The Urchin's Song Part 22

'Aye, so you say.' And now Jimmy thrust his face close again but this time his voice carried a grim warning when he said, 'Don't you poke your nose into this, Hubert. I mean it, else it won't just be Patrick you'll answer to. You understand me? An' you might be workin' for old Foster but that don't mean Patrick don't know where you are every minute of the night an' day. Who you talk to, where you go; you can't as much as blow your nose an' he don't see what colour it is.'

'Aye, well you understand this. I don't reckon the sun s.h.i.+nes out of his backside like you do, and maybe I can see things a mite clearer because of it. You chew on that awhile.'

It wasn't often Hubert talked back and Jimmy's face reflected his anger in the moment before he turned away and stalked out of the pub.

Well, that had done a lot of good. Hubert sat quietly finis.h.i.+ng his ale but he felt anything but quiet inside. After a while he stood up and walked out into the suns.h.i.+ne, and it was then two small thickset men appeared either side of him. 'h.e.l.lo, Hubert.' The one who spoke had a bloated stomach due to his liking for beer and a mean little face.

Hubert nodded but said nothing. He knew these two from old.

'Been havin' a drink with your brother then? That's nice. I like it when brothers get on.'

Hubert still said nothing. Whatever Patrick's lackeys had been told to say you could bet it wasn't sentimental observations about brotherly love.

'Patrick said Jimmy might be havin' a little word in your ear sometime tonight, but he wanted to make sure you understood what was what. He hasn't got Jimmy's faith in you, that's the thing, but you can understand that, lad, can't you? Patrick bein' no relation of yours.'

The man's voice had been quiet and reasonable, and Hubert's was quiet and reasonable in reply when he said, 'Does my brother know you are threatening me?'

'Threatenin' you? By, lad, where's that come from? Threatenin' him, he says.' The man appealed to his comrade who merely continued eying Hubert up and down. 'No, lad, Jimmy don't know about this friendly little talk, an' if you've any sense you'll keep it that way, all reet? See, them as open their mouths when they oughtn't sometimes find 'em full of dock water one night, know what I mean? Might not be next week or next month or even next year, but sure as eggs are eggs they find 'emselves fish food one dark night. An' that applies to that upstart sister of yours an' all. You stay away from her if you know what's good for you. Patrick don't want no family reunions.' The last words were ominous.

Hubert hated himself for the trembling in his stomach that was shaking his bowels to water, but his fear didn't show in his voice when he said, 'Is that it? Is that the message?'

'Aye.'

'Well, you can go back now and say you've delivered it, can't you.'

He saw the two men exchange a glance but they said no more, turning as one and disappearing into the general throng on the corner of Crowtree Road and High Street West. Hubert stood for a moment more outside the pub. He was so sick of the shadow of Patrick Duffy hanging over him. Always, always it was there in the background. Patrick had given him some rope for Jimmy's sake, but the little Irishman was forever hoping he'd hang himself with it. And Jimmy couldn't see it. Patrick controlled him like he controlled the rest of his seedy empire that was full of dead men's bones and rotten to the core.

He hunched his shoulders, shutting his eyes for a moment as though to blot out all the darkness in his head, and then opened them and began to make his way home.

Chapter Twenty-four.

Josie opened at the Palace in the middle of August to excellent reviews and packed houses; her popularity being enhanced still more by the fact that she had brought her three sisters with her to Sunderland. It was a kind of family pilgrimage, she told the newspapers who were delighted to print such an unusual story. Her three sisters and herself, along with two brothers, were all that was left of her family as far as she knew, and it would be wonderful if her brothers would contact her now she was here. She had only recently been reunited with two of her sisters whom she hadn't seen for over ten years; if the lads got in touch as well that would be absolutely wonderful. She wasn't going to give their names for fear of embarra.s.sing them, but they knew who they were and she just wanted them to know she was waiting for a call.

