Goodnight Lady (7 page)

‘Why don’t you let Cissy get you a cab home, Dad? In the morning, when everything’s all right with me mum, everything will be better.’

Paddy finally understood what Briony was saying. He hadn’t left her here like Eileen to make the best of it. She actually wanted to be here, and the knowledge hurt him far more than anything else she could have said. Even losing the house wouldn’t have hurt as much as what his daughter had just said. No wonder Molly was dead set against her. Here was a whore in the making all right.

‘You’re coming home with me now.’ His voice was harsh, and he was surprised when Briony shook her head.

‘I’ll not leave this house, Dad, I’m staying here whether you like it or not. You couldn’t wait for me to get here not three weeks since, and if you think that I’m going back to Oxlow Lane with you, you’re wrong. Dead wrong. If you take me home, then I’ll just keep coming back.’

She stared into his face earnestly. ‘Can’t you see, Dad? I love it here. I’m happy here. And best of all, everyone benefits by it. Especially me mum. She might want me home now, but she won’t when we’re back in the docks, will she?’

Paddy knew when he was defeated, but at least he could tell Molly and Eileen the truth now. That he’d come to get her and she’d refused. A little while later, as he made his way home in the cab paid for by Briony, he realised something. For all the trouble he was having with Eileen, he’d rather that than have her thinking like his Briony, and that was a turn up because Briony was their golden goose. Yet Eileen, it seemed to him, was more of a decent girl than ever, for all she’d been through with that scumbag. Whereas Briony, who’d taken to it like a duck to water, had broken his heart.

It was thick snow and Briony had had to brave the freezing weather to get a cab. Even in her thick coat and dress, fur hat and muff, she was still frozen. Her face was stinging with the cold and as the horse moved slowly through the icy streets she waggled her toes in her boots to stop them from going numb. It was her second Christmas at Henry Dumas’ house and she was a different girl altogether to the one who had arrived there fourteen months earlier. At eleven, she had grown. Her breasts were forming and the good food had put flesh on her bones. Her face had rounded, giving her a look of a young woman already. Her hair was still a fiery red, only now she wore it in a neat chignon pinned to her head with expert precision by Mrs Horlock.

Briony had also changed inside herself. She wasn’t as happy-go-lucky as she had been, and she was sensing a change in Henry Dumas as her body developed. She bit on her lip and watched the traffic in the streets, mainly pedestrians, a few ragamuffins running around offering to hold horses’ bridles or carry people’s shopping for a halfpenny. The majority of the people wore sacking over their clothes to try and keep the snow from freezing their bodies entirely.

As they approached Barking Broadway, the horse’s pace slowed even more. Briony pushed down the window of the cab and stared out. Then she saw him.

He was a tall boy of about thirteen, dressed in ragged trousers and jacket though his heavy boots were obviously new. Brand new, not second hand new. Briony was struck by his appearance because he had the thickest, blackest hair and eyebrows she had ever seen in her life. As she watched him from the cab she saw him stumble into a well-dressed man and apologise profusely before walking on. Briony smiled. He was dipping. She watched as another boy stepped by him and was given the wallet. It was all over in a split second and now the first boy ambled on again, safe in the knowledge that if he was stopped, he had no evidence on his person. Briony was fascinated by it all, and from her vantage point kept a close eye on him.

His next victim was to be a young docker, the worse for drink and also stumbling. She noticed the way that the pickpocket kept his cap pulled down low over his face; his clothes, well-pressed though old, were obviously new to him. He couldn’t quite carry himself in them properly. More used to being ragged arsed. Briony watched the boy bump into the docker, and then it all went wrong. The young man grabbed the boy’s hand like a vice. Briony saw them start struggling and banged on the wooden side of the cab for it to stop. Getting out, she ran over to where the two men were arguing, attracting the attention of more than a few people. She pushed her way through and, without giving it a second’s thought, dragged the dark boy free.

All the people there took in her clothes and assumed she was from the upper classes. She looked it, from her well-shod feet to her fur hat and muff. She looked into the dark boy’s face and in her best imitation of Henry Dumas’ voice, asked: ‘Have you picked up my purchases yet?’

