A Handful of Sovereigns

by A Handful of Sovereigns (retail) (epub)

  Harry’s heart jumped painfully against his ribs at the sound of the anguish in the boy’s voice. ‘What do you mean when you say she’s bad? Has there been an accident of some sort?’ Fear made his voice harsh, and Charlie shrank back against the wall, his face blanched, his hands nervously pulling at the cap he held in his hands.

  ‘Please, Sir, can I sit down? I don’t feel so good; me legs ‘ave gone all wobbly.’

  The misery in his voice wasn’t lost on Harry. Taking hold of the boy’s arm he led him gently to a chair, then dropping to a kneeling position he asked in a steady voice, ‘Now, tell me what’s happened, Charlie.’

  The worst part of his ordeal over, Charlie gave a shuddering sigh then as calmly as he could recounted the events of the past few weeks. When he had finished he bent his head to one side, hoping that Mr Stewart hadn’t seen the tears that were burning his eyes. Harry remained in the same position for some time, his mind trying to digest what Charlie had told him. Straightening his legs he walked over to the window, his eyes clouded in sorrow.

  That poor young girl, to be killed in such a way and her unborn child too. He had never met Lizzie, but that didn’t stop him questioning the futility of her death. And what of Maggie? To have had to witness her sister lying dead in the street. God! It would be enough to turn anyone’s mind. He must go to her immediately and see just how ill she was. Then if he deemed it necessary he would send for Hugh. This may be the one instance where his brother would be more equipped to deal with an emergency than he himself was.

  Rounding on Charlie he barked, ‘Come, we’ll find a cab. It shouldn’t take long to get to Whitechapel at this time of day.’

  Charlie rose slowly from the chair. ‘We… we don’t live there no more, sir. We had to move, quick like, ’cos of Jimmy.’

  Charlie saw Harry’s eyes narrow, and wondered if he should have kept quiet about Jimmy.

  ‘Jimmy?’ Harry repeated. ‘Would that be your brother-in-law?’ He was remembering his last conversation with Maggie and her fears concerning the man. He felt his stomach contract in apprehension.

  Wetting his lips he asked, ‘What about Jimmy? Did he do something to Maggie? Answer me, boy, did that man hurt her in any way?’

  Charlie was feeling sick. His head was pounding and his tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth. Should he tell? Oh, Gawd, he wished he hadn’t come here now.

  Harry saw the uncertainty on the boy’s face and forced himself to remain calm. Taking a deep breath of air he said, ‘It’s all right, Charlie, there’s no need to be alarmed. You have nothing to be afraid of. Now, take your time and tell me exactly what happened.’

  Charlie’s mouth opened and closed frantically, then in a rush of words he gabbled out the details that had forced them to flee from their home in such a hurry, his eyes glued to his shaking hands held in his lap throughout his stuttering explanation. When he had finished he glanced up at Harry then quickly dropped his gaze back down to his hands, unable to bear the look of anger that now consumed the man. He wouldn’t like to be in Jimmy’s boots if this man ever caught up with him.

  Harry paced the floor, his eyes alighting briefly on the shotgun resting by the wall. Knowing that a large amount of money was delivered each week to pay the men’s wages, Edward Stewart had insisted his son was protected against any would-be thieves. Harry had laughed at the idea. He couldn’t see any man, however desperate, brave enough to attempt to take the hard-earned money of the burly men working right outside the door. He’d only agreed to take the gun in order to put his father’s mind at rest; he himself hated any form of firearm. Now he had the strongest desire to pick it up and go looking for the man who had tried to violate Maggie. Any man who could act as that one had deserved to be shot.

  ‘Can you come now, sir?’ Charlie’s voice broke into his murderous thoughts. ‘I don’t like to leave Maggie on her own for too long.’

  Harry’s head cleared. Shrugging himself into his jacket he picked up his walking cane, saying briskly, ‘Of course, of course I’ll come. And Charlie, let’s drop the ‘Sir’ business, shall we? You used to call me Harry, and I’d feel more comfortable if you did so now.’

  ‘Yes, sir… I mean, Harry,’ Charlie answered, his lips stretched in a watery smile. Once outside the hut Harry placed his hand on Charlie’s arm.

