A Handful of Sovereigns

by Anna King

  As for the shop itself, why, she had run it single handed since she started. Her duties included serving the customers, keeping some kind of order among the thousands of old, dusty books, making sure the accounts were kept up to date as well as making Mr Abrahams countless cups of tea and cooking his meals for him. Then when she came home, she’d always helped Mum with the never-ending pile of sheets and soiled undergarments that littered the tiny scullery.

  Liz had never helped at home, nor had she ever looked after the children or cooked a meal. Once she had finished her day at the factory she had considered her work done for the rest of the day and had spent the evenings lolling about on the sofa reading some cheap magazine.

  Raising her eyes she looked at the bed and whispered, ‘I tried, Mum, I tried to be friends with her, but without you here to help us it’s impossible. I thought for a while back there when she was upset that maybe we could bury our differences, but the truth is we don’t like each other and we never will.’

  ‘Who are you talking to, Maggie?’ Charlie stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes, his Sunday shorts and pullover rumpled where he had been sleeping in them.

  ‘No-one, love, just thinking out loud. You’d better get out of your good clothes and then if you’re feeling better you can have something to eat.’

  ‘Has Liz gone out?’ he asked, his eyes moving around the room, and Maggie was quick to note the relief in his voice as he realised his elder sister was obviously not at home. Getting up from the ottoman Maggie took his hand and led him from the room. Later, when he had finished a bowl of soup and a sandwich, she ordered him back to bed, and he went without a murmur.

  When she was sure Charlie was asleep she settled herself on the sofa, her elbows resting on her long faded serge dress, her hands cupping her face as she stared into space. All of a sudden she felt deathly tired, and would have liked nothing better than to crawl under the thin blanket with Charlie, but if she slept now she would be awake half the night. Also she was determined to make Liz sit down and talk about their future. There was such a lot to be sorted out. The brass bedstead would have to be disposed of. It seemed a waste, but six people had died in it. Although Maggie knew that if the diphtheria had been going to get the three of them, it should have done so by now, she wasn’t about to take any chances. She had already burned all of her dad’s clothes and those belonging to her brothers, but her mum’s clothes she had boiled thoroughly and packed away in the ottoman. There had been nothing sentimental about her decision to keep her mother’s clothing–she had done so for purely practical reasons. Who knew when she or Liz would be able to afford any new clothes? And by new she meant the second-hand garments her mum had bought them off the stall down the market, as not one of the family had ever owned anything brand new. The only thing she had to get rid of now was the bed, and that shouldn’t prove too difficult. There was many a family who would take it off her hands, even when they knew her reasons for getting rid of it.

  Glancing at the mantel clock she was surprised to see that it was nearly six o’clock. Liz would be home in a couple of hours, and then the battle would resume where it had left off. Knowing if she stayed on the sofa she would probably fall asleep, she dragged herself to her feet. Clearing the table quickly, she carried the dirty crockery into the scullery and placed them in the wooden sink. Taking her time she began to wash each item, and when that was done she got down on her knees and slowly scrubbed the floor in an effort to pass the time until Lizzie came home.

  Two

  By ten o’clock Lizzie still hadn’t returned home. Maggie’s mood had changed from fear for her sister’s safety to anger at what she thought to be inconsiderate behaviour, then back to fear. She didn’t know what time she had finally fallen asleep on the worn sofa, but when she awoke, cold and cramped, her first instinct was to hurry over to the bed, praying to see the short, plump body lying beside Charlie. Peering into the gloom her heart sank at the sight of the empty space beside the inert, silent form of her brother. Biting her lower lip anxiously she pulled her brown woollen shawl from the peg behind the scullery door and, careful not to wake Charlie, she crept from the room and down to the communal lavatory. Holding her breath against the stench of the tiny closet she quickly relieved herself and hurried back up the bare, wooden stairway.

