Matilda digested this. She had established that he was twenty-five, and he seemed to have no trade. ‘And you went to live in Five Points?’
‘Not intentionally, few do that,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Me luck and me money ran out, that’s all. But in a way it did me a power of good. I saw what it was like to be right at the bottom of the heap, and I clawed me way out.’
‘So what do you work at?’ she asked warily. What she’d heard so far didn’t look too good. He was too old for her, a wanderer, and it was odd that a working man should have an afternoon free. ‘And where do you live?’
He hesitated for a moment as if considering telling a lie.
‘I work in a saloon on the Bowery,’ he said.’ And I live upstairs. I dare say you won’t want to tell your Reverend Milson that!’
Matilda’s heart sank. Although she hadn’t been to the Bowery she had heard it was a street full of low entertainment which respectable people kept well away from. Added to everything else he’d told her about himself it was patently obvious that he was the kind of man any sensible girl would steer clear of.
Yet he was so handsome and personable, and however poor he might be she could see he was fastidious. His shirt was very worn but it was snowy white, he had shaved, polished his boots, and his fingernails were very clean and cut tidily. He could of course have done this purely for her benefit, but somehow she didn’t think so.
‘I don’t think I can tell the Reverend anything about you,’ she said gently.
To her surprise he didn’t ask why. He didn’t even look hurt, but calmly went on eating his doughnut. ‘How old are you, Matty?’ he asked after a couple of minutes.
‘Seventeen, nearly eighteen.’
He nodded. ‘And what do you want from life?’ he asked.
The strange question threw her. ‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘So far I haven’t ever had any real choice, things have just happened.’
His smile was one of understanding. ‘It was like that for me too,’ he said. ‘But a coupla years ago I got to thinking that it was time I stopped just letting things happen. I was a builder’s labourer then, doing back-breaking work for a dollar a day and often sleeping rough on the job because it was better than paying ten cents a night in a flea-pit for a spot on the floor. I talked me way into this job, with the idea that when I’d got enough money to buy some fancy clothes I’d be off down South.’
Matilda had often heard Giles speak heatedly about the Southern states as he’d met many Abolitionists since he’d been in New York. From what she gathered the plantation owners were unspeakably cruel and decadent, and they were either whipping their slaves to death, auctioning off the slaves’ children, or throwing great lavish balls and parties that went on for days.
‘To do what?’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘To buy a few slaves?’
‘I hate slavery of any kind,’ he said with a grimace. ‘But then us Irish have been enslaved by the English for centuries.’
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that and she felt it was better not to ask. ‘So what would you do there then? Pose as a gentleman?’
‘Why not?’ He grinned mischievously. ‘The greatest gift the Irish have is their blarney. I can ride a horse like a gentleman. I’ve picked up a few fancy manners in me travels. Dressed well, would anyone doubt me?’
She smiled. Aside from his clothes everything else suggested he had a gentle upbringing, his skin was pale and clear, his fingers were long and slender and his voice was like listening to music. ‘No, I don’t think they would. They’d take one glance at your handsome face and they’d look no further.’
‘So you’re thinking I’m handsome then?’ He leaned closer to her across the table, his eyes flashing suggestively.
‘You know you are,’ she grinned. ‘But can you read and write, do you know the things gentlemen do?’
‘I know more than that “gentleman” you ran into the other night,’ he said indignantly. ‘I can tell the difference between a nursemaid and a whore for a start. Yes, I can read and write. The priest down in Cork taught me and I have a fine hand.’
‘Then there’s nothing to stop you,’ she said. He sounded so sure of himself she couldn’t really doubt he was serious.
He sat back in his chair and looked at her through his long eyelashes. ‘You’re the first person I’ve ever told about my plan, Matty, I know most would laugh at me. But then it must be fate that we met, for you and I have a great deal in common. You sound like a lady, even though that coat is threadbare.’
Matty looked down at her coat in surprise. It was the one Dolly had given her the first time they met. She had always considered it very smart.
‘My step-mother gave it to me,’ she said. ‘She’s got a tea rooms on the river Thames.’
‘Mr Lewinsky sold me this suit off his barrow in Hester Street,’ he said, holding out his lapels. ‘I paid one dollar fifty cents for it, which was all the money I had at the time. But I don’t kid myself I look like a swell in it.’
Matilda was touched by his frankness. ‘It’s the first coat I ever had,’ she said. ‘Up till Dolly gave me this one I only had a shawl, even in the middle of winter.’
‘Shawls make me think of the women back home,’ he said, his eyes suddenly sad. ‘They wear them over their heads and somehow it shows they have submitted to poverty Hats tell a whole different story. I like your one, and what it tells me.’
Matilda giggled. ‘Tell me what it says?’ she asked.
‘I can guess it belonged to your mistress, and you changed the ribbon to a red one because you are a free spirit. Just the jaunty style of it says you have the guts and determination to rise above the station in life which you were born to.’
‘I’ve risen above that already,’ she said. ‘From flower-girl to nursemaid is a giant leap forward.’
‘Maybe, but do you want more than that?’ he asked raising one thick dark eyebrow. ‘You can’t stay a nursemaid, not unless your mistress has another child.’
