***chapter 45***

***Matthew***

If it hadn't been for the horse, Mrs Doyle might have passed by. The sky was heavy as her heart and the weather that November day in 1962 not conducive to a gentle stroll. A cruel chill pinched the air and a windswept rain lashed the pavements as furiously as if it had lately lost an argument with the world. Drenched and cold, determined to hold on to bags, brollies and hats that were equally as determined to be blown away, folk were hurrying about their business when a sudden clip-clop of hooves caught their attention.

Solitary in the relentless stream of traffic, a lone splash of colour amid belching fumes and roaring engines, a ragman, wearing flat cap and an old-fashioned Victorian greatcoat, led a horse and cart. Now whether it was this ancient and much-stained greatcoat, or the powerful carthorse with its shining coat, or the cart itself, covered as it was by a home-made canopy and offering an intriguing glimpse inside of jumbled old rags and the balloons, children's windmills and tin whistles that could be exchanged for them, we will never know, but many a passer-by paused to watch. As did Miss Lydia Cunningham, despite her worries. As did Mrs Carmel Doyle, despite her own. And it was the catching of each other's eye, the sharing of smiles, that inspired confidences.

They were neighbours, but had hitherto exchanged little more than polite hellos. Carmel had sometimes seen a tall, sandy-haired young man, occasionally wearing chauffeur's uniform, call at No 54 and assumed he was Lydia's intended, and Lydia had sometimes seen a surly-looking teenager go in and out of No 7, and assumed he was Carmel's son, but this, and the fact Miss Cunnigham left for work at 8.15, and Mrs Doyle every Sunday visited the church at the bottom of the street, was all that they knew about the other.

The ladies met quite by chance outside the supermarket, under the glass roof that once covered a tram station, and which now jutted out over a long row of shops and businesses. It was the mixture of old and new that kick-started the conversation. How the ragman with the horse and cart was a disappearing breed and how supermarkets had replaced the homely little shops, which Carmel remembered fondly from when she first married, and Lydia remembered vaguely from childhood. A common ground and a mutual trust lit the spark of friendship. Lydia found herself telling the older woman she was worried she might be pregnant and Carmel found herself telling the young girl she was worried her son might end up in jail. She had fretted it might happen ever since she took things further with her fiancé and now she had missed though normally she was regular as clockwork, Lydia blushingly confided in the widow. She'd set her heart on Matthew being a priest, but he'd gone off the rails while still at school, Carmel told her young neighbour; he'd been up twice before the courts for theft and vandalism, and now he had a police record he couldn't get a job. It would mean prison if Matthew didn't settle down, Carmel said. It would mean the baby being born illegitimate if Jack didn't marry her, Lydia said.

Tell your young man, Mrs Doyle advised as they parted, the wind growing too icy now for them to stay chatting. If he loves you, he'll stand by you. But Lydia thought she would wait until a pregnancy was confirmed and told Jack about Mrs Doyle's problem before telling him of her own. Jack happened to mention it to Jimmy, who suggested to the Maddocks that they hire the youngster for a trial period, reminding them how Davey might have turned out without a helping hand. Arthur and Prudence sighed patiently. They didn't need or particularly want any extra staff at the moment, but if the boy came for an interview, they'd consider it, they conceded, expecting, from what they'd heard of his background, that the young Mr Doyle would not appear.

To their great surprise, however, the young Mr Doyle did although it was not quite the formal interview Lord and Lady Maddocks had envisaged. Half an hour late, and just when they were packing up the paperwork, a sneering, casually dressed youth barged into the drawing room, leaving poor Millie the maid with her fist still poised in mid-air ready to knock. Having made a grand entrance, Matt further impressed by carrying a pouffe across the room, then sinking into an easy chair with feet up and hands clasped behind his head, and announced he'd only come because he was curious to see how snobs with too much money lived, and did they know there were poor and starving people in the world?

Prudence was so scandalized that she rubbed her hated nose in dumbstruck horror, but Arthur, though initially shocked, was secretly amused. Matthew reminded him of himself when he was young. He, too, had been a free spirit and angry at the assumption of his parents that their four sons, despite their expensive educations, should choose "easy" careers paths while leading idle lives of leisure "as the wealthy were born to do". The desire to change things for the better was the very reason he had rebelled and chosen politics. He decided not to embarrass the boy by pointing out he and his wife were already very much involved in projects to help the poor and starving of the world, quickly ending the interview with a brief "Well, it was…ah…most interesting to meet you, Matthew" when Prudence looked about to do so, and finding it even more amusing when Matt didn't return the proffered handshake. He had often done exactly the same to his father when Nathaniel Maddocks had thought they should shake on an "agreement" that Arthur didn't agree with at all. From the information he had gleaned from Jack via Lydia it seemed to Arthur that the teenager's waywardness stemmed from parental pressure too.

Nobody was more astonished than Matthew when a letter plopped on the mat to say his application for employment at Saxe Coburg Mansion had been successful. Behind the scenes, Prudence had angrily told her husband he could be wholly responsible for the "most uncouth youth she was ever likely to have the misfortune to meet", but Arthur was convinced that if Matt escaped his mother's apron strings and smothering love, a much more likeable teenager would emerge. He was also quite certain that Matt was intelligent enough to see that for himself and accept the job offer. Lord Maddocks' gamble proved correct. A less rebellious and somewhat sheepish Matt soon took up the post of General Help.

And, for Dora's sake, it was just as well he did.