The Wrong Side of Happiness Page 2

  Emmanuel was staring down at the spare mattress he had pulled from beneath the bed, and Tresca dropped her bundle on to it. ‘There. You can make yours first,’ she told her father frostily. This was all his fault, after all. She sat up on the bed, watching him and feeling as if her courage had been torn to ribbons.

  But this would not do. After a few moments, she set her jaw stubbornly and glanced round the room again, determined to turn the place into a home of sorts. They could store the second mattress under the bed during the day to give more room. Hopefully, though, they would soon both be out at work earning money in the daytime, and perhaps they might then be able to move somewhere better.

  ‘Come on,’ Tresca said resolutely. ‘We need to buy some food and start asking about work.’ When she saw Emmanuel open his mouth in protest, she quickly shut it for him. ‘No grumbling or putting it off until tomorrow. The sooner we start, the better. Our money’s not going to last long at this rate.’

  They walked back down the hill and Tresca felt more of a stranger than ever. But there was only one way to deal with a situation like this, and that was to face it full on. She was summoning her courage to address the next person she saw, when as luck would have it she spied the young woman with the babe-in-arms and the tribe of children who had smiled at her in the street earlier.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Tresca said, encouraged. ‘My father and I have just arrived in town.’

  The woman gave another welcoming smile. ‘So we’re going to be neighbours, are we? Well, my name’s Assumpta Driscoll, and this is Caitlin and Niamh, the two eldest, then that’s Brendan, Patrick and Liam, and isn’t the baby Maeve.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Driscoll.’ Tresca smiled down at the two little girls. The taller one stared back at her without blinking, while her sister turned her head into her mother’s skirt. ‘Oh dear, I hope I haven’t frightened her.’

  ‘Sure isn’t she the shy one. So what can I do for you?’

  ‘Actually, I were wondering if you might know where my father and I might find work? My father were hoping to do labouring on the railway.’

  ‘Sure, that’s easy. Connor O’Mahoney’s the chap you want to see. Isn’t he one o’ the gangers for this part o’ the line. That’s foreman to you. Hasn’t my Rory worked with him for years. All over the country. Fair man is O’Mahoney, doesn’t my Rory say. Won’t stand no nonsense, mind. Be back this evening, so he will. Lodges at number eight. More respectable than the rest of us can afford.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Tresca nodded. She had never heard anything like Mrs Driscoll’s accent before, and she found it rather pleasant. She guessed it must be Irish for it was said many of the navvies came from the Emerald Isle. All those names had a foreign ring to them and O’Mahoney certainly sounded Irish to her!

  ‘Sure you’ll recognize him easy enough. Giant of a man with hair as red as a holly berry, so it is.’

  ‘Oh, right, thank you.’

  ‘Not at all. And call in any time. We’re at number twenty-nine.’

  ‘I’d be delighted. In a day or two when we’m settled. We must get on now, if you’ll excuse us. Need to buy some food.’

  ‘Go to Pearce’s in the square. Best value in town.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll remember that. And I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Assumpta Driscoll smiled again. ‘Come on, you,’ she ordered the children as she turned away. ‘Goodbye for now.’

  ‘Good day to you. And thank you again. That’s good, isn’t it?’ Tresca said, turning to Emmanuel as they continued down the street. ‘Mind you, sounds pretty formidable, this Mr O’Mahoney, doesn’t he?’

  Emmanuel scratched his stubbly chin. ‘Maybies I could find summat else, like. I’s not certain I fancies working for—’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. We’ll go and see him this evening. And in the meantime, I’ll see what work I can find.’

  They came down into Lower Back Street and Tresca bought a small loaf in the bakery. Then she crossed the square to Pearce’s, Emmanuel trotting behind her. A slice of ham and a couple of ounces of cheese; they could do without butter and there was no point in buying anything that needed cooking until it turned cold enough to light a fire in the room. For the same reason, they need not get any tea. They would have to make do with cold water for now – once Tresca had checked with Mrs Mawes that the water supply to the standpipe in the backyard was safe to drink.

