by Dilly Court
He toyed with the ring on her finger, but his gaze did not waver from her face. ‘You will give me your answer in the spring when I return?’
She nodded her head. ‘I will.’
‘And there is nothing I can say to make you change your mind and come with us to Stresa?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry, Gino.’
As he drew her into his arms the sky darkened and a flash of forked lightning preceded an ear-splitting crack of thunder. Huge spots of rain the size of halfpennies began to fall from a leaden sky and they ran for shelter. By the time they reached the gatehouse of Bridewell Hospital they were both soaked to the skin, but the rain was warm and they were laughing. Gino put his arm around Phoebe, wiping the raindrops from her cheeks with the tip of his forefinger. ‘You are beautiful, my Phoebe. You could have stepped from a painting by one of the great Renaissance masters.’
‘You say such lovely things, Gino.’
‘But you don’t believe me?’
She stretched her arms out into the pouring rain. ‘I think you see me as others don’t, and I know I looked like a drowned rat, but thank you anyway.’
He caught her by the hands and danced her out of their place of shelter into the rain-soaked street. Splashing through deep puddles, he whirled her round in a wild tarantella singing a snatch of ‘Champagne Charlie Is My Name’ in a rich tenor voice. Phoebe was giggling too much to hear the sound of booted feet racing towards them and it was not until they were surrounded by rough-looking men carrying clubs and sticks that she realised they were in the centre of a pitched battle between two rival gangs. A huge thunderclap almost deafened her and there was a momentary lull in the men’s advance, but another flash of lightning revealed stark, ferocious faces and narrowed glinting eyes. Gino caught her round the waist and half carried, half dragged her to the relative safety of the hospital gatehouse. They stood, arms entwined as the blows started to fall in a vicious attack. Phoebe could feel his heart thudding against her breast and he held her so close that they seemed to be breathing as one.
She buried her face against his shoulder in an attempt to shut out the shouts and the sound of wood cracking skulls and breaking limbs. Cries of pain and swearing were drowned out by the thunder of hobnails and the shattering of glass as missiles were thrown, breaking windows all round. Taking a furtive peek she saw bodies littering the street, bloodstained and writhing in agony. She did not hear the man who lurched into the gatehouse until it was too late to avoid him as he barged into them. He fell unconscious at their feet. Gino slipped his arm around her waist. ‘We must get away from here,’ he whispered as another man stuck his head round the corner and poked the inert body with a stick. He did not seem to see them and he threw himself back into the fray. Stepping over the crumpled figure, Gino helped Phoebe into the street and holding her hand he began to edge along the wall in an attempt to get away from the brawling mass. They had only managed to get a few feet when one of the gang spotted them, and with a whoop that sounded like an ancient battle cry he felled Gino with a single swipe of his huge fist. ‘Take that, Eyetie bastard. Go back home where you belong.’
‘Gino!’ Phoebe fell to her knees cradling his head on her lap, but their attacker caught her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. ‘What’s this then, pretty? What sort of man allows his bit of muslin to follow him into a scrap? You don’t want to knock around with foreign coves. I’d take better care of you, sweetheart.’ He closed his large hand over her left breast and pushed his face so close to hers that his foul breath enveloped her in a stinking miasma of stale beer and rotten teeth. His grip tightened on her hair until she thought that every last one would be pulled from her head, and then just as suddenly as he had appeared he released her and sank silently to his knees.
‘I might have guessed it was you, Phoebe Giamatti.’ Rogue Paxman stuck his boot in the middle of the man’s back so that he fell flat on his face in the mud. ‘This is getting to be a habit. What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ He fended off a body that came flying towards him, sending the semi-conscious man crashing against the wall where he crumpled to the ground, bent over like a hairpin, as if taking a nap.
Ignoring Paxman, Phoebe knelt at Gino’s side. He was regaining consciousness and she wiped his face with her hanky. She looked up at Paxman who was staring down at her with a look of disbelief. ‘This is all your fault,’ she cried angrily. ‘You and your gang make the streets unsafe for decent folk.’
