‘Speak up you two,’ snapped May. ‘I can’t hear yer.’ She leaned closer to her brother. ‘Or have yer got secrets yer wanna keep, Bill?’
‘Fancy some fresh air, Ett?’ asked Billy, ignoring his sister.
Ettie nodded and stood up, letting Billy guide her towards the door.
As they stepped out on to the pavement from the warm fug of the bar, she shivered. ‘I didn’t realise how hot I was in there,’ she said, avoiding looking into his eyes.
Billy took off his coat and put it round her shoulders.
‘Yer did that for me once before,’ she said in almost a whisper.
Billy sank his hands deep in his pockets and leaned against the pub wall. ‘Yer looking good, Ett,’ he said gazing aimlessly up and down the street.
‘Ta.’
They stood quietly, not speaking. Then Billy suddenly called a brief, ‘All right, then?’ and nodded at a man passing along the other side of the road.
The silence fell between them again.
‘This is very smart,’ said Ettie, stroking the strong tweed of the jacket – as much for want of anything better to say as any comment on Billy’s dress sense.
‘I ain’t doing too bad for meself,’ said Billy, kicking at a stone – anything to avoid meeting her eyes.
‘So May was saying.’
‘I’m earning all I need and I’ve still got plenty to take home for Mum. We’ve got them extra rooms now, yer know. The whole top of the house and one downstairs.’
‘I’m glad, Bill,’ said Ettie. ‘I bet she likes that.’ She sighed sadly. ‘I was hoping to do something like that for my mum one day.’
‘She’s in a bad way, Ett, your old mum.’
‘It’s that bloke she’s got there. He frightens the life out of me.’
‘Yer know yer can always depend on me, don’t yer, Ett? If yer want him sorted out or anything. I’ll get Alfie and we’ll go up there and show him what’s what.’
‘To tell you the truth, Bill, I don’t know what I want. Part of me says, yeah, just get the no-good bastard out of there. But last time I suggested it, Mum wouldn’t hear of it. I was going round there tonight anyway to try and persuade her again, but Nora told me he was indoors – that’s what I’m doing here. I was scared, like a stupid bloody kid.’
‘I meant what I said, Ett. Yer ain’t gotta be scared of no one while I’m around.’
‘Ta, Billy, but that last time I talked to Mum, she as good as told me it was nothing to do with me. Him being there is what she wants – so she reckons.’
‘Whatever you decide, Ett, I’ll be there for yer. I mean it, I’ll sort out anyone, no matter how tough he thinks he is. And that goes for that Protsky geezer and all. He don’t impress me.’
Ettie couldn’t bring herself to meet Billy’s urgent stare.
‘Ett. What is it? He’s not upset yer or nothing, has he? I’ll kill him if he has.’
‘No,’ Ettie snapped. ‘He ain’t. What makes you say that anyway?’
‘Nothing. I just wondered why yer was really here, that’s all.’ The man Billy had acknowledged earlier had come back. He was standing across the street looking over at them.
‘How do you mean, why I’m really here? I told you – I came to try and sort out my mum.’ Ettie glared at him, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment that he could read her feelings so easily.
Billy sounded agitated. ‘Look, I know this ain’t exactly the right moment to go off, but I can’t explain all the ins and outs, Ett, I’ve just gotta go. That fellah over the road has been pulling some strokes or other with Alfie, and now Alfie’s gone and got himself well into debt with him. I’m gonna sort it out before it gets too out of hand. If it wasn’t important…’
‘You always was the sensible one, Bill,’ said Ettie tenderly. ‘Sensible or not, I know I wanna get all this sorted out and this bloke out of the way before our Tommy gets wind of it – yer know what a big shot he thinks Alfie is. I don’t want him getting no ideas.’
‘From what May said, I thought you’d be too busy fighting off all the girls to worry about your brothers,’ said Ettie.
‘I dunno what’s got into that gel, Ett, honest. She lives in a bloody dream world, that one.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Billy.’
‘I know I don’t, but I want to. I don’t want yer thinking I was up to anything dodgy.’
‘I know that’s not your way, Bill.’
The door opened behind them, making them both jump.
‘Yer must have a bad conscience you two,’ said May, poking her head round the door. ‘Now, are yer coming in for another drink or what? We’ll all be going home soon.’
