Hold On to Hope

by Jean Fullerton

  Joe closed it and removed his coat, hanging it on the crooked nail in the wall. ‘You’ll never guess what happened, Mam. Me and Tricky were just having a lark . . .’ He began, and then told her about the fight. ‘And he had one eye—’

  ‘One eye?’ Ma asked, looking at him oddly.

  ‘Yer, this one.’ He pointed at his right eye. ‘The other one was covered with a black patch. I thought he’d be for the slaughter so I . . . I ran all the way down Wapping Lane, even with the stitch, and found a policeman. He and some others took the sailors away and the man gave me this!’

  He held the coin aloft and it twinkled in the light from the tallow candles on the mantelshelf.

  ‘I wouldn’t flash that around too much, if you know what’s good for you,’ Ella said.

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re just jealous cos I’ve got something you ain’t.’

  Ella rolled her eyes like Ma did sometimes.

  Ma got up and came over. She ruffled his hair. ‘This teacher, what did he look—’

  The door burst open and his father lumbered in. Ella jumped down from the table and went to stand by Ma.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  His father staggered a little then righted himself. ‘Want?’ he shouted. ‘I don’t have to fucking want anything to walk into my own house.’

  ‘It isn’t your house, it’s my brother’s and you’ve been drinking,’ Ma said, sharply.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Freddie looked around unfocused for a moment then his gaze rested on Joe. He swayed unsteadily towards him and grasped his narrow shoulders with a heavy hand. ‘I’ve come to see my boy.’

  ‘Pa! Pa!’ Joe shouted, unable to hold his excitement inside any longer as he repeated the story again. ‘. . . And he gave me this.’ He held up the coin for his father to see.

  Freddie blinked a couple of times. ‘You went and fetched the rozzers?’

  ‘I did, or the man would have been murdered,’ Joe replied, beaming up at his father.

  Freddie belched noisily. ‘I don’t what no nabbers’ nark for a son.’

  Joe looked at the floor.

  Freddie’s expression remained severe for a second longer then he bent down in front of his son. ‘Ain’t you just the bravest little man?’ he said, breathing sour spirit over him.

  Joe turned to his mother, waiting for her to smile with pride, too, but she didn’t.

  ‘Well, now you’ve seen him, you can go,’ she said stiffly.

  Freddie let go of Joe and stumbled towards Kate. Ella tucked herself further behind her skirts but her ma didn’t move.

  ‘My brother was asking after you,’ she said.

  A furious expression spread across Freddie’s face and he spun around and staggered back towards the door.

  Joe ran after him. ‘Don’t go, Pa,’ he said, grabbing at his coat.

  Freddie stopped and clasped Joe’s shoulders again. ‘Don’t worry, son. I’ll come back to see you. After all, a man needs a son like you to look after his interests.’ His father took the coin from Joe’s hand and slipped it in his waistcoat pocket. He patted him on the head. ‘Good lad.’

  He kicked the back door open and disappeared. Joe stared down at his empty palm and tears stung the corners of his eyes.

  ‘Come and have your supper, Joe,’ Ma said softly, hugging Ella.

  Joe slunk into a chair and folded his arms on the table. Ella slipped into the chair beside him and he felt her eyes on him. Although he dreaded seeing the smug look on his sister’s face, Joe glanced across at her.

  Oddly, she looked sad. She leant forward until her nose almost touched his. ‘I told you not to flash it about.’

  Chapter Six

  Kate crossed herself and rose to her feet as the congregation around her started to file out of the pews. Ella followed her and began to put on her knitted gloves.

  ‘Can I go and see Maisie, Ma?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course you can, and tell her mother I’ll call in to see if she wants anything from the market tomorrow,’ Kate replied, tucking her daughter’s scarf around her collar a little tighter.

  Joe jumped off the bench. ‘And can I find Lenny?’

  ‘Yes, but remember Auntie Mattie is expecting us so don’t wander off. And watch where you’re going,’ she called after him as he nearly knocked Mrs Benson flying.

