‘I forgot about that hole in my pocket. Here it is. I think it’s a note of some sort, although what cou—’ She broke off, her face screwing up in puzzlement as she unfolded the crinkly paper. Then, as she realised what she was holding in her hand she sank back onto the sofa, her mouth opening and closing in bewilderment.
‘What is it? What does it say?’ Liz edged closer, her eyes widening at the sight of the £5 notes now in Maggie’s lap.
‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered breathlessly. ‘Are they real? I’ve never seen a £5 note before.’ Then, her voice changing she added sharply, ‘Are you sure you’ve told me everything, Maggie? Men don’t go round giving fivers away for nothing.’
The accusing tone brought Maggie out of her reverie. ‘I didn’t do anything, Liz, I’ve told you the truth,’ she cried desperately. ‘Please believe me, I didn’t do anything.’
Picking up the notes Liz stared down at them, her face filled with awe. ‘There’s £20 here; Lord Almighty, £20.’ She turned to Maggie and seeing the stricken look on the pale face she smiled reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, I believe you. You’d have had to sleep with the entire Household Cavalry to earn this kind of money, and you weren’t gone that long.’
‘It’s not funny, Liz.’ Maggie twisted her fingers nervously. ‘Why would he give me £20? It must be a mistake, there’s no other explanation, I’ll have to take it back.’
‘Are you mad?’ Liz jumped from the sofa, the money held firmly in her hand. ‘Think, Maggie, think. With this we can get out of here and live comfortably for months, maybe longer. And what if you go to his house, who’s to say you won’t be accused of stealing it? And anyway, he can afford it. People like that spend money like water; he won’t miss it, but it’s a fortune to the likes of us. Come on, Maggie, be sensible.’
Wetting her lips Maggie looked into the animated face then quickly turned away. She had been struck across the face and called a whore for the sake of three guineas, and she still wasn’t quite sure Liz believed her. Now, with so much money at stake, she didn’t think Liz would really care where it had come from, or how it had been earned.
The pie and peas she’d eaten earlier rose in her throat and gulping noisily she stuttered, ‘But how can we spend them? People round here aren’t used to taking £5 notes, they’ll ask questions.’
Her face relaxing Liz carefully folded the notes into a small square before tucking them into the inside of her boot.
‘Don’t you worry about that, I’ll see to it.’ She was all solicitude now. ‘I’ll get a tram up to the West End and change them up in the shops, they’re used to handling this kind of money.’
Bustling round excitedly she suddenly cried, ‘Eh, and we went out with all that money in your pocket. It’s lucky that hole wasn’t any bigger – you could have dropped it and never known what you’d lost.’
Maggie leaned back against the sofa as she listened to Liz drone on. She knew only too well what she’d lost this night, but Liz had forgotten about her ordeal, so intent was she on their new-found wealth. Closing her eyes she conjured up the man’s image in her mind and silently she asked, Why, why, why?
Ten
The August sun beat down as the two figures pushed their wooden cart over the cobbled pavement, careful not to collide with the oncoming pedestrians that surged around them on the narrow pathway. Maggie, dressed in a red-checked cotton dress, held onto the side of the cart to balance it, while Charlie, gripping the wooden handles, steered the ramshackle vehicle expertly through the crowd.
‘How many more houses are we going to, Maggie?’ he panted heavily, the sweat running in rivulets down his red face.
‘Just a few more, love,’ Maggie answered cheerfully, her free hand pulling down the brim of her wide straw hat. ‘We’ve hardly Collected anything this morning so far. Look, tell you what, when we get to the bottom of the road, you know, where that little park is, I’ll look after the cart while you go and get something to eat from the pie shop, and maybe some lemonade, if you can carry it all without dropping anything.’
The promise of food and drink acted like a spur to Charlie. With a whoop of delight he grabbed the handles tighter and broke into a run, leaving Maggie to hold onto the cart as best she could as the wooden wheels bounced over the cobbles at an alarming speed. When they reached the iron benches surrounding the park, Maggie took the two tin mugs that were hanging on the side of the cart and handed them to the waiting Charlie.