The boy stared at her. She could see his brain seeking the appropriate answer. He was quick enough to know she was trying to help him. It was why she should that was the puzzle.

‘Come on, boy, we’ll go and pick them up now.’ She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and looked at the docker.

‘You should not imbibe so much drink, young man, you obviously can’t take it. Now get off home.’

She pulled the boy back to the cab and he helped her inside, lifting her arm and guiding her in as if he did it every day of his life. Once settled, they looked at one another.

‘You didn’t get to lift his wallet then?’

Briony’s altered voice was such a shock the boy started to laugh.

She frowned at him. ‘What you bleeding laughing at then? I just helped you out of a very tricky situation.’

The boy roared.

‘It’s your voice! Just now you sounded like the bloody Queen. Now you’re speaking like any other street slut.’

Briony felt herself pale and this was not lost on the boy either.

‘What did you just say?’

He hastened to make amends.

‘I didn’t mean that how it come out.’

She pushed her hands into her muff with such force she ripped the lining and the sound in the quiet of the cab was like a pistol going off.

The boy ran his hands through his hair. Realising his mistake, he tried to make it up to her.

‘I’m Tom Lane, Tommy to me mates. Thanks for helping me out like. I’ppreciate it.’

Briony looked at his handsome but dirty face, and thawed a bit.

‘I’m Briony Cavanagh.’

He grinned then, showing big strong white teeth. He settled back in the cab and Briony found herself grinning too.

‘Where do you live then?’

Briony swallowed deeply before answering. ‘I live in Oxlow Lane, but I work in a big house, just round the corner from Barking Park.’There was no way she was giving him an address, he looked the type to turn up there. The thought thrilled and frightened her at the same time.

‘Oxlow Lane, you say? That where you’re going now?’

Briony nodded. ‘I’m going to visit me family.’

Tom nodded and looked her over from head to toe. A nice-looking piece, he thought, but too well dressed for service. She was on the bash or his name wasn’t Tom Lane. He had two sisters and a mother on the game and neither of them had hit the big money like this one. But he didn’t tell her his thoughts. He liked her, he liked her a lot, especially for saving his neck.

‘How old are you then?’

Briony tossed her head and looked out at the passing road. ‘Old enough. You?’

Tommy grinned again. ‘Older than that, girl.’ He glanced outside and saw that they were at the Longbridge Road. ‘You can let me down here.’ He banged on the wooden side and the driver slowed the horse.

‘Tara then, Briony Cavanagh.’

‘’Bye, Tommy Lane.’

He hopped from the cab, and before shutting the door he winked at her. Briony watched him cross the wide road and make his way inside The Royal Oak. She saw him disappear inside the doorway and felt a moment’s sadness that he had gone. For some funny reason she liked him.

 

Tommy walked into the public house and ordered himself a pint of beer. His eyes travelled round the crowded bar looking for a face he knew. He saw a friend called Willy Gushing and walked over to him.

‘Hello, Willy, you’re looking well.’ And indeed Willy was looking well. He was wearing a suit more fitted to a lawyer than a petty criminal.

‘He looks like a pox doctor’s clerk, if you ask me.’

Willy smiled good-naturedly at the little boy sitting on the seat beside his friend.

‘Me bruwer james.’

Tommy nodded at the little boy.

‘He’s got some trap, ain’t he, Willy?’

Willy, a small dumpy boy with sandy hair and non-existent eyebrows, nodded his head vigorously.

‘More front than Southend, mate, and he’s only seven. Sit down, Tommy, I ain’t seen you for a while.’

He sat on the wooden bench beside his friend and admired him openly.

‘You’re looking really prosperous, Willy, what’s the scam?’

Willy took a large drink of beer and smiled. ‘I’m in with Dobson’s lot now. I tell you, Tommy, all the stories about him are true, but he’s a good bloke if you don’t cross him.’

Tommy nodded. Davie Dobson was the local hard man. He was good to people hereabouts in a lot of ways. It was known he would give money to women whose husbands had gone down before the beak, but he was also known to break a few bones when things weren’t going his way. He ran most of the girls on the streets hereabouts, as far as Stratford and some up West.

‘So what you doing for him then?’

