The Winter Child

  Beryl Matthews

  * * *

  THE WINTER CHILD

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Beryl Matthews grew up in a family of avid readers. Amongst other jobs, she has worked at an aircraft factory and as a credit controller. She published her first book at the age of seventy-one after joining a writers’ group and has since written over twenty novels. Her hobbies include travelling, swimming and golf, but writing is her number-one priority.

  ‘… behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it: …’

  Revelation 3:8

  1

  Bermondsey, London. September 1913

  The door across the street opened and Rose caught a glimpse inside the house; the walls had colourful paper on them and the furniture gleamed from continual polishing. She let out a ragged sigh. How she longed to be clean! She continued to gaze at the posh houses and felt anger rise inside her. Why did some people live in comfort and ease, and others, like herself, in squalor?

  She was a seething mass of questions. Her whole life she’d been asking, Why? Her search for knowledge was like a living thing inside her, never giving her any peace. Everyone kept telling her she was only a child and shouldn’t bother with things nobody could understand, and it was useless asking questions at home because all it ever got her was a clip round the ear. School was different, though. She smiled when she thought about it. She might be only eleven but she was clever, her teacher said so. She soaked up knowledge, but was never satisfied – Miss Gardner had to push her out when the bell rang. ‘Rose,’ she’d say, taking from her whatever book she was reading, ‘go home, child.’

  ‘Can I take it with me?’ she would plead. ‘I’ll take good care of it, Miss.’

  But the answer was always the same, it was not allowed, so she would try to sneak into a bookshop without anyone seeing. If she was lucky, she could huddle in a corner and read for half an hour or so, but if she was spotted she was thrown out. Today she’d hardly set foot inside the door before she was marched out again.

  It made her so cross. Just because she was shabby, they thought she was up to no good – but she wasn’t and she’d fight anyone who said she was. All she wanted to do was look at the books: there were rows and rows of them in there and it was like heaven to her.

  Her dark, resentful eyes swept over a well-dressed couple. The man waved a hand angrily and shouted at her to go away, but she ignored him. The only difference between her and them was that they had money and she didn’t.

  She looked down at her worn frock and ground her teeth. One day things would be different.

  ‘What are you up to?’ a stern voice asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied, looking the policeman straight in the eyes. ‘They needn’t worry over there, I’m not dangerous,’ she said, cheekily, and saw surprise in his eyes: she knew how to speak properly – every day she listened to her teacher and copied her.

  ‘What are you doing round here?’

  ‘Just looking. You can’t arrest me for that, can you?’ Again her gaze was direct; she had learnt early that it was a weakness to show fear.

  ‘Where do you live?’ he persisted.

  ‘Over there.’ She pointed across the river. ‘Garrett Street.’

  He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d better walk you back.’

  Her laugh was scornful. ‘You new around here? Someone should’ve told you that the coppers have to come down our street in threes.’

  ‘Oh, and why is that?’

  ‘Because our filthy, rat-infested hovels are full of bullies who don’t want the police to know what they’re up to. They must be a couple of hundred years old and should have been pulled down long ago.’

  ‘Well, you’d better be getting home. Your folks will be worried about you.’

  She gave him a pitying look and lapsed back into the London twang. ‘What makes you think they care tuppence about me?’

  His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Emily Rose, but everybody calls me Rose, when they’re being polite.’

  ‘And what do they call you when they’re being rude?’

  ‘“That black-eyed bitch,” among other things.’ Her eyes flashed like jet, defying him to laugh.

  There was a shout from across the street. ‘Constable, send her away. She belongs round the docks with the others of her kind. This is a respectable area.’

  The policeman raised his hand in acknowledgement, and turned to the girl beside him. ‘You’d better go.’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ she demanded.

  ‘He … um … thinks you’re older than you are.’

  ‘Older?’ It took a few moments for his meaning to sink in, then she started across the road with a growl, but the policeman caught her and held her back.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

  Rose tore herself free and glared at him. ‘He’s calling me a tart! You should have let me at him – he deserves a thrashing for that.’

  ‘Do your duty, constable,’ the man called, from a safe distance.

  ‘It’s all right, sir, she’s only a child.’

  The man laughed. ‘Is that what she’s telling you?’

  Rose swore and started across the road again, but the policeman held on to her.

  ‘Let me go!’ she demanded. ‘He’s calling me a liar now.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, you don’t look like a child,’ he said, slackening his grip slightly. And with your black hair and foreign looks, you’re already a pretty girl.’

  ‘Even with the dirt?’ she sneered.

  ‘Your clothes have seen better days, but you’re clean enough.’

  At that Rose felt a little better and smoothed down her frock. At least her efforts to stay clean had not been in vain.

  ‘Off you go, Rose, and don’t come here again, will you?’

