by Carol Rivers
Charles immediately provided the coin. When the boy ran off through the crowd, they examined the painting.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lily said as Charles held it up.
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, but the canvas is torn. And the frame’s broken.’
‘No matter, they will mend easily.’ Charles nodded as they stared at the dirty oils depicting a young peasant woman feeding a large black bull. ‘Tell me, what do you think of the subjects, Lily?’
She gazed at the unlikely coupling. ‘I like them because the bull looks strong and powerful, whilst the girl is delicate and yet she’s not afraid to feed it.’
‘How very perceptive.’
‘All I know is, I’d hang it up on me wall, if I had a big house like yours.’
He smiled. ‘Well then Lily, let your intuition be our guide. I think this is what we have been looking for. Our morning’s search has certainly not been in vain.’
A small man came rushing towards them. He wore a suit that didn’t fit properly over his big arms and was too short in the sleeve. His face was ruddy and coarse under a filthy cap. The boy was pointing and the man slipped his thumbs into his waistcoat pocket when he saw them. A crafty smile came over his face as he noted the picture already in Charles’ hand.
‘How much do you want for this?’ asked Charles.
‘It ain’t for sale.’
‘Then why bring it to market?’
‘It’s me own. For me good lady. I bought it today.’
Charles nodded slowly, replacing the painting by the wall. ‘A pity since I was prepared to take it on.’
‘I saw a much nicer one along the Lane,’ said Lily, turning to slide her hand confidently through Charles’ arm. ‘This is torn and tattered and by comparison, quite dull.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Charles, a smile of complicity playing on his lips. ‘It was just a whim, anyway.’
Pleased with their charade, Lily smiled mischievously back. As they walked away, the dealer jumped in their path.
‘I could be persuaded to sell, I s’pose,’ he muttered, rubbing his filthy hand over the stubble on his jaw. ‘If I was offered a fair price.’
‘It’s broken,’ Lily said haughtily.
‘And filthy,’ agreed Charles.
‘Yer, but it would come nice with a clean-up,’ pointed out the man.
The boy ran to Lily. ‘Tell yer what miss, me gaffer might sell it for what he bought it at.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘’Cos yer a pretty lady.’
Charles laughed and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘What an excellent young man you are. Why don’t you go and make deliberations on our behalf?’
The young boy nodded and ran off. Lily smiled at Charles knowingly as they watched the older man shaking his head fiercely.
‘What a clever pair they make,’ said Charles softly in her ear.
She nodded. ‘But we are cleverer.’
‘Do you think we shall win?’
‘No doubt about it,’ Lily nodded. ‘Whatever he asks for, we’ll halve.’
Charles looked amused. ‘What a clever girl you are.’
When the boy returned, he stood with his thumbs in his ragged pockets. ‘It’s a gift to you, mister, at five bob.’
Charles glanced at Lily. She shook her head.
‘I would consider two and six,’ said Charles dismissively. And a little more quietly added, ‘Bear in mind, young man, you have already earned a commission.’
Lily tried to hide her amusement as the boy went off again. When he returned, he held out his hand. ‘The deal’s done.’
Two minutes later, Charles and Lily were returning the way they had come. They drew many glances from the passers-by as Charles carried the picture under his arm.
‘We make a good partnership, don’t you think?’ Charles said as he placed the picture in the back seat of the car and helped her up.
Lily nodded. She had enjoyed every moment.
‘Now, here is your pay, Lily.’ He pressed a ten shilling note in her hand. She felt embarrassed. She would have willingly accompanied him for nothing.
‘This is too much.’
‘Not at all. I would have paid full price for that picture. Your knowledge of the trade was invaluable.’
Lily looked at the large note. Somehow it didn’t make her happy. Although she knew it would bring a big smile to her mother’s face. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘The pleasure has been all mine, Lily. Now, I must take you home.’
