Old Father Thames

by Sally Spencer

Genres: Siblings; Sagas; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

A nostalgic East End saga of the Clarke family and their new neighbours, the Taylors, who featured in Salt of the Earth and Up Our Street. Sam Clarke and his wife Lil are a devoted couple - despite the odd argument that so often stems from Sam's quick sense of humour. But they are always united in their determination to take on whatever life throws at them. And there are certainly problems to cope with: such as their son, Eddie, interested only in those newfangled automobiles; their vague, other-wordly daughter Peggy, who desperately wants to buy a goat and will even break the law to raise the money. But it is their elder daughter, Annie, they worry about most, as she seems to be on the brink of making the wrong choice in love ...

Release date: July 26, 2012

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 416

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

As the cart containing all his wordly possessions trundled slowly down Lant Street, George Taylor caught himself assessing his surroundings as if he were still leading a patrol through hostile territory.

It was a habit he’d have to learn to break, he thought, because he wasn’t a sergeant in the 21st Lancers any more – and the ability to smell out a Burmese bandit a mile away was not a quality much valued in timber yard managers.

He looked around him once more, this time trying to see things from a civilian’s point of view. On the right-hand side of the street were two small factories. The sign on the first announced that it was a cork manufactory, while the other was a patent leather works. Further up, on the opposite side, was a tall, forbidding building which made him shudder just to look at it – and so could only have been the local board school.

George’s wife Colleen, sitting between him and the carman they had hired at London Bridge Station, glanced nervously up at her husband. She seemed to find some reassurance in his face, and that was not surprising, because it was a strong face with its solid jaw, almost square nose and large, alert brown eyes.

‘How are you bearin’ up, luv?’ George asked, sensing his wife’s concern and turning to look at her.

‘I’m still reelin’ from the shock a bit,’ Colleen confessed. ‘It’s not a bit like Marston, is it?’

‘No,’ George admitted. ‘It isn’t.’

The small salt-mining village they’d both been brought up in bore no resemblance at all to this street, which was only one of the thousands of roads which made up the capital city of the largest empire the world had ever known. A quiet canal ran through Marston, while not more than a few hundred yards away from Lant Street flowed the mighty River Thames – the throbbing, teeming heart of London – where day and night vessels from the four corners of the earth arrived, weighed down with exotic Eastern spices and humble Dutch eggs, casks of sherry from Spain and chests of tea from India.

‘An’ I’ll soon have me own part to play in the life of the river,’ George reflected.

Because, from the following morning, it would be his job to see that the cargoes of Baltic pine and African hardwood which arrived at Hibernia Wharf were properly invoiced, stored and dispatched.

‘I mean, it’s different for you,’ Colleen continued worriedly. ‘When you were servin’ in the army, you travelled all over the world, didn’t you? But look at me! The farthest I’ve ever been in me whole life is Manchester.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ George promised, patting her hand and smiling encouragingly.

Colleen smiled back at him. No one but George would have thought to call her a pretty woman – her nose was far too large and awkward for such praise. Yet she had kind, green eyes and soft brown hair – and when she smiled, she was – for one brief instant – truly beautiful.

They passed St. Michael’s Church and soon were crossing Southwark Bridge Road. A few families, dressed in their Sunday best, were out walking, and a small crowd had gathered at the street corner around the Italian organ-grinder and his monkey. Other than that, the road was deserted.

‘What’s that?’ George asked the carman, indicating a building just beyond the corner which was even more imposing than the school on Lant Street.

‘It’s the Fire Brigade ’eadquarters,’ the carman said. ‘It’ll be really ’andy for yer if yer ’ouse ever goes up in flames, won’t it?’

George felt his wife stiffen and wished the carman would keep his thoughts to himself. Colleen was already worried enough about living in London without having the spectre of being burned out of their home presented to her.

