The Dollmaker's Daughters (8 page)

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.’

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 built, 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.’

For a wild moment, Rosetta thought that her mother was going to leap across the grave to grab Lottie by the throat, but Ruby and Joe had her by the arms and they were hanging on for dear life.

‘Calm down, Mum,’ Joe said, clamping his arm around her shoulders. ‘Aunt Lottie is upset. We’re all upset.’

‘Joe’s right,’ Ruby added, ‘this ain’t the time nor the place, Mum.’

‘Sock her one, Sal,’ shouted Granny Mole from her perch on the tombstone. ‘Don’t let the Eyetie tart get away with it.’

‘Who are you calling a tart, you old witch?’ Lottie screamed, shaking her fist at Granny Mole.

Rosetta caught her by the arm. ‘Aunt Lottie, no, please. Think of Poppa.’

Sarah broke free from Joe and Ruby and came wading through the grass round the foot of the grave to stand in front of Lottie, arms akimbo. ‘Don’t you call Ma names. But if it’s name calling you want, Carlotta, then I got a few choice ones for you.’

‘Ladies, please.’ Sly tugged ineffectually at Lottie’s coat sleeve.

Joe and Ruby had come hurrying after Sarah but she shot her arms out sideways, holding them back with the agonised expression of a crucified martyr. ‘No, I’ll have me say here and now with Aldo as me witness. I never wanted none of this papist rubbish. All I wanted was a quiet little sermon to say goodbye to my dead hubby, but no! You had to stick your beak in and have all this vulgar show.’ Sarah waved her hand towards the glass-sided hearse and the four black horses pawing the ground as they waited.

‘You call me vulgar?’ Lottie strained against Sly’s grasp, her hands clawing as though she wanted to pull out Sarah’s hair strand by strand. ‘No Capretti ever been called vulgar. I’ll have you know I was the uncrowned queen of the music halls. I counted the Prince of Wales amongst my admirers – I had men falling at my feet.’

‘And you’d have been flat on your back ready for them.’

‘You take that back.’

‘I only speak the truth.’

Breaking free from Sly, Lottie raised her arm as if to slap Sarah but the stranger, who up until this minute had stood silently observing the row, stepped in between them.

‘Ladies, if I may have a word.’

‘Who in hell’s name are you?’ demanded Sarah.

‘Ma,’ Joe said urgently, tugging at her sleeve. ‘That’s Mr Crowe.’

‘You keep out of this, Jonas Crowe.’ Lottie’s eyes flashed angrily but she lowered her voice. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t soil me hands on that woman.’

Rosetta moved closer, brushing Billy’s restraining hand from her arm. It was as if some strange power in Jonas Crowe drew her towards him like iron to a magnet.

‘A suggestion, ladies and gents,’ Jonas said, addressing everyone in general. ‘Since the location of the wake seems to be causing some bother, I suggest we all go back to my establishment in Raven Street. I’m sure you ladies would like a little drop of something to keep out the cold and the gents could probably do with something a bit stronger.’

Rosetta held her breath, willing them all to
accept the invitation. Ruby whispered something to Joe, but he shook his head, eyeing Jonas with a wary expression on his face. Even Billy was strangely silent, not like his usual cocky self at all, and Aunt Lottie had calmed down all of a sudden; it was obvious that she knew Jonas and, like Joe, was a bit in awe of him. Rosetta shot Jonas a sideways glance beneath her lashes; he was speaking to Mum and Lottie, but she knew instinctively that he was aware of her and a frisson of excitement pulsed through her veins.

‘I says we cut the cackle and go with the geezer in the flash suit,’ Granny Mole said, getting slowly to her feet. ‘I’m freezing cold and bloody starving.’

‘This is family business, Mr Crowe,’ Sarah said, her mouth setting in a stubborn line.

‘And I respect that, Mrs Capretti. But you might say that I’m a family friend and neighbour.’ Jonas angled his head towards Lottie. ‘Isn’t that right, Lottie?’

Whether it was the cold that finally won the day or the fact that the fight had simply gone out of both Sarah and Lottie after their battle of words, somehow Jonas Crowe had his way. Brushing aside the argument that it was too far to walk to Raven Street, he sent Joe to summon a fleet of hackney carriages to transport the entire party. Despite a lot of pushing and shoving by the cousins from Wapping, which caused Sarah
to wade in and sort them out with a few terse words, eventually everyone had a seat in a cab except Rosetta, Ruby and Billy.

‘We can walk,’ Ruby said, through chattering teeth, clutching Rosetta’s old shawl tightly around her shoulders.

‘I ain’t walking all that way,’ Rosetta said, loud enough for Jonas to hear. ‘I got a performance tonight. Got to keep on me toes, so to speak.’

‘No need to walk,’ Billy said. ‘I can give you both a lift on me cart.’

‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Jonas offered his arm to Rosetta. ‘You’ll ride in comfort in my motor car.’

‘That would be lovely.’ Rosetta slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, smiling up at him. If only the girls at the Falstaff could see her now.

Jonas turned to Ruby. ‘You’ll come too, Miss Capretti?’

‘I expect Ruby would prefer the cart,’ Rosetta said, hoping that Ruby would get the message and go with Billy, who was standing with his fists clenched at his sides and his jaw sticking out as if he would like to punch Jonas on the nose.

‘I’ll take you, Ruby,’ Billy said, scowling.

Ruby smiled apologetically. ‘Ta, Billy, but I’d best go with Rose.’

‘Suit yourself then.’ Billy strode off, hunching his shoulders and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

As if the ride in the motor car was not enough to make her head spin, Rosetta had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from gasping in awe at the grandeur of Jonas Crowe’s establishment. Although it was part of the same terrace, situated slap next door to Lottie’s rambling, ramshackle house, the exterior had been well maintained and the interior could not have been more of a contrast. A maidservant let them into the entrance hall that was richly decorated in crimson and gold with red Turkey carpet that stretched all the way up the polished mahogany staircase. Jonas switched on the electric lights, bringing gasps of amazement from everyone as they came in through the front door. Rosetta could see that Mum had begun to enjoy herself. It would please her to get one up on the cousins from Wapping, who could barely afford to buy candles let alone gaslight. Cousin Stan, who was a bit barmy anyway, was cowering behind Aunt Lil, squinting at the electric lights as if he expected the archangel Gabriel and a heavenly choir to burst out of the glowing bulbs.