Page 6

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Billy paused for a second before pushing open the door to the public bar. He could smell the slightly sour stink of beer, even with the door closed. It brought with it a multitude of bad memories – the only difference between them being just how bad. Taking a deep breath, he put his shoulder against the heavy wood and forced it open.

Despite it not yet being lunch, the bar was busy, and Billy’s eyes widened at the assortment of station workers, drivers and labourers, all most likely to have recently come off a long night shift on the railway. The different jobs were easy to distinguish – not simply because of how clean they looked. Those working in the station proper sported dark serge suits; the drivers and footplate crew, sturdy trousers and once-white shirts; and finally, the labourers still wearing their heavy jackets and grease-smeared trousers. The only thing any of them had taken off were their caps.

Billy stood in the doorway trying to peer through the throng. After a few seconds he caught sight of Gladys behind the bar. She was currently engaged in a lively debate with an argumentative man who looked blooted. He could hear her ordering him to keep his bloody hands to ‘imself, and go and sleep it off.

The boy almost turned tail then and there. He’d seen his own da in the same state too many times to count and knew how it usually ended. But to his surprise, the gent was taken firmly by his elbows by two burly work mates and frogmarched into the bowels of the pub. At the same moment Gladys looked over towards the door and spotted him. She raised her eyebrows in surprise but didn’t hesitate. Wiping her hands on her apron, she squeezed out from behind the bar and pushed her way towards him.

‘You want somethin’ to eat, lad?’ she asked him, taking hold of his arm and dragging him back through the mêlée, her ample frame sheltering his smaller one.

Once back behind the bar, she seated him on a stool out of her way before reaching into a large jar and fishing out a pickled egg, wiping the excess vinegar off on her apron. Sprinkling it with salt, she handed it to Billy, said she’d be with him in a bit, and went back to serving the next customer.

With a grin of thanks, the boy bit into it with relish. Miss Charlotte would no doubt have been horrified at the complete lack of any kind of serving implement, but she wasn’t here, and Billy was famished.

For the next half an hour, he sat and watched Gladys deal briskly and efficiently with the pub’s customers. She reminded him a bit of his ma. It was clear her quips were popular with most of the regulars, but she didn’t put up with any back chat or bad language and was more than happy to give them a piece of her mind should they warrant it. But, as the minutes slipped by, the boy’s anxiety began to rise. Lunchtime came and went. How much time was a bit? If it took much longer, he’d just have to try and find his own way to the address he’d been given. To his relief, however, the pub slowly began emptying as the customers either drifted home or back to their shift.

‘Right then, lad, let’s ‘ave another look at where yer tryin’ to get to.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Billy pulled the piece of paper out of his trouser pocket and handed it to her. After staring down at it for a few seconds, she pursed her lips and abruptly yelled, ‘Arnold.’ Billy jumped, and his heart gave a painful thud as he spied a huge, beefy man making his way towards the bar. Was this it? Was this where he met a grisly end? Who’d tell his ma?

‘This lad wants to get to Jarvis Street,’ Gladys told the burly man as he looked over the bar at her enquiringly. She turned back to Billy. ‘Wot’s yer name, ducky?’

Billy swallowed, his eyes still on the giant dwarfing the smaller woman. ‘Bill… Billy Wiggins,’ he managed through a sudden lump in his throat.

‘I reckon if we tek ‘im soon as Charlie gets ‘ere, we’ll be back afore the next shift gets off.’

‘Why’d ‘e want to go?’ Arnold rumbled.

Gladys shrugged. ‘I ain’t asked ‘im. But I do know a lad on ‘is own in a strange city will attract trouble like flies on shit. I don’t want the worry of ‘im peggin’ it keepin’ me awake at night, knowin’ I could’ve ‘elped.’ She handed over the now dog-eared piece of paper. Billy watched anxiously, wondering how long it would be before it disintegrated.

‘Pounds House, The Society for the Advancement of Industrious Children,’ Arnold read slowly, stumbling over the word Industrious. ‘I ain’t never ‘eard of it. Why’d you want to go there, lad?’

Billy opened his mouth, then shut it again, his heart setting up a faltering rhythm as his two would-be saviours looked at him enquiringly. His immediate instinct was to lie, but he sensed they’d spot a plumper a mile off. Glady’s might not have been the one to ask him, but it was obvious she was as interested as her companion, and if she thought he was shamming it, she might throw him to the wolves. But if he told them the entire story, it would take him all bloody day, and they’d likely believe it a bag of moonshine at the end of it.

In the end he settled for a quick whitewash. That was something he was particularly good at. He took a deep breath. ‘There’s this woman in Paignton wot took summat important from me ma, an’ I aim to get it back.’ All true aside from his ma being involved.

‘An’ you think this baggage is ‘ere?’ Gladys inclined her head towards the address now screwed up in Arnold's meaty paw.

Billy nodded.

‘An’ does yer ma know yer ‘ere, lookin’ to get this summat back?’ Arnold asked. Billy hesitated, which naturally told them the answer was no. The giant frowned, growling, ‘You could be buried in someone’s back garden, an’ she’d never know wot ‘ad ‘appened to you.’ He looked over at Gladys. ‘I reckon we ought to put ‘im on the first train back to Paignton.’

‘No,’ Billy burst out. ‘I can’t go back wi’out at least knowin’ wot she’s done wi’ it.’

‘An’ o’ course you ain’t got a train ticket, ‘ave you, Billy Wiggins.’ Gladys shook her head and sighed, clearly not expecting him to answer. After a few seconds, she looked over the bar at her companion. ‘I say, we take ‘im in the cart to this Society, then we wait fer ‘im outside fer ‘alf an hour. If he ain’t back out by then, we’ll go in an’ bloody fetch ‘im.’

CHAPTER 4

Though the day had clouded over slightly since Bea had been sitting at her easel, the weather was still exceptionally warm for late April, revealing the full magnificence of Cliff House’s gardens in all their spring glory.

While her aunt would certainly not have countenanced her walking alone with a gentleman in public, the gardens of their home during daylight hours were acceptable, not least because the house was situated on a headland between Paignton and Goodrington, which meant the garden especially could not be overlooked. There were of course pros and cons to such an uncommon level of privacy. Childish pursuits were enthusiastically participated in with no consideration given to propriety or dignity, and as Alex and Bella especially put aside childish pursuits, the numerous hidden glades provided the perfect refuge to indulge in illicit gossip with visiting friends.

After dark, however, was an entirely different story – ever since the going-away party held for their brother Nicholas before he left for Australia. The only thing Bea knew for sure was that Alexandra had come perilously close to being ruined in one of the garden’s delightfully secret glades – although she and Bernie had never managed to find out the details.

‘Is that Paignton over there?’ Beatrix nodded, following Robert as he walked towards the edge of the garden nearest to the drawing room. Aggie of course had learned nothing from her banishment and capered around his feet, tail wagging in delighted welcome.

He bent down to fuss the delighted retriever. ‘Do you never fear she’ll jump over the wall and be lost?’