The Pearly Queen (32 page)

The man, looking amused, took a leather suitcase from the bottom of a wardrobe. ‘Here you are, you can have that as well,' he said, ‘it's been to Nice and back a few times.'

‘That's more sin,' said Mother Mary, and poked the suitcase with her new umbrella. ‘I don't know, wherever a Christian body turns, there's more sin. Perhaps you'd kindly pass me the clothes one at a time, it's all for the Lord.'

‘Frightful thought, that, the Lord wearing these things,' said the man. Mother Mary gave him a stern look. He grinned and began to unload the wardrobes.

Outside, a lady of haughty looks approached Mother Magda and the barrow. ‘Pardon me, my good woman, but you can't sell second-hand clothing here, nor stand your barrow there. Take it away at once.'

‘What a sauce,' said Mother Magda. ‘If I wasn't a lady, and a repentin' one, I'd 'ave something to say to you.'

‘No hawkers or pavement traders here, if you don't mind,' said the toffee-nosed lady.

‘'Ere, I'm not ‘awking or tradin', I'm 'elping to collect clothes for poor people,' said Mother Magda, ‘so don't give me none of them 'aughty looks or I'll belt yer one. Well, I would if I wasn't a Christian woman with charity and kindness in me bosom. 'Ere, you better 'ave one of our pamphlets.' She thrust one at the lady, who took it and read it.

‘Heavens, how stirring,' said the lady.

‘Yes, our minister's exaltifying,' said Mother Magda, who had picked that word up from Mother Althea. ‘'E's our guidin' light, an' doin' 'is good works for all of us.' She wondered how long Father Peter would be doing his special good works for her. She didn't feel that three or four times a week was much of an abundance of sinfulness, that it was getting to be too much of a good thing. It just made her feel terrible passionate.

‘I shall go to Bloomsbury and see him,' said the lady, overcome by the message of the pamphlet.

‘'E'll be pleased to see yer, I'm sure,' said Mother Magda.

Upstairs in the house, Mother Mary was setting about the man with her new umbrella. Of all the horrid impudence, he had put his arm around her waist and said something about one good turn deserving another. Then he'd kissed her, and on her mouth. Outraged, Mother Mary dealt whacks and blows.

‘Damn me, you're off your silly topknot—'

‘I'll give you good turn – take that – and that!'

‘You crazy old cow—'

‘Oh, what disgustin' impudence! Take that!' The umbrella whacked him over his head. ‘I'll have the law on you, an' the Lord's vengeance as well. I've a good mind not to take all these clothes – stand back, d'you 'ear?' The umbrella poked his navel. ‘Now you just carry that case down to the street, go on. Do a bit of penitence for your sinfulness or I'll give you a lot more of what you've just 'ad.'

The man, grinning, said, ‘Well, old girl, there's room for improvement, one kiss wasn't very much. A lot more could square things up, y'know.'

‘Well, of all the sauce! The Day of Judgement's waitin' for you, and the Devil! Take that!' But the umbrella missed for once. The man shouted with laughter.

‘You're first cousin to Aunt Agatha, the old bitch,' he said.

‘Oh, I never met more sinning than's in you,' said Mother Mary. ‘You just carry that case down, you 'ear?'

Laughing, he carried it down and with Mother Mary at his back, umbrella at the ready. He deposited it on the barrow and still laughing, went back into the house.

‘What's 'e laughin' about?' asked Mother Magda.

‘I'll give 'im laugh,' said Mother Mary. She went to the closed front door, pushed the flap of the letter-box open, then stooped and shouted through it. ‘Be sure the Lord witnessed your abomination!'

‘Oh, did 'e abominate yer, sister?' asked Mother Magda, imagination suddenly running riot.

‘I gave 'im something to remember it by,' declared Mother Mary.

‘No wonder you was up there a long time,' said Mother Magda. ‘Oh, yer poor woman, I was never done wicked by meself, me gentlemen was always nice to me.'

‘Now you 'ush about them sinful days of yours, sister, you're in Christian penitence now,' said Mother Mary, primly straightening her costume jacket.

‘Still, I was never abominated,' said Mother Magda, ‘me 'eart bleeds for yer, sister.'

‘'Ow kind,' said Mother Mary. It was all going over the top of her head, her head being what it was these days. ‘Never mind, 'is deeds will find 'im out, and I did get a big suitcase of lovely clothes from his passed-on aunt that's lately deceased, poor woman. Look.' She opened the lid of the large suitcase. It was packed with expensive clothes.

