Mickey nodded.
Annie threw away the rope from her ankles and huddled closer to Josie and her brother.
‘What time is it?’ she whispered.
‘It’s just after nine by now,’ Josie replied.
‘The old woman will be here soon with our daily mush,’ Annie said, a quiver in her voice.
Trying to keep the screaming threat of danger in her mind at bay, Josie ripped off the last of Mickey’s lashings and stood up, lifting the boy to his feet and then hugging both children briefly.
‘Oh, my poor loves,’ she said, as she pressed her lips to each forehead in turn.
She took hold of Mickey’s cold hand. ‘Now, you hold my hand, and Annie, you take his other hand and follow my lead.’ She lifted the lamp from the peg.
Mickey gripped her hand and all three of them picked their way towards the stairs. Above them, through the collapsed old shutters at the front of the house, the morning light was starting to filter in. Josie could now see more of what was in the cellar. In the far corner, she could make out some long boxes with VR stamped on the side and fitted with stout rope handles. A dozen or so coffee sacks, all sewn up tightly across the top, sat strangely at odds with the other items in the cellar. Gilt-framed canvasses, taller than she was and half concealed by tarpaulins, leant against the back wall.
They squeezed though some of this and through the packing cases full of spices and tea towards the bottom of the stairs.
‘Just a few moments and we’ll be up the stairs, out into the back gardens and free,’ she said in as jolly a voice as possible. ‘Right now you go ahead, Annie, and mind that—’
The door above them creaked open and a light shone down. Mickey slid behind her and held onto her skirt. Annie, too, clung to her as Josie stared up to see Ma Tugman standing on the landing above them with her old dog at her heels.
The old woman’s mouth dropped open in surprise giving her grimy face an almost girlish look, then a calculating smile crept across her face. Leaving the basket in her hand on the floor, she waddled over to the top stair, her dirty skirt dragging along the floor. Gripping the banister, she leant over and a few particles of dust floated down through the cracks in the boards.
‘Well, ain’t that touching,’ she said. ‘A proper little family reunion. Almost brings a tear to your eye.’
Josie’s mouth drew into a mirthless line. No old woman and mangy dog was going to stop her from taking Annie and Mickey out of this cellar and back home.
She put the children behind her and stepped forward. ‘Get out of my way.’
Ma’s face formed itself into a mockery of surprise. ‘You’re very big with your orders aren’t you, miss high and mighty. You’re forgetting that you’re nothing but the whore of a Paddy who’s looking at seven to ten at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’ She gave a hard laugh. ‘And what will you be then, eh? Just another skirt trying to keep yourself from the workhouse, that’s what.’ She tilted her head. ‘But don’t despair, a pretty girl like you could earn yourself a good living if you keep yourself clean.’ She lumbered down another step, the board creaking beneath her feet. ‘If you ask me nicely I’ll put in a good word for you in one of those fancy houses in Piccadilly. That’s where she’s going.’ She nodded her head at Annie. ‘Of course, the boy won’t be with you, he’ll be on the other side of the world or up some chimney.’
Mickey whimpered and Josie shushed him softly, but didn’t take her eyes off the old woman.
‘Get out of my way,’ Josie repeated, gathering the children to her and stepping over a coil of rope.
Ma slapped the railing and chuckled but then her jovial expression grew venomous. She drew a pistol out of her pocket, pointed it at Josie and cocked both barrels. ‘That poxy man of yours is a fool to think I wouldn’t make him pay for what he’s done to my poor Charlie . . .’
Josie huddled the children to her. As far as she could tell, the gun in the old woman’s hand was a flintlock, like the one her cousins kept in the house in New York. She heard two clicks and realised it was doubled barrelled, which gave her two shots. Although it was risky, if she could get her to waste one shot into the wall then at least the children had a chance of dashing up the stairs to safety.
‘. . . his arm’s all curled up like a crab’s claw, thanks to that bastard father of yours,’ Ma shrieked above them.
Josie lowered her head. ‘When I push you, dive behind the tea chest,’ she whispered, rocking them to the left.
Annie turned her face up. ‘But—’
‘No buts,’ Josie cut in firmly, holding the frightened child’s gaze.
Annie nodded.
Ma was still yelling. ‘Well, now he’ll know what it’s like to see your children suffer,’ she continued, moving down another step. ‘But now it’s even better because I’ve got you, too. See if he’s still as mouthy and . . .’
‘Now!’
Josie pushed the children, who dashed behind the chest while she dived between the nearby barrels.
Ma gave a laugh. ‘That’s right, run and hide. Harry’ll be here soon, he’ll flush you out,’ she said.
Josie bit her lip. She had to keep the old woman from calling for help or they’d be doomed along with Patrick. She jammed her back into the barrel behind her and pushed the one in front of her with her foot. It was only chest high but full of spirits. It swayed a little, then tipped forward and upturned. It rolled across the floor, smashing a crate of bottles.
