The Cockney Angel (33 page)

Ras walked past Irene, giving her a triumphant glance. ‘You can’t cross me and get away with it, sweetheart,’ he whispered.

‘Wait,’ Irene cried as Ephraim took the key from the lock and was about to follow Ras from the room. ‘Those clothes are mine, or rather they belonged to my brother. I was wearing them when Ras found me in the street outside the house. He smuggled me in. Jessie can vouch for that. There never was a man in my room, other than Ras, and he was not here by invitation.’

‘Rubbish,’ Ras snorted. ‘A tissue of lies from start to finish.’

‘Just ask Jessie,’ Irene insisted. ‘Get her from her bed and then we’ll see who is telling the truth.’

Ephraim shook his head. ‘We’ll sort this out in the morning, and Father will be the judge. We will keep this from the servants so that there will be no hint of a scandal. But I have to say that I am most disappointed in you, Irene.’ He closed the door in her face and she heard the key grate in the lock.

‘Silence!’ Josiah boomed, shaking a finger at Irene. ‘I’ve heard enough. You’ve been nothing but trouble ever since you arrived here, miss. I won’t have you in my house a moment longer.’

Irene stood frozen with outrage. Ras was standing behind his father, openly smirking, and Ephraim sat on the edge of his chair with a sanctimonious expression on his face. If he had risen to his feet and given a sermon on wanton women she would not have been surprised. She licked her dry lips, momentarily bereft of words. She had admitted leaving the house and flouting Josiah’s orders. She had told them that the clothes belonged to Jim, but she had been met with cold disbelief. She had begged Josiah to allow her mother to see the garments and vouch for the fact that they had once belonged to her son, but Josiah had refused point-blank.

‘You will leave this morning,’ he said, pronouncing his sentence in the tones of a High Court judge. ‘I don’t want Mrs Tippet upset in any way and so you will not see her or your mother. It is best if they know nothing of your disgraceful behaviour.’

Irene recoiled as though he had slapped her across the cheek. ‘You can’t do that, Josiah. What will they think? Let me see them at least to say goodbye.’

‘No. I’ll make up some tale that will satisfy their curiosity, but they must never know the truth. If one word of this should leak out we will have a monumental scandal on our hands and my business will be ruined, let alone my chances of becoming an alderman.’

‘That’s right, Father,’ Ephraim said, nodding his head. ‘We must preserve our good name at all costs.’

Irene glared at Ras. ‘This is all your fault. You put me in this position. Admit it like a man.’

‘She’s desperate, Father,’ Ras said lazily. ‘You can see guilt written all over her face. She’s a sly little temptress and totally lacking in morals. You do right to send her on her way. She can earn her living on the streets.’

‘And how will that look when your stuck-up customers discover that your wife’s sister is nothing better than a common harlot?’ Irene
demanded
. She had the satisfaction of seeing that her crude speech shocked both Josiah and Ephraim, but Ras laughed.

‘There, sir. She’s showing her true colours now. A woman of the streets is what Irene Angel has turned out to be. She’s just like her father and will end up in prison with her own kind.’

‘Nevertheless, there is some truth in what she says,’ Ephraim murmured, running his finger around the inside of his starched collar. ‘We don’t want any of this to come out in public, Father.’

Josiah scowled at Irene, leaning forward in his chair. ‘I will give you enough money to pay for lodgings until you find work. Have you any friends or family who reside out of town? I want you as far away from here as possible.’

The atmosphere in the small study was stifling and Irene was beginning to feel faint. It was still early in the morning, long before either Emmie or their mother would have risen from their beds. Irene had not had breakfast or even a cup of tea and she had spent a sleepless night, pacing the floor in her room and trying in vain to think of a way out of her predicament. She had pinned all her hopes on Jessie corroborating her story, but Josiah had taken heed of Ephraim’s advice not to
involve
the servants and he had refused to question the girl.

‘Well, miss, have you lost your tongue as well as your morals?’ Josiah thumped his hand on his desk, scattering a sheaf of papers.

Irene was about to shake her head when she thought of Artie and Miss Maude. ‘There is someone who would welcome me into their house,’ she murmured. ‘But I would need my train fare for the journey to Essex, and money for a cab from the station.’

