The Urchin's Song (14 page)

‘It was Patrick Duffy who helped my father, Constable Skelton.’ Josie spoke from her seat on the settle which had been pulled close to the glowing fire. ‘I didn’t have to see him to know that. The smell of him, his voice . . .’ She shuddered. ‘It was him all right, and you’ve Barney’s description to go on too.’

‘It was dark in the hallway and the lamp had been kicked over, Miss Burns,’ the constable said quietly, his voice reflecting his dislike of what he had to point out. ‘Mr Robson said the gentleman in question was of a small build and wiry, from the glimpse he had of him once he had dealt with your father. Half the men of Newcastle meet that description, I’m afraid. Mr and Mrs Gibson and several other folk insist Mr Duffy was with them all evening. According to Mrs Gibson, the next morning her brother left for urgent business Hartlepool way, but she has no specific address we can contact him at.’

‘How convenient.’ This was from Barney and it was bitter. ‘And I suppose Josie’s father accompanied him on this “business”?’

‘Not to our knowledge, but that could well be the case.’

Barney now closed his eyes and bowed his head, shaking it slowly from side to side three or four times before he said, ‘And I thought the law was supposed to protect the innocent! Well, you live an’ learn as they say.’ He raised his head and looked into the policeman’s stolid face. ‘The pair of ’em will get away with this, that’s what you’re saying at heart, isn’t it? Well, all I can say is that if Bart Burns or this other feller are found in a dark alley one night with bootmarks all over them, don’t be surprised.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Mr Robson.’ The policeman’s face had lost its understanding look and had become stiff. He now rose to his feet, nodding at Betty who was sitting next to Josie on the settle. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Robson,’ and to Frank in his armchair, ‘Good night, Mr Robson,’ and then, his gaze mellowing, he bent down to Josie and said quietly, ‘Don’t you worry now, lass. They won’t try this again, not now they know we’re on to ’em. You’ll be quite safe.’

Josie smiled at the policeman but said nothing. He meant well, but she had lived in the East End for twelve years and was well aware there were two worlds outside the four walls of this house. One was the normal, day-to-day existence that Betty and Frank and people like them enjoyed, and the other was the subterranean world of the likes of Duffy and her da. That world lived by its own rules. She agreed with Barney on this; her da and Patrick Duffy would get away with trying to snatch Gertie and herself because they were more cunning than this kind-faced man in front of her and others like him.

But she’d been warned now, and she would be on her guard. She’d already got Betty to make her up a little bag of pepper that she intended to carry with her everywhere. One or two of the painted dock dollies who had frequented the pubs she’d sung in in Sunderland had used pepper thrown in a violent customer’s face for protection and it was lethal stuff. And she would keep the poker close to hand too when she could. Gertie was being taken to and from school by an ever-vigilant Betty, and Frank was forgoing his usual pint with his cronies in the Singing Fox and not budging from the house once he was home from the pit. And Barney . . . Barney was just kindness itself.

As Betty showed the policeman out, Josie let her mind wander. Barney had arrived home the night before with a magazine called
The People’s Friend
for her and a bag of whipped cream bon-bons. It wasn’t the first time since the attack he’d done something similar. They’d talked till way into the night again - they’d had some right good cracks over the last ten days when it was just the two of them. She had known Barney was nice before, and he had always made her laugh on the journey to and from the laundry, but Prudence had been with them then. Somehow, over the last little while, she felt she’d seen a side to him no one else had. But then she was probably just being silly, she warned herself quickly. He’d be the same with Pearl, of course he would - caring, kind, funny and warm. It was just because of the attack that he was being extra nice now; sitting up late with her when he knew she wasn’t tired enough to go to bed.

Anyway, there was nothing in his manner to suggest he saw her as anything but a bairn, even if they had become such good friends recently. And come Saturday he would be Pearl’s . . . Josie’s large, heavily lashed eyes darkened and she watched Barney’s face as he talked with his father. He’d be Pearl’s; they’d be man and wife and committed to spending the rest of their lives together.

