Waters of the Heart Read online

  ‘Let me have Ricky,’ she begged, ‘and I’ll go away, and you can sleep with whoever you want.’

  His reply came at her like the voice of doom. ‘If you do not leave this minute, I shall phone the police.’

  Seeing him in his true colours at last, Cissie made her miserable way back to the street, her only thought being that her son was being kept from her on the other side of a locked door. But gradually, filtering through her numb anguish, came another thought. Where was she to go?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Fully clad, Jen Millar sank thankfully down on her bed. It was taking more and more out of her to keep working, but she needed the money and she was lucky to have a job at all. Her wheezing chest was beginning to alarm her. At first, she had only heard it in the silence of her own room, but she could hear the rasp of it now even over the clatter in the mill. Was she going to die, like hundreds of spinners before her, from breathing in the fibres of the jute she’d spun onto the bobbins for the past forty years?

  She closed her eyes, recalling an old woman who had once worked beside her. Mary had been seventy, and shouldn’t have been working at all, but it had been awful to listen to her hacking coughs, the fighting for breath, the whistling of her lungs. When her workmates told her to see a doctor, she had said, ‘Some o’ they poor’s doctors would get rid o’ the patient afore the cough.’ She’d been forced to give up her job eventually, and hadn’t lasted long after that, though whether it was her chest that killed her or not being able to afford food, nobody knew. The last time Jen had seen her, she’d been so thin she was like a skeleton, her parchment skin stretched taut over her cheekbones, but her eyes had still twinkled in her skull-like face. ‘I hope the good Lord doesnae object to hirstly chests,’ she had gasped, smiling a little, ‘though maybe it’ll stop whistling in heaven.’

  She had been dead the following day, and a woman who saw the corpse had said, ‘I broke doon, I couldnae help it, for she looked that peaceful, and her wasted awa’ to nothing.’

  Shuddering at the thought of anyone seeing her when she was dead, Jen sat up with a jerk. She needed a cup of tea. She swung her feet to the floor, but the effort set up such a pain in her chest that she had to wait until it subsided before standing up. At that moment, someone knocked at her door, and she stood still until whoever it was went away. It was likely her from upstairs wanting to borrow something and there was nothing here except a spoonful of tea and a hard crust of loaf.

  The knock came again, louder this time. ‘Jen, it’s Cissie – Robertson. You remember me, don’t you?’

  Aye, Jen thought, she remembered Cissie fine, but Cissie wouldn’t be knocking at her door. It was a hallucination.

  ‘Jen. I’ve got to speak to you. Let me in! Please?’

  Slowly, the old woman went to the door to prove to herself there was nobody there, and moved back in alarm when a lady in an expensive coat and hat swept past her, a lady that reminded her of . . . ‘Cissie! Is it really you?’

  ‘I waited till you’d be home, but when you didn’t answer the door, I thought . . . Jen, Bertram’s locked me out.’

  ‘Bertram? Your man?’

  Sitting down on the nearest chair, Cissie said, ‘You’re the only one I could come to, Jen. Phoebe’s in America . . .’

  ‘Aye, I heard that.’

  ‘And Dorothy Barclay’s expecting another baby. I couldn’t go upsetting her.’

  Not knowing who Dorothy Barclay was, Jen said, ‘I’ll put a match to the sticks in the fire to boil the kettle for some tea. Tell me the time we’re waiting.’

  Cissie began with her surprise at Tommy’s visit, and Jen said, ‘So your brother did find you?’

  ‘He got my address from Bertram’s mill.’

  Cissie carried on with her tearful account, and the frown on Jen’s face deepened. ‘But did you no’ say it was your brother?’

  ‘He wouldn’t listen. He believed every word Elma told him, and it was all lies.’

  ‘Had you fell oot wi’ her? Got on to her aboot her work?’

  ‘She’s a good worker. They’re all good workers, though Tildy hasn’t been there long. Poor thing, she was scared stiff when she opened the window to speak to me.’

  ‘Could you no’ have climbed in the window?’

  ‘Bertram was standing right behind her.’

  Rising to pour the tea – the last she had – Jen said, ‘I’d ask you to bide here the night, but you wouldnae want . . .’

