Never Look Back

  ‘And Cissie?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s a very impudent girl.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But Miss Rowbottom praises her more than she despairs. She’s an excellent mother and Pearl and Peter are flourishing. In fact all the children treat her like she’s their mother, and that leaves Miss Rowbottom free to do the tasks she’s better qualified to do, like teaching and housekeeping.’

  He paused.

  ‘There’s a “but”, isn’t there,’ Matilda asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed ruefully. ‘I sensed signs of rebellion yesterday, Cissie doesn’t like taking orders and I think she feels a bit cut off from life and men out there. I think when the babies get bigger and the weather improves, we might find her wanting to leave.’

  ‘But how would she manage with Peter?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘That’s the real problem,’ he sighed deeply as if he’d already spent a great deal of time thinking about it. ‘If she comes back to the city she’ll be bound to turn back to prostitution. It’s the only way she could earn enough money to keep her boy.’

  Although Matilda was a little surprised by her master’s bluntness, it pleased her to find he had finally grasped the real reason why so many women turned to selling their bodies. Almost everyone of his class believed that such women were low creatures with no morals, but then as Flynn had once pointed out, they had no comprehension of the economics of real poverty.

  ‘Respectable’ employment for an unskilled woman meant a sixty-hour week for often less than a dollar a day It also meant her children must be left alone, often hungry, cold and in danger. Matilda was pretty certain that even she could be tempted into prostitution, however distasteful that idea was, if it meant her children could be warmly clothed, well fed and she had enough money to call a doctor if one of them was sick, all without being away from them for too long.

  ‘There are farmers out in the country desperate for wives,’ she said, repeating something Flynn had told her. ‘They advertise in the newspaper all the time. Perhaps I could suggest that to Cissie?’

  ‘Have you been reading those and looking for someone?’ He laughed and tweaked her cheek with affection. ‘You don’t have to go to those lengths, Matty, you’d only have to flutter your eyelashes at someone here and they’d come running to be your sweetheart.’

  Matilda blushed. Since she had started helping him with the orphaned children, she had gradually become Giles’s confidante. It was to her he poured out his dismay at the mainly uncaring society they lived in, with its cruelty, bigotry and snobbishness. He used her as a sounding board when planning a talk to raise money for the Home, he told her of his dreams to see decent, cheap housing built for the working classes, equal rights for women, and slavery abolished. In turn Matilda shared with him her first-hand knowledge of what it was to be poor and disadvantaged. She had opened his middle-class eyes to exactly why the slums were nurseries for criminals, and indeed why so many slum people could never be lured into churches, or their children into schools.

  Yet in all this time she was still unable to tell him about Flynn. She didn’t understand why this was so. Maybe Giles wouldn’t approve that he worked in a saloon, but he kept an open mind about people until he’d met them, and she was sure his only real concern would be that Flynn was an honourable man and capable of taking care of her.

  Matilda believed Flynn was, but perhaps that was because she was overwhelmed by the depths of her feelings for him. Merely to say she loved him didn’t accurately describe how she felt. It was a passion which roared inside her, demanding more each time they met. More kisses, more touching, more time together, and sometimes that desire grew so strong that she could barely hold back. Sometimes she even blamed Lily and Giles for the way she felt, believing that if she didn’t need to hide Flynn away, it wouldn’t all feel so desperate.

  ‘There would be no point in me finding a sweetheart,’ she retorted. She was just about to add that whatever he was like, Lily would find some fault in him, but she stopped herself just in time. ‘I’d never have any time to spend with him,’ she said instead, then walked back into the kitchen to cook the breakfast.

  Giles stood at the window for a moment or two, puzzling on the sharpness of that last remark. Was it a complaint that she had so little free time? Or something more?