‘Ettie’ll be there in a minute, May. We’re just having a little chat then I’m off to see a fellah about a bit of business.’
‘Suit yerself,’ said May. As she let the door slam, the music faded again to a muffled beat.
‘She doesn’t approve of me any more,’ said Ettie, handing Billy back his jacket. ‘And to think she used to be my best friend.’
Billy flicked his coat over his shoulder, his finger hooked under the collar. ‘She’s jealous, that’s all, that she ain’t a beauty like you,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is.’ He smiled and chucked her gently under the chin. ‘I’ve gotta get off, Ett, but promise me yer won’t be a stranger and that yer’ll let me know if yer need any help.’
‘Ta, Bill. I will. Night night.’ She swallowed hard, it was more difficult saying goodbye than she would ever have believed. ‘See you next time I’m over?’
‘Try keeping me away.’ He studied the ground for a moment then said, ‘If yer get fed up – yer know, with what yer doing – I’ll be waiting here for yer, Ett. I’ll always be here for yer.’ Then he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. Before she could say a word he’d sprinted after the man who was just disappearing down Flower and Dean Street.
* * *
‘That’s me cleaned out, girls.’ Ettie put down the tray of drinks and tossed her empty purse on to the table.
‘We might as well go when we’ve finished these then,’ slurred Florrie. ‘That old bastard never lets yer have nothing on the slate,’ she complained loudly, making sure that Patrick’s stony-faced wife could hear her. ‘How yer getting home, Ett?’
‘Don’t know, but I know I can’t go back to Jacob like this.’ She giggled tipsily. ‘I think I’m a bit pissed. I’m not even sure I’d be able to find him if I wanted to.’
‘Blimey, Ett, how can yer be pissed? Yer’ve hardly drunk enough to wet yer whistle.’
‘I know, Mill, but I’ve not had no booze for so long and, anyway, Jacob’s not used to seeing me like this.’
‘Well, yer can’t come home with me,’ said May primly. ‘Me mum wouldn’t like it, having an unexpected guest.’
‘Hark at her!’ Milly shrieked with laughter. ‘What, d’yer need an invite to stay round yours now?’
‘I’m not asking you to take me home,’ said Ettie, trying not to laugh as she attempted to focus on the tight-lipped Maisie.
‘Good,’ snapped May, glaring at the still almost hysterical Milly.
‘But I would like to know what’s got into you, May. You used to be my best friend. Remember?’
‘She’s only jealous,’ said Florrie. ‘It’s obvious. Don’t let her upset yer.’
‘That’s what Billy said and all,’ sighed Ettie, ‘that yer was jealous, May. Is it true?’
‘Is it true? Me, jealous of you? Maisie almost exploded from her seat. ‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are?’ she fumed, leaning across the table, her finger pointing into Ettie’s face.
‘I’m Ettie Wilkins,’ giggled Ettie.
‘That’s right,’ yelled May. ‘Ettie Wilkins, a Whitechapel girl, just like the rest of us.’ And with that, Maisie stormed out of the pub, leaving Ettie unsure whether to laugh or cry.
‘Looks like it’s kipping under the arches for me tonight,’ Ettie said eventual
ly, leaning drunkenly against Milly’s shoulder.
‘Not with us around yer, Ett.’ Florrie poked Milly in the side. ‘Whip round,’ she informed her, nodding at the empty glass she was holding up. ‘Chuck out yer mouldies.’
Florrie and Milly rummaged through their pockets, dug out some coppers from somewhere, and tossed the farthings and halfpennies into the glass.
Florrie counted out threepence three farthings on to the table. She stood up, staggered over to Cecil, and grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Leave off that row for a minute,’ she said snatching his squeeze-box from his hand. ‘And give us a farthing.’
Cecil smiled dozily and handed over the money without a qualm. Florrie nodded her thanks. ‘All right, yer can get on with yer playing again now, sweetheart,’ she said, and made her way back to the table with her spoils. She flopped down on to her seat. ‘Gawd alone knows how that dozy great streak of nothing manages to play that music,’ she said, shaking her head in wonder. ‘Still, he’s got a good heart, and he must be all right if he’s a mate of Bill’s.’ Then she handed the money over to Ettie. ‘There y’are, darling. Plenty. Yer can spend the night in Thrawl Street if yer game.’
