Free With Love From Ma Maguire by Ruth Hamilton Page B

though good sense told her that her medicines could sell anywhere. But the folk of School Hill depended on her now that Mother Blue’s questionable assistance was no longer available, so she stuck rigidly to her own patch. In time, she got to know all the other traders. There was Billy Black who mended dolly-tubs, Old Sharpie – he honed knives and scissors on a dusty wheel, Hughie Burns who sold brushes, Tommy from the tripe shop with his basket of offal, black puddings and sausages, the ragman who traded small blocks of salt for old clothes.
    It was March, still chilly enough, though the air held a muted promise of spring even here in the shadow of the mills. By three o’clock, Philly knew she had had enough. In spite of her extra shawl, she was shivering uncontrollably and her eyes seemed to be misting over with tiredness. She blinked several times to clear her vision, then pushed the cart, which suddenly weighed a ton, in the direction of home. When she reached Edie’s house, she hammered loudly at the front door. Edie put her head through the opened lower half of the bedroom window. ‘What’s up with thee? Can’t you open the door like everybody else?’
    ‘I’m sick.’
    ‘Aye, so am I! Your Patrick’s been doing a fair imitation of the opening of Parliament here, all noise and no bloody sense.’ She paused. ‘What’s matter?’
    ‘I’m coming down with something. You’ll have to hang on to him, Edie. I don’t want him getting it too.’
    ‘Keep him overnight, you mean?’
    ‘Yes. You know I’d do the same if it was Molly.’
    Edie brought her lips together tightly before she said anything. The lad was past dealing with some days and this was one of them. Seven months old and he carried on like the blinking Kaiser if he didn’t get his own road all the while. ‘Can I do anything for you, lass?’ Aye, she did look a bit poorly, did Philly.
    ‘Keep away, please! If it’s what I think, you mind those babies till I’m over it and the house fumigated.’
    ‘Bloody hell!’
    ‘And don’t swear, Edie.’ Philly steadied herself against the cart. ‘Get Arthur to shove this into the yard later on. I’m well past meself. If I bang on the wall, get the doctor.’
    ‘I’ll get him whether or not. Go in that house this minute, Philly Maguire.’
    She staggered up the stairs, gripping tightly on to the castiron rail. Her head swam as if she were drunk, while all four limbs felt as if they were weighted with lead. Incapable of removing her clothes, she fell on to the bed and drifted into a tormented sleep.
    As soon as Arthur came in, Edie ran from the scullery to greet him. ‘Were it a bad day, lad? Well, it’s not over, ’cos Philly’s been took badly. You’d best get down for the doctor . . . What’s matter, love?’
    His head drooped as he fell into a chair. He took a deep shuddering breath before looking up at her. ‘It’s Bob – you remember Bob Hawkins, him as come round with his Missus when I’d no work?’
    ‘That’s right. He made a collection, didn’t he? Gave us a few coppers every week till your arm got right.’
    ‘Aye, that’s him. Well, he’d six childer up to last Sunday, four lads and two girls, a bonny lot too. By this morning, he’d got one left and that’s poorly.’
    A hand flew to her mouth. ‘Dear God! Whatever is it? Scarlet fever?’
    ‘Nay, lass.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘That doesn’t kill many, just leaves them deaf and with weak insides. No, it’s the other.’ He almost choked as he whispered, ‘They’re saying it’s the dip again, Edie.’
    ‘Diphtheria?’
    ‘Aye, that’s what most of the doctors are putting it down as. Anyroad, they’re falling like flies with it, streets of kiddies just wiped out.’
    ‘No!’ Patrick began to scream again and Edie looked anxiously at the two children on the rug. ‘What if . . . ?’
    ‘Don’t think on it, lass. Just keep her in the house till it’s all passed over.’
    ‘But we’ve