The Best of Sisters (12 page)

‘No, please wait.’ Freddie helped Beattie to a chair and made her sit down. He patted her hand. ‘I know you’re upset, but you’re talking nonsense.’

‘You bastard,’ Beattie hissed. ‘You know it’s yours.’

Freddie backed towards the door, shaking his head. ‘I know nothing of the sort. Fetch my things, Eliza, we’re leaving.’

‘Leaving!’ Beattie’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You can’t leave me, you vile blackguard. I’ll report you to the magistrate for crocussing. I’ll ruin you, you swine.’

‘Do as you please, but I swear that the child is not mine.’ Freddie delved in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He tossed them onto the bed. ‘That will keep you and your boys until you are fit to go back to your old profession, my dear.’

‘Libertine!’ Beattie took off her shoe and pitched it at Freddie’s head. ‘I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll make you pay.’

Freddie pushed Eliza unceremoniously out of the door as he attempted to deal with Beattie’s eldest son, who had run to his mother’s aid, and was kicking him in the shins and using swear words that were hitherto unknown to Eliza. ‘Here,’ Freddie said, taking a threepeny bit from his pocket and pressing it into the boy’s hand. ‘Take this and bugger off.’

Outside in the street, he leaned against the door with a sigh of relief. ‘That was not something I would have wanted you to witness, Eliza. And I’m sorry for it.’

‘Actually,’ Eliza said, grinning, ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

His relieved expression changed to one of alarm as the noises within the house grew louder. Beattie’s caterwauling appeared to have reached the ears of the Donatiello family upstairs. The sound of booted feet thudding down the bare stair treads, and the deep baritone voices of Carlo and Guido trumpeting like angry bulls, made Freddie snatch up his bags.

‘Leg it, Eliza,’ he said, breaking into a run.

She needed no second bidding. She had heard the Donatiello family’s verbal battles often enough. She had seen Carlo and Guido using their fists one minute and then, having blackened each other’s eyes or bloodied a nose, flinging their arms around one another and hugging. As all their quarrels were conducted in mellifluous Italian, Eliza had never understood a word that was said, but she knew one thing and that was that the brothers used their fists first and asked questions later. She ran.

Breathless, red in the face and sweating, despite the extreme cold, Freddie stopped, setting his bags down and leaning against a wall. He had come to a halt outside Uncle Enoch’s chandlery and Eliza tugged at his sleeve. ‘This is my uncle’s shop, Freddie. Best move on a bit.’

He took a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Let me get my breath back. Look round the corner, Eliza. Make sure those mad Italians haven’t followed us.’

Before Eliza could move, the door to the chandlery opened and Enoch stepped out onto the pavement. He stopped, glaring at Eliza over the top of his woollen muffler. ‘What d’you want, girl?’

‘Nothing, Uncle, we was just – passing by.’ Eliza glanced anxiously at Freddie.

‘Passing by!’ Enoch spat the words at her. ‘Come to importune me for money, I expect. Well, I’ve washed my hands of you and that worthless brother of yours. You’ll not get another penny from me.’

‘As I see it, Mr Bragg,’ Freddie said, drawing himself upright, and hooking his arm around Eliza’s shoulders. ‘As I see it, sir, whichever way you care to look at it, you sold this girl to me for a couple of pounds just months ago. She is nothing to you and she wants nothing from you.’

‘No doubt she’s your whore, you damn crocusser.’ Enoch spat on the ground at Eliza’s feet. ‘I always knew you’d end up on the street, you bitch. You’re a harlot, just like your mother.’

Freddie lunged at Enoch; his aim was not scientific but he landed a blow on Enoch’s beaky nose with a resounding crack of bone and a spurt of blood. Squaring up, Freddie danced about on his toes, fisting his hands. ‘Take that for a start. Come on, Bragg. Fight like a man.’

Enoch backed into his shop doorway,
clutching his bleeding nose. ‘I’ll have the law on you – you quack. Common assault is what this is. You’ve broke me nose, you bugger.’

Eliza caught Freddie by the arm, pulling him away. ‘Leave him be. Come away.’

But Freddie seemed to be elated by his prowess as a boxer and he continued to dodge backwards and forwards, dancing on his toes, daring Enoch to fight. ‘Come on, Bragg. You’re very brave when it comes to hurting little girls. Let’s see you take on someone your own size.’

‘Hooligan!’ Enoch muttered, and disappeared into the shop, slamming the door behind him.

Freddie stood still, a look of disappointment clouding his face. ‘Damn it, I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’

‘Stop it.’ Eliza grabbed him by the arm and shook him. ‘You’ll end up in jail if you carry on like this.’

