Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday, 21 December, 1868

Mary sat in the taproom at the Green Hog wearing her winter coat in vivid magenta. Her matching velvet bonnet lay across the chair beside her, and Bill occupied the seat opposite. She yawned, still tired from the night before and closed her eyes. The bar had been busy keeping Jack fully on the go and of course, she’d kept him similarly active when he’d finished work. But now, she’d changed her mind about visiting one of her customers. Those “gentlemen friends” were partially the cause of her feelings of dissatisfaction. She needed to make some decisions about her future.

Jack was a good find. Not excellent, but he’d do for now. The Green Hog took in reasonable money and she, with her occasional clients, made a useful extra. Not enough, though. She wanted more, and damn it, she deserved it. She’d noted long ago though, the harsh fate time and men dealt to whores. If Jack ever found out, she would be out on her rear.

Decision time. Give up the game or continue to keep Jack in the dark. She had enemies at the pub, and elsewhere. Two of them, whose true colors she’d uncovered, the sainted Catherine and Patrick were now out of her hair. Her uncle having met with a fatal accident in his church that, she smiled to herself, Bill Callahan had nothing to do with.

If Jack was to become her sole protector and provide her with the cloak of respectability marriage brought, she would need to think of other ways to increase her income. Preferably quick, easy ideas involving little work.

Jack’s voice cut into her reverie. “I didn’t bring the drinks, just this pretty little thing.”

Mary opened her eyes. How tiresome. Ellen of all people. She looked like a bedraggled mouse. Her tattered coat was sopping and covered with brown splatters, but that didn’t stop the men staring as though Cora Pearl had just walked in. She supposed it must be something important for Lady Muck to enter a bar. The cogwheels in Mary’s mind turned. She adopted an expression of sisterly concern.

“Ellen, my dear. Are you all right?” She forced herself to pat Ellen’s arm.

Mary smirked as she saw her half-sister’s face flicker, then light up. She pushed Ellen toward the fireplace, telling her to warm her hands. She gave Jack an order of small beer for the mouse, and he returned to the bar.

Bill, she noted, couldn’t take his eyes off the new arrival. The piece of wood he’d been whittling lay untouched on the table as he followed her every move. She’d give it some thought later.

Ellen returned and sat on the edge of the chair. She eagerly took the drink Jack handed her and gulped it as though parched.

Mary leaned forward. “Such a shame about Father Patrick.”

Ellen’s face crumpled, and the tears flowed. Mary fought her irritation and held her sisterly expression. Ellen wiped her nose with a ragged scrap of cloth. Her voice came out no more than a whisper. “I need your help, please, Mary.”

Jack and Bill watched like hawks. Mary sat back and waited.

“I’ve got no money for next month’s rent. I’m looking for work, but everyone is doing the same. Can you help me, please? I’ll do anything.”

She sighed as though a heavy weight had been placed on her shoulders. “Ellen, I may be able to give you some assistance. There might be some work here and space for another lodger, but I need a bit of time to think on it.”

Jack opened his mouth. Mary gave him a sharp look and the toe of her boot hard on his shin bone. He closed it again.

Wiping a damp strand of hair out of her eye, Ellen’s eyes shone. “Oh, Mary, I am so pleased I came. I was so worried but—”

Mary mustered an enthusiastic smile. She ignored Jack’s look of surprise.

“Come when you move from the lane and I’ll sort you out.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t wait.”

Mary smirked at Ellen’s gullibility, but just as she was thinking how well things were going, her half-sister had to spoil it.

“Mrs. Flanagan died last night. Typhoid, like Mam and Da.” Ellen’s wan face took on a determined expression.

Mary inwardly groaned. “And?” Her voice held not a smidgen of interest.

“She went to the grave still not knowing what happened to her only daughter. She never got over it. Mrs. Flanagan asked me to find out. Do you know where Nancy is? And what was that thing you threw on Mam’s coffin? And why? Mam said—”

“Stop!” Forbidden territory, and her burden. Mary turned to Ellen and in a low tight voice said, “What I know and what I do, Ellen, is no business of yours and let me tell you, dead or alive, old Ma Flanagan is better off not knowing. Understand? Don’t ever mention it again, or you and I are done.” Mary caught the quiver of Ellen’s bottom lip and knew her point had been made. Jack and Bill supped the rest of their ale in thoughtful silence.

Ellen tipped the last drops of her beer into her mouth and dabbed at her lips. She thanked Mary again, nodded at the men and took her leave.

“Such a pretty lass—so lady-like, too. I’ll look forward to welcoming her into our abode,” Jack spoke in an upper-class tone.

