by Ruthie Lewis
‘Good day to you, missus,’ said the giant, bowing. He smelled like he had never washed in his life. ‘May I introduce my little weans? Fine wee fellows, would you not say, now? Maybe a trifle old for schoolin’, but I reckon you can whip ’em into shape.’
The three men behind him grinned. They were big, though nothing like as large as their leader, and they too carried knives. Grace’s heart began to pound. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘My name’s Jack,’ said the giant. ‘People call me Rancid Jack, though for the life of me I’ve never known why. I’m a . . . a representative, you might say, of a business organisation. We’re called the Black Crows. I expect you’ll have heard of us.’
‘Yes, I have heard of you,’ Grace said. ‘And whatever your business is, you are not wanted here.’
She started to close the door, but Rancid Jack took a step forward and blocked the door with one enormous boot. Beside Grace, Radcliffe snarled, baring his teeth. The giant ignored him.
‘Not so fast, now,’ said Rancid Jack. ‘You’ve a fine little school here, Mrs Turneur. A trifle primitive and all, but I can see how you’re proud of it. Are you not?’
‘Yes,’ said Grace, glad her skirt hid her shaking knees.
‘We’re here to help you, see,’ said Rancid Jack. ‘There’s some people about, ill-intentioned folk you might say, who would like to see this school gone. They might try to damage it, perhaps even burn it down. We don’t think that should happen. We’re well-intentioned fellows, see. Very fond of education we are. Aren’t we, boys?’
‘Aye,’ said one of the men, baring his yellow teeth in a grin. Radcliffe growled again.
‘So here is our proposition, Mrs Turneur,’ the giant went on. ‘For a small consideration, we’ll keep your school safe. Not a large fee, not at all. Just a trifle. Contribution to the parish funds, you might say. Does ten shillings a week sound fair?’
Ten shillings a week was half of George’s wages. ‘I don’t have any money,’ Grace said.
The giant grinned at her, looking her up and down in a way that sent tremors of revulsion running through her entire body. ‘Well, now, Mrs Turneur, that’s no obstacle at all. A fine, well set-up filly like you can easy earn ten shillings a week, maybe more. Me and the boys, we’ll show how you can earn it.’
He leaned towards her, and lowered his voice. ‘It’d be our pleasure,’ he said.
Summoning all her reserves of courage, Grace glared at him. ‘You’ll not get a penny from me. Not now, not ever. Now, go away. You are frightening the children.’
Rancid Jack shook his head. ‘It’s not a good idea to say no to the Black Crows, Mrs Turneur. Not a good idea at all.’ He motioned to his men. ‘I think the lady needs a little demonstration. Show her what happens to those who don’t co-operate with us.’
Radcliffe began to bark very loudly. The other men moved towards Grace, but stopped when the dog ran at them. Grace pointed across the fields to the place where workmen were building the new carpet factory. Some of them had heard the dog barking, and turned towards the sound of the noise.
‘I’d be careful, if I were you,’ she said to Rancid Jack. ‘If there is any trouble, those men will send for the constables. And the local constables, in case you didn’t already know, are in the pay of the Bull Head Gang, and they will call on the gang for help. You can’t fight both of them at once, can you?’
The big man glared at her. ‘This isn’t over, missus,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back. That’s a promise.’ Then, motioning to his friends, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Grace called Radcliffe and then slammed the door shut and leaned against it for a moment, quivering. The children stared at her, faces full of fright; Albert was as white as a sheet. She forced herself to be calm.
‘I think that’s enough for today, children,’ she said. ‘And there will be no lessons tomorrow.’ Nor would there be any more lessons, she thought, until this menace had gone away. She had thought she could face down the threat, but she knew now that she could not put the children in danger. The thought sickened her, but for the moment at least, the school would have to close.
*
Back at the house, her hands still shaking, she wrote a letter to Agnes, advising her that the school would be closed until further notice and then, taking Radcliffe with her and locking the door firmly behind her, went out to post the letter and then knock on the doors of the parents with older children to give them the news. Back at Bell Lane she called on Mrs Berton last of all.
