The Constant Heart Read online

  'I can manage, thank you. But there is something you can do for me, Walter.'

  'Anything, Miss Rosina. You know that.'

  'I saw Caddie Trigg just now. She's in desperate need of some money, and I told her you would give her an advance on Artie's wages.'

  He shook his head. 'I'd like to oblige, but I can't very well, not without the captain's approval.'

  'Oh, come now, Walter. Don't be mean. The Ellie May will dock soon and you'll be paying Artie off, so what difference does a couple of hours make?' She smiled up at him, fluttering her eyelashes. He appeared to be struggling with his conscience, and she pressed home her advantage. 'Please, Walter. It is my birthday, after all.' He ran his finger round the inside of his collar, and she saw that his shirt cuff, although spotlessly clean, was frayed, and there were shiny patches on the sleeves of his jacket where he rested his elbows on the desk. She suffered a pang of guilt as she realised that he had spent his money on her present, and yet he could not even afford a new shirt. She knew that she had placed him in an awkward position, for which she felt sorry, but she was even sorrier for Caddie. 'Please, do this for me, Walter. I'll tell Papa it was all my idea, and that I made you do it.'

  A reluctant smile lit his face. 'All right, I'll do it just this once, and only because it's your birthday. But I won't allow you to take responsibility for my actions.'

  Rosina gathered up her parcels. 'Don't worry about Papa; I can wind him round my little finger.' She picked up the apple that the costermonger had given her and placed it in Walter's hand. 'There, that's for you. You really are a splendid fellow, Walter.' She blew him a kiss as she left the office, closing the door behind her. She hurried down the narrow passage that led to the kitchen, and her footsteps echoed on the bare floorboards.

  Bertha looked up from her ironing as Rosina breezed into the room. 'Well, you look pleased with yourself, young lady.'

  'I've had a lovely time. Just look at all the presents that people gave me.' She went to put them on the table, but Bertha shook her head.

  'Don't clutter me table, Rosie. Can't you see that I'm ironing your best frock?'

  'Oops, sorry.' She scooped the gifts onto the seat of a chair. 'I can't believe how kind people have been to me today.'

  'You're spoilt, you are.' Bertha thumped the flat iron down on the voluminous skirt of Rosina's Sunday best gown. 'I don't hold with spoiling children.'

  Rosina crept up behind her and gave her a hug. 'Woof, woof. Your bark is worse than your bite, Bebe, you old fraud.' She kissed Bertha's wrinkled cheek. Her skin was as tough and leathery as Papa's old sea boots, but despite her grim appearance Rosina knew that she had a heart as soft and squishy as a marshmallow. It was Bertha who had nursed her through the miserable childish ailments that had kept her confined to her bed for weeks at a time. It was Bertha who had bathed the scrapes on her knees when she had fallen over on the cobblestones, playing tag with the neighbours' children amongst the cranes, barrels, sacks and anchor chains on the wharf. It was Bertha who had always stood up for her when she was in trouble with Papa. She gave her another hug. 'Don't be cross, Bebe. I've had a lovely day and I saw all our old friends in Ratcliff Highway.'

  'I can see that. But I've told you a hundred times not to go roaming round the Highway on your own. It ain't safe.' Bertha tested the heat of the flat iron by spitting on it. 'You're a young woman now, not a little girl in short petticoats.'

  'Don't fuss, Bebe. We lived there once, remember? No one in the Highway would harm me.'

  'I know where you was raised. I was with your sainted ma even before you was born and with her when she died.' Bertha put the rapidly cooling iron back on the fire, and picked up the one that had been heating over the hot coals. She held it close to her cheek, judging the temperature before she set about ironing the fine cotton poplin. 'And you might think they're all kind and friendly, but there's plenty who ain't. There are evil men who prey on young girls like you. There's opium dens and houses of ill repute down Ratcliff Highway. It ain't safe, I tell you, Rosie.'

  Rosina snatched up the silk scarf that fat Freda had given her, and she wound it around Bertha's neck. 'There, this will suit you much better than it does me. I want you to have it.'

  Bertha's face crinkled into an unwilling smile. 'You always could get round me with your soft-soaping ways.'

  'You're still my Bebe, the kind and lovely Bebe who tucked me up in bed every night and told me stories about fairies and princesses.'

  'Get on with you, you minx.' Bertha unwound the scarf, but she did not take it off. 'Get out of me way and let me finish me chores afore the captain gets home. A fine welcome it would be if he found me doing the ironing, instead of having a hot meal ready and waiting for him.'