‘Quit that,’ Ma yelled.
‘Kick the tea chest,’ Josie shouted to the children.
They did as they were told, pounding the side of the flimsy crate with their feet.
‘Stop that you, buggers,’ Ma shouted, lumbering further down the stairs.
The children continued to attack the side of the tea chest and Josie picked up a bottle that had escaped from the broken crate. Gripping the smooth neck she smashed the bottom away and raced over to the sacks of coffee. With a wide arc she slashed through the hessian cloth and beans burst out and rattled around her feet.
She grinned up at Ma. ‘Go and get your thugs, but you won’t have much left by the time you get back!’ She turned to the next sack, tearing a gash across it.
‘Fecking stop that,’ Ma bellowed, pointing the barrel of the gun at Josie.
‘Make me!’
She jabbed the broken bottle into another sack and the pungent aroma of cinnamon rose up as the russet coloured powder spilled onto the earthen floor.
Ma levelled the barrel of the gun at Josie and a flash of light obscured her for a second before pain burst in Josie’s shoulder.
Annie and Mickey screamed and the bottle fell from Josie’s hand as she staggered back, blood on her sleeve. Shaking her head to clear the fog crowding around her vision she glanced at the children.
‘Stay there!’ she shouted, but it was too late, they were already rushing towards her.
Annie reached her first and placed her hand over the wound. Pain shot thought Josie’s arm but she flexed her fingers and they moved. She struggled upright and shielded the children with her body.
‘She’s only got one shot left and if she fires it I want you to dash up those stairs fast,’ she whispered as they huddled into her. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I’m not leaving you, Mam,’ Annie sobbed.
‘Me neither,’ Mickey added.
Josie thought of the baby growing inside her. The first bullet had only grazed, but the second could be fatal. She wasn’t dead yet, though, and until she was, she would fulfil her promise to Patrick by getting his children safely away from Ma Tugman.
‘If you don’t get me help then who will?’ she asked, giving a bright smile despite the throbbing in her arm. ‘Now do as I say.’
They nodded and Josie turned back to face Ma. ‘I thought you wanted us to suffer like that half-dead son of yours,’ she said, pleased to see the unhealthy tint under the old woman’s skin darken.
‘The children will suffer, don’t you worry,’ M
a told her. Lifting the pistol she aimed it square at Josie, who protected the children in the jumble of spilled tea, brandy, coffee beans and spices.
Ma squeezed the trigger, but suddenly the ground beneath her feet shifted. She screamed and grabbed the banister. For a brief second, nothing moved, then there was a loud crack and a space opened under her feet. Sharp edges of broken stair treads scraped her arms and face as she began to fall.
Snapper barked, and Ma flailed her arms about desperately snatching for something to stop her fall but her hand grasped only air. The roof of the cellar moved further from her as she plummeted to the floor. Splinters and dirt obscured her vision, then something hit her under her shoulder blades and she felt, rather than heard, a sickening snap.
Above her, through the haze of dust, she saw Snapper teetering on the broken stair and heard his sorry whine. He barked again, jumped across the space and dashed down to her. She couldn’t move her neck but she felt his damp nose on her cheek as he nuzzled her. Ma watched as Josie and the children ran up what remained of the steps.
Harry had warned her not to touch the children but he was too soft in the head. If he’d been here as he should have been, instead of snoring in bed, then Nolan’s brats and his bit of slap wouldn’t have got the better of her. With Nolan coming up for trial next week, she would have finally been able to sell the children on, but now her profits - and her revenge - were escaping and it was all that bone-headed Harry’s fault. She had near on ripped her innards out birthing the bastard - the least he could have done was do show a little gratitude . . .
She saw Josie help the children clamber over the broken stairs and heard them stomp up to the corridor above.
Josie looked back and then turned her head to one side. With a puzzled look on her face she came back down the stairs.
Ma smiled to herself. She hadn’t fired the second shot in the gun.
Stupid doxy, she thought, as Josie picked her way across the dirt and splinters towards her, I’ll give her another couple of feet and then blow her fecking head off.
Snapper barked a couple of times then shuffled off as Josie stopped beside Ma, wincing and holding on to her injured arm. It was clear she was in a great deal of pain.
Good, thought Ma as she closed her hand around the gun. But something was wrong - very wrong. Although her mind told her fingers to move, they wouldn’t. She tried again, using every last effort of will to get her hand to do as she bid, but still nothing.
Ma’s breath caught in her throat and threatened to choke her. Beads of sweat sprang out on her forehead. She tried to shout, but while her mind formed the words and her mouth opened, nothing came out.
Josie reached down and Ma’s head rolled as the girl slid something out from beneath her. As she held it up, the small dish twinkled in a narrow shaft of sun that had crept in through a crack. Josie turned the plate back and forth for a moment and then glanced down at the old woman. ‘I think the police will be interested to hear where they can find the rest of the Bedford silver,’ she said, stuffing it down the front of the gown.
