Hold On to Hope

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘Now, girls,’ the schoolmistress said as the young women straightened their clothing and squared their bonnets. ‘This afternoon we have two very special visitors to our school. Miss Puttock, whose father is churchwarden and a very important person, and Miss Crompton, daughter of Alderman Crompton, who owns one of the big warehouse on Wapping Lane. These fine young ladies have given up their valuable time to help you with your sewing. What do you think of that?’ Her eyes darted sharply around at her charges.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Puttock. Thank you, Miss Crompton,’ a dozen voices chanted. Two of the big boys appeared through the door carrying chairs and stood waiting for instruction.

  ‘Where would you like to sit?’ Miss Wainwright twittered.

  Miss Puttock’s eyes skimmed over the girls and alighted on Ella. ‘If you help the girls on the right, Caroline, I’ll assist those on the left. I’ll squeeze in between these two young ladies,’ she said to the boy following her with the chair.

  She smiled sweetly at Ella and Rose and they shuffled aside to make room. Miss Puttock sat down and practically covered the two girls with her voluptuous skirt.

  ‘Now,’ she said, straightening out the bows on her sleeves. ‘Let’s get to know each other.’ She turned away from Ella. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘How pretty,’ replied Miss Puttock. She swivelled around to face Ella. ‘And you’re Elsie Ellis, aren’t you?’

  ‘Ella,’ she corrected, noticing that the down on Miss Puttock’s top lip was more visible in the sunlight.

  ‘Of course. And what are you sewing?’

  Ella held out her sampler.

  ‘Very neat,’ she said, grudgingly. ‘And your stitches are surprisingly even.’

  ‘My ma taught me to sew,’ Ella told her proudly.

  ‘Really,’ replied Miss Puttock. ‘And what are you going to put in the middle?’

  ‘To Ma with love,’ Ella said, imagining how pleased Ma would be when she saw it. Perhaps if she took it home secretly, she could ask Uncle Pat to put a frame around it so she could give it to her mother as a birthday present.

  A sour look tightened Miss Puttock’s face. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s not proper English. You should embroider “To Mother with deepest affection”,’ Miss Puttock said. ‘That would be much more suitable.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ella replied, looking coolly at her.

  ‘Please, miss, I’ve tangled my thread,’ Rose said.

  Miss Puttock took her sampler and smiled serenely. ‘Never mind, child. I’ll have it unravelled in a trice.’

  She plucked at the knotted threads for a moment then looked at Ella again. ‘Your mother runs the chop house on the Highway, doesn’t she?’

  Ella nodded. ‘She makes the best pies in the area. Everyone says so. And cakes.’

  ‘How nice,’ replied Miss Puttock stiffly. She made a play of unpicking the last of Rose’s tangles. ‘I believe your headmaster visits your mother’s shop from time to time.’

  Ella studied the young woman’s controlled expression for a moment then a smile spread across her face.

  ‘He’s always popping in,’ she said, artlessly. ‘In fact, I’d say he was one of her most regular customers. He says he likes her coffee. But I know what he’s really after.’ Miss Puttock’s eyebrows raised in consternation. Ella grinned. ‘Her lemon cake.’

  Suddenly Captain Quinn stepped into the playground. Miss Puttock’s head snapped around and her cheeks flushed.

  ‘Let me see how you’re getting on, my dear,’ Miss Puttock said, tossing her head and setting her ringlets dancing.

  ‘Miss Puttock, how nice to see you,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ Miss Puttock replied.

  ‘It’s good of you to spare the time to help Miss Wainwright. I’m sure the girls will benefit greatly from your help.’

  Miss Puttock laughed a little too loudly. ‘I’m sure they will and we are having such fun, aren’t we, girls?’

  They nodded and Miss Puttock grabbed Ella and Rose’s hands and squeezed them. ‘Just girls together chatting about this and that.’ She wrinkled her nose up in an odd way and grinned at them. ‘The way girls do when engaged in homemaking tasks.’

  Captain Quinn laughed. ‘I’m afraid I’m more used to officers’ mess chatter. I’ve absolutely no notion what young women talk about.’

  ‘I can tell you, Headmaster,’ Ella said, looking innocently up at him. ‘Miss Puttock was just asking me how often you drop into Ma’s shop.’

