Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

'I wasn't there very long.'

'Don't you like cities then?' 'I don't really know. I suppose I'll get used to it, but I

didn't expect all the dirt and poverty.' 'Don't they have dirt and poverty in Ireland? Bernie

tells a different tale.'

'Of course they do, but I suppose I was more fortunate than Bernie.'

She'd noticed the glances they had attracted, or rather he had attracted, mainly from the girls they passed and she thought about Bernie's words. He was handsome and he was taking an interest in her. But was that just because he was Archie's friend and she was Bernie's?

'A lot depends on what you expect to gain from life in a city,' he deliberated. What did you leave Ireland for, Lisa? Bernie left because of Archie.' 'I didn't leave because of a man. I wanted a better job

and I couldn't stand any more violence.' 'You've come to the wrong place to escape that, this is a violent city - parts of it are anyway!'

She looked up at him and her expression reminded him of a picture he'd seen of a frightened roe deer. She was shy and quiet and he felt protective towards her. 'Oh, don't worry, I'll look after if like."

you, you 'What does that mean?' she heard herself say bluntly.

'You're a pretty lassie, Lisa, but you need someone to look out for you.'

'I hardly know you.'

"This isn't Ireland and what's to stop you getting to

know me?' 'I don't want you thinking I'm fast.'

'I don't think you're fast, not compared with the girls around here anyway. There's a dance at the Locarno on Saturday night, it's nothing fancy, but would you like to go?'

'With you?'

Yes, unless you intend going on your own?' Will Bernie and Archie be going?'

'Who knows? Can't you go anywhere without Bernie?' he mocked, gently.

'I don't know.' She liked him, he was easy to talk to and he was very handsome and after all she'd been through why shouldn't she have a little fun. She smiled. 'All right and thank you for inviting me.'

'We can go for a drink first, if you like, to get to know each other." 'I'd like that, but I don't drink - not anything alcoholic

anyway.'

He laughed. 'Have you signed the pledge?'

'No, I haven't. I just don't like it, that's all."

'Oh, I see you have got spirit. You're not everything you appear to be, Lisa O'Maxwell!'

'You hardly know me, so how do you know what I'm really like?'

'I don't, but I intend to find out!'

She smiled. She really did like him and when he held his hand out to help her down the steps at the bottom of the bridge's ramp, she took it without hesitation.

Margaret sorted through the mail, placing the ones marked 'L.R.Vannin, Esq' on the hallstand, then she uttered a prayer of thanks as she recognized Lisa's handwriting. The postmark was Gorbals, Glasgow. It was addressed to eighteen, Lancaster Street, but that had been crossed out and three, Walton Park written in untidy, sprawling letters above it. Thank God Maura had forwarded it. As she tucked the envelope into her pocket she thought what a strange, foreign-sounding name it was. Gorbals. She'd make sure Annie was clearing up after breakfast, then she'd read it before going shopping.

She'd not regretted her decision to take over as house keeper and she'd left her aunt and uncle under no illusions as to what would happen to them if they so much as missed one week's rent.

Lewis Vannin's house was bigger than she had imagined it to be and there was plenty of work, for she still helped with the office work in the evenings, but she had her own room, large, bright, clean and nicely furnished. She'd found her employer to be a man of few words who adhered to a strict routine, but she respected him and was grateful to him and endeavoured to maintain the high standards he insisted on. She found she could handle the servants quite well; neither of them lived in and d**k only came for a few hours each day, the rest of the time he was employed in the haulage yard.

Margaret had only come into conflict with Lewis Vannin once and that had been over Ellen. She'd caught the child in the hall one night as she was about to retire. Only a dim light burned on the landing and as she had closed the kitchen door a movement in the semi-darkness had caught her attention.

'Ellen, is that you?' she'd asked, softly.

There had been no reply.

'Ellen, I know you're there. Do I have to switch on the main light?"

The little girl had stepped out of the shadows. She had her hat and coat on and was clutching an old Gladstone bag. 'Where are you going?'

The question had been met with silence and a sullen

expression. She'd taken her by the arm and led her to the foot of the stairs, then, placing her hands on her shoulders, she'd gently pushed her down on to the bottom stair. She'd sat down beside her.

'You're running away, aren't you?"

'Yes.' 'Why? Do you hate your home that much?'

'No.'

"Then why?' 'Because . . . I'm not telling you. You don't care

either.'

'How do you know that?"

'You don't. No one does.'

You're wrong. I do care."

The child hadn't answered or even turned her head.

'I know what it's like Ellen, to lose someone you love very much. I lost my father and my brother. I loved them both and they were killed, shot dead.'

'Who killed them?'

'Soldiers.'

There had been a short silence. 'I'm going away because because he's sending me away to another hateful

school!'

Margaret had almost been able to feel the misery trapped in the small body beside her. 'He's only trying to do the best for you, give you a good education.'

'No, he's not, he doesn't want me here! He doesn't want

me at all!' Her voice had risen louder and had echoed through the quiet house. The library door had opened, throwing a beam of light across the hall, catching them both in its glow.

'What's the matter?'

She had risen slowly and Ellen had tried to hide herself behind her. 'What is that child doing up at this hour and dressed

like that?"