‘Now, don’t fill them to the brim like you normally do – you only lose half of it on the way back.’
‘All right, Maggie.’ Charlie grinned at her while holding his hand out for the money.
Maggie looked at him, smiling fondly. He now almost reached her shoulder, and in his navy, ribbed sleeveless jersey and flat cap, he looked every inch a barrow boy. Reaching into her pocket she extracted a florin.
‘Thanks, Maggie. I won’t be long,’ he said cheerfully, taking the silver coin and putting it into the pocket of his long, grey trousers. With a wave of his hand he set off at a run.
Making sure the cart was lodged firmly against the black iron railings, Maggie sat down on a bench giving a sigh of contentment at the feel of the warm sun seeping through her thin clothing. Behind her she could hear the sounds of children laughing as they ran along the narrow pathway to the small pond, their home-made boats held tightly in sweaty palms, eager to try out their new toys. Mixed with their laughter was the piercing wail of a fretful baby, its plaintive cries filling the air despite the fact that the pram it was lying in was being rocked violently by a tired, harrassed mother.
The sound attracted Maggie’s attention and, turning her head slightly, she peered through the wrought-iron railing and smiled in sympathy at the young woman. Poor cow, she thought idly, rather her than me. Three youths ran past her shouting and punching each other, playfully leaving in their wake crumpled up grease-stained newspaper that had contained their dinner. Maggie glared after them, then blowing out her cheeks she stooped down to retrieve the litter they had left behind.
Depositing the rubbish in a nearby bin she strolled back to the park gate and let her gaze wander over the enclosed area. It had originally been planned for the people living in the surrounding square, but over the years had attracted more and more people looking for somewhere to rest during their lunch breaks, or simply parents who brought their children here for picnics, seeing it as a cheap way to spend a day out. Maggie looked on enviously at the figures sprawled out on the inviting lawn, wishing she could join them. Shrugging her shoulders she walked back to the bench, her mind busy.
They had done the Aldgate rounds and were now in Dalston. After they had finished their dinner she planned to walk up to Bow before making her way back home. Hopefully they would be more successful there than they had been this morning.
Tilting her head back slightly she lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. She loved the summer, somehow life always seemed to be brighter when the sun was shining, especially when she was in, or near a park. The smell of newly-cut grass and blossoming flowers never failed to lift her spirits, no matter how down she was feeling. Not that she had any cause for complaint these days. It was over two years now since she had taken that fateful walk in a last-ditch attempt to save herself and her small family from the workhouse; she had succeeded in her effort, succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
That night had marked the beginning of a whole new way of life for her, Lizzie and Charlie. For weeks afterwards though, she had suffered the torment of the damned, fearful lest she may have picked up some dreadful disease or found herself pregnant. It was only when she finally realised that neither of these fates had befallen her that she had begun to take an interest in life again. It was Lizzie who had moved them out of the basement and into the two rooms they now occupied just a few minutes walk away from their old home, and it was Lizzie who had thought of setting up a stall in the market selling second-hand clothes. Yet true to form, Liz had opted to run the stall whi
le Maggie and Charlie made the rounds of the big houses in search of cast-offs from the gentry. Maggie had made no objection to the arrangement. She had her own private reasons for wanting an excuse to keep returning to a certain house in Hackney. Although the gold-printed card had long since been destroyed, the memory of the name and address had remained firmly in her mind. Not that she went there too often; as Liz had pointed out, even the toffs with all their money didn’t throw out clothing on a weekly basis. Heedful of Liz’s words, Maggie had carefully spaced out her visits to once every six weeks; although she had so far not caught as much as a glimpse of her benefactor, she had managed to make friends with Mrs Sheldon, the cook, and the two young housemaids, Gertie and Annie.
