A Daughter’s Sorrow

He shook his head but looked displeased. ‘You’ve done nothing, Bridget … but your brother, Jamie, is in trouble yet again.’

‘What has he done?’

‘Apparently he was in a fight last night. The police want someone to go down to the station and sign for him. He’s in a bit of a state and they won’t let him go unless a member of his family takes him home.’

‘What do you mean in a state – is he hurt?’

‘I think he may have been hurt during the arrest. The police couldn’t find Mrs O’Rourke so they sent a young constable here. I really can’t have this sort of thing, Bridget. This is a respectable business.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said as I reached for my shawl. ‘I’ll come back as soon as I can, sir – and I’ll make up the time later.’

Mr Dawson nodded, but he was still frowning. This was the second time in as many months that the police had sent for someone to fetch Jamie, and he wasn’t pleased that his brewery should be associated with a known troublemaker.

I was anxious as I left the brewery office and hurried across the yard, ignoring Ernie Cole as he called out to me. He’d asked if I wanted a lift, which meant he knew where I was going. Everyone would know! I felt humiliated as I left the yard and set off in the direction of the police station, some ten minutes’ walk away.

Jamie was such a fool to himself when the drink was in him. Most of the time he was a good-natured, cheerful and generous man. There was violence in Jamie; it simmered beneath the surface, erupting every now and then in uncontrollable anger. Instead of thinking, he went in with his fists just the way Da had.

Hearing the rattle of a wagon on cobbles behind me, I glanced back and saw that Ernie had almost caught me up. He slowed the horses as he drew level.

‘Jump up, Bridget. You’ll get there all the quicker and it’s on my way, lass.’

‘Thank you, but I would rather walk.’

‘You’re a stubborn girl, Bridget O’Rourke. You’ll be quicker if you ride.’

‘No, I shan’t. I’m going to take the short cut by the river.’

‘It’s a rough area down there. Let me take you.’ He gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Ah, Bridget, don’t be daft, lass …’

Ignoring him, I ran down a side alley towards the river. It was one of the worst areas in this part of the docks and I would normally have avoided it, but I had to get away from Ernie’s pestering. After the incident of the previous night, when Harry Wright had attacked me, I was less trusting than ever of men who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The river looked dirty and oily where the waste from the ships lay floating in the shallows, and it was cold enough to freeze over. There were vagrants by the dilapidated warehouses on the banks, some of them hunched by a fire burning in an old metal pot, others drinking and lying on sacks.

I felt their eyes on me as I hurried by and a couple of them called out to me, but they were harmless enough, too beaten down by life to bother. It was the cocky ones like Harry Wright you had to be careful of – and Ernie Cole.

As I turned the corner towards the police station, I saw a young woman loitering on the pavement and recognized her at once. Her name was Rosie Brown and she was what Mam would call a whore. I’d heard that she had been seen hanging around the pubs with Jamie a few times.

As soon as she saw me she came to meet me and said, ‘Have you come for Jamie?’ She was a pretty girl, though her fair hair looked as if it needed a good wash and her clothes weren’t as clean as they might be. ‘They won’t let me in to see him, the rotten buggers.’

‘How is he, Rosie? What happened last night?’

‘Jamie got paid three shillin’s,’ she said and grinned wryly. ‘It was the first work he’d had in days and he spent all the money on drink. There was an argument with some bloke he knows … turned into a bleedin’ riot! They were smashin’ the furniture when the bleedin’ coppers arrived.’

‘Was Jamie hurt?’

‘Someone hit ’im from behind. I think it were a copper or it might ’ave bin one of the sailors he were fightin’. Your Jamie’s a proper bruiser, Bridget. ’E ought ter do it fer a livin’. Layin’ ’em out left and right he were, then someone cracked a bottle over his head, and the next thing the bleedin’ coppers were all over the place and one of ’em knocked Jamie down, even though he were already dazed. They carted ’im orf and I ain’t seen ’im since.’

