The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl) Page 5

  The women knew that their fines had already been paid and so, after signing their forms, in most cases by making crosses, they joined the men, the while throwing quips at the policemen standing by the door.

  The last in the line was the fair woman. She wrote her name on the form; then, as the wardress motioned her forward, she turned and looked at Aggie and the child, and with a quick gesture she thrust out her hands towards them. But as the child again made to run to her mother Aggie held her firmly and the wardress pushed the woman through a door; even so contriving to keep her head turned towards her child.

  The crowd of women and the big man had gone out into the street, but the thin man remained; and he looked from the child towards the closed door before he, too, turned and went out.

  ‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry.’ They were out in the street now and Aggie, for once in her life, stood helpless, knowing not what to do.

  ‘Is Mama wicked?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Then why has she gone away? What has she done? She…she shouldn’t have gone. She loves me. She said she did.’

  ‘Be quiet. Here! Dry your eyes.’ Aggie took a surprisingly clean man’s handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Millie.

  ‘Where am I going? Am I to stay with you?’

  She couldn’t answer.

  They were turning the corner at the end of the road when they almost ran into Constable Fenwick, and he greeted them: ‘Hello, Aggie.’

  She didn’t respond in like manner but said, ‘She’s got a month.’

  ‘Well, it was to be expected. When they go into that business they know what they’re doing.’

  ‘Was she really in it?’

  ‘Oh yes; using the house an’ all.’

  ‘But Nelson Close is quite a way from here. How did your lot find out?’

  ‘Some Nosy Parker in the house. And then they were thinking of—’ he indicated the child with a slight nod. ‘But I was surprised at her type; you would think she could have got a job, a decent one somewhere. But then,’ he again indicated the child, ‘they’re a handicap where jobs are concerned, unless you farm them out for the day, or altogether. What you going to do with her?’

  Perhaps it was the term ‘farm out’ that brought the retort: ‘Hang on to her until she comes out, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Aggie. God knows what would happen to her if she was let loose. Slim Boswell would soon do a bit of trade there.’

  ‘He was there this morning with Big Joe.’

  ‘Oh? Well they look after their own. I can stand Big Joe, but not Slim.’

  ‘Then why don’t you arrest him?’ Her voice was harsh.

  ‘Oh, we do, we do, Aggie. But when you keep the big names supplied with a particular kind of amusement you can always depend on it that the police are found to be in the wrong, or that they are framing an innocent man, or that the children in question are his nieces. And he will produce a sister, or a cousin, or an aunt. My God! I’ve seen it all. But things are changing, Aggie, things are changing. It’ll take time. It’ll take time. And it will be women that’ll change it. Oh yes, women. There’s one or two ladies already shouting their mouths off. And I can tell you something’—he bent towards her—‘their husbands have been warned to gag them, or else. But I know one in question who said, to hell, or words to the effect’—he grinned—‘that he couldn’t gag her if he tried. Women have power, you know, Aggie, if they but knew how to use it. Look at yourself, for instance.’

  ‘You tryin’ to be funny?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and seriously: ‘no, I’m not. There’s a good few people around this quarter afraid of you and of what you can do when you open your mouth. And you have once or twice, haven’t you? Anyway, have you any news for me?’

  ‘No, nothing of importance, except I think you want to keep an eye on Billy the welder. He’ll go berserk one of these days and murder the lot of them. And the papers will get at you and ask why wasn’t something done before. He was mortallious last night, so I bet hardly any of those bairns will be able to move this mornin’. She certainly won’t. Oh, somethin’ should be done with her. I’m not for the workhouse, you know that, but I think they’d all be better off in there.’

  ‘I’ll look into it, Aggie, and I’ll have a word with the committee.’

  ‘You might as well spit on it as go to them.’

  ‘All right, all right, yes; but they do the best they can.’

  ‘Maybe; but they’re knocking their heads against brick walls when it comes to Billy Middleton.’

