Born to Trouble
RITA BRADSHAW
headline
Copyright © 2009 Rita Bradshaw
The right of Rita Bradshaw to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7553 7596 7
This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisaion des Informations
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the author
Also by
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
PART ONE – The Devil’s Playground
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
PART TWO – The Romanies
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
PART THREE – The Blossoming
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
PART FOUR – Atonement
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
PART FIVE – Wartime
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
PART SIX – A Kind of Peace
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Rita Bradshaw was born in Northamptonshire, where she still lives today. At the age of sixteen she met her husband – whom she considers her soulmate – and they have two daughters and a son and four young grandchildren. Much to her delight, Rita’s first attempt at a novel was accepted for publication, and she went on to write many more successful novels under a pseudonym before writing for Headline using her own name.
As a committed Christian and passionate animal lover Rita has a full and busy life, but her writing continues to be a consuming pleasure that she never tires of. In any spare moments she loves walking her dogs, reading, eating out and visiting the cinema and theatre, as well as being involved in her local church and animal welfare.
By Rita Bradshaw and available from Headline
Alone Beneath the Heaven
Reach for Tomorrow
Ragamuffin Angel
The Stony Path
The Urchin’s Song
Candles in the Storm
The Most Precious Thing
Always I’ll Remember
The Rainbow Years
Skylarks at Sunset
Above the Harvest Moon
Eve and Her Sisters
Gilding the Lily
Born to Trouble
This book is for our beautiful Baby Bradshaw, beloved first child for Ben and Lizzi. We never got to hold you, sweet little baby, but one day we will be able to give you all the cuddles and kisses we’re saving up. Until then, we know you’re safe in the arms of Jesus and take comfort in the knowledge He will work all things together for good. Your photo is my prize possession, precious little one.
Ben and Lizzi, we couldn’t be prouder of you if we tried for how you’ve come through this difficult time. Dad and I love you more than words can say.
Acknowledgements
I was born in 1949, and by then the last true Romany gypsies were being overtaken by the modern world. A proud people with an incredible ancestry which goes back centuries, they had (and have) their own codes and morals, not to mention their own language which still survives today among the small community who haven’t been seduced by the twenty-first century. Often discriminated against, most gypsies keep themselves to themselves, which makes research difficult because non-gypsy observers tended to be biased. However, among the many avenues of research to ‘flavour’ Pearl’s time with the Romanies, the following books were particularly helpful: Incidents in A Gipsy’s Life by George Smith, The Gypsies by John Hoyland, and Travellers Remember Hopping Time, courtesy of the Romany and Traveller Family History Society.
Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward.
Job v. 7
PART ONE
The Devil’s Playground
June 1898
Chapter 1
Pearl stood backed against the grimy wall of the kitchen, her blue eyes wide with terror. She wanted to call out to her big brother, Seth, to tell him not to make their da any madder, to say that the cuff round her ear hadn’t hurt that much – although it had – and that she was all right. However, fear had frozen her voice. All she could do was watch and listen as Seth squared up to the angry, drink-sodden man who was their father.
‘I told you.’ Seth’s voice was shaking, whether with fear or anger, Pearl didn’t know. ‘I warned you not to hit her again, didn’t I?’
Thomas Croft was swearing viciously as he rubbed at his hand where the hot broth had splattered, and for a moment seemed unaware of his son. Then he raised his head.
Pearl’s breath caught in her throat. Her father’s face always appeared dark and frightening to her; the black stubble around his chin and up the sides of his cheeks, and his great thick eyebrows beneath which the small eyes gleamed, often featured in her nightmares – but when drink had turned the skin a dark red and made the piggy eyes bloodshot, he was terrifying to her eight-year-old gaze.
‘Any more of your lip an’ you’ll get the same.’ Thomas reached for a chunk of bread from the plate in the middle of the dirty, food-encrusted table.
‘Not any more, Da. I told you the last time you went for Pearl, there’s three of us an’ only one of you.’ Seth indicated his two younger brothers who were standing just behind him, but he didn’t look at them; he kept his eyes on his father.
Thomas’s hand had stopped just above the plate of bread. He clearly couldn’t believe his ears.
‘You leave her alone – an’ me an’ the lads an’ all.’ Seth was tall for his fourteen years, although Fred at thirteen and Walter at just eleven took after their father, being small and wiry. ‘I mean it.’
‘You mean it, do you?’ Thomas lurched to his feet, kicking back his chair. ‘By, I’ll skin you alive, lad. You see if I don’t.’
It was the flash of silver that stopped him in his tracks. He stood swaying, his befuddled gaze on the evil-looking knife in his son’s hand.
Pearl’s fascinated eyes went from the knife to her father’s face and then back to Seth. She was petrified into dumbness. So, apparently, was Thomas.