  ‘Wait here a moment, Charlie, I won’t be long.’

  Charlie watched as Harry picked his way over the piles of rubble towards the woman standing among the debris. His eyes widened as he saw Harry pull her roughly away from the two men she had been talking to, then drag her protesting over the dangerous, uneven ground. Her two companions immediately made a great show of returning to work, their strong hands sifting among the rubble for unbroken bricks to be stacked and put aside for the new buildings.

  ‘Really, Harry, how dare you humiliate me in front of your men.’ The woman was nearly crying with rage as she struggled to break free from her brother’s iron grasp. ‘I only came down to see if you wanted to go to luncheon, you have no right to treat…’

  ‘I know what you came down here for, and it had nothing to do with concern for my stomach,’ Harry was shouting. ‘Even if I had been planning to dine out, the spectacle I’ve just witnessed would have put me off eating for some considerable time.’

  Charlie shuffled uncomfortably as they drew near, his face gloomy as he saw his secret plans dashed. So, Harry was married now, he thought miserably. Well, he didn’t think much of his choice, she was an ugly old boot in spite of her fine clothes. His heart sank. Deep down he had been hoping that once Harry met Maggie again they would resume their friendship. He should have known that a man like Harry would marry. They were standing in front of him now, and Harry’s next words sent Charlie’s heart leaping with hope once again.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to see my sister to a cab, Charlie, then we can be on our way,’ Harry said, his voice clipped, ignoring the frantic struggling of the woman by his side.

  ‘You’ll regret this, Harry, I swear, you’ll regret treating me like this. I’ll tell…’

  ‘Shut up, Bella,’ Harry roared, his voice causing both Bella and Charlie to jump. An uncomfortable silence settled on the trio as they marched from the site onto the bustling high street. Ignoring the heavy traffic, Harry stepped into the road and waved down a hansom cab. Even before the horses had come to a standstill, he was already pushing Bella into the carriage, slamming the door on her.

  Charlie shivered at the sight of the woman, her face white with fury, before the cab drove off into the stream of traffic. Then he was striding out, leading the way back home, the tall craggy-faced man beside him. Charlie felt his steps lightened by Harry’s comforting presence. Maggie would be all right now. Everything would be all right now.

  ‘Here’s another cab.’ Harry was extending his cane in the direction of the oncoming hansom cab.

  ‘Hang on, sir… I mean, Harry.’ Charlie clutched at his arm. ‘It’ll be quicker to walk. It ain’t far from here, and I know a few short cuts.’ Already he was walking across the road, with Harry striding briskly after him.

  When they arrived at the house some 20 minutes later Charlie hesitated before saying, ‘Maybe I’d better go up first. She ain’t going to be pleased…’

  Harry was tired and disgruntled; moreover he was desperately concerned about Maggie. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen her for nearly two years she had remained never far from his thoughts. Now that he was so near to seeing her again he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way. Mindful of Charlie’s nervousness he smiled encouragingly.

  ‘I’ve had a lifetime of practice in the strange moods of women, as you witnessed a short time ago. Now, lead the way, Charlie, and once we are inside the room leave all the talking to me.’

  Pulling a key from his pocket, Charlie unlocked the red front door. Once inside the lobby he said, ‘We’re on the top floor,’ then fell silent, his long legs taking the stairs slowly as if reluctant to reach his d
estination.

  Despite Harry’s genuine concern regarding Maggie’s health and mind, the businessman in him couldn’t help but scrutinise his surroundings. The house was certainly a lot cleaner than some he had been inside. The walls had recently been painted a bright yellow, and the floor and stairs were covered in clean, if somewhat threadbare, carpeting. He wondered what the landlord was asking for rent, and just caught himself from asking the question of Charlie. Now was not the time for satisfying idle curiosity. They had reached the top landing. Charlie, anxious now to get the coming confrontation over with, had already opened the door to the rooms he shared with Maggie.

  With one last beseeching look over his shoulder he entered the room.

  ‘Maggie? Maggie, I’m back,’ he called out, his voice tinged with apprehension. Maggie was still sitting in the armchair, her hands rubbing against each other in agitation.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked dully, her voice betraying the fact that she didn’t really care.

