King Dido

by Alexander Baron

  She walked lightly in the street, ignoring the slatterns who stared with folded arms from their doorways as she passed. She was no longer nervous in these streets. She knew no-one in the street, even to nod to. She never set foot in a local shop. Why should she know them? She was not going to spend her life here. She did not want them to know anything about her and she did not wish to know anything about them.

  In the main road a large shop-window showed her again to herself; a lady with a nice figure walking with her head up in a rich velvet coat and good shoes, and she thought, “Wait till I walk in there.”

  At the back of the teashop Grace sat upright, with teacup poised, a lady visitor. Across the table sat Mrs Dowll, as much a lady.

  “I must come and see you one of these days,” said Mrs Dowll. Grace had just concluded a description of her drawing-room.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Grace said. “Not that my friends aren’t welcome. But it’s a dreadful street. We shouldn’t live there a minute if it wasn’t for the business.”

  “If that’s where your husband wishes to live, my dear —”

  “You said yourself once, where there’s muck there’s money.”

  “As long as the money’s there.”

  “Oh, it is. Believe me, Mrs Dowll. The money’s there all right. My husband has a wonderful business there.”

  “Well, dear, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? As long as you’re happy.”

  “I’m very happy. He’s a wonderful husband. He gives me just everything.”

  “I can see that, my dear. And a lovely home from what you tell me.”

  “It’s a beautiful home. I wish I could ask you to see it. I will soon. Really. When I can ask you somewhere nice.”

  “I expect you’re looking out for something.”

  “Oh —” Grace launched into the flow of happy untruth. “I am. You see, we wouldn’t have stayed this long only we’re saving up. We don’t have to live over the business. But we’re saving up. My husband wants to expand the business first. Capital, you know.”

  “I can see he’s a sensible man.”

  “Oh, he is. Mind you —” Grace remembered how Dido had appeared to the women in the teashop; and their derisive comments “— he is a bit of a rough diamond. But he has a heart of gold.”

  “I admire a self-made man. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That’s what I say. And he does appreciate being married to — well, someone like me.”

  “He’s very lucky to have a wife like you. You can teach him, can’t you?”

  “Oh, I can assure you,” Grace said, “he’s not ashamed to learn.”

  At the far end of the restaurant a young man entered. He wore glasses. He sat at a table by the window. He had not seen Grace but she recognised him. It was that young railway clerk, Sidney. Once noticed he was forgotten. Grace said, “You see, what my husband says is, what we sow now, we shall reap later.”

  “I call that very sensible.”

  “The more we put back into the business the more we shall have later on and that means a bigger house. I think it’s worth waiting for.”

  “So do I, my dear.”

  Grace had reached the point at which she was so inspired by the picture conjured up by her words that she had to go on, not so much lying to Mrs Dowll as creating a fantasy for herself, acting a delightful part. “We don’t want to go too far from his business, of course, but there are plenty of nice districts quite handy.”

  “There are houses fit for lords,” Mrs Dowll said. “And not ten minutes’ ride away.”

  “Oh,” Grace cried. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m keeping my eyes open. We shall want a nice class of neighbours, of course, and a garden.”

  “A coach-house is nice,” Mrs Dowll said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you came in and told me you were keeping your carriage. Or your motor-car.”

  “That’s what my husband says. Oh, if you knew the ideas that man has.”

  “That’s the sort who gets on.”

  “When I go out — because I do go out looking, you know, I go all round keeping my eye open for a nice property — when I go, he always says, mind there’s servants’ quarters. There’s got to be plenty of room for servants, he says. Of course, I don’t have to do any housework now, but my husband says — well, the day we married he said he knew he’d married a lady and one day I would live as a lady should, waited on hand and foot.”

  A waitress with a tray of empty crockery had paused at their table and Mrs Dowll cocked an eye up at her, saying, “Well, what do you think of that?”

  The waitress said, “Hallo, Grace. How’s married life?”

