In the Bleak Midwinter

by Carol Rivers

  Harry nodded approvingly. ‘Yes, I ’spect so, Officer.’

  ‘And this young lady? What you got to say for yourself, miss? It’s a rough neighbourhood you’re in ’ere.’

  ‘I was visiting Ayle Street,’ Birdie lied quickly, her glance catching Harry’s eye. ‘Lucky it was, Constable, that I saw you and your whistle saved this young man from further injury.’

  ‘Lucky indeed for ’im,’ the bobby nodded, ‘but it’s a shame you can’t say who it was. Sure you can’t put a moniker to the face?’

  ‘Sorry, no,’ said Harry with a painful shrug.

  ‘Best keep to the main streets,’ the constable told him, ‘else you might not be so lucky next time.’

  ‘Aye, that I will.’

  ‘And as for you, miss . . .’

  Harry limped off, unable to do anything else, but leave Birdie to her lecture. He would wait for her in the next street, and he turned at the corner, raising his hand as the bobby’s back was turned. A second or two later he stopped to grip his knees, breathing in slowly and waiting for the air to return to his lungs.

  ‘Harry!’

  He heard her call and straightened, trying to disguise the fact he was still winded. He hoped the lump on his chin wasn’t as ugly as it felt.

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ she gasped, clutching his arm, ‘just look at your poor face! It’s all black and blue. And you’ve a lump on your jaw that’s sure to swell more. Oh, the very devil, he was, but you gallantly fought him off.’

  ‘I would’ve been brown bread but for you fetching the copper,’ he replied, undergoing an immediate cure at her light touch. ‘I don’t mind admitting that I haven’t had such tumble since my army days and find meself a bit out of practice.’

  ‘You fought like a dervish,’ she insisted, ‘with you so light of frame and him such a big oaf. It was Erik, see? And the woman in the breeches. They were trying to trick me but I caught him out instantly. Frank promised me he’d never send the great eejit again.’

  ‘I guessed who it was,’ Harry admitted, ‘and couldn’t think of much else to say to the copper. Didn’t want to drop Frank in it.’

  ‘You said not a word out of place,’ she breathed, and his heart gave a skip of delight at the lingering feel of her fingers. ‘Oh, thank you, sweet Jesus, for this man’s quick thinking. Where would I be if you hadn’t come along? And so fast too. Harry, you were the wind itself.’

  Though enjoying every moment of her gratitude, he thought it unwise to linger. As they walked he listened to her story again and fitted the pieces together well before they reached home. He was convinced that not only was Frank’s freedom at stake but that now his life was in danger too.

  Pat looked up accusingly from where he sat at the kitchen table, stuffing a lump of cheese in his mouth. ‘Dad’s gone down the Quarry,’ he complained, as Birdie walked in. ‘Said he’d not wait around any longer or he’d die of starvation. And all I could find in the larder was this . . .’ His jaw fell open when he looked up to see Harry. ‘Blooming heck, what’s happened to you?’

  ‘Shift your lazy self,’ Birdie ordered at once, ‘and pour some cold water in the bowl.’

  Pat jumped to his feet, almost tripping over as he stared at Harry. ‘Blimey, mate, what have you done?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Harry tried to grin as Birdie pushed him down on the chair that Pat had just vacated. ‘It’s just a scratch.’

  ‘You’ve got a shiner,’ Pat said admiringly, ‘and a cheek as fat as a football.’

  ‘Bet it’s not spoiled me good looks,’ Harry tried with a chuckle, but Birdie wagged a finger.

  ‘Don’t go laughing or it’ll hurt all the more. Pat, where’s that water?’

  Soon she was applying the wet rag gently to Harry’s wounds. Then she took a small bottle of witch hazel from the cupboard that stood by the Collis Browne’s and the friars balsam.

  ‘A dab of this will help,’ she assured Harry, smoothing the sweet-smelling restorative over the bruising. ‘Then perhaps my idle brother will find the strength to make us a cup of tea.’

  Pat looked quite put out. ‘I’m not idle! Seeing as there was no dinner ready—’

  ‘And what about the broth on the stove? Were you and Dad expecting it to jump out of the pot and down your throats all by itself? If it wasn’t for Harry that dinner would still be there in a week. I was on my way back from Flo’s when I saw Erik, and he tried to carry me off – and he would have if Harry hadn’t saved me.’

