The Pearly Queen

by Mary Jane Staples

  Mother Mary laid about her. Mother Joan held on. The short man took a fearful bash on his head. The large man made another rush. Mother Verity, praying to the Lord to forgive her, put out a foot and tripped him up.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ breathed Mother Ruth as he crashed.

  The short man ran off then. The large man, bruised and winded, got up and followed him, swearing his head off. Will Fletcher arrived, little Lulu coming at a scamper from some way down the street. Mother Mary, seeing the man who’d assaulted Mother Verity with disgusting kisses, thought she might as well set about him too. It was a good opportunity, and her mood was right. Down came the umbrella. Will Fletcher took the blow on a raised arm.

  ‘Leave off, will yer?’ he said. ‘Didn’t I tell yer not to come this way again?’

  ‘None of that, my man,’ said Mother Joan. ‘The Lord is our guide and protector.’

  ‘Some protector,’ said Will Fletcher, and took a look at people who had stopped now that there wasn’t anything to bear witness to. ‘Hoppit,’ he said, and they moved off. ‘I’ll ’and it to this lady, she clouted a sight harder on your account than the Lord.’

  ‘That’s the Lord’s sword she wields,’ said Mother Joan.

  ‘Well, take it back ’ome, and her with it. ’Ave you got money in that ’andbag of yours? I mean real money, seein’ you were the one they went for.’

  ‘Well, bless my soul,’ said Mother Joan, ‘what a quarrelsome chap you are.’

  ‘That means you’ve got money. Where’re you goin’ with it?’

  ‘To the London Underground station.’

  Lulu pushed in. Will Fletcher took hold of her hand. ‘All right, ladies, I’ll walk you to the station,’ he said.

  ‘Hope we can trust you,’ said Mother Mary.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Fletcher,’ said Mother Verity.

  ‘Well, go on, then,’ said Will Fletcher curtly. ‘I’ll follow.’

  They walked to the station. Father Luke made a reappearance.

  ‘Me ’eart’s bleedin’,’ he said. ‘I’ve been all over an’ not seen a single copper.’

  ‘Never mind, Father Luke,’ said Mother Ruth. ‘It was good of you to go looking. We’re quite all right, and the misguided gentlemen ran off in the end. Mother Joan still has her handbag.’

  ‘The Lord be praised,’ said Father Luke, taking his top hat off and wiping his brow.

  Will Fletcher parted from them at the Underground station. Mother Verity begged him to allow her to give Lulu another sixpence.

  ‘That’s it, lady, chuck your Christianity about,’ he said. Mother Verity winced. ‘All right, sorry, give Lulu the sixpence, then. She’s not proud, and nor am I, am I?’

  ‘You are very proud, Mr Fletcher, but the child likes you, obviously so, and accordingly there’s hope for you.’

  He laughed. She gave the girl a sixpence, and this time Lulu thanked her. Will Fletcher was still laughing as he went off with the girl trotting beside him.

  Aunt Edie, home from her work, let herself into her flat. For the first time ever its silence displeased her. There was not a sound. Even the noise of Camberwell traffic did not penetrate. She had come home to four walls and nothing else. For three days she had lived amid the sounds of a small child, a growing girl and a growing boy, in a house that was alive, not only with them but her cousin Maud’s husband. That woman, some Christian. How could any woman walk out on dear little Betsy, darling Patsy and that endearing boy Jimmy? What did it mean, her feeling of flatness? It meant she could hardly wait for next weekend. But suppose Maud was back?

  ‘I’ll knock her head off,’ said Aunt Edie out loud.

  She went out later to the pub. She did not often go to a pub on her own unless it was to meet someone. Joe Gosling was there.

  ‘Well, Edie me old love, sit down. What would yer like, a drop of Guinness?’

  ‘I’m not your old love, but yes, I’d like a small Guinness.’

  He got her one and sat down beside her. ‘Yer a fine figure of a woman, yer know, Edie.’

  ‘Eyes off,’ said Aunt Edie.

  ‘Me? Eyes orf what?’

  ‘What’s mine, what’s private.’

  ‘I’ll grant yer it’s yer very own, Edie, but I put it to yer, ain’t it been private a bit long? Bein’ a widower and eligible accordin’, I take it on meself to suggest it just ain’t sociable to keep a fine figure like yourn all to yerself all yer life.’

  ‘Let go of my knee,’ said Aunt Edie.

