A Place Called Home (23 page)

Lucy ran after her. ‘No, please. I must know more.'

Froniga slowed her pace. ‘The Waterman's Arms. It's not far from here. I go there every day about this time. Come tomorrow, but come alone.' She hurried off, leaving Lucy staring after her.

Bram approached slowly. ‘I'm sorry. I know how much finding Eva means to you, but I don't trust that woman.'

‘She's all I have to go on.'

He helped her into the cab. ‘I wish I could stay longer, but you know I have to leave in the morning.'

She nodded dully, realising how much she would miss him. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘But I'll put all my efforts into selling my commission. The sooner I'm a free man the better, and I'll repay every penny to Linus, even if it leaves me with nothing.'

Lucy gave him an encouraging smile. ‘I know exactly how you feel.'

When they reached Leman Street Lucy was dismayed to see the Northams' carriage waiting outside. It had started to rain and their coachman was huddled in his caped greatcoat. Lucy called to him as she climbed down from the cab. ‘Have you been waiting long?'

He tipped his hat. ‘A good while, miss.'

Her heart sank as she knocked on the door and waited for a response. Tired and saddened by their lack of success in finding her grandmother, the last thing Lucy felt she needed at this moment was a confrontation with Piers.

Bedwin opened the door and she could tell by his expression that he too was at the end of his patience. ‘That man is here again, Miss Lucy,' he muttered as he took her shawl and bonnet. ‘I told him that I didn't know when you'd be back, but he insisted on waiting for you. He's in the front parlour.'

‘Thank you, Bedwin. I'll deal with this.' Lucy entered the room prepared for battle.

‘
WHY ARE YOU
here?' Lucy was too overwrought to hide her feelings behind a mask of good manners.

Piers rose swiftly from a chair by the empty grate. ‘I had to see you again. My last visit didn't go as I had planned.'

‘I thought we'd decided that there was no future for us, Piers.'

‘I still have feelings for you. I've tried to overcome them, but it seems that you have me bewitched.'

‘That's nonsense. You wanted a rich wife and I'm poor. It's as simple as that.'

‘Nothing is ever that straightforward when it comes to human emotions. I can't get you out of my mind, although heaven knows I've tried.'

‘You just want what you can't have.'

‘That's unkind, Lucy. Mightn't we put all this behind us and begin again?'

‘Are you proposing marriage, or had you something else in mind?'

His shocked expression seemed genuine and for a moment he seemed lost for words, but he recovered quickly. ‘That's an outrageous suggestion and one that doesn't merit an answer.'

‘But I'm still virtually penniless and the circumstances of my birth haven't changed.'

‘That doesn't matter. I see it all clearly now.' Piers took her hands in his, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘I plan to stand as candidate for this constituency, and having a home here would be to my advantage. Even if they were aware of the situation, the fact that your parents weren't married would mean little to my prospective constituents.'

She stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘Let me get this clear, Piers. Are you saying that in order to get yourself elected you would be willing to marry me and live in this house?'

‘Of course I want to marry you. We were about to get engaged, if you remember. But I couldn't see a way of balancing my career prospects and my personal life. Now I can.'

Lucy snatched her hands away. ‘And now you plan to make me part of your election campaign?'

‘Of course,' he said enthusiastically. ‘You've created a home for poor orphans. What better adjunct for a parliamentary candidate than a wife who does good works? We might even allude to your early years spent growing up in the East End, although of course it would have to be adapted a little.'

‘You are incredible.' Lucy gazed at him in disbelief. ‘Does Dora know of your plans?'

‘Not in their entirety, but she loves you and she'll be thrilled to know that we're officially engaged . . .' He broke off, glaring at Bram who had burst into the room without knocking.

‘You've agreed to marry him?' Bram roared. ‘After the way he's treated you?'

‘What's it to you?' Piers advanced on Bram, fists clenched at his sides.

Lucy stepped in between them, fending them off with her hands. ‘I haven't agreed to anything.'

‘But he just said you're engaged,' Bram said, scowling.