‘It’s sickening, what’s going on,’ said her neighbour and friend. ‘Elijah says the Crows have threatened to beat up the men working at the engine works, unless the company pays a ransom. But if they do pay, then the Bull Heads will attack them. We’re caught between the devil and the deep sea.’
That was all too true, Grace thought. She remembered what George had said, and what the woman in the market had said too. No one would help them, because no one in power apart from a few reformers like Lord Shaftesbury and Mr Raikes cared about the lives of the poor. They were on their own. Their salvation, if it was to come at all, would have to come from themselves.
But she did have one potential ally; Mr Ringrose in Bermondsey, whose own school had been attacked. It would be dangerous to go there. The Black Crows were said to be all over Bermondsey, and she knew what would happen if she met Rancid Jack and his friends again. But something had to be done. Taking a deep breath, she called Radcliffe to her and then began to walk towards Bermondsey.
*
Potters’ Fields was a narrow lane running off Tooley Street, not far from London Bridge railway station. Many of the buildings, including the station itself, still bore the marks of the big fire seven years ago which had swept through the area, destroying many houses and warehouses. Now most of the surviving buildings were used as doss-houses, or were abandoned entirely. But the last house on the lane, looking out over a field full of brambles and weeds, had new windows fitted, and a sign saying SCHOOL posted over the door.
All seemed quiet. Grace knocked at the door and waited. After a while there came the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the door opened and Mr Ringrose appeared in the doorway, carrying a cricket bat in one hand. He looked tense, but he relaxed when he saw Grace.
‘Miss Perrow! What a pleasant surprise! Please, do come in.’
Grace followed him into the hall, watching him bar the door again. He seemed more flustered than ever, and yet she had heard from George that he had faced down the Black Crows. ‘I say, would you like some tea or something?’ he asked. ‘I was just about to put the kettle on.’
‘You are too kind,’ Grace said. ‘But I cannot stay long. My husband will be home soon, and I must get back.’
Mr Ringrose looked startled.
‘I’m married,’ Grace explained. ‘I am Mrs Turneur now.’
‘Oh.’ The young man looked at her, and then suddenly lowered his eyes. ‘M-my congratulations,’ he stammered. ‘I wish you every happiness.’
‘Thank you,’ said Grace. She looked around the hall. ‘You’ve a fine big building here. I wish I had such luxury.’
‘Oh, it was a fortunate chance,’ said Mr Ringrose, recovering his poise a little. ‘I happened to know the owner, and was able to buy the lease for a song. I live here as well, you see, partly in order to keep an eye on the place. Things have been difficult lately.’
‘I heard you had trouble with the Black Crows,’ Grace said.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Ringrose. ‘They demanded I pay them for protection. If I didn’t, they would burn my school down.’ He looked at the cricket bat in his hand. ‘I told them they would only do it over my dead body. The fellow that led them – big smelly chap – said that was the general idea. They told me to think it over, and went away. Have you had trouble too?’
‘Yes.’ Grace told him about Rancid Jack, and Mr Ringrose nodded. ‘Sounds like the same fellow,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I�
�ve closed the school for the moment,’ Grace said. ‘But I cannot stay closed forever. My pupils are depending on me. I came to talk to you and see if we could agree what to do next.’
‘I have been thinking about it,’ said Mr Ringrose. ‘We’re not strong enough to fight these fellows. I think we need to just keep our heads down, and wait.’
‘Wait? For what? Surely the Black Crows will come back, and this time they’ll do more than just make threats.’
‘Not if someone else sees to them first,’ Mr Ringrose said. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I know. There’s a public house along the way, the King’s Arms. It’s a fairly rough crowd who drink there, but one or two have children at the school, and they know me and trust me, enough to talk pretty freely when I’m around. The word is that there’s going to be an almighty showdown between the Black Crows and the Bull Head Gang, probably quite soon. Now that the Deptford mob have been cleaned up, the Bull Heads are turning their attention to the Crows. And the smart money is on the Bull Heads to win.’
