The Ragamuffins

by Anna King

  Ellen, brought out of her reverie with a start, could only stare open mouthed at the puffed-up features of her husband. Flickering her gaze at Ted she winced at the look of disgust that crossed his rugged face. Yet she couldn’t blame him, for she too was experiencing the same sense of loathing.

  Remaining seated she looked up at her husband and said icily, ‘Minimise the damage! Is that all you can think of, Arthur? Why don’t you just come straight out with it? What you really mean is how this is going to reflect on you, and the business. But don’t worry, once word spreads they’ll be queuing down the road from here to Mare Street, just on the off chance they might be able to pick up some juicy gossip. People are like that, not all of them, but most. They love to see other people’s misery, it must be a distraction from their own dreary lives. Ghouls, that’s all most people are, ghouls, and you’re no better than any of them.’

  Gripping the sides of her chair Ellen gritted her teeth as she almost spat the words at him. ‘Ever since we arrived home and heard what Ted had to tell us, your only thought has been for yourself, and how my involvement with Micky might affect you…’

  Aware of Ted’s contemptuous glare Arthur’s head snapped back on his neck. His colouring heightened further as he attempted to regain some home ground. ‘Now look here, Ellen. I won’t have you talking to me in that tone. Don’t forget you are my wife, and as such will conduct yourself in a like manner.’

  Ellen’s face twitched in amusement at the unfamiliar tone. Their short acquaintance with the Bradleys had obviously rubbed off on Arthur. But where the Bradleys’ way of talking was natural, Arthur merely sounded ridiculous. She could almost visualise him twirling the ends of a waxed moustache, if he’d possessed one. But the moment of humour was short-lived. For as she stared into the puffy face suffused with self-righteousness she realised that whatever feelings she had once held for Arthur were now gone. With his callous disregard for the plight of eight-year-old Molly, and the anguish Micky must be going through, he had killed the last vestige of affection and loyalty she had held for him as surely as if he’d severed them with a sharp blade. Worst of all, although she had never been in love with him, she had always respected and liked him as a person, and had held a great fondness for him. Now she found she didn’t even like him anymore, and she knew sadly that she would never feel the same about her husband ever again.

  A sudden movement opposite her brought her attention back to Ted. The tall brooding man was on his feet. His eyes cold with contempt he turned his back deliberately on Arthur and, looking at Ellen, said shortly, ‘Micky’s at my house, if you want to see him. He’s in a terrible state, poor sod. But who wouldn’t be, in his shoes? You’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel for him right now.’ Out of the comer of his eye Ted saw Arthur’s lips twitch nervously and thought angrily, Yeah, that was directed at you, yer selfish, fat bastard. ‘I haven’t slept for more than an hour since Molly went missing.’ He gave a short grunt of derision. ‘Not that I can take any credit for that. Anyone with a bit of compassion would feel the same. Me mum’s in a right old state, an’ she don’t even know the girl. But that don’t make no difference. A child’s a child whether you know them or not. And anyone with an ounce of decency would feel the same.’ This time Ted made no attempt to disguise his contempt as he turned and stared coldly into Arthur’s ruddy face. And such was the fury in Ted’s eyes that Arthur stepped back a pace, his jowls quivering in fear and apprehension, knowing he was no match in either verbal or physical strength to Ted.

  Inwardly squirming, Arthur made one last desperate effort to regain control of the situation. Directing his gaze at Ellen he said, ‘Well, at least you won’t have to concern yourself with Micky Masters anymore. Now the truth’s out, he’ll be sent straight back to the workhouse, and if he’s any sense he’ll stay there until he’s lawfully released…’

  His words were cut off abruptly as Ted sprang across the room, his hands grabbing at Arthur’s jacket in a vicious hold.