‘I’ve kipped in the common lodging-houses plenty of times before, Flo, when Mum’s booted me out. It definitely won’t be the first time, but,’ she looked sadly towards the door, ‘it is the first time Maisie’s ever treated me like that. Good job I’ve still got mates like you two, eh?’
Florrie gave her an angelic, gap-toothed grin. ‘I think I might join yer. I don’t feel like going home tonight.’ She winked at Milly.
‘Yer on, girl,’ said Milly, repaying her with a suggestive smile.
Ettie sighed, with the maudlin self-pity brought on by all the gin and ale she’d swallowed. ‘You’re good friends to me, you two. The best friends anyone could ever have.’ She looked towards the door again, thinking of May. ‘I hope we’ll always be friends.’
‘Time we was leaving,’ said Florrie, heaving herself to her feet. ‘It’s been a right good night. Don’t let’s get all miserable now.’
Milly took Florrie’s arm and walked out of the pub ahead of Ettie. Their procession across the bar was accompanied by loud cheers and ribald remarks.
‘Yer only jealous cos I’ve got meself a lady friend,’ responded Florrie from the doorway, and treated them all to an obscene gesture and a loud beery belch as she stepped out into the street, her head held high and her bonnet tipped rakishly over one eye.
‘I’m glad yer’ve cheered up, Flo,’ said Milly, admiringly, patting Florrie on the arm. ‘You had the right hump earlier when yer posh mate didn’t show up tonight.’
“Who’s that then?’ asked Ettie, swaying slightly as she spoke.
‘No one,’ grinned Florrie.
‘Some posh tart, a nurse they reckon, hangs round here sometimes.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Ettie suggestively, getting into the mood for teasing Florrie.
‘Our Flo thought she was well in there and all, didn’t yer Flo?’ said Milly.
Florrie shrugged non-committally.
‘Patrick said he saw her earlier. She went in the pub, looked round, and then run out again. Funny cow she is, Ett. Gawd knows why, but she helps the brides out. Gets rid of their trouble for ’em. She could work in some nice clean place, but she comes down here. Half barmy, if yer ask me.’
‘That’s a good ’un coming from you, Mill,’ said Florrie affectionately. ‘Bleed’n raving, you are.’
With their arms linked as much for support as friendship, the three women managed to walk in a reasonably straight line towards the common lodging-house at Number Eighteen Thrawl Street. They swerved now and then to avoid bumping into the brides who, with hands on hips and the flash of an occasional ankle, lounged against the walls.
There’s so much life here,’ said Ettie, growing increasingly sentimental. ‘So much going on, even this time of night. It’s like a bloody church where I’m staying.’
‘And I bet yer ain’t got nothing like that in Bow neither,’ said Mad Milly, pointing along the road to the hurdy-gurdy player. ‘Time for another little dance, I think, girls.’
But Florrie was having none of it. ‘Come on, Milly, hear that clock striking quarter past? That miserable bastard of a deputy’ll have let all the beds if we don’t get a move on.’
‘Can’t wait to get in bed, eh darling?’ said Milly, elbowing Florrie and almost knocking her into the gutter.
Although so close to the pub, it was just before one when they eventually got to the common lodging-house in Thrawl Street. They stumbled to a halt and bashed on the heavy cast-iron knocker.
‘Come on, open the bleed’n door and let us in, yer miserable old sod,’ bellowed Milly.
Florrie put her finger to her lips. ‘Ssshh, not so loud, Mill, he won’t let us in.’
The door creaked open and there, standing in front of them, was the deputy. He was a fat, ugly man who seemed to thrive on the misery of others. He smelt of a mixture of stale food and wood-smoke from the hours he spent sitting in the little side room which served as his office, watching the comings and goings of the unfortunate lodgers, eavesdropping on them as they sat huddled in groups in the big, dank communal kitchen, listening for any information to use against them.
For a moment he was stuck for words, and just stared in surprise at Ettie’s fine and comparatively spotless clothing. Then he shook himself like a big, tangle-coated dog. ‘Yeah,’ he snarled as he wiped his nose on the back of his broad, hairy hand. ‘What d’yer want?’
