Page 3 of The Irish Gypsy

When the immigrants disembarked at the Liverpool docks they were a sorry sight. The women clutched pathetic children and the men carried their meager belongings with an air of dogged resignation. Their faces were blank with tired hunger, but in every breast was the hope that things would at last get better. They were herded like sheep onto wagons, which O’Reilly had hired especially for their transportation to Bolton. Kitty stared about her, taking in every detail of the new country she had come to. It wasn’t anything like she had imagined. She had pictured big houses, beautifully dressed ladies in carriages, magnificent shops, and wealthy men with dozens of servants. Instead she saw a dark, damp country where the predominating color seemed to be black. With each successive town they passed through, the atmosphere seemed to get bleaker. The houses were little and poor, row after row of them. The people were clad in black clogs and shawls, their faces grim, their bodies small and stunted. The buildings were black, the factories were black and there was black smoke everywhere. Gone were the beautiful green fields of Ireland.

In her scarlet skirt and shawl, Kitty stood out as the Gypsy she was. Her grandfather saw the look of dismay upon her face and asked kindly.

“What’s the matter, my little wench?”

“Everything is so dirty and so—so drab.”

“Never mind, lass. Where there’s muck there’s money.”

“Oh, Grandada, you have a saying for everything. But where are the big houses and the foine carriages?”

“Ah, now, you’ll be meaning London. This is Lancashire, where all the manufacturing goes on. I expect this is where all the money is made and the people go to London to spend it.”

Terry squeezed Kitty’s hand.

“Never mind, we won’t be staying in dirty little streets like these. We’ll be living at the squire’s and he’s bound to have a grand place.”

Kitty said.

“I feel so sorry for everybody. How will they get used to factory work?”

Swaddy patted her hand and said.

“Ye get used to hanging if ye hang long enough.”

It was late that night before everyone was settled with the Irish families who lived o.

“Spake Hazy.”

Swaddy and his two grandchildren were left at his niece’s house. Ada Blakely, a little woman aged beyond her years, made them welcome with hot tea and potato pie. Her husband, Jack, was not in evidence, and she explained that he always spent his evenings at the Dog he brought Terrance and me up from little babies.”

“Maybe I could let you look after the little ’uns and I could get set on at the mill,”

Ada said hopefully to the old man.

After everyone had gone to bed, Terry lay down on the horsehair sofa, and Kitty sat curled before the fire reading her book, the only possession she had brought with her except for the family tarot cards. She read:

Never scratch your head, pick your teeth, clean your nails, or worse than all, pick your nose in company. Spit as little as possible, and never upon the floor.

Kitty put the book down and slipped into blessed sleep.

The carriage arrived early and Kitty was vastly relieved that the squire had kept his word. After a tearful good-bye the carriage took them away from the dark little streets and out toward the country. In the daylight Kitty could see that the town sat in a bowl and if you lifted your eyes to the horizon, it was surrounded by green moors.

“Oh, it’s a town in a bowl, Terrance. That’s why it’s called ‘Bolton’!”

The O’Reillys lived at Hey House. The carriage turned up a long drive bordered by huge rhododendron bushes, which were a mass of red bloom. Terry was let off at the stables and Kitty was led to the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper looked her up and down and gave a loud sniff.

“Irish Gypsy! I don’t know whatever the master is thinking of.”

Kitty thought, I’ll have you eatin’ out of my hand before this day is out, missus. Then she curtsied to the housekeeper and said prettily.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I can see I shall be happy here, you have created such a warm, welcoming atmosphere. No wonder the squire always speaks of you in such glowing terms when he comes to Ireland.”

Mrs. Thomson showed a flicker of interest and Kitty pressed her advantage.

“A treasure, that’s what he’s after calling you behind your back.”

“Come and sit by the fire, child; have you no shoes?”

“No, ma’am, but himself told me to put myself entirely into your capable hands and you would do me proud.”

“Did he indeed?”

she simpered.

“Here, let’s have a cup of tea.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am. I can see by your face how kind you are. I can read your tea leaves for you when we are finished.”

“Oh, how lovely, but don’t tell me if it’s anything bad!”

“Oh, nothing bad is in store for you, ma’am, I can feel it in me bones.”

The housekeeper wore no wedding ring, so Kitty gazed at the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup and said.

“I can see a letter ‘T’ here.”

“Why, that’s my name, Mrs. Thomson. How clever you are.”

“I also see a man here who thinks of you constantly. He is waiting for an encouraging word from you.”