  He doubted that Matilda really thought herself ill used, it wasn’t in her nature, but added to other things he’d observed in the past few months, he wondered if there was someone she was keeping secret. She always looked flushed when she came in after her afternoon off, and somehow he didn’t think looking at the shops, or even meeting up with other maids for tea and gossip, would create such animation. Occasionally she came out with astute social comments about America too, that couldn’t have come just from observation or newspapers. But he had never questioned her. Giles believed she was entitled to a private life, and he expected that when she was good and ready, she’d tell him about it.

  As Matilda whisked up eggs for breakfast, she was close to tears. She had been seeing Flynn for almost five months now, and though she lived for those precious few hours with him each Friday, sometimes she felt so frustrated she almost wished she’d never met him and churned up all these feelings inside her. It was too cold to go walking, and so the only place they could go was tea rooms. Yet it wasn’t enough just to talk and hold hands any longer, they were both desperate to be alone together somewhere they could kiss and hold each other.

  All the talking they did just made the differences in their working lives so much more obvious, and the problems insurmountable. Often, lying wide awake in bed, reliving Flynn’s passionate kisses, she’d imagine him being in the saloon, pouring out jugs of ale, laughing and joking with his customers. He would still be pouring drinks when she was fast asleep. Then while she was up, cleaning out the grate in the parlour, laying the table for breakfast, and washing and dressing Tabitha, he was still in bed. Even his religion was different to hers, for she knew now he was a Catholic. If he had been able to come to Trinity Church on Sunday, maybe Lily would overlook that he worked in a saloon and let him take her out on Sunday afternoons. But Flynn took his religion seriously, he was proud of being a Catholic, and although one church was the same as another to her, Flynn didn’t see it that way.

  But then Flynn didn’t look at anything in the way others did. He laughed at the middle classes and said they were hypocrites. He thought the poor lacked imagination and daring, and he despised those who had inherited wealth. He took the view that he was entirely unique, a free spirit who could never be shackled to a job he hated, or even to one place.

  While Matilda found this attitude to be part of his charm, it also worried her, for when she married she wanted stability and peace of mind. But Flynn would laugh at her when she ventured this opinion. He said life should be an adventure, and that she must trust in his abilities. He said that by the spring he’d have enough money saved to catch a boat to Charleston. As soon as he’d found a job, he’d send for her and they’d be married.

  While Matilda was with him, she was always swept away by his belief in himself. She saw herself stepping off the boat, getting married and going to live in a pretty white wooden house, with a porch to sit out on in the evenings, a garden for her to grow fruit and vegetables, a horse for Flynn in the stable.

  Yet as soon as she got home, doubts would creep in. Supposing it didn’t turn out like that? If Flynn couldn’t get the kind of job he wanted, and the riches he expected never materialized? Home might be a tumbledown shack. She might end up having a baby every year like so many other women did, and not enough money coming in to feed them. Flynn might just get so embittered that he’d turn to drinking.

  If she had nothing now, then it wouldn’t seem such a gamble, but she’d grown used to a warm, comfortable house, good food and security. She told herself daily that she couldn’t stay with the Milsons for ever, and that she wanted a life that was all her own. But what of Tabitha? It wouldn’t be easy to leave a child
she loved so much, and she didn’t think Flynn had really grasped how much Giles and Lily meant to her either.

  It seemed to Matilda that some of these worries could be eased by just spending more time with Flynn. She had only seen one side of him, a handsome, passionate man who made her laugh, told her stories, and charmed her so she didn’t look for faults. But alone in her room at night, she saw how little she really knew about him. His tales about his past were vague, there was no collaboration from a friend or family member. For all she knew he could have run from Ireland or England because he’d been in trouble there. If she could see him working, mixing with other people, or just be out having fun with him, then maybe her doubts would be swept away for ever. But only some sort of miracle would give her that chance.

  The miracle came in April just after Easter. Matilda woke one Monday morning to find the sun shining and a definite touch of spring in the air. When she went out into the yard to the privy she noticed green buds on the honeysuckle growing over the walls, and heard birdsong rather than just the customary squawk of seagulls.

