Josie and Toby had cast a quick and unmistakably worried glance at each other, too meaningful to be missed.
‘Well?’
Josie perched on the edge of the bed and took her hand. ‘Your room’s gone, Sal. The landlord’s let it.’
‘’E’s what!’
‘You missed your rent. He thought you’d scarpered.’
It hit her harder than she would have believed possible. That attic room might not have been the Savoy, but it had been hers, hers and Toby’s. It had come to be home. ‘What about me things?’
‘Betty downstairs ’as got them,’ Toby volunteered. ‘I went back, a couple of days ago, to see what was ’appening.’
‘There’s a family of five living in your room,’ Josie put in. ‘God knows where they sleep.’
‘Soddin’ bloody landlord,’ Sally said with faint but blistering rancour. ‘I’ll wring ’is bleedin’ neck.’ But the threat was without substance. Her voice was tired.
‘So,’ Josie said tentatively, ’you do see? You’ll have to come to us. For a while at any rate. Until you get on your feet.’
‘An’ what does your dad think of that idea?’ Sally asked, softly, shaking her head a little.
Josie ignored the question. ‘You can come in with me. And I’m sure we can fit a truckle into the kitchen for Toby.’
Sally chose not to notice the look of desperation Toby cast her. She was still struggling to contain this latest blow. She took a long breath that somehow turned into a sigh of defeated exhaustion. Bloody landlords. Bloody world. ‘Give us – give us a day or so to think about it, eh?’
Toby nibbled his lip.
‘Of course. Just as soon as you’re strong enough, come to tea. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be fine.’
Sally nodded.
Josie stood. ‘I should go now, I think. I mustn’t tire you. I’ll come again soon. And just as soon as you’re well Dan and I will come over to get you and you must come to tea so we can make some plans. All right?’
Sally nodded, too tired to argue.
Josie kissed her, swiftly and fiercely. ‘Lord, I’ve been so worried!’
‘I’m sorry.’ With her good hand Sally gripped the slim, strong wrist, ‘You’d no call ter worry, though. Yer know me. Always the bad penny. Yer won’t get rid o’ me that easy!’
‘I’m sorry – really sorry – about the room.’
‘Yes,’ Sally said a little grimly, ‘so’m I.’
The other girl dropped a quick kiss on Toby’s head, lifted a hand to Sally, smiled her farewell. ‘I’ll see you very soon.’
In the quiet of the sunlit room after her departure the boy and the young woman listened as the sound of her footsteps faded. Austerely Sally held the blue, bright eyes with her own. ‘We bin ’omeless before, Toby Jug,’ she said at last, flatly, but with the faintest thread of question in her voice.
Toby said nothing.
‘Tobe?’
He looked up, his small face suddenly fierce, and shook his head.
She closed her eyes, and through the sun-spangled darkness behind the lids, heard him leave with no word.
II
The proposed visit to the Dicksons could not, as events turned out, be undertaken until a full ten days later. During the night that followed Josie’s visit Sally’s temperature rose alarmingly. The next twenty-four hours passed in a fog of fever, a fog that lifted occasionally to reveal a small, fair, anxious face, a craggy, almost angry one, a pale, narrow visage bespectacled and topped with lank dark hair that hovered always at a distance and which brought on her worst nightmares, despite its obvious concern. The awful dreams besieged her. She was running; running for her life down narrow alleys in darkness and intolerable heat, the menacing shadow that flitted behind her wearing sometimes Jackie Pilgrim’s face, sometimes that of a stranger, sometimes – the worst times – no face at all. She drifted on a fierce red sea of darkness, lost and alone, Toby’s voice somewhere, calling, his face unseen, his hand never meeting the desperate one she stretched to him. Exhausting and terrifying, the nightmares gave her no rest. Time ceased to exist. Toby was gone, and she could find him nowhere.
At last, worn out, she drifted into true sleep; and awoke to find another sultry August evening and twenty-four hours lost to her entirely.
‘Well, young lady, what was all that about?’ Even frowning Doctor Will’s face never seemed to lose its twinkle.
She gave a precarious and weakly smile.
‘Right. This time you’ll do exactly as you’re told. Or I’ll tie you down and lock the door! Rest, young lady! Rest!’
