by Anna King
The mulish look remained fixed on Amy’s face, and Jimmy’s heart sank. If she and Charlie did end up marrying, then that amiable young man had a few shocks coming to him if he ever inadvertently upset his young wife.
Just as he was about to admit defeat, a loud wail resounded through the house. ‘Amy! Amy! Come quick, I don’t feel well.’
At the sound of the child’s voice, both Amy and Jimmy jumped, startled at the distressed sound. In the heat of the moment they had both forgotten about young James. Her expression losing none of its grim determination, Amy took off her coat and hat.
‘An hour, Jimmy, no more, or I swear you won’t be seeing me back here tomorrow, or any other day for that matter.’
Grateful for the diversion, Jimmy lost no time in leaving the house, his eyes on the look-out for a passing hansom cab. He was in luck. Within five minutes he was on his way to Bow.
*
‘Oh, James. Oh, you poor little love. Here, get out of bed while I clean you up and get some fresh sheets.’
The child made a pathetic figure, covered in sick and shaking with fear that he would be scolded for making such a mess. ‘I’m so… sorry, Amy. I… I couldn’t help it,’ he sobbed uncontrollably until Amy had him washed and tucked back into his freshly made bed. Luckily, Amy’s frequent visits to the house to see Bessie had enabled her to locate the linen cupboard without having to disturb the old woman from her much-needed sleep.
Holding him close she murmured soothingly, ‘It’s not your fault, love, it’s mine. I should never have let you eat so much, especially such greasy food like fish and chips. Your poor tummy just isn’t strong enough to take a lot of food in one go right now. We’ll have to start building you up slowly, so your stomach can get used to proper food again.’ Smoothing back the dark hair from the boy’s sweating forehead, Amy said softly, ‘You try and get some sleep, love. You’ll feel better when you wake up.’
The boy nodded and closed his eyes. ‘Will you be here when I wake up, Amy?’
Amy stopped, her teeth biting down hard on her bottom lip. She was desperate to see Becky, yet how could she refuse the child’s request? He would be devastated if he woke up and found her gone. Sighing she replied tenderly, ‘I’ll be here, James. Now go to sleep, there’s a good boy.’
His trust in the young girl unconditional, the child immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
*
It was only when Amy was drinking a mug of tea in the kitchen that she wondered where Jimmy had been so keen to get to in such a hurry, then her jaw dropped as realisation set in. He’d gone to confront Phil. As the knowledge of what Jimmy was capable of doing to her brother sank in, Amy was surprised to find she couldn’t summon up any sympathy for him. After what Phil had done to her and Becky, he deserved everything that was coming to him. And as she realised the harshness of the thoughts that were so alien to her, Amy realised that she was no longer a child. No more would she be so gullible, or trusting. Yet even as this realisation echoed around her mind she whispered sadly, ‘But I don’t want to feel like this. I want to be the way I was before today. Please, God! Don’t let me become hard and unfeeling, it’s not the way you’ve made me, and I don’t want to feel this way.’ Yet her anger was mainly fuelled by a feeling of betrayal. Ever since her father had died, Amy had always looked upon Phil as a substitute parent. She had trusted him without question and loved him unconditionally, even at those times when they’d all had to suffer because of his gambling addiction. Never in all that time had her love or trust in her big brother wavered – until today.
Dropping her face in her hands, Amy wept. She cried for Becky, she cried for the frightened child upstairs, and finally she cried for Phil. Her brief paroxysm of tears subsiding, Amy sniffed and wiped her eyes, then stared out of the window, her gaze fixed on the street. If Jimmy wasn’t back within the hour as he had promised, then she was going home. She didn’t like leaving the child, but there was no way she was prepared to wait longer than an hour before she returned to her own home – and her sister.
Easier in her mind now that she had decided on a definite course of action, Amy let her body relax. Hopefully, Jimmy would only give Phil a verbal warning, but she very much doubted it. Whatever the outcome, one thing was certain, Phil would be out of a job by the end of the day, and where would that leave her and Becky?
