The Cockney Angel (23 page)

Irene rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I know I shouldn’t have come to your home, but I had to see you.’

He acknowledged her presence with a curt nod. ‘Perhaps we should speak in private?’

‘No, don’t take her away yet,’ Alice cried. ‘Irene has told me everything; do let her stay for a while longer, and please tell her what has happened to her father. The poor girl is desperate to know.’

Irene stared in amazement as she saw Kent’s harsh features soften. A tender smile curved his lips as he leaned over Alice to drop a kiss on her fair head. ‘All right, you minx. If Miss Angel doesn’t mind, we will have our conversation here, but it must wait until after you’ve had your supper. I won’t have you fainting from lack of nourishment.’

‘Irene can join us,’ Alice said happily. She turned to Irene with a pleading look in her eyes. ‘You will stay and eat with us, won’t you? I would love that.’

Irene glanced at Kent and met his cool gaze with an uplift of her chin. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose on you, Inspector.’

A ghost of a smile lit his eyes. ‘It would be our pleasure if you would stay and have supper with us, Miss Angel.’ He made for the doorway and paused. ‘Our neighbour, Gladys Priest, cooks a meal for us every day. I’ll just go and fetch it.’ He left the room and Irene heard the front door open and close behind him.

‘Gladys’s son Danny runs errands for me. He works for a dreadful man who makes pickles,’ Alice said, pulling a face. ‘Perhaps you are acquainted with the odious Mr Yapp, since you are in the same line of business?’

‘Unfortunately yes, and I do know Danny; he’s a good boy.’

‘He makes me laugh,’ Alice said, chuckling. ‘And he’s extremely obliging. I only have to ask him to do something for me and it’s done.’

‘That sounds like Danny,’ Irene replied, smiling at Alice’s boundless enthusiasm. She glanced around the tidy room, feeling suddenly guilty for her own good health. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘There are plates on the dresser and cutlery in the drawer. We usually sit by the fire to eat, but as we’ve got company it would be nice to sit at the table.’

Irene busied herself by laying the table and setting out the chairs, and she had just completed her task when Kent returned
carrying
a steaming saucepan. He placed it on the table and from his greatcoat pocket he produced a loaf of bread. ‘Miss Angel, perhaps you would like to serve while I help Alice to her chair?’

Irene did as he asked, and her stomach rumbled with hunger as she ladled the boiled beef and carrots onto the plates. She waited while Kent divested himself of his coat and jacket. In his shirtsleeves he looked so much more human and approachable that it was hard to see him as the enemy. He lifted Alice from the sofa as easily as if she had been a featherweight, and he set her gently down on a chair at the table. She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Eddie.’

‘Miss Angel, won’t you take a seat?’ He pulled out a chair.

‘Really, must you be so formal?’ Alice said, chuckling. ‘We aren’t at the station now. Can you not call her Irene?’

As Kent helped her to her seat, Irene was suddenly conscious of his nearness, and she was aware of his capable, workmanlike hands as they held her chair. She was rapidly reassessing her former opinion of him and it was unnerving. It was easier to imagine him as the aloof, cold-hearted foe than as a loving and caring brother whom Alice plainly worshipped. He seemed quite unaware of her
confusion
as he took his seat opposite and cut thick slices from the loaf, serving her first.

‘This is most pleasant,’ Alice said, smiling. ‘We so seldom have guests for supper and I’ve really enjoyed our chat, Irene. I do hope you will come again.’

Irene almost choked on a mouthful of meat and gravy. She glanced warily at Kent expecting to see censure in his expression, but to her annoyance he was eyeing her with something akin to amusement. It might please him to play a game of cat and mouse but she wanted answers. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It depends on your brother.’

‘I’m not the ogre you seem to think me, Miss Angel.’

‘Then will you kindly put me out of my misery and tell me what has happened to my father, Inspector Kent?’

‘No, this won’t do,’ Alice said, frowning. ‘We are eating together as friends, and I can’t allow you to be so formal. You must call my brother by his Christian name, and he must do the same. Otherwise it will make me most uncomfortable.’

Kent reached across and tweaked one of her fair ringlets. ‘You are a spoilt little madam, Alice. But I’m sure that Miss Angel would not want to upset you, and neither would I.’

