The Shop Girl's Soldier Read online

  Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

  Join our mailing list to get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

  For my husband, John, with love

  And

  Stuart Martin Ralph (1965-2018)

  I miss you, my friend.

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  1905

  ‘Jack, wait!’ Ellie-May Bramhall scrambled up the slippery steps from the beach. One hand held up the hem of her dirty pinafore, the other clutched a glass bottle, caked in mud and slime. Her nostrils were filled with the stench of damp and rot, her ears with the haunting cry of seagulls wheeling overhead and the rush and hiss of the surf on the shingle beach beyond the rotting wooden groynes.

  She saw Jack’s lips move in reply, but his words were whipped away by the chill wind blowing off the English Channel.

  She shivered. Thick mud oozed between her frozen toes and splattered her skinny calves. She reached the top of the steps, almost slipping on the carpet of slimy moss, and crouched down to inspect the motley collection of flotsam and jetsam left behind by the outgoing tide. Apart from her mud-caked bottle, there were a couple of buttons, a china plate miraculously intact, and a selection of tin household items.

  ‘Not bad for an afternoon’s work.’ Jack strolled towards her, salt water sloshing from the tin pail he swung by the handle, splashing onto legs that were as thin as a bird’s. ‘If we catch Mister Rag ‘n’ Bone in a good mood it’ll be pie and mash for Ma and me tonight.’

  In anticipation of the meal, Jack’s stomach rumbled loudly. He grinned and rubbed his belly.

  ‘Did you skip dinner again, Jack?’ Ellie-May scowled, her small, freckled nose crinkling.

  ‘Ma didn’t have anything in the house,’ her friend replied with a shrug, as if it were no big deal. He sloshed the briny water over the assorted objects, and Ellie-May rubbed at them with her half-frozen fingers, ridding them of the thick, glutinous tidal mud.

  ‘Why didn’t you come round ours for some bread and dripping?’ she chided him sternly, as she rinsed her hands and feet and padded over to where she’d left her shoes and stockings. ‘You know you’re always welcome.’

  ‘Ma said I’m not to make a nuisance of myself.’

  ‘Oh, Jack. Don’t be silly. You’re never a nuisance. Mum loves having you around.’ She grinned. At ten, she was already tall for her age, skinny, with pale, freckled skin and hair the colour of the freshly dug-up carrots her Dad grew on his allotment. Her eyes were the shade of a forest glade, flecked with yellow, and fringed by pale blonde lashes.

  Older than Ellie-May by three weeks, Jack stood an inch taller. He had never known his father, but his unruly mop of dark hair and dark, almost black eyes, hinted at some exotic ancestry. Rumours about Jack’s parentage abounded. With her fancy way of talking, Verity Pickup had always been something of an outcast, and local gossip had it that she had been disowned by her wealthy family after allowing herself to be seduced by an Irish gypsy who’d scarpered as soon as she got in the family way.

  Jack ran a hand through his thick hair, flashing Ellie-May a sheepish grin. ‘Your Mum’s got a heart of gold, all right,’ Jack grinned. ‘I don’t like to take advantage of her kind nature, that’s all.’ The truth was – and he would never admit it to himself, never mind to Ellie-May – he was ashamed of the permanently distressed state in which he and his mother lived. He loved his ma with all his heart, and he’d flatten anyone who dared to say a word against her, but he knew his ma’s child-rearing methods bordered on neglect, and being so often in Eileen Bramhall’s warm, cosy kitchen only served to highlight what was missing in his own home.

  ‘Right,’ he said, pushing his thoughts aside and turning his attention to their trove of treasure. Seemingly oblivious to the chill of the sea breeze, Jack whipped off his too-small jumper and used it to wrap up the items.

  He dried his hands on his ragged shorts and straightened up, his gaze sweeping the horizon, savouring the salty tang of the sea air on his lips. He loved it here, down by the shore. Southampton was a busy port and he loved to watch the ships: the dredgers and fishing trawlers, the cargo ships with hulls low in the grey waters, the sailing ships and sturdy little tugboats, each puffing clouds of black smoke from their funnels.

