The Long Walk Home (27 page)

As she put her hand on the latch a sharp rap on the door startled her. She opened it tentatively. 'Yes?' she said to the man who had put his foot in the door as if to come in. 'Wh-who are you?'

'Hello, my dear.' He had a black hat on, and now lifted it to reveal long black straggly hair. 'I was going to ask you 'same question.' He gave a sly grin, displaying gaps in his teeth, and stepped into the room. 'Friend of Bridget's, are you? Where is she? Lazy gel still in bed?'

Eleanor swallowed. 'Yes. Yes, she is.' Who is he, she thought, feeling apprehensive. He was a scarecrow of a man, with narrow face, a long nose and a long black coat.

He leaned towards her and she took a step back. 'You lookin' for work? I could fix you up, smart young lady like you!'

'No, she's not!' Bridget stood at the bedroom door. She wore just her shift and her hair was all over the place.

Tully scowled. 'Go get dressed,' he snapped. 'You ain't decent. I've been waiting for you this last half-hour. Time is money! And who did you say you were?' He turned again to Eleanor.

'She didn't say,' Bridget interrupted. 'Don't mess with her, Tully. She's Simon's sister, here on a visit.'

Tully looked thoughtful. 'Not staying, then?'

When Eleanor shook her head, he pinched his lips together. 'Pity,' he said. 'We could do with a bit o' class.'

Bridget came into the room. 'I
said
don't mess wi' her, Tully.' Her voice was spiteful. She'd obviously taken exception to the remark. 'She's a pal o' Mikey's. He's looking out for her.'

'Is he? A pal o' Quinn's, eh?' He put his hand to his chest and gave Eleanor a sweeping bow. 'In that case I'll bid you good day.'

It took her a long time to get back to Aunt Marie's because she became completely lost after she had stepped off the horse bus. Everything looked so different coming from the opposite end, and she was also quite flustered after her unexpected meeting with Tully. She had to ask for directions to Marble Grove several times before she eventually arrived.

Dolly was sitting in the front shop with her feet up on a wooden box, cradling the baby. When she saw Eleanor she said, 'Oh, you've turned up, 'ave you? I said we wouldn't see you again. Ma!' she yelled. 'Somebody to see you.'

Aunt Marie came trotting through and beamed when she saw Eleanor. 'I said you'd come back again to see Aunt Marie. How've you got on, m'darlin'? Did you find your brother?'

'Yes, I did, thank you.' Eleanor didn't tell her that he wasn't particularly pleased to see her. 'I wanted to come back and thank you for your kindness to me, but I also wanted to ask your advice about something.'

'Come on through, m'dear. You're just in time for a brew. Dolly, you mind the shop,' she called over her shoulder and grimaced at Eleanor as if at the laziness of her daughter-in- law.

Eleanor sat down as invited and took the cup of tea; there was no saucer to go with it, but by now she didn't expect one.

'I need to find work of some kind, Aunt Marie,' she said. 'My brother isn't earning very much and I don't want to be a burden to him. But you see,' she confided, 'I don't know what I can do. I've never had to work. I've always lived at home with my parents.'

Marie nodded wisely. 'Some people are lucky enough not to have to work, though I always say that hard work never hurt anybody and is good for body and soul. I've tried telling that to Dolly,' she added, 'but she ain't convinced.'

'Well, I'm willing,' Eleanor said, 'but I don't know who'd have me when I have no experience. Do you think I might become a shop girl?'

Marie pursed her lips, and then nodded. 'Up West, I'd think so. Them shops like somebody classy. And you're classy all right.'

Eleanor blushed. 'Do you think so?' She was embarrassed, but pleased nevertheless. Perhaps after all someone looking for employees might think the same.

'Tell you what!' Marie said. 'You're a very refined and quiet young lady. I reckon one o' them mourning shops might take you on. Usually they have men at the front of the shop and gels at the back doing the sewing, but I reckon they might look on you favourably.'

'A mourning shop?' Eleanor exclaimed. 'Oh!' The idea of such an establishment didn't really appeal to her, but perhaps Marie was right. They would want someone quiet and of a sympathetic nature to deal with bereaved clients. 'Where would I find them?' she asked.

'I'll come wiv you,' the old lady said. 'They're mostly in Oxford Street. That's where the better-off folk go, anyway. Tomorrow. Come first thing in the morning and we'll go together. Come as you are with your 'at and coat and you'll look a treat.'