It was a great story, and when added to her beauty and magnificent voice Josie Burns was the editors' darling and newspaper sales soared.

It had been two days after she had first taken Oliver to meet Ada and Dora - and that had been the day after their reconciliation - that her two elder sisters had let her know they were coming with her to Sunderland. 'La.s.s, if you can treat a lady of the realm the way you did and tell 'em all what's what, I reckon the least me an' Dora can do is show the same amount of pluck.' That had been the way Ada had put it when she had told Josie she and Dora were coming, and Josie hadn't argued with her.

Oliver had swallowed hard when she had told him of her two elder sisters' decision, much the same as he had when she had told him of the reappearance of the two women in her life, but in view of recent events he made no objection, either to their presence or to the proposed trip to Sunderland. He had, however, made it clear that regrettably he would have to stay in London for at least the first two weeks due to business, and Josie hadn't objected to this. All in all he had taken her disclosure about Ada and Dora and her declaration of intent concerning the proposed trip to Sunderland very well, and she knew he was trying hard regarding his gambling too. If two weeks of her sisters and the provinces was all he could manage, then so be it.

Gertie, delighted that all was well with Josie and Oliver again, which couldn't help but reflect on Anthony and herself, was all encouragement and approval. Josie understood how her youngest sister's mind worked and could even sympathise to an extent, but Gertie's att.i.tude during the difficult days of her estrangement from Oliver had taught her a valuable lesson. Their relations.h.i.+p of the past was over - it was on a different footing now - and maybe that was no bad thing, Josie reflected honestly. In the early days Gertie had immersed herself in her sister's career and life to the exclusion of everything else, and that wasn't healthy. No, it was better she had found Anthony and the ap.r.o.n strings had been cut. Nevertheless, Gertie's lack of support at such a crucial time had been a bitter pill to swallow.

The four women were staying at the Grand in two rooms - Ada and Dora in one, and Josie and Gertie in another - and her sisters accompanied her each night to the theatre, which made for some riotous evenings in Josie's dressing room. Ada and Dora were fascinated by the music hall and some of the eccentric characters it boasted, a couple of whom were at present playing at the Palace. Dora being a born mimic could imitate 'Lulu and Her Amazing Talking Chimpanzee' and 'Cinquevalli, The Human Billiard Table' to the point where she had the others crying with laughter.

Oliver was due to join Josie in Sunderland the afternoon of her first performance at the Royal, and after she had moved out of the room she had shared with Gertie for two weeks and into one on the floor above which would be hers and Oliver's, she sat quietly in the reception area of the hotel reading a book and awaiting his arrival. She had thoroughly enjoyed the last fortnight with her sisters; she hadn't laughed so much in years, not even when she had been working with Lily and then later Nellie, she reflected as her mind wandered from the written page. The late Samuel Butler's novel The Way of All Flesh was a savage exposure of the oppressions of Victorian family life which Winifred had recommended to her that fateful weekend, but it made for depressing reading in parts and she could only take it in small doses.

The four of them had been so happy but each one of them had had Hubert and Jimmy at the back of their minds, from the number of times the lads' names had cropped up. Josie knew her sisters had been anxious for her in view of the warning Hubert had given her the last time she had seen him, and she made sure the four of them were always escorted to and from the theatre in the evening, and during the day they went everywhere together on the premise that there was safety in numbers. Not that she thought Duffy would try anything after all this time if she was being truthful.

The four of them had visited Vera a few times, and as Prudence had been at work there had been no awkward moments once the initial introductions had been dealt with. Josie had seen Betty at Vera's during the middle weekend of the first two weeks, but she hadn't called in at Betty's herself in spite of receiving an open invitation. She would not allow herself to dwell on why she didn't feel able to go and see Barney's stepmother; she would just not allow her mind to ask questions linked in any way with the man who haunted her dreams night after night.

When Oliver walked through the doors of the hotel she rose immediately and went to his side, and as he kissed her and whispered, 'I've missed you so much,' she smiled her reply.