  Miss Puttock’s neck flushed crimson. ‘Wh-what . . . I . . . I . . .’

  ‘And for what,’ Ella added. She picked up her needle and stabbed it through her sampler. ‘I said for coffee and cake.’

  Captain Quinn’s face darkened.

  Miss Puttock plucked at the lace on her sleeve. ‘I-I was asking how Elsie’s mother—’

  ‘Ella’s mother,’ Captain Quinn cut in.

  ‘Of course,’ Miss Puttock said. ‘I was just asking how she was and Ella let slip that you had an occasional cup of coffee in her shop. Wasn’t that so?’ She looked at Ella.

  Ella looked blankly at her.

  ‘Good day, Miss Puttock,’ Captain Quinn said. ‘I trust you won’t let any more chatter interrupt your visit?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Miss Puttock slumped into the chair and watched gloomily as Captain Quinn moved away to speak to Miss Crompton on the other side of the circle.

  The Blue Coat Boy was heaving, as usual, after the factories and warehouses blew the end of day whistle. Aggie was there, too, as was Ollie and his crew but, thankfully, without Lilly or the poxy little prince.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Mac,’ she said, giving Ollie her most inviting smile. ‘How’s the young ’un today?’

  ‘He’s grand,’ Ollie replied, beaming at her. ‘He smiled at me yesterday.’

  ‘Did he?’ replied Aggie, trying to look interested.

  ‘You got something for me?’

  ‘Haven’t I always?’ she replied, pulling a handful of coins from her pocket.

  The door to Ollie’s rooms flew back and Lilly strolled in. ‘I’ll take that,’ she said, holding out a black-nailed hand.

  Damn!

  Forcing down her humiliation and loathing, Aggie handed over five shillings. Lilly counted the coins.

  ‘It’s all there,’ Aggie told her.

  ‘I’m making sure.’

  ‘Lilly, ducks, where’s my boy?’ Ollie asked.

  A scraggy lock of hair fell loose as Lilly shook her head. ‘I’ve given him a couple of drops of Godfrey’s Cordial. He’s having a kip. I’ll fetch him down later.’

  ‘Will he be all right up there by ’imself?’

  ‘Course he will. I’ve shut the window so the yard cat can’t get in,’ Lilly replied, squeezing her considerable rear end into the chair beside him. Her eyes flickered on to a couple of fresh-faced prostitutes who were lounging together at the far end of the bar. ‘Oi, you! Get back to work.’ The girls untangled themselves and hurried out of the room. She looked at Aggie. ‘You, too.’

  Aggie ground her teeth. Freddie had done bugger all about taking over the Black Eagle Gang. It couldn’t go on. She wouldn’t let it. If he didn’t have the balls to bring Ollie and his fat sow down, she’d have to do it herself.

  ‘Anything you say,’ she replied, pointedly adjusting her neckline in full view of Ollie.

  She made her way back outside and glanced down the narrow alley beside the pub. Thankfully, none of the girls were earning a shilling or two against its walls. Aggie sped down to the rear of the pub, pushed open the squeaky back gate and into the pub, tiptoeing up the back stairs.

  The noise from the rooms below filtered up through the floorboards as she crept along the corridor to find Ollie and Lilly’s room. She heard the baby grizzle lowly and pushed open the next door she came to. Her eyes fixed on the cradle beside the unmade bed.

  Sh
e crept across the room and stopped beside the cot. She extended her index finger and stroked his cheek. The baby gave a little shudder and his budded lips made a little sucking noise. Now he’d grown out of his newborn redness, you could see his resemblance to his father. He lay there peacefully with his eyes moving back and forth under his almost transparent eyelids, dreaming no doubt of Lilly’s milk-filled titties.

  With precious little time to waste, Aggie slid open the window. The breeze lifted the curtains and the candle guttered. Aggie pushed the candle holder towards the fluttering drapes. The fabric ignited.

  As the fire licked up the curtains Aggie skirted around the cradle back to the door. She paused and watched the breeze blow pieces of burning fabric on to the newspaper on the floor and the bed’s straw mattress before opening the door and slipping out of the room. Fortunately, there was no one around when she slipped back down the corridor and into the piss-putrid air of the rear alleyway.