The cart turned into Lant Place, which wasn’t a square, as Colleen had expected, but a long narrow street lined with terraced houses. Some of the houses had bright curtains at the windows, freshly painted doors and little gardens in the three feet or so of land which separated them from the pavement. Others showed signs of neglect – curtains were faded and dirty, the paint cracked and peeling, the gardens nothing more than a patch of hard-packed earth.

‘There’s the place I’ve rented for us,’ George said.

Colleen’s eyes followed his pointing finger. The first thing she noticed was that there was a neat garden in front of the house, with a rockery made of bright stones and shiny sea-shells. Next she turned her attention to the downstairs window, which positively gleamed in the pale afternoon sun. Yes, she decided, she liked the house – it already had a nice feel about it.

And then she saw the curtain move!

‘It looks to me like there’s somebody still livin’ in it, George,’ she said.

‘Somebody still livin’ in it?’ her husband repeated. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because front room curtains don’t move on their own,’ Colleen told him. ‘There’s somebody in that parlour right now – an’ they’re watchin’ us.’

George, once more the sergeant on patrol, subjected the window to one of his quick, searching glances.

‘You’re imaginin’ things,’ he told his wife.

‘I am not imaginin’ things,’ Colleen replied firmly. ‘Look – it’s ’appenin’ again.’

‘Oh, I see what you’re on about,’ George said as the penny dropped. ‘You’re lookin’ at Number Thirty-four, aren’t you? It’s Number Thirty-six I’ve rented for us.’

Colleen looked at the houses on each side of the twitching curtains. The one on the left was not too bad, but the one on the right had the worst paintwork in the street and a garden in which the only things which appeared to be growing were broken bottles and an old, rusting pram.

‘Would Number Thirty-six be one up or one down from Number Thirty-four?’ Colleen asked apprehensively.

‘One up,’ George replied, confirming her worst fears.

‘Oh Lord – you might’ve warned me!’ Colleen gasped before she could help herself.

‘Warned you? Warned you about what?’

‘That it was such a dump.’

‘It only looks a dump,’ George assured her. ‘The buildin’ itself is sound enough. All it needs is a bit of decoratin’, and it’ll be just as smart as Number Thirty-four.’

‘You men!’ Colleen said with mild disgust. ‘You all think nice homes just happen, don’t you?’

Before George had time to answer, they had reached Number Thirty-six and the carman was reining his horse to a halt.

‘’Ere we are then,’ he said cheerfully.

There they were indeed, Colleen thought. And close to, the house looked even worse than it had from a distance.

George twisted round to get off the cart.

‘Need an ’and, guv?’ the carman asked, glancing down involuntarily at his passenger’s wooden leg.

‘No thanks, I can manage,’ George replied.

There’d been a time, just after he’d lost the leg, when he’d resented any offer of assistance, but he’d long since got over that, and now it merely amused him to show people just how well he could cope without help.

Letting his powerful arms take most of the strain, George lowered himself to the ground, reached for his crutch, and then held out his hand to his wife. Once both Colleen’s feet were safely on the pavement, he led her through the rickety gate to the front door of Number Thirty-six.

‘I suppose I should carry you over the threshold,’ he said with a grin, ‘but I can’t quite manage that.’

‘I don’t think I’d want to be carried over the threshold of this place,’ Colleen said. ‘I’m not at all sure the floorboards would stand all that weight on one spot.’

George’s grin melted away, and Colleen felt awful. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said.

‘It’s not like you to set yourself against somethin’ right from the start,’ George told her. ‘You’re usually the one who’s determined to make the best of things.’

Colleen shrugged helplessly. ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not just the house.’

‘Then what . . .?’

Colleen glanced over her shoulder to see if the carman was still in earshot. ‘It’s the people, an’ all,’ she confessed.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, they all seem so . . . I don’t know . . . noisy an’ pushy. Look at the way they were all rushin’ round that railway station. I’m not used to it, George. I mean, nobody rushes in Marston, do they? There’d be no point.’

