The street was busy at this time of day, and Maggie hurriedly stepped off the pavement to allow a smartly-dressed couple to pass by. Her footsteps slowing down she made her way to number 17, rehearsing in her mind what she was going to say to Mrs Biggins, the elderly housekeeper. Raising her eyes warily, she saw as if for the first time how grandiose the house in front of her was, and felt her heart quail at the task ahead of her. She had been here more times than she could remember, but never had she felt as she did now. When she had been before it had been under the protection and strength of her mother, and without that self-assured presence she felt awkward and shabby, and dreadfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for the fear of facing Lizzie without a job she would have turned tail and run back home, but the fear that her sister would leave her and Charlie to fend for themselves if she didn’t find some kind of work gave her the courage to push back the black iron gate and descend the stone steps to the basement.
Swallowing hard she took a deep breath, then raised the brass knocker on the brown-painted door and banged it down hard. As the metallic sound rang in her ears she stepped back in alarm, amazed at her temerity. When the door was pulled open she caught a glimpse of the small, white face belonging to the scullery maid, her eyes widening at the sight of the figure before her.
‘Hello,’ Maggie started nervously. ‘I wonder if I could speak to Mrs Biggins, please. My name’s Maggie Paige, my mum used to do the laundry here and…’ The words died in her throat as the door was pushed to. Then she heard the sound of the maid’s voice calling urgently, ‘Mrs Biggins, Mrs Biggins, it’s that girl, the one whose mum used to do the washing.’
Within minutes the door was pulled open again to reveal the short, plump body of the housekeeper, her face wild with fury. Maggie saw the look and felt her stomach turn over at the undisguised hostility on the woman’s face. Summoning all of her courage she tried again.
‘Hello, my name’s Maggie Paige, my mother used to…’ She got no further.
‘I know who you are, madam,’ the woman growled at her, ‘and how you’ve the nerve to come here after what’s happened, I don’t know.’
‘What… what are you talking about, Mrs Biggins? My mum always did a good job for you, didn’t she? And… and I wondered if I could take over now that she’s…’ Again she faltered, unable to say the dreadful word.
‘Yes, she did a good job, and I liked her. She was a nice woman, but that doesn’t change the fact that she died of the diphtheria, and most of your family so I heard. And you’ve got the cheek to bring the disease here. What are you thinking of, girl? Do you want all of us here to catch it as well? Now get off with you before the mistress finds out you’ve been.’
Her voice cracking with anxiety Maggie stepped forward, her hands outstretched as she made one final plea.
‘Please, Mrs Biggins, I haven’t got it, I wouldn’t have come here if I thought there was any chance of passing it on, and I need a job, please, don’t turn me away.’
Already the door was being closed in her face.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t take the chance, and neither will any of your mum’s other customers, so save yourself shoe leather. You’d better try for work in your own neck of the woods.’
‘Oh, no, please, Mrs Biggins, I haven’t got it, I haven’t.’ But it was no good – the door was shut firmly against her entreaties, leaving her no alternative but to leave. Her shoulders slumped in despair, she mounted the three stone steps and after giving one last beseeching look at the cold, grey house she moved her tired, aching legs once again out onto the slippery, cobbled pavement.
What was she to do now? The thought of waiting at the flat for Liz to come home caused her to shiver. Even remembering the warm, friendly note from this morning didn’t hearten her. She knew her sister, and her frequent changes of mood. No, better she went now and met her from work to get it over with quickly than spend the rest of the day worrying herself sick with only Charlie for company. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she set off briskly in the direction of Bow.
Three
‘’Ere, ain’t that yer sister waiting at the gate?’
Lizzie followed the pointing finger of her companion and nodded, her eyes narrowing in surprise at the unexpected appearance of her sister.
