Rose of Tralee (44 page)

‘Dear God,’ Sean breathed. ‘Well, I’d tek me oath Colm knows what’s his and what isn’t. The Brothers at school an’ the Father at church knocked it into him, same’s they did wit’ me. And you’ve no reason to suspect anyone in particular?’

‘No, not really,’ Mrs Ryder said. ‘But I’ve offered a reward, in the
Echo
, like the constable who came in the other day suggested. You see a gold chain’s worth a good bit, but I’d give more’n it’s worth to have it back. It would have gone to Rosie after me, an’ to her child after her, the same as it did in the Ryder family before. So by losing it, it’s like as if I’d let Jack down, see?’

‘I’m sure no one could t’ink such a t’ing,’ Sean said comfortingly. ‘But I can see you’re very distressed an’ wit’ reason. But there’s no manner o’ use you breakin’ your heart over it. It may yet come to light, or someone may answer your advertisement in the
Echo
.’

‘I keep tellin’ meself that,’ Mrs Ryder admitted. ‘But it’s made everyone so
uncomfortable
, Mr O’Neill. We sit there at meals, carefully not lookin’ at one another, and Rose and Mona go off to work so glum . . . Tommy’s cheerful enough, and your Colm has been good an’ done his best to cheer us up, but it’s been an unhappy week.’

‘Well, I’ll put some money towards this reward, so I will, an’ mebbe you’ll get a reply from the paper quite soon,’ Mr O’Neill said. ‘Now is there anythin’ I can be doin’ to help you towards supper, for ‘tis hungry as a hunter I am after me journey!’

Rose was touched when her mother told her of Mr O’Neill’s offer, particularly as it led to everyone else saying that they would put money into the reward as well, but as it happened none of them was called upon to do anything, because the advertisement did not bring forth a single reply.

Time passed. Sean O’Neill and Colm set off together most mornings, bound for the tunnel and their work there, and Mona and Rose went off too, one to the flower shop in the arcade, the other to Patchett & Ross.

Tommy was still on his tram, but he talked often about starting up in some line of business of his own, as soon as he could save up enough money. He was, he told them, a dab hand with all sorts of engines, and rather fancied buying a lorry and doing deliveries. ‘Then I’ll buy another lorry, an’ gerra feller workin’ for me,’ he told the family as they all sat round the kitchen table eating their supper. ‘I could do the maintenance on the engines, you see, an’ I reckon I could get plenty of work. First, I’d charge less than anyone else an’ get the stuff delivered quicker, then me prices would rise an’ folk would still come to me ’cos I was fast, see. Oh aye, you can get ahead in this world if you ain’t afraid of hard work.’

Rose thought of Colm and his father, working on the tunnel, but said nothing. It would not be polite, especially for a tram driver’s daughter, to say that collecting fares on a tram all day was scarcely liable to
be regarded as hard work by a manual labourer. And anyway, so far as she could see Tommy was only dreaming and wasn’t it natural to dream? She was getting on well at Patchett & Ross and sometimes considered applying for other, better-paid jobs when they came up, even though they mostly stipulated that they wanted young women with several years’ experience But in fact she was extremely happy at work, enjoying having her own desk and typewriter in the small typing pool and beginning to be able to tackle quite complex tasks without having to consult either of the other girls. Ella, still working dispatch, envied her the nice desk job but it was only a matter of time, Rose thought, before Ella, too, would come up to the typing pool. Miss Rogers was getting married in April and would leave the firm then since she would be moving up to Scotland with her young man. When that happened, Ella was sure to be given the junior job and Rose hoped she would move up to work for Mr Lionel, and Miss Dupont would become senior secretary, working for Mr Edward mostly, and occasionally taking dictation from Mr Evans himself, on his rare appearances in the offices.

With Mona sharing her room once more, the two girls naturally talked about the disappearance of the necklace until they grew thoroughly bored with the whole thing and for some time had not even thought about the unfortunate loss. But lately, Rose thought, Mona had not been her usual cheerful, slapdash self. As February advanced, the weather began to seem almost springlike, and Rose and Colm had started to discuss what they should do in the evenings when the warmer weather came. But Mona had to be dug out of bed in the mornings and almost pushed off to work. She stopped going out in the evenings,
especially since Tommy now seemed very taken up with his part-time job in a garage on Smithdown Road, where he was getting paid extra, and went to bed early, though Rose suspected that her cousin did not usually go to sleep. She simply lay there, gazing up at the ceiling, and when Rose asked what was wrong she said, waspishly, that nothing was the matter and would Rose kindly get herself into bed and to sleep, so that Mona could have some peace.

