He began to drag Patty towards the mouth of the jigger from which he had emerged, but Patty struggled as fiercely as she could. ‘I tell you, he’s hurt,’ she shouted. ‘Didn’t you hear his head whack against the kerb? And there’s blood running from the corner of his mouth!’
Red Face gave a contemptuous snort. ‘The poor bugger’s drunk so he’d ha’ fell floppy like,’ he said thickly. ‘An’ that ain’t blood tricklin’ out o’ his mouth, it’s Guinness. How much do you charge, princess?’
Patty was about to say that she was not a prostitute so did not charge, but then realised that this could well be a mistake of colossal proportions. In his drunken state, Red Face would no doubt assume she had fallen for his charms and was in effect free. So she said, furiously: ‘I am not that sort of woman, but if you continue mauling me I shall charge a hundred pounds a minute.’
Slightly to her surprise, this remark actually seemed to give him pause. He let go of her with one hand to fumble in his pocket, then announced, in a wheedling tone, that she would have to mek do with five bob, ’cos that were all he had left after a night out on the ale. ‘But if you give me a good time, I’ll do the same for you,’ he added persuasively. ‘A hundred pounds a minute … you must be very, very good!’
By now, they were well into the jigger and pretty well out of sight of the main street, and Patty realised that she would have to act quickly if she was to escape from this most dangerous and disagreeable situation. Red Face was manoeuvring her into the corner between a wall and a gate, and once he had got her pinned there she guessed she would be at a disadvantage. She hoped that her kicks and punches would be sufficient to stop him taking the ultimate action, but was beginning to doubt it. She had every intention of screaming as loudly as she could, although she realised that such an action in such a neighbourhood might bring not help but just the opposite. Indeed, as Red Face pinned her against the wall with all his weight and began to fumble with her clothing, she saw, past his shoulder, a figure lurching towards them up the alley and saw that horrible little Baldy was neither dead nor badly injured, but was returning to the fray.
Patty began to scream but a huge hand promptly covered her face and Red Face’s leg caught her behind the knees and tumbled her to the ground with him on top of her. Almost choking, she bit wildly at the palm of the man’s hand and began to heave and squirm, suddenly remembering that she was wearing Mrs Clarke’s beautiful dress; if it got torn or ruined, it would cost her a month’s wages to buy Mrs Clarke something similar.
But the dress was replaceable and her life was not. She had read stories in the
Echo
of girls who had been raped and murdered by drunken seamen and she could never forget what happened to Selina. Her friend had fought but it had availed her nothing. Suddenly, it was no longer something that happened to someone else; it might well happen to her, Patty Peel, who had responsibilities and had scarcely begun to live yet. Patty wrenched her arm free and punched wildly and rather ineffectually at her attacker. Then she grabbed him by the hair and began to tug as hard as she possibly could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Baldy had arrived and was staring down at them and shifting from foot to foot like an excited child who wants to join in a game but is not sure precisely how to do so.
‘Help me!’ Patty shouted, but her voice came out as a tiny whisper. ‘Please, please help me!’ But Baldy continued to stand by, watching, whilst Red Face began to fumble with Patty’s clothing once more.
Despite his resolve, Darky had stayed in the ballroom to the bitter end. He had danced several more times with Miss Halligan, closely observing Patty’s gyrations with her various partners and disapproving. Why could men not see what sort of a girl she was? But he supposed there were a great many men who were on the lookout for a girl like Patty; a girl with lax morals and a fall of glorious golden hair. The last thought surprised and annoyed him since he had not meant to think of how pretty she looked this evening, with her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling and her mouth curved into a small, happy smile. Looks didn’t matter, he reminded himself severely; character mattered, and not only was Patty an unmarried mother, she was a member of the hated profession, the profession which had caused the death of his wife.
Nevertheless, when the group of nurses left the dance hall, he followed them at a discreet distance. He reasoned there was safety in numbers so thought that the girls would get home unmolested, but decided to follow them anyway. His mother, he told himself virtuously, was fond of Patty, and if Mrs Knight found out he had been at the dance and had not seen Patty safely home, she would blame him if anything went wrong.