Realising the impact she’d had on him, Ettie drew herself up to her full height and, chin in the air, she used her finest tones as taught to her by Professor Jacob Protsky: ‘We are seeking lodgings for the night, my good sir. Now, kindly show these ladies and myself to our rooms.’ With that she brushed past the open-mouthed deputy and into the passage. But it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
‘Hold on,’ he growled, grabbing her shoulder in his great furry mitt. Where d’yer think you’re going?’
We do have the price of a bed,’ said Florrie, in a comic imitation of Ettie’s diction and brandished the coppers they’d raked up between them in the reluctant deputy’s face.
Without another word, the malodorous man snatched the money from Florrie and stomped away along the dark corridor.
‘Yer wouldn’t think he had a living to earn, miserable old bleeder,’ complained Milly, as they went down the unlit wooden stairs to the cavernous kitchen in the basement. ‘Bet the owners don’t know he gives everyone such a hard time. They’d have him out of here right on his arse, if they did.’
‘Ignore him. Let’s have a cuppa tea and get off to bed,’ said Florrie, flopping down in a chair next to the big cast-iron range. ‘Blimey it’s hot,’ she protested, rubbing her scorching leg as her skirts touched her calf.
‘Then move, yer dozy cow,’ said Milly, spinning the chair round on its back leg, with Florrie still sitting on it, and drawing it up to the big scrubbed pine table standing in the centre of the flagstoned basement.
Ettie watched the two women teasing each other: seeing how they cared for each other made her feel very lonely.
‘Now then,’ said Milly, rubbing her hands together as she surveyed the room. ‘Who wants to club in a bit o’ tea and sugar with us?’
Two elderly women proffered blue paper screws of tea dust, which they dug out of their layers of tattered clothing. They said nothing, just gathered eagerly round the table near the three newly arrived women.
‘Lovely,’ said Milly, adding her own and Florrie’s stores of tea, and then tipping their combined rations in the big earthenware pot.
‘I’ve got a drop of milk to share,’ said a young woman. She was really no more than a girl, but was obviously in an advanced stage of pregnancy. ‘And some sugar.’
Ta, sweetheart,’ said Milly, taking the milk can from her. ‘But yer be careful. Yer don’t wanna go giving all yer stuff to strangers. Yer look after ye
rself.’
‘When are you having your baby?’ asked Ettie, pulling a chair out for the girl to join them.
When Ettie spoke, the girl first looked surprised, then suspicious. ‘Blimey, the way yer talk. Yer ain’t from round here, are yer?’
‘Aw yes she is,’ laughed Florrie. ‘She’s a Whitechapel girl through and through, but she’s got herself a fancy fellah and some education, ain’t yer girl? Tell her about how yer went on the stage.’
Milly scowled at Florrie and gestured with her head towards the two elderly women.
Florrie understood immediately. ‘And don’t bother trying to rob her when she’s asleep,’ she called in their direction, jerking her thumb at Ettie. ‘We did all our money in the boozer tonight. Got it?’
Ettie instinctively put her hand to her throat where her necklace nestled safely beneath her blouse. But the elderly women didn’t notice; they were too busy mumbling about Florrie’s unfair accusations, though they didn’t push their luck arguing with her, especially not with Mad Milly around. And anyway, they were as keen as the young girl to hear Ettie’s story of how she had met and moved in with her fancy man – they thought they might pick up a few ideas themselves.
‘It’s like something out of a book,’ said the girl, putting her thick china mug down on to the table, when Ettie had finished her story. ‘I wish something like that could happen to me.’ She looked down and stroked her swollen belly. ‘Ain’t much chance unless I get rid of this,’ she said ruefully.
‘Wasn’t there anyone who could have helped you?’ asked Ettie. ‘No one you could go to?’
‘What d’yer think she’s in here for?’ rasped one of the old women. ‘Cos her maid’s got the night off?’
‘I didn’t think. I’m sorry.’ Shame-faced, Ettie poured the girl some more tea.
‘Oi, fair does, gimme some of that. Don’t let her have it all.’ The other old woman shoved her cup towards Ettie.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘It’s a while since I’ve shared like this.’
‘Well, get back where yer belong,’ she hissed, leaning over Ettie and spraying her face with saliva thick with tea and pipe tobacco.
The Whitechapel Girl Page 27