‘What a sauce,’ said Mother Magda. ‘If I wasn’t a lady, and a repentin’ one, I’d ’ave something to say to you.’
‘No hawkers or pavement traders here, if you don’t mind,’ said the toffee-nosed lady.
‘’Ere, I’m not ‘awking or tradin’, I’m ’elping to collect clothes for poor people,’ said Mother Magda, ‘so don’t give me none of them ’aughty looks or I’ll belt yer one. Well, I would if I wasn’t a Christian woman with charity and kindness in me bosom. ’Ere, you better ’ave one of our pamphlets.’ She thrust one at the lady, who took it and read it.
‘Heavens, how stirring,’ said the lady.
‘Yes, our minister’s exaltifying,’ said Mother Magda, who had picked that word up from Mother Althea. ‘’E’s our guidin’ light, an’ doin’ ’is good works for all of us.’ She wondered how long Father Peter would be doing his special good works for her. She didn’t feel that three or four times a week was much of an abundance of sinfulness, that it was getting to be too much of a good thing. It just made her feel terrible passionate.
‘I shall go to Bloomsbury and see him,’ said the lady, overcome by the message of the pamphlet.
‘’E’ll be pleased to see yer, I’m sure,’ said Mother Magda.
Upstairs in the house, Mother Mary was setting about the man with her new umbrella. Of all the horrid impudence, he had put his arm around her waist and said something about one good turn deserving another. Then he’d kissed her, and on her mouth. Outraged, Mother Mary dealt whacks and blows.
‘Damn me, you’re off your silly topknot—’
‘I’ll give you good turn – take that – and that!’
‘You crazy old cow—’
‘Oh, what disgustin’ impudence! Take that!’ The umbrella whacked him over his head. ‘I’ll have the law on you, an’ the Lord’s vengeance as well. I’ve a good mind not to take all these clothes – stand back, d’you ’ear?’ The umbrella poked his navel. ‘Now you just carry that case down to the street, go on. Do a bit of penitence for your sinfulness or I’ll give you a lot more of what you’ve just ’ad.’
The man, grinning, said, ‘Well, old girl, there’s room for improvement, one kiss wasn’t very much. A lot more could square things up, y’know.’
‘Well, of all the sauce! The Day of Judgement’s waitin’ for you, and the Devil! Take that!’ But the umbrella missed for once. The man shouted with laughter.
‘You’re first cousin to Aunt Agatha, the old bitch,’ he said.
‘Oh, I never met more sinning than’s in you,’ said Mother Mary. ‘You just carry that case down, you ’ear?’
Laughing, he carried it down and with Mother Mary at his back, umbrella at the ready. He deposited it on the barrow and still laughing, went back into the house.
‘What’s ’e laughin’ about?’ asked Mother Magda.
‘I’ll give ’im laugh,’ said Mother Mary. She went to the closed front door, pushed the flap of the letter-box open, then stooped and shouted through it. ‘Be sure the Lord witnessed your abomination!’
‘Oh, did ’e abominate yer, sister?’ asked Mother Magda, imagination suddenly running riot.
‘I gave ’im something to remember it by,’ declared Mother Mary.
‘No wonder you was up there a long time,’ said Mother Magda. ‘Oh, yer poor woman, I was never done wicked by meself, me gentlemen was always nice to me.’
‘Now you ’ush about them sinful days of yours, sister, you’re in Christian penitence now,’ said Mother Mary, primly straightening her costume jacket.
‘Still, I was never abominated,’ said Mother Magda, ‘me ’eart bleeds for yer, sister.’
‘’Ow kind,’ said Mother Mary. It was all going over the top of her head, her head being what it was these days. ‘Never mind, ’is deeds will find ’im out, and I did get a big suitcase of lovely clothes from his passed-on aunt that’s lately deceased, poor woman. Look.’ She opened the lid of the large suitcase. It was packed with expensive clothes.
‘Oh, my,’ breathed Mother Magda, ‘ain’t they ravishin’? You can’t ’elp sayin’ get be’ind me, Satan. I mean, there’s some women that wouldn’t mind bein’ done wicked by for ’alf this lot. Does it make yer feel better, sister? I mean, ’e was that dark and ’andsome, wasn’t ’e?’
‘I’ll give ’im dark and ’andsome next time I see ’im,’ said Mother Mary. ‘Well, come along, sister, there’s other nice-lookin’ houses down ’ere.’
