Little Girl Lost (34 page)

Nick grinned and gave her a shove. ‘Whatever Caitlin may have said, she wouldn’t want you goin’ off on your own, or with me, come to that. She might send you over the water or put you in an orphanage, but she wouldn’t just let you wander off, like. So you see, she’d tell the polis to bring you home.’

‘Well I
won’t
go home,’ Kitty said mutinously. ‘So let’s leave at once, Nick. Five shillings is a lot of money and you think we can earn more in the countryside? Let’s go right away!’

They went, with Nick carrying the sack into which they had put their few personal possessions, Kitty close to his side and Tommy strolling along at their heels, trying to look as though he were not in the least interested in the two scruffy kids ahead of him.

As they neared Dolphin Barn, where open country started, Nick looked hopefully behind him. ‘He won’t follow us much further; he’ll turn back soon,’ he said, with a confidence which Kitty was sure he was far from feeling. ‘You said yourself that cats ain’t like dogs; they like places, not people. Oh aye, I reckon he’ll turn for home quite soon.’

An hour later, walking down a country lane and enjoying the sweet fresh air, Kitty glanced back, then turned to Nick, suppressing a giggle. ‘I thought you said he’d go home? Of course, it might be some other cat, but it looks remarkable like Tommy to me.’

Nick’s head whipped round and he stopped short then swore, colourfully, beneath his breath. ‘The old bugger,’ he said, and Kitty recognised admiration in his tone. ‘I was sure he’d turned back ages ago, but I reckon he’d just nipped off on some ploy of his own. Don’t he look smug, though? Wicked old devil – I’d swear he were grinnin’ if he weren’t a cat.’

‘Cats can grin,’ Kitty remarked sagely. ‘Think of the Cheshire Cat in Alice . . . oh, I forgot, you can’t think of him ’cos you can’t read. But the Cheshire Cat was famous for his grin.’

‘I can read – well, a bit – if it’s in print,’ Nick said indignantly. ‘And I can write me name; not Nick, of course ’cos when I were in school I had to use my real name, but I can write that, I’m tellin’ you.’

‘Your real name? I didn’t know you had one,’ Kitty said and then, realising that this was rude, added hastily: ‘I thought Nick was your real name, I mean. But I suppose it’s just a nickname, like Kitty is. I’m Catherine Mary; what’s you?’

‘Mumble mumble,’ Nick said. ‘It don’t matter, but I can write it.’

‘Of course you can,’ Kitty said soothingly. A while back, Nick had cut himself a hazel wand from the hedge and, at Kitty’s request, had cut another for her. Now she pulled him to a halt and pointed to the smooth mud at the side of the road. ‘Write it in that, with your stick,’ she said cunningly. ‘Go on, write your real name.’

Nick gave her a suspicious stare, then took his stick and began to trace letters in the mud. At first, Kitty could not make out what they were meant to be and said so, whereupon Nick said crossly: ‘It’s Cyril. C Y R I L,’ and then fell on Kitty, making a spirited endeavour to box her ears as she crowed with amusement. ‘What’s so funny? Oh, I know it’s a stupid name, that’s why they call me Nick, but I told you I could write it and so I can.’

Kitty saw that her friend was beginning to be truly embarrassed and hastily straightened her face. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a very nice name, really,’ she said, and then, changing the subject, ‘As for Tommy, I’m afraid he’s here to stay. The further we get from Dublin, the more he’ll depend on us. Oh, stop it, Nick. You nearly knocked my cap off and this lane’s awful muddy.’

Nick stopped trying to box her ears and glanced back at Tommy. ‘Well, when we find a barn to sleep in there’s bound to be mice so at least one of us will have a good supper,’ he observed. ‘I’ve got a box of matches so’s we can light a fire but we’d best start searching for a potato clamp so we can rob a few for us supper.’

Kitty was about to ask how they were to cook potatoes when they had no saucepan but then remembered the night Nick had taken her along to a communal fire in a tumbledown tenement block, where a number of ragged boys and girls had been cooking potatoes by thrusting them into the hot ashes, hooking them out with sticks when they were done, dusting the ash off them and eating them eagerly, despite the danger of burned fingers. So instead of questioning him, or asking what a potato clamp was, for she had never heard the word before, she nodded enthusiastically and continued to trudge beside him.

Brendan arrived in Dublin on a fine spring day, though it must have rained overnight for the sunshine glinted off the wet cobbles and there were puddles on the quays.