  ‘I got as much right as anyone else to go where I want. That man might own a big fancy house but he don’t own the street.’

  ‘That’s true, but you’re not welcome in this part of town.’

  She glowered. ‘Well, some day I’m gonna change that.’

  As she turned away she heard him mutter, ‘Poor little sod.’

  Rose spun back, flushed with anger. ‘Keep your pity, Mister, because one day I’m going to be living like them over there – you see if I’m not!’ Then, fists clenched in determination, she turned and ran across the bridge.

  ‘Rose! Where’ve you been? Come and get the kids their tea.’

  She stopped, one foot on the stairs. She had been about to
make her getaway to an empty space somewhere. She’d found a whole page of a newspaper today and wanted to read it. It was a rare prize, so her visit to posher parts had been worth while.

  ‘Rose!’

  She sighed, folded the paper carefully, then slipped it into her pocket. It would have to wait until later.

  In the scullery it was bedlam. ‘Quiet!’ she yelled.

  The noise stopped instantly and six pairs of eyes, ranging from blue to hazel, turned in her direction. She stared at the children, defying them to speak, then said, ‘Sit at the table.’

  They scrambled on to the chairs, but eight-year-old Bob scowled. He was a bully, just like his father, but he knew better than to try to beat Rose.

  Her mother put a large bowl of dripping on the table and a loaf of bread. ‘When they’ve had their tea, put them to bed.’

  ‘Why me?’ she protested. ‘Why can’t Flo take a turn?’

  ‘Because you’re the oldest.’

  Rose began to cut thick slices of bread and spread them with dripping. It was useless arguing. It never got her anywhere because her mother was too worn out with trying to look after them all. She cast her a worried glance. She was having another baby. Where the blazes were they going to put it? The house was already full to bursting.

  A little hand came out and tried to take a slice. She slapped it away and made the mistake of looking at their expectant faces. The scene tugged at her heart – six little urchins with grubby faces and empty bellies. She tried to be hard, she really did, because turning off her emotions was the only way she could stand this hell, but this wasn’t right!

  Diving down to the bottom of the dripping bowl, she scraped out some of the rich dark jelly and spread a little on each slice of bread, then handed it round and watched the kids eat like wolves – except the youngest, Annie, who was too small to manage the big chunk of bread.

  Rose squatted beside her and started to break it into smaller pieces. ‘Come on, Annie,’ she coaxed, ‘eat it.’

  ‘I’ll have it if she don’t want it.’ Bob made a grab for it, but Rose was too quick for him.

  ‘Leave it alone, you greedy pig,’ she scolded, then turned back to Annie. She didn’t like the look of her: the child’s face was so white that her skin looked almost transparent. Annie was the only one of her brothers and sisters Rose worried about: at two, she couldn’t talk properly, or walk, and Rose doubted that she would live very long.

  ‘Mum?’ Rose went to stand next to her mother, who was at the stove, stirring a pot. ‘What you cooking?’

  ‘Scrag-end of beef with dumplings.’

  It smelt delicious and Rose’s stomach grumbled. ‘Can I have some of the gravy for Annie?’

  ‘This is for your dad.’

  ‘I know, but Annie’s sick and she needs proper food. It isn’t right he gets a dinner at night and everyone else gets next to nothing.’

  ‘I do the best I can, but you know how the old man gets into a rage if he doesn’t have his meat and gravy.’

  Rose bit back angry words and glanced at her mother’s rounded stomach. ‘Why do you keep having kids?’ she asked, her lip curling with distaste.

  ‘Because that’s the way it is. We have to accept our lot in life.’

  Why? Rose wanted to shout, but knew she’d be wasting her breath. She took another quick look at Annie, who had eaten a little of her bread. ‘What about that gravy, Mum?’

  ‘All right, then, just a little.’ Her mother ladled some into a plate. ‘Annie does look sick. It’s not that I don’t care,’ she protested, ‘but your dad must come first. We’d be in a right pickle without him.’

  Rose took the plate and said nothing. As far as she could make out, he never did anything for them. He drank too much and got nasty with a few pints inside him.

  She soaked the rest of Annie’s bread in the gravy and was relieved when the little girl ate it. Then she swept her sister up in her arms. ‘Come on, let’s get you into bed. I’ll try and get you an apple tomorrow, shall I?’ she whispered. ‘Our secret, eh?’

  Rose spat on the flat iron and watched it sizzle.

  ‘What’s she doing that for?’

  She kept her head down and concentrated on her ironing. She hated the way he never spoke to her directly.

  ‘Answer your dad,’ her mother said sharply.

  ‘It’s the school prize-giving tomorrow.’ Rose ironed carefully around a patch on the skirt of her frock.

