The Pearly Queen

by Mary Jane Staples

  Watching men howled with laughter. On the other hand, one man said to another, ‘Gawd bleedin’ blimey, Curly, ’e’s beltin’ yer missus black an’ blue.’

  ‘I’d ’elp ’er, only I got a bone in me leg,’ said Curly, bald as a peeled potato, ‘an’ besides, she’s been beltin’ me for a month.’

  Poor Mother Verity, dreadfully flushed and dreadfully outraged, looked up into the face of her smiling tormentor. ‘Do your worst, sir, I shall still pray to God to forgive you.’ He roared with laughter.

  Kids came running from the junction with Commercial Road. ‘Rozzers! Flatties!’

  Magically, the crowd melted away. The harridans retreated and ran, disappearing into their houses, kids pelting after them. The smiling man strolled away from Mother Verity and entered a house a little farther down the street.

  Father Peter’s thunder subsided and his heaving chest took a turn for the better. Father Luke, minus his trousers and top hat, staggered to his feet, his long woollen pants dusty and wrinkled. Mother Mary pulled her skirt up from around her ankles. Mother Ruth pushed her dress down. Mother Joan looked down at herself. Her white silk petticoat shimmered.

  ‘Mother Joan, heavens above!’ exclaimed Father Peter.

  ‘Hell below, if you ask me, Father,’ said Mother Joan. ‘Lost my bloody skirt. Can’t be helped, small price to pay in the service of the Lord, and I fancy I landed a few telling blows on His behalf.’

  ‘She was ’eroic, Father,’ said Mother Mary, ‘and so were you, you rose up and smote the ’eathens something godly.’

  ‘The chastisement of the wicked is in our hands through the Lord,’ said Father Peter.

  ‘Oh, dear, but poor Father Luke, to have lost his trousers,’ said Mother Ruth.

  ‘I grant yer, Mother Ruth, I ain’t far short of feelin’ uncomfortable about it,’ said Father Luke. ‘I’ve also got a hurtful bump on me head. But I’m bearin’ in mind the sufferin’ need these poor people ’ave for someone else’s trousers an’ Mother Joan’s skirt. Lord above, where’ve they all gone to?’

  The street on either side of the group was empty, except for a few kids. At the junction with Commercial Road stood two uniformed constables, surveying Christian Street and its suspicious air of quiet. Mother Verity rejoined her sister Repenters.

  ‘You saw?’ she said. ‘What can I say?’

  ‘We all suffered for you, sister,’ said Father Peter compassionately.

  ‘I was a bit ’ arassed myself,’ said Father Luke, ‘but the glimpse I ’ad of your ordeal, Mother Verity, told me I was gettin’ off light. Father Peter, we’ve got wickedness goin’ on here all right. The Lord’s mercy’ll be ’ard for this lot to come by.’

  ‘I’ve never seen such dreadful be’aviour,’ said Mother Mary, ‘and after yesterday too. Who’d ’ave thought Mother Verity would suffer again?’

  ‘Scoundrel ought to be horse-whipped,’ said Mother Joan.

  ‘Vengeance shall be mine, said the Lord,’ boomed Father Peter.

  The uniformed constables were still surveying the street, and this gave Mother Verity the courage to say, ‘Father Peter, something must be done for Father Luke and Mother Joan. They can’t possibly return to Bloomsbury as they are. I will go and demand the return of their lost garments.’

  ‘Shall our own Daniel enter the lions’ den?’ asked Father Peter.

  ‘I’d go meself,’ said Father Luke, ‘only I don’t feel properly dressed for the part.’

  ‘I shall be quite happy to go,’ said Mother Verity.

  ‘I will stay and comfort our flock,’ said Father Peter.

  ‘I’ll go with Mother Verity,’ said Mother Mary. ‘It’s me Christian duty as ’er sister.’

  ‘How kind,’ said Mother Verity. She drew her breath, squared her shoulders, and with Mother Mary she crossed the street and knocked on the open door of a certain house. An urchin girl appeared.

  ‘What d’yer want, missus?’ she asked.

  ‘Please see if the gentleman in a blue jersey and khaki trousers will come to the door,’ said Mother Verity bravely.

  ‘Oh, not him ’imself,’ breathed Mother Mary, ‘he’ll drag you Lord knows where and – oh, think of what ’e might do, sister.’

