‘Jumped the jolly old starter’s flag, did he?’ said Mother Joan. ‘Can’t be helped, sister. He means well, his nightly blessings come from his heart, and he’s a fine figurehead in our fight against that ghastly bounder Satan. Thought this afternoon that if anyone looked capable of invoking the Day of Judgement, he did. Awesome, I thought. Don’t stand there like a dummy, sister, get your things off and get into bed. I’m exhausted. Great Scott, you’re not blushing, are you? He was only there a couple of seconds. Just one of life’s little happenings. Buck up now.’
‘Yes, sister . . . oh, lor’,’ breathed Mother Mary, ‘I never been more embarrassed in all me life.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ said Mother Joan, ‘let me tell you what happened to Lady Carrington-Cummings, a friend of mine. I kept warning her, and so did my husband George, that her country house was going rotten for lack of repairs. Wouldn’t listen. She was there one weekend, and taking a bath. The floor gave way under the bath, and it dropped straight through and landed in the main kitchen, with her still in it. Peach of a woman, too. Magnificent body. Damned lucky she wasn’t hurt, but very unfortunate that all the servants were present. Her butler was never the same man. So there you are, sister, you’ve nothing to worry about by comparison. Turn the light out before you get into bed, it’s been a long day on behalf of the Lord.’
‘Amen,’ said Mother Mary, hoping she hadn’t sinned by being caught in her private underwear. She turned the gas down until the revealing brightness of the mantle expired.
Aunt Edie was first down on Sunday morning. She went to work with the frying-pan. Dad showed his face.
‘Like some ’elp, Edie – hullo, what’s that?’
‘Eggs and bacon for everyone,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘Eggs and bacon?’ said Dad.
‘My treat,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘What a woman,’ said Dad. Eggs and bacon for breakfast represented a real treat. ‘You’re spoilin’ us.’
‘Oh, go on with you,’ said Aunt Edie, turning rashers. ‘’Ere, what’s goin’ on upstairs?’
‘Pillow fights,’ said Dad. Upstairs at the moment was a battleground. Betsy was yelling, Patsy shrieking, Jimmy calling for help. ‘Patsy and Betsy are usin’ pillows to knock Jimmy out of his bed.’ A thump sounded. ‘That’s it, he’s out of bed.’
‘It’s not what Maud would stand for,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘By a fortunate coincidence, she don’t ’appen to be here,’ said Dad.
Betsy yelled down from the landing. ‘Dad, Dad! ’Elp! Jimmy’s tryin’ to chuck Patsy down the stairs!’
‘I’m on me way,’ called Dad, and up to the landing he went, collecting a cushion from the parlour on the way.
Aunt Edie heard yelling, joyous sounds from Betsy and Patsy as their dad entered the fray. The cat was away, and all the mice were playing. Aunt Edie silently laughed. What a family, she thought. Just my kind of people.
Mother had a religious morning. After a simple breakfast, Father Peter conducted a service in the Chapel of Penitence. Thirteen lady residents were present, so was Father Luke, and so were some non-resident members of both sexes. Mother Joan was absent, having popped home to Berkshire to see about acquiring some blank cheques that could be put to good Samaritan use. A whole mountain of decent clothing was needed for the poor of Whitechapel, so was some decent food. All the same, as Father Peter said, even the neediest people must not have their sins condoned. The campaign in Whitechapel would continue. Whitechapel was to be the League’s proving ground, their first real field of battle, and when that battle was won and Satan despatched, they would carry the fight to other fields with hard-won confidence. Father Peter intoned praises for Mothers Mary, Joan, Ruth and Verity, all of whom had participated in yesterday’s brave endeavours.
‘Amen,’ said Father Luke, ‘and didn’t the Lord give me the privilege of bein’ right be’ind them? But it grieved me to see Mother Verity in such sore travail and me not bein’ able to lift even me little finger to ’elp her.’
‘I never saw no woman stand up braver to outrage,’ declared Mother Mary. ‘I just wish I’d had me umbrella with me. If it’s all the same to you, Father Peter, I’ll take it to Whitechapel next time instead of a banner.’
From his Bible rostrum on the dais, Father Peter regarded her benevolently. Mother Mary coloured as she remembered how she had come to his eyes last night, in her underwear. Lord, could anything have been more intimately sinful? Jack had been a bit larky during their first years of marriage, but later, as a respectable wife and mother, she’d put a stop to it. It just wasn’t decent.
‘Mother Mary, you may carry whatever you wish into battle,’ said Father Peter.
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘I am in admiration of you,’ said the minister.
