Dancing in the Moonlight Page 9

  Dressing quickly, she made her way downstairs, glad the dark and bitterly cold winter mornings had given way at long last. It had been a harsh few months in many ways and she would give anything to turn back the clock to before she’d pawned the bread knife and have her da and Ernie here, but she had the little ones to see to and thoughts like that were weakening.

  She saw the note as soon as she entered the kitchen. It was scrawled on a scrap of brown paper, which was propped against the teapot in the middle of the table.

  Lucy’s stomach turned over as she recognized Donald’s handwriting. Sitting down, she began to read:

  Dear Lucy,

  By the time you read this I’ll be long gone. If I stay, it’d mean working for Crawford and I’d rather take my chance down south than end up six foot under like Da and Ernie. You can put the bairns in the workhouse, where they’ll be fed and looked after, it’s the only way, lass. You’ll be all right, there’s always jobs going for live-in helps and such. Mark Baxter’s sister got took on just the other week and you know how dim she is. You’ve got to look out for number one now, and in time you’ll see I’m doing you a favour and this is all for the best. So long and look after yourself.

  Love, Donald

  He’d left them. She moved her head slowly from side to side, beyond tears as she read the note again. Without talking to her, without saying goodbye face-to-face. How could he? And to suggest putting the little ones in the workhouse.

  Nausea rose into her throat and she had to swallow hard. He must have lost his mind; all this with their da and Ernie, and Donald seeing it happen had turned his brain. But it was more than that.

  She screwed the paper into a tight ball in her fist.

  It was him: Tom Crawford. He’d driven Donald away. What had he said to her brother yesterday to make him abandon them?

  How long she sat there she didn’t know, but when a knock came at the back door and Enid’s voice called, ‘Lucy? Lucy, lass? Are you there?’ her limbs felt as stiff as an old woman’s as she stood up. The moment Enid thrust open the door from the scullery, she said, ‘Have you seen him? Our Jacob?’

  ‘Jacob?’ Lucy stared at Enid as she tried to marshal her thoughts. ‘I saw him yesterday, Mrs Crawford. At the funeral.’

  ‘He hasn’t been home all night, his bed hasn’t been slept in. I knew he was going to be late cos he’d said he’d be making up a bit of time, what with the funeral and all, and he’d said to leave him something cold under a plate if he wasn’t back afore we went to bed. But it’s still there, on the table. Where’s your Donald? He might know something.’

  Lucy had never seen her mother’s old friend in such a state. Gently she said, ‘If he was working late, he could have eaten with the blacksmith and his wife – you know how fond of him they are, and likely they’ve put him up for the night.’

  Enid stared at her and then let out her breath in a sigh of relief. ‘Oh aye, lass, why didn’t I think of that? Aye, that could be it, though it’s not like our Jake to do something that might worry us. I’ll clip his ear when I see him, big as he is. I’ll get our Frank or Ralph to take him a bite for his lunch a bit later just to be sure, but when your Donald’s up ask him if he knows anything anyway, will you, though I suspect you’ve hit the nail on the head.’

  Lucy nodded, but said nothing. She didn’t want to explain about Donald yet, not until she’d had time to think about it and tell Ruby and the others. And now there was the added worry about Jacob, although she felt sure he’d done exactly what she had said and stayed with the blacksmith and his wife. There had been another occasion near Christmas last year when he and the blacksmith had worked till midnight and they’d tried to persuade Jacob to stay, although in the end he had tramped home and got soaking wet and chilled to the bone, which had resulted in a feverish cold. She had made him promise he wouldn’t be so silly again.

  Lucy said this now to Enid, adding, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Crawford, Jacob will be all right. They’ve got this big job on at the forge, haven’t they? Besides the normal work, I mean.’

  ‘Aye, aye, they have, that’s true enough.’ Enid was looking more herself. ‘I expect that’s it. Well, my lot’ll be shouting for their breakfast once they’re up, so I’d better go and see to it, but I’ll be round later, lass, with a bit of treacle toffee for the bairns. To cheer ’em up, like. They always like my treacle toffee, bless ’em.’

