Hold On to Hope

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘About half an hour ago. I tried to get Joe to come with me but he pulled him away.’ Her chin started to wobble. ‘I’m sorry, Ma.’

  Kate put her arms around her daughter and kissed her forehead. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She gathered up her skirts and went downstairs with Ella following. She snatched her coat off the hook and went through to the shop where Sally was serving the first teatime customers.

  ‘Sally, would you keep an eye on Ella for me? I have to go somewhere.’

  ‘Sure, Mrs E. She can help me clear the tables.’

  Kate shrugged on her coat then kissed Ella on the forehead. ‘I won’t be long, sweetheart, and don’t worry. If I have to tear down every pub in the area I’ll find Joe and bring him home.’

  With a tea towel wrapped around her hand, Mrs Delaney picked up the flat iron from the range and spat on the plate. Satisfied with the result, she plopped it on the tail of the shirt.

  ‘How many’s that?’ her husband asked, knocking his pipe out on the grate.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘How many shirts does a man need for two weeks?’

  ‘Captain Quinn ain’t like you, changing on Sunday and then making do with the same all week,’ she replied, turning a sleeve to start on the cuff. ‘The headmaster’s a gentleman.’

  ‘Gentleman or no, eight shirts still seems six too many to my way of thinking,’ he replied, refilling his pipe. ‘Not to mention that chest packed with all manner of things he had me lug down to Brunswick Dock. I mean, ain’t they got books up north?’ He stood up and took a taper from the mantelshelf and held it to the flames. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought ’e was going to Timbuktu, not Scotchland.’

  Bridget Delaney looked irritated. ‘I don’t see how it matters to you what Captain Quinn puts in his trunk.’

  ‘It does if I have to carry it down the stairs.’ He drew on the pipe.

  Bridget lifted the iron from the cloth and stopped. ‘Shouldn’t you be seeing to the playground instead of cluttering up my kitchen?’

  ‘In a bit,’ he said. ‘Himself won’t be back for hours yet. But it seems if I want to give me ears a rest from your clacking, I’d better get myself into the yard.’ He put on his cap and left.

  Mrs Delaney put the iron back in the hotplate then folded the shirt and put it with the others. She had offered to pack Captain Quinn’s clothes for him but he’d smiled and said that after ten years in the army, he was more than able to do that for himself, which was a pity because she’d like to have peeked inside that chest. She shouldn’t, of course, but after she spotted a pair of lacy women’s gloves poking out from a parcel he’d brought home the week before, she was desperate to know if there were any other such items tucked away. Perhaps Captain Quinn wasn’t picking up one ticket to Scotland but two. She smiled at the thought.

  The bell on a coil above her head tinkled. She took off her apron, trundled out of the kitchen and into the hall. She shuffled to the front door and opened it to find Kate Ellis on the top step.

  She and Fergus had lived across the road from Kate’s parents, Paddy and Sarah Nolan and their half a dozen nippers in Cinnamon Street, and had known Kate since she was a toddler.

  ‘Good afternoon to you, Mrs Delaney,’ said Kate, trying to look around her. ‘I need to see Captain Quinn. Is he at home?’

  Bridget looked her up and down. ‘Captain Quinn isn’t the butcher or baker. He’s not here for people to just pop by when they feel like it. If you want to see the headmaster, you should make an appointment in the proper way.’

  Kate twisted her fingers together. ‘Please, is he at home?’

  ‘Not at present.’

  Kate covered her eyes with her hand. ‘Of course. It’s Thursday. He’s gone to see—’ She stopped. ‘When are you expecting him back?’

  ‘I don’t see it’s any business of yours, Kate Ellis,’ she replied, drawing herself up. ‘I don’t know . . . You come around here demanding to see—’

  ‘For the love of Mary, I’m only asking you when he’s back, Bridget, not to give me the keys to the house.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘Not until late. And it’s Mrs Delaney to you.’

  Kate’s shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you. Will you tell him I called?’

  ‘What do you want him for?’

  ‘It’s personal.’ Kate linked her fingers together to secure her gloves. ‘And if you could tell Captain Quinn as soon as he returns, I’d be obliged. Good day.’

