The Urchin's Song

by Rita Bradshaw

  And then she was on her feet again and he drew her closer, and her heart began to pound as she realised he meant to kiss her on the lips. The pleasant smell which emanated faintly from him was stronger as, her eyes shutting of their own accord, she felt his lips on hers. His mouth was warm and firm, and the feel and smell of him was exciting little nervous shivers deep inside her. She couldn’t ever remember anyone kissing her on the mouth before, not even her mother, but she liked it. She liked it very much.

  The kiss only lasted for a moment or two, and Josie would never know the restraint Oliver was practising when everything in him wanted to crush her to him and cover her face with kisses. She was so sweet, intoxicating, and since he had finished with Stella and brought Josie up to London he had abstained from the pleasures of the flesh for the first time in over twenty years. It hadn’t been easy. Perhaps that was why he had been gambling so heavily the last little while; he’d needed some outlet for the restlessness and frustration his self-imposed forbearance was causing in the night hours.

  ‘Josie, you don’t know how happy you have made me.’ He continued to hold her close with one arm round her waist as he spoke, his other hand touching one flushed cheek in a light caress. ‘I am the most fortunate man in the world. Are . . . are you going to insist on a long engagement or can we break with sober tradition and have the wedding towards the end of this year?’

  She did not answer straight away; in truth she was finding the whole situation more than overwhelming and Oliver must have sensed this, because his next words were, ‘But we have plenty of time to sort that out, of course, my dear. And now you must inform your sister of the happy news and perhaps the three of us can go out to dinner after your next performance and celebrate?’

  She smiled at him. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said softly, adding, suddenly shy, ‘and I’ll try and be a good wife, Oliver.’

  Her words seemed to please him, for his grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her towards him again, this time dropping a lingering kiss on her brow before he said quietly, ‘And you think you might come to like me more than a little?’

  ‘I do already.’

  ‘Good.’ How on earth he was going to manage not to ravish her in the coming months he didn’t know, but manage he would. She would stand at the altar as pure as she was now. For once in his life he was going to do it right. She was head and shoulders above any other woman of his acquaintance, and if any of his so-called friends cocked a snook at her or allowed their lady wives free rein, he’d draw blood, damn it, whoever they were. ‘Because I adore you, my beautiful angel.’

  She blinked at the endearment. She couldn’t ever imagine Barney saying that to a woman; his love would not take the form of affectionate utterances but express itself in the way of most northern men, in the physical commitment to providing a roof over the heads of his wife and bairns and working all hours to provide for their needs. And then she mentally shook herself, silently admonishing the waywardness of her thoughts. It didn’t matter what Barney did or didn’t do, for goodness’ sake! This was the start of a new life and she would give it her all.

  ‘May I kiss you again before you go and tell Gertie the glad news?’

  She nodded, and this time when his lips met hers he felt a response in their softness which thrilled him but which made him warn himself, Careful, careful. Her lips told him she was as innocent as they come and he could easily frighten her. He would have to go and visit one of the establishments he knew of and get some relief, however; he had satisfied the hunger of his flesh for too long to continue abstaining. Self-denial was all very well for monks and clergymen but he wasn’t made that way, and if he was to get through the engagement and remain sane he would need some assistance.

  They were brought apart by Nellie’s voice saying, the tone bright, ‘Oh, so that’s the way of it, is it?’

  Oliver turned to face the girl he privately thought of as far beneath him, and his voice was cool when he said, ‘Miss Burns has just done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife. That is the way of it.’

  ‘Really?’ Undaunted, Nellie grabbed hold of Josie and hugged her. ‘You’re a dark horse if ever there was one; you haven’t breathed a word of this.’

  ‘I want to tell Gertie first.’ Josie returned Nellie’s hug before drawing back and putting her finger to her lips in a warning gesture. ‘Don’t say anything before I tell her, will you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, gal.’ Nellie now moved her head, looking Oliver straight in the eye as she said, her voice as cool as his had been, ‘You’re a lucky blighter if ever there was one. You know that, don’t you.’

