The Orphans of Bell Lane

by Ruthie Lewis

  ‘I should be honoured,’ said Grace. ‘Reverend, I will do anything I can to help you.’

  After the rector left, Grace stood for a moment, looking out the window at the street bathed in afternoon light. Goodness, she thought. It is all a long way from that little handful of children I used to teach in Bell Lane, or the railway arch with Mary and the Angels curled up around the stove. How proud George and Rosa would have been to see all this.

  It was nearly three years since Rosa had died, and eight months since George had followed her. She still thought of them every day, but her grief was no longer sharp. They were here; she could see them in the children’s eyes and smiles. Most of all their spirits were always with her, like familiar, friendly ghosts. Mr Dickens was right, she thought. There are invisible presences that remind us of what has gone before, and what is now, and what will be.

  She gathered her papers and walked downstairs to greet the children. Edith was squirming, trying to get away from Mary’s controlling hand, and Grace scooped her up. ‘My, but you are beginning to be a weight,’ she told the baby. ‘You are going to be a big strong lass when you are grown.’

  ‘Perhaps she will be an Amazon,’ said Albert, who had started reading Greek myths.

  They walked home and Grace made Edith some porridge and fed her and put her to sleep while Mary started preparations for dinner. Grace joined her in the kitchen a few minutes later. They worked together happily, hearing Harry singing in the parlour room, attempting to teach Daisy and Joe a song he had just invented. This was rather difficult, as the words made no sense, and Daisy quickly grew distracted and came wandering into the kitchen.

  ‘Second Mummy,’ she said to Grace, ‘may I have a biscuit?’

  ‘Of course, my dear.’ Grace opened the Huntley & Palmer’s tin and handed Daisy a ginger biscuit. What bliss it is, she thought, to be able to feed them without worrying about every penny, and to have little luxuries like biscuits . . .

  Someone knocked hard at the door. Grace heard Albert answer it, and then Brigit Doyle’s voice outside. She sounded alarmed and worried. Wiping her hands on her apron, Grace hurried through to the parlour.

  ‘Brigit? What is it?’

  ‘Oh, Grace, I don’t know what to do! I sent Billy to the market to buy cabbage for dinner, and he hasn’t come home! It’s not like him to go off. Holy Mother, what can have happened to him?’

  *

  Leaving the children with Mary, Grace hurried to the market, Brigit quivering with anxiety beside her. They talked to every trader in the street, but no one had seen Billy Doyle.

  ‘Perhaps he lost his way,’ Grace said finally. She knew this was unlikely. Billy had been born in Rotherhithe and knew its streets well. ‘Let’s go back to the school. Perhaps he has made his way back there, and the alarm is all for nothing.’

  But as they started to walk towards Paradise Row, an anxious looking woman in a faded blouse and skirt and tattered bonnet came up to them. ‘You’re Brigit Doyle, ain’t you?’ she said. ‘I seen your son. I don’t know his name, but I seen him around with you.’

  ‘You saw him?’ gasped Brigit. ‘Where? When?’

  ‘About an hour ago. Oh, missus, I wish I had better news for you, truly I do. There was four men, big fellows, and they took your boy off the street and put him in a wagon and drove it away.’

  ‘Holy Mary!’ wailed Brigit. ‘Oh, my Billy! Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph bring him back to me, I beg you!’ She was ready to collapse, and Grace put a steadying arm around her. ‘These men,’ she said to the woman. ‘Who were they? Did you get a look at them?’

  ‘I seen them,’ the woman said. ‘And I know who they are, too. Missus, them what took your son, they’re in the Bull Head Gang.’

  You will allow me my tithe of the boys, the Captain had said. And now, he had come to collect.

  *

  She took Brigit back to the school, and broke the news to Mickey, and saw the look of desperation on his face. ‘This blasted leg of mine. I tell you, Grace, if wasn’t for that I’d be out there looking for these fellows right now.’

  ‘And getting yourself killed,’ said Grace. ‘Stay with Brigit, Mickey. I will find Billy and bring him back to you.’

