by Katie Flynn
‘Well I can,’ Miss Trent said quickly, and outlined the story which Jimmy had told her. ‘So you see, we’re going to try to find this major’s house, even if it means rousing Mr Theaker. It’s none of your concern, of course, but if you’d like to stay in my warm room until we return you’re very welcome to do so. I’m sure your room will be icy cold, even though it’s a mild night.’
‘Hang on a minute, Miss Trent,’ the young man said eagerly. ‘When you say the major, are you referrin’ to Major Williams, what runs the Salvation Army in these parts? If you are, I can lead you straight to his house. I’m a Salvationist, you see, so I know him well.’ He grinned at Jimmy. ‘Is your sister a little bit of a thing with very fair hair, all curls? If so, she’s the reason I decided to come back to Orange Street. I were goin’ to stay with Williams and his family, but when they took the little gal in as well as all the others I said I’d come back here.’
He stopped speaking as Jimmy began to struggle into his borrowed coat. ‘She’ll be safe with the major, lad . . .’ he was beginning when Miss Trent interrupted.
‘I think we’d better all go,’ she said decisively, ‘because from what I’ve heard she may have already fled from the major’s protection.’ She smiled at Jimmy. ‘I gather your sister is a very spirited young lady, and if she has gone off to try to find you, Jimmy, we’ll need as many searchers as we can get. Big cities are dangerous places at night, and we know there is a man out there who would do her a mischief if he could.’ As she spoke she was taking her coat down from its hook, kicking off her slippers and sliding her feet into boots. Then it was the work of a moment to turn off the Primus stove, douse the lamp and go out into the brilliant moonlight.
Mr Bloggs pointed to a narrow street almost opposite where they stood. ‘It might be safer to stay on the main roads, but I imagine the little gal would avoid bright lights,’ he said in a low tone. He turned to Miss Trent. ‘From what you told me, this here Huxtable feller isn’t likely to creep around quietly, so we must make as little noise as possible and listen out for sounds of cursing and brawling.’
Jimmy began to remind the man that Cyril had been very quiet indeed when he had nabbed him in Princes Park, but though he nodded Mr Bloggs was quick to point out that some time had passed since that encounter.
‘If I know his type he’ll have had a few pints by this time, and he’ll soon begin to shout and boast and make himself unpleasant,’ he said. ‘So take my advice, Jimmy, and we’ll none of us talk unless we have something important to say. Right then, let’s go.’
‘And I always thought you were too timid to say boo to a goose,’ Miss Trent marvelled. ‘You are obviously going to be the leader in this expedition, so lay on, Macduff!’
Mo had thoroughly enjoyed her evening, greeting Roseanne as an old friend and taking part in a game of blind man’s buff which the older girl had organised. At nine o’clock, however, the visiting children – and Mo – were invited into the kitchen for cocoa and biscuits, after which the visitors departed and Mo was put into a little truckle bed which pulled out from beneath Roseanne’s.
She lay in bed reliving her evening with great enjoyment; what a lot she would have to tell Jimmy when he joined her, no doubt with his canvas bag bristling with holly. She did not often have money of her own but she had been saving the ha’pennies the old ladies of the Court handed out to anyone who would carry bags or fill buckets for them and had amassed what was to her a small fortune. She had counted it the day before Cyril’s return and intended to spend it all on a stick of nougat, a quarter of a pound of striped humbugs and a bag of shelled peanuts, because these were all Jimmy’s favourites. But now she thought she really ought to get a small gift for Roseanne, because the other girl had been so kind. She knew it was possible to buy two mince pies in a little fancy box, though she had no idea what these delicious creations cost.
She snuggled her head into her pillow, deciding to go out with Roseanne or Jimmy next morning to do her Christmas shopping, and even as the thought entered her head she heard the clock strike ten. Immediately she sat bolt upright; Jimmy would be back, telling the major and his family all about his expedition. She listened hard but could not pick out Jimmy’s tones amongst the voices below. Oh, well, she knew he would come up just as soon as he was free to do so, although it had been a long and exciting day and perhaps, when he did appear, he would have so much to tell her that he might prefer to save his news until morning.