She bristled at his words, teasing or not. They stood, and she moved closer to him as he continued, “and she looks truly an innocent. I didn’t think there were any left.”

Bill licked his lips and Jack had a wistful look in his eyes. Mary hated Ellen at that moment. “Her ladyship, indeed. She’ll be experiencing the real world soon. I’ll teach her not to get above her station.”

Jack cast a wry glance at Mary. “Well, she takes after her dainty mother, God rest her soul. Luckily, I like a bit of flesh on my women.” He grabbed her rear end with both hands and drew her in.

“Your only woman, dearie.” Her mouth was smiling, but she made sure Jack could see her eyes were not.

“Of course, my love.” He grinned back as though to humor her. “Let me get you another drink.”

She nodded, although her glass was half-full. She sat again and watched as Jack headed for the bar. Bill resumed whittling, his eyes fixed on the knife as it cut into the wood. Mary had reverted to thoughts of how she could ensure Ellen fully repaid Mam’s debt.

She surveyed the room before her and imagined other possible ways she could make money from the little mouse.

Three men sat down at the next table. All were dressed in threadbare clothes that must have made the winter weather seem doubly harsh. She noticed the feet of one of them. He wore a pair of ladies’ side-laced boots, with the toes cut off. The newspaper stuffed into the top was soggy, caked in sawdust from the floor and almost useless. He spoke to his companions. “Me missus died three months ago, and I wish I’d had some of that insurance. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I could’ve made a few bob off her at last.”

He laughed bitterly as he raised his glass. “Cheers to yer both but I’m an unhappy man. I got two bairns and no woman. I think I’m going to do a runner. Leave ‘em with me sister and go to sea.”

The other men offered murmurs of sympathy which tailed off as they drank deeply.

Mary considered what had just been said. Insurance?

Maybe she ought to think on that, too.

Bill Callahan sat in the kitchen at the Green Hog listening to Mary’s tale of woe as he finished his stewed beef and dumplings.

He pushed his dish away and cast an eye at Mary—a crafty and vicious hellcat. Not such a bad thing to be, but Jack ought to watch out for himself.

He picked up his blade and pared off more shavings to add to his earlier pile. However manly Jack thought he was, Mary always wanted to wear the breeches and get her own way. That wasn’t what women were for. To feed and fuck you that—he started as Mary banged the table in front of him. Catching her cross expression, he grunted his attention.

“The nerve of it. Everything is always about Ellen. For my bitch of a stepmother, the world revolved around her pretty, little girl. Never me. Not once. Now Ellen wants my help. She is an albatross round my neck. I certainly don’t want her here at the pub, working or not. I need ideas of how to make best use of her. She owes me whatever she might like to think. The insurance business sounds promising but once that pays, it’s over. What else, Bill?”

“Insurance is good. Thing is, ‘cept for whoring or stealing, there ain’t much else a wench can do to make money if she don’t have none in the first place. I take it your half-sister ain’t the thieving type?”

Mary gave a pained look and shook her head. He put down the wood and set about picking bits of beef from his teeth with his knife. “Of course, Jack’s no saint but with your marriage plans and all, I’d be a bit careful there. He don’t want the peelers round the pub ‘cept as customers,” he said.

“What about those rude postcards that are all the rage? I hate the bitch, but she is a looker. That must pay well.”

He snorted. “You think she’s gonna take her clothes off to fill your coffers?”

“Well, she’s not going to sit about here all day, moping for Catherine-bleeding-Grady. We’ve got to think of something else. Can you help me?”

“I assume you aren’t wanting a repeat of the priest? Anyway, what can I do, short of getting her into the asylum?”

Mary’s face perked up momentarily before her mouth resumed its downward turn. “That’s too difficult. She won’t want to go, and we’d have to find a reason for getting her in there. How’s it done, anyway?”

He picked up the wood and knife again. After he whittled a few shavings onto the floor, he replied, “You need two doctors and a magistrate to sign the papers. Then twice a week at Belle Vue, we takes deliveries. It ain’t too hard to manage. I’m owed a favor or two by one of the doctors at the asylum. He’d oblige me.”

Mary said nothing. Bill drank his ale.

She fixed Bill with a piercing stare. “You may be on to something. Just for a bit, mind you. It would get her out of my hair while I decide the best option. I’ll tell her it will help her recover from her grief.”

He almost smiled. “Right you are.” Bill noticed Mary didn’t bother to reply, just sat there deep in thought. Gave him something to think about, too. The idea of having a wench like Ellen at close hand was a tempting one. Without a doubt, it would be very good for him.

When he heard Mary’s next words, Bill knew life was about to get even better.

“You can look after her in the madhouse. Make it so anything is a better option than Belle Vue. How you do it is up to you.”