Mrs. Thomson’s mind went rapidly over the servants and the deliverymen.

“He is a man who is held in great esteem by everyone. He holds some position of authority such as doctor, or perhaps a man of the cloth.”

She swiftly glanced at Mrs. Thomson and caught her with a blush upon her cheeks. Ah, not far off the mark, thought Kitty shrewdly.

“We can’t sit here all day gossiping. Here is a clean uniform for you, it’s a little large, but what will hold more, will hold less. Now, you must keep all that hair covered up. Here’s a mobcap for you. Now I must see what I can do about shoes and stockings, and then I’ll find you something to keep you busy. I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to training a new maid, but I think you’ll do very nicely.”

At lunchtime Jonathan sat down with his two daughters.

“Father, you look tired out,”

exclaimed Julia.

“No bloody wonder. I’ve crossed the Irish Sea twice this week. Do you realize how much it’s cost me to transport that lot to Lancashire?” he asked.

“Father, it’s simply not done to discuss money all the time, especially to ladies, and especially at table,”

she said repressively.

Barbara watched with horror as her father’s face turned purple, and before he could say anything she begged.

“Oh, please don’t fight!”

“There now, you’ve upset your sister,”

thundered O’Reilly.

“Why can’t you be a gentle girl like Barbara?”

Julia roiled her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

“Where’s Patrick?”

he demanded.

“He’s over at the Falcon today; he left a message not to go running down there this afternoon. You’d do better to have a rest instead.”

“Why is it everybody knows what’s best for me?”

he thundered.

“Barbara, sit up straight! Stop playing with your food! Julia, why is it you and Patrick are always giving orders and demanding your own way?”

“Because if we didn’t, you’d bully us the way you bully Barbara. I hope you haven’t forgotten the Leavers are coming for dinner tonight.”

“That’s good. Maybe you’ll watch that sharp tongue of yours!”

he shouted.

“You’ll dominate the conversation and I won’t be able to get a word in edgewise,”

she said and laughed.

He looked at Barbara.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to try to take part in the conversation at dinner tonight, instead of sitting there like you’re posing for Lipton’s pickle jars.”

He looked at Julia.

“What do you mean, I bully her?”

he demanded aggressively.

“Oh, why don’t you go for a drive this afternoon? It’s such a lovely day, it will soothe your nerves. But stay away from the mills.”

Jonathan O’Reilly got dressed up and walked over to the stables. He ordered the carriage. He directed his driver to take him through town, and he sat back enjoying the fine afternoon. He felt good and his spirits rose as the carriage made its way through the center of town. He called to his driver to stop outside Ward’s Florists, where he descended and bought an impressive bouquet of roses, carnations and snapdragons, then gave the driver an address he called up out of the past. He ascended the flight of stairs after confidently dismissing the carriage, with orders to return in two hours, and knocked on the door.

“Hello, Dolly. Remember me?”

he said and smiled.

“Why, Mr. O’Reilly,”

she said and smiled hesitantly.

“I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It must be nearly two years, eh, Dolly? These are for you, my dear.”

“Won’t you come in?”

she asked a little apprehensively. She wondered if he had found out about her and Patrick and had come to make trouble. She smelled the flowers and opened the little card that came with them. Inside were fifteen pounds and it was suddenly very clear what he had come for. She had most of her bills paid for her and received many presents, but it wasn’t too often that she received cold cash, and the temptation was too great to refuse. She smiled provocatively at him and said.

“Come and make yourself comfortable, Johnny.”

“It’s rather warm today,”

he said as he divested himself of his coat and sat down.

“Would you care for a cold drink?”

“Some brandy would suit me better, lass,”

he said and winked.

“Help yourself then, Johnny. I’ll just change into something a little cooler,”

she said suggestively.

Before he had finished his drink, she came back in a loose wrapper and as she sat down beside him on the sofa, the wrapper fell apart to reveal her long legs. He reached for her and gave her a deep kiss, then reached up and parted the top of her wrapper.

“My, you have a fine pair of breasts, Dolly. They always did excite me.”

She laughed throatily and removed his hands, which were squeezing her painfully. He licked his lips and his breathing quickened considerably.

“I think we’d be more comfortable in the bedroom,”

she whispered. She took his hand and he trotted after her eagerly. He took off his waistcoat and she knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. She repressed a smile at the sight of his undervest on such a warm day, and lifted it over his head. She bent to remove his boots and her wrapper again parted to reveal her breasts. Jonathan quickly stripped the wrapper from her completely and put his mouth to her nipples. As she divested him of his pants, she noted that he was indeed ready for business; however, she knew that older men often lost their erections, so she didn’t want to delay the action with too many preliminaries. She positioned herself under him and he began thrusting vigorously. As he did so, his face became an alarming shade of crimson with overtones of purple, and his breathing became labored.

