A Mother's Trust (5 page)

Gino hesitated on the doorstep, seemingly unwilling to be parted from her. ‘What was wrong just now?’ he asked gently. ‘You went so pale I thought you might faint. What was it that upset you?’

Phoebe forced her lips into a smile. She had never told anyone about the premonitions that forced themselves into her mind’s eye, blotting out the present and foretelling future events with terrifying accuracy. She was afraid to admit, even to herself, that she had the power of second sight. It was, she told herself, simply an overactive imagination that had been encouraged by her mother’s dabbling in the supernatural. ‘It was nothing, Gino. I’m tired, that’s all. Anyway, you must go. You have to be up at four like my uncles and Nonno.’ She brushed his cheek with a kiss. ‘Goodnight, and thank you.’

‘I would do anything for you.’ With a last tender smile, Gino walked off in the direction of his home not far down the street.

Phoebe closed the door and leaned against it. She was trembling from head to foot. The vision that had forced itself upon her was still fresh in her mind. She had not seen into the coffin, but she knew for certain that it was not the body of the dead man she had witnessed floating face down in the murky waters of the Thames. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she was suddenly cold as ice, even though it was a warm evening. She fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands. ‘Take it away,’ she whispered. ‘Please take this dreadful vision from me.’

SAFFRON HILL FESTERED BENEATH
a relentless summer sun. The pavements and cobbled streets retained the heat of the day so that even in the middle of the night they were warm to the touch. The air was rank with the odour of rotting meat and animal excrement. The night soil collectors, although used to noxious smells, wore neckerchiefs tied over their faces in a vain attempt to filter out the worst of the stench. But the hot weather was good for trade and the ice cream men could not keep up with the demand for water ices and penny licks. The ice imported from Norway was stored in deep wells beneath the merchants’ premises, but by the middle of August supplies were running low. Even so, Fabio was a happy man. He boasted that they had doubled their takings from last year and there would be more profit to come. He might even delay their return to Italy if the heat wave continued into September. Phoebe prayed for rain.

Annie was unwell. She no longer frequented the pub and she said that the thought of drinking alcohol made her feel nauseous. It was left to Phoebe to do the detective work when a would-be client booked a séance, or lodged a request for Annie to gaze into her crystal ball and reveal what the future held for them.
There
was no shortage of people with a penny or two to spare for such information, but Annie seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for her work. She spent most of her time lying on her bed, complaining about the heat which made it impossible for her to sleep at night. When questioned by the family, Phoebe blamed her mother’s indisposition on the weather, which her grandmother accepted with a shrug of her ample shoulders. ‘What do you expect from a fair-haired slip of a thing who would be blown away by a puff of wind? If my Paulo had married a girl from home she would have been plump and strong and borne him many children.’

Phoebe had heard it all before and she took comfort from the fact that her grandmother’s sharp eyes had not spotted the slight thickening of Annie’s waistline, or her frequent trips to the privy in the back yard when she suffered prolonged bouts of morning sickness. Fabio and his sons were too involved in their booming business to take any notice of an ailing woman, and even if they had observed a change in Annie, Phoebe was certain that they would simply put it down to an aggravation of nerves. If Julio and Lorenzo had been married men they might have recognised the signs, but their days started at four in the morning and ended when they arrived home at seven in the evening. They were not much interested in what went on in the house unless, of course, there was some disaster in the kitchen which meant that they did not get their dinner on time.

Left to her own devices, Phoebe managed to keep her mother’s clients happy. She had spent so many
years
watching, listening and learning Annie’s technique that conducting a séance was second nature to her. She had discovered a natural aptitude for her work, and she had an almost uncanny knack of giving comfort to the bereaved. It was almost as if the dear departed really were passing on messages to their loved ones, but Phoebe did not allow herself to dwell on the fact that she might have genuine psychic powers. She put her success with the crystal ball down to the fact that she had known most of her clients for as long as she could remember. She had either grown up with them or had played in the streets with their children. She knew their histories and she was convinced that hopes and dreams differed very little from person to person. Always ready to lend a sympathetic ear to other people’s troubles, she often found herself in the position of counsellor and confidante. It was a heavy burden to bear, especially when she had worries of her own.

