Two for Three Farthings

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Understandable,’ said Molly. ‘You’ll have to wait until they’re older before they realize just how much they owe you. Then they’ll smother you with affection. I like the boy, he’s a sweetie. So are you. Well, now I’m here, are you going to take me out? Will your landlady keep an eye on them if we go for a drink? My word, she’s a character just to look at, isn’t she? What is she, a refugee from the court of Victoria and Albert? I say, sport, have you ever seen a stiffer back or a prouder bosom? Magnificent, but a throwback, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s actually a disguised angel,’ said Jim.

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Strictly disposed, but the best kind of Christian, a practical one. She believes the poor should be fed, not given Bible readings. But I don’t think she likes men.’

  ‘That accounts for her touch-me-not look,’ said Molly, and laughed. ‘There are some women like that. Well, will she keep an eye on the children if you insist on taking me out for a port and lemon?’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  Miss Pilgrim did not disappoint. She readily agreed, much as if she thought it would advantage Jim to spend a sociable hour with the young woman he liked. She raised an eyebrow, however, when Jim said he and Molly would only be down at the Browning Street pub.

  ‘You are taking that charming young lady to a public house, and on a Sunday evening, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘Not to get her drunk,’ said Jim.

  ‘Can you not take her for a walk?’

  ‘I’m doing that,’ said Jim, ‘down to the pub and then to pick up a tram.’

  ‘It is not what I would have responded to when I was young—’

  ‘You’re still not an old lady,’ said Jim.

  ‘I do not like flippancy, Mr Cooper. But there it is, the war and its consequences have destroyed so much of our pleasanter customs and traditions, all in the name of progress. Go on your way with Miss Keating, I will keep an eye on the children.’

  Jim spent a very sociable hour with Molly in the pub. Molly could socialize in any environment, and was always responsive in the company of people she liked. She liked Jim very much. She often wondered exactly how she would respond if he became serious about her. She thought her response might be total. He was such a friendly man, with never an axe to grind, not even about the pitiful pensions the Government handed out to disabled ex-soldiers. It was extraordinary that he should have taken on two orphaned children. It made him an extraordinary man.

  He saw her to the tram stop in the Walworth Road.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve broken the ice,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that mean, young madam?’

  ‘It’s your turn next time to ask me out,’ said Molly.

  ‘I’ve done well enough for myself already,’ said Jim.

  ‘In what way?’ she asked.

  ‘I happen to have you as a very close friend and colleague,’ said Jim.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ said Molly. ‘Try again.’ The tram was coming. ‘What am I?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Jim.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Molly. ‘Well, give us a kiss, then.’

  Jim kissed her. The tram glided to a stop. Molly, summer dress fluttering, darted. A van, motorized, screeched to a skidding halt, and its driver bawled an obscenity at Molly as she boarded the tram. She turned and waved to him. She waved at Jim, who stood in a state of paralysis. That was how his mother had lost her life. Probably as quick-limbed as Molly, she had darted too, but had not been as lucky as Molly.

  He went back to his lodgings feeling a little shaken.

  With the kids ready for school the following morning, he said goodbye to them and went down the stairs to begin his journey to work. There was a letter on the mat. He picked it up. It bore no stamp, it was simply addressed to Miss R. Pilgrim. The letters had been cut out of a newspaper and stuck on the envelope. That was the classic way of a writer of anonymous letters. He gave it a moment’s thought, came typically quickly to a decision and put the thing in his pocket.

  On the tram he opened it. That act would meet with Miss Pilgrim’s frostiest disapproval, of course, but when the game was being played in fiendish fashion he had no hesitation in chucking certain principles overboard. He took out a folded paper and opened it. The single word that leapt to his eye had also been made of letters cut from a newspaper. Capitals.

  ‘MURDERESS.’

  He tore it up and disposed of the remnants when he reached the club.

  Higgs came up to Orrice during the mid-morning break.

