Eve and Her Sisters (3 page)

‘Well! I was only inquirin’ out of politeness.’

The three of them watched Alice stalk off.

‘You’ve upset her.’ Nell’s voice expressed satisfaction.

Eve made no reply to this. Mrs Turner was nasty, as nasty as Mrs McArthur was nice, but her words had brought to the fore the fear she had been trying to put to the back of her mind for days. She had told herself she couldn’t think of anything until the funeral was over, but she knew at the heart of her she had only been trying to put off the moment when she would have to consider their future. She could get a job, she had every intention of doing that, and she would work till she dropped but even the best paying job for a girl of her age wouldn’t keep the three of them fed and clothed and with a roof over their heads. They had to be out of the house by the end of the week and the landlord had already made a concession in letting them stay that long. If she didn’t do something, it would mean the workhouse for Nell and Mary, and she couldn’t bear that.The bit of money the furniture would bring wouldn’t keep them in lodgings for long; the only item of any worth was her da’s big brass bed.

She hadn’t been aware of Mr Finnigan standing behind them so when he spoke in her ear, Eve jumped.

‘I didn’t realise the three of you had no kith and kin to help out, lass,’ he said.

She swung round to see him looking at her with the kindly expression he had worn since the accident. Flustered, she stammered, ‘N-no, we h-haven’t.’

‘No one at all? Not even in distant parts?’

‘Not that we know of.’

‘Dear, dear.’ For once he wasn’t smiling. ‘Well, I hate to echo that woman’s question’ - the way he spoke indicated that his opinion of Mrs McArthur’s sister reflected Eve’s - ‘but what are you going to do? Do you have somewhere to go, a place to live?’

She stared at him miserably then shook her head. The hazel eyes passed over each young face in turn, lingering for a moment on Mary who smiled at him. She thought Mr Finnigan was lovely and so did all her friends. He always had time for a laugh and a joke when he passed them playing, and more often than not he had a bag of bullets in his pockets which he’d pass around. To keep his attention, she said,‘I saw Archy and Stephen yesterday coming back from the shop with Mrs Finnigan.You can’t tell them apart, can you?’

‘No, you can’t. Even I have trouble at times and I’m their da. You wouldn’t think that, would you, that I wouldn’t know which was which?’

Mary giggled. ‘They look like you, Mr Finnigan.’

‘Do you think so?’ He considered this with a tilt of his head before smiling. ‘Well, thank you, lass.’ Turning his glance on Eve, he said, ‘When have you got to be out?’

‘Friday.’

‘You’ve asked for more time?’

‘Aye. It was supposed to be last Friday.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘Look, lass, I might be able to help.’ It was a conspiratorial whisper and instinctively the three girls moved closer to hear what he was about to say. ‘It so happens the wife’s mother cooks and cleans for the vicar at St Andrew’s, big vicarage he’s got, off Front Street. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, I know it.’

‘Well, her legs are so bad she’s had enough.They’re particular, she says, the vicar and his wife, and there’s the odd evening when she has to stay late to serve dinner if they’ve got guests. It’s all got too much for her. She’s told ’em she wants to leave a couple of times I know of. I could ask her to put in a good word for you if you think it’d suit.’

‘Oh, Mr Finnigan.’ Eve’s face lit up.

‘Mind, I can’t guarantee anything, you’d have to go an’ meet ’em, but with Mam having worked for them for donkey’s and her vouching for you I can’t see there’d be a problem. Not with a nice little lass like you.’ He grinned at them all, ruffling Mary’s curls as he spoke.

‘How-how much would I get?’Whatever the vicar paid, it wouldn’t be enough to rent somewhere.

As though he’d heard her thoughts, Mr Finnigan’s voice gentled still more. ‘I don’t know, lass, but the three of you’ll need somewhere to stay. Now although I can’t offer anything long term, not with another bairn on the way, I could see me way clear to letting you bed down in the twins’ room. It’d be a squeeze with their cots but we could fit a double bed in, like as not. It’d give you a breathing space, maybe until Nell here starts work an’ there’s more coming in. When will that be, lass?’ he asked Nell.

‘Not for two summers, when I’m thirteen.’

‘How old are you now?’ He seemed surprised.

‘Eleven, Mr Finnigan.’