  ‘Is that all we’m ’avin’ to eat?’ Emmanuel grumbled. ‘If us was still at the farm . . .’

  Tresca had to bite her tongue. If it weren’t for her father and his . . . well, his weakness, they would still have been there. Tamping down her frustrations, she repeated to the shopkeeper the question she had asked in the baker’s. ‘I’m looking for work,’ she said in her most polite voice. ‘You wouldn’t by any chance have a position, would you, sir?’

  Her voice had risen expectantly, but then her hopes tumbled as the man’s kindly smile faded. ‘Sorry, maid. I doesn’t need anyone. Have you worked in a shop afore, like?’

  ‘I’m afeared not. But I’m very quick to learn. On the farm, I could do almost anything.’

  ‘Farm girl, then?’

  ‘Skilled dairymaid.’ Tresca waited as he frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps he knew someone . . . ? ‘I helped in the house and kitchen as well,’ she added, since she would be happy to be taken on as a domestic. ‘And on the farm I looked after the hens and helped with the harvest as well as being the dairymaid. I delivered the milk in the local villages, so I’m used to dealing with money. And, of course, I can tack up horses and drive a cart.’

  ‘Quite an accomplished young lady, then. Wish I could help. But I tell you what. There be two dairies in Bannawell Street. Only small, but why doesn’t you try them?’

  ‘In Bannawell Street?’ Tresca’s eyes stretched wide in amazement. ‘But . . . where are the cows?’

  ‘In fields at the top of the hill,’ Mr Pearce answered with a chuckle. ‘Brought down for milking twice a day, they be. I doesn’t know if the dairies need anyone, mind, but don’t do no harm to ask, do it?’

  Tresca thanked him as she paid her small bill. Outside again, she stood for a moment or two, wondering what to do next. Emmanuel hovered at her side and Tresca could see that his eyes had locked on to the loaf and the little packets of folded greaseproof paper that contained their supplies. Could she trust him to take them back to the room while she went in search of work? He was almost salivating even though they had only recently had a pasty each, and his face had taken on that pleading, lost-dog expression she knew only too well. No, it was best she kept the supplies safely in her basket.

  As they trudged back up the steep hill, they found the first dairy in what looked just like one of the houses, which was why they hadn’t noticed it before. Inside it was cool and dark, and Tresca’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust. On a marble counter was a little handbell, which echoed in the silence when she rang it. An elderly woman shuffled through a door at the side.

  ‘What can I do for you, cheel?’ she asked with a warm smile, and Tresca repeated her question, but even as she spoke she knew the answer. ‘I’s proper sorry, my lover,’ the woman replied. ‘We’m only a small dairy an’ I has a maid already. Try the other dairy up the hill.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’

  ‘I’s mortal sorry, but I wishes you luck.’

  Tresca smiled back, though her heart felt as heavy as lead. What now? She would try the other dairy, of course, and if there was no luck there, she would visit every shop in Tavistock.

  By the time they were ready to go and wait for Connor O’Mahoney outside number eight, Tresca had indeed been into every shop in the little square and Market Street, including German’s Footwear and a huge ironmonger’s and builders’ merchant on the opposite corner – where the man she had spoken to had laughed at the idea of a female working there. It seemed that despite the boom in the town from the influx of the railway workers, all the extra jo
bs it had created had already been filled; they were six months too late.

  Tresca wasn’t disheartened yet; she hadn’t even touched the main shopping area of the town. And she could always go in search of domestic work. But just now, her hopes were focused on Emmanuel being taken on by this Connor O’Mahoney.

  As they waited outside the house, the sun was going down and no longer shone into the narrow street. Tresca pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, and as the evening chill descended, the women lingering by the doorways and the children playing in the gutters disappeared inside.

  ‘If ’er don’t come soon, I’s goin’ ’ome,’ Emmanuel grumbled. ‘My belly’s rumblin’ like a traction engine.’

  Home? Fine home they had found! Tresca’s bitterness spurred her tongue into action. ‘Oh, no – you’m staying here until this fellow comes back!’

