A Mother's Wish (33 page)

Effie heard the wistful note in her brother’s
voice and it cut her to the quick. Until now she had not given a thought to how Tom might have felt when Toby failed to return. She had never considered that he might be genuinely fond of the gypsy horse trader who came and went as he pleased. She experienced a rush of anger towards Toby that shocked her with its intensity, and she moved swiftly to Tom’s side, slipping her arm around his thin shoulders. ‘We are a family, Tom. You and me and Georgie, but Toby will turn up one day. He always does.’

Tom’s downcast expression melted into a smile. ‘And this is just the place he might come to. When the fair comes back, Toby will be out there selling his old nags. Come the spring we’ll see him again, I know we will.’

Effie gave him a hug. ‘Of course we will. Let’s go take a look at the front room. If we’re going to rent this old wreck of a house I need to see where I’m to sleep.’

‘I’ll make it nice for you,’ Tom said, bounding on ahead of her like an eager puppy. ‘There’s a bed in here, Effie,’ he shouted gleefully. ‘And it ain’t half bad. A new feather mattress and you’ll be sleeping like the queen.’

Effie examined the room with a critical eye. The ceiling plaster was cracked and the wallpaper was peeling off, but it was a reasonable size and there was enough room for a truckle
bed for Georgie in spite of the iron bedstead that took up half the floor space.

‘It will clean up a treat,’ Tom said enthusiastically. ‘We could get Betty’s girls to help.’

His eagerness made Effie smile. ‘I’m sure Agnes would do anything you asked her to.’

Tom’s cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘We’re just friends.’

Effie gave him a hug. ‘Of course you are. Let’s go before someone walks in and tells us that it’s all a dream and they want us out of their house.’

‘It won’t happen like that. I’ve got a good feeling about this place, Effie. It was meant to be, that’s what Nellie would have said.’

So many people and so many different places in such a short time; the memories crowded into Effie’s head as they tramped home through the deepening snow. The faces of Nellie, Seymour Westlake and old Jeffries flitted through her mind together with Zilla and Leah, Arnoldo and Ethel, Laila and Dr Destiny, and Frank, of course, but the one person who linked them all was Toby. Effie struggled with her feelings as the snow blinded her and the cold air felt like ice in her lungs. Whenever there had been trouble in the past, Toby had seemed to appear like the genie from the lamp in the story of Aladdin. She clutched her shawl around her, bending her head against the
bitter wind, and she smiled to herself as she pictured Seymour in his exotic room rubbing one of the brass oil lamps to conjure up the son he refused to acknowledge. She felt a tug somewhere deep inside her at business left only half done. She wished that she could have united father and son as each one seemed in equal need of the other.

‘Come on, Effie. Best foot forward,’ Tom bellowed in her ear. ‘I want my supper, and I can’t wait to tell everyone we’ve found our new home.’

‘That’ll be Albert Place,’ Fred said, taking his pipe from his mouth. ‘Next to the gas works.’

Betty stopped ladling stew into bowls for a moment. ‘It’s been empty for years.’

‘I know who owned it,’ Agnes said importantly. ‘It was a mad old man who worked in the market garden. They say he died there and no one found him for days. It weren’t until the flies was thick over the windows and round the door that the police ventured inside. They found his rotted corpse sitting in the chair with a month-old newspaper still clutched in his hands.’

Bella let out a muffled scream and Betty brandished the soup ladle at her daughter. ‘That’s enough of that talk, Agnes Crooke.
You’re old enough to know better than to scare the young ’uns.’

Agnes shot a sideways glance at Tom and they dissolved into a fit of giggles.

‘He weren’t mad,’ Fred said, relighting his pipe with a spill from the fire. ‘He was old and lonely, young Agnes, and I’ll thank you not to spread tales like that.’

‘Sorry, Pa.’ Agnes hung her head, receiving a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Tom.

‘Do you know if it’s up for rent, Mr Crooke?’ Effie asked, trying not to sound too eager although her heart was beating fast in anticipation of his answer.

‘I believe the terrace is owned by some bigwig up West. They don’t notice when the rent isn’t paid. I daresay it wouldn’t keep the toffs in cigars for a day.’ Fred stopped to puff at his pipe while the family waited patiently for him to finish his pronouncement. ‘Anyway,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘the whole terrace is due to be torn down some time in the future, so they probably don’t think it’s worth letting the place.’

