The Cockney Angel (26 page)

‘I don’t think anyone is going to let me forget it,’ Irene said, sighing. ‘But I’m going out this morning to look for work and then I’ll be off your Josiah’s hands for good.’

‘What?’ Emily paled alarmingly. ‘No, you can’t go out alone. Josiah would have a fit. You’ve got to behave like a young lady now, and anyway I want you to stay and keep me company. I’ll be big as a whale soon and I won’t be able to go out at all.’

‘Stuff and nonsense, Emmie,’ Clara said with a touch of asperity. ‘You’ve a while to go yet and if you are growing fat it’s because you stuff chocolates and cream cakes all day. When I was carrying you I worked long hours in the shop and almost gave birth to you under the counter.’

Emily fanned herself with the magazine.
‘Ma
, please. That’s not a fit subject to speak of in front of Renie.’

Irene hooted with laughter. ‘Stuff and nonsense. I’ve spent enough time in the company of Fiery Nan and Gentle Annie to know what goes on in the world. You may pretend to be a delicate flower, Em, but I’m as common as the old plane tree on the corner of Wood Street. We were born and raised in the city and our feet are planted firmly in the dirt, so you can just stop talking like a silly bitch and let me get on with things in me own way.’

Clara clutched her hand to her forehead. ‘Girls, don’t fight, please. My poor head is aching from listening to you.’

‘There now,’ Emily said, pulling a face at her sister. ‘You’ve upset Ma with your coarse ways. Keep what company you like, but don’t let Josiah catch you, and don’t go roaming the streets on your own. If you do anything to bring disgrace on this house I’ll never speak to you again.’

Irene had had enough. She might be dressed like a lady but she was still the same person inside, and she was already feeling like a caged tiger. She could see that Ma was close to tears, and not wanting to upset her further she bit back a sharp retort, schooling her features into what she hoped was a meek expression. ‘I promise that I won’t show you or your
precious
Josiah up in any way. I’ll act the lady in company and no one will see me walking out unattended.’

‘There, you see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ Emily’s smile was so smug that Irene could almost hear her purring.

‘I’m proud of you, Renie,’ Clara said, sighing with relief. ‘That couldn’t have been easy for you to say, ducks.’

No, Irene thought, bowing her head so that they could not see the gleam of excitement in her eyes. It wasn’t easy to curb her rebellious spirit, but she had just thought of a way to get round Josiah’s stupid rules: however, it wouldn’t do to let either Ma or Emmie in on her plans. She rubbed her temples with her fingers. ‘I think I’ll go to my room and have a lie down. I’m a bit tired after all the travelling I did yesterday.’

‘Of course you are, love,’ Clara said sympathetically. ‘You go upstairs and have a rest.’

Emily flicked through the pages of the magazine. ‘Luncheon is at one o’clock sharp. You know that Josiah hates people who are unpunctual.’ She looked up, giving Irene a hard stare. ‘You’d better not be planning anything rash, Renie.’

‘Who, me? As if I would.’ Irene left the room with a swish of starched moreen petticoats.

Chapter Thirteen

HALF AN HOUR
later, Irene crept barefoot down the back stairs with Jim’s boots clutched in her hands. She had discarded her unaccustomed finery for her brother’s cast-off clothing, and with her hair tucked up in the peaked cap she was satisfied that she would not excite anyone’s curiosity on the city streets. She was confident now that she could stroll along, hands in pockets, and melt into the crowd as she had done before; but first she had to get past Cook and Jessie and anyone else who happened to be slaving away in Josiah’s kitchen. She stopped at the foot of the stairs to put on the boots and lace them up. Having done this she crept along the flagstone passage hardly daring to breathe.

She passed closed doors conveniently labelled
Broom Cupboard, Flower Room
and
Larder
, but the door at the end of the passage had been left ajar and clouds of steam gusted out into the cold air. The mixed aromas of frying onions and roasting meat made her mouth water, but she put aside her hunger and
peeked
round the door. She could see a thin woman enveloped in a mobcap and a large white apron standing at the table chopping herbs. Luckily she had her back to the door and Jessie was too busy stoking the range to pay attention to anything that was going on around her. Irene slipped past unnoticed and she smothered a sigh of relief when she found that the half-glassed door leading into the area was not locked. Luckily the kitchen window was steamed up on the inside, enabling her to ascend the steep area steps unseen and escape through the wrought-iron gate onto the pavement.

