Chapter Twenty-One
The Black Hat Club was comfortably full, admission reserved to members only. Men in dinner jackets sat around green-baized tables, some with fat cigars hanging from nonchalant lips as they eyed the cards they held.
Over in the far comer of the ornate, smoky room, another group of men stood around a roulette wheel, some gambling for fun, others as if their lives depended on the outcome of the next spin. Frankie stared down at the red and black numbers, his fingers curled around the dice he held, his mind clearly elsewhere. Normally he enjoyed his nights at the gaming club. To Frankie, gambling was a sport he indulged in for sheer fun, and unlike many of his companions, he set himself a limit and stuck to it religiously, always quitting if and when his luck was out.
Tonight, though, his mind wasn’t on the game.
‘Are you playing, sir?’
Fred Green and Joe Perkins exchanged worried glances as Frankie continued to stare unseeingly at the roulette table. At an encouraging nod from Joe, Fred nudged Frankie gently in the ribs. ‘Guv! You all right, Guv?’
Frankie started, his eyes going first to the hovering Fred, then to the waiting croupier. ‘Sorry. Me mind’s somewhere else tonight.’ Giving the dice a thorough shake he threw them down, his eyes lighting up in pleasure as seven rolled face upwards. Collecting his winnings, he turned to his men. ‘I don’t feel like playing any more tonight, lads. You stay on if you want, I’m off home.’
The two men stood undecided, then Fred, his craggy face creased into lines of concern, asked, ‘What’s up, Guv? You’ve been quiet all night.’ A few years ago, he wouldn’t have dared be so familiar, but since Frankie had married, the former hard man had mellowed considerably. Not that he had turned soft, far from it, but he had become more approachable in later years. Except for the past few weeks.
As the two men followed the tall figure from the club, they looked to each other for explanation of Frankie’s strange mood. Finding none, they hurried after him, a man they would protect with their lives if necessary. There hadn’t been as much call for their services since Frankie had turned respectable, yet there were still people who would love to see him in a pine box. With this in mind, they shouldered their way into the foyer, keeping the compelling figure in clear view at all times. They had been with Frankie since their teenage years, ducking and diving the local constabulary in a way that was second nature to the cheeky, brash Cockney youths.
There had never been any doubt about accepting Frankie Buchannon as their leader. It had been clear, even at an early age, that Frankie was different from the other petty thieves that littered the East End. He had brains and cunning, and he wasn’t afraid to take risks. Both men’s earliest jobs had been to protect him from anyone nursing a grudge, and there had been many such people back then.
As Frankie had slowly climbed the ladder to success, Fred and Joe, related now by marriage, had clung to their governor’s coat-tails with grim determination not to be left behind, like some of their former mates. Now they managed a thriving textile factory between them, with only Frankie to answer to. To both men their rise in fortune had been like a dream come true and if, sometimes, they hankered for the excitement of the old days, they comforted themselves by remembering that they were too old for such carryings-on now.
Dogging Frankie’s rapid footsteps, Fred and Joe, their movements edgy, fell into step either side of him. He no longer asked for their services as bodyguards. It was something they accepted as part of their vocation, and it was a task they took on gladly. They might well be respectable managers of a large business, but deep down they were still Frankie’s boys. Always had been, always would be, and their loyalty to the man who had saved them from the gutter remained fierce and unwavering.
* * *
‘Oh, Auntie, I should never have given Sally all that money. I should have known she’d keep coming back for more. But I felt so sorry for her, and when I remembered what she did for me…’
‘That’s enough of that talk.’ Mary cut in brusquely. Pouring a large measure from a half-empty wine bottle, she went on, ‘I’m sick of hearing you go on about what that trollop did for you. Never mind about giving her money, she’s asking for a smack in the mouth. If she hadn’t found you that night, someone else would’ve. Besides…’ Mary lowered her voice in case the two maids, dismissed for the night, might somehow be listening in to the conversation taking place in the large, comfortable kitchen that Mary thought of as her domain. ‘Whatever she did for you in the past, she’s been bleeding well paid for it.’