Darky had no intention of letting it be known that he was keeping an eye on the girls, however. He kept well back, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets. When they reached the nurses’ home, he was surprised when the whole group of girls disappeared inside it, leaving Patty to continue alone. Then he remembered that the girl was out almost every night in the course of duty and scolded himself for being such a fool as to worry that she might run into trouble. She must be well used to warding off unwanted attentions; if they were unwanted, of course. But common sense told him that she could not do her work as a midwife and double as a woman of the streets, so he continued to follow her.
When the group of seamen lurched on to the pavement in front of her, he was a good way behind, having relaxed his vigilance. He saw Patty grabbed by two seamen, saw the scuffle between the men and, in the dim light from the street lamps, thought that the girl had pulled herself free. She must have hurried on and would be well clear of trouble by now. Then there was a mutter, some drunken shouts, and a large man threw a wicked-looking punch at a smaller, balding fellow. It connected with a thump and the man fell to the ground, and suddenly Darky could see Patty clearly again. The tall fellow had his arm round her and she seemed to be looking down at the smaller man lying at her feet. Darky quickened his pace; the small man was hurt. For a moment Darky concentrated on the injured seaman, and when he looked up again Patty and the large man had simply disappeared. He began to run. Had they gone into a house nearby, or had they simply continued to walk down Cazneau Street and were now out of sight? It was possible they had gone into a doorway with amorous intentions and Darky had no wish to make himself ridiculous by interfering where he was not wanted.
He slowed his pace once more and saw the small man suddenly shamble to his feet and stand, swaying uneasily for a moment, before disappearing down a jigger which Darky had not previously noticed. Then he heard the scream.
Patty almost gave herself up for lost when a third figure loomed up behind Baldy, but she continued to struggle as hard as she could. It was impossible to shout since Red Face still had a vast hand across her mouth, and in any case his weight had squashed all the air out of her lungs and she could only wheeze and give tiny muffled squeaks.
It was difficult to see exactly what happened but Patty suddenly had the impression that Baldy actually sailed through the air, landing for the second time that evening with a jarring thump. Then the third man grabbed Red Face and hauled him to his feet before delivering a punch which rattled Red Face’s teeth. ‘Whazzat? Why, I’ll kill you, you interferin’ …’
The third man hit him again and this time Red Face sank to his knees, remaining for a moment in a praying position before slowly toppling over sideways on to the cobbles.
Patty managed to get tremblingly to her feet, then tottered over to the wall and leaned against it, feeling quite unable to remain upright without assistance. She glanced apprehensively at the third man and said, in a small, shaking voice: ‘Oh, thank you, sir. I thought they were going to kill me, but I’ll be all right now.’ She indicated the two men sprawling on the cobbles. ‘I don’t think they’ll trouble me again, thanks to you.’
The third man came across to her but did not attempt to touch her. ‘Can you get back to Ashfield Place, Miss Peel?’ he asked. ‘I’m going home meself so I can lend you an arm if you need it.’
Patty gasped and peered at her rescuer in the faint starlight, for the jigger was not illuminated by street lamps. ‘Mr Knight?’ she said in a small voice. ‘It
is
Mr Knight, isn’t it? Oh, I’m so grateful. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I don’t know why those men picked on me because I took no notice of them … if you wouldn’t mind walking slowly, I’d be most grateful for your escort, because I feel all shivery and strange.’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Darky admitted. ‘Those fellers were both drunk as lords. They’d likely have picked on any woman who walked alone, thinking that she were no better than she ought to be. In future, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t never walk the streets at this hour without someone you can trust beside you. Where’d you been, anyhow? Not workin’, not in that dress.’
Patty gasped, remembering the dress, and glanced down at it as they crossed on to the Scotland Road. To her relief, it did not look torn, but it was impossible to see if it had suffered much from the dirt of the street. She thought, hopefully, that a good wash might well bring it back to its original state. She turned to Darky. ‘I – I borrowed the dress from Mrs Clarke and went dancing with some of the nurses from the hospital,’ she said, her voice still very shaky. ‘Two of the girls offered to walk me back to Ashfield Place but it seemed so silly – I mean, I’m out most nights, in all sorts of weathers, and nothing like this has ever happened to me before, thank God.’
