Born to Trouble Page 3

  ‘A fight? With Thomas, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, your husband among others. They’d all had one too many but when the dust settled your man didn’t get up. I think it’s bad.’

  Kitty was pulling her shawl over her head and crossing it over her chest as she caught sight of Pearl. ‘Stay here an’ tell the lads your da’s in trouble if they come in afore me,’ she called. ‘Tell ’em to come to the Boar’s Head sharpish.’

  Pearl nodded. She watched as her mother left with the man and then went to fetch the washing. For once the length of line in the yard was free – no doubt their neighbours had taken any washing in by now, it being a grand drying day, so she pegged the bits of towelling and linen to the string and hoisted them into the air with the line prop. Once that was done she went back into the house and sorted out James’s drawer with fresh bedding and placed the sleeping baby in it. He stirred but didn’t wake, and she knelt down by the makeshift crib and stroked his tiny hand with one finger.

  It was warm and sticky in the room and she was tired, the ticking of the old wooden clock on the mantelpiece emphasising the unusual quietness. She couldn’t remember a time when she had been in the house by herself and it felt strange, but not unpleasant. She watched a couple of mice making darting forays from their hole in the skirting board for crumbs and bits of food. One sat on its hind legs washing its furry face with busy paws and she smiled to herself. Her mam had put down a mousetrap in every room and they’d caught quite a few, which she hated; she felt so sorry for them when they squeaked and squealed, but the ones in the kitchen seemed cleverer than the rest and treated the traps with disdain. She didn’t mind the mice, it was the bugs in the wallpaper that came out at night and walked across the ceiling and fell on your face she didn’t like. She always pulled her bedcover right over her head, even on the warmest summer night.

  She must have fallen asleep for a few minutes because the back door opening brought her jerking up with her heart beating fast. Her mam would give her what for, if she found her slacking.

  Scrambling to her feet, she said, ‘I – I was just seeing to James’s bed . . .’ Her voice trailed away. A policeman was standing behind her mother.

  Like the rest of the occupants of Low Street and many of the surrounding streets, Pearl knew that the law was something to be feared and hated. Along with her mother’s milk she’d imbibed the ‘us and them’ mentality that pervaded the East End, and believed absolutely that the police existed purely for the upper classes. They were to be avoided at all costs and never, ever spoken to, not unless you wanted to be locked up and never see the light of day again. Her eyes as big as saucers, she stared at the constable, biting on her thumbnail.

  ‘Your mam’s not well, lass. She’s had a bit of a shock.’

  To hear the dreaded figure speak in a broad Northern accent like anyone else made Pearl’s eyes open wider. She glanced at her mother who had plumped down in her father’s armchair without saying a word, and then her eyes returned to the policeman. He smiled kindly at her but spoke to her mother when he said, ‘Is there a neighbour I can fetch? Or family living near?’

  Kitty shook her head. The young constable had insisted on seeing her back, but the lads would have a blue fit if they came home to the law in the house. ‘Me sons’ll be in shortly and I’m all right.’

  ‘I’ll wait till they come.’

  ‘No.’ It had been too abrupt, and Kitty moderated her tone. ‘Thanks very much, but I’d rather break it to ’em meself, calm like, an’ it’ll be less of a shock if everythin’s the same as normal.’

  The policeman hesitated. He was well aware that this family, like most of the others in the area, had probably fallen foul of the law at some time or other, and he had it on good authority that the husband had never done a day’s honest work in his life, so the wife’s reluctance was understandable. Nevertheless, he couldn’t just walk out and leave her with that little mite of a lassie. His dilemma was solved in the next moment, however, when the back door opened and Seth walked in, Fred and Walter at his heels.

  Kitty spoke quickly, her words running over themselves. ‘It’s your da, lads. There’s been an accident an’ the constable here brought me back after I’d gone to see him.’

  ‘An accident?’ Seth pulled himself together. For a second he’d almost turned tail and run – and how would that have looked?

