‘She won’t be skinty with the broth either, that’s for sure,’ said Pimple, ‘and although we’ll get the vegetables cheap, and as much as she’ll be able to take, there’s the washing of them and chopping up. And then there’s the shoppin’ to do, which’ll take her out. She’s said she’s got to try to make a deal with the grocer ’cos she’ll want quite a lot of barley and sugar and tea; and, too, there’s the butcher along there. He’s not much cop, I hear, but who’s to question as long as there’s a bit of meat floating about in the broth. She just can’t do all that herself. Willie must be allowed up here. He’s used to a bakery and ordering and how they do things. It would take a load off her mind – and, as he said, there would be a further profit in the pies and oddments he would make. She’ll need that if she’s goin’ to give them a shive of bread with the soup.’
‘Well,’ said Joe, ‘we’ve been all over this you know, and she won’t disturb the lass. Anyway . . .’
There was a pause now before Pimple said, ‘Such a pity, ’cos he’s such a quiet, nice lad and, oh, what he’d give to get back to his own job again. I can’t understand it. He wouldn’t hurt a hair of her head. Look how she puts up with us, she’s all right with us.’
‘Yes,’ said Joe, ‘but it took time. Don’t forget, it took time. And then there’s her coat, and Bella can’t get her to go about without that coat. She’s tried all ways. Tried to fathom it out. It’s as if she feels safe behind it.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Pimple. ‘She never looks safe. At times there’s a look of terror in her eyes. Different words bring it out; I’ve noticed that, and you have yourself. Anyway, I suppose we’ll get through, but not as well as we might. Isn’t it funny when she was the one who thought up the idea? Remember the night she drew the lines on the paper? And the beds goin’ down, and the lads turnin’ up as a group like that? Who would’ve thought there’d be a bricky and a plumber and a carpenter and a cook? What a pity there weren’t another two, such as a bank manager and a solicitor; we might have got somewhere!’
‘Aye,’ said Joe, on a laugh, ‘if they’d had a bobby with them then we all know where we would’ve got. Oh, let’s get down.’
‘Look, I’m not goin’ down the stairs just yet, I’m going to have a look at the wash-house and see how they’ve got on. They’re geniuses, that lot, you know.’
The room was empty again except for Irene standing tight-pressed against the wall of the scullery. Her mind was in a whirl. In the kitchen all day, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And Bella wanted him there. So much to do. All those vegetables to wash and clean. Shopping. Washing up. Piles, piles of washing up. Tin plates, tin bowls. Spoons. The words were whirling round in her mind. But my coat. I’d have to wear my coat. Oh, yes, I’d have to wear my coat. If I didn’t it would come back again. All that. Oh, no! And she pressed her hand to her brow then took a long, slow, deep breath and said firmly, ‘I must wear my coat.’
No one could have been more surprised than Bella, not even the men, the next morning when Reenee appeared downstairs in her coat, but over it was one of Bella’s voluminous aprons, or pinnies, as she called them; and although the broad waist gave some covering to the coat, the length of it only touched her knees. And if it hadn’t been that Bella knew laughter was the last thing she must give way to, she would have laughed her head off. But apparently Reenee was in a serious mood, for she had come straight to Bella and, pointing to the oven, said with some difficulty, ‘Cook.’
‘You want to cook, lass?’
Reenee shook her head; then to Bella’s further amazement she beckoned her to come downstairs with her; and so, leading the way, she entered the room that was stacked with bedding, towels and piles of tin cutlery, besides other odds and ends.
Seated at the table were the four men, and they all rose to their feet when the young lady, as they referred to Reenee, approached them with the missis following. And, stranger still, they watched her go to Willie. She did not look directly at him, her head was bowed, but she spoke, and what she said was, ‘Cook,’ and she thumbed towards the ceiling. And when Willie stammered, ‘Aye, miss. Aye, miss, I’d love to cook. And . . . and I won’t disturb you, I promise.’
She turned swiftly from him now; and after glancing from one to the other of the three men she directed her gaze on John. Then she extended her hands to a measurement of about two feet.
