As Mrs Rosenheim scuttled off, Rose crouched beside the midwife, watching as her skilful hands completed what Rose had haphazardly begun.
‘A lovely little girl.’ Mrs Bloom had finished with Phoebe and was examining the tiny baby. ‘Pretty as an angel, this one – going to be blonde, if I’m not very much mistaken. Let’s wipe your face, my darling. Just look at those blue eyes! Miss, would you hold her for a minute?’
‘Yeah, take ’er, Rose,’ said Phoebe.
So Rose took the child, whose face was pale and whose great, blue eyes were wide with interest. Rose thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.
She offered her a finger, the baby grasped it firmly, and Rose fell in love.
‘So make her rest and feed her up,’ the midwife ordered, as she packed her basket, then plonked her black straw hat back on her head.
‘But Phoebe isn’t safe here, and you know it.’ Rose could hear that Mrs Rosenheim was tired and scared. ‘If my Joel and Simon had been here, it wouldn’t matter – they could deal with Daniel. But there’s only Nathan.’
‘Mamele, don’t worry.’ Rose was cradling the child and hadn’t noticed anyone come in, but now she turned to see a white-faced boy of Phoebe’s age standing looking awkward and embarrassed by the parlour door.
He met Rose’s gaze, and she thought how nice he looked, how sweet and calm and gentle. Then she saw he was crippled. His right leg was much shorter than his left, and on his foot he wore a built-up shoe.
She realised she would have to stay. At any rate, she couldn’t go home to Dorset, leaving Phoebe weak from giving birth and Mrs Rosenheim afraid, and their only guardian a lame boy.
‘Do you have a post office in Bethnal Green?’ she asked, looking at Nathan.
‘Yes, there’s one in Old Ford Road.’ Nathan smiled, and Rose saw his brown eyes were soft and kind. ‘I thought I heard Phoebe call you Rose? So you must be Maria’s friend?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Rose. ‘I’m supposed to meet my mother later, but I think I ought to stay with Phoebe, at least until she’s feeling stronger. So could you go and send some telegrams for me?’
‘Of course. I’ll do it now.’ Nathan put his cap back on. ‘If you write down what you want to say?’
Rose looked at her watch. It was only half past two, and so she hoped there would be time. But even if there wasn’t, the clinic wouldn’t put her mother out on to the street.
She gave the child to Nathan’s mother, then wrote rapidly on the envelope of Maria’s letter.
Nathan could send a message to the clinic asking them to keep her mother there until her husband came to fetch her, and another telegram to her father asking him to get the London train, then take Lady Courtenay home to Dorset. Sir Gerard would be puzzled, but Rose was sure he’d come. Explanations and apologies would have to wait.
‘Rose?’ Phoebe had been covered with a blanket and Rose thought she had gone to asleep. ‘Rose, ’ow’s the baby?’
‘Fine.’ Rose went to crouch at Phoebe’s side. ‘She’s very pretty.’
‘Mrs Bloom was sayin’ she’d probably ’ave blonde ’air.’
‘Yes, she’s very pale, her skin’s like cream. Do you want to hold her, Phoebe?’
‘No, I don’t – not yet.’ Suddenly, Phoebe shuddered. ‘I ’oped, I prayed,’ she whispered. ‘But it made no difference. She’s goin’ to be the dead spit of ’er dad.’
‘Who is the baby’s father?’ Rose asked, gently. ‘I’m sure he’s going to want to see his daughter.’
‘I bet ’e bloody won’t!’ Phoebe looked at Rose. ‘You’ll kill me,’ she added wretchedly.
‘Of course I won’t.’ Rose took her hand. ‘Why should I want to hurt you?’
‘That officer what you was with, when we saw you in that West End caff.’ Phoebe shook her tousled head and sighed. ‘I dunno ’ow ’e managed to track me down. But one night last winter, after I’d done me spot up at Palace, ’e was ’angin’ about at the stage door, lookin’ like ’e’d lost the family silver cos the ’orse ’ad broke its leg. Dan was out of town, an’ I was lonely.’
Phoebe bit her lip. ‘Rose, ’e’s such a lovely-lookin’ bloke. You ’ave to give ’im that.’
‘Oh, Phoebe!’ Rose was shocked.
