The Cockney Angel (12 page)

Constable Burton pursed his lips in silent disapproval. ‘I should hope so.’

‘You can trust Artie,’ Irene said firmly. ‘Just tell me what I have to do.’

‘The inspector will meet you in St Paul’s churchyard at nine o’clock on Tuesday evening. He says you must never underestimate Vic and Wally Sykes. They are dangerous
men
and if they so much as suspect that they’re being spied on they won’t show any mercy.’ Burton laid his hand tentatively on Irene’s sleeve. ‘You do understand that, don’t you, Miss Angel?’

She could see genuine concern in his warm brown eyes, and she managed a tight little smile. ‘I do, thank you, Constable.’

‘I hope so, miss, I really do hope so.’

With a smart bow from the waist, Constable Burton strode out of the shop, leaving Irene and Arthur staring after him in stunned silence.

Chapter Six

‘
HE FORGOT THE
pickles!’ Irene said dazedly. Slowly she placed them back on the shelf. ‘I knew that blooming inspector didn’t really want them.’

‘That man has ruined my life,’ Arthur groaned. ‘I can’t do what he wants – it’s too dangerous.’

‘The only person who’s ruined your life is you, Artie,’ Irene said sadly. ‘No one forced you to gamble or to get involved with the Sykes brothers. You saw what it had done to my pa and yet it didn’t stop you. I’m afraid that you’ve got to take the consequences and so have I.’

‘Vic and Wally will kill me if they find out I’m a copper’s nark.’

‘Then they mustn’t find out. We’re in this together, like it or not.’

‘It’s not fair that you should have to put yourself in danger.’

‘There’s nothing fair in life as far as I can see, Artie. If all things were equal, I’d be riding round in a carriage like me sister, wearing a
silk
gown and waiting for some bloke to marry me and keep me like a queen. But all I’ve got is a shop full of pickles and a father who gambles every last penny, not to mention a friend who drives me mad.’

This last remark made Arthur smile, but he winced with pain as his cut lip started to bleed. ‘All right, Renie. I know I’m behaving badly, but I’m just scared.’

She moved swiftly to his side and gave him a hug. ‘So am I, but we’ll get through this together. You can stay here for as long as you like. I’m sure that Pa won’t mind if you sleep under the counter until you find a room somewhere.’

‘I can’t sponge off you and your family. It wouldn’t be right. I’ve just got to find work.’

She eyed him thoughtfully. This was a side of Arthur she had not previously seen. His normally ebullient nature seemed to have undergone a sudden change, leaving him serious and penitent. She patted his hand. ‘Give your dad time to calm down, and maybe he’ll take you back. After all, you’ve almost finished your apprenticeship; he must see that it would be a crying shame to lose a good silversmith because of a family row.’

‘You don’t know the old man.’

‘Not very well, I must admit, but you won’t
know
until you try. If he’s unhelpful then you’ll have to look for work elsewhere.’

‘I’m not trained for anything else, Renie.’

She angled her head as an idea struck her. ‘Go and see Vic or Wally. Tell them that you had a row with your dad and he threw you out. Ask them for work, anything at all, even if it’s running errands or washing glasses. If they take you on then you won’t have to play the tables; you’ll get information for Kent without even trying.’

A glimmer of hope lit Arthur’s eyes, but then it faded into doubt. ‘They’re not stupid. They’ll see through me.’

She snatched a jar of pickled cucumbers from the shelf. ‘And this glass jar is going to come into contact with your head, Arthur Greenwood, if you don’t stop feeling sorry for yourself and start acting like a man.’ She had no real intention of causing him bodily harm but her action seemed to have the desired effect.

‘All right, I’ll do it. I’ll go and see Wally right away.’

‘Good for you, Artie.’

He took his jacket from the peg and put it on, wincing with every painful movement. ‘Wish me luck,’ he said with a glimmer of his old smile.

‘Be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary
chances
.’ She watched him leave the shop with mixed feelings. It was a relief that he was doing something positive, but he would be playing a dangerous game with battle-hardened adversaries. The Sykes brothers had ruled their empire unchallenged for as long as she could remember. She cast a look of loathing at the neatly stacked shelves. ‘I hate you,’ she said with feeling. ‘I wouldn’t care if I never saw another blooming pickled onion or cucumber again in me whole life.’

