Riches of the Heart (2 page)

There was a wide porchway over the entrance, affording some relief from the night air. She leaned against the stone wall and began to shake. Her teeth were chattering with nerves.

Lily dragged the coconut matting with the name of the hotel emblazoned on it over to the wall in the corner and, using it as a mattress, lay down, curled up in a ball. But she was too frightened to sleep. She could be murdered, kidnapped, taken away on a ship – sold into slavery. Her imagination ran riot. From her foetal position, her eyes watched every movement.

She must have dozed off, but noises in the background disturbed her. A heavy mist had drifted in and the sound of a fog horn made its mournful cry. Cats fought over food they’d scavenged. Five drunken crewmen loomed out of the mist and staggered past after a late-night party, heading for their ship’s berth. Lily cowered in the corner, praying they wouldn’t see her. Mercifully, they passed by. Still and alert, she listened to the sound of footsteps in the distance, heading in her direction. They sounded just like her father’s. She sat up, ready to take flight, her breath caught in her throat and perspiration beading her forehead. The footsteps paused in front of the hotel. Lily froze. A match illuminated the face of a stranger. She felt faint with relief as the man walked on, puffing contentedly on his cigarette. Eventually her eyelids closed without her permission and she fell into a fitful sleep.

Next morning, she wakened confused as to her whereabouts. It soon became abundantly clear when the porter appeared, enraged that his precious mat had been used as a bed.

Kicking out at the curled-up bundle, he was surprised to hear the cry of pain came from a young female. As blue eyes the colour of cornflowers looked up at him accusingly, he was momentarily thrown. ‘What the ’ell’s your game, my girl?’

Getting stiffly to her feet, Lily grinned at him in relief that she’d survived her first night. ‘I’ve always wanted to stay in a posh hotel.’

‘Less of your cheek, missy. You’ll lose me my job if my boss sees you. ’Ere … why ain’t you at ’ome?’

‘’Cos I’ve left.’

‘Well, you can’t stay ’ere, so be on your way. If I catch you in my porch again I’ll call the police. Understand?’

She nodded.

He turned away muttering to himself and went back inside.

Looking at the sixpence she had picked up the previous night, Lily decided that when the workman’s cafe along the road opened, she’d buy a cup of tea and a slice of bread. But to do so, she’d have to look a bit more respectable. Brushing the loose matting from her skirt, she ran her fingers through her dark wavy hair, shaking it in an effort to look decent. She walked along Western Esplanade to the drinking fountain, quenching her thirst before washing her face and hands then bathing her dirty feet, trusting no one in the cafe would notice she was shoeless. She hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she could get off the street, with its damp March air, into somewhere warmer.

Sitting on one of the cannons beside the fountain, she waited. How am I going to manage? she asked herself. All she had between her and starvation was sixpence. She couldn’t get a job. Who would employ her, looking such a mess? She stuck her legs out and stared at her bare feet. The first thing she had to do was get a pair of shoes. No. The first thing she had to do was have a hot cup of tea and something to eat. She felt sick with hunger.

Bitterness welled up inside her as she thought of her mother. How she despised Mavis for letting her daughter be degraded without putting a stop to the brutality. Yet deep down she felt pity for the woman, married to such a monster. Her skin went cold as she thought of her father and of the buckle of his belt biting into her skin. She could still feel the pain, and his filthy, stubby hands touching her. ‘I won’t think about him,’ she said, pushing the ugly images to the back of her mind. ‘I won’t think about either of them ever.’ From now on she had no parents. If anyone asked, she’d say she was an orphan. She grinned impishly, deciding to change her name. She’d keep Lily because she liked it, but she’d have to give some thought to a new surname. Something posh. Yes – something with a bit of class.

Putting her hand in the pocket of her skirt, she clasped hold of the small coin. Thank God it was still there. Looking out past the Royal Pier at Southampton Water, she wished she could sail away to another land like the big liners. Start another life. Well, she had started another life, and today was her sixteenth birthday.

Hidden behind a tree, Lily watched anxiously for the opening of the cafe. Patting her hair, she slipped quickly across the road, opened the door and stood in front of the counter before the owner could see her bare feet.

When he looked round in surprise, she grinned at him. ‘Morning,’ she said.

