The Cockney Angel (21 page)

‘Artie. Oh, thank God. I thought you was a goner.’ She laid her hand on his brow and tears flooded down her cheeks as she realised that the crisis was past. His skin was cool and his breathing regular.

‘Is that really you, Irene?’

‘It is me. Yes, it is.’ Her voice hitched on a sob and she grabbed his hand, holding it to her cheek. ‘You gave us such a fright, you silly boy.’

‘Why are you crying then?’ Arthur stared at her, frowning. ‘Where am I? This isn’t the pickle shop and it isn’t my room at home.’

‘Don’t talk, Artie. Save your strength.’ Assuming an air of authority and busying herself by straightening his tumbled bedclothes,
Irene
hid her relief beneath an air of authority. ‘You must rest. You’ve been very poorly but thank God you’re on the mend now.’ She plumped his pillows energetically. ‘I’m going to give you another dose of medicine and then I’ll go downstairs and make you a nice hot cup of tea.’

When Dr Joliffe came to see his patient, he was cautiously optimistic about Arthur’s chances of making a full recovery, but he shook his head and tut-tutted when he saw the bottle of elixir that Biddy Thorne had prescribed. ‘Foolish and dangerous nonsense,’ he said angrily. ‘Who knows what she puts in her nostrums? She might have poisoned the boy.’

Irene listened politely, but she was certain that if anything had helped to pull Arthur round it was Biddy’s potion. Still mumbling into his starched shirt points, Dr Joliffe said that he would call again in a day or two and in the meantime his patient must stay in bed and rest.

Having left Arthur propped up on his pillows gazing drowsily out of the window Irene went downstairs to the kitchen. She found Miss Maude standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. ‘Pompous little pill-pusher. I can’t abide doctors. Never could.’ She turned to Irene and her eyes
were
still blazing. ‘I won’t be lectured by any man, let alone someone as self-opinionated as that old fool. He virtually accused me of using witchcraft to cure my nephew – the damn cheek of him.’

Martha stopped rolling out pastry for a piecrust. ‘He was just put out because old Biddy is a better physician. The boy might have died if it wasn’t for her medicine.’

‘I’m glad Arthur is better, of course, but I can’t stand around all day gossiping,’ Maude said dismissively. She turned to Irene, giving her a hard stare. ‘You will stay until he is completely recovered, won’t you?’

‘I must go home soon, Miss Maude. My family don’t know where I am and they will be worried about me.’

‘Send them a letter then. Martha will post it for you in the village.’ Maude picked up her battered felt hat and rammed it on her head. ‘I’ll be at the smithy all afternoon. Parson needs shoeing and there’s a ploughshare needs straightening out. Damn fool of a boy went over a rock the size of Canvey Island. I don’t know if he’s half blind or stupid, but you just can’t rely on anyone these days.’ She made for the back door and the dogs yapped a greeting as she stepped out into the cold November afternoon.

Puzzled by Miss Maude’s last remark, Irene
turned
to Martha. ‘The parson needs shoeing?

What does that mean?’

‘Well, it ain’t the vicar,’ Martha replied, chuckling. ‘Parson is her horse, named after the last incumbent at the vicarage who got on her wrong side. Miss Maude don’t like clergymen nor doctors.’

‘She doesn’t seem to think much of men in general.’

‘Nor most women neither.’ Martha laid the pastry over a dish of meat and potato and she trimmed off the excess with deft strokes of a knife. ‘You’re lucky she took a fancy to you straight away. That don’t happen too often, I can tell you.’

Irene’s curiosity was aroused. She had thought that Miss Greenwood was simply a grumpy old woman, and rather eccentric, but now she wanted to know more. ‘Why doesn’t she like people, Martha? And why is she so bitter when she has a lovely home and everything she could possibly want?’

‘She had a disappointment in love and a younger sister who betrayed her.’

‘What happened?’

‘It’s something we don’t talk about.’

Irene digested this in silence, watching Martha as she brushed the piecrust with beaten egg before placing the dish in the oven.

‘There,’ Martha said, wiping her brow with
the
back of her hand. ‘That’s done. Hadn’t you better get back to the sickroom?’

‘Yes, of course, and I don’t want to pry into Miss Maude’s business, but did my room once belong to her sister?’