Trade picked up later that morning and continued to be brisk, giving her little time to worry about Arthur or to wonder how Pa’s horse would do in the St Leger. She could only hope that his luck would be in and that he would bring home enough of his winnings to enable her to set matters right with Yapp. She did not expect Pa to put in an appearance until late that evening, but every time the shop door opened she glanced up hoping that it was Arthur returning with good news.

At closing time, having taken a few pennies from the till in order to buy supper, she put the rest of the takings into a leather pouch which she took upstairs and placed in the chest on top of Jim’s old clothes. She fingered the coarse material of his jacket as she attempted to visualise his face, but she had only a misty memory of the elder brother whom she had
loved
and looked up to all those years ago. Jim would be a man now, and she might not even recognise him if he were ever to come home. After ten years with no word from him this seemed unlikely, but she knew that Ma still cried herself to sleep when she had been thinking of her long lost son.

Irene closed the chest and busied herself lighting the fire. She filled the kettle with water and hooked it over the flames to boil so that she could make a pot of tea. She was thirsty and her stomach rumbled suddenly, reminding her that she was extremely hungry. She decided to treat herself to a hot meat pie and some pease pudding from the shop further along Wood Street, and then she would sit and wait for Arthur and her father. She sighed. It felt as though she had spent her entire life doing just that – waiting passively for Pa, Jim and now Arthur to come home. Ma had been content to live this way, but Irene had always resented the restraints put on women by their men. Even if she was a wealthy heiress, a female was tied to her father until the time she married, and then she was similarly bound to her husband.

The water in the kettle began to bubble and she scrambled to her feet. She picked up a pot holder and poured boiling water onto the tea leaves in the pot, setting it down on the trivet
to
brew. If only she could make her own way in the world and win her independence; it was a wonderful thought, but as far from her reach as the stars twinkling in the blackness of the night sky.

She poured the tea, but when she went to add the milk she discovered that it was sour. She shrugged her shoulders and picked up her shawl. At least she had enough money to buy food for her supper and there was sufficient coal to take the bitter chill off the room. She had a roof over her head, which many less fortunate did not, but she could not help wanting more. One day she would have it all: a house of her own and money in the bank. She would eat chocolate every day of the week if she felt so inclined, and she wouldn’t have to marry an old man like Josiah Tippet in order to make her wishes come true. She would wait until she found a man she could love and respect before tying the knot. She smiled, shaking her head at her own folly. Dreams were just that, and reality was an empty belly and the need to go out and buy food before she collapsed with hunger.

It did not take long to walk the short distance to the dairy and the pie shop, and with the first rush of the evening being over she was served quickly and returned home with the food still piping hot. She sat down to eat her
meal
alone, but with little enjoyment. She couldn’t stop worrying about Pa and Artie. She did not really expect her father to return from Doncaster until late that night or even early tomorrow morning, but Artie was another matter. When midnight approached she was tempted to go out looking for him. Her imagination was running riot. Perhaps Vic or Wally had got wind of Kent’s plans and had set their ruffians on Artie. Perhaps he was lying in the gutter somewhere, bruised and bleeding.

She had almost convinced herself of the worst when she heard someone banging on the shop door. Seizing the candlestick, she hurried downstairs to peer through the grime-smudged windowpanes. To her intense relief she saw Arthur standing on the pavement, blowing on his cupped hands and stamping his feet. She unlocked the door and let him in on a blast of ice-cold air. ‘Artie, thank God you’re safe.’

His teeth were chattering but he managed a weak grin. ‘I did it, Renie. I convinced Vic that I needed work so badly that I’d do anything.’

‘Come into the warm, and tell me all about it.’ She locked the door and followed him upstairs to the living room. When he was settled by the fire with a cup of tea in his hands and a slice of pie on a plate at his side, she
pulled
up a stool and sat opposite him. ‘Well, then. Tell me what happened.’

‘I’ve spent the entire day cleaning out the privy in the back yard, crating bottles and scrubbing floors. Vic said I can stay on until the old man takes me back. He did offer to sort him out for me, but I said no thank you to that. I may hate the old sod but I wouldn’t want any real harm to come to him, not on my account anyway.’

‘Of course not. But did you hear anything that you could pass on to Kent?’

He took a bite of pie and shook his head. ‘Nothing that would interest him. Maybe I’ll do better tomorrow.’

When he had finished his supper, Irene gave him a blanket and a pillow from her parents’ bed. ‘You’d best try and make yourself comfortable under the counter in the shop, Artie.’ She did not add that Pa might be easygoing in general and liberal minded, but he might jump to the wrong conclusion if he found Arthur sleeping in his bed.

