Two for Three Farthings (28 page)

‘Kids, of course, know how to enjoy themselves,' said Jim, watching.

‘Age makes us wiser, perhaps, but we pay for that by acquiring inhibitions,' said Miss Pilgrim, eyes on the uninhibited, on the laughing, roaring boys and the shrieking girls as swings soared.

‘You're not speaking as an old lady, are you?' said Jim.

‘That is an impertinence, Mr Cooper.'

‘Beg to point out you're not an old lady, you're the champion conker of coconuts. Your performance, Miss Pilgrim, rocked Hampstead Heath.'

‘Really, Mr Cooper,' she said stiffly, ‘I do wish you would not attempt to drag me into absurd conversations. I have no sympathy for the absurd.'

‘Shall I take you up on a swing, then?' smiled Jim.

‘Thank you, no,' said Miss Pilgrim.

‘I thought I should ask you.'

‘Very well,' she said.

‘Pardon?'

‘We must wait until the children come off so that Horace can take care of the picnic bag.'

‘You mean you'll take a ride with me?' asked Jim.

‘I have not been on a swing since I was a girl. It isn't an impossible venture for me now, I hope.'

‘It's usually fun,' said Jim. He had not been serious in asking her, he could not see the unbending Miss Pilgrim finding fun on a fairground swing. She did not fit the part at all. On the other hand, she had been an exhilarating surprise at the coconut shy.

Orrice gaped when he was asked to mind the picnic bag so that Miss Pilgrim and his Uncle Jim could take a ride. Miss Pilgrim also placed her handbag in his care. He and Effel watched her take her seat in a swing. She did so with a kind of stiff formality, sitting upright and wrapping her gloved hands firmly around the tassel of the rope. Jim sat long-legged and at ease, his one hand on the rope. The attendant gave the swing a push, and Effel stared wide-eyed as her guardian and Miss Pilgrim began to swing to and fro. Jim was all smiles. She wore a cool expression. He became vigorous. He liked activity. He had a fund of energy. Miss Pilgrim maintained her fixed, upright posture, pulling modestly on the rope. The swing gathered momentum. Swings on either side of them were soaring, girls squealing.

The hem of Miss Pilgrim's skirt fluttered, disclosing whisking white lace of a starched petticoat. She noted the vigorous strength of Jim's one arm. She frowned a little, her body moving to the increasing momentum.

‘There is no need to overdo it, Mr Cooper,' she said.

‘Heave-ho, Miss Pilgrim,' said Jim, and pulled with a will. The swing began to soar. Miss Pilgrim's posture suffered a sudden radical change. At the top of a high arc she lost her seat and the stability of her legs, and as the swing plunged downwards her flowing skirt and her lacy petticoat billowed high. For a breathtaking second or so Jim found himself looking at the longest legs he could have imagined on a woman. In sleek black stockings they reached high to a glimpse of magnificent white thighs that disappeared into the most delicate of lacy white undergarments.

‘Mr Cooper!' She burst into outraged protest.

‘Oh, good grief,' said Jim, and stopped pulling. Miss Pilgrim, face burning, covered herself. She was not unaware of boys hooting with laughter and girls giggling in the other swings.

Watching from the ground, Orrice said, ‘Crikey, did yer see that, Effel? All that white starch?'

Effel giggled.

Miss Pilgrim said icily, ‘Stop this swing, Mr Cooper.'

Jim let it settle. His quick eyes caught sight of something else then, the dart of a man in a flat cap towards Orrice's back. The picnic bag rested on the ground beside the boy's legs, the strap of Miss Pilgrim's handbag dangling from his fingers. The darting man snatched and was away in a flash. Jim leapt from the swing as Orrice turned and shouted. Jim ran fast, passing Orrice at speed. Orrice followed on. Jim kept his eyes on the flat cap, a blue jersey and black trousers, the thief eeling his way through the wandering crowds. Orrice was shouting.

‘Stop, you fief, stop!'

Jim was travelling like a sprinter. Out of the swing, Miss Pilgrim watched as he disappeared amid the Bank Holiday bustle, Orrice following. The thief cast rapid glances over his shoulder. Jim was closing in, people falling aside from his path. Orrice's yells were taken up.

‘Stop, thief!'

The working people of London had no time for the pickpockets and thieves who preyed on them at fairgrounds. Ascot or Lords were fair game. Fairgrounds weren't. Orrice collected a posse of punitive-minded men.

