Hold On to Hope Read online

  ‘I know, and now there are presents and decorations and everyone sends Christmas cards,’ Mattie said.

  Kate returned to her chair, picked up one of the small sacks, rethreaded her needle then sewed the edges together.

  Mattie measured off the next length of tape using her nose to her fingertip as a guide. ‘Three yards should do it for the far wall, don’t you think?’

  Kate nodded. She bit off some cotton from the end of the little pocket and popped in a handful of candy twists. She tied the ribbon to fasten the top and held it up. ‘They’re not quite sugared almonds, I know, but I’m sure the children will enjoy finding them under the cushions.’

  ‘I’m sure they will.’ Mattie’s eyes twinkled and a girlish smile lit her face. ‘Oh, Kate, isn’t it exciting we’re having a tree?’

  ‘It is! Just like the Queen!’

  Mattie nodded. ‘It’s going to be such fun. I can’t wait to see the children’s faces when Nathaniel staggers in with it.’

  Kate tucked a stray curl behind her ear. ‘Are you sure you can manage having us all again?’

  She looked down at her hands. ‘You know I feel badly that I can’t have you all here but I daren’t, just in case . . .’

  Mattie reached across and squeezed Kate’s hand. ‘I understand. We all do. Can you imagine what would happen if we were all tucking into our roast beef and Freddie strolled in?’

  Kate could. And it wouldn’t be peace and goodwill.

  ‘Has he been back?’ Mattie asked, taking a sip of tea.

  ‘He swaggered in last week smelling of cheap perfume and drink just as I was closing up, of course.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Told him to sling his hook.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Only after taking three shillings from the till.’

  ‘Oh, Kate.’

  Kate shrugged. ‘What can I do? The law won’t intervene. At least now with Patrick banking the takings twice a week and me hiding most of the money he can only take a couple of bob.’

  ‘Well, I hope whatever liquor he bought with it chokes him,’ Mattie said, crossing herself rapidly.

  Kate heard the back door open. She glanced at Mattie who stared back with her needle motionless in her hand.

  The parlour door crashed open and Freddie sauntered in. He was wearing a new brown-and-mustard striped suit and three days’ worth of beard on his face.

  Kate looked him over. ‘Talk of the devil . . .’

  ‘. . . and he’s sure to appear,’ finished Mattie.

  Freddie glanced from one to the other. ‘Well, ain’t this a luverly picture? And Mattie! Tis right grand to see you, so it is,’ he said, mocking an Irish accent. ‘I haven’t seen you since I don’t know when.’

  ‘Four years,’ Mattie replied. ‘Surely you remember, Freddie. You came home drunk, as usual, and beat Kate senseless. I nursed her while my husband and brother had a word with you. I’m thinking you probably still have the scars.’

  Freddie’s friendly expression disappeared. ‘And I see old Nat’s keeping his end up.’ His eyes slipped to her stomach. ‘But then you fucking Paddies always did breed like rabbits.’

  Kate stood and put her hands on her hips. ‘What do you want?’

  He picked up the last quarter of the Madeira cake she and Mattie had been enjoying and crammed it into his mouth.

  ‘Where’s Joe?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos I want to see him,’ Freddie replied, spraying crumbs down his lapels.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Never you fucking mind,’ Freddie shouted. ‘He’s my boy, ain’t he?’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ muttered Mattie.

  Freddie jabbed his finger at her. ‘And you keep your nose out.’

  Kate stepped in front of her sister. ‘He’s out playing.’

  ‘When’s he coming back?’

  ‘In a couple of hours.’

  Freddie glanced at the sky through the window. ‘I ain’t got the time to wait around. Tell him to meet me outside the Sword tomorrow at five.’

  ‘I’ll tell him no such thing,’ Kate replied.

  A snarl curled Freddie’s top lip. ‘Then I’ll find him and tell him myself.’ He stepped forward and loomed over her. ‘And I’ll tell you something else for free: you’ll do as I say or the next time I have to find him I’ll take him away – with me.’

  Ice seemed to replace the blood in her veins but somehow Kate managed not to react. She fixed Freddie with a flint-like stare.

