The Pearly Queen (11 page)

Aunt Edie had got through her well-planned day without any headaches. She had laid successful siege to a mountain of ironing, cooked and served a supper of sausages and mash, which Dad called zeppelins in a cloud, and given Patsy and Betsy the kind of attention that made them warm very much to her. Betsy said she was glad she wasn't going to have to do the greens at weekends.

The evening became relaxing for everyone, for they all played Banker around the kitchen table, staking their hands with peanuts roasted in their shells. Aunt Edie had bought a whole bag of them. Patsy had acquired the bank and was doing well. A large heap of peanuts belonged to her at this moment, and her natural liveliness was well to the fore. She had been cutting the pack and consistently coming up with picture cards.

‘I'm nearly broke,' said Aunt Edie, as Patsy dealt a new round. ‘I'm down to four nuts.' She looked at her card, a ten. ‘Win or bust,' she said, and put all four nuts beside the card.

‘I'm more broker than you, Aunt Edie,' said Betsy. ‘I only got two left. I fink Patsy's cheatin' a bit, don't you, Dad?'

‘It's a bit suspicious, me pickle, all the kings and queens she keeps cuttin',' said Dad, and backed an eight with three nuts.

Betsy gave a wail as she looked at her card, a mingy three. ‘I'm only puttin' one nut on that,' she said. ‘I got to keep the other one.'

Jimmy backed a jack with six nuts. ‘Oh, cocky, are we?' said Patsy, and cut the pack. Her luck ran out. She showed a four. ‘Blow that,' she said, and Betsy wailed again. She was the only one who'd lost. She broke open her last peanut and ate the two kernels.

‘What's the rule?' asked Dad.

‘You can't eat any till the game's over,' said Patsy, paying out.

‘Well, I ate me last one in case I lost that too,' said Betsy.

‘Have some of mine,' said Dad, and gave her six from his heap.

‘Oh, yer awful good to me, Dad,' she said.

‘All right, give us a kiss, then,' said Dad, and Betsy, sitting next to him, gave him a moist smacker on his cheek.

After three more rounds, Aunt Edie was also bereft of nuts. ‘Have some of mine, Aunt Edie,' said Jimmy, and gave her six.

‘Well, ain't you a young gent, Jimmy?' she said.

‘All right, give us a kiss, then,' said Jimmy.

‘What?'

‘It's custom'ry,' said Jimmy.

‘That's news to me,' said Aunt Edie, ‘but I'd better be custom'ry, I suppose,' and she kissed Jimmy on his cheek. Betsy and Patsy looked on in delight. Aunt Edie was fun.

‘Mum 'ud have a fit, us gambling and kissin' and everything,' said Patsy.

‘What's everything?' asked Jimmy. ‘I think I might like some of that.'

‘That boy,' said Aunt Edie, and laughed.

Betsy and Patsy stared at her. Imagine Aunt Edie laughing like that, out loud, as if it didn't matter that Mum had gone religious. The girls smiled.

Later that evening, Aunt Edie said good night to Dad and went up to the bedroom she was to share with Betsy. She took a lighted candle in its holder with her, and placed it on the mahogany chest of drawers. She moved quietly about. Betsy was sound asleep, lying on her side, face cuddled into the pillow, hair loose and softly at rest. Aunt Edie looked down at her.

‘Bless you, sweet,' she whispered. ‘I'd like to have all three of you if that mum of yours goes and spends the rest of her life repentin'.'

The house in Bloomsbury was large and many-roomed. On the ground floor, two spacious rooms had been knocked into one to create a chapel of worship. It was actually described by the League as the Chapel of Penitence. It was very simple, its walls unadorned, its windows draped by medium grey velvet curtains, its floor uncarpeted, as was its dais, and only an oak crucifix hung on the wall at the back of the dais denoted its religious significance. Also on the ground floor were a dining-room, a kitchen, a scullery, an office, a room for quiet meditation and a small library.

On the first and second floors there was sleeping accommodation for twenty resident Repenters, with space for more if extra beds were required. Women who had given up their worldly goods and departed their homes to join the League of Repenters, were offered residence in the minister's house. Father Peter, who had his private quarters on the first floor, had a compassionate understanding of the needs of women. Male members of the League were expected to stand on their own feet, except for Father Luke, whose circumstances were beggarly and who had, accordingly, been given residence. The house itself, as a plate on its front door disclosed, was known as the Temple of Endeavour. Father Peter felt that that embraced all things relating to the purpose of the League.