“Johnny, are you all right? Here, why don’t you lie back and let me on top?”

Patrick had finished his business at the mill. Remembering that the Leavers were coming for dinner, he decided to drop in on Dolly. He slipped his key into the lock and entered quietly. He could hear noises coming from the bedroom, so he pushed the door open and stopped dead on the threshold. Dolly’s buttocks were rising and falling rhythmically and Jonathan was groaning hoarsely. Patrick looked at them coldly and said.

“Father, I see you’ve taken my advice for once.”

He paused and looked distastefully at Dolly’s opulent flesh.

“Dolly, still doing all the work, I see. Don’t let me interrupt you, I’ll let myself out.”

He placed his key on the table and quietly left. When he got outside, he leaned against the wall and laughed until the tears rolled down his face.

Patrick opened the front door to greet the Leavers.

“Hello, Patrick. Sorry my wife couldn’t come tonight, but her mother’s ill, so she begged to be excused and she sends her regrets.”

“Well, I’m glad you and your son could make it, James. You’re looking very well.”

He shook hands with the two men.

“Ah, here’s Father,”

he said, keeping a bland expression on his face as he looked the older man in the eye. The table was beautiful and Julia was at her best, especially in male company. Her wit sparkled and her conversation never lagged.

Patrick was determined to use this visit to his advantage by letting his father in on the changes he had been making at the mill. If he could get James Leaver on his side, they would overrule the old man. Barbara sat beside her brother, desperately trying to think of something to add to the conversation. Finally she said.

“This soup is delicious.”

Her father glowered at her from across the table, and Patrick smiled down at her and slipped her hand into his. She felt better immediately.

Patrick plunged in.

“Father has abolished half-time for children at the mill.”

Jonathan almost choked on his green peas.

James Leaver looked pleasantly surprised.

“That was a courageous thing to do, John; commendable, highly commendable.”

Before his father could speak, Patrick went on.

“Mind you, it will cost him, but he’s decided to be generous.”

“Will you have difficulty finding workers to replace them?”

Leaver asked. Patrick answered for his father.

“As a matter of fact that’s another generous thing father has done. He’s brought over all our people from Ireland at his own expense and he’s giving them jobs at the mill.”

By the time Leaver and his son had finished complimenting Jonathan on his beneficence, O’Reilly realized Patrick had outmaneuvered him, so he decided to capitulate and bask in everyone’s approval.

“Have you changed over your looms yet?”

asked young Leaver.

Patrick allowed his father to answer this time.

“Monday morning we start production with the improvements.”

“Do you think there’ll be any trouble? Remember when James Barlow introduced power looms in his mill? The repercussions were terrible with the local hand-loom weavers.”

“If there is trouble, I’ll handle it!”

said Jonathan darkly.

“Barlows—aren’t they the ones who make the satin quilts?”

asked Julia.

“Oh, Patrick gave me a beautiful pink one,”

piped up Barbara, then subsided into blushes.

Everyone smiled at her except her father. He spoke up quickly.

“You two lasses can withdraw and leave us to our port.”

Julia bristled—she hated these customs that gave men the upper hand in all dealings with women, but Barbara was relieved to escape.

When the two girls were alone, Julia said.

“Are you packed for London yet?”

“No, I don’t think Papa will allow us to go,”

answered Barbara.

“Nonsense! Patrick promised, and he always gets his way, doesn’t he?”

“You mean you do, Julia,”

said Barbara, not afraid to be bold now.

Julia spied Kitty and said sharply.

“Get my sister’s trunks out and pack for London. Be very careful with her things. You’re new, aren’t you? Are you sure that you know how to pack?”

Kitty answered.

“Yes, ma’am,”

and right away Julia sniffed, “Irish!”

“Please, ma’am, can you tell me where the trunks will be?”

asked Kitty.

“My God, Irish, how am I to know? Somewhere in the attics, I imagine. You’ll have to ask. You’ve got a tongue in your head, haven’t you?”

Kitty thought, Begod, just as arrogant as that brother of yours, but then her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him.

“When are you leaving for London, ma’am?”

asked Kitty politely.

“None of your business, Irish. I’m not here to answer your impertinent questions!”