The one good thing that had come from Annie being laid low by her pregnancy was that she had seen nothing of Ned Paxman. He had not come near the house, although that was no surprise to Phoebe. The Paxmans were not inclined to mix with the locals. Unlike some gangs that extorted protection money from the traders in their stamping ground, it was said that the Paxmans limited their criminal activities to areas away from Clerkenwell, although no one to Phoebe’s knowledge had ever defined exactly how they operated. The respectable Italian families would have nothing to do with anyone who belonged to or was associated with the notorious street gangs. Phoebe
had
been painfully aware that her mother was playing a dangerous game when she began a liaison with Ned. She suspected that he would have been pleased enough to take advantage of anything that Annie had to offer, but he could get what he wanted from any number of young women who were blinded by his undeniable good looks and ill-gotten wealth.

Her suspicions were confirmed one morning at the end of August when she saw him coming out of the Three Bells pub with a dollymop on his arm. The girl was obviously a maidservant on her day off and she was extremely drunk. Phoebe had been tempted to draw her aside and warn her about the consequences of allowing a man like Ned Paxman to lead her astray, but she knew her words would be wasted. The girl, who was very young and quite probably inexperienced in the ways of the world, was teetering on the brink of disaster. If she became pregnant she would be sacked from her job and disowned by her family. It was a common enough tale, and, like the other unfortunate women who suffered this fate, she would end up on the streets. Her child, if it lived, would either be placed in the care of a baby farmer or grow up doomed to a life of crime and poverty. Phoebe saw the whole sad story acted out like a play before her eyes. She turned away and almost bumped into a familiar figure. He doffed his slightly battered top hat and bowed to her.

‘It’s Phoebe, isn’t it? I never forget a face, particularly one who looks like a painting of the Madonna.’

‘Rogue Paxman.’ His name dripped off her tongue like acid.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ he said, smiling. ‘I have seen one or two great works of art in my time.’

‘I don’t doubt it. I expect you’ve seen a great many things in the fine houses that you’ve burgled.’ She knew she should have ignored him, but she wanted to wipe the smug smile off his face. He was a bad man and his brother had all but destroyed her mother’s life. She knew that Ma was also at fault, but Ned Paxman had fathered a child without a thought for its future and it was probably not the first or the last.

Paxman’s eyes danced with amusement. ‘The little Madonna has claws like a cat. You intrigue me, Phoebe Giamatti. You are not a bit like your mother.’

‘Let me pass,’ Phoebe said stiffly as he barred her way.

‘Just one thing I’d like to put straight, Madonna. I don’t burgle houses, and as it happens I enjoy looking at paintings in the National Gallery when I am not otherwise occupied.’

She met his gaze without responding to his smile, even though it was more disarming than she could have imagined. ‘I’m not interested in what you do. You and your brother are gangsters. I don’t want anything to do with you.’

‘You are very unlike your mother, then. She was happy to consort with my brother, but I haven’t seen her around for quite a while. Could it be they had a lovers’ tiff?’

He was laughing at her, she was certain of that. He reminded her of a tiger playing with his prey before killing and eating it. ‘My mother doesn’t want anything to do with him. She’s been working hard.’

‘Really?’ Paxman leaned against the doorpost of a milk shop. ‘That’s not what I heard. According to the local gossips, Annie has taken to her bed. Could it be she is suffering from a broken heart? I did warn her about Ned. I’m afraid he’s rather a bad boy when it comes to the ladies, but I would have thought her crystal ball might have told her that.’

‘Good day,’ Phoebe said stiffly. ‘I have better things to do than to exchange gossip with you, Mr Paxman.’

‘Roger,’ he called after her. ‘Rogue is just a nickname.’

Phoebe walked on with her head held high. She knew that he was teasing her and she resented his attitude to both her and her mother. He was a common criminal and his brother was even worse. It was a sobering thought that the child her mother was carrying would be related by blood to such low people. She had been tempted to throw that fact in Paxman’s face, but some sixth sense had warned her against such an action. Rogue Paxman might have his own ideas regarding the child’s future. The thought of her half-brother or sister being raised by criminals sent Phoebe’s blood running cold through her veins.

