by Dilly Court
‘You need to rest, Ma. You’ve been overdoing it.’
‘I’m going to the theatre.’ Annie broke free from them but she staggered and it took their combined efforts to keep her from falling to the ground.
Clutching her mother in a firm grip, Phoebe heard the sound of horse’s hooves and glancing over her shoulder she saw a hackney carriage approaching from the town centre. She waved frantically and it drew to a halt at the kerb. ‘Get in, Ma, and no arguments. Fred will take you home and I’ll go on to the theatre. I can fill in for you tonight.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure, Ma.’
Annie allowed Fred to help her into the cab, but as he attempted to climb in beside her she shook her head. ‘Go with my girl. I’ll be all right on me own.’
Phoebe knew it was useless to argue any further. It was only a short carriage ride to the lodging house and it was Madame Galina’s evening off from working behind the bar in the Crown and Anchor. Although neither Galina, Judy nor Gussie had personal experience of childbirth, Phoebe knew that Ma was in safe hands. Judy promised to send for the doctor if it became necessary, and Phoebe was content to leave her wayward parent in their care. She linked arms with Fred and headed off towards the town centre.
When she arrived at the theatre, Marcus and Herbert were initially sceptical of her ability to take over the fortune-telling stall, but Phoebe was adamant that she could fill her mother’s place without losing the clientele that Annie had built up amongst the dedicated theatregoers. After a brief discussion they agreed to give her a chance, and with help from Rose she transformed her appearance into that of a gypsy fortune teller. She settled inside the small booth to deal with the steady stream of people eager to know what the future held. She had learned the patter from her mother along with the tricks of the trade that Annie used in order to elicit personal information from the punters. Having gained their confidence, Annie would launch into predictions of good fortune or romantic encounters with handsome strangers. Phoebe followed this example to the letter, although she found it disturbing when she saw shadows of ill health or bereavement lurking in the background. These came unbidden into her mind but she was too well trained to pass on forebodings of gloom. There was enough poverty and disease already in their grim world. Even in the comparatively healthy seaside resort, death stalked young and old with equal tenacity. The end was inevitable, but what Phoebe sold was the hope of something better in the interim.
She was exhausted by the time she had seen the last person in the queue. She stepped outside to warm congratulations from Marcus. He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Phoebe. I didn’t know you had it in you.’
She managed a tired smile. ‘I started young, Mr White.’
‘That I can see, but you were obviously an apt pupil. I listened in to some of your readings and I was impressed.’ He slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘I think we can talk business, my dear. It’s obvious that Annie is close to her time and cannot continue much longer. I’m offering the job to you. What d’you say, Phoebe?’
‘I say yes, Mr White.’
‘Call me Marcus, my dear.’
Chapter Nine
PHOEBE WORKED HARD at perfecting her act, for that was what she considered the fortune-telling booth to be. It was a piece of fun; an entertainment preceding the main event and not to be taken seriously. She enjoyed seeing the patrons leave with smiles on their faces, and as the weeks went by she began to recognise the regulars. She looked forward to hearing the details of their lives, which they were only too pleased to share with her. It seemed that by giving them the hope of better things to come their attitude to the daily trials that beset them had become more positive. She could not explain this, but she was happy if she had been able in some small way to be of help to the people who were fast becoming her friends.
Although she enjoyed her new status, she could not afford to relinquish her cleaning job. She tried at first to do both but Marcus, being an astute businessman, saw his profits growing and insisted on hiring a woman to take over the more onerous tasks of scrubbing the floors and polishing the brass handrails. Phoebe still swept, dusted and tidied the dressing rooms, wiping greasepaint off the mirrors and face powder from the table tops. The repertory company was notoriously untidy, leaving fish and chip wrappers, empty beer bottles and soggy fag-ends in unexpected places. Phoebe had come across an odd shoe that had been used as an ashtray for hand-rolled cigarettes and cigar butts. Somewhere in the theatre there must be a man searching in vain for his lost footwear. She could picture the frustrated owner hopping from one dressing room to another, but it was never claimed.