Lily folded the note into her purse. She looked at all the familiar sights as they passed: the tall, smoke covered houses; the taverns and shops; the dirty gutters and cobbles; the mounds of horse dung being scooped up by the street children that would later be sold for a half-penny a bag. She wanted to sit beside Charles and savour it, let the day go on forever. But she knew it had to end.
She wondered if he would ask her to help him again. But he merely tipped his hat and thanked her for her help as he helped her out from the car.
Lily watched him drive off and was rewarded by the sight of his gloved hand raised in salute from the window. As the car turned out of sight, her happiness faded. Did he now have everything he wanted for his house? Had she only been useful to him for a short while?
Chapter Eight
When, that afternoon, she told Hattie about Petticoat Lane and the picture, Hattie didn’t say much. Instead, as they walked through the foot tunnel to Greenwich, Hattie couldn’t wait to relay her own news.
‘Reube told me last night at the dance that he wants us to go up West for the ring,’ she said excitedly.
‘Oh, that’ll be nice.’
‘Did he say anything about the ring to you? Like how much he plans to spend?’
‘He wouldn’t, would he?’ replied Lily as they walked briskly along. It was a cold March day with a stiff breeze. ‘We’re best friends you and me. He knows I’d tell you straight away.’
Hattie giggled as she laid a restraining hand on her soft brown hat. Lily’s blue hat, after so much steaming, was a tight fit and remained in place. ‘I’m hoping for a diamond ring,’ said Hattie. ‘Nothing too extravagant, mind. A single stone, perhaps. It means a lot to a girl, does a ring.’
Lily thought of the wonderful moment when the dark-skinned woman had thrust the so-called ruby ring on her finger. It had felt so special though the design was far too opulent. She would never wear a thing like that. And it couldn’t have been a ruby, as it would have cost the earth. But just feeling it on her finger had been exciting. And when Charles had given her that compliment about it not doing her justice . . .
‘Lil, are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, course I am.’
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Of what?’
Hattie stopped to frown at her. ‘You haven’t been listening, have you?’
‘Course I have.’ Lily was grateful for the gust of wind that blew them on.
‘You see, my Reube’s all right,’ went on Hattie regardless. ‘But he does tend to be a bit careful.’
Lily smiled as they walked into the shelter of the park. ‘Careful’ was an understatement where Reube was concerned. Lily hoped that when they got married, Hattie didn’t have a shock, as she liked to spend her own money freely.
‘I’m sure where you’re concerned he’s very generous,’ Lily said tactfully.
‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Hattie, looking pleased. ‘Matter of fact I’ve seen a very nice ring in Aldgate High Street near Madame’s. In this little silversmiths and watchmakers. It’s a sapphire and diamond cluster ring.’
‘I thought you wanted a single stone.’
‘Well, if I had a choice, I’d have this one.’
‘Are you asking me to hint to Reube about it?’
‘Well, it’s worth a try.’
The two girls burst out laughing. Hattie walked carelessly along, swinging her hips.
They were still laughing as they went in the café and sat down. Lily felt very well off as she had a few pennies left in her purse.
‘Did you and Ben enjoy the dance?’ Hattie asked as they drank their coffee.
‘Yes, the band was very good.’
‘What did he say to you on the way home?’
‘Not much.’
‘That charabanc is going to earn him a good few bob. Reube says it’s a thing of the future.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
Hattie sighed. ‘Well, you ain’t got much to say for yourself today.’
Lily didn’t want to talk about Ben. She would rather discuss Charles. She wanted to share her feelings with Hattie, especially as she was confused about them. If only she could talk through her innermost thoughts, but she knew this wasn’t the time or the place. Hattie was only interested in her forthcoming engagement. She had even forgotten that it was her birthday on the fifteenth.
When Lily returned home, it was time for tea. Her mother and father and Uncle Noah listened to her account of that morning.
‘Yer got a bargain there,’ her uncle commented as they ate their meal of beef pie and mash. ‘Didn’t get many pictures like that on the cart.’
‘It was a pretty one too,’ Lily said enthusiastically. ‘A young girl feeding a great big bull.’
