‘You’re not bringing that dog of yours with you, surely? Don’t forget, my mother has a bulldog.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Sally said, and added, ‘but we come with Bill or not at all.’
‘Well, well! I suppose he’ll have to. How is the old fellow?’
‘Still lovely, and looking beautiful as always.’
‘Well, until Saturday then, folks.’
‘Until Saturday, James. Bye-bye.’
There he was, on the platform, waiting for them. He held out both arms towards them, and they greeted him like a long-lost friend. Then he was stooping over Bill and being kissed liberally.
‘Oh, it’s good to see you both,’ he said. ‘Had a good journey up?’
‘Very good. We had one of those corner end compartments, you know, that take two passengers only; and this suited us, His Nibs more so’—Fred pointed down at Bill—‘for he nearly always ends up in the guard’s van; we two with him.’
James hustled them along to the queue waiting for the taxis. When Bill sniffed at the ankles in front of him there was some shuffling and moving to the side, and Sally had to say, ‘He’s quite harmless; he is really. Believe me.’
‘That’s after the stitches come out,’ said the man next to the shuffling lady, and he laughed. The Carpenters did, too, but not so the lady. She got into the next taxi with an alacrity that gave the lie to her sixty years or more.
It took them thirty minutes to reach their destination. The Rectory was number twenty-four in a long, forbidding and dilapidated terrace; but once inside the linoed hall, the welcome they received from the man almost a head taller than his son was overwhelming. He was enormously tall and thin, and his wife, not half his height but three times as broad, greeted them with the same affectionate enthusiasm. The parson, smiling all over his face, talked all the time, saying, ‘This is a day and a half. If only Peter had been able to come along. It’s much warmer in the kitchen, but she will have us go into the sitting room which is heated only for weddings, funerals and baptisms, and none of those has happened in the family for many a long year.’
‘Shut up, Sandy, and let’s get in there and near the fire; they’re frozen!’
‘Oh! Isn’t he beautiful?’ She was bending down to Bill who, now that he was off the leash, was attempting to find out exactly where he was and whom he might meet by sniffing into the corners.
‘Where’s Princess, Mother?’ James asked her.
‘Oh, she’s next door, with the Brownlows. You know how they love her. We thought, as we were having a gentleman to visit us’—she was now stroking Bill—‘who was a very strong and fine chap, it would be a bit too exciting, for nowadays our dear Princess’ legs give way under a puff of wind.’ And she looked up at Sally as she said, ‘We had a bull terrier once, called Macnab.’ She glanced up at the tall figure now ushering them towards a door at the end of the hall.
It was noticeable that neither of the Carpenters had had a chance to get a word in, not even when they were settled in what was really a very cosy room and in front of a roaring fire. In fact, there had fallen on the company a short silence, until the little woman said, ‘Now we’ve all got our breath back, how are you, my dears?’
From then the conversation was general until Mrs Watson said, ‘I’m not going to say I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen, because that’s where we always eat, that is if there’s anything left in the larder. More often than not Sandy’s already been there and taken it out for somebody he says needs it more than we do, when I have to say to him, “You speak for yourself, Sandy Watson.”’
It struck Sally, at this moment, that if Mrs Watson had been Rosie’s granny she would have recognised her as one of the Stevenson family, but she wasn’t Rosie’s granny. Quite by chance, she was an elderly, grown-up Rosie.
Apparently her husband hadn’t got his hands on today’s meal for it was very good. It started with a home-made broth which, Mrs Watson informed them as she placed steaming bowls on the table, was called Watson’s Saviour. It had been made from a stock of ham bones and shin bones and pigs’ trotters, together with a basis of well-cooked barley and vegetables, the main ingredient here being leeks.
It was the finest both Fred and Sally had ever tasted. As Sally was telling her that, or trying to, Sandy put in, ‘Why don’t you come out with that pud of yours?’