  The old lady smiled fondly after him and, leaning heavily on her walking stick, made her way down the aisle.

  ‘Such lovely children,’ she said, as she came to a halt in front of Kate.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Benson, although spirited would be what I’d call them.’

  Mrs Benson chuckled noiselessly, making the ostrich feather in her hat float. ‘Happy children always have a touch of tomfoolery in them, as you did, if I remember rightly. And what about you, Kate?’

  Kate put on a bright smile. ‘Kate’s Kitchen is doing grand business.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that.’ She touched Kate’s arm lightly. ‘Have you applied for a place at St Katharine’s for Joseph yet?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ Kate replied, forcing herself to hold the old lady’s unwavering gaze.

  She had all but decided to make enquiries at the Greencoat School in Stepney, where Patrick and Josie sent their children, but as Mrs Benson’s family had supported St Katharine’s for years and she’d always been so kind to her, Kate didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  ‘I wouldn’t delay for much longer if I were you, Kate,’ the older women replied. ‘Once the news gets around about who the guardians have appointed as headmaster, there will be a clamour for places.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Mrs Benson adjusted her bag over her arm. ‘I’m not at liberty to divulge really until it’s official, but suffice to say that he greatly impressed me, and the rest of the board. I have every reason to believe that by this time next year, St Katharine’s will again rival Raine’s for academic achievement.’

  ‘Really?’ Kate replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

  ‘Indeed. So I suggest you make an appointment to see Mr Overton as soon as possible. I wouldn’t want a bright boy like your Joe to miss out. I’m sure you’ll be impressed by St Katharine’s new headmaster when you meet him, Kate.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Benson,’ Kate said.

  ‘Not at all.’ Her face wrinkled into a girlish smile. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for your two. Such merry children. Good day, Kate, and give my regards to your mother.’

  She turned and walked slowly towards the church door.

  As Kate watched the older woman hobble down the aisle, possibilities raced around in her head. She’d been raised as a Catholic and had attended Mass each week without fail until she married Freddie. But after the priest at the mission refused her communion because she’d married a protestant, Kate moved to St George’s and had been a regular member of the congregation ever since. Freddie’s family had a long association with the church, she had the children christened there and Ella was already a pupil so she should be able to get a letter of recommendation from Mr Overton without any problem. Perhaps she should send Joe to St Katharine’s for a term or two at least.

  After all, if Mrs Benson believed that the new headmaster could help turn St Katharine’s around, then he must be a truly remarkable man and an exceptional teacher.

  Jonathan wiped his mouth and placed his napkin on his empty breakfast plate. He took a sip from his cup of tea and then added another spoonful of sugar. Sitting back in his chair he looked over at the tea chests containing his unpacked books and correspondence in the corner of the room. They would have to stay as they were for a week or so yet, until the carpenter had fixed the shelves and repaired the leg on the roll-top desk.

  Although the school board didn’t require him to take up the post until the new year, Jonathan had decided to start as soon as possible. He wouldn’t be paid until the end of the March but he had enough to keep body and soul together in the meantime. He’d made his deci
sion and there was no reason to delay.

  That was two weeks ago and the day before yesterday he’d settled his account at the Kent and Essex, packed his carpet bag and caught a cab from Whitechapel to Cartwright Street to take up residence.

  The headmaster’s house adjoined the school and was a good-sized family dwelling built sometime in the early 1700s. It consisted of a drawing room and dining room on the ground floor to the front of the house and a small morning room overlooking the handkerchief-sized garden to the rear. Jonathan had taken the largest of the three generously proportioned bedrooms upstairs. The kitchen and scullery occupied the sub-basement and Mr and Mrs Delaney, the live-in help provided by the board, lodged in the servants’ quarters in the attic. Mr Delaney acted as both the odd-job man and groundsman, and his wife took care of the domestic duties and cooking.

  The accommodation was furnished but with items so ancient and woodwormed that Jonathan had been forced to plunder his reserves to replace them.

