Children of the Tide (11 page)

Mace’s Court had houses with railings around their small front yards, and polished brass knobs and knockers on their doors. Thick lace curtains and half-drawn blinds allowed but a glimpse of the numerous ornaments and potted plants set upon the wide window-sills and the gleam of dark, polished furniture in the neat interiors.

Yet not one hundred yards beyond this desirable neighbourhood were overcrowded courts and alleys, packed so close with dwellings that the sun never filtered through to warm the damp and festering walls. The residents of these abodes would sometimes wander out of their own area and hang untidily over the respectable iron railings, until someone fetched the uniformed constable to flush them out and send them back where they belonged.

Billy ran down the stairs. ‘I’m off, Mrs Parker,’ he called. ‘I might be late, but don’t worry about supper, and I have a key.’

His landlady came out of the parlour. ‘Oh, I shall
worry, Mr Rayner. I’ve always worried about my young men, but there we are, it’s my nature you see, and I can do nothing at all about that.’ She nodded at him, the ribbons on her cap bobbing around her chubby chins. ‘I’ll dampen down ’fire and leave ’kettle on ’hob so’s you can make a drink if you want it. But if you can’t manage that, for I know what you young men are,’ she dimpled with an entreating girlish laugh, ‘then just knock on my door and I’ll come and make it. I won’t be sleeping. I never sleep!’

He thanked her and said that he would, even though he had no intention of doing so. He had been brought up with a cook and kitchen maids and a bevy of housemaids in his home, but he still knew how to cook a simple supper for himself. His mother had sent both him and Sammi down to the kitchens when they were very young, telling them that if they didn’t learn how things were done, then they would never appreciate those who did for them.

He walked briskly down Posterngate and Lowgate to the Cross Keys Inn. Roger Beresford-Brown was already there and waiting for him, with brimming tankards which slopped their contents onto the small round table. Billy pushed his way through the crowd and waved his hand to another companion, Henry Woolrich, who was also battling his way across to them.

‘There you are, old fellow.’ Roger pulled out a chair for him. ‘Sit down and put that inside you. I’ve ordered a jug, but this will do for the time being.’

‘I’m not used to strong ale,’ Billy began, mindful of his mother’s warning. ‘I only usually drink wine at supper.’

Roger and Henry both guffawed. ‘We’ll have to take you in hand, Rayner. You need to oil the wheels, and all the other bits and pieces, eh?’ Roger winked and nudged him in the ribs.

Billy shrank away from the offending elbow. ‘I thought we were going to the theatre?’

‘Music hall, old fellow. There’s only boring old Shakespeare playing at the Queen’s, so I thought we’d go and have a laugh and a bit of a singsong at the Mechanics. The one and only Herr Dobler is opening his Palace of Illusions for our entertainment!’

‘Shakespeare isn’t boring!’ Billy protested, annoyed at the thought of having to spend the evening watching a magician, even though it was one who was billed as having appeared before the Queen.

‘He’s right, old boy.’ Henry took the jug of ale from a barmaid and slipped a coin down the front of her bodice. ‘There’s lots of dirty bits if you listen; you know, by the minor characters, the plebeians and such. Don’t you remember how we used to pick them out to read when we were at school?’

Billy looked from one to the other and wondered why he had ever thought that they were sensible, well-bred fellows.

‘Come on, then,’ Henry Woolrich hiccupped at last. Their third jug of ale was down to the dregs, he and Beresford-Brown shaking out the last drops after Billy had refused once again to take more, having already drunk more than he had intended.

‘Let’s call for a chair, like the fine ladies do.’ Roger looked down at the debris on the road, blown over from the Market Place, and then at his shiny shoes and neat pin-striped trousers.

‘Good idea!’ Henry swayed unsteadily and had difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. ‘Call for a double, there’s a good fellow. I say – I say! A double, do you get my meaning? Mine’s a double!’ He bent over, his hands on his knees, creased into paroxysms of laughter at his own wit and crashed down, his chin hitting the ground and his top hat rolling into the gutter.

Billy retrieved the hat and, seeing a sedan on the other side of the road, whistled across.

‘Where to, sir?’ The two carriers looked down at
Henry still sprawled on the floor, his chin bleeding and convulsed with tittering inane giggles.