It had been a trying day for God's servants, but at least Father Peter had made good the money four of his followers had lost to pickpockets. Except for himself, all residents, fifteen in number, had retired. He came from the chapel into the hall carrying a candle lantern, and made his way up the staircase, his tread measured and stately. In the corridor of the first floor he knocked on a bedroom door.

‘Enter,' called a woman.

He opened the door, but did not enter. He stood there, the lantern's pale flame casting light and shadow over his gaunt face. The room was in darkness, and two lady Repenters lay abed.

‘Good night, my sisters,' he intoned, ‘and may the blessing of God be upon you.'

‘Good night, Father Peter,' they both murmured.

He withdrew, closing the door gently. He went the rounds of other bedrooms, to bestow his nightly blessing on the women residents. It pleased their Christian souls to have the minister in such religious care of them.

He knocked on one more door and opened it. ‘Oh, Father Peter – oh, my goodness—' Mother Joan was in bed. Mother Mary was not. She was standing by the plain simple dressing-table in her corset, drawers and stockings, exposed to the minister's dark eyes in the light of a globed gas mantle.

‘Ah, my dear sister, a hundred pardons, so sorry . . . but bless you, bless you both . . . good night.' He disappeared and the door closed. Mother Mary stood burning.

‘Was that Father Peter?' asked Mother Joan, coming up to a sitting position in her bed.

‘Oh, lor' . . . oh, dear . . . I'm afraid so,' blushed Mother Mary. ‘Oh, I don't 'ardly know where to look now.'

‘Jumped the jolly old starter's flag, did he?' said Mother Joan. ‘Can't be helped, sister. He means well, his nightly blessings come from his heart, and he's a fine figurehead in our fight against that ghastly bounder Satan. Thought this afternoon that if anyone looked capable of invoking the Day of Judgement, he did. Awesome, I thought. Don't stand there like a dummy, sister, get your things off and get into bed. I'm exhausted. Great Scott, you're not blushing, are you? He was only there a couple of seconds. Just one of life's little happenings. Buck up now.'

‘Yes, sister . . . oh, lor',' breathed Mother Mary, ‘I never been more embarrassed in all me life.'

‘Think nothing of it,' said Mother Joan, ‘let me tell you what happened to Lady Carrington-Cummings, a friend of mine. I kept warning her, and so did my husband George, that her country house was going rotten for lack of repairs. Wouldn't listen. She was there one weekend, and taking a bath. The floor gave way under the bath, and it dropped straight through and landed in the main kitchen, with her still in it. Peach of a woman, too. Magnificent body. Damned lucky she wasn't hurt, but very unfortunate that all the servants were present. Her butler was never the same man. So there you are, sister, you've nothing to worry about by comparison. Turn the light out before you get into bed, it's been a long day on behalf of the Lord.'

‘Amen,' said Mother Mary, hoping she hadn't sinned by being caught in her private underwear. She turned the gas down until the revealing brightness of the mantle expired.

Aunt Edie was first down on Sunday morning. She went to work with the frying-pan. Dad showed his face.

‘Like some 'elp, Edie – hullo, what's that?'

‘Eggs and bacon for everyone,' said Aunt Edie.

‘Eggs and bacon?' said Dad.

‘My treat,' said Aunt Edie.

‘What a woman,' said Dad. Eggs and bacon for breakfast represented a real treat. ‘You're spoilin' us.'

‘Oh, go on with you,' said Aunt Edie, turning rashers. ‘'Ere, what's goin' on upstairs?'

‘Pillow fights,' said Dad. Upstairs at the moment was a battleground. Betsy was yelling, Patsy shrieking, Jimmy calling for help. ‘Patsy and Betsy are usin' pillows to knock Jimmy out of his bed.' A thump sounded. ‘That's it, he's out of bed.'

‘It's not what Maud would stand for,' said Aunt Edie.

‘By a fortunate coincidence, she don't 'appen to be here,' said Dad.

Betsy yelled down from the landing. ‘Dad, Dad! 'Elp! Jimmy's tryin' to chuck Patsy down the stairs!'

‘I'm on me way,' called Dad, and up to the landing he went, collecting a cushion from the parlour on the way.

