The Best of Sisters (19 page)

There was silence and then someone threw up the sash above their heads. Mrs Donatiello stuck her head out of the window, shouting something in rapid Italian before slamming it shut. This time, Davy hammered on the knocker and after a bit they heard a baby crying and approaching footsteps echoing on the bare boards. It was Beattie herself who opened the door with a baby
slung haphazardly over her shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s you. What d’you want?’

‘Not you, that’s for sure,’ Eliza said, putting her foot in the door so that Beattie couldn’t slam it in her face. ‘I come to see Basher Harris.’

The baby began to cry and Beattie shifted it to the crook of her arm. ‘Well he don’t want to see you.’

‘And you’d know what he wants, would you?’ Pushing past Beattie, Eliza stepped over the threshold closely followed by Davy.

‘Here, you can’t barge your way into my house,’ Beattie protested.

Eliza stopped, staring down at the sleeping baby. ‘Is this supposed to be Freddie’s nipper?’

‘Course it is. Didn’t I swear in court that he was the father?’

Looking over Eliza’s shoulder, Davy chuckled. ‘I didn’t know your doctor pal was a Chinaman, Liza.’

A bubble of laughter rose up in Eliza’s throat together with a dizzying feeling of relief as the baby opened its dark, almond-shaped eyes, staring at her in an unfocused way. With its olive skin and jet-black hair, there was no possibility that Freddie could have been the father.

‘It’s a wicked lie,’ Beattie said, covering the baby’s head with a tattered piece of shawl. ‘I never went with a Chinaman. I never even been in the Chinese laundry. Freddie is the father and
the bastard’s gone off to Australia leaving me to cope all on me own.’

‘Not exactly on your own, though,’ Eliza said, heading for the staircase. ‘You’ve got five other little bastards to keep you company, Beattie. I’m glad that Freddie is safe from your clutches, you wicked, lying cheat.’

‘Why, you little bitch! I’ll have you up for slander, I will.’ Beattie stamped into her room and slammed the door.

‘Come on, Davy,’ Eliza said, lifting her skirts and taking the stairs two at a time. ‘Let’s get this over quickly so we can get out of this horrible place.’

Basher Harris was at home in the back bedroom eating his supper of bread and cheese, while his elderly mother slept on an iron bedstead in the corner of the room. He chewed impassively as he listened to Eliza’s proposition.

‘I know you got a job in the docks, Mr Basher,’ Eliza said, standing as close to the door as possible in case he took umbrage at being disturbed whilst eating. ‘But I come to offer you different work, if you’ve a mind to it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like working hours that would suit better with caring for your poor, sick mother. It would be daytime work, Mr Basher. No working nights in the docks. Clean work too and not dangerous.’

‘Go on.’ Basher sat munching his food, his
heavy brows lowering as if in a permanent state of frowning. ‘Speak up.’

‘I need someone to do the heavy work for me in the chandlery,’ Eliza said, picking her words with care. What she wanted to say was that she needed someone big and tough-looking, like the gorilla she had seen once in a picture book; but maybe that would not be very tactful. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. ‘I need a man of business what can collect debts for me.’

Basher looked up from his plate, his beady eyes gleaming. ‘You mean a bloke what could bend an arm or leg the wrong way if required.’

Eliza managed a smile, although her lips felt numb. ‘Not exactly, but I do need someone who looks as though he means business, er – without actually breaking bones. And I need someone to stand by me in the shop when I get a difficult customer. I need someone strong to do the heavy lifting and delivering goods to the ships. Might you be interested, Mr Basher?’

Mrs Harris groaned and stirred. Basher leapt to his feet and hurried over to the bed. He tucked the grimy coverlet up around his mother’s chin with a degree of gentleness that both surprised and touched Eliza.

‘There, there, old girl,’ he said softly. ‘Go back to sleep. There’s nothing to worry about.’ He turned, staring at them: a tall tower of a man who could have picked them up, one in each hand,
and dangled them like cherries on a branch. For a moment, Eliza thought he was going to throw them out of the window, but his stern features melted into a shy grin and he held his hand out. ‘Me name’s Arnold, miss. Although most folks calls me Basher.’

She put her hand into his big paw and tried not to wince as he squeezed it, pumping her arm up and down. ‘Do we have an agreement then, Mr – er – Arnold?’

‘That might depend on me wages, miss.’

‘I’ll match what you was getting in the docks. And, if we suit, then maybe I can do a bit better, Mr Arnold.’

