by Katie Flynn
He was whispering this information into Nutty’s ear, suggesting that they move away from ground which had already been virtually stripped, when they reached a tall holly tree whose upper branches were still heavy with berries. The reason for this peculiarity was soon clear, however: the briefest of examinations showed that the huge tree was quite unclimbable even for Jimmy, who was the best climber of all the lads. Fortunately, a large lime tree whose upper branches were within a few feet of the holly’s presented few problems for an agile twelve-year-old, and within minutes Jimmy had ascended, reached across, grabbed the biggest – and best – branch of well-berried holly and cut it off from the main trunk, and was descending the lime tree once more. Glancing down, he saw in the tricky moonlight that whilst he had been climbing Nutty and the other lads had moved on. He looked about him, hoping Nutty had left the canvas bag in which Jimmy had meant to carry his trophy, but as his feet touched the ground he realised that Nutty must have taken it with him.
As Jimmy stood wondering which way his pals had gone, the moon went behind a cloud just as a hand descended on the back of his neck. He chuckled. It was one of the others, of course, jealous of his success, and thinking to show him he wasn’t the only one who could get good-sized branches. ‘Stow it, Freddy,’ he began, then stopped as a voice he knew all too well spoke in his ear.
‘Got you, you bloody little bag o’ filth!’ the voice grated. ‘By Gor, I’ll learn you an’ your sister to keep your thievin’ paws off other people’s property. You took my stash while I were asleep, and I’ll be bound it were one o’ you what made me fall down the stairs as well, though I still doesn’t know how you did it!’ Here Cyril shook Jimmy as vehemently as a dog shakes a rabbit. ‘Where’d you put it? Don’t you think you can keep shtum, because if you won’t tell I’ll beat the truth out of you. I’ll thrash you till there’s not a strip of skin left unmarked on your measly little pelt.’
Jimmy muttered that he did not know what his captor was talking about, whereupon Cyril jerked cruelly at the handful of hair on the nape of his neck.
‘Ho, you thought you could keep out of my way if you stayed away from Solly Court, but that’s where you was bleedin’ well wrong. I remembered you was pally with that bleedin’ Nuttall boy, and when I saw him headin’ towards the park I remembered as how you kids used to cut holly and sell it on Christmas Eve. Well, you’ve cut all the holly you’re going to get—’ At this point Jimmy tore himself free from the older man’s grasp and swung the big holly branch right across Cyril’s face. Cyril give a shriek and let go of his captive for a moment to try to detach the prickly leaves from his skin.
‘You little swine, you’ve bleedin’ well blinded me,’ he howled, causing himself more pain as he tore the holly free. ‘Oh, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill the pair of you for this!’ He let go of the branch and made an ineffectual grab for the boy just as the moon re-emerged from the cloud, and Jimmy saw that his face looked as though a cat had scratched it. He backed off, and then, as Cyril lurched towards him, set off across the park at a fast run. Looking over his shoulder as he burst into the road, he saw that though Cyril was some way behind he was still in hot pursuit. It would not do, therefore, to go to the house where Mo waited, and for obvious reasons he could not go to Solomon Court. There were a hundred little streets and jiggers where he might hide for a while, but he would have to think carefully before he decided which one to honour with his presence. Cyril might have friends who would be happy to join the chase, but on the good side he had to keep stopping to mop at the blood running down his face, so Jimmy did not think he was in immediate danger of being recaptured.
When Cyril got out into the main street, however, he began to shout ‘Stop, thief’, and though most people laughed and assumed that the man was referring to the holly the younger boy carried, one or two might have got in his way just for the hell of it, and this, Jimmy realised, could prove fatal for his chance of escape. As soon as he could he shot into a narrow side street, made sure he was out of Cyril’s sight, and dived down the ‘tunnel’ between a row of terraced houses. He ran along the jigger for a short way, vaulted a low and crumbling wall, ran across the yard behind it and knocked urgently on the nearest back door.
For several moments there was no reply, no sign that there was anyone in the house, but even as he heard sounds of pursuit coming along the side street the back door shot open and a woman’s voice said loudly: ‘If I’ve told you once that I don’t want any holly, or mistletoe, or a great swag of ivy, let alone your version of “Good King Wenceslas looked out”, I’ve told you a hundred times. So go away, please, and let me watch my soup, because if it boils over on to the Primus stove I’ll have a fine mess to clear up.’