He straightened his hat and picked up his bags. ‘Did you see that punch? Landed right on his conk and drew claret. I wonder if I should give up medicine and consider pugilism instead?’

Eliza glanced up at the window of the sail loft where she caught a glimpse of two ginger heads. ‘We got to get away from here.’

‘You’re absolutely right, of course. Come, Eliza. We have our work to do, healing the sick.’

Just as they were about to move off, the window above them opened and Davy stuck his
head out. ‘Best get away quick, Liza. The old bugger has sent Dippy Dan out the back way to fetch a constable.’

In spite of her agitation, she managed a smile. ‘Ta, Davy.’

‘Ted’s out,’ Davy said, leaning dangerously over the windowsill. ‘He won’t know nothing about it if you move on quick.’

She nodded. ‘See you later then.’

‘I think we might try Shadwell Market,’ Freddie said, striding off as if nothing had happened. ‘Come on, Eliza. Don’t dawdle.’

Really, Freddie was the most exasperating man at times, she thought, as she trotted after him. He was homeless, and now the police would be looking for him as well as the Donatiello brothers, who had plenty of time on their hands until the beginning of the ice-cream season. She knew that they both had a soft spot for Beattie, and probably enjoyed her favours. In fact, either one of them could have fathered her little mistake. But Eliza did not fancy Freddie’s chances if the brothers caught up with him. It was just as well, she thought, that Basher Harris, the stevedore who lived in the upstairs back bedroom with his aged mother, was doing his day shift in the docks. One punch from him would knock Freddie into next week.

They had reached the bridge in New Gravel Lane that crossed the polluted water oozing from
the docks and emptying into the Pool of London. As they came to the middle of the bridge, Eliza looked down into the oily, tobacco-coloured water, and shuddered. The bloody bridge, as it was known locally, was a magnet to the poor desperate souls who threw themselves off the parapet seeking oblivion; their bloated corpses fished out nightly in the drag, a grim harvest of human detritus.

A ragged woman slumped on the cobblestones held out her claw-like hand, begging for money. ‘For pity’s sake, mister, give us twopence,’ she cried, grabbing Freddie’s coat-tail. ‘A penny then, just a penny, for the love of God.’

He hesitated, looking down at her raddled face and the empty bottle lying by her side.

‘Don’t stop, Freddie,’ Eliza said, glancing anxiously over her shoulder. ‘There’s two coppers coming down the street. Best move on quick.’

‘Save a poor soul, your worship,’ the woman cried, scrambling to her knees and steepling her fingers as if in prayer. ‘The water is cold but they say as how you don’t feel nothing much when it closes over your head for the third time.’

Freddie gave her twopence. On an instant, seeming to recover miraculously, she leapt to her feet and headed towards the nearest pub, her bare, purple feet slipping and slithering on the icy pavement.

‘Hurry, Freddie,’ Eliza hissed in his ear. ‘Maybe they ain’t looking for us.’

‘I’m an innocent man, they have no cause to arrest me,’ Freddie said, hefting his cases beneath his arms. ‘Keep close to me, Eliza.’

Before they had gone two steps, there was a shout from behind. ‘That’s him, constable. The one you’re looking for. Tried to bribe me to keep quiet, he did.’

Eliza turned her head and saw to her dismay that the drunken woman was being supported between two policemen, and she was pointing at Freddie.

‘Run,’ Eliza screamed. ‘Oh, Freddie, run.’

‘Dr Frederick Prince does not run from the law.’ Freddie turned to face the constables as they strode towards him, swinging their truncheons. ‘I’ll sort this out, my dear. You must go home. Go now.’ Lifting the case that contained his pills and potions onto the top of the parapet, Freddie leaned back giving it an almost imperceptible shove with his shoulders so that it hurtled downwards, hitting the water with a loud splash. ‘Oops,’ Freddie said, folding his arms across his chest.

‘Why did you do that?’ Eliza demanded, horrified to see the life-saving medicines sinking to the bottom of the cut.

‘That’s the evidence gone. It’s my word against Enoch’s now, Eliza.’

‘Let me speak for you, Freddie. Let me tell them what a good man you are,’ she cried, clasping his hand.

‘Good man?’ Freddie’s smile wavered. ‘Oh Eliza, my dear girl. I’ll miss you terribly. Now run away while I keep them talking, or do I have to throw you in the cut with the medicine chest?’