  Oliver stifled his annoyance, forcing a smile as he said, ‘Indeed I do.’

  And it wasn’t until much later, just before she fell asleep in fact, that Josie recalled Nellie hadn’t congratulated her on her betrothal.

  Part 3

  The Taste of Success 1901

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josie married Oliver on the first day of the New Year, a day which also saw the Commonwealth of Australia come into being on the other side of the world, but which momentous event passed unnoticed by the new Mr and Mrs Oliver Hogarth. Oliver would have liked the marriage to take place some weeks earlier but this had not proved possible, mainly because of Josie’s heavy work schedule throughout November and December.

  London had embraced its newest sensation with all the enthusiasm Oliver had hoped for, and when Josie had been offered a part in the pantomime at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, throughout the last two months of the old year, they had both known it required 100 per cent commitment and had arranged the wedding date accordingly.

  Josie had enjoyed the last weeks of 1900 more than she would have thought possible. The pantomime smell of gas, oranges, human beings and dust had become as familiar as blinking, along with the great gasps of anticipation from the audience as the Demon King strutted on stage by the illumination of fizzy blue and red limes. The oooh! when she, as the Fairy Queen, entered on the other side in a holy circle of fizzy white lime never failed to thrill her, along with the children’s goggle eyes as the Demon King sang his usual song:

  Hush, hush, hush!

  Here comes the bogey man,

  Be on your best behaviour

  For he’ll catch you if he can!

  At the end of the traditional and very pretty Transformation scene, which consisted of raising one by one a series of gauzes to reveal fairies, reclining in enormous roses and water lilies, the children’s excitement when Clown, Pantaloon and Harlequin appeared and tossed brightly wrapped crackers into small hands in the stalls, pit and circle was infectious, along with their high howls of laughter as Clown burned everyone with a red-hot poker and stole long strings of sausages from the butcher’s shop in the following front-cloth scene.

  It was sheer magic for the children, from the moment they entered the great portico at the theatre to find small boys dressed as pages in bright blue suits with shiny buttons and pill box caps giving away little bottles of scent; and nymphs, golden and sparkling, reclining gracefully on gold brackets at the side of the stage.

  Flying fairies, poised but swaying gently, filled the air and formed an archway below which the performers gathered, and the vivid colours, sparkling bright costumes and general air of festivity caused many a small person to become sick with excitement. It wasn’t just the children who were enamoured; when Josie had paid for Vera and Horace, along with Betty and her tribe to come down for one of the shows in the early part of December, she’d been hard pressed to decide who enjoyed the pantomime more - the three grown-ups or the bairns.

  Seated at her husband’s side in the elegant hotel in Richmond which Oliver had chosen for their small reception, Josie glanced round her assembled family and friends. Oliver’s only living family consisted of two great-aunts somewhere or other, and he had insisted they would hold an evening reception for his friends when they returned from honeymoon. It was the sort of thing expected amongst his set, h
e’d said, and it was better Josie had her family and friends to herself on her special day.

  Josie now smiled at Vera and Horace before her gaze moved to Amos and his wife, who were sitting quietly together with their three children. The baby had died just before Christmas, and although there were those within both sides of the family who said it was a blessing, Amos and his wife didn’t see it that way. As Amos had said to Josie in a quiet moment, they had loved the child more, not less, because of its problems. Hadn’t the Lord Jesus Christ come to this earth specifically for the poor and needy and afflicted, so how could they, as His servants, consider it any other than a privilege that He’d trusted a little suffering one to their care?

  Josie had been amazed and humbled by their acceptance and faith, but she doubted she could have thought the same in such heartbreaking circumstances.

  Reg and Neville, with their respective wives and children, were seated either side of Amos and his family, but Betty had been unable to make the wedding at the last minute due to her three youngest children going down with the measles. Barney had sent his apologies too. Pearl was very poorly, as Josie knew, he had written, and they’d decided a journey of such magnitude would tire her unduly.