An idea sprang into her mind. Of course – Uncle Richard! As soon as he learnt of their dilemma, he would help. He might even give Phil his old job back. Despite what Becky thought of Richard, he had always been kind and thoughtful to Amy; furthermore, unlike Phil, her uncle Richard had never betrayed her trust.
Confident that she had solved their immediate problems regarding money worries, Amy stretched out her arms on the table, laid her head on the makeshift pillow and indulged her tired and fretful mind in a much-earned rest.
Chapter Seventeen
Phil Bradford sat behind a shabby desk inside an equally shabby room studying a cheap ledger splayed out on the worn surface. Alongside the ledger was a pile of betting slips, beside which rested piles of coppers and silver coins. On his right-hand side was a small pile of banknotes, most of them ten-shilling notes, with a few pound notes adding a splash of colour to their drab brown contemporaries.
Phil had just finished entering the slips pertaining to the coins, and was about to embark on the more lucrative bets, when the door of the room was flung open. Taken by surprise, Phil jumped, then let out a sigh of relief. ‘Blooming Hell, Jimm— I mean, Mr Jackson! I thought it was the coppers come to raid the place. You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
Jimmy strolled casually into the gloomy room. ‘Oh, I think that’s the least of your worries, Phil. I pay my men well to keep a good look-out for the law, besides which, some of my best customers are coppers.’
Still keeping an amiable façade, Jimmy strolled around the room, his actions denoting that of a man with time on his hands and nothing to fill it with. There was nothing about Jimmy’s manner to betray the deep rage that was burning through him. He had been angry enough when he’d left the house to come here, but after sitting in a traffic snarl-up for over forty minutes, then having to walk the rest of the way here, conscious of the time slipping away and the promise he had made to Amy, Jimmy’s anger was now at boiling point. Warning himself to remain calm, Jimmy remarked affably, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here, Phil?’
Phil glanced up in surprise. ‘No, Mr Jackson, why should I? It’s your business, you can come and go whenever you want, it’s nothing to do with me.’
Jimmy walked slowly over to the grimy window that overlooked the blacking factory, his face inscrutable. ‘Actually, my visit is something to do with you, Phil. In fact, my being here is very much your business.’
Alarm bells began to sound inside Phil’s head, and he felt a tremor of fear begin to tingle at the base of his spine. Clearing his throat, he took out a handkerchief and made a great pretext of blowing his nose. ‘Excuse me, Mr Jackson. It’s all this dust, especially at this time of year. It plays havoc with my chest.’
His voice deceptively mild, Jimmy looked at his employee with feigned concern. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Phil. I had no idea you suffered so much with your health. Maybe you should consult a doctor.’
Giving a watery smile, Phil said dolefully, ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s much point in doing that. There’s not much a doctor can do. Besides, I can’t be throwing my money about on doctors when I’ve got a family to support.’
Jimmy stared down at the smiling face in utter amazement. Was the man really that stupid? Hadn’t he realised where this conversation was leading? Again Jimmy stared deep into the other man’s eyes, and saw the sudden leap of fear enter them.
At last! Apprehension was finally dawning; or so Jimmy thought until he remarked, ‘I’ve just been to see Becky. Amy told me she wasn’t feeling very well, so I thought I’d just pop round to see you and ask if there was anything I could do to help.’
The fear slipped from Phil’s eyes, his body slumping in relief. Thank God! For a minute there he’d thought Jimmy had… Recovering his wits, Phil was immediately all brotherly concern. ‘That was good of you, Mr Jackson. But it’s nothing serious. Becky’s as strong as a horse, she’s just got a bit of a cold, that’s all. I did offer to call out a doctor, but Becks—’
Every muscle and fibre in Phil’s body jerked as a heavy fist came crashing down on the desk, scattering the coins and paper that littered the surface.
