The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Take care and don’t use that unless you have to. It’s like a razor.’

  He did not seem to hear her, for he had started to run, and he ran until he came to Bale Street; and there he slowed up, panting, when he saw the lights of a cab approaching the end house. When it turned into the lane, he hurried silently up by the black wall and was in time to see a figure getting out of the cab, and another at the house doorway. Then he could see by the carriage lights the horse being manoeuvred in order to get it out and into the lane again, and he guessed it must be a sizeable yard for the cabby to be able to do that; likely the three back yards had been knocked into one.

  He pressed himself against the wall as the cab came into the lane, and remained so until it disappeared from his view.

  He had the urge now to rush up the yard and into the house, but he warned himself to take it easy; he didn’t know how many he’d have to contend with. On the way, he had paid a flying visit to Annie, and she had said that Nell had indicated it was quiet there on a Sunday night, but that Boswell was likely to be about. Well, he hoped he met up with Boswell. By God, he did!

  He waited a few minutes; but then the thought struck him that the back door might have been locked or, worse still, somebody might come out and close those gates. He now shot across the lane in the direction of the yard. The only guide he now had in the gathered darkness was a glimmer of light coming from a window. He guessed that the door would be near there. Hugging the wall, he soon came to a doorway; but it was far from the window, and when he tried the handle it did not move. He continued towards the window and when he neared it he could just make out where the wall ended and another door began. His heart was thumping against his ribs and he was holding his breath as he gripped the handle and slowly and quietly turned it. And his breath seemed to become still when the door gave way to his touch.

  He was in a dark passageway now, but there, at the end of it, was a light showing beneath another door.

  He moved silently along the passage to the door, and listened. He could hear no sound. He gripped the handle and turned it quietly, but then pushed the door swiftly open; and there, smothering a gasp, was Nell.

  She had been doing something at a table; she did not, however, cry out, but turned her head quickly away and, thrusting out her arm, pointed towards a door as though she were speaking to someone just across the table, and she muttered, ‘Careful in the hallway.’

  Within seconds he had opened this door and was in another passage; but this was illuminated by a light coming from a half-open door at the far end. And what he saw through it was a movement as if someone were crossing the room.

  As he thrust the door fully open, so the figure swung round; and now they were staring at each other, with neither uttering a word.

  Ben was prepared for an attack—his heavy upper body was bent forward—but he wasn’t quite prepared for the leap that Boswell gave, for it was like that of a wild animal, and it gave him no time to withdraw the knife from the sheath under his belt.

  He was wrestling with a man who seemed to have as many arms as an octopus and who was groping for his throat. He, too, was groping for a throat, and as his fingers clawed the thin neck, Boswell’s foot came out and kicked at his shins; then his knee found Ben’s groin. It was then, as automatically his hand should have gone to his pain-racked lower stomach that it went to his trouser belt. The next minute the knife was free from its sheath and he was striving to bring it home into Boswell’s narrow chest.

  Amid groans and gasps, the struggling brought them on to the floor and, unfortunately for Boswell, he was the first to hit it, and when Ben’s heavy weight struck him it forced him to relax his hold. And it was in that instant that Ben brought the knife down into the man’s neck, and the gush of blood from his action almost blinded him, and he rolled off the contorted figure.

  He lay gasping, but only for a second, before he managed to get to his knees, then drag himself up and stumble towards the far door, then into darkness again, except for a gleam at the end of what seemed to be a passage.

  This led into another hall; and there were the stairs. As if galvanised by new life, he was up them and across the landing, making directly towards the fourth door. Thrusting it open, he saw a tall man leaning over the bed, his hands on the stiff, still, white figure. And he let out a guttural cry as he sprang towards him with almost the same agility as had the man downstairs, minutes earlier. But whereas Boswell had been silent and not much taller than himself, this man, though slight, was head and shoulders above him. The knife was still in his hand, but he was unable to use it, for the man was aiming to batter his face. However, his own stature and a natural instinct to duck, enabled him to avoid the blows, and automatically he bent his body forward and, as if it were a battering ram, he thrust his head into Crane-Boulder’s stomach, causing him to fall back gasping against the end of the bed; and to save himself from falling, he clutched at the end rail, and as he did so, his hand came into contact with the rope looped around it. In a split second, it was off the knob and he was whirling it.