She was right, of course, George thought. Life was much less frantic back in the village. And it was going to be hard for her – being uprooted from the place she’d known all her life and transplanted in the middle of this strange tribe of people who went by the name of cockneys.

‘If you’re havin’ second thoughts . . .’ he began.

Colleen shook her head firmly.

‘No,’ she said. ‘We talked it over, an’ we both decided this job was too good for you to turn down. So now I’m willin’ to stick it out – whatever it takes.’

‘It won’t be half as bad as you seem to think,’ George told her. ‘I served with any number of cockneys in the army, an’ they weren’t a bad lot taken all in all. I’m sure you’ll like ’em once you’ve got used to ’em.’

Colleen looked dubiously at the house with the twitching curtain and thought of her mam and her best friend Becky – George’s sister – whom she’d left behind her in Cheshire.

‘I’ll be all right as long as we’ve got good neighbours,’ she said decisively. ‘Good neighbours can get you through any thin’.’

In the front parlour of Number Thirty-four, Lil Clarke peeped from behind the curtain out onto the street.

‘They’re ’ere,’ she said.

‘Who’s ’ere?’ asked her husband Sam, though he knew full well who she meant, and was only teasing her.

‘The new neighbours,’ Lil said. ‘The ones that are takin’ over the Bentleys’ ’ouse.’

‘Oh, ’ave the Bentleys moved?’ Sam said.

Lil shrugged her shoulders irritatedly. ‘Have they moved!’ she repeated. ‘Well, if they ’aven’t, why did you spend ’alf of last Sunday ’elpin’ Ned Bentley to load his stuff on that wagon?’

Sam grinned. ‘You’re right, I did do that,’ he admitted. ‘It must ’ave slipped me memory some’ow.’

Under normal circumstances, Lil would have turned round and given her husband a piece of her mind for poking fun at her like that, but at the moment she was far too interested in watching what was going on in the street.

‘What are they like, Mum?’ asked Annie, who was seventeen and worked in Stevenson’s match factory.

‘Well, they look very respectable,’ said Lil, paying the new arrivals her highest compliment. ‘Only . . . he’s got a wooden leg.’

The Clarkes’ son Eddie who, at fourteen, was old enough to have left school but not yet big enough to work on the docks like his dad, got up and rushed to join his mother at the window.

‘It only goes up to just below ’is knee,’ he said disappointedly as he peered out at George. ‘It’s ’ardly worth callin’ a wooden bacon an’ egg at all.’

‘You try walkin’ round on one of them, an’ you’d soon wish you had yer real leg back,’ Sam told him.

‘An’ look at ’er,’ Eddie said. ‘Cor, she ain’t ’alf got a conk on ’er, ain’t she?’

Lil clipped her son lightly on the ear. ‘We don’t make comments like that in this ’ouse,’ she said. ‘It’s not the looks of anybody that matter – it’s what people are like inside that counts.’

‘But I’ll ’ave to admit, she’s got a nice shape on ’er,’ Eddie continued.

His mother clipped him again – a little harder this time.

‘An’ we don’t make comments like that, either,’ she said. ‘At least, you don’t – not at your age.’

Peggy, the Clarkes’ younger daughter, drifted in dreamily from the back yard. ‘I think me rabbit’s goin’ to ’ave babies,’ she announced to the world in general.

‘How can she be?’ asked Lil, still gazing out of the window. ‘You can’t ’ave babies until . . . well, until you’re properly married.’

‘Maggie Ross did,’ Eddie chirped up, ducking to avoid a third assault on his ear.

‘Anyway, my rabbit is married,’ Peggy said shyly. ‘Or she’s got a bloke of ’er own, anyway.’

‘An’ what do you mean by that?’ her mother wanted to know.

‘Ossie Wallis ’as got a rabbit,’ Peggy said. ‘An’ it’s a boy because . . . well, you can tell it is. Anyway, a couple of weeks back, Ossie brought ’is rabbit round an’ we put ’im in the same cage as Beauty for an hour. So I think ’e must have done ’is stuff.’