‘No, but you’re usually on a bicycle and in uniform,’ Darky pointed out, his tone rather righteous. ‘You should have had more sense, Miss …’
But Patty’s heaving stomach and battered frame was taking its revenge. She turned away from her rescuer, fell to her knees on the pavement, and was violently sick into the gutter.
The rest of the walk home was accomplished more or less in silence. Darky tried to match his usual pace to her slow one, but he kept giving impatient sighs and Patty soon began to resent what she felt was an implication that she could have walked faster had she chosen to do so. Accordingly, she went even more slowly, and when she tried to explain exactly what had happened he merely grunted in reply. Once more, Patty felt that Darky Knight was not interested either in her recent plight or in the cause of it, and since she was aching in every limb she started to feel angry as well as vulnerable and miserable. She was truly grateful to him for rescuing her but felt sure that he would not have done so had he realised it was she who had been attacked. If she had been a total stranger, she had no doubt that he would not merely have offered his arm, but insisted that she take it; might even have put an arm round her waist to assist her faltering footsteps instead of sighing deeply whenever she slowed. In short, Patty’s gratitude was soon liberally laced with righteous indignation. She had not encouraged those hateful men to believe that she would welcome their advances and she felt, suddenly, that Darky was accompanying her back to Ashfield Place rather as a prison warder accompanies a difficult and rebellious prisoner. So she said nothing more until she reached her own front door, when she turned to him. ‘I don’t know why you’re being so extremely unfriendly, Mr Knight,’ she said, her tone brittle with suppressed anger. ‘You’re acting as though I somehow got into that dreadful scrape on purpose, and I can assure you I did not. I was attacked, for no reason, by drunken seamen and it might have gone badly for me had you not turned up. I’m very grateful for your interference and shall be more careful in future. Good night!’
She had been looking steadily up into Darky’s face as she spoke and saw his mouth tighten and a frown line appear between his brows. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then shut it again, and Patty turned the key in her front door and shot inside. Once there, she flopped down in a chair and began to cry, making sure that she did so silently, in case Darky still hovered out on the landing. Within seconds, however, she heard the Knights’ front door shut and realised that Darky had not even responded to her farewell. She had felt cold and shaky as she entered the familiar kitchen but now the warmth of righteous anger burned up in her, drying her tears and stiffening her backbone. Darky Knight was rude, unkind and altogether hateful and the next time they met he would not need to ignore her because she meant to ignore him.
Darky, in his bed in the room next door, lay awake for some considerable time. He was furious with himself because he had been so ungracious; had, in fact, not so much as given Patty a hand to scramble off her knees after she had been sick. He had stood back, watching as she vomited helplessly into the gutter. Half of him had wanted to rush forward and pull back the long gold hair, to put a sustaining hand on her forehead and then to help her tenderly to her feet. Unfortunately, the other half had been saying, ‘Serves her right for encouraging the fellers, giving the wrong impression. Why, she danced with everyone who asked her and then came breezing down the road with her hair loose and her shoulders bare – what did she expect? She looked like a tart touting for business and got treated like one. And then she had the nerve to tell me I was unfriendly. What else did she expect? I didn’t want to give her the impression that I was a customer! Why, if I’d acted friendly, she might have thought I was expecting favours in return for rescuing her! You can’t be too careful with that type of girl.’
Darky heaved the covers over his shoulders, but it was a long time before he fell asleep.
Patty woke late next day because she had slept straight through the alarm, and as a result had to scramble through her ablutions. As she dressed herself in a clean, starched uniform, she could hear Maggie and Merrell chattering away in the kitchen and was glad that the children did not know of her ordeal the previous night. Merrell was far too young to understand but Patty had a shrewd suspicion that Maggie would understand all too well and determined to spare the child a story which could only upset her.
