A Place Called Home Read online

  ‘Demand to see Mr Daubenay in person,’ Eva whispered as Lucy was about to knock on the door of the elegant Georgian terraced house in Half Moon Street. ‘Don’t be fobbed off by a servant. You’ll do better without me, so I’ll keep out of the way but I’m here if you need me.’ She moved out of sight as a maid opened the door.

  ‘No hawkers or traders and no didicois.’ The girl was about to slam the door but Lucy leapt forward, leaning against it with all her might. There was a momentary trial of strength with both of them pushing, but Lucy had hunger and determination on her side and eventually the maid gave in. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I got something for Mr Daubenay and I must see him.’

  ‘He’s not at home.’

  Eva stepped out of the shadows. ‘Tell Mr Daubenay that we have something of vital importance to him.’

  The maid stared at Eva’s mourning clothes and her expression changed subtly. ‘I’ll go and see if he’s in.’ She closed the door.

  ‘She’ll be back,’ Eva said smugly when Lucy turned to her with an anguished look. ‘Our Mr Daubenay lives dangerously. He’s a gambler and a womaniser.’ She retreated as the door opened once again.

  ‘He’ll see you,’ the maid said haughtily. ‘Wipe your feet on the mat and follow me.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘And I got eyes in the back of my head, so don’t swipe nothing on the way.’

  Lucy obeyed her instructions without a word and followed her up two flights of carpeted stairs to a wide landing where bowls of potpourri filled the air with their delicate scent. The maid paused, squinting at her in a menacing fashion. ‘You’d better not be gulling me, nipper. I got six brothers and five sisters at home and I know when I’m being hoodwinked. This is a respectable rooming house, just bear that in mind.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lucy said primly.

  ‘Street urchins have no place in Half Moon Street. If you try anything on with Mr Daubenay it’ll be me what gets it in the neck for letting you in.’ She rapped on the door and Lucy heard a faint command to enter. The maid admitted her with a disdainful curl of her lips. ‘Remember what I said.’

  Lucy marched past her, holding her head high. She had been tempted to answer back, but she was hungry and there was money to be had. She came to a halt, momentarily forgetting her mission as she looked round. It was almost like stepping into her dream, except that the furniture was leather-covered and there was a more masculine feel to the room.

  Linus Daubenay stood with his back to a roaring fire. A portrait of him as a young man hung above the mantelshelf, but a life of excess and debauchery had left its mark, He was still handsome, but his face was pale and puffy and his brown eyes were bloodshot and underlined by dark smudges. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What do you want? Be quick, girl. I haven’t got all day.’

  Lucy bobbed a curtsey. ‘You dropped your wallet in Burlington Arcade, guv. I saw it fall but by the time I picked it up you’d gone. I tried to follow you but I got caught up in the crowds and you’d disappeared.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Give it to me.’ He snatched the wallet from her and opened it. ‘If I discover anything to be missing . . .’ His voice tailed off as he took out the slips of paper.

  Lucy waited nervously while he examined them. ‘There weren’t no money in it, guv. I had to look inside so that I could return it to the rightful owner.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, stretching his full lips into a smile. ‘There were just these scraps of paper – completely worthless. Thank you, girl.’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out a silver sixpence. ‘Take this for your trouble.’

  She shook her head. ‘I ain’t so green as I’m cabbage-looking, guv. I know what an IOU is, and they’re worth more than a tanner.’

  ‘Are you trying to extort money from me?’

  ‘Call it what you like, but I know what their value is to you.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Call it a shilling and think yourself lucky I don’t call a constable.’

  Lucy looked him in the eye. ‘I call that mean.’

  ‘Do I know you?’ He stared at her, frowning. ‘Your face is familiar.’

  ‘You knew my ma,’ Lucy said recklessly. ‘You might be me dad for all I know.’

  He recoiled as if she had slapped his face. ‘That’s a preposterous lie. Who put that idea in your head?’

  ‘She was a chorus girl and you was a masher. My granny told me so.’

  ‘I daresay she was no better than she should be. I am not your father and I never met your mother or the woman you call your granny, so take the shilling and be off, unless you want me to have you arrested for picking my pocket.’ He thrust the coin into her hand. ‘I suspect that you’re known to the police. You don’t want to be hauled before the magistrate, do you?’

