Authors: Mary Gibson
‘We
will
get her out!’ But Milly had never been good at hiding things from her mother and her own anxious face was the mirror of Mrs Colman’s.
Just then, the sergeant returned. He beckoned them to follow and Milly found herself in the same interview room where she’d fed Jimmy. After a few minutes, they were joined by the detective in charge. Milly jumped up, but he motioned her to sit down and perched himself on the edge of the desk. He addressed her mother.
‘I understand from my sergeant that you’ve asked to take your daughter home and you say she’s innocent of the theft her father accused her of?’
‘Yes! And what’s more, he’s the one should be locked up, for assault!’ Milly blurted out before her mother could answer.
The detective gave her the vexed look of a busy man, unwilling to invite complications. Ignoring her, he continued to speak to her mother.
‘I’m afraid the charge is a little more serious than robbing the gas meter, Mrs Colman.’ He leaned forward, spelling out the words as though her mother were an imbecile.
‘Your daughter turned very violent. She attacked her father with a knife she had concealed upon her person and then she turned it on a policeman. We’ve had no choice but to detain her. There’s no possibility of you taking her home today.’
‘Mary, mother o’ God, no!’ Her mother’s hand flew to her mouth.
Milly tried to explain. ‘But you don’t understand. He’s a vicious man; she was just frightened. I’m sure if we could speak to someone in charge, we can explain. My sister doesn’t belong here...’
His guilty expression told her she had no need to explain, and that even if she did, there was nothing she could say to get Elsie out of this fix.
‘Well, can we at least see her, please?’ she asked meekly, wanting no hint of her usual belligerence to turn the detective’s sympathies against her. Jimmy chose just then to smile at him, and the detective hesitated. ‘Very well, I’ll have to check what state she’s in,’ he said.
As Milly heard his footsteps disappearing down the corridor leading to the cells, she whispered in Jimmy’s ear, ‘You’re my secret weapon,’ and was rewarded with a gurgling chuckle.
The detective was soon back. ‘Well, she’s calmed down a lot, could almost be a different child,’ he said, puzzlement softening his previous severity.
So, thought Milly, you’ve met the two sides of Elsie Colman, part fairy, part demon, no wonder you’re confused.
The detective led them along the brown walled corridor to the back of the building, and down a flight of stairs to the cells.
Elsie sat on the edge of an iron-framed bed that appeared to be attached to the cell wall. Her skinny legs were not quite long enough to reach the floor. She’d come out without socks or stockings and the jagged hopping scar branded her shin, reminding Milly of that other trap Elsie’d found herself in only last year. Her pointed toes rested like a ballerina’s on the stone flags. Her eyes, which had been lowered to her lap, darted an eager look at them. She had obviously been warned by the detective, for Milly could see her check the impulse to run to her mother. Mrs Colman had no such compunction and immediately rushed to gather Elsie in her arms.
‘Oh, me poor baby, have they hurt you?’
The constable’s audible snigger was squashed by a look from the detective.
‘I can assure you, Mrs Colman,’ he said, without a trace of humour, ‘the constable here came off worse in the exchange.’
And it was only then Milly noticed parallel scratch marks running down the constable’s cheek. Though her sister couldn’t land a punch, she made the best of her nails in a fight.
‘Can I count on you to stay calm and quiet, Elsie?’ he asked and she nodded, dumbly, the fire seemingly all gone out of her.
‘The constable will be just outside.’
They left them together and only then did Elsie’s strained, white face crease into sobs.
‘Oh, Mum, take me home with you, I don’t want to stay here!’ Her long-fingered hands were plucking at her mother’s old coat, but Mrs Colman was incoherent with her own grief. Milly, though she wanted nothing more than to sweep her sister out of this hole, had to keep her wits about her.
‘Elsie, you’ve got to keep calm and tell ’em what happened. They said you brought in a knife.’
The young girl’s face hardened as she turned to Milly. ‘If you’d just give me the dress money when I asked, I wouldn’t be in here. I’ll never forgive you!’
Her voice was rising and Milly feared if she got any louder they’d certainly be turned out of the cell. Arguing with Elsie about blame would have to wait. She decided to hold her tongue and use her secret weapon. She thrust Jimmy into her sister’s arms and waited for him to work his magic. He put up a translucent-nailed finger to prod Elsie’s cheek and immediately she turned her lips to kiss its pink tip.