  ‘No, the policemen are at the top of the street, sister,’ said Mother Verity. She looked at the urchin girl. ‘Is the gentleman here, my child?’

  ‘No, ’e ain’t, we don’t ’ave no gents livin’ round ’ere.’

  ‘Hullo, hullo,’ said a welcoming voice, and the smiling man appeared. ‘Well, if it’s not me own sweet lady love again.’

  ‘I beg you, sir, not to be importunate, but to consider penitence and the Lord’s forgiveness,’ said Mother Verity. ‘I am here to ask if you’ll be kind enough to arrange for a lady’s skirt and a gentleman’s trousers to be returned. I shall be happy to give you sixpence for them.’

  ‘Well, that’s generous, love, I won’t deny it. All of a tanner?’

  ‘If you’d be so kind, sir.’

  ‘You’re a funny one, missus,’ said the man, Will Fletcher. But the light in his eyes was scathing.

  ‘Miss, sir.’

  ‘All one to me,’ he said, and Mother Mary thought his smile had something cynical about it. ‘All right, wait ’ere.’ Off he went, up the street, taking no notice of the watching constables. He turned into a house. He was back quite soon, carrying the trousers and skirt. He handed them over, his blue eyes regarding Mother Verity in curiosity.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir—’

  ‘I’m not sir, I’m Will Fletcher.’

  ‘Mr Fletcher, you are fully forgiven,’ said Mother Verity.

  ‘Am I? What for?’

  ‘Your brutality.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘Give the tanner to Lulu,’ he said, and the urchin girl put out an eager grubby hand. Mother Mary held the garments while Mother Verity opened her handbag and fished for her purse. She fished deeper. She looked at Will Fletcher. His expression was blank.

  ‘My purse has gone,’ she said.

  ‘Well, ruddy ’ard luck,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mother Mary, and examined her own handbag. ‘Oh, what disgustin’ thievin,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m goin’ to complain to them policemen.’

  ‘Help yerself,’ said Will Fletcher, ‘but what about Lulu’s tanner?’

  ‘Don’t go to the policemen, sister,’ said Mother Verity, ‘go and ask Mother Joan or Father Peter for sixpence. The Lord expects forgiveness of us, we must put aside any bitterness.’

  ‘All I’d got was in me purse,’ said Mother Mary, but Mother Verity was right, it wasn’t Christian to complain to the law.

  Since Mother Joan and Mother Ruth had had their purses lifted too, Father Peter supplied the necessary sixpence. Mother Mary returned to the house with it and gave it to Mother Verity. She handed it to the child, whose fingers closed avidly over it. Will Fletcher looked on silently.

  ‘Is she your daughter, Mr Fletcher?’ asked Mother Verity.

  ‘Mine?’ He laughed again. ‘That she’s not. What would I do with daughters or sons, or even a wife, in a place like this? Would I even be ’ere if I had a job? Be your age, lady, or you’ll blow me happy memories of you through the ruddy sky. And take my tip, don’t come round again. Me kindly neighbours had games with you yesterday, and more games today. Next time—’

  ‘Games?’ said Mother Mary. ‘I’ll ’ave you know it was sinful outrage, and all our purses thieved off us as well. Shameful, that’s what it was, shameful.’

  ‘Me heart bleeds for yer, missus,’ he said. ‘And watch out if there’s a next time. Next time me kindly neighbours might just turn unfriendly.’

  ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones—’

  ‘Hoppit, lady,’ he said. He smiled at Mother Verity. ‘You too, sweetheart. I’ll say this much, you’re a reg’lar good-looker, even if you are a bit barmy. Here, take a goodbye one for real luck.’ And he put his hand under Mother Verity’s chin, lifted her face and k
issed her. Mother Verity trembled dreadfully. Mother Mary had never seen a more disgraceful kiss, considering how pure Mother Verity was. It was right on her mouth and really shocking. Any other woman would have fainted, but Mother Verity was so brave in enduring it. Her mouth was parted in awful shock when he released her.

  ‘What a disgustin’ abomination,’ said Mother Mary, terribly shocked herself. ‘You won’t ever get to the kingdom of ’eaven, you brute.’

  He laughed again. ‘It’s hell for me, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m used to hell.’

  Deeply flushed, Mother Verity said, ‘I beg you not to speak like that, salvation is denied to no-one. Again I forgive you. And I shall pray for you.’