  ‘Micky’s going back to no workhouse, yer unfeeling bastard. He’s staying with me an’ me mum, and little Molly too when she’s found. And I will find her. If I have to knock on every door and walk every mile of the East End, I’ll do it.’ Even as he said the words Ted knew he was grasping at straws where Molly was concerned. She could be anywhere. She might never be found. She wouldn’t be the first child to go missing and never be seen again. But if he couldn’t help Molly, he could provide a proper home for Micky. It wouldn’t be easy. He’d have the authorities to deal with first. But if the worst came to the worst he’d up sticks and move away from the East End, because there was no way on God’s earth he would let Micky go back to the workhouse; it would be like signing the boy’s death warrant.

  ‘Ted! Ted, for God’s sake, let him go. This isn’t solving anything. Please, Ted, stop it.’

  Startled, Ted looked down at Ellen, then he felt her hands pulling at him and realised his own were wrapped around Arthur’s flabby neck. Recoiling in shock, Ted’s hands released their grip as quickly as if he’d been holding red-hot coals.

  Severely shaken and gasping for breath Arthur staggered backwards, falling in a heap into the armchair he had so recently vacated.

  The atmosphere was charged with tension. Then Ted, his face grim, turned to a pale-faced Ellen and said tersely, ‘You coming with me or staying here? It’s up to you.’

  Faced with the option of going with Ted or staying here with Arthur, Ellen didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she replied, picking up her cotton gloves and straw hat. Not looking back she said quietly, ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be back, Arthur. Don’t wait up for me.’

  With Ted by his wife’s side, Arthur could only watch helplessly as Ellen swept from the room.

  * * *

  Passing through the empty bakery Ellen forced herself to put from her mind the unpleasant scene she had just witnessed and focus her thoughts on Micky. Then, her eyes bewildered, she asked Ted, ‘I know there’s no love lost between me and Agnes, but I can’t believe she would do such a despicable thing. She must have been duped into doing what she did.’ Fiddling with the clasp of her bag she lowered her gaze adding, ‘I want to see her, Ted. I have to know exactly what happened while we were away… I know, I know…’ she held up a hand as Ted made to protest. ‘I’ve heard all the facts, but I want to hear Agnes’ side of it.’

  Ted’s face darkened. ‘You go and see her if you want, but I ain’t going anywhere near the old bitch. I wouldn’t trust meself within a mile of her.’

  It was only five minutes’ walk to the row of terraced houses where Agnes lived, and during the short journey neither Ted nor Ellen spoke. It was as if they had made an unspoken agreement not to mention what had happened back at the bakery; that particular topic would have to be put on hold for the time being. But it wasn’t going to go away. Sooner or later there was going to be a confrontation between herself, Ted and Arthur, and it wasn’t something she was looking forward to. But for now Micky and his missing sister were her top priorities.

  As they approached the road Agnes lived in, the first thing they saw was the burly figure of John Smith standing guard outside the green door. The second thing that caught their attention was the fact that the front window had been smashed in.

  ‘Afternoon, Mrs Mitson. Glad to see you back, love. Young Micky’ll feel a lot better when he sees you, poor little sod. It was good of you to cut your holiday short.’

  Ellen smiled wanly. ‘To tell the truth, Officer, I was glad of the excuse. I know it was my idea to get away, but I was bored stiff after a couple of days.’ Aware she was stalling for time, Ellen stepped forward, her hand gesturing towards the closed door. ‘Could I see Agnes, Officer? Like I’ve said to Ted, I’d like to hear her side of the story before I make any judgement.’

