The Sixpenny Cross Collection

by Victoria Twead

  The Captain was lucky and soon shook off the cough he had acquired but the event only made him more determined to quickly find a wife and return home. He found himself staring at all females that crossed his path, wondering if any might suit his needs.

  As an only child at home, then educated in a boys’ private boarding school, and finally joining the army, the Captain had had very little contact with the fairer sex. Ladies attended his parents’ parties, but if any attempted to engage him in conversation, he was struck dumb with fright. He could converse well enough with male acquaintances in the Club, but as soon as they introduced him to their sisters, he became awkward and tongue-tied.

  And so the years passed.

  He had left the manor house entirely in the charge of Mr and Mrs Anderson, and now they were too old to do much more than potter around. When they retired to a tiny bungalow in Worthing, he paid a company to board up the manor, make it secure, and to check it regularly.

  One day, he promised himself, he would go back to Sixpenny Cross. But the promise he had made to his father still ate at his soul.

  It was 1964, and the Captain would soon be forty-five years old. The war had ended almost twenty years before and England was a very different place. The nation had gasped at the audacity of the Great Train Robbery, Beatlemania had swept across the country and mods and rockers were clashing at seaside resorts.

  And still the Captain had not found a wife, although not for the want of trying. He’d never felt that deep emotion the Beatles sang about, the love that he knew had existed between his parents.

  But he’d never stopped looking, and maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found the perfect woman in Margaret. He patted his pocket.

  In his Kensington apartment, the Captain peered into the mirror, staring at his own face, trying to see it through Margaret’s eyes. He wasn’t a bad looking chap, he decided. Yes, his hair was beginning to silver at the temples, but nobody could call him unattractive. He turned away and pushed the curtain aside to peer out of the window onto the street below. His apartment was on the third floor, and if he craned his neck, he could see the street stretch away on either side.

  Although residential, this was a busy road, vehicles travelling faster than they should. Two businessmen wearing long coats and bowler hats walked together. Each carried a rolled up newspaper and an umbrella. A beggar sat on the pavement, leaning against the railings. He lifted his hand hopefully, palm upwards, as the men approached, but he might as well have been invisible. The men hardly slowed their pace as they skirted round him.

  A street cleaner trundled his cart up the road, and this time the beggar didn’t even lift his head.

  A black taxi cab rounded the corner, and the Captain’s heart gave a little lurch.

  Margaret!

  The Captain bounded down the communal stairs and walked out into the street just as the cab driver drew up. The rear window was wound down, framing Margaret’s pretty face.

  “Richard!”

  “Hello, Margaret, shall I hold the driver, or pay him off?”

  “Oh, pay him, I think.”

  Margaret watched as the Captain paid her fare, then opened her door. She stepped out onto the pavement, and straightened. The taxi drew away to join the stream of traffic, leaving them alone.

  “Margaret, you look wonderful, as usual.”

  “Thank you, Richard.”

  If her voice sounded a little flat, and her eyes avoided his, he didn’t notice.

  He kissed her proffered cheek, enjoying the scent of jasmine that always accompanied her.

  “I thought I’d take you to a new restaurant for lunch. Are you hungry?”

  “That sounds super, Richard, but do you think we could just go for a stroll?”

  “Of course, shall we head towards the Gardens? We can always hail a cab to the restaurant from there.”

  “Good idea.”

  It wasn’t far to the park and they walked together, side by side. Margaret was unusually quiet and the Captain couldn’t think of a word to say. The little square ring box was burning a hole in his pocket as he silently rehearsed his script.

  I’ll ask her at the park, he thought, when it feels right. Or perhaps I should wait until we get to the restaurant? I’ll make sure we have the best table. Should I kneel? No! Perhaps I’ll wait until we are quite alone, somewhere else, another day…

  The Captain used the busy road as an excuse to hold her arm as he found a safe gap between the passing traffic. He guided her across, but when they reached the other side, Margaret pulled away from his grasp.

  Ah, she’s such an independent soul, he thought to himself. Father would approve of that.

  “It’s a pity we didn’t bring bread for the swans,” said Margaret, breaking into the Captain’s thoughts. “Shall we sit here at this bench, for a while?”

  “Of course.”

  They sat side by side, facing the water, watching the swans dip their long necks into the water. Their view was interrupted for a moment by a mother pushing a high baby carriage in front of them. The infant seated in the pram regarded the pair on the bench without expression.

  Shall I ask her now? he thought, and his hand started snaking towards his pocket. Is now the right time?

  “Richard, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” said Margaret.

  “Oh, Margaret, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too!”

  He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to hold it. The Captain took this as a good sign and his heart swelled.

  “Oh dear, I’m afraid you may not like what I am about to say,” said Margaret, looking into his face properly for the first time that day.

  4

  Something icy gripped the Captain’s heart. He stared at the lady by his side, desperately trying to read her expression but failing miserably.

  “I’m so sorry, Richard, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

  A pair of mallards swam into view and a swan stretched up to flap its wings.

  “What? What isn’t going to work?” He gripped her hand tighter, but she pulled it free.

