Maureen JENNINGS - Under the Dragon’s Tail

“What’s that for?”

“To wake you up, you stupid tart. It’s easy to say that now when the thing is just gas in your stomach. Wait until it grows and moves and then comes out, a sodding flesh-and-blood baby. See if you want to let it go then. You might as well try to cut off your arm or your leg and give that away.”

“Annie!”

“I never thought you’d be this stupid, Millie.” She grabbed up the brown bag. “Here. Go and make the brew. I’ll stay with you while you go through it even if I have to cut work.”

Millie was sobbing in earnest. “I can’t…it’s him inside me, Annie. I’m carrying John. I can’t get rid of his baby.”

Annie grabbed her sister by the arms, and started to shake her.

“You nocky bint. Do you think he cared a piss where he dipped his beak? Do you? Answer me. I want an answer, you mardy tit. Do you think he cared which doodle sack he put it in? Carrying John my arse. He’s bunked off, hasn’t he? Like they all do.”

Mildred’s hair was coming loose with the violence of the shaking, and although she didn’t fight back she was shocked into some semblance of backbone.

“He might be ill. That might be why he hasn’t come to church. You don’t know, Annie. You think you know everything but you don’t.”

Annie let her go in disgust.

“I know he’s like any other flash man, lots of glib-glab, pushing to have a bit, and before you know there’s a bun in the basket and no husband to be seen.”

“He loves me, Annie, I know he does.”

“Good. Good. If that’s the case he’ll marry you, won’t he?”

Millie shook her head. “I told you it’s not possible. He’ll lose his job. His employer is very strict.”

“You’re a little liar, Millie Brogan. That’s not the only reason. He can get another job. What is it? Is the sly arse married already?”

“No!”

“What then?”

“I can’t say, you’ll think the worst.”

Annie raised her hand. “Tell me!”

“He’s betrothed.”

Annie snorted. “Ha. Well that’s one engagement that’s meant to be broken.” She pulled off her nightgown and reached for her stays. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to have a chat with John – what’s the sod’s name again?”

“Meredith.”

“Merry Dick?”

“Annie!”

“Where does Mr. Merry Dick live?”

“Annie, we can’t go there.”

“We can and we will.”

Millie lowered her head stubbornly but Annie yanked her hard by the hair, forcing her to look up.

“Would you rather I have a whisper in Reverend Jeffery’s hairy ear? What would your good friends think about that?”

Her sister flinched, then said, “He’s in service but I’m not sure where – a big house on Jarvis Street. He showed me once after church.”

“Too bad it wasn’t the only thing he showed you.”

She let her go, then picked up the corset.

“Here, help me with this.”

She held her breath while her sister laced her up.

“Give me my hairbrush.”

Millie opened the drawer of the washstand and scrabbled through the jammed contents.

“It isn’t here.”

She started to look in the cupboard below, but Annie called out.

“Stop! It’s not in there.”

However, Millie saw the album that was stuffed at the back of the washstand. It was a deep blue colour with gilt letters that spelled Friends . Before Annie could prevent her she took it out.

“What’s this?”

Annie snatched it away.

“Never mind. It’s mine.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I said never mind.” She thrust it under her pillow. “Now come on. Find that brush else I’ll do something to make you hurry.”

Millie swallowed a sob. “Sometimes I think you hate me.”

Once again, Annie caught her sister by the arms and gave her a shake but this time she was softer. “Silly bint. Of course I don’t. I’m your sister, aren’t I? Haven’t I always looked out for you?” She gave her a kiss on the mouth. “Get yourself fixed up, little Sissie, we’re going to pay a call on Mr. John Merry Dick.”

With the two boys running beside him as fast as they could, Murdoch pedalled along Wilton towards River Street, which was only three blocks away. At the corner a small crowd of the curious had already gathered. George pointed to the house on the northwest corner, a dilapidated dwelling badly in need of paint.

“That’s us,” he panted. The short run had left both boys gasping.

Murdoch dismounted and, blowing his claghorn, pushed his bicycle through the edge of the crowd.

“Police! Make way! Come on, let me through.”

The onlookers parted willingly, calling out to him.

“What’s up, mister, what’s happening?”

Eager faces gaped at him. It seemed he wasn’t the only one whose morning had been dull.

“I’ll be sworn if you want, sir,” cried out one of the men.

Murdoch nodded in acknowledgement and opened the rusty gate in the iron railing that ran around the house. George and Freddie were close on his heels and he beckoned to the older boy.

“Hold my wheel. Don’t let anybody touch it on pain of death.”

“Yes, sir,” said George and he looked proud. Freddie stayed right beside him.

A woman was sitting on the steps, her face buried in her apron. She was rocking back and forth, making strange keening sounds. A thin, grey-haired man was standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

“That’s our Lily,” called George. “She’s the missus’s daughter. She’s a dummy.”

Murdoch walked closer and the grey-haired man greeted him with relief.

“I’m Clarence Daly, a neighbour.” He waved vaguely in the direction of one of the houses. “Lily here just clapped eyes on her mother.” He patted her shoulder, kindly. “She don’t hear nothing or talk much so I can’t explain to her.”

“I’m Acting Detective Murdoch. Where’s the woman in question?”

“I’ll show you,” said Daly.

At that moment the crowd stirred again as Constable Crabtree, slightly red and sweaty from his fast jog to the scene, pushed his way to the gate. Murdoch was wearing his everyday clothes, fedora, brown tweed jacket and trousers. The woman on the steps had hardly seemed to pay him any attention. Crabtree, however, was in his navy-blue police uniform. He was a formidable man, easily six foot three, and his high rounded helmet added another good eight inches. The woman looked up and saw him come through the gate. She gave a high-pitched cry, an almost doglike yelp, and scrambled to her feet. Before anyone could divine her intention, she jumped down from the steps and bolted along the side of the house. Immediately, Murdoch leaped after her and caught her as she tried to climb over the fence. He managed to grab hold of her arm but she screamed such a dreadful cry that he momentarily loosened his grip. She wrenched herself free and shoved him violently away. Off balance, he fell backwards on the ground, sprawling awkwardly. The woman half rolled, half vaulted over the low railing and ran off at full speed, disappearing almost at once into a laneway. A couple of boys started off in pursuit, but their mother yelled to them and they stopped like hungry hounds thwarted in the chase. The onlookers all stirred excitedly but nobody else followed the woman. Crabtree came over to Murdoch, who was scrambling to his feet, a touch embarrassed by his ungraceful fall.

“Shall I go after her?” the constable asked.

“Not now,” said Murdoch, brushing dust from his trousers. “Let’s go inside.”

Daly hovered at the top of the steps.

“She’s a high-strung girl that one,” he said to Murdoch, like a host apologizing for a misbehaving child. He ushered them into the hallway. Uncarpeted stairs were directly ahead. To the left was a door hung with ornate burgundy portieres.