  They glared at each other for a second or two and then he lowered his eyes. He shoved over the chair and lumbered into the shop. They heard the money drawer open and when Freddie came back he was jingling a handful of coins. ‘I’m a bit short this week.’ He winked and shoved the money in his pocket and strolled out.

  Kate stared after him for a moment then slammed her hand on the table. ‘God, I wish I’d listened to you, Mattie.’

  Mattie stood up and put her arm around Kate’s shoulders. ‘You were young.’

  ‘I wasn’t too young to get myself into trouble,’ Kate replied, still staring at the door.

  Mattie kissed her on the cheek. ‘He doesn’t mean it. You know, about taking Joe.’

  Kate turned and looked at her sister. ‘He’d better not, for his sake.’

  Chapter Five

  Jonathan looked at the four people sitting opposite him on the other side of the long desk and wondered, yet again, why on earth he’d let Braithwaite talk him into such a ridiculous course of action and just how desperate the guardians were to even consider him.

  He shouldn’t have worried over his lack of experience: Mr Overton, chairman of the panel and vicar of St George’s Church, knew even less about education than Jonathan. On the chairman’s right sat Mr Puttock, the churchwarden, who had a limp handshake and an inability to look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.

  On the other side sat the well-padded Mr Wendover, who’d almost shaken Jonathan’s arm off when he greeted him and called him one of the ‘Queen’s heroes’ but who’d had to be reminded twice of Jonathan’s name.

  The last person on the interview panel was an elderly woman introduced as Mrs Benson. In her pale blue day gown, feathered bonnet and kindly expression, she looked out of place beside the dark formality of the three men.

  Mr Overton looked up at him. ‘Well, your credentials are sound enough and Captain Braithwaite hints that because of your actions during the battle of Alma, you may be considered for the Queen’s new gallantry medal.’

  Jonathan resisted the urge to adjust his eyepatch. ‘I did no more than my duty, sir.’

  Mr Wendover chuckled, sending the gold chain across his paunch jingling. ‘You’ll need battle nerve if you’re going to tackle the bigger boys at St Katharine’s.’

  Mr Overton shot him an irritated glance before turning his attention back to Jonathan.

  ‘Well, we don’t need to deliberate for too long over this matter, do we?’ The vicar put Reggie’s letter on top of the pile in front of him. ‘As you know, the remuneration is £300 a year, paid quarterly. Accommodation is provided. You will be required to attend this church, which the school is attached to. You are directly answerable to the guardian board and they require a twice-yearly report, or more frequently if they feel necessary.’ His jowls lifted into a munificent smile. ‘Therefore, if there is nothing further, we would like to offer you the position of Headmaster at St Katharine’s Found—’

  Mrs Benson raised a gloved hand.

  The vicar pursed his lips. ‘Mrs Benson?’

  ‘If I may, Mr Overton, I have a question for Captain Quinn before we conclude,’ she said, quietly.

  The vicar’s cheeks puffed out for a second then he inclined his head towards her. ‘Of course.’

  Mrs Benson fixed Jonathan with her smoky-grey eyes. ‘Captain Quinn, can you tell me of your most recent encounter with a child?’

  ‘My dear lady,’ began the vicar, ‘I think Capt
ain Quinn has—’

  The old woman shot him a look worthy of any sergeant major and the vicar’s mouth closed. She looked back at Jonathan.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, ma’am. On my journey to London I had the pleasure of sharing a train carriage with Mrs Farrow, the wife of the army surgeon at Colchester, and her young family. Although their nurse travelled with them, after an hour or so her two boys – spirited lads with strong opinions about the mutton pasties packed for lunch – started to squabble. By the time we reached Chelmsford they were on the brink of war. Their mother had her hands full tending to her little daughter and a babe-in-arms so, with her permission, I told Masters Cuthbert and Reginald the story of Jason and the Argonauts. It was a particular favourite of mine as a boy,’ he explained to the old woman, whose eyes hadn’t left his face. ‘By the time we’d found the Golden Fleece, escaped the Hydra and avoided being crushed by the Clashing Rock, the train was pulling into Bishopsgate.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t dwell on the Argonauts dealings with the women on Lemnos, given that the boys were ten and twelve.’

