The Long Walk Home (31 page)

'And do you have schooling for the poor in Hull?' the Reverend's wife persisted. She seemed to have an insatiable curiosity. 'As we have here, I mean.'

Eleanor confessed that she didn't know, but once again Mikey intervened. 'There are some Ragged schools,' he said. 'I went to one, but onny for twelvemonth. Hull's a fishing port and not many bairns stay on for longer than that. Sometimes their fathers tek them out of school and tek them to sea with them.' He shrugged. 'And if they're in school it means they're not working and bringing in a wage to help out. It could mean 'difference between paying 'rent or being in 'workhouse.'

'Of course,' Mrs Goodhart murmured.

When Mikey had finished speaking, it seemed to Eleanor that Mrs Goodhart looked intently at her before saying, 'But such a pity if there is no one to offer poor children shelter and a basic education such as we have here. We can't do as much as we would like to; it's a mere ripple in the pond, and we owe so much to benefactors and people who will give their time. But until the government institutes an educational system for all children, enforceable by law, we must continue.'

Eleanor was thoughtful on the way back and abashed to think that Mikey had more awareness of the world than she had, in spite of his lack of education and her good fortune in having had a private one. She asked Sam what he thought about his brother being with the Goodharts when he wasn't.

'I was a bit jealous to begin with,' he said, 'and I missed him. I'd always looked after him, you see, since our ma died. Uncle Walter used to smack him one if he cried and so I used to take him out and play wiv him until he stopped; but now, well, he's cleverer than me cos of the Goodharts and when I asked him if he'd come and work wiv me when he's old enough to leave them'— Sam took a deep breath— 'he said no, not likely. He's going to try to be an apprentice or sumfink.'

He seemed disconsolate at the thought that he would see even less of his brother in the future, and Mikey tried to jolly him along. 'You and me'll be all right though, won't we, Sam? You won't go off on your own? What'd I do without my pal?'

'No, we've got to stick together,' Sam said. 'We're the odd ones out.'

'What do you mean?' Mikey asked, puzzled. 'How are we 'odd ones out?'

Sam shrugged. 'I heard Tully and Manners talking one day. They didn't know I was there, and Tully said that somefink would be all right but for you being nosy, and Manners said, "Yes, Quinn and young Sam, they're the odd ones out."'

'I almost forgot,' Mikey said to Eleanor as they arrived back at London Bridge. 'Simon said to tell you that he wants to see you.'

'Oh.' She was pleased. 'When? I'm only free on a Sunday.'

'He said he would come over next Sunday morning. I suggested that here might be a place to meet. He doesn't know his way about much.'

'Doesn't he?' She was surprised. 'After five years!'

Mikey shook his head. 'He spends most Sundays in bed, unless he's got a meeting wi' Manners.'

He didn't say that Simon and Manners often spent time talking and Mikey was convinced that they were in cahoots over something which excluded even Tully. But he was curious over Sam's reporting that they were considered to be the odd ones out. There was something going on, but what?

'All right,' Eleanor said. 'Would you ask him to come at about eleven o'clock? Sam, would you like to come with him and I'll give you a reading lesson?'

Sam was delighted. 'Yes please, miss.' He grinned. 'I'll show him the way here and he can make his own way back.'

But in the event, Simon came alone. He said that Sam was wanted by Tully.

'But it's his day off,' Eleanor said. She was disappointed, as she had arranged that Liza's two children would have a lesson too.

'So what?' Simon said. 'He's at Tully's beck and call even if it is Sunday. He'll get the sack if he doesn't do as he's told.'

'It doesn't seem fair, does it?' Eleanor said glumly. 'Boys like Sam don't have much chance to make something of themselves. Mikey told me that there are hundreds of children living on the streets of London. Even little children try to earn money through street-sweeping or selling flowers.'

'Really,' Simon said in a bored voice. 'Quinn'll be an authority, I expect, considering his background.'

'Don't be unkind,' Eleanor said quickly. 'He thinks about things.'

'I haven't come here to talk about Quinn,' Simon said impatiently. 'I've come to tell you something.'

'What?' Eleanor was abrupt. Sometimes she didn't like her brother.