‘Done ’is stuff,’ her mother repeated disgustedly. ‘I don’t know where you kids get it from, honest I don’t. The old Queen’s ’ardly cold in ’er grave, and ’ere you are talkin’ about rabbits doin’ their stuff. It’d never ’ave happened when me an’ yer dad were children. Would it, Sam?’

‘Not if you say it wouldn’t ’ave, me old darlin’,’ her husband replied good-naturedly.

‘They don’t ’ave much furniture,’ Lil said, leaving the subject of rabbits behind her and returning to the drama outside. ‘Just a chest of drawers an’ a Welsh dresser. Still, I don’t s’ppose they need a lot, what with their ’ouse bein’ already furnished.’

It was a considerable source of pride to Lil that the furniture in Number Thirty-four was all their own. ‘Or, at any rate, it will be our own when we’ve finished makin’ the payments,’ she’d say to her husband after each and every one of the tallyman’s weekly visits.

‘When we’ve finished makin’ the payments!’ Sam would think to himself. ‘Me grandkids won’t live long enough to see the end of the payments on this lot.’ But though he thought it, he was wise enough never to say it out loud.

‘Ain’t you goin’ to ask the new people in for a cup of rosie, Mum?’ Annie asked.

‘Course I am,’ Lil replied. ‘It’s only right an’ proper that they should get a good first impression of the street. But before I do that, yer dad’ll probably want to go round there and give ’em an ’and shiftin’ their belongin’s in.’

Sam sighed theatrically and rose to his feet.

‘I was wonderin’ ’ow long it would take you to get round to that idea,’ he said.

The house wasn’t too bad after all, Colleen decided as she stood in the back yard and looked around her. The front door opened onto a passageway, with doors leading off to the front parlour and the room which must have been the kitchen until someone had built an extension in the yard. Now the kitchen was in the extension, and so was the washhouse. Add to that the two bedrooms upstairs, and they should have plenty of space.

‘A lot of the families in the street have lodgers livin’ in their upstairs rooms,’ George had told her when he’d returned to Cheshire after renting the house.

‘And will we need to do that?’ Colleen had asked.

‘No. I’ll be earnin’ thirty-five bob a week at the wood yard, and we should be able to manage very comfortably on that without havin’ to put up with strangers in our home,’ George had said, with just a hint of pride in his voice.

No strangers in their home. No grown-up strangers – and perhaps no tiny ones, either.

A frown crossed Colleen’s face as she remembered the final thing her father-in-law had said to her just before she’d left Marston.

‘I’ve got some beautiful grandchildren,’ Ted Taylor told her as they stood by the cart which was to take her and George to the railway station.

‘You certainly have, Dad,’ Colleen agreed.

‘Beautiful grandchildren,’ Ted repeated. ‘An’ I love ’em all dearly – but they’re all me daughters’ kids, you see.’

‘I’m not sure I’m followin’ you.’

Ted shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

‘I know it sounds daft,’ he said, ‘but I’ve always had this yearnin’ to have grandkids with me own name. Well, there’s not much chance of our Jack ever settlin’ down. And as for our Phillip – I’m not sure I’d like to see him have any children by that flighty piece he’s married to.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘So that leaves you an’ George. Do you see what I’m gettin’ at?’

How could she not see what he was getting at?

‘Have some babies,’ he was telling her. ‘And have ’em soon – while I’m still young enough to enjoy ’em.’

As if she didn’t want to! As if it wasn’t her deepest desire to be a mother and to make George a proud father.

But it wasn’t as easy as that, was it? She and George had been married for over a year, and so far nothing had happened. Every time she was late with her monthly cycle she felt hope spring up – even though she had been irregular all her life – but then the discomfort would arrive and she would have to accept the fact that once again she’d failed.

‘Perhaps we’re not doin’ it right,’ she thought, gazing around the yard of her new home.