Jimmy took a deep breath and tried to still the hammering of his heart long enough to plead that the woman would let him hide, but even as he did so she opened the door rather wider and pulled him inside just as Cyril, augmented by another couple of men, probably seamen off his ship, swerved round the corner and stopped short by the back gate which led from the jigger to the woman’s house.
There was a muttered conversation between the men and then they moved on. Jimmy could hear their booted footsteps getting fainter and fainter as they traversed the narrow little jigger. When silence had returned once more, the woman spoke.
‘I expect you could do with a cup of hot soup, though why I should give you anything when it’s pretty clear you’ve stolen someone’s holly I really can’t understand – though why in God’s name they should pursue you just for that I don’t understand either. I’ve not been here for very long but wherever I’ve lived kids have cut holly and sold it on Christmas Eve.’ She chuckled. ‘From the sound of it, you must have chosen quite the wrong place to cut yours.’ She eyed the enormous branch which Jimmy was still holding, and tutted. ‘You foolish boy, why on earth didn’t you drop it? I suppose you could have thrown it in front of them if they got too close. Though it is a very fine specimen, I admit. If you cut all the twigs off and tie them into bundles you’d probably make more money than trying to sell the whole branch.’ She looked keenly into Jimmy’s face. ‘Or wasn’t that the reason for the kerfuffle? I must say . . .’ and here she looked Jimmy over with a very shrewd eye, ‘it doesn’t seem likely. I suppose I ought to turn you out and let justice take its course, but I’d rather hear your story first.’
They had been standing in the narrow corridor which went from back to front of the terraced house, but now the woman gave a squeak and broke into a trot. ‘Follow me,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘My soup! Oh, lor’, if it boils over I’ll be in the soup.’ She gave what seemed to Jimmy a most uncharacteristic giggle. ‘My story isn’t as exciting as yours – if your story is exciting, that is – but I’m sure it’s every bit as peculiar. My landlady, having been invited this morning to go away for Christmas, locked the kitchen door to prevent my using her precious “amenities”, as she calls them, and left me two buckets of water which she said should last me until she returns. I suppose I could go next door if I need more than she’s left me, but it has rather complicated my life . . .’
As she uttered the last words she pushed open her door and with a cry snatched a small saucepan off the Primus stove which was standing in the hearth, then fanned her face in mock relief, for despite her fears the soup had only just begun to come to the boil. ‘Pass me a couple of mugs, and then sit down,’ she ordered him. You’re a wretched nuisance, but since I saved you from those men I suppose we might as well share the soup while you tell me what it’s all about.’
Jimmy opened his mouth to begin, realising suddenly how very hungry he was and how very good the soup smelled, but even as she handed him a mug an awful thought struck him. ‘Oh, miss, you saved me bacon right enough, but I’m in awful trouble and I don’t know as anyone can help me. You’re right about one thing: I were out scrumpin’ holly. I left me little sister with – with a sort of military person from the Salvation Army, someone she didn’t mind staying with whilst
I cut the holly. She’s in their spare room, but oh, miss, I never saw the house or heard what number it was. In fact I can’t even remember the name of the road. And if I don’t join her by ten o’clock she’ll be that worried she might do somethin’ silly. She’s only six, and the man that were chasin’ me is after her as well.’ He jumped to his feet and the soup swirled dangerously in the mug. ‘I’ve gorra go, gorra find her. Where is we now?’
The woman shook her finger reprovingly and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Calm down and drink your soup,’ she said. ‘It’s already half past ten, so she’s probably asleep, and I’m sure your pursuer will soon get tired of whatever game he’s playing. If I’m to help you, you must tell me your story right from the beginning. I was going to offer you a bed for the night; in fact I can offer both you and your sister a bed until after the holiday, because the house is empty apart from myself. Mrs Stockyard – she’s my landlady – only has three lodgers, and she didn’t want any of us to stay over Christmas, only I had nowhere else to go, which is why she locked the kitchen door.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s made my life more difficult, which I imagine was her intention, but I’ll manage.’ She raised her eyebrows at her unexpected guest. ‘And now tell me why that uncouth creature was chasing you. I’m sure if you stop worrying you’ll remember the address of the people who have taken your sister in.’