Peering over a cup of cocoa, Rose looked across the kitchen table with appealing eyes. ‘I know, Auntie. But I still feel bad. I can’t help it. Even more so now, after I went for her like that. She was hurt, really hurt. I know you think she was putting it on but you didn’t hear that horrible sound when her head hit the side of the bureau. It made me feel sick.’ Then another, more frightening, thought gripped her. Putting down the cup with trembling hands she said, shakily, ‘Do you think she was bluffing about seeing Jack, Auntie? What if she was telling the truth about him being back in London? If she is, then she could tell him about Vicky out of sheer spite. Oh, God! I couldn’t bear it if he found out. Not after all these years. I have a new life now, and you know what Jack’s like. If he—’
‘If Jack will what, Rosie?’
Both women spun round on their chairs, their mouths agape in shock at seeing the imposing figure lounging in the open doorway.
Rose was the first to find her voice. Pasting a smile on her lips, she cried, ‘Frank! What are you doing back so early? I didn’t—’
His eyes hard, Frank stalked across the kitchen, pulling off his heavy overcoat. ‘Cut the crap, Rosie. I want to hear more about our old friend Jack. Been to pay you a visit, has he?’ He hooked a foot around the leg of a chair and pulled it from under the table. Folding his long frame down he surveyed the two nervous women with a cold stare. ‘I knew something was going on. You’ve been going round with a face like a smacked arse for weeks.’ Reaching across the table for the wine bottle he put the neck to his lips and took a large swallow.
Rose’s hand went to her throat in alarm. ‘No, Frank. You’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t seen Jack since that day he came here looking for me, I swear to you, I haven’t.’
Frank’s fist crashed down on the table and he bawled, ‘Don’t give me any of that old cobblers, Rose. I’ve just heard you talking about him. Christ Almighty!’ Frank’s free hand smacked against his forehead in growing anger. The sound caused Rose to wince as if that same hand had struck her instead. ‘I can’t believe you’d sit there and lie to me face. An’ don’t try and tell me I must have heard wrong, ’cos there’s nothing the matter with me hearing an’…’
Stung by the recrimination in her husband’s voice Rose could only stare at him in growing dismay as she braced herself to come clean and tell him what had been going on. But Mary retaliated first. Her initial shock at seeing Frankie home had faded and Mary’s own considerable temper had begun to boil. Leaning her full weight on the table, she thrust a thick finger under his nose and roared, ‘Well, it’s a pity your brain ain’t working so well as your bleeding ears then, ain’t it, lad? ’Cos if it was, you’d know our Rosie would never go sneaking behind your back to another man. And if, by some strange miracle, she did start cheating on you, d’yer really think for one minute I’d sit back and let her get on with it? Gawd blimey, Frank, you should know better than that.’
Thrown by her fierce attack, Frankie lowered the wine bottle and sat up straighter, his handsome face taking on a look of perplexity as he realised he’d been wrong in his quick assumptions. Feeling like a small boy caught out in a minor misdemeanour, he looked guiltily at Mary’s glowering face, then turned to the visibly distressed Rose. His eyebrows drew together in a questioning line.
‘All right, so I was wrong about you seeing Adams,’ he muttered, rubbing his chin in agitation. ‘But something’s going on here, and it’s got some
thing to do with him. So let’s be having it, Rosie. What’s going on?’
Rose swallowed apprehensively, her eyes on Mary for moral support.
‘Well, go on then,’ Mary urged persistently, ‘Tell him. Or, by hell, I will, me girl.’
Rose said, breathlessly, ‘I intend to, Auntie, if you’ll just let me get a word in edgeways!’ Then she fidgeted on her chair for a few seconds while she composed herself. When she started to speak, her voice sounded stronger than she felt as she began to unburden herself to her distracted husband. And as Frankie listened he felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. For weeks now, ever since he had found out that Jack Adams was back in London, he had been filled with dread – of what, he couldn’t put into words, it was just a feeling he couldn’t shake off. And when Rose had begun to act strangely, he had imagined his worst fears had been realised. Then, to come home early and catch her and Mary talking about Jack! And all the time it had been that bitch Sally, blackmailing Rose.