  She turned and trudged down the stairs.

  Jumped up madam, thought Bridget, as she watched Kate dash back along the street. She slammed the door. Coming up to the front door as bold as you like, full of airs and graces. Demanding to know the inside and out of the headmaster’s business as if she was someone. She straightened the picture on the wall. And if she thinks I’ll be worrying Captain Quinn as soon as the poor man walks in the door, then she’s got another think coming.

  Suddenly the image of Kate’s threadbare lace gloves sprang into her mind. She stared open-mouthed at her reflection for a moment then chuckled and ambled back along the hall towards the kitchen door. Silly old fool y’are, Bridget Delaney. Silly old fool.

  The breath tore out of Kate’s chest as she dashed along Commercial Road. Blindly, she crashed into people and narrowly missed being mowed down by a milk cart, but with fears for Joe’s safety screaming in her mind she barely noticed.

  Finally, with her legs feeling like lead and her heart fit to burst from her chest, Kate turned into Belgrave Road. Holding her side in an effort to ease the razor-like pain cutting through her and with her skirts flying, she sprinted the last few yards to her brother’s house.

  Leaning on the door to stop herself falling, Kate grasped the knocker and hammered relentlessly.

  After what seemed like an eternity Patrick opened the door. ‘What the—’

  ‘Freddie’s taken Joe,’ she gasped, stumbling into the hallway and collapsing into his arms.

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Blackness swirled around Kate’s head and her knees gave way.

  Patrick’s arm went around her waist as he half-walked half-carried her to the sofa. ‘Josie!’

  Josie ran down the stairs followed by Annie. ‘Get her a brandy, Pat,’ she said, sitting next to Kate and rubbing her hands. ‘There, there, my pet, you’re safe with us now. Wha—’

  ‘Freddie’s taken Joe,’ Patrick said before Kate could.

  Horror flashed across Josie’s face. She put her arm around Kate’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him.’

  ‘Too damn right we will,’ Patrick said. ‘And when we do, that bastard will wish he’d never been born.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Annie, run to Mattie’s and fetch Nathaniel and any men he can spare. Tell them to meet us at the Town.’

  Annie shot out of the room and Patrick followed her into the hall. ‘Rob!’

  There was a clatter of feet and Patrick’s second son swung around the doorpost. ‘Go down to the pier and tell Mickey that Freddie’s got our Joe. Get him to round up some men for a search and let him know we’re assembling at the Town.’

  Pat came back into the room and poured Kate a large glass of brandy.

  ‘Get that down you,’ he said.

  Kate took it but she trembled so much that Josie had to close her hand over hers to guide the glass to Kate’s lips.

  Kate’s mother walked into the room. ‘For the love of mercy. You’d think it was the second coming with all the galloping up and down the stairs.’ She saw Kate and hurried over as fast as her knees and walking stick allowed.

  ‘Dear God. What’s happened?’ she said, looking anxiously at Kate’s face.

  Tears stung the corners of Kate’s eyes and her chin wobbled. ‘Freddie’s gone off with Joe, Ma.’

  An image of Joe waving goodbye as he walked off to school that morning flashed into her mind. Kate covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  Her mother sat beside her and cradled
her in her arms. ‘We’ll get him back, never you fear,’ she said, stroking Kate’s hair. ‘Now quieten yourself, child, and tell us what happened.’

  Kate pulled herself together and looked up. She told them about the children’s meeting with their father, and Ella running straight back to the shop.

  ‘And you came here,’ Patrick concluded.

  Kate shook her head and felt the effects of the brandy. ‘I . . . I went to the school first. Just to find Captain Quinn but he’s gone to see his father about . . .’ She glanced at her family’s fearful faces and took another large mouthful of drink.

  Patrick’s brow furrowed. ‘Why did you go there first? What could he do?’

  The brandy was making her woozy but Kate forced her gaze to remain steady. ‘I . . . I . . . don’t know. I just thought he . . .’

  ‘She was in shock, weren’t you, my sweet.’ Sarah patted her hands. ‘She probably thought Joe might have changed his mind and gone back to the school, didn’t you, Kate?’ Her mother’s bright eyes glared at her.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Kate replied.