Examining herself in the piece of mirror propped up on her chest of drawers, she decided that very little of her ordeal showed in her face. To be sure, there was a bruise on the side of her jaw and her upper arms and calves were black and blue, but her black lisle stockings disguised her legs adequately and the cuffs and sleeves of her dress performed the same function for her arms. Satisfied on that score, Patty brushed out her hair. She was conscious, as never before, that soft and shining hair attracted men of the wrong kind and was determined never to wear it loose again. Then, making her way towards the kitchen, she chided herself for such thoughts. How ridiculous she was being! The men had been drunk and had been eager for a woman – any woman – with whom they could have their way! If it had not been her, it would have been someone else, regardless of length and colour of hair, bareness of shoulders or elegance of dress. She remembered Selina and sick horror arrowed through her. Men were beasts, no better than animals; if she kept that in mind and steered clear of them in future, she would be as safe as anyone could be.
Entering the kitchen, she smiled gratefully at Maggie, who was pouring tea from the big brown pot into two enamel mugs. Swathed in one of Patty’s big calico aprons, the child looked a real little woman and it struck Patty that even Maggie, who was only twelve, was not safe from the attentions of such men as Baldy and Red Face if she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, God, Patty thought fearfully, I must warn Maggie, make sure she’s safe. She’s a pretty kid now she’s properly fed and looked after … what can I do to keep us all safe?
‘Mornin’, Patty,’ Maggie said cheerfully, pushing one of the mugs of tea towards her. ‘Did you have a good time at the dance? I’ve put Mrs Clarke’s dress in to soak – what happened? Did you have a fall? It were pretty dirty. I’ll make you some toast because you won’t have time for anything else, will you?’
Patty took the cup of tea gratefully and subsided into a chair. Now, she told herself, was the time to warn Maggie about men without frightening the child or making it too obvious. She said carefully: ‘Yes, I did have a fall. A feller – a feller got a bit too friendly like and I had to make off in a hurry. It – it was after the dance, when I was coming home. I fell on the cobbles and knocked my head and that made me kind of giddy.’
‘Oh, poor Patty,’ Maggie said sympathetically. She had speared a piece of bread with the toasting fork and was holding it out to the stove. ‘I know it’s awful hot in here – and just as hot outside – but it’s my day to go round to Stanton’s Court wi’ me dad’s money, so I shan’t be stuck in the stuffy house. I’ll damp the fire right down when I leaves.’ She took the piece of toast off the fork and handed it to Patty. ‘You have the first one, queen, because you’re in a hurry and Merrell and I ain’t,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Mrs Knight is taking Merrell and Christopher to see her sister Ruby what lives out at Bootle, and then they’re goin’ on to Seaforth Sands so’s the kids can build sandcastles and that. I’m joinin’ them when I’ve paid me dad, so we’re all havin’ a real nice day.’
She put out a tentative finger and touched Patty’s jaw. ‘That looks like a thumb print,’ she said curiously. ‘And there’s four more paler ones under your chin – did someone grab you, Patty?’
Patty decided that she would have to admit to some of what had happened the previous night or Maggie might draw her own conclusions – and they might be the wrong ones. Slowly, she said: ‘Yes, a feller did catch hold of me. But I got away, so that was all right. The thing is, Maggie, I was out late at night, in a flimsy dress, with my hair down, and I think – I think men sometimes don’t quite understand, when they’re drunk, that girls don’t fancy … um … well, kissing total strangers and that. So, in future, if I’m out at night after a dance, or a trip to the theatre, I’ll make sure I don’t walk home alone.’
‘Oh aye, a feller with the drink on him isn’t what you might call reliable,’ Maggie agreed. ‘You were lucky to gerraway with a bruise or two, Patty. But when Nurse Purbright comes to live here there’ll be two of you most of the time, won’t there?’
Patty agreed that this was so and began to make herself a carryout. She would be hard pressed to get round all her revisits, late as she was, and would have no chance to get home for a snack at dinnertime. When she was almost ready, she took Merrell out of her high chair, gave her a kiss and told her to be good for Nanna Knight. Then she sat the little girl down in the playpen which Mrs Knight had given her, and reached up to the peg for her navy gaberdine.
It was not there, and all in a moment Patty remembered that she had had it over one arm when she had been stopped by Red Face and Baldy. She gave a gasp and clapped a hand to her mouth. The gaberdine was expensive and a part of her uniform; it would take her months to save up for a replacement.