  “Us, Richard. You and me. I’m terribly sorry. I care for you, of course, but I don’t feel we were made to be together…”

  The Captain felt cold, almost detached. This wasn’t what he’d planned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  “But you care for me?” he said at last.

  “Yes, but not in that way, if you know what I mean…”

  “But perhaps you could, in the future…”

  “No, Richard. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but I’ve met somebody else…”

  He gaped at her.

  “Richard, you must let me go. Please don’t be sad, and I know you’ll meet another nice girl very soon. I’m so sorry, but there was no easy way to tell you.”

  She was standing. She leaned down and patted his arm, then turned and swung away up the path.

  “Margaret!”

  But she didn’t respond.

  Numb, he watched her receding figure disappear behind some ornamental trees. When he lost sight of her, all hope died.

  “I bought you a ring,” he whispered, “I was going to ask you to marry me.”

  And then the world seemed to collapse around him. He stumbled to his feet and lurched back along the path the way they had come.

  “Oy!” said a man jumping out of his way. “Watch out!”

  But the Captain was blind to his surroundings.

  Margaret doesn’t want to be my wife.

  Margaret has gone.

  He staggered across the road, ignoring the honking from irate drivers.

  “’Ere mate, look where yer bleedin’ going!” yelled a taxi driver, shaking his fist.

  But the Captain heard nothing. All he wanted to do was reach home, close the curtains and sit alone in the dark to lick his wounds. Miraculously, no vehicle mowed him down and he reached the other side safely.

  Home was within sight, just one more street to cross. />
  Looking neither left nor right, he stepped into the road.

  Kevin Stephens’ knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. He was late. He was supposed to pick up his wife from the corner of Kensington High Street twenty minutes ago, and Lynn Stephens didn’t like being kept waiting. If Lynn was annoyed, she could sulk for England.

  If he took a shortcut, and kept his foot heavy on the pedal, he might get away with it. He’d tell her that he’d been delayed because he’d been in a travel agency, looking at booking one of those new package holidays to Spain she was always harping on about. Or he’d suggest they go to the pictures, maybe see that new film, A Hard Day's Night, starring those long-haired layabouts she liked so much. Kevin glanced at his watch.

  It all happened in a split second.

  He never saw the man step out into the road in front of him.

  Just as the Captain stepped forward, a small figure materialised from nowhere, grabbing the Captain’s coat and yanking him backwards. The corner of the car’s bumper made contact with the Captain’s right leg as he fell back into the arms of his saviour.

  Kevin slammed on his brakes and screeched to a stop. As the smartly-dressed man and the beggar slowly extricated themselves and stood up, he exhaled, realising that nobody was hurt.

  “You bloody idiot!” he yelled at the Captain with a mixture of anger and fright, “I nearly ran you over! If it hadn’t been for that bloke jumping in, you’d have been a goner!”

  Shaking his head, a relieved Kevin drove off. At least now he had an excuse for Lynn. Perhaps he might embellish the story just a little bit…

  The Captain gaped at the man who was still supporting him, guiding him back to the pavement and safety.

  “You saved my life,” he said.

  “It was just luck,” said the beggar. “I happened to see you walkin’ down the street, and I could see you were a bit distracted, like. So when you walked out into the road, I only had to grab you. Are you hurt at all?”

  “No, just bruised, I think…” The Captain rubbed his shin and looked ruefully at his torn trouser leg. “But if it hadn’t been for you, it would have been much worse.”

  “Oh, it was just a bit of luck. Anyway, that driver was goin’ much too fast.”

  “Well, I can’t thank you enough. Let me shake your hand!”

  The two men shook hands, one manicured, the other grimy with torn fingernails.

  “If you hadn’t grabbed me, I think I’d have died under the wheels of that motor. I live just over there, will you come in? I think we could both do with a drink to get over the shock.”

  “Well, sir, if you’re sure…”

  “Oh yes, I’m very sure! And I daresay I could rustle up something to eat, too, if you fancy it.”

  The beggar grinned from ear to ear.

  “Just one thing, sir, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

  “Of course not! Fire away!”

  “Forgive me if I’ve got it wrong, sir, it’s been a few years,” said the beggar, “but is your name Richard, by any chance? Richard Edwards from Sixpenny Cross?”

  The Captain gaped at the beggar, then stared closer at the slight figure in front of him. He looked past the ten-day stubble and the tattered scarf wound round the neck, past the unkempt hair and torn clothing.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, his mouth hanging open. “Mr and Mrs Anderson’s boy!”

  “Well, hardly a boy, sir,” said the beggar, smiling. “I’m actually two years older than you. But yes, I was born in the cottage in the grounds of Sixpenny Manor.”

  “Well! Good gracious! What a coincidence! Come along, old man, let’s drink to this! We’ve got a lot to talk about!”

  The Captain clapped Peter Anderson on the back, and the pair made their way up to the Captain’s apartment.