‘I sort out deals for him. Little deals that he ain’t got the time or the inclination to bother with.’

What he actually meant was little girls. Willy procured them from the poorer families and then delivered them to Nellie Deakins’ house and other establishments all over the smoke. Dobson, who was trying to make himself look respectable in certain circles, needed stooges like Willy who’d go down if they got caught and do their time without a whimper, coming home to a good few quid and a steady job. Willy was to progress soon to delivering girls to the homes of certain prominent people whom Davie Dobson would then blackmail. It was the most lucrative business, because once they paid, they paid forever.

‘Could you get me in with him like, Willy? I could do with a regular job, and you don’t look like you’re starving from it.’

Willy swaggered in his seat.

‘I’ll have a word with him for you. Me and Dobson’s like that.’

‘You do that for me, Willy, and I’ll owe you one. Now seeing as how you’re in the dosh, you can get the next round in.’

Willy got up and went to the bar.

‘What do you do, young man?’ Tommy addressed James, who looked at him as if he was so much dirt.

‘Mind your own business, you nosy bastard!’

Tommy laughed and James frowned at him. He was only three feet six inches tall and already he was a hard man. That’s what life on the streets did for you.

 

Briony swept into the house in Oxlow Lane in a cloud of cold air and perfume. Molly went outside and picked up the hamper, dragging it through the door. Briony helped her get it on the table.

‘Where’s the girls?’

‘All gone up the Lane for some last-minute shopping. Eileen’s been promising them she’ll take them all week. Rosalee’s asleep upstairs.’

Briony removed her coat and hung it carefully on the nail behind the front door.

‘How are you, Mum?’

She and Molly had had a truce for nearly a year now. It was a truce that suited them both. Molly needed Briony’s wages, as they were called, and Briony had no intention of ever coming back to her mother’s house. Molly had resigned herself to Briony’s choice of career and now the two got on quite well.

‘I wanted to talk to you, Mum, I’m glad we’re alone.’

Briony put the kettle on the fire and started to make a fresh pot of tea while Molly unpacked the hamper.

‘It’s Henry - Mr Dumas. He’s losing interest in me.’

Molly pushed back her faded blonde hair and stared across at her daughter’s beautiful face. Every time she looked at Briony she marvelled where she could have come from. With that red hair and white skin, she was unlike any of the others. Unlike her parents or grandparents, though the Irish were often red-headed.

‘What you going to do then?’

Briony sighed. ‘I don’t know, Mum, but if I get me marching orders, the wages go with me.’

Molly knew this already and it scared her.

‘Have you got anything down below yet?’

‘I did have, but Cissy plucked them out for me.’Briony bit on her bottom lip. ‘He can’t stand it, see, Mum. Once I start to develop properly, he won’t want me any more. I had a show last week. The curse is on its way, I just know it.’

Molly nodded. Briony made the tea and took the steaming pot over to the table.

‘What am I going to do?’

Molly sighed. ‘I don’t know, girl. We’ll put our thinking caps on and maybe something will come up.’

Rosalee started to cry and Briony went up the stairs and brought her down to the kitchen. ‘Bri ... Bri ...’

Briony hugged her close and kissed her. ‘Yes, it’s Bri Bri, and she’s got a lovely present for you for Christmas.’

Molly watched the red head and the blonde together and felt a sadness in herself. Both were tainted but in different ways. Of the two she’d rather have Rosalee any day.

 

Paddy was drunk; not his usual boisterous drunk but a sullen, melancholic mood. He staggered out of The Bull at twenty past ten. He would have stayed longer except he’d run out of money and his friends, on whom he had spent over a pound, were now preparing to leave as well. Paddy stumbled home.

The long walk, instead of sobering him up, only made him more peevish with every freezing step he took. In his mind he conjured up all the wrongs done to him by his wife. First and foremost in his mind was the fact she’d have no sexual relations with him. He’d get the priest round to talk to her about that. Then there was the fact that she doled out the money to him. He knew she had a good wad stashed away and, on the rare occasions that he was alone in the house, had searched for it fruitlessly. Then there was her attitude with the girls. By Christ, they were grown up now, except for Rosalee who would never grow up.