‘And we are.' Piers put his hand in his pocket and took out the ring. ‘I had planned to announce our engagement at Lucy's twenty-first birthday party, but circumstances worked against us. Hold out your hand, my dear.'

Lucy backed away, shaking her head. ‘You're mad, Piers. If you think that I'd marry you now, you're very much mistaken.'

‘You'd better leave.' Bram took a step towards him, but Piers stood his ground.

‘I don't take orders from you. Come outside and we'll settle this like gentlemen.'

Bram threw back his head and laughed. ‘We're in Whitechapel. Brawling is an everyday occurrence and if I didn't thrash you, someone else would take over just for the fun of it.'

‘Piers, I want you to leave now,' Lucy said firmly. ‘We are not engaged and never will be. I'm sorry, but that's how it is.'

He snatched up his top hat and cane. ‘Dora will be very upset when she hears how you've thrown my generous offer back in my face.'

‘Dora is my friend and I hope she always will be. Go home and find someone else to support your political ambitions.' Lucy held the door open.

‘This isn't over.' Piers stormed out of the room.

Lucy heard him snap at Bedwin, telling him to get out of his way, followed by the slamming of the front door. She sank down on the nearest chair. ‘I don't know what possessed him,' she said tiredly. ‘He's not always like that, or I wouldn't have imagined myself to be in love with him.'

Bram stood by the window, his back to her as he looked out on the street. ‘I'm almost sorry for the fellow.'

‘Sorry for him? Why? He jilted me and now he's come creeping back because he needs a wife to help him in his election campaign.'

‘He's gone.' Bram turned to her with a wry smile. ‘Despite the fact that I dislike the chap intensely, I think he has genuine feelings for you, and who could blame him?'

‘Is that an unsubtle way of paying me a compliment, Bram?'

‘You deserve better than this,' he said, looking round the shabby room. ‘You've been brought up to a different way of life.'

‘It wasn't my choosing, Bram. I'm still a street arab at heart.'

He laughed and took a seat opposite her, stretching out his long legs. ‘So you say, but I remember you as a child, and even then I knew that you were different from us. You were touched by a little bit of magic that set you apart from ordinary mortals, and that was before your grandfather took you permanently under his wing.'

‘You're talking nonsense, Bram.' Struggling against a sudden feeling of exhaustion, she raised herself from the chair. ‘I must see how the children are doing and rescue poor Hester. She had them all day and she'll be worn out.'

He jumped to his feet. ‘You're right. And I need to have a chat with young Bertie and make him realise that he'll be the man of the house while I'm away.'

‘Don't let Bedwin hear you say that. He thinks he's my guardian angel and I don't want to disappoint him.'

The children cried when they saw Bram off next day, and Lucy shed a tear in private, although she made an effort to appear cheerful for the sake of the others. Sid and Essie were similarly affected even though they had only known Bram for a short time, and Peckham lay on his blanket with his head between his paws, looking sorrowful. Hester waved him off with a show of cheerfulness that did not fool anyone, and Bedwin made a pot of tea, lacing each cup with a tot of the brandy he had liberated from the cellars in Albemarle Street.

But there was no time to wallow in self-pity and Lucy set everyone a task in the seemingly never-ending work of refurbishing of the house. They took the remaining rooms one at a time, sweeping, mopping and polishing until every inch was scoured clean. Bertie had secured a job in the local bakery, which relieved him of his domestic duties to some extent, but in his spare time he helped Bedwin to restore the peeling paintwork.

Lucy waited for a couple of days, making certain that things were running smoothly in Bram's absence. She was surprised to find how much she missed his company, and how much he had done to create order out of chaos. He had the gift of command without being overbearing or making others resentful. She worked tirelessly, but her determination to find Eva had not waned, and on the third morning after Bram's departure she set off for Limehouse, using some of her dwindling resources to pay for a cab.

The Waterman's Arms was relatively quiet, with only a few old men seated at tables with their pint pots in front of them and clay pipes clenched in their teeth. The barman eyed her suspiciously. ‘What can I do for you, miss?'