  How she was going to do this, she did not quite know. There was little point in going to the police. She hurried instead to Bermondsey, where Walter Ringrose still lived. He could have gone back to his aunt and uncle in north London, but he said he had grown used to Bermondsey, and would miss his friends at the King’s Arms.

  He answered the door when she knocked, and stood looking at her in wide-eyed surprise. ‘Mrs T-Turneur,’ he stammered. ‘Wha-what a surprise. Do come in.’

  ‘I am sorry to intrude, Mr Ringrose,’ she said quickly, ‘but we have an emergency. Billy Doyle has been kidnapped by the Bull Head Gang. Do you think you might talk to your friends, and find out where they could have taken him?’

  Instantly he was alert, the stammer gone. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch my coat.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Grace said.

  Mr Ringrose shook his head. ‘The King’s Arms is no place for a lady.’

  ‘I’m not a lady,’ Grace said.

  They looked at each other. ‘You are in my eyes,’ Mr Ringrose said quietly. ‘Mrs Turneur, I suggest you go home. Your family needs you. I will find out where Billy is, but I might need to go to some rather dark and unpleasant places. Meet me at the school in the morning, and I will tell you what I have learned.’

  She did as he asked. There was no mistaking the brisk authority in his voice. In the morning they met at the school as usual while the pupils came streaming in off the streets. The Doyles were pale, Brigit still looking like she was about to faint. Mela, Agnes and Mrs Lane were quiet and tense. Walter Ringrose came in last of all, his eyes lined with red like he had not had much sleep.

  ‘My friends managed to trace the Bull Heads,’ he said. ‘They took Billy to Jacob’s Island, the thieves’ haunt in Bermondsey.’

  Brigit let out a wail of fear. ‘We went up and had a look,’ Mr Ringrose went on. ‘We thought we might be able to slip in, but there’s no chance. The place is surrounded by a stinking ditch full of water and heaven knows what else. There’s only one bridge across it and plenty of mean looking fellows guarding it. All of ’em loyal to the Captain, no doubt. And even if we did get across the bridge without being spotted, the place is a warren. We could look forever and never find Billy.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Grace.

  ‘If I were you, ma’am, I would send the children home for the day, and ask their parents to keep them indoors and under close watch, especially the boys. You do the same with yours. I reckon Albert is old enough to be a target. Meanwhile, I’m going to start a fire.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to organise a demonstration,’ said Mr Ringrose. ‘I’ll raise every man I can, and we’ll march through the streets as a show of force. My friends are already out there spreading the word. We’ll show the Bull Heads that they will have to fight us all. If they start stealing our children, we’ll come after them. For the moment, this will be a peaceful protest. But if Billy Doyle isn’t released unharmed, why then, we’ll storm Jacob’s Island and every other Bull Head haunt until we find him. And woe betide any beggars who try to stop us.’

  She wanted to stop him, to beg him to hold back from such a dangerous path. Instead she said, ‘Mary can look after the children. I am coming with you.’

  ‘As am I,’ said Hermione Lane, and there was iron in her voice. ‘The streets of Rotherhithe are fouled by these Bull Head filth. It’s time we cleaned them out, and made our homes safe. I’ll bring every wife and mother in Rotherhithe, and set them marching alongside you. Give me two hours, and I promise you we’ll be there.’

  Grace looked at Mela and Agnes. ‘Try and stop us,’ said Mela, her fair face pale but determined.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ said Grace.

  *


  She knew Walter was determined and vigorous, and she knew too by now that Hermione Lane had a will of steel, but all the same she was still amazed by what happened next.

  From the docks came the deal porters, big men with heavy leather caps around their heads armed with baulks of timber. From the construction sites came the bricklayers, walking off the job without a word to their foremen, and quite often the foremen downed tools and followed them. From the carpet factory came the weavers and mechanics, Mr Crompton looking nervous as usual but marching with determination at their head and brandishing a walking stick. From the engine works and vitriol factory and all the other mills came more workmen, and pouring out of the houses in a steady stream came the women of Rotherhithe, some still in their aprons, carrying pots and pans and beating on these with spoons, setting up a clangorous timpani that echoed off the walls of the buildings. A sea of humanity flowed down Jamaica Road and then down Lower Road towards the police station and magistrates’ court, singing and chanting

  ‘This is magnificent!’ Mela called over the din. She and Grace were marching near the head of the procession, following their leaders, Mr Ringrose and Mrs Lane. ‘I wasn’t expecting half this many people!’

