by Dilly Court
Ruby took a mouthful of pie and forced herself to swallow it. Normally this would have been a real treat but tonight the food stuck in her throat. Doctors were clever, well-educated men who had studied for years; she couldn’t believe that there was nothing they could do for Poppa and, even if Mum didn’t realise it, Ruby knew that lead poisoning was often fatal.
‘Is that last piece of pie going begging?’ Granny Mole rattled her fork on her empty plate. ‘D’you want to see me fade away for want of food?’
‘Billy Noakes’s horse eats less than you do, Ma,’ Sarah said, with a flash of her old humour, winking at Ruby as she cut the last slice of the pie in half. ‘Pass that to your gran and mind she don’t bite your finger off an’ all.’
‘Yes, and you’d take me down the knacker’s yard as soon as look at me,’ grumbled Granny, grabbing the plate. ‘You wait till you’re old and feeble, Sal. Let’s hope your girls treats you like what you deserve.’
Sarah shot Ruby one of her rare smiles. ‘I dunno about Rosetta, she’s a flighty piece and her head’s stuffed full of nonsense. I just hope she finds a decent job and that she’ll get fed up staying with Lottie and come home.’
‘That Carlottie’s a tart,’ observed Granny Mole through a mouthful of pie.
‘Lottie’s too old for that sort of nonsense now, Ma.’ Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah turned to Ruby, smiling. ‘At least I know I can rely on my Ruby. How many girls would take their sister’s place in that stinking sweatshop just to help their family? How did your day go, love?’
Ruby pushed her plate away. ‘Mum, I got something to tell you.’
The news that Ruby had not been paid paled into nothing compared to the shocking knowledge that one of the street gangs was working so close to home. Granny Mole insisted that Sarah stuck a chair under the door handle, just in case the lock was not strong enough to keep intruders out. Aldo sat with tears running down his sunken cheeks, bemoaning the fact that he was too weak to protect his family; only Sarah remained calm, demanding to hear every last detail of the attack. However, Ruby was quick to notice that, after Granny Mole and Aldo had been put to bed, Mum wedged a chair under the door handle.
‘I’m only doing it to keep your gran happy,’ she said, meeting Ruby’s eyes with a careless shrug.
‘Yes, Mum.’ Ruby was about to make the fire safe for the night, but Sarah pushed her out of the way.
‘You get yourself to bed, ducks. You’ve had a time of it today.’
Any form of sympathy from her mother was so rare that Ruby was touched almost to the point of tears. She had grown up knowing that Rosetta with her rebellious, high-spirited ways was her mother’s favourite, and Joe was Mum’s pride and joy in spite of his weaknesses. Between them, Ruby thought, swallowing a lump in her throat, Joe and Rosetta would break Mum’s heart. It would be bad enough when Mum discovered that Rosetta was about to join the chorus, but she must never find out what had really happened tonight in Bronski’s sweatshop.
Having banked the fire with damp cinders, Sarah scrambled to her feet. ‘At least we’ll have a good blaze to see us through Christmas Day. I never thought as how I’d say it, but thank God for Billy Noakes. He may be a bit of a villain but he come through with enough money to keep us going until you get paid again, Ruby.’
‘Mum, I can’t go back to Bronski’s,’ Rosetta said, staring at her in horror. ‘They’ll find out I ain’t Rosetta and I’ll get moved from the machines because I’m not skilled at it like she was. If I can’t work the machines I won’t earn hardly nothing.’
‘Well, something is better than nothing at all. You only got to do it until Aldo gets well again, then you can go back to the arches. We’re all relying on you, Ruby.’ Sarah took a saucepan off the trivet and lowered it into a haybox by the side of the fireplace, giving the porridge a final stir before clamping on the lid. ‘There, that’ll be ready for breakfast and, with a bit of luck, Joe will be here to share it with us. He’s bound to come and visit his family on Christmas Day. My Joe never lets me down.’