Eleanor smiled as she felt hope rising. Aunt Marie was such a cheerful soul it was inspiring, and yet she always wore black.

'Are you in mourning, Aunt Marie?' she asked.

'I was,' she replied. 'My old man died twenty years ago but I couldn't afford black then, only me old black 'at. It's taken me years to get all this together.' She winked. 'But it serves me well. Folks are kinder to an old widow woman dressed in black.'

Eleanor laughed. 'You're such a tonic, Aunt Marie, and you've been a great help. I'm so glad that I met you.'

Marie patted her hand. 'You're a good gel,' she said. 'Don't you worry. We'll have you right.'

Eleanor felt quite cheerful as she travelled back towards Wapping and began to plan what she would say when applying for an occupation the next day. Should I say that my parents are dead, she wondered, and that I am in the unfortunate position of fending for myself? Or perhaps I won't say
unfortunate
; most people do have to work after all. No, I'll say that I am compassionate and understand people's sorrows and that is why I am applying for this particular type of situation. Her cheerfulness subsided as she thought of dealing with other people's grief, but then she decided that after some experience she could apply to work elsewhere, somewhere more amenable.

She hopped off the bus in Wapping and sniffed. She could smell food and her mouth began to water. She had had nothing to eat but the bread this morning and the cup of tea with Aunt Marie, and it was now well after midday. Her nose followed the aroma until she came to a pie shop where a group of people were waiting. Amongst them was Mikey.

'Hello,' she said shyly, coming up to him. 'Have you finished work?'

'For 'time being. We've another consignment coming in later so I'm grabbing summat to eat while I can.' His cheeks flushed as he spoke. 'Shall I get you something?' he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the queue forming behind them.

'Yes, please.' She opened her purse. 'What's the best thing to have?'

'Chicken pie,' he said. 'Beef's a bit stringy. And get a roasted tatie.'

'Is that what you're having?' When he nodded, she said she'd have the same.

After they'd been served, Mikey said he usually walked down to the river and sat on the wall to eat his dinner, and she asked whether he would mind if she joined him.

'I'd like that,' he said. 'I like to look at 'shipping and think of some of them mekking their way to 'Humber docks, or coming from there as well. Freight carriers wi' grain from Holderness and fishing smacks come too, those that can carry ice.'

'Oh,' she said, 'of course. Does it remind you of home? Do you feel homesick?'

'Yeh,' he sighed. 'Sometimes I do.' He pondered. 'Well, quite a lot. I wonder about my brothers and sister and what they're doing.'

'Couldn't you write to them?' she asked. 'Simon never wrote home and I always wished that he would, but of course he didn't want our father to know where . . .' Her voice trailed away. She didn't want to air her family troubles.

Mikey glanced away. 'I should,' he murmured, 'but I never have. Simon told me about your father beating him for disobedience and that that was why he ran away.'

'Why did you?' she said as they walked. 'Run away, I mean. Were you in trouble?' Then she was embarrassed. He had left Hull after spending time in prison because of her father. 'I'm so sorry,' she murmured. 'I— I didn't mean . . .'

'It's all right,' he said, understanding her apology, or at least he thought he did. 'After I finished my time in prison there seemed to be nothing left for me in Hull. My mother had died while I was in there and my brothers and sister went into 'workhouse, and I'd nowhere to go. No home to go to.'

She turned a shocked expression towards him. 'I'm so very sorry. And it was because of my father!'

'No!' He shook his head and led her towards a small wall near the embankment, where they sat down. 'It wasn't your father's fault that I stole them rabbits. That was mine. And,' he said reassuringly, 'if I hadn't been caught I might have thought it so easy that I might have gone on to a life of crime.'

He stared across the water towards the wharves on the far side, then turned to look at her. 'It was 'first time I'd ever stolen anything.' He willed her to believe him. 'I saw 'rabbits hanging there and I was tempted.'

'Were you hungry?' she asked, remembering her conversation with old Nanny.

'I expect so.' He dug into the pie with his fingers, tearing at the crust to get at the chicken and popping it into his mouth. 'We allus were. I'd no father, you see; he was drowned at sea when I was just a nipper, but still that's no excuse. I shouldn't have pinched 'em. They weren't mine.'

Eleanor smiled at him. He had gravy on his chin. '
Would
you have gone on to a life of crime?'