She took a deep breath of frosty air, ignoring the stench of boiled cabbage that wafted from the basement kitchen of the adjoining house and the unmistakeable odour of cat’s piss that made her eyes water. Nothing could spoil this moment. It had been all too easy. She was free and it felt wonderful, but as she stepped out with long masculine strides she remembered that there were some drawbacks to wearing breeches: the coarse material chafed the soft skin of her inner thighs, but it was a small price to pay for regaining her liberty, even if it was only temporary. Her first stop was to be Newgate prison, and she cut through a narrow passage between the houses which led from the mews into Love Lane. She walked at
a
brisk pace, adding a slight swagger to her gait just for the fun of it. She went unrecognised by those in Wood Street who would have known and greeted Irene Angel, and she made her way to Cheapside. No one seemed to be interested in a shabbily dressed youth; she might as well have been invisible. It was most encouraging.

She hurried along Newgate Street, which was little more than a lane that ran beneath the grim smoke-blackened walls of the prison, and she threaded her way between market stalls selling anything and everything from potatoes to silver plate. Judging by the villainous-looking characters who hung around the place, a great many of the items on the stalls were stolen property. The whole area had the sordid atmosphere of a lawless twilight world just beyond the reach of the Court House in Old Bailey. Irene would not normally have set foot in this place, but in her male guise she felt supremely confident and unafraid. The only person who accosted her was a snot-nosed urchin who accused her of stealing his pitch when she stopped for a moment to get her bearings. He shoved his grubby face close to hers, and the smell of his unwashed body made her want to retch. She was not in the mood for arguing and she pushed him out of the way, receiving a
mouthful
of foul invective that seemed to impress one of the costermongers who tossed the boy an apple.

Irene hurried on past the debtor’s door where public hangings took place with depressing regularity. These never failed to attract huge crowds of spectators who, she had been informed on good authority, watched the gruesome spectacle as if it were a sport akin to bear baiting or cock fighting. There were those who actually paid huge sums to watch the grisly proceedings from upper windows in the prison itself. Irene had never wanted to see such dreadful sights but no one could live in the city without being aware of what was happening on their doorstep.

She made her way to the main gate and rang the bell. A small hatch in the door flew open and a gaunt, unshaven face peered out at her. ‘What’s your business here?’

Irene lowered her voice to what she hoped was a more masculine tone. ‘I want to visit a prisoner.’

‘No visits allowed.’ The voice was firm, but the beady eyes stared out at her as if expecting something in return for this information. She had no money with which to bribe the screw and so she tried another tack.

‘If you please, mister. You got me dad in there and us twelve children is close to
starving
. Let me see him just for one minute, please.’

‘Can’t be done. Clear off.’

‘I would pay you, but I ain’t got no money.’ A sudden idea flashed into her mind and Irene moved closer to the grille. ‘I knows Vic and Wally Sykes. They’ll see you right if you’ll turn a blind eye and let me in.’

‘I am an officer of the law and not open to bribes,’ the man said stiffly, but Irene was quick to note a sly look flicker across his face.

‘Vic and Wally think the world of me dad,’ Irene said, pressing home her advantage.

‘I’m known for me tender heart, young ’un, and I might just be persuaded to pass a message to your dad. What’s his moniker?’

‘Billy Angel, guv. He shouldn’t be in prison. He ain’t no criminal.’

‘They never are, boy. What’s the message?’

‘We want to know if he’s been up before the beak, and if he has then how long is he in for?’

‘You say that he’s a mate of the Sykes brothers?’

Irene nodded her head emphatically. There had to be some advantage in Pa’s mixing with notorious criminals.

‘What’s your name then, boy? I need to know it if I’m going to speak to your dad.’

‘It’s Jim.’

‘Wait here, Jim.’ The hatch snapped shut and
there
was nothing that Irene could do other than wait and hope that the screw kept his word. It was cold and getting colder. Above her the sky was the same granite-grey as the prison walls and a bitter wind was blowing from the north, threatening snow. She stamped her feet and cupped her hands over her mouth, breathing on her fingers in an attempt to keep them warm. She had no idea of the time, but the wait seemed like hours rather than minutes as she paced up and down outside the prison gates. She had just about given up when the hatch flew open and the same pair of beady eyes peered at her through the grille. ‘Come here, boy.’