Upstairs, in the tiny back bedroom, Granny Mole lay on her back in her narrow iron bed, her chin sagging onto her flat chest and her mouth open wide. Through blackened stumps of teeth, like a row of tumbledown cottages, Granny Mole’s snoring rattled and wheezed, echoing off the whitewashed walls. Ruby huddled beneath a blanket on the mattress that she had always shared with Rosetta. In the flickering light of a candle stub, she slid her hand between the mattress and the bare floorboards and pulled out two medical books. Straining her eyes to read and missing the familiar warmth of Rosetta’s body, Ruby absorbed everything she could find on the symptoms and treatment of lead poisoning. After a while, the words began to wriggle around in front of her eyes like dozens of tiny tadpoles and her eyelids were too heavy to keep them open. She blew out the candle and curled up in a ball, falling asleep to the rhythm of Granny Mole’s pig-squealing snores.
Next morning, Ruby came downstairs to find Mum and Granny Mole seated at the table with steaming bowls of porridge in front of them. The room was warm and, after smouldering all night, the fire had been coaxed back to life, sending blue-tipped, orange flames licking up the chimney. Helping herself to some porridge, Ruby went to sit at the table.
Granny Mole scraped her plate clean and licked her spoon. ‘That were a breakfast fit for a queen, Sal. I could manage a bit more.’
‘What about Poppa?’ Ruby demanded, glancing anxiously at Sarah.
‘Your dad’s sleeping so sound I didn’t want to wake him,’ Sarah said, heaving herself off her chair and picking up Granny’s empty plate. ‘I’ll make him some bread and milk when he wakes.’
Ruby reached for the sugar bowl but Granny Mole grabbed it first and clung to it, glaring at her.
‘Ma, let Ruby have the sugar,’ Sarah said, holding the bowl of porridge just out of Granny’s reach.
‘She don’t need it. I’m a feeble old woman; I needs me nourishment.’
A loud banging on the front door startled them all into silence. The handle rattled and the chair moved an inch or two but held firm.
‘It’s the gang,’ muttered Granny, snatching the plate of porridge from Sarah.
‘Mum, let me in.’
‘Joe!’ Sarah ran to the door, pulled the chair away and turned the key in the lock.
Joe burst into the room and flung his arms around his mother, lifting her clean off her feet. ‘Merry Christmas.’
Ruby leapt to her feet. ‘Joe!’
Setting Sarah down with a smacking kiss on her cheek, Joe strode past Granny, dropping a kiss on the top of her grizzled head and wrapped his arms around Ruby in a bear hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Ruby.’ He brushed her cheek with his lips, whispering in her ear, ‘You ain’t said nothing?’
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Ruby hissed. ‘What d’you take me for?’
‘It’s rude to whisper,’ Sarah said, taking the plate of porridge from Granny before she had time to start eating and pressing it into Joe’s hands. ‘Sit down, son. Have some breakfast and I’ll make a fresh brew of tea.’
‘Here,’ cried Granny, glaring at Joe. ‘That’s mine, you cheeky young bugger.’
Joe gave it back to her. ‘Don’t worry, Gran. I ain’t hungry.’
‘I’ll make the tea, Mum,’ Ruby said, picking up the teapot. ‘You sit down and take it easy. Joe can give us a hand.’
Sarah sat down, smiling happily. ‘Well, now I know it’s Christmas.’
Dragging Joe into the scullery, Ruby shut the door. ‘Don’t you go upsetting Mum.’
‘You worry too much, Ruby,’ Joe said, giving her hair a playful tug. ‘It’s Christmas and I’ve brought presents.’ Shoving his hand deep in his coat pocket, he brought out several packages wrapped in brown paper and handed one to Ruby. ‘Ta, for what you done last night. You saved me bacon.’
Staring down at the small parcel lying in the palm of her hand, Ruby shook her head. ‘I don’t want nothing bought with stolen money.’
‘It ai
n’t what you think.’
‘You was with the gang. You stole that money.’
‘No, I swear I didn’t get none of it.’ Joe seized her hand, closing her fingers over the present. ‘You got to believe me. I was there, yes, but I had no choice.’
‘Of course you had a choice.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Joe’s voice broke in a hoarse whisper. ‘I got into bad company, Ruby. I lost money at the gaming tables.’
Ruby stared at him aghast. ‘Gambling! Joe, you never.’
‘Once you get started on that route you can’t stop. You wins a bit and then you loses and you think you can win it back easy. Just one more time and you’ll stop – but it don’t work like that. Afore I knew it I was in too deep to get out. Aunt Lottie lent me a stake …’
‘Aunt Lottie! Oh, Joe! You should have knowed better. Gambling’s done for her good and proper.’
