The Pearly Queen (30 page)

‘Is it our fault she come lookin' like a bleedin' duchess?' said Lenny, growling the question.

‘Don't get me riled,' said Will, ‘just shove off.'

‘I got an appointment, anyways,' said the other man, and the two of them left.

Will regarded Mother Verity sternly. ‘You're hauntin' me,' he said.

‘Thank you for your kind help, Mr Fletcher.'

‘That's no answer.'

‘Did you ask a question, then? I didn't think so. You made a comment, I thought.'

‘Now listen,' said Will, ‘I'm not takin' another lickin' from that tongue of yours. If you want a question, I'll ask one. What d'you mean by bein' daft enough to come round 'ere all by yourself? And what d'you mean by bringing your 'andbag with you?'

‘That's two questions,' said Mother Verity with a gentle smile.

‘Gawd give me strength,' said Will. Everyone was looking now, of course. ‘Can't I get it into that crazy 'ead of yours that you're a sittin' duck in these streets?'

‘I thought the people in this place had begun to recognize me as a friend, Mr Fletcher.'

‘That's goin' to take a lot longer than a few weeks, Sister Charity.'

‘That's your name for me?' she asked.

‘Am I talkin' to meself?' said Will. ‘Are you listenin' or not?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Then next time you come, bring a copper with you, not your 'andbag.'

‘There's very little in my handbag, Mr Fletcher.'

Will took his cap off and ran an exasperated hand over his thick, wiry hair. ‘It makes no difference if you're only carryin' a few bob. A few bob is enough. An' don't ever come by yourself again, not for any ruddy reason. What made you come this evenin', anyway?'

‘I was passing and thought it only polite to come and say hullo.'

‘Oh, you thought I'd be sittin' in Bert Rogers's drawin'-room with me velvet smokin' jacket on and admirin' 'is silver candlesticks, did yer? And all ready to make you a polite pot of tea, I suppose?'

Mother Verity, losing none of her ladylike calmness, said, ‘I simply thought you might consider it unfriendly of me not to have stopped to ask how you were, or to find out if you had moved and taken that little girl with you.'

‘I'll start swearin' in a minute,' said Will, relieved that at least the people in the street were keeping themselves at a respectful distance. ‘I'll go off bang and swear me 'ead off. All right, yes, I've made me move to new lodgings, I made it when I got back from me job early this evenin'. I'm 'ere now because I came back to get something Lulu forgot. She was a bit excited an' forgot 'er rag doll, which she always takes to bed with 'er. Me new landlady's lookin' after her at the moment.'

‘So she is with you, Mr Fletcher, you're going to take care of her?'

‘Lulu's goin' to be me life's work, Sister Charity.'

‘Would you like me to—'

‘Keep off,' said Will. ‘If you come knockin' at my door in Bethnal Green to see if me Christianity is improvin', I won't be responsible for the consequences.'

‘I only have a Christian wish to—'

‘Well, I won't 'ave any wishes like that meself,' said Will, ‘all I'll have if I see you on me doorstep will be an improper attack of the old Adam.'

‘Whatever do you mean, Mr Fletcher?'

‘I mean you shouldn't ruddy well look the way you do look, should you?' Will thought her looks, especially her fine mouth, near to criminally provoking. ‘Now listen, I'm goin' to get Lulu's rag doll, then see you safely out of 'ere. I'm goin' to take you to a tram and throw you aboard. You got that, Sister Charity?'

‘Thank you, Mr Fletcher, that's very kind of you, I've felt all along you're essentially a good man.'

Will laughed. A little smile touched Mother Verity's mouth.

He saw her aboard a tram. She was still standing on the platform when it moved off, looking back at him, he with a battered old rag doll in his hand.

She wondered in bed that night how she could find out his new address and why Mother Magda found it necessary to go to confession so often with Father Peter. Father Peter was impressive in the strength and character of his faith, but even he must be feeling embarrassed. Poor Mother Magda, her sordid past lay heavily on her conscience, perhaps.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door made Mother Verity call, ‘Who is it?'

The door opened. ‘Good night, my sisters, and may the blessing of God be upon you.'

‘Good night, Father,' said Mother Verity. In the other bed, Mother Ruth was already asleep.

The door closed and the minister went on his way. It occurred to Mother Verity then that this custom of bestowing a good night blessing wasn't really necessary. It even had a little impropriety to it. One might not be in bed, one might be undressing.

One could only suppose that in his Christian goodness the minister simply did not think of that.