  ‘Aye.’ Kitty had seen the panic and breathed a sigh of relief that he was acting normally. ‘Outside the pub. Your da got in a fight with some others an’ he must have cracked his head on the kerb. He – he’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ For a moment Seth didn’t understand. Then, as his mother stared at him, he said faintly, ‘You mean he’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, lad.’ The constable entered the conversation. ‘We’ve a whole bunch of them locked up in the cells, but I doubt we’ll get to the bottom of who hit whom, even if they could remember, which I doubt. Once they’re sober we’ll do our best, of course, but I don’t hold out much hope. I don’t think any real harm was meant. Your da was just unlucky, that’s all.’

  Seth stared at the policeman’s ruddy face. He knew the man was expecting some show of grief, or at least shock, but the only emotion filling him was one of profound thankfulness. His da had been a vicious, vindictive bully who’d made their lives hell, and been a millstone round all their necks with the amount of money he’d frittered away with his drinking. Lowering his eyes, Seth swallowed hard. ‘He was often drunk,’ he said shortly.

  The policeman’s keen gaze rested on him a moment more. Then he said, ‘Well, he won’t be drunk any more, lad. That’s for sure.’ He paused. ‘You the oldest?’

  Seth nodded.

  ‘Working?’

  Seth nodded again, and before the constable could ask any awkward questions, added, ‘We’ll manage all right, if that’s what you’re asking. Me an’ the lads will take care of things. Isn’t that right?’ He turned and looked at his brothers, who nodded dumbly, terrified by the policeman’s presence.

  The constable doubted if these three had seen the inside of a school for umpteen years and the oldest didn’t look to be more than fourteen or fifteen, but it was hard to tell; bairns grew up fast round these parts. His gaze moved to Pearl and the sleeping baby. Still, now wasn’t the time to go into that, the family had enough on its plate.

  Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I’ll let you know the outcome once we can question the others, but like I said, I don’t hold out much hope, Mrs Croft. And you’ll need to come to the station to collect your husband’s personal effects, of course. Is there anyone who can help with the arrangements for the funeral?’

  It was Seth who answered, and succinctly. ‘I’ll see to everything.’

  If this one earned his living by legitimate means, he’d eat his hat. The constable kept his thoughts to himself, merely nodding at Seth, but he made a mental note to keep his eyes open in the future for the Croft lads. ‘I’ll be going then.’ He paused. ‘If you need any assistance with the formalities over the next few days, you can ask for me. Constable Johnson. All right?’

  Seth made no reply, and it wasn’t until the policeman had let himself out that he turned to his mother. ‘What the hell were you playing at, bringing him back here?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it.’ Like Seth, Kitty was making no show of false grief about Thomas. Seth and the lads were the breadwinners; Thomas’s passing would make little impact except he had kept her warm at night. Mind, for some long time now the drink had affected his performance in that area. ‘I could hardly refuse, the way he insisted – it’d have looked funny.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose so.’ Seth sat down at the table. Looking at his mother, he said quietly, ‘Quick, was it?’

  ‘Your da? Aye, he’d gone before I got there.’ Kitty, too, sat down, glancing at Pearl as she said, ‘Put the kettle on, I need a cup of tea.’ Thomas had looked different, lying there in the street so still and sort of small with the pool of blood about his head. She
had known it was him, of course, and yet it wasn’t. It could have been a waxwork dummy, like the ones the travelling showmen had. She shivered, a nameless fear making her flesh creep.

  It was a full month after Thomas had been buried that Kitty discovered, poor performance or not, his swan song was going to add yet another weight to Seth’s shoulders. She was pregnant again.

  Chapter 3

  It had been nearly eighteen months since Thomas had died. The new baby, another boy his mother had named Patrick, had been born in the spring of 1899. Apart from this event there had been little change in the day-to-day functioning of the Croft family. The role Seth had taken on even before his father’s death, that of head of the family, had only been strengthened with the passing of time. When he’d flatly refused to allow more lodgers taking up residence in the front room, Kitty had not argued with him. Instead, on the occasions she knew Seth and the lads were otherwise engaged, she entertained the odd sailor for an hour or two.