‘She tried to straighten me out. But I’d lost a pile of money in Jonas Crowe’s place. I couldn’t honour me debt and it was only then I found out he was running a street gang. He said I’d have to do a job with them or get me legs busted.’
Before Ruby could answer, Sarah opened the scullery door. ‘What’s going on? What are you two nattering about?’
‘Just catching up, Mum,’ Ruby said, filling the kettle from the tap. ‘Won’t be a tick.’
‘Oh, you two!’ Sarah said, smiling. ‘You was always thick as thieves. We just need Rosetta to turn up and it’ll make my day. Give us the kettle and I’ll stick it on the hob.’ Taking the kettle, she bustled back into the living room.
‘How could you be so blooming stupid, Joe?’ Ruby demanded through clenched teeth. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve got yourself into?’
‘Don’t fuss, sis. I can sort it. I ain’t a kid.
‘No, you’re an idiot. I’m furious with you, Joe, for being so – so pathetic.’
Slipping his arm round her shoulders, Joe gave Ruby a hug. ‘Come on, it’s Christmas. Don’t be mad at me, Ruby.’
Dashing angry tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, Ruby shook her head. ‘The women at Bronski’s lost their wages in that robbery, Joe. There’s families that won’t have anything to eat because of it.’
‘I really am sorry for them and I know I was a mug, but I swear I’ll make it right somehow. Can’t we forget it for just one day, Ruby? After all, it is Christmas.’
Unable to resist his winning smile, Ruby nodded. ‘All right, but you haven’t heard the last of this, Joe Capretti.’
Hugging her, Joe kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘Open your present. It’s just a bead necklace but I bought it with me wages. I never had a penny of that stolen money, you got to believe me, and next time I’ll let them break me legs. Will that make you happy?’
Ruby sniffed and gave him a watery smile. ‘What am I going to do with you, Joe?’
‘Just say you forgive me, Ruby.’
‘I do, of course I do. Just promise me you’ll steer clear of the gangs and the gaming tables.’
‘I promise. Cross me heart and hope to die.’
Opening the package, Ruby held up the string of brightly coloured, glass beads. ‘It’s really lovely. Ta.’
At the sound of Sarah’s voice demanding the teapot, Ruby and Joe hurried into the living room. Granny Mole had nodded off and Sarah set about making the tea, chattering happily about everything turning out for the best. Ruby sat down by the fire, praying that it was true.
Sarah handed Joe a mug of tea. ‘You take this up to your dad, Joe. The sight of you will do him more good than any medicine.’
‘It’s not like him to sleep on, but I’ll be the first to wish him Merry Christmas,’ Joe said, taking the stairs two at a time.
Granny Mole woke up with a start, spotted the present that Joe had placed on her lap while she slept, and ripped the paper off with an exultant cry. ‘Fry’s Chocolate Crème!’ A thin dribble of saliva ran down her chin.
‘Oh my!’ Sarah’s eyes opened wide as she held up a string of pearl beads. ‘That boy! He’ll never be rich, spending all his money on us. I’ll tell him off good and proper when he comes down. What’s yours, Ruby? You’re keeping very quiet.’
Ruby was about to show them her necklace but froze, hearing an anguished cry from above. Clattering down the stairs and jumping the last three steps, Joe skittered to a halt, white-faced and trembling, with tears pouring down his cheeks. ‘It’s Poppa! I can’t wake him. I think he’s dead.’
Chapter Four
A bone-chilling east wind that must have come straight from Siberia rampaged around the cemetery, tugging at the black veils of the mourners and toppling hats onto the mud. Clutching one of Aunt Lottie’s fur-lined cloaks around her, Rosetta was grateful for its warmth, even if it smelt strongly of mothballs and was at least twenty years out of fashion. Father Brennan had said the last few words at the graveside and now everyone stood around, awkward and shivering, waiting for someone to make a move but unwilling to be the first. Staring down at the earth-strewn lid of the oak coffin Rosetta found it hard to imagine Poppa lying down there all alone in the dark. In fact, it was almost impossible to believe that he was gone forever; that she would never again be able to take her problems to him, listen to his stories about the old country, or have him call her his ‘little Rosa’ and tell her she was pretty. When Joe had come to the house in Raven Street on Christmas Day, bearing the sad news, it had seemed like a bad dream. She had cried herself to sleep night after night and now, to her surprise, she had no more tears to shed. Mum and Ruby had wept openly during the funeral service but Granny Mole had remained dry-eyed, giving Father Brennan the occasional black look and scowling at Lottie.