She snuggled down again, knowing she would not sleep until she was certain he was safely back, and when the door creaked open she shot up in her little bed, sure that this was Jimmy at last. But the voice which spoke was not Jimmy’s.
‘Hello, are you still awake?’ Roseanne said. ‘It’s after ten o’clock; you should have been asleep ages ago. Are you finding it difficult to drop off because you’re sleeping in a strange bed? Is there anything you want? A glass of water, or maybe a visit to the privy? It’s a mild night, but even so you must put on that dressing gown we lent you before you venture out. And my old slippers – they’ll be far too big for you, but you can shuffle along, can’t you?’
‘I could,’ Mo said briefly, before broaching the subject uppermost in her mind. ‘Has Jimmy come back yet? There are lots of people talking downstairs, but I don’t think I can hear his voice, and he promised to be back by ten o’clock.’
Roseanne had come upstairs holding a candle, and by its flickering light Mo thought that her friend looked a trifle uncertain. ‘Well, there are a lot of people downstairs and one of them might be Jimmy,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ve never seen your brother. What does he look like?’
Mo gave this serious consideration, sitting up in bed and twisting one of her yellow curls around her finger. ‘Well, he’s not a bit like me, because he’s dark with straight hair and very straight eyebrows which make him look cross, although he isn’t, of course. Jimmy says I take after our mam and he takes after our dad, that’s why we’re so different. He wasn’t wearing his own coat because we were in disguise like, so’s Cyril wouldn’t reckernise us. He’ll still be wearing the brown corduroy coat and cap Mr Theaker lent him, I guess.’
Roseanne looked doubtful. ‘He’s only eleven or twelve, isn’t he? Well, there are one or two boys downstairs, but none of them are wearing corduroy, as far as I can recall. Do you want me to go down again and ask? Only I’m sure he must have come in by now; why, it’s nearly half past ten. Has he gone cutting holly? Most of the lads do that so they can sell it round the markets on Christmas Eve. It’s stealing really, of course, only nobody minds. I’ve heard my dad saying it’s like country kids scrumping apples; so long as they don’t take too many, not even the farmers object.’
‘No, it’s all right, you needn’t go down again. I’m sure he’s here,’ Mo said slowly. A plan was forming in her mind, but she did not mean Roseanne to put two and two together. Instead, she snuggled down the bed again, and watched as Roseanne jumped between her own sheets and turned to her.
‘Your brother has probably gone straight to bed with the other boys, so just you stop fretting and go to sleep. And no sneaking around the house trying to find him, because tonight the place is as full as it can hold, and we can’t have young ladies tripping over boys in sleeping bags and maybe rousing the whole house. Promise?’
‘Course I do, Roseanne,’ Mo said, fingers crossed firmly behind her back. She gave an enormous yawn and patted her mouth. ‘Gosh, I’m sooo tired. Goodnight.’
Very soon after this conversation the house went quiet. Roseanne’s breathing slowed and steadied. Mo waited until she heard the major and his wife coming upstairs and shutting the door into their bedroom, then climbed out of bed and dressed hastily in the clothes Mr Theaker had lent her. She tied the headscarf under her chin, buttoned the long cardigan and put on the borrowed boots. They were too big but they were a great deal more comfortable than her battered and holey plimsolls; a good deal warmer, too. She kept a careful eye on Roseanne, but the older girl did not
stir, and presently Mo let herself out of the bedroom and crept down the stairs. She had decided that if anyone queried her presence she would say she had to visit the privy, or perhaps that she was thirsty and needed a glass of water. However, though she had to be very careful in the kitchen because there were humped figures of boys and girls, blanket-wrapped, all over the quarry tiles, it was the work of a moment to slip into the back yard and close the kitchen door behind her. She glanced at the privy as she passed it, a lie already on her tongue should anyone emerge, but no one did. The jigger was in deep shadow on one side and bright moonlight on the other, but Mo did not care. She had known as soon as she entered the kitchen that Jimmy was not there, and now she was determined to find him. When she emerged on to the main road she stopped for a moment, trying to make up her mind which way to go. She knew of course that Jimmy had gone to Princes Park, but she also knew that he was a boy who always kept his promises, and he had promised to be at the major’s house by ten o’clock. Now it was nearer eleven than ten, and Mo knew that only two things could have stopped him. Either the scuffers had decided to wage war on the little sinners who stripped the holly from the hedges and bushes in Princes Park, or Cyril Huxtable had realised where he would probably find one or both of the Trewins and had pounced on Jimmy just when her brother thought himself safe. Then she remembered that there might be a third reason for Jimmy’s non-appearance: he might not have fully understood that he too was to come to the major’s house to sleep in safety for a few nights. If so, she supposed he might easily have crawled into the canvas shelter under Mr Theaker’s stall, knowing her to be safe and not realising that he, too, could have had a proper bed. This made up her mind in which direction to turn; she would go to Great Homer Street first. Silent as a little shadow, she began to steal quietly along the pavement towards her destination.