This time she did. She could not, she knew, afford to do anything else. She had lost twenty-four hours – twenty-four hours of progress, twenty-four hours of Toby to Ralph Bedford, twenty-four hours of her future to the busily planning Dicksons. She had to get well. With a savage effort of will she rested. She ate everything that was put in front of her. She stayed calm, she had few visitors, obviously on the express orders of Doctor Will. In three days she had regained the ground she had lost, and more. By the end of the week she was sitting in the chair by the window and a reluctant Miss Reid gave permission for Toby and his friends to visit her. At first it was just the girls, and the stories were Cinderella and Snow White, but a couple of days later the two boys, Charlie and Siddie – with whom, as he had said, Toby showed a constant and regrettable urge to fight – had joined them, intrigued, ready to scoff, and she had searched in her treasure chest for more bloodthirsty and rousing dramas. Wolves and soldiers, dragons and magicians. And, of course, the wonderful, entirely original and absolutely impossible adventures of those intrepid sailor lads Able Cable and Jack Spratt.
‘Just ring the bell if those children are bothering you.’ Miss Reid pursed disapproving lips.
‘They’re not.’ On the contrary she looked forward to their coming, listened for their voices, watched particularly for one fair, curly head, a pair of blue eyes, mischievous and confident. If the truth be known all the stories were for him. Every unsparing effort she made, from swallowing the sweet milky tea she abominated to rousing herself to ever greater flights of fancy in her storytelling was for him. She would not lose him. When she left – and she still had every intention of leaving as soon as possible – he would come with her.
Her iron resolve to leave the Bear was strengthened on the day that the children turned up, twittering excitedly, trailing behind Toby, who carried a large book. It was a week after her relapse. Clothed in decent, sober skirt and blouse a good size too large for her Sally sat in the chair by the window. Alice helped Toby to heave the book on to the bed. ‘Mr Ralph said we could bring it,’ she said shyly, leafing through the bright pages. ‘He thought you might like to see it. It’s a fairy-story book, see? It isn’t half nice. It’s got lots of pictures – look – of all the stories you’ve told us. There’s Cinderella – d’you see? – in her ballgown. And this – is—’ She hesitated.
Toby leaned forward, ferociously concentrating. ‘S-L-E-E-P – Sleeping Beauty!’ he snapped, his quick mind leaping ahead to supply the answer before all the individual letters could be recognized and assimilated.
‘Is it now?’ Sally asked.
Toby glanced at her warily, recognizing too well the tone.
Sally looked at the book with its bright, intricately beautiful pictures, its mass of stupid, meaningless marks that marched, precise and defeating, across the pages and resisted with some difficulty the urge to rip it to shreds.
‘What’s this one?’ small Sophie demanded. ‘It’s a witch, look – and she’s got a cat. What’s the cat’s name? Toby – what’s the cat’s name?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Toby muttered, eyes flicking back to the storm building on Sally’s face. He shut the book with a snap.
‘O–oh!’ the girls chorused together.
But Toby knew well when he had backed a loser. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s probably better if we leave Sal to rest for a bit. We can look at t
his downstairs.’ And with a back as straight as an arrow and fairly bristling with resentment and injury he marched from the room, his flock of small acolytes following.
Sally scowled after them.
‘I’ve come to meet Scheherezade. May I come in?’ The amused voice from the open doorway startled her. A tall, angular young woman stood there, heavy chestnut hair wildly astray from an untidy chignon, laughter on her plain, pleasant face, a tea tray in her hands. ‘I just bumped into young Toby and his henchmen. Are you exhausted? Should I come back later?’
Sally shook her head. ‘No. No, it’s all right. They didn’t stay for long.’ She smiled the small, wry smile that tilted one corner of her mouth, ‘They’ve got other fish to fry this afternoon.’
‘So you’re abandoned?’
‘Somethin’ like that.’
‘Tea, then,’ the other girl said briskly and pleasantly, ‘if you’d like?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Hannah put the tray down, extended a strong hand. ‘I’m Hannah Patten.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve seen you.’ Sally hesitated for a brief moment, then lifted her head proudly, ‘At the soup kitchen.’
Hannah nodded, entirely casually, unimpressed by such prickles. ‘Oh yes, of course. Well I’m sorry I haven’t been before but it seemed to me that you were rather overburdened with Pattens and Bedfords without my adding to their number. Sugar?’
