Hold On to Hope

by Jean Fullerton

  He stopped in front of him and jabbed his fist within a hair’s breadth of Freddie’s cheek. Freddie dodged and punched back, missing Stefan’s stubbly chin by the same margin. Stefan grinned and they air-sparred for a few moments as men nearby gave them anxious looks and moved away.

  Stefan slapped Freddie on the back. ‘Welcome home, you old bugger.’

  ‘Mary!’ Ollie bellowed as Freddie took the seat opposite him. ‘Get me a bottle of my special to welcome back my long-lost friend.’

  Freddie took the seat opposite Ollie. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Mac.’

  Ollie waved Freddie’s words aside and offered him a cigar from a leather holder. ‘So, when did they let you back?’

  ‘A couple of days ago,’ Freddie replied.

  ‘Where you been then?’

  ‘Down on the coast; Portsmouth, to be exact. I got pally with a geezer in Millbank and promised to visit his missus when I got out. See how she was getting on, you know.’

  Ollie nudged him and winked. ‘And how was she getting on?’

  Freddie grinned. ‘A lot better after she hooked up with me. I got meself in with a little gang lifting stuff off the ship while she’s working for the rent with the sailors on the dockside. I had a nice little racket going until she got herself in the family way. She tried to keep it hid but I caught her honking up one morning. Naturally I took her down to the local old woman to sort her out but she was too far gone and it twisted her insides or summink. Anyhow, that was the end of her. I hung about for a couple of months but then the fucking navy press gang started nosing about so I thought I’d come back to the Smoke.’

  ‘You been down to see your bit of Irish skirt?’ Ollie asked.

  ‘I did and got a right earful.’

  ‘She weren’t happy to see you then?’

  ‘No, she fucking wasn’t. You should have seen her face when I walked in. If looks could kill, I’d be in my grave now. But I had the last laugh.’ He smiled slyly. ‘She’s done all right for herself while I’ve been gone. Her poxy Mick brother’s set her up in a chop house down the Highway so I took a couple of shillings from the till while I was there.’

  Ollie laughed. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nuffink she could say. I’m her husband and what’s hers is mine, ain’t it?’ He grinned. ‘Of course, it didn’t stop her looking at me like I was a lump of shit, but she’d better get used to it.’

  ‘Listen up, lads,’ Ollie said. ‘If you want to keep your old lady in order you could do a lot worse than a lesson or two from this old fucker.’ He punched Freddie lightly on his shoulder.

  The men around him laughed. The barmaid arrived and set a fresh bottle of brandy and another glass on the table.

  Ollie caught her around the waist and pulled her to him. ‘See this chap here, Mary,’ he said, pointing at Freddie with the damp end of his cigar. ‘He’s a hero. A bloody hero. So you treat him right.’

  Mary gave Freddie a groin-tightening look. ‘I’d like to, Mr Mac.’

  Freddie gave her the smile that had got him in to and out of trouble more times than he could mention. She swept her eyes over him again then swayed back to the bar.

  Ollie thumped the table again, sending the glasses jingling. ‘I see you ain’t lost your touch, or your style.’ He flicked the lapels of Freddie’s new jacket.

  Freddie flicked an imaginary speck of dust off the sleeve. ‘It’s a start.’

  Ollie filled their glasses. ‘Pity you only got buttons at your wrists and not a couple of sparklers.’ He flashed his gold cufflinks. ‘But we’ll soon sort that out now you’re back.’

  ‘I was hoping to hear you say that, Mr Mac.’

  ‘I’ve got a quick job tomorrow night if you’re in. Just an in-and-out and you’ll be a guinea the richer by dawn. You in?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  ‘Good. Meet Stefan at the back just before midnight and,’ Ollie tapped the side of his nose, ‘he’ll see you right. Have another.’ He refilled their glasses and leant forward. ‘’Ow’s your little lad? I bet he’s a right chip off the old block.’

  Freddie grinned. ‘He bloody is. He looks just like me when I was his age. Of course, she mollycoddles him but now I’m back I can keep an eye on him.’

  Ollie’s hard-bitten face took on a tender expression. ‘My old woman’s in the family way,’ he said.

