The Branded Man

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.’

  The man now turned to Doulton and said, ‘Give me the ledger and the form,’ and the clerk went to a filing cabinet that stood against the wall and brought from one of the drawers a sheet of paper and a ledger.

  After the editor had written something on the paper, he passed it to Marie Anne, saying, ‘That is the receipt for your drawings. Doulton will give you the fifteen shillings as you leave, but first I would like you to sign this book.’ He now opened the ledger, found a clear page, wrote in it; then, turning it round towards Marie Anne, he said, ‘Read what I have written.’

  And Marie Anne, taking up the book, read aloud, ‘Deposited this day, the twenty-sixth of November, nineteen hundred, three drawings to be printed as drawn, but allowing for the captions to be changed if necessary. Signed—’ She now placed the book on the table, took the pen that he was offering her and signed her name as Marie Anne Foggerty. She smiled as she turned the book round towards him again and handed back his pen, and he smiled at her before rising to his feet, saying, ‘Who knows, that might be the beginning of a long-term deal; but you won’t likely be hearing from us until at least the middle of December; very likely later. It all depends if they catch the public interest. You understand?’

  She didn’t quite, but she nodded, saying, ‘Yes, I understand; and thank you, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Foggerty.’

  As they were making for the door that was being held open by the clerk, the editor said, ‘I didn’t get your name, missis.’

  And at this Sarah turned and, looking him full in the face, she said, ‘It’s Foggerty, too, sir,’ and on that they went out, leaving the editor and his assistant both biting on their lips to still their laughter. Then John Stokes said, ‘Well, what d’you make of it?’

  ‘She’s pregnant.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s pregnant, the young ’un.’

  ‘How on earth d’you know? She looks as flat as a pancake.’

  ‘Not from the side she doesn’t; and don’t forget I’ve got three. I would say she’s in her fourth month, or a bit more.’

  ‘Well, well! But one thing I do know, her name is no more Foggerty than mine is Windsor.’

  ‘You’re right there; but tell me, why did you want her name put down in the ledger? I mean it was an ordinary deal, no different from buying an article.’

  ‘It’ll be different if they catch on. She’s a born caricaturist and although she’s not from any ordinary folk she’s got an eye for them, and she’ll certainly have plenty of material in the East End. Send Doulton along there tomorrow to see what Ramsay Court looks like; I’m interested. And you say she’s pregnant? Well, well. I would like to bet that her family are either looking for her or they’ve thrown her out. But whichever, she has a good champion in the woman she had with her, and I’d make a guess that one’s stays are laced with barbed wire.’…

  The woman whose corsets were surmised to be laced with barbed wire was at that moment walking smartly by the side of Marie Anne towards a horse-bus. Although cold and wet they were both in a high state of excitement, for they kept glancing at each other and laughing, apparently at nothing at all; but once seated in the horse-bus, Sarah said, ‘My! I am hungry; I could eat a horse.’ And when Marie Anne, to use Clara’s quip, put in, ‘With or without mustard?’ their heads came together with their hands over their mouths to still their laughter.

  ‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ said Sarah. ‘We’ll celebrate. We can afford it today. We’ll go to Ernie Everton’s for a bite.’

  ‘Ernie Everton’s? Where’s that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s only two stops before we get to the priory. It’s a well-known eatin’ house, good staple food, an’ you can have a drink an’ all if you want it. At night-time it’s full because they have a singer an’ such entertainment. Their pies and peas are grand, so is the sausage and mash; or you can have brawn or pigs’ trotters and brown bread. It’s a kind of family bar. They’re crowded out after weddings and things…and funerals an’ all. Very rarely any fighting there. Nobody would dare; Ernie’s about twenty stone. Nice man.’