‘You’re a big girl, I thought you were twelve months older than that. Still, it might not be a problem, come to think of it. The babbie’ll be in with us for a good while once it’s born.We’ll manage somehow, eh?’ He turned back to Eve on the last words. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Finnigan, thank you.’ It was too good to be true. ‘But why would you help us like this?’

His heavy lids lowered but when he met her gaze again his eyes were clear and wide. ‘It’s what neighbours are for, and don’t forget you’ll be paying board and lodging so you’ll be doing your bit.’

‘But would it be enough? For the three of us?’

‘Don’t worry your head about that. You’ll be getting rid of your furniture, won’t you? Maybe there’ll be a piece or two the wife can use.We’ll sort something out anyway.’

The mention of Mrs Finnigan checked the flood of relief. ‘But what if she, Mrs Finnigan, what if she doesn’t want us to stay?’

Josiah Finnigan surveyed the young faces in front of him. Softly, he said, ‘She will do what I say.’

Eve blinked. Had she offended him? But then he was smiling again and she told herself she was imagining things. She glanced at Nell and Mary but they were both gazing at Mr Finnigan, their faces expressing a gratitude that verged on adoration.

 

By Wednesday night it was done. Their double bed had been squeezed into the twins’ room, and their personal bits and pieces and spare clothes lay neatly stacked in Eve’s father’s hefty studded trunk which fitted under the bed. Her mother’s family bible and her father’s harmonica were wrapped in a piece of towelling at the bottom of this; she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of these being sold with the rest of the house’s contents - although not all had been collected by Pott’s Emporium. Mr Finnigan and his wife had expressed a liking for her father’s brass bed and the kitchen settle, along with her mother’s clock and the china dogs which had stood on the mantel-piece above the range. Mrs Finnigan had kept all the blankets and sheets too, and Mr Finnigan, being the same height and build as Eve’s brothers, said he could make use of the lads’ spare set of clothing and Sunday rig-outs.

Mr Potts had given her two pounds for what remained, and that, he had tersely remarked when Eve had nervously said she’d expected more, was generous. She knew he had had his eye on the brass bed and had been put out when she said it was spoken for and so she had said no more.Two pounds was not to be sneezed at. She stared down at the one pound note, ten shilling note and four half-crowns before wrapping them in a handkerchief and depositing it next to the bible and harmonica. She repacked the trunk and closed it quietly - the twins were already asleep in their cots - and pushed it further under the bed. She stood up, smoothed her skirt and picked up the candlestick but did not immediately go downstairs to where the others were sitting in the kitchen.

Mrs Finnigan’s mother had sent a message late morning saying she had handed in her notice at the vicarage, and the vicar and his wife had agreed to see Eve tomorrow morning at ten sharp for an interview. If she could get this job and begin on Monday she could start paying board to Mrs Finnigan for the three of them straightaway. She would feel better about things then.Although Mrs Finnigan hadn’t said anything, Eve knew she didn’t like them being here.

Eve stared across the room at the sleeping children, the flickering candle throwing shadows on the walls.

Was it because of the twins, because it was such a crush in the bedroom now? To get to the cots you had to scramble over the double bed and there wasn’t an inch of spare space to walk. Edging in through the door was difficult enough. She could understand Mrs Finnigan wouldn’t like this, and her expecting another bairn and all.

Should she say something? Slowly, as if her thoughts were impeding her walk, she moved out on to the landing. But if she did and Mrs Finnigan said she didn’t want them, where would they go? And Mr Finnigan was acting as though everything was fine; in fact he had been as skittish as a bit lass when he’d helped them move in when he was home from the pit, joking with them and teasing Mary until she’d laughed so much she’d been in danger of wetting her knickers. No, Mr Finnigan didn’t mind having them there, you could tell that.

She had to get downstairs. Mrs Finnigan was about to dish up the evening meal. When she reached the kitchen door, Eve took a deep breath before opening it. She would try to make Mrs Finnigan like her and she would tell Nell and Mary to do the same. They had to be allowed to stay here until Nell was old enough to start work, then they could find a room somewhere. If they all did their bit in the house and took the load off Mrs Finnigan, that would help, wouldn’t it?