He reached Handkerchief Alley and hurried up to the flat, hoping that when he saw Caitlin she would assure him that the child was safe. For, despite himself, he was beginning to believe that if he returned with Kitty to the Ferryman he would be rewarded by Sylvie’s unequivocal gratitude. If that was so, he meant to ask her to marry him at once, planning to tell her that the bringing up of little Kitty should be shared by them from the start. The fact that the child knew neither of them occurred to him but was speedily banished. Who could fail to see Sylvie and not love her, he reminded himself. And though Caitlin was a wonderful woman, she had children of her own who must have come first in her affections. Once, when Becky had been alive, he would have doubted whether Sylvie could give Kitty the love she had known in Dublin, but it was different now. Now Sylvie had only memories, and would, he was sure, welcome Kitty and love her as she had loved poor Becky. However, when he reached the flat and was ushered into the kitchen by a pale and red-eyed Caitlin, it was to be told that there had been no sign of Kitty, not so much as one sighting, since the fateful day when he himself had visited her.

‘And glad I am that you’ve come back, Brendan,’ Caitlin said tearfully, sitting him down at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a piece of soda bread. ‘For ’twas my fault, mainly, that she ran away. I couldn’t put it in a letter, but actually Kitty overhead the conversation between you and myself. Oh, Brendan, I wasn’t after meaning the half of it, you know that, I was just so upset over losin’ me darlin’ Pat that I talked wildly. Only – only a child takes everything literally, and she thought I meant it, so she did. She lit out that very day and no one’s seen hide nor hair of her since. I felt I ought to search for her meself but I dare not risk losin’ me job ’cos work is awful scarce now that the troops are comin’ home. And I’m tellin’ you, me kids have scoured the city; Maeve’s searched from Clontarf to Sandymount.’ As she talked, Brendan’s understanding of the situation grew and he felt dismayed. If the child had fallen into the wrong hands, she could be anywhere. But Caitlin was continuing to talk. ‘We do know one t’ing though; she’s not alone, she’s with Nick Mooney, an old pal of hers. He’s ten years old, very self-reliant, and he’ll look after her, keep her safe. But I was forgetting; she pushed a note under the kitchen door – it was addressed to Maeve – on the evening of the day she ran away. I’ll fetch it so you can read it for yourself.’

She hurried out of the room, leaving Brendan to consider Maeve and to wonder just what her part was in all this. He remembered Caitlin’s saying she looked after the children, spoiled Kitty and spent a good deal of time with her, but he saw no reason why Kitty should have addressed the note to Maeve rather than to Caitlin herself. He would have to ask his cousin when she returned – and when he had read the note, of course.

Presently Caitlin came back, somewhat flushed, holding out a worn and crumpled sheet of paper covered in untidy pencilled handwriting. Brendan took it and scanned it quickly, then crossed the kitchen to put a comforting arm round his cousin. ‘When you remember how young Kitty is, this is a grand letter, so it is. She’s explained she’s run away because she doesn’t want to be a burden on you, and she reassures you that she knows she must be very careful. She’s also said she’ll come back when she’s old enough to earn, but I t’ink she’ll come back sooner than that. This boy she’s with, Nick Mooney – tell me about him.’

‘Well, he comes from a bad home – and I mean really bad, Brendan, so he’s not often there,’ she said. ‘But despite living on the streets he’s managed to survive, get himself some schooling. Knowing Nick, he probably tried to persuade Kitty to come home and, when she wouldn’t, decided to go with her. He’s a good lad, honest to God he is.’

Brendan nodded thoughtfully. ‘He sounds a good lad, which is a great comfort,’ he acknowledged. ‘But what about this Maeve? I remember Sylvie saying that a young woman called Maeve looked after the children for you, but I thought she had probably left you as the children grew up. I t’ink I saw her on the stairs when I was here last: just a slip of a girl wit’ a crutch under one arm and a great heavy marketing bag. Kitty seems mortal fond of her; well, it stands to reason she must be, since this letter’ – he waved the sheet – ‘is addressed to her.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘Yes, Kitty looks on Maeve as a sort of foster mother,’ she said. ‘Maeve’s brought her up, you know; she’s clothed her, even paid me something towards the child’s keep, though I told her it wasn’t necessary. Oh, Brendan, I’d never have put Kitty in an orphanage, or sent her away, I’m sure you know that, but if I had tried to do so Maeve would never have allowed it. Kitty’s the only child she’s ever likely to have and she adores her.’