  ‘Neither was I,’ said Grace. ‘But I think Hermione is right. People have had enough. Billy’s kidnapping was the tipping point.’

  ‘And Mr Ringrose was right, too,’ Mela said. ‘We’re going to take on the Bull Heads, and we’re going to win!’

  It won’t be that easy, Grace thought. And if we don’t get Billy back, this will all be for nothing. But she could not help but share Mela’s excitement.

  On Lower Road the police station was shuttered and silent. Of the police themselves there was no sign. The procession stopped outside the magistrates’ court, singing and chanting still, the hammer of pots and pans roaring like a drum beat. Walter Ringrose stood on the top step of the courthouse, holding up his cricket bat and waving his arms for silence, and the crowd quietened a little.

  ‘My friends!’ he shouted. ‘People of Rotherhithe and Bermondsey, this is our moment!’

  ‘Yes!’ they roared back at him, and the pots clanged and clattered. Mr Ringrose waved his arms again.

  ‘This is our moment!’ he repeated. ‘This is the hour when we stand up to the Bull Head Gang, and their corrupt accomplices in the police! This is the moment when we say: enough is enough! We will no longer tolerate your bullying and violence! We will no longer pay your protection money! We will no longer hide in our houses or walk our own streets in fear of you, and above all, we will no longer tolerate you stealing our children! You are finished!’

  Again the crowd roared. I don’t care, Grace thought. I don’t care if my cheeks are flushed, I don’t care if my eyes are shining, and above all, I don’t care who sees me and guesses the truth. He is wonderful. There; I have said it, and I will say it again. He is wonderful, and I love him.

  ‘Captain!’ Mr Ringrose shouted. ‘I know you are listening, or that you have listeners amongst us. Here is my message to you. You have until midnight to release Billy Doyle unharmed, and clear off out of this district. If you do, you will come to no harm. If you fail; if by morning Billy is still held captive and your men are still on our streets, we will come for you! Fear our vengeance, Captain! For you may be strong, but we are stronger! You have scores of men, but we have thousands! And we are coming for you!’

  The roar that went up shook the skies. Grace clasped her hands to her breasts and found there were sudden tears on her cheeks. ‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘Oh, my stars.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Mela.

  ‘I have never been better,’ Grace said, smiling through her tears.

  She was still shaking with emotion when the crowd began to disperse, returning to their work and their homes. Walter walked up to Grace, Mela and Mrs Lane, removing his hat and wiping perspiration from his forehead. The invisible finger played a dance up and down Grace’s spine, and she resisted the temptation to throw her arms around him and kiss him. ‘That was splendid,’ she said instead.

  ‘We have sent our message,’ Mr Ringrose said. He looked flushed and triumphant. ‘The Captain will hear soon enough what has happened. Now we wait for him to make his move.’

  *

  Back at Bell Lane, Grace found the younger children playing happily, supervised by Mary and Albert. ‘What happened?’ Mary asked. ‘We heard the noise.’

  ‘Mr Ringrose has challenged the Captain,’ Grace said. ‘Release Billy, or face the consequences.’

  ‘That is dangerous,’ said Mary. ‘It could be especially dangerous for Mr Ringrose.’

  ‘But he is a brave man,’ Grace said happily. ‘The others have gone back to the school to wait, to see if the Captain will release Billy, and I should join them. Can you look after everyone here? Be sure to lock the door.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mary. ‘Good luck, Grace. I hope you find him.’

  ‘Billy will come home,’ Albert predicted. They were close friends. ‘He is clever. He will find a way.’

  Back at the school Grace joined Mela, Agnes, Hermione, Walter and Mickey. Brigit was in bed. Mickey had given her a sleeping draught, one of the medicines he used when his leg pained him.

  A knock at the door a few minutes later made them all jump. Grace opened the door to see Mr Crompton, still with his walking stick, and Mr Gould with what looked like a revolver tucked into his coat pocket. ‘We thought we should be here,’ the timber merchant said with a slight smile. ‘After all, we have an investment in this place.’