‘I’ll do for you, I swear it.’ Seth’s voice wasn’t shaking any longer, nor did it sound like that of a young lad but someone much older. ‘An’ I could – you know that, don’t you? I might not have had much in the way of book learnin’, thanks to you, but I’ve had a different sort of schoolin’, and I’ve learned well. So I’m tellin�
�� you, Da. You don’t touch our Pearl again.’
‘Look at my hand.’ Thomas’s voice held an element of bluster which wasn’t lost on Seth. ‘That’ll be a blister, so it will. Scaldin’ hot that mutton broth was, and she sloshed half the bowl over me.’
‘It was a drop or two, and she didn’t do it on purpose. A bairn shouldn’t be doing what Pearl does anyway, cookin’ and cleanin’ an’ the rest.’
‘Your mam’s up there havin’ a babbie, in case you’ve forgotten.’
Seth kept the knife steady. ‘I haven’t forgotten, but Pearl’s been Mam’s lackey from the day she could toddle, an’ you know it same as I do. At least we had a bit of schoolin’ in the early days, but Pearl’s not set foot in school an’ it’s not right. Even the O’Rileys, bad as they are, send their bairns to school. I tell you, Da, things are goin’ to change round here. If you want me an’ the lads to carry on workin’ for McArthur, then Pearl goes to school an’ learns her letters an’ numbers. And Mam gets off her backside once the bairn’s born and sees to things. It’s either that or I’m off makin’ me own way, the lads alongside of me.’
Thomas’s bullet-hard eyes narrowed. Bart McArthur valued Seth, he’d said so only the other day. Some of the lads were ham fisted with the thieving, but the Croft lads were naturals, that’s what he’d said. And it reflected well on him. It didn’t do any harm to be on Bart McArthur’s good side, not with him controlling most of what went on down at the docks and elsewhere.
Shaking his head to clear the muzziness that umpteen pints of ale in the Boar’s Head had induced, Thomas said, ‘You wouldn’t do that, not you, lad.’
His father’s tone had been more conciliatory than aggressive, but Seth’s stance didn’t soften. His chin thrust upwards, he stood like a fighting cock ready for the ring. ‘Aye, I would. Believe me, Da, I would – so think on.’
The two looked at each other for a moment more before Thomas turned, bending and righting the chair he’d sent on its side. Sitting down, he reached out for the bread, only to pause once again as Seth said flatly, ‘You tell Mam what I’ve said, all right? Babbie or no babbie, Pearl’s goin’ to get some schoolin’.’
‘With another mouth to feed it might not be as easy as that.’
‘And who brings in the money for rent and food, eh? You answer me that. Who, Da?’
‘Now look you—’
‘If me an’ Fred an’ Walt walk, you’ll be in the mire good an’ proper, that’s the truth of it.’ Bitterly Seth returned his father’s glare. ‘I’m not stupid.’
Pearl’s mouth was agape. She couldn’t believe Seth was talking like this to their da. Fearing what her father’s reaction would be, and expecting that at any moment he would leap on her brother and hammer him to the floor, she kept as still as a mouse. Her ear was sending shooting pains through her head and she felt sick and dizzy, and she could tell Fred and Walter were scared out of their wits, but Seth – Seth was wonderful, she thought, awestruck by her brother’s temerity.
Seth transferred his gaze to her where it softened, like his voice, as he said gently, ‘Come an’ sit yourself down, Pearl. No one is going to hit you again. Right, Da?’
Thomas didn’t raise his eyes from his bowl of broth which he was now guzzling like a pig at a trough, but he nodded. Pearl skirted round him and crept to sit at the far end of the table on one of the two long wooden benches which slid under the table when not in use. There was only one chair in the kitchen, a big, flock-cushioned armchair which her father pulled to the head of the table when they ate and then back to its place in front of the range where he sat toasting himself when in the house.
Seth sat down by her side, Fred and Walter opposite them, but when Pearl stood up to fill her brothers’ bowls from the huge pot of broth on the table, Seth said, ‘We’ll help ourselves, hinny, all of us, till Mam’s back on her feet.’
Pearl’s eyes shot to her father. She knew as well as Seth did that their da expected his food to be placed before him; he’d never so much as poured himself a cup of tea that she could remember, and her mam even stirred in the sugar for him. Thomas Croft was always served first, and with the best bits of meat and such, and not one of them would have dreamed of beginning their meal until he’d taken his first bite. He dallied sometimes, just to keep them all waiting, his hard black eyes darting round each face in turn. The fact that he hadn’t done a day’s work since Seth and the lads had begun to work for Mr McArthur when each of them had turned nine or ten had nothing to do with it.