  Lilly settled herself back in the chair and smiled. That told the cheeky bitch, she thought. She might fool that idiot Freddie with her little act but she can’t pull the wool over my eyes.

  She nudged Ollie. ‘Pour us another, duck.’

  He grinned. ‘Get that down you, old girl,’ he said, splashing a generous measure of brandy into her glass. ‘You deserve it.’

  He turned back to Stefan and continued jawing. Lilly took a sip.

  She bloody well did. She’d survived the birthing, the milk fever and that slut Aggie trying to get her claws into Ollie. And now she had her little angel as well. Life was looking up. Perhaps she’d have a word with Ollie again about renting a little house down Bethnal Green Road. Somewhere with a bit of grass at the back for Albert to stretch his legs on when he started to tod—

  The pub door crashed open and one of the butchers from across the road burst in.

  ‘Fire!’ he screamed, pointing at the ceiling. ‘Fire!’

  For a split second the room froze, and then erupted. People screamed and dashed for the door, knocking over tables and chairs in the scramble to get out.

  Lilly sprang to her feet. ‘Bertie!’

  Ollie and his men ran towards the door. Lilly’s heart crashed in her chest as terror gripped her.

  ‘My baby! My baby!’ she screamed.

  Grabbing someone’s jacket, she shoved them out of her path. One of the children who begged pennies from the drinkers got in her way and she sent him sprawling across the sawdust as she headed for the stairs.

  ‘Water,’ Ollie bellowed from somewhere behind her. His men crashed into the backyard towards the pump.

  Lilly stumbled over an upturned stool. She put her hand on a broken glass to stop her fall but she didn’t feel it slice her skin.

  Ollie caught her arm. ‘We’ll get him out,’ he said, his face ashen with dread.

  Lilly shook him off and elbowed her way to the stairs; the smell of burning wood caught in her nose. Looking up, she saw grey smoke drifting out of her room and heard the crackle of flames. Ollie, Stefan and Jimmy thundered into the hallway behind her.

  ‘Get up there,’ Ollie shouted, thrusting his men forward with their buckets.

  A tortured shriek pierced the air.

  ‘Bertie!’ screamed Lilly, as the sounds of her child’s pain cut through every nerve in her body.

  She pushed past Ollie and, blind to the flames and smoke, ran into their blazing room.

  At that moment the oil lamp on the dresser exploded, flinging scorching oil across the room. The door frame blew out, throwing Ollie and his men back.

  Albert’s screams rose to a terrified, agonising pitch.

  Lilly rushed forward. Ollie reached out to stop her but she punched him in the mouth without breaking her stride. The heat scorched her eyes and skin as she passed through the doorway but she didn’t pause.

  ‘Mammy’s coming, my darling,’ she called, and then, with her eyes fixed on the flaming cot, plunged into the inferno.

  The mid-summer sun had just dipped behind the shops along White-chapel High Street as Freddie turned into Commercial Road. A dozen or so downtrodden individuals were already gathering on the steps of Christ Church waiting for the evening soup kitchen. Outside the Ten Bells next door, burly armed porters from the slaughterhouse in Brick Lane slaked their thirst with pints of cool ale.

  Sidestepping a drunk sprawled in the gutter, Freddie crossed the road and entered Dorset Street. He stopped dead and his jaw dropped as he stared at the smoke floating skywards from the first-floor window of the Blue Coat Boy. The old wooden frame and criss-cross lattice work were no more than charred columns and the brickwork surrounding the windows was completely blackened. There was also a dreadful stench of cooked bacon mixed with the powerful smell of charcoal. The Black Eagle Gang were milling around outside while a couple of doxies huddled together in a doorway opposite and held grubby handkerchiefs to their noses as they stared red-eyed at the ruin.

  Freddie was just about to walk over and join the rest of the gang when Aggie appeared at the far end of the street. When she saw the destruction she hurried over, looking horrified.

  ‘Gawd luv us, what’s happened?’ she asked, clutching her hands as if in prayer. ‘Isn’t that Ollie and Lilly’s room?’ She pointed up at the burnt-out first-floor window.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Oh, my life, are they here?’ Aggie glanced up and down the street. ‘And where’s their dear little baby?’

  Freddie took of his hat and scratched his head. ‘Look, there’s Stefan.’