‘Shut up!’ had been her reply to him. ‘And get that broth down that drainpipe first ’cos, if you don’t, when you’re found dead I’ll get the blame of it…malnutrition, it will be said.’
James had kept smiling all through this family repartee, occasionally casting his glance towards the Carpenters and shaking his head at the same time, as much as to say, ‘You’ve heard nothing yet’. And it was true. Those two could have filled any theatre with their natural backchat. That afternoon the Carpenters laughed more than they could remember ever doing before. But then, it was not difficult after a very good meal of roast lamb and four vegetables and a pudding, a beautiful Yorkshire pudding sprinkled with raisins, sultanas and currants, topped with a brandy sauce, the spirit in which, Mrs Watson assured them, was no imitation but was from a miniature bottle that had been given to her for medicinal purposes.
They had arrived at the Rectory at about a quarter past twelve, but it was turned two before they went back into the sitting room; and there, of a sudden, the little woman’s manner changed: turning to her husband, who was sitting in a large well-worn leather chair to the side of the fireplace opposite her, she said, ‘Well, now, Sandy. No more fumblegilgoosling, but let’s talk sensibly for the next while and tell them about Charles, because, really, that’s why they’re here today, to find out about Charles.’
‘Oh, no,’ Fred put in gallantly; ‘not only to find out about Charles, we wanted to meet you too.’
‘Thank you, Mr Carpenter,’ said the little woman. ‘That’s very nice of you. But now, sit back and listen to him giving you preliminary details before he takes you on a journey, and what a journey, you’ll find. James and I will sit before this fire and wait for you to come back, by which time somebody will have got a decent tea set in the kitchen. That’s if there’s anything there and I empty his pockets before he goes out. Now on with it, Sandy.’
The Reverend Watson looked from one to the other of his audience, then said quietly to Fred, ‘You’ve met Mr Charles McHannen?’
‘No. Not exactly. We didn’t really meet him, though we certainly heard him, and from a distance we saw him twice in the boat and once standing on the top of a sand dune on Breydon Water; but we never really met him.’
‘Well, as for me,’ began Sandy Watson again, ‘he was introduced to me by two worried young men who were about to go on a sailing trip across the Broads. They had met up with this man, an American with whom they had been rather friendly at university. And so, coming to England, he looked them up again, only to find out he was about to lose them because they were going on a trip. So he put it to them that he would like to join them. Neither of them was eager for his company, but what could they do? They both agree it isn’t Charlie’s own fault that he is loud-mouthed, utterly selfish, and with the idea that money can buy everything. He has plenty of that, or at least his father has and what his father has is his because his father adores him, so we are given to understand. Yet his father sees that his valet-cum-guardian and spy watches his every move and reports them back to him. Knowing on which side his bread is buttered, the valet does as he is told, even though I’m sure he aims to twist his reports just slightly to show that the boss’ son is behaving himself. You see, Charles had left New York under a cloud. As I understand it, Mr Charles McHannen had a friend whose name was whisky, and when under his friend’s control he always sang long and loudly. So wherever he went he was an embarrassment, and Peter and James here, I think, had had enough when they at last left him on the Wednesday of your holiday and came to me. And so’—he spread out his hands—‘here were the two of them, when the impression they gave me was h
ere was a man spending money like water on whisky and debauchery of every form and kind and not giving a thought, not even a damn’—his voice rose as he said the last word—‘not even a damn on how the other half existed. He didn’t even know there was another half. If he had thought, he would have said, “Well, what are they but servants? They are paid for being servants; let them get on with it! I live my life and they live theirs. What the hell!”’
Sally and Fred were fascinated. This wasn’t the funny, jovial man of a couple of hours ago, this was a clergyman who was using ordinary language, very ordinary language. Rosie…Oh, Rosie would have loved him.