With skilful, gentle probing, Maggie had soon learned all about the members of the Stewart family. Her first instinct on learning that the head of the household was a judge had been one of panic, and it had taken all of her courage not to take to her heels and flee from the house. Then common sense had prevailed as she’d silently berated herself for a fool. Even if Harry Stewart had confided in his father, which given the circumstances was highly unlikely, she had been the victim, and that being the case she had nothing to fear from the Law. Even so, she had let two months elapse before returning to the house.
Now 16 months later, she felt as if she knew each one of the Stewart family personally. She’d heard all about the youngest son who had astounded everyone by becoming a doctor, and the spinster daughter who was disliked both above and below stairs, but it was only when the talk turned to Harry Stewart that she gave her full attention, her mind devouring every word to be stored away in her memory and recounted to herself at night when she lay unable to sleep in the double bed she shared with Lizzie.
‘’Ello, darlin’, want some company?’ Her eyes flew open, then narrowed in distaste at the sight of the shabbily dressed man who was inching his way along the bench towards her, a leering grin on his unshaven face.
Not wanting to make a scene, Maggie moved away, saying quietly, ‘Please go away, I’m waiting for a gentleman friend.’
‘Well now, girlie, I’ve been watching you a while now and I don’t fink your gentleman friend is coming, so how’s about you and me take a little walk, eh?’
The smell from his unwashed body assailed her nostrils and turning her head away she looked desperately down the road to see if Charlie was coming. The man saw the look and edged closer.
‘’E ain’t gonna turn up, darlin’. Look, how’d you like ter come back to my place for a while? You won’t regret it, I can promise you that.’ He grinned, his hand grasping the top of her leg.
Knowing that polite reasoning would be a waste of time, Maggie looked first at the offending hand, then lifting her eyes to his, she said icily. ‘How would you like a kick in the balls?’
The man jumped back quickly, his hand falling to his side. He was about to speak again, but the cold look in the girl’s blue eyes and the sight of the small hands bunched into fists stopped him. Getting to his feet he looked down at her for a moment, then spat at her feet, growling ‘slag’ before slouching off towards the park.
Maggie watched him go with relief. She was used to being accosted when on her own, but it never failed to make her angry. Why couldn’t a woman go out on her own without being pestered by some man, and why was there never a bobby around at such times? Shaking her head slightly she wondered how Liz would fare out on the streets, but she’d have to go on wondering, for her sister had made sure from the start that she would be safely installed behind the wooden bench piled high with clothes in the market, surrounded by hefty stallholders ready to see off any trouble-makers. Oh, yes, her sister was no fool.
During the first few weeks of their new venture it had been decided that Maggie would take the cart out on a Wednesday, and on Saturdays Charlie would accompany her and keep a watchful eye on the cart while she completed her business inside the houses. Of course whatever items the owners had discarded would have been checked over first by the staff, and anything they didn’t want would then be sold to people like herself who made a living from cast-off clothing.
Maggie had felt awkward and embarrassed at first, knocking on strange doors and asking if they had anything to sell, but she was used to it now. She also enjoyed her days spent running the stall with Liz, and had become quite expert at bargaining with potential customers, all of whom seemed determined to get themselves a bargain at the expense of the two young women. Maggie had been surprised at how easily Liz had slipped into her new occupation. Within a month of setting up their stall in Bethnal Green Road, Liz had been haggling and shouting her wares with the rest of the stallholders. More important still, they now had a comfortable nest-egg carefully hidden in an iron box beneath a loose floorboard in the scullery, ensuring a secure future.