  Harry stepped into the room, gently moving Charlie aside so that he could see Maggie more clearly. He felt the breath leave his body at the sight of the dishevelled, unkempt woman slumped in the chair. This couldn’t be Maggie – it was some horrible joke. This wasn’t the woman he had dreamed about, longed for. Then she lifted her head and he found himself gazing into the familiar brown eyes, and felt his heart melt with pity. With a bound he was across the room and kneeling at her feet. Ignoring the smell that was emanating from her he grasped her hands tenderly.

  ‘Oh, Maggie, Maggie, what have you done to yourself?’

  Maggie looked down at him, her eyes puzzled. Then the veil seemed to lift from her eyes, and with a loud shout she pulled her hands from his grasp.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she breathed heavily. ‘I told you I never wanted to see you again. Get out, get out. Charlie? Charlie, make him go, please, make him go.’

  His face pale, Charlie ran to her side crying, ‘No, Maggie, you need help, and I can’t help you any more. Please, Maggie, don’t send him away, I’m frightened. I don’t know what to do. You ain’t well, Maggie, please, listen to Harry.’

  With a strength that surprised both man and boy, Maggie threw Harry aside and jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t need help, especially not yours, Harry Stewart. Now get out of my house before I call for the police.’

  Harry rose slowly to his feet, his face set with determination. ‘You may call all you like, Maggie, but I’m not leaving you like this. Charlie’s right, you’re ill and need help, and if you won’t accept it from me, then I’ll have no choice but to have you admitted to hospital.’

  Maggie shrank back from him, her eyes wide with terror darted around the room as if seeking some form of escape. Her face crumpled pitifully, then she was shaking her head wildly.

  ‘No, no, not the hospital,’ she whispered fearfully. ‘Liz is there, she’s all broken and bleeding. I tried to help her, but… but she wouldn’t wake up, she…’

  ‘Hush, my dearest, it’s all right, everything’s going to be all right now. You’ve been through a dreadful ordeal but it’s over now. Listen to me, Maggie, please, you have to…’

  With a cry like a wounded animal Maggie ran to the far corner of the room, her hands beating against the wall, then with a low moan she slumped down onto the floor. Instantly Harry was by her side, his face pressed against her hair, his voice soft as he endeavoured to calm her, but it was no use.

  ‘It was my fault, all my fault. She went to buy me a shawl. I didn’t know… I should have gone with her. Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, come back, please come back.’ Harry could only bend his head in pity as her anguished cries filled the room. Careful not to frighten her further he pulled the thrashing body into his arms. But when he went to take her hands she became hysterical. ‘Not my hands, don’t… don’t touch my hands.’

  Charlie stood by the door looking on helplessly. ‘She’s been like that since the accident. I mean, with her hands. She keeps rubbing them and washing them. Oh sir, will she have to go away? I mean to one of them nuthouses.’

  Harry thought quickly. Hugh should be at home now. He and Lotte were going to the theatre tonight, and had arranged to dine at home before setting out.

  Keeping a tight hold on the squirming body he shouted to Charlie.

  ‘She needs medical help. Look, go to my home and ask for my brother. Explain what has happened and bring him back with you. Here, take this money and get a cab.’ Charlie looked down at the sovereign lying in Harry’s outstretched palm.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Harry shouted. ‘Here, here’s my card, it has my home address on it. Hurry, boy, there’s no time to lose.’ Still Charlie stood transfixed, his legs refusing to obey him.

  ‘But what if… if the servants won’t let me see him?’

  Harry whirled to face him, his face set like thunder.

  ‘Then bloody well force your way in, but get my brother here!’

  Charlie’s feet seemed to leave the ground, and then he was running, running like he’d never run before, the memory of Maggie’s pitiful mutterings ringing in his ears.

  ‘I can’t get the blood off, I can’t get the blood off my hands.’