  Once back in the flat she stripped herself to the waist and lathered the top half of her body with the thin bar of carbolic soap. Her teeth chattering wildly, she swiftly dried herself on the threadbare grey towel before setting about the business of getting a fire going in the living room grate. Ten minutes later, with a bright roaring fire heating the still dark room she reluctantly pulled herself away from the warmth of the flames to make the morning pot of tea.

  ‘Charlie, Charlie, come on, wake up, love,’ she said softly, her free hand shaking the thin shoulder. Charlie woke slowly, his eyes opening with a supreme effort. Blinking rapidly he gave a huge yawn before asking tiredly, ‘Is it time to get up already, Maggie?’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right, love,’ she reassured him, ‘but I have to get to the shop, and I didn’t want to go without telling you. Here, sit up and drink this tea while it’s hot. I’m sorry there’s no milk, I’ll bring some home with me tonight.’

  Placing the tin mug carefully in his hand she stood up, adding, ‘You can stay in bed if you want, you might as well have the rest of the week off school, but you’ll have to go back on Monday.’

  Without waiting for an answer, she picked up her own mug of steaming black tea from the table and between quick gulps, she spread a thick layer of pork fat on two slices of bread for Charlie’s breakfast.

  ‘There’s a piece of paper on the floor, Maggie.’ Holding the thin blanket over his shoulders, Charlie bent down to retrieve the small scrap of paper. Laying it on the table, he asked timidly, ‘Can I use the pot this morning, Maggie? I’ll empty it when I’m dressed.’

  Maggie nodded absently, then walked over to the fire so that she could read the short note by the light of the leaping flames. Quickly scanning the page she felt her face relax and a smile come to her lips.

  Dear Maggie

  Sorry I was so late home last night. I stayed late at work to earn some extra money, and I’m leaving early so I can walk instead of getting the horse-bus, every little bit helps. See you later.

  Liz

  ‘What is it, Maggie?’ Charlie asked curiously as he came back to the table.

  ‘Nothing important, love. Just a note from Liz. Now look.’ She waved a finger under his nose, ‘I’ve got to go now. You bring your breakfast over to the fire and keep yourself warm. And don’t forget to empty that pot, mind.’

  Charlie moved over to the fire, his eyes following his sister as she wrapped her shawl over her head and around the top half of her body, her fingers deftly tying the edges into a small knot at the back of her waist. He wished she didn’t have to go back to work, he didn’t like being on his own, but he mustn’t say anything. Remembering how he had felt yesterday he swallowed hard and looked into the fire. The fear of the workhouse was still with him and he had to make a conscious effort not to plead with Maggie to stay home. He knew she loved him now, but she might change her mind if he became a nuisance.

  Stretching his lips into a smile he said loudly, ‘I’ll be all right, I can look after meself.’

  Maggie smiled fondly at him, then bending over she kissed him lightly on the cheek, saying, ‘I know you can, love. See you later.’

  When she had gone, he sat for a long while, his breakfast forgotten as he stared at the tall, black shadows that seemed to dance on the walls from the reflection of the fire. He wished that Maggie had lit the gas lamp before leaving, even though he knew it would soon be light. Closing his eyes tightly he leant his head against his knees and waited for the dawn to break.

  * * *

  When Maggie reached the second floor she hesitated a moment before knocking on the door where the Simms family lived. Within minutes Ethel Simms, a slovenly but amiabl
e woman in her mid-40s stood before her, a broad smile spreading over her grimy face at the sight of her young neighbour.

  ‘Why, ‘ello, Maggie, you off back to work then?’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Simms, yes, I am. That’s why I knocked. You see I’ve left Charlie on his own and I was wondering if you’d keep an eye on him. I don’t like leaving him just now, you know, after what’s happened, but I don’t have any choice.’