Quick off the mark, John said, ‘You want a board, miss, about two feet, eh? What kind of a board?’ He closed his fist and started to rub on the top of the board. ‘Polished?’
She shook her head vigorously; then, with her hand she made a chopping movement across the end of the table; and he exclaimed, ‘For chopping?’
She now turned her lowered gaze towards Willie again, and he said quietly, ‘Like a board for chopping vegetables on, ready for the broth and meat and things like that?’
She gave a quick nod, and Bella said, ‘Well I never!’ and with the four men she watched the girl go up the stone stairs.
It was Willie who asked quietly, ‘What’s brought her round, Bella? Oh! I’m sorry . . . ma’am.’
‘That’s fine with me, Willie; that’s me name. Now don’t ask me about the miss, I don’t know. And yet I think it’s got something to do with Pimple, because he said to me yesterday, “Just leave it. Just leave it.” He talked as if he had something up his sleeve. And yet, although when I’ve been with him and Joe talking about the goings-on here, I’ve not heard him open his mouth about you or the cooking or anything else. But I’ll find out. Oh, I am relieved, and you are too, Willie, aren’t you?’
‘Relief isn’t the word for it, Bella. I’m dying to get my hands into some dough.’ He turned to look across at John and said, ‘Can you knock her up a big chopping board?’
‘I’ve got the very thing. There’s the section of wood out of the sideboard in the parlour, Bella. You’ll not want to make use of that, will you? If she uses the unpolished side of that, it’ll do fine. The decoration of the parlour can wait another day now that the lass hasn’t got to hide herself while I do the sideboard. Dear, dear, poor lass. And, you know, she’s got a bonny face, hasn’t she?’
‘It isn’t bonny, John,’ said Willie, ‘it’s beautiful.’
‘Well, just as you say; but I can add I think it’s a Goddamn shame she’s like she is ’cos somebody’s to blame. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been searched for.’
‘Oh, hush now,’ Bella put in. ‘She likely has, but who would think of looking in this neck of the woods? And, anyway, there would have been plenty of time to find her before she reached this part, I bet. But I say to you all, every one of you, don’t probe and don’t talk about her outside . . . I mean in a pub, anywhere like that. She’s happy here, she feels safe. Aye, that’s the thing, she feels safe, because whatever’s happened to her she’s afraid of the world outside, and them in it. And now let’s get to work and no more chit-chat.’ On this, she turned abruptly and went upstairs.
7
It was three weeks later and, as Joe said, the business was indeed going like a house on fire. They’d had to turn some customers away. The gates were opened at seven in the evening and closed on the last sleeper at half past nine in the morning. Each of the four men had his allotted task. Joe and Pimple continued to bring the vegetables from the market first thing in the morning and sometimes a box of fruit, but Joe kept on his part-time work at the warehouse for, as he said, there were pickings there from time to time that might be of help to Bella and the business.
With Pimple it was slightly different: the offerings he received from his tin-whistle playing in the local streets were meagre, but they were supplemented occasionally through his keen sense of spotting trouble here and there. His perspicacity in this line had earned him five pounds from the local police station in the last two weeks. He had heard muffled voices coming up through a pavement grid outside an empty building. What was more interesting to him was that the building was next to a bank.
The street was practically deserted, so he stood for a moment, his ears strained; but he could not make out anything that was being said. And so he made it his business to take his whistle to a street not far away, from where he had been moved on more than once by its regular policeman, and sure enough, this happened again. He gave the constable some backchat and in the backchat was a message. This incident had happened a week or so ago.
When he had told Bella she had said, ‘Oh, lad, that’s no game to play, it’s dangerous. I’ve told you before, they’ll get you one of these days, and then God help you. You’ve done one stretch and you didn’t like that, did you?’
‘No, Bella,’ he said. ‘As I’ve told you, that’s why I went over to the police’s side; but as the rumour has it on the street, I’m the fellow who can’t stand cops. It’s a great help.’ He had grinned at her, and Joe, who was there at the time, had said, ‘I’ll give you this, Pimple, you’ve got more guts than me.’