The stupid bitch! The drink must have rotted her brain if she thought she could get the better of Frankie Buchannon, or any member of his family. Whatever good she’d done in the past had been wiped out in a single stroke by her underhand dealings. To try to cadge a bit of money to survive was one thing, but to threaten to tell Jack Adams about Vicky, the child that he, Frankie, had raised as his own and thought of as his own, that was something else. The spiteful bitch could blow his family apart if she wasn’t stopped. A slow burning rage coursed through his lean, muscular frame. He’d see Sally dead before he let her destroy all he had worked for.
‘Frank!’ Rose was gazing at him with fearful eyes.
Pushing back his chair, Frankie strode swiftly to her side, dropped to one knee and put his arms around her waist. Looking up at the watchful Mary he asked, ‘Give us a minute, will you, Mary?’ And Mary, her bearing purposeful, nodded and left them alone.
Cupping the strong face in her hands Rose gazed tenderly into the dark brown eyes. ‘How could you ever think I’d betray you, Frank? I’d rather cut my wrists than hurt you. You’re everything in the world to me. Whatever Jack and I had was over the day I married you. I love you, Frank. In every way one can love, I love you.’
With a cry of shame Frankie caught hold of the slender hands and kissed them fervently. ‘Oh, Princess. I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll never doubt you again. On my life, I’ll never cause you another minute’s pain.’ He gathered her up from the chair into his strong arms and buried his face in the luxuriant copper hair. ‘I’d die for you, Princess. Without a moment’s thought. I’d die for you.’
Rose murmured, ‘There’s no need for that, darling. As long as I have your love and trust, I won’t ask anything more of you.’
They remained locked together for a few precious moments, then Frankie, feeling a growing urgency to settle things with Sally, drew away reluctantly. ‘Listen, Princess, I’ve gotta go out for a while… No, it’s all right. I’m not gonna do anything terrible,’ he reassured her, as she pulled away in alarm. ‘I just want to go an’ have a word with Sally. Once she knows you’ve told me what’s been going on, she won’t give us any more trouble. I’ll give her enough money to keep her mouth shut. ’Ere, hang on, I don’t know where she lives, do I?’ Frankie smiled down into Rose’s worried eyes. ‘Gawd blimey, Princess, don’t look at me like that. I ain’t gonna do anything to Sally, honest! Now, you tell me where I can find her. She did say where she was living, didn’t she, Princess?’
‘Yes, but, Frank—’
As Rose made to protest fearfully, he bent down and kissed her lips. ‘Trust me, Princess. Leave it to me to sort out.’
Filled with foreboding yet trusting him to keep his word, Rose reluctantly gave him Sally’s address. ‘She’s living in that old tenement building down Morning Lane. It’s number eleven, on the third floor, I think. Frank, I wish you wouldn’t!’
Knowing Rose wasn’t convinced of his intentions, Frank tilted her chin up. ‘Look, Princess, I know I’ve let me temper get the better of me in the past, but I ain’t gonna do anything to spoil what we’ve got. I ain’t that stupid. Trust me, Princess.’
Eager to get away, he ran up to his study. Quickly he opened the wall safe, extracted six five-pound notes and stuffed them into his wallet. His eyes were cold with menace. The thought of giving that cow more money to keep her trap shut filled him with rage, but he had promised Rose. Still, accidents happen. He would give Sally the money as promised and he’d give her something else to remember him by too. By the time he’d finished with the filthy slag, she’d wish she’d never tried it on with Rosie. Remembering that he had said he would not harm Sally, Frankie’s lips curved into a chilling smile. He was going to keep his promise to give her some money – and one out of two promises kept wasn’t bad, was it?
‘What are you doing, Papa?’
The sleepy child’s voice surprised Frankie. In an instant he became the loving father. Scooping up the tousle-haired little girl into his arms he gently kissed the coppery curls saying lightly, ‘What are you doing up at this time of night, you little horror? Your mother won’t half be cross if she hears you out of bed.’ Cuddling the warm body close, Frankie carried his daughter back to her room admonishing her quietly, ‘Be a good girl and go back to sleep, sweetheart.’ Tucking a thick yellow quilt around her, Frankie bent down and planted a kiss on the smooth forehead. ‘Night, night, darling. See you in the morning.’
