by Carol Rivers
‘I’ve still got my eyes closed,’ called Pat anxiously, ‘but I want to open them.’
‘Don’t,’ Harry instructed. ‘You’ve brought us thus far and I trust you to take us the rest of the way.’
‘Then take Albert slowly,’ Pat nodded. ‘I’m counting to the turn, see? Like I did in their wagon, between stops.’
Harry took a deep breath and shook the reins, narrowing his eyes into the fog, putting all his trust in Pat.
Ten minutes later, Harry creased his brow thoughtfully over the roughly sketched map they had made. In the pale light of the Tilley that Ned held, he pointed to a crossroads.
‘By all accounts, this is where we are.’
‘We turned right with the wagon, I’m certain,’ said Pat.
‘Keelhaul Street?’ said Ned with a soft groan. ‘A stinking slum in the light, but after dark, a hell.’
Harry nodded. ‘I’ll agree with you there, Ned.’ He moved his finger an inch. ‘There’s a lane runs along the back. Now the fog has thinned a little,’ he said folding the map into his pocket, ‘I reckon Pat and me will take the rear whilst you and Lofty take Albert along the front.’
‘You better watch yer step down there,’ Ned warned, handing Harry the Tilley. ‘Don’t like the idea of you going it alone, gov.’
‘You’ll hear me if I shout,’ Harry tried to assure him. ‘And believe me, if I need assistance, I’ll not be slow to call.’
They separated then, Ned and Larry rumbling into the swirling vapours on the cart and Harry taking Pat into the lane. The Tilley lit up the gloom and spilled over into the yards.
‘Can you recognize anything, Pat?’ Harry asked as they crept lightly along.
‘I’m trying to remember.’
Harry knew the boy was afraid, and had cause to be. His hand went to his belt and the reassuring shape of the piping. ‘There has to be room enough for stabling,’ he whispered.
Pat shivered beside him. ‘Wait a minute, what’s that?’
In the darkness, the mist curled around them and the smell of decay hung heavily. Harry could see a yard wall and a light beyond it. There were raised voices and the sound of movement.
‘Lower the Tilley, Pat,’ he whispered as they crept closer. And, edging himself nearer, he gripped the top of the wet, mossy brick and eased himself up to gaze over.
‘Christ Almighty,’ Harry breathed. ‘We’ve got them.’
‘Is it our Frank? Is it him?’ Pat asked excitedly.
‘Damn this fog, I don’t know if it’s your brother. I was looking out for that red hair of his you told me about,’ whispered Harry. ‘But they have someone bound tight and, by the looks of it, intend to move him out. At a guess I would say they are loading cargo into the wagon with him.’
‘It must be Frank!’ exclaimed Pat. ‘Let me see.’
‘One minute, son, I want to count how many there are; be certain of what we are dealing with.’ Through the shifting fog lit by the Tilleys hanging on and around the wagon, he could see a slight, boyish figure that must be Inga, and the tall man at her side was his previous adversary, Erik. But there were two more, damn it! He growled angrily under his breath. Were there any inside the house? He should have brought more insurance tonight and now he regretted the mistake.
The question was, how was he to warn Ned and Lofty, without giving the game away?
Chapter 37
Birdie heard the knock but didn’t want to open the door. What if it was Constable Rudge? What if Harry and Pat and the others arrived back as the policeman was standing there? But as she crept along the passage, she heard a familiar voice.
‘Birdie, love, it’s only me.’
She opened the door, relieved to see who it was. ‘Mrs Belcher! What are you doing here?’
‘Lady Annabelle sent me. Are you all right? We ain’t seen you for weeks.’
‘I’m all right.’ She hesitated. She didn’t want company, today of all days, as good-intentioned as the housekeeper was. ‘It was very nice of Lady Annabelle to think of me.’
Mrs Belcher bustled her way in nevertheless. ‘It was the fire, see? We read about it in the paper. They didn’t report no casualties, but we knew you’d gone to help out there and wondered if you was all right.’
‘Yes,’ Birdie said hesitantly, ‘I’m all right. But Don and me—’
‘You ain’t broken up, again?’
‘This time it’s for good.’
