The Streets Page 14

  ‘I hardly think –’.

  ‘Listen to me – this government has a morbid fear of revolution, and Kenton has been identified as one of its possible fomenters. Even as distant associates of his we should be on our guard.’

  ‘But Kenton’s only gone missing, he’s not dead. Chances are he’s just lying low somewhere.’

  Paget nodded, but he looked very far from convinced.

  The day of the Bedfordshire outing, a Sunday in the middle of June, began fair, and gradually melted into sultriness. The prospect of this rural venture, too eagerly awaited, had disturbed my sleep, and I woke early enough to hear the milk seller’s cart horse clopping on the street below. My landlady had not yet risen, so I dressed and set off with a view to having breakfast on the way to the station. I called at an eating house on the edge of the Brill called Casti’s, a place that opened early to serve the market traders and railway workers. I drank coffee at the counter and marvelled silently as the coster next to me drank off a glass of short with his saveloy. Gin, at this hour! I was taking my leave when I saw from the corner of my eye two ruffian fellows hunkered over their breakfast. There was nothing unusual about such types, not in Somers Town, only that I had the disagreeable sensation of having seen them before. I managed to slip away without their noticing me.

  Five minutes later I was standing at the concourse of St Pancras Station amidst swarming crowds of travellers such as Mr Frith might have painted. It soon became apparent that most of them were bound on the same excursion as I. Here and there charity employees bustled about, identified by scarlet sashes on which was emblazoned ‘Social Protection League’. Beneath the giant vaulted roof hissing swathes of steam rose from an incoming train, and the waiting throng turned like a herd of cattle towards the platforms.

  ‘Davie,’ said a voice behind me, and I turned to find Jo, in his Sunday togs, and Roma next to him. She was wearing a navy dress with a yoke collar, and had braided her dark hair. I stuttered out a greeting.

  ‘Looks like every coster in the Brill is ’avin’ a day out,’ he said, swivelling his gaze around us. ‘They’d have to make a lot o’ sandwiches to feed this mob.’

  ‘I imagine so. Shall we find a carriage?’ I led the way along the platform, hoping to spot Kitty, though I guessed that she’d be occupied with looking after the board members and patrons. After giving our names to one of the registrars, we stepped onto the train and found an empty compartment. Roma and I sat opposite one another by the window, whilst Jo stood outside in the corridor, smoking his pipe and chatting to a couple of his mates. I gazed from under my brow at Roma, and wondered what she was thinking.

  A sudden jolt shook me out of this reverie. The train had begun to move off, slowly, so slowly at first that it seemed the platform outside was shifting, not the carriage. As it gathered speed, the window showed the backs of houses, cramped yards, belching chimneys, and odd perspectives on buildings which only a railway journey ever provided. We passed through back-to-front Camden and Kentish Town, a monotony of suburban terraces, then the city began to straggle and thin out; instead of houses and pubs and factories we began to see fields and hedges. I turned to Roma, who had also been absorbed in our progress.

  ‘D’you think you will like the countryside?’

  She glanced at me, then turned back to the window. ‘Maybe. Friends who lived there say how quiet it is, without the noise of traffic – or people. I remember my mum sayin’ when she was a girl, in Italy, you could have whole days when you ’eard nothin’ but birdsong.’

  ‘So she was a country girl herself?’

  Roma nodded. ‘Yeah. She adored the place, but, as I heard it, the life got so hard in their village – Monty-somethin’ – her parents reckoned they should starve if they didn’t leave quick. How they ended up in Somers Town I don’t know. An’ with them gone I s’pose I never will.’ Her tone became musing. ‘It’s an odd thing, ain’t it, that my mum should’ve come all that way, through all those countries in Europe, yet here we are, Jo and me, never once been out of London.’

  ‘Aren’t you curious to know where she came from?’

  ‘I try to imagine it,’ she said, and a rare smile formed on her lips. ‘It’s very beautiful, they say. I should have liked to visit, one day . . . Florence, that was the nearest city to them. They used to show me little pictures of it.’

  ‘But they called you “Roma” instead,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, well . . . p’raps they thought it easier to spell! Un paese bellissimo, parole non potranno descrivere la sua bellezza . . . Dio si stava mettendo in mostra quando ha creato l’Italia. That’s what my mum would’ve said.’