Yet that couldn’t be the case. True, she’d been a virgin on her wedding night, but from the gentle yet masterful way George had guided her through what was expected, it was obvious that she was far from being the first woman he’d ever slept with.

And if they weren’t doing it right, surely she wouldn’t enjoy it so much!

Maybe her real problem – the reason she was so edgy these days – had nothing to do with moving to this strange new place. Maybe her real problem was a deep-seated fear that she and George would never have kids – and that somehow it would all be her fault.

‘A penny for yer thoughts,’ said a voice which was so close that it made her jump.

Colleen whirled round, her heart beating furiously, to find herself looking straight at a stocky man who was standing just by the kitchen door.

‘Mrs Taylor?’ the man said, and when Colleen nodded he added, ‘Well, yer’d ’ave to be, wouldn’t yer? My name’s Sam Clarke. I’m yer next-door neighbour. Yer ’usband said it’d be all right for me to come through an’ make meself known. I never meant to scare you.’

‘You didn’t, really,’ Colleen lied. She held out her hand to him. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Clarke,’ she said.

Sam took her hand in his and gave it a gentle shake. He was about forty-two or forty-three, she guessed, with thick black hair, just turning grey, and the sort of sparkling dark eyes which suggested a wry sense of humour. Though first appearances could sometimes be deceptive, Colleen thought that she was really going to get on with Sam Clarke.

‘Anyway,’ Sam continued, ‘I’m just about to give yer ’usband an’ the carman a hand with shiftin’ yer stuff, an’ my missis was wonderin’ if you’d like to nip next door for a cup o’ rosie?’

‘A cup of rosie?’ Colleen asked, totally mystified.

Sam grinned. ‘Rosie Lea,’ he said. ‘Tea.’

‘I’m afraid you’re not making much . . .’ Colleen began.

‘Cockney rhymin’ slang,’ Sam explained. ‘If yer goin’ to live round ’ere, you’ll ’ave to learn to speak like the natives do, won’t yer?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Colleen told him. ‘Is it easy?’

‘I should cocoa,’ Sam replied. ‘A woman like you, with a good crust on her shoulders, should soon be rabbiting to my old Dutch like you was born under Bow Bells.’

A worried look crossed Colleen’s face, but it was soon replaced by a smile. ‘You’re makin’ fun of me, aren’t you, Mr Clarke? she asked.

‘Course I am, me old china,’ Sam agreed. ‘Now if you’d like to pick up yer plates, yer’d be very welcome next door.’

‘For a nice of cup of rosie,’ Colleen said.

‘That’s right,’ Sam agreed.

The Goldsmiths’ Arms stood at the corner of Lant Place and Southwark Bridge Road, right in the shadow of the fire station. It was a good boozer, George decided as he and Sam stepped through the door of the public bar – simple but not scruffy. It reminded him a bit of the pub his father-in-law, Paddy O’Leary, ran.

The two men walked up to the bar.

‘Two pints ’o best, darlin’,’ Sam called out to the dumpy little barmaid. Then he turned to George and said, ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s never trust a woman – specially if you ’appen to be married to ’er.’

George saw the twinkle in the other man’s eyes, and grinned.

‘How d’you mean?’ he asked.

‘Take what my old Dutch said just before we come out,’ Sam answered. ‘What was ’er exact words?’ He screwed up his face in concentration. ‘“Yer’ve worked ’ard unloadin’ that furniture”,’ he continued in a fair imitation of Lil. ‘“Why don’t yer take yerselves off for a drink?” That was it, wasn’t it?’

‘More or less,’ George agreed.

‘Now a bloke like you, who hasn’t been married that long, might just take it at face value.’ Sam said. ‘But us old ’ands know better. We can see what’s lyin’ be’ind all this sudden kindness and concern.’

‘An’ what is lyin’ behind it?’ George asked, the grin on his face broadening.