The thief ran, darted and twisted, going in and out between stalls and people. Jim kept after him, never losing sight of him, and he closed rapidly as the man raced downhill. When he was right on his heels, Jim took a running kick at the thief's backside. It bowled him over. He dropped the handbag. Jim swooped. A cudgel, wielded by an accomplice, caught him on the back of his head. His cap saved him from serious injury, but the blow still sent him sprawling. He landed on top of the handbag. The thief sprang up, and he and his accomplice rushed down the hill. A dozen men roared in pursuit. Orrice stopped and went down on his knees beside Jim.

‘Uncle Jim, what they done to yer?' he asked anxiously.

Jim turned over, looked up into Orrice's concerned eyes and blinked. He sat up, put his hand to the back of his head and winced.

‘I think I'll take a minute's rest, old chap,' he said, ‘I'm winded.'

‘I fought 'e'd laid yer real low, Uncle, yer took an 'orrible clout from a big geezer what run up behind yer. But yer got Miss Pilgrim's 'andbag back. Crikey, fank me lucky stars yer did.'

People crowded round, offering help, if help was required. Jim shook away dizziness and climbed to his feet. His one-armed look made the crowd mutter obscenities about the thief.

Miss Pilgrim arrived, with Effel and the picnic bag. She regarded Jim expressionlessly.

‘My handbag, I think,' she said.

‘Pleasure,' said Jim, and handed it to her.

‘Miss Pilgrim, cor, Uncle Jim didn't 'alf get—'

‘Never mind that.' Miss Pilgrim cut Orrice off abruptly. ‘Come this way.' And she took herself off from the gawping people, her long legs striding, Effel in her wake. Jim looked at Orrice.

‘I fink she's got the rats, Uncle Jim,' said Orrice.

‘And I think I've got a headache,' said Jim. He gave the boy a wink. Orrice grinned.

They followed on.

The whole of Hampstead Heath looked a playground on this fine Whitsun Monday. The fair, seen from higher ground, dominated the scene. Around it the Heath was dotted with countless families making inroads into picnics. For some it was bread and cheese and pickled onions, and the cheapest kind of fruit. For others there were boiled eggs as well as cheese, and perhaps a bag of tomatoes. For dads there were bottles of brown ale, for mums of a buxom kind there were bottles of Guinness, for mums of a thin kind there were Iron Jelloids taken with a swig of R. White's lemonade, and for kids there was lemonade or kola water, the latter the forerunner of American cola. Among families a little more affluent than most, large pork pies were divided up, and there was fruit cake or tins of pineapple chunks to follow.

Miss Pilgrim, having found a spot high on the Heath, produced her picnic of finely-cut sandwiches, blushing tomatoes, lettuce and cucumber. A new fruit cake was to follow, together with apples. A flask of tea was also included. Orrice and Effel did full justice to the provisions, and Jim ate with enjoyment. Miss Pilgrim ate with reserve, sitting straight-backed on the grass. Orrice, always voluble, even when tucking in, explained in detail the chase in pursuit of the thief.

‘Cor, Miss Pilgrim, when Uncle Jim catched 'im—'

‘Caught him, boy.'

‘Yerse, well, when 'e did, Miss Pilgrim, 'e bowled the bleedin' nicker over—'

‘Language, Horace,' said Jim.

‘Horrid boy, must you be so coarse?' asked Miss Pilgrim.

‘Me?' Orrice looked mystified. ‘But I ain't said nuffink, Miss Pilgrim, you ought to 'ear 'em at Covent Garden where me dad worked.'

‘I have heard them, thank you,' said Miss Pilgrim, delicately slicing a tomato. ‘The language there is no excuse for a small boy.'

‘Me? I ain't small, Miss Pilgrim, I'm growin' like rhubarb. Anyways'm, you should've seen Uncle Jim, 'e lifted the geezer ten feet in the air, 'e did. Kicked him right up the bum while they was both still runnin'.'

Jim choked on lettuce and cucumber. Effel giggled. Miss Pilgrim stared coldly at Horace, then at Jim.

Jim said, ‘There are ladies present, Horace.' He leaned to whisper to the boy. ‘Don't say bum or bleeding, say bottom and blooming. Don't say nuffink, say nothing. Let's hear you.'

‘All right, Uncle Jim,' said Orrice, ‘bottom, bloomin' an' nothink.'

‘What on earth is that boy saying now?' asked Miss Pilgrim.

‘I'm only saying about the geezer what nicked yer 'andbag, Miss Pilgrim,' said Orrice earnestly. ‘Uncle Jim copped 'im a beauty, honest, only a big geezer went for Uncle Jim then. Conked 'im when 'e wasn't lookin'. Give 'im an 'urtful 'eadache.'