‘How did you know he were uncouth?’ Jimmy said suspiciously. ‘You can’t have heard more than muttering.’
His new friend smiled. ‘Didn’t you wonder why I opened the back door so suddenly? My front window is a poor fit and I heard them outside, arguing about whether you’d gone down the side passage into the jigger. The language they used was pretty choice, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Jimmy said. He took a sip of his soup, then a large swallow. ‘I say, this is delicious. It’s days – no, more like weeks – since I had a proper hot meal; Mrs Huxtable is no cook. But she occasionally buys a shop pie and we might just get a smidgen of that.’ He looked at the woman now sitting opposite him. ‘What I’m goin’ to tell you will sound pretty far-fetched, and the worst of it is we don’t know ourselves what’s at the bottom of it. So I’d better start right at the beginning when old Ma Huxtable sent me to the wash house with a pile of tablecloths and that, and give our Mo a big sack of sprouts to clean so she could sell ’em to the neighbours for their Christmas dinner . . .’
When he had finished he looked hopefully at his companion. It was such an unlikely story; could she possibly make sense of it? But it seemed that she could, for she was nodding slowly. Jimmy saw no need to explain about Mo’s activity with the bootlaces. After all, Cyril had fallen down the stairs many times before, and never suffered any lasting ill effects. ‘What I can’t make out, though, is what Cyril thinks we’ve stolen. Mo says he had a glittery necklace; I can’t think where he would have got such a thing, but maybe that’s what he thinks we took. Or maybe it was the Christmas presents – we just don’t know.’
‘Yes, I do see,’ the woman said thoughtfully. ‘But you haven’t got to find whatever it is he thinks you stole, just prove you weren’t the ones who took it.’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘All Mo took were the things in the parcel, but they was meant for her and me anyhow – a teddy bear for Mo and a harmonica for me. But Cyril’s the sort of feller what only has one idea in his mind at a time. Also, he’s what you might call a man of violence. He’d enjoy beating me and Mo to a pulp whether or not he believed we’d took his property. He’s a wicked man, Miss – Miss . . .’
‘Yes, it’s about time we learned each other’s names,’ the woman said. She was tall and straight with pale blonde hair, rather like his mother’s, done up in a fancy braid at the back of her head. She was neatly but not gaudily dressed, in a grey pleated skirt, a white blouse and a navy blue cardigan, with sensible lace-up shoes on her feet and the sort of stockings which Jimmy knew from his times on Harry’s stall to be called lisle. The woman smiled as his eyes took in every detail of her appearance. ‘My name’s Miss Trent; Glenys Trent, to be exact. And you are . . .?’
Jimmy glanced at the mirror above the kitchen table and saw a skinny urchin in ragged trousers and shirt beneath a brown corduroy jacket much too big for him. He noticed that he must have lost his cap at some stage and felt guilty because Mr Theaker had loaned it to him. But perhaps next day he might scout around, see if he could find it. His straight dark hair was in need of a cut, his pale face was smeared with dirt from his tree-climbing activities, and there was a worry line between his dark brows, which was a result of his having virtually lost his little sister. If she stayed where she was and simply waited he was sure she would be safe, for the major and his family would see she came to no harm, but he knew Mo. The moment ten o’clock struck, she would have started to worry, and he, her protector, could do nothing to reassure her of his safety until he could remember the address of the house to which she had gone so happily. He realised with a stab of horror that he could not remember the major’s name either; what on earth was he to do? But Miss Trent was looking at him enquiringly and Jimmy’s mind, which had been wandering the moonlit streets, came back to the house in which he was now sitting. ‘Sorry, Miss Trent. I’m Jimmy Trewin, and my sister’s Maureen, only everyone calls her Mo. She’s a darling. When you meet her you’ll scarce believe we’re brother and sister ’cos she’s that pretty.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a teacher, aren’t you?’
Miss Trent had been sipping her soup whilst frowning over the problem of what Jimmy should do, but at his words her eyebrows shot up. ‘What? As it happens you are correct; was it just a lucky guess or do I have “teacher” tattooed on my forehead?’