‘Who painted it?’ asked her mother.
‘I don’t know.’
‘It might be worth something if it’s by a famous artist.’
‘With a little repair it will come up nice,’ nodded her uncle.
‘Did he say if he wants you again?’ asked her father.
‘No.’ She looked disappointed.
‘You did yer best gel.’
Lily nodded. ‘Here you are, Mum. Ten shillings.’ She placed the note on the table.
Her mother picked it up. ‘Ten shillings for just one morning?’
‘I told you it was business.’
‘Yes, but all you did was walk round the market.’
Lily wanted to tell them of the little act they had played out. But it seemed as though she was boasting.
‘It’s very good pay,’ agreed her mother, tucking the note in the pocket of her apron. ‘And all above board.’
Lily didn’t know what her mother meant by that. It had been such a wonderful experience to accompany Charles, the pleasure she had derived from their purchase of the painting was payment enough. But now as she saw the light in her mother’s eye, she was glad she hadn’t refused.
‘I got me pay coming next week,’ said her father, also looking more cheerful. ‘We’ll be on the up and up soon.’
‘Yes, Bob,’ smiled her mother. ‘But I don’t want you taking any chances at that yard.’
‘Thanks to Ben I’ll only be stacking wood in the fresh air.’
‘He’s done us a real good turn.’
Everyone turned to look at Lily. ‘Did you have a good dance last night?’
Lily nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Did you say anything to Ben about the job?’ asked her father.
‘I told him how grateful we are.’
‘Good girl. I’ll take him out for a drink soon.’
‘Or you could ask him round to tea, Lil.’ Her mother looked expectantly at her.
Lily knew they were waiting for her to agree. But how could she? She didn’t want to give Ben any ideas yet she knew that her family were relying on her to show gratitude. Her dad had been out of work for so long, and after having to work on the skin ships, getting the timber job had been a big turning point in their lives.
‘We’ll see,’ said Lily quietly and, changing the subject, said to her father, ‘and don’t forget, Dad, you’ll need your big coat and coms tomorrow. It’ll be chilly in that yard.’
‘How could I forget?’ chuckled Bob Bright glancing up at the wooden pulley above their heads. His combinations dangled down, the two legs ironed and aired to perfection.
Everyone laughed. Lily looked at their happy faces. Her father was now in a job he liked and her mother had enough money to pay the rent. There was a fresh delivery of coal in the bunker and the larder was full. Life had suddenly become very good. If only she could make them understand she wasn’t attracted to Ben. But she knew they were living in hope that eventually she would change her mind.
All the next week, Lily looked out for Charles. As she spoke to the customers, her mind drifted. She would catch herself thinking about Sunday and the wonderful morning they’d spent together or the day they had gone up West. The week seemed longer than ever with no sight of him.
Late on Friday afternoon, the Blackshirts appeared. ‘They’re back again, the bloody hooligans,’ cried Reube, searching for the stick he’d hidden under the stall.
‘They ain’t doing anything wrong yet,’ Lily didn’t want him to get into a fight. She knew if they were ignored the group might go away. But Reube was joined by Ted Shiner and the two men stood throwing angry looks at the gathering.
Vera Froud and Florrie Mills came over. ‘Just who do they think they are, shouting and waving their arms like that, on our patch.’
‘They’ll put off all the custom,’ muttered Vera, poking Reube in the side. ‘We should send for the coppers.’
‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ scoffed Florrie. ‘They don’t nick the criminals, it’s too dangerous.’
‘They’re fascists, ain’t that enough?’
‘No one knows what they really are,’ replied Ted sourly. ‘But with friends like that two-faced pansy, Boothby, my guess is that Mosley will be kicked out of Labour before he blots all their copybooks.’
At that moment a figure came strolling down the street. Ben had his hands in his pockets and was whistling, until he heard the commotion.
‘What you doing here?’ asked Reube as his brother stopped to stare.