  There was a light knock and Mrs Delaney’s rosy face appeared around the edge of the dining-room door. ‘Would you like anything more, sir?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve had enough to set me up for the day,’ Jonathan replied.

  Mrs Delaney waddled in, holding a tray and grimacing with each rolling step.

  ‘Are you in pain, Mrs Delaney?’ Jonathan asked.

  She shook her head. ‘You mustn’t mind me, sir,’ she said as she started collecting the breakfast dishes. ‘It just the rheumatics. I am a martyr to them, so I am. But don’t you worry. I’ll set straight to cleaning out the back bedroom as you instructed.’

  Jonathan pulled out his pocket watch. Eight thirty. Mr Delaney would be opening the school gates in a few moments so he needed to get to his position between the girls’ and boys’ entrances to welcome the pupils in.

  He stood up and went into the hall. Mrs Delaney followed and helped him shrug on his coat.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Captain Quinn, this is a grand day for old St Katharine’s.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Delaney,’ he replied. ‘Now, I have to fetch the school Bible.’

  Jonathan left the housekeeper in the hall and went into the sunlight-filled morning room. The walls were decorated with pale floral paper and it was where the mistress would have instructed her housekeeper and given her orders to tradesmen but as there was no lady of the house, Jonathan had designated it as his study.

  He picked up the leather-bound book and caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. He stared at the black, unadorned jacket that had replaced the braided red tunic decorated with brass buttons. An ache for the easy camaraderie of the barrack room surged up so forcefully that he drew a breath. Perhaps his father and Louisa had been right and he was just throwing away his future for a redundant principle; resigning his commission hadn’t stopped the butchery in the Crimea.

  An image of the bloody remains of his men laid out in a barren square flashed into his mind. No doubt the obstinate, short-sighted generals and commanders would continue to launch futile attacks, costing thousands of lives. But Jonathan was determined to no longer take part in the carnage.

  He studied his reflection for a few moments longer then tucked the Bible under his arm and marched out, in double-time, to his new life.

  Freddie woke up with a start as the door slammed. He looked around disorientated and on guard but relaxed as he recognised the faded curtains and Aggie’s gowns strewn over the furniture and floors. Her room was on the top floor of an old weaver’s house in Trawl Street, just a stroll from the Blue Coat Boy. It had a small fire grate with a couple of coals glowing in it, which only just kept the room warm. There was one window that couldn’t be opened and the drapes were strung on string. It wasn’t a palace but then he and Aggie didn’t need some swanky place.

  The early morning sun streaking through the window stung his eyes and he blinked a couple of times to clear the sleep from his brain. He’d been up all night and was surprised Aggie wasn’t still in bed when he’d got back at dawn.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ she said, taking off her coat and throwing it across the chair. It fell on the floor alongside a dirty plate, and an empty bottle rolled into the middle of the room.

  Freddie swung his legs off the bed. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said, smiling at her as he stood up.

  Aggie put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Don’t you “hello, sweetheart” me, Freddie Ellis. Where have you been for the past three days?’

  ‘Out Essex way doing a job with the boys.’

  Her lower lip started to tremble. ‘Oh, Freddie, why didn’t you tell me? I thought you’d gone skulking back to your Paddy wife.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Catching a bit of early trade at the market.’ She threw a couple of shillings on the table. ‘That should keep Ollie sweet until next week.’

  Freddie pulled a silver locket dangling on a chain from his top pocket and held it aloft. ‘Just to show I’ve been thinking about you,’ he said, swinging it back and forth.

  Aggie’s eyes lit up. ‘Give me,’ she said, stretching out for it as she came towards him.

  He held it up so she couldn’t reach it. ‘Don’t I get summink, too?’ He twisted his cheek towards her.

  She gave him a peck on the cheek and Freddie relinquished the necklace into her hands.

  He smiled as he watched her dance over to the mirror. Women were nags by nature but their fluttery little brains were easily distracted by a trinket.

  ‘It’s so pretty,’ she said, slipping it over her head and admiring her reflection.