  Ethel Simms looked closely at the young girl and sighed heavily. Then folding her arms across her ample chest she said sadly, ‘I know, love, I know. We’ve all suffered, and you’re not the only ones who’ll miss yer mum. She always ‘ad time to stop and ‘ave a chat wiv me, and many’s a time she ‘elped me out when money was short, even though she didn’t ‘ave much ‘erself. She was well-liked was yer mum, but Maggie, love, I know it’s none of me business, but Charlie ain’t a baby no more. My Billy, God rest him, ‘e took care of ‘imself almost from the time ‘e could walk, and ‘e was more ‘elp to me than that lazy bugger I married. Went up West every day after school ‘e did to clear the ‘orse’s muck from the roads, ‘and ‘e ‘anded over every penny wivout me ‘aving to ask him.’

  Stopping for a moment to wipe her nose on her sleeve, she gave a loud sniff before adding sombrely, ‘I still can’t believe ‘e’s gorn. Strong as a bull my Billy, it don’t make sense that a boy like that could be taken while some like…’

  Maggie bowed her head for a brief second before raising her eyes to meet the woman’s anguished gaze.

  ‘Like my Charlie you mean? Oh, it’s all right, Mrs Simms, there’s no need to feel embarrassed, I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Look at my mum, she never had a day’s illness in her life, but it never did her any good, did it? But if it’s too much trouble, about Charlie I mean, just say – I won’t be offended.’

  She watched as Mrs Simms gave her nose another swipe at her sleeve, trying to keep the disgust from her face.

  ‘Don’t you worry, love, I’ll keep me eye out for ‘im. You get off to work and if…’ Her words were cut off by the sound of a child’s piercing wail coming from somewhere inside the room. Maggie used the distraction to make her escape. With a last shout of thanks to the already retreating figure, she carefully concentrated on descending the darkened stairway, her mind thinking over what Ethel Simms had said.

  It was true that some children of Charlie’s age worked after school. There were plenty of the poor mites working at the matchbox factory where Liz worked, sometimes until ten or eleven at night, and Maggie knew that if it wasn’t compulsory to send children to school, many parents wouldn’t bother. Not like her mum. She had been very strict on education, refusing to let any of her children work before they left school, even though she had been sorely in need of the extra money they could have brought in before her two daughters had finally left school. She’d made them speak properly too, always pulling them up if they dropped their aitches, much to the amusement of their father. As he’d often pointed out, schooling hadn’t done much for Lizzie when the time had come for her to start work. His remarks had always been made without malice, he being perfectly content to leave the upbringing of his children in his wife’s capable hands.

  The blast of cold air from the open porch made Maggie pull her shawl even tighter around her slender body. Before stepping, out onto the pavement she looked up at the dark stairway, her mind picturing Charlie already counting the hours until she returned home.

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ she told herself sternly, ‘Mrs Simms is right. He’s not a baby, and he’s going to have to toughen up sooner or later. It might as well be now.’ Pushing aside the feeling of guilt that threatened to overcome her, she bent her head against the cold and left the building.

  * * *

  A slight flurry of snow was just beginning to fall as Maggie hurried down Old Ford Road. If she kept up this pace she should reach Petticoat Lane in another 20 minutes. For some unknown reason she was anxious to reach the shop and see Mr Abrahams. A nagging feeling of disquiet had been tormenting her since she’d woken up this morning, and even the cheery note from Liz hadn’t been able to dispel it. It was nearly eight o’clock when she finally turned the corner into the Lane, and hugging her arms around her chest she quickened her steps. It had only been two days since she had been here, but it seemed like a lifetime. A few minutes later she was standing outside the shop, her eyes wide in disbelief at the sight that greeted her. Black boards covered the grimy windows, and the pavement outside that was normally covered with dozens of books packed tightly into wooden boxes was startlingly empty. She could feel her jaw drop in amazement as she stood rooted to the spot unable to move. Then with a startled cry she sprang forward and began to knock furiously on the shuttered door, but it remained firmly closed in her face.

