Hold On to Hope

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘I know, but . . .’ Her bottom lip jutted out. ‘I thought as it was Christmas you might go home.’

  ‘Go home! What, to watch a bunch of Micks scoffing beef and pudding? I’d rather hammer a nail through me foot. And besides . . .’ He reached out and fondled her breast. ‘I wouldn’t be getting this at home.’

  Aggie giggled and snuggled into him. He had intended to drop home that morning, not for Kate or that cheeky girl of hers but to see his lad. Perhaps give him a penny or two. A warm feeling of contentment stole over Freddie as he thought of Joe. His boy. Despite Kate’s fussing, he was shaping up to be a useful little chap. Sharp, too. Anyone could see that. His Joe would show them in that soft school what a bright spark he was. He shouldn’t wonder if he didn’t outshine them all and win himself some prize or something for being extra clever.

  ‘Freddie . . .?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘What’s your wife like?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is she blonde or dark?’ Aggie asked, twisting out from under his arm and kneeling beside him.

  ‘She’s got sort of pale hair,’ Freddie replied.

  ‘And is she fat or slender like me?’ Aggie asked, putting her hand on her hips and swaying from side to side.

  Freddie’s eyes flickered down to where the thin sheet was only just covering her breasts. ‘She’s a bit on the plump side.’

  Aggie’s expression lightened. ‘But is she pretty?’

  ‘She’s all right.’

  Her bottom lip began to tremble again. ‘You think she’s prettier than me?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Freddie tried to catch her but she wriggled away, the sheet slipping down to her navel. He tried to grab her arm.

  ‘I bet you’re thinking of her all the time when you’re with me,’ she wailed, as the rest of the sheet fell away.

  Freddie lunged for her and caught her around the waist, pulling her back. She struggled against him, her breasts bouncing on to his chest as she did.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘You . . . you tell me I’m your best gal . . .’ she sniffed, pressing herself against him.

  ‘And so you are.’ Freddie tilted her head up to face him.

  Aggie’s eyes shimmered with tears. ‘Am I, Freddie?’

  ‘Course,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘I see the way that women look at you – like that slut Mary in the bar and the others who hang around in the Boy.’

  Freddie leant back again and spread his arms along the headboard. ‘Do you?’ he replied, thinking of all the trollops who sent him inviting glances. Aggie was lucky he spotted her first.

  ‘I know you’d only have to click your fingers to have the pick of them so I shouldn’t tell you this but . . .’ She traced her finger around his navel and then down towards the open front of his trousers. ‘I think I have lost my heart to you, Freddie Ellis.’

  Freddie puffed out his chest as he basked in her adoration. ‘Is that so?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, then get me another drink,’ he said, slapping her bare bottom.

  ‘All right but can we . . .’ Her eyes flickered onto his unbuttoned flies.

  Freddie grinned. ‘As soon as I’ve wet my whistle.’

  Aggie scrambled off the bed and Freddie tucked his hands behind his head to study her as she walked naked across the room.

  He didn’t blame her for worrying. He’d always had a way about him with women. It was only sensible to keep a woman on her toes but if he were to tell the truth, he was more than a bit fond of Aggie. And did she have some tricks under the covers! Giving him an unexpected view of her rear, she bent down and picked up the half-empty bottle of brandy.

  ‘Stay right there,’ Freddie said.

  Aggie looked around. ‘Oh, Freddie, you’ve got some sauce!’ She screamed then grabbed the loose end from a bale of silk. ‘The things you ask me to do,’ she laughed, wrapping herself with the fabric.

  Freddie sat bolt upright and got off the bed. ‘Leave the gear, Aggie.’

  ‘But it’s so lovely,’ Aggie said, smoothing the shimmering fabric around her and gliding around on the dirty floor.

  She swung around and brandy shot out of the bottle in her hand and splashed in a dark red stain across the silk. Freddie caught hold of the fabric to pull it from her but Aggie laughed and tugged at the other end.

  ‘Don’t I look like some duchess or something?’ she asked, swirling around and crushing the costly material under her feet. It tangled around her ankles and she staggered back, knocking another bale of ivory-coloured lace onto the floor.