‘Yes please. Two.’
‘I know all about you, of course. Ever since my brother Ben came charging back from Maisie Wilmott’s confinement demanding to know where you were and what had been done for you the household has followed your progress with enormous interest.’
‘Oh?’ The single syllable was tense, as wary as the lifting of a wild thing’s head to a hostile scent.
Hannah smiled, her long, bony face utterly open. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell you at once that I’m not going to ask how you were hurt. Ben has impressed upon us all that it isn’t something you care to speak of. Though from the way he spoke I gather you did something rather splendid – I think he believes you should be awarded the Victoria Cross at least!’
Sally felt colour lift in her face, shook her head.
Hannah, apparently as unaware of embarrassment as she was of tender pride, handed her a cup of tea, talking easily and inconsequentially. ‘I must say I’ve sometimes wondered how I’d cope in a real emergency – a dangerous one, I mean, that required real physical courage.’ She turned back to the tray, picked up her own cup and saucer, hoisted herself in none too ladylike fashion on to the bed, ‘I’d like to think I’d be splendid of course – a Victorian heroine standing fearless against the natives, Florence Nightingale ordering all those awful generals about.’ She broke off into a sudden, utterly disarming gurgle of laughter, ‘I’m sure I should do no such thing. I’d probably scream and run.’
Sally found herself laughing with her. ‘I’ve seen you, though,’ she said, ‘in the streets. Makin’ them speeches. An’ people shouting at you.’
Hannah dismissed that poppycock with a brisk shake of the head. ‘Oh no, that’s not the same at all. It’s not brave – not heroine brave. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get the chance to discover if I’m that.’
They drank their tea in a moment of remarkably companionable silence. Sally found herself relaxing. Instinctively she liked this young woman. Liked the straightness of her, the lack of airs and graces. Liked the humour that crinkled the unremarkable brown eyes and quirked the long mouth to a natural smile.
Hannah drained her cup, lifted her head. Smiled her disarmingly frank smile. ‘I believe’, she said, ‘that you sent our Ralph away with a flea in his ear?’
Sally nearly choked.
Matter of factly Hannah patted her back, relieved her of her cup. ‘I do understand, believe me. Ralph can be a positive curse when he gets a bee in his bonnet. More tea?’
‘Yes. Please.’ Sally took a firm grip of her shaken nerves. Another attack, then, from a different quarter. Let them try. She wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
The tea was duly poured, stirred, handed to her. Hannah perched on the bed, watching her, saying nothing, smiling pleasantly.
Sally, despite resistance, found herself forced into speech. ‘He – Mr Bedford – wants Toby to stay here.’ She found she was making an effort to enunciate clearly, to recover that way of speech taught by her mother and so despised by her peers. Obscurely the thought made her angry again.
‘He wants you both to stay,’ Hannah said calmly.
Sally shook a stubborn head.
‘But yes – I promise you. It isn’t just Toby he wants. He truly does need someone to help in the home. I’m useless – I’m hardly ever here – and Charlotte—’ she made a vague gesture with her hand. ‘Neither Kate nor Bron are interested in the children. They find the tougher ones impossible to handle. Ralph seems to think you wouldn’t.’
‘What gave ’im that idea?’ The words bordered on the truculent.
Hannah shook her head unruffled. ‘I really don’t know. He’s spent a lot of time with Toby. Perhaps he’s said something?’
Damn’ kid should know by now when to keep his mouth shut. I’ll skin him alive. She did not say the words, but something of their import was perceived by Hannah in her face.
‘Oh, don’t be angry with poor Toby. He talks about you all the time, you know. He thinks you’re the most wonderful person in the whole world. He loves you dearly. You’re very lucky.’
It was beyond Sally to argue with that novel idea. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘That’s fair enough, I suppose. But – won’t you think about it?’
In her most ungracious gesture to date – and she was uncomfortably aware that grace had not been her hallmark over the past few minutes – Sally lifted a dismissive shoulder.
Hannah quietly and neatly collected the cups and set them on the tray. ‘May I say something?’
Sally had retreated entirely into panic. If Ralph had everyone in the family working on Toby what chance did she – Sally – stand against them? ‘Suit yerself,’ she said expressionlessly.