  ‘But surely,’ persisted Patrick, ‘Joe would have—’

  ‘Quit badgering your sister, Pat,’ Sarah said, looking fiercely at him. ‘And shouldn’t you get yourself to the Town?’

  He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I should.’ He went over to Kate and kissed her on her forehead. ‘Put your mind at ease, sis. We’ll get Joe back.’

  He marched out of the room, snatched his jacket from the coat stand, and slammed the door on his way out.

  Kate stood up. ‘I ought to get back just in case Joe comes home.’

  Josie rose to her feet also. ‘Perhaps you should. Mattie will be here soon.’

  ‘I can’t help wondering why he decided now to . . .’ She thought of Jonathan booking passage for them only the week before.

  ‘Don’t you fret, me girl,’ Sarah said, patting her hand. ‘You get yourself home quick sharp, case Joe comes back. Josie, do you think you could spare a shilling or two from the housekeeping so Kate can take a cab home?’

  Joe trotted down tree-lined gravel avenues with his father on one side and a man called Harry on the other. Both men carried empty sacks over their shoulders.

  ‘Are we almost at the market, Pa?’

  ‘Market?’

  ‘Where you work.’

  The other man sniggered.

  ‘We’re not going there,’ his father replied without breaking his stride.

  ‘But I thought I was coming to work with you,’ Joe said, as they reached a narrow alleyway running along the back of the big houses set back from the road.

  ‘Rozzers,’ the other man hissed.

  His father grabbed Joe by the scruff of the neck and hauled him into the shadows.

  ‘Why are—’

  His father’s hand clamped over his mouth. Moments later a police officer strolled into view and stopped close by; a beam of light from his lamp narrowly missed the toe of Joe’s boot. It went dark again and Joe heard the rhythmic crunch of the constable’s footsteps as he continued on his beat. His father removed his hand.

  ‘Why are we hiding from the police, Pa?’

  ‘Don’t that fucking kid of yours shut up?’ hissed Harry.

  Freddie glared at him.

  Harry shrugged. ‘I’m just saying he’s done nought but jabber on since we left the Boy. And with a copper creeping about, you know . . .’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Freddie hunkered down in front of Joe. ‘Now listen to me, boy. If you don’t want me to send you home you’d better keep this shut.’ He poked Joe’s lips. ‘Understand?’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  The two men started off again. Joe trudged behind them with his head hung low and his stomach rumbling. He’d tried to eat the pie the scruffy girl had given him but it was mostly gristle and the potatoes were cold and gluey. He hoped Ma would save him some of the stew for when he got home and not send him to bed without supper as she threatened to last time.

  They reached the back gate of a house and Freddie stopped. ‘This is it.’ He turned to Joe. ‘Right, son. You want to be my best pal, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Pa,’ he whispered, pleased that his father’s cheeriness had returned.

  ‘Course you do, cos you’re my boy, ain’t you?’ Joe nodded again and his father hooked his hands under his arms and hoisted him in the air. ‘Right. See that window above the back door?’

  Joe peered over. ‘Yes.’

  His father set him back on the ground. ‘I want you climb through that window, creep down the stairs as quiet as a mouse and open the front door for me.’

  ‘Are we breaking into someone’s house?’ Joe asked.

  His father grinned. ‘Course not, son. The bloke who lives there’s a mate of mine and ’e’s away. He asked me to keep an eye on it but I’ve lost the key. If you don’t think you can . . .’

  Joe puffed out his chest. ‘I can.’

  Freddie looked at Harry lounging against the wall. ‘Didn’t I tell you he’d do fine?’

  ‘He ain’t in there yet,’ was the scornful reply.

  His father lifted Joe on to the wall. He wobbled a bit as he found his balance then, with his heart thumping in his chest, he lowered himself down the other side as far as he could before falling on to the soft earth of the flowerbed. His cap fell off so he picked it up, shoved it in his pocket and then darted across the garden. It didn’t take him long to clamber up the sweet-smelling shrub, climb around the door and slip through the window on to a carpeted landing. As he ran past the portraits on the wall and down the main stairs, Joe wondered fleetingly why, if the house was empty, he had to be quiet. He gripped the stout brass bolt and eased it back to open the front door.

