No Cure for Love (23 page)

‘There are peop ... things we need to see - er - do here... before we join Uncle Joe,’ her mother said in a tight voice.

A long strand of hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of Ellen’s neck, and Josie watched the familiar action of her mother rewinding it into place. A little stab of pain shot through Josie’s chest. What if it had been Ma, she thought. A great sense of emptiness swept over her. No Ma? But that’s just what Ma was facing now. Life without her ma. In a swift movement Josie was out of her chair and hugging her mother.

‘Oh, Ma,’ she said simply. She was now crying as the thought of life without her mother overwhelmed her. She felt a reassuring pat on her arm as her mother disentangled herself.

‘It’s all right, Josie. She’s with me pappy now. She’ll be fine,’ she said, her hand going back to her hair although it was all still in place.

Before she could stop it, Josie’s mouth again opened wide in a yawn.

‘Now then, young lady. Time for bed, don’t you think?’

 

After her daughter had disappeared upstairs, Ellen sat back in the old chair by the range and sipped her tea. She had been pleased with her mother’s wake. She had lost count of the number of times friends had said to her, ‘I’m sorry for your trouble’, and had spoken with affection of Bridget’s kind heart and cheerful spirit. As she’d told Josie, Bridget really would have enjoyed the fiddle and the songs.

Talking to Josie had brought the emotions of the night Bridget passed away vividly back into her mind. And they centred on Doctor Munroe. For one moment, when her daughter mentioned going to America, panic had swept over her. Go away? Never see him again? No, she couldn’t bear it.

Pushing away her thoughts, she turned back to the task she had set herself to complete that evening. With tears quivering on her lower lashes she tied the tablecloth around her mother’s meagre bundle of clothes

There wasn’t much. Three gowns, a couple of petticoats, a felt bonnet, a pair of shoes and a winter coat that had seen better days. Bridget’s day-to-day working clothes were all but rags and it wouldn’t be worth Ellen’s while carrying them the two miles to Isaac Levy’s second-hand clothes shop.

Ellen sighed and put the neatly tied bundle down on the table.

A warm glow spread through her as she remembered Doctor Munroe on the morning Bridget died. Utterly tired though he had been, he had stayed with her, taking the burden of the arrangements from her shoulders. For so long Ellen had been without the strong support of a man beside her, and she had forgotten how wonderful it felt. Even when he had finally taken his leave of her, as the cart bearing Bridget’s coffin left the hospital, she continued to feel the warmth of his affection surrounding her.

Ellen’s eyes rested on the bundle on the table. She should get six shillings for the lot, maybe more. Her thoughts went to the nine pounds three shillings that now sat in the Thrift Bank. She had calculated that she needed at least twelve pounds in total before she could book the passage, but that was before Bridget had died. Now, overnight, Ellen had the money for the fare to New York. But instead of making plans to book passage on the next ship leaving, Ellen found she didn’t want to go to New York or anywhere else on earth if it meant leaving Robert.

She knew it was madness. How could they ever be together? Marriage would be impossible and she had sworn never to be any man’s mistress.

Putting the cup down, Ellen stood up, trimmed the wick of the oil lamp and drew the curtains. It was the first day she had left off her black dress and she had opted to wear her dark green cotton. It was old, but its slim lines suited her. Taking up her brush from the shelf she turned the mirror that had been set against the wall during the past week, and unpinned her hair.

In the soft reflection of the lamp, Ellen looked at herself as she brushed out her long auburn hair. She should go up to bed soon. It would save oil and she had an early start in the morning, but now, with Bridget gone, the bed seemed large and lonely even with Josie beside her.

Ellen picked up a book and, tucking her feet underneath her, snuggled into the chair. She realised she must have dozed off because she was woken by a sharp rap on the front door. Thinking it must be someone who might have just heard about Bridget’s death coming to pay their respects, Ellen got up.

Her heart leapt in her chest as she cautiously opened the door and found Robert Munroe standing there.

He removed his hat and bowed. ‘Good evening, Mrs O’Casey.’ His eyes took in her unbound hair. Ellen looked past him down the street.