The time passed quickly and Christmas was approaching, not that there was much festive spirit in the lodging house. Judy, it seemed, did not hold with celebrating the season of goodwill, or if she did she managed to hide her feelings beneath a veil of contempt for fools who spent their money on lavish meals, presents and entertainments. Phoebe suspected that Christmas dinner was to be the usual boiled ox head or cod served with cabbage and potatoes. She had never complained about the meals that were served up with monotonous regularity, but she was worried by her mother’s lack of appetite and the fact that despite her enlarging belly she was pale, thin and listless. Phoebe knew that Annie missed working in the theatre and that she hated being confined to the house. Dolly was happy to keep her company and wait on her hand and foot, but Annie was easily bored and made it plain that she missed the bright lights and the adulation she received from the public.
One night when Phoebe arrived home late she was horrified to find her mother prostrate on her bed, snoring loudly and smelling strongly of gin, while Dolly slept as peacefully as a child in her truckle bed. Phoebe attempted to wake her mother, but Annie was too far gone in drink to open her eyes, and next morning it was apparent from Herbert’s demeanour that he too was suffering from the after-effects of a heavy session in the pub.
Madame Galina took Phoebe aside. ‘My dear girl, I think there is something you should know about your mamma and him.’ She jerked her head in Herbert’s direction. ‘They’ve become regulars in the saloon bar at the Crown and Anchor. Now I like a drop of brandy every now and again as I’m sure you know, but your mamma should not be drinking in her condition. She will kill herself and the child.’
‘Thank you, Madame,’ Phoebe said in a low voice. ‘I’ll speak to Ma when she wakes up, and I’ll tell Herbert Jackson what I think of him too.’
Madame Galina laid a warning hand on Phoebe’s arm. ‘Be careful. He’s not a man to cross. He may seem like a good fellow, but when he’s drunk he’s a bad man. Little Rose knows this and she tries to keep him on the straight and narrow, but give him hard liquor and you must watch out.’
‘He looks sorry for himself this morning.’
‘A bear with a sore head is the term, I think.’ Madame smiled ruefully. ‘I’ve been there myself, little one. Best leave him until the headache wears off and he puts on his cheerful face.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Gussie demanded, rising from the breakfast table. ‘It’s rude, you know.’
‘Mind your own business, you stupid woman.’ Madame waved her away with an imperious hand. ‘Keep your place, Gussie Watts. I was having a private word with my little friend.’
Gussie’s small features knotted into a scowl. ‘Don’t believe a word the old fraud says, Phoebe. She always was a troublemaker.’
‘Will you two shut up?’ Herbert stood up, glowering at them. ‘My head aches. I need some seltzer and there’s none in the cupboard. Someone has stolen my seltzer.’
‘Rubbish.’ Madame Galina tossed her head. ‘You’ve used it all up, you old soak.’
‘It takes one to know one,’ Herbert snapped back at her. ‘I’ll use another drinking establishment in future.’
‘Good. You’re no longer welcome in the Crown and Anchor.’
‘Who says so?’ Herbert moved towards her with his chin outthrust. ‘You’re j
ust a barmaid, Galina Lavrovna.’
‘I’ll have you know that I was famous in Russia.’
‘Well we’ve only got your word for that, you fat old faggot.’
Madame bristled visibly and for a moment Phoebe thought she was going to hit Herbert, but she was forestalled by Rose who had entered the kitchen unnoticed. ‘Poppa. I never thought I’d hear you speak so harshly to someone who’s been kindness itself to you and me.’
‘A serpent’s tooth,’ Herbert declared dramatically. ‘An ungrateful child.’
Rose hurried to his side, and clutched his arm, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Please don’t get yourself in a state. You’ll make yourself ill.’
‘Leave me alone, you snake in the grass.’ He pushed her aside and she stumbled against the table, knocking the teapot onto the floor. Hot tea spilt on her arm and stained her skirts. She cried out in pain and Phoebe hurried to her side, taking Rose gently by the hand and examining the injured limb.
‘She’s scalded her wrist.’
‘Put butter on it.’ Gussie reached for the dish, frowning when she saw that it was empty. ‘Who ate the last of the butter?’
