The Cockney Angel (10 page)

‘Now there’s a thing, Danny,’ Irene said more cheerfully than she was feeling. ‘I’ll need to restock, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Mr Yapp for a bit of credit.’

Danny’s face fell and he glanced nervously out of the window at Yapp, who was sitting on the driver’s seat staring into space, with his pipe clenched between his teeth. ‘He weren’t best pleased when you couldn’t pay up the last time, miss.’

‘I know, but I did settle that account in full. It’s just that business has been a bit slow, but it’s only temporary.’

‘I daresn’t go out and tell him that you won’t pay cash on delivery.’

‘Can’t pay, Danny. There’s a big difference.’ Irene hurried out from behind the counter. ‘I’ll go and tell him if you like.’

‘Ta, miss. I really would appreciate it.’

Irene went out into the street with Danny following close on her heels. ‘Mr Yapp, a word, please.’

He glared down at her, squinting through a haze of tobacco smoke. ‘Eh? What’s up?’

‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mr Yapp. I need to order more stock, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for a week’s credit.’

‘You know I don’t give credit and you was late settling up the last time.’

‘But I did pay what I owed. All I’m asking is for you to be patient.’

‘Well, I ain’t a patient man, Miss Angel. You’ll pay up the full amount on delivery or we don’t do business.’

‘My mother has dealt with you for twenty years and never let you down once.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I ain’t joking. I’ll give you a day to think about it, but you know the rules.’ Yapp took the pipe from his mouth and spat into the gutter. ‘Get on the cart, boy.’ He flicked the reins and rammed his pipe back into his mouth. The old horse surged forward and Irene was left standing on the pavement,
staring
after them in dismay. She had thought that matters could get no worse, but now she realised that she had been wrong. If Yapp carried out his threat they would be ruined. Without stock she could not trade; if she could not trade then she would not be able to pay the rent. Without the rent, they would be homeless. Things had never looked so bleak.

Chapter Five

TRADE WAS SLOW
. By late morning Irene had taken less than a shilling and the rent was due the next day. She kept running to the door and glancing up and down the street in the hope of seeing her father sauntering home with enough of his winnings left to get them out of trouble. If he had done well he would be in excellent spirits and would have completely forgotten that they had parted on bad terms. Even if he did recall their heated exchange of words he would by now have seen the humour in the situation. One of Pa’s saving graces was that he never bore a grudge; his temper might be explosive, but his fiery outbursts were soon forgotten.

There was little that she could do except wait, and she busied herself by sweeping the floor and polishing the counter until she could see her face in it, but all the while she found her thoughts straying to Arthur. She couldn’t help wondering how his interview with his irascible parent had gone. She hoped she had done the right thing by insisting that he confess
everything
to his father, although lurking doubts unsettled her and made her even more anxious. When she had finished cleaning the shop she went outside to brush the pavement. The clock on the tower of St Michael’s church struck twelve, and still there was no sign of either her father or Arthur. She leaned on the broom handle, frowning. She must do something, but what? Her stomach rumbled, but although she was hungry the thought of eating dry bread again made her feel nauseous. The crowds of people thronging the street did not seem unduly interested in stopping to purchase pickles or sauce, and feeling increasingly despondent Irene picked up the broom. She was about to enter the shop when footsteps behind her made her turn her head, but her hopes of serving an eager customer were dashed when she recognised the tall, slim figure dressed all in black.

Inspector Kent doffed his hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Angel.’

‘What do you want?’ Irene demanded ungraciously.

‘May I step inside for a moment? Or would you rather we conducted our business out here on the street?’

Her good intentions dissipated like morning mist over the river. It went against the grain to cooperate with the law, and she glared at
him
mutinously. ‘I don’t have anything to say to you, mister.’

‘About our conversation yesterday. Have you come to a decision?’ Tucking his bowler hat under his arm, he followed her into the shop.

‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘I don’t, but the choice is yours. I am not trying to coerce you into anything against your will.’

‘Fine words, but they mean nothing. If I don’t help you, it will be all the worse for my pa and Arthur.’

‘They got themselves into this, but I’m giving you the chance to put an end to the gang who have caused so much pain and misery to so many innocent citizens.’

