‘But we’re hard-up,’ said Fanny, ‘and Ma talked about havin’ to sell the piano.’
‘That was before we had a lodger,’ said Alice.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Nick, ‘what did you mean, Fanny, you found it?’
‘Well, Pa used to find things, didn’t he?’ said Fanny.
‘Oh, me failin’ heart,’ said Ma, sitting down to avoid collapsing, ‘I don’t know ’ow many times I’ve prayed none of you would inherit your Pa’s findin’ ways, and here’s me youngest takin’ after him when she’s only eleven. Where’s me smelling-salts and me ballroom fan?’ Ma had never been to a ball in her life, but she did have a very pretty tortoiseshell fan given to her when she was a girl, and she always called it her ballroom fan.
‘Now see what you’ve done, Fanny,’ said Amy, fetching the smelling-salts from the dresser, ‘given Ma a faintin’ fit.’
Ma took the little bottle, removed the stopper and sniffed.
‘Someone fan me,’ she sighed, and Alice did so, using the folded daily paper.
‘Come on, Fanny,’ said Nick, ‘explain exactly how you found that wallet.’
It lay on the table, looking accusingly at the family.
‘It fell out of a posh bloke’s overcoat,’ said Fanny. ‘Well, through it, like, as if he ’adn’t put it back properly in his inside pocket. I saw it, and when he walked away from the stall it was on the ground.’
‘And you picked it up?’ said Alice.
‘Yes, I found it where it fell,’ said Fanny, ‘and brought it ’ome.’
‘You didn’t tell me, you little ’orror,’ said Amy.
‘Well, you were buyin’ veg at the time,’ said Fanny, looking as if she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. ‘I bet Pa would’ve brought it ’ome, specially if we were hard-up.’
‘I think I’m going to have to paste your bottom, Fanny, if you do any more of this kind of finding,’ said Nick.
‘Crikey,’ said Fanny, ‘I won’t find anything, then, if everyone’s goin’ to shout at me. I’ll just let the fam’ly starve.’
‘If I get a heart attack,’ said Ma faintly, ‘don’t call Dr McManus, just let me pass on peaceful.’
‘Nick, what’s in the wallet?’ asked Alice, still fanning Ma.
Nick opened it. There were some unused postage stamps, two folded shop bills, a letter in its envelope, three pound notes and a ten-bob note.
‘Lummy, look at that money,’ said Fanny. ‘Finders keepers, that’s what Pa used to say.’ Alice whacked her bottom with the folded newspaper, which made Fanny feel very hard done by.
‘Well, bless me,’ said Ma, sitting up, ‘three pounds ten, would you believe. Well, I suppose—’
‘Nothing doing,’ said Nick, ‘I’m taking the wallet to the police station.’
‘But there’s coppers in police stations,’ said Fanny.
‘Yes, d’you want to come with me?’ asked Nick.
‘Me?’ said Fanny.
‘You could explain how you found it.’
‘Oh, couldn’t you just say I found it accidental?’ asked Fanny, preferring, like Pa, to keep police stations at a distance. ‘I don’t feel well enough to go with you.’
‘I bet you don’t,’ said Alice, and Fanny dodged another smack.
While Ma was making a recovery and delaying the midday meal, Nick took the wallet to the police station. He informed the desk sergeant that his youngest sister had found it in the East Street market and brought it home. The sergeant, examining the contents, said he appreciated the girl’s honesty.
‘The owner’s name is on the letter, with his Camberwell address,’ said Nick.
‘So I see. Well, if he doesn’t call in for his property, we’ll get in touch with him. What’s your sister’s name and address, sir?’
Nick gave them. When he got back home, he informed Fanny of the conversation. Fanny quivered a bit.
‘They’re not comin’ round to arrest me, are they?’ she said.
‘The sergeant didn’t say so. I expect the owner might make a hopeful call at the police station, when he’ll get the wallet back. How’s your bottom?’
‘Alice give it another one,’ said Fanny, ‘which ain’t fair when I only found the wallet because we’re hard-up.’
‘You’ll get another six in a minute,’ said Alice.
When the family finally sat down to their meal, it at least meant Fanny kept her bottom safe from further punishment. Just as they finished the meal, there was a knock on the front door.
‘Sounds like a copper’s knock,’ said Nick.
Fanny turned pale and scrambled up.
‘That’s it, answer the door,’ said Ma.