He grinned back at her. 'Well, no. I reckon my ma would have given me a hiding— after she'd made 'rabbit pie! And . . .' He hesitated, and then plunged on. 'If your father hadn't caught me I'd never have seen you that day. You pulled your tongue out at me!'

She laughed. 'I did, didn't I?' Then she lowered her head. 'And if you'd not been caught you wouldn't have been here to direct me to Simon.'

Mikey wiped the edges of his mouth with his fingers as he gazed at her. 'Aye,' he said. 'Life is full of ifs and buts. And what'll we do with you now? This is no place for you.'

Eleanor gave a slight toss of her head and it brought him a memory of her as a child.

'I'm going to try for a position of work,' she said. 'At a mourning shop.'

'At a mourning shop!' Bridget, stretched out on the sofa when they got back to the lodging house, was incredulous when she was told. 'You'd never get me working in one of them places. I've seen 'em in Oxford Street. 'Windows are all decked out in black and purple.' She shuddered. 'Gives me 'creeps to think about it. If I was working in a shop I'd pick one o' them that sells fancy frocks and hats wi' flowers and peacock feathers, and warm coats with a nice bit o' fox fur, though I don't like 'em with 'heads on.'

'So why don't you try for a job like that?' Mikey asked her. 'Instead of working for Tully?'

Bridget shrugged. 'It's easy money.'

'It's stealing!' Mikey snapped. 'And you know what'll happen if you get caught.'

'Shan't get caught,' she said airily. 'Cos I'm doing nothing. Tully's the one who's doing it. All I'm doing is asking for 'time of day.'

'You're setting them up for being robbed,' he argued hotly. 'It's just 'same. You're in partnership wi' Tully, who's got a string of convictions as long as my arm, and if he's caught so will you be! You'll be sent to prison or transported.'

'Well you should know,' she sneered. 'And as if you cared,' she added bitterly.

Mikey flushed. 'I do care,' he said. 'We all started together; you, me and Simon. We don't want trouble.'

Eleanor looked on, bewildered. Whatever were they talking about? What was it that Bridget did that made Mikey so worried?

'Trouble!' Bridget laughed scornfully. 'You're in it up to your neck. You're so concerned over Tully! Well, watch out for Manners. He's worse than Tully, onny he's not been caught; not yet he hasn't. And when he is, he'll drop everybody in it, including you.'

Tully picked Bridget up at six in a morning three times a week, one of the days being a Saturday, when the West End was full of sightseeing visitors. In the horse-drawn cart were two young boys who had lodgings in the same house as Tully. He drove them all into London, where the boys were stripped of their boots as Sam and William had once been and positioned strategically either outside a railway station or near some exclusive establishment, where they would give out plaintive cries of 'Spare a penny, mister' or 'Missus, we're orphans, spare a copper for a slice o' bread.'

Bridget refused to have anything to do with this operation; some small part of her found it loathsome to use children in this way, though she never voiced her objections. She waited in the cart until Tully returned and they continued into a busy part of London: Oxford Street, Covent Garden, the elegant Burlington Arcade, or the rough and tumble of one of the fairs in Shepherd Market. They chose a different area every month, thereby avoiding becoming familiar figures in any one. They had been following the same pattern over the years, Bridget bumping into a gentleman and pretending to be hurt, or occasionally 'fainting' just as Tully appeared and called for help to pick her up. In the confusion any Good Samaritan would be deprived of his wallet without even knowing it. After the incident Bridget would hobble away giving plaintive thanks. She and Tully always had a pre-arranged meeting place, often among the down-and-outs beneath an archway of a railway bridge, where no self-respecting citizen would come in search of his stolen goods. She found the experience both exhilarating and exciting and was scornful of and amused by the careless victims.

She was sure that Tully was straight with her. If they had cash from an encounter and had acquired perhaps twenty shillings in the day, Tully kept fifteen and gave her the remaining five, a fortune in Bridget's eyes. She knew that she could plead innocence if Tully was caught red-handed. The young boys never kept any of the coppers they earned. Tully took it all and gave them free board and lodging which kept them tied to him, for they had no other means of support.

Manners was a different kettle of fish altogether. Some of his business was above board and done with genuine traders, but she knew it was a front for the goods which were smuggled off the ships and into his warehouse, or on occasions into the rooms which he rented solely for his own use.