  ‘Could I, Jen? I’ve nowhere else to go.’

  ‘It’s a good thing I never threw out that old mattress after Gertie left, that was her that bade wi’ me after you and Phoebe moved oot. I’ll let you have the bed, though, for you’ll be used to sleeping in . . .’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, Jen. I’ll just lie on the floor.’

  In the ensuing short silence, Cissie realised that Jen was having difficulty in breathing. She had been too involved with her story to notice before, but her old friend’s chest was heaving with every breath she took, loud rattly breaths that sent shivers up the back of Cissie’s neck. ‘Oh, Jen!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re ill. I shouldn’t have bothered you.’

  ‘It’s just a wee wheeze. Cissie, would you go back to him, if he asked you?’

  ‘Oh, Jen, I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. At first I thought he’d been carrying on with Elma, and Tommy staying the night had given them an excuse to get me out of the way, but now I’m not so sure. He wouldn’t take up with one of his maids, though why did he listen to her and ignore me? I wish I knew what to do!’

  Wringing her hands in anguish, Cissie bowed her head for a moment, then looked at Jen again. ‘I’m going to get my baby out of that house! Bertram can’t keep him from me for ever.’

  Jen stroked her chin. ‘He’s an influential man, mind, and he could get a . . . whatsit? You ken, he could make it so you couldnae see the bairn again.’

  Cissie’s eyes filled with tears once more. ‘An injunction, you mean? If I say Tommy’s my brother, not my lover, they can’t do that to me.’

  Her lacklustre eyes filling with pity, Jen murmured, ‘He could make them believe what he wants them to believe. He’d tell them you were a mill girl and they wouldnae listen to you. I’m sorry I’m no’ giving you any hope, but you have to face up to it.’

  ‘I was so happy to see Tommy again . . .’ Cissie’s sigh was almost a sob. ‘He said he’d come to see me again, and he won’t know where I am.’

  ‘I’ve just thought. Wait till your man’s at his work the morrow, then take your bairn, and whatever else you want, and get that Elma to admit to her lies.’

  ‘She’d likely brazen it out, and even if I did get Ricky, Bertram would send the police to take him from me again.’

  ‘They’ll no’ ken where to look for you. Now, you’ll no’ want to bring your son up in a place like this, and if I was you, I’d go right away from Dundee wi’ him, and look for a job o’ some kind.’

  It crossed Cissie’s mind that this would mean she was running away from her troubles a second time, but it seemed the only thing to do. ‘Thanks, Jen, it’s a good thing your brain’s working properly, for mine’s not. I’ll pack as much as I can into the pram – it’s deep enough to hold some of my clothes as well as Ricky’s – and I’ll take the ten pounds his grandfather gave him for his birthday. That should do us for a week or two till I find a job.’

  Jen’s watery eyes widened. Ten pounds was nearly half a year’s wages to her, as Cissie would have remembered if she wasn’t in such a state. It was funny how quick folk could forget poverty when they were living off the fat of the land. ‘Aye, that should do you for a week or two.’

  Although the repeated words held no sarcasm, they jogged Cissie’s memory. ‘I’ll pay you for letting me stay here,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’ve got some money in my purse, though Bertram never let me have much.’

  ‘Indeed and you’ll no’! The world would be in a sad state if a body couldnae help a friend.’
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  ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t had you to come to, Jen. But you can’t have had any supper yet, so I’ll go and get something from the pieshop, and you can boil the kettle for another pot of tea.’

  Jen let her go without arguing – it would be stupid to let pride deprive her of her first decent meal for days – and went down to the back court for water. She had to stop every few steps to catch her breath on her way up again, but she was only concerned about the tea she was expected to make. A fine lady like Cissie would turn up her nose at using the same tea leaves twice as she had to do herself, more than twice, sometimes.

  Her old friend, however, had seen her emptying the little packet into the pot and also brought back half a pound of tea and a box of biscuits. At the table, they recalled the days when they worked together, Cissie assuring Jen that she couldn’t eat a thing and that it was a shame to waste that other pie.

  At last, Jen said, ‘I’d better get some sleep, or I’ll no’ be fit for my work in the morning.’