  Josie hadn’t known, and when she questioned Vera about the nature of Pearl’s illness, Vera wasn’t very forthcoming. She thought she’d mentioned that Pearl had been a bit under the weather? Vera had said with a surprised note in her voice. And when Josie assured her that no, she hadn’t, Vera simply shrugged and mumbled that she had no doubt Pearl would soon be well again. And that was the most Josie could get out of her old friend.

  Josie had included Prudence in Vera and Horace’s invitation. She’d felt she could do little else with Betty’s stepdaughter living with Vera, and all the lads and their families receiving invitations, but she wasn’t sorry when Prudence declined. She had no wish to see the girl again, least of all on her wedding day, although Vera had reported that Prudence was a changed person. Indeed, Josie suspected that Vera felt sorry for Betty’s stepdaughter, even perhaps liked her a little, because she had made no effort to ask Prudence to leave now her hands were improved as much as they were ever going to be. Vera had even put in a good word for her at the corn mill when an inspection/checking-out post had become available, so now Prudence worked with Vera too.

  She’d felt strange about that, Josie admitted to herself as she watched Vera talking to Neville’s wife who was seated next to her. Abandoned almost. Which was ridiculous, quite ridiculous. Vera had her life up in Sunderland and she had to do what she thought was right in any situation. Her own life was quite different now she’d met Oliver; everything was different. Too different? She quelled the little niggle which had been at the back of her mind for the last day or so, angry it should rear its head on this day of all days. She was happy, very happy, and she had the most wonderful husband and friends, and Gertie. Precious Gertie.

  She turned to Gertie who was sitting at the side of her and who looked charming in her deep blue bridesmaid’s dress which had a matching cloak edged with white fur, and said very quietly, ‘I wonder where Hubert is today? Jimmy too.’

  Gertie nodded. ‘And Ada an’ Dora. By, they had a rough start, didn’t they, and I’d have bin sent along the same road but for you, lass.’

  Josie nodded but didn’t pursue the conversation, conscious of Oliver on her other side. She had told him all about her childhood and her flight with Gertie to Newcastle and the reason for it, and he had been as shocked and distressed as she had expected. But she had felt it was right to tell him it all; she hadn’t wanted to continue with the engagement under false pretences. After a few moments he had taken her hands in his, his face grim, and said, ‘I make no judgement on your sisters, Josie. They were clearly more sinned against than sinful, but nevertheless if this were to come to light it might throw a shadow over you yourself. Do you understand this? Society is quick to condemn, my dear, and can be very cruel. I think it would be better if we do not discuss this painful subject again but consign it to the past where it belongs.’

  ‘They are my sisters, Oliver.’

  ‘Of course they are, but by your own admission it has been almost a decade since you saw them last. You could pass them in the street and not know them, and - forgive me, my dear - the life they have embraced is a hard one. There is no guarantee they have survived it thus far.’

  She had stared at him for some ten seconds or more before saying, ‘Nevertheless, I must repeat they are my sisters and the fault was not theirs. If you are asking me to admit to being ashamed of them, I cannot.’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ His tone had changed and he had pulled her stiff body into his arms, saying softly above her head, ‘Your attitude does you credit but I would have expected nothing less from you. I am the most fortunate man in the world.’

  She would have said more but he had begun to kiss her and the moment had passed, but since that day - the day after he had asked her to become his wife - they had not talked of her two elder sisters again simply because the matter had not arisen. Josie told herself Oliver had dealt with the unwelcome confidence with typical male logic and lack of emotion, and had endeavoured to see the situation from his point of view, but deep inside, barely acknowledged, had been a shred of disappointment . . .