  When the tasselled end splayed across Ben’s face, it blinded him for a moment; and then he gave a great gasp as the rope came round his neck. Having to use his two hands in a struggle to release himself from its grip, he was borne to the floor.

  Kneeling on Ben, and his face like the devil’s, his mouth wide, his teeth clenched, his eyes seeming to stare from his head, Crane-Boulder pulled the crossed rope tight…

  On the first sight of Ben, the paralysing faintness brought on by fear left Millie and she had crawled from the bed and stood transfixed, watching the struggle. But now it seemed that all the fight had gone out of Ben and that he was on the point of dying. Looking wildly about her for some implement she might use, she could see nothing, apart from the hand-basin on the wash-hand stand. It was a large basin. It held no water, and the jug wasn’t in it. As she grabbed it up, she was instantly aware that Crane-Boulder had taken off the rope and had picked up the knife that had dropped from Ben’s hand, and she screamed as she saw him raise it above Ben’s head. It was as he brought the knife down, his aim just missing Ben’s own neck but striking his shoulder, that she crashed the basin onto his head.

  It stunned him, but at the same time her action would have toppled her had she not fallen against his back. When he made an effort to straighten up and shake her off, she pulled herself away and, lifting the basin again and using all her strength, she brought it down once more on his head. This time the action not only split the basin in two but also brought the blood flowing through his hair.

  The pieces had dropped from her hands, and now she was staggering back, watching him toppling to the side. He seemed to go slowly, or perhaps she was imagining it; but she wasn’t imagining that Ben had now raised his head and was gasping for breath.

  She rushed to his side, crying, ‘Oh, Ben, Ben.’

  ‘Mill…Millie.’

  He turned his head to look at his left arm where his coat and shirt were ripped from the shoulder to the elbow, and at the blood still running freely and flowing over his wrist on to his hands.

  She helped him to his feet, but he stood swaying for a moment before he could gasp: ‘The knife.’

  She picked it up from where it lay near the prostrate form.

  For a matter of seconds Ben stood staring at the man: then, clutching at her arm, he muttered, ‘Come on.’

  On the landing, she had to steady him before they made their way to the stairhead.

  When they reached the bottom, she murmured fearfully, ‘There’ll be others about, Ben. There’ll be others about.’

  ‘No…there won’t. There won’t. Come on. Come on.’

  He pushed open the door into the first hall, to see Nell standing some way from the grotesque and blood-covered body of the man who had been her master for years, and as Ben staggered towards her, holding Millie with one arm, she said, ‘My God! Ben, you did it thoroughly. Eeh, my God!’

  Then she added sharply,
‘Come on! Get out of this before they murder you.’

  ‘What…what about you?’

  ‘I can take care of meself. I’ll have a tale ready.’ And she did sound in control of herself.

  They were passing through the kitchen when she looked at the scantily clad young girl, and she said, ‘You can’t go out like that. Wait a minute.’

  She pulled what looked like an antimacassar from the back of the big chair set in the corner of the room, and she was putting it round Millie’s shoulders when her head went up and she said, ‘Oh God above!’ Then without another word, she gripped them both and pushed them towards a door while hissing at them. ‘Don’t make a move. Stay still! Still! I’m telling you.’

  Millie knew they were in some kind of a cupboard as her foot came in contact with what she recognised as a broom. She had her arms around Ben and he had his uninjured arm around her shoulders holding her tight against him as they now listened to Nell’s voice, saying, ‘Oh, am I glad to see you, Rosie! There’s been hell to pay here. They’ve got her.’

  ‘The lass?’

  ‘Aye. Four or five of them. I think it was five. I’m not sure. They scared me to death. An’…an’ they’ve done Slim in.’

  ‘Wh…at!’

  ‘Yes; dead as a doornail. Now don’t start an’ say you’re sorry; don’t be a hypocrite. But I don’t know what’s happened to the one upstairs; likely he’s gone an’ all. They were a terrible lot.’

