by Annie Groves
‘In front of the picture house and just before the matinée, say around half past one!’ he told her equally as fast, blowing her a cheeky kiss and then melting away into the busy crowd of shoppers.
Saturday! She was going to see him on Saturday! A surge of happiness shot through her, driving out the misery she had been feeling! Giddy with excitement, Connie started to make plans.
As she got off the tram and headed for the pawnbroker’s shop, Ellie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. To her relief this was at least a reasonably respectable part of the city, but there was no mistaking the meaning of the shop sign, as heavy and threatening as an axe held above her head.
For several nerve-racking minutes she hesitated, walking past the shop and then back again, pausing to look over her shoulder and then into the window, but the ordeal had to be faced.
The inside of the shop was dark and smelled of candle wax and age. The man who shuffled to the counter, peering at her over the top of his spectacles, had a gaze that reminded her of dirty ice.
‘I have come about this,’ Ellie told him shakily, removing her gloves to open her purse and hand him the ticket.
She could feel him studying her, the silence of the shop almost suffocatingly heavy.
‘The watch is my husband’s,’ she told him, desperate to break the quietness. ‘It belonged to his grandfather. I have brought the money – the twenty-five guineas,’ she hurried on, gabbling and breathless in her desire to have her ordeal over, as she tipped the guineas onto the counter. ‘It is all there, the twenty-five guineas. They are the same ones you gave him. I –’
‘Twenty-five guineas? Where is the rest?’
Ellie stared at the pawnbroker, appalled. ‘The rest?’ she stammered. ‘What rest? It is all there…’
‘The amount advanced against the watch is there, but the fee for the loan is not. The arrangement was that the watch could only be redeemed by a payment of an extra five guineas! Did your husband not tell you this?’
‘No…that is not possible!’ Her head reeled. A charge of five guineas to borrow a sum of twenty-five!
‘He…I…the money has been held for barely a week, and to charge such a sum is…is…usurious,’ she protested shakily.
‘Indeed? You may think so but I can assure you that that is the nature of our business.’ The look in the dirty-ice eyes was not kind.
Ellie was beginning to feel sick, her breathing rapid and her skin breaking out in a rash of perspiration. But ladies did not perspire, ladies merely glowed! But then ladies did not go into pawnbrokers’! But she wasn’t a lady, and she was tired of trying to pretend to be one, of trying to be the person her mother had wanted her to be. Her thoughts, disorientated and muddled, swarmed through her head, making it ache.
‘Please, you don’t understand, that watch belonged to my husband’s grandfather. It is of great sentimental value to him.’
When the pawnbroker made no response, she protested, ‘I do not have five guineas. I do not have –’
‘Is there a problem, Father?’
Ellie tensed as a younger man came out from the back of the shop. Taller than his father, he nevertheless possessed the same features.
‘My husband pawned his watch here for the sum of twenty-five guineas,’ Ellie told him quickly. ‘I have come to redeem it but now I am told there is a fee to pay of an additional five guineas, which I do not have. I have no money at all…’ She felt shamefully close to tears brought on by the sheer misery of what she was enduring.
‘No money? I see. Well, in that case…’ he was shaking his head but then suddenly he stopped. ‘I see that you are wearing a pretty little ring.’
Instinctively Ellie covered her left hand and her engagement ring, but to her humiliation he simply laughed and told her, ‘No, not that one. It is plain to see that it is merely paste.’
Merely paste! Her engagement ring!
‘No, I was meaning the other ring you are wearing.’
The other ring…her mother’s ring. Ellie felt as though she was going to choke. There was a huge lump in her throat, a huge welling ache of desolation. Silently she slid the ring off and pushed it across the mahogany-topped counter.
Smiling, the young man picked it up. ‘It is not a particularly valuable piece but the stone is a pretty one, though small, and the gold of good quality. I am being a fool to myself in doing this, but…’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Give her the watch, Father.’
Dry-eyed, Ellie picked up the watch, carefully checking it to make sure that it was Henry’s.