They had tea at four o'clock with Ada, Dora and Gertie, but her sisters had tactfully said they were tired and wished to stay at the hotel that evening, so Oliver escorted Josie to the Royal and they spent the time in her dressing room together. There was one tricky moment at the beginning of the evening when, after escorting Josie and Oliver to her dressing room which was filled with flowers, the manager asked if she would be prepared to stay on in Sunderland for a few more weeks after she'd finished at the Royal and play the Avenue. The same proprietor owned both theatres. Josie declined, putting forward prior commitments as her excuse, and after he'd left she sent Oliver out to the front of the theatre to buy roast potatoes from the hot potato man, who sold his wares from a funny little contraption that looked like a small steam engine to the queues outside the Royal every evening. They ate the potatoes sprinkled with salt with Josie sitting on Oliver's knee, burning their fingers in the process, and for the first time in a long while Josie felt everything was going to work out with Oliver. He was trying so hard, she thought fondly as she watched him licking his salty fingers and pretending he had enjoyed the experience.

Josie finished her second performance of the evening with two hits of a few years ago, 'Mighty Lak'a Rose' and 'Just A-wearyin' for You', and as she walked off the stage Oliver was waiting for her in the wings like he had done in the old days, and she found her heart gave a little leap at the sight of him.

They walked to the dressing room arm in arm, and once she had changed and was taking off her heavy stage make-up, Oliver came up behind her and gently kissed the nape of her neck.

She turned from their reflection in the mirror, lifting up her lips to him as she whispered, 'I love you,' and he held her for a long moment as he kissed her, before murmuring, 'And I you, my love. I, you. Am I truly forgiven?'

For answer she took his face between her hands and kissed him, something she did rarely. Normally the physical overtures were all on Oliver's side.

'I'll go and make sure the carriage is waiting.' He grinned at her as he straightened. 'Come out when you are ready, and don't worry about doing your hair again; it's going to be very rumpled before long.'

'Oh, Oliver.' She blushed as she dimpled at him, and after she had removed every trace of make-up with cold cream and washed her face, she sat looking at herself for a few seconds before she rose from the stool. Was she wicked, loving two men at the same time, or did lots of women have similar secrets they kept locked in their hearts? Her life could have been different if there had been no Pearl. She and Barney might have married if he hadn't met someone else before she was old enough, and she could be a mother by now. Her singing would have been kept for bairns' lullabies and she would never have set foot on a stage. The thought produced a funny little pang in her heart and she jumped to her feet, angry with herself for the momentary weakness after the last days of keeping her mind fully under control.

She walked quickly towards the stage door, answering the 'good nights' from other performers with ones of her own, and after Mickey, the young stagehand, opened it for her and pointed to the carriage waiting on the cobbles, she waved to the silhouette of Oliver - resplendent in top hat and tails - inside. 'Good night, Mickey.'

'Good night, Miss Burns, an' thanks for that autograph for me mam. Thinks you're the tops, she does.'

Josie was still smiling as she climbed into the cab, the horse neighing softly as it flicked its mane in the soft warm August night, and then, as it moved away even before the door was properly shut and she took in the slumped form in a corner of the carriage, she opened her mouth to scream. The man who had been wearing Oliver's hat had his hand across her mouth and nose before she'd uttered so much as a squeak, however, and as the horse paused further along the street and another dark outline climbed into the carriage, a voice said, 'I said no undue violence, Harry.'

'I only hit 'im.' The voice above Josie's head was reproachful. 'He wasn't about to sit there quietly an' let her walk into it, not even with a knife to his ribs, so I hit 'im an' put on his hat.' This was said in the tone of someone expecting praise, and when none was forthcoming, the voice said again, full of righteous indignation now, 'I only hit 'im.'

'All right, all right, you only hit him.' There was a rustling and then the voice said again, still with the irritable note paramount, 'Move your hand a fraction, for cryin' out loud.'