Her words were drowned out by the blast of police whistles. Paxman bent down and caught Gino by the lapels of shirt, heaving him to a standing position. ‘You must be mad bringing a girl to this place after dark. Take her home or you’ll have me to deal with.’ He jerked Phoebe to her feet and thrust her hand into Gino’s. ‘Go now. Take the side street and shelter in St Bride’s church until this is over.’ He shoved them unceremoniously towards the entrance to Bride Lane, and then he was gone.
Dazed and leaning heavily on Phoebe, Gino allowed her to lead him to the safety of the church where he rested in the doorway until he was able to stand unaided.
‘Are you all right, Gino?’ she asked anxiously.
He nodded, rubbing his sore head. ‘That was Rogue Paxman. How do you know him?’
‘I wouldn’t say I know him,’ she countered, glancing around to make sure that they had not been followed. ‘I try to keep away from both the Paxman brothers. They’re nothing but trouble.’
‘I don’t like it. They’re bad men and I can’t bear to think of you left alone in London while they roam free.’ Gino wrapped his arms around her and she could feel him trembling.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she whispered, planting a kiss on his cold cheek. ‘You mustn’t worry about me, Gino. I won’t have anything to do with the Paxmans. It’ll be Ma and me and Dolly. We’ll live quietly like three church mice.’ She giggled as the clock in the tower struck ten. ‘That must be a sign. We’ve someone up there looking after us, so you can rest easy.’
He stroked her wet hair back from her forehead. ‘I’d die if anything was to happen to you, cara.’
‘We’ll both die of lung fever if we don’t get home and change out of these wet things. And I’ll have to explain to Nonna why I’ve stayed out so late with you, or she’ll take Nonno’s new fowling piece and walk us both down the aisle.’
‘Maybe that would be the best thing for both of us.’ Gino rubbed his sore head. ‘Come. It sounds as though the police have done their work. I’ll take you home.’
Luckily for Phoebe there was no one about when she crept into the house. She could hear the rumble of men’s voices coming from the dining room and she could only guess that her grandfather and uncles were talking business. There was no sign of her grandmother and that in itself was a relief. She tiptoed upstairs to the top floor bedroom where she found Dolly asleep on the truckle bed by the window, but to her horror her mother’s bed was empty. She stood shivering in the doorway, uncertain as to what she ought to do next. Perhaps Ma had felt unwell and had gone to the privy in the back yard. She hoped so, but she had to make certain. Surely Ma would not be so silly as to go out drinking. Not in her condition.
Without stopping to change out of her wet clothes, Phoebe retraced her steps and went outside into the dark yard where the privy and pump were situated. The storm had abated but now a steady drizzle was falling from the dark skies. She opened the privy door but the only occupant was a large spider sitting in the middle of its web. Her heart sank. She was used to her mother’s gallivanting in normal times, but this was different. In her delicate condition and in this dreadful weather she would be taking a terrible risk. The streets were always unsafe after dark, but doubly so on a night when the gangs were at war with each other. She hesitated, standing in the rain regardless of her own personal discomfort. She knew she had no choice other than to try to find her mother and bring her home.
The Three Bells was all but deserted. The Smithfield gang members were otherwise engaged, and Phoebe suspected th
at they had fled south of the river in order to escape from the police. They would slink back to their dens in the courts and alleyways next day, but for now they were absent from their customary meeting place. Charlie, the potman, eyed her warily. ‘Get on home, ducks. You’ll catch your death. There ain’t no one here to entertain you tonight.’
Phoebe chose to ignore the implied insult, insinuating that she was on the game. ‘Have you seen Annie?’
‘Would that be Iron Leg Annie, or Cross-eyed Annie, or …’
‘Annie Giamatti.’
‘Oh, Spooky Annie. Yes, I seen her an hour or so ago. Gone off with that Snape fellow from the distillery. A bit swipey she was or she might have thought twice about keeping company with the likes of him.’
‘You don’t know where he lives, I suppose?’
