Lydia frequently reminded herself that with her husband’s child beside her, she could never be lonely.
Lost in her thoughts she saw Adam coming towards her, proudly holding the Labrador puppy’s lead with Richard Wright close behind him. Smiling, she stood up to greet them, then leaned down to make a fuss of the puppy, which was leaping about hysterically on the end of his lead and making a surprising amount of noise for a dog of his size.
Adam said, ‘His name’s Snip. Isn’t that a nice name? Snip likes me. Mr Wright told me he does.’
Richard Wright grinned down at the boy. ‘Oh, he does, yes. He was hoping you’d be here today. He was in the middle of his breakfast, and he stopped and asked me if you would be in the park.’
‘Did he?’ Thrilled by the news and never doubting it, Adam’s eyes shone as he bent down to the puppy. ‘Well, here I am, Snip!’ He patted the puppy, which licked his hand and made him laugh. He said, ‘I can’t have a pet because they make Papa sneeze. Not even a mouse in a cage!’ He glanced up at Mr Wright. ‘Not even a rabbit in a hutch outside.’
Lydia shrugged. ‘It’s a shame, but it’s just one of those things,’ she said, and then she asked after the man’s wife, who had had a recent fall and injured her arm.
‘It’s slightly infected. The doctor reckons it will mend,’ he explained, ‘but these things take time. How’s your husband?’
She kept her voice level. ‘I’m afraid John’s still away on business.’ She sat down again, indicating that he might share the seat with her if he wished. He accepted, and they sat together, watching the antics of the boy and the dog.
Eventually, he said, ‘I haven’t seen your father in the shop for some time now. Is he worse?’
Her grey eyes darkened. ‘I’m afraid so. I try to dissuade him from going outside the house without me in case he gets lost. He could wander away. The doctor has explained that he will never improve so I must expect a steady deterioration in his condition.’ She sighed. ‘I know my father doesn’t mean to be unkind, and I try to make allowances for his behaviour because I know it is part of the disease. We used to be close, but now it’s impossible. He has good days and bad days. I do my best, but it is certainly very trying at times and I worry about the effect he has on young Adam . . . Still, worse troubles at sea!’ She forced a smile.
‘He’s fortunate to have such a caring daughter.’ Mr Wright stood up. ‘I must get back or my wife will grumble at me! She has extra work to do now that my aunt is staying with us for a few weeks.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘But she doesn’t really mind. Aunt Gladys is very talkative, but they get along well enough and my wife enjoys a bit of female company.’
Adam bade a reluctant farewell to the puppy, and Richard Wright headed back towards the gate. While Adam returned to the roundabout and then the slide, Lydia decided she would write again to her husband, sounding cheerful and positive. She liked to think that when he returned to the office from which he worked, he would find several letters from her and imagined that reading and replying to them would be something he looked forward to.
PSD, Third Floor, Sixteen Mansoor Street, Clerkenwell, London
. That was where he was when he was not with her, unless he was away on an assignment. The initials stood for Public Security Department. A modest-sounding address that would arouse no unwelcome attention from the wrong people. That was how John had described it, and it made perfect sense. She liked to imagine him in his office, gravely discussing the current project, serious men huddled round a table, dealing with important matters of state.
Half an hour later, as she and Adam walked home, she was already planning her letter. She could tell John about the walk to the park and Adam and the new puppy at the paper shop, and she would pretend her father had had a better than usual day. No point in depressing him, she told herself. He had an important job to do and worries of his own and reading her letters should be the highlight of his day.
The following morning, less than two miles away, Jenny Ellerway, known by all and sundry as Dolly, hurried from her home at number fifteen, crossed to the house immediately opposite and, as always, banged the knocker four times and held her finger on the bell until the door was opened by Sidney. He was rubbing his eyes, tired from a rough night’s sleep after a late supper of pigs’ trotters, and was in no mood to exchange niceties.
‘He’s not here, Doll!’ he told her and tried to shut the door, but Dolly Ellerway, anticipating this move, already had her foot over the door sill.
‘Course ’e’s ere!’ She tossed her tangled curls indignantly. ‘Where else would he be?’
‘He’s not here, I tell you. Now hop it, there’s a good gal.’