  Not bothering to undress, Cissie stretched out on the old lumpy mattress on the floor, and pulled the dingy, motheaten blankets over her. She hadn’t forgotten the icy draught that came in at the gap under the door.

  In the morning, Jen had to leave in time to start work at six, but she told Cissie to stay for as long as she wanted. ‘Just mind and lock the door behind you when you go, and put the key on the ledge above.’

  ‘Thanks again, Jen, and I’ll keep in touch with you.’

  Left on her own, Cissie folded up the blankets, stacked the floppy mattress against the wall, then swept and dusted the tiny room. She would have to get used to doing housework again, wherever she was. As she moved about, she wondered how long poor Jen would be able to work – she wasn’t really fit for it now – and was thankful that she had thought of buying the tea and biscuits for her.

  When she was putting on her hat and coat, she wished that she could do something more for Jen, and decided that money would be most welcome. There was only three pounds, fifteen shillings and thruppence three farthings in her purse, but she laid the three pound-notes on the table, keeping the rest in case things didn’t go according to plan.

  It was five to ten when she reached Panache and found the front door locked – Elma usually unlocked it as soon as she rose – but she lifted the knocker and rapped loudly several times. She was determined not to give the servants a chance to laugh at her by going round to the back.

  When Tildy opened the door, her face paled then turned a deep crimson. ‘Oh, Mrs Dickson, the master’s away to his work and he said you wasn’t to get in.’

  Pushing past her, Cissie ran upstairs to the room she had shared with Bertram, her spirits sinking when she found Elma making the bed.

  The maid was also taken aback. ‘You shouldn’t be here!’

  Cissie’s control snapped. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! It’s your fault all this happened, you and your lies! Maybe you didn’t know Tommy was my brother, but you knew perfectly well we didn’t sleep in the same bed, so why did you tell my husband we did?’

  ‘I told the master the truth! He’d a right to know what his wife got up to when he was away.’

  ‘You’re a liar and a troublemaker!’ Cissie shouted, then, regretting having let the girl see how rattled she was, she said, coldly, ‘Pack your things, you’ll be leaving tonight! I’ll make my husband pay you to the end of the month, but I want you to tell him before you go that you lied to him.’

  ‘The master won’t make me leave,’ Elma sneered. ‘Him and me are – lovers!’ She flung the word at Cissie triumphantly. ‘You didn’t know, did you? I was sleeping with him the whole two weeks you were in the maternity, and he’s been wanting rid of you ever since. It’s me he wants now.’

  Cissie tried not to show her anger. Her first thoughts had been right, after all. To think that Bertram had been making love to this brazen-faced tramp! She felt like launching herself on the grinning creature, scratching her eyes out, tearing her hair out by the roots – only what good would it do? If she was what Bertram wanted, let him have her!

  ‘Bertram said you hadn’t to get in,’ Elma went on, with great emphasis on his name, ‘so you’d better go away again. You won’t get him back, for he’s mine!’

  Gathering all her sickness, fury, disgust into one tight ball in her chest, Cissie said, very quietly, ‘You have done me a good turn by letting me see the kind of man he really is, and I wouldn’t come back to him though he was the last man on earth. Now, I’m going to get some of Ricky’s clothes and mine, and you’re not going to stop me. Do you hear me? Oh, for goodness sake, get out! Get out before I forget I’m a lady and kick you down the stairs!’

  Elma left the room scowling darkly, and Cissie took some underwear out of the drawers and a few day dresses from the wardrobe, sighing over the lovely gowns she was having to leave behind. Then she went into Ricky’s room and gathered as many of his clothes as she could pile on top of her own before going downstairs again. Her heart plunged when she saw that Elma had lined up reinforcements. The cook and the other maid were standing with her outside the sitting room, Mrs Gow looking rather uncomfortable, Tildy as nervous as a skittish colt, and Elma boldly defiant.

  ‘Let me past, please,’ Cissie said, firmly, though a lump was throbbing in her throat and her whole body was quivering with anger. ‘I want to get my son.’

  Elma gave a sneering smile. ‘The master gave us orders not to let you take him.’