‘But I’m not just a nursemaid, I’m housekeeper too, and I help Reverend Milson with orphaned children.’
He reflected on that for a moment. ‘It seems to me, Matty, that your life is just this family,’ he said eventually, looking right into her eyes. ‘Could it be they have become a replacement for one of your own? Do you ever have a thought which isn’t about them or connected with them and their happiness?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said tartly. Yet as she paused to think of something to put him in his place, she realized that her thoughts were always of the Milsons, it was only since meeting Flynn her mind had moved slightly away from them. ‘There’s those children in Five Points for one!’
‘That’s connected to the Reverend,’ he reproved her. ‘Have you been anywhere in New York aside from their church and messages for them? Have you met any Americans, or immigrants from other countries, and been to their homes? Have you made any friends other than that girl you were with the other night?’
His derisive questions implied he saw her as trapped in a very English middle-class ghetto. Even though she wanted to deny it, she suddenly saw he was very astute. In many ways she could still be in Primrose Hill, her life had scarcely changed at all. She knew very little more about America and its people than when she arrived. The Milsons dictated what she saw, what she did and who she talked to.
‘No, I suppose I haven’t,’ she said, suddenly a little ashamed that she’d failed to notice this for herself. ‘But you make it sound like it’s bad, like I’m the Milsons’ slave. It’s not like that at all, I’m very fond of them, and they treat me like part of their family.’
“That’s grand,’ he smiled, though there was a touch of cynicism in his tone. ‘But it wouldn’t hurt to expand your cosy little world a little, would it?’
‘Don’t you think my cosy little world was expanded by seeing Five Points?’ she said tartly.
‘No. You said you came from a bad place like that yourself so you already knew how low p
eople can sink. How about looking to how high they can climb? Take a walk down Fifth Avenue and peep into some of those mansions. Ask about rich people and discover how they made their wealth.’
She was confused now. He had said he hated slavery, he seemed to despise people with servants, yet he admired the rich. Which side was he on?
‘I already know that. Out of poor people. I’m surprised you approve of them.’
‘Oh Matty, you misunderstand me.’ He wiggled one finger at her. ‘It’s as big a mistake to think all the rich are wicked as to think all Irish are feckless, lazy devils who’d rather drink themselves stupid than do a day’s work. There are of course Irishmen like that, but I know even more who work hard and save their money to send back to Ireland to look after whole families there.’
‘Are you one of those?’ she asked.
‘I work hard,’ he said. ‘But I don’t send money home because Dada would just drink it all away and then go home and hit Mammy. So I saves me money to set meself up for a better life. Dada will drink himself to death before long and maybe by then I’ll be doing well enough to bring Mammy over here.’
Matilda was a little startled by such bluntness. Was he a callous man, who would stride through his life taking just what he wanted, without any regard for the suffering all around him, or was he a very perceptive realist who knew he had to accept what couldn’t be changed?
They had more tea, and Matilda found herself telling him about how she’d grown up, and about her family. He was so interested, so good at drawing her out, that before long she was describing exactly how she’d ended up with the Milsons and the funnier aspects of suddenly finding herself amongst the middle classes.
‘I’m neither fish nor fowl now,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got all these airs and graces and I don’t see myself as one of the poor any more. Yet I know I really am. And if I lost my present position what on earth would I do?’
‘That, me darlin’, is what you should work out long before you get pushed out their door,’ he smiled. ‘I’ve made a study of a few rich people, picking on ones who began with nothing. I’ve found there was very little luck in any of their stories, the common thread is that they were all fiercely ambitious from an early age.
‘Back in England and Ireland you have to first cross the class barrier to make real money. But it’s different here, it’s a young country, wide open for those with the eye for an opportunity, regardless of background. What people like you and me have to look for is an opening. Then go straight for it.’
When he said he would walk her home because he had to get back to the saloon by half past seven, Matilda was astounded to find it was already half past five and they’d been talking for over three hours. It didn’t seem possible that in this time she’d gone from intense excitement at meeting him, to a feeling she should back away, then on to a situation when she didn’t want to say goodbye.
‘When can we meet again?’ he asked once they were outside the tea shop and making their way back towards State Street. ‘Is Friday afternoon the only time you can get out?’
She nodded glumly. It was tempting to say she could get out on Wednesday evenings and skip Bible classes, but the Deacon would soon tell Giles she hadn’t been there.
‘Then I’ll meet you at the same place next week,’ he said. ‘That’s if you want to meet me?’
A small inner voice whispered that he wasn’t right for her, that all he’d done today was fill her head with airy ideas that had no substance. But as she looked up at him, saw those dark blue eyes, his black curly hair and that mouth she had kissed, she knew that a week was going to seem like a month. All she could do was nod her agreement.
He took her hand as they walked back, and just his skin against hers made her feel weak with longing. She was afraid he would stop to kiss her, but even more afraid he wouldn’t.
But he did stop. They had only gone a few more steps when he pulled her into a tiny alley, put his hands on either side of her face and tilted it up to his. He held it there for a few seconds, looking right into her eyes. ‘Will you be my sweetheart, Matty?’ he asked in a husky whisper. ‘For you’re the girl of my dreams.’