  Ellie-May smoothed down her pinafore and they set off along the harbour front, the soles of her shoes crunching bits of shingle. Jack was barefoot as usual. Even in winter he went barefoot, his toes alternately blue with cold or red and swollen with chilblains. Eileen had given Jack a pair of shoes last winter which Ellie-May’s brother, Bert, had outgrown. She’d been livid a few days later when, spotting Jack hobbling barefoot across the frozen yard to the privy, she discovered his feckless mother had pawned them. With a temper to match her flame-red hair, Eileen Bramhall had marched straight next-door to give Verity Pickup what for. The whole street had heard the exchange.

  The water was grey and choppy. Ahead of them was the bustle and noise of the docks; huge cranes silhouetted against a pewter sky, hulking dark warehouses, the smell of ozone, fish and tar filling their senses.

  Jack grabbed hold of Ellie-May’s hand and hurried her across the street, dodging a tram and a horse-drawn cart laden with bolts of cloth, before darting down a narrow stinking alley inhabited by mangy cats and ragged-l ooking children. Jumping over stagnant puddles, Jack led Ellie-May further into the labyrinth. A woman’s laugh sounded from an upstairs window, a harsh, mirthless sound that set Ellie-May’s hair on end. The hollow-eyed urchins watched them lethargically from the doorways of dilapidated tenement buildings, rows of washing dangling above their heads. The air was heavy with the greasy odour of stale cooking and urine.

  They turned a sharp corner and came to an abrupt halt. Their way was barred by a wooden gate behind which a dog snarled viciously. Without a second’s hesitation, Jack pushed the gate open, sending the dog into a frenzy. A large creature of indeterminable breed with short, black fur, balding in places, it foamed at the mouth as it strained against its chain.

  ‘You’ll be all right as long as you stay out of his reach,’ Jack reassured Ellie-May in a low voice. Terrified she would be torn limb from limb by the ferocious beast, Ellie-May flattened herself against the brick wall, well out of the way of the frightful jaws, clinging tightly to Jack’s hand. The yard was piled high with orange crates and battered tea chests. In a corner, a moth-eaten piebald pony cropped dispassionately at a bundle of damp hay.

  The door of the ramshackle dwelling burst open and a man emerged, blinking in the murky light. He was short in stature and very thin, with facial features that reminded Ellie-May of a weasel. Greasy grey hair fell over his shoulders in lank strands. She huddled closer to Jack. She was terrified of Mister Rag ‘n’ Bone, always had been, ever since she’d first heard his gruff tones echoing down their street. Whenever she heard him coming, she would run indoors until he’d moved on.

  ‘Quiet, Brutus!’ he snarled at the dog. Brutus gave one last, throaty growl and fell silent, but continued to stare at the children with bloodshot eyes, his body quivering. ‘You again,’ Mister Rag ‘n’ Bone grunted. He ran long, nicotine-stained fingers through his greasy hair. ‘All right, sunshine, what rubbish are you offloading this time?’

  ‘It’s not rubbish, mister,’ Jack contradicted him confidently. ‘It’s good stuff, honest.’

  Mister Rag ‘n’ Bone sucked on his yellow teeth, and nodded. ‘All right, then. Let’s have a look.’

  Keeping a wary eye on the dog, Jack inched forward, and unwrapped his bundle. The rag ‘n’ bone man glanced at the items in Jack’s outstretched hands with disinterest. ‘That it?’ he growled, his thin lips twisting into a derisive sneer. ‘You enjoy wasting my time, sunshine?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Jack squeaked. He cleared his throat, determined not to let the rag ‘n’ bone man see his desperation. ‘What about this plate, sir,’ he said, his voice firmer now. He met the man’s rodent-like stare. ‘Look.’ He held it to the light. ‘There isn’t a chip or a crack to be seen. It must be worth something.’

  Ellie-May held her breath and crossed her fingers tightly, trying not to be intimidated by Mister Rag ‘n’ Bone’s fearsome stare, and praying that they had caught him in a charitable mood. If he paid Jack a few pennies her friend wouldn’t go to bed hungry. She hated it when Jack went without meals. Her mum did what she could, slipping Jack a slice of bread and dripping every so often, or inviting him in for a bowl of mutton stew, but what with eight mouths of her own to feed, Eileen never had much to spare.