Aunt Edie heard yelling, joyous sounds from Betsy and Patsy as their dad entered the fray. The cat was away, and all the mice were playing. Aunt Edie silently laughed. What a family, she thought. Just my kind of people.

Mother had a religious morning. After a simple breakfast, Father Peter conducted a service in the Chapel of Penitence. Thirteen lady residents were present, so was Father Luke, and so were some non-resident members of both sexes. Mother Joan was absent, having popped home to Berkshire to see about acquiring some blank cheques that could be put to good Samaritan use. A whole mountain of decent clothing was needed for the poor of Whitechapel, so was some decent food. All the same, as Father Peter said, even the neediest people must not have their sins condoned. The campaign in Whitechapel would continue. Whitechapel was to be the League's proving ground, their first real field of battle, and when that battle was won and Satan despatched, they would carry the fight to other fields with hard-won confidence. Father Peter intoned praises for Mothers Mary, Joan, Ruth and Verity, all of whom had participated in yesterday's brave endeavours.

‘Amen,' said Father Luke, ‘and didn't the Lord give me the privilege of bein' right be'ind them? But it grieved me to see Mother Verity in such sore travail and me not bein' able to lift even me little finger to 'elp her.'

‘I never saw no woman stand up braver to outrage,' declared Mother Mary. ‘I just wish I'd had me umbrella with me. If it's all the same to you, Father Peter, I'll take it to Whitechapel next time instead of a banner.'

From his Bible rostrum on the dais, Father Peter regarded her benevolently. Mother Mary coloured as she remembered how she had come to his eyes last night, in her underwear. Lord, could anything have been more intimately sinful? Jack had been a bit larky during their first years of marriage, but later, as a respectable wife and mother, she'd put a stop to it. It just wasn't decent.

‘Mother Mary, you may carry whatever you wish into battle,' said Father Peter.

‘Thank you, Father.'

‘I am in admiration of you,' said the minister.

Oh, lor', thought Mother Mary, I hope he don't mean the way I looked in me corset.

‘Praise her,' said Mother Verity.

‘Indeed,' boomed Father Peter. ‘Now let us prepare for the market. We will go in pairs and hand out the pamphlets that arrived yesterday from the printers. They contain the word of God and details of our intentions to do His work.'

‘Praise Him,' intoned the Repenters.

Petticoat Lane, in the east of the City of London, was a market into which hundreds of cockneys and other people poured on Sunday mornings. Almost any kind of curios, except stuffed elephants, were on offer. The secondhand clothes stalls were legendary, and one could fit oneself out like a king or queen if one didn't mind setting the lot off with a cardboard crown. It was always crowded and was more so these days, with the war over and people looking for the kind of antique that could turn out to be worth far more than the price a stallholder asked for it.

Mother Verity stood with her banner. Beside her was Mother Mary, with her umbrella. They both handed out pamphlets. The pamphlets introduced the reader to words of the Lord, and invited enrolment with the League of Repenters, whose religious objectives were set out. Warnings followed concerning the fate of all who sided with the Devil. The final sentence in bold capitals was an unmistakable warning:
BEHOLD
,
THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT IS AT HAND
!

Not all recipients of the pamphlets were too overcome to comment. ‘It's bleedin' barmy,' said a man in a choker to Mother Mary, ‘an' why ain't you at 'ome, lookin' after yer kids?'

‘The Lord's called me, that's why,' said Mother Mary, ‘and I wouldn't be surprised if 'E wasn't callin' you.'

‘An' what would 'E be callin' me for, if I might be so bold as to ask?'

‘To bring you to repentence.'

‘Me? What've I done?'

‘We're all sinners,' said Mother Mary.

‘Yes, an' some of us is orf our bleedin' 'eads as well,' said the cockney gent, and went on his way.

Mother Verity was spoken to by a lady who, having read the pamphlet, handed it back and said in a Belgravia accent, ‘Really, my good woman, I am as ready as you are to face the Day of Judgement.'

‘Oh, how happy I am for you,' said Mother Verity, ‘although as a weak and unworthy woman myself, I fear I shall be found wanting.'

‘Then I should avoid the Day of Judgement, if I were you,' said the lady.

‘Don't stand about, missus, you're in me way,' said a cockney woman.

‘You're mistaken, my good woman, it's these people who are standing about.'

‘So are you, an' you're the one that's in me way.'