‘You two-faced, lying, deceitful bastard,’ Jimmy roared, his rugged face almost white with anger. ‘For your information, Bradford, your sister is very ill. Tom Barker has just come back from seeing Becky and, according to him, that little cold was on the verge of turning into pneumonia. Luckily Tom got to see Rebecca before that happened, and I’ve engaged two nurses to look after her around the clock. But if I hadn’t called around this morning, and got help when I did, Becky might have died – and what would you have done then, eh? ’Cos you’re fuck all good to anyone on your own.’
Finding himself trapped against the wall, Phil tried to shift his chair, but Jimmy had jammed the desk up tight against Phil’s middle, leaving him powerless.
‘It’s funny you should mention calling in a doctor to see Becky, ’cos that’s the first thing I asked Amy. And guess what, Bradford? She told me they hadn’t enough money for a doctor’s visit. Now then, that can’t be true, can it? Not with the pound note I take out of your wages each week and send to Rebecca. Not that you’re worth the money I pay you, but that’s beside the point. There’s something else that’s puzzling me – when I mentioned the money to Amy, she didn’t seem to know anything about it. No, that’s not quite true. She definitely didn’t know anything about it. Now that can mean only one of two things. Either Rebecca hasn’t told Amy about the money, and I can’t see any reason for her not to, or…’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Or someone’s been waylaying the postman every Saturday morning and stealing that money.’ Spreading his hands over the desk, Jimmy leant forward until his face was only inches away from the terrified younger man. ‘Now who d’yer think would be low enough to steal from his own sisters, eh? Especially when one of those sisters could have died for want of half a crown to call out the doctor.’
Like a cornered rat, Phil pressed his back hard against the unyielding chair, his eyes wild and staring. It’s not what you think, Mr Jackson… I’ve been putting the money away for… for a sort of surprise for the girls… I… I was going to use it to buy something special for them for Christmas.’
‘Liar!’ Jimmy’s hands shot out and grabbed Phil around the throat. ‘What sort of a mug d’yer take me for, you snivelling little bastard! I know where the money’s been going – straight on some nag’s back. Or is it the dogs you fancy? Probably a bit of both. Anything for a bet, eh, Bradford?’
Phil’s mouth opened and closed like a floundering fish suddenly deprived of oxygen, while Jimmy showed no trace of compassion for the man’s mortal fear; his contempt for Phil was too great to allow him to feel any emotion for the other man’s predicament. The urge to smash his fist between the glistening eyes was overwhelming and, afraid that if he hit the man he might not be able to stop, Jimmy released his stranglehold on Phil’s neck with a snort of disgust.
‘Get out! Get out of my sight while you can still walk. Go on, piss off, before I beat the shit out of you, you worthless, thieving apology for a man. I feel sick to my stomach just being in the same room as you.’
As quickly as his shaken limbs would allow, Phil scrambled from behind the desk and bolted for the door.
*
Phil didn’t stop running until he was sure there was no chance of Jimmy coming after him. Gasping for breath, the sweat pouring in rivulets down his face despite the biting December air, Phil staggered into the nearest pub and ordered himself a large whisky; but he didn’t stop shaking until two thirds of the liquid had entered his trembling system.
Not trusting himself to stand, Phil called to the potman for another drink, his tortured mind churning this way and that for a way out of his predicament.
That first Saturday morning, on his way out to work, when the postman had handed Phil the letter addressed to Becky, Phil had put the envelope in his pocket with every intention of giving it to Becky when he got home. He had already given her the housekeeping money the night before, so he knew she had enough to get the weekend shopping. All that week, Phil had experienced a sense of pride each morning as he had set off to work, and that sense of pride had reflected on Becky, who had begun treating him with more respect than she had done in years. She had been against Phil working for Jimmy at first, mainly due to the fact that gaming was illegal, and those found in the employment of any form of gambling faced imprisonment. Which was a bit of a farce, since it was well known that the late King Edward had been notorious for his love of gambling, much to his mother’s despair, and much of the so-called nobility had a passion for betting.