  Pearl couldn’t remember exactly when she’d become aware of her mother’s activities and what it meant, but without a word being said between them, she knew she had to keep the knowledge to herself. If Seth had found out what their mother was about, there would have been hell to pay.

  He was a strange mixture, was Seth, Pearl mused, one bitterly cold afternoon in January 1900. She now understood the nature of the work her brothers did for Mr McArthur, but Seth was as straightlaced as a clergy-man in some things. He wouldn’t allow drink in the house, not even a bottle of beer, although Pearl suspected her mother kept a bottle of gin hidden somewhere or other. It wasn’t in their bedroom though. Since her father’s death her mother had insisted she sleep upstairs with her and the babies, less for company and more so she could see to James or Patrick if they woke crying in the night. Pearl didn’t mind this though, since her mother’s bed was a hundred times more comfortable than the desk bed had been.

  Her thoughts returning to her brother, Pearl recalled the furore which had occurred after the celebrations to welcome in the new century a few days ago. Fred and Walter had been out on the town with some pals and had come home definitely the worse for wear. Seth had read them the Riot Act good and proper. He wasn’t against a drink, he’d insisted, but once you had one too many, it had got you.

  Pearl’s hands paused in the dough she was kneading. It was their da who’d coloured Seth’s thinking, she was sure of it. And Seth was a thinker all right, bright as a button too. If he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth he’d have gone far. When he talked about the Boer War and the Troubles in Ireland and things like that, he seemed to come alive. She didn’t understand half of what he said but it didn’t matter, she could listen to him for hours.

  ‘Pearl? Where are you? Come an’ see to the chamberpot.’

  Her mother’s querulous voice broke into her reverie. Pearl was off school because Kitty was a victim of the influenza epidemic which had hit the country. Hundreds of people a day were dying from it, according to the newspaper reports, but after being ill over Christmas and into the New Year, her mother was now on the mend. Not that you’d know it. All the family had gone down with it in the run-up to Christmas except herself and Seth, but her mother was determined to wring every last ounce out of playing the invalid, even though her two baby sons had been much worse.

  She was tempted to pretend she hadn’t heard her mother’s call – there had already been one for a hot drink and another for her to replenish the stone hot-water bottle at her mother’s feet during the last hour – but knowing that she would just keep on and on, Pearl wiped her hands on her pinny and made her way upstairs.

  ‘You’ve took your time.’ Kitty looked up from the penny picture paper she was reading. ‘Empty the pot, an’ I’ll have a sup of tea and a piece of that sly cake you made earlier, while you’re about it. I need to build me strength up.’

  Build her strength up! Her mouth set in a grim line, Pearl reached for the chamberpot under the bed and left the room without commenting. If anyone needed to build their strength up, it certainly wasn’t her mother. Lying in bed all day like Lady Muck and reading the People’s Friend and The Lady while stuffing her face with peppermint creams. James and Patrick were still middling but they weren’t an ounce of trouble compared to their mother.

  After tipping the contents of the chamberpot in the privy, she rinsed the pot out under the tap in the yard before entering the kitchen, where the warmth hit her after the cold outside. James and Patrick were taking their afternoon nap in the desk bed where she could keep an eye on them, snuggled up together under a heap of blankets. She had been so worried about them when they had caught the flu, especially little Patrick. It had been touch and go for a while, but they were both fighters. She stood looking down at the sleeping babies, a faint smile on her lips. That was what Dr Newton had said, and he was right. She and Seth had sat up for several nights when the boys were at their worst, spooning broth into them teaspoonful by teaspoonful when they wouldn’t take anything, and pacing round the kitchen, each with a baby in their arms, to try to soothe their crying.

  After stroking each velvety forehead Pearl turned away from the desk bed as the kettle began to sing, taking the brown teapot from its place at the side of the hob and spooning in the tea. Once the tea was mashing she fetched the sly cake from the cupboard, putting the plate on the table. The pastry, full of butter and sugar and currants, smelled wonderful and she stared at it regretfully. The sly cake looked so nice and she hadn’t wanted to cut it until Seth and the lads were home. It was typical of her mother to have smelled it cooking, she had a nose on her like an elephant.