He was smiling down at her with genuine tenderness in his eyes and she simply could not run away and leave him to his fate. Eliza faced the constables. ‘You got the wrong man, officers. This here is Dr Frederick Prince, a physician with a genuine diploma from the Paris Conserve – conservative. He done nothing but heal the sick and I won’t let you take him away. My uncle got what he deserved – you can’t blame Freddie for punching him on the nose.’

Freddie shook his head, prising her fingers from his hand. ‘Go, Eliza. I insist you go now.’

The elder and more senior of the two constables placed his burly body between them, turning to Eliza with a stern look. ‘Move on, missy, or we’ll have to take you in too.’

‘Come on, miss.’ The younger man took Eliza by the arm. ‘You’d best do as he says.’

His superior officer took a pair of handcuffs from his belt. ‘Dr Prince, I’m arresting you in the name of the law.’

Freddie offered his wrists for cuffing. ‘I’m sure
we can sort this out, officer. I’ll come quietly, but I insist that you let this young person go. She has nothing to do with me.’

‘Oh, Freddie, how can you say such a thing?’ Eliza cried, struggling to get free. ‘You can’t arrest Dr Prince. I’m telling you, he ain’t done nothing wrong.’ She lashed out with her foot at the constable who had arrested Freddie, but he moved out of reach.

‘Send her on her way,’ he said, seizing Freddie by the scruff of his neck. ‘We got our man.’

The young constable guided Eliza to the edge of the bridge, where an interested crowd had turned out of the pubs to enjoy the spectacle. ‘Go home, little girl. You shouldn’t mix with men like him; they’ll only get you into trouble.’

She stood on the pavement, watching helplessly as the constables marched Freddie away. The crowd was jeering and there was nothing she could do to help him. She felt lost and alone. Blind panic, despair and anger raged within her breast. She turned in the direction of home, and, blinded by tears, Eliza broke into a run. A cold, sleety rain was falling from a solid sky as she reached Hemp Yard. Winter had reclaimed its territory, and she felt as though her heart had frozen into a block of ice. She came to a halt outside the house, shivering as much from shock as the chill that was seeping into her bones. Her first instinct had been to rush into the house, but
a small voice in her head warned her to stop and think. Dolly had been so much better for taking the medicine that Freddie had made up for her. She was a changed woman from the sickly, housebound invalid that Eliza had known when she first came to Hemp Yard. Dolly thought the world of Freddie and to tell her that he had been arrested might cause her to relapse, and Ted would be furious. He would be angry with Freddie and he would be vexed because she had lost her job.

Eliza stood on the pavement trying to decide what to do for the best. Then she caught sight of her reflection in a muddy puddle. Her beautiful blue bonnet was soaked and almost certainly ruined. The ostrich feather hung limply over her forehead and, as she brushed a salty mix of tears and sleet from her cheeks, she found that there was blue dye dripping down her face. She could not go into the house in this state; she must compose herself and think what to do next. But it was hard to think straight when she was shivering uncontrollably. She began to walk, wrapping her arms tightly around her body in an effort to keep warm. She must keep walking or she would freeze to death and she must find alternative work, at least until the police discovered that Freddie was innocent of any crime, other than punching Uncle Enoch on the nose. They would release him, she told herself,
forcing her feet to move one in front of the other at a smart pace. Freddie was a healer, a doctor who gave hope to hundreds of poor people. He was a kind and wonderful man and she loved him.

Eliza stopped at the bottom of New Gravel Lane, close to the workhouse where Millie had spent her first few miserable years. The realisation that she loved Freddie hit her in the stomach like a punch from a prizefighter. No, it was impossible: she was only thirteen – Freddie was a grown man who thought of her as a child. Uncle Enoch had accused her of being Freddie’s whore, a dreadful word that made Eliza feel sick with shame. As if Freddie would do anything as dishonourable as to take her in the way that he had taken the slut Beattie Larkin.

If only Bart were here. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks in an unstoppable flow, as if a dam had burst within her. She was grieving for Bart all over again and now she had also lost Freddie. Sniffing and gulping, Eliza found her way into the churchyard and huddled on the tombstone where she had once sat with Freddie. He had explained the ways of love so gently and kindly, freely admitting his own weaknesses. In spite of the cold, she felt her cheeks burning with shame; her love for Freddie was pure and unsullied by the lusts of the flesh. She would have walked through fire for him. She would willingly devote
her life to helping him in his crusade to bring health to the poor and needy. She did not want to do the vile things that Beattie had done with him, naked and brazen, making noises like beasts in the marketplace. Wrapping her arms around her knees, Eliza crouched on the stone slab and sobbed.