‘It’s been used by tramps and dossers for the past year,’ Betty said, shaking her head. ‘It’ll be in a terrible state.’ She angled her head, giving Effie a searching look. ‘But if your
heart’s set on it, my girl, then we’ll see what can be done. You need a place of your own.’

Having spent a rumbustious Christmas in Phoebe Street enlivened by the consumption of Effie’s home-brewed ale, the entire Crooke family helped Effie and Tom move into their new home. It had been scrubbed from top to bottom and Harry had patched up the fallen plaster while his brothers sanded down the paintwork and applied a fresh coat. Agnes and her sisters scrubbed floors and washed windows while Betty attacked the rusty range with a wire brush and grim determination to get it going as soon as possible. Betty could not work without her cup of strong, sweet tea and it was important to have some form of heating in the house as the temperature outside was still below freezing and the snow showers continued to fall.

On Boxing Day, the Crookes marched in procession from Phoebe Street to Albert Place, each one bringing something that would help Effie set up home. Fred and Harry hefted a deal table that had been purchased from a second-hand furniture dealer in Limehouse for seven and six, and that included three ill-matched kitchen chairs which were slung over the older boys’ backs. The girls brought pots and pans that Betty had unearthed from a forgotten
cupboard in the pub, and had been donated willingly by Ben, and the smaller children were the bearers of rush baskets filled with necessary provisions.

That evening, when they were finally alone in their new home, Effie and Tom sat on either side of the range toasting their bare toes in front of the fire. Georgie was asleep upstairs on the truckle bed also found in the second-hand shop, and a flock mattress donated by Betty together with some blankets and a pillow.

‘This is the life,’ Tom said happily. ‘I never thought we’d have a proper house all to ourselves.’

‘You don’t remember the home we had before we went into the workhouse, but it was just like this. We were a happy family until that awful day.’

‘I’m glad I don’t remember it then. It would have made things worse. But we’re all right now, ain’t we, Effie?’

She had not the heart to tell him that their money had dwindled down to a few pounds which would not keep them for long. The worst of the winter was to come and coal was expensive. She made a brave attempt at a smile. ‘Of course we are. We’ll both find work and then we’ll live like lords.’ She put her hand in her pocket to reassure herself that
Jacob’s gold watch had not been lost in the move. The precious metal warmed at the touch of her fingers and the ticking of the mechanism was like a beating heart. If all else failed she might be forced to pawn it, but this was Georgie’s sole inheritance from his grandfather. It was little enough when all was said and done, but at least she had kept it from Salter’s grasping hands. She rose to her feet and went to the cupboard where Agnes had put the odd assortment of cups, bowls and plates that had also come from the pub, courtesy of Ben Hawkins. On the top shelf Effie found an empty tin that had once contained butterscotch. She laid the watch in it and closed the lid. It would be safe there, she thought, putting it back in its place.

‘It’s for Georgie,’ she said in response to Tom’s questioning glance. ‘It’s the only thing he will have that belonged to his grandfather. It will be Georgie’s only link to his pa, and it would be a black day if I was forced to part with it.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Tom said stoutly. ‘I’ll find work soon and so will you.’ He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘Is there any of Betty’s meat pie left? I’m hungry.’

Next morning, Effie could hardly believe it when she awakened to a silent house. After the constant chatter and sounds of everyday
life in the crowded home in Phoebe Street, it seemed like paradise to open her eyes and find that she and Georgie had a room to themselves. There was no one shouting at the boys to get out of bed or the sound of the girls’ raised voices as they squabbled over their clothes, hair ribbons and whose turn it was to make the bed or tidy their room. There was no smell of tobacco smoke wafting up from below or of sweaty male bodies, but conversely there was no aroma of hot tea and buttered toast, and now that she was wide awake she realised that they were well and truly on their own. She had paid a month’s rent in advance and Georgie needed new shoes. She must look for work and hope to find it soon.