  Sixteen

  The long row of houses seemed endless to Charlie as he ran down the tree-lined street in Hackney, his eyes desperately searching for number 23. Pausing for a moment he leant against a stone pillar, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. Pulling his cap from his head, he wiped his perspiring face along his sleeve then walked up the four deep steps and looked up at the number on the white painted door, then groaned loudly. The house he was resting at was number forty-one. Trust him to come into the street at the wrong end. His task wasn’t helped by the fact that all the houses seemed the same. All the three-storey houses were flanked by chalk stone pillars with the front doors set back, the numbers hard to distinguish from the street. At last he came to the house he was looking for. Again he wiped his face, stalling for time while he thought out what he was going to say to whoever opened the door. Peering over the spiked railings down into the small courtyard he wondered if it would be better if he knocked on the servants’ door. After all that’s where Maggie always went when she came down this street on their rounds. It was a known fact that tradesmen and such like never approached the main door, it was the way things were done. Still he hesitated. If he went down to the servants’ quarters and asked for mister Hugh it was doubtful he would be taken seriously.

  ‘Oh Gawd, what shall I do?’ he muttered under his breath, his fingers pulling at his cap. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a policeman coming his way, the burly figure strolling aimlessly along the quiet street, his wooden truncheon swinging gently from his hand as he patrolled his beat. The sight of the authoritative figure acted as a spur to the frightened boy; he couldn’t hang around here any longer or he could be run in for loitering. Opening his mouth he drew in a deep lungful of air, then ran quickly up the stone steps.

  * * *

  Agnes was passing through the hall, her hands filled with a large silver platter upon which rested mid-afternoon tea, when the frantic hammerings on the front door began.

  ‘Oh, lummey,’ she exclaimed fretfully, looking from the door to the laden tray, then back to the kitchen from which she’d come. She waited hesitantly, hoping Benson Or Annie would come to see what the noise was, but the hall remained empty. The door chimes had now joined with the hammering and with an impatient ‘tut’ she rested the tray on the hall table and opened the door. At the sight of the gangly youth she opened her eyes wide.

  ‘’Ere, what you doing making all that noise, boy? The tradesman’s entrance is below stairs. Now get orf with yer afore I call Mr Benson, he’ll…’

  ‘I’ve come for Mr Hugh. Go and fetch ’im, please, it’s very important.’

  Charlie pushed the startled girl to one side, striding past her into the hall, only to come to a standstill at the sight of the opulent splendour surrounding him. The plush blue
and gold carpet seemed to spread like a river beneath his feet, running the length of the floor and sweeping up the curved stairway. A soft tinkling sound brought his eyes upward to the huge crystal chandelier that hung from the embossed ceiling above his head, and with a nervous start he darted out from beneath it, half-expecting the enormous creation to come crashing down upon his head.

  Agnes had by now recovered her aplomb, and with arms placed squarely on her hips she faced the intruder angrily.

  ‘Whadya mean bursting in like that? Now I’m warning yer, boy, you’d better get yer arse out of ’ere sharpish. People like you ain’t allowed in the ’ouse.’

  Charlie looked at the irate girl dressed in a black dress with a frilly white apron with two large bows sticking out at either side of her waist and swallowed nervously.

  ‘I ain’t going nowhere till I’ve seen Mr Hugh. Mr Harry told me to come, and I… I ain’t leaving, so you’d best go and get him.’

  Amazed at his temerity, Agnes looked around her, uncertain of what to do next, willing Benson to appear and take the matter out of her hands, while Charlie stood his ground. As if in answer to her prayer, muffled footsteps sounded along the passage. With a great sigh of relief she turned to the elderly man approaching them.

  ‘Oh, Mr Benson, I’m that glad ter see yer,’ she began thankfully. ‘This ’ere boy pushed ’is way in. I told ’im ter go but ’e won’t take any notice of me, he says Mr Harry sent ’im.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Benson answered, his lined face thoughtful. He like the rest of the house knew of the young master’s affinity with the lower classes. He studied the boy who had dared to intrude into his domain, his sharp gaze taking in the clean, long grey trousers and bright striped V-necked jersey. The boy himself seemed to be in a state of agitation, his thick dark hair unruly as if fingers had been dragged through the curly mop. His hands held in front of him nervously pulled at the grey cap while his brown eyes stared back at him defiantly.