Fifteen minutes later she left Harry Theaker’s stall, disappointment causing the tears to well up in her eyes. In her heart she had almost convinced herself that Jimmy would be here, and now there were but the two alternatives. She hated to think of Jimmy in a police cell, but after a little thought realised that this was unlikely. The scuffers were there to bring law and order to the streets. They would scarcely throw anyone into prison for snapping off a few twigs of holly, let alone a boy of twelve. And that left what she most dreaded: that Cyril Huxtable had caught Jimmy and dragged him off to No. 4 Solomon Court, where he would try to beat the truth out of his victim, though of course since Jimmy did not know what they were supposed to have done it stood to reason that he couldn’t admit or deny anything either.
Mo took a deep breath and knuckled her eyes, then blew her nose on her sleeve and turned in the direction of Solomon Court. She knew she might be heading for the lion’s den, but she did not intend to abandon her brother. She would go to the Court, and if he was not there she would try the docks, the pubs, anywhere at all where Cyril Huxtable might be found, and when she found him she would go to the scuffers and do her very best to convince them of his wickedness – unless of course she could find some means to rescue Jimmy herself.
Resolutely, Mo set off.
Mo walked fast, but as she got nearer to Solomon Court her pace slowed. How could she find out whether Jimmy was incarcerated without searching No. 4 room by room? And that would simply be asking for trouble. She stopped just short of the entrance to the Court, where there was a bollard on the pavement to prevent heavy lorries from entering. She had perched upon it often, for it was ‘home’ when the kids were playing relievio, and now she automatically mounted it and sat there wishing fervently that Jimmy would suddenly appear and make her worries unnecessary. But this was wishful thinking; what she needed to do at this stage was try to put herself into Cyril’s shoes. Presuming he had caught Jimmy, she was pretty sure he would bring his captive back here and threaten him with the beating of his life if he didn’t immediately admit to whatever it was he thought they had done. He must have put some sort of gag into poor Jimmy’s mouth to stop him yelling, Mo told herself. There was nothing else for it: her first move would simply have to be as much of an exploration of No. 4 as she could manage.
She was halfway across the Court when she remembered something else. She was as much at risk from Cyril and his mother as Jimmy was. If Cyril hadn’t managed to capture Jimmy he would be very pleased to capture her. So going close to the house, showing herself in the patchy moonlight, was just what the Huxtables wanted. If only there was some way of finding out whether they were at home. Mo chewed her lip. She could shout ‘Fire! Fire!’ but of course she would have to get close enough to set something alight or they would simply assume the cry concerned some other house and, being as selfish as they were horrible, simply go back to bed.
And suppose Cyril had realised the perils of bringing Jimmy back to No. 4? There were other places – Princes Park itself – where Cyril could work his wicked will on her brother. Perhaps I ought to have started in Princes Park, Mo thought despairingly. But I’m here now, so I’ll go round by the jigger and see what I can see.
Keeping to the shadows, Mo approached the house from the back. She was silent as a little mouse, but as soon as she looked over the gate she saw that the privy was occupied. Mrs Huxtable, wrapped in a blanket and with a cushion behind her head, was sitting there with the door wide open, clearly on watch, except that both her eyes were closed and a rich and grumbling snore was issuing from her mean little mouth.