‘Yes, that was Miss Dora’s room. She was a lovely girl, full of life and pretty as a picture. It wasn’t surprising that Miss Maude’s old sweetheart fell in love with her when his first wife died.’

‘That sounds like a story from a penny novelette. What happened?’

‘I’ve said too much already. It was a long time ago and best forgotten. You mustn’t mention a word of this to Miss Maude; she’d be mortified if she knew I’d told you this much.’

‘I won’t, I promise,’ Irene said reluctantly. ‘I’ll take some of that broth upstairs to Artie. He might be able to manage a few mouthfuls.’

‘My beef tea has been known to work miracles,’ Martha said, beaming as she ladled the savoury-smelling liquid into a bowl. ‘We’ll soon have him back on his feet. And if you write that letter I’ll take it to the post this afternoon.’

‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘If the police start asking questions and they find out I’m here, they’ll come back for Artie. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘Well, you’re stuck then, aren’t you? She won’t let you go until young Mr Arthur has recovered, so you’d best make the most of it. Now take him that beef tea before it gets cold.’

Arthur’s recovery was slow. Irene was torn between the desire to return to London and the need to make certain that he did not suffer a relapse, which Dr Joliffe warned was quite possible, especially after the patient had been dosed with goodness-knows-what, which might eventually prove to have fatal consequences. In the old days, he added darkly, Biddy Thorne would have been burned at the stake or put in the ducking stool and drowned in the village pond.

After three days, Arthur was well enough to sit in the chair by the fire for an hour or two each afternoon. It was now almost a week since Irene had left London and she was desperately worried. She could not imagine what Pa might be thinking and Ma would be worried sick if she had discovered her missing. She simply had to go home, and now that Arthur was out of danger there was really nothing to keep her here. It was almost four o’clock and Irene had brought a tray of tea to the sickroom with some of Martha’s fairy cakes to tempt his appetite. She set it down on a table beside his chair and she poured the tea.
She
placed one of the delicate bone china cups in his hand, and went over to the window to draw the curtains. Outside, the sky was the colour of old pewter and a heavy drenching rain was beating against the windowpanes. The lawn below was rapidly turning into a huge muddy puddle.

‘Are you all right, Renie?’ Arthur asked tentatively. ‘You’re very quiet.’

She turned to him, forcing a smile. ‘I can’t fool you, can I, Artie? As a matter of fact I’ve been wondering how to tell you this, but I really must go back to London.’

‘I thought that was it, but I was afraid to ask.’

She was quick to hear the tremulous note in his voice and she hurried over to kneel by his side. ‘You’re well on the mend now. I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t think you was over the worst, but I’ve left the shop all shut up and I didn’t have a chance to tell Pa where I was going. Goodness knows what sort of state he’ll be in by now.’

‘If he’s even noticed,’ Arthur said with a hint of his old spirit. ‘He goes away for weeks on end without a word. It’ll do him good to have a taste of his own medicine.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t want him telling Ma that I’ve disappeared, or Emmie come to that.’

‘And there’s Inspector Kent. What will you say to him?’

‘Nothing about your whereabouts, that’s for sure.’

‘But you were supposed to be passing on information I’d given you. He’ll be wondering where you are. I don’t want you getting into bother with the police because of me. I’ve let him down badly, and you too.’

She squeezed his fingers. ‘Don’t talk soft. Drink your tea and try one of Martha’s cakes. They’re very good.’

Arthur took one, crumbling it between his fingers and frowning. ‘You must go when you please, Renie. I’m getting better all the time.’

‘Are you sure, Artie? I don’t want you going and having one of them relapses that the doctor talks about.’

He flashed her a weak smile. ‘I’m well on the road to recovery, and you’ve done enough for me. I’ll never forget it. I mean that.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’d do the same for me. We’re mates, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, mates. I suppose that is all.’

She stared at him, angling her head. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing. Don’t take any notice of me. It’s the weakness talking, and I’m just being selfish, wanting to keep you here. You go home tomorrow, Renie.’

‘I will, and you’ll follow me as soon as you’re strong enough.’

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes and staring into the fire. ‘I won’t be coming back to London, Renie. There’s nothing there for me now. I’ve missed my chance of taking the journeyman’s examination this year and I’m not even sure I want to be a silversmith. Perhaps I never did and I just let the old man talk me into it. But I won’t let him do that any more. In fact, I think I’d like to stay here in the country and help Aunt Maude on the farm.’

