Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (46 page)

‘We used to walk out, me and Ted,’ she explained, ‘but he didn’t treat me well and my advice is steer clear, love. He might be handsome enough, but he’s a wrong ’un.’

Matty gave her a long look. ‘I do think he’s handsome, Nell, and he’d make a lovely hero on the stage, but he’s not
that
good an actor.’

Nellie should never have doubted that Matty would see beyond the veneer of Ted’s charm. ‘No? Well, he took me in, love, and I paid for it. I don’t want you doing the same.’

‘Oh, Nellie, I know he’s just a charmer, but don’t blame yourself. It’s just I’ve had a lot more stage experience!’ She laughed. ‘The thing is, Nell, all the young boys are at the front and it’s just nice to have a bit of attention.’

Matty really was growing up and Nellie would just have to trust her judgement and rely on the little canary’s native intuition. After all, she’d always had that uncanny ability to sniff out the smell of gas.

So, over the following months, Nellie allowed herself to relax and tried to forget Ted’s presence in Bermondsey. It was towards the end of September before he came up again in conversation. This time it was Eliza James who mentioned him, in one of her letters to Nellie. Eliza’s visits to London were now longer and more frequent. She often spoke at the Fort Road Labour Institute and since the moratorium on strikes she’d been called in to help arbitrate many local disputes. During her extended London visits, she usually rented a couple of rooms in the Morgans’ house. Frank Morgan was now driving an ambulance in France and his wife had taken over as manager of the Co-op. She often put up visiting speakers, or union officials, in their pleasant terraced house in Reverdy Road, one of the more respectable Bermondsey streets, where doctors and professional people chose to live. Eliza wrote that she was coming to Bermondsey the following week to give a speech for the No-Conscription Fellowship and went on to mention Ted.

I hear he has become one of their most committed workers. Though he risks arrest, he’s trumpeting the Absolutist cause now! Sadly, I’ve come to realize he is rather a heedless young man, and stories are filtering back to me that suggest he’s a little cavalier with his own and other people’s safety. The Bermondsey NCF has always been staunchly pacifist, but I hear Ted’s militant ways have put the cat amongst the pigeons. I wonder if I did right to put him in their way… or yours. Has he been in touch with you?

It had the air of an apology. It sounded like Ted was making his true reckless colours known. Nellie didn’t send a reply; she thought it best to save the news about Ted and Matty till Eliza came down. She was glad her initial mistrust of Eliza’s motives had been overcome, and since her engagement to Sam she’d certainly felt more at ease with Eliza, more on an equal footing. It meant that they could be friends – of a sort – and it made it easier for Matty. For the young girl’s loyalties were so hard won and so fiercely held she would never have been able to be friends with Eliza, if Nellie had not. And for that reason alone, Nellie was glad she’d made the effort to befriend Eliza.

When Eliza arrived in Reverdy Road with her son, she blessed the bright remnant of the waning moon. It was no more than a fingernail, but she judged there would be no Zeppelin raid tonight: they only attacked when the moon was dark, so for the moment they were safe. Her journey had been full of delays and she was exhausted. The train timetable had been suspended while a horde of Tommies entrained at Hull Station. Only after the troop train pulled out was she able to board the London train. After hours in a cramped, smelly carriage, the motor taxi had been a necessity, not a luxury – she simply couldn’t face a tram ride from London Bridge Station with her tired child. She scooped a sleeping William out of the taxi and picked up her bag with the other hand. Ruth Morgan, Frank’s wife, was already at the front door and came hurrying to take her bag. The woman was a stalwart type, who could turn her hand to anything. She’d taken over the organization of the Co-op seamlessly and had even been known to do delivery rounds in an emergency. Now she was all domestic bustle and welcome, and the house was cosy with supper already laid out in the dining room. Today, like all the others this summer, had been chilly and the fire in the grate was welcome. After William was settled into bed, Mrs Morgan served her a light supper and began her cheerful chatter: for all her qualities, the woman was a notorious gossip. She knew details of all the political in-fighting at the institute, and the Co-op gave her contact with half of Bermondsey, so her gossip coffers were full tonight. ‘When is your No-Conscription speech?’ she asked.

‘Not until Monday. I’m visiting my family tomorrow.’

‘There’s been murders at the NCF. It’s that young feller Bosher that you sent down.’