‘No, of course not,’ Irene agreed. ‘But I
would
be grateful if you would tell me what has happened to my father – Edward.’

His smile was apologetic and seemed genuine as he met her anxious gaze. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that he is awaiting trial in Newgate prison. He was caught with the Sykes gang as they fought with their rivals from Spitalfields. Unfortunately the ringleaders got away.’

‘My father isn’t and never has been a member of the Sykes gang.’

Kent inclined his head. ‘I believe you, but all the same he was caught in the middle of the fray.’

‘Pa hates violence. He must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. What will happen to him?’

‘It will be up to the judge at his trial, but it will almost certainly mean a custodial sentence.’

Irene pushed her plate away, staring at him in horror as the truth dawned on her. ‘You knew what was going to happen, didn’t you? You couldn’t get my pa to peach on the gang so you had him followed.’

‘I can’t comment on police matters. But perhaps if your friend had done what I asked of him and not run away, things might have been different.’

Kent’s tone was cold and his face had assumed the shuttered look that Irene
had
begun to know only too well. She rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve lost my appetite. If you will excuse me, Alice, I should go now.’

‘Oh, no, please don’t leave like this,’ Alice said, casting a pleading glance at her brother. ‘Can’t you do something, Edward?’

Irene snatched up her bonnet and shawl. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, reaching for her canvas bag. ‘I should not have come here.’

Kent pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I understand that you are upset, but it was inevitable that Billy would be caught. Anyone who gets involved with the Sykes brothers must know where it will lead.’

‘My pa can’t help himself when it comes to gambling; it’s like a fever in his blood. Vic and Wally prey on men like him. They’ve used Pa and now he’s paying for his folly. Are you satisfied?’

‘I was just doing my job. Billy Angel is a grown man and he broke the law.’

‘But Arthur is little more than a boy,’ Irene countered, too angry now to care whether or not she upset Alice. ‘You hounded him and he almost died as a result of it. Are you going to seek him out for trial by jury also?’

‘He is of no interest to me now.’

‘You used him,’ Irene cried passionately. ‘You used him and you used me for your own selfish ends. Well, I hope you get your
promotion
on the broken backs of my family and Arthur’s ruined career.’ She turned to Alice and was smitten by guilt at the sight of her white, tear-stained face. ‘I’m sorry to bring my troubles to your door, Alice. Forgive me.’ Irene pushed past Kent and ran from the house into the pouring rain.

‘Miss Angel – Irene – wait. Please stop.’ Kent caught up with her before she had taken more than a couple of steps across the wet cobblestones. He gripped her by the arm, and when she tried to pull free he tightened his grasp. ‘What are you going to do?’

She was shaking with suppressed anger. ‘Let me go.’

‘You cannot go running about London on a night like this. I know that the shop has been boarded up and that you have no home to go to.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ Irene glared up into his pale face illuminated by a shaft of light from the parlour window.

His fingers dug into her soft flesh. ‘You could have stayed and paid off your debts, but instead you chose to run after your sweetheart,’ he said grimly. ‘Don’t blame the law for your mistakes.’

‘You made me think that you were going to arrest him, and that was why I risked everything to warn Artie.’ She wrenched her arm
free
. ‘I think you planned it. You wanted me out of the way so that you could entrap my father as well as the Sykes brothers.’

‘That isn’t the case at all.’

‘Well, I believe it is. My father told me never to trust a copper.’

‘I can see that you’ve made up your mind, but you are wrong.’

‘Just leave me alone.’

‘But where will you go now?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ she answered defiantly, but she was seized by a sudden feeling of panic. She had not thought that far and her options were strictly limited. He was staring at her with a perplexed expression in his eyes. His shirtsleeves and waistcoat were soaked with rain, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead, but Irene felt no sympathy for the man who had sent her father to jail. She wrapped her sodden shawl a little closer around her body and it was only then that she realised that she too was soaked to the skin. She shivered convulsively, clenching her teeth to prevent them from chattering. ‘Tell your sister that I’m sorry I won’t be able to call on her again. I’m really sorry, because I would like to have known her better, but hear this, Inspector Kent, I won’t never lift a finger to help you again. You could be on fire and I wouldn’t waste my spit on you.’ She turned
on
her heel and broke into a run, but the cobblestones in the court were wet and she slipped, stumbled and would have fallen if he had not been at her side and caught her before she fell to the ground. ‘Let go of me,’ she cried, lashing out at him with her bare hands.