  ‘It’s no good you banging, love, no-one’s gonna answer. The old boy dropped dead two days ago.’

  Maggie spun round to face the woman who had come up behind her. She recognised her vaguely as one of the stallholders in the market, a small, untidy looking woman who sold old clothes from a barrow.

  ‘But… but he can’t be dead,’ Maggie stuttered nervously, ‘I saw him two days ago… he was all right then. What happened?’

  The woman looked keenly at the distraught young girl, then cocking her head to one side asked, ‘You the girl that worked for ‘im?’

  ‘Yes… yes, I am. Look, are you sure. I mean… Are you sure he’s dead? Maybe he’s been taken ill or something?’ The words tumbled out from between Maggie’s dry lips. Clutching the woman’s arm she cried desperately, ‘Please, you must be mistaken, you must.’

  Removing her arm from Maggie’s grasp, the woman hitched up her bust and laughed loudly, ‘Well, I ‘ope for ‘is sake I ain’t, love. They’re burying ‘im tomorrow.’

  Maggie let her hands fall to her side. She couldn’t take it in, she just couldn’t. Shaking her head from side to side she whispered, ‘But I saw him two days ago, he was fine. He told me he was going to collect some new books from a house in Stepney.’

  ‘Ah, well, ‘e never got there. ‘Eart attack it was, so the doctor says. Still, ‘e was getting on, must ‘ave been over seventy. Anyway ducks, can’t stand ‘ere chatting, I’ve left me youngest setting up me barra. If I don’t keep an eye on ‘im, ‘e’ll let people rob ‘im blind. What ya gonna do now, love? Not much work abaht – well, not cushy work like you’ve been used to.’ When she received no answer, she gave another hitch to her bust and with a last look at the forlorn girl standing outside the shop, she went on her way.

  The snow had started to fall harder, but Maggie, wrapped up in her misery, didn’t notice. It was only when two women on their way to the market bumped into her that she reluctantly moved away from where she had worked for over two years. Fighting down the panic that was gnawing at her insides she began the long walk home. What was she going to do now? She had been banking on her wages from the shop to keep her going until she’d established herself with her mum’s old customers. And what would Liz say when she found out? She had always begrudged handing over her wages to her mum, so how would she react when she discovered that she was now the sole breadwinner? Maggie shuddered at the thought of the confrontation to come. Hot on the heels of this thought came another, more frightening notion. What if Liz decided to leave home and get a place of her own? There was no binding love to keep them together, no reason for Liz to stay and support her and Charlie, even if it was only for a short time until Maggie found work.

  Half-blinded by the falling snow she stumbled on, her mind working furiously, trying to decide the best course of action to take. She could go to the house in Hackney where her mum had gotten most of the work that had brought in the bulk of the laundry money. Many a Monday morning had seen her accompanying her mum up to the big house to collect the piles of sheets and towels that could only have been used a couple of times before being thrown into the dirty linen hamper. That was another reason she’d had cause to be grateful to Mr A
brahams. How many other employers would let their staff have time off to help their mothers? Stopping for a moment to get her bearings she leant against a wall and whispered, ‘Oh, Mr Abrahams, you were so kind to me, and I never even had the chance to say goodbye.’

  The sound of the town hall clock brought her head up sharply. Ten o’clock! Good God – she had been wandering around for nearly two hours. Brushing the snow and tears from her eyes she straightened up, her chin thrust out resolutely. This wasn’t getting anything done, and if her mum could have seen her moping around she’d have boxed her ears. The thought of her dead mother gave her the strength needed to set her on her way.

  Pushing herself away from the wall she began to walk towards Hackney.

  * * *

  Mare Street was situated in the heart of Hackney. A long, sprawling thoroughfare, it contained a few select shops and public houses amidst the rows of imposing, pillar-flanked houses that stood grandly side by side – a million miles away from the dirty, back-to-back tenement buildings only a short horse-ride away.