‘What she really meant was, “I want to ’ave a decent chin wag with Missis Taylor, an’ I can’t do that with you two blokes clutterin’ up me parlour”,’ Sam explained. He shook his head in frank admiration. ‘I tell yer, when it comes to bein’ crafty, women are ’alf way round the track before we’ve even come out of the startin’ gate.’

The dumpy barmaid brought the drinks over to them. ‘That’ll be fourpence, gents,’ she said.

George was just reaching into his pocket when the other man put a restraining hand on his arm.

‘Leave yer money where it is,’ Sam said. ‘It’s yer first time ’ere, so it’s my treat.’ He slid some coins across the counter to the barmaid, then glanced down at George’s wooden leg. ‘Did yer lose that in the army?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ George said.

‘A big battle, was it?’

‘Omdurman. I was in the Lancers.’

Sam whistled softly. ‘So you was in that cavalry charge, was you? That must have been bleedin’ awful.’

‘It was no picnic,’ George admitted.

‘I was in the army meself,’ Sam said. ‘I was with Wolseley when ’e marched to Khartoum to try an’ save Gordon.’

‘It was that campaign that made me join up in the first place,’ George said, remembering how avidly he had followed the details of it in the newspapers.

‘Was it now,’ Sam said. ‘Well, there’s a coincidence. What rank was you?’

‘Sergeant,’ George told him.

‘The backbone of the army, yer sergeants,’ Sam said.

‘An’ you?’ George asked.

‘Corporal,’ Sam replied.

‘Us sergeants’d never have been able to do our job properly without you,’ George said.

‘D’you want me to fill ’em up, gents?’ the barmaid asked.

George looked down at his pot and was surprised to find it was already empty. ‘Yes, fill ’em up,’ he said. ‘Only this time, I’m payin’.’

‘Fair enough,’ Sam agreed.

As George sorted through his change, he thought how lucky he’d been to find a mate so soon. He could only hope that Colleen was getting on as well with Mrs Clarke.

A three-piece suite in imitation velvet dominated the Clarkes’ front room, but there were several other pieces of furniture which had also staked a claim to their own territory. There was a sideboard in walnut veneer against one wall, and a heavy circular table in ebony, on which sat a vase of china tulips, against another. To the left of the fireplace stood a large and elaborately carved display case, while to the right was a nest of mahogany coffee tables. A grandfather clock gazed sternly from the corner and chimed on the hour in furious competition with the cuckoo clock which hung over the mantelpiece.

‘If she tries to cram any thin’ more in here, there’ll be no room for the people,’ Colleen thought to herself.

She looked around, from Lil and Annie – who were sitting in the armchairs – to Eddie, slouching at the other end of the couch, and Peggy, who was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Yes, a couple more people in there and it would be a real squeeze.

Yet for all that it was so overdone, the parlour was a cheerful, friendly room, perhaps because it had obviously been furnished with love and care.

‘More tea, Mrs Taylor?’ Lil Clarke asked solicitously, pointing to one of her best china cups which Colleen was balancing delicately on her lap.

‘You’ve only just poured me this one,’ Colleen replied.

‘’Ow about another fancy, then?’ Lil said, reaching towards the cake-stand which was resting on yet another occasional table. ‘They’re made with real cream, yer know.’

Colleen held up her free hand in protest. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing. I’m full to burstin’,’ she said, and then added silently to herself, ‘a bit like this room.’

Still, she couldn’t help liking Lil Clarke. She was about the same age as her husband, Colleen guessed, and though she had started to fade a bit now, she must have been a very pretty woman when she was younger.

Annie, her eldest daughter, seemed to have inherited Lil’s looks. Her hair was a deep, rich brown with a natural springiness which most women would envy. Her green eyes were intelligent and lively. And there’d been a time – before George had convinced her that he loved her as she was – when Colleen would have signed away her soul for a slim, delicate nose like this girl had.

‘So yer ’usband’s goin’ to be managin’ ’Ibbert’s wood yard, is he?’ Lil asked.

