The Long Walk Home (33 page)

Mikey stepped inside. 'Happy Christmas, Ellie.'

Awkwardly he tucked the candy box under his arm and handed her the violets with his left hand, putting out his right to shake hers. 'Thank you for asking me.'

She gave him her hand; it was small, soft and warm. 'I'm glad you could come,' she said, a flush touching her cheeks as she took the flowers. 'Thank you. Come and meet the Bertrams.'

Mikey shook hands with Mr Bertram, who was wearing a white shirt and paisley cravat with pinstriped trousers. Very smart, Mikey thought, considering the run-down area in which they lived.

'Very kind of you to ask me, Mrs Bertram,' he said to Liza, handing her the box of candy.

'Not at all, m'dear,' she said, smiling and expressing her appreciation of the gift. 'It's nice for Miss Kendall to have her young man here for Christmas. And call me Liza; everybody else does,' she added breezily, thus covering Mikey's embarrassment and Eleanor's confusion.

Liza had put on a festive spread. A roast goose, cooked with sage, was resting on the table; the mixed aromas of goose and chestnut stuffing and apple sauce made Mikey's mouth water, and his eyes were drawn to the pan rattling on the fire where a plum pudding was boiling.

Never in his life had he eaten such a meal. Liza brought out roast potatoes, boiled cabbage and parsnips, and he marvelled at her expertise in cooking on her cast-iron range, which belted out heat as she constantly fuelled it.

After they had eaten, Eleanor handed out the Christmas presents. Mikey was astonished and delighted with his gloves. 'I've never had a pair before,' he said. 'Never in my life!'

The children, Liza and Mr Bertram too were thrilled with the presents she had bought them. Liza dabbed her neck with the lavender water and Mr Bertram said he would light up the cigar later.

Eleanor offered to clear the table and wash the dishes but Liza would have none of it. 'I'll do them, and then me and Bert will sit with our feet up by the fire and 'ave a glass of ale.'

The small room was hot and stuffy; the fire was only just dying down to red embers. Mikey took off his jacket and sat cross-legged on the floor to examine Daniel's wooden toy train.

After a while, Liza suggested that Eleanor and Mikey might like to have a walk up Regent Street; work off your dinner, she said, and make room for tea.

Eleanor rolled her eyes; as if there could be room for tea! Mikey blew out his lips. He was absolutely stuffed.

He put his coat on again and Eleanor went upstairs to fetch hers. The day was cold but bright and sunny and in Regent Street there were crowds of people strolling along chatting with friends and carrying parcels. There was a great air of jollity and merrymaking, with everyone making the most of their day's holiday.

They walked along until they came to Oxford Street and Eleanor's place of work, and paused outside the emporium.

'Why is it called an emporium?' Mikey asked. 'Why not just a mourning shop?'

Eleanor laughed. 'I imagine that Mr Henry senior wouldn't like it to be called a shop. He's very grand,' she said. 'So he would want a grand name. It does sound rather pompous, doesn't it?'

They stood looking at the window, which was dressed in black and white, but with a seasonal atmosphere about it where the base of the window had been sprinkled with paper snowflakes. Her idea, Eleanor said shyly.

'Do you like working here?' Mikey asked. 'Don't you feel sad when people come in to buy mourning clothes?'

Eleanor considered. 'I'm sad anyway,' she confessed. 'I can't remember when I last felt happy.' She turned towards him. 'You haven't mentioned Simon, Mikey,' she said. 'You know that he's gone away?'

Mikey shuffled his feet, which were getting cold, and they drew into the shop doorway. 'I didn't know what to say about him,' he admitted. 'Not in front of the Bertrams. I onny heard yesterday that he was on his way to Canada; and . . . and well, to tell you 'truth, I was bothered that you might have left with him.' He gave a grin. 'I was so relieved when you opened 'Bertrams' door.'

'I wouldn't have gone without telling you,' she said, her eyes wide.

'But you might not have had time to get word to me, seeing as Simon went off so quick. Manners didn't find out until 'day he left either.'

'I knew,' she confessed. 'That's why he came to see me; to tell me he was leaving. With my mother,' she added. 'But he asked me not to tell anyone.' She didn't tell him about Simon's special instruction, 'especially not Quinn'.

'So why are you sad?' he asked, a frown creasing his forehead. 'Is it because you're on your own?'