Grace shuddered. ‘It is like living in a war,’ she said.
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ said Mr Ringrose quietly. ‘Like I said, Mrs Turneur. I don’t think there is much we can do, except wait.’
*
She waited, while showers of April rain swept over the city. Three days later, George came home from work looking – unusually for him – pale and rather upset. He kissed the children and then sent them to play in the parlour and drew Grace into the kitchen.
‘It’s bad,’ he said. ‘Very bad. The Black Crows approached Crompton and Rhodes and demanded protection money for that new carpet factory they’re building. Mr Crompton refused, so this morning the Crows went in to burn the place down. Only thing is, somehow the Bull Head Gang had found out about it. When the Crows arrived, the Captain and his men were waiting for them. It was an ambush.’
Gentle to the core of his soul, George hated violence. So far as Grace knew, he had never raised his hand to anyone. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘Six killed, they say, and Lord knows how many hurt. These people are animals, Grace. Wild animals, brutes and beasts, that’s all they are.’
‘Reverend Soames would tell you that even brutes have souls,’ said Grace.
‘His reverence can’t have had much dealing with folk like the Captain or Rancid Jack. He’s gone missing, by the way. Jack, I mean. No one’s seen him since the fight. The Black Crows are beaten, and the Captain’s men are on top. They run all this district now, everything from London Bridge to the Surrey Canal.’
‘If the Black Crows have gone, then something good has come of this,’ said Grace. ‘I’m going to re-open the school.’
George took her hand. ‘Lass, I’m begging you; don’t. The Bull Heads are just as violent and cruel as the Crows. They’re just as likely to do you harm. Stay at home, and stay safe.’
‘I can’t stay at home forever,’ Grace said. ‘Yes, the Bull Heads attacked my school once, but that was months ago. You said it yourself, they’re a big gang now, and they’ll have plenty on their plates. I’m not a threat to them, not now. I’m sorry, George, but I must do this.’
*
Grace wrote to Agnes and asked if she was ready to return to work, and received a terse reply to the effect that yes, she was. A little apprehensively, Grace then approached the parents of her children – and, if they did not have parents, the children themselves – and asked if they were willing to return. All but one said yes. ‘And if those swine give you any trouble, tell us,’ said Mickey Doyle. ‘We’ll see you safe, Mrs Turneur.’ He was a courtly man, Mickey, for all his size and strength, and he always insisted on calling her Mrs Turneur, even though she begged him to use her first name.
The school resumed and Grace went back to her old routine, teaching in the morning, returning home to prepare a meal and then housework or shopping in the market in the afternoon before George came home in the evening. April turned into May, and May to June. The skies were brighter, though the wind remained cold from the east, raw with smoke and fumes from the glue factory and vitriol works. At home Grace kept the doors and windows tight shut to keep out the stink, with the result that without ventilation the house became damper than ever.
July came, and still the cold persisted, making a mockery of summer. The anniversary of Rosa’s death was hard for both her and George. That evening they sat before the fire for a long time, not saying very much, remembering. ‘I loved her,’ George said softly, staring out the window. ‘But it was more than just love. She kept me going. Stopped me from doing foolish things, and reminded me of my responsibilities. I know I’m an idiot sometimes, but Rosa was always there to pull me out of whatever mess I’d got into.’
He shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone. I look at the kids sometimes, and I think, oh, she’s not far away. She’s just in the other room. She’ll come to us in a moment, and then all will be right with the world again.’
‘She’s watching over you still,’ Grace said softly. ‘I do believe that, George. She’s watching over us all.’
George forced a smile. ‘Maybe so . . . She’d be proud of what you’re doing now, that’s for certain. She always said you were the clever one in the family.’
Grace smiled. ‘And I always thought she was the brave strong one.’
‘You’re both of those things too,’ George said, taking her hand.