  Much later, the street cleaner trundled his cart back down the road, when something in the gutter caught his eye. He bent down, squinting. It was a small, velvet-covered box, the kind used by jewellers to display rings. Looking left and right to check he wasn’t being observed, he picked it up and cracked it open. A flash from the diamond inside was enough for him to slip the box quickly into his pocket and hurry away.

  “Finders, keepers,” he muttered.

  It was his lucky day.

  5

  Upstairs in the Captain’s apartment, the two men sat in armchairs, a decanter of whiskey on the table between them.

  “It’s Peter, isn’t it?” asked the Captain, suddenly recalling their housekeeper and gardener’s son’s name.

  “Yes, that’s right, sir, but nobody calls me that.”

  “They don’t? So what do they call you?”

  “Well, don’t laugh, sir, but everybody calls me Sixpence, on account of my size, and where I come from.”

  “Then I shall call you Sixpence, too,” decided the Captain. “And nobody calls me Richard, either. They all know me as the Captain. A relic of the war, of course.”

  Peter Anderson had indeed begun life in the grounds of the manor house in Sixpenny Cross. His parents had met because his mother was employed as a maid, and his father worked in the gardens. The pair had married and a party was held in the servants’ hall to celebrate. The happy couple were presented with an estate cottage, and two years later, Peter was born.

  Mrs Anderson went on to become housekeeper, and Peter’s father was promoted to chief groundsman. Peter, although not naturally academic, went to school in Sixpenny Cross, and later he attended a school in Yewbridge.

  The housekeeper’s son, Peter, and Richard Edwards, the squire’s son, were similar in age, but their paths seldom crossed. They belonged to different social classes.

  “So what did you do when you left school?” the Captain wanted to know. “I don’t remember seeing you at Sixpenny Cross. And how did you come to be, er, on the streets of Kensington?” He had avoided the word ‘begging’ but they both knew that’s what he meant. “I assume, Sixpence, that things lately haven’t been too prosperous for you?”

  “You could say that, sir.”

  “Have you been in contact with your parents? I understand that they are living in Worthing now.”

  Peter shifted uneasily in his armchair.

  “I’d rather not, sir, seeing as how things have been with me. I don’t want to worry them.”

  Sixpence had devoured a thick gentlemen’s relish sandwich that the Captain had prepared for him, and the delicious taste of anchovies was still on his tongue. Now the whiskey warmed him, and he was ready to talk.

  “When I left school, I became apprenticed to a builder in Yewbridge. Didn’t like it much, to be honest. I was pretty happy to be accepted into the army when the war broke out.”

  “You were in the army, too?”

  “I was. Only a Private.”

  “Did you see action?”

  “I did.“ Sixpence smiled ruefully. “If I’d known how hard it was going to be, I doubt I’d have volunteered so quickly.”

  The Captain nodded. Life hadn’t been easy for any soldiers in the second world war. But to have been a Private would have been very hard, compared with that of an officer like himself.

  “And I wouldn’t have lost my fingers.”

  Sixpence held his hand up, revealing three missing fingers, a fact that the Captain had failed to notice until now.

  “What happened to them?”

  “Blown away by a mine.”

  “And when the war ended, what did you do then?”

  “Oh this and that. So many houses needed rebuildin’ after the bombing, I thought I’d pick up work easy. But I couldn’t go back to the buildin’ trade, not with no fingers, nobody would employ me. So I had to think again. I was a caretaker in a school in north London for quite a few years until the council took over and changed things. I worked for a while as a petrol attendant and then I had a stroke of luck. I got chattin’ with one of the regulars at the petrol station, and he offered me a live-in job as caretaker at his block of flat
s in Battersea. I jumped at that, I can tell you!”

  “So what happened?”

  “It was fine for a few years until the old boy, the owner of the flats, passed away. Soon as he was laid in the ground, his relatives were swarmin’ all over the building, givin’ tenants their notice and makin’ plans about what they were goin’ to do with the place. They couldn’t give me my notice fast enough. I got into an argument about it, and they refused to give me a reference. Believe me, you can’t get a job without a reference nowadays. So that’s why I ended up on the streets.”

  The Captain shook his head in disbelief. How many times had he passed Sixpence, and never even really seen him, let alone offered any help?

  “You never married?” he asked.

  “No, sir. Never felt I found the right girl, and never felt I had anything to offer a wife, anyway. What about you, sir? Was that your wife I saw you with earlier today?”

  The Captain started. He had forgotten all about the painful break up with Margaret. He patted his pocket, and was surprised to discover that the ring box was gone. Curiously, he felt no sense of loss.

  “No, she was just, er, a friend,” he said. “I never married.”

  “Righty-ho,” said Sixpence, and took another sip of whiskey.

  The Captain’s leg was throbbing painfully reminding him how close his brush with death, or very serious injury, had been.

  “I want to demonstrate my thanks to you for saving my life today,” he said. “Would you accept a sum of money?”

  Sixpence looked affronted.

  “No, of course not, sir. I told you, it was just luck that I was there. Anybody would have done the same thing.”

  “Well, at least stay here in my apartment for a few days. As long as you like. Until you get back on your feet.”