Annie had evidently polished, on the newly painted front door, which opened as she stepped from the cab. The lawn had been cut and though it was still a bit rough it was green and fresh. Whoever had cut the lawn had weeded the flowerbeds which bloomed in a rainbow of colours. There was a lovely fragrance in the air, fresh and clean, or was it just the absence of the bad smells that had been in her nostrils for sixteen years? There were curtains at every window, just bits of remnants run up by the girls at the workroom in Shude Hill, Jennet told her, holding her arm solicitously as she opened the gate.

  A shriek of joy came from within the house and from the narrow hallway tumbled a laughing child, her child, who called her “Mama”, as she floundered on unsteady legs to meet her.

  “She’s walking!”

  “Of course,” Jennet said proudly, as though it were all her doing. But the biggest surprise of all was the fat, laughing puppy who followed Kitty in a jumble of precarious legs and wickedly gleaming eyes down the steps.

  “Who on earth . . .”

  “Would you believe, Mr Hayes was passing on his mare, since as you know he lives in Broughton, and when he saw us in the garden he stopped and . . . well, he wishes you a speedy recovery and yesterday we found this little scrap on the doorstep. She’s to be called Scrap so . . .”

  “Dear God, what next?” But she was not displeased as her child clutched at her skirts and the puppy at once began to gnaw at her boots until Annie, clean, neat and proud in her enormous white apron, the symbol of her new position in life, came out to rescue her.

  “Lass,” was all she said, then put her arms about Nancy and held her gently for a moment; then she sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand as she drew her up the steps.

  “Mind that dratted aminal,” she told her sternly. “Blasted thing’s just done her business on my clean kitchen floor.”

  “Oh, Annie . . .”

  “I know, chuck, I know. ’Appiness is sometimes as much ter cope with as sadness but yer’ll be right now. Let’s get that face o’ yourn better an’ then we’ll see. That bugger. I’d like ter cut ’is balls off, ’onest. They give more trouble than they’re damn well worth. If men didn’t ’ave ’em women’d be a sight better off all round.”

  “Oh, Annie.” Nancy was laughing weakly, ready to cry as the comforting arm led her down the long narrow hallway, from the end of which a shaft of sunlight gleamed. There was a narrow, uncarpeted staircase with a polished banister to the right. There was a door off to the left but Annie led her past it, saying they would look at that later, moving towards the sunshine that filled a kitchen of such wonderful proportions and so splendidly equipped Nancy just stood looking round her with her mouth agape.

  It sparkled in the golden light, its walls festooned with all her precious things from Church Court: with pictures and pans on hooks, with skillets and kitchen utensils and unfamiliar things that must have come from Annie’s own kitchen. There was a magnificent blackleaded kitchen range with a side oven on which a pan of something smelling delicious bubbled, teasing the palate, and Nancy was aware that she was hungry for the first time since Mick O’Rourke had walloped her. There was a new wood coal box with brass handles and a hand scoop. The two old armchairs that had been her mother’s sagged on either side of the fire in the range, a patchwork of neat mending keeping the upholstery together. Above the mantelpiece, which Annie had edged with a pelmet of red plush, was her little Dutch clock, its pendulum swinging busily as though it were made up with its new position in life, as Annie was. The dresser, twinkling with her old crockery and looking grand with her highly glazed teatray placed proudly in its centre, stood against the wall next to the door leading out into a long, narrow scullery which had its own sink and a tap from which water dripped. Their very own water! There was a window at the end looking out on a small yard, at the bottom of which was a door enclosing their own private, exclusive privy. There were flowers in glass jars on the table and windowsill and it was all so perfect and just as she imagined it, better even, she wanted to break out afresh in tears.

  “Oh, Annie . . .” she said for the third time.

  “I know,” Annie said proudly, folding her arms across her bosom, while at her back Jennet and Mary smiled in satisfaction at one another and said nothing, the baby fell and picked herself up, talking ten to the dozen, not a word recognisable, and the puppy wandered and sniffed and finally made a neat pool on Annie’s scrubbed floor.

  “Little devil,” she shrieked, scooping her up and putting her out into the back yard where she began to howl. “That’s where yer go or you an’ me’ll not be friends.

  Fancy bringin’ a puppy! That’s men for yer, though ’e did ask after yer and said ’e’d call as soon as . . .”

  Nancy’s face, which had been smiling beneath its layer of padding, at once became fixed in granite. Her eyes, what you could see of them, darkened from gold to amber and she drew herself up imperiously.

  “I hope you told him he was not welcome, Annie. We want no men.”

  “I did not. ’E were perfeckly polite so why should I say such a thing?”

  “Because he’s not welcome, Annie. We have enough to do without entertaining gentlemen. Call indeed! You’d think we’d nothing better to do than sit about like his mother does and serve tea to anyone who knocks on our door. I won’t have it, Annie, and you shall tell him so when he calls. Dear God, I’ve a good mind to send that damned dog back, for she’ll be nothing but a nuisance, making a mess and . . . Just listen to the thing.”

  Mary moved across the kitchen and scullery to the back door, opened it and picked up the shivering puppy, holding her in protective arms, looking at Nancy with pleading eyes. The little animal greeted her ecstatically, her rough tongue all over Mary’s face and neck until, despite her distress, Mary began to laugh. Kitty half crawled, half tumbled to join her and in a minute the three of them were a mad scramble of arms and legs and shrieks of laughter on the bit of carpet which Annie had refused to leave behind at Church Court.

  “Eeh, will yer look at them three. It’s a while since I saw our Mary laugh like that.” For already this family belonged to Annie.

  Nancy did as she was told, watching her sister play with the puppy and it was then she realised that not once had Mary ever played. Played like a child, laughed and giggled as she was doing now, with that lovely abandon that children forget when they become adults. She had steadily walked behind Nancy, supporting her in everything Nancy had wanted to do. Mary’s serious nature had given her an insight into what Nancy was after and Mary had never let her down, for it was what she wanted too. How could she deny her this one small joy?
For though the puppy was meant for Kitty it was Mary who would have the caring of her.

  Mary, her sweet, loyal sister. Bowing her head Nancy asked the question she did not want to ask but must and waited for the answer she did not want to hear, but must.

  “Rosie?” she asked quietly.

  “She’s . . . with him.”

  “And him?”

  “No one knows, dearest,” Jennet told her sadly. “When the constable went to pick him up for questioning he had gone.”

  17

  She did her best to ignore all their pleadings to stay at home and rest, saying she had to catch up on a lost fortnight and had to make good the deficit as soon as possible. It was not that Jennet and Mary had not done wonders, they had, she told them approvingly, bringing smiles to their faces. Jennet had even overcome her natural reserve, taking Nancy’s place behind the market stall while Mary supervised the girls at the workroom, which was a credit to them both, but she must see it all for herself, she said emphatically.

  “But Nancy, you have just suffered a serious injury which has kept you in hospital for two weeks and even now you are not healed. Doctor Whitehead has not said so but I know he is very concerned that if you try to do more than you are able, in view of what happened, you may have a relapse. And there is still a risk of infection, so will you not have a few days at home?” Jennet pleaded with her, her little pointed face drawn and tired, her eyes drained of all their usual colour in her anxiety, Nancy noticed.

  “Jennet, you have kept the business going, you and Mary between you, while I have been away, for which I thank you but there is so much that needs bringing up to date. Things that I have always done and with which you are not familiar. There are the account books to be done up, bills to be paid, invoices, profit margins to be worked out before ordering more cotton, existing stock to be gone over, a hundred and one things that must be seen to and I can’t do them lolling about in the fireside chair, can I?”