'Let's go and sit down somewhere,' Simon said. 'Where can we get a cup of coffee or chocolate?'

Eleanor remembered a coffee shop she had seen but never been inside. She took him down the side street and Simon walked alongside her but didn't offer her his arm.

The shop was hot and steamy and they were glad to be inside out of the cold air. The weather was changing for the worse and there had been an occasional snow shower. Simon ordered coffee and Eleanor chocolate, and as they waited Simon blurted out, 'I've heard from Mama.'

'Have you?' Eleanor was astonished. 'How did she find your address?'

Simon gazed across the room. 'I wrote to her.' He swallowed and seemed embarrassed. 'After you told me about her and this fellow Walton, I was very angry. And ashamed. I couldn't believe that she would stoop so low.'

The waitress came with their drinks and he stopped speaking. Eleanor waited.

He stirred his coffee, which was black and strong. 'And then I got to thinking that she couldn't go back to our father, not with the trouble he's in, so what else could she do? She'd have to live with Aunt Maud for ever, and who on earth could stand that? Personally I'd rather jump in the river than live with that silly old bat and her husband!'

Eleanor gasped. 'You are
so
rude!'

'It's true,' he sneered. 'Anyway, I thought I'd write to Mama and tell her that although I considered her behaviour disgraceful, I was prepared to forgive her as I realized how she had suffered.'

He took a gulp of coffee whilst Eleanor stared at him, astounded at what he was saying. 'And she wrote back to me,' he went on, 'and said that she had no regrets and their plans were going ahead. They sail from the Thames on the twenty-third of December.'

He looked at Eleanor from over the rim of his cup. 'And I'm going with them.'

She was speechless. How high-minded and shocked he had been when she had told him about their mother, and now here he was . . . She couldn't think straight. Simon going to Canada!

'To do what?' she whispered. 'What will you do when you're there?'

He shrugged. 'Don't know. But there're plenty of opportunities; that's what Mama said Mr Walton says. I'll take a chance, just like I did when I came to London. But don't tell anybody. Especially not Quinn.'

Eleanor took a sip of chocolate. It was sweet and soothing. I don't need him, she thought. He has never ever considered me even though I came all this way to find him. Not once has he asked how I'm getting on, even though he knows how sheltered a life I always had before. I could have been living on the streets of London just like the poor and the beggars for all he cares.

And her mother. Had she asked about her? Had she been worried when she had left Aunt Maud's house?

'Did you tell Mama that I was in London?' she asked.

'Well, of course,' he said. 'I told her that you had turned up here and told me about this dastardly affair. She was surprised that you'd travelled alone. Said she didn't think that you would do anything like that. She was worried when you went off so suddenly but assumed you'd gone back to Father because you were so cross with her.'

'And I suppose it was Mama's suggestion that you go with them to Canada?' Eleanor asked. 'If she told you about the opportunities there?'

'Yes,' he admitted. 'It was.'

'You were always her favourite,' she commented.

'And you were Father's,' he retaliated.

Eleanor shook her head. 'I don't think so,' she said softly. 'But it doesn't matter.'

She finished her drink and opened her purse. 'Here you are; that's for the chocolate.' She put some coins on the table and stood up. 'I have to go now. Good luck.' She put out her hand to her brother, who with an astonished look on his face pushed back his chair and stood up also.

He took her hand. 'Eleanor,' he said awkwardly, shaking her hand. 'I'm sorry if . . .' His voice tailed away.

Eleanor held back tears. 'Goodbye, Simon.

I wish you well in your life.' She turned from him and walked towards the door and didn't look back.

Eleanor had given Liza extra money towards a Christmas dinner. She had gathered that money was very tight, even though Mr Bertram worked well into the night to satisfy his clients. She was gratified by her landlady's response and surprised when Liza asked her if she would like to invite her brother to join her for Christmas dinner.

'Simon is going away,' she replied, 'but might I ask a friend?'

'Course you can, dearie,' Liza said cheerfully.

'Whoever you like. There might not be much but they can share what we have and welcome.'

Eleanor wrote a note to Mikey at his lodgings, inviting him and Sam to spend Christmas Day with her and Liza's family if they had not planned anything else. She didn't hold out a lot of hope as she thought that Mikey would probably be spending the holiday with Bridget.