She had no idea how much time she had spent in the pawnbroker’s but what she did know was that when she stepped outside it again she was changed for ever.
The last of her girlhood was gone, in every sense. There was a thinness on her right hand where her mother’s ring had been, a coldness that matched the tight band of pain around her heart. In half an hour’s time she was due to meet Cecily and when she did…Ellie took a deep breath. It was no use her having any false pride. She had known this morning, when her housekeeping had been reduced again, what she must say to her cousin, how she must lower her pride and beg Cecily for her help.
‘Ellie, what is wrong? You are not yourself at all today,’ Cecily complained gently as she broke off her conversation to study her cousin worriedly.
Screwing up her courage, Ellie took a deep breath. ‘I…Cecily, if that friend of yours should mention again that she likes the dress I made for the baby, would you tell her…would you tell her that you can furnish her with my name and that I would be pleased to make up something similar for her – and for any other of your friends who might want any sewing done and are prepared to pay me for it.’
Cecily didn’t try to conceal her shock. ‘Ellie, what are you saying? What on earth –’
‘I need to earn some money, Cecily,’ Ellie blurted out, her face burning with embarrassment and shame. ‘I…Henry…Henry’s father pays him the merest pittance and…and…’ Tears of anger pricked her eyes.
‘Ellie, oh my dear! I had wondered that you did not have proper servants, but I had no idea…’
‘I hate having to raise such a matter with you, Cecily, but you and Iris have both said that I could earn my living with my needle and now I am very much afraid that I must, for if I do not we shall soon be dressed in rags, as well as having only the poorest food to eat and no coals with which to make a fire.’ Ellie caught herself up as she saw how distressed Cecily was looking.
‘Oh Ellie, I am so sorry. Of course I shall tell my friends. You may depend upon it.’
Gideon had almost reached his two newly acquired properties when a boy came flying round the corner, running as fast as his thin bare legs could carry him, his head turning to look back in the direction he had just come so that he all but cannoned into Gideon.
Automatically Gideon reached out to steady him, cursing as he twisted violently in his grip like an eel.
‘Hoy there! Hold onto that boy, will you? The young varmint has just stolen a pie from my shop.’
Beneath his grip Gideon could feel the sharp bones, the thin body hunching defensively. The boy was filthy, his clothes little more than rags, his shoes, Gideon realised as he looked down at him, at least a couple of sizes too big and stuffed with newspapers to make them fit and keep out the rain.
Sharp flinty eyes, feral as a wild animal’s, savaged him with fury. The small tow head bent towards his wrist, his lips curling back from his teeth. Immediately, Gideon took evasive action. The boy was so thin that even with only one good arm Gideon was able to lift him and swing him off the ground.
‘Go on then, hit me,’ the boy told him, cursing richly.
The stallholder had reached them now, red-faced and out of breath.
‘Little varmint. Deserves to be hanged. This isn’t the first time he’s stolen off of my stall.’
‘Well, you ain’t getting it back,’ the boy told him unrepentantly. ‘Wouldn’t have sold it anyway. Off, it was, and you should have the law on
you, you should. That’s no mutton you’ve got in them pies – more like rat.’
‘Why, you…’Ere, give him to me,’ the stallholder demanded.
Without taking his eyes off the boy, Gideon asked the stallholder, ‘How much was the pie?’
‘Thruppence. No, sixpence!’
‘Thruppence. He’s lying. Got a big sign up saying they’re a penny, four for thruppence. Not that anyone in their right senses ‘ud want four!’ The boy swore and spat. ‘Not worth a farthing, it weren’t. Give me gut rot, it will, if it don’t kill me altogether.’
Reaching into his trouser pocket, Gideon removed a silver sixpence and gave it to the glowering man.
‘You best take it before I change my mind,’ he warned him.
Having tested the coin with his teeth to make sure it was real, the man pocketed it and walked away, still muttering under his breath.
‘What did you do that for?’ the urchin asked Gideon once the stallholder had turned the corner.
