With Love From Ma Maguire Read Free Page A

Good night now.’
    She sat for an hour with the delirious patient, spooning drops of boiled water between parched lips to prevent a total drying out. With no outward sign of revulsion, she cleaned away the constant messes and sponged the fevered body with cool cloths. At eight o’clock, she went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Master?’ she called. The man of the house, a thin, sad-faced creature, presented himself on the small landing. ‘I’ve placed a pan of boiled water on the stairs. You and the children will drink from it. If it tastes a bit sour, sure that’s only a drop of lime added in. You will eat nothing for two days.’
    ‘What about me work?’
    She shrugged her shoulders. ‘If you want to give this sickness to your fellow men, then I cannot stop you.’
    ‘And the kiddies are clemmed – can’t they have some bread and milk?’
    ‘Not before Wednesday night. And no milk at all this week, for milk can be a killer. But a body never died for two days without nourishment. Keep the closet clean and let me know if anyone else becomes ill.’ She closed the stairway door firmly.
    It was an endless night and from time to time it looked as if all might be lost, for the wretched soul on the couch had few resources to call upon. Malnourishment and poor housing had left her weak, while recent childbirth had also taken its inevitable toll. But by morning the fever had broken and a transparent hand reached out gratefully to encircle the visitor’s wrist. ‘I’m reet now. I’ll not forget thee, Missus. You’ve saved me, God knows.’
    ‘Not yet, I haven’t. You’re still weak as a kitten from childbed. Now, listen to me carefully. See these three cups? This is all you can have today. This large one is plain boiled water – take as much of that as you can hold. Then I’ve brewed up some pearl barley and here’s a nice lime drink. No food at all, especially milk. I’ll be back to see you after work.’
    Philomena Maguire made her weary way across the street. It was five-fifteen and her shift would begin at six. When she opened the front door her breath was taken away by what she saw. A small fire burned in the grate, the copper kettle bubbled on the hob while the table was set with bread and Lancashire cheese for breakfast. She sank on to a chair, tears coursing freely down her cheeks. How did they know that the woman had survived? Ah yes, news soaked through walls in this street. If you sneezed twice, the clogger at the other end would get to know.
    The front door opened and Edie Dobson’s head poked through the gap. ‘Are you alreet, lass?’
    She dried her streaming eyes. ‘Yes, thank you.’
    ‘Don’t fret thyself, for we shall see you right, Missus. “Pey” Peter’s going to take you to work on his cart, save you walking. Can I come in?’
    ‘No! I’ve the disease on my clothes.’
    ‘Oh.’ The young woman hesitated before continuing. ‘I’ll be baking today, later on, like. Will tatie pie and peas do you a supper? Only I know you’ll be busy seeing to Mrs Critchley . . .’
    ‘Mrs Who?’
    ‘The lass you’ve been all night with! Eeh, to think you’ve likely saved her life without knowing her name!’
    ‘Death and illness don’t know any names, Mrs Dobson. And I’ll be glad of your pie, just as I’m grateful for this.’ She waved an arm towards the fire. ‘The . . . the baby’s body is in a box in the back yard. I meant no disrespect, only to save the rest of them . . .’
    ‘Aye. It’ll all get seen to, don’t you fret. No need for tears, Mrs Maguire.’
    ‘My name’s Philly.’
    ‘Is it? Like a young horse?’
    ‘Yes. Like a young horse.’
    ‘Bet you feel ninety this morning though, eh? I’m Edie, by the way.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Oh.’ The small round face broke into a hesitant smile. ‘I’d best get going, then. See you later, eh?’
    ‘Yes. See you later.’
    As she stripped off her clothes for a wash in the scullery, Philly Maguire found herself