‘Oy, Phoebe.’

She stopped and turned her head to see Biddy O’Flaherty scurrying towards her with her skirts bunched up around her knees and her cheeks flushed from heat and exertion. ‘What’s the matter, Biddy?’

‘Young Dolly’s been taken queer. I can’t find Minnie and I dunno what to do.’

Phoebe hesitated. She did not want to get mixed up
with
the Fowler family or the denizens of Bleeding Heart Yard who were a rough lot. It was rumoured that the Clancys and the O’Donnells had joined one of the high mobs that were the sworn enemies of the Paxmans. It did not take a crystal ball to foresee trouble looming.

Biddy grabbed her by the hand. ‘Please come. She don’t move and I ain’t sure she’s breathing. She could be dead for all I know. Ethel will kill me if any harm’s come to the girl, and if she don’t skin me alive, Minnie will. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on young Dolly but I was hanging out the washing. I only left her for a moment.’

Phoebe hooked her wicker basket over her arm. Beneath the butter muslin there were three plums and a slice of gingerbread. It was the latest food for which her mother craved. Annie had begged her to keep it a secret from Nonna, who would immediately put two and two together and make quattro. ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But you really should find Ethel. It’s her daughter after all.’

Biddy hurried back the way she had just come, dragging Phoebe by the hand. ‘Dolly always was a bit soft in the head, but she’s been a sight worse since the beating Ethel gave her for burning Henry’s wooden leg.’

Phoebe had to run to keep up with her. ‘She didn’t find the gold coins then?’

‘How did you know about that?’ Biddy shot her a suspicious glance over her shoulder. ‘I thought your ma was like one of them priests what listens to
confessions
of the papists. Sorry, if you are one of them, being half Eyetie and all.’

Phoebe let this pass. ‘It’s common knowledge since Ethel made such a song and dance about it. But I’m sorry if Dolly took the blame. It really wasn’t her fault, and anyway surely the fire wouldn’t have been hot enough to melt gold?’

Breathless but seemingly determined to keep up the conversation, Biddy paused for a moment, holding her side. ‘Stitch,’ she muttered. ‘Got a bloody stitch in me side. There was gold, several guineas so I heard tell. Not that Dolly could ever get a story straight, but like the fool she is she run out into the yard yelling her head off that she’d found gold. She never saw who took the money but by the time we got there they was miles away. Ethel clubbed the poor cow round the head with what was left of the stump. Knocked her out cold she did.’

‘We’d best hurry then.’ Putting her mother’s delicate condition and her cravings to the back of her mind, Phoebe broke into a run. It was not far to Bleeding Heart Yard and the Fowlers lived in one small room behind the cobbler’s shop where Henry had plied his trade. There was a new man working there now. He was tiny, with a cruelly misshapen body and a hunchback that made the poor man look as though he was permanently bent over his last. He barely looked up from hammering hobnails into a boot as they hurried past his open door, making their way along the narrow passage towards the back of the building. Their footsteps echoed on the bare floorboards and Phoebe
almost
lost her balance as she skidded on a large piece of plaster which had fallen off the wall leaving the laths exposed like the ribs of a skeleton. The heat was intense and the smell of stale beer and rotting cabbage mingled with the stench of urine and unwashed bodies. It grew steadily worse as they reached the Fowlers’ lodgings.

‘What’ll I do if she’s croaked?’ Biddy muttered. ‘I’ll have to move south of the river.’

Phoebe was too anxious about Dolly to worry about what might happen to Biddy, and she opened the door peering nervously inside the room. With one small window as the only means of ventilation, which was covered in grime both inside and out, the Fowlers lived in a permanent twilight. She could just make out a figure slumped on the floor by the empty grate. Dolly Fowler was not quite fifteen but she had the body of a ten-year-old child. Phoebe went to kneel at her side. She held her hand close to Dolly’s mouth and felt a faint whisper of a breath. ‘She’s not dead,’ she said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘Go and find her mother. I’ll stay with her. She’ll need a doctor too, or else we’ll have to get her to the hospital.’