  Lucy forced a smile. She felt numb. All the time she had been talking to Mrs Crawford it had felt like someone else speaking.

  After Enid had left, Lucy went upstairs. She found Donald had taken every scrap of clothing he owned and any personal possessions, including the cut-throat razor he had shared with their father and Ernie. He had really gone for good. It was unbelievable, impossible, but it had happened.

  Blindly she left the lads’ bedroom where John was still curled up under the covers fast asleep. Stumbling down the stairs, she sat down at the kitchen table. Then, dropping her head onto her arms, she gave way to a paroxysm of weeping, which continued until Ruby woke up and came downstairs an hour later.

  Chapter Nine

  Jacob was found at eight o’clock that morning by a farmer bringing his shire horse to be shod at the smithy. Or rather, as the farmer had pointed out to the police, the lad had been discovered by his two sheepdogs, which had jumped off the back of the cart as they’d passed the ditch and continued to bark until their master had been forced to investigate.

  Abe Williamson had identified Jacob by his clothes – the bluey-black, grossly swollen head was unrecognizable. Both the blacksmith and the farmer had thought Jacob was dead when they had first lifted him out of the ditch. It was Dolly Williamson who had knelt down on the ground and put her ear to the bloody chest and heard his faintly fluttering heart.

  And now Jacob was in Sunderland Infirmary and not expected to last the day. It was an ashen-faced Frank who had come round to tell Lucy the news. The two constables who had called at the house had taken Enid and Aaron straight to the hospital.

  Lucy stared at Jacob’s brother, a thundering in her ears, and she must have looked like she felt, because he quickly pulled out a chair and made her sit down, squatting beside her and chafing her hands. ‘I’m sorry, lass, but there was no easy way to say it. Take some deep breaths, that’s right. Mam was the same when they told her.’

  Because of all the upset that morning about Donald, Lucy had kept Ruby and John off school. She now looked at her sister and the others, who were staring wide-eyed at Frank, and said weakly, ‘Go outside and play for a while till I call you, and don’t get mucky, John. I mean it.’ When the back door had closed behind them, she turned to Frank. ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘They won’t let anyone in ’cept Mam and Dad, even me an’ Ralph an’ Tom.’

  Lucy closed her eyes, rocking back and forth as the tears came. ‘Who would do something like that, and why?’

  ‘I don’t know, lass. The coppers reckon someone might have been trying to pinch something from the forge and Jacob tried to stop ’em, but I can’t see it meself. According to Abe Williamson, the forge gates were shut and nothing was missing, and anyway Jacob was in a ditch halfway up the lane. But some so-an’-so did a number on him all right. Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll let you know when he – when we know something.’

  Lucy opened her eyes. Frank had been about to say he’d let her know when Jacob died, she knew he had. Feeling sick, she whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Will you be all right? Where’s Donald? Shall I call him?’

  ‘No, he – he’s not here, but I’ll be fine. You go, and tell your mam . . .’ She stared helplessly at Frank, who nodded grimly and patted her hand. There were some things for which there were no words.

  Somehow she got through the endless day. Yesterday had been Donald’s dole day, but when she looked in the jar on the mantelpiece she found he had taken every penny. They had nothing to eat in the house and for a moment she felt like throwing a paddy like the twins did,
screaming and crying and drumming her heels on the floor, as she gazed in the empty jar. Instead she went upstairs and stripped the double bed in the lads’ room, gathering up the sheets along with the blankets and the eiderdown for winter, which was stored on top of the wardrobe. Parcelling the lot together on the kitchen table, she was aware of Ruby and John and the twins watching her silently, and when Ruby said protestingly, ‘He might come back tonight or tomorrow’ it took all Lucy’s self-control to say quietly, ‘He won’t.’

  ‘But he might, you don’t know, and what’ll he say if you’ve pawned everything? An’ anyway’ – Ruby’s chin lifted belligerently – ‘I wanted to sleep in that bed; ours is too crowded, an’ Flora and Bess are always kicking me.’