  The dough was ready for the bread tins and so she divided it between them and placed the tins on the hearth to prove. That done, she scraped the last of the elastic dough off her hands and turned to the table to prepare a tray for her mother. As she did so, her mother shouted again. Pearl was about to spring into action when she checked herself. Instead, her movements slow and deliberate, she cut the sly cake and poured the tea at her own pace. By the time she took the tray up to her mother, Kitty had called several times and was red in the face.

  ‘You gone deaf or summat?’ Kitty glared at her daughter. ‘I’ve bin callin’ me head off.’

  ‘I heard you.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ As Pearl settled the tray on her mother’s lap, Kitty’s glare deepened. ‘Then why didn’t you answer me?’

  ‘I was getting the tea as quick as I could.’

  ‘Well, that’s not sayin’ much. A snail with arthritis moves faster than you.’

  ‘There was the bread to see to and the dinner won’t make itself.’

  ‘Don’t you give me any of your lip, girl. You might think you can wind the lads round your little finger, but not me. I know what you’re like, so think on.’

  Pearl stared at the woman in the bed. This was her mother and she couldn’t remember ever having one kind word from her. As Kitty began to eat, she turned and left the room.

  It was dark and the aroma of fresh bread was filling the house when a knock came at the front door. James and Patrick had been fed and bathed and were now asleep in the bedroom in the wooden cot Seth had bought after Patrick was born. Pearl was in the kitchen, stirring the pan of hodge podge simmering on the hob. It was rich with plenty of neck of mutton, just the way Seth liked it so he could mop up the thick gravy with chunks of warm crusty bread.

  Pearl wasn’t thinking of anything more important than whether she’d seasoned the hodge podge sufficiently when she opened the door. It was snowing again, the two figures facing her white flecked.

  ‘Hello, lass.’ Constable Johnson was bigger, heavier than she remembered and he had another policeman with him who was built like a brick outhouse. ‘Your brothers in?’

  Pearl found herself stammering when she said, ‘My – my younger brothers are in bed,’ even though she knew he didn’t mean James and Patrick.

  ‘Your older brothers, lass. Seth, isn’t it? And Frederick a
nd Walter.’

  Somehow the fact that he knew her brothers’ Christian names was more terrifying than anything else. Pearl shook her head.

  ‘Your mam then?’

  ‘She’s – she’s in bed with the flu.’

  Constable Johnson looked at his associate. Neither spoke, but then he turned back to Pearl. ‘We need to come in and make sure, lass. All right?’

  It wasn’t all right. If Seth had told her and her mother once he’d told them a hundred times never to let the law into the house. The thought of displeasing her brother overriding her fear of the policemen, Pearl shook her head again. Instinctively knowing she mustn’t bring Seth and the lads into it, she said, ‘Me mam wouldn’t like it.’

  What the Constable would have said next, Pearl was never to find out. Kitty, with the uncanny ability any East Ender had for smelling a policeman miles away, had got out of bed and come to the top of the stairs where she peered down at them. ‘What’s up?’ She clutched her shawl against her night-dress, coughing loudly for good measure. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A word with your lads, Mrs Croft.’

  ‘They’re not in. Didn’t Pearl tell you they’re not in?’

  ‘Aye, she did.’

  ‘There you are then.’ Kitty’s voice had taken on a slightly belligerent tone. ‘I’ll tell ’em you were askin’ for ’em when I see ’em.’

  By way of answer to this, Constable Johnson and his colleague pushed Pearl aside and stepped into the hall.

  ‘Here, who said you could come in?’ Kitty came down the first few stairs, her voice rising as she said, ‘This is a respectable house, this is.’

  Ignoring her, the two policemen opened the door to the front room. By the time Kitty had reached them they had moved on to the kitchen, where they turned to face mother and daughter.

  ‘Where are your lads, Mrs Croft?’ The other policeman spoke, his voice flatter, harder than Constable Johnson’s.

  ‘I told you, they’re not in and they don’t tell me what time they’ll be back. They’re not bairns any more.’