by Dilly Court
The water in the kettle began to bubble and she scrambled to her feet. She picked up a pot holder and poured boiling water onto the tea leaves in the pot, setting it down on the trivet to brew. If only she could make her own way in the world and win her independence; it was a wonderful thought, but as far from her reach as the stars twinkling in the blackness of the night sky.
She poured the tea, but when she went to add the milk she discovered that it was sour. She shrugged her shoulders and picked up her shawl. At least she had enough money to buy food for her supper and there was sufficient coal to take the bitter chill off the room. She had a roof over her head, which many less fortunate did not, but she could not help wanting more. One day she would have it all: a house of her own and money in the bank. She would eat chocolate every day of the week if she felt so inclined, and she wouldn’t have to marry an old man like Josiah Tippet in order to make her wishes come true. She would wait until she found a man she could love and respect before tying the knot. She smiled, shaking her head at her own folly. Dreams were just that, and reality was an empty belly and the need to go out and buy food before she collapsed with hunger.
It did not take long to walk the short distance to the dairy and the pie shop, and with the first rush of the evening being over she was served quickly and returned home with the food still piping hot. She sat down to eat her meal alone, but with little enjoyment. She couldn’t stop worrying about Pa and Artie. She did not really expect her father to return from Doncaster until late that night or even early tomorrow morning, but Artie was another matter. When midnight approached she was tempted to go out looking for him. Her imagination was running riot. Perhaps Vic or Wally had got wind of Kent’s plans and had set their ruffians on Artie. Perhaps he was lying in the gutter somewhere, bruised and bleeding.
She had almost convinced herself of the worst when she heard someone banging on the shop door. Seizing the candlestick, she hurried downstairs to peer through the grime-smudged windowpanes. To her intense relief she saw Arthur standing on the pavement, blowing on his cupped hands and stamping his feet. She unlocked the door and let him in on a blast of ice-cold air. ‘Artie, thank God you’re safe.’
His teeth were chattering but he managed a weak grin. ‘I did it, Renie. I convinced Vic that I needed work so badly that I’d do anything.’
‘Come into the warm, and tell me all about it.’ She locked the door and followed him upstairs to the living room. When he was settled by the fire with a cup of tea in his hands and a slice of pie on a plate at his side, she pulled up a stool and sat opposite him. ‘Well, then. Tell me what happened.’
‘I’ve spent the entire day cleaning out the privy in the back yard, crating bottles and scrubbing floors. Vic said I can stay on until the old man takes me back. He did offer to sort him out for me, but I said no thank you to that. I may hate the old sod but I wouldn’t want any real harm to come to him, not on my account anyway.’
‘Of course not. But did you hear anything that you could pass on to Kent?’
He took a bite of pie and shook his head. ‘Nothing that would interest him. Maybe I’ll do better tomorrow.’
When he had finished his supper, Irene gave him a blanket and a pillow from her parents’ bed. ‘You’d best try and make yourself comfortable under the counter in the shop, Artie.’ She did not add that Pa might be easygoing in general and liberal minded, but he might jump to the wrong conclusion if he found Arthur sleeping in his bed.
Tucking the bedding under his arm, Arthur leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for this, Renie. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.’
She gave him a playful shove towards the doorway. ‘Get on with you, you soft thing. You’d do the same for me.’
As she curled up in a ball on her thin palliasse, Irene realised how much she missed her mother’s calming presence. Ma would have dealt with Cuthbert Greenwood and Obadiah Yapp in her own quiet way. She had spent many years fending off creditors and she had dealt with punters who had lost small fortunes to Billy and then accused him of cheating. Irene had seen Ma face up to ugly brutes twice her size, sending them off shamefaced and apologising for the disturbance they had caused. She wished that she had her mother’s tact and diplomacy, which, added to a sweetness of nature, could resolve the most difficult situation.
As she drifted off to sleep, Irene made up her mind to visit her ma and Emmie on Sunday. Perhaps Pa could be persuaded to put aside his dislike of his son-in-law and accompany her, which would please Ma no end. She would ask him tomorrow when he returned home from Doncaster.