‘Yes, yes it is, I wonder what she’s doing here. Hey, Maggie over here,’ she called out, her voice rising over the babble of noise from her workmates as they made their way across the yard towards the black iron gate. Maggie heard Liz’s voice calling to her, but when she tried to turn her body round she nearly toppled over. She had been standing here for hours and her legs and feet were frozen with the cold. Lifting first one foot then the other, she stamped them as hard as she could to try and bring the circulation back into her stiff limbs.
‘Hello, Liz. I thought you were never coming out,’ she said, her teeth chattering violently as she tried to maintain a calm image. Lizzie eyed her sister warily. She was supposed to have gone to the bookshop, then home to look after Charlie. What was she doing here?
‘’Allo, yer Lizzie’s sister, ain’t yer? I seen yer down the market wiv Liz.’
Maggie switched her gaze from Liz to the young girl standing by her side. She judged her to be about her own age, and as her eyes took in the threadbare clothes and dirty, bare feet blue with the cold she forgot for a moment her own troubles. The left side of the girl’s face was badly bruised and swollen, and when she suddenly smiled, revealing a large empty gap in her upper teeth, Maggie felt an irrational urge to cry.
‘What are you doing here? Has something happened?’
Maggie tore her eyes away from the girl’s battered face, her heart racing at the sound of Lizzie’s sharp voice. All the rehearsing she’d done on how to tell her sister what had happened vanished and, bowing her head slightly she answered. ‘Mr Abraham’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ Lizzie echoed, her face stretched wide with surprise. ‘How? I mean, what happened? Was it the diphtheria?’
‘No, no not that,’ Maggie continued, stamping her feet. ‘A woman from the market told me he’d had a heart attack two days ago. The shop is all boarded up, I don’t know what’s going to happen to it now.’
‘Christ! That’s all we need.’
Maggie winced at the vehemence of Lizzie’s words, but before she could make any rejoinder she felt her arm being seized roughly as Lizzie steered her away from the gate.
‘’Bye, Teresa,’ she called to the girl who had been watching the scene with avid curiosity, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
They had walked some distance from the factory before Liz spoke. Pulling Maggie none too gently to a stop she said harshly, ‘Don’t think you’re going to laze about at home while I slog my guts out. I’ll bet you’ve been swanning round the shops all day instead of looking for another job.’
‘I haven’t,’ Maggie replied hotly, ‘and let go of my arm, Liz, else I’ll shove you back.’
The two girls stood glaring at each other, the cold puffs of air pouring from their mouths forming a barrier of steam between them. Then Liz, her voice slightly mollified asked, ‘Well, what have you been doing all day then?’ They had started to walk on, and as they walked, Maggie recounted the events of the day. When she had finished, a silence settled on them. It wasn’t until they had reached Bethnal Green Road that Maggie, unable to bear the strained silence any longer asked, ‘That girl, you know, the one you were with at the factory, what happened to her face? And how can she walk about in this weather without any boots on? My feet are frozen and I’ve got thick stockings under my boots. How does she bear it? I mean, it must be bad enough walking barefoot in any weather, but on a day like today, with the snow settling, it’s a wonder she can feel her feet at all.’ Liz shrugged her shoulders, and then as if explaining a difficult question to a child she answered, ‘She doesn’t have any choice. There are twelve of them at home, and only two pairs of boots between them all. If her mum and dad are working they get the
use of the boots. When they’re not, Teresa gets to wear a pair. Either way she can’t win, because if they’re out of work she doesn’t eat, and given the choice she’d rather have a full belly than boots on her feet.’
‘Oh,’ Maggie’s voice sank to a whisper, ‘but what about her face? Did she have an accident?’
Liz gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You could say that. She ran into a fist – I don’t know whose. Her mum and dad both knock her about, so it could have been either of them.’
‘But that’s terrible,’ Maggie cried. ‘Can’t she tell someone?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, who’s she going to tell? Besides, she’s used to it, it’s a way of life to her, she doesn’t know any different. She had a baby when she was 13, probably by her dad, but it could have been one of her brothers – she’s not sure. The kid died two days after it was born, and Teresa nearly joined it. The old midwife who delivered it was so drunk she made a right muck up of Teresa’s insides. She probably won’t ever be able to have any more children, which is a blessing in disguise considering her circumstances.’