She received a letter back a few days later and as she read it she thought that Mikey too would benefit from some writing lessons. His spelling was atrocious, as was his punctuation, although he made himself perfectly clear when he wrote that he 'wood be very pleesed to cum'. He said that Sam would be spending the day with his brother and he would take him to Whitechapel on Christmas Eve after he had finished work, and that the Reverend Mr Goodhart would bring him back. 'I wasn't looking forward to Christmas,' he wrote. 'But now I am.'

In the week before Christmas, after leaving work, Eleanor looked again in the shop windows and the stalls in Oxford Street and thought she would like to buy one or two gifts. She saw a little doll and a train which were not too expensive and these she purchased for Liza's children. For Liza she bought a bottle of lavender water and for Mr Bertram a cigar.

She didn't know what to get for Mikey, for she didn't want to embarrass him as she was sure he wouldn't bring her a gift. But then Mr Christopher solved her problem by saying that if she wanted any gloves or scarves as gifts for anyone, then she could have them at cost price.

A black silk scarf was out of the question for Mikey, but a pair of wool gloves, she decided, would be very practical and they were within her price range.

As she was packing the gloves, for some inexplicable reason she thought of her father. Where was he? Was he in a cold prison cell? She did not want to believe what had been alleged about him in spite of knowing that he could be cold-hearted and unforgiving of others' weaknesses.

I'll write to him, she thought. It is the least I can do. I will tell him that I am alive and well and living in London, but I won't give him my address. I won't mention Mama or Simon because to do so will anger him and I will say that I hope his troubles are resolved and that he hasn't suffered too much.

Mikey had been astonished by Eleanor's invitation. He had felt very gloomy at the thought of Christmas. Since they had come to London he had spent the holiday mooching about. Bridget spent most of the day in bed, and so did Simon; Sam generally visited his brother. Mikey too could have spent the day with the Goodharts and all the children, for the Reverend and his wife always did their best to make it a joyous time, and indeed he had done so on one occasion; but Christmas Day had always been a special day when he had lived at home with his mother and siblings, and the company of the Goodharts' other homeless boys had only made him feel more lonely and unloved than ever.

It would be good to be with a real family at Christmas. I should take a gift, he thought, and wondered what he could take and how much he could afford. It was then that he remembered giving his mother a bunch of violets when he was very young and how thrilled she had been. That's what I'll do. There's sure to be a flower-seller about on Christmas Eve and we'll have been given our wages.

It was dark when they finished stacking boxes in the warehouse on Christmas Eve; Mikey went to find Manners to remind him to pay the men. Manners looked up from the desk where he was adding up figures in a ledger, a job that Simon usually did.

'Where's Simon?' Mikey asked. 'I haven't seen him all day, nor last night either, come to think.'

'That's because he's gone,' Manners said testily. 'Left. Skedaddled.'

'What do you mean? Has he gone to another job? He never said.'

Tony Manners shook his head. 'He came in yesterday morning and asked me if he could have his wages early as he owed somebody; so like a fool I gave them to him. Then when I'd handed them over he said he was off. Leaving on the evening tide. Didn't you know?' he added peevishly. 'He's gone to Canada.'

Mikey's jaw dropped. 'To Canada? He never said a word. Does Bridget know? Does his sister know?'

Manners shrugged. 'I don't know. I didn't know he had a sister. I only know that I'm checking the figures to find out if he's diddled me.'

Mikey put his hand to his jaw. If Eleanor didn't know then this news would really spoil her Christmas. He took the money for the men and asked for his own. Manners looked at him coldly as he handed it over.

'What about you?' he grunted. 'Are you going to do a runner as well?'

'Where would I go?' Mikey muttered. 'And where would I get enough money to go anywhere?'

'Well, that's why I'm checking the books,' Manners snarled. 'To find out if I'm paying for that serpent's trip.'

Mikey started to walk away, but Manners called after him. 'I've got a consignment coming in on Boxing Day. Your pal Simon was supposed to be here for it so you'll have to do it instead. It's important,' he added, 'so be here.'