'Yes. It's because I have no one,' she said softly. 'My mother and brother have left the country, and my father— my father, well; I don't know what might have happened to him.'

She pressed her lips together and Mikey saw that there were tears in her eyes.

'I understand,' he said. 'When I came out of prison, my mother had died and my brothers and sister were in 'workhouse. That's why I left and came to London.' He paused and thought of how miserable and sad he had been. 'I was looking for something to replace 'life I'd had at home.' He shook his head. 'But I never did.'

They stood silently gazing out at the passing population and the carriages and traps going by filled with jolly laughing people. It was starting to snow. Soft white flakes were drifting down, not yet settling on the ground but melting instantly. Both sighed.

'Do you know what I'd really like, Mikey?' Eleanor murmured.

He turned to her; her face was pale, and he noticed that her fair skin had a translucent lustre. He watched her moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and he recalled the time she had put it out at him.

He smiled at the remembrance. 'No. What?'

'I'd like . . .' She heaved a breath and a vaporous mist issued from her mouth. 'I'd like to go home.'

He took hold of her hand and gently squeezed it. 'So would I.'

They talked as they walked back to Trenton Square. They had decided not to go on any further as the snow was now coming down fast, filling the darkening day with swirls of white, settling on their heads and shoulders, coating Eleanor's hat with soft flakes and speckling Mikey's dark hair.

Eleanor looked up at him. 'You're a piebald pony,' she laughed.

He tapped her gently on the nose where a snowflake had landed. 'And you're Snow White,' he teased and it seemed perfectly natural that she should put up her hand to his and that their fingers should join and stay together.

'So when shall I take you home, Ellie?' he asked softly. 'When shall we leave?'

She turned to him, her blue eyes wide. 'Do you mean it?' she said.

'If it's what you want.'

She thought for a moment. 'If I leave Mr Henry's employ now I will only have a week's wages and I'll have to pay Liza the rent due. It's only right that I do; so I won't have enough money for the train fare.' Her expression was stricken. 'When will I ever?'

Mikey gave a sudden grin. 'Train fare? I've never been on a train! When we came to London, we walked, Bridget and me; we hitched some rides and we were just outside Nottingham when we met Simon; he'd got a lift in a waggon. He used to split up from us at night, though, and find his own lodgings. But he had his money stolen and stayed with us after that. Safety in numbers.' His voice dropped. 'Then we came across Tully, who took us up in his carriage. I'd met him before . . . in prison. He offered us a lift all 'way to London and a chance of work. So we took it.

'I wouldn't expect you to walk, of course,' he said, abruptly changing the subject. 'Can you save enough if we wait till spring? And then mebbe . . .' He thought long and hard about how they could travel together but could come up with no solution. 'I don't know,' he murmured, 'mebbe get you a coach ride; public coaches are desperate for passengers, so I've heard.'

'But together?' she said. 'You said you wanted to go home too.'

'Aye, I do. But I earn hardly any money, so it'll be Shanks's pony for me again.'

'What do you mean?' she asked, puzzled. 'Who is Shanks?'

Mikey laughed. What a world apart they were. 'It means walking on your own legs. On your shanks! Haven't you heard of it?'

Eleanor shook her head. 'No, never! But I could do it, Mikey,' she said earnestly. 'I know I could.'

'Not in winter you couldn't,' he told her. 'We'll have to wait for better weather. This lot is set in for weeks.' He looked up at the sky, which now seemed to be filled with floating duck feathers. 'We left Hull in October and missed 'worst of 'weather. So let's look to spring, shall we, and mebbe we'll both have a bit of extra money?'

Reluctantly Eleanor agreed. It did make sense, of course, but now that the idea had been voiced she was very anxious to put it into action. Home, though not always agreeable or even hospitable, seemed now to be urging her to come back. It's because it's familiar to me, she thought. I have had an adventure into the unknown by coming here to look for Simon and finding work, which is in the main very satisfying; but I could work equally well in my home town. I wouldn't consider it beneath me and wouldn't care if our acquaintances thought it was; indeed, it would be the answer to a dilemma if my father is no longer able to support me.

Mikey's hands were warm in his new gloves and every now and again he squeezed Eleanor's fingers. I could walk miles with her by my side, he thought happily. I'll gladly walk her all the way home. Then he thought of her father and how he had treated him, and realized that after he'd taken her home he'd have to say goodbye. Whether he's in prison or not, he'll still think I'm not good enough for his daughter. And I'm not.