  ‘Happy, my darling?’ Oliver’s voice was soft and deep and now, as she turned to him, the look in his blue eyes made her quiver. They were to spend their wedding night in Oliver’s London house before leaving for a week’s honeymoon in France where one of Oliver’s friends had a château. They could have spent longer abroad but Josie was beginning a new season at Covent Garden beginning the third week of January, and so regretfully they had decided a week was all they could manage. ‘You look quite exquisite.’ Oliver stroked her flushed face before looking down at the ivory silk dress encrusted with hundreds and hundreds of tiny crystals across the low-cut bodice, and then back upwards to her golden-brown hair under its lacy veil. ‘Even the good Reverend Whear was mesmerised by your beauty. He nearly forgot his words, did you notice?’

  ‘Oh, Oliver.’ She smiled now, and he grinned back at her, suddenly very much her Oliver. Everything was going to be all right. Once this first night of marriage was over she would know what to expect and then it wouldn’t be so frightening. Women the whole world over survived this thing that happened once the lights were out, and most of them loved their husbands. Look at the Queen - she had been devoted to her Albert and utterly devastated by his death, and they had had nine children. She had openly idolised him, and he her, so this . . . activity couldn’t be that bad, could it?

  It wasn’t. A little painful perhaps on the first night and certainly somewhat embarrassing, but Oliver’s gentleness and restrained passion, along with his almost reverent adoration, had even made that night enjoyable. And as the honeymoon progressed in the wonderful old château where they were waited on hand and foot by Oliver’s friend’s old retainers, Josie blossomed under her husband’s skilful and experienced lovemaking.

  They arrived home in England, tired but happy, on a very wet and windy January evening, and Gertie, who had her own quarters now in Oliver’s house, had opened the door and run down the steps to greet them as though Josie had been away for a month instead of a week.

  It was some time later after they had enjoyed the excellent homecoming dinner Mrs Wilde had prepared, and the maids had cleared away the dishes, and Josie and Oliver along with Gertie were sitting in front of the roaring drawing-room fire, that Josie said, ‘Is anything wrong, Gertie? There is something, isn’t there? What is it, lass?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything tonight what with you just coming home, but . . .’ Gertie hesitated. ‘It’s a bit of a shock but Pearl, she’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘She died, Josie. The day after you went to France.’

  ‘She died?’ Josie was aware of the crackling bright orange flames licking round the big log on the fire which Constance, one o
f the maids, had attended to some minutes before, and Oliver at the side of her saying, ‘Who is Pearl?’ but for a moment she was having a job taking the news in. Pearl had been young, so young and bonny; it seemed impossible that she was dead. She turned to Oliver. ‘Pearl is - was - Barney’s wife, Betty’s stepson.’

  Gertie chimed in again, with, ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard, an’ apparently all them back home got a gliff an’ all. No one realised she was so bad, you see.’

  ‘How old was this Pearl?’ Oliver asked quietly.

  ‘Only twenty-four or twenty-five,’ Josie said. ‘We’d invited them to the wedding, if you remember, but Barney wrote to say she was ill. I never realised it was anything so serious. Vera seemed to suggest it wasn’t much at all . . .’ Her voice trailed away. This was awful. Pearl had had her whole life in front of her. And her mam and da would be devastated. According to Betty, they’d built their life round Pearl. And Barney - how would he be feeling? She could still hardly believe it. ‘Do we know the cause of death?’ she asked Gertie.

  ‘A disease of the blood, so Vera wrote. She . . . she started bleeding at the end apparently, from everywhere, an’ then she went into a coma an’ within a few hours she’d gone.’

  ‘It was in the newspapers in November last year that the blood is far more complicated than doctors had expected.’ Oliver stood up and walked across to the fire, standing with his back to the flames as he continued, ‘Three different blood groups have been identified by a scientist in Vienna, and he thinks this explains why different people react differently to blood transfusions among other things. Did your friend have transfusions?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’ Oliver returned to the sofa and sat down, patting Josie’s arm as he spoke. ‘It is always so much worse when one hasn’t lived out the three score and ten.’