  She bunched her lips mutinously, praying that Connor O’Mahoney wouldn’t be long. But just as she, too, felt like giving up, the figure of a man who could be no other than the said railway works foreman strode up the hill towards them.

  Assumpta Driscoll’s description was a little exaggerated, but it was unmistakably him. He was certainly tall, well over six foot, with broad, muscled shoulders that strained beneath his jacket. A red neckerchief was tucked into the top of the waistcoat that hugged his firm waist, and his heavy trousers were splattered with mud from the knees downwards. He cut an altogether overwhelming figure, and out of the corner of her eye Tresca saw Emmanuel’s head shrinking into his shoulders. But if he wouldn’t make the approach, then she would have to.

  She stepped resolutely forward. ‘Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr O’Mahoney, foreman on the railway line?’

  The man blinked in surprise at the young girl who blocked his path. The corners of his generous mouth twitched humorously and his bright blue eyes danced beneath the thatch of ginger hair that showed under his battered bowler hat.

  ‘I am so,’ he answered in the same lilting tone as Assumpta Driscoll. ‘But one of many. Sure I’m not building the railway on me own.’

  It was as if his mouth could not help breaking into a smile, and Tresca felt herself relax. He was nowhere near as terrifying as she had imagined.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she found herself smiling back. ‘Cuz my father here’s looking for work.’

  ‘Is that so? Worked as a navvy before, have you?’

  ‘No, but I’s a farm labourer born an’ bred, an’ I doesn’t see as shiftin’ one sort o’ muck be any different from anither,’ Emmanuel answered, and Tresca was glad that he drew himself up to his full height. He might be dwarfed by the Irishman, but he was half a head taller than the average man.

  ‘Used to hard physical work, then.’ Connor O’Mahoney voiced his thoughts aloud. ‘Still takes a year or so to harden someone up, mind. Picks and shovels, so it is. Twenty tons of dirt you’ll be expected to shift each day, and when you can do that, you’ll get paid three and sixpence for it. Can I be asking how old you are?’

  ‘I’s forty-two, sir,’ Emmanuel replied at once, and Tresca inwardly squirmed. Emmanuel was fifty-two, having married and had a family late in life – which was perhaps why her mother had been his world. Tresca mentally crossed her fingers. Working on the land aged people’s faces prematurely, and she hoped her father could get away with the lie.

  ‘Tell you what,’ she was relieved to hear Mr O’Mahoney say. ‘Meet me here at daybreak tomorrow and I’ll take you along. Work hard and I’ll take you on at two and six a day to start off. But I need good, reliable men to turn up six days a week. If you can’t do that, you’ll be out, so you will.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be there, sir,’ Emmanuel assured him, doffing his cap. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Hadn’t I better know your name, then?’

  ‘Emmanuel Ladycott, sir,’ he replied, almost scraping the ground.

  ‘And have you and your daughter somewhere to live? We have a couple of hut villages down the line, but sure it’s not suitable for a young lady.’

  Tresca was aware of the blush in her cheeks. During the weeks they had tramped the countryside and the few hours they had spent in Tavistock, she had felt like a vagrant, the lowest of the low, so to be treated with such civility was a real tonic.

  ‘Us ’as a room yere in Bannawell Street,’ she heard Emmanuel telling him. ‘Arrived yere this arternoon, us did.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be work here for two or three years, so I reckon. There’s tunnels and cuttings to dig and a massive viaduct over Bannawell Street here. So we’ll be neighbours for some time and I shall look forward to that.’

  Connor O’Mahoney raised his hat, his eyes flashing meaningfully in Tresca’s direction, and then disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. Another poor fellow wanting to work on the railway, he thought, as he unlaced his muddy boots. Well, he looked strong enough, although not as young as Connor really liked his men to be. Farm labourers were usually pretty tough, though. He would just have to see how Emmanuel Ladycott shaped up.

  It was the man’s daughter who had really caught Connor’s eye. The look of determination on her face had almost made him want to smile, but there was something else about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on, that intrigued him. She was a beauty, that was for sure, petite and slender yet somehow strong-looking – to match her character, he mused. Her eyes, almost like silver, had a keenness about them, and her hair had hung enticingly in a thick, tawny plait down her back. Oh, what a glorious mane it must be when it was loosened . . .