‘Where the ’ell did you spring from?’

‘I was just passing and thought I’d have a cup of tea and a slice of bread. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, before I left home.’

He eyed the shabby youngster suspiciously. ‘Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to be real busy soon, so you be on your way.’

Lily’s heart sank, but she was determined not to leave until she’d had some breakfast. Placing her sixpence upon the counter, she glared at the man. ‘What’s up then?’ she said, all hoity-toity. ‘My money’s as good as anyone else’s, ain’t it? I’m not asking you for any favours, am I? Now come on, mate, I’m desperate for a cuppa – and I’ve heard yours is the best around here.’

Bert, the owner, looked at the sixpence, then at her. She was a nice-looking kid, her face shiny clean as were her hands, and he thought she deserved something for her cheek. ‘All right, madam. Cuppa and a slice coming up.’

Lily settled at a table near the door. Best thing, she thought, just in case she had to make a hasty retreat. She pulled her legs under the chair to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing shoes.

The tea tasted wonderful, not like the gnat’s pee they usually had at home, where Mavis was forced to eke out their meagre supply. This was strong and hot. She munched on her bread slowly, although she had wanted to devour it, she was so ravenous. How long could she make it last, she wondered.

When the door opened, Lily automatically drew her feet further beneath the seat. Looking up, she was surprised at the figure walking past her. This was no workman. He was of medium height, powerfully built, with black sleek hair and wearing a suit of the finest material. He gave her an interested glance and then went to speak to the owner.

They exchanged a few words and the stranger nodded towards Lily. ‘Who’s the girl?’

Bert shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She come in off the street.’ With a smile he said, ‘Spunky kid – demanded I serve her.’

They spoke for a while, then the stranger began to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll get that to you soon, OK?’

‘Fine,’ Bert nodded.

The man stopped beside Lily. ‘Good morning. You’re out early.’

She looked at him beneath long silky eyelashes. ‘Yes. Best time of the day, I always think.’

Studying him in greater detail, she guessed he must be in his early thirties. His fine head of black hair receded at both temples. His olive skin was smooth, his dark eyebrows thick above dark-brown eyes. His nose was slightly hooked. He was heavy in stature, but carried himself with a definite air. There was something menacing about him, yet at the same time there was a certain magnetism. When he smiled, as he did now, he looked almost handsome.

‘Nice young girl like you should be home, tucked up in a warm bed, not wandering around the streets.’

‘I’m not wandering,’ was her sharp denial.

Looking at his watch, the man frowned. ‘I have to go, but if you want a job, come and see me. I’ve got a nice little room with a comfortable bed just waiting for you. Good food too.’ He put his hand out to stroke her hair. She pulled away. Looking at her shabby attire he added, ‘And nice clothes.’

Lily was beginning to feel uneasy. ‘You don’t know me, so why would you put yourself out to give me a job? What’s in it for you?’

He was amused. ‘Let’s just say I like the look of you. You’re a bright girl, nice-looking – and I could help you.’

‘No thanks,’ she answered spiritedly. ‘I can take care of myself.’

He grinned. ‘Can you now? I run the Club Valletta, in Bernard Street. Come and see me. Ask for Vittorio.’ Opening the door, he left.

Lily was relieved at his exit, but puzzled as well. No one offers a girl such things for nothing, she thought. And anyway, who was he? As she was mulling over the conversation, Bert came across to her.

‘Listen to me, sunshine. You keep away from The Maltese.’

‘Who?’

‘Vittorio Teglia. Everyone calls him The Maltese.’

‘Why?’

‘Because his family come from Malta, an island in the Mediterranean. He’s a dangerous man to know. I’m giving you some fatherly advice, ducks. Don’t you have anything to do with him.’

A shiver went down Lily’s spine.

The cafe began to get busy, and she slipped out through the door. The park no longer seemed a dangerous place in the daylight. She made her way to an empty bench, well away from the one used by Maria, and watched the street come alive.

The noisy rattle of trams began to shake the air. The road became full of dockers on their bicycles, packed together like a flock of birds, first swaying one way then the other, following the curve of the road. She marvelled that no one fell off. Fruit-sellers were busy setting up stalls for the day. Newsboys called out the latest headlines: ‘Lloyd George sends the Black and Tans to Ireland!’ A middle-aged woman pushed her flower-laden cart on her way to the National Provincial Bank, where she’d had a daily pitch for years. Lily recognised her and waved.