  ‘My ma is called Christelle. You must remember her.’

  ‘What if I do?’ His casual tone belied the startled look in his eyes, but he recovered quickly. ‘The name sounds familiar, although I can’t recall her face any more than I can remember the other wantons who shared my bed. All of them were fully compensated for their favours.’

  She knew she had touched a nerve and she pressed home her advantage. ‘I’ll accept the shilling, but what me and Granny need is work. Honest work with a proper wage.’

  He stared at her open-mouthed and then he laughed. ‘You were trying to extort money from me a moment ago. Now you want me to employ you and your aged grandmother.’

  ‘Don’t let her hear you calling her old. She’s blacked a fishwife’s eye for less.’

  ‘Why should I help you? Give me a good reason for not turning you in and telling the police that you stole my wallet, which I suspect is the truth.’

  ‘I think you was a bit fond of my ma. Why else would you remember her name?’

  ‘Gentlemen don’t consort with chorus girls, at least not on a permanent basis. I’ve no interest in you or your mother, but you have nerve. I acknowledge that. What’s your name?’

  ‘Lucy Pocket.’

  ‘And where do you live, Lucy Pocket?’

  ‘Here and there, guv. At the moment we’re in Burr Street, near the Red Lion Brewery.’

  ‘And your mother,’ he said casually. ‘Do you know where she is at present?’

  ‘No, guv.’

  His eyebrows shot together in a frown. ‘Then I can’t help you.’ He took a half-crown from his pocket and tossed it at her. ‘That’s for your trouble. Now leave my house and don’t come back. I don’t want to see you again.’

  Lucy drew herself up to her full height. ‘The feeling’s mutual, guv.’ She left the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

  ‘What happened in there?’ Eva demanded anxiously. ‘I was about to knock on the door and demand to know what he’d done with you. I never should have allowed you to do this on your own.’ She flung her arms around Lucy and held her close.

  ‘I’m perfectly all right, Granny.’ Lucy extricated herself from her grandmother’s arms, and taking the coins from her pocket she placed them in Eva’s hand. ‘Three shillings and sixpence. It ain’t much for all the trouble we’ve gone to, but it’s better than nothing.’

  Eva tucked the money in the tops of her tightly laced stays. ‘Well done, love.’

  ‘He remembered Ma,’ Lucy said slowly. ‘I asked him if he was me dad, but he denied it.’

  ‘You’re a proper caution, Lucy Pocket.’ Eva trilled with laughter. ‘I’d have given anything to see his face.’

  ‘Let’s go home, Granny. I don’t feel comfortable here.’

  ‘We’re just as good as the likes of him,’ Eva said, linking arms. ‘We’ll treat ourselves to pie and mash and pretend we’re rich.’

  ‘The rent’s due today, Granny.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my duck. I’ll charm the rent collector. He’ll give us another week’s grace. You’ll see.’

  That night they slept huddled together in a shop doorway, which they had to share with a drunken
old woman who wheezed and twitched in her sleep, and a small white mongrel with brown ears and a brown patch over one eye. The animal snuggled up to Lucy and she had not the heart to turn it out into the cold, even though it was mangy and running with fleas.

  The rent collector had not been sympathetic. In fact he had demanded the back rent and refused to leave until Eva handed over the change from the money that Linus Daubenay had given Lucy. It was little enough and he had tried to snatch the silver locket that Eva always wore. It contained a lock of Christelle’s hair intertwined with one of Lucy’s baby curls, and Eva had resisted angrily. She had struck out with uncharacteristic violence and had chased the man along the landing, giving him a shove that sent him tumbling down the stairs. Lucy had held her breath, thinking he might have been killed, but the stream of invective which flowed from his lips indicated that he was alive, unhurt and extremely angry. Shortly afterwards the door of their room had been forced open by two burly men with cudgels, and they were not in the mood to be generous.

  Lucy slept fitfully, waking occasionally and shifting position on the cold hard tiles, and every time she moved the dog opened its eyes and wagged its stumpy tail. It was getting light when she was awakened by the animal licking her face, and at first she could not remember where she was, and then it came to her that they were in the doorway of a tobacconist’s shop in Upper East Smithfield. She shifted the old woman, who had collapsed against her shoulder and was unnaturally silent. The dog sniffed her and backed out into the street. Lucy touched the frail skin of the wrinkled cheek and felt it cold as ice. She gave her a gentle shake and the body collapsed into a heap. The person who had once lived and breathed now resembled nothing more than a pile of old clothes.