 

Eve had lain awake most of the night but when she awoke to a still dark room, she realised she must have dropped off eventually. She lay for a moment wondering what had woken her and then realised it was someone going downstairs, probably Mrs Finnigan. No doubt she rose first and saw to the range and such before she started getting Mr Finnigan’s breakfast.

Remembering what she had determined the day before, she roused her sisters without waking the twins who were snuggled under the blankets in their cots. The three of them struggled into their clothes, no mean feat in the cramped conditions and with the merest gleam of light from the street lamp outside the window to light their fumblings. Mary was as uncooperative as normal, trying to slide back under the covers and complaining about the cold the whole time she dressed. But Eve was resolute they were going to start as they meant to carry on, and this involved Mary doing her bit for once. Mrs Finnigan had looked very tired last night, not that that was anything unusual for a miner’s wife. In any pit house, come bedtime you would find a banked down fire, a kitchen table set for morning and an exhausted looking woman.

Mary was still grumbling about being woken up as the three of them reached the kitchen door. Eve caught hold of her sister’s arm in the dark hall and swung Mary round to face her although she could hardly make out her features in the blackness. ‘One more word from you and I’ll skelp you, you hear me?’ she whispered angrily. ‘I told you yesterday you were going to pull your weight here, and you will.’

‘I never had to get up so early at home.’

‘This isn’t home and everything’s different, and you ought to be thanking your lucky stars you’ve woken up here and not in the workhouse.’

‘You’re nasty, our Eve.’

‘And don’t start blubbing, it won’t work with me, not like it did with Da. You’ll do whatever Mrs Finnigan asks you to do and you’ll be cheerful about it.’ Then she sighed deeply and, her voice dropping, she said, ‘Come on, be a good girl. I know you’re missing Da and the lads but so are me and Nell, have you considered that? We’ve all got to make the best of things. We want to stay together, don’t we?’

‘Aye.’ It was sulky.

‘Well then. Stop acting like a baby.’

She sensed rather than saw Mary’s flounce. Her fingers itching to slap her sister, Eve opened the kitchen door. The slight figure of Mrs Finnigan was standing at the range stirring a pan of porridge, and like yesterday it struck Eve that Mr Finnigan’s wife didn’t look old enough to be married in spite of having two bairns and expecting a third.

Mrs Finnigan turned at their entrance, her small heart-shaped face expressing her surprise. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

‘We wondered if we could help, Mrs Finnigan.’

‘Help? How?’ Mrs Finnigan’s voice was flat.

‘I don’t know. Getting the coal in, seeing to the breakfast, anything.’When Mrs Finnigan said nothing, Eve continued, ‘You and Mr Finnigan have been so kind letting us stay but I know it will mean more work and we don’t want you to have to look after us. We’ll all help in the morning and Nell and Mary will do any chores you want doing once they’re home from school and at weekends, and me too once I’m back from work. I can help with the twins if you like, I’m used to bairns. Mary was only four when Mam died.’

As Eve had been speaking Mrs Finnigan’s face had relaxed a little but her voice was still stiff when she said, ‘There will be more to do, that’s for sure.’ She turned back to the stove.

‘I know and we want to help, don’t we?’ She turned to Nell and Mary, the former nodding vigorously and the latter less enthusiastically. ‘We’ll do anything. Before’ - she had been going to say Mr Finnigan but changed it to - ‘you said we could come here, I was at my wits’ end, Mrs Finnigan. I couldn’t see a way out, everything was black. But now, well, we’re so grateful.’

Again Mrs Finnigan looked at her, a long look this time.Then she said, ‘If you’re going to be staying here I don’t think we can stand on formality, do you? My name is Phoebe. And the porridge bowls are on the dresser.’

Ten minutes later Josiah Finnigan came downstairs, and Nell had just finished telling them a funny story about something that had happened the day before at school and they were all laughing. Eve’s face was soft as she looked at her sister. Nell was very good at acting the clown when the occasion warranted it, and she had a way of drawing out the comedic in the most ordinary happenings. Their father had always maintained Nell could make the devil himself laugh if she put her mind to it.

Eve saw Mr Finnigan’s eyes go to his wife who was still smiling. Their gaze held for a moment and then Josiah said softly, ‘This is nice, everyone having a crack in the morning. I can think of worse ways to start the day.’ His eyes still on Phoebe, he added, ‘That porridge smells good, lass.’