'Aw, Jimmy man, I'm doin' me best.'

In the second before the pad of sweet-smelling liquid was pressed over her nose, Josie knew her eyes were staring wide in the blackness. The man holding her was built like a brick wall and there was no hope of even struggling, but at that precise moment she couldn't have anyway. She was frozen with shock. Jimmy, he had said Jimmy . . . And then, as the fumes from the pad seemed to fill her head she was aware that the carriage had stopped again, and that the driver had climbed down and was saying, 'You take over the horse now, Harry. I'll sit inside,' and as she spiralled into unconsciousness the scream which said 'Patrick Duffy!' was only in her mind.

It was gone midnight when an apologetic knock at the door woke Gertie from a deep sleep, but within minutes of speaking to the waiter who was standing in the corridor, Gertie had gone next door and raised her sisters. They were now all sitting downstairs in the night manager's office, and Ada was saying, 'We have to call the police, don't you see? If Oliver had arranged a surprise dinner like this he would never have gone off somewhere else. They must have been abducted.'

'Miss Burns, I think we are jumping to rather extreme conclusions here.' The manager was used to dealing with all sorts of eventualities and his voice was very soothing. 'True, Mr Hogarth did ask us to arrange a champagne dinner for two in their room on Mrs Hogarth's return from the theatre, and they are undeniably late, but that doesn't mean any harm has come to them.'

'What time did he arrange for this meal to start?' Ada asked forthrightly.

'Eleven o'clock, madam.'

'And it's now twenty past twelve and they're not back. I suppose he paid handsomely for it too, considering you stop serving at ten?'

'The gentleman did recompense Chef and others for the inconvenience such a romantic gesture would involve,' the manager agreed a little stiffly.

'And you still don't think it's strange they're not back?' Ada swore, most succinctly, which startled the manager so much he almost fell off his chair. He wasn't used to hearing profanities from the mouths of ladies staying at his hotel, and certainly not the earthy ones this particular guest had employed.

'Is there anyone on whom they might have called?' he asked even more stiffly. 'Where they may have been delayed perhaps?'

'Vera?' Gertie spoke now, looking at her sisters. 'Maybe we ought to try there before we get the law involved?'

'I'll call a cab while you ladies get dressed.' The three were sitting ensconced in their dressing gowns. 'And I am sure there is nothing to worry about . . .'

'Oh no, oh no.' It was Prudence's reaction which had caused a silence to fall over the kitchen after Gertie had explained the reason for getting the household up. They were all standing looking at Barney's sister now; Josie's three sisters in their coats and hats, and Vera and Horace in their night attire, and it was Vera who said, and sharply, 'What does that mean - "oh no"? You know summat about this, la.s.s?'

'No, not about . . . I mean . . . I didn't think . . . Oh, Vera!'

'That's enough of that.' As Prudence's voice approached hysteria it was Ada who stepped forward and gave the other woman a swift slap across the face. 'Tell us what you think you know - and quick.'

'I don't know anything, not really.' Prudence had sunk down on to a hardbacked chair, holding her face. 'And you've no right to hit me.'

'I'll knock you into next weekend if you don't come clean.' Ada was now every inch the streetwalker of former years who could be as hard as iron when she had to be, and Prudence must have recognised this because she began to talk, and the more she said the paler the other women's faces became, Horace's too.

Again there was a silence when Prudence finished speaking, and as everyone - apart from Prudence herself who had her face in her hands and was now sobbing loudly - turned as one to Ada, Josie's eldest sister stared back at them all before she sat down heavily on a chair which creaked in protest.

'What are we going to do?' Gertie's voice was a whimper. 'What are we going to do, Ada? I knew we shouldn't have come back. I told her, I did. But she would go on about finding the lads. She's never listened to reason--'

'Don't start on that road, Gertie.' It was Dora who spoke and her voice was as hard as Ada's had been when she'd threatened Prudence. 'Josie's in this mess because she crossed Duffy for you in the first place. She rescued you out of it, and she wanted to do the same for the lads, so don't start blaming her for that unless you want to feel the back of my hand across your mug.'