  'I'll call out when I spot the Ellie May's sails coming upriver.' Rosina scooped up her belongings and took them upstairs to the parlour. She laid her gifts out on a side table, displaying them for her father to view when he had had time to settle in at home. Untying the ribbons on her bonnet, she took it off and went to sit on the seat in the oriel window overlooking the wharf and the river beyond. Through the forest of masts she could see past Watson's Wharf and the Standard Wharves where ships from foreign ports unloaded their cargoes of fruit and vegetables, wines, spirits and tea. It all sounded so romantic to Rosina's ears: she had never been further afield than the creeks and salt marshes of Essex, and probably never would. If she had had the luck to be born a boy, she could have sailed with Papa as mate on the Ellie May. But if she had been a boy she would not have been able to wear pretty things like her lovely new bonnet. She fingered the smooth satin ribbons and sniffed the silk forget-me-nots; they had no smell, of course, but it was fun to imagine that they were real, and that she had picked them fresh from a country garden, the like of which she had seen on picture postcards and in magazines. A movement below caught her eye, and looking down she saw Caddie standing on the wharf, with eighteen-month-old Alfie straddled on her hip, and Ronnie, who was little more than a year older, clinging to her skirt as she peered into the distance. Following her gaze, Rosina spotted the unmistakeable tan sails of a Thames barge coming upriver. Even before she could read the lettering on the bow, she knew that it was the Ellie May. With a cry of delight, she jammed her bonnet on her head and leapt to her feet. She ran downstairs, tying the ribbons beneath her chin. The office door was open and she beckoned to Walter. 'She's home, Walter. The Ellie May has just arrived in port.'

  He rose from his seat behind the desk. 'I'm coming. I'll just get my cap.'

  'Don't be so formal, Walter,' Rosina said, struggling to contain her impatience. 'You don't need to wear a cap in order to welcome home the Ellie May.'

  'The captain wouldn't appreciate it if I turned up improperly dressed.' He took his peaked cap off the hat stand and put it on.

  'Oh, really! You are so – so proper!' She bit her lip, realising by his downcast expression that she had hurt his feelings. She was sorry for her hasty words, but sometimes he was so maddening that she couldn't hold her tongue. It wouldn't have been so bad if he fought back, but he always seemed to be in total command of his feelings. He gave her a brief nod as he strode out of the house and onto the wharf. Rosina followed more slowly, wondering if Walter had ever done anything spontaneous in his whole life. In the two years that he had worked for her papa, she had never known him to be anything other than polite, punctilious and hardworking. She had seen occasional flashes of humour in his eyes, but she had never heard him laugh, or even chuckle. He could not be more than twenty-two or twenty-three, but to her it seemed that, nice though he might be, he was tumbling headlong into middle age. She broke into a run, and by the time she reached Caddie's side she had forgotten all about Walter. She waved frantically to her father as he steered the barge alongside another vessel. Artie leapt off to make it secure. He looked up and smiled as Caddie shrieked his name, with the infants' shrill voices piping 'Dada, Dada'.

  'I'm so glad he's home. I miss him something horrible when he'
s away.' Caddie kept waving as though she was afraid the barge might sail away again. 'Isn't my Artie just the most handsome fellow you've ever seen, Miss Rosie?'

  Rosina murmured something that passed for agreement. Handsome wasn't the word she would have used to describe Artie. He was not very tall; in fact, he was quite short and stocky. His face was tanned by the sun, wind and salt air from the estuary, but his features were unremarkable. She would have said he was plain, but pleasant-looking. Caddie, on the other hand, obviously saw something quite different. Judging by the rapt expression on her face, she was seeing a prince amongst men. Artie leapt from barge to barge until he reached the ladder on the quay wall; he shinned up the steps as nimbly as a circus performer heading for the high wire. He enveloped Caddie in an embrace that almost squashed Alfie, who howled in protest. Artie kissed him on his downy head and then he lifted Ronnie up in his arms, chuckling and tickling him until the little boy let out a peal of laughter. In spite of herself, Rosina felt a lump in her throat as she watched the family walk off towards the lodging house, where they lived in two small rooms on the first floor. It was touching to see them in such a loving relationship and so happy together. She moved to Walter's side, suddenly stricken with conscience. 'I didn't mean to offend you, Walter.'

  'That's all right. You're entitled to say what you think.'

  'Well, you are very proper – but that's a good thing. It wouldn't do if everyone was like me and said the first thing that came into their head.'

  'No, ma'am.'

  She turned to stare at him, but his generous mouth curved into a grin and his eyes twinkled in a way that invited an immediate response. She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. 'Why, Walter, I believe there's a little devil hiding somewhere inside that serious head of yours after all.'

  He stiffened and his smile faded. 'Excuse me, miss. The captain wants me to go on board.'

  She followed his gaze and saw her father making imperative gestures with his hand. 'You'd best go then, and see what he wants.' She waited impatiently for Papa to come ashore; it was, after all, her special day. She paced up and down on the cobblestones, stopping occasionally to acknowledge birthday greetings from the dock workers. She had known most of them since she was a child, and she made polite enquiries as to the health of their wives and numerous children, but all the time she kept an eye on the deck of the Ellie May, where Papa and Walter were deep in conversation. When they finally came ashore, she ran to her father and flung her arms around his neck. 'It's good to have you home, Papa.'

  He gave her a perfunctory peck on the cheek. 'Hello, Rosie.'

  'Is that all you've got to say to me?' She let her arms fall to her sides, staring into his be whiskered face. 'Papa?'

  'Don't pester me now, girl. I've got a lot on me mind.' He walked away from her, heading towards the wharfinger's office.

  She ran after him. 'But what's the matter? Why are you so angry?'