Julia pointed out.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know!”

flashed Kitty, and Barbara laughed.

Julia slapped Kitty’s face. She immediately retaliated and slapped Julia’s face in the exact same spot. The two girls stood red-faced and glared.

“How dare you?”

Julia said incredulously.

Kitty said.

“If you hurt me, I’ll hurt you back.”

Barbara held her breath, terrified of the outburst that would ensue, but Julia, being the unpredictable young woman she was, laughed and said.

“At last! Someone with some spirit around here.”

She shook a finger at Kitty.

“But don’t try my patience too far, Irish.”

By the sounds emanating from the dining room the men were deeply involved in their business conversation and would likely be hours. Barbara shrugged and said.

“I’ll go and help Kitty.”

“Wait—don’t leave. Let’s play a game of cards,”

Julia suggested restlessly.

“Oh, Julia, you know I’m no good at cards; you always win,”

protested Barbara.

“I could read the cards for you,”

suggested Kitty.

“Do you mean tell our fortunes?”

asked Julia, her interest piqued.

“Oh, Kitty, are you a Gypsy?”

asked Barbara, wide-eyed.

“Yes and yes,”

confessed Kitty.

“Are you any good at it?”

asked Julia bluntly.

“I’m an expert,”

Kitty said, queening it over them.

“I can read palms, tea leaves, cards and the ancient tarot. I can even do it all in rhyme if you like.”

Julia handed her a deck of cards.

“Let’s see.”

Kitty considered for a moment. Young girls usually were interested in young men and falling in love.

“We’ll all three play this game. Each one of us shuffles the deck and picks out five cards. Then I’ll give you the rhyme that goes with each card.”

“Me first,”

said Julia, taking the cards back from Kitty. She shuffled the cards quickly and with deliberation selected five cards, face down on the table. Kitty turned over the six of spades.

“Your lucky color is turquoise blue; Your lucky number is five times two.”

The next card was the five of diamonds.

“If you would be a rich man’s bride; Bake a cake with a silver coin inside.”

The third card was the eight of clubs.

“Love, wealth and power will be yours; If every night you lock two doors.”

“Ha!”

said Julia with a laugh.

“They won’t even let me have a key.”

Kitty turned over the fourth card: the king of spades.

“If his name begins with J, You will seldom get your way.”

“Oh, however did you know Julia’s future husband is called Jeffrey?”

asked Barbara, amazed.

“It’s in the cards,”

said Kitty.

“Well, I shall always get my way,”

asserted Julia.

“That’s the reason I chose him.”

The last card was the queen of diamonds.

"This week or next will likely bring, Good luck and an engagement ring.

“Oh, we will be going to London after all,”

exclaimed Barbara.

“Barbara, it’s just a silly card game,”

Julia said, but she was well pleased with Kitty’s prophecies.

“Shuffle the remaining cards and pick your five,”

said Kitty.

Barbara hesitated.

“You go first, Kitty.”

Kitty shrugged and picked up the cards. The first one was the seven of hearts.

“If a blue butterfly you see; You are fated to sail over the sea.”

Kitty muttered.

“Heaven preserve us, I’ve just done that.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t see any blue butterflies in Bolton,”

scoffed Julia.

“Now, that’s a lie,”

said Kitty.

“for you are wearing, at this very moment, an enameled brooch which happens to be a blue butterfly.”

Julia looked down at her shoulder.

“So I am. You made it up!”

she said flatly.

The next card was the three of diamonds.

“Three men, three men in love with you; But only one will e’er be true.”

She turned over the four of clubs.

“His heart is black, he likes his fun; So turn to one whose name is John.”

“That’s Father’s name,”

said Barbara with a giggle.

“His name is Jonathan,”

said Julia sternly.

Kitty’s fourth card was the knave of hearts.

“Beware of Cupid and his darts! Your fate is held by the knave of hearts.”

Her last card was the queen of hearts.

“The queen of hearts, the king of love; A rose, a ring and a snow-white dove.”

“Oh, that’s beautiful,”

said Barbara. She took the cards, shuffled them rather ineptly and slowly picked out five cards. The nine of spades was the first.

“At nine in the morning on Saturday; You will be traveling far away.”

The ace of hearts was next.

“Your fate is sealed on a Thursday night, Amid moonlight, flowers and pure delight.”

The next card turned over was the ten of clubs.

“When the sun goes down, for luck and love; Hide a new penny in a velvet glove.”

“You shouldn’t tell her that. She’ll go upstairs and do it,”

said Julia with a laugh.