‘And if I don’t choose to help you? What then?’

‘They will have to take their chances. I’m not blackmailing you, Miss Angel. I’m simply offering you the opportunity to help your father and your young man out of trouble.’

‘He’s not my young man.’ She had not meant to blurt out the words with such passion, but Kent seemed to have the uncanny ability to draw the truth out of her. She tossed her head. ‘Artie and me have known each other since we was nippers.’

‘Then I’m sure you won’t want to see any harm come to him or to your father.’

There was no arguing with the logic of this, and Irene knew that she was beaten. ‘All right, I’ll do what you want, Inspector, but only if you give me your word that you won’t arrest Artie.’

‘You have my word.’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out a handful of coins. He selected a florin and a silver sixpence and laid them on the counter.

‘What’s this? Are you trying to bribe me?’

‘Certainly not. I’d like to purchase a jar of piccalilli and a bottle of mushroom ketchup, if it’s not too much trouble.’

She was not certain, but she thought that she had seen a flicker of amusement in his eyes and she suspected that he was teasing her. ‘Is your wife a good cook, Inspector?’ she said lightly as she turned away to select the items from the shelf.

‘I’m unmarried.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Irene said, forcing her lips into a polite smile. ‘No offence meant, but you don’t strike me as the marrying kind.’

‘I expect you’re right.’

She picked up the sixpence but pushed the florin towards him with the tip of her finger. ‘That’s too much.’

‘Call it an advance on expenses.’ He turned to leave the shop, but she called him back.

‘Inspector, you’ve forgotten your pickle and sauce, and you still haven’t told me what you want me to do.’

He paused in the doorway. ‘I’m on my way to court. I’ll collect my purchases tomorrow and we’ll arrange a meeting place then. You can tell Mr Greenwood from me that I expect him to pass on anything that he hears concerning the activities of the Sykes brothers, however trivial it may seem.’ Setting his hat at a precise angle on his head he stepped outside onto the pavement, closing the door behind him.

Irene stared at the money on the counter. She had to decide whether to spend it on food and rent or to buy new stock. It was a difficult choice but she would not think about it now. If Pa repaid the money he had borrowed her problem would be solved. She tucked the florin into the top of her stays. She was not going to make the mistake of putting it in the till and risk losing it to Pa if his luck failed him yet again. There was no sign of any customers and she went upstairs to rekindle the fire and make a pot of tea and some toast.

She had just finished eating her frugal midday meal when the shop bell jangled and she ran to the top of the stairs. ‘Pa,’ she cried,
running
down to greet him. ‘You’ve come home.’

Billy took off his hat and tossed it onto its peg with expertise of long practice. He shrugged off his coat and smiled. ‘And where would I go, my poppet, except home?’

‘You aren’t still angry with me about last night?’

‘Irene, my love, I have only myself to blame. I know that and I am sorry for shouting at you, and blaming you for your mother’s sudden decision to abandon me. I can see now, in the rational light of day, that a little holiday with Emily will do her the power of good. I was being selfish, and I am a callous brute – a miserable wretch – for making my little angel unhappy.’

Irene eyed him suspiciously. ‘What have you done, Pa? There’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘Is there tea in the pot? My throat is so parched I can hardly speak.’

‘I’ll make a fresh brew as soon as you tell me why you are looking so pleased with yourself.’

He hung his coat on the peg next to his hat. ‘Well, to be honest, my pet, I’ve had quite a good night …’

‘And you can pay back the money you took from the till?’

‘That and more, my darling. I’m off to make our fortune at Doncaster. I have a certainty running in the St Leger tomorrow and I’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve changed my shirt and had a mouthful of tea.’

Irene stared at him aghast. ‘But Pa, it will cost a small fortune to take the train to Yorkshire, and then you will have to find somewhere to stay for the night, and food …’

Billy patted his breast pocket with a triumphant grin. ‘And I have the means here, my dove. By the time the race is over we will be rich. Your mother will never have to work again and we can get away from the stench of pickled onions and malt vinegar and rent a proper house where we can live like decent people.’

‘But Pa, we need money to pay Yapp or he won’t let me have any more stock.’