She had been in a terrible dilemma. She wanted to speak out for Ellen, but that had been Mrs Rickard's downfall and she couldn't afford to lose her job. 'Could I speak to you, Sir?'

His gaze moved from his daughter to herself and she had quailed.

'Go upstairs, Ellen,' she'd instructed, quietly. The child had stared at her hard for a few seconds, her expression almost identical to her father's, but before she turned Margaret had caught a fleeting, pleading glance in the grey eyes.

Mr Vannin had closed the door behind her and she'd stood in silence, her hands clasped in front of her, until he'd sat down at his desk again.

'She said she was running away because you are sending her away to another school,' Margaret said as firmly as she could. 'Did she?'

'She doesn't want to go.' 'Miss O'Maxwell, what I do with my daughter is my

affair. Mrs Rickard found that out to her cost!' 'I'm aware of that, Sir. I know my place.' 'But?'

Oh, dare she go on? she had wondered frantically.

'But she is desperately unhappy. I told her you were only thinking of her education, but she seems to think you don't 'Don't what?"

You don't want her at all."

He had continued to stare at her and she had dropped her eyes. He hadn't spoken and she'd felt fear rising. Had she said too much? At last he broke the silence.

That is nonsense!' 'I tried to tell her that. I told her that I knew how

miserable she felt.' 'Did you? And do you?'

She'd raised her head. 'Yes, I do. I lost my father and my elder brother, they were killed. My brother was only twenty-five.'

There was pain and heartache in the clear, hazel eyes, although her manner was calm and dutiful. There was no trace of the aggressive, blustering of his former housekeeper, and yet he felt her very calmness to be an accusation. He'd thought about Mrs Rickard's acid comments, after his initial anger had passed. True, he hadn't given her accusations much credence, but strangely they had hurt. Whenever he looked at Molly's photograph

he felt a stirring of guilt. And what opinion do you hold of

me?"

'It's not my place to have opinions."

'But you do, don't you?" She had bitten back the words. 'Speak freely, Miss O'Maxwell, please." She wasn't going to be drawn on that account. 'I think

perhaps if Ellen went to a day school she'd be happier,' she had ventured. There had been another long, heavy silence before he had said, 'I will consider it. Goodnight, Miss O'Maxwell,'

and she had been dismissed. She'd found Ellen crouched on the landing, peering between the spindles of the bannister rail like a small, caged animal, and the sight had tugged sharply at her heart. 'Were you listening?'

Ellen had nodded.

'It's very rude to eavesdrop. I told you to go

upstairs."

'I am upstairs!' had been the whispered retort."

'Ellen, you are far too bold for your own good. It won't do you any good with your Father or me, and probably no one else either. No one likes an insolent child. Would you like people to speak so nastily to you? Of course you wouldn't, so stop it. "Do as you would be done by," my Ma always taught me."

The sullen expression had vanished and the bottom lip had trembled.

Now go to bed. I'll come and tuck you in and hear you say your prayers. At least your father's considering my suggestion and if I were you I wouldn't be rude or objectionable towards him, not if you want to stay here!'

Margaret had escorted her to the door of her room but, before she went in, Ellen had turned to her. 'I'm too big to be tucked in, that's for babies and I can say my prayers, too!"

"Very well, but make sure you ask God to look after your Pa, Ellen. I'm sure that's what your Ma would want you to do.'

She had been rewarded by a nod and a muttered 'Thank you' before Ellen had closed her door.

The following day, Lewis Vannin called Margaret into the library and told her that he was arranging for Ellen to go to a day school convent in Crosby.

Annie was scouring the pans as Margaret entered, but she looked up and smiled. Could you add som ing powder to the list, Miss O'Maxwell, I've just used the last?" scour

Margaret nodded and sat down at the table, drawing the letter from her pocket.

'Is that a letter from home?'

No, it's from my sister in Glasgow.' She ripped open the envelope.

24 Warwick St Gorbals

Glasgow

Dear Margaret, I am writing to tell you not to worry about me, I'm living with Bernie and Archie and Archie's sister, Eileen. It's not a house as we know them. They're called ten ements: one big building on three storeys with a set of rooms for each family. But Eileen works very hard at keeping it nice and clean. I have a job, too, in a garment factory and the money is good. It's not what I want and I've told Bernie just that, but it's a start and I'm sure I'll get a better job soon. Accents don't matter here, everyone has one. I can't even understand some of the people I work with, so mine can't be that bad.

I can't write to Ma, I just don't know how to explain everything, so could you do it? I know it's really very wrong of me to even ask you. Bernie says I have to grow up, but how can I explain about Uncle Bart without putting you in an awkward position? Please forgive me? I promise to write again next week. Give my love to Nancy when you write to her. God Bless Your loving sister, Lisa you.

Margaret folded the letter up, not knowing whether it was a relief or not. At least Lisa seemed to be all right, but how was she going to tell Ma she had gone to live with Bernie O'Hagan? The sound of the doorbell interrupted her deliberations. She rose, wondering who would be calling at this time in the morning.

On the doorstep stood a nun, the starched white wings of her veil contrasting sharply with the red-tinged cheeks of the thin face. Beside her stood Ellen, her face a pale, sickly colour.

'Ellen, what's the matter? Come in, please, Sister. They both stepped into the hall and Ellen moved a pace closer to Margaret.