The Forgotten Children
Page 11
‘Of course.’ Resigned but frustrated, Flora beckoned Sally forward. The chances of Martha being able to read or write were slight, but kept the thought to herself.
‘That food was meant to be exchanged for information, and thus far we don’t have any,’ Lydia said when the door was closed smartly on them.
‘She looked as if she could do with a decent meal.’ Flora looked wistfully back at the house they had just left. ‘Even if she did send an eight-year-old to work as a domestic servant.’
‘It’s not unheard of.’ Lydia kept her attention on the list of addresses in her hand as they walked. ‘Young girls are often taken on as tweenies and kept below stairs until trained in the ways of the house.’ Lydia sneaked a look at her. ‘Some don’t leave the basement for several years.’ She held out the list, a gloved finger pointed at a line of the script. ‘Is that a three?’
‘Looks like it,’ Flora muttered, adding, ‘did you notice, that Flaherty woman said “St Philomena’s fixed her up”? Mr Briggs used a similar expression in relation to Albert.’
Lydia shrugged. ‘It’s a common enough figure of speech.’
‘Maybe. But Alice said the families she spoke to sounded coached. As if they had been told exactly what to say if anyone asked. The same thought occurred to me just now.’
‘I suppose you could be right.’ Lydia bit her lip, thoughtful. ‘Let’s see how we get on at the other places.’
No one answered their knock at the next cottage, but at the subsequent one, a girl of about fourteen opened the door and glared at them with suspicious eyes. In response to Lydia’s gentle questioning, she claimed to know nothing at all about a boy named James, roughly quieting a toddler who tried to interrupt. Having contradicted herself twice, she succumbed to panicked nerves and told them she was busy and shut the door.
‘Where next, Lydia?’ Flora sighed, leaving a parcel of food on the windowsill where she was sure the girl would see it. ‘Though I feel we are wasting our time.’
‘There are only a couple more. Flora,’ she began when they had set off again. ‘I’m beginning to think Miss Finch was right. There’s something odd going on here.’ Flora didn’t respond as remorse quickened her steps. What had appealed as an adventure when discussed in Martell’s Tearoom now struck her as unforgivably patronising when confronted with malnourished people living in these squalid conditions. Her gaze flicked repeatedly to the buildings while she imagined hostile eyes glaring at her from the corners.
‘Did you hear what I said, Flora? Lydia guided her into a tenement building that stank of boiled cabbage and stale urine; the dark stairways so caked with dirt their boots hardly made a sound on the treads. ‘I don’t believe anything we’ve been told since we arrived.’
‘I heard, and I agree with you. I wish I knew what to do about it.’ Flora rapped on a door on the second landing which opened with a creak of rusted hinges by a slatternly girl who denied all knowledge of anything before Flora said a word. She persevered but the conversation did not improve and although the woman acknowledged the existence of the child they asked about, she claimed ignorance to his current whereabouts.
Defeated, Flora turned away, the sound of the door closing behind her like a blow to her self-esteem. ‘I must get out of this building, Lydia. I’m finding it difficult to breathe.’ The shallow breaths she took to lessen the worst of the stink were making her light-headed.
‘This block is worse than some, I agree,’ Lydia conceded, their footsteps clattering on the concrete steps. ‘I could do with some fresh air myself.’
They passed Sally on the landing below them, having been accosted by three barefooted urchins who, aware of ‘Slum sisters’ in their building, had come to claim what was on offer, while what Flora took to be their mother observed shyly through a gap in her front door. In response to Sally’s pleading look as they passed, Flora patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Sally, go ahead and give them some food. In a way, it’s why we’re here.’ Flora had almost reached the main door, when a shadow detached from the wall and stepped in front of her. She gasped, halting as the shadow turned into a figure of a youth who made a grab for Lydia’s bag. She was too quick for him however, and backed away dragging Flora with her.
‘Get away from us immediately,’ Lydia ordered, unflinching.
‘Just give us yer purse and we won’t touch yer.’
