Born to Trouble (29 page)

Christopher’s eyes went from her to Corinda, but the younger woman didn’t raise her head or make any movement.

‘Where is she buried?’ he asked, his voice breaking.

It was the final victory. ‘We don’t bury, we burn, otherwise the spirit returns and haunts us. We make a funeral pyre and—’

‘Enough.’ The brother stepped forward. ‘Keep your ghoulish details to yourself, you gruesome old crone.’

‘He wanted to know.’

‘And now he does. Come on, Chris.’

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to leave and then he turned blindly, his brother leading him to the horses where he helped him mount.

Halimena turned to Corinda as the two men rode out of the field and into the lane beyond, the first shadows of a cold winter twilight touching her face as she said, ‘Now –
now
he’ll suffer.’

For four weeks after she had taken on the shop premises, Pearl and her brothers continued to sleep in the rented room while they got to grips with the mess Miss Potts had left. Every morning Pearl went straight to Zion Street and the boys joined her there once they had finished school. The three of them worked by the light of candles when it got dark and never returned home before ten o’clock. At weekends they arrived at the shop at first light.

Pearl tackled the downstairs of the property first. Once each room had been emptied and swept of debris, they scrubbed the floor, walls and ceiling of layers of dirt. They purchased practically the whole stock of Skelton’s fumigation pellets, dissolving the eyewatering toxic yellow tablets in hot water before brushing the liquid on every inch of the surfaces they’d prepared. Once the downstairs was clear of bugs and mice they moved upstairs and repeated the process. The smell worked its way into their skin and hair and clothes; they tasted it when they ate and smelled it in their dreams, but eventually the whole place was as clean as a new pin.

Pearl had to spend the whole of one day on the range, but by the time she’d finished she was thrilled with it. James and Patrick bravely declared war on the privy and worked with handkerchiefs tied across their noses. They declined supper that night.

The floor of the shop and kitchen was stone flagged and scrubbed up beautifully; once the walls and ceilings had been whitewashed and the massive white sink scoured, Pearl felt they were getting somewhere. There was a further sink in the scullery, along with a large walk-in cold pantry and rows of shelves on one wall. These were whitewashed along with the walls and ceilings upstairs. At one time there had been wallpaper in the two bedrooms, but when they’d stripped it off, the number of bugs which had been hiding behind it had turned Pearl’s stomach. Now everything was sparkling clean and white and fresh, and she wanted it to remain that way.

The fourth week was the most enjoyable. Apart from the long built-in counter which ran down a third of the main room, they’d been able to salvage nothing in the shop space. A couple of rickety tables had had to be cut up for firewood and stacked in the cleaned backyard under an old lean-to, but the ancient paraffin heater had been falling apart and even the shelves on the walls had been crumbling. The kitchen was the same. The table had fallen to pieces when they’d attempted to move it, and when Patrick had sat on the bench the legs had disintegrated under his weight, much to James’s amusement. The kitchen cupboards either side of the range had been cleaned and lined with scalloped-edged newspaper, providing some storage, but Pearl knew she would need much more.

After making a list of everything she would need right down to the last teaspoon, she marched off to Casey’s Emporium on the fourth Monday morning. This store had a reputation of being the best second-hand shop in the district. It was slightly more expensive than some of the other second-hand shops and pawnshops, but Mr Casey guaranteed that none of the furniture he sold had wood-worm, and all upholstery and cushions were devoid of bugs. Pearl had had enough of bugs to last her a lifetime.

When she showed Mr Casey the list he nearly fell over himself with delight. Escorting her to a chair as carefully as though she was made of Dresden china, he had his assistant fetch a cup of tea. ‘If I buy most of what I need here, I trust I’ll receive a good discount?’ Pearl enquired sweetly once she was sipping her tea.

Mr Casey shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Well, lass, I keep my prices at rock bottom as it is so I don’t think—’

‘Mr Casey, I was born in the East End,’ Pearl interrupted. ‘I know full well I can go to several other shops and get what I need, but I like your reputation. However, I have to say I don’t like it enough to pay through the nose, and I’m putting a considerable amount of business your way today.’