‘Ephraim, fetch the strongbox.’ Josiah leaned his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. ‘You will go to the country and stay there. I don’t want to see you again.’

‘That suits me,’ Irene retorted hotly. ‘But I demand to see my mother and sister before I go. I’ll tell them something – anything but the truth, if that’s what you want. But you must see that sending me away without allowing me to say goodbye will distress them both.’

‘Don’t listen to her, sir,’ Ras said, a flicker of anxiety wiping away his self-satisfied smirk. ‘She is not to be trusted.’

‘Maybe not, but she has a point,’ Ephraim said, hefting an iron strongbox from a wall cupboard and placing it on the desk in front of his father. ‘I don’t think Irene would do anything to distress my stepmother or Mrs Angel.’

Josiah took a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the box, taking out a leather pouch. He opened it and frowned, fingering the coins as if he could not bear to part with any of them. He selected two golden sovereigns and four half-crowns, which he slid across the tooled leather desk top. ‘Here, take this, but don’t expect me to give you more when it is spent.’

Irene would have loved to fling the coins in his face, but she must be practical and she pocketed them. ‘I beg you to let me see Emmie and Ma before I leave here, Josiah. My sudden and unexplained departure would upset them both.’

‘What will you tell them?’ Josiah demanded.

‘I will say that Miss Greenwood has invited me to stay, and that since I have already offended you by my behaviour at the ball, I feel it best for everyone that I accept.’

Ras chuckled. ‘She’s a born liar, Father. Irene has convicted herself from her own lips.’

‘Be silent,’ Josiah thundered. ‘You are hardly in a position to be judgemental, Erasmus. Anyway, it’s time that both of you went to the emporium. I will stay here and make certain that Irene leaves the house.’

‘And I will be able to see Ma and Emmie first,’ Irene insisted.

‘You may say your farewells, but I will be
present
to make certain that you do not go back on your word. Now go to your room and remain there until I send for you. Pack your things and be ready to leave as soon as you have said goodbye to your mother and sister.’

An hour later, with Ma and Emmie’s entreaties to stay still ringing in her ears, Irene stood on the pavement outside the house with her canvas bag in one hand and her reticule in the other. The coins made it feel reassuringly heavy and she looked about for a cab. Two pounds ten was not a fortune, but it would get her to Havering and give her time to formulate a plan of action. She had no intention of remaining long in Essex, but she needed somewhere to go and she knew that Artie would be pleased to see her. She walked to the end of Love Lane and hailed a passing hansom cab on the corner of Wood Street.

‘Where to, miss?’

Irene travelled third class in order to save money and the train was packed from Shoreditch to Romford. It was market day in the town and she had to tramp the streets for an hour before she found a cabby who was willing to undertake the journey to Havering, and he only agreed when she promised to double the usual fare. It was late afternoon
and
the winter sun had plummeted below the skyline, leaving the countryside to dissolve slowly into a grey and misty dusk.

It was quite dark by the time they reached Havering and Irene was both exhausted and chilled to the bone. As the cab drew to a halt outside the garden gate, she was relieved to see a welcome glimmer of light emanating from one of the downstairs windows. She paid the cabby, but when he held his hand out for a tip she shook her head. ‘I’ve paid over the odds, mate. You ain’t getting a penny more.’ She picked up her bag and let herself in through the garden gate, allowing it to swing back on its hinges as she trudged up the path and round the side of the house to the back door. It was unlocked and Irene entered the porch which was, as usual, crammed to overflowing with muddy boots, damp coats and empty buckets. A pair of Miss Maude’s muddy gloves lay on the floor with the fingers clenched like a pair of disembodied hands. The smell of wet dog permeated the small room and light from the kitchen shone through the half-glazed door.

Irene turned the knob and her heart gave a flutter of apprehension, but she need not have worried. Martha looked up from ladling stew into large white bowls and her plump face creased into folds as she smiled a welcome. ‘Miss Irene! What a surprise.’

Maude was seated at the table with her back to the door, but she turned her head and on seeing Irene, she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. ‘Well look at you – all done up like a lady. I hardly recognised you.’

‘I – I wondered if I could stay for a while,’ Irene said nervously.

