Chapter 14 #2
“Mam isn’t breathing. She hasn’t woken up this morning. Sean says she's dead, but I want a doctor to come look.”
Ellen’s stomach flipped, and the bitter aftertaste of tea surged back up her throat. “Where is your father?”
The grubby child shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t come home last night.”
Amelia’s jaw clenched. “Let me grab my bag.” With utter calm, she went to her exam room, then came back with the brown leather bag, a pencil, and blank death certificate.
The two women walked down the street from St. Giles to Seven Dials, slipping in mud and frozen puddles as they followed the little girl.
Ellen didn’t hear the din around her. Instead, all that echoed in her ears was shock and fury.
She’s dead. The unborn child is dead too. Is baby Opal still alive? He killed Tina. He killed her just the same as if he’d taken a knife to her. I knew this would happen. I knew it.
“Careful of that scowl or you’ll scare the children,” Amelia murmured as they reached the rickety stairs of the O’Malley flat.
Ellen scarcely heard her. They walked into the cold, quiet room together.
It was as if a wind had torn through it.
If Ellen thought it was dirty and cluttered before, it had nothing on now.
An oily smell came from one corner of the room, and the chamber pot underneath the one bed had overturned.
Thank goodness it was cold, or else the smell would be suffocating.
Sean, the eldest, was bravely trying to change Opal’s nappy on one corner of the moldering bed.
The little baby shivered in the cold, her bare legs exposed and shaking.
The toddler sat on his mother’s chest, thumb in his mouth, silent.
Tearstains tracked down his face. How long had it been since they’d last eaten?
And Tina O’Malley lay on her back, head turned toward the room, eyes shut. Her chest did not rise. Her belly did not move. Her eyes did not twitch.
Ellen was no stranger to infant deaths. Nor was she unaware of the tragic accidents that often occurred due to poor safety measures, lack of hygiene, and illness in the rookeries.
But this was Tina, who’d fought to keep her older children in school until ten years old, who slipped money from her drunk husband to pay for goat milk to keep her baby fed, whose four children depended on her completely.
Tina, who'd once been a shining, bright-eyed girl fresh from the farms in Ireland, eager to make a better life for herself in London.
And Seamus O’Malley, who put his desires ahead of his wife’s own safety. Who fucked her, again and again, against the advice of Ellen and Mrs. Daugherty and Amelia, who thought he deserved sex more than Tina deserved to live. Or his children deserved a mother.
Unspeakable rage swept over Ellen as she stared at the cold, pale face.
“Steady,” Amelia murmured, and put a hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “Sit if you feel faint.”
Ellen was shaking. She wanted to track Seamus O’Malley down and drown him in his own tankard of ale.
“Is she dead?” Aoife stood beside Ellen and looked up at her, one finger in her nose. “Do we still have to go to school today?”
Oh, God. What are we going to do with the children?
Ellen gathered up all her self-control and smiled down at the girl through the hot, angry tears filling her eyes. “No school today, I’m afraid. Doctor Amelia is going to check on your mother. Let’s get you something to eat, yes?”
She went through the motions of heating a bottle—there was only half a bottle’s worth of milk left on the sill—and after sterilizing the nipple, fed the baby.
There was no food in the house for the older children, and her stomach clenched in empathy.
“We’ll get you food as soon as we can.” Ellen glanced down at the toddler, who’d moved from his mother’s chest to the floor to stare up at Ellen.
“It’s so cold in here. Do you have any coal for the stove, or can we put on his shoes? ”
“Don’t have shoes,” Sean said tightly, watching as Amelia examined Tina’s body. “No coal neither.”
After the baby guzzled her milk and Ellen checked her tummy for signs of strain, she bundled all the children in all the clothing they owned, hoping the threadbare layers would offer some protection against the cold.
Amelia, stone-faced, went to the table and scratched out her observations on the death certificate. “Not sure what to put for the cause. Pneumonia, maybe,” she muttered to herself.
“Amelia, what are we going to do with the children?” Ellen whispered.
Amelia looked at them, then asked Sean, “Do you have any family in this building?”
He shook his head. “Mam’s family is all back in Ireland. Pa don’t talk to his. I don’t know where they live.”
Ellen frantically thought of possibilities.
Neighbors could take them in. But no, it’s winter and no one has enough food to go around.