Oh, lor’, thought Mother Mary, I hope he don’t mean the way I looked in me corset.
‘Praise her,’ said Mother Verity.
‘Indeed,’ boomed Father Peter. ‘Now let us prepare for the market. We will go in pairs and hand out the pamphlets that arrived yesterday from the printers. They contain the word of God and details of our intentions to do His work.’
‘Praise Him,’ intoned the Repenters.
Petticoat Lane, in the east of the City of London, was a market into which hundreds of cockneys and other people poured on Sunday mornings. Almost any kind of curios, except stuffed elephants, were on offer. The secondhand clothes stalls were legendary, and one could fit oneself out like a king or queen if one didn’t mind setting the lot off with a cardboard crown. It was always crowded and was more so these days, with the war over and people looking for the kind of antique that could turn out to be worth far more than the price a stallholder asked for it.
Mother Verity stood with her banner. Beside her was Mother Mary, with her umbrella. They both handed out pamphlets. The pamphlets introduced the reader to words of the Lord, and invited enrolment with the League of Repenters, whose religious objectives were set out. Warnings followed concerning the fate of all who sided with the Devil. The final sentence in bold capitals was an unmistakable warning: BEHOLD, THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT IS AT HAND!
Not all recipients of the pamphlets were too overcome to comment. ‘It’s bleedin’ barmy,’ said a man in a choker to Mother Mary, ‘an’ why ain’t you at ’ome, lookin’ after yer kids?’
‘The Lord’s called me, that’s why,’ said Mother Mary, ‘and I wouldn’t be surprised if ’E wasn’t callin’ you.’
‘An’ what would ’E be callin’ me for, if I might be so bold as to ask?’
‘To bring you to repentence.’
‘Me? What’ve I done?’
‘We’re all sinners,’ said Mother Mary.
‘Yes, an’ some of us is orf our bleedin’ ’eads as well,’ said the cockney gent, and went on his way.
Mother Verity was spoken to by a lady who, having read the pamphlet, handed it back and said in a Belgravia accent, ‘Really, my good woman, I am as ready as you are to face the Day of Judgement.’
‘Oh, how happy I am for you,’ said Mother Verity, ‘although as a weak and unworthy woman myself, I fear I shall be found wanting.’
‘Then I should avoid the Day of Judgement, if I were you,’ said the lady.
‘Don’t stand about, missus, you’re in me way,’ said a cockney woman.
‘You’re mistaken, my good woman, it’s these people who are standing about.’
‘So are you, an’ you’re the one that’s in me way.’
‘Really,’ said the lady, offended, and lost herself in the clamouring crowds.
Then there was the flashy young woman who, having read the pamphlet, or some of it, said to the two Repenters, ‘Doin’ this for a livin’, are yer, dearies?’
‘For the Lord,’ said Mother Mary.
‘I’ve ’eard about ’Im, I’m Gloria Mayfair.’ She was actually Gladys Higgs. ‘’Ow much d’yer get paid?’
‘We ask for no payment, only for the Lord’s blessing,
’ said Mother Verity, and Gloria looked her over, and Mother Mary too.
‘Well, yer can’t live on that, duckies. I’ve ’ad blessings meself, from all sorts, but I can’t say they’ve done me as much good as fried cod’n chips. Look, dearies, ’ow would yer like to come to a knees-up tonight? I can see yer both nice ladies, an’ there’ll be some obliging gentlemen present that’ll pay gen’rous. Course, you both need to do yer faces up a bit, then could yer do a good knees-up an’ some of the other for gents that’s gen’rous? You’d like a bit of ’ard cash on top of the Lord’s blessin’, wouldn’t yer?’
‘’Ere, what d’you mean?’ asked Mother Mary in sudden dreadful suspicion.
‘That’s it, love, you’ve got it,’ said Gloria, and winked.
‘Oh, ’ow dare you, that’s disgustin’,’ said Mother Mary, outraged.
‘’Ere, mind that umbrella,’ said Gloria.
‘I’ll give you mind it,’ said Mother Mary.
‘Well, there’s gratitude, I don’t think,’ said Gloria, pushing the point of the umbrella away from her valuable bosom. ‘’Ere’s me tryin’ to do both of yer a good turn—’
‘Please go away,’ said Mother Verity gently, ‘and leave us to pray for you.’
‘Bless yer, duckie, but don’t do that, the last time someone prayed for me, me gentleman friend ’opped it while ’e still ’adn’t paid me.’
‘Disgustin’,’ said Mother Mary.
A policeman arrived, bringing ponderous but benevolent authority with him. ‘What, might I ask, is all this ’ere, ladies?’