‘If I am, it’s because I learned how to be both from her. I miss her so much, George. When I was little, she was the only family I ever had.’
‘Do you remember anything, lass? About where you came from?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I was adopted when I was a newborn babe, Rosa said. As for our parents, I remember little hazy moments, no more. I don’t even know what they looked like. My first real memories are of the workhouse.’
‘That’s sad,’ George said quietly.
‘A little, yes. Rosa was my last link with my old life. Now, I’m the woman with no past.’ She smiled and patted his hand. ‘But at least I have a future, and a family too.’
‘No regrets?’ George asked.
‘For Rosa, yes. We’ll both miss her forever. For everything else; no, none. I think things have worked out for the best. I’m lucky, George, to have so much, when so many others have nothing.’
*
The following day the weather changed. The wind died away and the weather became warm and humid, the air sticky and reeking with smoke and fumes. The sun shone dull orange through the haze. In the afternoon once George had returned to work, Grace washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen and then, leaving the children to read or play, fetched her basket and called Radcliffe and went out to go to the market.
After the long spell of cold weather, the sun on her cheek felt positively hot. The market was crowded with people, and in the distance a brass band tootled away, volunteers from the London Christian Mission raising funds for the homeless. Grace was glad she had not brought Harry, for she would not have been able to keep him away from the band. She bought bread and cheese and fresh vegetables and a scrag end of mutton, and began to walk back towards Bell Lane.
A covered van drawn by a single pony pulled up alongside her. Two men jumped out, and before Grace realised what was happening, they were alongside her, seizing her by the arms. One clapped a rough hand over her mouth. She struggled, dropping her basket, but they were far too strong for her. Radcliffe was behind her, barking furiously, but the men ignored him. Dragging her between them, they threw her into the van and slammed the doors. Winded, she lay on the floor of the van and felt it lurch into motion. After a moment she crawled over to the doors and pushed against them as hard as she could, but to no avail; they had been securely locked from outside.
‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Let me out! Someone, help me! Please!’ But there was no answer and the motion of the van never ceased or faltered. No help was coming, and there was no escape. She had been kidnapped.
Cha
pter 12
Even as George reached the house, he felt something was wrong. Taking out his keys, he let himself in the front door and then stopped in alarm. The children were huddled together around the shaggy form of Radcliffe, who lay on the floor with his head on his paws and his ears down, the picture of canine misery.
‘What is it?’ George asked. ‘Is something wrong with the dog?’
Their faces stared back at him, pale with fright. ‘Mummy went to the market,’ said Albert. ‘She took Radcliffe with her. Then Radcliffe came home without her. Mummy hasn’t come back.’
To George, it was at once clear what had happened. Grace had been wrong. The Bull Head Gang had remembered her. Now, with their rivals defeated and their supremacy over the docklands unchallenged, they had come back to settle their score.
He drew a deep breath. ‘Albert, run next door to Mr Berton, and then find Mr Doyle. Tell them I need their help.’
Doyle and Berton arrived a few minutes later. ‘I think the Bull Heads have taken Grace,’ George said. ‘I’ve got to find her.’
The others nodded. ‘We’re with you,’ Mickey Doyle said.
‘Stay here,’ George said to Albert. ‘Lock the door and don’t let anyone in until we come back.’
He bent down to the dog and snapped his fingers. Radcliffe lifted his head. ‘Here, boy,’ George said. ‘Find Grace. There’s a good dog now. Find her, boy.’
Radcliffe shook himself, rose to his feet and trotted out the door. The three men hurried after him. Five minutes later they were standing at the spot where Grace was taken, the abandoned shopping basket lying in the road. It was empty; hungry thieves had doubtless taken whatever food the basket had contained.
‘What do we do now?’ Elijah Berton asked.
‘If it was the Bull Heads, they’ll have taken her to Albion,’ said Mickey Doyle. ‘That’s where their lair is now.’ He hesitated, and then said what they had all been thinking. ‘There’s only three of us, George. We can’t take on the whole gang.’