‘I don’t know,’ Gideon admitted, and it was the truth. He wasn’t normally given to sentimental impulses, and there was nothing about the boy that was remotely deserving of either his protection or his generosity. Quite the opposite.
‘Wot’s the likes of you doing down here anyway?’ the boy challenged him. ‘Come whoring, have you? That’s wot normally brings you toffs down here. Should’a thought you were more of a stage door Johnny type m’sel’, wi’ them fine clothes!’
Filthy fingers felt the fabric of Gideon’s coat. ‘Nice bit o’ worsted. Mind you don’t take it off. Them girls will have it away and sold before you can say Jack Robinson. But if you’re looking for a woman, there’s a house three up. Mind you ask for Katie, though; she’s clean and young, and don’t let them fob you off with Sally. She ain’t even got any teeth!’
‘I am not looking for a woman,’ Gideon told him grimly, releasing him.
‘Then wot are you doing down here?’
‘I have come to look at some property I have recently acquired. Not that it is any of your business.’
‘Property? Down here?’ The too-old eyes in the young face suddenly rounded. ‘ ’Ere, you ain’t the one that’s gone and bought them two terraces from under Bill Connolly’s nose, are you? You are!’ he breathed in wonderment when Gideon made no response. ‘Aye, well, no wonder you was fool enough to part with a silver sixpence to old Robber Harry, for a pie you wouldn’t give a dog. Bill Connolly ’ull make mincemeat of you – aye, and you’ll end up in old Harry’s pies like the rats. You’ll never keep them houses, Bill Connolly ’ull have ’em off you as fast as a sneak thief could have your watch – no, faster. You watch! Freeze you out, he will; put the frighteners on folk so they won’t rent and then put his own rents down. And then, with the places empty, Bill’s mob will be round stripping ’em bare. Surprised they haven’t been in and done it already. Allus a good market for a bit o’ lead flashing…’
Gideon listened impassively to him.
‘Course, if you wanted, me and a few of the lads could keep an eye on the place for you. Cost yer, mind…’
‘What about Mr Connolly’s men?’ Gideon reminded him wryly.
‘Oh, they don’t give us no trouble,’ he boasted, rubbing the side of his nose and giving Gideon a knowing wink. ‘Knows a few things about ’em, we do. Think about it, mister,’ he urged Gideon.
To his own astonishment Gideon discovered that he was doing. Had he run totally mad? It was obvious that this little varmint would take whatever money he was fool enough to give him and disappear. Narrowing his eyes, Gideon looked at him.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ he pronounced. ‘I’ll strike a bargain with you. A week from today, I’ll meet you here, and if I find my properties are, er, unmolested, then I shall pay you sixpence.’
‘Sixpence?’ The boy swore and then spat. ‘A shilling ’ud be robbing us. A shilling each that is, mind, and there ’ud be five of us.’
‘Five shillings?’ Gideon laughed. ‘One shilling between the lot of you, and I’ll throw in a couple of old Harry’s pies apiece!’
‘Robbery it is, but go on then!’
Personally Gideon did not think for one moment that the danger to his property was as great as the boy was suggesting, or indeed, if it was, that he would be of any use in deterring the would-be despoilers, but there was something about his sheer dogged opportunism and sang-froid that Gideon found himself admiring. The boy was a survivor. Like him!
THIRTY-ONE
Connie stared excitedly at her reflection in the mirror. The dress she was wearing was one of Ellie’s cast-offs, but Connie didn’t care, and she didn’t care about Ellie any more either! Why should she? Ellie cared nothing for her; living the life of a rich married lady, and indulging in all kinds of entertainment and fun whilst she, Connie, was forced to live here with the hateful and boring Simpkinses! But now Connie had something exciting happening in her life, something much more exciting than Ellie had ever done. But first she had to escape from the vicarage.
Connie had already planned out how to make her escape. Her uncle was in his study, working on his sermon, and she knew that her aunt would be downstairs in the kitchen, giving the cook her instructions for the coming week.