‘No, I’m not at ’ome,’ gasped Fanny, ‘I’ve gone somewhere.’
Nick answered the door. A man of about thirty was on the step.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but does Fanny Harrison live here?’
‘Yes, I’m her brother,’ said Nick.
‘Could I have a word with her?’
‘What about?’
‘She found my wallet down the market. I apparently dropped it there. I didn’t expect to see it again, but I called in at the police station on the off-chance, and there it was. Are you the bloke who handed it in?’
‘Yes. Fanny brought it home. Hold on a moment, and I’ll get her.’
But Fanny had bolted into the backyard loo and locked herself in. So Ma went to the front door in her place.
‘Oh, are you the gent that lost ’is wallet?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s me,’ said the bloke, a decent-looking character. ‘I’d like to thank your daughter for having it taken to the police station.’
‘Oh, Fanny can’t come to the door just now,’ said Ma, ‘she’s – well, she’s not in a position to. But I’ll tell her you called to thank ’er.’
‘And to give her this for her honesty,’ said the appreciative bloke, and handed Ma three glittering half-crowns. ‘The police sergeant said if I wanted to reward the girl, ten per cent of what was in my wallet was reckoned to be right, so I’m happy for her to have seven-and-six.’
‘My, ’ow kind,’ said Ma. ‘My ’usband that’s in the Navy always says profit by good example, but of course Fanny didn’t bring your wallet ’ome thinkin’ about any profit.’
‘I’m sure,’ said the generous bloke. ‘So long, and thanks again.’
‘Oh, thank you too,’ said Ma.
When Fanny was persuaded to come out of hiding, she was given a lecture on the benefits of honesty by Ma. See what it did, giving the wallet to the police, like honest people should, she said. The gent came straight round from the police station to show his gratitude, she said. Yes, he gave us a reward of five bob, she said.
‘Seven-and-six,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, was it?’ said Ma.
‘Crikey oh blimey, I get seven-and-six for findin’ a wallet?’ said Fanny.
‘No, the fam’ly gets it,’ said Alice.
‘I’ll put it with me ’ousekeeping money,’ said Ma, ‘as a sort of reward for fam’ly honesty.’
‘Don’t I get nothing?’ asked Fanny.
‘Not a penny,’ said Alice.
‘Well, that’s the last wallet I’m goin’ to find for the fam’ly,’ said Fanny.
‘You never spoke a truer word,’ said Alice, ‘I’ll see to that. It’s bad enough that we have to think about—’ She stopped. Someone was coming down the stairs. Seconds later Mr Lukavitch knocked and put his head round the kitchen door.
‘Hello, yes, how are we?’ he asked, smiling.
‘Oh, good afternoon, Mr Loovakish,’ said Ma.
‘How’s yer canary?’ asked Amy.
‘That is good, eh?’ said Mr Lukavitch. ‘I come to ask do Amy and Fanny like money for their pocket, Mrs Harrison?’
‘Not half,’ said Fanny, who felt she’d been diddled.
‘Good,’ said Mr Lukavitch, and came in. He gave Amy and Fanny a threepenny bit each. Amy said he was as nice as an uncle. ‘A
h, yes?’ he said. ‘That is what you think I am like? A bleedin’ nice uncle?’
‘Not half,’ said Fanny again.
‘Ruddy tophole,’ beamed the lodger. ‘Nick, your mother is telling me you asked about my polishing.’
‘A machine?’ said Nick.
‘That is right first time, Nick, a treadle machine. You know?’
‘Like a sewing-machine?’ said Nick.
‘Buzz-buzz, eh?’ said Mr Lukavitch, and laughed. ‘How many girls you have, Nick?’
‘Why, d’you want one?’ asked Nick.
Ma giggled, the girls giggled, and Mr Lukavitch roared with laughter.
‘Girl for me, Nick? No, no,’ he said, ‘I am too bloomin’ old for girls. A fine woman, more like, don’t you think?’
‘One like Ma?’ suggested Amy.
‘Ah, a ruddy fine woman, eh?’ said the happy lodger, smiling at Ma. Ma’s perky looked arrived.
‘Flattered, I’m sure,’ she said.
‘You’d better not be too flattered,’ said Fanny darkly, ‘or I’ll tell Pa.’
‘Alice, give that saucy girl another smack,’ said Ma.