  ‘A’ right, Wivvers,’ he said, ‘yer copped Catters fair an’ square. Yer got spunk, and yer don’t split. Yer our mate now, an’ we likes yer. ’Ere y’ar.’ He put out a hand. Orrice put out his. Higgs slapped a cracked and rotten egg into Orrice’s palm. The egg broke and Orrice stared at the mess and smelled the stink. Higgs bawled with laughter. Orrice tripped him up and sat on him, and wiped his hand clean over Higgs’s face. Higgs choked on the stink alone. Orrice was up in a flash and away, Alice and Effel flying with him. The teacher on duty rushed at the grounded Higgs. She recoiled at the smell.

  ‘You disgusting boy! Go and wash yourself. And stay in after school for playing with bad eggs. Go on, go on, at once, do you hear?’

  In a corner of the playground, Alice and Effel were smothering their shrieks and giggles. Orrice was reading a comic.

  ‘Ethel, isn’t Horace a one?’ gasped Alice.

  ‘’E’s still a bit smelly,’ said Effel.

  ‘No, he isn’t, he wiped it all off,’ said Alice. ‘Horace, would you like to come and skip with me now?’

  ‘Well, I would, Alice, seeing what I owe yer for me clockwork train set,’ said Orrice, ‘but would yer mind if I didn’t? I got a broken leg from sittin’ on Higgs.’

  ‘All right,’ said Alice graciously. ‘You come and skip with me, Ethel.’

  ‘A’ right,’ said Effel, still a little in awe of everything Miss Pilgrim had said to her yesterday.

  It did no good, Jim’s destruction of the first anonymous letter. Others arrived on Miss Pilgrim’s mat at intervals. She put each one into the fire. She did not even open them, not after reading the one that had come first to her hand. Eventually she spoke to Jim, in her kitchen. On the table was the latest letter, addressed to her in its usual way but unopened.

  ‘Do you see that, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘What is it, Miss Pilgrim?’

  ‘An anonymous letter.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I haven’t opened it. It is simply one of many.’

  ‘Take it to the police,’ said Jim.

  ‘Certainly not.’ Miss Pilgrim stiffened at the suggestion. ‘Open the letter, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘You want me to? I always think it’s best to ignore anonymous letters, to simply tear them up.’

  ‘Really?’ said Miss Pilgrim. Clad in a long-skirted dark blue dress, with a collar edged by white lace, she looked to Jim like some aristocrat’s most dignified retainer. ‘How many anonymous letters have you had to deal with in your lifetime, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘Oh, just one,’ he said.

  ‘And what had you done to even suffer one alone?’

  ‘Nothing that I can recall.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’ she asked.

  ‘Tore it up.’

  ‘I opened the first one I received,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘It called me a murderess. The others I put in the fire without opening them. Would you like to see what this one says?’

  ‘No,’ said Jim.

  ‘I thought, as you were interesting yourself in my affairs, that you would be interested in this.’

  ‘I’m interested in you, because I admire you,’ said Jim, ‘I’m not interested in sick letters. Put that one in the fire too.’

  ‘Very well.’ Miss Pilgrim used the bar to lift the lid of her range hob and dropped the letter in. ‘Horace is doing remarkably well with his poetry reading, he is beginning to acquire very passable enunciation.’

>   ‘I know, but it all goes to pot the moment he leaves the house.’

  ‘He will learn, he’s a persevering boy. And Ethel is not having so many grumbles and sulks.’

  ‘And you’re evading the issue,’ said Jim.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

  ‘I think it’s time you told me about everything that happened at your father’s mission in China.’

  ‘That, Mr Cooper, is over and done with.’

  ‘But it isn’t, is it? It’s come back through the agency of the dead man’s sister.’

  ‘A sick woman is an irrelevance, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘It’s an irrelevance that won’t go away. That old girl, Mrs Hardiman—’

  ‘Do you mean the elderly lady?’

  ‘I mean that old gossip. She stopped me in the street yesterday and enquired after my health. I got the impression she thinks you might be poisoning my food.’

  Miss Pilgrim regarded him pityingly.

  ‘And how is your health, Mr Cooper? Are you suffering pains and sickness?’

  ‘Like hell I am,’ said Jim, and burst into laughter.

  ‘That, Mr Cooper, is definitely not amusing. Nor do I think your charming young lady would approve.’

  ‘Molly?’ Jim smiled. ‘Oh, I think Molly would consider you remarkable. I don’t think the devil himself could make you turn a hair of your head. In a crisis I’d stand with you before I would with anyone else.’