  Freddie yanked the fabric from her. ‘I said, leave it.’

  Aggie stopped dancing. ‘I was just having a lark. It is Christmas, after all,’ she said, her lower lip jutting out once more.

  Freddie picked up the cloth. ‘You won’t be having a lark when Mr Mac wants to know who ruined his stash,’ he said rerolling the crumpled silk as best he could.

  Aggie flicked the unravelled lace with her foot. ‘Tell him it fell off the wagon.’

  ‘I’ll let you tell him yourself,’ Freddie replied, trying not to think of Ollie Mac’s expression if he turned up with half the haul covered in grease and dirt.

  Aggie’s eyes narrowed for a moment then she threw herself on him, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body onto him. ‘Oh, Freddie, don’t be riled with me. It was only a bit of fun.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied, trying to ignore her bare flesh and hold his stern expression.

  ‘Say you’ll forgive your little Aggie.’

  Freddie swallowed. ‘Well, all right, but you know as well as me that it don’t pay to get on the wrong side of Mr Mac. So don’t let me have to tell you again.’

  ‘No, Freddie,’ Aggie replied, looking suitably contrite.

  ‘Good, because—’

  ‘But I don’t see why he has all the say.’

  ‘He’s the boss.’

  ‘For now,’ she replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The minute I set my eyes on you I said to myself, Aggie, there’s a man who don’t take no truck from anyone. I knew you were set to be top man when the old dog steps down.’

  A worried look spread across Freddie’s face. ‘Leave it out, Aggie.’

  She nudged him playfully in the ribs. ‘I’m just saying, you’ve got brains and guts aplenty and I can see the way the others look to you when Ollie’s not around.’

  ‘Do they?’

  Aggie let out a low laugh. ‘I’d say, but you’re just too loyal to notice.’

  Perhaps she’s right, thought Freddie.

  He caught Aggie’s chin and forced her head up. ‘I wouldn’t say such things out loud unless you want to find me lying in a gutter with my throat cut.’

  Aggie looked up at him in horror. ‘No, no I wouldn’t, Freddie. Honest. It’s just that,’ she shrugged, ‘well, who knows what’s around the corner.’

  He studied Aggie’s face staring up at him, so loving, trusting and utterly devoted. She was right. He could see that now. He was the man to step into Ollie Mac’s shoes but only if he kept his wits about him.

  He kissed her mouth. ‘You and me, Aggie, have to keep this between ourselves. You understand?’

  ‘Of course, Freddie,’ she replied seriously before a spark of mischief flashed into her eyes. ‘But just for now,’ her hand slipped down the front of his trousers and took hold of his old man, ‘let me put a smile on the face of the next leader of the Black Eagle Gang.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jonathan stood in front of the hall mirror and Mrs Delaney held up his long black gown for him. He slipped his arms in the wide sleeves and shrugged it on.

  ‘There you go, sir. All fit and proper.’ She tilted her head and in the reflection Jonathan saw the now-familiar look creeping into her eye. ‘It’s a pity it’s not a lady of the house to see you’re looking your best be
fore setting out,’ she said, handing him the clothes brush.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jonathan said, taking the brush and applying it to the shoulders of his robe. ‘That will be all, Mrs Delaney,’ he said, keeping his tone and expression neutral.

  ‘Very good sir,’ she said, then lurched sideways in her usual way of curtsying. Jonathan positioned his mortar board so that the tassel was sitting over his eyepatch, picked up the school Bible, checked the time on his fob watch and then opened the door and stepped out.

  From the top step he could see over the six-foot wall surrounding the playground and noted there was already a handful of boys there. There would soon be plenty more as the school was now full, with a dozen or so late applicants on a waiting list. Jonathan smiled to himself. Not bad for only a month in the post. Of course, that meant an influx of new faces to deal with but now he’d sorted out the curriculum, he was confident the new pupils would soon fit in.

  The chill wind caught his gown, sending it billowing out behind him. He caught it around himself and trotted down the four front steps. Then he saw her. Kate Ellis.