‘May I come in, or are you expecting someone?’ he asked. There was a tightness in his voice as he posed the question.

‘I’m sorry, do come in, I’m not expecting anyone. I just thought that you were on your way somewhere and must have a coach waiting.’

‘I’m not on my way anywhere. I have come particularly to see you,’ he replied as he stepped into the parlour.

He put his hat down on the table beside the bundle of clothes and waited.

‘Oh, please sit down,’ she said, indicating the chair on the other side of the range.

‘I’ll stand if you don’t mind.’ he replied, his mouth turning up slightly at one end. ‘But please sit yourself.’

She settled herself into the chair, this time taking up a more formal posture with both feet on the floor and looked up. Robert clasped his hands behind his back.

‘I hear the wake for your mother went well.’

‘Yes, very well,’ she said, smiling at him.

He smiled back. ‘I would have paid my respects, but I didn’t want to intrude on your grief, with all your close friends around. It must be difficult for Josie and she was obviously fond of her grandmother,’ Robert said, his eyes glancing towards the closed stairs to the upper room. ‘Is she here?’

‘She’s upstairs asleep,’ Ellen replied. ‘It’s very good of you to call to give your condolences, Doctor Munroe.’

‘I didn’t come just for that, I have something to tell you.’

Was he leaving? Had he come to say goodbye? Maybe he was going tell her he was getting married... Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Maybe he was here to ask her to put aside her scruples and become his mistress after all? Surely not.

I’ll never be any man’s mistress.
How many times had she said that over the past five years? She had meant it, and she still did.

But then she had welcomed his advances at the fair. Whatever had she been thinking of, flirting with him at the fair and then letting him hold her in the corner of the hospital? Did Doctor Munroe think that just because she had lost Bridget’s small income she would alter her resolve on the matter?

Doctor Munroe’s took a step forward and took her hand.

‘Ellen.’ His fingers smoothed over her roughened palms. ‘My dearest Ellen. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and what I have come to tell you is - I love you.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers lightly. ‘I love you totally.’

His arm slid around her waist and he drew her to him. The part of her mind that had vowed to be no man’s mistress tried to assert itself, but Robert was here, holding her, telling of his love and nothing, nothing else on earth, mattered.

‘I love you too, Robert,’ she replied softly.

Her hand encircled his neck and he held her tighter. He looked into her upturned face for a moment longer, then did what he had wanted to do since the day of the fair: he kissed her.

‘Ellen, will you—’

‘Yes, Robert.’

‘Ellen, will you marry me?’

Yes, Yes.

There was a long pause.

‘No. I can’t.’

Robert felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and for a second he thought he had misheard.

He put her at arm’s length. ‘Can’t? You’re a widow, and free to marry anyone you choose. I am not attached. Why can’t you marry me? Is there another man?’ he asked, knowing that she was admired by many who frequented the public houses where she sang. ‘Don’t you love me?’

Pain crossed Ellen’s face and she grabbed hold of his upper arms. ‘Don’t I love you?’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘I love you like no other and will do until I’m lowered into my grave.’

Relief swamped him. She loved him. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. ‘Then marry me.’

She shook her head, but stayed in his arms. Robert held her tighter to him and kissed her head. He felt her lean into his body and lay her head between his neck and shoulder. With both hands on his chest she looked up at him.

‘It’s because I love you that I
can’t
marry you,’ she said, breaking free of his embrace and going to stand a pace or two away from him. He took a step toward her but she matched it, keeping the distance between them.

He stifled his impatience. He didn’t want her over there, facing him; he wanted her here in his arms. He would soon put an end to her reluctance and get her to answer ‘Yes’ to him.

‘What nons—’

‘I can’t marry you,’ she said, interrupting him, ‘because it would ruin you. You’re the senior medical doctor in the hospital. You’re a member of the Royal College of Physicians, are you not?’

‘I am,’ he answered. But—’

‘How do you think they would regard you if you married me?’

He didn’t answer. There would be some scandal no doubt, for a year or two. Not that the Society would be so crass as to say as much.