  Sarcastic laughter followed her as she left with Mother Mary and rejoined the other Repenters. Gratefully, Father Luke restored his rescued trousers to his legs, and with a hearty flourish, Mother Joan pulled on her retrieved skirt.

  ‘Can’t blame ’em, I suppose,’ she said, ‘the Devil’s got ’em in his pocket.’

  We shall come again,’ declared Father Peter with an awesome glitter of lightning. ‘We must. Never have I known people more in need of salvation.’

  ‘That’s the stuff, Father,’ said Mother Joan. ‘By George, sisters, there’s the Lord’s real work to do here. Never seen such pagan blighters, every last one of ’em needs a lick of fire and brimstone. Not their fault, though. Conditions, you know. A large daily feed of oats and some decent raiment would help to convert ’em.’

  ‘Alas, my funds have some limitations,’ said Father Peter.

  ‘Well, we’ll get some more,’ said Mother Joan. ‘I’ll pop home to Berkshire and pick up some cheques from my husband.’

  ‘Oh, will he make donations?’ asked Mother Ruth, who felt that everything she was wearing needed adjusting.

  ‘I shan’t bother about that,’ said Mother Joan, ‘I’ll snaffle some blank cheques and write them out myself, and forge the blighter’s signature.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t like to ’ear you sayin’ things like that,’ said Mother Mary.

  ‘Practise truth and honesty in all things, sister,’ said Father Peter, placing a gentle hand of reproval on Mother Joan’s fine shoulder.

  ‘All in a good cause, Father,’ said Mother Joan, ‘all in the name of the Lord.’

  ‘Praise ’Im,’ said Father Luke.

  ‘But forgery,’ said Mother Ruth uncertainly.

  ‘The Lord will forgive,’ said Father Luke. ‘’E’s got a noble and understandin’ ’eart.’

  ‘Let us return to our temple,’ said Father Peter.

  ‘Lead us, Father Peter,’ said Mother Mary, thinking she had found her true way in life.

  ‘Yes, lead us, Father,’ said Mother Ruth, thinking how magnificent he had been in his chastisement of the harridans, who would surely have ripped her every garment off if he had not risen up in his might.

  ‘I’m right behind yer, sisters,’ said Father Luke, feeling much holier now that he had his trousers back on.

  ‘Onward, Christian soldiers,’ intoned Father Peter, and led the march back to Bloomsbury, Father Luke bringing up the rear with the empty barrow.

  They marched with their banners high and bravely fluttering, Mother Verity thinking something must be done to convert a man whose laughter was false and whose smile hid a bitter soul.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aunt Edie had got through her well-planned day without any headaches. She had laid successful siege to a mountain of ironing, cooked and served a supper of sausages and mash, which Dad called zeppelins in a cloud, and given Patsy and Betsy the kind of attention that made them warm very much to her. Betsy said she was glad she wasn’t going to have to do the greens at weekends.

  The evening became relaxing for everyone, for they all played Banker around the kitchen table, staking their hands with peanuts roasted in their shells. Aunt Edie had bought a whole bag of them. Patsy had acquired the bank and was doing well. A large heap of peanuts belonged to her at this moment, and her natural liveliness was well to the fore. She had been cutting the pack and consistently coming up with picture cards.

  ‘I’m nearly broke,’ said Aunt Edie, as Patsy dealt a new round. ‘I’m down to four nuts.’ She looked at her card, a ten. ‘Win or bust,’ she said, and put all four nuts beside the card.

  ‘I’m more broker than you, Aunt Edie,’ said Betsy. ‘I only got two left. I fink Patsy’s cheatin’ a bit, don’t you, Dad?’

  ‘It’s a bit suspicious, me pickle, all the kings and queens she keeps cuttin’,’ said Dad, and backed an eight with three nuts.

  Betsy gave a wail as she looked at her card, a mingy three. ‘I’m only puttin’ one nut on that,’ she said. ‘I got to keep the other one.’

  Jimmy backed a jack with six nuts. ‘Oh, cocky, are we?’ said Patsy, and cut the pack. Her luck ran out. She showed a four. ‘Blow that,’ she said, and Betsy wailed again. She was the only one who’d lost. She broke open her last peanut and ate the two kernels.

  ‘What’s the rule?’ asked Dad.

  ‘You can’t eat any till the game’s over,’ said Patsy, paying out.