Mr Casey smiled. He knew when he’d met his match, besides which this young lass with the sad eyes interested him. He’d always been a man who admired folk with a bit of get up and go. ‘I tell you what, let’s see what’s what and then we’ll talk about coming to some arrangement. How about that?’

By the time she left the Emporium later that day, Pearl had bought everything she needed. Some of the items had not been on display in the shop, but Mr Casey had escorted her to a row of premises by the docks where he rented a small warehouse. They’d agreed a 15 per cent discount and he had thrown in a stack of good quality bedding for the three single beds Pearl had purchased. The whole endeavour had taken half of her precious sixty pounds, but Pearl knew she had got a good deal. She had been determined to give the boys a bright, comfortable home after what they’d been through, and she didn’t regret one penny.

Mr Casey had agreed to deliver the furniture for their living quarters the next day, and the shop and kitchen furniture and pots and pans and crockery and so on, the following day. This meant they could get straight upstairs before organising the shop premises and the kitchen, which would be an enormous task.

The following morning the boys were delighted when Pearl told them they could have two days off school. Mr Casey was true to his word, and his horse and massive covered cart trundled to a stop outside the shop at eight o’clock. There followed a wonderful time.

By the end of the day the sitting room boasted a large gold square of carpet which exactly fitted the floor space. Upon this, a pair of mahogany-framed armchairs upholstered in gold and a matching sofa sat, along with a mahogany secretaire bookcase complete with books. A small occasional table with a large aspidistra on it stood between the full, green velvet curtains which framed the window, and on the wall above the fireplace a carved and gilded mirror with a pattern of leaves and berries hung in splendid isolation. Patrick was drawn to the mirror again and again, fascinated by his reflection as he practised pulling faces.

Besides the beds, the two bedrooms held a wardrobe and chest of drawers each and small bedside cabinets. In the boys’ room a thick bright rug stood between their beds, and Pearl had one at the side of her bed. She had also bought a small writing desk for her room. The top had a red-leather inset above three frieze drawers and three short drawers on each pedestal. This was where she intended to keep any documents and work on her business accounts in peace. Mr Casey had assured her the desk was French walnut. Certainly it was very attractive and the small chair which came with it was comfortable.

In the evening Pearl took the boys to the Old Market and did what she’d wanted to do ever since the day she had collected them from the workhouse. ‘Choose some warm clothes,’ she told them, indicating the stalls full of second-hand clothes. ‘And drawers and socks too. Seth and Fred and Walter wouldn’t want you to carry on walking about in those threadbare things the workhouse gave you.’

The boys, overcome by the events of the day and the wonder of their new home, just stared at her for a moment. Then, their faces beaming, they hugged her round the waist before darting off.

The next morning, the second stage of the enterprise began. Along with the pots, pans, crockery, cutlery and other utensils for the kitchen, Pearl had purchased a somewhat battered but strong kitchen table and four hardbacked chairs for mealtimes. Two smaller but equally stout tables – one for stacking dirty pans and dishes on and one for food preparation – now stood either side of the stone sink. A large dresser occupied one wall, and a pine and fruit-wood high-back settle with flock cushions another. Several pine wallracks had been fixed in appropriate spaces to leave what remained of the floor area free.

Now the closed range was free of the dirt and grime of decades Pearl considered it a thing of beauty. It was more than big enough for her purposes, with two ovens for roasting and baking. The flues for the two ovens were arranged so that the one around the baking oven passed underneath first, providing bottom heat which was more suitable for baking, whilst the flue of the roasting oven passed over the top first, providing top heat. The space above the hot plate was lined with cast-iron covings which would be useful for the warming of plates and keeping food hot, and the boiler providing hot water was a huge bonus. The range was going to be the means of their livelihood and Pearl felt quite emotional as she stared at it, newly blackleaded and gleaming, with an enormous black kettle and various other pots and pans stacked on it.