But Billy did not come home the next day, or the next. By Sunday morning, Irene was convinced that something dreadful had happened to him. Arthur was still sleeping under the shop counter, leaving for work early in the morning and returning late at night. He continued to execute the most menial tasks for the Sykes brothers, but he had not learned anything that would be of the slightest use to Inspector Kent.
‘I’ll never get to know what they’re doing while I’m cleaning out the privy or tapping barrels,’ Arthur grumbled as he munched a slice of stale bread for his breakfast. ‘The only way I’ll get any information for Kent is to listen to the talk in the gaming room, but I can’t play the tables without stake money.’
‘And I can’t give you any,’ Irene said firmly. ‘Surely they must pay you for your work?’
He hung his head. ‘They gave me something yesterday, but it wasn’t much.’
‘Don’t tell me you lost it at cards.’
Avoiding her gaze, he shook his head. ‘I put it on a horse. It was supposed to be a sure thing.’
‘Oh, Artie! What am I going to do with you?’
‘I’m sorry, Renie. I really thought I was on a winning streak.’
She closed her eyes, biting back a sharp retort. She had heard that phrase time and time again, but then it had been her father making the same excuse to her mother. She bit back the harsh words that sprang to her lips. ‘Go to work. Get out of my sight before I say something I’ll regret.’
When she looked again he had gone and she heard his footsteps clattering down the stairs, followed by the grinding of the key in the lock and the thud of the door closing behind him. ‘Men!’ Irene shouted, shaking her fist at the noisy rooks in the plane tree. ‘And you lot can shut up too.’ She glared distastefully at the slice of stale bread that was her breakfast. There was no coal left to light the fire and there was no money in the old cocoa tin.
She turned to glare at her reflection in the mirror above the mantelshelf, and she scraped her hair back from her face, confining it in a knot at the nape of her neck. It was still early, but suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in on her and she simply had to escape from the confines of the tiny living room, even if it was just for the morning. She snatched her shawl from the back of a chair and made her way downstairs. Fractured beams of sunlight glittering with golden dust motes filtered through the small windowpanes, making a chequered pattern on the bare floorboards. Irene could not wait to get outside into the bright autumn morning. A walk to Love Lane was just what she needed. She would put her worries about Pa to the back of her mind, and try to forget that in two days’ time she was expected to provide Inspector Kent with information that would help him smash the Sykes gang.
Although the sun shone from a clear azure sky, there was a chill breeze blowing in from the east, bringing with it the stench from the tanneries, manufactories and the gasworks. Irene was used to the noxious smells, the dirt and the poverty that marched hand in hand with the affluence of the City banks and businesses, but today the differences seemed even more pronounced. Bare-footed urchins were scavenging in the gutters for anything that had the smallest value and could be sold or exchanged for food. Others hung round outside the church waiting for the congregation to leave, and doubtless hoping that the faithful might feel uplifted by the sermon and in a generous mood. Irene hurried past them, trying not to look at their grimy wizened faces and stick-like limbs. S
he had nothing to give them or to the old woman who slumped in the doorway of a closed shop with a tin cup on the pavement in front of her. Her tattered black skirt was damp with early morning dew and her lined face had a sickly pallor. She must have been there all night, Irene thought sadly as she hurried past. There was little or nothing that she could do for such people, but the sight of dire poverty and utter destitution made her realise that her situation might seem hard to bear, but she was much better off than some.
She reached Emmie’s house just as the clock on a nearby church tower struck eleven. She rapped on the gleaming brass doorknocker and waited. Moments later the door was opened by the young maidservant wearing a print dress and a starched white apron both of which were two sizes too large for her small frame. She pushed her mobcap back off her face and peered up at Irene with a disdainful expression that sat oddly on her young face. ‘Tradesmen’s entrance round the back.’ She went to shut the door but Irene put her foot over the sill.
‘I’m not selling anything, you silly girl. I’ve come to see my sister.’