  ‘Well, I ate me last one in case I lost that too,’ said Betsy.

  ‘Have some of mine,’ said Dad, and gave her six from his heap.

  ‘Oh, yer awful good to me, Dad,’ she said.

  ‘All right, give us a kiss, then,’ said Dad, and Betsy, sitting next to him, gave him a moist smacker on his cheek.

  After three more rounds, Aunt Edie was also bereft of nuts. ‘Have some of mine, Aunt Edie,’ said Jimmy, and gave her six.

  ‘Well, ain’t you a young gent, Jimmy?’ she said.

  ‘All right, give us a kiss, then,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s custom’ry,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘That’s news to me,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘but I’d better be custom’ry, I suppose,’ and she kissed Jimmy on his cheek. Betsy and Patsy looked on in delight. Aunt Edie was fun.

  ‘Mum ’ud have a fit, us gambling and kissin’ and everything,’ said Patsy.

  ‘What’s everything?’ asked Jimmy. ‘I think I might like some of that.’

  ‘That boy,’ said Aunt Edie, and laughed.

  Betsy and Patsy stared at her. Imagine Aunt Edie laughing like that, out loud, as if it didn’t matter that Mum had gone religious. The girls smiled.

  Later that evening, Aunt Edie said good night to Dad and went up to the bedroom she was to share with Betsy. She took a lighted candle in its holder with her, and placed it on the mahogany chest of drawers. She moved quietly about. Betsy was sound asleep, lying on her side, face cuddled into the pillow, hair loose and softly at rest. Aunt Edie looked down at her.

  ‘Bless you, sweet,’ she whispered. ‘I’d like to have all three of you if that mum of yours goes and spends the rest of her life repentin’.’

  The house in Bloomsbury was large and many-roomed. On the ground floor, two spacious rooms had been knocked into one to create a chapel of worship. It was actually described by the League as the Chapel of Penitence. It was very simple, its walls unadorned, its windows draped by medium grey velvet curtains, its floor uncarpeted, as was its dais, and only an oak crucifix hung on the wall at the back of the dais denoted its religious significance. Also on the ground floor were a dining-room, a kitchen, a scullery, an office, a room for quiet meditation and a small library.

  On the first and second floors there was sleeping accommodation for twenty resident Repenters, with space for more if extra beds were required. Women who had given up their worldly goods and departed their homes to join the League of Repenters, were offered residence in the minister’s house. Father Peter, who had his private quarters on the first floor, had a compassionate understanding of the needs of women. Male members of the League were expected to stand on their own feet, except for Father Luke, whose circumstances were beggarly and who had, accordingly, been given residence. The house itself, as a plate on its front door disclosed, was known as the Temple of E
ndeavour. Father Peter felt that that embraced all things relating to the purpose of the League.

  It had been a trying day for God’s servants, but at least Father Peter had made good the money four of his followers had lost to pickpockets. Except for himself, all residents, fifteen in number, had retired. He came from the chapel into the hall carrying a candle lantern, and made his way up the staircase, his tread measured and stately. In the corridor of the first floor he knocked on a bedroom door.

  ‘Enter,’ called a woman.

  He opened the door, but did not enter. He stood there, the lantern’s pale flame casting light and shadow over his gaunt face. The room was in darkness, and two lady Repenters lay abed.

  ‘Good night, my sisters,’ he intoned, ‘and may the blessing of God be upon you.’

  ‘Good night, Father Peter,’ they both murmured.

  He withdrew, closing the door gently. He went the rounds of other bedrooms, to bestow his nightly blessing on the women residents. It pleased their Christian souls to have the minister in such religious care of them.

  He knocked on one more door and opened it. ‘Oh, Father Peter – oh, my goodness—’ Mother Joan was in bed. Mother Mary was not. She was standing by the plain simple dressing-table in her corset, drawers and stockings, exposed to the minister’s dark eyes in the light of a globed gas mantle.

  ‘Ah, my dear sister, a hundred pardons, so sorry . . . but bless you, bless you both . . . good night.’ He disappeared and the door closed. Mother Mary stood burning.

  ‘Was that Father Peter?’ asked Mother Joan, coming up to a sitting position in her bed.

  ‘Oh, lor’ . . . oh, dear . . . I’m afraid so,’ blushed Mother Mary. ‘Oh, I don’t ’ardly know where to look now.’