Martha put down the saucepan and waddled across the flagstone floor to envelop Irene in a motherly hug. ‘You look frozen stiff. Those fancy clothes won’t keep the cold out on a night like this.’

Irene’s fingers trembled as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘It’s so good to see you both again. I’m sorry to turn up on your doorstep unannounced.’

Maude resumed her seat and she smiled. ‘Don’t be silly, Irene. You’re more than welcome. Now sit down and have some supper. You look famished as well as chilled to the bone.’

‘Aye, sit down,’ Martha said, bustling over to the dresser to fetch another soup bowl. ‘There’s plenty to go round. I always cook enough for an army, or so she says.’ She ladled out a generous portion of the stew and placed it on the table. ‘There, now I want to see a clean plate and then you can tell us everything.’

Irene was only too glad to sit down. The
warmth
from the range was already seeping into her bones and her stomach growled with appreciation at the sight and smell of the appetising food on her plate. Maude speared a chunk of bread on a knife and slipped it expertly onto Irene’s side plate. ‘Not another word until you have eaten, my girl.’

Irene swallowed a mouthful of the delicious rabbit stew and she glanced anxiously at the empty place set at the table. ‘Where is Arthur? I was afraid that he had returned to London and that I had missed him.’

‘I said no talking,’ Maude said with mock severity. ‘He’s at the smithy, if you must know, but he’ll be home soon for his supper. Martha’s turned him into a real trencherman with her cooking. When he first came here he was as thin as a rake and just pecked at his food.’

‘Now he’s got the appetite of a lion,’ Martha said proudly, taking her place at the table. ‘And there’s meat on his bones. He’s not a skinnymalink now.’ She laughed heartily as she tucked into her food.

Irene shot an enquiring glance at Maude, who had finished her meal and was sitting back in her chair watching her every mouthful with nods of approval. ‘That’s a good girl. At least you haven’t lost your appetite.’ She took a clay pipe and a tobacco pouch from her pocket. ‘And I know what you’re going to ask
next
. What is Arthur doing at the smithy? Well, I can answer that. He is learning the trade.’

Irene almost choked on a piece of potato. ‘Arthur is learning to be a blacksmith?’

‘It’s working with metal. Not quite the same as being a silversmith but it seems to suit him much better. I believe he enjoys the work and is proving to be quite adept at it already, according to Bligh the blacksmith.’

‘And Bligh has a young daughter,’ Martha added with a mischievous chuckle that made each of her chins wobble in unison. ‘Betty Bligh is probably the prettiest girl in the village. I think young Artie has taken quite a shine to her.’

‘Martha,’ Maude said, frowning as she filled the pipe with tobacco. ‘You don’t know that for certain.’

‘It’s all right, Miss Maude, I don’t mind in the least.’ Irene broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the soup, safe in the knowledge that no one in this house would upbraid her for bad manners. ‘There never was anything romantic between me and Artie, not on my part anyway.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Maude rose from the table to light a spill. ‘I thought perhaps there was some longstanding attachment between you.’

‘Not at all. We were childhood friends and
no
more, but I am very fond of Artie and if he is happy then I am too.’

‘Well said, my dear,’ Maude said, sucking at the pipe stem and allowing a trickle of smoke to escape from the corner of her mouth. ‘Now perhaps you feel able to tell us what has been happening to you, and the reason for your unexpected visit.’

A sound in the porch made Irene turn her head and she jumped to her feet as Arthur burst into the kitchen. He came to an abrupt halt and a slow smile spread across his features. He held out his arms. ‘Renie! By God, this is a wonderful surprise. When did you arrive?’

She rose from her seat and was enveloped in an embrace which almost robbed her of breath. ‘Artie, you look so well. I hear that you have changed your trade.’ Extricating herself from his grasp, she surveyed him critically and was delighted by the change in him. He had looked so poorly after his illness but now his face was tanned by wind and weather and he had put on several pounds in weight.

He ran his hand through his already tousled hair, which was longer than usual and curled wildly round his head, giving him a gypsy-like appearance. He grinned ruefully. ‘Yes, the old man won’t be best pleased when he hears what I’ve done, but I find working at the forge much more satisfying than sitting hunched up
over
some intricate piece of silverware. I like the open air and I feel happier living in the country than I ever did in London.’