A Daughter’s Sorrow. Cathy Sharp

      

      

       Copyright

       Harper

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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      First published as ‘Bridget’ in Great Britain by Severn House Large Print 2003

      Copyright © Linda Sole

      Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Cover photographs © Jeff Cottenden (girl); Heritage Images/Getty Images (background).

      Linda Sole asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008168582

      Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008168599

      Version: 2016-12-08

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Keep Reading …

       About the Author

       Also by Cathy Sharp

       About the Publisher

       One

      The sound of a foghorn somewhere out on the river was almost lost in the noise of chucking-out time at the Cock & Feathers, known locally simply as the Feathers. Lying in my bed in the little room at the back of the house, I heard the usual screams, yells and scuffles from the pub at the end of the lane. I was used to it and it was not the petty squabbles of my neighbours that had woken me. No, this was something much closer to home.

      ‘Can I get into bed with you, Bridget?’

      I smiled at the sight of my six-year-old brother dressed in a worn flannel shirt that was three sizes too big for him and reached down to his ankles. Beneath that ridiculous shirt was a painfully thin body; he was hardly more than skin and bone and worried me more than I’d ever let on to him or anyone else.

      ‘O’ course you can, Tommy. Was it them villains from the pub that woke you?’

      ‘It’s our mam,’ Tommy whispered, and coughed as he tugged the thin blanket up to his chest and burrowed further down into the lumpy feather bed my sister and I usually shared. ‘She’s having a right old go at Lainie again.’

      No sooner had he spoken than there was an almighty crash downstairs in the kitchen. Tommy shivered and I folded my arms about him protectively as our mother suddenly screamed out a torrent of abuse.

      ‘You’re a slut and a whore – and ’tis after throwing you out of the house, I am.’

      The spiteful words could be clearly heard by us as we lay in bed, Tommy shivering against my side as he always did when Mam was in one of her rages.

      ‘Whatever I am, it’s what you made me, and if I go you’ll be the one to lose by it, Martha O’Rourke. It’s four shillings a week you’ll be missin’ if I leave,’ Lainie shrieked, full of anger. ‘You’re a cold-hearted bitch and I’ll be glad to see the back of this place, but you’ll not take too kindly to going without your drop of the good stuff.’

      ‘And we all know where the money comes from! You’ve been down the Seamen’s Mission again, selling yourself to them foreigners.’

      ‘Hans loves me and one day he’ll be wedding me. You know he’s the only one, Mam. I don’t know why you take on so. Our da was working the ships when you met him – and our Jamie was on the way before the wedd—’

      There was a scream of rage from downstairs and then more crashing sounds as furniture was sent flying. Our mother and sister were having one of their frequent fights, which always upset Tommy. They weren’t the only ones to indulge – similar fights went on in houses up and down the street, especially on a Friday night – but Martha O’Rourke could be vicious and I was anxious for my sister.

      ‘If your father was here, he’d take his belt to you!’

      ‘Give over, Mam …’ Lainie gave a little scream.

      I jumped out of bed and hastily pulled on my dress. I was worried about my sister leaving. Lainie wasn’t going to put up with much more. She would walk out, and then where would the rest of us be?

      ‘Where are you going?’ Tommy said, alarmed.

      ‘You stop here. I’m going to creep down and see what Mam’s doing to our Lainie. She’ll kill her one of these days if no one stops her.’

      Tommy clutched at my hand, his wide, frightened eyes silently begging me not to leave him. He was terrified of Mam when she was in one of her rages, and with good cause. We had all felt the back of Martha O’Rourke’s hand often enough. She was a terrible tyrant when she was in a temper.

      Even as I hesitated, I heard Lainie slam the kitchen door and I knew I had to hurry, but Tommy was hanging on for dear life.

      ‘You’ll be all right here. I shan’t let Mam see me, and I’ll be back before you know it. There’s no need to worry, me darlin’.’

      Leaving Tommy, I crept