Josie retraced her steps to the stairs. As she put her foot on the first rung, she turned and crossed herself. ‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ she said.
Ma stared soundlessly after her as she disappeared.
When I get my hands on her . . . Ma stopped and, swivelling her eyes in their sockets as far as they would go, she caught a glimpse of her flaccid right hand. She tried to move it but it didn’t even twitch.
As she studied her motionless hand her mind began to drift, conjuring up memories she didn’t know she still carried. A dim image of the dirty cellar she’d lived in as a child flared up for second, then the face of her dead sister floated by and merged into Harry her husband’s winning smile, then Harry her son’s thick features loomed up, and finally the image of Charlie.
He was such a pretty boy. And sharp? Why, my Charlie was so sharp he could cut himself. And such a dandy. Dapper, that’s what he was, with real style . . .
The old images faded to be replaced by a picture of Charlie as he’d looked that morning with his withered arm and dribbling mouth. She felt something crawling on her cheek and realised, with some surprise, that it was a tear.
‘He was a beautiful boy, my Charlie,’ she whispered.
Her mind reached for him, but instead of his dear face, other images crowded him out. Men whose names she’d forgotten swirled around with their eyes full of hatred and lips snarling, reminding her that it was she who had sent them to their early graves. A black fog started to creep in from the side of her vision but she pushed it away.
From a long way off, Harry’s voice called. She opened her eyes and the fog in her mind retreated. Although she was suddenly very weary she forced herself to focus and then found herself looking up at a different angle. Harry was there, and she realised he’d lifted her from the floor.
‘Ha . . . Ha . . . Ha,’ she choked out.
‘It’s me, Ma,’ he said, his piggy eyes swimming with tears, his shoulders shaking. Harry hugged her and the sweet pomade he slicked through his hair filled her nostrils. ‘I’m here, Ma. Don’t worry I’m here.’
Something gurgled in her throat and Harry put his ear near to her mouth. ‘What did you say, Ma?’
‘I said, where the feck have you been?’ she asked with her last breath.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sergeant Plant’s boots rang out as he climbed the stone stairs to the superintendent’s office. Superintendent Jackson had only returned to H-division the day before and Plant had managed to keep himself well away all day. Unfortunately, he had been summoned by his superior officer, so couldn’t very well avoid him any longer. Besides, it was tipping down and now at least he could spend the last hour of his patrol in the dry.
Since Patrick Nolan had been arrested, things in H-division had settled back into their old ways. The villains had gone back to filching anything that wasn’t nailed down and killing and maiming each other, whilst any bobby with his head screwed on turned a blind eye, only arresting the odd drunk or two to show willing and draw his pay in good conscience without putting life and limb at risk to earn it.
Stopping halfway up the stairs to catch his breath, Plant reflected that, all in all, he was content with his lot. With the money Ma had promised him for turning in Nolan and his cut of the reward for the recovered Pettit silver, he was considering quitting the force and taking the lease on a pleasantly situated public house in Forest Gate, right by the new railway line. After all, he’d done his duty to Queen and country and was now entitled to take it a bit easy.
Grasping the brass handrail he mounted the last dozen or so steps and marched along the landing to the door at the end. Pulling down the front of his jacket and straightening the shiny belt around it, he rapped on the door.
On hearing the superintendent bark, ‘Enter’, he stepped into the room.
‘Sit,’ Superintendent Jackson said, without looking up from the collection of papers in his hand.
Plant took the chair in front of the desk and a faint sneer rolled his lip under his moustache.
Why couldn’t Jackson be more like the old super, he thought as his eyes ran over the papers and warrants scattered across the desk. Old Chalky White didn’t upset the apple cart. Live and let live was old Chalky’s way and the lads under him were the better for it.
Plant glanced at the window where the rain lashed against the glass. Yes, on a night like this a glass of ale in your hand in front of a warm fire was better than checking the constables on their beat. Maybe it was time to call it a day.
Jackson set the papers down and Plant gave him his full attention. Even though the superintendent could only have been a few years younger than he was, by the look of his massive frame, he could still take a fellow to the floor and handcuff him if the need arose. Jackson sat back and the chair creaked under his weight. There was a hint of amusement in his grey eyes as they settled on Plant.
‘It’s very good to
see you back sir,’ Plant said.
Jackson smiled. ‘Thank you, Plant, and I must say my first day back has already turned into a very interesting one.’
‘Has it sir?’ Plant replied.
‘Indeed. Do you remember Patrick Nolan, who came to us some while back about the Tugman gang?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Well, I had his—his wife in here this afternoon and she gave me this.’ Jackson drew a small silver dish from his side drawer and placed it gently on the desk.
Plant put a puzzled expression on his face. ‘Did she hand it in?’
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 34