  ‘Crikey!’ Pat drew up a chair and sat down as Birdie gave an account of all that had happened.

  ‘Did you really fight him off?’ Pat asked Harry.

  ‘It wasn’t so much a fight, Pat, it was more of a dodge or two,’ Harry said with a shrug.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t like that at all,’ Birdie scolded. ‘Harry gave such a tackle that he brought us all down and rescued me, not caring a jot for the size of the great mauler. And it was just luck there was a copper in the next street and I got him to blow his whistle.’

  ‘Just in time too,’ agreed Harry with a nod. ‘Or else the big ox would’ve punched all me lights out.’

  ‘But they jumped on the cart,’ continued Birdie, ‘raced away, and left the bobby none the wiser.’

  ‘If I’d been along with you,’ Pat burst out, ‘I’d have hung on to him while you gave him what for.’

  ‘We’d have made mincemeat of him,’ Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling under his bruises.

  ‘Oh, if I hadn’t been so full up with me own self and getting married an’ all, I might have paid more attention to Frank and he’d never have got in with these ruffians,’ Birdie sighed regretfully. ‘But what did they want with me?’

  ‘Must be a reason they need you,’ Harry ventured. ‘They had it planned, must have. And if Frank didn’t turn up, it was because he couldn’t.’

  ‘You don’t mean . . .?’ Birdie gasped.

  ‘I ain’t suggesting they’ve harmed him, but your brother may have stopped short at something against his nature.’

  ‘Like thieving or murdering,’ Pat whispered. ‘Or siding along with the Ruskies.’

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ cried Birdie.

  ‘If only we knew exactly where Frank was,’ Harry muttered.

  ‘But I’ve got all those roads in my head,’ Pat said eagerly. ‘They might have taken away my sight, but I heard things and smelled them. Reckon I could find the way again.’

  ‘No!’ Birdie exclaimed. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I’ve got to do it for Frank.’

  She looked at Harry and though he said nothing, she knew they were both thinking that Pat was their one chance of finding Frank.

  Chapter 31

  The next morning Flo called round.

  ‘What are you doing over this way?’ Birdie asked as she let her friend in.

  ‘I heard from a neighbour about the fire in Poplar. I was worried about you. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s over between me and Don.’

  ‘Because of a fire?’

  ‘No. Come in and I’ll tell you the story. Dad’s just going out,’ Birdie said as she led the way to the kitchen, ‘so we can sit and talk with a cuppa.’

  When they were seated at the table, Flo asked again, ‘Is it true – the shop burned down?’

  ‘Yes, but Aggie has started up business next door.’

  Flo listened as Birdie told her the whole story, explaining Lydia’s outburst and Aggie’s manipulation, and finally her confrontation with Don. Flo’s jaw dropped as Birdie explained that she had told Don there was no more to be said between them.

  ‘Oh, it’s just one of your spats,’ said Flo dismissively. ‘You wait and see. It’ll be just like last time.’

  ‘What do you mean, last time?’ Birdie was rather disappointed that Flo didn’t seem shocked at her walking out on Don.

  ‘When you quarrelled over Frank.’

  ‘Yes, but I never ended it then. This time I mean to. I’m certain he’s been unfaithful.�
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  Flo couldn’t hide a giggle. ‘You sound like an old married lady.’

  ‘It ain’t funny, Flo. Me chance to get married has really gone.’

  ‘You make it sound like a bus you were waiting to catch. In that case, there’s always another one stopping,’ Flo smirked.

  ‘I won’t change my mind.’

  ‘He’ll be round with his smooth talking,’ Flo said warningly. ‘He always charms you, somehow. Even when you saw him with Lydia he sweet-talked you into believing he was innocent.’

  ‘You seem to be suggesting we weren’t happy,’ Birdie objected.

  ‘Birdie, if I’m to be honest, I don’t think you ever was.’

  Birdie stared at her friend. Could she be right? ‘Oh, Flo, if what you say is true, have I wasted all those years?

  ‘You’ll know, love, next time,’ said Flo, sipping her tea.