‘Well, you two was always a bit up and down. And it’s not for me to say, but I always reckoned you deserved better. Couldn’t see you grafting behind a counter, not with those lovely hands of yours. They’re a gift, you know, you was born with a needle in them,’ she smiled. ‘And to be honest, there’s a great big pile of alterations in me kitchen that need doing, and there’s no one on this island will do them as good as you.’
Birdie was too polite to say that alterations were the last thing on her mind. She also didn’t want to talk about Don as she knew that Mrs Belcher would be eager to know all the ins and outs.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not staying long,’ Mrs Belcher said, easing Birdie’s mind. ‘Mr B is coming to fetch me after he finishes at work round the corner at the bakery in Manchester Road. But I’ve always time for a cuppa, love, if you’re offering.’
Birdie knew that Mrs Belcher had come to find out why she hadn’t turned up at the House. What was she going to tell her?
‘Go and sit in the parlour, it’s warm in there.’
Five minutes later, Birdie was sitting beside Mrs Belcher on the couch. The fire was blazing and they were drinking piping hot tea. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been in this house,’ Mrs Belcher said, looking round as she lowered her cup to her lap. ‘It was when your mother was alive. We used to have the odd cup of tea together in my kitchen at the House and once or twice here when your father was at work and you kids were at school.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘We were on good terms, Birdie. We saw eye to eye.’ Mrs Belcher sighed heavily. ‘And then she fell for the baby . . . your Pat. And she never came home again.’ Mrs Belcher stared around once more, her eyes narrowing. ‘But do you know, I can feel her presence here. Can you?’
‘Sometimes I think I do,’ Birdie nodded. ‘But a feeling is nothing like touching someone or seeing them in real life, is it?’
‘No, that’s true,’ agreed Mrs Belcher thoughtfully. ‘Though my mother’s sister reads the teacups, you know. Aunt Jenny was a bit of a black sheep in our family as she married a handsome gypsy. Told me that I too had the gift of seeing, as she called it, but my mum soon knocked that idea out of my head when she packed me off into service. Said I needed to think practical and she was right, of course. When I started to work below stairs, the only reading of teacups I ever did was when I was scrubbing them.’ Mrs Belcher laughed softly, then gave a long sigh. ‘Still, as I’ve got older, I’ve realized Aunt Jenny wasn’t so daft. I do get these odd feelings and I had one tonight when I walked in here.’
‘Can you see anything that I can’t?’ Birdie asked hopefully. ‘Is it really Mum who’s here?’
‘No, it’s just a feeling I have.’
‘I talk to Mum, when I’m on my own,’ Birdie admitted.
‘She would be very proud of you, ducks. She loved you and Frank dearly, and would, if she’d survived Pat’s birth, have been overjoyed she’d had a son. Talking of which, is there any news on your Frank? They haven’t found him yet, I take it, or it would have been in the papers?’
Birdie had always found Mrs Belcher to be very direct. And though Birdie didn’t want to give away anything, she felt an honest answer was best. ‘No, he’s not been found.’
‘No one’s come forward to speak on his behalf?’
‘Who would do that?’ Birdie asked. ‘Everyone believes he’s a deserter.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, me and Lady Annabelle believe different, my dear. Frank is a good lad and always was. He might have been a bit of a pushover where
the ladies was concerned, and your mother was always a bit worried he’d get put on, if you know what I mean.’ She crooked an eyebrow. ‘He wouldn’t be hiding out with an old flame, would he?’
Birdie felt herself go red. ‘Mrs Belcher, I can’t say.’
‘Oh, so you do know where he is?’
‘Please don’t ask me that.’ She didn’t want to lie.
‘I see.’ The older woman gave a knowing smile. ‘So it’s like that, is it?’
‘Please don’t say anything to anyone!’ Birdie begged.
‘There’s nothing to say.’ The older woman reached out and took her hand. ‘But would you take a piece of advice from an old friend?’
‘I know you mean well, Mrs Belcher, but—’
‘Listen, this is between us. Just you and me. I’ll put it this way. If one of my sons was in trouble, as big and ugly as they are, I’d go to the ends of the earth to help them. Lawful or not, I’d do it. And I know it’s the same with you.’
Birdie nodded. Those words were very true.