‘You’ve got the wrong house then.’
‘Let me in at once. You know very well that I’m Mrs Tippet’s sister.’
The girl did not look impressed. She tossed her head so that her mobcap slid down over her eyes again. She pushed it back with an irritable shrug. ‘I don’t remember you. I told you once and I’ll not say it again. Tradesmen’s entrance round the back.’
Irene put her shoulder to the door, sending the girl sprawling onto her back where she lay kicking her legs in the air and screeching. Irene stepped inside and was about to help the maid to her feet when the sound of heavy footsteps on the staircase made her pause and look up. Ephraim was bearing down on them with his sandy eyebrows drawn together so that they met over the bridge of his bulbous nose. He came to a halt and a look of recognition dawned on his pudgy face. ‘Miss Angel, Irene, this is a pleasant surprise.’
Irene heaved the maid to her feet and gave her a shake. ‘There now, you see, girl. Mr Ephraim recognises me.’
‘Go about your work, Jessie,’ Ephraim said, scowling.
‘I didn’t know who she was,’ Jessie muttered, backing away from him. ‘She don’t look like the missis, and she don’t dress like her neither.’
Ephraim raised his hand as if to strike her, and Jessie fled with a howl of fright. ‘Emily should have sent that girl back to the workhouse,’ he grumbled. ‘She’s not right in the head.’
‘It wasn’t really her fault,’ Irene said hastily. ‘She’s only seen me once before and Emmie’s much prettier than me. Since she married your dad she’s always turned out like a duchess and I’m not exactly a fashion plate.’
‘My stepmother pays altogether too much attention to fashion, and not enough to the smooth running of the household. You, on the other hand, appear to be a sensible, hardworking young woman with her mind on higher matters altogether.’
His censorious and pompous attitude irritated Irene, but she forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. ‘And how are you today, Ephraim?’
‘I am well, thank you.’ He cleared his throat, staring at her with his mouth working as if he were trying to speak but could not find the words.
‘I’ve come to see Ma and Emmie,’ Irene prompted. ‘Are they at home?’
He nodded his head. ‘Of course you want to see them. It’s only natural.’ He continued to stand in front of her, gazing at her with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes that reminded Irene of black boot buttons.
‘Perhaps you could tell them I’m here?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll do just that.’ He crossed the narrow hallway in two strides and opened a door. ‘If you would kindly wait in the morning parlour, I’ll go and find them for you.’
She walked past him into a large, sunny room that faced onto the street. It had undergone a complete refurbishment since Irene had first seen it on Emmie’s wedding day. She could only guess that the heavily patterned floral wallpaper, the crimson velvet curtains and the gleaming mahogany furniture upholstered in the same material had been chosen by her sister. Everything looked so new that she would not have been surprised to find the price tags still attached to the legs of the ornately carved chairs and sofas. The mantelshelf was crammed with china figurines, and an imposing black marble clock embellished with brass-topped Corinthian columns stood in the centre like a miniature cathedral. The contrast between this room and the poverty that lurked in the backstreets and alleyways was really quite shocking.
Irene turned with a start as the door opened and Ephraim ushered her mother into the room. ‘My stepmother is still in bed,’ he said, taking a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and studying its face with raised eyebrows. ‘I’ll send Jessie to help her dress.’ He bowed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Irene flung her arms around her mother’s neck. ‘I’ve missed you, Ma. How are you?’
Clara gave her a feeble hug. ‘Oh, Renie, I’ve missed you too.’
Gently disengaging her mother’s arms, Irene led her to the sofa. ‘Sit down, and tell me everything. Have they treated you well?’
‘I can’t complain, ducks. Emmie needs me and Josiah has been very considerate.’ Clara patted the seat beside her. ‘Sit down and tell me what’s been going on at home. I thought maybe Billy might come and see me. Is he all right?’
‘You know Pa,’ Irene said lightly. ‘He’s always in the best of health and nothing gets him down.’
‘He hasn’t complained then – about me leaving him to look after himself?’