‘I knows everything about everyone what drinks in this pub. And one thing I’ll tell you for nothing is that Ned Paxman won’t be too pleased if he ever finds out his moll is carrying on behind his back.’ Charlie made a cutting motion, swiping his finger across his throat.
Phoebe clutched his arm. ‘Never mind that. Where does Snape hang out?’
‘Turk’s Head Yard, love. Mind you, it’s not the sort of place I’d recommend to a young person like you. I’d leave her to come home on her own, if you know what I mean.’
‘Ta, Charlie.’ Phoebe left him still muttering about the dangers of the area where Snape had lodgings, but she ignored his warning and ran out into the rain to continue searching for her mother.
Turk’s Head Yard was situated opposite the railway line at the junction of Turnmill Street and Cowcross Street. It was the sort of place where it was barely safe to venture in broad daylight, let alone in the dark. The torrential rain had gone a little way to wash the detritus from the streets, although the surface drains were blocked with rubbish and overflowed, forming gushing torrents of filthy water to soak the unwary pedestrian’s feet as they crossed the road. Phoebe was past caring. She could not have been colder or wetter if she had gone for a swim in the Thames. She plucked up all her courage and entered the narrow court. She was instantly aware of shadowy figures moving silently between the closely packed buildings. A man lurched out of a house either drunk or under the influence of opium and she shrank away from him, but he appeared to be too far gone to even notice her. A ragged child was curled up in the doorway of a pawnshop with a mongrel dog wrapped around his feet like a living muff. The dog opened an eye and growled deep in its throat as Phoebe hurried past.
She had no idea which of the dilapidated buildings housed the rooms rented by Snape and only now she realised the futility of her mission, but just as she was about to give up and return home, she saw a white figure weaving from one side of the narrow alley to the other, her long hair flowing about her shoulders and her bare feet moving soundlessly over the wet cobblestones. ‘Ma?’ Phoebe could hardly believe her eyes. She forced her aching limbs to move and was just in time to catch Annie as she collapsed in her arms.
Chapter Six
THE SMELL OF sour blue ruin on her mother’s breath was oddly comforting. At least it went some way to explain her semi-conscious state. Supporting Annie’s weight, Phoebe managed to get her to the main road, where a quick examination in the light of a street lamp reassured her that there were no obvious physical injuries. Annie’s mutterings made little sense, but that could be down to the amount of alcohol she had obviously imbibed, and the fact that she was wet and chilled to the bone. It was not far to the Giamattis’ house, and exerting the last ounce of her flagging energy Phoebe helped her mother up the stairs to the top floor.
In the safety of their room, Phoebe helped her out of her wet things and into a cotton nightgown. ‘What happened tonight, Ma?’ she demanded as she dried Annie’s wet hair with a towel. ‘Did he hurt you?’
Annie shook her head. ‘I think I killed him.’
‘What?’
‘It was all fun and games to begin with.’ Annie raised her hand to her brow. ‘My head aches something chronic. Get me a seltzer, love.’
‘All in good time. Tell me what went on in Snape’s lodgings.’
Annie appeared to sober up as she recalled the events that had led up to her flight from Turk’s Head Yard. ‘We was having a drink and a giggle, and then he got a bit too familiar. I told him to lay off ’cos I wasn’t that sort of woman, but the bastard was all over me in a trice. I picked up the nearest thing, which happened to be the gin bottle. I cracked him over the head with it and ran. I never even stopped to put on me shoes and they was me best pair.’
Phoebe glanced at the bare boards by her mother’s bed, frowning. ‘Your shoes are still here, Ma.’
Annie stifled a giggle. ‘Crikey. I must’ve taken yours, ducks. I was in a bit of a hurry to get out before Mamma Giamatti realised I’d gone.’
‘Oh, Ma. What am I going to do with you?’
‘The coppers will be after me.’ Annie’s voice rose on a note of panic. ‘You’ve got to hide me, Phoebe.’
Dolly stirred and moaned as she turned over in her narrow bed and Phoebe laid a finger on her lips. ‘Hush, Ma. You’ll wake her. We don’t want Dolly blabbing about this to anyone who’ll listen.’