  She made pancakes for breakfast, and both Giles and Lily seemed to be in an unusually happy mood, teasing Tabitha about how much she ate these days, telling her that if she continued to grow so fast they’d have no clothes to fit her. She thought they must all be affected by spring fever.

  Matilda was just about to get up from the table to clear away when Giles said he and his wife had something to tell her.

  ‘We’re going to Boston for a holiday,’ he said. ‘We want you to look after the house for us while we’re away, and have a bit of a rest yourself.’

  They were going to stay with an old lawyer friend of Giles’s from Bath, and they were both clearly very excited at the prospect of seeing a new American city and spending time with people from home.

  Matilda hadn’t seen Lily so pleased about anything in a long time. The long, bitterly cold winter had worn her down, she’d lost her appetite, she looked pale and drawn, and she had been complaining repeatedly of headaches.

  ‘The Uptons have three children, so Tabitha will have some company too,’ she said, her voice suddenly as bright as her eyes. ‘I shall have to hurry and get that dress I’ve been making finished, Matty, we’re going on Friday morning.’

  It was only then that Matilda realized what this would mean to her. She could see Flynn every afternoon, maybe he’d even get some evenings off too. It was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

  Memories of preparing to come to America came back thick and fast that week as Matilda helped Lily pack. Just like then, she wanted to take far too much, and got herself overwrought worrying about incidentals. Would Tabitha need galoshes, and what ought she to take as a present for her hosts? Would it be warm enough for lighter clothes, would she need her parasol?

  They were going on a steam-packet up the coast, but it was interesting to note that Lily didn’t appear to be concerned she might suffer from seasickness again, only that her clothes might be too drab for fashionable Boston.

  Finally Friday morning arrived, and as Matilda helped them into the cab, she found it hard to restrain herself from showing her joy at their departure.

  Going back into the house, she picked up the long list of reminders Lily had left on the kitchen table and laughed aloud. As if she’d forget to lock the door when she went out, or wouldn’t remember to turn off the lamps before going to bed!

  ‘They’ve gone away?’ Flynn gasped when Matilda told him her news a few hours later when she met him in the usual place. ‘For how long?’

  ‘Ten days in all,’ she said, bubbling with excitement. ‘The steam-packet gets back at South Pier around six in the evening of the twenty-ninth of April. Oh Flynn, we can have so much time together.’

  ‘You mean they didn’t leave you anything to do?’ he asked. He always implied the Milsons were slave-drivers.

  ‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘Of course I’d better do a bit of a spring-clean, otherwise they’ll be asking what I did with myself. But Sir said I was to have a holiday too.’

  The sun was so warm they sat on Castle Green and talked about all the things they could do. ‘I expect I can get a night off tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you dancing. Then on Sunday I’ll go to early Mass and then we can go to Greenwich Village.’

  ‘We could take a picnic,’ she said. ‘I’ll bake a pie or something tonight.’

  ‘There’s so much I want to show you,’ he said, his dark blue eyes glinting with excitement. ‘We could go over to Staten Island, it’s real pretty there, and if the weather stays fine we could take a ferry out to Coney Island where the quality folk go for their holidays.’

  That afternoon was the best time they’d ever had together, the only people about were couples much like them, and nursemaids taking their charges out for a walk in the sun. On a seat with a dense hollybush behind them, they could hold hands, steal kisses when no one was looking, and talk without the fear of anyone overhearing them.

  ‘Do you think they’ve asked anyone to keep an eye on you?’ Flynn said a bit later.

  She knew exactly what he meant, a spy to see if anyone came in or out of the house. ‘I don’t think Sir would do that,’ she said after a little thought. ‘He isn’t a sneak by nature.’

  ‘Does that mean I could come in?’

  Matilda had anticipated that question, thought about her answer long and hard in the preceding days. She longed to be alone with him, she wanted him in the house with her, but she was scared too that things might get out of hand and they’d end up making love. ‘I’m not sure, Flynn,’ she said.

  He laughed, put his arms round her and kissed her all over her face. ‘You think I’ll have my wicked way with you?’ he said, his eyes dancing. ‘To be sure, you ought to know me better than that, Matty. Haven’t I always been such a gentleman?’