Eliza felt a pang of guilt. She had suspected something of the sort, but knew no details.

‘What’s he been up to? He’s not the only Absolutist in the ranks, surely?’

Ruth Morgan shook her head and pulled up a chair, while Eliza ate. ‘Of course, there are others, but you know most of the COs there are happy to do land work, or drive an ambulance, like my Frank – which is dangerous enough, I can tell you.’

Eliza reached out to squeeze her hand – just because the woman was calm and capable, it didn’t mean she could escape that ubiquitous fear for loved ones at the front.

‘Anyway, the Absolutists are totally against the war. But young Ted’s stirring ’em up to fight another war… at home! All I will say is that I’ve heard some of his ideas just don’t fit with the pacifists.’ She leaned forward and mouthed, ‘Anarchist ideas!’

Eliza shivered: the fire in the grate was dying down and she felt as though a chill wind had blown through the room. Ruth Morgan noticed. ‘I’m sorry it’s a bit chilly, but you just can’t get the coal…’

‘I’m not cold, just a long day,’ Eliza excused herself.

Mrs Morgan took the plates out and called from the scullery, ‘Will you be at Nellie Clarke’s tomorrow, then?’

‘Yes, visiting Charlie and Matty.’

‘Matty’s turned into a lovely girl. I saw her at the Star the other night. She was marvellous, better than Vesta Tilley! I suppose you know she’s been walking out with that Bosher feller?’

It hit her like a blow in the stomach; she barely had wind to answer the woman.

‘Is there anything more you’ll need tonight?’ Mrs Morgan asked as she came back in, drying her hands on her pinafore.

‘No, thank you, Mrs Morgan, I’ll go up to bed, I think. I know where everything is.’

Ruth Morgan gave her a gas lamp to take to her room. It was connected to William’s by a double door, which she eased open. Her son was sleeping soundly and she softly retreated. Eliza was glad to be alone. Ruth’s news had totally stunned her. Matty at fifteen had indeed blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and it was inevitable she would attract attention, especially from the stage-door johnnies, but Ted must be more than ten years older and totally unsuitable. He was the last person she’d want Matty involved with. What was Nellie thinking, letting it go on?

The next morning was a Sunday and Eliza dressed three-year-old William carefully in his newest sailor suit, his dark hair curling out from beneath the straw hat. She gave him his toy boat and asked, ‘Would you like to sail your boat on the pond today, William?’

‘Yes! Sail the boat!’ The little boy spun round with the boat, ploughing it through imaginary waves. ‘Now!’

She planned to visit Vauban Street that afternoon, but this morning she took a tram to Greenwich Park. Fortunately, the rain had held off and huge clouds scudded across Blackheath, moving swiftly enough to allow patches of sunshine to warm her and William. She walked hand in hand with him to the boating lake and sat down on a bench. She saw Ernest from a long way off, dressed in a tailored tweed jacket, with a brown trilby, and a cane swinging with every step. He strode purposefully towards her, shook her hand and turned to shake William’s.

‘I am Mr James,’ he said formally, ‘a friend of your mother’s.’

William shoved the sailing boat into Ernest’s extended hand and ordered, ‘Sail the boat, now!’ Then he grabbed Ernest’s other hand and began dragging him towards the pond.

Ernest looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she was just about to defend her son’s ungentlemanly behaviour when Ernest remarked, ‘I have been commanded by the admiral. Will you join us?’

She followed them to the pond edge, watching in wonder as her bossy toddler took charge of the man she’d once cast in the role of gaoler. She smiled secretly to herself. Ahhh, she thought with satisfaction, the biter bit!

There followed tea and cakes in a café in Greenwich, during which Eliza was thankful William chose to mind his table manners. Towards the end of their visit, Ernest concluded, ‘He seems a remarkably intelligent young fellow, and strong-willed! You must put him down for a good day school and let me have the details.’

She breathed a sigh of relief. She needed no formal arrangement. Ernest would keep his word, she was sure of it, and she would keep William.

‘How could
I
let it happen?’ Nellie was incensed with Eliza. ‘When you’re the one who sent him back down here!’

‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got a tongue in my head. I could tell him where to go if I wanted to!’ Matty was equally angry. ‘But I don’t want to… not yet, anyway!’ she said provocatively.