‘We’re giving out the Lord’s pamphlets,’ said Mother Verity, her banner at rest.
‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ said the arm of the law, ‘but it’s me duty to advise you ladies you’re causin’ an illegal hobstruction.’
‘Not me, dearie,’ said Gloria, and whisked away.
‘I don’t see ’ow we’re an obstruction here,’ said Mother Mary. ‘It’s all obstruction.’
‘No standin’ impediments allowed,’ said the constable, ‘I’ll ’ave to hask you ladies to move along.’
‘May we give out pamphlets while we’re moving?’ asked Mother Verity.
‘I don’t see as you can’t do that,’ said the officer, ‘as long as there’s no stoppin’, loiterin’ or hobstructin’ for the purpose of makin’ a gatherin’, which if there is will require me to arrest both of yer.’
‘What impudence,’ said Mother Mary. ‘I never been arrested in all me life, I’ve a good mind to teach you ’ow to talk proper to respectable ladies.’ She shook her umbrella threateningly.
‘Now, missus, that won’t do, yer know,’ said the constable. A small crowd was collecting.
‘Go it, missus,’ called a boy.
‘No riotin’, incitin’ or shoutin’ the odds, me lad,’ said the policeman, ‘or I’ll ’ave you down at the station, too.’
‘’Ow dare you threaten that young boy,’ said Mother Mary, ‘’e’s a child of the Lord.’
‘No, he ain’t,’ said a man, ‘’e’s a bleedin’ rip, and ’is dad’s Albert Cope.’
‘Move along, move along,’ said the constable.
‘Obstructin’, well, I don’t know,’ said Mother Mary.
‘Come along, sister,’ said Mother Verity, and took her gently by the arm and led her away. ‘You have a wonderful enthusiasm, and no fears. How weak I am, I’m all fears. I fear for the world and for that misguided man who crossed my path in such a bruising way yesterday and Friday. I must do what I can to save him from his godless waywardness.’
‘I’ll save him,’ said Mother Mary as they threaded their way in and out of the crowds. ‘I’ll give him the sharp end of my umbrella.’
‘You’re a tower of strength, sister,’ said Mother Verity, ‘but I don’t feel that’s quite the right way to help him.’
A bell tinkled cheerfully in the street. ‘That’s the muffin man, Dad,’ cried Betsy.
They were all in the parlour, except for Patsy, who was out with friends. Aunt Edie, who had served up a lovely roast leg of mutton for dinner, with apple pie for afters, was now doing some invaluable darning for the family. Jimmy was making a list of firms and factories to call on about a job, and Dad was reading the Sunday paper. He’d informed Aunt Edie that to give her a break, he and Patsy would get the tea later on. Aunt Edie said she was obliged by the offer, but was looking forward to getting it herself. The bell of the muffin man alerted the family to his wares.
‘He won’t have crumpets, not in August,’ said Jimmy.
‘But ’e’ll ’ave shrimps an’ winkles,’ said Betsy, who adored both.
‘All right, me pickle,’ said Dad, ‘we’ll have some, shall we?’
The bell tinkled again. ‘I’ll go,’ said Jimmy, and Dad gave him enough money for a pint of winkles and a pint of shrimps. That would make Sunday tea a real cockney treat.
Jimmy caught the muffin man up on the corner of Crampton Street, where he was serving a small boy with a pint of winkles, their blue-black shells moistly shining. In the winter, a muffin man’s baize-covered tray was laden mainly with crumpets. In the summer, toasted crumpets usually gave way to shellfish.
‘There y’ar, little ’un,’ said the Walworth muffin man, and added two extra winkles to the pint pot. He emptied them into a bag. ‘’Ow about a tanner for that lot?’
‘Mum’s ’ad an ’ard week, mister,’ said the boy, ‘so she says d’yer mind ten ‘apennies an’ four farvings?’
‘Not if it all comes to a tanner,’ said the muffin man, which it did, and off went the small boy with his bag of winkles. ‘Now, me lord,’ said the muffin man to Jimmy, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Pint of shrimps and a pint of winkles, if you’d be so obliging,’ said Jimmy.
‘If I wasn’t obligin’, where would I be?’ said the genial street purveyor. ‘In the work’ouse. Same the other way round. If you wasn’t obligin’ by not buyin’ me perishables, I wouldn’t ’ave the pleasure of sellin’ ’em to yer, would I? And if no-one else obliged me likewise, it ’ud be the work’ouse again, wouldn’t it? There y’ar, young feller, pint of winkles in a bag, and now for yer shrimps.’ The muffin man heaped shrimps into the pewter pot. ‘Got a basin? No, I see you ain’t. Shall I tip ’em into yer pocket?’