The other four men, the band, as Joe called them, saw to the admission of the men and the distribution of the food. They had formed a rota of duties that seemed to work well. There was no admission to drunks or wineys, those who stank of meths. Both Joe and Pimple helped the men out on such occasions because they knew more about the street types round the market than any of the four men.
It got that a queue would begin to form down the lane to the yard gates an hour before opening time, and on very wet or cold nights Bella would allow them to be let in earlier, even to have them put an extra mattress or two down the middle of the room rather than turn the shivering creatures away. There were written notices inside the doors in the lavatory, the urinal and the washplace to the effect that anyone known to have messed up these places unnecessarily would not be admitted again. Also, there was no fear of wet beds because the plastic covers had been left on the mattresses.
Naturally the unfortunate men slept in their clothes, but were they to take off their boots and their top coat they rolled them up and laid them alongside them in the bed, experience at this level of life having proved that they couldn’t trust any of their fellow men. But if a man’s coat was sodden wet he would ask if it could be laid over the large iron fire-guard in the kitchen, and whoever was on duty saw to it that it was still there when its owner woke up.
The ample slice of new bread cut from a fresh loaf and supplied with a bowl of broth at night and the mug of tea in the morning, was so appreciated that, as John said, it was pitiful to see their pleasure, but nevertheless dreadful to see a man foretelling what he expected the rest of the day to be like when he broke the morning slice in two and deposited half in his pocket.
Big Bella’s Pad soon made a name for itself, and when Bella was visited unexpectedly one day by an inspector all he said, with a grin as he left, was, ‘Why don’t you put sunshades up in the yard, Bella, and make it into a holiday home?’
Bella had never been happier. There was her lass . . . her lass sitting at that kitchen table day after day chopping away at vegetables; then later, after scouring her hands, she might fill the pie tins with their rounds of pastry ready for the meat. This delighted Willie, and time and again he would whistle as they worked together . . . together but at a distance. She never stood close to him.
One day as he whistled he glanced at her face. It looked bright. She had stopped what she was doing and seemed to be looking into space, which she was, into a space where there was music and something else . . . For a moment she seemed to experience the most wonderful feeling, and then it was gone when Willie spoke, saying, ‘Do you know that? It’s a piece from La Traviata?’
As she turned to him, the sound of the music was still in her head; she was looking straight at him and her eyes were bright as she nodded twice. But when he said, ‘Do you like operas?’ a puzzled look came over her expression and she shook her head.
‘You likely would if you heard them. I’ll tell you what, some night before we open we’ll get together, the four of us – no, the five of us because Pimple can make his tin whistle speak. Anyway, we’ll play you some tunes. What about that, eh?’
She looked down, but the corners of her mouth were moving slightly upwards and he could see that she was pleased. A few minutes later, when Bella returned from her shopping and her ordering for the day and came into the kitchen, saying, ‘It’s freezing out there. You know when you’re well off in here,’ Willie turned a bright face to her, saying, ‘Miss here recognised a piece I was whistling. It was from La Traviata, the opera, you know.’
‘Aye?’ said Bella cautiously, then added, ‘Well, what about it?’
‘Well, I’ve just said to her, one night before we open we’ll get together the band and Pimple and we’ll give her some tunes.’ Here he paused, then looked at the straight face of the little woman and said, ‘Of course, if that’s all right with you, Bella.’
‘Oh, it’s all right with me, yes, definitely. There’s nothing I like better than a bit of music.’
‘Oh, we can play well together when we’re given the chance. I know John’s fiddle sounds a bit ropey but, as he said the other night, he’ll soon be able to buy himself some new strings. The ones he has on are past tightening.’
There was a glint of laughter in Bella’s eyes now but her lips looked prim as she said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d take on the job of playing our visitors to sleep?’
‘Oh, now that’s not a bad idea, missis. We could add another twopence to the bill.’