‘What’s the matter, Patty?’ Maggie said. ‘Don’t say you left your gaberdine at that dance hall place you went to!’
‘No, I didn’t leave it there,’ Patty said hollowly. ‘It was such a hot night that I didn’t put it on, though. I had it slung over my arm. Oh my God, I must have dropped it when that feller … Damn, damn, damn! And I was determined not to talk to Darky unless he spoke to me first, but now I’ll simply have to. He might have noticed where I dropped it … he might even remember where I was when he … oh, damn, damn, damn!’
Maggie stared doubtfully at her across the kitchen table. ‘He’ll be at work,’ she observed. ‘Never mind, Patty. It’s a really hot day and no one’s likely to tell on you for not wearin’ your coat. They’ll think you’ve got it rolled up in your bicycle basket. As for Mr Knight, if you don’t want to ask him about the coat – and I understand why you don’t want to – then I’ll ask Mrs Knight if she can find out what happened to it.’
‘No, don’t trouble Mrs Knight,’ Patty said quickly. ‘I’m going that way myself, so I’ll set off now and see if I can find it. If I can’t, I’ll call in at the nearest police station. Perhaps some honest person will find it and turn it in to the scuffers. I really don’t want any more trouble.’
After Patty had hurried out, Maggie picked Merrell off the floor, sat her on the draining board and began to get her ready for their trip out. She worked automatically, chattering to the baby and occasionally singing a nursery rhyme, but her mind was in a whirl. Reading between the lines, it looked as though Patty had indeed been roughly handled when walking home from the dance, and Maggie concluded that the attacker had been Darky Knight. Why else should Patty think that Darky might know the whereabouts of her gaberdine? Maggie was well aware that Darky did not seem to like Patty, but she was equally aware that when a man was drunk his feelings were not to be relied upon. She imagined that he must have approached Patty with a view to doing whatever it was that grownup people did, and been rejected. In those circumstances, most of the men Maggie knew, including her own father, would have turned nasty, or if not nasty at least indignant. Maggie liked Darky but thought him quite capable of grabbing Patty round the face if she annoyed him enough. He was big and strong, a good six inches taller than Patty and a great deal heavier, so naturally a rejection, which would make him feel small, might lead to reprisals.
Maggie finished dressing the baby and sat her in the big, old-fashioned perambulator. She damped the fire down and closed the front of the stove, then pushed the pram round to Mrs Knight’s house. Her neighbour opened the door, revealing that Christopher had already arrived and was sitting in an ancient high chair eating bread and jam. Maggie wondered whether to enquire as to Darky’s whereabouts, but decided against it. She knew Patty was no tale-clat and would not dream of telling his mother how Darky had mistreated her, so she had best keep her own mouth shut. However, there could be no harm in mentioning the coat, which might have been dropped almost anywhere, she supposed. So as soon as the normal greetings were over she told Mrs Knight that Patty had lost her gaberdine on her way home from the dance the previous evening. ‘So if anyone tells you they found a nurse’s coat – it had a name tag an’ all, with Nurse Peel written on it – perhaps you could tell us,’ she said hopefully, going over to the sink and fetching a damp cloth to wipe the jam from Christopher’s little face. ‘I dare say it’s gone for good – it were a real nice, expensive coat – but I thought I ought to make a push to gerrit it back for her. She’s goin’ to the scuffers herself, so you never know …’
Mrs Knight clucked sympathetically. ‘I’ll keep me eyes open,’ she said. ‘And I’ll ask Darky whether he knows anything about it; he were out last night an’ awful late comin’ home as well.’ She chuckled. ‘And he were in a nasty temper, muttering to hisself and shuttin’ the door a lot more noisily than usual. It ain’t like me laddo to have a drop too much, especially as I suspicioned he’d gone to the dance at the Daulby Hall, but something had put him out of sorts, that I
do
know.’ She crossed the kitchen and began to wash up the breakfast things.