  ‘You can’t keep him from me. I’m his mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ Mrs Gow said, a little too politely, ‘but we have our orders and it’s more than our jobs are worth to disobey. Besides, you’ve given up your right to him by what you did two nights ago.’ Her tone suggested that she had always been sure her mistress was less than honourable.

  Preparing for battle, Cissie drew a deep breath. ‘All I did two nights ago was to welcome my brother to my home. I hadn’t seen him for over eleven years.’

  Mrs Gow shook her head. ‘A woman doesn’t kiss her brother, and she certainly doesn’t let him share her bed.’

  Turning to Elma, Cissie said coldly, ‘Tell them the truth, if you know the meaning of the word. You had to send the sheets my brother used to the laundry, hadn’t you?’

  The girl’s eyes met hers unflinchingly. ‘I don’t know what you’re meaning, Mrs Dickson. I sent no sheets to the laundry yesterday. I was shocked when I saw you’d slept with another man when the master was away, and I told Mrs Gow there would be trouble, didn’t I, Mrs Gow?’

  The cook nodded. ‘Aye, that’s what she said, and I could hardly believe the things she was telling me.’

  Cissie raised her voice. ‘Whatever she told you, it was a pack of lies.’

  From behind the servants came a squeal of delight. ‘Mama, Mama,’ and she appealed to Mrs Gow. ‘Ricky’s heard me. I swear to you Tommy’s my brother, though I wish to God he’d never found me.’

  Uncertainly, the cook glanced at Elma, who said, ‘Don’t believe her. If you’d seen the way they were carrying on, you’d know he wasn’t her brother. It was disgusting, and her always making out she was something.’

  Her eyes hardening, Mrs Gow said, ‘I think you’d better leave, Mrs Dickson. If you want to get your son, you’ll need to come back and have it out with the master.’

  Another cry of ‘Mama’ made Cissie drop the clothes she was carrying and take a step forward. ‘Get out of my way. I’m not leaving unless I take him with me.’

  Poor Tildy’s eyes were round with fear, but the other two closed ranks and grabbed Cissie’s arms when she tried to pass between them. There followed a short, unequal struggle, both women being sturdier and stronger than Cissie, and at last she gave up. Turning away, she sobbed, ‘I hope God punishes you for what you’ve done.’

  Scarcely able to see through her tears, she trailed out, forcing one foot past the other and not caring where she went. It took her a little time to contr
ol herself and to be capable of logical thought. Why hadn’t she gone straight in and taken Ricky without bothering about clothes? She could have been outside with him before any of them knew she was there, and now she had no clothes, no baby and nowhere to live. She couldn’t go back to Jen, for the poor soul wasn’t fit to cope with her in this state, and Dorothy wasn’t fit to be saddled with her, either. If only Phoebe had been here, Cissie thought, distractedly, they would have gone to Panache together and taken Ricky, but Phoebe was thousands of miles away.

  ‘Mrs Dickson!’

  She turned round, hoping that her servants had relented, that they were going to let her go back for her son, but it was only young Tildy sprinting towards her, brandishing a carpet bag. ‘Mrs Gow told me to pack your things for you,’ she gasped, ‘and I’ve been trying to catch up with you. I’m sorry, Mrs Dickson,’ she added, as Cissie took the bag. ‘I’d have let you take Ricky if it had been up to me, but Elma wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘I know, it’s not your fault.’

  ‘We’ll look after him, so you won’t need to worry. I’ll have to get back, though, or Cook’ll give me whatfor.’

  ‘Thank you, Tildy – and thank Mrs Gow for letting me have my clothes.’

  The girl ran off, and Cissie walked on for a few hundred yards before stopping again. Some of Bertram’s friends lived quite near, should she ask any of them for help, or advice? But it would likely get back to him and they would believe whatever he told them about her. And it would only make him more determined not to let her have Ricky.

  The thought stirred her to action. She wasn’t beaten yet. Changing direction, she headed down the hill towards the city, the rain, threatening for some time, now battering against her face. The shower did not last long, but she had hardly noticed its beginning nor its end, and when she came to the warehouse, she marched through the outer office into Bertram’s inner sanctum and addressed him in ringing tones. ‘You can’t keep my son from me, Bertram!’