  ‘Eeh! What does it mean, Nell? The pollis?’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Rosie. Get the pollis in here an’ you know what would happen; they’d close us up. An’ where will you go? ’Cos your legs won’t take you back on the street again.’

  ‘Was it Big Joe’s lot?’

  ‘I…I don’t know. But listen, listen carefully. Get yourself back to Reilly’s. They’ll all be in the back, but don’t make any fuss, ’cos the quieter this is kept the better for you, an’ me. Yes, an’ all of us. Get Ted’s eye, get him alone; an’ remember, it’ll be him in charge from now on. Tell him to bring Mike and Sonny. Tell him…well, just say that Nell said there’s trouble, an’ for them to come on their own; there’s things to be done. He’ll understand. Now get yourself away. An’ stop shakin’. Everything’ll be all right. There’s only one thing: he can’t be found here; it’ll have to be like an outside job. As for the other one up there, I don’t know. It’ll likely be the same with him. Now go on. Go on.’

  It was a full minute later when the door opened and she pulled them into the kitchen, saying now, ‘For God’s sake, get yourselves away from here! Take the long way round. Oh, lass, you need something on your feet. Here!’ She rushed to the end of the room, picked up a pair of old slippers and helped Millie to put them on, saying, ‘They’re a bit big but better than nothin’. Now go on. For God’s sake, go on! If you were found they’d do for me straight off, ’cos nobody gets in here except through me.’

  She took them to the back door and thrust them into the yard, saying, ‘Keep to the side ways, else that blood’ll give you away or bring a pollis on you, that’s if the sight of her doesn’t.’

  After the brightness of the kitchen, and in spite of the indifferent light from the window, outside in the yard seemed very dark, and Ben muttered, ‘Hang on to my coat,’ and thrust his arm out towards the wall and guided them to the gateway and so into the lane. When they reached the road the light from the few lamps made it appear almost like twilight. And now he began to stumble more quickly forward, while she shuffled beside him, trying to keep the slippers on her feet.

  It was fortunate it was a Sunday and that there were few people in the streets; even the side road and alleys were clear, apart from urchins gathered in doorways; and these presented no danger to them, for at that moment they must have looked like two individuals no better off than themselves.

  When he fell against her she had to gather all her strength to support him, and she muttered, ‘Oh, Ben, Ben, don’t fall,’ and she half dragged him towards a wall, and he leant against it, his head drooping as he endeavoured to recover himself; and when she begged, ‘Try, Ben. Try; it isn’t far now,’ he muttered something and dragged himself away from the wall, and they went stumbling on.

  It was Millie who had to push open the gates, and as they made their way across the yard towards the light of the open door, Aggie came stumbling towards them, crying, ‘Thanks be to God! Thanks be to God! Oh, lad, what’s happened to you? What’s happened?’

  ‘Let’s in. Let’s in, Aggie.’

  It was only by the light of the kitchen lamp that the sight and plight of them both became evident. Her mouth wide and her head shaking, Aggie muttered, ‘God in heaven! God in heaven!’ because by now Millie had stepped out of the slippers and dropped her covering on to the floor, so exposing the slight figure in the flimsy shift. And when she threw herself into Aggie’s embrace, the old woman hugged her and rocked her, crying, ‘Aw, child! Aw, child! Aw, me poor child! God strike them down dead, every one of them.’ And Millie, her face streaming with tears, whimpered through them, ‘If it hadn’t been for Ben, Mrs Aggie. If it hadn’t been for Ben …’

  Ben had dropped on to the settle and Aggie, standing over him, looked in horror at the ripped sleeve and the blood still oozing, and she exclaimed, ‘Oh, dear God! Let’s have your coat off, lad, and see the damage.’

  Being relieved of his coat brought no sound from Ben, but when Aggie went to take his shirt off, the frayed ends of which were sticking here and there to the torn flesh, he groaned aloud. And when the extent of the damage was exposed, he turned his head to look at it.