The little bundle turned on to her side, murmuring drowsily, ‘Night, night, Papa. I love you.’
‘I love you too, sweetheart,’ Frankie whispered. Then he looked down at the other bed and the small shape fast asleep beneath a matching quilt. He pushed back a lock of dark brown hair from his son’s cheek, bent and kissed him, too, before tiptoeing out of the room. On the landing, his expression hardened once more as he thought of Sally’s threat to tell Jack Adams about Vicky. Fuelled with rage and anxiety, Frankie took the stairs two at a time and grabbed a heavy coat from the hall-stand. Shrugging his arms into the sleeves, he heard Rose calling out to him to wait. Jamming a hat down over his ears, Frank went out into the night.
* * *
Fred and Joe were strolling idly down the Mile End Road, heading for home, when a carriage drew up alongside them. ‘Get in. I’ve got a job for you both.’ The terse command brooked no argument, and the two men climbed in.
Frankie was slumped in one corner, his face hidden in the shadows, his mind seething. To think that that bitch could turn up after all these years and threaten his family! He’d say one thing in Sally’s favour: she had guts. She had always stood up to him, had never been afraid to tell him exactly what she thought, even when her efforts had earned her a smack in the mouth. But she’d gone too far this time. As the carriage rolled over the damp cobblestones through the dark December night, Frankie pondered on how Sally could hurt him if she wanted to.
He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined he could love Jack Adams’s offspring. He had been more than prepared to bring the child up as his own for Rose’s sake because, as he had kept reminding himself during those long, anxious months waiting for the birth, the child would be Rose’s too, and he had been determined to concentrate on that factor. But the moment the tiny scrap of humanity had been placed in his arms, something had happened inside him. And when the hazy blue eyes had opened and peered at him uncertainly, then closed trustfully again, some tiny corner of him had opened up and reached out to the child. From that moment on Victoria had been his child, his daughter, and he loved her with every fibre in his body. During the first years of his marriage, Frankie had never been happier or more content. He had willingly accepted the platonic relationship that existed between himself and Rose, assuaging his physical needs with a variety of short-term mistresses. But since the first night he and Rose had come together as man and wife, Frankie had never looked at another woman – he no longer needed to.
When Rose had told him she was pregnant, he had experienced a disquiet that had mome
ntarily overshadowed his elation at the news: he had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to love any other child as much as he loved his daughter. Yet when his son was born, he had discovered that love for a child is all encompassing and unconditional, be it for one child or ten. Nor could the intense depth of such love be explained. It was just there.
He had often wondered what sort of father he would make, imagining himself too selfish and caught up in his own affairs to make a good one. Now he knew differently. Frankie shifted restlessly on the carriage seat. He had everything now that he had ever dreamed of, but if Sally opened her big mouth to Jack Adams – and he knew that she wouldn’t hesitate if thwarted – then Jack could well cause trouble. He wasn’t the kind of man to ignore his own child. Frankie wasn’t afraid that he could take Victoria from him – as far as the law was concerned she was his: she had been born inside marriage and she had his name on her birth certificate. But Jack could make life difficult, especially if he insisted that Victoria be told of her parentage. And Adams wasn’t a lowly constable any more. He was now an inspector and, as such, a man with considerable clout.
Damn that woman. Damn her to hell for coming back into their lives.
When the driver pulled up outside a seedy tenement block, Frankie was the first to jump out on to the pavement. Issuing a curt command to his men to stay with the carriage, Frankie tore up the rickety stairway, heedless of the damp, decaying walls that brushed against his smart overcoat. There was only one thing on his mind and that was to silence Sally, once and for all. He had come prepared with thirty pounds, a fortune to someone like Sally Higgins, but if that wasn’t enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to resort to other, more certain, methods.
The stairway and landings were dark, but Frankie found the number he was looking for. Lifting a gloved hand he rapped sharply on the peeling door. There was no answer. His pounding became more insistent as his anger grew, and several other doors opened. Frankie faced the gloomy figures: ‘Piss off, and mind your own business.’
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