‘However did you know that?’ Colleen asked, so surprised that she almost dropped Lil’s precious cup.

Annie laughed.

‘Mum ain’t nosey, yer understand,’ she said with an impish look in her eye. ‘It’s just that she ’ears things – even when she don’t really want to.’

‘Yer cheeky young devil,’ Lil said – though she didn’t clip Annie’s ear as she would have clipped Eddie’s if he’d been the one who’d made the comment.

‘But how did you find out?’ asked Colleen, intrigued to hear the full story.

Lil looked embarrassed.

‘Well, I’m a great friend of Mrs Todd’s, yer see,’ she said, as if that were all the explanation that was necessary.

‘Yes?’ Colleen said, still mystified.

‘Well, ’er ’usband’s the milkman,’ Lil continued, ‘an’ he used to deliver a pint of milk every day to Mr Baker, the boss of ’Ibbert’s. Very particular, Mr Baker was, wouldn’t use condensed milk in ’is tea like some of the other blokes – it ’ad to be fresh.’

‘I see,’ Colleen said.

‘Well, I don’t, said Eddie, whose wild hair and restless energy made him remind Colleen a bit of George’s brother Jack.

‘Mrs Todd ’appened to mention to me that ’er husband ’ad told ’er that Mr Baker ’ad cancelled ’is pint,’ Lil explained. ‘So, o’ course, I knew he must be movin’.’

‘O’ course,’ Annie said, winking at Colleen. ‘But yer still ’aven’t explained ’ow yer got from that to knowin’ that Mrs Taylor’s ’usband was takin’ over from ’im.’

‘Well, I knew for a fact that the landlord would put up the rent on next door when the Bentleys’ left,’ Lil continued.

‘And . . .?’ Annie pressed her.

‘An’ the rent collector just ’appened to mention to me that ’e’d had a number of inquiries about whether the new people would be takin’ lodgers, and ’e’d ’ad to tell ’em no,’ Lil said triumphantly.

‘So?’ Annie said.

‘So, ain’t it obvious?’ Lil demanded. ‘I knew that the new people movin’ into Number Thirty-six ’ad enough money to pay a big rent on their own, which ’ad to mean the ’usband ’ad a good job, didn’t it? An’ the only good job goin’ spare round ’ere is boss of ’Ibbert’s timber yard.’

Colleen’s mouth fell open in astonishment. She’d known a few gossips in her time – Not-Stopping Bracegirdle back in Marston, to name but one – but Lil Clarke was above the run of ordinary gossips; she was the Sherlock Holmes of Lant Place and the surrounding district.

Seeing the expression on Colleen’s face, Annie Clarke laughed out loud.

‘Mum’s always addin’ two an’ two together,’ she said, ‘an’ the really amazin’ thing is that most of the time she manages to come up with four.’

Peggy, who had not said a word all the time the guest had been in the parlour – hadn’t, in fact, even seemed to notice what was going on – now turned to Colleen and said, ‘Have you ever ’ad a pet goat of yer own?’

‘A goat?’ Colleen replied. ‘Whatever made you ask me a thing like that?’

‘Just wonderin’,’ Peggy said vaguely.

She was a strange little girl, Colleen thought. She was much fairer and paler than her sister Annie. And whereas Annie had the look of a young woman prepared to take on life with determined good humour, Peggy’s expression was wistful and other-worldly. It was almost as if she didn’t belong in the East End at all, but would have been happier being a character in a children’s story book. The good fairy, perhaps. Or maybe Little Bo Peep.

‘Did yer ’ave a goat?’ Peggy asked.

‘No,’ Colleen admitted. ‘But I did have a big tabby cat once. Is that any good?’

Peggy smiled at her, to show she’d appreciated the fact that Colleen had been trying to be helpful, then slowly shook her head.

‘Don’t go worryin’ yerself over Peggy,’ Lil said, noticing the look of mild concern creeping onto Colleen’s face. ‘She’s all right in the ’ead, really she is. She’s