Annie clutched her stomach, her eyes widening. ‘He’s moving about. Ned’s son’s a lively one. He’s going to be just like his pa.’
The mere mention of Ned’s name sent a cold shiver running down Phoebe’s spine. She pulled back the covers and pressed her mother onto the bed. ‘You must rest, Ma. I’ll take care of everything.’
Reluctantly, Annie swung her legs onto the mattress and pulled up the coverlet. ‘You got to find out if Snape’s alive or dead. If I’ve killed the beast I’ll have no choice but to go to Italy with the family. Maybe the whole damn business will have blown over by next spring.’
‘Yes, Ma. Everything will be all right. You mustn’t worry.’ Phoebe picked up the candlestick and made for the door. Snape was a poor apology for a man but murder was a hanging offence, and she had to be certain that he had survived. ‘Can you remember Snape’s address, Ma?’
Annie raised herself on her elbow. ‘It’s number ten and his room’s on the ground floor at the back of the house. But you’re not thinking of going there now, are you?’
‘I know what I’m doing, Ma. Go to sleep now and don’t worry.’ Phoebe let herself out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
The storm had passed, leaving the streets muddy and pockmarked with deep puddles. Phoebe’s clothes were almost dry by the time she reached Turk’s Head Yard, and a distant church clock chimed out the witching hour. She found the house wedged in between what appeared to be a brothel and an undertaker’s premises. The front door was hanging on one hinge as though an impatient person had at one point forced it open. She went inside, feeling her way along the damp walls to the rear of the building. A sour smell of damp rot and fungus pervaded the atmosphere, which was thick with dust, and strands of cobweb clutched at her hair. At the end of the corridor a faint sliver of light revealed that the door had been left ajar. Trembling, but determined to discover Snape’s fate, she opened it further, peering inside the room. In the flickering light of a single candle she could see Snape slumped in a chair. The bare boards surrounding him were covered in broken glass. A strong smell of jigger gin bore witness to Annie’s statement, and an upturned chair showed signs of a brief struggle.
Tiptoeing across the floor with her heart hammering against her ribs and her mouth dry with fear, Phoebe picked her way through the shards of glass to get near enough to Snape in order to reassure herself that he was still breathing. In fact he was snoring, and although she could see a reddened lump on the back of his balding head, he was obviously very much alive. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a sob of pure relief. She had not believed that a woman as slight as her mother could fell a man the size of an ox, but she had heard of people with thin skulls for whom the slightest bump had proved fatal. Snape was patently not in that catego
ry. She bent down to retrieve the shoes that her mother had abandoned in her haste to escape, and she left Snape to sleep off the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol he must have consumed. He would doubtless have a bad headache in the morning, but with luck he would not remember too much of the previous night’s events. She made her way home without further incident. The increased police presence on the streets after the skirmish between the rival gangs had cleared the area, if only temporarily, of those who might have waylaid a lone woman. Even so it was with a sigh of relief that she let herself into the house. In a few short hours her grandfather and uncles would be up and going about the daily routine of collecting ice and making the ice cream for the last time that season. In a couple of days the family would leave for Italy and Ma’s secret would be safe.
The family left as planned, but not without a last concerted effort to persuade Phoebe to accompany them to their winter home. Gino was the most persistent of all, and she had to be firm to the point of stubbornness in her refusal, but now she had the excuse of looking after Dolly, who wept copiously every time anyone suggested that Phoebe might leave her. Maria had, somewhat reluctantly, formed a bond with Dolly. Her maternal instincts had been roused by the girl with the body of a woman and the mind of a child. Dolly’s operation wound was healing but she presented an odd sight now that the bandages had been removed, with patches of fair hair sprouting out of a shaven head. The local children made fun of her and took it in turns to try to pluck the cotton mobcap from her head in order to get a better look at her bald pate. If Maria was witness to any of this taunting she chased them off with a broomstick, but Phoebe did her best to keep Dolly at her side. She allowed her to sit in on the table tipping sessions and was priming her to take part in the séances that would be a necessity if they were to support themselves through a long hard winter.