  Stifling a cry of distress Lucy struggled to her feet. ‘Granny, I think the old woman is dead.’

  Chapter Two

  EVA OPENED HER eyes and yawned. ‘What’s the matter?’ She looked round with the dazed expression of someone awakened from a deep sleep. Yawning, she stretched and pulled a face. ‘Time was when I could sleep on a bed of nails, but not now.’

  Lucy dragged her to her feet. ‘She’s dead, Granny. Stone cold dead.’

  Eva was suddenly alert. She leaned over, placing her hand in front of the old woman’s mouth and nose. ‘She’s not breathing and that’s a fact.’

  The dog whined and cringed, keeping close to Lucy. She bent down to pat its head. ‘What should we do? We can’t just abandon her here.’

  Wide awake now, Eva glanced up and down the street. The traffic at this early hour was light. Men and women ambled with their heads down towards the docks and the warehouses where they worked. ‘She’s beyond our help,’ Eva said, taking off the old woman’s bonnet. She held it up, examining it carefully.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lucy cried in horror. ‘You can’t steal a dead person’s things.’

  Eva gave her a direct look. ‘She’s departed this world but we’re alive, and I want us to stay that way. She’ll go to heaven or hell with or without her bonnet, but this will fetch a few pennies in the Rag Fair.’ She unwound the dead woman’s shawl. ‘It’s frayed and dirty but I’ll get a penny for it. Take a look at her boots, Lucy. They might fit you.’

  Lucy recoiled in horror. ‘I’d rather walk barefoot, Granny.’

  ‘Hold these.’ Eva thrust the bonnet and shawl into Lucy’s hands. She went down on her knees and unlaced the black boots. ‘They’ll do, but I’ll have to get them off quick before she stiffens up.’

  Lucy stood back, watching with a mixture of fascination and dismay. ‘What are you going to do with her things?’

  ‘Rosemary Lane is the place to unload this stuff. God alone knows why they renamed it Royal Mint Street, but to me it’s still Rosemary Lane. Anyway, that’s where we’ll sell these duds.’ She scrambled to her feet, tugging at the woman’s red flannel petticoat. ‘She won’t need this to keep her warm where she’s gone, and it’ll buy us some breakfast.’

  ‘This is all wrong, Granny,’ Lucy protested. ‘It’s stealing.’

  Eva snatched the bonnet and shawl from her and made a bundle of the clothes and boots. She straightened up, patting Lucy on the shoulder. ‘If we don’t make use of these things someone else will. Come along, don’t loiter or we’ll be spotted.’

  ‘You can’t just leave her here.’

  ‘Walk on, love. I just seen a couple of bobbies on the other side of the road. They’ll deal with the poor old soul. There ain’t nothing they ain’t seen, poor sods; they’re always fishing corpses out of the Thames and the like.’ She walked on briskly leaving Lucy no alternative but to follow her, with the dog ambling along at her side.

  Eva strode on towards Glasshouse Street and within minutes they had reached the Rag Fair. Lucy knew it well as most of the garments she was wearing had been bought from the stalls that lined the street. She caught up with her grandmother and clutched her arm. ‘What now?’

  ‘We find a space somewhere. Leave the selling to me and get rid of that smelly cur.’

  The dog looked up at Lucy with liquid brown eyes and a tentative wag of his tail. She gave it a reassuring smile, and a silent promise to share her food, if they managed to sell the soiled and shabby garments. Eva seemed to have no such worries and she held up the bonnet, calling out to passers-by to try it on for size. ‘A finer and cheaper article of clothing you’ll not get today. Threepence is all I’m asking for my dear mother’s bonnet.’

  A fat woman wearing a man’s coat and a leather apron fingered the material. ‘Is it silk?’

  ‘Only the best,’ Eva assured her.

  ‘Your ma wasn’t wearing it when she passed on, was she?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Eva said, frowning as if insulted by the question. ‘What d’you take me for, missis?’

  ‘Twopence,’ the woman said, producing two pennies with a flourish. ‘How much d’you want for the boots?’