‘I suppose ’e’s still your feller?’
‘No – and he never was, you mustn’t worry.’ Rose stroked Phoebe’s matted, tangled hair. ‘He’s just a neighbour, somebody I’ve known since I was little.’
‘I don’t believe you, Rose.’ Phoebe’s nose was running and her eyes were very bright. ‘I seen the way ’e looked at you.’
‘It’s all right, Phoebe. Please don’t cry.’ Rose tried to smile. ‘You just go to sleep.’
‘Rose, you mustn’t leave me!’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘We’re not getting anywhere,’ said Freddie Lomax angrily and, although Alex couldn’t agree in public, he and Captain Ford knew Freddie spoke for all of them.
That autumn, heavy rain and constant shelling by the Germans had turned the British trenches into muddy pits that stank of lyddite and latrines. Alex’s company was down to half its total strength. Those who hadn’t been killed or wounded had succumbed to frostbite or been gassed.
A month ago, a gas attack on German trenches opposite had been an awful, mortifying disaster. The Royal Dorsets had been told the gas would be discharged, and fifteen minutes later they’d go over to mop up any pockets of resistance, taking prisoner anyone who surrendered and bayoneting those who put up any fight.
But on the morning of the gas attack, the engineers couldn’t find any spanners, and those the manufacturers had supplied were far too small. When all the cylinders had finally been opened and the gas discharged, the wind had changed and blown it back across the British lines. The Germans who had been supposed to perish sat safely in their trenches, burning oil-soaked cotton waste to keep the gas away.
In the weeks of skirmishing and easily-repulsed attacks that followed this debacle, Michael Easton, Freddie Lomax and their tired platoons had muddled through. But Alex got angry with himself whenever he lost men, even though Captain Ford assured him he was doing well.
‘You still got half your buggers back,’ he muttered, as he and Alex drowned their sorrows after yet another dismal show in which the battalion had lost more than fifty men. ‘That’s thirty more than Engelman or Maddox – and he’s the only officer left alive in his poor sodding company.’
‘This whole business is a waste of men.’
‘That’s dangerous talk, my boy.’ Malcolm Ford looked gravely at the younger officer. ‘Ours not to reason why, and all that skite. How’s Easton shaping up these days?’
‘He needs to look a bit more lively, or he might get shot by his own side.’
‘You mean the windy bugger shits himself. I thought as much. You ought to send him out on night patrols.’ Captain Ford gulped down his rum and poured himself some more. ‘It’s the only way. People like Easton find their feet or snuff it – take my word.’
‘But I can’t send him on his own, and I don’t want to risk good men.’
‘You can’t do all the work yourself!’ Captain Ford glared into Alex’s eyes. ‘You’ve been out every night this week, bringing in the wounded, taking prisoners, and you got that sniper yesterday. Let some other bugger have some fun.’
‘You can go out tonight, Mike,’ Alex said, as he and his lieutenants finished supper in their far from cosy dugout and lit their cigarettes. ‘Go and get some badges, if you like. Two or three dead Germans have been lying near the wire since yesterday. We ought to know what regiment is opposite, so you could go and find out.’
‘Rather Mike than me,’ grinned Freddie Lomax, who Alex knew was brave enough. But Freddie also wanted to survive, so never volunteered for anything. Alex made a mental note to send him on patrol the following night.
Now he looked at Michael. ‘I want those badges back by midnight – is that understood
?’
‘P-permission to take an NCO?’ In the lamplight, Michael’s face was green.
‘Which one do you want?’ Alex didn’t want to lose a sergeant because Michael lost his nerve or gave an order which led him to his death.
‘Corporal Brind,’ said Michael.
‘Yes, you may have Brind.’ Like Freddie Lomax, the happy poacher was determined to survive, so if Michael told him to do anything absurd, he simply wouldn’t hear him.
Brind would be all right.
Michael and Corporal Brind had crawled and slithered on their bellies across the stinking slime of no-man’s-land, and now they were crouching in a crater six or seven feet away from the nearest of the German dead.
‘Corporal Brind?’ hissed Michael, as a flare went up and lit the sky, and the German gunner who had obviously seen them raked the ground with spurting fire.
‘Sir?’ Corporal Brind was hating this, for catching rats and rabbits was much more in his line. He’d never have volunteered for anything as daft and dangerous as a night patrol.