Maggie walked on, her eyes firmly on the slippery pavement, her whole being horrified at what she had just heard. Bowing her head against the cold wind she protested, ‘There must be something she can do, someone she can go to for help.’
‘Oh, grow up, Maggie,’ Liz said impatiently. ‘It happens all the time. The trouble with you is Mum always protected you from the seamier side of life. That’s probably one of the reasons she got you that job with Mr Abrahams. If you’d started with me, you’d soon have had your eyes opened to what goes on in the real world. Anyway, forget about Teresa, we’ve got our own troubles to worry about without taking on anyone else’s.’
They were nearly home, and when Liz marched off, Maggie made no attempt to catch up with her. Instead she walked slowly behind, her mind going over what Liz had said, realising for the first time just how lucky they had been to have had parents like theirs. Despite the fact that they lived in an area known as a slum, Mum had always kept the flat and the children spotless. None of them had ever gone without food, even when times had been very hard with her dad out of work. And as for any of them going without boots, why, her mum would have sold the last stick of furniture rather than let that happen. She felt the tears spring to her eyes and quickly wiped them away in case Liz saw her crying and started on her again.
‘Come on,’ Liz called out impatiently, ‘I want to get home. I hope Charlie’s kept the fire going, I’m freezing.’
At the mention of her brother’s name Maggie’s head jerked back in alarm. With all that had happened, she had forgotten all about him. Her concern for Charlie pushed all other thoughts from her mind. Heedless of the strong wind and biting cold she pushed her aching legs into a run, ignoring the muffled shouts of Liz to wait for her. Ten minutes later she was inside the building, her breath coming in short gasps, her mind visualising all manner of terrible things that could have happened to Charlie while she’d been out. She was halfway up the stairs when Liz caught up with her.
‘What the hell did you run off like that for?’ Liz demanded angrily, her face red with exertion.
‘It’s Charlie, he’s been on his own all day.’ The words tumbled out breathlessly. ‘I hope he’s all right.’
A look of irritation crossed Liz’s face, and with her lips drawn tightly together she muttered, ‘Bloody hell, you make a right pair. Neither of you know you’re born. Well, all I can say is you’ve both got a few shocks coming to you.’
As Liz went to pass her, Maggie’s hand shot out and gripped her arm.
‘Maybe you’re right, maybe we have had it soft, but I’ll tell you this much for nothing, Liz, after today I’m learning fast.’ Her voice was soft but the look in her eyes warned Liz to keep quiet. Releasing her hold on Liz’s arm, Maggie pushed her aside and carefully made her way up the darkened stairway to the flat.
* * *
Charlie lay on his side, his knees drawn up to his chin as he listened to the familiar sound of his sisters arguing. The row didn’t frighten him, for after spending the day alone the sound of the raised voices was like balm to his frayed nerves. Hugging the blanket tighter around his body, he turned over on the mattress, letting the noise from the far end of the room wash over him.
‘We don’t have any choice, we can’t afford to stay here,’ Maggie was yelling. ‘I don’t care what you say, when Mr Bates comes for the rent on Friday, I’m going to ask him about the basement.’
‘And I’m telling you there’s no way I’m going to live in one room under the ground. Mum sent me down there once with a bowl of soup for Mr Blackstone when he was ill, and I couldn’t wait to get out. The room was filthy, and the smell nearly knocked me over. And another thing, there’s no windows down there, the only way to get any light or air into the room is to leave the door open. Can you imagine what it would be like in this weather? And once the door is closed it’d be like being buried alive, so think again. Maggie, I’m not going down there and that’s final.’
Maggie looked at Liz’s set, determined face and closed her eyes wearily.
‘All right, Liz,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m too tired to argue any more. I’m going to make something to eat, and while I’m doing that maybe you can come up with a better solution.’