‘Now, there may come a time when you need help – real help, I mean. Of a sort that most people like us couldn’t get.’ Mrs Belcher leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Things can’t always be done in the way you’d want ’em to be done, but there’s others who’d do it. There’s ways and means, see?’
Birdie was shocked to hear this, as Mrs Belcher had always seemed the height of properness.
‘Anyway, remember what I said, won’t you?’ She looked Birdie in the eye and squeezed her hand. ‘Just give me the nod.’
Birdie wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Mrs Belcher’s care and concern were very touching, but this suggestion, coming from such an upright and law-abiding citizen, sounded rather comical.
‘Now, how is your dad and that cough of his?’ Mrs Belcher asked. ‘I expected to see him here tonight.’
Birdie swallowed hard as she tried to answer. ‘He’s very ill, Mrs Belcher.’
‘Oh Lord, no!’
‘Dad’s in the isolation hospital at New Cross. That’s why I haven’t been to the House. He’s got TB.’
‘TB? Oh, you poor lass. I’m so sorry.’
Birdie couldn’t say any more and Mrs Belcher reached out to fold her arms around her. ‘You’ve had a basinful of it, ducks,’ she murmured in her ear. ‘Now I know why I feel that your mother is – well, let’s just say, if she can help you, she will in her own way.’
Birdie quickly wiped away a tear. ‘I think this is beyond even Mum.’
Mrs Belcher brought out a neatly ironed cotton square and blew her nose. ‘Is there anything me or Mr B can do?’
‘No. But thank you for asking.’
A knock came at the door and startled them. ‘That’ll be me other half,’ sighed Mrs Belcher, standing up and pushing her hanky in her pocket. ‘Now, I know you’ve a lot on your plate, but I would appreciate it if you could let me know how things stand. Meanwhile, I shall be thinking of you and your brothers, and hope you’ll remember what I’ve said as regards Frank.’
The knock came again and Mrs Belcher rolled her eyes. ‘He’s hungry, that’s what, and impatient to get home. Now stay here in the warm and I’ll see myself out.’
After she’d gone, Birdie sat deep in thought. Mrs Belcher’s visit had brought her comfort and had lifted her spirits. Was Bernadette really close by? Had she returned to her family in times of trouble? It was a question she had often thought about and she had talked it over with Flo once or twice. But there was nothing in the Catechism that said people returned to earth after they had died. Catholics were taught there was heaven and hell, with purgatory and limbo in between. But, as for revisiting this world . . .
Birdie gave a deep sigh. Whatever the truth, she felt better just thinking Bernadette was watching over them.
But as time ticked by, Birdie felt the pleasant feeling disappearing. What was happening to Harry and Pat and the others? Time was marching on. She got up and paced the floor, going from one room to another as her tummy tied in a knot.
When she looked out from the window, her heart sank. A thick, yellow-grey fog was creeping slowly along the cobbles and crawling up to the windows. This was the worst possible weather for any business down by the river.
Chapter 38
All the dogs in the neighbourhood seemed to start barking before Pat could warn Harry that someone was coming towards them. Wreathed in mist, the tall figure emerged silently from the shadows.
A cry came from Pat’s lips, but too late as the blow landed on Harry’s back and sent him sprawling to the ground. Pat saw the long, solid yard of wood rise again, about to swing down on Harry. But as it descended, Harry moved and only took a glancing blow.
It all happened so fast that Pat couldn’t think what to do. If he yelled for Ned and Lofty, others would hear him too. Was this big man Erik? And if it was, what chance did they have against him?
Pat recoiled along the wall, feeling the wet, crumbling brickwork under his shaking fingers. He remembered the last time he was in a spot, amidst the demonstrators at Stepney. But this seemed worse. It was dark and foggy and the man’s attack had come out of nowhere. Had he been watching them?
Harry tried to climb to his feet, but was knocked down again. Pat stood motionless. What could he do? Should he run and try to find Ned and Lofty? But he’d be too late.