  It was the last straw. Rounding on her sister, Lucy hissed, ‘Do you want to eat tonight? Do you?’ And at Ruby’s sulky nod: ‘Then get your backside down to old Lonnie’s with that lot.’

  ‘Me?’ Ruby glared at her. ‘I’m not going. You always go to the pawn.’

  ‘Well, today you’re going, madam.’ She didn’t want to be away from the house in case Frank came round.

  ‘That’s not fair.’ Ruby stamped her foot. ‘You’re horrible, our Lucy. I don’t blame Donald for going. I wish I could.’

  Lucy’s hand shot out and the sound of the slap echoed in the kitchen.

  Ruby was so surprised that Lucy – gentle, sweet-tempered Lucy – had smacked her that for a moment or two she remained open-mouthed and unmoving. And her surprise was compounded when, instead of saying she was sorry, Lucy picked up the parcel of bedding and dumped it in her sister’s arms. ‘John will go with you,’ she said tersely, ‘and you can get some shopping on the way back with what Lonnie gives you.’ She gave John a list and the basket. ‘And you come straight home, no messing about.’

  John hadn’t said a word, but when Ruby flounced out of the kitchen he put his small hand on Lucy’s arm for a moment before following Ruby into the back yard. The brief gesture of comfort was almost too much, but aware of the twins’ big eyes on her, Lucy pulled herself together. A few weeks ago she had thought life was a struggle, but then she’d had her da and brothers, and Jacob had been fit and well. She hadn’t known how lucky she was.

  She caressed the little silver heart as she fought back the tears, the tangible link with Jacob infinitely precious now. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t, not her Jacob. She pictured him as he’d been the day before, so strong and tall, so alive, so hers. Now he was fighting for his life and she wasn’t even allowed to go to him. She couldn’t bear it. And Donald was gone, their only means of support. Her world had fragmented and she didn’t know what to do.

  Ruby’s round face was set in a puggish frown as she plodded along cradling the parcel in her arms, John trailing behind her. O’Leary’s the pawnshop, known locally as ‘old Lonnie’s’, was situated at the end of Dock Street just a short walk away and deep in the heart of Monkwearmouth. Since the unemployment had worsened it was a regular route for some, and the growing Depression meant there were always groups of men lounging about at street corners watching passers-by with hooded eyes. Ruby didn’t mind them if she was going to school or out playing, but she knew every one of them would see the package she was carrying and know she was going to the pawn.

  Her scowl deepened. Hopefully all her friends were in school, but she’d die if she saw any of them. She couldn’t have verbalized the stigma associated with visiting old Lonnie’s. She only knew it was something spoken about with long faces and shakes of the head, but with a certain amount of covert satisfaction by those who weren’t reduced to gracing the shop in Dock Street when they gossiped about their less-fortunate neighbours.

  She hated their Lucy. She swung round to John, her voice a snarl as she spat, ‘Come on, you.’

  Never one to be intimidated, and especially not by Ruby, John made a face. ‘Shut up, Ratbag Ruby.’ He’d coined this particular form of address some time ago and the results had been so gratifying that he’d continued to use it, knowing it drove his sister demented.

  In the present circumstances it really hit the spot. Ruby was on the verge of dropping the parcel and going for him, when a voice above her head said coolly, ‘Hello there, what are you up to? Shouldn’t you be at school? On an errand, are we?’

  Ruby froze. Tom Crawford was her idol. He was so good-looking for one thing, and he always dressed like a gentleman, his clothes being a notch or two above what the other men in the streets round about wore. His mam, Mrs Crawford, was forever going on about his fancy house and his housekeeper and whatnot, and now this . . . this god was here, at the height of her humiliation. Wishing the ground would open and swallow her, Ruby gave up all hope of pretending things were other than they were. Her idol’s words had revealed that he knew what she was about. ‘Hello, Mr Crawford,’ she said woodenly.