Jimmy laughed with her, then shook his head and pointed to her small bookshelves. ‘It’s your spectacles and the way you do your hair, all pulled back off your face,’ he explained. ‘And the books. You’ve got Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Bleak House, David Copperfield and lots more whose titles I don’t recognise, but a friend of our mam was a teacher and her bookshelves were full of stuff like that.’
Miss Trent stood up, patting Jimmy’s shoulder and offering more soup. ‘You’re a clever lad,’ she said approvingly. ‘When we’ve finished the soup we’ll go and search for your sister. Where did you part from her, can you remember?’
Jimmy brightened. ‘Quite near where Mr Theaker sets up his stall on Great Homer Street,’ he said. He glanced shyly at Miss Trent. ‘Mr Theaker’s a grand feller. He’s been letting us sleep under his stall, like in a canvas tent, ever so warm and comfy, but of course I couldn’t leave Mo there while I went cutting holly. So Mr Theaker took us to meet this major chap, who said that he’d look after her while I were busy making some money, and that we can both stay with them, just over Christmas like. Cyril’s ship sails before the end of the year, so we’ll have no worries after that. His mam is a beast but we can cope with her.’
‘I see,’ Miss Trent said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I’m sure you’re right. But in the meantime I suppose we might wake Mr Theaker and ask him for this major’s address. After all . . .’
She stopped speaking. Jimmy’s hearing had always been acute and now it was heightened by his fear for his sister. He put a finger to his lips, and even as he did so Miss Trent too heard what had caught Jimmy’s attention. Footsteps! Someone was walking along the pavement, and even as she glanced towards the curtained window there was the squeak of the gate being pushed open and shut and then, before they could do more than exchange terrified glances, the sound of someone’s key in the lock, and a muttered curse when it did not immediately turn. The front door creaked slowly open. ‘Hide!’ Miss Trent hissed to Jimmy, who immediately dived under the bed, whilst she herself walked boldly into the corridor, saying clearly, ‘Who’s that? How dare you come into a private house without even knocking, using what is no doubt a stolen key?’ And without more ado she blocked the man’s way. Then turned her head to speak over her shoulder: ‘Will someone fetch the police?
This man is trespassing.’
Chapter 5
MISS TRENT’S HEART was beating so hard that she thought the intruder must surely hear it, but he made no move to come further into the house; indeed he backed off. It was dark in the passage and the moonlight behind him made it impossible for Miss Trent to see him as anything but a dark shadow – a fairly tall, broad man in a dark coat and cap. But as she moved forward to shut the door in his face he spoke.
‘Don’t call the scuffers, miss,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s me, Frank Bloggs. Oh, Gawd, miss, wharra start you gave me! Mrs Stockyard told me the house would be empty and I’d have to go to relatives till New Year’s Day – she never said no word about you being here. But I’ve no family left in these parts, so now she’s gone I thought mebbe I could manage here on me own.’
Miss Trent pulled the door wide and ushered the young man inside. ‘You can come out, Jimmy,’ she called. ‘This isn’t an intruder, it’s another of Mrs Stockyard’s lodgers.’ She turned back to Mr Bloggs. ‘I’d better introduce you to my young friend, who’s spending the holiday with me.’ She paused a moment before opening the door of her room wide, giving Jimmy a chance to wriggle out from under the bed, which he did with promptitude. ‘Jimmy, this is Mr Bloggs, who works for the railways; he has one of the upstairs rooms. Mr Bloggs, this is Jimmy Trewin.’
‘Nice to meet you Mr Bloggs,’ Jimmy said. The two shook hands, eyeing one another covertly, in the warm light of the paraffin lamp.
Miss Trent smiled to herself. ‘Come in and sit down, Mr Bloggs, and let me put you in the picture,’ she said. ‘It seems that Mrs Stockyard lied in order to keep us out of her house, but here we are and here we’ll stay.’
Jimmy cleared his throat. ‘Don’t forget, miss, that we were just going off to search for my sister,’ he said. He turned to the older man. ‘She’s only six and I just know that because I wasn’t there at ten o’clock she’ll have come out looking for me . . . Oh, I can’t explain . . .’