  Grace spoke coolly. “Very well, thank you.”

  “You look well on it.” She leaned forward and said slyly, “Nice having it regular, isn’t it?”

  “That’s enough, Maud,” Mrs Dowll said. “Never dawdle with empties.”

  Maud went through to the kitchen. Grace said, “The cheek of some. It’s not as if I was ever thick with her.”

  “Common as dirt,” Mrs Dowll said. “Knickers down before they’ve raised their hats.”

  “If she wears them.”

  “Not that I like to speak of such things.” Grace stood up. “I must run now. I have so many appointments.”

  Mrs Dowll rose and followed her out. “I’m glad there are some that remember old friends.”

  “I can’t abide snobs,” Grace said. She came upon Sidney from behind and as she passed she could not resist stopping. She turned and bestowed a small, patronising smile upon him. He stumbled to his feet, thrown awkwardly forward by the chair against his legs. Grace said, in just the tone the lady patrons used when they inspected her room at the hostel, “You come in early these days, I see.”

  He took her fine appearance in with a vague, startled gaze. “Yes, miss.”

  She was delighted at the effect. She uttered a gracious laugh. “I see you remember me. I’m not ‘miss’ any more, you know.”

  “No. No, I —”

  In the same patronising tone. “Are you still with the railway?”

  “Yes. Yes.” He spoke with difficulty, looking at her doggedly.

  “Prospects, I expect.”

  “It’s, it’s very slow, but —”

  “It’s steady I’m sure. You still go to your poetry classes?”

  “Oh, you remember? — Yes, I —”

  Smiling with small pursed lips she gave him a gracious, dismissive nod and passed on. Mrs Dowll at her elbow sailed past the table. Maud, who was serving another customer, called, “Ta-ta, Grace.”

  With the same minimal smile Grace nodded to her and went out. Maud came to join Mrs Dowll. Together they watched through the plate-glass window.

  Maud said, “Stuck-up thing. And that lump she married! D’you remember him?”

  Mrs Dowll said, “He’s got money by the look of it. And she’s four months gone, I’d say. So next time you’re in the pudden club, make sure you’re as clever as she is.”

  “’Ere,” Blakers put a sovereign down for Dido and spoke in the voice of a man too wise to bear malice. “’Ow you gettin’ on these days?”

  Dido flicked a suspicious, questioning look. “All right.”

  “Keep busy, do you?”

  “So-so. Why?”

  “If you were lookin’ round to pass the time I thought you might like to pick up a few more sovereigns.”

  “You still lookin’ for a dogsbody?”

  “I wish you’d forget that. Stanley collects my debts now, don’t you, son?”

  Stanley, his eldest son, was leaning against the doorpost of the back kitchen, listening with a folded newspaper in his hand. He was a pudgy, pasty youth of eighteen. He had a good job in the borough treasurer’s department. He said, “It’s quite simple really.”

  “I do wish you wouldn’t bear a grudge, ol’ man,” Blakers said to Dido. “It was only a suggestion. You only ’ad to say yes or no. No ’ard feelings. You see, what I
found is, they’re more frightened of an educated man than they are of a fist. Stanley talks to ’em quite nice but they all pay up. No, it’s fags I was thinkin’ about.”

  “What do you mean, fags?”

  Blakers treated him to a lowered, you-know-what-I-mean grin. “If you kept your eyes open. While you was goin’ round. You might be able to put me in the way of some fags. Well —” For Dido was silent. “You’re a man o’ the world. Stock’s runnin’ low. It’s ’ard enough to make a living without paying the manufacturer’s price. I’m always in the market for a few thousand fags on the cheap.”

  “Where from?”

  “Now do I ask? Can a man in my position afford to ask? You bring me ten thousand fags I won’t ask questions. You’ll be safe with me. Pay you any fair price I will as long as it’s under the manufacturer’s. You could make a quid or two.”

