Two for Three Farthings (17 page)

Orrice said, ‘We got to find 'er, we got to.'

‘Yes, we have,' said Jim.

‘I just thought.' Hope brightened Orrice. ‘D'you fink she might've gone to me Aunt Glad's? She knows where Aunt Glad lives all right. If she got lost but found Walworth Road, she'd know 'ow to get to Aunt Glad's from there.'

Something occurred to Jim. Effel had confessed she had drawn a wreath for her mum and dad. If lost, if unable to find Morecambe Street and her brother, to what would her lonely and frightened mind point her? The home of her mum and dad?

‘Orrice, does she know how to reach Deacon Street?'

‘She would from Walworth Road,' said Orrice.

‘And she could get into your parents' house?'

‘She'd just pull the latchcord, except last time we went it wasn't 'anging.'

‘Orrice, let's go there.'

‘I think you've got sense, Uncle Jim.'

Very odd, thought Jim. Orrice had said think instead of fink. They hurried to Deacon Street. The latchcord was hanging. Uncle Perce had been picking up things.

There she was, upstairs, curled up on her parents' bed, worn out and crying quietly in the darkness. Jim struck a match and lit the gas mantle. Orrice rushed to the bed.

‘Effel, oh, yer monkey,' he said, ‘yer nearly been me death. Wha'd'yer go an' get lost for?'

Effel uncurled herself, came to her knees on the bed, and flung her arms around her brother's neck. She sobbed wetly into his shoulder.

‘All over, Effel,' said Jim, ‘don't worry now.'

‘Orrice run orf, 'e left me,' wept Effel.

‘No, I didn't,' protested the highly relieved Orrice, ‘you went off wivout waitin' for me. Now yer don't need to cry any more, sis. Come on.'

Effel unwound herself and got off the bed. Her nose was wet and pink. Jim took his handkerchief out. He put it to her nose.

‘Blow, Effel,' he said, and Effel blew. He gave her little nose a good wipe. ‘Better?' he said.

‘Want to go 'ome,' said Effel, nose dry but eyes wet.

Touched, Jim said, ‘Come on, then.' He reached. Effel held her arms out and he took her up. She held on to him. Orrice retrieved her boater from the foot of the bed. Jim carried Effel down the stairs. Orrice put the gas out and followed. The front door was still open. A figure appeared, a policeman's lantern switched on, and its light illuminated the man and the child.

‘What's all this, then?' asked Constable Brownlaw, who had seen a light in the bedroom of a house still awaiting new tenants.

‘So that's it,' said Jim a little later. He was in the parlour with Orrice and Effel, and the constable.

‘Well, I don't know,' said Constable Brownlaw. ‘By rights, you should all come to the station. By rights you should. But it's late for the kids, and Effel's had a bit of a long day. You all right now, Effel?'

‘Yes please,' whispered Effel.

‘You all right, Orrice?'

‘You bet,' said Orrice. ‘You ain't goin' to take us to no orphanage, are you, mister?'

‘You like living with Mr Cooper?'

‘We like it lots, don't we, Effel?'

‘Want to go 'ome,' said Effel.

‘Home?' said Constable Brownlaw.

‘Wiv me bruvver,' said Effel. ‘And 'im,' she said, with a look at Jim.

‘Well, Mr Cooper, I'll just have a word tomorrow with their aunt and uncle. See what they say, y'know, before I think about a report. But I'd like your address first.' Jim gave him the Wansey Street address. ‘Ah, that's where you said you're moving tomorrow. Very good, sir. Well, you'd best get Effel back to your present lodgings now, and give her a nice mug of hot cocoa.'

‘I couldn't see Soupy,' said Effel.

‘Oh, the cat,' said Orrice.

‘Ah, a neighbour's taken your cat in,' said Constable Brownlaw. ‘All right, off you go, then, Mr Cooper, I'll turn the gas lamp out.'

‘Thanks very much,' said Jim, ‘thanks for everything.'

‘Good night, sir. Good night, kids.'

He watched them go down the lamplit street, the one-armed man carrying the tired little girl. Well, he thought, there's some men with two arms who couldn't do a better carrying job than that.

The door of nineteen Wansey Street opened. Miss Rebecca Pilgrim presented herself in a crisp white plain blouse and long black skirt. She wore no jewellery of any kind, not even a brooch, but she did have a black armband around the left sleeve of her blouse. Jim supposed she was still in mourning for her dead parents. Miss Pilgrim could have told him she was mostly in mourning for her withered illusions.

