A Daughter’s Sorrow. Cathy Sharp

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СКАЧАТЬ Bridget. I think you must take after great grandfather O’Rourke. He came over to England in 1827 when they were clearing the land for St Katherine’s Docks. They say he had a bit o’ money behind him, but he died of the cholera – there used to be a lot of it in the lanes in them days.

      ‘Grandfather O’Rourke was a lad of six years then, and his mother a widow with five small children. She had to struggle to bring them all up. When our grandfather was old enough to work, he started out as a labourer but ended as a foreman, running a gang under him. He would have done well for himself if he hadn’t taken a virulent fever and died. Leastwise, that’s what Granny always told us. Do you remember her at all?’

      I had a vague memory of a white-haired woman in a black dress. ‘Yes, I think so. She used to sit on her doorstep and smoke a long-stemmed clay pipe, didn’t she?’

      ‘Yes.’ Lainie chuckled. ‘She died when you were about three. She was forever talking about the Old Country – and her brogue was so thick that I couldn’t always understand her.’

      I stopped walking and looked back. We had already come a couple of streets and I knew Tommy would be waiting anxiously for my return.

      ‘I’d better get back then,’ I said and leaned towards her, kissing her cheek once more. ‘Take care of yourself, Lainie.’

      ‘You take care of yourself too, Bridget – and don’t let Mam bully you too much.’

      I nodded, but it was easy for Lainie to say. She was nearly eighteen and she had someone who cared for her. I was almost a year younger and I couldn’t just walk out the way she had – someone had to watch out for Tommy.

      Mam would be in a temper when I got back, but I was used to that. I hated to see Lainie go, but there was no point in making a fuss over spilled milk. I supposed Lainie ought to have left home long ago. She would be much happier working for Bridie – even though the hotel owner was a bit mean from all accounts.

      I liked Mrs Macpherson, but then I didn’t have to work for her. She was a widow who had come to live near St Katherine’s Docks three years earlier and seemed to be a plump friendly person. When she had taken over the Sailor’s Rest, it had been a run-down hovel, but she had built it into a thriving business.

      My thoughts were still with my sister as I walked slowly home, deliberately loitering despite the bitter cold, which was chilling me through to the bone. I knew what was waiting for me when I got back and I wasn’t looking forward to the row with Mam, who would take out her frustrations on me now that Lainie had gone.

      It was only after a few minutes of walking on my own that I realized how late and dark it was in the lane. Most of the houses were shuttered, their lamps extinguished. I had never been out this late alone before. Nervously, I glanced over my shoulder as I sensed someone was watching me … following me even. Chills ran through me, giving me goose pimples all over; I was suddenly frightened.

      The East End of London was a harsh dirty place in 1899, its air polluted by the smoke of the industrial revolution that had taken place throughout most of the past century. Crime was rife in the narrow lanes and alleyways that bordered the river and it was far from safe for a young woman to walk alone on a dark night. I began to walk faster, my heart jumping with fright.

      The wind was blowing off the river bringing the stench of the oily water and refuse, dumped into the docks by the ships anchored out in the river, into the lanes, which already carried their own smell of decay. The houses here were better than the tenements a few streets away, but nearer to the river several deserted buildings harboured vagrants and rats.

      I looked round again, but it was too dark to see anything. The suspicion that someone was following me sent prickles of fear down my spine. Lainie had often warned me about walking alone late at night. She’d told me that Hans always insisted that he walk her back to Farthing Lane after a night out.

      When she was with him, Lainie was safe. Hans was a gentle man, but he was a blond giant with feet the size of meat plates and hands to match. One blow from him would knock most men’s heads off their shoulders. I’d met him once and he’d made me laugh with his stories about the days when the Vikings used to raid the English coast.

      I wished Hans were here with me now or that my brother Jamie would come whistling down the lane to meet me. There was a man following me, I was certain of it now.

      ‘Where are you goin’? Bit late for you, ain’t it? Or ’ave you taken to walkin’ the streets for yer livin’?’

      The voice was close behind me and made me jump. As I turned, I knew instantly who the voice belonged to and my fear abated slightly.

      I lifted my head proudly, meeting that hateful, leering look on his face. Harry Wright had been after me since I was at school. Then he had been a snotty-nosed bully with no shoes and his arse hanging out of his trousers like all the rest of the kids in the lanes. Now he was dressed in a toff’s suit and leather shoes. He had made good and there was only one way to do that round here.

      ‘Who made it your business? Haven’t they locked you up yet, Harry Wright?’

      ‘Nah – and they ain’t goin’ ter neither,’ Harry said, eyeing me speculatively. ‘Leavin’ home then? Martha chucked yer out?’ he asked in his broad cockney accent. Harry was a Londoner through and through, but his manner was coarse and unlike most of the friendly people who lived in our lanes.

      ‘Take yourself off where you’re wanted,’ I retorted angrily.

      ‘Hoity toighty tonight, ain’t we? Got somewhere to go, ’ave yer? Only I could offer yer a bed fer the night – mine!’

      Something in the way he looked at me was beginning to make me uneasy. ‘I’m going home – and I wouldn’t come with you if I wasn’t! I’d rather sleep under the bridge. So just you clear off, Harry Wright! I don’t want anythin’ to do with the likes of you …’

      ‘You’re too cocky for yer own good, Bridget O’Rourke!’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. ‘I bet yer a tart just like that bleedin’ sister of yours. Bin with a bloke down the docks ’ave yer? Yeah, yer a slut just like that Lainie.’

      ‘My sister isn’t a whore. You’re drunk, that’s what’s the matter with you. Just you leave me alone, Harry Wright! If you try anything I’ll tell Jamie and he’ll give you a thrashing.’

      ‘Stuck up bitch!’ he snarled and lurched at me, suddenly slamming me into the wall of the nearest house.

      I could smell the stink of strong drink on his breath and knew I had guessed right: he was very drunk.

      ‘You’ve been givin’ it away to anyone who asks. Well, I’m takin’, not askin’. I’ll just ’ave a little taste of what yer’ve bin givin’ away …’

      He was so strong and the pressure of his body was holding me pinned to the wall. I screamed once before his hand covered my mouth. Fear whipped through me but I was determined not to give in.

      His hand was smothering me, making it difficult to breathe. I bit it as hard as I could and he swore, jerking back in pain and then striking me so hard across the face that I tasted blood in my mouth.

      I screamed again, clawing at his face with my nails. My head was reeling and I hardly knew what I did as I struggled desperately to save myself. He was dragging my skirts up, clawing at me down there, where no man had touched me. I gave СКАЧАТЬ