  The frost was stinging Kate’s ears by the time she, Ella and Joe reached the gates. There were a couple of other mothers bringing their children to school for the first day of the new term. She could see a few of the boys in their playground and a handful of girls chattering in theirs. Kate’s eyes moved to the side wall of the schoolhouse that abutted the girls’ play area. She wondered if Captain Quinn was still in his house and if she’d catch a glimpse of him when school opened.

  Yesterday at church was the first time she’d seen him since Christmas. As she’d watched him escort Mrs Benson to her seat Miss Puttock fluttered into his path, all eyelashes and giggles.

  ‘Ma, Joe’s undone his collar again,’ Ella said.

  ‘For mercy’s sake, Joe, will you leave it be?’ Kate said, fastening his top button for the fourth time.

  Joe squirmed. ‘It’s too tight.’

  ‘It’s new, that’s all. It’ll stretch as you wear it.’ She straightened his cap. ‘And remember to put your scarf on and button your coat when you are sent out to play.’

  ‘Ma, I’m not a baby,’ he protested, glancing at the boys in the playground behind him.

  Kate held up the canvas satchel Mattie had bought Ella for Christmas. ‘Now you’ve got bread and jam for break time and don’t dawdle at dinner or you’ll have to rush your meal and get hiccups.’ Kate brushed the front of Ella’s coat again. ‘Now, I’m sure Captain Quinn will be ringing the bell any moment, so off you go. You don’t want you to be late on your first day, do you? I want you both to come straight home and . . .’ she said, looking pointedly at Joe, ‘don’t scrape the toes of your boots. They have to last a few more months yet.’

  Kate kissed Ella but Joe dashed away before she could give him a peck.

  A door banged shut. Kate turned to see Captain Quinn in his schoolmaster’s gown emerging from his house and then marching along the pavement towards her. His tassel swirled with each step he took. Kate’s heart gave a little skip when he stopped in front of her and raised his mortar board. ‘Mrs Ellis,’ he said. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Good morning, Captain Quinn,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just brought Joe and Ella to school,’ she added, inwardly scolding herself for stating what was plain to see.

  ‘Will you be bringing them every morning?’

  Kate laughed. ‘No. I don’t think Joe would be able to hold his head up in the playground if I did.’

  Captain Quinn laughed then his expression changed. ‘That’s a pity – it means that we won’t be seeing each other every morning.’

  Jonathan wondered at himself as Kate Ellis’s eyes, the sweep of her eyelashes, the curve of her cheek and the inviting shape of her lips suddenly pushed out every sensible thought in his head. He pulled himself together and nodded at Joe, who was dashing back and forth. ‘It seems your son has found his feet already.’

  Kate followed his gaze with a smile. ‘Ella looks so grown up in her new uniform. It seems only yesterday that Joe cut his first tooth – now he’s almost as tall as his sister.’

  Other children were coming down the street now and out of the corner of his eye Jonathan saw Miss Wainwright step into the girls’ playground.

  ‘If you would excuse me, Mrs Ellis, I have to go,’ he said, wanting nothing more than to stay right where he was.

  ‘Of course, sir. And, I don’t think I thanked you properly for giving Joe a place here,’ she said, giving him another heart-stopping smile.

  ‘It is my pleasure.’ He touched his hat and marched into the yard.

  An hour later, after drill, morning assembly, organising the new pupils into monitor groups and a start-of-term pep talk, Jonathan finally escaped to his office. He closed the door and threw his mortar board carelessly across his desk, scattering papers.

  What on earth was wrong with him? He was supposed to be paying court to Miss Puttock but here he was paying compliments to Kate Ellis. Why had he done that? And why was he always thinking of her? He’d noticed a while back that he sought her out in church but had dismissed that as just habit. Now here he was trying to charm a smile out of her. He was becoming obsessed, which was utterly ridiculous.

  Kate Ellis is just a woman, a beautiful one perhaps, but just a woman, he told himself firmly. Apart from the fact she’s married, we haven’t the same family background or education or anything.

  For pity’s sake it was just physical. Nothing more, nothing less. And it was hardly surprising considering he’d not been with a woman since he’d met Louise – it was little wonder he was acting like a raw recruit.