‘Happy families, eh, that’s the thing,’ said Mr Lukavitch, and went on to say it was corblimey fortunate for them to have been born in England. He’d been born in Poland himself, he said, as an unwilling subject of the Russian Tsar. No bloody good, he said, shaking his head. After the war, when Poland was fighting the Bolsheviks, his wife dead because of them, he’d come to England and been allowed to stay. But now look, he said, there’s a madman in Germany called Hitler, and one day Hitler will make war and Poland will be swallowed up again.
‘Now you mustn’t talk like that, Mr Loovakish,’ said Ma kindly, ‘we’ve ’ad all the wars we want, and nobody wants another one.’
‘No, no, strike a light, no, Mrs Harrison. Have a fag, Nick.’
‘Ta,’ said Nick, ‘then I’ve got to get ready to go to football.’
‘And I must do more work,’ said Mr Lukavitch.
Nick liked the Polish gent, but didn’t think much of his fags. They weren’t Players, that was for sure. They tasted as if they’d been made from dog-ends collected by street kids.
The Rovers and their supporters were a happy band of people that afternoon. Their opponents were Charleston Street United, and the Rovers soon had them hopelessly disunited. The United’s goalkeeper had a terrible first twenty minutes. Crash, bang, wallop. The Rovers put three goals past him. Dumpling quivered all over with hero-worship.
‘What a team,’ she enthused, ‘I’ve never been more admirin’ of all our lovely blokes in their jerseys and shorts.’
‘Don’t they ’ave lovely knees and legs?’ said Julie Hurst, Ronnie Smith’s girlfriend.
‘They’ve got footballin’ legs, that’s what,’ said Dumpling. ‘I can’t be admirin’ of any blokes that don’t ’ave footballin’ legs.’
‘Oh, yes, ever so sexy,’ said Meg Miles, Charlie Cope’s one and only.
‘They’re what?’ said Dumpling, who didn’t go in for knowing about that kind of word.
‘Give a girl goosepimples, don’t they?’ said Meg.
‘’Ere, mind what yer sayin’,’ protested Dumpling, ‘you don’t want to get as soppy as some of the blokes. Crikey, look at Freddy goin’ it.’
A frustrated opponent elbowed nifty Freddy in the ribs. In return, Freddy bowled him over. The ref blew for a foul, but Cassie yelled, ‘Tread on ’im, Freddy, never mind the ref!’
The ref ran to the touchline in stern fashion.
‘Who said that?’ he demanded.
‘Me,’ said Cassie, angelic smile uppermost. The ref blinked.
‘H’m, yes, well, best if you don’t – um – well, I’ll overlook it,’ he said, and hastened back to the action.
‘What come over him?’ asked Dumpling.
‘Cassie gave ’im goosepimples,’ said Alice.
The Rovers ran out easy winners at full-time, and Dumpling treated Danny to a hearty slap on his back. Danny, caught off balance, went flying.
‘Now then, clumsy,’ said Dumpling, ‘what’s up with you?’
‘I ain’t hurt, Dumpling,’ said Danny. ‘Well, not much, and I treasure all yer lovin’ touches.’
‘I dunno what you’re doin’ down there,’ said Dumpling, standing over him, ‘you ain’t lost use of yer footballin’ legs, ’ave yer?’
‘No, just me eyesight,’ said Danny happily. ‘That ain’t ’alf a lovely red petticoat you’re wearin’, Dumpling.’
Dumpling gave a yell and fled blushing from the spot.
But she didn’t half give Danny what for on the tram going home, telling him his soppy complaint was getting chronic and he ought to see a doctor. And so on. Danny didn’t mind. He’d met her mum in the week, and she asked him how he was getting on with Dumpling. Well, I keep getting walloped by her tongue, he said. My, that’s promising, that is, Danny, said Mrs Evans, and you’re welcome to the use of me parlour any Saturday or Sunday when it’s foggy.
Mr Lukavitch went out on Sunday morning, as he always did, carrying his black bag. He was going, he said, to some Sunday markets, including Petticoat Lane, to sell his little gifts to stallholders who could always find customers for them.
Ma and her family wished him luck.
‘Many thanks, not half, eh?’ smiled Mr Lukavitch.
Nick’s twenty-first birthday arrived, and so did a number of greetings cards. There was a very attractive one with suitable lines of doggerel.
‘Now that you have come of age
It’s time that you said, “Please,
Tell me, Daddy, if you will,
About the birds and bees.”’
It was signed, ‘With my best wishes, Annabelle.’