  Dido kept the long, hard look on him, then broke into a low, pitying chuckle. “Do I look like a tealeaf? Some business man you are. You’ll be askin’ Mr Merry next.”

  He went out. Blakers said to Stanley, “Dead loss that feller.”

  “Why d’you keep giving him money then?”

  “I don’t like trouble.”

  “Trouble with him or with the Murchisons?”

  “’E ’as kept ’em away.”

  “Do me a favour, dad.” Stanley came forward and unfolded the newspaper on the counter, indicating an item. “I read you the report. Harry, Jem and the two Gateses got twenty-eight years between them at the Old Bailey. The Murchisons are finished.”

  “Not while Keogh’s on ’is two feet. You ’eard what ’appened at the brick.”

  “That was two months ago.”

  “’E’s the guv’nor now. ’E’s not a quiet one like ’Arry was. ’E’s a terror. ’E’s after Dido.”

  “He’s taking his time about it. He hasn’t let out a dicky-bird for two months. And as to Dido, you’re not frightened of him, are you?”

  “What if I am? ’E’s got a nasty bunch o’ knuckles.”

  “You can soon settle him.”

  “How?”

  “Put the law on him. You could never put the law on Ginger or Harry because whoever got put away you still had the gang after you. Dido’s got no gang behind him.”

  “I still don’t like that Keogh.”

  “He’ll get Dido. He’s bound to. He’s got men to back him up. You might as well get in with him now. He will do you a favour, you know. Ginger did, didn’t he? You go and talk to Keogh about a crate of fags. You’ll see.”

  Blakers sucked his lower lip and nodded slowly. He did not look upon the purchase of stolen cigarettes as wrong. He was a law-abiding man. The traders in Rabbit Marsh sold their groceries by the pennorth and cigarettes in ones and twos. Stolen goods were a godsend to eke out their small profits. One reason why they did not call in the police to protect them from the gangs was their fear of cutting off their supplies; not to mention the danger that their own transactions with the gangs might be exposed. Blakers was in a bigger way than most and for him the question of supplies was decisive. At last he said, “That’s true.”

  He lumbered to the shop window and gazed out, deep in thought. “That’s true,” he repeated. “I told ’im that. They did oblige. Which ’e never will. They did give value for money. ’Ere —” This was a sudden bark of indignation. “Come ’ere. Look. Look down there.”

  Stanley joined his father. Grace Peach was coming down the street. She wore a smart hat and costume. “Look at ’er,” Blakers fumed as she went past. “That’s what I’m payin’ for. I paid for the clothes on ’er back. ’E comes in ’ere, asks for more. It’s only since he married that stuck-up bitch. Furniture I seen goin’ in their place. Finest me’ogany.”

  Stanley said, “Well, then?”

  His father nodded, and said, “Ah!” And a moment later. “Can you mind the shop for me, Stanley?”

  He was slipping his jacket on. Stanley said, “Keogh’ll be in the pub in Brick Lane. Don’t go in there. Go in the cookshop, in the back room, and send a boy for him.”

  Dido had just come in freshly scrubbed from the yard when Grace tripped into the kitchen from the street. His midday meal awaited him on the table, half a crusty loaf cut into thickly buttered slices, a plate of cold mutton, a jar of pickled onions and a big “father’s mug” ready for tea.

  His mother, sitting opposite him in the narrow space between table and dresser, composed herself in anxious piety to watch her son’s performance.

  Grace put down her packets and gave him a gay “Hallo, dear,” and as he smiled in answer she pulled off her hat and started to unbutton her coat. “Run upstairs with these, will you, Didy?”

  He waited placidly for the garments and went out with them while his mother looked on, hands in her lap, Grace went past Mrs Peach and took two dinner plates from the dresser. She put them down, opened one of her paper bags and emptied out shrimps, which she divided into a portion on each plate. She began to hum a tune. She took a lettuce from the other bag, glanced at the bowl which always stood on a chair in a far corner, saw clean water in it and washed the lettuce. Still humming, she shredded the lettuce on to the two plates.