  Constable John Smith’s face softened. She was a nice young woman was Ellen Mitson. She of all people would be justified in taking satisfaction from Agnes’ present predicament. I
t was common knowledge how Agnes had tried her hardest to make life difficult for the new Mrs Mitson. Yet now, when Agnes needed friends, only Ellen was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. He himself had no liking for the acid-tongued woman, but after hearing her pitiful story, and seeing the genuine distress she was in, he had volunteered to stand guard outside Agnes’ home, knowing the outcry that would ensue when word got around about what had transpired. He had no doubt Agnes had been tricked by a master craftsman, and was as much a victim as the child that had gone missing. Kenneth Stokes, or Wells, as he was now calling himself, had had plenty of practice in duping vulnerable women in his perverted search for fresh young bodies. PC John Smith, like his fellow officers, could only stand by and watch in frustration as men like Stokes got off time and time again. Men like him were clever. They targeted poor families, worming their way into poverty-stricken homes, playing the benevolent gentleman, offering to take one of the children and find them a live-in job. Of course, the hungry, desperate mothers jumped at the chance of having at least one of their children taken care of. Of course there was no job and when Stokes and his kind were finished with their victims they would bring them back, cowed and too terrified to tell their parents what had happened to them.

  Men like Stokes were the scum of the earth, not fit to breathe God’s air. To make sure of their victims’ silence, these so-called gentlemen would always leave a small amount of money to keep the parents quiet. But every now and then, an outraged parent on learning the truth had refused to be intimidated and had gone to the police, but rarely had the case ever come to court. For when it came to the day, with help from local bully boys, paid to instil fear into those brave enough to stand up to them, the parents in question would reluctantly withdraw their complaint. And no amount of police assurances were enough to convince them they would be kept safe until the trial was over. And who could blame them? John Smith thought sorrowfully. For every police officer stationed in the East End, there were ten villains who would cut their own granny’s throat for the price of a pint of beer. In the 20 years Kenneth Stokes had been prowling the East End, he had been jailed only twice, both times sentenced to a poxy three years. But then, men like Stokes had money, and money bought the best solicitors.

  ‘Of course you can see her, love. She needs all the help she can get right now.’ Nodding towards the broken glass he added, ‘As you can see, word’s out already. If I hadn’t turned up, things could have got a lot worse. Anyway, you go on in, love, while I have a word with Ted here.’ He looked at Ted, saw the naked hatred in the dark eyes and shook his head, wondering if there was any point in trying to put Agnes’ version of events to the normally cheerful stallholder. Well! He had nothing better to do, did he? It was worth a try.

  * * *

  Ellen passed through the green door and stepped warily into the small hallway. Swallowing nervously she called out, ‘Agnes. Agnes, it’s me, Ellen. May I come in, Agnes? I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right.’

  Only silence greeted her words, but Ellen remained where she was. Obviously Agnes had heard her. Equally obviously, she was suspicious of Ellen’s arrival. Knowing this, Ellen took another few tentative steps nearer the front room, talking all the while.

  ‘I know you can hear me, Agnes. Agnes! Look, I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but I promise you I haven’t come to cause you any more trouble. I only want to help. I’ve always believed in making my own decisions, so until I hear it from your own lips, I’m not going to take any notice of the talk that’s all around the streets.’

  Still there was no answer. Then into the eerie silence came the sound of quiet sobbing, a sound that wrenched at Ellen’s soft heart.

  Her mouth dry, Ellen entered the front room, and there, curled up in a shabby armchair, was Agnes, her thin body wracked with heart-breaking sobs.

  At the sight of her old adversary’s distress, Ellen let out a low moan of pity. ‘Oh, Agnes.’ Dropping her bag on the dining table, Ellen knelt down by the armchair and laid a hand on the shuddering form. ‘Look, shall I make some tea? I know it’s an old cliche in circumstances like these, but it’ll give me something to do while you try to compose yourself.’

  Still there was no response from Agnes. It was only when Ellen put her hand on the thin arm that the body in the armchair suddenly came to life. With a frightening change in demeanour Agnes sat bolt upright, slapping Ellen’s hand away viciously. ‘I’ve already been taken for a mug, but I ain’t a complete idiot.’

  Her plain face ravaged by hours of crying, Agnes glared at the pretty young face staring back at her. And saw only pity and compassion mirrored in the clear blue eyes. Yet still she remained wary, and with good cause. With their past history why should Ellen Mitson worry about what happened to her?