Then he realized the Tilley was in his hand. He stepped forward, his heart beating violently in his chest at what he was about to do. Lifting the Tilley, he drew it back just as the man was about to bring the club down on Harry. The lantern hit him full square and oil spilled over. The Tilley clattered to the ground and rolled into the fog, leaving a bright orange flame trailing behind. Like magic, it spun a thin trail of fire back to the figure, coiling snakelike at his feet. The man kicked uselessly, trying to leap away from the rushing flames. But they licked upward, curling around his legs and clinging to his chest in an eerie orange glow. He flapped his arms in an effort to distance himself, but with each movement they ate up the cloth of his jacket. His screams grew wilder and more desperate as he fanned the heat into bright, dancing tongues around him.
Pat stared at the burning cone of fire and listened wretchedly to the pitiful cries. He had no intention of burning a man; his aim had been solely to save Harry. And as he stepped forward, intending to help in some way, a fresh vortex of fire leaped over its victim. With a scream that curdled Pat’s blood, the staggering man fell away, falling and rolling into the fog.
‘Pat!’ a voice rasped in his ear and a strong pair of arms were pulling him back against the wall.
‘I . . . I . . . I didn’t mean it,’ Pat howled, his eyes still glued to the blurred blob of fire. ‘I’ve got to do something.’
‘Let his pals help him,’ Harry ordered breathlessly and, taking hold of his shoulders, Harry shook him hard. ‘Listen, Pat, it was me or him.’
‘But he’s burning to death!’
‘He was prepared to splatter my brains over the cobbles, lad. But you stepped in, thank the Good Lord.’
‘I didn’t think the oil would burn like that,’ Pat whimpered, a sick feeling growing inside him. Had he burned a man to death this night?
‘Your intention was not to roast him, Pat, but to help me. And from the shemozzle I can hear, they’re dousing him with water. I’d not mark him down as a gonner just yet.’
Pat leaned against the wall, his heart beating so fast he could barely breathe. Then after a short while, Ned and Lofty’s shouts could be heard. Harry let go of him and suddenly was leaping towards the yard. And somehow Pat found the strength to follow.
It was past midnight when Birdie opened the back door and gazed into the curtains of fog filling the yard. She had seen a faint light from the window and now a small group of men stumbled out of it. First came Pat and Lofty, and then Harry and Ned, with a figure slung between them.
‘Pat, who’s that?’ She stepped towards her brother.
‘It’s Frank, we found hi
m.’
Birdie put her hand to her mouth. She hadn’t recognized his slumped form. Pat gently pushed her towards the house. ‘Go in, Birdie. Don’t let out the light. We mustn’t be seen.’
‘The buggers have done him over,’ Harry told her as they stumbled in and Pat closed the door.
A thin, gaunt face with a long bloody streak over one eye, stared up at her. She managed to hold back the tears as she hugged him. He smelled terrible, much worse than he had under the arches.
‘Frank, it’s me, Birdie.’
His blue eyes stared out under their swollen lids. ‘Hello, gel. Sorry, I . . .’ His head sank down again.
Birdie nodded to the three men. ‘Take him to the parlour and lay him on the couch. Pat, run upstairs for some blankets, whilst I tear up some sheets.’ She knew she was speaking harshly, but she had to keep a cool head.
Harry, Ned and Lofty helped her to lift and undress Frank, after which she bathed and cleaned his wounds. He lay still and exhausted on the couch, his thin body lost under the folds of the warm blankets.
‘Frank,’ Harry said quietly as he sat at Frank’s side, ‘I’m Harry, your sister’s lodger. And these are my mates.’
Frank’s eyes tried to focus. ‘I wondered who you was.’
‘Do you feel up to telling us what happened?’
‘Sh . . . she had me set up all along,’ he stammered.
‘Who? The woman in breeches?’
‘Yeah, Inga.’
‘A pretty face always was your weak spot, Frank.’ Birdie smiled, touching his matted hair softly with her fingertips. ‘What was she after?’
Frank gave a gurgle at the back of his throat. ‘Tried to get me to drive the wagon up West. It was full of dynamite.’
Birdie gasped. ‘Were they going to blow-up something?’
‘Somethin’ big, I think.’
‘But you might have been blown-up too.’
‘Yeah, that was the general idea.’
‘From what I saw of them cutthroats,’ growled Ned, as he pushed his hand over his dirty bald head, ‘they would have done us in too, given half the chance.’