‘And your family? What would they say if you returned home with an Irish Catholic wife?’

Robert couldn’t even begin to tell Ellen the furore that would cause. To Robert’s father, the Pope was the Antichrist and those who followed him were condemned to everlasting damnation. A Catholic daughter-in-law would probably burst every vein in his head.

‘My father and I long ago agreed to differ over religious matters.’

Ellen gave him a sad look and shook her head.

‘And your mother? What would she say if you told her that your wife and possibly the mother of your children...’

‘... earned her living by singing in a public house?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ellen,’ Robert said sharply. ‘You are the most respectable woman I know.’

‘I doubt your mother would call me so.’

She was right, but Robert didn’t care.

‘Ellen,’ he stepped towards her, and this time she stayed where she was. ‘My dear Ellen,’ he repeated, a warm smile spreading across his face. ‘What you say may be true. But none of that matters to me. I want you as my wife.’

‘But it matters to me,’ Ellen said. ‘It matters to me very much.’ She placed a hand lightly on his arm. ‘I can’t destroy all you have worked for,’ she said, looking up at him. She ran her hand up Robert’s arm and around his neck. Her expressive green eyes gazed up at him. Automatically his arm encircled her waist tightly. ‘But I will be your wife in all but name,’ she whispered pressing herself closely to him.

He kissed her deeply for a long moment then drew back.

‘Ellen, Ellen,’ he said.

She smiled up at him. ‘Love me, Robert.’

His hand reached up and cupped one of her breasts. Her hand went to his coat buttons, undoing them in an instant. Although her slim hand sliding over the shirt on his back fired him with desire, Robert disentangled himself from her arms.

‘No, Ellen,’ he said ‘I want you for my wife and will settle for nothing less.’

‘Don’t you want to make love to me?’ she said, taking hold of the back of the chair and standing somewhat unsteadily.

‘I want nothing more, but I want to love you as my wife, not as my mistress.’

Ellen gave a half laugh. ‘I am offering to give myself to you and you are saying
no?
’

Within him, Robert’s baser instincts were arguing furiously with his morals, asking him what difference a piece of paper and a few words would make. What was the harm in it? Physical intimacy would bind Ellen to him and he would be able to persuade her to marry him later. But his morals wouldn’t budge.

‘I am,’ he told her.

She pulled herself up and smoothed her hair back into place. ‘Well, I love you too much to marry you.’

‘And I love you too much to make you my mistress.’

He had to leave because, strong though his resolve was, with Ellen within an arm’s length and willing, Robert wasn’t sure that he could remain firm if he didn’t remove temptation soon. He snatched up his hat and cane and bowed.

Ellen met his gaze levelly. ‘It would seem that there is nothing left for us to say, is there, Doctor Munroe? You don’t love me enough to make love to me.’

‘And you don’t love me enough to marry me,’ he replied in the same controlled manner.

For a timeless moment their eyes locked. Then Robert re-buttoned his jacket.

‘I’ll wish you a good evening, Mrs O’Casey,’ Robert said, spinning on his heels and heading for the door.

Ellen put her hand out to him. ‘Robert,’ she said, in low whisper.

He had to go, because if she had actually touched him again he would have been unable to control himself. He pulled open the front door and, without looking at Ellen again, he left.

The late afternoon summer sun streamed through the dimpled windows of the dispensary catching particles of dust in its beams. Robert looked up from his ledger and watched Thomas, his assistant, put the jars back on the shelves. He could have left an hour ago, but since Ellen had refused his offer of marriage Robert had taken to staying late in his rooms in Chapman Street. He had a reputation for single-minded dedication amongst his fellow doctors, so this extension of his day when the area was in the grip of a cholera epidemic seemed nothing out of the ordinary.

Despite vowing not to seek her out, Robert was drawn like a compass needle to the Angel and Crown each night he knew she was singing there, but seeing her there was bitter-sweet. She would look at him with deep longing in her eyes and he would call himself a fool. Being morally right didn’t help him sleep at night.