  Swallowing loudly, Agnes swivelled around in the chair, her gaze focused on the floor. ‘I know why yer’ve come. Couldn’t resist the opportunity ter gloat, could yer? Well, now’s yer chance. So go ahead an’ get it over with, then yer can piss off back ter where yer came from.’

  Drawing herself up from her crouching position Ellen said quietly, ‘I’ll put the kettle on, it’ll give me something to do while you think about what you’ve just said. And while you’re thinking, ask yourself if you really believe I’m the sort of person you’ve just described. If you decide I am, then I’ll go and not trouble you again. But you and me know each other well, Agnes, and that’s why I’m here. I don’t believe for one moment you would deliberately conspire to hand an innocent child over to a pervert. All I ask is that you give me the same courtesy of the benefit of the doubt as to why I’m here. I’ll be back in five minutes for your answer.’

  Out in the scullery Ellen made herself busy, and when she returned carrying a tea tray Agnes was sitting upright, her red-rimmed eyes holding a tentative spark of hope.

  Her voice quivering she asked, ‘You really mean it? You really wanna ’elp me, hear my side of the story?’

  Pouring out the tea Ellen smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here, Agnes.’

  At Ellen’s words Agnes’ body slumped with relief. Now she had two allies – and that was two more than she had dared hope for. Maybe with John Smith and Ellen backing her up, there might still be a future for her in the East End.

  As Agnes talked, Ellen listened and as the whole sordid tale unravelled she realised that her own problems seemed insignificant in comparison. Pushing all other thoughts from her mind, Ellen gave her undivided attention to Agnes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Put ’er outta yer mind, son. Yer only setting yerself up for a load of grief if yer carry on ’oping she’ll leave ’er ’usband for you. It just ain’t done, mate… Well, not very often. And even then, yer’ve gotta ’ave a bleeding good reason fer wanting to get shot of an ’usband or wife. Yer can’t just get a divorce ’cos yer fed up with yer spouse. Gawd ’elp us, if it was that easy, there wouldn’t be very many married couples still together.’ Nora Parker shot a quick look at her son, her heart missing a painful beat at the look of misery etched on his face.

  Moving away from her only child Nora began setting out plates and cutlery for the fish and chip supper Ted had picked up on his way home, her thoughts racing in despair. Her Ted was a good-looking man, with a quick wit and overpowering personality and charm that had had the girls running after him since he was in short trousers. He could have had the pick of any woman, but who does he go and fall for? A bleeding married woman, that’s who. Bustling around the small scullery Nora looked through to the sitting room where Ellen was sitting on the sofa, the pitiful figure of Micky Masters snuggled close to her side. So wrapped up in her thoughts was she, that Nora jumped when Ted’s answer came.

  ‘I’m a grown man, an’ I’ll make me own mistakes, just like I’ve always done, and not be frightened to face the consequences. Now, let’s get this grub eaten before it gets cold. There’ll be plenty of time to say your piece, ’cos you ain’t gonna let it drop, no matter what I say. But no
t now, eh, Mum? Right now looking after Micky and finding his sister is more important than my love life, or lack of it!’

  He grinned at Nora, and that lop-sided smile made even her, his own mother, want to reach out and grab hold of him. And in that respect she was lucky. As his mother, she could hold him any time she chose. With a wry smile she said affectionately, ‘Give over. You’ll never go short of female company, an’ yer know it.’

  Ted gazed down at her fondly, then winked. ‘What can I say, Mum? I can’t help being irresistible to women, now can I?’

  But behind the jocular manner, Nora knew that there was only one woman he was interested in. And her looking barely older than the child she was comforting. A sharp slap on her backside propelled Nora forward, the impact almost upsetting the tray carrying their supper. Entering the living room she glanced up at her son and said waspishly, ‘You’ll smack my ars— backside once too often, me lad. You’re not too old ter get a good clout if I put me mind to it; just you remember that, mate.’