  Freddie couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘I thought you said you weren’t married.’

  ‘I’m not, but I wouldn’t remind Lilly of that because she knocked the last idiot who did into the middle of next week.’ Ollie drained the last of the brandy into their glasses then waved the empty bottle at Mary.

  Something flickered in the corner of Freddie’s eye and he looked around. Leaning against the bar talking to a costermonger stood a young woman in a green gown with a matching velvet jacket. The cuffs and elbows showed wear and there were mud stains around the hem but she looked like a queen standing among the workmen in their drab-coloured clothes. Her red hair was whirled up in a high knot.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Freddie asked, running his eyes slowly over the woman.

  ‘Red Aggie. She pitched up about a month ago,’ Ollie replied. ‘She rents one of Moody’s rooms during the day and lodges with Welsh Meg in Thawl Street the rest of the time.’

  ‘Is she one of yours?’

  Ollie took a sip of his drink. ‘I look after her interests.’

  Aggie let out a throaty laugh and looked their way. Ollie raised his glass to her and she laughed again.

  Freddie’s groin tightened. ‘Are you and her . . .’

  Ollie shook his head. ‘My Lilly would rip her face and my balls off if I was but I can’t say the thought ain’t crossed my mind.’

  Several thoughts crossed Freddie’s mind. Usually he didn’t have any truck with the local trollops. He didn’t need to when there were lonely wives in every street. But Aggie seemed something different.

  ‘Where’s she from?’ Freddie asked.

  Ollie nudged him and grinned. ‘Why don’t you go and ask her?’

  Aggie caught his eye. Freddie stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Mac. I believe I will.’

  ‘Good evening, miss.’

  Aggie turned and found herself looking at the man she’d seen sitting with Ollie.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he said.

  ‘A brandy, if you can afford it.’

  He pulled a shilling from his pocket, holding it aloft to attract the barmaid’s attention, and Aggie studied him more closely.

  Although his suit was nowhere near the quality of Ollie’s, it sat well on him. He had strong, clean-cut features and, in contrast to the working men around her, was clean-shaven, which also set him a notch above.

  The barmaid came over.

  ‘A brandy for the young lady, if you please,’ he said and then turned back to her. ‘I’m Freddie Ellis.’

  ‘Agatha Wilcox,’ she replied, as her drink arrived. ‘Red Aggie to my friends.’

  ‘Well, Aggie, you must be new around here because if you weren’t I’d have noticed you long before now.’ He handed her a glass and closed his fingers around hers briefly before letting go.

  ‘I’ve come from up west,’ Aggie replied, enjoying his frank admiration.

  Freddie’s eyes ran over her again. ‘I can see that from your classy get-up.’

  ‘I was a lady’s maid and my father was a . . .’

  She was just about to give him the ‘my father was a clergyman and my dear old mother’s ill’ routine but she paused. The first question men usually asked was ‘How much?’ so Freddie Ellis’s attention was a nice change. He hadn’t flinched either when she’d asked for a brandy.

  She took a sip of her brandy. ‘So what do you do then, Freddie Ellis?’

  He leant back on the counter. ‘This and that.’

  ‘What – for Mr Mac?’

  ‘I’m one of his top men.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  He nodded.


  ‘We’ll how come I haven’t seen you before either?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘I’ve been lying low. I can’t tell you what but . . .’ he winked. ‘You know.’

  Aggie took another sip of brandy and studied him over her glass. Of course he could be giving her a whole load of horse shit but . . .

  The door from the upstairs rooms opened and Lilly waddled in, her jutting belly lifting the front of her skirt out of the spit and sawdust on the floor.

  Fecking cow! Aggie thought as she smiled at Ollie Mac’s heavily pregnant common-law wife.

  Ollie stood up and pulled out a chair for Lilly, fussing around her like a mother hen until she finally squeezed her fat arse on the seat, then called for a stout for her.

  It was clear that Aggie might tempt him to stray for a day or two but if Lilly found out . . . No. Although ousting Lilly would have been the quickest way to get back to where she belonged – on top – it was too dangerous. What she needed was a man who she could . . .

  ‘Do you want another brandy?’ Freddie asked.