Feeling strangely detached, as though she was merely part of the audience, watching a play or a show at the Falstaff, Rosetta looked round at the black-clad mourners. Aunt Lottie was leaning on Sly, who wore an ancient mourning suit that was green-tinged and probably on loan from Mr Wilby, the professional mourner. Sly was clutching a packet of Woodbines in one hand, patting Lottie’s shoulder with the other, and had the haunted look of a man dying for a smoke. Mum stood on the far side of the grave, supported by Joe and Ruby. Granny had gone to sit on the nearest flat tombstone, setting herself apart and glowering like a grumpy gnome. The cousins from Wapping, who only turned up for weddings and funerals and then, so Mum always said, just for the food and drink, hovered in the background. Rosetta was pleased and touched to see that Big Biddy and Winnie had come to pay their respects, although they had never known Aldo; still, that was the East End for you: when times were bad, folks rallied round.
Father Brennan, having said a few words to Sarah, was coming her way and Rosetta would have liked to make a run for it, but it would hardly be fitting on such a serious occasion.
‘You haven’t been to Mass for a long time, Rosetta.’ Father Brennan’s pale eyes seemed to bore straight into her guilty soul. ‘Nor to confession.’
‘No, Father. I’m sorry.’ Rosetta could feel the colour rising to her cheeks at the thought of confessing that she danced on the stage, half-naked by Father Brennan’s standards, in front of men and for money.
‘Your father was a good man, Rosetta. I hope you know your duty as a good Catholic and a good daughter.’
Snakes of guilt and shame writhed in Rosetta’s stomach and she nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘I will expect to see you at Mass on Sunday.’
As she watched Father Brennan heading towards Lottie, his stern expression melting into a smile, Rosetta couldn’t help wondering just how much money Aunt Lottie had put into the poor box to salve her India-rubber conscience. Never one to miss a theatrical cue, Lottie wept into her handkerchief and leaned heavily on Sly so that his skinny knees bowed beneath her weight. Father Brennan passed on quickly and went back into the church.
With the sudden feeling that someone was looking at her, Rosetta turned her head, and met the unwavering stare of a man standing by the church door. Powerfully bu
ilt, although not much above average in height, he looked like a man used to command, and his expensive clothes contrasted sharply with the shabby garb of the other mourners. His steely blue eyes held Rosetta’s gaze as if she were under some hypnotic spell, but she returned his challenging stare with a raised chin, and a slight feeling of unease. Who was he, this man with the sleek but dangerous allure of a black panther? And what possible interest could he have in the funeral of a humble dollmaker?
‘You all right, Rose?’
Startled out of her trance-like state, Rosetta turned her head to see Billy standing by her side. She hadn’t noticed him in church and she hadn’t expected him to come. ‘I never thought to see you here, Billy.’
‘He were a good bloke,’ Billy said, clearing his throat. ‘I just come to pay me respects.’
Aware that the stranger was watching them, Rosetta nodded and moved away a little. Billy had made the effort to dress up in his Sunday best, but the eye-stabbing mustard and black check of his suit looked garish and out of place amongst the stark black of the mourning party. ‘Good of you to come,’ she murmured.
‘You all right, Rose?’ Billy repeated, shuffling his feet.
‘I’m fine. Don’t let me keep you from your business.’
‘I’ll be off then.’ Disappointment written all over his face, Billy jammed his brown curly-brimmed bowler on his head.
‘You ain’t leaving, are you, Billy?’ Sarah called across the yawning chasm of the grave. ‘You’re welcome to come back to number sixteen for a cup of tea and a biscuit.’
Lottie snapped upright, pushing Sly away. ‘Never mind the tea. We got sherry-wine and fruit cake in our house. In Italy we know how to do things proper.’
‘And we don’t?’ Sarah’s angry voice rose above the wind that ripped through the graveyard.
‘Now you come to mention it, no!’ Lottie said, tossing her head. ‘You English got no heart, you got no soul and you got no style.’