  ‘I really cannot cope with such an extravagance of exaggerations,’ said Miss Pilgrim. ‘Go and give your wards their tea.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Jim.

  ‘Now what are you saying?’

  ‘That you could have given good Queen Bess a run for her money.’

  ‘Mr Cooper, I shall disgrace myself in a moment by throwing something heavy at you.’

  ‘And I don’t think you’d miss, either,’ said Jim, ‘not after having seen you in action at that coconut shy.’ He departed laughing.

  A smile touched Miss Pilgrim’s lips.

  The school was breaking up for the summer holidays. Alice walked to the gates with Orrice and Effel.

  ‘We’re going to Margate in August,’ she said.

  ‘We’re goin’ on outings,’ said Effel.

  ‘With our Uncle Jim,’ said Orrice.

  ‘Oh, I wish I could come,’ said Alice.

  ‘No, Margate’s best for you,’ said Orrice, walking up Larcom Street with her and Effel.

  ‘I mean when we come back, we’re only going for a week,’ said Alice.

  ‘All right,’ said Orrice, ‘I’ll ask Uncle Jim.’

  ‘Oh, won’t that be nice, Ethel, if he takes us all on outings together?’ said Alice.

  Effel sighed.

  Jim called at the Larcom Street vicarage and spoke to the vicar. The vicar was sympathetic and understanding.

  ‘But there’s little I can do,’ he said.

  ‘D’you think not?’ said Jim. ‘Well, there’s the information I’ve given you by way of the China Times. I think myself that’s good enough to justify a short address from the pulpit after your next sermon.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the vicar.

  ‘Ah what, vicar?’

  ‘H’m,’ said the vicar.

  ‘Are we getting anywhere?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I hesitate to use the pulpit. To begin with, Mr Cooper, it will embarrass Miss Pilgrim, and she is not the kind of lady who should be embarrassed.’

  ‘I’ll keep her away from church next Sunday.’

  ‘Can I rely on that?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jim.

  ‘These anonymous letters are the last straw, I confess,’ said the vicar. ‘Yes, very well, I will make a suitable exposition from the pulpit. I am wholly on the side of Miss Pilgrim, a splendid lady.’

  ‘She won’t like it, of course,’ said Jim, ‘she’ll regard it as unwarranted interference.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said the vicar with a wry smile, ‘but it has gone beyond the pale. These whispers have reached every ear, and Miss Pilgrim is being regarded as a pariah.’

  ‘A little worse than that,’ said Jim.

  ‘Yes, I must speak out,’ said the vicar.

  ‘Would you both like to go to the market instead of church this morning?’ asked Jim of the kids.

  ‘Cor, would we, not ’alf,’ said Orrice.

  ‘With tuppence each in your pockets?’

  ‘Could I ’ave fourpence?’ asked Effel.

  ‘Now, Effel, what you askin’ for fourpence for?’ demanded Orrice.

  ‘’Cos you can buy more wiv fourpence,’ said Effel the female.

  ‘Crikey, ain’t she crafty, Uncle?’ said Orrice.

  ‘Still, fourpence, why not?’ said Jim. ‘You are on holiday. Fourpence each, then. Off you go. But behave yourselves. No roughhouses, Horace. Keep your eye on him, Ethel.’

  ‘Yes, a’ right,’ said Effel.

  ‘You’re funny, you are, Uncle Jim,’ said Orrice.

  Miss Pilgrim, dressed for church, was almost ready to depart. She jumped at the sound of a crash. She came at a rush from her bedroom. At the foot of the stairs lay her lodger, Mr Cooper. The back of his head rested on the hall floor, his legs lay sprawled on the lower stairs. His eyes were closed.

  ‘Mr Cooper!’ He did not respond, nor did he move. ‘Mr Cooper?’ She went down on one knee beside him. She touched his shoulder. ‘Mr Cooper?’ He lay quite still. Concern furrowed her smooth brow. It cleared as he opened his eyes. ‘Thank goodness. Are you all right?’ He looked up at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, blinking.

  ‘You seem to have fallen down the stairs.’