At this Bella said firmly, ‘If I hear of a new idea in any shape or form coming from you lot, there’ll be some sackin’ to do. That I promise you.’ Her attention was quickly drawn to Reenee who was bending over her table as she scraped a carrot on the grater. Bella could have sworn that she had heard a gurgle from her, so she said, ‘Would you like to hear that band play their pieces, lass?’
Reenee looked up, and Bella saw the tentative smile showing around her mouth, and when her head made one small movement of agreement Bella said, ‘Oh, well, then, that’s that.’ Turning to Willie she said, ‘We’ll be havin’ our tea around five. Tell the men to come in and do their stuff. But inform them they’re not goin’ to make a practice of it. If they want to practise they can do it in the wash-house.’
Willie laughed now, saying, ‘They do, Bella, on the quiet, stuffin’ a mattress in the bottom of the door to dull the sound. But I tell you something, you wouldn’t believe the good stuff that comes out of Tony’s flute and Pimple’s whistle. You wouldn’t believe the tunes Pimple knows; and the two together, just them two, by, it sounds good!’
That very evening Bella had to admit to herself that, aye, it did sound good. She had brought the two armchairs to the end of the table where she and Reenee could sit comfortably and listen. The door to the stone flight was pushed well back and Joe was standing there. He could see where the men had assembled near the bottom of the stairs and when they started to play Bella’s head went to the side. It wasn’t like the stuff they rendered in the street, this was different. It was nice. She turned and smiled at Reenee, and Reenee nodded back at her. They played first a number of the well-known tunes of the time; one or two they had used on the road, such as ‘All Alone on the Telephone’, but now it was with a difference. It was all softer, clearer. Bella tried to find the word ‘harmonious’, but couldn’t. She only knew that it was all very nice indeed and that she was enjoying it.
They had been playing for about fifteen minutes when they stopped, and then there came the combined sound of the flute and the tin whistle, and when the silvery notes of ‘The Barcarolle’ floated up the staircase Bella thought, Eeh, my! Fancy the two of them being able to play like that together.
Reenee had been sitting back in her chair, but now she brought herself upright and there came into her head the most odd feeling. She was floating. And as she floated to the music she heard a voice singing. She knew she was thinking like this because the voice . . . oh, she knew the voice and she knew the words it was singing: ‘Night of stars and night of love
falls gently o’er the waters.’ Her body stretched upwards, her mind was clear. There was no obstruction there, nothing, no fear, nothing but a great emptiness and in it the voice singing:
‘Falls gently o’er the waters.
Heaven around, below, above,
No more will reach the shore.’
And then it was rising. The voice was soaring: ‘Night of stars and night of love,’ on and on . . . and then she was standing up: her arms outstretched, her eyes wide, she was trying to walk past Bella, when Bella, pulling herself out of the chair, said, ‘What is it, lass? What’s the matter? Sit down.’ And looking towards Joe, she said, ‘It’s the music, tell them to stop.’
Immediately on Bella’s command Reenee’s arm shot out towards Joe, and she flapped her hand at him, which meant he hadn’t to tell them to stop, so he turned his puzzled gaze back to Bella, and she said, ‘All right, let them go on. But sit down, lass, sit down.’
She found she had to force Reenee’s stiff body back into the chair, and it wasn’t until the music stopped that the stiffness went and her whole body became limp. Now Bella did say, and firmly, to Joe, ‘Tell them that’s enough.’
Again Bella was surprised to see Reenee’s hand go out to stop Joe. Then she was sitting up and, turning towards the mantelpiece and pointing. Bella said, ‘Pencil?’ but without waiting for an answer she went past Joe and took the pencil and loose-leafed pad and, handing them to Reenee, she watched her slowly tear out a page and just as slowly, even laboriously, write the word ‘beautiful’ on it. With an effort she handed it to Joe who, looking at it, said, ‘You want me to give it to the lads?’
Again there was the slight inclination of the head and he, after turning and looking at Bella and showing her the piece of paper, went down the stone steps, to be greeted with, ‘Did they enjoy it?’ from Tony and Pimple.
The Silent Lady Page 14