On her way to the Andrews house in Manor Place on Friday evening, it was Aunt Edie's turn to be accidentally bumped into by Mrs Shaw.

‘Oh, it's you, Miss 'Arper, well, I never,' said the friendly neighbourhood gossip, glancing at Aunt Edie's weekend suitcase. ‘I expect you've come to be a kind 'elp again.'

‘Hullo, Mrs Shaw, yes, it does 'appen to be me,' said Aunt Edie.

‘I must say, yer a good soul in Jack Andrews's hour of trial,' said Mrs Shaw.

‘Oh, he can stand on his own feet, Mrs Shaw, it's his children who need a bit of care and fussin'.'

‘I was sayin' to me old man, I was sayin' you've got an 'eart of gold, Miss 'Arper, and 'e said 'e was very admirin' of yer. It's a shame yer cousin Maud's not 'erself. I expect it's all them years of Jack bein' away at the war and 'er 'aving to care for Jimmy and 'is sisters all by 'erself, I expect it's give 'er a breakdown. Mind, we did 'ear she come 'ome in a van the other day, but only for about 'alf an hour, so I suppose she's improved a bit. Is she in one of them 'omes where they look after people 'aving breakdowns? Only we 'aven't 'eard if she is or where it is.'

‘I expect Mr Andrews doesn't want friends an' neighbours goin' to visit,' said Aunt Edie, no more disposed than Dad himself to let anyone know his wife had gone chronically religious. ‘You know how kind friends an' neighbours can be, and I expect Mr Andrews thinks it's best for her not to 'ave visitors.'

‘Yes, 'e's a nice man,' said Mrs Shaw, ‘and 'e's come out of the war still lookin' fit and 'andsome. It's a shame—'

‘Not half,' said Aunt Edie briskly. ‘Well, it's been nice talkin' to you, Mrs Shaw, I'll go an' see if the girls are in.'

They were, and they'd done something towards preparing the supper. Patsy had peeled the potatoes and Betsy had done the broad beans. They greeted Aunt Edie happily, and she gave them a hug and a kiss. She asked if they'd seen their mum during the week. Patsy said no. Her mum had been, she said, while she and Betsy were out, and Mum had taken everyone's clothes away.

‘What?' said Aunt Edie, and Patsy put her in the picture. Aunt Edie looked as if her sparks were going to fly. Patsy said Dad was nearly spitting blood for once. ‘I'm not surprised,' said Aunt Edie, controlling her anger to make a careful comment. ‘Your mum's not very well, we've all got to be a bit understandin', loveys.'

‘But all me clothes, Auntie,' said Betsy. ‘I didn't 'ave anyfink.'

‘Never mind, your dad brought them back,' said Aunt Edie, ‘and we'll all 'ave another nice weekend, you'll see. 'Ow's my young man?'

‘That boy,' said Patsy, and Aunt Edie smiled. Jimmy was getting to be quite a character these days. ‘He comes home lookin' as if he goes on holiday to Southend every day, or as if he's been hop-pickin' down in Kent.'

‘'E's disgustin' brown,' said Betsy.

‘Pardon?' said Aunt Edie.

‘That's what Patsy told 'im 'e was,' said Betsy.

‘Well, I'll 'ave a good look at him when he comes in,' said Aunt Edie. ‘Now I think I'd better help with the supper.'

Dad arrived home. Aunt Edie was frying plaice fillets, bought fresh from the market fishmonger by Patsy earlier in the day.

‘'Ullo, 'ullo, 'ow's our pearly queen?' he asked.

‘Leave off,' said Aunt Edie, ‘I'm nobody's pearly queen.'

‘Well, watch out for Joe Gosling,' said Dad, ‘he's got both 'is eyes on you.'

‘Is that supposed to be funny?' said Aunt Edie.

‘Nothing funny about it,' said Dad. ‘He told me after the concert last Saturday that 'e was inclined very serious towards you.'

‘D'you mind gettin' your dad out of this scullery, Patsy?' called Aunt Edie. ‘I'll 'it him with this fish fork if you don't.'

‘That plaice looks good, Edie,' said Dad.

‘Hoppit,' said Aunt Edie brusquely.

Jimmy came in, looking as brown as a berry. ‘Watcher, fam'ly. Watcher, Aunt Edie. How's me pearly queen?'

‘Don't you start, young Jimmy,' said Aunt Edie, ‘or you an' your dad'll both get your ears boxed.'