‘It came to my mind,’ went on the Reverend Watson, ‘that there was no-one so bad that they couldn’t be made a little better if their eyes were opened to the truth, and the plot that these two young fellows had put before me seemed to be possible but, as they said, they couldn’t do it without my help. What would I suggest? I took a few minutes over the matter before I said, “Well, if you intend to get him so blotto that he’d have passed out, he’ll have a hangover for a couple of days, and if he finds himself without clothes and having to stay in some hole or other in this part of the city I can’t think of anybody better than the Connollys for carrying out your plan. No; nor a more cold, bare house in which to wake up and learn there is a different kind of life from that which he has been leading.” And they both said, “Fine. Fine.” And then they asked how long I could keep him there—or the Connollys could keep him there. Well, I said it all depended on how long it would take the cleaner to get the mud and filth off that suit after they had dipped him here and there in the gutters, as they had proposed, the scheming rats that they were.’
His head bowed, his lips tight-closed in an effort to check his laughter, James made no response, and his father went on: ‘I was left holding the baby. How was I expected to deal with what followed?’
‘What I gathered, in bits and pieces, would fill a book but nobody would believe it. One incident young Willie Connolly told me of was, when he himself was getting up early in the morning from the pallet on which he had been lying on the floor to go to his paper round, the man lying in the bed croaked, “Get me a drink.” And Willie said, “Get it yourself, there’s a mug on the chair beside you,” which seemed to bring the fellow to life and he croaked again, “Where am I then?”
‘“With us, the Connollys,” Willie said.
‘“Look, get me a drink,” the man said, “I don’t want water, I want a drink.”
‘“Well, you’ll have to wait for ten minutes; Mattie’s just brewed, and it’s on the hob. She always likes it strong.”
‘And when the man said, “Turn the light on,” Willie answered him, “I can’t, that costs money. Anyway it’s daylight now. When I get into me things I can pull the curtains.”
‘“Into your things?” the man repeated. “Where have you been sleeping? In this bed?”
‘“No, I haven’t been sleeping in the bed. On the mattress where I usually sleep at the foot.”
‘Again the fella sits up, said Willie, and said, “Where on earth am I? Get who’s in charge. Who owns this place?”
‘“You’ll hear who’s in charge if you yell like that, and that’ll be from me dad.”’
Here the clergyman looked from one to the other of his listeners. ‘I can imagine Willie’s voice rising and explaining emphatically, “And we don’t want any pity; we’re quite happy, thank you.” He is a proud boy, and clever too…No; you couldn’t find a happier family. God knows how they manage. But in spite of all, they’re happy.’
He laughed now as he went on, ‘“Get the girl to come up here,” Charles demanded of Willie.
‘“I’d say to you, sir, if you had any clothes to put on,” answered Willie, “get her yerself. And if you spoke to her like that you’d get yer answer, I can tell you. You’ve got to be very careful how you speak to Mattie; she’s got a head on her shoulders.” And Charles’ immediate reaction to this was to bawl, “I don’t care where the hell her head is, get her up here. I want to know what’s going on.”
‘“You’ll know soon enough.” Yes, that’s what the boy replied, for at that moment the door opened and there stood Mattie with a mug of tea in her hand; and she looked at our dear Charles and said, “What’re you yelling at? You’ve woken my dad up, and my mum too, and she’s only just got off to sleep. Now, there’s a cup of tea. There’s no sugar in it; we’re out of that at the moment; but it’s strong.”
‘Charles did not take the mug from her but stared at her; then he must have forced himself to speak civilly, for he said, “Would you tell me what all this is about, please?”
‘“Yes, if you want to know. But take this mug unless you want me to take it back again.”
‘After Charles had taken the mug from her she said, “Our neighbour next door came and said there was a corpse lying in the gutter outside. He had seen two fellas dropping it there. He wanted to ask my dad if he would get the police, because he had been in trouble with them himself. And my dad yelled, “No! Get Willie to help you carry him in.” They carried you up here, and helped strip you of your filthy clothes before laying you on my bed. Yes, this is my bed. My mum took your vest and pants and washed them; but she couldn’t wash the mud off your outer clothes, they would have to go to a cleaner’s. Willie there”—she pointed to her brother—“put them in a sack and took them there yesterday.”