Matty and Nellie were facing Eliza across the kitchen table. The boys had taken William out to play and were now running him up and down Vauban Street on the penny-farthing. Every now and then they would run past the front window, whooping as the little boy bounced up out of the saddle.

‘All I said was that his anarchist talk has got everyone worried at the NCF and if Matty’s connected in any way,’ Eliza shot a meaningful glance at Matty, ‘then she could be implicated!’

Nellie had decided not to go into the details of Ted’s past activities. Eliza was already nervous enough about him.

‘He’s drawing so much attention to himself, giving out Absolutist leaflets, stirring things up at the Arsenal, it’s almost like he wants to be arrested,’ Eliza went on. ‘And I dread to think what he got up to in Russia.’

Nellie could tell her a thing or two about his bomb-making skills but now wasn’t the time. The annoying thing was that she agreed with her wholeheartedly; she just knew this wasn’t the way to convince Matty.

‘All we can do is
advise
Matty,’ Nellie said pointedly. ‘She’s old enough now to earn her living and make her own decisions, and she’s not so stupid as to put herself – or her family – in danger because of a bloke!’

Matty responded with a warm smile for Nellie and a scowl for Eliza. At that moment Alice came in with a tray of tea things, which effectively ended the conversation. They called the boys in and squeezed round the table, for what Nellie hoped passed for a splendid tea in these austere days. It consisted of a loaf of Mo the baker’s ‘real bread’, a tiny amount of butter, two pots of fish paste from a cache that Freddie had ‘found’ in a bombed-out shop, a tin of corned beef, from the same source, and a pink blancmange, courtesy of Pearce Duff’s. The allotment owners often paid Freddie in kind and this week he’d brought home a bag of tomatoes and a cucumber. Nellie surveyed the table and thought they hadn’t done a bad job between them.

Charlie turned the conversation to Sam, arguing with the other boys about his brother’s actual whereabouts, always difficult to guess from Sam’s censored letters.

‘He’s been in the thick of it, the Somme, I’m telling you!’ said Freddie.

‘Yes, but their division’s moved on by now!’ Charlie countered.

The boys regularly plotted Sam’s movements on a map pinned to their bedroom wall, but Charlie was the most avid follower of the war. Patiently gathering every piece of information, he scoured newspaper reports and gleaned stories from soldiers on leave till he could predict the next battle with surprising accuracy.

After tea, Nellie read the shareable parts of Sam’s letters to Eliza. He always sent his love to the whole family and this now included Eliza and William, which Nellie could see pleased her.

‘Is he due more leave?’ Eliza asked.

‘I shouldn’t think we’ll see him this side of Christmas,’ said Nellie sadly. ‘Please God, it’ll be over by then!’

‘Not the way things are going, it won’t,’ Charlie said, then added, ‘but he might get a Blighty.’

‘How can you say that?’ Matty shoved her brother.

‘They all want one!’

Alice, ever the peacemaker, intervened. ‘Don’t squabble, you two, there’s enough fighting in the world without bringing it home. What about a song, Matty?’

This was a request the little canary could never resist and the evening ended with them all joining in to the chorus of ‘Pack Up Your troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’. When they came to the last line, Nellie thought of Sam and defiantly sang the loudest, ‘Smile, Smile, Smile!’

Nellie was pleased the evening had ended on a good note, but the next day brought some worrying news. That Monday afternoon, Matty came home looking troubled. After tea, she and Nellie were washing up the dinner things in the scullery when Matty suddenly blurted out, ‘Nellie, I think Ted’s up to something really bad at the Arsenal.’

Nellie studied the girl’s strained white face – she looked almost nauseous. Nellie immediately thought of the young, impressionable munitionettes: if anyone could persuade them to break the moratorium on strikes, Ted could. Most of them probably wouldn’t understand that they could be arrested for it.

‘Has he got them to agree to a strike?’ Nellie asked fearfully.

Matty put down the teacloth and looked nervously back towards the kitchen, where the others still sat round the table chatting. She pulled Nellie out into the back yard. ‘No, it’s much worse!’ she whispered.

Matty hung on to her hand and Nellie felt her strive to control her trembling. Now Nellie began to panic. The girl seemed badly frightened, but what could be so bad that she was frightened the others might hear?

‘What is it? Tell me.’ Nellie was dreading the answer.

‘I think they’re planning to blow it up!’