He slapped his thigh with his hand. ‘It’s just Arnold, miss. When do I start?’

When they were outside in the street, Davy turned to Eliza, his brow creased in a worried frown. ‘I know as how you needed a chap with a strong arm, Liza. But can you afford to pay him that much?’

‘I can’t afford not to,’ Eliza said, with a confident air that she was far from feeling. ‘But hopefully one look at Basher, I mean Arnold, and the debtors will pay up.’

‘It’s your business,’ Davy said doubtfully. ‘Anyway, let’s get away from here. I’ll see you home.’

‘No, Davy. I want to see your mum. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Uncle Enoch passed away. I got a suggestion to make.’

She refused to say more, even though Davy was bursting with curiosity. Although it was still daylight when they reached Farmer Street, the cellar was in almost complete darkness. Despite the summer heat, the dank chill struck Eliza to the bone; the stench of bad drains, human effluent and sour milk made her want to retch. Eddie and Artie had been put down to sleep on a palliasse in the corner, but were still wide awake, nudging, pinching each other and giggling. Pete had come home from the brewery and was sitting on the earth floor, eating a bowl of sops, and after a long day in the sweatshop nine-year-old Ruth was perched on an upturned tea chest, rocking Sammy in her arms.

Ada looked up from hacking slices off a stale loaf of bread. ‘Hello, love.’ Her smile faded when she saw Eliza. ‘Oh, Liza. I’m so sorry about them boots. I begged Arthur not to make a fuss but he’s hot-headed at times.’

Eliza bit back a cry of dismay as a rat darted across the floor and disappeared down a hole in the brickwork. She looked round at the unwashed, underfed children and her resolve hardened. ‘Mrs Little, I got a proposition for you, so I’ll come straight out with it.’

Ada wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Best be quick, ducks. It wouldn’t do for Arthur to come home and find you here.’

‘Uncle Enoch left everything to Bart. But until
he comes home, I’ve got the running of the shop and the use of the house in Bird Street.’

‘I’m not quite with you.’ Ada shot a puzzled look at Davy, who shook his head, shrugging.

‘I can’t sell the house because it don’t belong to me, but I can let it out. I want you and your nippers to take it. You can have it for the same rent as you pays for this one room. I don’t want to make a profit from friends.’

Ada slumped down on a rickety chair, staring at Eliza. ‘I – I dunno what to say.’

Pete leapt up from the floor. ‘Say yes, Ma. Say yes.’

‘A proper house?’ Ruth jiggled Sammy until he was sick over her shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘Oh, Ma. A real home.’

‘You can’t do it, Liza.’ Davy shook his head. ‘What will Ted say?’

‘It’s up to me. The solicitor said as much. You was there, Davy.’

‘I couldn’t take advantage of you. It wouldn’t be fair.’ Ada’s mouth worked as if she wanted to cry.

Eliza thought quickly. ‘Maybe you could help out a bit with Mum. Sometimes she just needs company in the daytime when we’re all out. Or someone to give her a bit of dinner. You see, she’s not very well.’

‘I’d do that anyway if you was to ask. But my Arthur would never agree to it.’ Ada buried her
face in her apron, rocking herself backwards and forwards. ‘Oh, it’s not fair. We could have a proper home, but for his blooming pride.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Davy said, his voice breaking with emotion. ‘It’s an offer you can’t refuse. Never mind the old bugger.’

‘Yes, Ma. Oh, do say yes.’ Ruth tugged the apron from Ada’s face. ‘Say yes.’

‘We’ll all die of lung fever if we stays here,’ Pete said, jerking his head in the direction of Eddie and Artie, who were suddenly quiet and staring wide-eyed, as if they understood that something important was being said.

‘I dunno …’ Ada looked from one to the other. ‘I dunno what to say.’

Eliza shivered. She couldn’t wait to get out of this dreadful pit of darkness. ‘Don’t say nothing now. Why don’t you come along and see the house tomorrow evening, after I shut the shop. Mr Little might have a change of heart if he sees it.’

‘I said it before, I’ve never taken charity from no one, and I’ll not start now.’

‘It’s not charity, Mr Little,’ Eliza said, setting Artie down on the flagstone floor of the kitchen in Bird Street. ‘You would be paying the same rent as you are now. That’s not charity.’

‘I can support me own family, ta very much, young woman. So don’t you go putting grand
ideas into my Ada’s head. We don’t need you and your pity.’