The little ones can go to the London Infant Asylum, but Sean and Aoife will have to go to the St. Giles’ Refuge and be split up for boys and girls.
That will break Sean’s heart. Could family be found? Where will they sleep tonight?
“Let’s all go to the dispensary for now, where it’s warm,” Ellen decided. “We’ll talk about plans from there.” She felt completely unqualified to address the fact that their mother was dead and left them practically orphans. And who shall pay for a burial?
As she herded the children out the door, Sean clutching his jacks and spinning top, Aoife holding her dolly, and Ellen with bottles and freshly laundered nappies, they nearly bumped into three women on the landing.
“Is she alive?” one of the women asked Ellen. “Crikey, the poor thing was up coughing half the night then stopped. I was worried about her.”
“Do either of them have family to notify?” Ellen asked, pausing on the landing.
The women looked at one another. “Not that I know of.”
Ellen kept a hand on Aoife and baby Opal cradled inside her cloak.
As they walked down the steps, the buzz of gossip was already spreading.
Soon the whole rookery would know Tina O’Malley was gone.
Good. Maybe someone can tell her good-for-nothing husband to come collect his wife’s body.
And maybe someone else shall know if he has any decent family who would step forward.
Ellen hoped the children wouldn’t have to be split up.
When they arrived back at the dispensary, Mrs. Daugherty was waiting with tea and warm bricks and hot water bottles.
She immediately clucked over the children and ushered them to a pallet she’d made with extra sheets behind the counter, making sure they were warm and as comfortable as possible.
Sean was as solemn and stoic as ever. Aoife confused but willing to go along with Sean.
The toddler and baby, of course, wanted to eat.
Ellen only made three visits that day, and she felt shaken and angry even as she bottle-fed one of the babies—something that usually brought great delight to her day.
In between the visits, she brought back meat pies and fresh goat milk for the children.
She cared for Opal the way Tina had always done—with exhaustion but also with devotion and care.
Ellen blinked tears out of her eyes every time she looked at the little cluster.
Mrs. Daugherty was beyond helpful. She had plenty of grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren of her own, and she sent for two of the older ones, around twelve years old, to distract Sean and Aoife by playing marbles with them.
She fielded the gossip from the other incoming patients.
When they had a spare moment to themselves, she turned to Amelia, who was taking a quick tea break, and said, “I think I delivered Seamus O’Malley, years ago.
His mother isn’t around anymore, but I’m pretty sure he has an older sister in Spitalfields. ”
Amelia’s eyes lit up. “If we can keep them out of the asylums and with family, it would be so much better for them!”
Spitalfields slums was known for its poverty, like Seven Dials, but Ellen would snatch hold of anything that resembled hope.
By four o’clock, everything concerning the children had been arranged.
They would spend the night at Mrs. Daugherty’s daughter’s home until something more permanent could be found.
Most of the O’Malleys’ neighbors had been sympathetic to the children and had even offered scraps of bread or a farthing, but weren’t willing to take them in overnight.
Not when everyone knew Seamus O’Malley was a drunk who’d probably turn violent when he discovered his home abandoned and wife dead.
Ellen hadn’t asked about Tina. The woman had neither been her friend nor her patient exactly.
Ellen wasn’t sure Tina even had a midwife.
Ellen had attended pauper funerals from afar, never near the grieving families of the babies, but she knew enough that it was quick, empty of sentiment, and usually done en masse with other bodies.
The bell above the door dinged, and Ellen looked up, fear and anger twisting in her throat and chest. Instead of O’Malley, it was Mark.
Ellen sighed with relief and looked at him hopefully. Today had been one of her worst days in a long, long time. Guilt roiled in her stomach, but she couldn’t wait to go home and curl up in his strong arms to escape the horror.
Mark waved to her, then went and sat on a half-empty bench. Patients still milled around, waiting for their turn. Amelia had gotten backed up that day with filing the death certificate, but people were determined to be seen.
The doorbell rang again as the door opened.
Seamus O’Malley stumbled in, drunk, bloodshot eyes, and stinking like horse piss.
The others in the room scuttled out of his way, whispering and pointing.
Everyone knew Tina had been pregnant after multiple losses.
Everyone knew she’d been sick with a cough, and he still spent his payday in pubs.
“Where is that woman doctor?” he slurred, stomping through the room.