The two batty women pushed on, Mother Magda’s imagination making her feel so terrible passionate that she silently groaned for help from above.
When the long day was over for the Repenters and they were gathered at dinner with their minister, the news that Mother Mary had been abominated while doing the Lord’s work caused outcries of consternation. It was Mother Magda, of course, who spread the news.
‘Oh, dear.’
‘How dreadful.’
‘Poor, dear Mother Mary.’
‘Such brutality.’
‘But she carried on with ’er work so brave,’ said Mother Magda.
‘Well, I gave the brute something chronic to think about,’ said Mother Mary, ‘with me umbrella. ’E won’t lay ’is wicked ’ands so ready on another woman.’
Mother Verity looked at her. Mother Mary seemed very self-satisfied. ‘Was it outrage at its dreadful worst, sister?’ asked Mother Verity.
‘I never met a more dreadful sinner except the one that treated you so abominable, sister,’ said Mother Mary.
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Mother Ruth.
‘First-class soundrel,’ said Mother Joan, ‘needs hanging. Bear up, Mother Mary, the Lord will avenge you. He’ll drop the blighter in the soup, mark my words.’
‘My child,’ said Father Peter, ‘be very sure we all grieve for you.’
‘’Ow kind, Father,’ said Mother Mary.
‘My blood’s boilin’,’ said Father Luke. ‘I just wish I’d been there, I’d’ve ’ad the coppers on him quicker than the faithful can say the Lord’s prayer.’
‘Oh, I gave ’im what for, Father Luke, I can tell you,’ said Mother Mary.
‘My child,’ said Father Peter, ‘perhaps I should hear confession from you this evening.’
‘Thank you, Father, I’d best unburden me soul,’ said Mother Mary.
‘I’m troubled meself, Father,’ said Mother Magda.
‘Yes, of course,’ murmured Father Peter, a figure of looming compassion at the head of the table. ‘I will receive you after Mother Mary, sister.’
Mother Verity experienced her first doubts.
‘A kiss, my child?’ said Father Peter gently.
‘Yes, the impudence, would you believe,’ said Mother Mary, head reverently bent in the faint glow of light. ‘An’ the sinfulness, which was worse, it makes you think Satan’s got ’old of you. I couldn’t ’ardly credit I was bein’ taken advantage of when I was only there out of Christian charity, and ’im with a funeral only two days away.’
‘That was all, a kiss?’
‘Oh, I’ve got to confess ’is arm was around me waist as well. I wish I could also confess I turned the other cheek, like Mother Verity did those times, but I just didn’t feel like it, I felt more like castin’ ’im into the pit, Father.’
‘He did not – ah – interfere with your clothing?’
‘Pardon?’ said Mother Mary, shocked but still in reverence to her confessor.
‘He did not attempt to – ah – lift your skirts?’
‘I’d like to see any man try that, I’d make ’im wish he’d never been born.’
‘Did you perhaps have forbidden thoughts while he was kissing you?’
‘’Ow can you ask such a thing, Father?’
‘Satan is always close to every one of us, my child, tempting us into sinful thoughts, even if we’re strong enough to resist the deeds.’
‘Well, I kept ’im from gettin’ close to me, Father, all I thought about was where was my umbrella, an’ then I let th
e man ’ave it, I can tell you, and if I ever see ’im again I’ll let ’im ’ave more of it.’
A hand touched her hair in gentle benediction. ‘You are absolved of the sin of losing your temper, my child.’
‘Thank you, Father, amen.’
Mother Magda’s confession was lengthy. It was all about the sinful thoughts she had concerning how Mother Mary had been abominated and done wicked by, and how such thoughts had made her terrible passionate.
Father Peter absolved her of her thinking sinfulness, and dealt with her forbidden feelings in his usual willing way. He reassured her in respect of her doubts concerning whether or not she was receiving the necessary surfeit of sinfulness. It would simply take time, he said.
‘Oh, that’s all right, then,’ she said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was a bit quiet at Anerley without Sophy. It meant Jimmy was able to work without the young madam creeping up on him. Mr Thorpe, who looked like a ruddy-faced farmer, had some kind and instructional words for him now and again, but he wasn’t dragged into any potty conversations with Sophy. The weather wasn’t as hot as it had been, September was on the edge of August and bringing cool evenings. Ada teased him when he arrived each day, and he responded in kind over the customary cup of tea and slice of toast. Mr Hodges was gracious to him and paid him at the end of each day. Ada gave him his refreshments, he came up to the terrace for them, and had his habitual exchanges with the young maid. She usually retired back to the kitchen giggling or having hysterics.