Once in the scullery she gripped the side of the sink as she tried to control the turmoil that was raging inside her taut body. What she really wanted to do was to return to the living room and smack Lizzie hard. Her hands curled into fists as she imagined herself doing just that. It wouldn’t achieve anything, and she’d probably end up getting her own face bashed in, for Liz was well able to look after herself – but oh what a blessed relief it would be to land that first blow.
Turning from the sink she began to cut the loaf of stale bread into thick slices, her active mind trying to work out what course of action to take next. The situation facing her was partly her own fault. She should have known that Liz would oppose any idea that she came up with, and that there was no way she would let herself be seen to be taking orders from her younger sister. Placing a lump of cheese next to the plate of bread Maggie took a deep breath; As much as it went against the grain, she was going to have to swallow her pride and try to placate Liz, make her think that she was in charge of their destiny. It shouldn’t be too hard, for if there was one thing guaranteed to soften Liz, it was feeling important. Taking another deep breath she walked back into the living room, her face subdued, her body slumped in an attitude of one who has accepted defeat.
‘I’m afraid that’s all there is, Liz,’ she murmured as she laid the plate on the table. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
Liz looked sharply at her sister. ‘You can cut out the sarcasm, Maggie, it won’t wash with me.’
Maggie quickly bent her head. Careful, she warned herself, don’t overdo it.
‘I wasn’t being sarky, Liz, I meant it. After all, you’re the one who’s bringing in the money, you should have something decent to eat.’
Before Liz could answer, Maggie left the room to fetch the teapot and mugs. When she returned Liz was already tucking into the bread and cheese, her strong teeth tearing at the hard crust.
‘I’ll let Charlie have his tea in bed, shall I? It’ll be warmer for him, and it’ll save having to put more coal on the fire.’
‘Oh, don’t matter if we freeze, as long as Charlie’s warm,’ Liz answered, her mouth crammed with food.
‘I just thought it would save us some money. I’ll build the fire up if you want, but let me give Charlie his tea first.’
Charlie was sitting up in bed waiting for her, and as she put the mug of tea on the floor he leaned towards her, his face worried.
‘What’s up, Maggie? Why are you crawling to Liz?’ he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Is she going to leave us, is that why you’re sucking up to her?’
‘Shush, she might hear you,’ Maggie admonished gently. ‘Eat your supper and go to sleep, there’
s nothing for you to worry about.’
‘But Maggie, I don’t like to hear you talk like that – it makes me feel sort of funny inside.’
Putting the plate on his lap she ruffled his hair, saying,
‘I know what I’m doing, love, now do as I say, there’s a good boy.’ Then she left him, to join Liz at the table.
As she helped herself to a piece of bread she thought about what Charlie had said about feeling funny inside. She knew exactly how he felt, for every fibre in her body was crying out at the servile attitude she was being forced to assume. The dry bread stuck in her throat, and with a sad sigh she pushed her plate away.
‘What’s the matter, not hungry?’ Liz enquired, her face still filled with suspicion at the sudden change in her sister.
‘I can’t eat, I’m too worried about what’s going to happen to us. What if I can’t find another job, what are we going to do then? We can’t live on just your money. What are we going to do, Liz? I’m scared, really scared. Oh, Liz, how are we going to manage.’
With a loud moan, Maggie slumped over the table, her head resting on her arms, and when the first tears started to fall she realised she wasn’t play-acting any more. The long, traumatic day had finally taken its toll. She felt so tired, tired and worn out, and afraid, desperately afraid of the long days that lay ahead. Work was scarce, and the only kind of job a young girl like her could hope to find wouldn’t pay half what she’d been earning in the bookshop. She’d thought it would be so easy, just a matter of knocking on a few doors and offering her services. Well, she’d learnt the hard way. How could she have imagined that she could step into her mother’s shoes and earn the money Mum had? Even if she had been given the chance, she would never have been able to manage all that washing and ironing on her own, because she couldn’t see Liz offering to help after work like she herself had done with her mum.
A Handful of Sovereigns Page 3