  He turned from the window and picked up a copy of the Illustrated London News. Sitting down at his desk, Jonathan unfolded it and scanned down the page. But as he read advertisements for gentlemen requiring ‘a quiet haven’ or a ‘listening ear’, an image of Kate drifted back into his mind. He screwed up the journal and threw it into the bin beside his desk.

  There was nothing for it. If the lack of female company was leading him to think too much about an already married woman then there was only one thing to do: ask Miss Puttock to marry him.

  Mabel scribbled across the bottom of her note pad and looked up. ‘There,’ she said, smiling at Mrs Benson sitting beside her on the sofa. ‘I think I can safely tell the church social committee that the plans for the summer fête are complete.’

  ‘Splendid,’ replied the older woman. She looked across at Jonathan. ‘Don’t you agree, Captain Quinn?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ he replied.

  Mabel looked at him from under her eyelashes. ‘Thanks mainly to you, Captain Quinn, for generously giving up so much of your time.’

  He leant forward and put his cup and saucer back on the tray. ‘Not at all. I am most grateful to your efforts on the school’s behalf.’

  ‘But it was your inspired idea to have the children parade in the native dress of Queen’s subjects throughout the Empire that will be the highlight of the day,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure such a delightful spectacle will make this year’s fête the most successful ever.’

  Mrs Benson patted the young woman’s hand. ‘It will be the talk of the area, my dear, as will you.’

  Mabel’s round cheeks glowed. ‘I work for the benefit of the dear children, nothing more.’ Her eyes ran over Jonathan. ‘And I’m sure it will be our most admirable headmaster who will command all the attention.’

  Jonathan smiled politely.

  ‘Well, now we have finished with the afternoon’s business, shall I ring for some more tea?’ Mrs Benson asked, as she lifted the lid of the teapot.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jonathan replied, settling back in the chair.

  Mrs Benson looked at Mabel.

  ‘I ought to get back but if Captain Quinn is staying then so shall I.’ She smiled demurely at him.

  Jonathan stood up and pulled the bell to save Mrs Benson the effort and to break free from Mabel’s unwavering gaze. He enjoyed
the admiration of the opposite sex as much as any man but after two hours, her unremitting adulation was beginning to cloy.

  Mabel scanned her list again and her brows pulled together.

  ‘What is it, my dear?’ Mrs Benson asked.

  ‘I’ve just added up the helpers again and with the addition of the hoops and peg game and the lucky-dip barrel there’s no one to help me on the cake stall,’ she said, looking a little forlorn. ‘It’s always busy and needs two people at least. How am I going to cope by myself?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Benson. ‘I would offer to help but I’m overseeing the vegetable competition. What about Miss Clayton?’

  ‘She’s in the refreshments’ tent.’

  ‘Mrs Shrew?’

  Mabel shook her head. ‘Not after the incident with . . . you know.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mrs Benson studied her hands while Miss Puttock gazed at the wallpaper for inspiration.

  ‘What about Mrs Ellis?’ Jonathan said. They looked at him and Mrs Benson’s face lit up.

  ‘What a good idea! Kate would be the perfect person to help you, don’t you agree, Miss Puttock?’

  Miss Puttock hesitated for a moment and then gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Kate Ellis, of course. What an excellent suggestion but . . .’ She looked thoughtful. ‘But she has to run the chop house in the afternoons. I doubt she would be able to come.’ She shrugged. ‘What a pity.’

  ‘Only during the week,’ Jonathan replied. ‘It’s shut Saturday afternoons.’

  Mabel’s pleasant expression wavered. ‘Does it?’

  Mrs Benson grabbed the younger woman’s hands and shook them. ‘There you are, my dear, the perfect answer to your problem. Perhaps you should ask her on Sunday. What do you say?’

  Mabel’s eyes shifted from Mrs Benson to Jonathan and back again. ‘Well . . . I didn’t want to rake up the past and as you know I’m not one to judge or condemn the weakness of others, but those who serve the church, in any capacity, should be beyond reproach.’

  ‘I was suggesting Mrs Ellis help on the cake stall, Miss Puttock, not stand for churchwarden,’ Jonathan said tersely.