Pearl had come to visit her when she’d still been confined to bed and Josie had to admit she’d found the visit a strain. The other girl had been effusive in her condolences, and she’d brought a bottle of her mother’s special cherry-flavoured tonic - ‘to build you up, you poor little thing’ - but the smile on the bow-shaped mouth hadn’t reached the pale-blue eyes. And she didn’t know if she was imagining it, Josie reflected, but there had been a couple of things Pearl had said, or perhaps it wasn’t the words she’d used exactly but a certain inflexion in her voice, that had suggested Pearl considered she ought to be up and about and back to normal.

But Pearl was bonny. Oh aye, she was bonny all right, and she’d been beautifully dressed, right down to her brown kid boots which had been of fine quality. Finer than any Josie had seen before anyway.

Perhaps Pearl disliked her because Barney had been so involved in trying to find Patrick Duffy and her da in the lead-up to the wedding? Or maybe it was because Pearl thought Josie was the cause of Prudence leaving the household? She understood from Betty that the two girls had been close friends since they were bairns. Josie suddenly realised where her thoughts were taking her. She’d had the feeling that Barney’s fiancée didn’t like her, but now she allowed the thought free rein she knew it was true.

All the time Pearl had been in the house in Spring Garden Lane she had acted as though she was a cut above the rest of them; Josie had understood why Betty’s private nickname for her stepson’s future wife was ‘Duchess’ once she’d met Pearl. And Pearl’s parents had really gone to town with the wedding; closing the pub for the night and hiring fiddlers and a melodeon player and all sorts. It would be a grand do.

Josie shrugged off the mood of depression which had accompanied these thoughts, irritated with herself for feeling that way. She glanced across again at Barney and his father, her eyes resting on the younger man’s strong, springy brown hair and wholesome young face, and then, as Betty bustled back into the kitchen bewailing the fact that it was snowing again, Josie picked up the darning she had been attending to when the policeman had called.

He was wed.

As Josie entered the warmth of the inn which was redolent with rich smells from the kitchen, her head was high and she was holding on tight to the twins’ hands. Martin and Kenneth had already disgraced themselves that day by putting a frog down little Freda’s neck halfway through the church service. The resulting pandemonium had caused Mrs Harper to ask for smelling salts and Pearl to look as though she’d like to do murder. But all Josie could think of was that now Barney and Pearl were wed. And Pearl looked bonny, so bonny in the white satin dress and lacy veil, the tight-laced waist showing off her full breasts beneath their glossy covering. Josie looked down at her own small burgeoning breasts which didn’t even swell the material of her smart coat, and her mouth drooped, only to lift almost instantly as she heard her mam’s voice somewhere behind her in the throng spilling into the inn.

It had been a lovely surprise, Vera bringing her mam with her today. And even though her mam looked white and peaky, and Vera had said she’d been having a mustard poultice on her chest each morning and inhaling eucalyptus oil for the cough that was with her night and day, she seemed happier than Josie had ever seen her. Which wasn’t surprising in the circumstances. The relief of not having Bart around had been evident in her mother’s eyes when they had hugged each other earlier, and her mam had said how good Vera and Horace were to her.

Her thoughts roamed on as she pushed the twins down on to a long bench at the side of the room and warned them to sit still, before raising her hand in greeting to Vera and her mam and the others who had entered the inn in a small group. She couldn’t wait to look for a new job; she would do so as soon as she had seen the doctor on Monday. She hadn’t paid Vera back for the clothes yet, and she owed Betty two weeks’ board, and now there was her mother to think about too. She couldn’t let Vera look after her mam for nothing. But how on earth was she going to do it all? Jobs were scarce, certainly for bit lasses - unless she went into service. Perhaps she’d have to do that, even though she hated the thought of it. She’d rather try Haggie Brothers at South Shore than go into service. They included lots of women and lasses among their hundreds of employees in rope- and wire-making, but Betty had been aghast when Josie had mentioned trying there. Haggie’s Angels, as they were known locally, were notorious for their ripe language. However, Josie was sure she’d heard as bad in the pubs in the East End, and the thought of service - of having to bend the knee and bob the head to all and sundry - seemed worse than even Prudence and the laundry.