‘Never mind that now.’ Judy had been supervising Dolly, who was stirring a saucepan of porridge seemingly oblivious to the disharmony amongst her fellow lodgers, but the sight of Rose in distress galvanised Judy into action. She rushed forward to cover the scalded wrist with a clean cloth. ‘Sit down, girl. You’ve gone white as a sheet. Dolly, make sure the porridge doesn’t burn and stop snivelling. Rose will be all right.’ She glanced at Phoebe who was hovering anxiously at her side. ‘Make yourself useful and fetch a mop.’
‘I never meant to hurt her,’ Herbert mumbled, putting a safe distance between himself and Judy.
She turned on him with her lips pulled back in a snarl. ‘Jackson, you’re a disgrace. I’ve warned you before about your boozing and the evils of strong drink. Now you’ve hurt your daughter and I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.’
Herbert cringed visibly. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, love. I dunno what came over me.’
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘Yes you do, Poppa. You’re always like this when you’ve had a bellyful of gin.’ She glanced at Phoebe, shaking her head. ‘I tried to talk your ma out of going with him, but she wouldn’t listen.’
Phoebe put the mop aside and patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s not your fault, and to be fair to your pa it’s not entirely his either. My ma is easily led, but I’m begging you, Mr Jackson. Please don’t take her to the pub again.’
‘Bloody women,’ Herbert muttered, heading for the doorway. ‘Always grumbling about something. I feel poorly but I don’t get any sympathy. I’m going for a lie down.’ He stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘You mustn’t take any notice of Poppa,’ Rose said, wincing as Judy applied a generous amount of baking soda to the afflicted limb.
‘Fetch my medicine chest from the front parlour.’ Judy addressed Gussie who was watching the procedure with interest. ‘I have some bandages ready made for just such an event.’
Gussie opened her mouth as if to argue and then appeared to think better of it. With a mumbled response, she hurried from the room.
‘You should have been a nurse, Judy,’ Phoebe said sincerely. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do.’
‘Pity you’ve left your crystal ball at the theatre, isn’t it?’ Judy spoke severely but her thin lips curved into a pleased smile. ‘I do have a talent for curing ills, but I can’t do anything for Annie or for that father of yours, Rose. Their ailments are inflicted by themselves and they should be ashamed for allowing the demon drink to rule their sad lives.’
Phoebe shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. What Judy said was harsh but true and there was no denying it. She moved to the dresser and picked up a cup and saucer. ‘I’ll take some tea up for Ma, and I’ll have a few words to say to her.’
‘Let me take it,’ Dolly said, abandoning the saucepan, but receiving a stern look from Judy she resumed stirring the porridge. ‘Poor Annie’s sick,’ she murmured. ‘Poor Annie.’
‘I’ll speak to Poppa when he’s himself again,’ Rose said slowly. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want any harm to come to Annie or her baby. He’ll be very ashamed when he realises what he’s done.’
‘Never mind Annie. She can look after herself.’ Judy went to relieve Dolly of her task. ‘Go and get yourself a bowl, child. You’ve earned your breakfast.’
Gussie reappeared carrying a small beechwood box which she placed on the table in front of Rose. ‘I thought better of your pa. He’s a different person when he’s been on the booze.’
Judy pushed her aside. ‘Never mind that now, Augusta. Isn’t it time you left for work? You’ll be in trouble with that snooty woman who owns the hat shop if you’re late again. Fred left on his rounds a good half-hour ago.’
Gussie glanced at the clock on the wall with a gasp of dismay, and grabbing her bonnet and shawl from the peg behind the door she raced out of the room as if the devil were on her heels.
‘It never fails to amaze me how that woman keeps her job,’ Judy said, shaking her head as she opened the medicine chest. Selecting a roll of gauze bandage and a piece of lint she placed the dressing on Rose’s arm. ‘Hold still, girl. I can’t work if you wriggle about.’
Phoebe took the opportunity to fill a teacup and escape from the room, leaving Madame Galina and Dolly to watch Judy bandaging the afflicted limb as if it were the most interesting thing they had ever seen.
Upstairs in the attic room Phoebe found her mother lying in bed with her hand covering her eyes.