  ‘If there’s a next time.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, there plenty more fish in the sea. Talking of wet fish, do you think Lydia would really leave the store? And would Don go with her?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Birdie said truthfully. ‘And I don’t care now. But it’s poor little James I feel sorry for. He’s really attached to Don.’ Sometimes she felt as though Lydia and James had more of a right to Don than herself. If the war hadn’t come along and Stephen was still alive, what would have happened? But the war had changed everything, leaving Lydia a widow and Don forced to leave his beloved railways to take Stephen’s place at the store. Birdie sighed. ‘It has to be said that Aggie rules the roost and has a hold on Don that I don’t think even Lydia can break.’

  ‘And as soon as Aggie discovered Lydia wanted her own way with the business,’ continued Flo, nodding, ‘the writing was on the wall for Lydia.’

  ‘And it was all going on behind me back.’

  ‘I should be angry if I was you,’ said Flo fervently. ‘You’ve got enough evidence from Lydia’s lips, saying that if Casanova had any sense he’d go with her.’

  Birdie stared down at her ringless finger. ‘When I put that to Don he wondered where I’d got such an idea.’

  ‘That’s the kind of thing a guilty man would say.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Flo grinned. ‘Because Reg says it every time he’s home late and I ask him if he stopped for a drink, spending our hard-earned pennies. But when he kisses me, I know where the pennies have gone.’

  ‘You don’t seem very upset about that.’

  ‘Because I ain’t,’ Flo shrugged. ‘I’d rather him down the boozer once in a while than looking for excitement elsewhere.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Birdie assured her, feeling a little better now. ‘You’ve got the perfect marriage. I’m envious, don’t you see? That’s what I want, what you’ve got with Reg.’

  ‘You can borrow him anytime, you’re me mate,’ chuckled Flo, then looking seriously at Birdie she added, ‘You’re no one’s fool, Birdie Connor. And one day you’ll meet someone who appreciates you.’

  ‘Listen,’ Birdie murmured, lowering her voice, ‘there’s something else I have to tell you.’

  ‘Blimey, what is it?’

  ‘It’s just that yesterday, Harry and me—’

  ‘You and Harry?’ Flo gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God, I knew it!’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Birdie hesitated, but Flo looked on the point of explosion.

  ‘You crafty moo! Keeping quiet all this time. Me and Reg always thought Harry was a good bloke. Didn’t understand how you was so taken up with such a cold fish as Don. And you half had me believing that Harry was walking out some girl when it was you all along.’ Flo threw her arms in the air. ‘Well, all I can say is, I’m glad your wedding’s off to old sober-sides and you’ve decided to have a fling. It’s about time you had a bit of fun.’

  ‘It’s not what you think—’ Birdie began again but Flo was laughing delightedly.

  ‘All right, keep your hair on,’ she grinned, sliding her arms around Birdie and hugging her. ‘I forgive you for not telling me, even though I’m your best friend. I’d have done the same meself, come to think of it. No wonder you ain’t heartbroken. You was in love with the right bloke all along.’

  Birdie was squeezed half to death as Flo giggled, refusing to believe one word of protest she made. ‘But, Flo, listen—’

  Flo looked at the clock on the mantel and gasped. ‘I’ve got to go now. Just look at the time! There’s my shopping to do before the kids come home from their grandma’s. And I promised them they could have their friends back for tea, so I’ll just say goodbye to your dad and be on my way.’

  She whirled her way out of the house and Birdie was left to wonder why it was that her friend had jumped so quickly to such a conclusion. What was Flo thinking of, believing that she and Harry were – well, together? She had tried to make it plain that they weren’t, but Flo had been convinced. Birdie washed up the cups and looked out on the yard. Her cheeks went pink as she thought of what Flo had said. You was in love with the right bloke all along. But that was impossible. She didn’t think of Harry in a romantic way . . . but why was she blushing? Anyway, Harry was already taken.

  Harry knocked off early that evening. His crew, under Ned Shorter, could be relied upon in his absence to complete the digging of a new trench on the Blackwall site. He’d done his bit for the day, having been there since crack of dawn and marked out the land. Now it was a quarter to five and he’d arranged to meet Pat at the top of the Westferry Road at five o’clock. He’d borrowed a bicycle off Ned today, an old one but serviceable, and was pleased to save himself extra footwork. With what he had in mind, the scouting might prove considerable. Lucky the weather was holding out – no rain – and he stuffed his work-bag into the basket that hung by worn leather straps to the iron frame. Pulling on his rough jacket and sliding Ned’s bicycle clips round his ankles, he pushed off, amused that he should be riding such an antiquated contraption.