‘I knocked off early. Thought I’d nip round to see if you wanted a beer after you shut shop. What’s going on?’
‘They’re at it again,’ Reube complained bitterly. ‘I’d like to go over and tell ’em to vamoose.’
‘Hark at ’em,’ said Florrie, ‘spouting off about us claiming our rights. I know what right I’d like to claim and that’s to knock their blocks off.’
‘I reckon we should go over and tell ’em to sod off somewhere else,’ said Ted, squaring his big shoulders.
‘What if they won’t?’ posed Samuel Goldblum who was listening intently. ‘I don’t want them wrecking my stall. I’ve seen them up West on their soap boxes. Oiy, they are trouble, dears.’
‘I’ll go over and ask politely,’ said Reube leading the way forward, stick in hand.
The pint-sized jeweller shook his head. ‘You ladies should cover your stalls. I am off to protect mine.’
‘Mine’s only clothes,’ said Vera hesitantly.
‘They can be torn,’ pointed out Samuel.
‘Mine’s only cottons and silks,’ said Florrie, ‘but they could throw ’em everywhere I s’pose.’
Florrie and Vera left in a hurry. Lily knew that panic had set in. She also knew that Reube’s hot temper would snap if he was insulted. In view of what had happened last time, he was still the hero. She prayed no one would get angry enough to fight.
But her prayer was in vain as one of the Blackshirts, a head and shoulders above Reube, suddenly pushed Ted Shiner. The next thing was, Reube had lifted his stick and brought it down hard on the Blackshirt.
Lily closed her eyes. The fight had begun.
A fist came straight at Ben. For a moment he felt sick as it landed on his chin, but shaking his head, he managed to dodge the next one. The Blackshirt tumbled forward into Ted’s stall and all the apples and pears went flying. Ted came running towards them, but two of them grabbed him and brought him down.
Before Ben could reach them, he was punched again. Rallying swiftly he retaliated and the outrush of breath from his enemy told him he’d found his mark. Then something heavy cracked on his back and once more Ben
saw stars. His legs buckled and he fell, as the air was sucked painfully from his lungs. All he could see was a pair of coarse black boots, blurring in and out of focus. He knew that within seconds he could expect another blow. Sinking a little lower and blinking the pain from his eyes he gathered his strength. Opening his arms, he tackled the man and brought him down hard.
‘Good for you, ducks,’ cried Florrie Mills on the sidelines.
‘Give the bugger another one!’ encouraged Samuel from a long way off.
Ben struggled to his feet. He was grabbed by the arm and thrown back. Another fist found his nose and the blood spurted out like a fountain. Pain flared into his eyes and across his cheeks. He felt the agony drive down his spine, but anger sent him forward. In a clumsy tackle, he brought down another, winding himself in the process.
From the corner of his eye he saw Reube, kicking and wielding the stick. Beside him Ted Shiner was claiming vengeance, punching the man who had tried to throttle him.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Ben drew breath and wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve. The Blackshirt at his feet began to crawl away like a wounded animal.
‘Ben! Ben!’
He looked round as Lily ran up. She wiped his face gently with a rag. ‘Why did you have to fight?’
He looked into her eyes and laughed. ‘That wasn’t no fight, just a bit of a scrap.’
‘Ben James, you and your brother are too old to fight. When will you learn?’
He suddenly wished he could turn back the clock. He’d been a right chump at the dance last week. If only he’d kept his emotions in check and not pulled a long face. But he’d been jealous of the fact she was seeing another bloke and he’d let it show. If he’d had any sense, he would have pretended he didn’t care.
Pushing the cloth over his nose, he grinned. ‘If Florence Nightingale was as pretty as you, no wonder she cured all them blokes.’
Lily took his arm. ‘You ain’t so pretty yourself at the moment.’
‘Have they spoiled me dashing good looks?’
‘You’d better wash all that blood off.’ She looked into his eyes and smiled.
‘You all right?’ asked his brother as they stood at the pump.
‘Never been better. And you?’