  ‘Eh? Well, I’m blowed, that ’and o’ mine just slipped under the table, like. It must’ve known something.’

  ‘Yes, it knew my knee was there.’

  ‘Like you say, Edie, so it did. ’ave yer thought any more about you and me bein’ pearly partners?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that concert. All right, Joe, I’ll do a turn, and I’ll bring a young man to do a couple of duets with me.’

  ‘Yer a sport, love, yer me ’eart’s delight. Drink up, and I’ll treat you to another.’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Aunt Edie. ‘I’m not that kind of drinker.’

  ‘Just as yer like. ’Oo’s this young man?’

  ‘My nephew Jimmy.’

  ‘Oh, ’im that was ridin’ on me cart with you last week. Lively lad, that one.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Aunt Edie, and wondered how Jimmy had got on helping Mr Gibbs today.

  Jimmy was home a little late. He’d worked past his time and Mr Gibbs had said carry on if you want to, stop when you’ve done enough, and I’ll pay you daily, sixpence an hour, and that includes time for breaks. You’ve got to have breaks, lad.

  Jimmy had enjoyed the work. Sophy had remained absent after being hauled off by her mother. That left him free to get on with things. Not that he didn’t like her. You couldn’t not like a girl as pretty as she was. But she was a wild one all right, you couldn’t tell where the next fateful happening might come from, or when. And besides, she was rich. Jimmy wasn’t without sense, he knew she simply wanted to make use of him for playing games.

  He told his dad and sisters about his day, about the acres of jungle, high enough and thick enough to get lost in, and that his job was to clear littered ground and build bonfires.

  ‘Did you see her?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘Sophy, you mean?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Did you see her?’ Patsy was more interested in relationships than jungles.

  ‘I saw her this mornin’. She got ’erself into a mess and ’er mum gave her a rollickin’ and took her indoors.’

  ‘Bit of a tomboy, is she?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Well, a bit dangerous to human life, I suppose,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Crikey,’ breathed Betsy, ‘like cannibals?’

  ‘Patsy, did you go and call on some of the firms I listed, and ask if there were any jobs goin’?’ Jimmy had his future on his mind.

  ‘Yes, I did, I walked me and Betsy off our feet,’ said Patsy, ‘and there wasn’t one job goin’. I ain’t doin’ it any more.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Betsy. ‘I nearly wore me boots out, an’ me feet as well, didn’t I, Dad?’

  ‘Hard luck, me pickle,’ said Dad, ‘but all in a good cause.’

  ‘Well, look,’ said Jimmy, ‘Mr Gibbs paid me for today, five bob because I worked on. Here’s sixpence each for you an’ Betsy, even if you didn’t come up with any prospects, and if you do go again, I’ll give you sixpence each again, out of me wages as a woodland worker.’

  ‘Oh, Jimmy, thanks ever so,’ said Patsy, and Betsy goggled at a whole shining tanner. ‘Sixpence is doin’ us proud. We don’t mind goin’ again and askin’, do we, Betsy?’

  ‘I wish Dad could get me some new feet,’ said Betsy.

  ‘What’s a woodland worker?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘A young bloke that clears up the sawdust,’ said Dad with a grin.

  ‘I wish Aunt Edie was ’ere,’ said Betsy, ‘’cos I don’t fink Mum’s comin’ ’ome a lot, do you, Dad?’

  ‘Give ’er time, Betsy love,�
�� said Dad. If he and his kids were coming to terms with Mother’s absence, there were still moments when emotions showed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Hullo,’ said Ada the next morning.

  ‘Hullo,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘You’ve come again, then,’ said Ada.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve arrived as well,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Cheeky again,’ said Ada.

  ‘Not much, though,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Kindly step in,’ said Ada, and Jimmy entered. She looked up at him. He was only six months older than she was, but inches taller. He wore a solemn expression, but it wasn’t in his eyes. There was a joker in his eyes, she could tell. ‘You’re laughin’ at me,’ she said.

  ‘Me?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘I’m important in this ’ouse, I’ll have you know,’ said Ada.

  ‘All right, I’ll call you Lady Ada,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘I knew it, you are cheeky. Kindly follow me.’ Ada took him through to the kitchen, where the staff were finishing their breakfast.

  ‘Well, look ’oo’s ’ere,’ said Ivy, ‘’e’s still alive.’

  ‘Good morning, my boy,’ said Mr Hodges.

  ‘Morning, Mr Hodges.’