  ‘You are very welcome, gentlemen,’ Grace said.

  They sat quietly, waiting, and once or twice Grace closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer of hope. Walter prowled around the school with cricket bat in hand, restless and fidgety. Agnes was motionless, staring into space, and Grace suspected she was reliving memories of the Cossacks riding into Zitomir. Mr Crompton took a book from the library and read patiently, showing more fortitude than Grace would have expected. Mela sat at a table and played patience with an old deck of cards.

  The day wore on. Afternoon turned to evening, the sun sinking into a dull red haze of smoke in the west. Someone knocked hard at the door, and they all jumped. Heart in her mouth, Grace hurried to unlock it, Walter at her elbow. She opened the door to find a small boy standing on the step. His clothes were wet and torn and stank repulsively, and there was a bruise on his face, but it was unmistakeably Billy Doyle.

  *

  ‘Billy!’ she cried. ‘Oh, come in, child, come in!’ She pulled the boy quickly inside and slammed the door and locked it. From the classroom where they had been sitting came Mickey’s voice.

  ‘Billy? Son, is that you?’

  ‘Dad!’ screamed Billy, and he hurtled into the room. Grace followed to find Mickey, tears streaming down his face, clutching his son to his chest and hugging him tightly. ‘Oh, son! Where have you been?’

  After a time Billy calmed enough to tell his story. ‘They put me in a wagon, Dad. There were four of them, and I couldn’t fight them off. They told me because I had been bad, they would put me in a pit. Then they made me go into this deep hole with water and rats and all, and closed the top so I couldn’t get out. I was really scared, Dad, but after a while I realised the ground was soft and I had some coins in my pocket, the ones Ma gave me to buy cabbages. And I found the ground was soft around the top of the pit, and I used one of the coins to dig a hole under the cover so I could crawl out, and there wasn’t nobody around cuz they thought I couldn’t get out of the pit, and I ran straight here and now I’m home.’

  Mickey calmed him and took him upstairs to be reunited with his mother, and they all heard Brigit’s heart-rending cry of joy and the screams of the younger children when they saw their brother. ‘Well,’ said Mr Gould thoughtfully. ‘That puts a different complexion on things.’

  ‘It does,’ said Mr Ringrose. ‘When the gang finds out Billy has escaped, they’ll come looking for him. And the first place the
y will come is here.’

  ‘Then we need to get the Doyle family to safety,’ said Mr Crompton. ‘If the Captain’s men can’t find Billy, they may well attack others in the family.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Advise them to pack, if you will, and I shall fetch my coach to carry them away. They can stay at my house for the moment, though I feel they would be safest if they left the district altogether. The Captain has a long arm.’

  ‘I will organise some men to protect the school building,’ said Mr Gould.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ said Walter. ‘My friends from the King’s Arms will come and join us. They’re stout fellows.’

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Grace.

  ‘I should go home if I were you,’ said Mr Gould. ‘I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m afraid this is one of those situations where brawn is required, not brain. There will be a confrontation, of that there is little doubt. I don’t think the Captain will give in easily. And I think it best that you are safely out of the way when trouble comes. Mr Ringrose, I think we should send some of our men to protect Mrs Turneur’s home, too.’

  Agnes and Hermione departed. Mela looked at Grace. ‘I don’t want to go home,’ she said. ‘May I stay with you?’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ said Grace smiling. ‘And yes, you are welcome. I would be glad of the company while we await . . . events.’

  ‘May I call on you later?’ Mr Ringrose asked Grace. ‘I’ll come back and spend the night here, but I’d like to discuss tactics for tomorrow, if I may. We’ll need to organise another demonstration, I think.’ Grace nodded, her heart suddenly pounding again.

  They walked home together through the ruddy light. The streets, usually so busy, were nearly empty, and the usual knots of men standing outside the public houses were absent too. The air was full of foreboding, and Grace was reminded of the calm before a thunderstorm. At Bell Lane, Mary was waiting for them, her face tense. She could feel the atmosphere too.