As the year advanced the missing necklace was forgotten by all of them, although Lily still mourned its loss. No more money disappeared, however. Lily’s gold earrings remained in their little box, the money in the teapot on the kitchen mantelpiece waxed and waned, according to the day and time, and happiness gradually returned to the house in the Vale.

The friendship between Lily Ryder and Mr Peter Dawlish strengthened; they used each other’s Christian names and it was more or less accepted that when Pete was home from sea, he and Rose’s mother would go about together. It never occurred to Rose that her mother was growing fond of Pete – why should it? She could not imagine any woman who had known Jack being satisfied with the companionship of a mere seaman and accepted without question that the two spent much of their spare time together. She and Colm, however, were a different kettle of fish; they were now saving up as hard as they could so that they could both go over to Ireland when summer came. Marriage might still be a long way off, but a proper engagement was perfectly possible. A decent little ring could be bought and they had decided to get it in Dublin, after Rose had met Eileen O’Neill and Caitlin. Life seemed eminently satisfactory to Rose, though she feared that Mona was not
as happy as she should be. Tommy, though still apparently fond of her cousin, was not the sort to spend all his time with her and besides, he was doing a good deal of overtime. Rose thought that Mona was seeing another feller, but she also felt her cousin was still hankering for Tommy. Still, Mona wasn’t one to let a feller’s change of heart get her down, so Rose guessed that she would soon return to her former happy self.

And then, most unexpectedly, Rose came home from the office one Friday night with what she thought was a cold. Only by Saturday morning she was feverish, aching in every limb, and tearful.

‘It’s flu, an’ you’ll give it to the lorrof us,’ Mona said. ‘Not that I’d mind a dose of flu – at least it would be a change to be tucked up in bed drinking hot lemon an’ honey, whiles that old cat Ellis did her own bouquets.’

But flu doesn’t come to them as wants it, Rose soon realised. Mona remained apparently immune but Mrs Kibble caught it, then Lily Ryder. Rose was the first to recover, but she was still very weak and listless after five days in bed, and, unable to return to work, found herself in the uncomfortable position of nursing her mother and Mrs Kibble, seeing to the house and cooking all the meals. Mona, working all day, could scarcely be expected to do much and Rose, though she let her wait on the invalids, did not want another patient and was extremely keen for Mona to stay fit.

So when the day dawned that Mrs Kibble got out of bed and came wearily up the basement stairs to ‘give a hand with breakfasts’, and actually stayed the course until elevenses time, Rose became a lot more optimistic. Colm and his father had been towers of
strength, making their own carry-out and insisting that a breakfast of toast and tea would suit them just fine, but Tommy liked a cooked breakfast and Mona, too, had a healthy appetite.

Since her own recovery, Rose had begun to fall into the way of running the house and, though she was not yet able to go back to work, she almost enjoyed being in and out of the kitchen, finding housework a pleasant change from shorthand and typing, and other office tasks.

The flu epidemic had hit them in late February and within a week Rose had things well in hand. She bustled about, cleaning, polishing, cooking and seeing that her mother drank a lot, took the medicine the doctor had left for her and began, as soon as she was well enough, to sit in the front room before the fire for a few hours before being helped back to bed.

‘I don’t know why Mam took the flu so much worse than you and I,’ Rose said to Mrs Kibble as the two of them sat in the kitchen, companionably preparing a large pan of sprouts. ‘We were up and about in no time, Mrs Kibble, but me mam is still a bit tottery.’

‘She’s suffering from working too hard to make Christmas a good one for us all,’ Mrs Kibble observed, throwing à cleaned sprout into the pan and reaching for the next one. ‘And she was upset about losing the necklace, too. I don’t think she feels guilty, not now, because she’s saving up to replace it, but it brought her rather low earlier in the year.’

‘Well, she’s better now. I think she’ll get up tomorrow mornin’ and probably stay up for the midday meal, then rest in the afternoon and get up again when we all sit down for our dinners,’ Rose said. ‘That was how you and I behaved when we felt strong enough. I’ve told Miss Rogers that with luck
I’ll be back in again next week – they’ll be glad of me, since Miss Dupont went down with the flu two days ago and Ella’s not feelin’ too brave.’