‘I don’t know why you’re so good to me, Ada,’ he said one afternoon, when he was enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of cake.
‘I don’t, either,’ said Ada, ‘you’re a terror, you are. Bet your girl can’t make you out.’
‘What girl?’
‘How many ’ave you got, then? Six?’
‘I’m savin’ girls up till I’ve got decent money in me pocket,’ said Jimmy. ‘Best thing, that is. Well, accordin’ to how my dad has informed me. You’ve got to be able to treat girls, he said. If you can’t, best to lay off till you can. Girls are made to be treated, Ada.’
‘Why?’ asked Ada, thinking him full of young manliness with his tanned face and sunburned arms.
‘Because girls are nice,’ said Jimmy. ‘My sister Patsy’s nice, so’s my other sister, Betsy. So are you. Mind, I don’t want to pay you compliments, I don’t want Percy to come and break me leg.’
‘Leave off about Percy,’ said Ada. ‘I suppose you’d like to take the young madam out an’ treat her, would you?’
‘Sophy? What, at her age? Her dad would chuck me in the pond. Besides, I wouldn’t take a rich girl out. Be daft.’
‘I bet you know some pretty girls,’ said Ada.
‘I know one,’ said Jimmy.
‘Who?’
‘Ta for the cake an’ tea, Ada. I’d best get back to work now.’
‘Oh, come on, who is she?’ asked Ada.
‘She’s engraved on me heart,’ said Jimmy.
‘Jimmy, you’re so dotty you’re makin’ me jump up an’ down.’
‘Well, don’t fall over,’ said Jimmy, and went back to his work.
Uncle Harold had given his charming niece all kinds of bushy-browed looks, but after talking to a clerk in the appropriate department, had come up with the address of Will Fletcher, now employed in the firm’s Spitalfields warehouse. Mother Verity thanked him.
‘What’s it really all about, Celia?’ he asked.
‘Goodwill towards the deserving, Uncle Harold.’
‘Damned if I like the sound of that,’ said Uncle Harold.
Mother Verity smiled and left.
Now she was in Underwood Road, Bethnal Green, and it was twenty-five to four in the afternoon. She walked to the corner, reaching Vallance Road, and waited there, occasionally glancing at a house in Underwood Road, number fourteen. Children under school age were playing around the doorsteps of other houses. The neighbourhood was a visible improvement on Christian Street, Whitechapel. The houses were better. Doorsteps looked cleaner. There was more pride here.
At four o’clock, a nearby school began to disgorge noisy boys and girls. Mother Verity heard them. One could always hear children in school playgrounds or coming out of school. She stayed where she was, waiting.
Lulu appeared. She was wearing a brown tam-o’-shanter, a new pinafore frock and shining little boots. She was with another girl, and they were both giggling. They stopped in Underwood Road, outside number fourteen, talking and giggling. Then the other girl went on, and Lulu turned into number fourteen, pulled a latchcord and entered the house. The door closed.
Mother Verity, satisfied, turned and left.
Lulu would now be waiting for Will Fletcher to come home.
Aunt Edie arrived again at the weekend. She gave Betsy and Patsy hugs and kisses, and quickly got to work on Friday evening’s supper. When Dad and Jimmy came home, she announced over supper that she was going out later.
‘Good for you,’ said Dad.
‘Joe Gosling is callin’ for me,’ she said.
‘Oh?’ said Dad.
‘Yes,’ said Aunt Edie. Dad gave her a look. She returned it. Dad suspected then that she was letting him know that if she took up with Joe Gosling, neighbours wouldn’t talk about her in dubious terms. ‘I’m ’aving the pleasure of bein’ taken to the Camberwell Palace music ’all.’
‘He’s after you, Aunt Edie,’ said Jimmy.
‘’E’s that Camberwell pearly king,’ said Patsy.
‘Aunt Edie, you goin’ to marry ’im?’ asked Betsy excitedly.
‘No, I’m just goin’ to the music ‘all with him,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘Well, that’s good,’ said Dad, but didn’t sound overjoyed. And Jimmy hoped Aunt Edie wasn’t getting serious. Joe Gosling was all right, a cheerful and hearty bloke, but not Jimmy’s idea of a happy-ever-after for Aunt Edie.
