The Silver Locket (15 page)

‘This whole business is a waste of men.’

‘That’s dangerous talk, my boy.’ Malcolm Ford looked gravely at the younger officer. ‘Ours not to reason why, and all that skite. How’s Easton shaping up these days?’

‘He needs to look a bit more lively, or he might get shot by his own side.’

‘You mean the windy bugger shits himself. I thought as much. You ought to send him out on night patrols.’ Captain Ford gulped down his rum and poured himself some more. ‘It’s the only way. People like Easton find their feet or snuff it – take my word.’

‘But I can’t send him on his own, and I don’t want to risk good men.’

‘You can’t do all the work yourself!’ Captain Ford glared into Alex’s eyes. ‘You’ve been out every night this week, bringing in the wounded, taking prisoners, and you got that sniper yesterday. Let some other bugger have some fun.’

‘You can go out tonight, Mike,’ Alex said, as he and his lieutenants finished supper in their far from cosy dugout and lit their cigarettes. ‘Go and get some badges, if you like. Two or three dead Germans have been lying near the wire since yesterday. We ought to know what regiment is opposite, so you could go and find out.’

‘Rather Mike than me,’ grinned Freddie Lomax, who Alex knew was brave enough. But Freddie also wanted to survive, so never volunteered for anything. Alex made a mental note to send him on patrol the following night.

Now he looked at Michael. ‘I want those badges back by midnight – is that understood?’

‘P-permission to take an NCO?’ In the lamplight, Michael’s face was green.

‘Which one do you want?’ Alex didn’t want to lose a sergeant because Michael lost his nerve or gave an order which led him to his death.

‘Corporal Brind,’ said Michael.

‘Yes, you may have Brind.’ Like Freddie Lomax, the happy poacher was determined to survive, so if Michael told him to do anything absurd, he simply wouldn’t hear him.

Brind would be all right.

Michael and Corporal Brind had crawled and slithered on their bellies across the stinking slime of no-man’s-land, and now they were crouching in a crater six or seven feet away from the nearest of the German dead.

‘Corporal Brind?’ hissed Michael, as a flare went up and lit the sky, and the German gunner who had obviously seen them raked the ground with spurting fire.

‘Sir?’ Corporal Brind was hating this, for catching rats and rabbits was much more in his line. He’d never have volunteered for anything as daft and dangerous as a night patrol.

But it was all round the trench that Mr Bloody Easton had asked specially for him, and he was damning the lieutenant to the deepest pit of hell.

‘Do something for me, Brind,’ said Michael. ‘I’ll make it worth your while. Just keep your eye on Captain Denham.’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘He’s d-dangerous, Brind. He sends his men on pointless missions. Look at us tonight, stuck here in the middle of nowhere on a fool’s errand. Denham isn’t fit to run a laundry, let alone a troop of fighting men.’

Michael turned to stare wild-eyed at the astonished corporal. ‘Did you know his mother was a whore?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me, sir,’ said Brind, who by now was seriously scared.

‘She was a harlot, she went through dozens of men. Denham doesn’t know his father, doesn’t have a family–’

Corporal Brind had seen a dozen officers with the wind up. But Lieutenant Easton was literally gibbering with fear – and talking nonsense, too.

‘Best get on,’ he whispered, pointing to the nearest body. ‘Look sir, Captain Denham don’t expect us to do both these Jerry bastards, I’ll be bound. So let’s get this one’s badges off of ’im, an’ then we can go ’ome.’

Chapter Nine

The damp November evening closed in.

‘Tell me about Maria,’ invited Mrs Rosenheim. ‘Where is she now, and what’s she doing?’

‘She’s in France, she’s working on the ambulance trains,’ said Rose. ‘The trains fetch wounded soldiers from the front and take them to the hospitals in Rouen and Boulogne.’ They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Rose watched as Mrs Rosenheim cut up a wizened chicken. ‘How did you meet Phoebe and Maria?’ she asked.

‘My neighbour Maisie Bowman fostered them.’ Mrs Rosenheim dropped the chicken pieces into an iron pot. ‘Maria was four and Phoebe was a baby when Maisie took them in. Maisie fostered dozens. Any child the Guardians offered her, she took it home and brought up right for just five shillin’ a week.