  When Marie Anne said, ‘Well, I’ll have pie and peas, sausage and mash and a couple of trotters,’ they were again laughing with their heads close together …

  Ernie Everton’s Eating House, as the board above the main door proclaimed, consisted of two large rooms, with the bar counter running the length of them both. They were separated by a partition, the right-hand one being accessible only through a door in the partition just inside the main door. It was a men’s room, more like a club where they could drink, play billiards or cards and if they didn’t keep strictly to the notice which warned, ‘No Gambling Allowed’, who was to know? But the main room, the restaurant, was taken up with tables to seat two, four or six people, with enough space left to form a freeway to the side of the partition, where, on a small platform, were set a piano and a music stool. There was also space in front of the counter for customers, those waiting to be served or taking a drink.

  As it was now two o’clock and the dinner time rush was over, there were only about six people seated at the tables, although quite a number were still waiting to be served.

  After telling Marie Anne to take a seat at a table for two, Sarah took her place at the end of the queue. A man of gigantic proportions was standing at the far end of the counter. He was measuring out a small whisky; but nearer to Sarah, the woman, much smaller than the man and whom Sarah knew to be his wife, was ladling out peas onto two plates but seemed not to be paying attention to what she was doing, for she called along to her husband, ‘When she comes in, I’ll tell her to keep her hat and coat on, I will that!’

  And the answer came back in a very small voice for such a big man, ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind, or else we’ll be stuck.’

  ‘She’s done this too often,’ the woman snapped back.

  The man ahead of Sarah was now facing the woman behind the counter and he said, ‘I’ll have a pint of mild, missis,’ and at this the woman said, ‘Oh dear! Can you wait a minute?’ Then looking towards her husband, she called, ‘Ernie! A pint of mild,’ and he called back briefly, ‘Presently.’

  The man now politely moved along the counter to make room for Sarah, and as she took his place she cast a glance behind her at the queue that was forming there, when what she later called a bolt from the blue, like a nudge from heaven, made her lean towards the woman and ask, ‘Could I be of help, missis, temporary like? I did two years’ bar work some time ago. My friend and I just came in for a bite’—she motioned with a nod towards Marie Anne—‘but I’ve got an hour to spare if it would help.’

  The woman looked along the counter to her husband, then said, ‘Can you pull a pint?’

  ‘Oh aye, missis. It’s a few years since I was at the pumps, but you don’t forget.’

  As if making a quick decision, the woman said, ‘Go through that door there’—she pointed to the far end of the counter—‘it’ll bring you round to the back.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll tell me friend,’ and at this she hurried to where Marie Anne was seated and gabbled at her, ‘Go to the counter and get something to eat; I’m going behind to help them.’

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Never mind what, do as I say,’ and with some surprise Marie Anne joined the queue at the counter.

  A few minutes later she was amazed to see Sarah standing behind the beer pumps and heard her saying, ‘Will I give it a try? The first one will likely be over-full.’

  ‘Well, have a shot,’ the woman said as she put a pie on a plate of peas and handed it to a customer, saying, ‘That’ll be fourpence.’

  Behind the counter Sarah looked at the two pumps, one for mild, one for bitter, and gripping the top of one of them just below the highly polished brass cap, she slowly drew it towards her while holding a pint pot under its tap. But when she managed to shut it off, the beer was running over the side of the pot an
d she glanced back at the woman saying, ‘First try.’ Then when a man asked for a pint of bitter, she took in a deep breath, gripped the other pump, drew it slowly towards her until the pint mug was half full, then she slowly let it return to its base, leaving a good head of froth on the mug.

  She was grinning widely as she placed the pint pot before the man, and he pushed fourpence towards her and without any adverse comment, said, ‘Thanks, missis,’ and took his drink over to a table.

  Mr Ernie Everton now shuffled up to her side, saying, ‘Twasn’t bad that, not at all, so can I leave you this end? Flatten out so I can get past you, missis;’ and as if Sarah had followed the command every day, she moved from in front of the pump sink and pressed herself against the inside of the counter, and Mr Ernie Everton slithered past her, to stop by his wife and say, ‘She’ll do for a fill-in any time.’