‘’Ave a lovely time, Auntie,’ said Patsy, ‘’ope you get treated swell.’
‘Don’t stay out all night,’ said Jimmy, ‘or I’ll come after you.’
‘Now then, cheeky,’ said Aunt Edie.
Dad came out of a thoughtful moment to say, ‘That reminds me of 1918, when we were knockin’ Johnny Turk for six, and me old sergeant-major—’
‘That old sergeant-major of yours wants hanging on the line,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘After you’ve put ’im through the mangle first, Aunt Edie?’ said Patsy.
Aunt Edie burst into laughter.
Dad went thoughtful again.
Aunt Edie had quite a late night out, Joe Gosling not bringing her back until well after eleven. Dad was still up.
‘’Ere she is,’ said Joe cheerfully, ‘all in one piece, old soldier.’ His hearty smile hid the fact that he thought Jack Andrews was taking advantage of Edie’s generous nature by having her look after his family at weekends. ‘Some rare turns at the Palace tonight. ’Arry Champion hisself, talk about any old iron, what a performance, brought the ’ouse down. Anyway, ’ere’s yer ’andsome cousin-in-law. We ’ad a couple in the pub after we come out of the Palace. Are yer standin’ up all right, Edie?’
Aunt Edie blinked. Dad, looking at her, thought she might have had more than a couple.
‘What’s that you said, Joe?’ she asked.
‘Standin’ up all right, are yer, me old love?’ asked Joe.
‘The day I can’t stand up, Joe Gosling, will be the day I’m in me coffin,’ said Aunt Edie. Joe grinned and gave her a friendly kiss on her cheek. ‘Who did that?’ she asked. ‘Who’s takin’ liberties?’
‘Well, I got certain ’opes, Edie, concernin’ what might be a lucky day for me in me near future,’ said Joe, and gave Dad a wink.
‘Ta for me night out,’ said Aunt Edie, and Joe said good night to her and Dad, and left. Dad closed the front door. Aunt Edie peered at him. ‘Are you lookin’ at me, Jack Andrews?’
‘Well, yes, I am,’ said Dad, and Aunt Edie swayed.
�
��I am now goin’ up to bed,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure you’ll get there,’ said Dad.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You’re ’aving trouble standin’ up,’ said Dad.
Aunt Edie had had three halves of Guinness. She liked the occasional half, that was all, but tonight she’d felt she needed a cure for her emotional problems, which hadn’t been helped by the heart-tugging rendering of sentimental music hall songs. But even though she liked the occasional Guinness, a whole pint and a half had been a little too much for her. She blinked again.
‘Take your ’ands off me, Jack Andrews, you don’t want the neighbours talkin’, do you?’
‘Not touchin’ you, Edie,’ said Dad, feeling a bit shirty with Joe Gosling for letting her have one too many. She had never been a woman for drink. She was a lively, rousing pearly queen on occasions, but not the kind to be seen in pubs.
‘Would you mind gettin’ out of me way so’s I can go up to bed?’ she said.
‘You ’appen to be standin’ right next to the stairs, old girl,’ said Dad. The gas lamp cast light over the passage and stairs. Aunt Edie carefully turned. She swayed. Dad put a helpful arm around her waist.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ she asked.
‘Come on, I’ll see you up to your room,’ said Dad.
‘What about—’ Aunt Edie groped for words. ‘What about the neighbours?’ That was on her mind, even though her mind was a little dizzy. It was on her mind because he kept making a thing of it.
‘Never mind the neighbours,’ said Dad. ‘Let’s get you up the stairs.’ He helped her to begin her upward climb, his arm around her. ‘Can’t ’ave you fallin’ down me own stairs.’
He reached the landing with her. She swayed inside his arm and turned. The passage lamp gave some light to the landing, but not much, and her face beneath her hat looked a bit misty to Dad. And her mouth looked soft and dark. He nearly lost his head. He nearly kissed her. It was a shock to find out how much he wanted to, how much he wanted to hold her. More than that, how much he wanted her. Ruddy hell, he thought, that’s done it, Jack Andrews, you’re in trouble now. His deep liking and fondness for his wife’s cousin, which he had known were dangerous under the circumstances, had suddenly become much more than that, much more dangerous. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made love to Maud. She hadn’t wanted him to, and he’d become indifferent. She’d forgotten she was a wife and a woman. Edie was all woman.
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