‘D’you mind if you don’t?’ said Jimmy. ‘Me Sunday suit’ll smell fishy if you do, and people’ll think I was born under a Billingsgate stall.’
‘Well, some young fellers might not mind,’ said the muffin man. ‘Some young fellers might be proud, ’specially if they liked kippers.’ He poured the shrimps into a paper bag. ‘Me Uncle Stan was born under a mulberry bush, so I ’eard, so of course ’e ’ad a mulberry ’ooter when ’e grew older. There y’ar, yer young comic, and that lot’ll cost yer a bob. ’Aving a party, are yer?’
‘No, just Sunday tea with Aunt Edie.’ Jimmy handed over the bob.
‘Who’s yer Aunt Edie?’
‘A pearly queen.’
‘Ah, that’s a lady after me own ’eart,’ said the muffin man. ‘Give ’er me love.’
Jimmy carried back the shrimps, the winkles and the message. ‘What?’ said Aunt Edie when the message was delivered.
‘Yes, sent you his love,’ said Jimmy. ‘You’re a lady after ’is own heart, he said.’
‘Saucy devil, I don’t even know ’im,’ said Aunt Edie.
‘No, but I told him you were a pearly queen,’ said Jimmy. ‘His eyes lit up like fireworks and he nearly dropped all his winkles. I thought about tellin’ him you were rollickin’ good at doin’ a pearly knees-up, and that you were goin’ to do a turn at a pearly concert next Saturday week.’
‘Jack Andrews,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘I’m goin’ to ’ave to box your son’s ears.’
‘All right, Edie, help yourself,’ said Dad. ‘Mind, I’m not sayin’ I disagree with ’im, or that I don’t ’ave hopes of seein’ you performin’ a rollickin’ knees-up, which pleasure ’asn’t come my way before.’
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nbsp; Aunt Edie looked at him over her darning. Dad hid himself behind his paper. Aunt Edie smiled. ‘You’re a pair together, you and Jimmy,’ she said, ‘aren’t they, Betsy?’ Betsy giggled.
‘Tell you what, Betsy love,’ said Dad, ‘let’s all go and see Aunt Edie doin’ her turn at this concert, shall we?’
‘Crikey, could we, Dad?’ asked Betsy.
‘Now look ’ere,’ said Aunt Edie, ‘I didn’t tell Joe Gosling I’d do a turn for certain.’
‘Joe Gosling?’ said Dad. ‘I’ve ’eard of him. Is he the pearly king of South Camberwell?’
‘He’s Aunt Edie’s lovin’ admirer as well,’ said Jimmy.
‘Well, is that a fact?’ Dad smiled at Aunt Edie. ‘Good on yer, Edie, and good luck, time you got fixed up in romantic style, old girl.’
Aunt Edie didn’t seem to like that at all. In fact, she got quite shirty. ‘I’ll please myself about that, Jack Andrews, if you don’t mind. I don’t ’appen to be the sort that gets fixed up with any man just because ’e fancies me.’
‘I know you’re not, Edie,’ said Dad, ‘I only—’
‘Kindly mind your business,’ said Aunt Edie.
Betsy cast a look at her dad. He gave her a wink. ‘Someone’s knocked over the milk bucket, me pickle,’ he said.
‘Yes, I fink it was you, Dad,’ said Betsy.
‘What a life,’ said Dad.
Aunt Edie bent her head to her darning. A little sound escaped her. Jimmy knew she was trying not to laugh. Aunt Edie never had the rats for longer than a few minutes.
When Patsy arrived home, Aunt Edie was beginning to get the tea. Patsy went upstairs, then called down, ‘Can you come up a minute, Jimmy?’ Jimmy went up. He and Patsy were pals.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘That Lily Shaw,’ said Patsy, wrinkling her nose. ‘D’you know what she’s just been sayin’ to me?’
‘Well, no, I don’t,’ said Jimmy. ‘I wasn’t there, was I?’
‘That’s it, talk barmy,’ said Patsy. ‘She said she’d ’eard that our mum ’ad gone away, and that our Aunt Edie ’ad come to take ’er place. Honest, the way she said it, I bet she’s been listening to ’er mum an’ dad, you know ’er dad thinks Mum’s a loony. I said Aunt Edie was just thinkin’ of visitin’ at weekends, and she gave me one of ’er clever looks and said she’d ’eard that when the cat’s away the mice start playin’. I bet that’s what she ’eard her mum say.’
The Pearly Queen Page 9