‘I knew you’d come for me, though,’ she said more calmly. ‘I could hear him crying for his dinner all the way down here.’ She looked at Jimmy, while addressing Milly.
‘Oh, Elsie, of course we’ve come for you, but you’re in bad trouble.’ Milly spoke as gently as she could. ‘The gas meter was bad enough, but attacking a policeman with a knife? What on earth possessed you?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I only had the knife ’cause when he dragged me out of bed I thought he was going to kill me. I hid it up me sleeve. When they tried to lock me up, I got so scared, I panicked! I didn’t cut anyone with it, well, only the old man, he got one right across his neck. But I mostly just waved it about!’ she said, blowing the little boy’s hair as though it were thistledown.
Milly groaned and at that moment the detective came back in. He held some papers in his hand.
‘Now, Elsie, I’m going to speak to your mother. Has she explained that you’re staying here tonight?’
‘No! Mum, don’t leave me here,’ Elsie whimpered, and her unwashed face was soon tear-painted. It broke Milly’s heart to see her cling to Jimmy as though he could save her. Milly lifted him gently out of her arms.
‘Be a brave girl, Elsie. I know you can, for Mum’s sake. We’ll come and see you tomorrow. I’ll get you out, I promise!’
As they were hustled out of the room by the constable, Milly looked over her shoulder at the forlorn figure, seated in the same position as when they’d entered, toes barely reaching the floor, eyes lowered, fat teardrops rolling down each cheek. Milly fished into her pocket for a handkerchief she’d made out of an old sheet; it was embroidered with her name.
‘Give her this for me, will you?’ she asked the constable, who took it between finger and thumb and tossed it into the cell behind him.
Mrs Colman stumbled up from the cells, with the detective and constable supporting her on either side.
They were left at the desk, where the kindly sergeant explained, ‘Your daughter’s up before the magistrate tomorrow. I’ll just need you to sign some papers for me, Mrs Colman.’
Her mother signed them like an automaton. ‘Get me home, Mill, get me home before I fall down.’
September 1924
Milly sat on an old kitchen chair in the back garden at Storks Road, a long narrow strip of ground, fenced on either side with a brick wall at the end. It was the sort of space her mother would have loved to grow a few flowers in, but the Arnold’s Place yards could only accommodate a brick lavatory and a wall to hang the tin bath on. Bertie had made his garden into a little haven of tranquillity. He’d planted lavender and climbing roses, past their best now, but still bravely blooming as the last of summer faded into autumn. Milly breathed in the evening scent of the thornless pink rose, growing nearest the back door. Bertie’s dinner was already prepared, cold meat from yesterday with bubble and squeak, and while waiting for him to come home from the shop, she’d been wandering around the garden, deadheading roses as Bertie had taught her to. Now she sat with a lapful of the faded blooms, absently picking off the bruised-looking petals. She was thinking of Elsie, the thorn in her side, whom she would gladly give a thousand thornless roses to have home once again, tormenting her. Since she’d left her mother, defeated and hopeless, that afternoon, she’d thought of nothing else but how she could free her sister. She was singing absently to herself ‘The Last Rose of Summer’, one of her mother’s favourite old songs, when she heard a noise behind her.
‘That’s a sad old tune!’ Bertie stood, with his quirky smile, observing her. For some reason she found all the emotion of the day overflowing, and tears spattered the roses in her lap. Bertie was at her side immediately.
‘Milly, what’s the matter, is it the boy?’
She shook her head and let the day’s events pour out, then immediately regretted it. The man had been kindness itself since the day he’d found her on Fountain Stairs and brought her home. She’d vowed to pay him back with her usefulness, and she was reluctant to involve him in any more of her troubles.
‘But it’s nothing I should be worrying you with, Bertie. My family’s troubles could keep you occupied two lifetimes. I’ll sort something out. Now let me get your tea, you must be starving.’ She wiped her tears on her pinafore, and as she stood up the petals of the thornless rose scattered at her feet.
He bent to scoop them up and, as he stood up, she was surprised by the hurt expression on his face.
‘I hoped you’d come to think of me as a friend, Milly. It’s not a trouble to a friend, to help in time of need.’
It was a shock to see his usually amused features suddenly so serious. Evening sun honeyed the back wall of the house, and reflected in his eyes. For the first time she experienced a warmth of feeling towards him, slow as the sleepy bees bumbling among the lavender. She smiled, not wanting now to deflect him with a joke or a brisk comment.