‘Well, before you go, let us have a bit of a spring clean of the bedrooms,’ Mrs Kibble said practically. ‘Your mam isn’t going to feel much like heavy cleaning for a bit, but it should be done now the weather’s improving a little. Why, we might even get the bedroom curtains and the bedspreads washed and dried out on the line, if tomorrow is as warm as today has been.’

Rose agreed that this was a good idea and next day got up early, took her mother a cup of tea and a marmalade sandwich in bed, and told her that she should lie in until ten or eleven and keep well out of the way, since Mrs Kibble and herself intended to clean through the bedrooms.

‘We’ll leave your room for another day,’ she said. ‘But it’s bright and windy today so I reckon if we get the curtains and bedspreads washed then they’ll dry all right. And as Mrs Kibble says, if the weather turns nasty again we could be waitin’ weeks to start a spring clean.’

Lily sighed, but said she was not yet up to spring cleaning and thanked Rose sincerely for her help. ‘I dunno what I’d ha’ done without you, queen,’ she said. ‘You’ve been wonderful, you’ve coped wi’ everything, even when you had Mrs Kibble poorly in the basement an’ me downright rotten up here. But I’m ever so much better now; in a few days I’ll be able to cope wi’ the house an’ the cooking again, and you’ll be able to get back to Patchett & Ross.’

‘Yes, I’ve told them I hope to be back next Monday,’ Rose said cheerily. ‘But right now, Mam, you conserve your strength. Mrs Kibble an’ meself will manage
nicely if we know you’re not overtaxing your strength.’

Accordingly, Rose made breakfast and served it, and helped Colm with his carry-out. ‘You don’t want cheese butties
again
,’ she told him, when he said accommodatingly that cheese would be fine, so it would. ‘I’ve got a nice piece of boiled bacon – you can have that wi’ some of our own pickled onions, an’ a chunk of the fruit cake I made a couple o’ days ago for afterwards.’

Colm beamed at her and blew her a kiss across the kitchen table. ‘You’re a real little treasure, alanna,’ he said. ‘You cook like a dream an’ you pickle onions as good as me mammy.’

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ Rose said, twinkling back at him. ‘I feel real wifely an’ nice, packin’ your carry-out an’ seein’ you off to work each mornin’, Colm. I cut your dad’s butties too, but I left him to choose his own pickles. He said the other day onions gave him the belly-ache.’

‘Only when he eats too many of ’em,’ Colm observed. He picked up his tin and the bottle of cold tea, and headed for the back door. ‘Tell Daddy I’ll save him a place in the tram queue.’

Rose nodded and smiled, enjoying the feeling of taking care of her man and all too aware that on Monday, when she started work again, she would be far too busy getting herself ready to see him off. It was all go in the mornings, though! Scarcely had Colm disappeared than his father came heavily down the stairs. He had breakfasted and then gone up again to clean his teeth, he said, and now grabbed his buttie tin and bottle and followed his son, shouting ‘Cheerio, alanna’ as he went.

Then it was Mona, slouching across the kitchen and saying she was sure she was in for the flu because
she’d been sick when she first woke and wasn’t that one of the signs? Rose agreed that she herself had been sick and looked anxiously at her cousin. Mona was pale and heavy-eyed, but when Rose suggested she might like to stay at home and they would fetch the doctor in, her cousin sighed heavily and shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be awright,’ she said. ‘Perhaps, if I still feel poorly tomorrer ...’

Tommy was on early shift, so he had gone off even before Rose got up, though she had left him two hardboiled eggs, a quantity of bread and butter, and of course his carry-out. Mr Dawlish was at sea and would not be home for another week, so Rose, greeting Mrs Kibble cheerfully as the two of them sat down to their own breakfast, thought gleefully that now they would be able to settle down to spring cleaning. Outside in the garden crocuses poked purple and gold noses up out of the rich black soil, and the birds were singing loudly and pursuing one another across the blue arch of the sky. It was a good drying day.

‘Well, chuck, we might as well start. I’ll get the copper on the go and you can go up and start stripping the curtains,’ Mrs Kibble said. ‘Bring down Mr Dawlish’s stuff first, then the O’Neill’s, then young Tommy’s. Once they’re on the line we can get the rest.

Rose, singing cheerfully, obeyed. Sean O’Neill had blue curtains and a blue flowered bedspread, his son had cheerful orange-coloured curtains and a bedspread in autumn browns and golds. Rose took them downstairs and helped Mrs Kibble to push them into the tub, and whilst Mrs Kibble pounded them with a dolly peg, she returned to the bedrooms to clean out.