‘Take these two gentlemen to the Grand Saloon at the Mechanics Institute.’ Billy felt in his pocket and gave them money enough for the journey and helped push Henry and Roger inside. ‘I’ll see you there.’ He put his head inside the curtain of the two-seater sedan. ‘I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind.’
And with a bit of luck
, he thought,
I might lose you
.

The night air had grown damp and chill, a few drops of rain falling, causing him to hunch into his jacket and turn up his collar. A slight breeze was getting up, blowing in off the estuary and bringing with it a sharp smell of the sea. He took a short cut to the theatre, passing through narrow streets where lighted windows showed the presence of gin shops.

A woman with bleached hair and reddened thin cheeks confronted him. ‘Hello, darling! How are you? Were you looking for me?’ Her voice was a crude imitation of sensuality and seduction.

‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered, taken aback by her approach. ‘You’re mistaken. You don’t know me.’

‘I’d like to get to know you, dearie. I’ve got ’time, if you have.’ She sidled up to him and linked her arm in his. She was wearing a thin satin dress, the cleavage low, showing the shape of her breasts. She ran her fingers down her throat and towards her neckline, easing the buttons undone. ‘Want to see a bit more, darling?’ she crooned softly. ‘I don’t charge a lot. Leastways, not for a fine young fellow like you. Why, I’d get as much pleasure as you. What do you say?’

Too polite to push her away, he eased himself from her grip. ‘Sorry. I can’t. I have an urgent appointment.’

‘Give us a tanner then, love.’ She dropped her extravagant air. ‘Go on. I’ve had nowt to eat all day. Just enough for a bit o’ bread or a drop o’ gin.’

He fished again into his pocket and mused that this
appeared to be a night of philanthropy, and reasoned that perhaps the woman was more deserving than his drunken companions, who were being transported to an evening of revelry.

‘Bless thee. Tha’s an angel.’ Her voice became husky and grateful. She shivered and buttoned up her dress and put her hands across her chest. ‘It’s that bleeding cold out here.’ She tapped him briefly on his arm. ‘I’ll just go and get summat to warm me up. Cheerio, darling. Tha knows where to find me if tha wants owt.’

‘Wait! Why do you do this?’ he asked in concern. ‘Can you not earn money some other way?’

She gave a short sharp laugh. ‘Why, I like it, don’t I, darling?’ Her voice became affected again. ‘There’s nobody would do this job if they didn’t like it, now would they?’ She folded her arms in front of her and put her head on one side. ‘Why, Queen Vicky herself asked if I would go and live at ’Palace and be one of her ladies in waiting, but I said, no, I couldn’t possibly. Not when I’ve got a job like this one. She was ever so disappointed as you can imagine.’ She started to walk away. ‘Go on home, darling. Go back to thy ma. Tha wants no truck wi’ likes o’ me.’

He turned and watched her disappear into a lighted doorway and guessed that the money would be pressed into the warm hand of a publican and in return she would savour a fleeting gulp of pleasure, warming her blood temporarily before returning to her vigil in the darkened streets.

He could hear the sound of music as he walked along George Street and approached the Mechanics Institute. Street musicians were entertaining the waiting crowd. A fiddler was playing a jig and a young girl was dancing to it, her bare feet pattering on the flagstones, her dingy skirt and petticoats flying, and the crowd clapping their hands in time to the music. A few yards from them, a tumbler was somersaulting in front of the queue, throwing his rubber-like body
over and over, going into splits and contortions so that some of the wags in the crowd called, ‘
Ow
’, and shouted that he would do a mischief to his person if he wasn’t careful.

Billy heard a commotion outside the building and saw Beresford-Brown and Woolrich arguing with the doorman, who was refusing to let them in until they had quietened down.

Inside the Music Hall, he saw them up in the gallery. They were in the company of two women, and they all leaned precariously over the balcony, waving and calling to the audience below. Billy couldn’t help but grin and, relieved that they hadn’t spotted him, for he was concealed from them by a pillar, he sat back to view the entertainment which was about to unfold. It was not quite the third-rate review he had expected, but there was some singing and low jokes which set the audience laughing and responding, and sentimental monologues which brought them to tears. Herr Dobler performed his magic with his Enchanted Flowers and Enchanted Butterflies which filled the stage. A sweet young singer, dressed in a ragged costume of white, stood in the middle of the stage and sang of her mother dying in poverty and the crowd openly wept in sympathy. Then the final act, which sent them home happy and jolly again, was a military band which marched back and forth on the small stage, playing popular songs to which the audience joined in with enthusiasm, and the curtain fell to tumultuous applause.