  Aggie turned and smiled. ‘I don’t mind if I do but, perhaps, somewhere else?’

  Freddie slipped his arm around her waist. ‘That’s just what I was thinking. Have you got somewhere more private?’

  ‘I’ve got a room nearby and a couple of glasses but nothing to put in them,’ Aggie said, pressing herself into him.

  Freddie smacked half a crown on the counter. ‘Give’s a bottle of brandy, Mary.’ He grinned down at Aggie. ‘That should help us get to know each other.’

  ‘I should say,’ Aggie replied, giving him the look that always earned her an extra shilling.

  He hadn’t mentioned money and she wasn’t going to ask. After all, half a crown wasn’t all she wanted out of Freddie Ellis.

  Jonathan tipped the porter a couple of coins as he stepped on to the train.

  ‘Quinn!’

  Jonathan turned. Captain Reginald Braithwaite, his fellow officer and good friend, emerged from the clouds of steam and marched down the platform towards him.

  Reggie had served with Jonathan in India, chasing tribesmen in the foothills of the Himalayas with barely any food and water. He had a thin but animated face and red-brown hair.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ Reggie said as he climbed into the compartment. ‘On your way back to camp?’

  ‘I am,’ Jonathan replied, as the porter stowed his leather case in the luggage rack above. ‘If I’d known you were in town, you could have saved me from a bloody dull supper in the mess last night. Where did you stay?’

  ‘In Cavendish Square with my grandfather,’ Reggie replied, heaving his own bag up alongside Jonathan’s. ‘And if I’d known you were around, you could have saved me from lukewarm pea soup, cold ham and bellowing down the table at my deaf old ’un throughout dinner.’ He nudged Jonathan and winked. ‘And we could have played a few hands at the Emperor’s. I’m sure Madame Kitty would be pleased to see you again.’

  He pulled out a cigar and offered it Jonathan, who shook his head. Reggie bit off the end and sat down.

  ‘Of course, as a man of honour I should challenge you to a duel for stealing the lovely Kitty’s affections away from me,’ he said, out of the side of his mouth as he struck a Lucifer. ‘And I would. In an instant. If I hadn’t been smitten by the delectable Mademoiselle Marie.’

  Jonathan laughed. ‘Well, from now on you can keep both of them company, as I’m soon to be married.’

  ‘So I heard, and to old Commander Davenport’s daughter?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jonathan replied.

  Reggie’s eyebrows rose. ‘I heard she had her sights set on a major and nothing less.’

  Jonathan smiled. The station master blew the whistle, a couple of doors slammed and then the train shunted out of Bishopsgate station.

  Reggie drew on his cigar. ‘So you told him, then?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  Reggie blew a series of smoke rings. ‘That bad?’

  ‘He called me a coward. Among other things,’ Jonathan replied, hearing the faint echo of his father’s voice in his head.

  ‘Well, you know I think you’re a damn fool to chuck it all in—’

  ‘You have mentioned it once or twice,’ Jonathan cut in.

  Reggie’s pale eyes flickered over Jonathan’s face. ‘Yes, well, be that as it may – and even though I do think you’re stark-staring mad – no one could ever accuse you of cowardice.’

  Jonathan adjusted his eyepatch. ‘He can bluster all he likes. My resignation is in and effective from the end of the month.’

  Reggie drew on the cigar. ‘That’s just over a week away! Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?’

  Jonathan shook his head. ‘I’m not certain. I toyed with the idea of sailing to Australia. You know, stake out some land, build a homestead.’

  Reggie looked unconvinced. ‘I know you’re sick of the army, but good God, man, can’t see you as a sheep farmer. And what would Miss Davenport say to that?’

  Jonathan grinned. ‘A great deal, I expect, and none of it easy on the ear, so I’ll probably apply for a post in the East India Company. They’re always crying out for men with experience as regional superintendents. Louise lived in Jaipur with her family until she was thirteen so I’m sure she’ll be agreeable to the plan.’ Jonathan glanced out at the neat houses of Bow as the train whizzed by then pulled out his hip flask and offered it to Reggie. ‘Enough of me and my sorry tale of woe. What were you doing in London?’