Sidney Wickham was tallish, with dark brown hair and a face that was not remotely handsome, his nose being a little too big and his dark eyes set too close together. When he was born, the story went, his mother thought she had given birth to a goblin.
Dolly laughed. ‘What if I don’t ’op it?’ She stood with her hands on her hips. ‘He said he’d be back yesterday and would be over first thing today. Now it’s half past seven and I’m going to be late for work! If I get me cards it’ll be all his doing. He’s in there, isn’t he?’
‘He’s not! Get your foot out of the door!’
‘What if I won’t?’
He kicked it half-heartedly.
‘Then where is he?’
Sidney shrugged. ‘I’m his brother, not his bloomin’ keeper!’
Before he realized what she was about, she thrust herself past him and shouted up the stairs: ‘Oi! Don! Get yourself down ’ere, toot sweet!’
‘Toot sweet?’
‘French, to you, Sid! Means “get a move on”!’ She grinned.
Sidney wavered. The grin made her look sixteen instead of twenty. ‘Who are you kidding!’ He leaned back against the door jamb, yawned, scratched his head and felt suddenly confident that the day was going to be a good one. Not that he’d see much of it. He would idle his way through at least half of it before setting out in search of the bookie’s runner, who would take his bet with his usual lack of interest. Then it was round to the Hare and Hounds for a drop of ale.
Dolly cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, ‘Donald John Wickham! It’s me, Dolly! Your one true love!’
Sidney put a hand to his eyes, wincing at the noise. ‘Must you?’ he asked, not expecting an answer. ‘He’s not back. I told you that. When he does get back I’ll tell him you—’
‘He calls me that – his one true love! And dearest and sweet’eart!’
‘And you fell for it.’ He glanced at her swelling belly.
‘What if I did?’
‘More fool you.’
But she was already hurrying up the bare stairs, her skirt clutched in one hand, and he heard her open and shut the doors along the landing. ‘If you’re hiding, Don . . .’
Sidney muttered, ‘He’s not hiding, you silly crumpet! He’s not back yet.’ Women! What was it about his brother that he always got the best-looking women – without even trying?
Dolly clattered down the stairs, her face flushed, but whether with anger or disappointment he could not say. ‘Tell him I’ll be by on my way home – and God ’elp ’im if he’s not back!’ She threw him a mocking kiss and was away.
For someone in her state – six months gone – she had a sight too much energy, he reflected. Then he grinned. His brother certainly could pick ’em!
The Pig and Whistle was the favourite haunt of many of the labourers around St Katharine’s Dock, and that was where Donald Wickham expected to find Willis Burke, known as ‘the reverend’ to his mates. Willis Burke had originally come from a nice God-fearing family, who’d doted on their only son, a gentle child with soft brown hair, large grey eyes, a sweet nature and a willingness to attend Sunday school. Unfortunately, Willis had cut himself adrift when they’d decided he would make a wonderful ‘man of the cloth’. To please them, he had at first agreed to attend St Joseph’s College, to study Religious History and Divinity with the intention of entering the church. He had soon realized, however, that he was not the man they thought he was and had made a big mistake.
Firstly, he had struggled with the syllabus, and secondly, he had found himself totally uninterested. He had decided that pleasing his family was not the way he needed to go so, reluctantly, he had broken his parents’ hearts, left home and had been immediately drawn into the shifting sands that made up a large part of London’s casual workforce.
Seven years after abandoning his original plan and several more plans, he found himself existing on casual employment in and around the docks, but the peanuts he earned currently as a nightwatchman in a warehouse were swollen by what he liked to see as his ‘little sideline’.
When Don caught up with him in the Pig and Whistle he was sipping a pint of ale and looking forward to his bed.
As Don sat down beside him, Burke said, ‘Whatever it is, the answer’s no!’ but he reached for the second pint that Don carried, which he guessed was for him and was obviously meant as a sweetener. What did the man want now, he wondered.
Don said, ‘I think you’re getting uglier, Reverend, or is it the light?’
‘I work at it! What’s your excuse?’
Around them the noise blossomed suddenly as a man came into the bar with a dog which was immediately challenged by the resident mongrel. Heads turned to watch the fight, and as the dogs’ scrabbling paws flicked up dirty sawdust, the customers took sides and began to cheer on their favourites. The barman ignored the rumpus, which ended abruptly when the intruder slipped his collar and both dogs tumbled into the street and nearly upturned a costermonger’s barrow loaded with muddy potatoes.