  His father and Harry almost knocked him flying as they dashed in. Joe shut the door and followed them into the grandest room he’d ever seen.

  It was filled with pictures on the walls and large polished dressers and glass-fronted cabinets. There were also gold clocks, porcelain figurines and silver statues which his father and Harry were throwing into their sacks as fast as they could. Joe’s arms fell limp as he watched them rifling through the drawers and realised why he’d really been told to climb into the house.

  God said that stealing was wrong. He’d learnt that at Sunday school. ‘Thou shall not steal.’ Was he as guilty as Pa for helping him?

  An image of his mother smiling at him flashed into his mind and suddenly he didn’t want to be in Pa’s dirty world of red-lipped women and unshaven men. He wanted to be snug and safe with Ma.

  ‘I want to go home, Pa,’ he wailed.

  ‘Shut your fucking kid up,’ Harry snarled as he tipped the cutlery from the sideboard into his sack.

  Freddie crossed the room in two strides and gripped Joe’s collar. ‘I told you to button it!’ he snarled, shaking the boy.

  ‘Who’s there?’ a man’s voice shouted.

  For one second his father and Harry froze, then they threw their sacks over their shoulders and, tramping over discarded china, crashed towards the door. Joe shot after them but stared in wild-eyed horror as his father and Harry frantically grappled with the handle.

  ‘Your fucking kid’s let the bolt drop.’

  Freddie swore and yanked at the brass handle. It didn’t budge.

  ‘Stop thief!’

  Joe’s head snapped around to see a large man dressed in his nightgown and carpet slippers standing at the top of the stairs. He was holding a fire poker and, on seeing the intruders, he shouted, ‘Esther, call the constabulary!’ at the woman who appeared on the landing behind him.

  ‘No, Isaac, let them go!’ she screamed.

  Her husband ignored her and ran down the stairs, setting the tassel of his nightcap bouncing across his forehead.

  ‘Stop, I say!’

  Harry ducked away from the swing of the poker and managed to tug the bolt from its housing to release the door. He scooped up his bag and shot out into th
e street. Freddie tried to follow but the man lunged at him. Joe screamed and the man looked around in surprise. Freddie leapt forwards and wrenched the weapon from his hand.

  Time slowed for Joe as he watched his father swing the two-foot-long rod of iron in a wide arc and smash it across the man’s head. His eyes bulged and his mouth contorted as the poker crushed his skull. Blood splattered across the delicately flowered wallpaper, the plush carpet and Joe’s face. His gaze locked with the man, who sank to his knees and crumpled to the floor. Nausea choked the back of Joe’s throat as the dying man’s eyes rolled upwards and lost their focus.

  ‘Isaac, Isaac!’ the woman shrieked. ‘Murder! Murder!’

  ‘Come on.’ Joe heard his father’s voice from somewhere far away.

  He trembled and his knees started to buckle. Just as he thought he would pitch into the sticky pool of blood spreading across the floor, he was lifted off his feet and carried through the air. Then his feet found the ground again.

  ‘Run, Joe!’

  Joe couldn’t move. A hand slapped across his face in a stinging blow. His eyes flashed open. He blinked and looked around. A police rattle sounded out a few streets away, followed by another. Lights came on and windows were thrown open.

  His father grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him along the cobbles. ‘Run, you bugger!’

  He released Joe and tore off down the street. Joe stumbled, tripped a couple of times then found his stride and ran after his father.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jonathan tapped his nib down the column of figures as he added up the school’s weekly expenditure. Although he awoke each morning knowing that he was a day closer to being with Kate, their abrupt departure sat uncomfortably on his shoulders. There was nothing for it, of course, and he had resolved to put the school in good order so that Mr Rudd and Miss Wainwright could keep it ticking over until a new headmaster was appointed. To that end, he’d ordered the necessary supplies for the autumn term and drafted out the report for the guardians’ October meeting and finished the last report for all forty-five children. Finally, he needed to write to Reggie Braithwaite to apologise and explain his reasons for leaving.