‘Good morning, Miss Pilgrim.'

‘Good morning, Mr Cooper.' Her handsomeness wore its severe look. ‘It is nearly fifteen minutes past ten.'

‘Yes, I said ten, didn't I?'

‘Ten o'clock was when I expected you.'

‘It was a little difficult to detach myself from Mrs Palmer, my landlady, and I also couldn't find my collar studs. So sorry.' Jim smiled. Miss Pilgrim's eyebrow went up, as if a smile and an apology had no right to be offered together. ‘I left them in the end. My collar studs. But I do have the one I'm wearing. Men and their collar studs, is that what you're thinking?' Jim could not help being easy and communicative with people, but Miss Pilgrim seemed to believe that informal dialogue should not take place until an acceptable acquaintance had been established, for her startlingly blue eyes stared coolly at him from between the long stiff lashes.

‘I have never concerned myself with men's collar studs, Mr Cooper. My father was perfectly capable of looking after his and knowing where they were. Please come in.'

Jim hefted his luggage case and entered. The case contained his and the children's clothes, and a few other things. He had not had to worry about furniture, and his possessions were few. He was not a collector of things, except books, for he had never been able to afford anything of real value. He had to go back to Morecambe Street for the books and other items, such as toilet articles.

‘It's a lovely morning,' he said in the little hall.

‘Yes.' Miss Pilgrim was not given to discussing the weather. She thought such discussions trivial and useless. Nowhere in the New Testament was it on record that Jesus had discussed the weather with his disciples. ‘I will lead the way, Mr Cooper.'

‘Thanks,' said Jim. The luggage case was heavy, but his one arm had developed extra strength and muscularity. He followed her up the stairs. The hem of her hitched skirt swayed, and the starched lace of a long white petticoat crisply peeped. The garment rustled in Victorian fashion. She led the way to the front bedroom.

‘For you and the boy, of course,' she said, ‘although I cannot yet afford to replace the double bed with singles. You would prefer singles, perhaps?'

‘Oh, Horace and I will manage with the double,' said Jim, placing the case on the bed. ‘I need to unpack right away, I've to take the case back for other things, including my books.'

‘I approve of books, serious books,' she said, hands crossed over her stomach rather in the manner of a stern workhouse matron.

‘I like all kinds myself,' said Jim, opening up the case. ‘Any book improves one's knowledge, even if only a little, don't you think so?'

‘It does not necessarily improve one's mind,' said Miss Pilgrim.

‘That's a point,' said Jim, removing clothes and placing them on the bed, ‘but not one that's ever occurred to me.'

Miss Pilgrim, watching his one hand at work, said, ‘I should hope, as the children's guardian, you would endeavour to improve their minds by selecting their reading.'

‘Treat me lightly,' said Jim with another smile, ‘I've only just taken the job on.'

Again she seemed to find his light approach out of place.

‘You must take your responsibilities seriously,' she said. ‘By the way, there are hangers in the wardrobes, Mr Cooper. If you will give me the girl's things, I will take them to her room and hang them for you.'

‘You're a paragon, Miss Pilgrim, do you know that?'

Miss Pilgrim looked startled, even shocked.

‘I am a weak creature before God, Mr Cooper, as most of us are.'

‘Most of us certainly are,' said Jim, ‘but you are certainly not. You're very exceptional. My word, a forest of hangers,' he said, as he opened the wardrobe. ‘Would you like to take Ethel's clothes and shoes, then? I'd be much obliged.'

‘Very well.' Miss Pilgrim lifted a heap of folded clothes and underwear from the bottom of the case. Jim placed Effel's spare pair of new shoes on top of the heap, and offered a grateful smile. Her stiff lashes remained stiff. ‘Do not make the beds on Mondays,' she said. ‘That is when the bed linen will be changed. And please make sure all rubbish is placed in the dustbin outside the back door.'

‘I've got you,' said Jim.

‘Pardon?'

‘We'll do that. I really appreciate having you take care of our bed linen.'

‘My bed linen, I think, Mr Cooper,' she said.

‘Yes, of course,' said Jim, pleasant and agreeable of manner. ‘We'll all do our best not to make too much work for you.'