  ‘My grandfather summoned me last week,’ Reggie said, taking a mouthful. ‘It’s to do with this blasted school he’s patron of. It seems the old headmaster drank himself to death a year ago and the board of guardians haven’t been able to find a replacement for him since.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’ Jonathan asked. ‘Surely his solicitors would deal with that.’

  ‘They would if he’d let them but he wants me to intervene personally. My great-grandfather made his fortune from investing in St Katharine Dock and when they cleared the slum around the old church, they had to relocate the school. The guardians asked him to be patron and my family has been responsible ever since.’

  ‘I still don’t see why you’re involved,’ Jonathan said, as the urban sprawl of east London gave way to the countryside of Wanstead and Forest Gate.

  ‘Because dear old grandpa has a soft spot for St Katharine’s and,’ Reggie looked sheepish, ‘I’m a tad fond of the crusty old bugger, so like to please him if I can.’

  ‘Have you advertised?’

  ‘Of course we have. Five weeks in The Times, no less, but the last headmaster had let standards slip so far that the handful of prospective candidates took one look at the place and withdrew their applications. Of course, the area the school’s situated in doesn’t help. It’s next to the London docks. As you’ll appreciate, there aren’t many educated men willing to live and work in such a rough area.’ Reggie’s narrow face lit up. ‘I know what—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But I haven’t asked you anything,’ Reggie replied innocently.

  Jonathan brows pulled tightly together. ‘You don’t have to and the answer is still no.’ Reggie looked crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry, old man, but the day I become a headmaster will be the day The Times announces my father’s joined the navy.’

  Chapter Four

  Kate drew a curly swirl with the chalk at the bottom of her menu and then held it at arm’s length to read it back.

  Beef Pie and Mash 4½d

  Meat Pie and Mash 3½d

  Faggots, Mustard Pickle and Mash 4d

  Saveloy and Pease Pudding 3d

  Kidneys, Mash and Gravy 3d

  Irish Stew 2d

  Roast Spuds 1d

  Jam Pudding 1½d with Custard 2d

  Spotty Dick 2d with custard 2½d

  Tea ¼d

  Coffee ¾d

  ‘That sho
uld have them queuing down the street tomorrow,’ said Sally, as she collected the last of the empty cups from the back tables.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Kate replied, propping up the menu in the window. ‘You can leave those and get off if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs E. Is your brother dropping by?’ Sally asked as she slid the tray on to the counter.

  Kate nodded. ‘I’m surprised he’s not here already.’ She went to the window and wiped a hole in the condensation. ‘It’s a real pea-souper out there so I hope he’s not been caught upriver,’ she said, peering down the street as figures loomed in and out of the fog.

  Patrick owned three barges and hauled coal up and down the river out of Limehouse. That was difficult enough on a clear day but with smoke belching from riverside factories mingling with the damp mist in a choking miasma, navigating home safely through the multitude of boats and barge traffic could be treacherous. Twice before, he’d hit a skiff and had to rescue the craft’s owners from the murky water.

  She straightened the curtains and then took the shutter handle out from its case under the window. She hooked the end into the long bracket, wound down the shutter, then pulled it down on the door.

  Sally wrapped herself up in her coat and scarf. ‘I’ll pop into the butcher’s and collect the suet on my way in tomorrow. Goodnight!’ she called over her shoulder as she left.

  Kate bolted the door behind her then blew out the lamps. When she went back into the parlour she found Ella sewing a dress for her doll and Joe sitting up at the table flipping through a picture book about farm animals. He looked up as she came in.

  ‘Is Pa coming home tonight?’ he asked, as he had every evening for the last four days.

  Ella looked up wide-eyed from her task and bit her lip. Unfortunately, she understood a great deal more of what passed between her parents than Joe. She had also noticed the bruising around Kate’s neck.

  ‘Not tonight,’ Kate replied, caressing his cheek softly.

  Ella relaxed but Joe slumped over his book and rested his chin on his hands.

  ‘’S not fair,’ he said, jutting out his bottom lip.

  Kate ruffled her son’s hair. ‘Uncle Pat will be here soon, Joe, and it’s almost Christmas.’