The king of diamonds came up next.

“First he kisses your fingertips; Then love is sealed with scarlet lips.”

Barbara blushed prettily. The last card was the two of clubs.

“A Gypsy girl will tell you the truth— You are fated to marry the love of your youth."

“Oh,”

gasped Barbara, going a deeper pink.

“What rubbish!”

said Julia with a laugh.

“You’d better get that packing done.”

When the other two girls had disappeared upstairs, Julia slipped out in the direction of the stables.

“Enough about the mills; how is the wholesale grocery business these days?”

asked Jonathan.

“Oh, it’s doing well, John, but it’s my son here that’s surprised me. You know he started that little soap works a year ago? Well, I can tell you he’s come up with a soap that’s better than anything you’ve ever seen.”

James Leaver’s son looked pleasantly embarrassed at his father’s praise but conceded.

“It is good. That’s what I wanted to talk to Patrick about. You’ve got such good ideas on marketing products, I wanted your advice.”

“To be a success you need only one thing—a good-quality product. But to be a phenomenal success you also need a good advertising campaign. Now, you start with a name that grabs the attention. What do you call your soap?”

“Why, it’s Leaver’s Soap, of course,”

interposed James Leaver.

"You need a more catchy name than that,"

asserted Patrick.

Young Leaver said.

"Well, I have been kicking a few names around, but I'm afraid of looking foolish."

"It's your soap! Have the courage of your convictions,"

urged Patrick.

"Well, I think of it as 'Sun Light' soap."

"That's very good. A woman would like that. Your best bet at the moment is billboards. As many as you can get, and the bigger the better. Keep it simple. In large letters that fill up the whole billboard you put SUN LIGHT SOAP and underneath in small letters put something like 'Best Soap in the World'; modesty doesn't count in business. Send salesmen to every major town and the orders will come in so fast you'll have to expand production. As soon as business warrants it, open an office in London. I can help you there with contacts."

"I don't want this advice for nothing, Patrick. I'll pay you a retainer."

"I'd rather have a one percent interest in your soap venture."

Johnathan winked at James.

"He's got a head for business, that lad, probably richer than I am with his one percent of this and that."

"You can't beat quality, Father. In Lancashire we manufacture some of the best goods in the world. I'm thinking of exporting to America."

"Eh? What's this?"

his father demanded.

"Oh, I've been talking to a ship owner in Liverpool, Isaac Bolt. If I bought half interest in a ship, we could take over our textiles from the mills and perhaps some of your soap. We have so many things that are manufactured right here in Bolton, I'd be spoiled for choice. Dobson makes the finest steam engines, and Webster makes water pumps and windmills. There's Springfield Paper Mills and Walmsley's wrought iron. In Bolton we make everything--chemical dyes, furniture, glass, leather goods, carpets, even coffins,"

offered Patrick. He continued.

"I'm thinking of sailing myself. Then I could buy the best long staple cotton from the Carolinas."

He allowed his father to digest all this.

James Leaver looked across at Jonathan O'Reilly and shook his head.

"We thought we had big ideas when we started out, but if these two aren't careful, their names will go down in the history books,"

he said and winked.

"How am I supposed to run three mills, if you go running off to America?"

Patrick said with a laugh.

"Ah, well, it won't be tomorrow, Father."

Kitty lay in her small iron bed on the third floor and went over every pretty article she had packed. She pretended the clothes were hers. She was deep into a fantasy now. She swirled around the ballroom floor in the most exquisite creation, and all heads were turned in her direction. Ladies whispered about her behind their fans and she looked up into her partner's adoring eyes, and her partner was none other than....

Suddenly a stone fell onto her face. The drowsy sensations of near sleep she had been enjoying vanished immediately. She sat up quickly.

"Psst, Irish."

Kitty leaned out the little dormer window and saw Julia on the driveway below.

"I'm locked out, Irish. Come and open the front door without rousing the house."

Kitty was shocked at Julia's behavior.

"I have to be up at five o'clock. How dare you wake me up at this ungodly hour, you selfish girl!"

"Please, Irish?"

"Me name is Kitty!"

"Please, Kitty?"

Kitty crept down the two flights of stairs and quietly opened the front door for her. The look she bestowed upon Julia was one of tight-lipped disapproval. Kitty had no idea what she had been up to, but instinctively knew it was wrong.

Julia looked at Kitty and said.

"You look like you've been eating pickled Bibles."

They both giggled and then shushed each other. By the time they climbed the stairs and Julia reached her room in safety, they were firm allies.