There were only two things that worried Maggie now. The first was to give back the £20 to Harold Stewart; how she was going to accomplish this she didn’t know, but she wouldn’t rest until she’d returned the money that had enabled them to start a new life. The second worry was Jimmy Simms. Their old neighbour’s son had returned from sea over eight months ago, and upon learning of his father’s death had decided to stay ashore for good. Mrs Simms had brought him round on one of her frequent visits, her pride in her tall, blond son oozing from every pore, but Maggie had taken an instant dislike to the young man. Why, she didn’t know – there was just something about him that made her move away whenever he came close to her. Liz, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of his company, openly flirting with him at every given opportunity. Her coy antics made Maggie and Charlie cringe with embarrassment. It was only the long-standing friendship between them and Mrs Simms that prevented her from making her feelings known. She owed the kindly woman too much to take the chance of hurting her in any way, not only for the way she had helped them when they were down on their luck, but also because she had never asked any questions about their new-found wealth even though she must have been dying of curiosity.
Pulling her hat down further over her eyes she gave a deep sigh. She could only wait and hope that Jimmy Simms would tire of his visits and take his attentions elsewhere. The moment the thought entered her head she felt ashamed. Liz obviously liked him and would be bitterly upset if he stopped coming round.
‘You’ll just have to lump it, my girl,’ she told herself silently. ‘It’s as much Lizzie’s home as it is yours. Stop being selfish, and think yourself fortunate things turned out so well for all of us, because there are plenty of young women who haven’t been so lucky; like poor Teresa Deere.’
Her mood became sombre as she recalled the unfortunate wretch that had worked alongside Liz at the matchbox factory. Neither herself nor Liz had given the young girl much thought after the night she had brought news of Lizzie’s dismissal. After all, it wasn’t as if she had been a close friend, and they’d had enough troubles of their own to occupy their minds. Then, about a year ago, another woman who had worked at the factory had stopped by the stall, and, upon recognising Liz had promptly brought her up to date with all the news of her former workmates. The woman had stayed chatting for over an hour. Despite her fulsome praise for Lizzie’s new lifestyle, she had been unable to hide her envy, much to the delight of Liz, who already saw herself as a cut above her old friend.
As the woman had made to leave them, she had added by way of an afterthought. ‘By the way, did you hear about poor Teresa? Got the phossy jaw she did, poor little cow, and copped a bellyful from her dad, the dirty old bastard; well it was either ’im or one of those brothers of ’er’s, ’cos she never ’ad time for any boyfriends.’ With that she had waved and disappeared into the crowd. Maggie had been appalled, but Liz, who should have been more affected by the news, hadn’t seemed unduly upset. But then loyalty had never been one of her sister’s strong points. Out of sight, out of mind, was Lizzie’s motto, especially if the person concerned might need some help or a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. A friend to Liz was some
one to have a laugh and a night out with.
As soon as they found themselves in trouble she dumped them as quick as possible. But this time Maggie had refused to let her sister take the easy way out. It had been simple enough to find out where the young girl lived. Carrying a basket of food between them, they had made their way to the run-down tenement in Whitechapel, with Liz moaning every step of the way.
Once inside the evil-smelling building even Maggie had had second thoughts. She had thought her old home in the basement had been bad, but compared to the rat-infested building with its walls running alive with cockroaches, they had been living in luxury. Spurred on by an inner strength, she had ignored Lizzie’s protests and after knocking on several doors had finally found Teresa’s home… home! She gave a mirthless laugh. God, but she would never forget the sights that had met her eyes. Ushered into the filthy room by an equally filthy woman they assumed was Teresa’s mother, they had stood warily, intimidated by the leering looks of the three drunken men sitting on upturned boxes by an empty fire grate.
Marshalling all of her courage, Maggie had asked to see Teresa and when the eldest of the men, presumably the father, had jerked his head towards the farthest corner of the room, she had tightened her grip on Lizzie’s hand, pulling her over to a pile of dirt-encrusted, threadbare blankets. Even though Maggie had steeled herself to expect the worst, she was unprepared for the sight of Teresa’s horribly disfigured face. The young girl’s eyes were dulled with pain and showed no sign of recognition. Beneath the motley assortment of blankets her swollen stomach was clearly evident, and it took all of Maggie’s willpower to stop her from screaming abuse at the grinning men watching their every move.
A Handful of Sovereigns Page 12