  ‘He’s not the only one that uses the belt, Aggie. You know that. And it’s part of the Christian doctrine, you know, spare the rod and spoil the child.’ And he added somewhat sneeringly, ‘Jesus loves little children, they say. Well, He’s the only one who seems to, yet He doesn’t do much about it. Get a few ranters together and they give you broth if you let them save your soul. But there’—he sighed—‘that isn’t altogether true. There’s Parson Wheatley, you know, over in the Dyke district. He’s got a school going. Free, that’s something, free, not tuppence, fourpence, or sixpence. And it’s true, you know, some of them do charge sixpence a week, I’m hearing. But with the parson, the youngsters do a half-day in the mill and a half day at his school, an’ you wouldn’t believe the difference it’s made to those little ’uns. And what’s more, his wife has classes at night for women. And it’s growing; you just wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Well, that is something,’ said Aggie. ‘But different from what you hear about the convent; you know, Christ the Saviour’s place. They don’t take them under a shilling a week, and God knows what they charge when they live in. And of course they don’t want any snotty-nosed ones, no. Holy nuns. My God! Mean as muck, they are. I’ve found that out.’

  ‘Now, Aggie.’ He laughed at her. ‘Don’t stamp on the Catholics; else I’ll have to run you in for kicking me mother in the face.’

  ‘You a Catholic then, constable?’

  ‘I am, for me sins.’

  ‘I would never have believed it.’

  ‘It’s a dark secret, Aggie. An’ you know, little pigs have got big ears and this little pig is looking up at me.’ He now smiled down into the wet, tear-stained face, saying, ‘You’re going to be all right. Aggie’ll look after you. In the meantime, if you would like to come to church with me next Sunday, it’ll be my pleasure.’

  ‘No, by God! She’s goin’ to no Catholic Mass as long as she’s under my care. Good day to you.’

  ‘Good day to you too, Aggie. You’re a good woman in spite of the muck.’

  Her step slowed and she was about to turn round to voice some rejoinder but continued on, gripping the child’s hand hard now and stepping up her walk into almost a trot.

  Well, she had saddled herself with something, hadn’t she? Dear God, she had! How she was goin’ to put up with the wee ’un’s fancy talk and fancy ways, she didn’t know. And a month was a long time…

  Ben said, ‘I knew you would keep her.’

  ‘Well, you knew more than me. It was the last intention in me life to saddle meself with her. But I’ll tell you this much: she’ll have to spend most of her time with you ’cos I couldn’t put up with her round me feet all day.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll see to her. Don’t worry about that. So she got a month? Well, well.’

  ‘Aye, well, well; but I’ll tell you, there’s one thing I’m sure of an’ that’s the child will take to the yard quicker than the mother will take to the cells an’ the life she’ll be forced to live there. Good God in heaven! Aye.’

  Five days later Aggie felt she could stand no more. The child never stopped talking, and in that refined voice too. And the questions she asked! She was causing a stir in the yard, too, upsetting some folks, while making others laugh. She would advise a customer not to have that: it looked too old, or it smelt. One good thing she had done was to point out two women pushing articles up under their coats without paying. Obviously very pleased with herself over
this and Aggie’s reaction, she then brought it up so many times that Aggie was eventually forced to yell her into silence.

  Aggie was now in the market room, as they called it, talking in a low voice to Ben. ‘I can’t stand her and her jabber any more, Ben,’ she was saying. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, lad. Look, take this sovereign and go down to the station. I should have done it at first; I could have paid it then. It never struck me at the time. If those pimps could pay, I could’ve paid. Oh aye, I could’ve paid the fine. Anyway, take it down. See the sergeant and ask him to let her out. Of course, it’ll take a day to get it settled; but I can put up with that.’

  Ben took the coin from her hand, then looked hard at her before he turned abruptly and went out. She stood looking after him for a moment; then she dropped on to an upturned box, and bending her head into the folds of flesh under her chin, she asked of herself why she had to do this. What was the matter with her? Was it that the child was too refined and showing up her own shortcomings? Was it that just the sound of her voice grated on her? Was it that her bright loveliness caused something like a pain in her chest every time she looked at her? Was it that she was getting old and past bothering with children? What was it she was afraid of?