‘Why do you say Kitty’s the only child Maeve is ever likely to have?’ Brendan asked curiously. ‘Sure and she can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen; she’s got all her life in front of her.’

‘She’s twenty, and she’s a cripple,’ Caitlin said bluntly. ‘No man’s likely to take her on because they’d see her as a liability, not an asset. Not that Maeve would care; I don’t believe she’s ever so much as glanced at a feller . . .’ Despite his worries, Brendan grinned. She had certainly not so much as glanced at him, even though she had called him ‘a grand big feller’; he had realised even at the time that this was comment rather than compliment. You had to admire the kid, he reflected; she might have a limp and a twisted foot but it hadn’t impaired her self-confidence. Caitlin, however, was still talking. ‘. . . so you see, we’ve all done our best to find Kitty. We’ve told the polis and put the word about in schools, at soup kitchens and of course amongst the tenement kids. There were one or two young fellers who said they’d seen Nick, or thought they had, but that was only very soon after Kitty had run off. And even though she’s really shy, and hates putting herself forward, Maeve’s been up to the polis station every day, pestering them for news.’

‘Shy?’ Brendan said incredulously. ‘I wouldn’t have called her shy meself. I offered to help her wit’ her marketing bag and she cut me down to size right away. Told me she weren’t a cripple and had climbed more stairs than I’d had hot dinners, or words to that effect.’

Caitlin stared at him. ‘Maeve said that?’ she said disbelievingly. ‘She must have taken a liking to you, Brendan, because she’s awful shy with strangers and hates to mention her poor old foot. Are you sure it was her?’

‘Well, I can’t be certain, but she was in your block and she did have a crutch, and there can’t be many like that,’ Brendan said, rather stiffly. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Where is she now? I t’ink we ought to have a council of war before we do anything else because I’ve promised Sylvie I’ll find her daughter and I mean to do so if I have to search all Ireland.’

‘And you’ll need Maeve’s help, because you’ve never set eyes on Kitty,’ Caitlin said, nodding. ‘She’s got a photograph, though. We had it done as a Christmas present for Maeve two years ago; it cost a lot but it were worth every penny ’cos she were tickled pink with it. Here, I’ll show you.’ She rushed out of the room once more but returned seconds later, empty-handed. ‘I forgot; Maeve took it to the polis station and left it with them. One of the constables is takin’ it round the city, showing it to shopkeepers and so on. Still an’ all, she’ll get it back when she knows you’re going to help.’

Brendan was about to reply when he heard footsteps ascending the stairs. He glanced interrogatively at Caitlin just as the kitchen door flew open and a dark-haired young woman limped into the room, talking as she came. ‘I’ve bought up half the market stalls on Francis Street, and I’ve actually heard news of—’ She stopped short, suddenly realising that she and Caitlin were not alone. Her face flushed deeply and she bent her head. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll just put these t’ings away . . .’

‘Oh, Maeve, this is me cousin Brendan – Brendan, Maeve – so you needn’t stand on ceremony. In fact, he’s come to help us find Kitty, so you might as well tell us your news.’

Maeve put the heavy bag down on the kitchen table, then turned to stare thoughtfully at Brendan. ‘So it was you I met on the stairs the day Kitty ran away,’ she said. ‘Why for do you want to find Kitty? I’m tellin’ you now, she’s stayin’ with me, here in Ireland. She’s not being put into an orphanage or taken to England. I know Sylvie’s her real mother, but she’s been glad enough to leave her with Caitlin and meself these past years . . .’

‘I understand how you feel, but t’ings change, and so do people,’ Brendan said quietly. ‘You were kind to Sylvie when she was in Dublin years ago, I know. It wasn’t possible then for her to take Kitty home, but it’s different now. Sylvie’s quite alone. She lost her husband, her mother-in-law and her daughter in the flu epidemic, and when she heard—’

‘That’s very sad, but our Kitty is a person, not a parcel, and I won’t see her handed over to anyone else without a fight,’ Maeve interrupted firmly, though Brendan noticed that her voice trembled a little. ‘You’re welcome to search for her, but I’m telling you straight, Kitty won’t want to cross the water, she’ll want to stay here in Dublin with the people she loves around her.’ She glared defiantly at Brendan as she spoke, but before he could put her in her place, remind her that Kitty was Sylvie’s child, no matter how bad a mother Maeve might think her, Caitlin cut in.

‘Maeve,’ she said roundly, ‘you said you had some news. Tell us, please. No point in arguing about Kitty’s future until we’ve found her!’