The September Girls Read Free Page A

wandering along Parliament Terrace at such a late hour on such a wretched night when you were about to drop a baby?’ She gave Brenna a look, as if to say she’d been remarkably irresponsible.
    ‘I wasn’t expecting the baby for another fortnight, was I? And as to the other thing . . .’ She told Nancy about leaving Ireland and waiting for Paddy who’d been sent the ten pounds Colm had won to find them a house. ‘We stood by the Pier Head for three hours, but the bugger didn’t turn up. We were on our way to look for him when . . .’ Brenna shrugged. Nancy knew the rest. ‘You’re a nice, generous woman,’ she said, ‘taking us into your house like this. It’s not everyone who’d’ve done it.’
    ‘It’s not my house, pet. I’m only the housekeeper-cum-cook, although I live here, too. This is me own little sitting room and me bedroom’s behind.’ She shoved a cushion under Brenna’s head. ‘Mr Allardyce won’t exactly be pleased if he finds out you’re here, not that he’s likely to, not tonight. His missus is upstairs doing the same thing as you are, having a baby, and making a great big meal out of it.’ A thin scream rent the air and Nancy winced. ‘There she goes again, poor lamb. She wouldn’t mind you being here, not that she has much say about things since she married him.’
    ‘Should you not go up and see to her?’
    ‘She don’t need me, Brenna. Doctor Langdon’s with her as well as a nurse. All I’m fit for is boiling the water and having a regular supply of rags on hand. Which reminds me, I’d better put something under you ’case the baby pops out when we’re not looking, like.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a thin sheet that was in better condition than the ones Brenna had brought with her from Ireland. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a change of clothes in that bag of yours?’ she asked. ‘It won’t do you no good, or the little ’uns, hanging round in them wet things - sounds like Fergus has gone asleep. You’re likely to catch pneumonia.’
    Brenna didn’t answer. She uttered a groan, bared her teeth and managed not to scream when the baby signalled its imminent arrival for the second time that night . . .
     
    ‘Nancy!’ Marcus Allardyce roared from the top of the stairs that led to the kitchen.
    ‘Yes?’ After some delay, Nancy appeared at the bottom.
    ‘I’d like some tea, very strong.’
    ‘How about Mrs Allardyce and the others?’
    ‘How about them?’ Marcus growled.
    ‘Would they like a drink too?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask them.’ He had no intention of entering the room where his lily-livered wife was in the process of giving birth to their second child - a child he would probably dislike as much as the first. Anthony, five, was a sullen, uncommunicative boy and Marcus had a strong feeling there was something seriously wrong with him.
    From her bedroom on the floor above, Eleanor screamed again: she sounded like a cat in pain. ‘Don’t push, not just yet, Mrs Allardyce,’ he heard the doctor say.
    ‘I can’t help it,’ Eleanor shrieked.
    Was there any need for such a commotion? Giving birth seemed such a simple, natural act. Marcus walked along to his study at the back of the house, conscious of his feet sinking into the thick carpet. He trailed his hand over the Victorian desk with its tooled leather top, and stared with pleasure at the crystal inkstand with a silver lid and the other expensive accoutrements on the desk, including a black telephone with an ivory face. He derived much satisfaction from all these things, touching them frequently. All had once belonged to his father-in-law.
    He could distinctly remember when he was a small child that his own father had possessed similar things. Peter Allardyce had inherited a thriving shipping company and a large house in Princes Park, but by the time Marcus was ten, everything had gone due to his father’s incompetence, an addiction to alcohol and an