But it was all round the trench that Mr Bloody Easton had asked specially for him, and he was damning the lieutenant to the deepest pit of hell.
‘Do something for me, Brind,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll make it worth your while. Just keep your eye on Captain Denham.’
‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘He’s d-dangerous, Brind. He sends his men on pointless missions. Look at us tonight, stuck here in the middle of nowhere on a fool’s errand. Denham isn’t fit to run a laundry, let alone a troop of fighting men.’
Michael turned to stare wild-eyed at the astonished corporal. ‘Did you know his mother was a whore?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me, sir,’ said Brind, who by now was seriously scared.
‘She was a harlot, she went through dozens of men. Denham doesn’t know his father, doesn’t have a family–’
Corporal Brind had seen a dozen officers with the wind up. But Lieutenant Easton was literally gibbering with fear – and talking nonsense, too.
‘Best get on,’ he whispered, pointing to the nearest body. ‘Look sir, Captain Denham don’t expect us to do both these Jerry bastards, I’ll be bound. So let’s get this one’s badges off of ’im, an’ then we can go ’ome.’
Chapter Nine
The damp November evening closed in.
‘Tell me about Maria,’ invited Mrs Rosenheim. ‘Where is she now, and what’s she doing?’
‘She’s in France, she’s working on the ambulance trains,’ said Rose. ‘The trains fetch wounded soldiers from the front and take them to the hospitals in Rouen and Boulogne.’ They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Rose watched as Mrs Rosenheim cut up a wizened chicken. ‘How did you meet Phoebe and Maria?’ she asked.
‘My neighbour Maisie Bowman fostered them.’ Mrs Rosenheim dropped the chicken pieces into an iron pot. ‘Maria was four and Phoebe was a baby when Maisie took them in. Maisie fostered dozens. Any child the Guardians offered her, she took it home and brought up right for just five shillin’ a week.
‘But those two little girls was always special. When Maria got her scholarship to grammar school, Maisie was so proud! She pawned her Sunday best to buy the books and uniform, and nothing was too good for her Maria.’
‘Phoebe and Maria are very different,’ said Rose.
‘They both got loving, generous hearts. Those girls was good to Maisie. When she died, you should have seen the horses, all the silver harness, all the ostrich plumes! The big glass carriage, the flowers all piled up on the best mahogany coffin lined with purple satin. It was like the queen had passed away. Maria paid for that.’
‘So now they haven’t got a proper home?’
‘They’ll always have a home with me,’ said Mrs Rosenheim. ‘When I first came to England, I lodged with Maisie Bowman, may she rest in peace. A better woman never breathed. I can’t begin to tell you what she did for me and mine.’
‘If you have hot water on the stove, I’ll go and help Phoebe wash,’ said Rose. She wanted to know more about the sisters, but she didn’t like to pry. ‘Now she’s had a sleep, a wash will make her feel much better.’
When Rose went into the parlour with a bowl of water and a sponge, she found the baby sleeping peacefully in a wooden vegetable crate, but Phoebe wasn’t there.
‘Phoebe?’ Rose walked back into the passage. ‘Phoebe!’
‘Did you call?’ asked Nathan, who’d just limped out of the shop.
‘I wanted Phoebe,’ Rose replied. ‘I wonder, did she go upstairs?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Nathan shrugged. ‘It’s cold up there, and all her things are down here in the parlour anyway.’
‘Then where’s her coat?’ Rose was suddenly frightened. ‘Where’s her hat, where are her boots and gloves?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nathan, and now he looked at Rose. ‘She must have gone out.’
‘How could she go out?’ cried Rose. ‘She’s just had a baby! She hasn’t eaten for hours, she’s far too weak–’
‘She might have needed something.’ Nathan stared down at his feet. ‘God,’ he muttered, ‘I told her I would go and get it! Rose, you probably won’t approve, but she–’
‘She takes cocaine,’ said Rose. ‘I realised straight away. Soldiers take it, too. I’ve heard them talk about it on the wards, how it helps them stay awake and how it’s good for pain. But Phoebe doesn’t need to stay awake.’