An enormous weight was lifted from Mo’s mind and her lips curved into a delighted smile. If Mrs Huxtable was keeping watch over the back door, then it was almost certain that Cyril would be sitting in the bow window watching the front of the house. Well, that must mean that whatever the cause for Jimmy’s non-appearance at the major’s house it was not because he had been captured. She retraced her steps and crept, bent double, along the front of the house, keeping well below the level of the sill, and listening hard. At first she could hear nothing, but then a deep irritated sigh came to her ears. A match flared and the red tip of a cigarette glowed, and she heard the creak of Mrs Huxtable’s rocking chair as Cyril shifted and sighed with frustration.
Now, elation made her careless. Jimmy was not here, and since Cyril was, it seemed most of her dread had been unnecessary. All that remained now was to go back to the major’s house in the quiet little street off Everton Road and await her brother’s arrival; why, he might already be there, and if he had gone up to the room she shared with Roseanne and found her missing . . . goodness, far from rescuing him she might have plunged him into real danger! Forgetting caution, Mo straightened up and fairly tore across the cobbles, hearing behind her a roar which warned her that Cyril had seen her and was already limbering up for pursuit.
Mo chuckled to herself. She had always been a very fast runner, and provided nobody got in her way she thought herself a match for Cyril. He was big and strong, but he was also overweight and consequently clumsy. She was sure she could lose him as soon as she left the main road for the tortuous and twisty little streets which were such a feature of the city.
She whipped on to the main road and heard a crash behind her. Risking a quick glance over her shoulder she saw Cyril sprawling on the pavement, and chuckled to herself as she heard him curse. Determined to take advantage of his fall she turned into the first little street she came to, certain that she could outrun him, but even as she swerved to avoid a cat which darted out of somebody’s porch she was seized and held in an iron grip whilst a voice in her ear said: ‘Got you! And don’t you call out.’
The voice was one she had never heard before and she realised with dismay that Cyril must have whistled up some of his fellow seamen to help in his pursuit of Jimmy and herself. As for calling out, what chance did she have? Her captor had clapped a large hand over her mouth and held her against his body, making escape or shouting impossible. But just as she was contemplating sinking her teeth into the muffling hand, the voice whispered: ‘Hush! I’m Jimmy’s pal . . . I’ll explain presently,’ and she
saw Cyril lumbering into view, his big head swinging from side to side as he sought a glimpse of her. She heard a low chuckle in her ear and then an authoritative voice on the main road said briskly: ‘What’s your hurry, sir? No, don’t try to get away. When any member of the force asks a question, it’s because they want an answer.’
Cyril muttered something, and her captor slackened his grip on Mo so that she could see the little scene being enacted at the top of the street. A large policeman had hold of Cyril by one brawny wrist, and when he began to shout, to say that he was in pursuit of a thief and must be allowed to continue on his way, the policeman gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Oh yes? And just what has been stolen? If you’ll come along wi’ me, we’ll take a nice little stroll down to the station and you shall turn out your pockets and explain what you were doing running down the street at this time in the morning. I should say you were disturbing the peace, which can earn you a night in the cells.’
Mo watched with awe as Cyril tried to jerk himself free, whereupon the policeman put his whistle to his lips and blew a resounding blast. Cyril screamed a curse, freed himself and set off at a run, with the policeman in hot pursuit.
When they had gone the young man who had grabbed Mo released her, and Jimmy emerged from the shadows, grinning. Mo opened her mouth to demand an explanation but Jimmy shook his head. ‘No talking until we’re back in Miss Trent’s room,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We don’t want to disturb the peace.’ He smiled at his sister. ‘I think we’re safe from Cyril for a while at least.’
Mo took two steps towards Jimmy and collapsed into his arms. She fought to stop herself crying but two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Jimmy, you’re safe,’ she murmured into his corduroy jacket. ‘But who’s this feller, and who’s Miss Trent? And why can’t we go back to Major Williams’s house?’