‘I consider housework a small but worthwhile occupation, Mr Cooper,' said Miss Pilgrim, the armful of clothes resting against her bosom. ‘We cannot all be great painters or great musicians. God in His infinite wisdom bestows a variety of talents, and even those of us with only small talents have the gift of a pair of hands.'

‘It all comes down to that at times, perhaps, a pair of hands,' smiled Jim.

‘Which we possibly take for granted until we lose one,' said Miss Pilgrim. ‘I am sorry about your loss.'

‘Don't mention it,' said Jim, ‘I'm used to it now. Oh, Ethel's socks.' He picked up two pairs from the bottom of the case and placed them on top of the shoes. Miss Pilgrim received the small extra burden without fuss, and she carried the heap to the smaller bedroom. Jim hung clothes in the wardrobe and placed other items in the chest of drawers. Miss Pilgrim made short work of putting Effel's clothes away. She returned.

‘When do you commence civilized day duties?' she asked.

‘Monday fortnight,' said Jim.

‘Monday fortnight? That is almost three weeks. I was under the impression it was two weeks.'

‘I must have been too approximate,' said Jim. ‘So sorry. Which reminds me, here's the first week's rent.' He handed her twelve shillings. She at once went downstairs to enter the payment in a rent book. She returned and gave him the book.

‘It is not a good thing for a boy and girl to be left alone in the evenings,' she said.

‘They've been very good up to now,' said Jim. ‘Orrice—'

‘Who?'

‘Horace. He's a sensible boy. I don't think they'll break your furniture up.'

Her frosty look arrived.

‘Is that a joke, Mr Cooper?'

‘More of a reassurance, I hope,' said Jim. ‘I'll go and get my books and other things now.'

‘That is not very sensible, two journeys with a heavy case,' she said. ‘A boy with a small handcart would have been more practical.'

‘The small handcarts are sitting in back yards,' said Jim, ‘and boys are all at school.'

‘I see. Yes, very well.' She looked, however, as if she did not think he had made a sound point.

When he turned up again, the case was obviously even heavier. From her opened door, she frowned at him.

‘It's no problem,' said Jim, ‘and exercise is good for me.'

A passing neighbour stopped to look.

‘Good morning, Miss Pilgrim,' she said.

‘Good morning, Mrs Hardiman,' said Miss Pilgrim, and Mrs Hardiman looked at Jim and his large luggage case.

‘He's not selling things, is he?' she asked. ‘I 'ad someone call last week, selling combs and 'air-clips and suchlike, would you believe. Gypsy, I thought.'

‘No, Mr Cooper is not selling things, Mrs Hardiman,' said Miss Pilgrim politely. ‘I am letting my upstairs suite to the gentleman and two young wards of his.'

‘Oh, my, yes, I 'eard you was renting out, Miss Pilgrim,' said Mrs Hardiman, avid with interest under her granny bonnet. ‘That's the gentleman? Mr Cooper, you said? Good morning to you, Mr Cooper, I'm Mrs 'rdiman, I lives farther down. Well, I'm sure they'll make nice lodgers for you, Miss Pilgrim, and all for the best, as they say.'

‘Yes, good morning, Mrs Hardiman,' said Miss Pilgrim, and closed the door. ‘Here is your door-key, Mr Cooper.' She picked a key up from the top of the hallstand drawer. Jim put his case down and took it. ‘I hope, apart from your present hours of work, you won't keep late hours.'

‘I can't afford to,' said Jim.

‘Many of us shoulder the cross of poverty,' she said, ‘but we are all enriched by nature's wonders. I do not wish to interfere, it is not my place to, but I should like to know if the children are expected to get tea or supper for themselves while you are at work.'

‘Firstly, I'll take sandwiches to the school for them at midday,' said Jim, ‘and prepare supper for them before I leave in the afternoons.'

‘A cold supper? Sandwiches at midday, and a cold supper?' Miss Pilgrim was plainly disapproving. ‘Really, Mr Cooper.'

‘Well, Horace will heat up potatoes—'

‘I should not like a young boy using lighted gas rings, Mr Cooper.'

‘He's very capable,' said Jim.

‘I should still not like it, and am surprised that you have no qualms. Do you not know that most domestic accidents involve children?'

‘Is that a fact, Miss Pilgrim?' Jim looked thoughtful.

‘It is, Mr Cooper.'

‘I'll need to think.'

‘Please do,' said Miss Pilgrim, ‘please think about active children and boiling water. I am sure you would not forgive yourself if there were an accident while you were at work.'