‘Well, I'm sorry about that, of course,' said Miss Pilgrim, ‘but I think I warned you, Mr Cooper, of the unpleasant types to be found at fairgrounds. Ethel, don't wipe your fingers on your frock. There's a damp cloth there. Use that.'

Lummy, thought Orrice, she's got the rats all right.

But nothing could spoil the picnic for him and Effel. It was a treat, eating in the warm sunshine, with the music of the merry-go-rounds reaching the ears, and kids playing leapfrog on the Heath. Jim thanked Miss Pilgrim for the food on behalf of himself and the children. She merely nodded. Effel mumbled something about a coconut.

‘Do speak up, child,' said Miss Pilgrim.

‘I think Ethel's reminding me I promised to try to win her a coconut,' said Jim.

‘You wish to return to the fairground?'

‘We can, can't we?' said Orrice.

‘If that is what you want. I shall return home while you spend the afternoon here.'

‘Good,' muttered Effel for her own ears alone.

‘I don't like you going all the way on your own,' said Jim.

‘Nonsense,' said Miss Pilgrim, ‘I am very self-sufficient and quite happy in my own company. I do not require any escort.'

Jim looked rueful, Orrice looked puzzled, and Effel looked satisfied. When everything had been cleared and tidied up, Miss Pilgrim departed and Jim took the kids back to the fair, although he failed to win a coconut. But he did win a doll for Effel at the shooting gallery, handling the rifle with one arm and using Orrice's shoulder as a rest. Effel was rapturous.

Miss Pilgrim, far from rapturous, asked Jim to see her when he arrived back with the children. She confronted him in her sitting-room.

‘I have decided, Mr Cooper, that you and your wards are not suitable lodgers. I am giving you a week's notice from tomorrow, Tuesday. I hope you will be able to make other arrangements in that time.'

‘You're not serious?'

‘Indeed I am. And by the terms of the tenancy agreement, you must accept notice.'

‘I'm aghast,' said Jim, ‘I can't believe you mean it. Is there anything that has particularly upset you?'

‘I am not prepared to go into petty details, Mr Cooper, but I will say the general behaviour of your wards leaves a lot to be desired, and I am also unable to come to any kind of agreeable terms with a man who refuses to take his responsibilities seriously and cannot act with reasonable maturity. That is all, Mr Cooper, there is no point in attempting further discussion.'

‘Well, I think that's pretty hard,' said Jim, ‘and I'm not sure it isn't unfair. Is your mind really made up?'

The striking blue eyes were unyielding.

‘It is, Mr Cooper.'

‘Very well,' said Jim, ‘I'm sorry we've been so unsatisfactory. I'll start looking for new lodgings tomorrow. Perhaps, under the circumstances, you should supply us with no more midday meals. I've another week before I start my new hours, I'll see to the kids at midday.'

‘Yes, perhaps that would be as well,' said Miss Pilgrim.

Jim said nothing to Orrice and Effel for the moment. He exacted from them a promise of good behaviour, left them a meal prepared, and went off to his work at six-thirty. Walking up to the Walworth Road, he saw Mrs Lockheart on the other side of the street. She was in company with elderly Mrs Hardiman, and the two looked to be having a fair old gossip. Seeing him, Mrs Lockheart waved and smiled.

‘How is Rebecca, Mr Cooper?' she called.

‘My landlady's still on her feet,' said Jim brusquely, and went on.

Arriving at the club, he encountered Molly, who knew at once from the frown on his face that something was wrong.

‘What's up, old lad?'

Jim told her.

‘It all means I've got just a week to find three rooms.'

‘Well, don't be too down in the mouth,' said Molly, ‘that's not like you, old thing. I think I might be able to help. I know a couple who've just seen the last of their children married. I think they're going to find things a bit quiet, and I've a feeling they could do with a bit of rent. Look, I've got to push off now, but if it's possible I'll be back with news one way or the other. So hang on, love, you're my best mate. Don't let your griping landlady get you down.'

She was back at eleven, and with the news that Jim was to call on the couple, with his wards, at seven on Thursday evening. The couple wanted to see what the kids were like.

‘I'll be here, working,' said Jim.

‘You'll get an hour off, sweetie, trust me,' said Molly, excessively fond of Jim, a valiant old soldier in her eyes. She gave him the name of the couple, and the address, fifteen Webber Street, off Blackfriars Road. That, thought Jim, was a bit far from the kids' school. But he knew Molly wouldn't land him in a dump. The school problem was something he'd have to work out. A tram ride was a start to a solution, and he wanted the kids to stay at St John's.