The shop itself now had several narrow old tavern tables behind the counter. A number of covered entree dishes were standing on these, some on small metal stands with candles below which would keep the food warm, and some without. The other two thirds of the shop had numerous small tables and chairs scattered about. None of them matched, but Pearl didn’t think her customers would care about that. She had decided they could either sit and eat at the tables or take the food away, although in the case of the latter – if they ordered soup – the customer would have to provide their own receptacle for carrying it home. The same would apply in the case of mushy peas or tripe and onions. She would provide cans for those who didn’t bring their own dishes, but she would make a charge for these.

It took Pearl a further two days to sort out the kitchen, scullery and shop, and find a place for everything, but by the weekend she was straight at last and they moved into Zion Street. The day had been a bitterly cold one, with intermittent snow showers and a raw wind, but that night, as she tucked James and Patrick into their beds and then walked through to the sitting room where a good fire was blazing, she was thinking of Seth. It was he who had given them everything they had, this beautiful warm home and the chance to earn her own livelihood doing something she loved. She knew Fred and Walter had done their part, but they would have been led by Seth. It had always been that way. She wished, she so wished he could be sitting here tonight, slippered feet up in front of the fire; Fred and Walter too. But he wouldn’t try to see them; his goodbye had been final.

She had been fighting all day – and not just this day – from allowing her thoughts to focus on Christopher, but tonight she was very tired and her resistance was low. It seemed a natural succession for her thoughts to flow on to him and when they did, the tears came. And she found she was crying for Byron too. He had saved her life and he had loved her, and he wasn’t a bad man. At times like this, Halimena’s words always came back to haunt her and tonight was no exception.
Born to trouble.
But she didn’t want trouble, she was the last person in the world to court danger and tribulation, so why did they always find her? What was it about her which made things happen?

She indulged in an orgy of self-pity for a little while before drying her eyes and blowing her nose. Enough, she told herself forcefully. She had a lot to be grateful for. Bad things might happen but nice things came along too. Look at her now. Just over a month ago, the three of them had been stuck in one small room and she had been turning inside out wondering how she was going to feed and clothe them and make ends meet.

She stood up and walked over to the beautiful mirror which had so captivated Patrick. For a long time she stared into the pain-filled eyes of the girl who looked back at her.

She would never marry now, never have a family, bairns. She knew that. Folk might call her foolish but she knew it. Christopher had been . . . irreplaceable. But perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. Her life was going down a different path but it didn’t have to be doom and gloom, just different. She would have the time to give herself wholeheartedly to the shop and take care of James and Patrick now, build them all a future. And she wouldn’t fail.

The girl in the mirror’s chin lifted, her eyes narrowing and her lips compressing.

No, she wouldn’t fail. Whatever it took, however hard she had to work and whatever she had to sacrifice, she would climb the ladder of success – and take James and Patrick with her.

The next week saw sacks of flour, rice, green split peas and potatoes delivered to the shop in Zion Street, along with a myriad of other supplies which had the occupants of the houses thereabouts gossiping for hours. In the middle of the week when the signwriter came and the words
Croft & Bros. Pie Shop
were painted above the sparkling clean window on pristine white board, the neighbourhood fairly buzzed with the news. Was it true, the old wives murmured over their backyard walls, that a mere bit of a lass had taken over old Ma Potts’s place? Not just that, but the lass had two bairns in tow, her brothers by all accounts. She didn’t really think she could run a shop, did she? And her just out of nappies? She’d come a cropper, sure as eggs were eggs, but there were always them who had to learn the hard way. A bonny little piece like her would be better occupied getting herself a husband and having a bairn every year like other lasses her age.

Pearl didn’t know exactly what was being said, but she had lived her childhood in the East End and she had a good idea. It didn’t bother her, but it confirmed what she’d known already; the food she produced needed to be that bit better than any from other shops roundabout, but for the same price, or cheaper. And it would be, thanks to her time with the Romanies.