‘She still needs cocaine.’ Nathan looked at Rose. ‘That evil bastard Hanson beats her up, but she still has to go and do her spot, or he would beat her up again. I expect that’s where she’s gone tonight, to do her spot.’
‘I’ve never heard anything like it in my life!’ Rose was horrified. ‘Why does she have anything to do with such a person?’
‘Why does any woman like any man? Daniel is a mensch round here – or so he likes to think. He owns two music halls, he runs protection rackets, and he’s well respected. It’s something to be Daniel Hanson’s woman.’
‘But you’re not afraid of him?’
‘I don’t think about it.’
‘How many chemists are there in the district?’
‘Two or three,’ said Nathan.
‘Let’s go and find out if they’ve seen Phoebe.’
‘We should check the Haggerston Palace first, to see if she’s gone there.’
The Haggerston Palace Music Hall turned out to be a small, decaying place with peeling walls and dirty, littered steps that led to a malodorous interior of faded purple plush and tarnished gilt. It offered daily programmes of unknown singers singing popular songs, comedians with suggestive names, and a chorus line of local beauties.
‘You seen Phoebe, Morrie?’ Nathan asked the shrivelled gnome who was sweeping out the grubby foyer.
‘Nah, she ain’t come in.’ Morrie sucked his cheeks reflectively. ‘Daniel’s ’oppin’ mad – ’e’s ’ad to get another tart to do ’er song an’ dance. If she’s got any sense, she’ll keep out of ’is way.’ Morrie grinned at Nathan. ‘She dropped that nipper yet?’
‘How would I know?’ muttered Nathan, as he turned to go.
‘I only asked!’ called Morrie, as Rose followed Nathan down the steps. ‘Old Daniel, ’e can’t wait to be a father!’
They tried all the chemists’ shops, but nobody remembered seeing Phoebe. Rose’s feet were aching and she was faint with hunger, but she felt she couldn’t complain when Nathan dragged himself along the cobbled pavements tirelessly.
Suddenly, he darted up a side street.
‘What’s up here?’ asked Rose.
‘A dairy.’ Nathan shrugged. ‘We need some milk.’
‘What the ’ell do you want?’ Nathan had knocked and called for several minutes before a sharp-faced woman with her head tied in a scarf opened an upstairs window and leaned out to glower at them. ‘We’re closed!’ she screeched. ‘So go away!’
‘Mrs Simmons, please come down!’ Nathan stepped back to let the an
gry woman see him in the moonlight. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. But we need some milk.’
‘Look, if Rachel’s makin’ cheesecake in the middle of the night–’
‘Mrs Simmons, it’s important!’
‘All right, I’m comin’ down.’ Mrs Simmons grinned. ‘Tell me, rabbi – who’s your lady friend?’
‘Why did she call you rabbi?’ Rose asked, as they waited in the freezing darkness for the woman to appear.
‘I’m studying for the rabbinate,’ said Nathan, but his tone suggested further questions were not welcome.
As Mrs Simmons handed Rose a can containing half a pint of milk, they heard a factory hooter blaring, then a second, then a third. Seconds later, a policeman cycled past. ‘Get under cover, all of you!’ he shouted, as he rode off into the night.
‘God in heaven,’ Mrs Simmons groaned. ‘Bloody Zeps, what are they doin’ over ’ere again? The docks is miles away.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Rose, alarmed.
‘An air raid.’ Nathan’s already pale face was ashen.
‘You’d better come in here,’ said Mrs Simmons, stepping back.
‘Thank you, Mrs Simmons, but my mother will be frightened.’ Nathan turned and started to drag himself along the alley. ‘I must get home.’
They found an anxious Mrs Rosenheim was looking out for them, defying police instructions to stay away from windows and go down to her cellar, if she had one.
‘You didn’t find her, then?’ she asked.
‘No, she’s disappeared,’ said Nathan.
‘What shall we to do with this poor little thing?’ The baby was crying pitifully, sucking at her fists and rooting for her mother’s breast. ‘I’ve tried to feed her, I gave her sugar water with a spoon and offered her some gruel. But what she really needs is milk.’
‘We’ve got some.’ Rose gave the can to Mrs Rosenheim, then took the tiny baby in her arms. She stroked her small pink hand, and gazed into her beautiful blue eyes. Again she felt the powerful tug of love. But now it was mixed with fear and dread.
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