  ‘So?’ Tom waited for John to join his sister, whereupon he tweaked the boy’s cap over his eyes. ‘Playing the wag, are you?’

  ‘No.’ John was indignant. He didn’t mind taking the blame when he’d been caught fair and square, but he was blowed if he was being blamed when he hadn’t done anything. Unwittingly he added to his sister’s mortification, saying, ‘Our Lucy’s sent us to old Lonnie’s, an’ we’ve got shopping to do after.’

  Tom nodded, but didn’t comment and, needing to explain, Ruby muttered, ‘It’s Donald’s fault. If he hadn’t gone we’d have been all right.’ She didn’t know if this was true, but it sounded better. The Crawfords had never visited old Lonnie’s in their life, and her shame was intensified by the vague feeling that if the Crawfords could manage, so should they.

  Tom stiffened, but his voice sounded the same when he said, ‘Donald’s gone? Gone where?’

  ‘We don’t know. Down south somewhere; he left a note for Lucy this morning and he took every penny Lucy had.’

  ‘I see.’ Tom ruffled the child’s hair, but beneath his calm facade his mind was racing. Struggling to hide his elation, he fished in his pocket and sorted through his change. ‘Here.’ He handed the two of them a shiny sixpence each. ‘You go and get yourselves a comic and some sweets when you do the shopping.’

  Ruby and John stared at the coin in their hands and then at Tom, who was smiling down on them benevolently. They both thanked him and Ruby’s voice reflected her adulation in a way that caused his smile to widen. He’d have no problem with these two, and the twins were too young to be of account. It couldn’t have worked out better. In two or three years Ruby would finish school and could be put into service, and John a couple of years after that. He wouldn’t mind providing for them till then. And the twins would be no trouble. Taking on the family would be seen as an act of altruism, which would do no harm at all to his standing in the community. He’d set his mind on becoming a town councillor in the next few years. He’d seen how backhanders could smooth the way and he would make sure no scandal queered his pitch. To all intents and purposes he was a businessman; he’d been meticulous in setting up a legitimate front, and those who knew differently would look the other way. He had the backing of the Kanes, after all.

  He stood staring down the street long after the two children had disappeared, excitement causing his heart to thud. Should he go and see Lucy right now? He was sure to get a warmer reception than the last two times he’d called, because she’d had Donald then, or so she’d imagined. Now the last prop had been pulled from underneath her and she was his for the taking – Jacob having been satisfactorily dealt with.

  The thought of Jacob caused him to frown. He was on his way to his mother’s to play the dutiful brother; it wouldn’t look good if he was seen sniffing around Lucy. Better to wait until it was quieter, without folk about. If he visited under cover of darkness the children would be asleep, another bonus. He would have her to himself. The palms of his hands were damp and he rubbed them down the sides of his trousers, his body involuntarily hardening in relish at the coming encounter.

  ‘You didn’t oughta ’ve said about D
onald. Lucy said not to tell anyone.’ Ruby and John had paused outside old Lonnie’s to look in the dusty shop window. Watches, clocks, all manner of jewellery and knick-knacks on one side were divided from an assortment of clothes on the other – moleskin trousers, stiffly starched shirts, dresses, smocks and baby clothes – by a mahogany-framed silk-embroidered fire screen, the fine embroidery in silver and pale rose tones on a blue background enchanting. Unfortunately the effect was somewhat spoilt by the couple of pairs of great sailors’ boots parked in front of the screen.

  Ruby dragged her eyes away from a gold locket to look at her brother. ‘Well, she won’t know, will she?’ she said meaningfully, adding, when John looked uncooperative, ‘if you say we saw Tom, we’ll have to tell about the sixpences he gave us, and she’ll have them.’

  John considered this. ‘Not if we’ve spent them,’ he said practically.

  ‘And then she’d go mad, you know she would.’

  ‘We don’t have to tell her about the sixpences.’

  ‘If you tell on me, I shall say about them.’

  John’s brown eyes mirrored his dilemma. Honesty against the unheard-of good fortune of a sixpence all to himself.