  She stopped her questioning, then got up heavily from the box and went into the kitchen.

  Well, it was done. This was the last day she’d have to put up with her. And there she was, washing the bottom panes of the window. She couldn’t reach very far, but for as far as she could, the window was clean, bright. The sun was showing a different sheen as its beams passed over a stretch of the stone floor.

  The child, now turning a smiling face towards Aggie, said, ‘I’ll stand on the chair and that’ll take me halfway up, but you’ll have to do the rest, as I can’t reach. It must be a long time since they were cleaned; they are very dirty. I’ve been over this part twice, and look at the water.’ She pointed to the tin dish. ‘And I’ve scrubbed the table again.’

  Aggie did not remark on the child’s handiwork; instead, she said, ‘Who taught you to do housework?’

  ‘Mama, of course. We had to keep the house clean; Dada liked a clean house. He was always very well washed, and Mama, too. And from when I was a little girl I went round with Mama cleaning the house.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re a big grown-up girl now?’ A gurgle issued from the small throat as Millie answered, ‘Well, not really big, but I’ll grow.’

  ‘Did you ever live in a big house?’

  ‘Not as big as this. But in Durham we had three rooms and a toilet outside and a little garden where you could sit in the summer. And then there was the river. The river was beautiful. And the cathedral. Have you ever been to Durham Cathedral?’

  ‘No; I haven’t been to Durham Cathedral.’

  ‘Oh, it’s very grand. It’s the best one in the world, you know. It’s built on the edge of the river. When you’re in a boat you can look up to it. I’ve been in a boat.’

  ‘You’ve been lucky.’

  The smile slipped from Millie’s face and it was a moment before she responded: ‘Yes, yes, I’ve been lucky.’ But the words were not said as if from the mind of a child but from that of an adult who had experienced many things. It caused Aggie to say brightly, ‘Well, I think you’ll still be lucky, because you might be seeing your ma later today.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, Mrs Aggie! Oh, will I?’ The child was now standing before her, gripping her hands. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you. Oh! I’ll tell Mama when I see her how good you have been to me. You’ll like Mama. She’s very pretty, you know. Well, you saw her, didn’t you? But’—her voice dropped—‘she looked tired. She never used to be tired. She would dance with me and take me for long walks. Oh, you’ll like Mama.’

  ‘Aye. Yes, yes, undoubtedly I’ll like your mama.’ And she forced herself to add, ‘I’ll tell her what a good girl you’ve been in cleanin’ me place for me.’

  ‘Oh, that is nothing.’ Millie moved back to the window now. ‘I like doing things. I like cooking. I have never cooked here, have I?’

  ‘No. No, you haven’t. We…we don’t do much cookin’ here.’

  ‘But you have an oven?’

  ‘Yes, yes, we have an oven.’

  ‘What a pity! If I had been staying with you I…I would have shown you how I can make a scone…scones. People say sconnes when it should be scones, shouldn’t it?’

  ‘If you say so. Yes, if you say so, it should be scones.’

  Aggie now walked heavily through the market room and out into the yard. And she made herself look about her, at the odd heaps lying on the rough ground, and she said to herself, ‘Yes, he was right, it’ll be better if it’s paved. And I wonder if he’s put any oil on that door.’

  She walked over to an outhouse which, in comparison with the rest of the place, looked extremely tidy in that on the shelves were arrayed different tools of all shapes and sizes; and on the walls, hanging from nails, was all the accoutrement that went to the dressing of a horse: collars, bridles, saddles, some stiffened with age, others looking usable. Taking up an oil can she went out and towards the old outbuildings, to the door next to the one leading into the barn and, moving it, she found that it hadn’t been oiled. The door led upstairs to what had once been the stableman’s rooms, and which now housed Ben. After she had oiled the hinges, she paused a moment before lumbering up the stairs.