  His wife did not answer him, and he disappeared beyond the partition that cut off the piano platform from the next room, while Mrs Everton hurried along to Sarah and, pointing to the overflowing pint pot of beer still standing on the tray, said quietly, ‘Divide that out between a few mugs, then fill up on top; can’t waste any—that’s if they ask for pints. But if they’re just half, pull them straight, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes; I understand.’

  Mrs Everton now turned to the laden rack of bottles that were interspersed here and there with pewter mugs and Toby heads and, picking up a tube that was attached to the plate lift in the wall, she blew into it, then said, ‘Send up another dish of peas, Daisy, and don’t start the sausage and mash till four, but I could do with some more brown buns.’

  Some half hour later, there were only two customers at the counter finishing their pints and Sarah, dropping into an old routine, was wiping down the wet counter when Mrs Everton said, ‘You came in for a bite, lass, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I did, missis.’

  ‘Well, we’ll be slack for a time now, I should think, and all we have still hot are the pies and peas, but there’s good brawn there.’

  ‘I’ll go for the pie and peas, if you don’t mind.’

  As Mrs Everton ladled out a generous quantity of peas beside two pies on a plate, she said, ‘You’ve been a godsend today. She who should be here’s goin’ to get my toe in her backside. I took her on when she was hard up, but I don’t know what’s come over her. I think she’s on the game’—she nodded—‘you know, or some such. Anyway she can’t be in need of money, and we pay well here: threepence an hour and all the tips you can get and as much grub as you can put into you. You don’t get that everywhere today.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you don’t.’

  ‘So go and have your bite, and I’ll settle up with you later. You might have to do another little stint for us before you go. Do you live about here?’

  ‘Oh, ten minutes away.’

  ‘Are you in work?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘Would…would you mind doing something like this?’

  Sarah thought for a moment, then said, ‘No, I wouldn’t, but it could only be so many hours a day.’

  ‘Well, that’s all we want of anybody, so many hours a day. Usually starts at twelve ‘til two. Sometimes it goes on a bit longer. In the evening we’re always very busy; that’s from five till ten.’

  The plate in her hand, Sarah picked up a pie and took a bite from it before she said, ‘Well, thank you very much, missis. Daytime would be all right, but I don’t know about the evening. You see, that young’—she had been about to say ‘lady’—‘I mean, girl down there, well, I sort of look after her, and I couldn’t leave her all hours at night.’

  ‘You could bring her with you.’ The woman laughed now. ‘It might get a bit rowdy, but there’s no rough stuff here. Ernie sees to that.’

  ‘Oh well, thank you very much. We’ll talk about it. By the way’—she looked towards the platform and the piano—‘she’s a grand piano player; plays lovely.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Yes; yes. I bet she’d give her eye teeth if you’d let her play while I’m eating.’

  ‘Oh, definitely. Only too pleased to hear her. We’ve got a fellow comes in at night. He’s no great shakes, but he knows all the popular tunes. Plays by ear, I think.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’

  Sarah almost skipped round the counter and into the restaurant, and there, dropping her plate on the table, she said to Marie Anne, ‘Would you like to play for a bit?’

  Marie Anne stared at her. ‘Play for a bit? What d’you mean?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? Have you turned daft all of a sudden? Play the piano.’ She pointed.

  ‘They’d let me?’

  ‘Well, I’ve just got permission for you.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah. Sarah. Oh that would be lovely.’

  ‘Well, go on.’

  First, Marie Anne went to the counter and said to the little woman, ‘Oh, thank you very much. Thank you.’ Then she stepped up onto the low platform, lifted the lid of the piano and saw it was of a very good make. Before sitting down on the stool, she ran her fingers over the keys, and with real delight she noted that this piano didn’t need tuning.

  Sitting down now, she paused a minute before her hands fell on the keys and softly she started to play the adagio section of a Mozart sonata.

  When it ended, she cast a glance over the tables. There were four people seated now, but they were giving her their full attention and Mrs Everton was beaming at her, and, as if the looks were giving her encouragement, Marie Anne plunged into Beethoven’s Appassionata, and so lost did she become in her playing that she wasn’t aware that Mr Everton had appeared and the two men standing drinking at the counter had moved towards the platform.

