The Camberwell Raid (6 page)

‘Oh, I think she’d have accepted money, if you’d offered enough,’ said Cecily. ‘The point is, Charles,
you’re
in need of a son or daughter, and out there somewhere you have one. God knows how he or she has been raised, but what you could offer as the father would be irresistible.’

‘Ye gods,’ said Major Armitage, ‘are you serious, Cecily?’

‘I thought you were, about having a son or daughter to make your life less empty,’ said Cecily. ‘I thought hard as to whether or not I should tell you, and since you were so down in the dumps yesterday, I decided I would. Either you’ve a son and heir or a daughter, and if there are some rough edges to one or the other, I don’t doubt you could arrange for them to be smoothed out, to turn a son into a gentleman or a daughter into a lady. Never mind the mother’s background, it’s your blood that counts.’

‘Damn it,’ said Major Armitage, ‘there’s the mother to consider, and a stepfather, probably.’

‘My dear man,’ said Cecily, ‘we’re dealing, aren’t we, with someone who’d be nineteen years old now, not a child needing a mother, or a stepfather.’

‘Did the girl ever come back again?’ asked Major Armitage.

‘No, never,’ said Cecily. ‘Perhaps she found some man willing to take her on, and the child. If so, why not accept they’ll have their price and let you take over?’

‘That child, now a young man or a young woman, might refuse to be taken over,’ said Major Armitage. ‘At nineteen, how would you feel about some man turning up to make a father’s claim on you?’

‘Well, ducky, if my life until then had been in Deptford, and I were offered what you could offer, I’d feel delighted,’ said Cecily.

‘Would you? You’d be happy about being separated from your mother?’

‘At nineteen, would that seriously worry me?’ Cecily smiled. ‘I don’t think so, not if it meant going from rags to riches. Oh, I daresay the takeover would appeal more to you if the child were a tender six or seven, but all the same, it’s making you think, isn’t it?’

‘Can I be sure the child is mine?’

‘I had a quite certain feeling at the time that although the girl wasn’t exactly a lady, she was telling the truth about losing her virginity to you,’ said Cecily. ‘This is her name and address.’ She handed over a slip of paper, slightly brown with age. Major Armitage examined it. It gave a name and address, Millicent Tooley, 4 Warwick Street, Deptford.

‘I wonder, does she still live there?’ he said.

‘If you’re going to make enquiries, my dear, you’ll at least have to start from there, won’t you?’ said Cecily.

‘It’s absurd, Cecily.’

‘Is it?’ said Cecily. ‘The existence of a son or daughter? I think you’d give your right arm to have him or her home with you, wouldn’t you? It might even make Pauline chuck her bottles away and turn into a mother. So what d’you propose to do?’

‘Think about it,’ said Major Armitage.

‘Well, you can think about it over tea,’ said Cecily. ‘I’ll order a tray.’

She rang for her housekeeper.

In her bedroom the following morning, Lilian, up and dressed, was just about to go down when she heard the clink of milk bottles accompanied by a
tuneful
whistle. She looked through the window and saw the milk float outside the house next door. Down she went, and when she opened her front door there was the milkman himself on her step.

‘What, again?’ she said.

‘Hello and good morning, missus,’ said Bill Chambers. ‘Well met, I’d say.’

‘If it keeps happening, we’ll get talked about,’ said Lilian.

‘No cause for that,’ said Bill, ‘politeness is the watchword between me and all my customers. It’s laid down by the dairy.’

‘So you’ve already said,’ smiled Lilian, at the beginning of maturity and looking fulsomely fetching in an attractive dress of ivy green.

‘Well, Mrs Hyams, the fact is I do my best to treat my lady customers respectfully, which keeps me from being thumped by one of my own milk bottles.’

‘And from being thumped by your wife,’ said Lilian.

‘It might, yes, I daresay it might, Mrs Hyams, except I’m not married, having spent ten years courtin’ my landlady’s daughter Dorothy. Well, just as we were finally about to get officially engaged, she upped and married a bloke from round the corner, and her mother went with her. I don’t know about her dad, I think he ran off with a lady tram conductor during the war. Anyway, when Dorothy and her mum hopped it, I was left in charge of a whole house and a piano they didn’t want in Rockingham Street, by the Elephant and Castle. Now what would a bloke like me want a piano and a whole house for? I ask you, what?’

‘I don’t know what you’re grumbling about,’ said Lilian, ‘not now you’re free to go out and find a wife and put her in charge.’

Blue eyes twinkled at her.

‘Well, I’ll be bottled,’ said Bill, ‘I never thought of that. I’d say you’ve just given me a prize piece of advice, right out of a wise loaf of bread. I’m regarding you, Mrs Hyams, with complimentary admiration. But with polite respect, of course.’

I’ve got another Sammy here, thought Lilian. Give him a soapbox and he could make a name for himself.

‘What did you say your name was?’ she asked, King and Queen Street visibly stirring now.

‘Bill Chambers.’

‘Well, Bill, start looking,’ said Lilian.