'I didn't mean--'

'Oh aye you did, you ungrateful little swine, you.'

'Shut up.' Ada's voice was flat but of a quality which brooked no argument. 'I can't think with you two going at it. One thing's for sure, we can't wait. We've got to act now. If Duffy's got her . . .' She shook her head. 'Look, me an' Dora know one or two people who might know something. We'll go and ask a few questions, all right?'

'What'll I do?' Gertie asked helplessly.

Ada glanced at her sister, her gaze softening as she saw the anxiety in Gertie's face. 'The carriage is still outside an' we won't need it where we're goin',' she said. 'It's better to go unannounced to them sort of places. Any of you know any blokes who've got a bit of brawn as well as brains an' would be willin' to help out if the worst comes to the worst?'

'Barney, my brother.' It was Prudence who spoke, her sobs having diminished to hiccups. 'He's always thought a bit of Josie. And Georgie, my young man. He'd help.'

'All right. Well, you take the carriage an' pick 'em up in case we come back an' need 'em, but don't do anythin' more until me an' Dora are back.' Ada glanced at both Gertie and Prudence as she spoke and both girls nodded obediently. Vera's face was as white as a sheet, and Ada now said to her, 'Why don't you go an' get dressed, la.s.s, an' then put the kettle on, eh? It's going to be a long night an' a sup tea'll help.'

It was getting on for two in the morning when Ada and Dora made their way towards a certain house in Fitter's Row, a street not too far from Northumberland Place. Although the main streets were lit by dim pools of light from the street-lamps, the back lanes and alleys were as black as pitch, but this didn't worry Ada and Dora. Had it been a Friday or Sat.u.r.day there might still have been some activity outside a few of the more notorious public houses, but as it was they hardly saw a soul as they hurried along Prospect Row, turning left at South Dock goods station into Thomas Street and round the back of the school into Fitter's Row.

They came to an innocuous-looking house in the hotchpotch street of tenement buildings, and Dora, who had her handkerchief to her nose to blot out the stench arising from something disgusting lying in the gutter which was made all the more ripe by the warm night, said quietly, 'By, la.s.s, I remember this house well.'

'Aye.' Ada nodded. And the memories were all bad. But the madam of this place, Madge Hopkins, might just help them. Tough as the devil's hobnail boots, old Madge was, but Madge owed her a favour and today was collection day.

Ada took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the house, a series of long and short raps which was a code only the occupants - or prior occupants - knew. After a moment or two a window was raised and a head thrust out. 'Who is it?' It was a woman's voice.

'That you, Madge?'

There was silence for a moment, and then the voice said, 'Who's askin'?'

'It's me, Ada. You remember? Ada an' Dora Burns from a few years back? We want to talk to you, Madge.'

'Ada? I don't believe it! Ada an' Dora Burns? You two skedaddled if I remember right.'

'Aye, we went down south. Good pickin's down south.'

'What do you want?'

'Well, open the door, la.s.s, an' I'll tell you.'

There was a moment's pause and then the window was slammed shut, and within a minute or two the front door was swinging open. 'All right, come in.' Madge peered at them both in the light from the flickering candle she was holding. 'What's so important after all these years that you have to raise the house at this time of night?'

Ada and Dora stepped into the narrow hall they remembered from their childhood. They had been made to entertain clients in the rooms upstairs from the age of ten, sometimes as many as half a dozen a night, and they had never expected to be in this house again. Ada shut off her mind from that path and said instead, 'You remember how I helped you out once, Madge? Eh?'

There was the sound of a door opening above them and Madge shouted, 'Back into your rooms, the lot of you! This is nowt to do with you,' before saying in a quieter tone, 'Aye, I remember. What of it?'