Maggie seized a cloth and began to dry for her. ‘Thanks, Mrs Knight. I do hope Patty’s coat turns up. Mebbe, with everyone keepin’ an eye open, she’ll gerrit back.’
‘If it don’t turn up soon, I’ll tek meself along to Paddy’s market and see if there’s a navy gaberdine on one of the stalls,’ Mrs Knight remarked. ‘If a kid finds it – or someone dishonest – they’ll cut out the name tag and sell it to one of the stallholders, like as not. No one who ain’t a nurse is likely to want to wear it; the uniform’s too well known for that.’
Maggie thought this a good idea and said so, but Mrs Knight’s remarks had strengthened her suspicion that Darky had been in some way involved in Patty’s experience. The two of them had never been friends and now, Maggie thought dismally, it was even less likely that they could bury the hatchet, whatever that hatchet might be. By the time she reached Stanton’s Court, however, she was beginning to look forward to the day. After all, she reasoned, a bit of a spat between a man and a woman was no rare thing and often merely indicated that they were interested in one another; perhaps this would be the case with Patty and Mr Knight. It had certainly been so with her own mother and father. They had rarely quarrelled and were, she knew, deeply fond of one another, but that had not prevented unpleasantness when her father was in the money and able to take more drink than usual. Maggie was truly fond of her father but had long accepted that too much drink made him violent. Yet the violence passed as the effects of the drink ebbed away and he was always heartily sorry after he had hit out and hurt someone. Mr Knight, Maggie was sure, would be just the same. Perhaps he would apologise to Patty and things could get back to normal. Maggie, hurrying up the stairs to the ramshackle rooms in which she had been born and bred, hoped fervently that this would be so.
*
Patty had a hectic day trying to catch up and was extremely glad that Ellen would be joining her the following week. Despite her hurry, though, she went into the police station and enquired about her coat, unfortunately without success. It had not been handed in and the desk sergeant, displaying a jaundiced view of humanity, advised her to leave it a couple of days and then to try the stalls on Great Homer Street and Paddy’s market. ‘If it were a decent dark gaberdine, whoever found it will likely sell it on rather than keep it,’ he said. ‘You’ve looked where you thought you dropped it?’
Patty, who had visited St Anne Street earlier in the day, without success, nodded and assured the sergeant that she had retraced her route but had seen no sign of her precious coat. ‘I’ll take your advice, though, and try the second-hand clothes stalls, just as soon as I can spare the time,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much, Sergeant.’
When she finished work that evening, it was late and she was extremely tired, but when she reached home it was to find that the children had not yet returned. She had bought the makings of a salad from Stanley Rawsthorne’s on Scotland Road and now she set about hard-boiling some eggs to go with it. She and Maggie would eat the salad but little Merrell would be happy with what she called a ‘dippy egg’ and some bread and margarine cut into ‘soldier boy fingers’. Since this could not be prepared in advance, Patty was listening for the sound of Maggie dragging the pram up the stairs when a knock sounded on the outer door. Pushing back wisps of damp hair from her face, for the heat was building up in the kitchen, Patty went to the door, thinking that Maggie and Mrs Knight must have carried the pram, as they sometimes did when Merrell was asleep. However, when she opened the door, it was not Mrs Knight or Maggie who stood outside on the landing, but Darky Knight. For a moment, she looked up into his face, thoroughly startled, wondering what on earth he was doing there. But then he thrust something towards her and Patty’s gaze dropped to his hands. He was holding her gaberdine!
‘What on earth …
where
on earth …?’ Patty stammered, holding out her hands for her coat. ‘I thought I was never going to see it again! But – but you walked home when I did. How …? Oh, but I’m extremely grateful; buying a new one would have cost me a month’s wages.’
‘When I got home it were too hot to sleep,’ Darky said gruffly. ‘I got out of bed to get meself a drink of water and while I was fetching a mug I suddenly remembered you’d been carrying something over your arm when I first saw you – something you weren’t carrying when we left that alley. Well, it were awful hot and I fancied a walk so I just – just sort of strolled down to St Anne Street, keeping me eyes peeled. It were up that jigger, kicked into a corner of the wall. I thought you’d likely need it so I picked it up and brought it back.’