  But he soon forgot that he hadn’t ridden a bike for years. The river breeze was refreshing but cold. The muscles in his calves and thighs rebelled at first, then relaxed as he got into rhythm. It was usually his arms and back that took the strain whilst digging. Bicycling was pure luxury, so much so, he wondered why he hadn’t done it before. But he was a foot soldier in the army and earned himself the title of Lacky. It was Lacky, run here, or Lacky dodge there, and yesterday he was pleased that he still had his speed. That bugger Erik might have had an edge on the brawn, but his bulk had held him back.

  As he steered himself through the evening traffic, Harry considered the route he was to take with Pat. They would begin in Stepney, as Pat would recall this easy enough, before being blindfolded. If they could find no clues there, they would press on to the Commercial Road. Then it would be a right turn to the river, easy enough on their bicycles, and Pat seemed certain yesterday he could guide them.

  As soon as Harry saw Pat, he put down his boots and skidded to a halt.

  ‘Do you call that a bicycle?’ Pat grinned as he sat on his own bike by the dock wall.

  ‘Got to keep up with you, youngster.’

  ‘Where did you find it, the British Museum?’

  Harry laughed. ‘It’s solid enough.’

  ‘Thought you were going to buy a horse and cart.’

  ‘This will do for now. Did you tell your sister you’d be late?’

  ‘Didn’t say what we was up to. Don’t want a girl tagging along.’

  Harry hid his smile. ‘We’ll see first, how the land lies,’ he agreed, ‘and relay our findings to your sister. But now let’s be off to Stepney.’

  ‘No need,’ Pat shrugged confidently. ‘Let’s go straight to Narrow Street.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Harry was alarmed and thought the boy too eager. ‘We’d be coming at Shadwell from an easterly direction.’

  ‘I can do it,’ said Pat dismissively. ‘Easy as wink your eye.’

  Harry paused, the noise of the horse
s and carts and motorized traffic creating such a din that he agreed, though his instinct was to start at Stepney.

  Together they found Narrow Street. Here stood the lodging-houses for the workers of the river: the coal-heavers, the porters, the lascars, the seamen who frequented the areas of Wapping and Shadwell, a stone’s throw from the gambling houses and vice dens of Limehouse.

  Harry made certain to examine all directions, expecting almost that tall figure of yesterday to leap out. But this time he was ready. A sturdy length of lead pipe was in his bag, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Pat was annoyed with himself. They had travelled miles in their search for Frank, from Narrow Street to Cable Street, and the shop he had been so certain of with its ice cream and tobacco smells and the lascars trotting past in their flimsy cotton pants and sandals. He knew the place whilst blindfolded, but with sight restored, he’d been at a loss as to how to continue.

  In desperation they’d reversed to Wapping Wall, passed Tobacco Dock and ended up at the Dock Stairs. Still nothing had seemed familiar, and Harry had suggested they return to Narrow Street. Pat was in sweats of confusion and, worst of all, a yellowy mist was setting in. And now they had stopped, breathing hard and heavy, and he still had no idea where to go.

  ‘Wait here,’ Harry called across. ‘We’ll be going on no more adventures tonight, Pat. There will be a blanket of fog around us, soon. When you’ve got your breath, we’ll make for home.’

  As they paused, the water-laden air shifting like candle-smoke around their legs, Pat felt defeated. He couldn’t even see the houses properly now. Not that he wanted to. For under those smoke-blackened roofs and behind the shuttered windows, were hovels. Shadwell was a pitiful place. In daylight they’d seen thin, ragged figures in doorways, with death and disease on their faces. Women and children, bruised and blackened, moving like ghosts under the cranes and hydraulic lifts of the docks. As dusk had fallen, a stretcher of sorts, carried by four hollow-faced men, had crossed their path. The body was still, bloated from the river and stinking. Harry had urged Pat past, but his legs had been shaking and still were.

  ‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ Pat said woefully. ‘I’ve lost us.’