  Millie and Aggie were looking at the arm with amazement that was tinged with fear, both aghast, and it was Millie who said, ‘He should have the doctor. It’ll have to be sewn.’ What Aggie muttered, was, ‘Another inch higher, lad, and it would have started at your gullet, an’ that would have been that. My God! Look at the length of it.’

  ‘Well, it was me own knife. It had worked well on Boswell.’

  ‘Did Boswell do that?’

  ‘No, no; the knife had put the finishing touches to him before I went upstairs and met the gentleman…Oh, what did you do with the knife, Millie?’

  ‘I stuck it in your pocket. Look, it’s still there.’ She pointed.

  ‘The gentleman, you said? Who?’

  Ben glanced wearily at Millie and she, bowing her head, said, ‘Mr Crane.’

  ‘You mean Crane-Boulder? Where you went to the party?’

  Millie made no reply; but her head drooped further and Aggie exclaimed. ‘Oh my God, lass! My God! And when did this happen? When did he get at you?’

  ‘Mrs Aggie, please.’ Millie was covering her face with her hands as she rocked herself from side to side. ‘I’ll…I’ll tell you all about it later, but…’ She became still and, aiming to be calm, she exclaimed, ‘We must see to Ben’s arm, it needs bandaging. Will…will I get a sheet?’

  ‘Aye, lass, aye. Can you make the stairs? Are you all right? An’ put something on.’

  As Millie ran from the room, Aggie thrust the kettle into the heart of the fire, saying, ‘That’ll have to be cleaned out before any bandage goes on it. Aw, lad, it seems a miracle that you’re alive an’ that she’s back here again.’

  ‘You never said a truer word, Aggie.’ His voice was weary. ‘Never a truer word…Give me a drop of something, will you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, lad, yes. I don’t know where I am. I’ve been out of me mind.’

  She went to the corner shelf on which the gin bottle was kept and poured a generous measure into a glass. And when he threw it off without even a shudder, she said, ‘I’ll get some whisky in, lad. I’ll get some whisky in for you. An’ look; you can’t sit like that. Come over to the couch and lie down.’

  He didn’t need a second bidding and stumbled towards the couch, but as he was about to lie down Aggie said, ‘Put your head towards the foot, lad; it’ll be better to get at your arm. I’ll pack you up with pillows at that end.’
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  He lay down as Aggie had bidden, his arm over the edge of the couch; but the blood began to drip from his fingers on to the floor, and Aggie pulled a towel from the rail and wrapped it roughly round his hand.

  When Millie came back into the room she was wearing a dress, a short woollen jacket, and a pair of her own slippers on her bare feet. While she tore up the sheet, Aggie gently washed the gash that started at Ben’s shoulder and went down to the front of his elbow. But the bathing with hot water, which made him grind his teeth, brought the blood flowing more quickly from different parts of the gash; and when Millie said, ‘I think we’d better tie it up tight,’ Aggie agreed: ‘Aye, lass, aye, we’d better,’ she said.

  It was as they were finishing the bandaging that there came a knock on the outer door. They all looked at each other for a moment, and when the fear leapt back into Millie’s face Ben said heavily, ‘I know who that’ll be. It’ll be Annie.’

  A minute later, Aggie opened the door, to see Annie standing in the light of a lamp held by a man; and Annie said to her: ‘I just wondered, Mrs Winkowski, if…if he had got back. Mr Burton here was kind enough to bring me round.’

  ‘Come in. Come in both of you.’

  As she closed the door on them, Aggie said, ‘Aye, he’s here, what’s left of him. Go in and see for yourself.’

  When Annie stood by the couch looking down at this man who was her friend but whom she held in her heart as something more, she said simply, ‘It was bad, then, Ben?’

  ‘Aye, it was pretty bad, Annie. But thanks to you and Nell, she’s here.’ He lifted his eyes towards where Millie was standing near the table and ended, ‘She’s back.’

  Annie looked at the thin but beautiful white-faced girl who, since she was a child, had captivated the heart of her friend, the girl who had changed him from a lover into a friend, and she looked back at Ben and said under her breath, ‘I hope you were in time.’