Obediently she moved closer. ‘You’ve spoken to me dad?’

‘He don’t seem too fond of you. He went quite pale when I spoke your name and he said you was a great disappointment to him, but you was to take care of your ma and sisters since he’s going to be in here for the next six years. Now clear off. I’ve done me bit.’

Shocked to the core by this harsh sentence, Irene walked away, barely knowing where she was headed. How would she break the news to Ma and Emmie she was at a loss to know. Perhaps it would be better to keep this piece of information to herself as it would only upset them, and if they realised that she had been
roaming
the streets dressed as a boy there would quite literally be hell to pay. There was nothing for it; she had to get back into the house unseen and keep her own counsel. With her head down, Irene pushed and shoved with the rest of the crowds in Newgate market, ignoring angry accusations that she had jostled a fat woman or had trodden on someone’s big toe.

When she reached the corner of Wood Street she saw Yapp standing on the pavement outside the pickle shop. He was hammering on the door and shouting. She could not hear his exact words, but he was obviously extremely angry. She caught sight of Danny standing in the road, holding the horse’s reins, and she crossed the street to speak to him. ‘Hello, Danny.’

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

‘Don’t make a fuss, but it’s me – Irene.’

He stared at her for a moment and then his face cracked into a grin. ‘Miss Irene, what are you doing dressed up like that?’

‘It’s a long story and I don’t want Yapp to recognise me.’ She glanced over her shoulder, but Yapp was fully occupied in his attack on the shop door. ‘Why is he banging on the door like a madman? He must know we aren’t there any more.’

Danny eyed Yapp nervously. ‘Of course he
does
, miss. He’s making out you owe him money so that he can reclaim the stock to cover the money he says you owes him.’

‘But I paid him in advance, you know that.’

‘He’d skin me alive if I was to say anything. I can’t afford to lose me job.’

‘I understand, Danny.’ Irene laid her hand on his arm with a sympathetic smile.

He eyed her curiously. ‘But the outfit, miss. Why?’

‘It’s a long story and it would take too long to go into it now, but I want you to do something for me, Danny.’

‘Just name it, miss.’

‘I believe that you live next door to Alice Kent.’

‘I do,’ Danny said, his eyes widening with surprise. ‘I didn’t know you was friends with Alice.’

‘Will you give her a message from me? Tell her that I am very sorry for leaving so abruptly, and that I am safe.’

‘I’ll do that, of course I will, but supposing she wants to send you a message? Where will I find you?’

‘At my sister’s home in Love Lane,’ Irene whispered. ‘Josiah Tippet’s house. Anyone will direct you there.’

‘You can trust me. I’d do anything for you, miss,’ Danny said, blushing.

Irene resisted the temptation to plant a kiss on his freckled face, and instead she gave him a hearty slap on the back before hurrying off in the direction of Love Lane.

She arrived in the mews just as the poulterer’s boy was delivering a tray of game. Leaning nonchalantly against the railings of the adjoining property Irene waited her chance, and when the boy had left she slipped into the house unnoticed. Judging by the sound of raised voices emanating from the kitchen, Cook harboured suspicions that the purveyor of game and poultry had short-changed them. She could hear Jessie’s plaintive voice protesting that it was not her fault, followed by the slap of a hand connecting to soft flesh and a loud howl. Poor Jessie, Irene thought as she ran up the stairs two at a time. No wonder she was a surly little beast if that was the way she was treated.

As she changed back into the clothes donated by Emmie, Irene thought long and hard about what she would do next. She must find a way to earn her own living, but the drudgery of service in a household such as this was less than appealing. She did not have a good enough education to teach in a school or to put herself up as a governess, and her lack of experience with small children made it unlikely that anyone would employ her as a nanny. She could, perhaps, get a job serving
in
a shop, but that would not provide her with the necessary accommodation. She toyed with the idea of working in the blacking factory or picking oakum or even washing bottles in the brewery, but again she would have nowhere to live. Josiah would be so thunderstruck by the notion of his sister-in-law doing menial work that she would never be allowed over the threshold again. She sat down at the dressing table and brushed her hair until it glinted with golden lights. She studied her features critically and sighed. She was fair enough, but hardly a ravishing beauty. If her face was not her fortune then she would have to live by her wits. She sighed as she coiled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with the tortoiseshell combs.