  Connor pulled himself up short. Sweet Mother of Jesus, she was a child, and he old enough to be her father. Well, not quite, he was sure, but she had done something to his heart that he reared away from.

  He turned with a sigh and padded up the stairs to his room.

  Three

  Tresca watched the big Irishman shut the front door behind him, then turned to her father, straining to hold her emotions in check, and saw his eyes gleaming like bright buttons in his face. Neither of them noticed the peeling paintwork or the pungent smell as they entered Mrs Mawes’s boarding house and climbed the creaking stairs again. It was not until they reached the little attic room and shut the door on the outside world that Emmanuel spun round, grinning from ear to ear as joy exploded on to his face.

  ‘Three an’ six a day!’ he crowed incredulously. ‘That be a guinea for a week’s work! Us didn’t earn ten shillin’ a week between us on the farm.’

  ‘But we did have free board and lodging. And remember it’ll only be two and six to start. But – oh, it’s still a fortune, so you be certain to behave yourself!’

  ‘Oh, I will, cheel, I will. Promised you I’d make a good life for us, didn’t I, like?’

  His joy was infectious and Tresca could not help but laugh at his antics as he perfected a little jig on the spot. She shook her head, finally releasing her own happiness and falling back on the bed with a buoyant sigh.

  ‘If I can earn that sort o’ money, you won’t need to find a job at all!’ Emmanuel announced, puffing up his chest like a preening peacock. ‘My dear Emma would’ve bin proper proud o’ me. If only I’d found this sort o’ work back along an’ could’ve afforded somewheres decent to live, maybe she an’ the little fellow wouldn’t ’ave . . . ’ave . . .’

  His voice faded into the trail of desolation Tresca knew so well. It was rare that a day went by without him mentioning her mother and her little brother, even though they had died ten years ago.

  ‘Let’s not think about that now,’ Tresca said gently, for she knew how maudlin he could become when he started to talk about his lost family. It was almost an illness with him, a kind of despondency he couldn’t shake off. Tresca couldn’t help but feel deep sympathy for him. He had clearly loved his wife passionately, and Tresca had never known him so much as glance at another woman. She scarcely remembered her mother except as a smiling blur in a blue dress, but perhaps even that was a vision she imagined rather than an actual me
mory. For her father, though, the memories were all too real. But it was when he became lost in that overwhelming sadness that he turned to drink, and that was the last thing they needed now.

  ‘Let’s have this little feast of ours,’ Tresca suggested brightly, taking the items of food from her basket.

  ‘Mmm!’ Emmanuel’s face lit up again. ‘I’s starvin’! Pity us didn’t know for certain I’d get such a good job, else us could’ve bought more. But maybies the shops’ll still be open. Shops in towns doesn’t close till really late as I believes.’

  ‘No, we still need to be careful. Let’s see how the job works out afore we start spending any more than we have to. We’ve not much money left and Mr O’Mahoney didn’t say if you get paid each day or at the end of the week.’

  ‘Aw, right as ever, you, cheel,’ Emmanuel chuckled, sitting down beside her on the bed and tearing a chunk from the loaf of bread. ‘I’s that ’ungered, I could eat an ’orse.’

  ‘I’m afeared horse isn’t on the menu,’ Tresca answered with a straight face, and then the two of them fell about laughing. Life was looking up again – at last!

  They munched their way through half the loaf, the slice of ham and half the cheese, washed down with cold water. The rest of the food would have to sustain Emmanuel through his strenuous day’s work, and Tresca would get in more supplies the following morning.

  ‘You will work hard, won’t you?’ she said, chewing thoughtfully. ‘And you promise me you won’t get drunk again?’

  Emmanuel’s face coloured. ‘Aw, you knows ’ow ’ard I tries to keep off the bottle. It were just with the ’arvest supper bein’ the same day my dear Emma died, it made us feel so sad, I just ’ad to ’ave a little drink to cheer us up a bit.’