  Mrs Benson’s eyes twinkled. ‘Naturally.’

  Mr Overton shuffled the papers again. ‘Thank you, Captain Quinn. I can’t say I care for the more fanciful classic myself but it sounds a most interesting encounter. Now, have you any further questions, Mrs Benson?’

  She shook her head, which caused her lace to flutter gently. Mr Overton straightened his papers and beamed at Jonathan. ‘Well, then, it is my great pleasure to offer you the Headmastership of St Katharine’s Foundation School.’

  *

  By the time Jonathan had taken his leave of the panel, the daylight had almost gone. Setting his hat at an angle over his left eye, he marched across the churchyard, and back on to St George’s High Street. Jonathan tucked his cane under his arm and turned westwards towards the Kent and Essex Hotel where he was staying.

  He sidestepped the barrels of pitch outside the chandler’s and the boots strung from the awning of a pawnbroker. As he passed a public house with a worn picture of a Tudor rose swinging above the door, a lump of broken cork bounced through the mud towards him.

  Jonathan stopped it with his foot as two scruffy-haired boys skidded to a stop in front of him. He kicked the broken ship’s float back. The two lads touched their foreheads then stood back to let him past, their eyes wide with wonder at the patch over his left eye. Suddenly the bar door swung open and three sailors burst out.

  The first one through the door, a squat individual with threadbare canvas trousers, a dirty jacket and weeks’ worth of stubble, collided with the smaller one of the two boys and sent him sprawling into the gutter. The sailor staggered to regain his balance but his companions, dressed in the same dishevelled manner, pushed into him as they wheeled through the door and sent him crashing to the ground. He lurched upright and grabbed the boy as he tried to scramble away.

  ‘I’ll teach you to trip me up, you little bugger,’ he said, dragging the child to his feet.

  Jonathan caught the sailor’s fist mid-air. ‘It was your feet that sent you tumbling, not the boy.’

  The sailor struggled against Jonathan’s grip but it didn’t budge. He cursed and released the child. Turning on Jonathan, his unfocused gaze flickered over his expensive suit and top hat.

  ‘What’s your game?’ he asked, shoving him in the chest.

  Although his hat tumbled off Jonathan stood his ground. A mocking smile spread across the sailor’s face, revealing his remaining tobacco-stained teeth. ‘Eh, come ’ere and have a look, Smugger. It’s fucking Nelson.’

  Smugger staggered over, his eyes swimming unsteadily for a moment before they focused on Jonathan. He gave him a salute that would have earned even a raw recruit a stint in the guardhouse.

  ‘Yesss, ssssir, Admiral, surrr!’ he spluttered.

  Jonathan regarded them dispassionately.

  The third sailor swaggered in front of Jonathan. ‘Oi! Admiral! You looking for a bit of skirt?’

  ‘’E’s looking for trouble, more like,’ the first sailor replied, breathing a concoction of cheap spirit and decay into Jonathan’s face.

  Jonathan glanced at the two boys huddled together by the wall. ‘Off you go, lads.’

  The taller of the two boys disappeared around the corner but the lad sent sprawling by the sailor hesitated before shooting off across the main road, dodging between the wagons as he ran.

  Jonathan stepped forward until he was almost nose to nose with the sailor. He tapped him on the shoulder with his cane. ‘Step aside, chum.’

  Smugger’s jaw dropped and Mogg ground his teeth.

  ‘Chum! I’ll give you fucking chum.’ He whipped out a twelve-inch knife from his belt and ran it across his tongue. ‘When I’m finished with you, you one-eyed toff, you’ll be blind.’

  Smugger drew out an iron hook and the sailor on Jonathan’s left disappeared from view behind the blackness of his eyepatch. Jonathan cursed and tried to sense the man’s proximity while watching the two in front of him. He shifted his weight on to the balls of his feet and gripped his cane.

  Mogg snarled then jabbed the knife at Jonathan’s face. Jonathan jerked back as the razor-sharp blade passed within a whisker of his cheek. Sidestepping, Jonathan smashed the brass-knobbed handle of his cane against his attacker’s temple. Mogg sank to the floor.