‘For a woman who wouldn’t mind takin’ charge of a piano and a whole house?’ said Bill.

‘And you and your laundry,’ said Lilian.

‘What a thought,’ said Bill. ‘Might I present you with a pint of fresh?’ He placed a bottle of milk in her hand. ‘With my personal compliments. Any eggs?’

‘Are you getting commission on the eggs you sell?’ asked Lilian.

‘Penny on every half-dozen,’ said Bill.

‘Well, I’ll think of buying some later this week,’ said Lilian.

‘Mrs Hyams, it’s my personal pleasure to have become acquainted,’ said Bill, and off he went with his nag and his float, whistling.

That leaves me needing to hurry to work, thought Lilian, closing the door. But one couldn’t deny oneself a doorstep chat with an outgoing milkman who had a gift of the gab.

A certain house in Wansey Street having been vacated, Cassie and Freddy were there first thing after supper,
finishing
a job they’d begun yesterday evening, stripping the kitchen of its ancient wallpaper. This was the house in which they were going to live when they were married, and they were already renting it. The first thing they’d wanted to do was repaper the kitchen. Freddy was a natural at this sort of job, Cassie a willing learner. She was on a stepladder, stripping from the ceiling downwards. Freddy was on his knees, cleaning up the lower half of the wall.

‘By the way, Cassie,’ he said.

‘Yes, Freddy dear?’ said Cassie lovingly.

‘Sammy’s goin’ to see we get a good start to our married lives by givin’ us a cheque,’ said Freddy.

‘A cheque?’ said Cassie.

‘For fifty pounds,’ said Freddy.

Cassie nearly fell off the stepladder.

‘How much?’ she gasped.

‘Fifty quid,’ said Freddy.

‘Lord, as much as that?’ said Cassie in gasping delight.

‘He popped into the brewery this afternoon to tell me,’ said Freddy.

‘It’s all of fifty pounds?’ said Cassie, breathless.

‘It’s because I’m ’is brother-in-law and work for him, and because you’re goin’ to be fortunate enough to be related to me by marriage,’ said Freddy.

‘He didn’t say that, I bet,’ said Cassie.

‘More or less,’ said Freddy.

‘Me fortunate?’ said Cassie. ‘Crikey, what a laugh. I’ll fall off this ladder in a minute. It’s you that’s goin’ to be fortunate. Freddy, you do realize how lucky you are, I suppose?’

‘Well, Cassie, you’ve said so before—’

‘I could ’ave been asked by the Lord Chamberlain if I’d met him,’ said Cassie.

‘He’s nearly ninety,’ said Freddy.

‘Still, never mind,’ said Cassie, ‘isn’t Sammy a lovely man? I mean, fifty pounds, Freddy. It’s more than I earn in a year.’

‘I’ve got to start a bank account,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s Sammy’s suggestion. He wants us to buy this house as soon as we can. He said us payin’ rent ’urts him. So me dad’s goin’ to give me time off to pop into the bank when I’ve got the cheque from Sammy. Like the idea, Cassie?’

‘Oh, I could kiss Sammy,’ said Cassie blissfully.

‘He’ll charge you for it,’ said Freddy. ‘He always says that if ’e didn’t charge, females would be kissin’ him all the time and interferin’ with his work. Incident’lly, Cassie, we’d better change places.’

‘What for?’ asked Cassie. ‘I like it up here.’

‘Yes, but the point is, Cassie, with you up there and me down here, it’s takin’ me mind off me work,’ said Freddy.

‘What d’you mean?’ asked Cassie, an old apron over her dress.

‘Well, from down here, Cassie, your frock looks a bit short,’ said Freddy. ‘If you get my meaning.’

‘Freddy Brown, you’re blessed-well lookin’, you libertine,’ said Cassie.

‘Libber what?’ said Freddy, scraping away.

‘Yes, I read it in a book,’ said Cassie, ‘and it means sort of licentious.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Freddy.

‘Well, you shouldn’t be lookin’,’ declared Cassie.

‘Bless me, I ain’t been, not on purpose, just accidental now and again,’ said Freddy, ‘but I’m
still
nearly blind. I’ll say this much, Cassie, you’ve got a lovely pair of tent pegs from down here.’

Cassie descended the stepladder, rolled up an old newspaper and walloped him with it.

‘Take that,’ she said.

Freddy, straightening up, said, ‘Was it my fault you were up there and I was down here?’

‘I like it up there, not on my knees,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, stop looking, it’s not nice.’

‘Can I help it if I like your legs?’ said Freddy. ‘Funny about that, really, likin’ girls’ legs.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Cassie, ‘but if I catch you likin’ someone else’s, I’ll ask me dad to chop yours off.’

‘Ruin me football, that will,’ said Freddy.

Cassie laughed.

‘Freddy, I like you likin’ mine,’ she said.

‘All right, get up that ladder again, Cassie.’

‘Not likely, not till you’ve got your head down,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, fifty pounds all at once and a bank account, just think of it,’ she said.