Connie opened her bedroom door and listened. Having satisfied herself that no one was about, she tiptoed hurriedly down the stairs and into the smaller of the vicarage’s two drawing rooms, hurriedly unlocking the French windows that gave out onto the garden.
Her uncle’s study was on the other side of the house and its window had a view of the front gate, whilst her aunt in the kitchen could easily see her if she attempted to leave by the back, so Connie had decided to make her escape through the garden, avoiding both the gates but making use of a small gap in the hedge, which led directly onto the road.
Once there she could quite easily catch the bus into Preston.
At Ellie’s wedding Uncle Parkes had pressed five shiny new guineas into her hands. Connie had one of them now, and was eagerly planning the treats she was going to enjoy in Preston before she met up with her black-haired admirer.
Picking up her skirts, she hurried across the garden and wriggled through the gap in the hedge. A bus was chugging down the road towards her and she hurried to the stop, giving the conductor a flirtatiously innocent look as he helped her on board.
Preston was busy with Saturday bustle and since she had a good two hours to spare, Connie wandered all round the market, enjoying the admiring looks she was getting from young men, and relishing her freedom.
She would be punished for what she had done when she returned, she knew, but what lay before her was so exciting that she hardly cared.
After treating herself to an ice cream, some impulse had her walking into Friargate.
A spotty young apprentice, whom she didn’t recognise, was standing idly in her father’s shop and Connie frowned to see it so empty of customers. A red-haired woman emerged from the door to the house, her stomach distended, and then, as Connie watched, she saw her father come out to join her.
Connie would have called out to him and run to join him, but for some reason she found that she did not want to.
Her father looked older, and somehow different: his shoulders were hunched and he had a cowed air about him.
When they walked down the street away from her, Connie could hear the woman berating her father. As she turned away from them, tears filled Connie’s eyes.
But she didn’t stay unhappy for very long. It was almost time for her to meet up with her admirer, and she started to make her way towards the picture house.
To her relief he was standing looking for her, and the black hair was neatly brushed, even if the suit he was wearing looked uncomfortably tight. Connie didn’t care. The moment she had seen him her heart had lifted, and she was suffused with joy and excitement; and shyness. She half hesitated, urged by an unfamiliar emotion to turn and quickly walk away, but then he saw her and started to walk towards her, swagg
ering slightly, a wide grin on his face, and it was too late.
‘Came, then? I knew you would,’ he announced boldly, the dark eyes approving her in a way that made her feel giddy.
Months of reading the maid Polly’s penny-dreadful stories in secret in her bedroom had given Connie a yearning to encounter the same kind of dramatic love experienced by the heroines, the kind of love that would transform her life and rescue her from her misery at the vicarage. And now suddenly Connie knew that she had found it.
‘Tell us yer name then?’
‘Connie,’ she answered, swallowing on the lump in her throat.
‘Connie, eh? Well, mine’s Kieron, Kieron Connolly,’ he told her, adding softly, ‘Connie Connolly – got a fine ring to it, hasn’t it?’
Connie couldn’t speak with the intensity of her emotions. Unable to drag her besotted gaze from Kieron’s face, she allowed him to take her hand and lead her into the picture house.
Ellie waited until she and Henry were alone in the privacy of their own room before returning his watch to him. He looked tired and unhappy, and over dinner his father had picked on him constantly, criticising him and comparing him to his cousin.
Ellie had ached to intervene and defend her husband, but of course it was not her place to do so. She was now grimly determined that no way would she give birth to a child – especially a son, to be bullied and tormented in the same way as his poor father by Jarvis Charnock. In her opinion, Elizabeth and George Fazackerly’s sons, about whom Ellie’s father-in-law spoke in terms of approval, were the most dreadful of children.
‘Henry, there is something –’ she began, and then stopped, shaking her head a little. ‘I have this for you,’ she told him gently, handing him the tissue paper in which she had carefully wrapped his watch.
Frowning slightly, he unwrapped it, folding back each leaf of tissue and then standing staring at the watch for what seemed to be the longest amount of time.