  She was aware that Mrs Peach’s eyes were following her. It was out of sheer thoughtlessness, in her high spirits, that she had failed to greet her mother-in-law when she came in but now she felt glad of it, though she told herself that the woman was not a bad old stick. Live and let live was her policy; but something, her own good spirits, drove her on today. She smiled at Mrs Peach and put the pickled onions back on a shelf. Mrs Peach said in a faintly protesting voice, “He likes his pickled onions.”

  Grace turned on her mother-in-law the most friendly, woman-to-woman of smiles. “You don’t have to live with him.” She spoke playfully. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  She took a bright, flowered apron from a hook on the door and tied it deftly on. She touched her hair up at the mirror. She saw her mother in the mirror, and her odd, vindictive mood grew. Dido came in. She turned and said, “Brought you a treat, Didy. You can take your pick.”

  He looked at the two plates on the table. “Cold mutton? Not likely.”

  He drew the plate of shrimps towards him and Grace could not resist the quickest sidelong glance at Mrs Peach. She stood with her head on one side watching him fondly. He ate with concentration, rolling big mouthfuls inside his cheeks. Grace darted forward, took away the mug and brought from the dresser a dainty cup and saucer. She said, “I don’t mind you having the big one for breakfast, Didy. It’s what they call a breakfast mug, it’s manly. Only not in the day.”

  Dido said through his food, “All the same to me.”

  Grace took another cup, poured tea for herself and sat down. Between ladylike sips she said, “Had a lovely morning.”

  “Good.”

  “I went to look at a house. Oh, it was so nice. It wasn’t very far either.”

  He went on eating for a moment with his head down. He swallowed the mouthful and raised his head. His grey eyes scrutinised her mildly. “What you do that for?”

  “No harm looking. It had two bedrooms and a garden and the people next door have had a bath put in their house. It didn’t cost much. I spoke to the lady.”

  Sidelong she took in Mrs Peach’s eyes upon her, filled with a stricken wonderment. She had not meant to bring the subject up again just yet; certainly not to discuss it in front of her mother-in-law. But she was still all breathless with her triumph at the teashop. The need to pour it all out was irresistible. The thought itched in her that it might work out like her honeymoon. She had boasted about a honeymoon to Mrs Dowll. Then the need to make good her boast had given her the courage to speak to Dido about it. Now she had told Mrs Dowll all about the house she dreamed of. And this breathless excitement was making her tell Dido. Perhaps once again it would work.

  “You just went lookin’?” Dido said.

  “That’s all. It had a lovely garden.” But what had made
her take the plunge in front of the old lady? Oh, why not? The old lady didn’t say much to her but silence could speak more than words. She just sat with her hands in her lap and followed Grace with those mournful fishy eyes. Grace felt that she had been under scrutiny ever since she came to this house and the object of forbearance. Without warning she felt that her own patience had snapped. She felt immensely gay and cheeky, determined to assert her status, to remind the old woman that a wife came before a mother. If she ever wanted to get her way about the house she would have to make Dido see that, too. It was only his attachment to his mother that kept him here now. The old woman was like a big stone in their way. “It wasn’t dear either. I’ve got the particulars.”

  “I thought you were only lookin’,” he said.

  “It’s as well to be informed,” she said. “We have to think of the future.”

  “You’re never satisfied, are you?” But his voice was good-humoured and he was smiling.

  “Oh, Dido —” Grace was very indulgent and gentle. “Satisfied with this?”

  She thought her mother-in-law would speak up at this but the old woman’s face shrank smaller and her eyes went away from Grace, hard and small. It was Dido who spoke. “Ah, mother’s always kept a good home. Looks after us both.”

  “Oh! —” Grace’s cry was heartfelt. She reached out, dropped a hand on the clasped hands in her mother-in-law’s lap and gave Mrs Peach the tenderest smile. “Bless her, she’s a treasure.”