  ‘Just like you,’ he said, knowing that a bit of flannel did no harm either. He caught her around the waist. ‘I thought perhaps after three days I might get more than just a smacker.’

  She wriggled out of his arms. ‘After disappearing like that you’re lucky I ain’t found myself another fella.’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, catching her again. ‘What could I do? Mr Mac’s the boss.’

  ‘You could have coughed up my money each week for a start,’ Aggie replied, her eyes flickering to his diamond tie pin. ‘I’ve had to work myself sore for two days to get his dosh.’ She snuggled into him, rubbing her hip against his crotch. ‘I thought you only wanted me to toot your flute.’

  ‘Course I do,’ he replied. ‘But I ain’t got the money to pay your protection as well as my own expenses.’

  Aggie slid her arms around his neck and put her mouth close to his ear. ‘But I wouldn’t have to turn tricks if you were the boss, would I?’ she whispered. ‘After all, you’re out there night after night taking all the risks while he sits at home with the fat cow and smelly brat of his, creaming off the profits. But just think, Freddie, if you were the top man you’d be the one sitting at home with your feet up while Stefan and the others are out grafting for you.’

  An icy feeling started creeping up Freddie’s spine. ‘I don’t know, Aggie. It all sounds fine but if Ollie got wind of it I’d be cat’s meat. Let’s leave things be just for now.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m sure you know best, Freddie. Even if you did get rid of Ollie there’d still be Stefan to deal with and no one would blame you being scared of—’

  ‘I can take him,’ he interrupted, trying not to think of the twelve-inch blade the big Swede kept tucked in his belt.

  Aggie slid her hands up his shirt front and smiled adoringly at him. ‘Of course you could and once you have, you’ll be the one calling the shots, not Ollie Mac and fat Lilly.’

  Freddie glanced around the tawdry room and thought of Ollie’s plush parlour at the back of the Boy. She was right. He was the one out there in the cold and wet, dodging the coppers. It would be him who’d be sent down by the magistrate for seven to ten – not Ollie Mac. And what did he get for all his hard work? Whatever Ollie decided to bung him each Saturday, that’s what.

  He slipped his arm around Aggie’s waist and pu
lled her against him. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll have to play dumb for a bit but if Ollie thinks he can order my woman around then I’m going to show him different.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie,’ Aggie sighed. ‘I’m so glad I’m your special gal. But, Freddie?’ She slid her fingers under the front of his shirt and tickled his chest. ‘Next time, bring me something gold.’

  Chapter Seven

  Jonathan reached forward and pulled the school ledger on the desk towards him. He might as well finish off last week’s entries while he was waiting. He reread the week’s records, crossed a couple of t’s he’d missed and then wrote:

  Friday 7th December 1855

  38 scholars attended today and two children were absent with throat illness. Miss Wainwright’s class were given an extended recreation period mid-morning so that the sweep could clear the obstruction from the flue and clear the smoke from the classroom. The object lesson today was The Fox for the older children and the names of the colours for the infants. The standard-one poem recited by the senior girl was ‘God Made Them All’.

  He signed his name at the bottom of last week’s log, put his hands behind his head and leant back.

  St Katharine’s was a purpose-built single-storey rectangular building with a pitched roof. It had once faced the old medieval church of the same name but that had been swept away when the dock had been built some forty years before. Now there were only warehouses as neighbours.

  The walls of the classroom had been painted a toneless grey so long ago that much of it had flaked off to expose the coarse brickwork underneath. A series of wax-coated posters depicting the kings and queens of England and a British man-of-war in full sail hung from the picture rail, like old regimental flags. Each print was so faded that even at a distance of three feet it was difficult to discern Elizabeth I from Charles II. Beside the tall teacher’s desk stood an abacus and a hinged blackboard with more wood than pitch on the surface. Tucked in the corner was a cupboard where the slates and scribers were kept. The girls’ end of the classroom looked much the same but with posters of native trees and flowers instead of military subjects.