The thought of Barney’s sister brought Josie’s eyes across the room to where Prudence was standing with Pearl’s parents - for all the world like royalty - and in the moment or two before Vera and Betty and all the others reached Josie’s corner, Prudence turned her head and looked straight at her. It was an icy cold look, nasty; a look which spoke volumes all by itself. However, Josie had been expecting nothing less and she found herself returning the glare as she lifted her chin, hotly aware that Prudence had no jurisdiction over her now her days at the laundry were past. And it was Prudence who looked away first; sweeping her head round in a haughty gesture which didn’t sit well with her small dumpy figure and nondescript appearance.

The large room at the back of the inn, originally a supper room but now used for general purposes, had been decorated for the bridal meal, and once everyone had walked through and seated themselves, the meal commenced amid much laughter and conversation. It was generally agreed Stanley and Marjorie had done their daughter proud. Chops, kidneys, poached eggs, welsh rarebits, mealy potatoes baked in their jackets, rabbit pie, faggots, pig’s pudding, mussels and whelks . . . The mountain of food was enormous, and the jugs of beer on the tables were replenished as soon as they were emptied, along with those of lemonade for the bairns and teetotallers, although of the abstainers there was barely a handful.

As the afternoon progressed and the beer flowed, the laughing and shouting grew louder. Once the three fiddlers and the melodeon player had arrived, the tables were cleared and pulled back and the dancing began, Barney and his new wife taking the floor first and then other couples following their lead. Some of the older people who didn’t want to dance, like Vera and her mam and Barney’s parents, had wandered back into the first room where a roaring fire was blazing in the blackleaded range at one side of the long shiny wooden bar. Marjorie Harper and a woman who looked to be her sister were asking who wanted a cup of tea, and although Josie didn’t want to remain in this room she did so. It was preferable to seeing Barney and Pearl wrapped in each other’s arms. For some reason the sight was paining her.

She talked to her mother and Vera; kept Betty’s brood under control; made sure Gertie was in a warm seat by the fire - her sister having been up all night with earache had been dosed with a diluted mixture of belladonna by Betty, and was sitting with a warm flannel pressed to the affected part - and generally made herself useful. She didn’t, however, offer to help in the kitchen with the washing up, having seen Prudence ensconced in there with Pearl’s mother and some other women, when she’d been on her way to the privy. In all the time she’d been staying with Betty, to her knowledge Prudence had never once washed any dishes, and yet she had been up to her elbows in suds for Pearl’s mother.

Later that evening the tables were pushed into place again and a supper of sausages and mash with baked onions and turnips was served. Josie only nibbled at her portion; she was tired and could feel every one of the bruises she’d received a couple of weeks earlier, added to which her head was aching.

‘Ee, lass, I canna remember when I’ve enjoyed meself so much.’ Her mother’s voice was soft at the side of her. ‘An’ the bairn looks better, don’t you think?’ she added, nodding across the table at Gertie who was busy tucking into her sausages and mash, the earache apparently having vanished.

Josie opened her mouth to agree but the words were never voiced. Her mother was overtaken by a paroxysm of coughing that seemed to go on and on, and when it had finished and she removed her handkerchief from her lips, the cloth was stained bright red in places.

‘It’s nothin’, me bairn, nothin’.’ Shirley had tried to secrete the handkerchief away before Josie had seen it, and now she stuffed it quickly into her pocket, adding, ‘I’ve had a bit of phlegm on me chest, that’s all, but it’s movin’ now. I’ll be as right as rain come next week. An’ I live the life of Lady Muck at Vera’s; aye, I do that. Won’t let me lift a finger, bless her, so don’t you go worryin’ your head about a bit cough, now then. You’ve more than enough on your plate. Where you thinkin’ of tryin’ for work, hinny?’