Irene sat back on her haunches, staring at him in astonishment. ‘What? You working on a farm, Arthur Greenwood? You’d miss London and all its excitements too much to bury yourself in the country.’

He turned his head slowly to meet her gaze. ‘If I go back to London I’ll only end up like Billy. The gambling fever got into my blood and it makes me afraid. If I stay here there won’t be the temptations that there are in the city, and I’ll be safe from the Sykes gang.’ He reached out to grasp her hand. ‘You could stay here too, Renie. Send word to London and tell Billy that you’ve had enough of slaving away in the pickle shop, and stay here with me.’

She thought for a moment that he was joking, but there was no hint of humour in his eyes. ‘There now, that’s a pleasant thought, Artie, but what would your Aunt Maude say to it?’

‘She must like you or she wouldn’t have let you have Aunt Dora’s room. My family rarely speak of her, but Mother told me the tale years ago.’

‘Miss Maude has been good to me, but I can’t stay. I’m a London girl through and through and this sort of life ain’t for me. I must go, Artie. You do understand, don’t you?’

He released her hand and his lips curved in an attempt at a smile, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I do, but if you change your mind you can always come back. We could have a good life here, girl.’

She did not pretend to misunderstand, but she hoped that his dependence on her had been brought about more by illness than a deeper emotion. She rose to her feet and, leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘It wouldn’t do, but I’ll always love you as a friend, you know that.’

‘I don’t know how I’ll manage without you. Stay with me. Marry me and live here in comfort and safety.’

‘You know I can’t do that, Artie.’

‘Go back to London then. Spend the rest of your life keeping Billy out of trouble and trying to keep one step ahead of the police. It’s not what I’d choose for you, but I know I can’t change your mind once it’s made up. I never could, but my offer is still there.’

She sensed the hurt beneath his harsh words
and
she longed to give him a hug. She wanted to comfort him as she would have done when they were children, but she knew that one wrong word might give him false hope, and that would be cruel. ‘You mustn’t overtire yourself,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ll leave you now so that you can get some rest, but I’ll be up again later with your supper.’

She left the room without giving him a chance to argue. She needed time alone to think and restore her equilibrium. Instead of returning to the kitchen where Martha was preparing the evening meal, Irene went to her room. A waft of cold air enveloped her as she opened the door and the room was in darkness. She moved swiftly to the fireplace and went down on her knees to set a match to the kindling. Orange and crimson flames licked round twigs and dry sticks, snapping and crackling and sending sparks up the chimney. When the coals began to glow, Irene raised herself to sit in the chair by the fireside, holding her hands out to the warmth.

She glanced round the room where the flickering firelight sent shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling, and she felt a sudden strong empathy with Dora Greenwood. She wondered if that young woman had sat in this same chair all those years ago, agonising over her future as she did now. Dora had had to
make
a choice between her sister and her lover and that must have been heart-wrenching indeed. Irene would have liked to know more, but it seemed that the passage of time had not healed the wounds inflicted on Miss Maude and she was afraid to enquire further.

Staring into the flames, she thought about Arthur’s sudden and unexpected proposal. Although she had never for a moment considered him in that light, it would be so easy to accept his offer of marriage and to stay here in the safety of Miss Maude’s lovely old house far away from the stews of London, but she did not love him as he wanted to be loved. He was like a brother to her and always would be. And yet, the thought of a quiet life in the country had a certain appeal. There would be no more long hours spent behind the shop counter, or worries as to where the next meal was coming from. She would not have to worry about Pa’s involvement with the Sykes brothers or his addiction to gambling, nor would she have any further contact with the City of London Police. All she had to do was to change her mind and accept Artie’s proposal.

Chapter Eleven

IRENE ARRIVED HOME
after a long and tedious journey. Miss Maude had driven her to Romford station in the farm cart, and she had paid the extra money needed to enable Irene to travel first class to Shoreditch. Touched by this generosity, Irene had been moved to give Maude a hug and a kiss on her leathery cheek. Although Miss Maude had backed away as if she had been stung by a wasp, she had not seemed too put out and had gruffly repeated her invitation to visit the Round House whenever Irene felt like a stay in the country. She had shaken Irene’s hand and stomped off along the platform as the train wheezed to a halt.