  'I'm going to make an official complaint about that bastard, Ham Barnum.'

  'Captain Barnum? What has he done now?'

  He stopped outside the office door, staring down at her with a frown puckering his forehead into deep lines. 'He's crossed me once too often. Go home, Rosie. Wait for me there. This hasn't anything to do with you.' He stormed inside and slammed the door.

  'Well!' Rosina stared after him. He hadn't even noticed her new bonnet, and, worse still, it was apparent that he had completely forgotten that it was her birthday. Something must have gone badly wrong. She turned to look for Walter; he would tell her the truth. He was talking to a group of men, but he broke off as she approached them. 'Walter, what is going on?'

  'It's not for me to say, miss.'

  'If you don't tell me, I shall scream.' She opened her mouth as if to carry out her threat.

  She had no intention of doing so, but she knew it would have the desired effect on him. Walter was so easy to manipulate. He took her by the arm and led her back towards the house.

  'It's a matter between Captain May and Captain Barnum. It seems as though they've fallen out again, and this time it's serious. You'll have to ask your father to tell you the rest. That's all I know.' Walter opened the door for her. 'It would be best if you were to wait at home.'

  'Stop treating me like a child. You were talking to Papa; he must have told you what happened.'

  'You're placing me in an awkward situation.'

  'Oh, come on, please tell me. I promise I won't let on to Papa, but I'm dying with curiosity. Please, Walter.'

  His lips twitched as if he was trying hard not to smile. 'You'll get me the sack.'

  'Please, please tell.'

  'They were racing to get the best cargo. The captain said that Barnum took his wind and drove him onto a mudflat. Luckily the tide was coming in and they soon floated off, but it cost him the cargo he had aimed for, and he says Barnum got it by cheating. He's gone to complain of malpractice to the wharfinger, and he intends to take the case to the Watermen's Company. I can't tell you more, miss. That's all I know.'

  Rosina had to be content with that until her father came home, but by this time she was ready and waiting with a jug of hot buttered rum to soothe his temper, and his slippers were warming by the range. Even though it was mild outside, Papa always suffered from cold feet, more so when he was tired after a long and trying voyage. She had his favourite pipe already filled with baccy, and she had placed his chair by the fire. Bertha had cleared away the ironing and was laying the table for supper, which was to be boiled mutton and caper sauce. Rosina lifted the saucepan lid and sniffed appreciatively; it was one of Papa's favourite dishes, and was to be followed by spotted dick and custard – a sure winner. Bertha was probably the best cook in Wapping, if not the whole of London.

  Captain Edward May stormed into the kitchen, kicking off his sea boots so that they flew up in the air and one of them landed on the table. Bertha scowled at him, but she said nothing as she picked up the muddy boot and placed it close to the range. Rosina knew better than to make a fuss. She poured the toddy into a rummer. 'Welcome home, Papa.'

  Edward shrugged off his pea jacket and dropped it onto a chair. His scowl lightened as he took the glass from her. 'Thank you, Rosie, love.'

  She waited in silence, watching the colour return to his pale cheeks as he gulped the drink. The tension seemed to leach from him and his shoulders sagged. Bertha said nothing as she busied herself slicing a freshly baked loaf of bread. Rosina smiled and refilled his glass. 'Sit down, Papa. Bertha has made your favourite supper.'

  'And I'm a brute for taking me megrims out on you, my pet.' Edward put the glass down on the table and held out his arms. 'Come here, Rosie. Let your old dad give you a birthday kiss.'

  She walked into his arms and he kissed her on the forehead, on the tip of her nose and on both cheeks, in the way he had greeted her ever since she could remember. She kissed his cheek and his mutton-chop whiskers tickled her nose. He smelled of the river, of salty mud, a faint hint of pipe tobacco and buttered rum. She smiled up into his weathered face. 'It's good to have you home, Papa.'

  'And leave your blooming temper outside the door next time,' Bertha said, obviously judging that the time was right to have her say. 'What sort of greeting was that for a girl on her eighteenth birthday?'

  Rosina felt her father's muscles tense and she held her breath. One day Bertha would go too far, but today was not going to be that day, as her papa let out a shout of laughter and sat down on his chair, pulling her onto his knee. 'Trust Bertha to put a man in his place. I've been captain of the ship all week and now I must bow to petticoat rule. Happy birthday, poppet.'

  'You never bowed down to nothing in your life, old man.' Bertha waved the bread knife at him. 'And if you've had an up and downer with that Ham Barnum again, then shame on you for bringing it into the home.'

  'I don't wonder that no man ever offered to marry you, you old harridan,' Edward said conversationally. 'You keep your place, madam. If you wasn't such a good cook I'd have sent you
packing years ago.'

  'And I'd have gone, if it wasn't for the little lamb.' Bertha huffed her way over to the range and stirred the caper sauce. 'Serve you right if it was burned black as your heart.'

  'Stop it, both of you,' Rosina said, stifling a sigh of relief. When Papa and Bertha insulted each other, things were normal. It was only when they were coldly polite that she ever worried. She wriggled off his lap and handed him the pipe. 'I bought you some of your favourite baccy, Papa.'