‘Is that you, Phoebe? I have such a headache. I’m feeling quite unwell this morning.’
‘I’m not surprised, Ma, and quite honestly it serves you right.’ Phoebe placed the cup and saucer on the wash stand. ‘Whatever possessed you to go out drinking?’
‘Don’t scold me. I was bored and lonely. I miss London and I miss Ned. I want to go home, Phoebe. I want to tell him I love him and I’m going to have his child. Please take me back to Saffron Hill. I’ll die if I have to remain here any longer. I’ll die.’
It had taken all Phoebe’s powers of persuasion to prevent her mother from leaving the house and heading for the railway station, despite the fact that she had very little money in her purse and nothing on which to live when she reached her destination. Annie had managed to convince herself that Ned Paxman would welcome her with open arms, and that there would be wedding bells before the spring. Phoebe remained sceptical but she listened patiently and eventually managed to persuade Annie that a long journey undertaken in the harsh winter weather would endanger her health and the child’s. It would be better to wait until she had regained her former vitality, not to mention her figure, before attempting a reunion with Ned. In the end it was vanity that won the day, and a single glance at her bloated and pallid face in the mirror was enough to make Annie realise that her daughter was talking sense. Reluctantly, she agreed to stay indoors and rest.
Herbert, when he recovered from his hangover, was apparently a changed man. He promised Rose that he would eschew drink forever, and he went so far as to provide a large goose for Christmas dinner together with a plum pudding and a large bag of chestnuts. Following his example and not to be outdone, Fred arrived home on Christmas Eve with a basket filled with oranges, lemons and apples. From a poacher’s pocket in his overcoat he produced a bottle of brandy and one of claret, which he explained were to make brandy butter and a warming punch on Christmas morning. Even Judy allowed herself to unbend a little, and to Phoebe’s astonishment Madame Galina and Gussie seemed to have declared a truce for the festive season, or for the next twenty-four hours at least. They were positively effusive in their compliments to each other and radiated good will to everyone else. Dolly was as excited as a five-year-old and quite overcome with emotion when on Christmas morning Judy presented her with an embroidered handkerchief. Madame Galina gave her a string o
f blue glass beads, and Rose added a small bottle of eau de Cologne to Dolly’s growing collection of presents. Phoebe had bought a picture book in a secondhand shop in town, which she told Dolly was from her and Annie. It was painfully obvious that Dolly had never received a Christmas present in her life, and she sat with her gifts cradled in her lap, rocking to and fro and cooing over them.
Annie had raised herself from her bed and Phoebe was delighted to see her mother taking an interest in the proceedings at breakfast. She was even more impressed when Annie volunteered to peel the potatoes while Judy prepared the bird for the oven. Madame Galina, Gussie, Rose and Fred went off to church, leaving Herbert to make a jug of punch, adding slices of fruit and a bottle of lemonade, which they sampled on their return, while Judy, Dolly and Phoebe served the food.
The festive meal was eaten in the rather austere splendour of Judy’s dining room, where a large mahogany table was surrounded by ornately carved and rather fearsome-looking chairs. The wallpaper was heavily patterned with flowers and hung with sombre prints of highland cattle and stags at bay. A black marble clock shaped like a Roman temple sat on the mantelshelf flanked by two grinning pot dogs and sepia-tinted daguerreotypes of a grim-faced man with mutton-chop whiskers and a woman with a mouth like a steel trap and piercing eyes. Phoebe could only assume that they must be Judy’s parents. The sight of them oppressed her at first but she realised quickly that this room was Judy’s pride and joy, and that it was an honour for her lodgers to be allowed to enter its hallowed portals.
A fire had been lit in the grate although the chimney smoked a little, causing tiny flakes of soot to shower down on the white tablecloth like black snow. These were brushed off immediately by Gussie and the resulting smudges had to be concealed beneath swags of ivy torn from the back wall of the house. The best china was brought out for the occasion and Judy stood at the head of the table to carve the magnificent bird. Apple sauce was served with the goose and roast potatoes with lashings of gravy, and the inevitable boiled cabbage, but even this tasted delicious to Phoebe. It was, she thought, the first decent meal she had had since Nonna left for Italy.