His voice was younger than Flora had expected, his words slurred together. In fact he couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Despite the cold day his coat looked thin, exposing a stained and faded shirt and a pair of frayed braces holding up patched trousers that flapped above his ankles.
‘He means you too, Missus,’ another rough-voiced male addressed Flora.
Flora’s mouth dried as a two more figures emerged from beneath the staircase. One was smaller than the first, though all three looked to be no older than their mid-teens, their caps pulled down to hide the top half of their faces.
She clutched her purse tighter to her body, though the couple of pounds it contained would not be such a great loss. What she regretted, in her eagerness to leave, was allowing Sally and Abel to fall so far behind.
‘C’mon. We ain’t got all day.’ The first youth stepped closer. His chin was chiselled and youthful with no stubble, but his voice was hard, pitiless as he hooked a grubby hand onto Flora’s forearm.
She recoiled at his soiled hands, the fingernails rimed with black grime, while her attention went to something that glinted in his other hand.
‘He’s got a knife!’ Lydia’s voice was low and pragmatic but held no fear as she handed the first youth her bag.
Flora nodded, unable to speak as her throat closed with fear. Where was Abel?
The leader of the group gave an impatient grunt and lunged, his hand closing on Flora’s bag. Instinct made her clutch it tighter, creating an awkward tussle.
‘Let go of it, Flora. It isn’t worth it!’ Lydia said beside her.
Her words made sense, but still Flora’s fingers cramped onto the bag as if it were a lifeline, her gaze fixed on the youth’s grime encrusted fingernails.
Vaguely the sound of footsteps intruded and with a furious growl, Abel lunged past her into the first youth and slammed him against the wall. One hand on his throat, with the other he shook a clenched fist beneath the boy’s chin. The knife slipped from the youth’s hand and clattered to the floor. Abel kicked it away, sending it skittering across the boards and out of reach.
With the grip on Flora’s bag released, she clutched it tighter and eased closer to Lydia, unable to tear her gaze away from Abel. In horrified admiration, she watched him drag her attacker across the floor by his neck. With his free hand, he opened the main door, jammed it with one foot and hurled the youth outside.
The other two had backed into a corner, where they exchanged a look that contained a message. Apparently the pair did not lack courage, for in the mistaken belief they could take Abel on if they worked together, they lunged simultaneously. One latched onto Abel’s back from where he aimed punches, the other grabbed his leg and hung on as if he hoped to bring the big man down.
Abel fended them both off easily, his answering blows more causal defence than an actual fight, resulting in a series of shocked yells, grunts and thumps as the youths hit the floor.
A movement brought Flora’s gaze to the landing, where Sally stood motionless, though her face exhibited neither fear nor surprise, only a quiet confidence as she watched Abel deal with their attackers.
The youths’ attempts at resistance ceased within a surprisingly short time. One scrambled away on all fours into the space beneath the concrete stairs, his face a picture of blind panic. He stared wide-eyed at Abel for a few seconds, then turned and bolted through the door that slammed back into place with such force, the frame rattled.
The third youth was on his knees, bent over and retching, though Flora didn’t recall the blow which had felled him.
‘Go on, get off out of here b
efore I call a constable,’ Abel snarled, his chin cocked at the door.
‘Can’t—’ The youth bent double gasped. ‘Can’t-get-me-breaf.’
Abel grunted, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with one hand and, holding the door open with the other, propelled him through helped on his way by Abel’s boot connecting with his rear end.
‘I should by rights tell you that was totally unnecessary, Abel,’ Lydia said, a shaky laugh in her voice. ‘But in the circumstances they deserved it. Goodness knows what they might have done had you not arrived in time.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I was horrified at first, but that last scuffle was quite exhilarating.’ Flora smoothed down her rumpled coat, her confidence returned. ‘I doubt you could have carried out your threat to summon a constable. We haven’t seen one since we got out of the cab.’
