in her eyes. She squeezed his hand and placed it on her heart before kissing it softly. He couldn’t stand to see the pain lying there before him. He was suffering too. His only son was fading before his eyes and he was powerless to stop it. He had heard many mutterings about his wife’s friend Magda whenever he went to town and it dismayed him to be even slightly connected to her. He always felt a sense of uneasiness when she came to visit and made excuses to leave the room as soon as was politely possible. But Elizabeth had complete faith in her and he had to admit, the oatmeal soaks he grudgingly allowed her to provide were a godsend. Perhaps if they could sneak her in at nightfall she might not be seen by as many people. With that idea in mind, he agreed to send Magda a note requesting her presence that evening. Elizabeth smiled and drew him close to her, kissing him passionately.
Magda arrived soon after nightfall. She swept into the house with a dignified grace. Charles awkwardly thanked her for coming so quickly and then showed her to my room where I lay listening to Meg reading me a story. She startled at seeing Magda and laid the book down. Elizabeth looked up from her sewing and smiled. She ordered Meg to go to her room, which she did with alacrity. The two women looked at each other and embraced. Magda pulled away first to give Elizabeth a reassuring touch to the cheek. Elizabeth started to cry.
‘No tears, my love. I’m here now. Hush now. Hush.’ She gave Elizabeth her handkerchief to dab her eyes. Elizabeth sniffed and looked at Magda gratefully.
‘You don’t know how awful it’s been, Magda. I have died a hundred deaths for not being able to see you again. Damn that cursed shopkeeper. Damn him to Hell.’
Magda laughed. ‘Don’t worry too much about that. He has grown to rue the day he crossed my path. My only concern is for you and your darling boy to get better. You look gaunt, my sweet. You should have called for me much sooner. But, not to bother – that’s in the past. Let’s look at the here and now and fix your little son.’
She drew close to my bed and gazed at me. I stared back, equally curious. She closed her eyes and began to chant softly under her breath. Her hands moved up and down just above my weakened body, gesturing and flicking away periodically. She rubbed them together and placed them firmly onto my swollen abdomen and I could feel a rising heat radiating from her as she muttered away. There was no pain, just warmth and a feeling of lightness going through my body. I relaxed immediately, cooing and smiling at her as she concentrated on her spell. Her shoulders hunched and lifted as she cupped her hands and drew them away from my stomach, flicking them towards her shoes and stamping down seven times with each foot. She did this several times and with each cupping I could feel my stomach easing and growing softer. She touched my forehead with her left thumb and drew a circle from the top of my face to the bottom going anti-clockwise. She then pressed my cheeks with her forefingers and flicked away towards my earlobes, hissing as she flicked. My mother watched her with love in her eyes as she touched my face and body, murmuring and whispering to herself. She finished with an incantation spoken so softly only the wind could have picked it up. She closed her eyes and placed her right hand on her heart and her left hand on my brow whilst repeating what she said. When she stopped the silence was thick in the air and no one moved for some time.
Unexpectedly, she opened her eyes and the mood vanished. She smiled at me and then at Elizabeth and turned to fossick in her bag, removing a small leather pouch and tucking it into my pillowcase.
‘This is a little collection of herbs that will help ease your son’s restless nights. From now on you will notice an improvement or my name is not Magda Williams.’ She smiled and kissed Elizabeth on the lips. ‘Make sure to keep it there for one week and he will be back to his happy self in no time. I promise you.’
As she spoke I drifted into the arms of Morpheus, not noticing the women in each other’s arms.
‘Oh Magda, how can I ever thank you? You are my saviour yet again.’ Elizabeth placed her hands on Magda’s cheeks and kissed her back.
‘You have already repaid many times over, Lizzie. It is I that is in your debt,’ Magda huskily responded, parting her lips to kiss her deeper. ‘I look forward to seeing you again.’
‘And you shall, my love. Charles has agreed to me seeing you. But for now, we must say good-night.’ And with that, they regretfully parted, going arm in arm to the front door of the house, where Magda disappeared into the night.
From there, my recovery was remarkable. If Meg noticed the pouch hidden in my bedding, she chose wisely not to bring it up with the mistress. Those things were best left alone she thought to herself. But she was relieved when on the seventh day her mistress came and removed the mysterious purse. It felt as if she could breathe again and she no longer dreaded coming to pick me up out of the cot.
My appetite returned with gusto. My chest cleared and the hacking cough disappeared. My stomach now filled with stew and dumplings, apple cobbler and egg custard, all of which stayed in my body and gave me renewed strength. Before long the bones became padded with flesh and my eyes sparkled. The joy it brought my parents was immeasurable as they fussed and cooed over me every day. Though Charles would never admit it publicly he realised that this miracle was partly due to Elizabeth’s friend Magda and he reluctantly allowed Elizabeth to visit her weekly as she had before.
As my health improved my father was once again called to Parliament to be part of the select committee investigating the financial viability of the Chartist Co-operative Land Company. The Chartists, and in particular, Feargus O’Connor, still held a vision of workers buying into shares of the company and purchasing estates. As ridiculous as it seemed to my father, the movement was gathering momentum and there were concerns being raised by major land owners about this new development threatening their livelihood. It was up to the committee to unofficially shut it down whilst openly appearing to be neutral. This was a delicate operation and they had to move cautiously, thus keeping my father away for long periods of time. This aggravated my mother and filled her with rancour towards those infernal working classes with their high ideas. Her only pleasures were the frequent visits to her friend Magda and playing marbles with me.
I, on the other hand, looked forward to my father’s journeys. Not because of his absence, but because of the wondrous stories he returned with to fill my ravenous mind. As I recovered my strength, he would regale me with stories of mystical people he had met. Whilst ensconced with the Chartist Co-operative, he was able to have some light relief with a short visit from the diminutive dwarf called Tom Thumb. He was fourteen years old and only twenty-five inches high. He was introduced to society by none other than the famous Phineas T Barnum and made a substantial income by purely making an appearance. My father showed me where the little man stood compared to the length of his leg and I would have given my entire marble collection just to have seen him in the flesh. My dreams were filled with little people and barking Irish battling with the dreaded goblins underground.
My world seemed so dreary and protected to me compared to the bountiful discoveries to be made out there. And so the seasons passed and I impatiently became of an age to be ready for school.