‘I'm looking for a woman called Froniga. She said I might find her here.'

‘I know her,' he said, nodding. ‘You'd do best to steer clear of didicois, miss.'

‘Nevertheless I want to speak to her. Is she likely to come in this morning?'

‘Can't say for certain, but if she's really got second sight she should know that you're here.' He winked and grinned. ‘You can wait if you want, but this ain't no place for a young lady.'

Lucy sighed inwardly. She had worn her shabbiest gown and borrowed an old shawl and bonnet from Hester, but it seemed to have made no difference. ‘I'll have a glass of lemonade, if you please.' She placed a penny on the counter.

He poured her drink, placing it on the counter in front of her. ‘I think you'd best take it in the back parlour. We'll be busy soon and you'll find it a bit crowded, if you get my meaning.'

‘Yes. Thank you.' She picked up the glass and followed him through a door at the back of the bar, and along a dark corridor to a room at the far end. The reek of stale beer and tobacco smoke made her catch her breath, but she thanked the barman and took a seat by the fireplace. The hearth was littered with broken clay pipes and ashes tumbled from the grate. Dust covered the wooden settles and the table tops were sticky with spilled beer. Housekeeping was obviously not a priority. She settled down to wait.

She had almost given up and was thinking of leaving when the door opened and Froniga swept into the room, making it seem even smaller. Her colourful costume was in sharp contrast to the dingy surroundings and her loud voice shattered the stillness like cockcrow at dawn. ‘I knew you'd be here,' she said triumphantly. ‘You've come to ask my help in finding your granny.'

Lucy rose to her feet. ‘Her name is Eva Pocket.'

‘Names don't mean much in the twilight world, my duck.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It's a place where those who've lost everything find oblivion.'

‘I still don't understand. Do you know where I can find my grandmother, or not?'

‘No, but I think I've found your friend Pearl. Come with me.' Froniga left the room in a swirl of grubby red flannel petticoats, leaving a waft of strange and exotic perfume in her wake. Lucy hurried after her.

The men in the bar stood aside to let them pass with expressions varying from overt hostility to fear. A foreign seaman made the sign of a cross on his chest and others turned away, as if the mere sight of the gypsy woman would cast a spell on them. When they reached the street Lucy kept close, afraid of losing Froniga in the dark alleyways and courts. It was eerily quiet, and the men and women who stumbled out of the taverns and opium dens were hollow-eyed and gaunt. ‘This is a terrible place,' Lucy whispered. ‘Surely we won't find Pearl here?'

Froniga put her finger to her lips, saying nothing as she parted a filthy, ragged curtain which separated the outside world from the place where the desperate came to seek escape. Lucy clutched her hand to her nose as the stench hit her with the force of a slap in the face. The foetid air was thick and smoke-filled, and a single paraffin lamp set on a low table was the only form of lighting. Inert figures were sprawled on the floor with opium pipes clutched in their hands. Lucy tugged at Froniga's sleeve. ‘There must be some mistake. Pearl would never sink to this.'

‘Who have you brought to me, gypsy woman?' A haggard crone rose from a stool behind the table, eyeing Lucy critically. ‘She looks too young and fresh to want my services.'

‘We're looking for a woman called Pearl Sykes,' Froniga said tersely. ‘Is she here?'

‘She's broke, so take her and good riddance.'

‘Where is she?'

The woman took a clay pipe from her mouth and pointed it into the gloomy interior. ‘Over there.'

Froniga stepped over a body prostrate on the bare boards, and beckoned to Lucy. She made her way round the shapeless mound, treading carefully. It was impossible to tell whether it was male or female, alive or dead, but she did not look closely enough to see. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness Lucy could make out more bodies, some lying as if dead to the world, and others in a semi-comatose state. Damp oozed from the walls, leaving trails of green slime, and fungus sprouted like ghostly fingers from the cracked brickwork. The smell was suffocating and she covered her mouth and nose with her hand. This place was a living hell, and although she wanted desperately to find Pearl, a small part of her hoped that it was a stranger who lay drugged and unconscious in the dark alcove.