  When she finished with a flourish, there was silence for a moment, and she heard a woman say, ‘My! My!’ which seemed to prompt one of the men to remark ‘’Tis a while since I heard anything like that. It’s a pianist you are, miss, a pianist.’

  She turned towards the man. She didn’t know that there was sweat on her brow. Then Mr Everton’s small voice came from his large body, saying, ‘The surprise of the day! Do you play in an orchestra, miss?’

  ‘No, sir; no.’

  ‘A band then?’

  ‘No; nor a band either.’

  ‘Well,’ said the woman, ‘wherever you play I would say you’ve been well teached.’

  Somewhat embarrassed now, Marie Anne turned to the keys again and her fingers were light on them now as she played a Brahms lullaby.

  By now Sarah had finished her pie and peas, and, taking her plate to the counter, she said, ‘I’ll stay if you want me, Mrs Everton, but I can see you’re very slack at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, we are; but I’m very obliged for your help.’ And pulling open the till she took from it a sixpence and handed it to Sarah, saying, ‘You haven’t been here even an hour, but that’s for two and for being so obligin’ and lettin’ us hear your friend’s music.’

  She looked along to where her husband was still standing listening and she said, ‘’Tis different. What d’you say?’

  ‘Oh, aye’—he nodded at her—‘chalk and cheese. She can play for me any time, this one. But with her quality, I doubt if she could play the rag-a-tag, Marie Lloyd stuff that he knocks out. Still, you never know.’

  ‘I’ll get my coat and hat now, and thank you very much for the money. It is kind of you,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Works both ways, miss. It works both ways. But I tell you what you can do. You can leave an address where we could get in touch with you if we were in a fix, that’s if you hadn’t any work on.’

  For a moment Sarah hesitated, but then she said, ‘Well, it’s top flat, Ramsay Court.’

  The woman couldn’t hide her surprise as she repeated, ‘Ramsay Court. Oh, yes; yes I know that area. I can get you there if I want you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s where you’ll find me.’

  ‘What were you doing before this, may I ask?�
�

  ‘You well may ask, Mrs Everton, and you can believe it when I say that I was a lady’s maid to an invalid; a lady’s companion I was called.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is it’s a long way from there to pulling pints.’

  ‘It may be, but I know which I would prefer to do from now on.’

  ‘Aye? You mean that?’

  ‘I mean that, Mrs Everton.’

  At this, Sarah left the amazed little woman, collected her coat and hat from the peg, and slowly put them on, thinking: it never rains but it pours; and thank God for it. She was still pondering when she tapped Marie Anne on the shoulder, saying, ‘Come on; you’ve had enough, we’re ready for the road.’

  ‘Oh. I was lost in thought.’

  ‘I could see that.’

  As Marie Anne stepped down from the platform, one man was still standing holding his empty pint mug and, looking at her, he said, ‘Thank you, girl. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ They smiled at each other. Then Marie Anne went to the counter and to Mrs Everton she said, ‘Thank you so much for letting me play. I haven’t a piano now and I miss it. Would…would you allow me to call in occasionally in the daytime and play, just for a short while?’

  Mr and Mrs Everton exchanged glances; then it was he who, nodding, said, ‘Any time you’re passing, miss, and there’s nobody on the seat’—he nodded towards the piano stool—‘and there never is during the day, you’d be welcome. I can’t say I’ll engage you, but you could have your fill of food for the both of you. Can’t be fairer than that.’

  ‘Thank you very much, very much indeed,’ and Marie Anne backed away from the counter, nodding first at one and then the other; then she almost skipped round to join Sarah, and like a pair of youngsters, they ran out of the restaurant and into the street. There, turning and looking at each other, Marie Anne said, ‘A magic day, don’t you think, Sarah? a magic day. I must write and tell Grandpa and put his mind at rest.’