  He blinked again.

  ‘Hit the banisters,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I heard you. I think you sometimes forget your disablement. Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  Her concern came back.

  ‘Can you move your legs?’

  ‘Give me a few moments.’

  ‘Did you fall on your back?’

  Jim frowned. Her hat sat neatly on her head.

  ‘You’re going to church,’ he said.

  ‘Never mind that,’ she said. The bell of St John’s was ringing.

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I hope so, but we can’t be sure of that. Can you move your legs now?’ She was concerned, but showed no panic. Jim moved his legs and flexed them. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘I thought you might have broken them, or injured your spine.’ Jim winced. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Headache,’ he said.

  ‘I think you hit your head on the floor. Can you get up?’

  ‘You’ll be late for church.’

  ‘I’m already late. It’s not important. Mr Cooper, do please try to get up.’

  Jim drew his legs from the stairs and sat up.

  ‘That’s something, I’m all in one piece,’ he said.

  Miss Pilgrim helped to bring him to his feet. He put his arm around her shoulders and she put her left arm around his waist. In that way she got him into her kitchen and sat him down at the table.

  ‘I am very relieved that nothing seems broken,’ she said.

  ‘I’m relieved myself.’

  ‘You are shaken up, I expect. Really, Mr Cooper, you should take more care coming down stairs.’

  ‘Just a trip,’ said Jim.

  ‘Not on my stairs, I hope,’ she said, and went out to inspect the carpeted treads. There was nothing loose. Returning to the kitchen, she said, ‘I think you must have lost your balance. A little brandy is called for, perhaps.’

  ‘You have brandy?’ said Jim.

  ‘My father always kept some in the house.’ Miss Pilgrim searched her larder and found the bottle. She poured a little into a glass. Jim wondered if there was any woman cooler or more efficient than this missionary’s daughter. ‘Drink this, Mr Cooper. It was my father’s medicinal remedy for shock.’

  ‘Many thanks,’ said Jim
. He drank the brandy in two swallows. Its fire induced a glow. ‘You’re an angel,’ he said, ‘and you’ve missed church on my account.’

  ‘I’ve already said, it’s not important. You may sit there for a while, and I’ll continue with the dinner preparations. Horace and Ethel will be wondering where you are. They went on to church in advance of you?’

  ‘Well, no, they went to the market this morning, they had a few pennies to spend.’

  ‘But they could have gone yesterday. They should attend church regularly. That is your indulgence again, Mr Cooper, allowing them to miss it this morning.’

  ‘I’m a slipshod old devil. By the way, would you like to come with us to Brighton one day next week? It doesn’t take long by train from Victoria.’

  ‘Brighton?’ Miss Pilgrim looked for a moment as if the invitation related to something sinful. ‘Thank you, but no, Mr Cooper. I’m busy all next week.’

  ‘We’ll make it the week after.’

  ‘Mr Cooper, you should ask Miss Keating, she will be much more suitable company than I will.’

  ‘Molly’s just gone to Devon for a fortnight, and I don’t see anything unsuitable about your company, Miss Pilgrim. It’s settled, then. Say Tuesday week.’

  ‘It is not settled, Mr Cooper.’ Miss Pilgrim rustled about. ‘Except that I shan’t be going. Please leave it at that. Are you quite all right now?’

  ‘Al,’ said Jim. ‘Sorry to have messed up your morning.’

  ‘I’m much too thankful you came to no harm to worry about other things.’

  ‘Shall I scrape the potatoes for you?’

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ Miss Pilgrim did not ask how he could manage to scrape the new potatoes. ‘I prefer to have my kitchen to myself when I’m preparing meals.’

  ‘I’ll push off, then,’ said Jim.

  ‘It will do you no harm to sit there, Mr Cooper, for a while longer. And you may talk, if you wish. That won’t interfere with my tasks.’

  He sat and talked. Miss Pilgrim, slightly aloof in her responses, could not think why it was that her kitchen was becoming less and less her own province.

  The congregation sat in stunned silence. The vicar, having outlined the known facts concerning events relating to a parishioner whom he did not name, was in chastisement of people who, knowing nothing of the facts themselves, chose to listen to whispers and to pass them on.