Pearl’s velvety smooth brow wrinkled. She had once asked Seth what he did for Mr McArthur, but her brother hadn’t been forthcoming, merely answering, ‘This and that,’ before changing the subject. But she knew Seth and the others worked hard because they were never short of food or coal, unlike most of their neighbours.
She ate her food slowly, resisting the desire to put her hand to the side of her head and cup her aching ear in case it started another row. The last time her da had hit her, she hadn’t been able to hear properly for days, and every morning there’d been blood and discharge on her pillow.
They had just finished eating when Mrs Hopkins, the midwife, came clattering down the stairs, poking her head round the door to say briefly, ‘She’s about to have it. I’ll need some hot water and towels bringing up,’ before disappearing again.
Pearl knew Mrs Hopkins didn’t like their da. She had heard her talking quietly to their mam when she was last at the house twelve months ago. That baby hadn’t breathed when it was born, and Walter had told her that another one had been the same some years before that. She hoped this one lived. Pearl wiped the last of her bread round her bowl. She’d felt so sorry for the other one when she’d caught sight of it for a moment when she had peeped round the bedroom door. It had been tiny and scrawny and still, lying in the old drawer that should have been its crib on a piece of stained linen. And then the midwife had seen her and quickly shooed her away, shutting the door.
Once the hot water and towels had been taken upstairs, the three brothers filled the big black kettle and two buckets from the tap in the yard they shared with several other families. When the water in the kettle was hot enough, Fred tipped it into the tin bowl which stood on a small table under the window, at the side of which were piled pans and dirty dishes. Pearl began the washing-up without a word. She knew she would be at it for a good little while, but she was used to it; every night was the same. From the moment her mother woke her in the morning and she tumbled out of the desk bed in a corner of the kitchen, her life was one of unending toil. Her parents slept in one bedroom upstairs, her brothers in the other. The front room was kept for lodgers. The family had had a series of these, mostly seamen and often ne’er-do-wells, but the last had been sent packing some months before. Pearl didn’t know the reason for this, only that her father had come home unexpectedly and gone into the front room when the lodger and her mother were in there. Since then, the front room had remained unoccupied.
It was another twenty minutes before Pearl heard the sound that made her lift her head and glance at her father, who had moved his chair to its customary place in front of the range. The lads were playing cards at the table and it was Seth who said, ‘Aren’t you going to go up?’ to Thomas as the baby’s cry echoed again.
‘Aye, I’m goin’, I’m goin’.’ Thomas lumbered to his feet. ‘You got the midwife’s money handy?’
‘It’s in the pot with the rent money.’ Seth indicated the little brass pot with bowed legs that stood on the mantelpiece over the range with a flick of his hand.
‘I needed that earlier.’
There was what seemed to Pearl an endless silence before Seth spoke, and the expression on his face as he stared at his father again made Pearl wonder what had got into her brother. ‘You had your beer and baccy money a couple of days ago.’
‘Aye, an’ I needed some more.’
Seth stood up slowly. For the first time it struck Pearl that her brother was now taller than their da. ‘Y
ou’re tellin’ me it’s all gone up against the wall in the Boar’s Head yard, is that it?’
Thomas stretched his neck, his eyes narrowing. He was not an intelligent man, but very early on in life he had discovered that fear was a powerful tool and he had used it to great effect, especially with his family. Although small in stature, there was an innate viciousness in his make-up and this, combined with an animal-like cunning, had served to make most people slightly afraid of him. ‘Have you forgotten who you’re talkin’ to, lad, ’cause I’ll be about remindin’ you if so.’
‘You could try.’
Fred and Walter were squirming on their bench and Pearl had her fist to her mouth, biting on her knuckles, but Seth stood as straight as a die. His voice had been quiet and flat, but so cold that Pearl had given an involuntary shiver. Her eyes went back and forth between her brother and father, and to her amazement it was Thomas who dropped his gaze, his voice holding a fawning note when he said, ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’
Seth stared at the man he hated, the man who had sold him and Fred and Walter into the brutal care of McArthur with as little feeling as he’d use to swat a fly. He wondered what his father’s response would be if he told him what the matter really was. That on the last job, he’d been forced to use the knife McArthur insisted he carry and had left a man lying on the ground with his lifeblood pumping out of the hole in his chest. He’d brought up the contents of his stomach once he and his brothers were clear of the scene, the bag of booty McArthur had sent them in to steal splattered with his vomit.
The house was supposed to have been empty. McArthur had told them the owner was abroad. For the hundredth time since the incident the day before, Seth found himself silently crying out in his head. And now he was hooked into McArthur even more surely than ever, all the dreams he’d had of breaking away and getting a respectable job smashed for good. But the terrible thing, the thing that had kept him awake ever since, was that he had ended someone’s life. He, Seth Croft.
Born to Trouble Page 1