After they had eaten a tea of muffins and spice cake, for which both found, to their surprise, that they had plenty of room after all, and indulged in a glass of hot toddy, Mikey told Eleanor he must leave. 'Better make tracks,' he said, and laughed at the puzzled look on her face. How much he would enjoy initiating her into the world of ordinary people and their phrases as they travelled the road.

'I
did
know what you meant,' she said, as she opened the door to him. 'It's just that I've never heard anyone say that before. I know nothing about real people,' she said, speaking his thoughts aloud. 'Will you teach me?' she asked softly.

'Yes,' he said, and bent to kiss her cheek.

He felt completely happy as he walked towards Wapping. He barely felt the cold, though his feet were wet and his toes numb. Ellie didn't turn away from me or seem offended when I kissed her, he thought with a tender glow. I've never wanted to kiss anybody afore, though Bridget's offered often enough, but then Bridget's like that. I've seen her kissing Simon and once I caught her giving Tully a peck on his greasy stubble.

There was no one in the lodging house when he arrived and the place smelt cold and damp. He put a few sticks in the grate and lit a match, but it didn't catch. He went into Bridget's room and took her blanket off the bed. She's not using it, so I might as well. He took off his wet boots and rubbed his feet dry on a piece of flannel, then wrapped himself in the blanket, put on his wool gloves and sat down in the chair with a sigh. 'So that was Christmas,' he murmured. 'Best one I've had since I was just a bairn.'

The next morning he reported back at the warehouse. It was bitterly cold, the roads were wet and slushy underfoot and the sky was ominously dark. Manners wasn't there so he hung about, but after an hour he walked down towards the river. Men were working on the wharves and the ships; barges and carriers were making their way towards the docks, but there were very few workers by the warehouses. He thought it odd that Manners would expect a consignment today, the day after Christmas.

Somebody shouted his name. 'Quinn!'

He looked up and saw Tully, a black scarecrow of a figure in his flowing coat and hat.

'Where's Sam?' Tully shouted. 'I'm waiting on him.'

Mikey walked towards him. 'You told him he was finished,' he said. 'But you didn't pay him. You said for him to come today for his wages.'

'Ah!' Tully gave an exasperated grunt. 'He can come back if he's a mind to. What 'you doing down here?'

'Waiting for Manners,' Mikey said, remembering too late that Tony Manners had said that Tully wasn't involved in this job. 'He asked me to come in today.'

'What for?' Tully's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'We're not expecting a consignment.'

Mikey shrugged. 'Don't know,' he said. 'He didn't say.'

'He told me that he wouldn't be here today and I said I wouldn't be either. Have you seen Gilby?' Tully asked abruptly.

'Gilby! No, not for weeks.' Tully's pockmarked crony rarely turned up and Mikey was at a loss to know what he did. He hardly ever spoke but only grunted when asked a question.

'So why are you here, Tully?' Mikey asked curiously.

Tully shrugged up to his ears in his greatcoat. 'I'm picking up a crate of baccy. That's why I wanted Sam. He could have hauled it on to 'cart for me.'

Tully never lifted anything if he could find someone else to do it for him.

'I'll do it,' Mikey offered. 'I'm doing nowt else.'

He walked back to the warehouse with Tully and watched as the other man unlocked the padlock with a key and opened the doors. There was a handcart inside and Mikey pushed it over towards the stacked crates. He lifted one on to the cart and knew better than to ask where it was going.

Tully picked up a crowbar which leaned against the wall. 'Open it for me, will you? Thanks,' he mumbled as Mikey forced the crate. Then he fumbled in his pocket. 'Here,' he said, giving Mikey a handful of coins. 'Share that wi' your mate Sam.' He trundled the cart out and padlocked the door again. 'Find out what Manners is up to,' he said as he turned away. 'And let me know. I'll mek it worth your while.'

'If he turns up,' Mikey said carelessly. He wouldn't do anything of the sort, of course. He knew better than to tell tales.

He watched as Tully pushed the cart to the top of the road and disappeared behind the back of a building. He was curious as to where he was going with the crate. He didn't want me to know, at any rate, or he would have asked me to push it, he thought.