  ‘Good Lord! What does that mean?’

  ‘Oh – “A beautiful country, more beautiful than anyone could describe it – God was showing off when He made Italy.”’ She laughed at that, though there was something wistful in the sigh that followed it.

  ‘But really,’ I continued, ‘should you not like to go? The land of your forefathers?’

  ‘What I should like to do ain’t the same as what I can afford to do. Believe me. Not much chance of my goin’ abroad when I spends my days tottin’ up ha’pennies.’

  I wanted then to say that I would pay for her to go, if I were able. But of course I didn’t dare. I could picture only too well her look of scornful pride as she declined such an offer. It was a point of principle to her that she would not accept charity, and even today’s venture she had only undertaken as a favour to me. At that moment there came a tap on the glass of our compartment door and Kitty, wearing one of the charity sashes over her dress, pushed it open.

  ‘David! I’ve been searching the whole train for you,’ she said gaily, turning an expectant look upon my companion opposite.

  ‘Kitty, this is Roma,’ I said. Jo, who was loitering in the corridor as Kitty arrived, now hovered behind her, widening his eyes comically. ‘And this is Jo.’

  She clutched Jo’s hand with enthusiasm. ‘Now you I’ve heard all about,’ she cried. Jo, bemused, looked from Kitty to me as though to say, Who’s this? I invited her to sit down, and explained our connection to one another.

  ‘. . . I didn’t even know Papa had a godson, in truth, but we’ve become fast friends ever since,’ Kitty supplied, before directing her helpless charm upon Roma. ‘Such a lovely name,’ she cooed, searching her face. ‘Are you Italian?’

  Roma shook her head. ‘I was born in Camden Town, like my pa. But my mother was Italian.’

  ‘We’ve lately been talking of Italy,’ I said, endeavouring to oil the social wheels. ‘Have you ever been there, Kitty?’

  ‘Only the Lakes,’ she replied breezily. ‘But I do long to go to Venice, and Naples – and Rome, of course!’ She beamed at each of us, as if in hope of securing our approval. Roma watched her, but said nothing.

  ‘I served a cove from Naples at the stall a while back,’ Jo piped up. ‘Merchant sailor, he was. Very fond of peaches. Used to sell ’em to him by the plasket. I learned somethin’ from ’im too – before that I always thought Naples was in India.’

  Kitty burst out laughing at this, and Jo, delighted to tweak anyone’s funny bone, even by accident, joined in.

  ‘I’m sorry not to be sitting with you,’ said Kitty, ‘but I’ve been told to look after the board’s patrons in First – and a stuffy lot they are! Only, I should like you to meet Father Kay, he’s rather an interesting character. He’s vicar at the Church of St Columba in Somers Town – do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve passed by it,’ said Roma. ‘Anglican place, ain’t it?’

  ‘It is. I suppose you must be . . . Roman Catholic?’

  ‘Well, Ro here is,’ said Jo. ‘I don’t much care for churchgoin’ meself.’

  ‘A vicar who calls himself Father?’ I said.

  ‘He’s very High Church, all incense, candles and whatnot. I gather some of his parishioners are rather disturbed by his Romish tendencies. But he’s been a stalwart of the Social Protection League, and he’s always coll
ecting money for it.’

  ‘That sounds like a Catholic,’ said Roma drily. Kitty shot an anxious look at her.

  ‘We look forward to being introduced, I’m sure,’ I said. Green fields and copses slid by the window, now glinting from the rays of a high-hoisted sun. It was becoming quite warm in the carriage. Kitty stood and said that she’d better be getting back. ‘But I’ll see you once we arrive at Bindon Fields.’

  ‘Yeah. We could ’ave our wittles together,’ said Jo brightly. Kitty looked blank, and turned to me for elucidation.

  ‘Perhaps you could join us for luncheon,’ I supplied.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so!’ she said in a tone of breathless sincerity; and, with a little wave, she was gone. I felt Roma’s eyes on me as I plumped back down on the seat. Kitty’s brief appearance had left us unexpectedly tongue-tied, and the rhythmic clacking of the rails below filled in the silence. It was Jo who at length was moved to comment on our recent visitor.