  Matty laughingly agreed he had. ‘But then we’ve never had the chance to be alone before.’

  ‘I could have found somewhere if that’s what I wanted from you,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘I want to marry you, Matty. And until that ring is safely on your finger and the priest tells me we are man and wife, then I’ll hold back my desire.’

  ‘Oh Flynn,’ she sighed, holding him tight. ‘You make it all sound so wonderful.’

  Flynn was in fact a little frightened of such an opportunity to be alone with Matilda, even though he’d thought of little else since he met her. He’d seduced and left several girls in the past, never concerning himself with what happened to them afterwards. But Matty was special, she was the girl he intended to marry and he didn’t want anything spoiling the plans he had made for their future.

  Night after night he met men and women who’d ruined their chances in life. When they got drunk out came the hard luck stories, babies that came too quickly, no decent place to live, and wages spoken for before they were even earned.

  Flynn had no intention of letting that happen to him. When he first met Matty he hadn’t got more than a couple of dollars to his name. He was intending to sign up with the crew of a steamer going south, and take his chances when he got there. The tale he’d told her on their first meeting about getting fine clothes first was just a fantasy, a romantic idea, but once he’d told it to her, it took root.

  There was something about Matilda that made him believe in himself as he’d never truly done before. She was so quick and smart, hard-working and patient, yet so loving that it made him see what an asset she’d be to him. She was ladylike, she’d learnt the ways of the upper classes, yet she wouldn’t run at the first sign of trouble, or baulk at staying somewhere shabby. With her brains and his charm, they could do anything, go anywhere. She was the perfect girl for him and he loved her far, far more than any other he’d met.

  He could have taken her up to his room above the saloon on any afternoon they’d met, but for the first time in his life he managed to control his desire. Matty’s mind and spirit were far more valuable to him than sexual satisfaction, which
he could find anywhere. So he was content to sit in a steamy tea room holding her hand, looking into her beautiful eyes, and talking to her. He also knew that if she saw the way he lived she’d back away.

  Five other men slept in there at night, it stank of their sweat and feet, and sometimes they vomited on the floor when they were drunk. But they each gave him a dollar a week to sleep there. He needed that money to secure a future in Charleston.

  So he had to be extra cautious now. He had enough money saved to leave, and though he wanted to make love to her more than life itself, when he sent for her to join him he didn’t want her turning up with a child already in her belly. That would dash everything.

  He wanted her there fresh and eager, complete with her savings, looking like a lady. That way their future would be assured.

  ‘It will be wonderful. You just wait,’ he said, getting up off the bench and pulling her to her feet too. He looked down into her sparkling eyes and knew this was a heaven-sent chance to sweep the last of her doubts away. ‘But if I want tomorrow night off, I’ll have to work all day. So I’ll come and pick you up about seven to go dancing.’

  ‘What should I wear?’ she asked, remembering how out of place she’d looked at the church dance.

  ‘You’ll outshine any other girl whatever you wear,’ he said kissing her again. ‘But you looked a treat in that pink dress you had on the night we first met.’

  Harry Hall’s dance hall on Broadway was packed to capacity, so hot and steamy, condensation was running down the walls in rivulets. Matilda had never seen anything like it, not even when she’d peeped through the door of the penny gaffs back home. There were two or three hundred people at least, most of them dancing, a wide smile on every face. Anything went here, for the musicians in the four-piece band seemed to sense the mood and play accordingly. There had been sedate waltzes earlier in the evening but now they’d moved through polkas, on to wild Irish jigs.

  Every nationality was represented, Italians, Germans, Poles and Russians, but Jews and Irish made up the majority and both were equally light on their feet and competing to out-dance each other. Most of the men had shed their jackets now because of the heat, the stiff collars they’d arrived with were now limp, patches of sweat showed on the backs of waistcoats, and carefully slicked-down hair was sticking up in all directions.