  Within minutes everything was sold. Eva turned to Lucy. ‘Take off your petticoat.’

  ‘But Granny, it’s the only one I’ve got.’

  ‘I’ve found a way to keep us from the gutter, so take it off. I’ll take mine off too.’ She pulled up her skirt and wriggled out of her calico petticoat. ‘This is the way to make money,’ she said, holding it up. ‘Who’ll buy a fine cambric petticoat, embroidered by one of the Queen’s dressmakers?’

  A gentleman wearing a bowler hat and a mustard yellow waistcoat stopped and stared at the garment. ‘Are you sure it was the Queen’s dressmaker who did the work?’

  ‘Cross me heart and hope to die, sir.’ Eva gave him a bewitching smile and he blinked as if dazzled by a sudden burst of sunlight.

  ‘How much, my dear?’

  ‘A special price to you, sir. Shall we say sixpence?’

  He hesitated. ‘That seems rather expensive. It is a little grimy.’

  ‘It’s nothing that a little lye soap and water won’t put right, sir. I’d say your lady would be delighted to own such an article of clothing.’ She batted her eyelashes at him. ‘I know I would.’

  He dropped a silver sixpence into the outstretched hand. ‘I’ll take it.’ He snatched the petticoat and walked away quickly, as if ashamed to be seen purchasing second-hand garments in the Rag Fair. ‘That’s not a present for his wife,’ Eva said, chuckling. ‘That’ll be a sop to keep his bit of fluff happy.’

  ‘How do you know that, Granny?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I’ve known a few gents like that one.’ She jingled the coins in her pocket. ‘We’re in business, my pet.’

  ‘But Granny, we haven’t got anything left to sell.’

  ‘Leave that to me. First things first.’ Eva looked round, sniffing the air, and the dog lifted its head, eyeing her expectantly. ‘Fried fish. I can smell it a mile off.’

  ‘Fish, fried fish. Ha’penny fish. Fried fish.’ The raucous repetitive sound echoed in Lucy’s ear and she turned to see a young woman sashaying amongst the crowds with a tray of smoking hot fish clutched in her m
ittened hands. Lucy’s stomach rumbled and she licked her lips. The dog nuzzled her hand and she stroked its head. ‘I ain’t forgot my promise, Peckham.’

  ‘Peckham?’ Eva turned to her with a startled look. ‘What sort of name is that for a dog?’

  ‘Peckham Rye, Granny. That’s where you said I was born. It just came to me because he’s an orphan too.’

  ‘For one thing, you ain’t no orphan, and for another thing we got enough trouble looking after ourselves let alone a stray animal.’

  ‘He’s not very big and I’ll share my food with him. Please don’t send him away.’

  Eva thrust a penny into her hand. ‘Get two pieces of fish. I’m not sharing my grub with him.’ She scowled at the dog. ‘Peckham! Of all the stupid names to call a mangy creature like that.’

  Lucy hurried over to the fish seller and handed her the penny. ‘Two pieces, please.’

  The woman wrapped the fish in newspaper. ‘One penny, love.’ She peered short-sightedly at Lucy. ‘Do I know you, duck?’

  ‘I don’t think so, miss.’

  ‘I never forget a face.’ She leaned closer, squinting myopically, and reached out to touch Lucy’s hair. ‘You must be Eva Pocket’s girl. You’re the spitting image of her.’

  ‘What’s keeping you, Lucy?’ Eva pushed her way through the milling crowds to join them. She came to a halt, staring at the fish seller in surprise. ‘Is that really you, Pearl Sykes? I thought I recognised them dulcet tones.’

  ‘Eva Pocket. I thought you was banged up in the Bridewell, picking oakum.’

  ‘Cheeky mare. I thought you was in one of the dead houses along the riverbank.’ Eva kissed Pearl’s ruddy cheek and ruffled her already tousled mop of fiery red curls. ‘It’s good to see you, love.’

  ‘And you, Eva.’ Pearl grinned at Lucy. ‘Your ma is a proper caution. We had some good times in the past, didn’t we, Eva?’

  ‘We certainly did.’ Eva put her arm around Lucy’s shoulders. ‘But this is my granddaughter, Lucy.’

  Pearl’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘No! I thought this nipper must be Christelle.’