Phil had been quick to assure Becky that he would be working in an office, dealing in legitimate work, and Rebecca, her eyes sceptical and knowing, had let the matter drop. Phil knew his sister was no fool, but he was a grown man, so there was nothing she could do about where or for whom he worked. Phil also had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason Rebecca hadn’t made more of a fuss was because she was sweet on Jimmy, though she would rather walk on hot coals than admit it. But the newfound respect she had been showing her brother was due to the fact that he had stood up to Richard for the first time in his life, and by doing so had shown himself to be a man she could be proud of.
But, that morning, seeing the envelope addressed to Becky and knowing who it was from and what it contained, Phil had felt a moment’s shame. He hadn’t told Becky that Jimmy had given him a job only on the condition that Phil agreed to have his wages docked and half of his pay sent directly to Rebecca. All that day Phil had struggled with his emotions. The thought of having to admit to Becky the true reason behind his new line of work would be, to Phil’s mind, the utmost humiliation on his part. And if he told Becky the truth, he would see that look come back into her eyes, that look of mild contempt that had been levied at him for years. He had honestly intended to give the money to his sister, in fact he had formulated a plan in which he would tell Rebecca that he had been given a raise in salary, thus accounting for the extra pound, and hoped that Jimmy wouldn’t bring the matter up in Becky’s company.
Then Jimmy had stopped coming to the house, and the extra pound in his pocket, coupled with the gambling addiction that had plagued him since coming to London, had proved too great a temptation for Phil to ignore. He was wise enough not to place any bets with Jimmy’s runners. Instead, Phil had started giving his custom to one of Jimmy’s rivals, a man by the name of Big George, and that decision was the worst gamble he’d ever taken in his life. What had started off as a run of good luck had quickly turned sour, and now he was in debt to the tune of sixty pounds.
Finding himself getting deeper and deeper into debt, Phil had considered the possibility of fiddling the books, but that idea had been squashed as soon as it had entered his head. Jimmy always checked the books himself, accounting for every penny, so there was no way Phil could hope to steal from his new employer. Yet even up until an hour ago, Phil had imagined he could find a way out of the mess he’d landed himself in. Just one good bet, that’s all he had needed, just one sure-fire certainty and his worries would have been over. He’d been in tight spots before, but then he’d always had a job before, and the money to bet with. Now he had no job, no money, and owed sixty pounds to Big George; and nobody welshed on a bet with Big George and lived to boast about it.
His nerves calmed by the whisky, Phil stared moodily into his rapidly emptying glass, his fear turning into bitterness. It was all right for some people. There was Becky – Miss Goody Two Shoes Becky. She gets a bit of a cold and suddenly she’s being nursed around the clock, and being treated b
y one of the best doctors in London – and that sort of treatment didn’t come cheap. Phil uttered a mirthless laugh. He should know. It was because of that old skinflint Richard not wanting to pay out for nursing for Maude that had landed them all in London in the first place.
Briefly Phil considered going to his cousin for help, then shrugged defeatedly. There was nothing Richard would like better than to have Phil crawling back to him for help; but what other choice did Phil have? Jobs weren’t that easy to come by if you had no particular trade or profession, and the bulk of the labouring work was had by those bloody Irish coming over to London in droves.
Besides – Phil drew himself upright – he might not have any fancy qualifications, but he was no bloody skivvy either. He wasn’t going to sweat his guts out for a few poxy quid a week, like that gormless lump of lard Billy Gates. Phil’s fingers tightened around the glass. There must be a way out of this mess. There must be.
If only Jimmy and Becky’s relationship had developed further, then there might have been a chance of Phil asking his sister to put in a good word for him. But any chance of a romance flourishing had been shattered by the arrival of Jimmy’s bastard.
Sighing heavily, Phil got to his feet. First off, he’d better get home, at least there he’d be safe from Jimmy Jackson and Big George. But he couldn’t lie low forever. Praying for a miracle, Phil reluctantly downed the last dregs of his drink and headed for home.
Yet not once in his self-pitying frame of mind did Phil give a thought to Rebecca’s state of health.
*
‘Thanks, Wilf. Now you know what you’ve got to do, don’t you? Just take the betting slips and money from the boys, and put it all into a bag, then bring it round to my place about sevenish, OK?’