‘But those two little girls was always special. When Maria got her scholarship to grammar school, Maisie was so proud! She pawned her Sunday best to buy the books and uniform, and nothing was too good for her Maria.’

‘Phoebe and Maria are very different,’ said Rose.

‘They both got loving, generous hearts. Those girls was good to Maisie. When she died, you should have seen the horses, all the silver harness, all the ostrich plumes! The big glass carriage, the flowers all piled up on the best mahogany coffin lined with purple satin. It was like the queen had passed away. Maria paid for that.’

‘So now they haven’t got a proper home?’

‘They’ll always have a home with me,’ said Mrs Rosenheim. ‘When I first came to England, I lodged with Maisie Bowman, may she rest in peace. A better woman never breathed. I can’t begin to tell you what she did for me and mine.’

‘If you have hot water on the stove, I’ll go and help Phoebe wash,’ said Rose. She wanted to know more about the sisters, but she didn’t like to pry. ‘Now she’s had a sleep, a wash will make her feel much better.’

When Rose went into the parlour with a bowl of water and a sponge, she found the baby sleeping peacefully in a wooden vegetable crate, but Phoebe wasn’t there.

‘Phoebe?’ Rose walked back into the passage. ‘Phoebe!’

‘Did you call?’ asked Nathan, who’d just limped out of the shop.

‘I wanted Phoebe,’ Rose replied. ‘I wonder, did she go upstairs?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Nathan shrugged. ‘It’s cold up there, and all her things are down here in the parlour anyway.’

‘Then where’s her coat?’ Rose was suddenly frightened. ‘Where’s her hat, where are her boots and gloves?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nathan, and now he looked at Rose. ‘She must have gone out.’

‘How could she go out?’ cried Rose. ‘She’s just had a baby! She hasn’t eaten for hours, she’s far too weak–’

‘She might have needed something.’ Nathan stared down at his feet. ‘God,’ he muttered, ‘I told her I would go and get it! Rose, you probably won’t approve, but she–’

‘She takes cocaine,’ said Rose. ‘I realised straight away. Soldiers take it, too. I’ve heard them talk about it on the wards, how it helps them stay awake and how it’s good for pain. But Phoebe doesn’t need to stay awake.’

‘She still needs cocaine.’ Nathan looked at Rose. ‘That evil bastard Hanson beats her up, but she still has to go and do her spot, or he would beat her up again. I expect that’s where she’s gone tonight, to do her spot.’

‘I’ve never heard anything like it in my life!’ Rose was horrified. ‘Why does she have anything to do with such a person?’

‘Why does any woman like any man? Daniel is a
mensch
round here – or so he likes to think. He owns two music halls, he runs protection rackets, and he’s well respected. It’s something to be Daniel Hanson’s woman.’

‘But you’re not afraid of him?’

‘I don’t think about it.’

‘How many chemists are there in the district?’

‘Two or three,’ said Nathan.

‘Let’s go and find out if they’ve seen Phoebe.’

‘We should check the Haggerston Palace first, to see if she’s gone there.’

The Haggerston Palace Music Hall turned out to be a small, decaying place with peeling walls and dirty, littered steps that led to a malodorous interior of faded purple plush and tarnished gilt. It offered daily programmes of unknown singers singing popular songs, comedians with suggestive names, and a chorus line of local beauties.

‘You seen Phoebe, Morrie?’ Nathan asked the shrivelled gnome who was sweeping out the grubby foyer.

‘Nah, she ain’t come in.’ Morrie sucked his cheeks reflectively. ‘Daniel’s ’oppin’ mad – ’e’s ’ad to get another tart to do ’er song an’ dance. If she’s got any sense, she’ll keep out of ’is way.’ Morrie grinned at Nathan. ‘She dropped that nipper yet?’

‘How would I know?’ muttered Nathan, as he turned to go.

‘I only asked!’ called Morrie, as Rose followed Nathan down the steps. ‘Old Daniel, ’e can’t wait to be a father!’

They tried all the chemists’ shops, but nobody remembered seeing Phoebe. Rose’s feet were aching and she was faint with hunger, but she felt she couldn’t complain when Nathan dragged himself along the cobbled pavements tirelessly.