The monkey, she’d found out his address. He slipped the card into his jacket pocket before any of the family had seen it.
Ma insisted he had a slap-up tea party, and Nick said he felt like one. It might cure his headache, he said. He’d been given a headache by Gran Emerson, who’d told him that her son Wally’s sailor friend had come up with the news that the Iron Duke had gone for scrap years ago. Nick said kind of the sailor bloke to find out, but actually his Pa changed ships a lot, and Ma actually wrote her letters to the Navy’s address in Hong Kong. Oh, I see, said Gran, only Wally’s friend won’t be able to find out if your Pa’s got a chance of coming home soon unless he knows the name of his ship. Ma won’t mind his arrival being a happy surprise, said Nick, so Wally can tell his friend not to bother. Oh, it won’t be no bother, said Gran. It might be to us, said Nick, but only to himself.
Cassie and Freddy, together with Dumpling and Danny, were invited to the party, and so was Mr Lukavitch. Ma had bought new dresses for Amy and Fanny out of the reward money for family honesty, which delighted the younger girls. And she put on a spread that was enjoyed by one and all. Then Amy, quite talented, played some good old music hall songs on the parlour piano. After which, Mr Lukavitch asked if he might have a turn on the piano, as at Alice’s party, and Ma said she’d be pleasured. Fanny said, in a dark aside, that there was too much pleasuring going on considering Ma was a married woman. Only Alice heard her, so only Alice gave her a pinch.
Mr Lukavitch said he’d play some Polish music, which he did, and the music galloped. It brought all the girls to their feet for a knees-up, and the parlour floor trembled. What floor wouldn’t when Dumpling was going it in a knees-up?
‘No, no,’ laughed Mr Lukavitch at the piano, ‘a Polish mazurka, not a bleedin’ London knees-up.’
‘Language, Mr Loovakish,’ called Ma, ‘specially as we got company.’
‘Yes, ruddy good, eh? But a mazurka, that is it, don’t you think?’
It was a rousing party, Amy and Mr Lukavitch taking turns at the piano, Amy playing with enthusiasm, her feet thumping the pedals, and Mr Lukavitch doing his best to introduce everyone to Polish party frolics.
It was Alice who noticed a little something loosely flapping under the
right pedal of the piano, and she drew Nick’s attention to it.
‘What d’you think it is?’ she whispered.
‘All I know is that the joanna is Pa’s heirloom,’ Nick whispered back. ‘But leave it, Alice, and we’ll have a look later, unless it falls off. So keep watching it.’
When the celebrations were finally over and all the guests gone, Ma saw to it that Amy and Fanny went to bed. Alice and Nick said they’d do some clearing up in the parlour, where Nick went down on one knee, fished about under the right pedal of the piano and detached the loose little something. It was a brown envelope, folded into a small shape with dried glue still adhering to it. There was something in it. He unfolded it and opened it up. He carefully spilled the contents on to the table, and the flash of sparkling diamonds leapt to the eye.
‘Crikey,’ breathed Alice, ‘I bet Pa knows something about them.’
‘They’re his insurance,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, you think he kept these for ’imself, Nick?’
‘He told Ma not to sell the piano, and that he had some confidential savings.’
‘That’s right, so he did.’ Alice watched as Nick counted the perfectly matching jewels. Twenty-four. ‘I bet they were once a diamond choker, Nick. They’re Pa’s now, he’s doin’ his time for them. Lor’, what’s Ma goin’ to say?’
‘Ma’s going to have several fits if she knows this lot is on the premises. Don’t tell her, let Pa decide what he wants to do with them when he comes out.’
‘D’you think we ought to make ’im post them anonymous to the police?’ asked Alice.
‘Well, you’re not going to take them round to the police station, and neither am I,’ said Nick, ‘otherwise they’ll think we might have the rest of the loot here. You’re the apple of Pa’s eye, so you keep them and tuck them safely away in your bedroom. Pa’s got to have the responsibility of making an honest move or a dodgy one.’
‘Yes, that’s best,’ said Alice. ‘Mind, I won’t stand for a dodgy one, even if he has done time for them.’
‘We’re going to opt for honesty?’ said Nick.
‘We’ve got to, you know we ’ave,’ said Alice.
‘That makes sense,’ said Nick, ‘so let’s think about posting them to Scotland Yard ourselves. We can take our time.’
Pride of Walworth Page 16