  Ollie’s second-in-command staggered out of the bar door. His shirt was torn and blackened. Sweat streaked down his dirty face and his trousers were wet from the knees down. He spotted Freddie and lurched over.

  ‘We were too late,’ he said, as he reached them.

  ‘What happened?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. We were all sitting in the bar when the butcher burst in. We all dashed up but the flames were already licking under the door of Ollie’s room.’ Stefan’s face drained of colour. ‘Then, God have mercy, we heard him. Little Albert! Screaming like a soul in hell. Lilly went wild and rushed into the flames. Ollie kicked and cursed us as we fetched water from the yard but we couldn’t save them.’

  Freddie’s eyes returned to the gaping hole over the pub door but in his mind’s eye saw Joe. Sympathy, an emotion that rarely troubled him, caught in his chest. Poor bugger. No matter how big a bastard Ollie was, he didn’t deserve to listen to his child being roasted alive. Freddie swallowed hard.

  Aggie slipped her arm in his. ‘So poor little Albert and Lilly are dead,’ she said quietly.

  Stefan nodded. ‘I tell you, Freddie, I’ve seen men with their faces eaten off by rats, bodies that have been floating in the river so long their mother wouldn’t recognise them, all without turning a hair, but the screams of that poor child will haunt me until the day I die.’ He covered his eyes with his hand.

  ‘Where’s Ollie?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Still inside.’

  The clatter of galloping hooves parted the gaping onlookers and the frantic clanging of a bell heralded the arrival of the police wagon. Six officers jumped out and went into the building. As the last of them disappeared, the ambulance cart trundled around the corner. The driver and his mate got down, unhooked the covering, lifted the canvas stretcher clear and followed the policemen into the pub. A few moments passed before the officers reappeared and formed up, their arms linked, in front of the crowd. The ambulance attendants walked through the door holding the poles of the stretcher. On top, wrapped in a sheet, was the form of an adult with a smaller bundle tucked in beside her. The onlookers surged forward and a combined sob went up from the whores. The crowd joined in. Ollie staggered into the street and stood staring at what had once been his Lilly and his son as they were secured on the cart.

  Aggie and Freddie walked over. Ollie looked at them with hollow eyes. ‘She said she’d closed the window but she couldn’t have; the breeze must have blown the c
urtains on to the flame. They found her cradling ’im.’

  ‘He was such a happy little chap,’ Freddie said, as the image of his Joe trotting along beside him floated back into his mind.

  Aggie drew her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘Can I see her, Mr Mac?’

  Ollie nodded.

  Aggie reached out and peeled the sheet back. Lilly was unrecognisable. The fire had burnt off her blonde hair and turned her face into something resembling a puffy roast chestnut. Freddie shuddered and looked away but Aggie stared down at Lilly for a few more moments then covered her face with her hands.

  ‘Oh, God, why did you have to take sweet little Albert?’ she wailed.

  Freddie put his arms around her shaking shoulders. ‘Come on, Aggie, don’t take on so.’

  She straightened up and dabbed her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Mac, but thinking of how your little lad must have suffered I can’t . . .’ she buried her head into Freddie’s chest.

  The attendants secured the cover after a word with Ollie and then climbed to the front of the cart. The police dropped arms, returning to their wagon, and both vehicles rolled on. The crowd drifted away.

  As the vehicles disappeared around the corner, Ollie cleared his throat. ‘Right, I want everyone to hear me now. I’m going to give my boy a right good send-off and I want you all there. Do you hear?’

  Stefan went and put an arm around Ollie’s shoulders. ‘Come on, boss. Let’s get a couple in the Ten Bells.’

  Ollie wiped his nose and nodded then shuffled away.

  Freddie turned to Aggie. ‘You look like you could do with a drink, too, sweetheart.’

  She put on a brave little smile and shook her head. ‘I think I’ll stroll along to the church and say a little prayer for poor . . . lit-little Albert and d-d-dear Lilly.’ She put her handkerchief to her face and turned away.

  Freddie watched her shaking shoulders as she walked back down the streets sobbing. Even the most hard-bitten of Ollie’s whores cooed over a babe-in-arms and gave a little ’un the odd farthing for an aniseed twist, but Aggie had always seemed indifferent to children. Seeing her now, heartbroken over poor little Albert and Lilly’s accident, he wondered if he’d misjudged her.