A throaty roar from a liner echoed as the RMS
Olympic
tested its engines ready to sail to New York. Its four red and black funnels belched out thick dark smoke.

Still suffering from hunger pangs, Lily made her way to Kingsland market, cocking an ear to the banter which passed between the stall-holders getting ready for the day. One woman, setting out some cabbages, clutched two against her breast. ‘Nice pair you’ve got there, gel,’ called the man on the next stall.

‘Now then, you cheeky monkey. One more word from you, I’ll squeeze your tomatoes.’

‘Best offer I’ve had this week,’ he replied with a laugh.

‘Going to see the new Douglas Fairbanks picture this week, Nell?’ called another. ‘It’s on at the Gaiety.’

‘Yeah, not half. He could swash my buckle any time.’

A watery sun made its appearance, and in her own way Lily felt happy wandering around. Thoughts of the night to come were pushed to the back of her mind. She watched carefully as the traders sorted the bad fruit from the good, noting the wooden boxes containing the discarded pieces. She smiled to herself as she watched them serve their customers from the fruit at the back of the display, giving short measure with dexterity.

Waiting until the market was busy and the traders occupied with customers, she filched some rotten apples and a couple of bananas, stuffing them into her pockets. Nonchalantly, she moved away to eat her fill, then went back to replenish her store – leaving before she was discovered.

Next she made her way towards Canal Walk, commonly known as The Ditches. It was a narrow pedestrian-only street that sloped down slightly each side with a ditch running down the middle for the excess rain to drain away. There were one-roomed shops on either side: pubs, eating-houses, and butchers’ shops with their goods displayed – legs of lamb hanging from hooks, and dead poultry with skinny necks. There was a pawnbroker, a bespoke tailor and a jeweller, but it was Mrs Cohen’s second-hand clothing shop that was Lily’s chosen destination.

The ragged canopy was pulled down and dresses, coats, and men’s suits hung from the rusted iron struts. Sweaters and hats in boxes were on display – but it was the pile of shoes that held Lily’s interest.

She carefully sorted through them, trying on one pair after another, discarding those that were unsuitable. She couldn’t find a pair her size and settled for another, just one size too big. She looked furtively around. Mrs Cohen was inside the shop; the street was busy. She was just about to walk away, when a voice said, ‘Oh, no you don’t.’

Her heart beating with fright, she turned. Behind her stood a policeman.

‘I’ve been watching you, young lady.’ He looked sternly at her.

With trembling lip, Lily asked, ‘Why?’

‘You were just going to walk away with those shoes.’

Bravely she faced him. ‘How dare you accuse me of stealing! I was only trying them on.’

‘Now don’t tell lies, young lady. I’ve been lied to by the best and I know a thief when I see one.’

‘Look – look!’ she said angrily, sticking out a foot. ‘They don’t even fit. Why would I want a pair of shoes that don’t fit?’

‘You were just about to leave, wearing them.’

‘I beg your pardon.’ Lily bristled. ‘Here I am still in front of the shop. I haven’t gone anywhere. Now if I was down there,’ she pointed further down the street, ‘that would be a different kettle of fish.’

At that point, Mrs Cohen came bustling out of her shop. ‘What’s going on?’

Lily knew Mrs Cohen by sight. She always dressed in good clothes, if a tad shabby, but she was known for the hats she wore. Today it was a splendid effort in brown straw with a wide brim and an exotic feather draped around the crown.

Clasping Lily by the shoulder, the policeman said, ‘I just caught this girl about to walk away from here wearing a pair of your shoes.’

Lily stared at the woman, wondering what would happen to her now. Would she go to gaol? Had she escaped one prison, only to be shut away in another? Inside she was quaking but as she waited her expression gave away nothing of her inner turmoil.

‘It’s all right, officer. I told her to have a good sort through.’

Lily thought she was going to faint with relief.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ blustered the policeman.

Mrs Cohen nodded and beckoned to Lily to enter her shop.

As she stood in the inner sanctum, Lily’s legs trembled. She was speechless. Why had this woman saved her from being arrested – and having done so, what would she do to her now?