‘There she stopped, and Charles asked her quietly, “How long will that take?”
‘“Don’t ask me,” Mattie replied. “I’m not a cleaner.” Then when she asked, “Would you like me to get in touch with your family or friends? You must know someone in London, I suppose,” he almost screamed back at her, “No! No! I’ll wait for my clothes. I’ll be all right.” Then more quietly, “By the way, was there any money at all on me?”
‘“No, not a farthing. But don’t worry, we won’t charge you much. We live cheaply here. And you should thank your stars you are here, because if the police had been called you would have been in clink by now. Just think on that. And you would have had to get in touch with your people, wouldn’t you? Well, the quicker you do, in any case, the better I’ll like it, because as I said this is my bed. By the way, there’s no bathroom here, you’ll empty your own slops from under the bed into the bucket that’s been placed for you in the cubbyhole outside the door there. You’ll see it all right, there’s no other door on the landing. Willie will empty it for you.”
‘On this, Willie said she turned to him and said quietly, “You’d better put a move on, Willie, it’s close on seven o’clock.”’
Sandy Watson now stretched out his hands to the fire, saying, ‘There you have a picture of the awakening of our dear Charles at the beginning of the plot.’
Sally looked at James and said, ‘You said that’s what you came to London to do that day, wasn’t it? You said you were plotting something.’
‘Yes, we worked it all out on that Wednesday and we carried it out on the Friday and, oh, I never felt so sorry for anyone in my life as when we left Charlie at the Connollys’ door, at least I should say in the gutter. But it’s amazing what’s happened since. It is really, isn’t it, Father?’
Sandy Watson said, ‘Indeed it is, son. Indeed it is. God works in strange ways.’ And he paused before he added, on a laugh, ‘Even through men with little brain.’
At this point, it was Mrs Watson who said, ‘I’d say it’s about time you were off, if you want to show them anything in the daylight. And don’t forget, Sandy, you’re taking a parcel to the Connollys’ today.’
‘Oh, that’s something I won’t forget, dear. No, I won’t forget that.’
Just as they were about to leave the house Mr Watson took his son aside and said, ‘Stay with your mother, son. If you come with us, she won’t sit there just stroking the dog all the time, she’ll be busying herself remembering that tomorrow you’ll be going away again and she won’t see you for months, Sit with her, would you?’
/> ‘Yes, Father; oh, yes, I’d like nothing better; I just thought you might want me to come along with you.’
They nodded at each other and the clergyman opened the door for the Carpenters so that they could begin their walk through the East End of London.
They were in a district which seemed to be the slummiest of slums and damaged by wartime bombing: up narrow alleys, where the smell would have knocked you down, where sounds of laughter, crying and yelling came from different houses; some children playing outside looked so drab and dirty they might not have seen water for years.
Eventually, they left the huddle of buildings to emerge into a clearer area in which the houses were terraced, but still so dilapidated and unkempt, again partly due to bomb damage, it was impossible to imagine anyone living in them.
During their walk and Sandy Watson’s description of each part they were passing through, Sally noticed he was coughing and that it was a hard, tight cough. Once or twice she said to him, ‘Are you all right?’ and he replied, ‘Right as rain, my dear. Right as rain.’ That was, until they came to an open area which he told them was used as a market on certain days of the week. In one corner was a public house: the sign above the doors read: ‘The Last Rung of the Ladder’. It was here that, surprisingly, the clergyman stopped and said, ‘Would you mind if we called in here for a moment? We’ll be able to sit down and talk, and I should like to tell you the rest before we get to the Connollys’.’ He was wheezing now as he led them up a back alley and through a door into a small room. A man appeared behind a lift-up counter, and cried ‘Well! Hello, Reverend! Hello! Isn’t this a day for the Church; I’ve just had Father Mackin in. Oh, it’s good to see yourself. It’s very rare you visit us; it’s mostly your grand lady I see.’
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