‘Oh, my,' breathed Mother Magda, ‘ain't they ravishin'? You can't 'elp sayin' get be'ind me, Satan. I mean, there's some women that wouldn't mind bein' done wicked by for 'alf this lot. Does it make yer feel better, sister? I mean, 'e was that dark and 'andsome, wasn't 'e?'

‘I'll give 'im dark and 'andsome next time I see 'im,' said Mother Mary. ‘Well, come along, sister, there's other nice-lookin' houses down 'ere.'

The two batty women pushed on, Mother Magda's imagination making her feel so terrible passionate that she silently groaned for help from above.

When the long day was over for the Repenters and they were gathered at dinner with their minister, the news that Mother Mary had been abominated while doing the Lord's work caused outcries of consternation. It was Mother Magda, of course, who spread the news.

‘Oh, dear.'

‘How dreadful.'

‘Poor, dear Mother Mary.'

‘Such brutality.'

‘But she carried on with 'er work so brave,' said Mother Magda.

‘Well, I gave the brute something chronic to think about,' said Mother Mary, ‘with me umbrella. 'E won't lay 'is wicked 'ands so ready on another woman.'

Mother Verity looked at her. Mother Mary seemed very self-satisfied. ‘Was it outrage at its dreadful worst, sister?' asked Mother Verity.

‘I never met a more dreadful sinner except the one that treated you so abominable, sister,' said Mother Mary.

‘Oh, dear,' sighed Mother Ruth.

‘First-class soundrel,' said Mother Joan, ‘needs hanging. Bear up, Mother Mary, the Lord will avenge you. He'll drop the blighter in the soup, mark my words.'

‘My child,' said Father Peter, ‘be very sure we all grieve for you.'

‘'Ow kind, Father,' said Mother Mary.

‘My blood's boilin',' said Father Luke. ‘I just wish I'd been there, I'd've 'ad the coppers on him quicker than the faithful can say the Lord's prayer.'

‘Oh, I gave 'im what for, Father Luke, I can tell you,' said Mother Mary.

‘My child,' said Father Peter, ‘perhaps I should hear confession from you this evening.'

‘Thank you, Father, I'd best unburden me soul,' said Mother Mary.

‘I'm troubled meself, Father,' said Mother Magda.

‘Yes, of course,' murmured Father Peter, a figure of looming compassion at the head of the table. ‘I will receive you after Mother Mary, sister.'

Mother Verity experienced her first doubts.

‘A kiss, my child?' said Father Peter gently.

‘Yes, the impudence, would you believe,' said Mother Mary, head reverently bent in the faint glow of light. ‘An' the sinfulness, which was worse, it makes you think Satan's got 'old of you. I couldn't 'ardly credit I was bein' taken advantage of when I was only there out of Christian charity, and 'im with a funeral only two days away.'

‘That was all, a kiss?'

‘Oh, I've got to confess 'is arm was around me waist as well. I wish I could also confess I turned the other cheek, like Mother Verity did those times, but I just didn't feel like it, I felt more like castin' 'im into the pit, Father.'

‘He did not – ah – interfere with your clothing?'

‘Pardon?' said Mother Mary, shocked but still in reverence to her confessor.

‘He did not attempt to – ah – lift your skirts?'

‘I'd like to see any man try that, I'd make 'im wish he'd never been born.'

‘Did you perhaps have forbidden thoughts while he was kissing you?'

‘'Ow can you ask such a thing, Father?'

‘Satan is always close to every one of us, my child, tempting us into sinful thoughts, even if we're strong enough to resist the deeds.'

‘Well, I kept 'im from gettin' close to me, Father, all I thought about was where was my umbrella, an' then I let the man 'ave it, I can tell you, and if I ever see 'im again I'll let 'im 'ave more of it.'

A hand touched her hair in gentle benediction. ‘You are absolved of the sin of losing your temper, my child.'

‘Thank you, Father, amen.'

Mother Magda's confession was lengthy. It was all about the sinful thoughts she had concerning how Mother Mary had been abominated and done wicked by, and how such thoughts had made her terrible passionate.

Father Peter absolved her of her thinking sinfulness, and dealt with her forbidden feelings in his usual willing way. He reassured her in respect of her doubts concerning whether or not she was receiving the necessary surfeit of sinfulness. It would simply take time, he said.