'You said you owed me, Madge. Well, I need your help now.'

'By, Ada, it really is you then. You an' Dora caused a stink when you took off, you know. Duffy went fair mental. The things he was goin' to do to you both when he caught up with you.'

'Aye, well he didn't catch up with us,' Ada said flatly. And then her tone changed when she said, 'I saved your bacon that time the money was pinched an' I saw who took it, now then. You know Duffy'd have taken the loss out of your hide. Well, I need a favour now. Our sister' - she included the silent Dora in the wave of her hand - 'he's took her an' we want her back. You heard owt?'

'No, I ain't, la.s.s, but if I had it'd be more than me life's worth to say anythin', you know that. But I haven't, I swear it. Your sister, you say?'

'Aye.'

Madge held the candle closer to Ada's face, staring at her for a good few moments before she said, 'Look, la.s.s, I don't know where Duffy'd be but I can put you on to Hubert. He's your brother, ain't he? Him an' Jimmy? Well, he got out of the business a while back, you know that?' Ada shook her head. 'Aye, well he did, but Jimmy don't let no one lay a finger on him. Thinks a bit of him, see, an' the word is they're still close. Hubert might know where Jimmy's livin', an' ten to one Patrick'll be there. The lad works for the locksmith in Brougham Street an' the locksmith lives over the shop. He'd know where your brother lodges. That's the best I can do, la.s.s.'

'Aye. Well thanks, Madge.'

Mr Foster wasn't overjoyed about being knocked up in the middle of the night; the Turners and their widowed daughter even less so, but by half-past three Hubert and his two sisters were approaching a three-storey house on Ettrick's Quay in the heart of the East End. Apart from a few fis.h.i.+ng boats lying on the cobbles in front of the higgledy-piggledy row of terraced two- and three-storey houses, the quay was quiet, although within the hour it would begin to stir.

It had been a brief but highly emotional reunion between Hubert and his sisters, but he had been adamant that the three of them had to go alone to the house where he knew Jimmy was staying at present. Duffy would have his henchmen close, he'd insisted, and taking anyone else along would just end in a fight which could be dangerous. It was no use trying to break into the house; it was far better he went in alone through the front door and tried to find out where Josie was being held from Jimmy. Ada and Dora must stay out of sight and he'd come to them as soon as he could.

'I don't like it, lad.' Ada could see a hundred things wrong with the plan. 'They might turn on you.'

Hubert turned to look at them both. How could he explain that somewhere deep inside he had always known this day was going to happen? Oh, not the details of course, or that Josie would be involved like she was, but he'd always felt that Patrick Duffy would force a showdown between him and Jimmy.

Jimmy's love for his brother had always been a thorn in Duffy's side, and the older man wouldn't be content until that thorn was pulled and got rid of. Well, today might be the day or it might not, but he was tired of living in the shadows. Even living and working as he was, he was still living in the shadows because at heart he knew Patrick had the reins on him and could pull them tight at any time.

He wanted to be free. Free to go wherever he chose and say whatever he liked; free to make his own life and to know he could ask a la.s.s to start courting without having to look over his shoulder all the time. A la.s.s like Laura Foster. He knew she liked him and he liked her, more than liked her, but how could he let a nice, innocent young la.s.sie like Laura get involved with him when Duffy was forever lurking in the background?

But after today, when he'd nailed his colours well and truly to the mast, he'd either be free or be dead. Either way he was glad. But he couldn't tell his sisters that - they'd think he was doolally. Instead he said quietly, 'Whatever they do, Ada, this is the way to do it.'

'Aren't you afeared, lad? Of goin' agen 'em, I mean?'

Hubert nodded. 'Aye, I am, but not as much as not going against them, if that makes any sense.'

Ada looked at him, holding his gaze for a moment before she said very softly, 'It makes sense to me, Hubert lad. It makes sense to me.'