  ‘Like a nice cup of tea and a slice of toast again?’ invited cook.

  ‘Well, bless you, Mrs Redfern, that’s really kind of you,’ said Jimmy.

  Ada, laughing, said, ‘He’s showin’ off this mornin’.’

  ‘It’s the relief at not ’aving ’ad anything fall on ’im yesterday,’ said Ivy.

  ‘We are ’appy you survived, young man,’ said Mr Hodges as Jimmy sat down to tea and toast.

  ‘Mind, I don’t know ’e’ll last the week out,’ said Ivy.

  ‘That Ivy,’ said Mrs Redfern, shaking her head at Mr Hodges. ‘She’ll have us all in our graves before we’re ready to go.’

  ‘I am not amused,’ said Mr Hodges.

  ‘We ’eard that the young madam made ’er fatal mark on you,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Who said?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘The young madam,’ said Ada, and laughed. ‘Got you there, Jimmy,’ she added.

  ‘Mr Hodges,’ said Jimmy, ‘I might have to see to young Ada before the day’s out.’

  ‘I ’ope it won’t be injurious,’ said Mr Hodges.

  ‘Young Ada? Told you he was showin’ off,’ said Ada.

  ‘May I ask ’ow you propose to see to her, young man?’ asked Mrs Redfern.

  ‘Well, I’ll give it serious thought, Mrs Redfern,’ said Jimmy. ‘Mind, a kiss usually does it. It sort of numbs them, and they don’t give you any sauce any more.’

  ‘Well!’ exclaimed Ada. ‘Mr ’Odges, did you ever hear the like?’

  ‘I have not ’ad hoccasion to in this kitchen,’ said Mr Hodges.

  ‘And I don’t know a kiss will work with Ada,’ said Mrs Redfern, her plump face wreathed in a smile.

  ‘Well, I’ll give ’er another,’ said Jimmy, ‘two kisses really give ’em something to think about. Thanks a lot for the toast an’ marmalade, I’ll get movin’ now, I know the way.’ He heard Ada shrieking with laughter as he made his way out.

  The ground he had worked over yesterday was patterned with large heaps of white ashes that were still faintly smouldering. Mr Gibbs appeared, emerging from the trees and crowded undergrowth on the left. Jimmy went to meet him.

  ‘Hullo, Jimmy, glad to see you again. You did a fine job yesterday. There’s a similar clearing through here. The landscape gardeners are working to their own design. You’d think they’d simply make a sweep from east to west or north to south. No, they’re going to leave some areas untouched for the time being and tidy them up later, and make a coppice of each. They’re the areas where they won’t take out all the saplings, they’ll thin them out, they’ll design each coppice individually. Come this way, Jimmy.’

  Mr Gibbs led Jimmy through flattened undergrowth and out to a clearing similar to yesterday’s, but larger. And there was far more sawing to be done. The landscape men had taken out a host of saplings, diseased trees and dead trees. The trunks were piled at one edge, the lopped branches lay in thick array. Jimmy’s job was to saw up those branches for burning. The rest of the clearing was a mangled bed of chopped undergrowth.

  ‘Lord above,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yes, there’s work here for a week,’ said Mr Gibbs.

  ‘I think I could do it in three days, or four, Mr Gibbs.’

  ‘Good for you, if you can, Jimmy. Same procedure. Build bonfires and we’ll fire them tonight. Is the bramble giving you any trouble?’

  ‘It put up a fight yesterday,’ said Jimmy. ‘The big stuff can wrestle like a gorilla, y’know. Tried to down me once or twice, so I used the cutters to get my own back. I’d get sorry for meself if I let bramble down me.’

  ‘Well, shout if it does,’ said Mr Gibbs, and again left him to it.

  Jimmy went to work. It was another warm day, and the sky hung blue above Anerley, remote from the crowded streets of Walworth. And the morning was peaceful. There was no sign of Sophy. At half-past ten a whistle called him up to the terrace. Mrs Gibbs was there. On a table stood a cup of tea and a plate containing a fresh jam doughnut.

  ‘Here you are, Jimmy, tea this morning, and a doughnut.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know how to thank you, Mrs Gibbs,’ he said, his forehead bedewed with perspiration, his hair tousled and damp. ‘Jam doughnuts ’appen to be my favourite partiality.’

  ‘And mine, when I was your age,’ smiled Mrs Gibbs. ‘ada’s just come back from the baker’s with two dozen, and Ivy took a plateful down to the men, with a pot of tea.’