‘Oh, that's all right, then,' she said.

It was a bit quiet at Anerley without Sophy. It meant Jimmy was able to work without the young madam creeping up on him. Mr Thorpe, who looked like a ruddy-faced farmer, had some kind and instructional words for him now and again, but he wasn't dragged into any potty conversations with Sophy. The weather wasn't as hot as it had been, September was on the edge of August and bringing cool evenings. Ada teased him when he arrived each day, and he responded in kind over the customary cup of tea and slice of toast. Mr Hodges was gracious to him and paid him at the end of each day. Ada gave him his refreshments, he came up to the terrace for them, and had his habitual exchanges with the young maid. She usually retired back to the kitchen giggling or having hysterics.

‘I don't know why you're so good to me, Ada,' he said one afternoon, when he was enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

‘I don't, either,' said Ada, ‘you're a terror, you are. Bet your girl can't make you out.'

‘What girl?'

‘How many 'ave you got, then? Six?'

‘I'm savin' girls up till I've got decent money in me pocket,' said Jimmy. ‘Best thing, that is. Well, accordin' to how my dad has informed me. You've got to be able to treat girls, he said. If you can't, best to lay off till you can. Girls are made to be treated, Ada.'

‘Why?' asked Ada, thinking him full of young manliness with his tanned face and sunburned arms.

‘Because girls are nice,' said Jimmy. ‘My sister Patsy's nice, so's my other sister, Betsy. So are you. Mind, I don't want to pay you compliments, I don't want Percy to come and break me leg.'

‘Leave off about Percy,' said Ada. ‘I suppose you'd like to take the young madam out an' treat her, would you?'

‘Sophy? What, at her age? Her dad would chuck me in the pond. Besides, I wouldn't take a rich girl out. Be daft.'

‘I bet you know some pretty girls,' said Ada.

‘I know one,' said Jimmy.

‘Who?'

‘Ta for the cake an' tea, Ada. I'd best get back to work now.'

‘Oh, come on, who is she?' asked Ada.

‘She's engraved on me heart,' said Jimmy.

‘Jimmy, you're so dotty you're makin' me jump up an' down.'

‘Well, don't fall over,' said Jimmy, and went back to his work.

Uncle Harold had given his charming niece all kinds of bushy-browed looks, but after talking to a clerk in the appropriate department, had come up with the address of Will Fletcher, now employed in the firm's Spitalfields warehouse. Mother Verity thanked him.

‘What's it really all about, Celia?' he asked.

‘Goodwill towards the deserving, Uncle Harold.'

‘Damned if I like the sound of that,' said Uncle Harold.

Mother Verity smiled and left.

Now she was in Underwood Road, Bethnal Green, and it was twenty-five to four in the afternoon. She walked to the corner, reaching Vallance Road, and waited there, occasionally glancing at a house in Underwood Road, number fourteen. Children under school age were playing around the doorsteps of other houses. The neighbourhood was a visible improvement on Christian Street, Whitechapel. The houses were better. Doorsteps looked cleaner. There was more pride here.

At four o'clock, a nearby school began to disgorge noisy boys and girls. Mother Verity heard them. One could always hear children in school playgrounds or coming out of school. She stayed where she was, waiting.

Lulu appeared. She was wearing a brown tam-o'-shanter, a new pinafore frock and shining little boots. She was with another girl, and they were both giggling. They stopped in Underwood Road, outside number fourteen, talking and giggling. Then the other girl went on, and Lulu turned into number fourteen, pulled a latchcord and entered the house. The door closed.

Mother Verity, satisfied, turned and left.

Lulu would now be waiting for Will Fletcher to come home.

Aunt Edie arrived again at the weekend. She gave Betsy and Patsy hugs and kisses, and quickly got to work on Friday evening's supper. When Dad and Jimmy came home, she announced over supper that she was going out later.

‘Good for you,' said Dad.

‘Joe Gosling is callin' for me,' she said.

‘Oh?' said Dad.

‘Yes,' said Aunt Edie. Dad gave her a look. She returned it. Dad suspected then that she was letting him know that if she took up with Joe Gosling, neighbours wouldn't talk about her in dubious terms. ‘I'm 'aving the pleasure of bein' taken to the Camberwell Palace music 'all.'