‘It’s just I’m so grateful... for what you’ve done already. I didn’t mean to...’ She wasn’t often speechless and noticing her discomfort, he was quick to save her.
‘Habits of a lifetime, eh? You always were the independent one.’ And then she realized that Bertie Hughes had probably been aware of her for a very long time, certainly much longer than she’d been aware of him.
He allowed her to busy herself, setting his tea things before him, but all the while asking questions about Elsie’s crime and what the police had said. In the end he suggested she go to Florence Green for help. Immediately her guard was up. Did he merely see her as a worthy charity case for his lady friend at the Settlement? But she dismissed the thought with a blush, wishing she’d been made of less prickly stuff.
‘You should go now,’ he said, unaware of the effect of Miss Green’s name on her. ‘You’ll catch her before the clubs start, and if Elsie’s up before the beak tomorrow, there’s no time to lose.’ He saw her hesitate and put down his fork. ‘I’ll watch the boy for you. Or do you want me to go and talk to Miss Green?’ He’d already half risen.
‘No! No... I’ll go. If you think it’ll do some good, it’s worth a try.’ And before she lost her courage, she’d flung on her coat and hurried from the house.
Milly hadn’t set foot in the Settlement for almost a year, but now as she stood in its wood-panelled calm, smelling the familiar mix of chalk dust, wood polish and dinner coming from the dining hall, she realized she’d missed it. It had always been such a strange oasis in her world of poverty, an alien settlement from a foreign world, where the promise of beautiful ordered lives hung about the galleries and music-filled classrooms, where in a world surrounded by malnourishment and rickety children, the prospect of health and physical prowess permeated gyms and exercise yards. She’d forgotten that such promise existed. Now, standing outside the dining room, waiting for Miss Green to finish her supper, she found herself clasping and unclasping her hands. She felt as though she’d treated Florence Green shabbily, and now here she was, asking another favour of the woman. But this favour wasn’t for herself. It was for Elsie, and for her mother. She knew that Miss Green had a soft spot for Elsie, the fey child who had taken to the folk songs and dances she taught, and had embraced the precepts of the Guild of Play with such gusto. Fragile Elsie, who would spend all day making fairy grottos, beautifying the pavements, only to have them scuffed away by so many hobnailed boots and careless feet by evening time.
‘Ah, Milly.’ Miss Green came out of the dining hall, her gentle smile already dispelling Milly’s doubts and fears. She took both Milly’s hands in hers. ‘I was visiting Arnold’s Place and heard of your family’s trouble. Our poor Elsie, she must be got out at all costs!’
Milly was thankful for once to the gossipy neighbours. At least she was spared the long, embarrassing explanations of her family’s collapse.
‘I’m sorry I’m asking another favour of you... and I threw the last one back in your face,’ Milly said.
‘Milly, you did nothing wrong in wanting to keep your child.’ She held Milly’s gaze for a long moment, as if despairing that she would be believed. ‘In any event,’ she went on, ‘this is why we’re here. You mustn’t feel awkward about asking for help. Come upstairs.’
Milly found herself once more in the poignant little room and remembered with shame her judgement on the single Miss Green. For all she knew, she and Bertie had already been deep into a romance all those months ago. Milly realized she’d been very short-sighted and resolved to judge less and observe more in future.
‘Now, Bertie was right to send you to me. He may have told you that we have a lawyer on our team of volunteers and I will consult him first thing tomorrow morning. With your mother’s permission, I’ll ask him to appear for Elsie at the magistrate’s court.’
‘That’s very kind, Miss Green. I can’t see Mum objecting, but the old man... well, you know it was him that took her to the police?’
The woman nodded, distaste clouding her features. She gave a little shake of her head and went on to explain the court procedure. If the lawyer was successful, they could have Elsie home by teatime.
Milly made a few hasty arrangements with Miss Green for the following day and then, impatient to be off, so she could tell her mother the good news, she launched herself down the wooden staircase and out into the street. She sped along Bermondsey Wall, taking the shortest route back to Dockhead, intent on getting home as fast as she could. Careering round the corner of Hickman’s Folly, buried in thought, she suddenly found herself colliding with a heavy-set figure. Rebounding with an audible smack, she was about to apologize when she realized she had just bounced off the solid bulk of her father, making his way to the Swan for his nightly drink. She was aware of an almost animal growl coming from deep in her throat.