  Jonathan slipped the concealed sword from his cane and thrust the empty scabbard backwards into what he prayed would be the breastbone of the man behind him, then he swiped his blade at Smugger.

  The sailor screamed as the edge of the blade sliced across his forearm. He dropped the docker’s hook and Jonathan spun around.

  The sailor behind him was doubled over but had just about recovered from Jonathan’s backward blow. Jonathan threw his cane aside as the man lunged at him. Jonathan smashed his fist squarely into his assailant’s nose. There was a satisfying crunch and the man staggered back. Jonathan punched him again and he fell, with a small groan, across Mogg’s unconscious body.

  Jonathan turned again to face Smugger. His hand was clamped over his injured forearm but blood oozed through his fingers.

  He spat on the floor. ‘I’ll do you, so I will, you bastard.’

  He lurched forward and, snatching the long knife from the cobbles, slashed it in an arc through the space between them. Jonathan’s blade whistled through the air and he jabbed the tip of it on to the sailor’s Adam’s apple. The knife clattered to the pavement as a small trickle of blood ran down from the point of the blade. Smugger retreated as Jonathan backed him against the pub wall. Police rattles sounded and five police officers ran along the road.

  Jonathan gave the man at the point of his blade a sardonic smile. ‘Next time, step aside, chum!’ He released the sailor, who slumped forward.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ the police officer at the head of the patrol asked as he reached Jonathan.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sergeant.’ Jonathan picked up his walking stick and slid the thin sword back inside.

  ‘This lad here told us you were being murdered.’ The officer drew forward the boy whom Jonathan had saved from a beating.

  The lad had a smear of dirt across his cheeks but it was only a day’s not a week’s worth, and although his clothes were old, they were neatly patched. Unusually, he wore stout boots, and despite the policeman’s large hand on his shoulder, stood tall.

  Jonathan picked up his hat and dusted it off. ‘I am indebted to you . . .?’

  ‘Joe Ellis.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Master Ellis.’

  Joe shrugged. ‘’S’all right but you want to be careful, mister. It ain’t safe for outsiders to wander around here.’

  ‘The lad’s right, sir,’ the police officer said. ‘Strangers are easy pickings for ruffians.’

  ‘Thank you for your warning, Constable. But as I have just been appointed headmaster of St Katharine’s School, I won’t be a stranger for very long.’

  Joe looked astounded. ‘Cor, the
way you pinned that fella to the wall I thought you were a soldier or summink, not a teacher.’

  ‘Now, now, laddie, show a bit of respect to your betters. Don’t give this gentleman none of your cheek or you’ll feel the weight of my hand,’ the officer said.

  ‘Thank you, officer.’ Jonathan drew a silver threepenny piece from his pocket and handed it to the lad. ‘Perhaps you’ll find yourself a hot pie as a reward for your bravery.’

  The lad’s eyes lit up for a second then he closed his fist. ‘Ta, mister.’ He touched his forehead briefly then sped off.

  ‘The nippers around here are cheeky little buggers,’ the officer said as they watched Joe Ellis disappear around the corner. ‘And with fingers like lightning when it comes to filching an apple from a stall. You’ll have to wield that cane of yours something fierce to get them to take any notice. If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s the only thing most of them know. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” that’s what old Mr Gardener, the previous headmaster – God rest his soul – used to say and he went through a switch a week to get the little sods to show some respect.’

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Jonathan glanced around.

  The street seemed familiar for some reason. Then he realised why when he spotted the brightly painted woodwork and homely curtains of the chop house. It was the very same street that he’d found himself in on the day he’d stormed out of his father’s office.

  An image of the young woman with the striking blue eyes who served strong coffee and made delicious cakes floated into his mind.

  Jonathan repositioned his hat. ‘Thank you for your timely intervention, officer, but if there’s nothing else I’ll—’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I shall need a full statement from you about the incident,’ the officer said. ‘That is, if you’ve no other pressing engagement.’

  Jonathan sighed. ‘Of course. Lead the way.’

  By the time Joe rushed through the door his mother was at the table chopping cabbage while Ella sat scraping a couple of knobbly potatoes opposite. Mam looked up and smiled. ‘I was just wondering where you were. Put the wood in the hole,’ she said, nodding at the open door.