As his lips came down on hers she knew she was lost, for she was robbed of the will to break away. His tongue gently probed her lips apart and all at once the dank alley and fear of being seen in such a shameless embrace just disappeared. It was like the thrill of standing in the Druid’s bows at sunset, watching the waves divide and curl as the ship sliced through them. She felt a yearning deep inside her, a delight in his hard male body pressed against hers. She recognized it to be desire, that emotion that she knew to be so dangerous, yet it felt so right, so beautiful, she didn’t care about the danger.
‘Oh Matty,’ he said softly as he broke away, his lips still kissing her cheeks, nose and eyes. ‘A week will be too long to wait.’
That same evening, Lily followed Matilda out into the kitchen after prayers to collect and light their candles to take upstairs. Giles had already retired to bed. ‘You were very preoccupied tonight,’ she said. ‘Did something unusual happen to you this afternoon?’
She noted how quickly Matilda spun round, and the widening of her eyes.
‘No, nothing, madam,’ she said and reached up for the candles on the shelf.
‘Were you with Rosa?’ Lily asked, determined to get to the bottom of it.
She had heard a disturbing rumour about the Arkwrights’ maid. Apparently she had been seen out late at night on two or three separate occasions, and each time with a different man. It seemed to Lily, knowing that Mrs Arkwright wouldn’t allow any servant such freedom, that the girl must be creeping out after she was supposed to have gone to bed. In view of Matilda’s distant mood this evening she thought perhaps Rosa might have attempted to entice her to join her.
‘No, madam,’ Matilda replied. ‘I haven’t seen Rosa since the night we went to the dance.’
Lily was relieved, she knew Matilda wouldn’t lie to her. ‘Well, I don’t want you to meet her again, Matty,’ she said. ‘From what I hear the girl is no better than she should be.’
At any other time Matilda would have made no comment to that remark. But after listening to Flynn’s views it made her bristle.
‘I’m sorry, madam, if this sounds impertinent, but I don’t think you have the right to tell me who I can be friends with,’ she retorted.
Lily was utterly stunned that Matilda dared answer her back, for a moment she just stared at her in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon!’ she said.
‘You are probably right about Rosa, and I have no wish to spend any more time with her anyway,’ Matilda replied looking straight at her. ‘But the decision to be friends with her or not should come from me.’
‘Matilda!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe this is you speaking.’
‘You and the Reverend have done so much for me and I’m very grateful,’ said Matilda, quietly but firmly ‘I’ve also grown very fond of you both and Tabitha, and I will always do my best for you all. But I really think I should have some sort of life of my own too.’
‘Go to bed,’ Lily snapped at her, unable to think of anything more appropriate. ‘I shall speak to you in the morning. I hope by that time you’ll have come to your senses.’
Once Matilda got up to her room the enormity of what she’d said to Lily struck her. She might never have been in service before the Milsons and knew little of what went on in other households, but she knew enough to know that what she’d said was sufficient to get herself dismissed.
‘Oh Flynn, what have you done to me?’ she whispered to herself, looking into the small mirror above the chest-of-drawers. In the candlelight her features looked no different to the way they always did. Wide eyes, a small, slightly uptilted nose, and a mouth that she’d always considered far too big. Yet looking more closely she could see defiance in her eyes, her mouth looked wanton, and her chin was jutting out with new determination. She had never considered herself a pretty girl,
even though people had often said she was, but tonight she could see for herself there was something arresting about her. Had Flynn done this to her, not only made her look different, but sowed a seed of rebellion inside her that made her challenge her mistress?
She suspected he would applaud her, for he clearly thought no man or woman had a right to control another’s life. But after all the Milsons had done for her, wasn’t it wicked to suddenly try to change the order of things?
‘No, it isn’t,’ she whispered resolutely. ‘You’ve paid them back for their kindness a thousand-fold by working so hard for them. And it isn’t as if you are demanding something preposterous. You won’t back down tomorrow. If you do you’ll be trapped as a grateful, humble servant for ever.’
She unbraided her hair and ran her fingers through it till it fell on to her shoulders, then picking up the hair-brush the Milsons had given her last year for her birthday, she began to brush it, counting the strokes. By a hundred it looked like spun gold in the candlelight, and the sight pleased her. Unbuttoning the bodice of her dress, she slipped it off her shoulders and looked appraisingly at herself. Her shoulders were smooth, her pale skin gleamed in the soft light. In an evening gown she could look as lovely as any grand lady she’d ever seen. Flynn was right, they were alike, they could both pass for quality in the right clothes. But before she was ever to attempt that she had to gain the kind of confidence in herself and her abilities that Flynn had about himself.
Standing up for personal freedom was a start.
‘I just don’t know what’s got into her,’ Lily raged to her husband as she got into bed beside him. She had launched into the story as soon as she got into the bedroom, but though she’d hoped her husband would get out of bed and call Matilda downstairs immediately, so far he hadn’t moved, or made any comment. ‘She’s never spoken to me like that before, and I don’t understand why you are just lying there as if it’s nothing.’