  ‘Snappy gal, that,’ he mused approvingly. ‘I never knowed you ’ad h’aristocratic relations, Davie!’

  ‘She’s not a relation,’ I replied, ‘she’s the daughter of my godfather.’

  Jo, who didn’t quite comprehend the nature of a godfather, only shrugged. I looked to Roma enquiringly, but her expression was just as inscrutable as ever. ‘I liked that diamond on her finger,’ she said quietly. ‘Very handsome.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Jo, ‘don’t see sparklers like that down Chalton Street . . .’ He tilted his head, and then whistled a few bars. ‘’Twas a diamond as bright as a harvest moon . . . How does that one go, Ro?’

  Roma smiled, and shook her head.

  Jo was still testing the words of his half-remembered ditty when the train began to slow, then came to a shuddering halt at a tiny railway station, Bindon, whose modest proportions seemed barely ready to accommodate more than a handful of visitors at a time. Its white-painted fences and dainty windows bearded with flowerboxes lent it a quaintness very alien to the monstrous black halls of smoke and clangour that we knew from the railway termini of London. This rural backwater had surely never seen such crowds disgorged onto its platform. The League’s stewards were directing the press of bodies out through the station’s surprised vestibule and thence up a narrow lane with hedgerows on either side. At the front of what was now a long queue I could see Kitty gamely assisting one of the less mobile patrons, whilst further along the lane a five-bar gate was being opened in welcome. My idly roving gaze was arrested, quite abruptly, by the sight of the two men whose faces I had lately spied over breakfast in Casti’s. They were strolling about twenty yards ahead of us, and now I recalled the last occasion I had met them: one was the fellow who had lifted my purse that day in the Brill, the other was the gang leader from whose further depredations Jo had saved me.

  I nudged Jo at my side, and directed his attention towards the pair: I saw his dark eyes widen, momentarily, as he took them in.

  ‘Gaffy, an’ his mate Tig. He was the dab tros—’

  ‘I know, I remember.’ I also remembered Gaffy’s murderous look when Jo brandished his knife in warning. ‘What are they doing here?’

  Jo hoisted his eyebrows, as though to say, You have to ask? Crowds would always attract that rank of the criminal fraternity who tended to work in close quarters – the priggers and lifters and dippers. Whilst race meetings and prizefights were their usual haunts, an outing such as today’s would be regarded as ‘prime’, for who would think of their pocket being picked on an occasion sponsored by a charity?

  In a nervous reflex I felt for the purse in my coat, and found it secure. After some minutes of dawdling at a bottleneck in the crowd, we were finally ushered into Bindon Fields, a wide expanse of meadowland bordered by lines of mature trees with a little wood sloping off at its far end. The sun, reclining on the pillowy clouds, burned down majestically. Shielding their eyes against the glare, Jo and Roma both appeared at a loss, stunned by so much open sky and a world quite empty of buildings and traffic. We were evidently the second trainload to have arrived from London, for the fields were already host to a large crowd. Little parties of folk sat on picnic blankets or else roamed about the place, which resembled nothing so much as a country fair. Young men and women threw quoits in contest, or shied at coconuts in stalls; a little knot of them had started a game of rounders. Most of the children were sitting cross-legged and entranced by a Punch and Judy show. It was the very picture of bucolic contentment.

  Long trestles had been set up for serving refreshments, cold fowl, potted herrings and mutton pies, crusty bread, bowls of fruit, ginger beer and lemonade. One of the volunteers handed us a blanket, which we took and spread on a spot at the edge of the wood. The overhanging beeches provided a cool shade from the noonday sun. Roma took a bite of an apple, and stared into the distance, bemused.

  ‘The Social Protection League,’ she said, reciting the name blazoned across the stewards’ sashes. ‘Never heard of ’em. Have you?’

  I shook my head. ‘I know of it only through Kitty. She’s very keen on charitable works.’

  I expected a sardonic response to this, but Roma’s expression was only thoughtful. After a few moments she fixed her gaze upon me. ‘Don’t you come from a place like this?’

  ‘You mean the country? Yes . . . I was raised in a quiet, out-of-the-way sort of village, in Norfolk.’