‘Please, Dad.’ Davy cleared his throat with a nervous cough. ‘Won’t you think about it?’

Arthur turned on him, glowering and shaking his fist. ‘When I wants your opinion, I’ll ask for it. I dunno why I let you drag me here, Ada. Get on home, the lot of you.’

The smaller children began to howl and the older ones huddled together in a corner of the room, but Ada drew herself up to her full height. Eliza could see that she was trembling from head to foot and she didn’t blame her for being afraid. Despite his years of toping, Arthur was a large man with a resounding voice and fists like hams. The position seemed hopeless, but she had reckoned without Ada’s maternal instinct.

‘Now you listen to me for once, Arthur Little.’ Ada pushed Davy aside and wagged her finger in front of her husband’s face. ‘I’ve borne you ten children, two of them stillborn, but I’ve never complained, even when you’ve drunk yourself stupid and beat me. Now I’ve got the chance to better our lives and to get out of that stinking hole in Farmer Street. You can stay there if you wants to, but I’m bringing the nippers to live in this little palace, and no one’s going to stop me. D’you hear me, Arthur? No one is going to stop me.’

It was as if a mouse had roared at a lion. Arthur
had seemed to crumble in the face of Ada’s ferocious attack. He had given in without another word.

Although Ted questioned the wisdom of Eliza’s decision to let the property at a peppercorn rent, he welcomed the news that Ada was going to help care for Dolly, and he did not oppose the scheme. He even allowed Davy a couple of hours off next day to help his mother pack up their few belongings and move them to their new home. As usual, Arthur took himself off to the pub.

Eliza would have liked to help with the removal, but she had to look after the store. True to his word, Arnold turned up for work, looking strangely clean and tidy in a black suit that might have belonged to his father or even his grandfather. The jacket was stretched so tightly across his broad shoulders that the seams were in danger of bursting open like an overripe peapod. The sleeves were too short, revealing a large expanse of frayed cuff, below which his wrists and hands dangled, giving him such a comical appearance that Eliza had to stifle a giggle. She sent him out into the yard to stack the crates, boxes and barrels in some sort of order, but with strict instructions to come inside if she called him.

After just a week, Eliza was amazed at the difference that Arnold’s presence made to the
attitude of the men who had previously tried to take advantage of her youth and gender. With Arnold lowering in the background like a volcano that might erupt at any moment, they had paid up and left without haggling about price, or attempting to bully her into giving them credit. She had completed her list of outstanding debtors and she was eager to send Arnold out to collect the money owed, but he would need something decent to wear. Uncle Enoch had been a big man, not muscular, but large-boned and slightly corpulent. Eliza decided that Enoch’s clothes would be ideal for Arnold and, although the thought was repugnant to her, she must clear out his possessions in order to give the Littles more space.

That evening, after work, Eliza walked home with Davy. She was both surprised and gratified to see the changes that Ada had wrought in such a short period of time, turning the house in Bird Street into a real home. The odours of damp and dry rot, vermin, must and mothballs had been replaced by the clean smell of carbolic soap and beeswax polish. The rusty kitchen range had been scoured and treated with black lead, and a pan of thick soup simmered on the hob, giving off a tempting aroma of mutton stew. Arthur was slumped in Enoch’s old chair by the range, snoring loudly, and the youngest children, looking surprisingly clean, played on the floor
with a set of wooden bricks. At the table, Mary and Millie sat with their heads together over a reading book.

‘Millie, you should be at home with Mum,’ Eliza said, attempting to sound stern but unable to suppress a chuckle as Millie hurtled off the stool to hug her.

‘We was just practising our reading, Liza. I give Mum her tea afore I come round here. She said it was all right.’

‘I said I’d see her home any night she wanted to pay us a visit,’ Davy said, ruffling Millie’s hair. ‘She’s a good little kid, but she shouldn’t have given her boots to Mary. I think the old man was right to give them back.’

Millie’s smile faded. ‘I wanted Mary to have me boots. Now I got to beat up them boys what teases her.’

Davy lifted her back onto the stool. ‘Any beating up to be done, you leave that to me, poppet. I been saving from me wages and I got almost enough to buy Mary a pair of good second-hand boots, so don’t you fret.’

At that moment Ada came in from the back yard carrying a pitcher of water. She stopped when she saw Eliza, uttering a cry of surprise. ‘Well now, this is a pleasure.’