Ironmonger's Daughter Read Online Free

father’s weakness for drink with quiet resolve, and when he had finally walked out on the family when the children were still very young she had cried briefly, then took over the role of provider. It was the struggle of making sure there was always enough bread on the table, always enough money to pay the rent man and the tallyman that finally killed her. The early morning cleaning and taking in washing and sewing had worn her out until there was no life left in her. And Beatrice Morgan had been one of the first to succumb to the epidemic of influenza that swept the area in 1919.
    Kate’s thoughts were interrupted by Helen getting up quickly and going once more into the bedroom. When she returned and sat down at the table she sighed deeply. ‘Connie’s as quiet as a lamb. But Molly’s restless. It’s ’er chest. I fink it’s the croup.’
    Kate looked hard at her sister. She could see the concern and fear in her eyes and she felt a wave of pity rise up inside her. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be all right. She’s a fighter.’
    Helen laughed mirthlessly. ‘She’s gotta be, Kate. It’s gonna be ’ard fer ’er. The ’ospital said ’er growth will be stunted an’’er lungs might be affected later on.’
    Kate saw the tears well up in Helen’s eyes and she reached out and clasped her sister’ s ands in her own. ‘Try not ter worry too much, sis. There’ll be lots of ’elp when yer need it. I know you an’ me ain’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve gotta ferget the past. We’re family, ain’t we?’
    Helen smiled and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’d like that, Kate. I’ope our two kids grow up close. They’ll be family to each ovver too, won’t they?’
    ‘You betcha. They’ll be inseparable those two, you mark my words.’
     
    A cold moon looked down on the ramshackle backstreet and lit the ugly prison-like factory that straddled the turning. Shadows of the rusted iron gates fell across the empty and deserted yard, and a rising wind rattled the glass case of the street gaslamp. The turning was empty, except for one drunken reveller who staggered along the pavement, his face obscured by the turned-up collar of his overcoat. A cloth cap was set askew his dipping head and he carried a quart bottle of brown ale under one arm. The drunk reeled two paces past Mrs Cosgrove’s house then staggered back and almost fell against the street door as he grasped the iron knocker. When the door opened, a patch of light lit up the cobblestones and the sounds of a ragtime piano carried out into the street. Someone was trying hard to imitate Sophie Tucker with a rendering of ‘Some of These Days’, above raucous laughter and, as the door slammed shut, the sounds died.
    In Jubilee Dwellings everything was silent.
     
    The Bermondsey folk toasted their neighbours that Christmas, and then they toasted in the New Year. The Great War was still fresh in their minds and now they were fearful for their jobs. Everyone hoped for a peaceful future, and an end of being poor, although for most folk it seemed that the days to come would be very bleak.
    Up in the tenement block in Ironmonger Street as the distant chimes rang out the old year Helen and Matthew clinked glasses and drank a toast to the two young babies who were sleeping unconcernedly in their cots. Next to each other before a brightly burning fire, they sat talking into the early hours of the new year and, as Matthew began to broach a sensitive subject, Helen was immediately on her guard.
    ‘Won’t she even try ter get some maintenance money? I mean, it’s only right.’
    Helen looked into Matthew’s pale grey eyes and saw his concern. ‘You know ’ow she is. Kate’s a proud woman. She won’t ask fer nufink.’
    ‘But she wouldn’t be askin’ fer ’erself. It’d be fer the baby.’
    Helen shrugged her shoulders, hating Matthew probing. She had never let on to him that she knew the identity of Connie’s father. She had told him more than once that she