Billy fought his way to the door and had just reached it when his name was called from the crowd.

‘There you are, Rayner, old fellow. We’d lost you. We’d lost him, hadn’t we, Woolywich – Woollich – Woolly – Woolly Whatsit?!’

Beresford-Brown beamed at Billy, he had a bottle of spirits in one hand and the other around the waist of a woman. Henry Woolrich was leaning heavily in the arms of another woman, who appeared to be
also leaning on him, and together they held each other up.

‘Come on, we’re going to the King’s Arms, we’re going to have another drink.’ Beresford-Brown leaned confidentially towards Billy. ‘This lady here. This one, I mean, that’s standing next to me. This lady here. She’s a beautiful shinger – singer. She’s going to give us a song, aren’t you?’

The woman gazed at Billy through glazed eyes, she was older by far than Beresford-Brown. ‘If you like,’ she said, through loose red lips.

‘You go on.’ Billy made his excuses. ‘I’ll maybe catch up with you later.’

Beresford-Brown waved an admonishing finger. ‘You’ve got somebody lined up! I knew you were a dark horse, Billy Rayner. Well, bring her along and we’ll have a party, all of us.’ He waved his arm to include the crowd flocking out of the building into the street. ‘
Everybody
can come.’

Outside the theatre a small group of Methodists stood together in the middle of the road. One of them, a minister by his dress, held up a placard which read, ‘Damnation awaits you in the House of Sin’. ‘Give up your evil ways!’ he called to the theatre crowd. ‘Give up your sins and come to the Lord.’

He received much barracking and jeering, but the crowd were merry, not antagonistic; they had had a jolly evening and there was no ill humour, and eventually the Methodists moved into the crowd, cajoling all who would listen, to come and join them.

Billy looked down the street as he heard another sound. A drum was beating, loudly, insistently and enthusiastically. A small boy, almost hidden by the size of the drum he was banging, was leading a long stream of children, some tall, some small, some only toddlers who were being carried by others not much bigger than themselves. A young girl, waif-like, with a thin face and long wispy hair, walked at the front of the line next to the drummer and held out her
hand to the crowd who were leaving the theatre. ‘Give to ’poor,’ she called. ‘Spare a copper, sir.’ She spotted Billy watching and came towards him. ‘Has tha a penny to spare, sir, with nowt wanted in return?’

Billy stared. Whatever did she mean? Whatever could this child give him in return for his money? The image of the whore who had accosted him came to mind. Surely, surely, this young girl didn’t mean …? He put his hand in his pocket once more and brought out sixpence. The girl reached out eagerly. ‘Wait,’ he said, drawing his hand back. ‘Where are you children from? Why are you out so late?’

The girl eyed him and then gave a cynical grin. ‘Does tha mean we should be tucked up in our warm cots at this hour, sir?’

‘Are you from the workhouse? Do your parents know you are here?’

He had, he knew, a lot to learn about life, he had had a sheltered existence, cocooned by the comfort and security of his family. But something was surely wrong here? It was eleven o’clock at night, these children must be in danger, with no adult to watch over them.

‘If we were from ’workhouse, we wouldn’t be allowed out at night, and some of us haven’t got any parents.’ She started to turn away, as if sensing that she wasn’t going to get the money still clasped in his hand.

‘Here, take it.’ He held out his hand and she snatched the coin. ‘I was curious, that’s all. I wondered where you were from – where you lived.’

Distrust veiled her face. ‘We’re from nowhere and belong to nobody,’ she said. ‘And where we live is nowt to do with anybody else. We mind our own business and look after ourselves. Big ’uns look after little ’uns.’ She gave a piercing whistle which brought the others back from the theatre crowd where they had been begging, caps in hand. She held
out a cotton drawstring bag which was tied around her wrist and they emptied the contents of their caps into it.

She rattled it confidently and spoke in a forced cheerful manner. ‘Come on then, let’s be off and get our supper. Cheerio, mister,’ she said to Billy. ‘Be seeing thee.’

Sammi sat carefully on the edge of Victoria’s bed.
How pretty she is
, she thought as she looked down at her sister,
so delicate and fragile, as if a breath of wind would blow her away
. Victoria’s pale face was framed by her fine red gold hair.
Even her hair is pale compared to mine
. Sammi fingered it gently so as not to wake her, but the slight movement made Victoria stir, and she slowly opened her eyes.