Suddenly, he darted up a side street.

‘What’s up here?’ asked Rose.

‘A dairy.’ Nathan shrugged. ‘We need some milk.’

‘What the ’ell do you want?’ Nathan had knocked and called for several minutes before a sharp-faced woman with her head tied in a scarf opened an upstairs window and leaned out to glower at them. ‘We’re closed!’ she screeched. ‘So go away!’

‘Mrs Simmons, please come down!’ Nathan stepped back to let the angry woman see him in the moonlight. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. But we need some milk.’

‘Look, if Rachel’s makin’ cheesecake in the middle of the night–’

‘Mrs Simmons, it’s important!’

‘All right, I’m comin’ down.’ Mrs Simmons grinned. ‘Tell me, rabbi – who’s your lady friend?’

‘Why did she call you rabbi?’ Rose asked, as they waited in the freezing darkness for the woman to appear.

‘I’m studying for the rabbinate,’ said Nathan, but his tone suggested further questions were not welcome.

As Mrs Simmons handed Rose a can containing half a pint of milk, they heard a factory hooter blaring, then a second, then a third. Seconds later, a policeman cycled past. ‘Get under cover, all of you!’ he shouted, as he rode off into the night.

‘God in heaven,’ Mrs Simmons groaned. ‘Bloody Zeps, what are they doin’ over ’ere again? The docks is miles away.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Rose, alarmed.

‘An air raid.’ Nathan’s already pale face was ashen.

‘You’d better come in here,’ said Mrs Simmons, stepping back.

‘Thank you, Mrs Simmons, but my mother will be frightened.’ Nathan turned and started to drag himself along the alley. ‘I must get home.’

They found an anxious Mrs Rosenheim was looking out for them, defying police instructions to stay away from windows and go down to her cellar, if she had one.

‘You didn’t find her, then?’ she asked.

‘No, she’s disappeared,’ said Nathan.

‘What shall we to do with this poor little thing?’ The baby was crying pitifully, sucking at her fists and rooting for her mother’s breast. ‘I’ve tried to feed her, I gave her sugar water with a spoon and offered her some gruel. But what she really needs is milk.’

‘We’ve got some.’ Rose gave the can to Mrs Rosenheim, then took the tiny baby in her arms. She stroked her small pink hand, and gazed into her beautiful blue eyes. Again she felt the powerful tug of love. But now it was mixed with fear and dread.

They sat in the damp cellar all that night. They listened to the crump of falling bombs, and shuddered as they heard all the explosions.

Flakes of whitewash floated down and settled on their heads, as soft as snow. The baby whimpered, but sucked milk from the comforter Rose made from a corner of her handkerchief, and finally she slept.

The morning came at last. People crept out of their houses blinking and red-eyed, and fearful of the damage they might see. The bitter smell of burning brick and timber filled the cold air.

As Rose stared around, she saw most roofs in this particular street were missing half their tiles. A dozen chimney stacks lay broken on the road, and almost every window was blown out.

‘Look at Mrs Taylor’s house!’ cried Nathan, horrified.

‘Oh, my God.’ Rose turned and saw a cottage had been hit and set on fire. A horse-drawn fire engine was standing in the street, and firemen were searching through the shell.

Rose gave the child to Mrs Rosenheim and ran up to the house. ‘I’m a nurse,’ she told the policeman who stood guard outside. ‘If there’s anything I can do–’

‘There’s nothing anyone can do for Mrs Taylor, miss.’ The policeman blinked, as if he were trying not to cry. ‘A woman and three kids, all burnt alive. What had they ever done to anybody?’

The devastation was repeated all along the road. The corner shop was standing, but every window had been broken. All the stock was ruined, and Mrs Rosenheim began to cry.

‘I can’t stand it any more!’ she sobbed, butting her head against her son’s thin chest. ‘First they take your brothers, then your cousin Reuben, then they take our livelihood, our home!’

She looked down at the baby. ‘What will I do with this one? How am I going to feed her, clothe her, when I don’t have anything myself?’

Nathan hugged her, whispering soothing words in a language Rose had never heard until today. But Mrs
 
Rosenheim would not be comforted. Rocking to and fro, she wailed like an animal in pain.