Don lowered his voice. ‘As I was saying, Reverend, I’ve got a nice little proposition for you.’ He rubbed finger and thumb together. ‘Bit of extra cash. Take it or leave it.’
‘The answer’s no, and don’t keep calling me “reverend”. I keep telling everyone – I’ve given all that up. You know I have.’
‘I know you think you have, and we admire you for it. You did the right thing. Look at you now – a wonderful job, generous pay and a charming little attic room where you can sleep all day!’ He drank deeply.
The sarcasm was not lost on Burke. Bright enough to know that he was being mocked, he scowled. ‘For God’s sake! I don’t do that stuff any more. I don’t know why people keep asking me. Look what it got me before. Three months in Pentonville for fraud. A hellhole if ever there was one!’ His voice was rich with indignation, but a small part of him was sorely tempted. If truth were told, Willis loved dressing up as a ‘reverend’. He felt it had once been a glorious future, which had been snatched away from him in a moment of his own youthful weakness. If only his parents had insisted. If only his tutors had begged him not to give up the Lord’s work . . .
Tutting, Don shook his head. ‘Prison. That was disgraceful, that was! Shocking! A true miscarriage of justice . . . Come on, Reverend. Drink up. You’ve time for one more.’
‘Never turn down a drink’ was one of Burke’s mottoes, so he obligingly emptied his tankard and Don caught the barmaid’s eye as she waltzed past.
‘Same again, Prue, my lovely!’
‘It’s Sue!’ But she fluttered her lashes at him.
‘Sue or Prue – you’re just as pretty!’ He turned his attention back to Burke and the matter in hand. ‘There’s this young lady . . .’ he began.
‘God Almighty!’ Burke groaned. ‘What did I just say? You got cloth ears or what?’
‘You said you’ve given up doing all that stuff . . . but I’m a mate, and there’s a sweet young lady in trouble – if you know what I mean – and a tenner in it for you. Ten bob! Ten shillings. She’s in the family way, and I just want to do the right thing by her. You know how it is. You’re a man of the world, Reverend, and you’re not stupid enough to turn your back on ten shillings.’
Burke was still shaking his head when the next round appeared, but he snatched at his pint before Don could change his mind. He was still telling himself that this time he meant ‘no’. The time in prison had taught him a severe lesson. He was determined not to repeat past mistakes, and that meant resisting the wiles of men like Don Wickham . . . but he owed four weeks’ rent, and it would make sense financially to say yes.
Don leaned forward and raised his ale in a sign of celebration. ‘Cheers and down the hatch!’ he said. ‘You’ll be making a young lady very happy.’
Burke made up his mind. He’d do it, but he’d make it worth his while. ‘I haven’t said I’ll do it, and I won’t do it!’ he said firmly. ‘Get it into your head, will you? I’m not doing that fake religious stuff any more. I don’t want to get into trouble again. The screws said, “You’ll be back!” and I said “Never, on my mother’s grave!” and they . . .’
‘But you
will
do it.’ Don grinned at him and leaned across confidingly. ‘Tell you what, Reverend, because it’s you, and you certainly aren’t the best-paid nightwatchman in London, I’ll double it. How’s that?’
‘Double it?’ Burke nearly choked on his ale.
‘Twenty shillings!’
‘I dunno.’
‘Come on, Reverend. You could pay off the rent you owe and . . . and get your stuff out of hock.’
‘Wait a minute!’ He looked at Don suspiciously. ‘How d’you know about all that?’
‘Because everyone’s in the same boat! Everyone’s in hock, and everyone owes the landlord.’
‘I bet you don’t.’
‘You’d be surprised. But
if
I’m not in debt it’s because I use this!’ He tapped his head. ‘So what d’you say, eh? You’d be a fool to say “no”, and you aren’t a fool, are you?’
Knowing Wickham, Burke now suspected that the man had halved his offer first time round . . . but so what? He would do it – this one last time and never again. ‘Throw in a pork pie and it’s a deal!’ he offered. ‘But you’ll have to keep it under your hat! I’m not going back inside for a measly twenty shillings.’
‘Not a word of it will ever pass my lips!’ Don thrust out his hand. ‘Shake on it, Reverend. It’s a deal.’