‘I heard them from the landing.’ Abel retrieved the knife from the floor, a light, badly made, cheap object which looked far less threatening than it had a moment before. Abel’s upper lip curled in disgust as he slipped the object into his pocket, pushing his other hand through his brown hair. It refused to stay in place and flopped over his forehead. ‘Are you ladies both all right?’ he asked, almost as an afterthought. His eyes lit with a keen intelligence she had not noticed before. There was evidently more to this young man than she had imagined.
‘Perfectly, thank you, Abel,’ Flora said, relieved. ‘I’m surprised the entire building hasn’t come running to see what all the noise was about.’ She searched the upper landings for curious faces but no voices could be heard, not even the sound of a door opening reached them.
‘Doubt it,’ Sally descended the remaining steps, the basket held awkwardly in both hands. ‘More likely they’d lock their doors and pretend not to notice.’ Her eyes shone with admiration as she sauntered past Abel, throwing him a shy look from beneath her lashes.
Flora bent to retrieve Lydia’s bag from where the youth had dropped it on his undignified exit. ‘It’s a bit grubby, I’m afraid, but will clean up again.’ She handed it back to Lydia, unwilling to admit that nausea still gripped her lower belly at the thought of what might have happened had not Abel been there.
‘I told you he’d be useful to bring with us, didn’t I, Flora?’ Lydia brushed dirt from the tapestry bag with her gloved hand, displaying no trace of nerves.
‘You did indeed.’ Flora stepped into the street, relived there was no sign of the three youths. Never again would she dismiss Bunny’s repeated warnings that she not wander London streets alone.
‘I suggest you stay close to me, ladies.’ Abel herded the three of them in front of him like a sheepdog. ‘Tough neighbourhood is this.’
Chapter 12
‘What did you think of that old woman at the last place?’ Flora asked, her eyes on her feet as they negotiated the slippery front steps of a house they had just left in Tabard Street. ‘She seemed more confident than the others.’
‘Maybe,’ Lydia said, sceptical. ‘I still didn’t believe her story about her son having been accepted into an apprenticeship. Robbie Homes is seven and she’s sixty if she’s a day.’
‘I thought she looked scared.’ Sally rested the basket on the ground, stooping to rearrange the parcels inside, separating the meat packages from the fruit.
‘Abel might have been responsible for that,’ Flora said. The way he lounged against the door frame and picked his fingernails with a file was enough to frighten anyone.
‘It were more than that.’ Sally threw a guarded look at the street behind them. ‘Someone’s told her not to talk.’
Flora’s stomach shifted uneasily, one hand rubbing her upper arm with the other as small tremors ran along her skin. The morning had taken a sinister turn after the attempted attack in the stairwell. Now she longed to be back at home.
‘You could be right, Sally.’ Lydia had lost none of her composure. ‘I had the same feeling. Although not everyone finds us unwelcome.’ She cocked her chin at a girl of about eleven who leaned against a gatepost on the other side of the road, watching them. She wore a faded green dress a size too large for her beneath a shapeless cardigan that hung unevenly, caused by a rip above the pocket. Her scrawny legs stuck out from an ankle-length skirt, ending in bare, dirty feet. Shrewd brown eyes looked out at them from beneath toffee-coloured hair that was in dire need of a wash.
Flora assumed that any approach they made would send her off into the maze of alleys, but after a silent exchange that felt like a challenge, the girl pushed away from the low wall and sauntered towards them, her chin stuck out belligerently. She halted in front of Abel, her head tilted back as far as it would go without losing her balance.
‘You was the one who saw off those Clay boys, didn’t cha? Never seed ’em so scared. They won’t stop till they reach London Bridge at the rate they was going.’ She folded her scrawny arms across her chest without a trace of nerves. ‘What they bin feeding you?’
Sally snorted and Lydia gave a ladylike giggle behind a hand.
Abel muttered what sounded to Flora like, ‘cheeky mare’, his face a picture of both surprise and admiration.
‘You’re from St Phil’s aren’ cha?’ the girl addressed Flora. ‘You here about Annie?’
‘Who’s Annie?’ Flora bent forward, putting her eyes on a level with the girl’s.
‘My friend who lives there.’ She aimed a backward wave in the direction of a building with a lopsided wooden door that might once have been painted green but showed mostly bare wood. ‘She’s my friend, but she’s not there no more. I bin looking for her.’