Tucking the bedding under his arm, Arthur leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for this, Renie. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.’

She gave him a playful shove towards the doorway. ‘Get on with you, you soft thing. You’d do the same for me.’

As she curled up in a ball on her thin palliasse, Irene realised how much she missed her mother’s calming presence. Ma would have dealt with Cuthbert Greenwood and Obadiah Yapp in her own quiet way. She had spent many years fending off creditors and she had dealt with punters who had lost small fortunes to Billy and then accused him of cheating. Irene had seen Ma face up to ugly brutes twice her size, sending them off shamefaced and apologising for the disturbance they had caused. She wished that she had her mother’s tact and diplomacy, which, added to a sweetness of nature, could resolve the most difficult situation.

As she drifted off to sleep, Irene made up her mind to visit her ma and Emmie on Sunday. Perhaps Pa could be persuaded to put aside his dislike of his son-in-law and accompany her, which would please Ma no end. She would ask him tomorrow when he returned home from Doncaster.

But Billy did not come home the next day, or the next. By Sunday morning, Irene was convinced that something dreadful had happened to him. Arthur was still sleeping under the shop counter, leaving for work early in the morning and returning late at night. He continued to execute the most menial tasks for
the
Sykes brothers, but he had not learned anything that would be of the slightest use to Inspector Kent.

‘I’ll never get to know what they’re doing while I’m cleaning out the privy or tapping barrels,’ Arthur grumbled as he munched a slice of stale bread for his breakfast. ‘The only way I’ll get any information for Kent is to listen to the talk in the gaming room, but I can’t play the tables without stake money.’

‘And I can’t give you any,’ Irene said firmly. ‘Surely they must pay you for your work?’

He hung his head. ‘They gave me something yesterday, but it wasn’t much.’

‘Don’t tell me you lost it at cards.’

Avoiding her gaze, he shook his head. ‘I put it on a horse. It was supposed to be a sure thing.’

‘Oh, Artie! What am I going to do with you?’

‘I’m sorry, Renie. I really thought I was on a winning streak.’

She closed her eyes, biting back a sharp retort. She had heard that phrase time and time again, but then it had been her father making the same excuse to her mother. She bit back the harsh words that sprang to her lips. ‘Go to work. Get out of my sight before I say something I’ll regret.’

When she looked again he had gone and she heard his footsteps clattering down the stairs,
followed
by the grinding of the key in the lock and the thud of the door closing behind him. ‘Men!’ Irene shouted, shaking her fist at the noisy rooks in the plane tree. ‘And you lot can shut up too.’ She glared distastefully at the slice of stale bread that was her breakfast. There was no coal left to light the fire and there was no money in the old cocoa tin.

She turned to glare at her reflection in the mirror above the mantelshelf, and she scraped her hair back from her face, confining it in a knot at the nape of her neck. It was still early, but suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in on her and she simply had to escape from the confines of the tiny living room, even if it was just for the morning. She snatched her shawl from the back of a chair and made her way downstairs. Fractured beams of sunlight glittering with golden dust motes filtered through the small windowpanes, making a chequered pattern on the bare floorboards. Irene could not wait to get outside into the bright autumn morning. A walk to Love Lane was just what she needed. She would put her worries about Pa to the back of her mind, and try to forget that in two days’ time she was expected to provide Inspector Kent with information that would help him smash the Sykes gang.

Although the sun shone from a clear azure
sky
, there was a chill breeze blowing in from the east, bringing with it the stench from the tanneries, manufactories and the gasworks. Irene was used to the noxious smells, the dirt and the poverty that marched hand in hand with the affluence of the City banks and businesses, but today the differences seemed even more pronounced. Bare-footed urchins were scavenging in the gutters for anything that had the smallest value and could be sold or exchanged for food. Others hung round outside the church waiting for the congregation to leave, and doubtless hoping that the faithful might feel uplifted by the sermon and in a generous mood. Irene hurried past them, trying not to look at their grimy wizened faces and stick-like limbs. She had nothing to give them or to the old woman who slumped in the doorway of a closed shop with a tin cup on the pavement in front of her. Her tattered black skirt was damp with early morning dew and her lined face had a sickly pallor. She must have been there all night, Irene thought sadly as she hurried past. There was little or nothing that she could do for such people, but the sight of dire poverty and utter destitution made her realise that her situation might seem hard to bear, but she was much better off than some.