  ‘Norfolk,’ repeated Jo. ‘I’ve ’eard that name. Where is it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a county in the east, a good few miles –’

  ‘Nah, I mean, where is it from here?’

  Jo’s grasp of geography was based simply on an estimation of distances from wherever he stood. I looked up to check from where the sun was coming. ‘Over that way,’ I said, pointing in an easterly direction. It seemed to satisfy him. Roma’s curiosity, however, was more searching.

  ‘So – did you not like the life in Norfolk?’

  ‘I liked it . . . well enough. But circumstances obliged me to seek employment elsewhere. My godfather used his influence to secure a position for me at Marchmont’s periodical, and so I came to London.’

  ‘Circumstances . . .’ she said in echo. Her gaze had become very shrewd.

  At that moment our conversation was interrupted by the approach of Kitty, with a companion. As we went through the introductions, I sensed Roma’s curiosity still directed upon me, but I didn’t trust myself to catch her eye. The gentleman at Kitty’s side was Father Kay, a thickset, muscular fellow in his forties with a pugilist’s nose and a penetrating sharpness in his gaze. His dark hair was oiled neatly back from his forehead.

  ‘Do be seated,’ he said, for we had all stood to greet him. ‘Catherine here tells me this is your first time out of London. Does it please you?’ He addressed this question mainly to Jo, who had been idly peeling an apple with his knife.

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said Jo, levering a slice from the blade to his mouth. ‘Though the country’s a queer sort of place. Not a single ’ouse in it!’

  ‘Quite a chive you have there,’ said Father Kay, squinting at Jo’s knife. His voice carried the faint trace of an Irish brogue. I hadn’t expected a man of the cloth to know a flash word like chive.

  ‘Oh, just for parin’ an’ whatnot,’ replied Jo equably, though he now folded away his knife to spare himself further scrutiny. The reverend stared at him for some moments, considering, then turned to survey the leisurely scene before us.

  ‘A gratifying sight, is it not? The working people of London at last granted an opportunity to drink in the clean air of the country . . . What I would give to whisk away every parishioner of mine from the polluted city streets and establish them here. The changes we should see!’

  ‘Your parishioners might not thank you for it,’ I said after a pause. ‘From my experience the people of Somers Town like where they live. There is a familiarity, even in hardship, that binds them to the place.’

  ‘David is one of Mr Marchmont’s inspectors,’ said Kitty to Father Kay, wh
o listened in perfect stillness to my counter-argument, before replying.

  ‘Well, there is a troublesome ignorance at large. Which of us would choose to abide in a degraded urban district rather than enjoy a wholesome, healthy life in such a place as this?’ He spread his palms in a gesture of saintly reasonableness. He spoke as one apparently unaware of the fact that Roma and Jo were denizens of the very place he had just called degraded.

  I cleared my throat. ‘With respect, one could better serve people by an improvement of their living standards. The streets are only “polluted” because those who govern us allow them to be. If the state provided decent housing and sanitation there would be no need to uproot whole neighbourhoods and resettle them in the country.’

  Father Kay was shaking his head in regret. ‘Such a scheme of amelioration would take years, decades, to become effectual. In the meantime the criminal elements of society will go unchecked, adding to the sum of human misery.’

  I had heard this line of reasoning before. ‘May I ask, Father, do you know Montgomery Sprule?’

  A flicker of surprise registered in the rector’s eyes. ‘I do indeed. Monty – Mr Sprule – is on our advisory board. We have congenial views on certain social questions.’

  ‘That I can believe,’ I said. Kitty, alert to something adversarial in the tenor of this conversation, smoothly interposed herself.

  ‘Father, time presses. There are several trustees to whom I should like to introduce you before the day is through.’ Father Kay rose to his feet without demur, and, clearing his throat, addressed us in a blandly formal tone.

  ‘Bow your heads for God’s blessing,’ he said, and began muttering some phrases in Latin and then in English. I was rather dumbfounded by this, but out of some mechanical deference I cast my gaze to the ground. Just as she lowered her head I caught Roma’s frowning expression of incredulity and was obliged to bite back the laughter rising in my throat. Jo fidgeted uncomfortably, though he did at least stop chewing his apple. Father Kay finished his prayer, and having wafted a beatific sign of the cross over us he allowed Kitty to lead him away.