‘And we won’t need any more bottles of sauce and jars of pickle. I’ve just told you, darling. I’ve been given a hot tip for the St Leger; a French horse called Gladiateur; by tomorrow evening our money worries will be over. Now come upstairs and make me a nice cup of tea, and we’ll finish off that pie you bought for supper last night.’

‘We ate it, Pa. Arthur and me finished it off last night while we were waiting for you.’

‘No matter, my pet. Tea and toast will do.
I’ll
take dinner on the train.’ He took the stairs two at a time with Irene hurrying after him.

‘But, Pa, I must speak to you about Inspector Kent.’

‘Never mind him, Renie. As soon as I get my hands on my winnings, I promise you that my gambling days are over and done with. From tomorrow onwards I’m going to be a model husband and father. The Sykes brothers won’t see my face at their tables and Inspector Kent will not bother us ever again. Come on, my angel, don’t dawdle. I’ve got a train to catch.’

Irene held her tongue with difficulty as she followed him into the living room. There was no use talking to Pa when he was in this mood. She made tea and toast while he changed into a clean shirt.

‘There’s no butter or dripping,’ she said pointedly. ‘Couldn’t you spare a few pennies, Pa? Just enough to keep me going until you return?’

‘You know I would if I could, but it’s just not possible. Why don’t you go to your sister’s house for supper? I’m sure they live like lords in Love Lane.’

‘Pa, just listen to yourself. Have you any idea of the mess we’re in?’

‘You must have a little faith in your old pa, my little bird. Everything will be all right, I promise you.’

Irene was not going to give in so easily, but no matter how much she tried to reason with him, he would not listen. She cajoled, pleaded and finally lost her temper with her father, but he was adamant that his tip was solid gold and that Gladiateur could not fail to win the fabled St Leger. If the shop bell had not diverted her attention at that particular moment, Irene thought afterwards that she might have thrown something at Pa’s head, preferably something heavy which would render him unconscious and unable to carry out his wild plan. Fuming inwardly, she left him to finish his tea while she went downstairs to serve the waiting customer.

‘Hello, Irene? Having a nap, was you?’ Sal Hawker rose from the chair and plumped her basket down on the counter. ‘It’s all right for some. You can do as you please, but I’ve got the old bitch up the road on me tail and if I don’t get back with the goods she’ll tan me hide.’

Irene assumed her best businesslike face. ‘What can I do for you, Sal?’

‘Cook wants a jar of pickled cucumbers and a bottle of relish. Oh, and some pickled beetroot too. I almost forgot.’

Irene selected the jars and bottle from the shelves. ‘Anything else?’

‘Oh my Lord, you look down in the dumps. What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing, Sal. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,’ Irene said, hoping that Pa would not choose this particular moment to come into the shop. ‘That will be one and ninepence three farthings, please.’

‘Put it on the old cow’s slate.’

Irene bit her lip. The silk merchant’s wife was a good customer but a slow payer. Ma had always allowed her to run up an account and then patiently waited until the outstanding amount was paid. There was no time now for such politeness. She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid it’s cash on the nail or nothing.’

Sal’s smile faded. ‘But what shall I tell Cook?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘The missis will go elsewhere.’

‘I’d oblige you if I could, but it’s impossible,’ Irene said, replacing the jars on the shelf.

‘I’ll get it in the neck when I gets back to the house,’ Sal said, pouting. ‘Cook will blame me. She thinks with her rolling pin, that one. She’ll clout me round the head as soon as look at me.’

Irene thrust the bottle of sauce into her hands. ‘Here, take this to the old crow with my compliments. Since we’re likely to be out of business soon, I don’t suppose it will make much difference.’

‘I bet it’s all to do with them Sykes brothers,’ Sal murmured, backing towards the door.
‘It’s
well known that your old man is in with the gang.’

‘You should watch what you say, girl.’

The sound of Billy’s voice made Sal spin round to stare at him as he strolled down the stairs twirling his silver-headed cane. She eyed him nervously. ‘I only speak the truth, mister. It’s all round the street that you’re in with the Sykes gang and the police are on your tail. I’d cut and run if I was you.’