  ‘I must say, Mrs Gibbs, it’s like bein’ in the country here, and you’re like the squire’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, I’m playing the grand lady, am I?’

  ‘Well, you look like one, Mrs Gibbs,’ said Jimmy, seating himself on the top step.

  ‘I hope I don’t,’ she said, ‘grand ladies are toffee-nosed, aren’t they?’

  ‘I don’t think you are, Mrs Gibbs,’ said Jimmy. She handed him the cup and saucer and the plate containing the doughnut. ‘And I don’t think squires’ wives are, either. Squires’ wives take baskets of eggs round to poor village people and sit with sick ones to make sure they take their medicine.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Mrs Gibbs.

  ‘Pardon, Mrs Gibbs?’

  ‘Yes, quite delicious.’

  ‘You come across that sort of thing in books,’ said Jimmy, and began to eat the doughnut.

  ‘Do you read lots of books, Jimmy?’

  ‘As many as I can get hold of.’

  ‘I wish Sophy read a lot more and messed about a lot less,’ said Mrs Gibbs.

  ‘If I might say so, Mrs Gibbs, Sophy’s still a bit young,’ said Jimmy. ‘Not many boys and girls read a lot until they get to my age.’

  ‘Oh, dear, poor old Methuselah,’ said Mrs Gibbs, finding the boy appealing.

  ‘Me?’ he said.

  ‘So old,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose I am gettin’ on,’ said Jimmy, washing the last of the doughnut down with tea.

  ‘Oh, my word, how depressing, Jimmy.’

  ‘You have to face up to that sort of thing, Mrs Gibbs.’

  ‘Yes, we must all attack the dread years bravely,’ said Mrs Gibbs. ‘Well, finish your cup of tea, and Ada will see that you get some sandwiches at midday.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Gibbs said not to bother to bring my own, like I did yesterday.’

  ‘Quite right. You need not bother, Jimmy. Well, I must go now.’ Mrs Gibbs entered the house by way of the conservatory.

  Ada appeared. ‘I left a doughnut here,’ she said.

  ‘Glad you did,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Who’s eaten it?’ asked Ada.

  ‘Me,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘There’s a good boy.’

  ‘I heard that,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Just havin’ my own back,’ said Ada, her little white maid’s cap perky. ‘We all had a doughnut
this mornin’, except Mr ’Odges. He says it’s not dignified for butlers to eat doughnuts.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be a butler, then,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘What d’you want to be?’ asked Ada, collecting the cup, saucer and plate.

  ‘Well, I’ve thought about bein’ a husband and father,’ said Jimmy. ‘Not this week, of course.’

  Ada laughed. ‘No, nor next week, I shouldn’t think,’ she said.

  ‘I thought about later on,’ said Jimmy. ‘Well, it’s been nice talkin’ to you, Ada, but I’ve got to get on, I’d better go and join the other men now.’

  ‘Other men?’ Ada laughed again. ‘Jimmy, you’re potty.’

  ‘You’re nice too,’ said Jimmy, and went whistling on his way. Ada watched him go, a smile on her face.

  Jimmy resumed his work, mashing bramble to pieces with a long pair of secateurs and building up bonfires. He could hear the landscape gardeners working farther down. The twelve acres of ground were on a gentle slope, and Jimmy could imagine that when everything had been cleared except little woods, the view from the house would be marvellous. He did some sawing after a while, and placed manageable branches on top of the high heaps of debris, creating pyramids. A little after twelve, the whistle blew again, and he found Ada standing on the bottom step of the terrace. On a tray in her hands was a glass of ginger beer, two ham sandwiches and a slice of cake. The sandwiches were large, the bread fresh and crusty, the filling generous.

  ‘Here we are, Buffalo Bill,’ said Ada, ‘something to keep you goin’. How you gettin’ on?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Jimmy, taking the tray, ‘and I must say I’m bein’ treated handsome.’

  ‘Master and madam don’t believe in starvin’ the workers,’ said Ada. ‘Have you seen the young madam?’

  ‘No, not this mornin’,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘She’s slipped her ’andcuffs,’ said Ada.

  ‘Help,’ said Jimmy, ‘does Mrs Gibbs have to handcuff her?’

  ‘Good as. It never works. That’s why she’s called the young madam. If you see her, Jimmy, bring her back up ’ere.’