‘They ought to be ashamed of themselves.’

‘I was worried about ’im,’ Rosie said looking at me oddly. ‘But I shan’t hang around now that you’re ’ere. Jamie will be all right wiv you, Bridget.’

‘I’m not too sure about that,’ I said ruefully. ‘Mam will go wild if there’s no money for her and if she finds out he spent his money on drink and spent the night in the cells, she’ll likely throw him out.’

‘She’s a hard woman, your ma.’ Rosie pulled a face. ‘Jamie knows he can come to me if he’s looking for a place to stay. You tell him that, Bridget.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ I said, ‘but you can’t keep him, Rosie. He needs to work – he ought to work. There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s strong as a bull.’

‘It ain’t easy to find work round ’ere. You don’t know what it’s like for ’im, Bridget, the men standin’ in line, waitin’ to be set on. If you’ve been in trouble you get the worse jobs. Jamie was unloading bones for the soap factory – dirty, stinking and crawling with maggots, ’e said they was. Had to wash the taste out of ’is mouth. You can’t blame ’im, Bridget.’

‘No, I don’t suppose so, but he’s his own worst enemy, Rosie.’

‘Jamie’s Jamie,’ she said and smiled, her eyes warm with affection. ‘Don’t nag ’im, luv. He’s down enough as it is.’

I watched her walk away. I was well aware that it was hard for my brother having to wait in line to be given a job. Until a year previously he’d been in regular work, but some trouble on the docks had led to his being dismissed and since then he’d had to take whatever he could get.

As I entered the station the sergeant behind the desk gave me a sour look. ‘Come for that brother of yours, I suppose?’

‘Yes, please, Sergeant Jones. I am sorry he caused you some bother.’

‘Not your fault,’ Bill Jones replied, his frown lifting at the tone of my voice. ‘He’s a fool to himself. He’s got a good brain, he should make some use of it.’

‘It’s only when the drink is in him, Sergeant Jones.’

‘I know that. If I didn’t I would have had him on a charge before this. As it is, the landlord didn’t want to push charges. He’s used to his customers causing trouble, and it wasn’t him that called us in. Take Jamie home and see if you can make him see sense, will you, Miss O’Rourke? He’s getting a bad name for himself. Tell him that it’s only a matter of time before he’ll be in serious trouble if he goes on this way. He might listen to you.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ I said and smiled at him. ‘And thank you for not sending him up before the magistrate.’

‘One of these days he’ll go too far … He’s got a sore head and feels a bit sorry for himself. You’d best take him home and give him a cup of tea, miss.’

One of the younger policemen had been sent to fetch Jamie from the cells. He came in through a side door, his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder and an air of defiance about him, but his expression changed as he saw me.

‘So they sent for you,’ he said, and just for a moment a flicker of shame showed in his eyes. ‘There was no need. I’m sober now.’

‘You were injured last night,’ Sergeant Jones said and glared at him. ‘Go home with your sister and think about your life, lad. You’re wasting your time with all this drinking and brawling.’

Jamie scowled but made no answer, merely jerking his head at me as he left the station.

‘Goodbye, Sergeant Jones,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why did you thank the bastard?’ Jamie growled as we walked along the street. ‘It was probably him that hit me.’

‘You know it wasn’t, Jamie. Rosie Brown said you were hit by one of them varmints you were fighting with, then one of the coppers knocked you down, but you were half out anyway.’ I looked at him anxiously. ‘Does your head still hurt bad?’ My own was feeling sore after the incident the previous night, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He was in enough trouble already.

‘It aches a bit. The police surgeon patched me up earlier, said I should go to bed for a couple of days when I got home. But I’m off down the docks to see if I can get a few hours’ work.’

‘Surely it doesn’t matter for one day? Have a rest, Jamie.’

‘I can’t afford to, Bridget. I’ve no money for Mam …’