He righted her and released her immediately. ‘You can’t wander the streets on a night like this. You’ll end up dead in a shop doorway or worse.’

‘And cause your lot a bit of inconvenience, I suppose? Well, don’t worry, I won’t clutter up the dead house tomorrow morning. I’ve got somewhere to go, and it really don’t concern you.’ She retrieved her bag from a muddy puddle and marched off with her head held high. It was only when she was safely away from Robin Hood Passage that she relaxed enough to realise that her teeth were clattering together like a busker playing the spoons and she was trembling from head to foot. She felt abandoned and lost, with no home to go to. It was the old nightmare returning to claim her – but this time it was real.

Rain was tumbling down from the sky and huge puddles glistened in the light of the street lamps. Passing cabs and carriages sent up waves of muddy spray, soaking Irene’s skirts, and her boots were letting in water so that her
feet
squelched with every step. On the corner of Wood Street a hot chestnut vendor huddled beneath a sacking cape and rivulets of rainwater poured off his wide-brimmed felt hat every time he moved his head. Steam rose from his clothes as he stood close to the glowing brazier and the smell of roasting chestnuts filled the damp air. Irene’s stomach rumbled and she thought longingly of the supper that she had tasted but left on her plate in Kent’s house. Another mouthful would have choked her, but she was ravenous and there was only one place that she could go now.

Jessie opened the door with her customary surly expression. ‘Oh, it’s you, miss. What d’you want at this time of night?’

Irene was in no mood for pleasantries and she pushed past her. ‘Is my sister in the drawing room?’

Jessie closed the door with a thud. ‘Here, you can’t walk in without me announcing you. The mistress would skin me alive.’

‘Then announce me and be done with it. Can’t you see I’m wet through and in danger of catching a fatal chill?’

Jessie sniffed and stomped off towards the staircase. ‘Follow me then, my lady.’

As she passed one of the many wall mirrors in the entrance hall, Irene saw her reflection
with
a feeling of dismay. No wonder the maid had looked as her askance; she did indeed look like something the cat had dragged in. Her hair hung in wet strands around her face and shoulders and there were smuts on her cheeks and nose. Her bonnet had lost all its stiffening and had crumpled into a soggy mess at the back of her neck, and her clothes were sodden and mud-spattered. Glancing down at the carpet she saw to her dismay that she had left a trail of muddy footprints all along the new runner in the hall and on each of the stair treads. Emmie would kill her, Irene thought gloomily, and she could only hope that Erasmus was out for the evening. He would tease her mercilessly if he were to see her now, and as for Ephraim – well, he would be shocked beyond belief.

Irene entered the drawing room without bothering to knock, but Jessie was close on her heels.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ Jessie whined. ‘She pushed past me like a mad thing.’

Emmie had been reclining on the chaise longue but she sat upright, staring open-mouthed at her sister. Clara rose stiffly from an armchair by the fire and came hobbling over to greet Irene, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Oh, Renie. Where have you been, you bad girl? We’ve heard nothing from you for well over a week.’

Irene dropped the bag in the doorway and hurried over to her clasp her mother’s hands, holding her at arms’ length. ‘Don’t touch me, Ma. I’m soaked to the skin and I’ll make you wet.’ She glanced at Emmie and smiled. ‘Hello, Emmie.’

‘I hope no one saw you enter the house in that state,’ Emmie said peevishly. ‘What have you been doing all this time and why are you here?’

‘I’ve come to ask a favour.’

‘If it’s money you want, I have only a little left of my allowance,’ Emily said, pouting. ‘I’ve had to spend a fortune at the dressmaker’s. I don’t think my waistline is ever going to stop expanding, and I doubt if I’ll ever see my feet again.’

‘Come and sit by the fire, ducks,’ Clara said. ‘Jessie, please fetch a bowl of hot water and mustard powder, and a towel.’

‘Yes’m.’ Jessie bobbed a curtsey and backed slowly from the room.

Irene went to sit by the fire, ignoring the fact that she would make a wet patch on Emmie’s brand new velvet cushions. Billows of steam erupted from her wet skirts and the odour of damp wool and mud containing particles of the stinking detritus from the streets wafted round the room.