  ‘Ha! Thinks she gonna win somefing, does she?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She put the iron back on the stove, picked up another and spat on it. She wasn’t ashamed of being clever, and that probably made him madder because he couldn’t even write his name.

  ‘How did you ever have a kid like that?’ he yelled at her mother now. ‘Look at her, she’s like a bleeding cuckoo in the nest.’

  ‘She likes learning,’ her mother defended Rose weakly. ‘There’s no shame in that.’

  Rose shut out the talk: it was best not to listen to his ranting. She put down the iron, held up the frock and examined it critically. It was too old to do much with, but at least it was clean and pressed.

  ‘Look at her, putting on airs and graces. She thinks she’s too good for us.’

  I might have to live in this place, Rose declared silently, but inside I’m different. She sighed.

  Her father pushed his chair back from the table. ‘Where’s your purse, Marj? I need some beer money.’

  ‘I haven’t got any. I spent the last on your dinner tonight.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, woman. Give me your purse.’

  Marj pulled it out of the pocket of her pinny. He snatched it and tipped out the contents on to the table. ‘A penny!’ he bellowed. ‘How am I going to have a night out with that?’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got.’

  With a snarl, he pocketed the coin and stormed out of the house.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ Rose muttered, ‘how you going to get by?’

  ‘I don’t let him know everything. I’ve got a few pennies put aside and I’ll get some oxtail tomorrow and give you all a treat for your tea. You’re right about Annie, she’s looking peaky, but so are you all.’ She sat down heavily. ‘I haven’t being paying much notice just lately – this baby’s draining me.’

  ‘I’m not going to get married and have squalling babies when I’m grown-up,’ Rose declared.

  Her mother gave a rare smile. ‘That won’t be easy, my girl, because you’re going to be quite a beauty. The men are going to chase after you in packs.’

  ‘They’ll be wasting their time,’ Rose said confidently. Then something occurred to her. ‘Mum, why am I so dark?’

  ‘Well …’ her mother seemed to be searching for words ‘… you take after my mother’s side of the family, I expect. We’ve got Italian blood and it’s come through in you.’

  ‘What were they like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never knew any of them.’ Marj hauled herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to have a rest.’

  As their mother left the scullery Flo wandered in. ‘Anything to eat?’ she asked.

  ‘Only bread and dripping.’ Rose pushed the bowl towards her sister. Let the lazy devil do it herself.

  Flo grumbled a bit, then sat down and started to eat.

  ‘Flo?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I wear the good boots tomorrow?’

  ‘No, they’re mine.’ Flo spread more dripping on her bread.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ Rose pleaded. ‘It’s the school prize-giving and I want to look nice. You can wear mine for a day, can’t you?’

  ‘They’ve got holes in. What if it rains?’

  ‘It won’t rain. Anyway, I’ve put some thick cardboard in them.’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘I’ll get you an apple tomorrow if you let me have them.’ Rose was sure she could bribe her sister.

  ‘Where you gonna get that from?’ Flo was suddenly interested.

  ‘That’s my secret.’
r />   ‘How many can you get?’

  ‘Two or three.’ She hoped.

  Flo considered. ‘I’ll let you wear them for two apples,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be greedy!’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  At nine o’clock that evening Rose crept out of the house and ran across the bridge. As she made her way round to the back of the big houses, she shivered in the fading light. Then she pulled herself together and told herself sternly that she needn’t be frightened about taking a few apples from these people because they already had more than they could eat. However, that didn’t ease her conscience, which was surprising: you didn’t find much honesty in Garrett Street.

  She reached the garden where she’d seen the fruit trees; they’d been loaded with apples the other week and she hoped they still were. She took a deep breath, pulled herself to the top of the wall and peered into the deepening gloom but could not see if the fruit was still there. She’d have to go over and take a closer look. Hoping the owners didn’t have a dog, she jumped down from the wall and crept towards the tree. The apples were still there.

  She grasped a low branch, pulled herself up, careful to keep the trunk between herself and the house, she removed three large apples, hesitated, then took another. They’d never miss it.

  She shoved the fruit into the bag she’d brought with her, scrambled down and ran for the wall. She scaled it rapidly and then, her heart beating wildly, she ran back across the bridge and headed for the alley behind the row of shops at the top of her street. It was dark now but she knew how to get to her secret hiding place. The cobbler’s yard was full of junk piled up against a wall, and she heaved aside an old mattress to reveal a small, sturdy cupboard. She put the apples inside then replaced the mattress, making sure it covered the cupboard. They would be safe in there from man or rodent until tomorrow. Then Rose ran into Garrett Street and laughed as she remembered the man who had insulted her today: she hoped it had been his apples she’d pinched.

  2

  Rose wished they’d get on with it.

  She tried not to fidget or kick off Flo’s boots because she might not be able to get them on again, and she didn’t want to go barefoot to collect her prize.