They tramped the snow-covered streets together, Tom with Georgie perched on his shoulders and Effie holding her skirts above her ankles as her boots sank into the thick snow. While she knocked on doors or enquired at factory gates, Tom looked after Georgie. When it was Tom’s turn to seek employment, Effie allowed Georgie to play in the snow, but she regretted having shown him how to make snowballs as he proved to be adept at throwing and she found herself being bombarded mercilessly by a gleeful two-year-old. Despite the fun in the
snow, neither Effie nor Tom had any luck in finding work. They returned home briefly at midday to snatch a meal of bread and margarine washed down with tea, and having dried their boots by the fire, they set off again in the afternoon. No matter how many places they tried, there was no work to be had for a boy and a slight young woman who were both deemed unsuitable for factory labour. Untrained in anything other than working the canals, serving behind a bar or assisting the Great Arnoldo in his strong man act, Effie was close to tears when the final door slammed in her face. It was dark and they had tried the varnish works, the bone factory, the metropolitan alum works and the tar factory, all without success. They were close to Bow Common Bridge and Tom suggested that they pay a call on Ben Hawkins. Recalling her last brush with Maggie, Effie was reluctant, but the factory gates had opened spilling men and women out onto the pavements as they rushed homewards. George began to whimper as they were pushed and jostled and Effie lifted him onto Tom’s shoulders, the decision taken out of her hands.

Ben greeted them enthusiastically, calming Effie’s worries about upsetting his wife with the news that Mrs Hawkins had gone to visit her sick mother and was not expected back for an hour or more. He drew a pint of small
beer for Tom, a glass of port for Effie and lemonade for Georgie. ‘Now then,’ Ben said, leaning his elbows on the bar counter. ‘I hear that you’ve set up home. Betty keeps me up to date.’

‘She’s been a marvel,’ Effie said sincerely. ‘But we need to find work, Ben. We’ve been out since first thing this morning and tried just about everywhere.’

His good-natured face crumpled into a frown. ‘I’d take you on here like a shot, Effie, but the wife wouldn’t stand for it. She’s taken against you for no good reason other than your pretty face, and it would be more than my life is worth to give you work. It’s a crying shame, because you drew the punters in like bees round a honey pot.’

‘And that’s the trouble,’ Tom said, winking. ‘My sister has all the blokes running after her.’

Effie felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘That’s not funny, Tom.’

‘He’s right,’ Ben said, nodding his head in agreement. ‘You’re a fine-looking woman, Effie. Your pretty face works for you and it works against you.’

‘You could go on the stage,’ Tom said, grinning. ‘Only you can’t sing and you’ve got two left feet.’ He dodged Effie’s hand as she went to cuff him round the head, but in doing so he knocked his tankard over and
the beer spilled in a cascade over her blouse and skirt.

‘You’re soaked to the skin,’ Ben said sympathetically. ‘Betty’s in the kitchen. Go through, Effie.’

Tom scooped Georgie up in his arms. ‘You stay with me, young man. Give your ma a bit of peace and quiet for a change.’

Effie did not stop to argue. She went through to the kitchen, leaving a trail of beer in her wake. Betty took one look at her dishevelled state and threw up her hands. ‘Lord, girl, you smell like a brewery. Take them wet things off.’

‘I can’t walk about half naked,’ Effie protested. ‘What if Mrs Hawkins comes home early?’

‘She won’t, and you can’t go traipsing about London like that. You’ll catch your death of cold if you go out in that state. Now take everything off that’s wet and I’ll fetch a towel.’ Without waiting for an answer Betty hurried from the kitchen.

Effie was cold and wet and the smell of ale was making her feel queasy. Glancing nervously over her shoulder to make certain that there was no one about, she took off her clothes and hung them over a chair near the range. She moved closer to the fire, shivering and holding her hands out to the blaze, but
the sound of footsteps in the stable yard made her turn with a start. She stared helplessly at the outer door as it opened and a tall man strode into the kitchen, shaking snow off his caped greatcoat and stamping his boots on the floor. He took off his hat sending a shower of ice crystals into the air. ‘By God. It’s you, Effie, and you’re half naked.’

HE WAS STANDING
in the shadows outside the pool of light created by the fire and the oil lamp hanging above the kitchen table, but Effie would have known him anywhere. It was as if the genie had suddenly appeared without being summoned. A jumble of emotions left her confused and not a little embarrassed to be caught in a state of undress. She crossed her arms over her breasts, which were partly exposed above the tight confines of her stays. ‘Toby. What are you doing here?’