‘What’s your name?’ Flora asked gently, though at the same time took a step back to avoid any lice which might have taken up residence in the girl’s thatch of hair.
‘Ada, Ada Baines.’ She swiped a grubby sleeve beneath her nose, but her gaze didn’t waver from Flora’s.
Lydia consulted the list, but looked up and shook her head.
‘What made you think we were from St Philomena’s? Was this friend of yours ill and was taken there?’
‘She took herself.’ Ada’s eyes glinted with scorn, her pointed chin jutted further. ‘She don’t need no nursemaid. She’s twelve.’
‘I see.’ Flora concealed a smile at the child’s irrepressible confidence while at the same time the thought occurred to her that this Annie might have died and no one had thought to inform Ada.
‘How long is it since you last saw her?’ Lydia asked.
‘Two weeks ago, or thereabouts.’
‘She could have gone somewhere to convalesce,’ Flora said, remembering Alice mentioning the home on the south coast where they sent children to regain their strength.
‘Dunno what that is,’ Ada shrugged. ‘Huggins told me she’d gone, but he wouldn’t say where.’
‘This Huggins. Is he Annie’s father?’ Lydia asked.
‘Naw. He’s her uncle. Or that’s what he calls hisself. Took up wi’ Annie’s mum a year ago but she scarpered last Christmas. Annie doesn’t like him.’
‘Is there a possibility Annie ran away because of this Huggins fellow?’ Lydia asked.
‘She wouldn’t do that.’ Ada’s eyes narrowed as if Lydia had insulted her. ‘She weren’t scared of ’im, she just didn’t take to him is all. Naw, the Sally Army bloke and some other chap came to see Huggins when she was in the ’ospital.’
‘What Sally Army bloke?’ Lydia pushed into the gap between Flora and the girl. ‘What was he like?’
‘I dunno. He didn’t speak to me, but I saw them go into Huggins’ place.’ Ada’s eyes looked suspiciously wet but didn’t develop into full-blown tears. ‘Annie never came back.’
‘Did this Huggins say where she had gone?’
‘He said she’d gone into service at some big house north of the river. I told him, Annie and me were going into service together, but he didn’t care. Said she was staying with her grandma for a few days before going to this big house. But he’s a liar, Annie don’t have a grandma.’
‘Maybe Annie needed to work and didn’t have a choice?’ Flora suggested, though if Annie had gone into service, it wouldn’t explain why she hadn’t said goodbye to her friend, or been seen since.
‘No!’ Ada shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t ’ave left me. We’re best friends.’
‘Do you remember anything about this other man?’ Flora asked. ‘The one who was with the Salvation Army Officer?’
‘Seen him about a few times.’ Ada shrugged and swiped a hand beneath her nose. ‘Short, stocky bloke in a brown coat and cap. Nothing special.’ She seemed to give the matter some thought, then her eyes lit as she recalled a memory. ‘He’s got funny eyes. Like this.’ With unnerving skill, Ada made one eye slide inwards.
Flora’s pulse quickened. Could he be the man Lizzie Prentice saw at the hospital? A stocky man with a squint shouldn’t be hard to locate. Or was she being optimistic?
‘He drinks at the Corks.’ Ada eyed the basket Sally held, prompting her to pull it protectively closer. ‘But I dunno where he lives.’
‘Corks?’ Flora frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘The Corks Galleon, down that way.’ She hooked a none-too-clean thumb in the direction of the main road.
‘She means The Antigallican,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s what the locals call the public house on Tooley Street.’
‘Alice mentioned that place to me at the tea room,’ Flora said, surprised that Lydia not only knew of it, but was also aware of its colloquial name.
‘His name’s Swifty Ellis.’ Ada brought all eyes swivelling in her direction. When no one spoke she blew out a frustrated breath. ‘The man wiv the funny eyes.’
‘Why didn’t you say so at the beginning?’ Lydia gripped the girl’s upper arm, giving her a tiny shake.