‘I believe that you may think that we’re trying to trick you. You don’t know us, after all. Why should you trust us? I believe that you think that we want to take Toby from you and want you to stay just long enough for him to get settled here – to make it impossible for you to take him away – and then – presto – out you go. Am I right?’
She could not have expressed it better herself. She said nothing.
‘You’re wrong,’ Hannah said simply. ‘Truly you are. Think of this. Legally we probably could take Toby from you. How would you fight us? He isn’t your child, is he?’ She did not wait for an answer, ‘He’s living with you virtually in the streets. He should be in school. Ralph says he’s one of the brightest children he’s ever come across. Miss Smith – surely you can see that he should be educated? Would you deny him that? Would you deny him his chance to prepare for a brighter future? A better tomorrow?’
Tomorrow. Unexpectedly Charlotte’s voice came to her, desolate and empty. Her eyes narrowed. ‘So ’e can live in this Jerusalem of yours?’ she asked bitterly.
‘Yes,’ Hannah said thoughtfully, but with no hesitation. ‘Exactly. But Miss Smith – it’s your future too, don’t you see that? And – please don’t misunderstand – I’m only pointing out that we could take him from you if we were determined. But I promise you we’d never do that. We want you both to stay. For a while at least. Won’t you try it? Think about it? Ralph thinks that Toby is a quite remarkable child. We all know, don’t we, what can happen to such a child? Miss Smith – please believe me – we want to help you both.’
Sally, carefully, for she was still very shaky on her legs, stood up, lifted her chin. ‘I told Mr Bedford—’
‘Yes,’ ruefully Hannah interrupted, for the first time her manner a fraction less than confident, ‘I know what you told him. It shook him quite b
adly. You said that people like us don’t necessary know what’s best for—’ she hesitated.
‘For people like me.’ Sally finished for her, her voice oddly gentle. ‘Miss Hannah, I’m sorry if I’m upsettin’ you all – but don’t you think you’d be better off helpin’ them as wants to be helped an’ leavin’ them as doesn’t ter themselves?’
Hannah stood for what seemed a long time, thoughtful, an honest and pensive frown upon her wide forehead. ‘I hope not,’ she said at last, ‘I really do. But then – I can see that you may be right.’ She smiled again, her attractive, easy smile, ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it, in this difficult world, really to know what’s best and what isn’t?’ She turned, picked up the tray, smiled back at Sally. ‘Perhaps we’ve each given the other something to think about? Would you mind if I popped in to see you again?’
‘Course not.’
‘Thank you. I shall look forward to it. I can’t stay longer now – it’s a great day today – I’m going to meet some friends who are coming out of prison.’
Sally raised half-amused eyebrows. ‘Throwin’ a party, are yer?’
Hannah laughed. ‘Oh yes. Of course.’
Sally nodded. ‘Nothin’ like a party when yer mates get out of nick. ’Olloway, was it?’
‘Yes.’ Unlike Sally Hannah seemed to find nothing remarkable in the bizarre conversation.
Sally’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. ‘Ask ’em about Big Beryl. They’ll ’ave some tales to tell about ’er I’ll be bound. You ask ’em.’
Hannah laughed aloud. ‘I shall. I shall indeed.’ The echo of her laughter hung on the air full moments after she had left the room.
Sally, very thoughtfully, listened to her departing footsteps and found herself hoping fervently that the forthright and likeable Hannah Patten did not come to see her too often.
III
Once started, Sally’s recovery this time was swift. Though weakened by the fever that had so nearly killed her, her tough constitution, nurtured by good food and rest, asserted itself, and within a couple of days she was well and truly back on her feet. Accompanied by Toby and those of his friends who were not at school she walked a little in the courtyard in the afternoons; cooped up in her room she took to pacing back and forth from window to door, restless now and eager to be away, though in her gratitude to Doctor Will she had found herself agreeing to stay until he decreed her well enough to leave. Of one thing she was certain, and became more so with each passing day, each added ounce of strength; she must get out of here, under her own steam and to her own destination. With or without Toby. Her independence was all she had – she would surrender it neither to the well-meaning Pattens nor, much as she loved them, to the equally freedom-threatening Dicksons.
Tomorrow, Jerusalem Page 13