‘Crumbs,' whispered Betsy to Patsy in the kitchen, ‘d'you fink Aunt Edie's got the rats?'

‘No, course she 'asn't,' whispered Patsy. ‘She likes it.'

‘Why does she sound as if she's got the rats, then?'

‘She's a grown-up, and all grown-ups act a bit silly.'

‘I ain't goin' to be a grown-up, then,' whispered Betsy, ‘are you?'

‘I'll 'ave to be when I'm married.'

‘But will yer 'usband like yer bein' silly?'

‘He won't know, 'e'll be silly himself. Well, more silly, seeing 'e'll be a man.'

There was another dialogue between Dad and Aunt Edie in the parlour after supper. Aunt Edie wanted to know exactly how he'd handled his wife when he'd gone to get the family's clothes back. He told her.

‘You did what?' asked Aunt Edie.

‘Broke 'er ruddy umbrella,' said Dad.

‘You actually stood up to 'er?' said Aunt Edie.

‘Well, she needs a new umbrella, if that's what you mean,' said Dad, ‘but I wouldn't say it's a question of standin' up to her, Edie, more like tryin' to make her see the fam'ly's only goin' to put up with so much.'

‘Not good enough,' said Aunt Edie, who was getting a little edgy with Dad lately. ‘Bring 'er back 'ome and show 'er who's boss. Sometimes a man's got to be the boss. Maud's got to be cured before it's too late. Comin' here and cartin' off all 'er fam'ly's clothes to give to the poor, that's tellin' me she's nearly over the top.'

‘Well, I suppose she thought—'

‘I'll spit if you keep makin' excuses for her, Jack. What's goin' to 'appen if she goes right over the top, and gets put in an institution? It would leave young Patsy 'aving to be mum to all of you. You don't think I'll stand for lettin' Patsy take on that sort of responsibility, do you? A girl 'er age? It would take all the fun out of 'er life. I'd give up me job first, I'd—' Aunt Edie stopped and bit her lip.

‘Now, Edie—'

‘Don't you now Edie me. You're a man, Jack Andrews, you've always been a man, only you've forgot it's the duty of a husband an' father to see his wife don't play up at the expense of 'is kids. Don't you know young Betsy has got so that she's afraid of 'er mother? Don't you know Patsy can't stand 'er barmy ways, and that Jimmy couldn't care less if she comes back 'ome or not? Well, if she don't come back, and if she gets carted off to a loony bin, this fam'ly's not goin' to be without a mum. If Jimmy, Patsy an' Betsy were all grown up, all of an age to get married, it would be different, but they're not, and they've got to 'ave someone who'll be a mum to them.'

Dad, shaken by her flying sparks, said, ‘You mean yourself, Edie?'

‘There's not goin' to be anyone else, except over my dead body,' said Aunt Edie, who could have told him that for years she'd wanted to take Maud's place. ‘So you'd better bring Maud 'ome and cure 'er before it's too late, because the neighbours will 'ave something to talk about then.'

‘Edie, I couldn't ask you to do a thing like that, give up your job and take the fam'ly on,' said Dad.

‘No, you wouldn't ask, would you? So I'd 'ave to volunteer, wouldn't I?'

‘But, Edie old girl, you'd get talked about something rotten,' said Dad.

‘Then you'd 'ave to move, wouldn't you?' said Aunt Edie, all sparks.

‘Ruddy coconuts,' said Dad, ‘you're a pearly queen and a sergeant-major all rolled into one.'

‘Oh, I am, am I?'

‘You bet you are,' said Dad, ‘and I like you for it. That's the trouble.'

‘What d'you mean?' A little flush appeared on Aunt Edie's face.

‘Never mind,' said Dad.

‘I do mind,' said Aunt Edie, ‘I want to know what you mean.'

‘Well, I'm not sure you'd be safe, love, if you set up 'ome with me and the kids.'

‘Why wouldn't I?' The flush deepened. Aunt Edie knew exactly what he meant, of course, but she wouldn't have been the woman she was if she hadn't wanted him to spell it out.

‘You're special to this fam'ly, Edie, and to me, and I always did go for pearly queens.'

‘Say what you mean,' said Aunt Edie.

‘I've said what I mean.'

‘Not in plain words, you 'aven't.'

‘Listen, Edie, if there's one thing I don't want to do, it's something that would make a mess of our friendship,' said Dad. ‘You've been a friend to me for as long as I can remember, the very best friend, and that's it, I'm not sayin' any more, except if you came and lived with us, it could all go up the spout.'