‘It makes me feel rich,’ said Freddy, and dug into his pocket. He came up with a silver threepenny-bit and put it into her hand. ‘There, all yours, Cassie, I don’t mind splashin’ out just now.’

‘Wait a bit,’ said Cassie, ‘what’s it for?’

‘For showin’ me your legs,’ said Freddy.

Cassie shrieked, then hugged him.

‘Oh, I do like you, Freddy,’ she said.

‘Don’t mention it, Cassie, just get up that ladder again,’ said Freddy.

At suppertime, Rosie remembered something.

‘Tim, I saw Pam Willis this afternoon,’ she said.

‘Who?’ asked Tim.

‘Pam Willis, from down the road,’ said Rosie. ‘She asked after you, and if you’d like to meet her in her doorway when you weren’t busy.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Finch.

‘H’m,’ said Boots.

‘What’s that h’m for?’ asked Chinese Lady.

‘Oh, it’s just one of Daddy’s usual h’ms,’ said Rosie. ‘Tim, should you have girls asking after you when you’re not yet fourteen?’

Tim eyed his elder sister with a grin.

‘I’m on to you, Rosie, don’t think I’m not,’ he said.

‘Ah, perhaps Tim is starting quick,’ said Eloise, ‘like French boys do.’

‘Startin’ what quick?’ asked Emily.

‘Kissing,’ said Eloise.

‘Not with young girls, I hope,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘I never minded any of my sons socializing early, it helps young people to mix proper, but I never encouraged any kissin’ of young girls not old enough for it.’

‘Who’s looking at me?’ asked Tim. ‘I’ve not been socializing with Pam Willis. Crikey, she’s only twelve.’

‘But she sent you her love, Tim,’ said Rosie.

‘She did what?’ asked Chinese Lady.

‘Well, more or less,’ said Rosie.

‘More or less sounds about right at her age,’ said Boots.

‘Boots, kindly don’t say things like that,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Why not, Nana?’ asked Rosie.

‘I don’t trust him when he says things that don’t make sense,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Perhaps he does not mind Tim starting quick,’ said Eloise.

‘Well, he should,’ said Chinese Lady, who had come to feel, gratefully, that Eloise wasn’t as Frenchified as she might have been. To Chinese Lady, anything specifically French was suspect on account of her belief that the natives of France were a lot too improper in their talk and behaviour.

‘Oh, French boys do it in the dark, yes, and before the girl can say no,’ smiled Eloise.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Tim. ‘Listen, Eloise, did you get kissed in the dark when you were young?’

‘I am old now?’ said Eloise.

‘All right,’ said Tim, ‘when you were younger?’

‘Oh, many times, yes,’ said Eloise.

‘And all before you could say no?’ smiled Boots.

‘Perhaps not every time,’ said Eloise, ‘and not until I was sixteen.’

‘Well, perhaps I don’t mind when a girl is sixteen, except it shouldn’t be in the dark,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Oh, I think a kiss in the dark is sometimes rather nice, Nana, isn’t it?’ said Rosie.

‘Sounds as if you’ve had some of that, Rosie,’ said Tim, and she laughed.

‘I hope, Em’ly, you won’t encourage Tim to do it with Pam Willis,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘I should say not,’ declared Emily.

‘I wouldn’t know how to start,’ said Tim.

Rosie smiled. Tim was like Boots, he had the same kind of easy-going nature, and it had its appeal even at his age. Girls were going to like him later on. She gave him a wink.

‘Pam will help you,’ she said, ‘when you’re both older.’

Eloise laughed.

‘Rosie, you are so entertaining,’ she said.

‘Oh, you’re not far behind, Eloise,’ smiled Emily.

‘I think that means we’ve now got two of a kind in this house,’ said Boots.

‘We’re a fortunate family,’ said Mr Finch.

‘Yes, let’s hang on to both,’ said Boots.

ROSIE’S NATURAL GRANDFATHER
, Mr Albert Tooley, was a widower of fifty-nine and a little like Cassie’s dad in his bluff ways, rugged looks, and the soft heart that beat beneath his sturdy front. He was giving his best bowler hat a buff this evening. Well, it was just after seven and at eight he was due to go out and meet Ada Franklin, a laundress, at the Deptford Arms, where he’d enjoy a pint of old and mild and have the pleasure of treating her to a milk stout. The lady, fifty-two, was a cheerful body and nicely plump. Further, she’d never been wed, but was always joking that she’d had more than one chance to be churched, only each time the bloke had seen her coming. Well, there was a lot of her, she said. Far from being against that, Mr Tooley had thoughts of a second marriage. He had only a few more years at his job with the Deptford Council in front of him, and reckoned he and Ada would make a good old Darby and Joan together. His savings and a bit of a pension would look after his and her years of retirement. He had a happy idea that Ada’s thoughts were coinciding with his, so this evening, when she was halfway through her milk stout and accordingly mellow, he meant to pop the question. His nephew’s wife, Nellie Nicholls, who was fond of him, was encouraging him to take the plunge.