  She stood looking about her; at his plank bed with the bedclothes neatly pulled over it; at the old easy chair with the stuffing sticking out of its seat. A hard kitchen-type chair was set near a table with three legs. An orange box was obviously being used as a replacement for the missing leg as well as serving as a miniature bookcase, for there were seven tattered books on the dividing shelf and a stack of old newspapers below it.

  Whatever it was her mind had said to her, she answered with, Well, it’s better than thousands of others in the town, and many a one would be glad of it. And anyway, you couldn’t get a decent table up those stairs, they’re too narrow.

  She had just reached the foot of the stairs when she saw Ben entering the yard; and when she stepped from the doorway he called towards her, ‘Been on a tour of inspection, then?’

  ‘Aye, you could say that. I think you should try to get a table up there, or at least fix a leg on that one. And of all the single ticks that have come in, there’s bound to have been a decent one among them. Why haven’t you taken one up?’

  ‘I prefer me hard pallet; it’s a sort of penance for me sins.’

  ‘Don’t be too bright. What happened?’

  He put his hand in his pocket, then handed her back the sovereign, saying, ‘She’s gone. She went the same day, they tell me. I couldn’t get it out of them who had paid for her, but old Alex the cleaner told me on the side: Boswell, Slim Boswell.’

  ‘Oh my God! No!’

  ‘Oh my God, yes! And he’s only got to see her’—he thrust his head back—‘and it’ll be mother and daughter. Oh aye, definitely daughter.’

  ‘She needn’t be with him; he could have paid for…’

  ‘Don’t talk soft, Aggie. If she hadn’t been with him she’d have been here before now. You said she saw you with the child and there’s not two Aggie Winkowskis kickin’ around this quarter, or the town itself, and somebody would have told her where you lived.’

  Her response was almost a plaintive mutter. ‘What are we goin’ to do?’ she asked.

  He noticed that he was being drawn into making the decision by the ‘we’; and so he said, ‘Well, speakin’ for meself, it would sicken me if I thought the young ’un got into his hands.’

  She started to walk across the yard, and he followed her; and they had reached the house door before her decision came: ‘I’ll take the cart down there later on; if he’s put her to work she’s likely pacing the Strand,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I doubt it, not on the Strand, Aggie, for a beginner.’

  She swung round to him, grinding out in a low voice, ‘She mustn’t have been
any beginner, not goin’ by the uncles the child’s had. And what’s strikin’ me now, she took the child with her when she was on the game just as a draw.’

  ‘That needn’t have been, Aggie. We talked about that, didn’t we? She couldn’t have left her in the house. Anyway, as I see it now, if the authorities have got wind of her havin’ a youngster, we’ll have some of them officials and the do-gooders comin’ round, and it’ll be the workhouse in the end.’

  She said nothing directly in answer to this, but carried on into the house, saying, ‘I’ll have to tell her she’s gone somewhere.’

  In the sitting room, Millie was standing on a chair and reaching up towards the upper panes of the window.

  ‘Come down off that! Come down off that! You’ll break your neck.’

  ‘No, I won’t; I’m very steady on my legs.’

  Aggie closed her eyes for a moment; then slowly she ordered: ‘Come…down…off…that…chair.’

  The tone brought Millie on to the floor and standing before Aggie, saying, ‘I…I just wanted to help.’

  Aggie drew in a long breath, bowed her head slightly and said, ‘Aye, I know you did, love; but come and sit down a minute.’ And she took the child by the hand and walked her to the settle, and when they were seated she looked at the small figure by her side, at the hair, like a golden halo round the oval face, and the limpid grey eyes gazing so trustfully at her. And as she stared, there was interposed on the fair skin the face of a man, a thin man, and he was leering at her as if in triumph, as he would do if he were to get hold of this unusual-looking child, for he’d make a pretty penny out of her, no matter what channel he sent her along, his nursery, the street, or the boat. Any one of them would bring in a good profit.