‘I’m there, Ma. We’ve muddled along, but it’s not the same without you.’
‘And he’s kept away from the gaming tables?’
Irene hooked her arm around her mother’s shoulders and was shocked by her increasing fragility. ‘We haven’t starved yet, and Pa will be along to see you very soon.’
‘I hope so. I’ve got a feeling in me water that something is wrong. I know it’s silly and you’d tell me if things wasn’t going too well, but I can’t sleep at night for worrying about my Billy.’
‘It’s all in your imagination, Ma. Everything is fine. Business is brisk and all the regulars have been asking after you. If trade keeps on increasing like it is, we’ll need bigger premises.’
‘You’re lying, Renie. I can always tell, but just so long as you’re managing, I’ll try not to worry.’ Clara glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Emily who had just breezed into the room. ‘Hello, dear. Did you sleep well?’
‘Hardly a wink, Ma. Josiah snores like a pig and takes all the bedcovers for himself. I think I shall insist that he sleeps in his dressing room from now until the baby comes.’
‘You don’t look too bad on it,’ Irene said, chuckling. She couldn’t help noticing that Emmie had yet another new gown, and if she had slept badly it did not show on her face. She looked quite blooming, in fact. Irene rose to her feet, taking her sister aside. ‘I need to speak to you, in private.’
‘What are you whispering about?’ Clara demanded. ‘Are you sure you’ve told me everything, Renie?’
‘Quite sure, Ma. I was asking Emmie if I could see the nursery. You don’t mind if we leave you for a moment, do you?’
‘No, of course not, but don’t be too long.’
As soon as they were outside the room Irene turned to Emily, lowering her voice. ‘I don’t want this to get back to Ma. Promise you won’t say a word.’
Emily’s face paled and her pretty mouth turned down at the corners. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Pa again?’
‘He went off to Doncaster races and he hasn’t come back. I’ve had no word from him for days and Yapp is being difficult about money. He’s stopped our credit and I’m afraid I’ll have to close the shop.’
‘Oh, Gawd! Pa will be the ruin of us all. What will Josiah say?’
‘I don’t care what Josiah says, it’s Ma I’m worried about. If anything has happened to Pa she’ll never get over it. She don’t look too cle
ver as it is. Have you been looking after her properly, Emmie?’
Emily bridled. ‘Of course I have. She’s got a lovely warm bed and three good meals a day. I can’t help it if she pines for Pa, and no one can stop her worrying about that blessed shop. She hardly ever talks about anything else and it’s so embarrassing when I have ladies round for afternoon tea.’
‘My, haven’t we become grand,’ Irene said, throwing up her hands. ‘You might stop thinking about yourself for once. Ma looks ill and I don’t think she believed me when I said everything was fine.’
‘Well, take a look in a mirror. You look a fright. No wonder Jessie thought you were a gypsy peddling her wares. She told me that Ephraim shouted at her, but I can see why she made such a mistake. You ought to take more pride in yourself, Renie. You can’t expect to find a husband if you go round looking like a sack of old potatoes.’ She paused, cocking her head to one side. ‘That sounds like the dog cart. I told Tompkins to oil the wheels; one of them squeaks and makes everyone turn round to stare at me.’
‘Perhaps they’re just admiring your smart new clothes,’ Irene suggested, smiling at her sister’s inability to think of anything unless it was in relation to herself.
Emily shot her a suspicious glance. ‘I know you’re teasing me.’ She pushed past Irene to study her reflection in a gilt-framed mirror that hung on the wall, and pinched her cheeks until they glowed with colour. ‘Josiah will be coming through that door any moment. Don’t mention a word of this to him. We’ll just have to hope that Pa gets home soon and that he hasn’t lost his shirt for the hundredth time.’ The sound of the key grating in the lock made them both turn towards the front door as it opened to admit Josiah. Emily seized Irene by the arm. ‘Remember what I said.’ She went to meet him with outstretched arms. ‘Josiah, my dear, look who has come to visit us.’