  The old rag ‘n’ bone man sighed deeply. ‘All right, then. Come on.’ He indicated the dark doorway with a toss of his head. ‘You’d better come inside.’ He glanced up at the surrounding tenement buildings and tapped his nose with a dirty forefinger. ‘Don’t want people nosy-poking my business.’ Ellie-May exhaled in relief and flashed Jack a triumphant smile.

  Mister Rag ‘n Bone cleared his throat, and spat a glob of phlegm across the yard. ‘I must be going bleedin’ soft in my old age,’ he grumbled as they followed him indoors.

  A single oil lamp cut through the gloom, revealing a windowless room crammed with bric-a-brac and items of mismatched furniture in various stages of disrepair. Ellie-May wrinkled her
nose at the fetid air, hovering in the doorway as the rag ‘n’ bone man squeezed his way over to a scuffed chest of drawers in one corner of the room. The wood was swollen with damp and it took him several attempts to get the drawer open and remove the battered tin box from within.

  ‘Here.’ He groped his way back through the maze of furniture to drop a handful of coins into Jack’s cupped hands. ‘Don’t say I’m not a generous old sod. Now, be off with you,’ he said gruffly, ‘before I change my mind.’

  ‘Thank you, mister.’ Terrified the old man would have second thoughts, Jack gripped Ellie-May’s hand and dragged her outside. The dog barked again, rattling its chain as it lunged at them. Ellie-May shrunk against Jack as they edged their way along the fence. They practically fell out of the gate, slamming it shut and collapsing against it, shaking with relief.

  ‘There’s enough here for a decent supper,’ Jack told Ellie-May, his dark eyes shining with delight. ‘Come on, we’ll stop at the pie shop on the way home.’

  *

  With the tantalising aroma of meat gravy filling their nostrils, they rounded the corner into Church Street. The sun had come out, bathing the grim terraced row in soft yellow light.

  Imagining biting into the soft pastry crust, the thick, meaty juices running down his chin, it took Jack a few seconds to register the commotion going on outside his front door. But eventually the sight stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘Jack . . .!’ Ellie-May crashed into him, her protest dying on her lips as she took in the scene unfolding outside Jack’s house, halfway up the street. Her mother, Eileen, was standing with her arms around Verity, who was loudly berating a burly, bald-headed man loading furniture onto a waiting cart.

  Ellie-May gasped, recognising the sticks of cheap furniture as coming from Jack’s home, the door of which a thickset man was in the process of boarding up. The sound of his hammer echoed down the street. Children who had moments before been engaged in games of hopscotch and tag, stood pressed against the soot-s tained terraced walls, faces solemn. Their mothers stood in huddled groups, arms akimbo, watching with a mixture of embarrassment and pity.

  ‘Ma!’ Jack dropped the pies and ran, all thoughts of supper forgotten in his desire to protect his mother. The pies lay in the gutter, gravy staining the torn paper bag. Ellie-May gave it a brief glance, then hurried after Jack.

  ‘Please!’ Verity screamed, straining against Eileen’s embrace. ‘Have some pity. Just give me a few more days. I’ll get the money somehow, I promise. Have some mercy, I beg you.’

  ‘Sorry, love.’ The bailiff at least had the grace to look embarrassed, noticing Ellie-May as she hovered nearby, unsure about what to do. ‘It’s out of our hands.’

  ‘Ma, it’s all right, Ma,’ Jack said, his voice soft and gentle, as if he were talking to a frightened child.

  ‘What will become of us?’ Verity cried. Her knees gave way and she would have fallen, had Eileen and Jack not held her up.

  ‘You not got any relatives who’ll take you in?’ the bailiff enquired, his hooded gaze raking the assembled group of onlookers. ‘Friends?’

  ‘They can stay with us,’ Eileen spoke up. ‘Come on, Verity, love.’ She gave the hysterical woman a gentle shake. ‘You can stay at ours tonight. Jack can go in with the boys and you can come in with me. My Sid won’t mind bunking down in the kitchen.’ The bailiff gave her a grateful nod. This was the worst part of his job, throwing powerless women and children out into the street.

  Between Jack and Eileen, they managed to bustle Verity into the house. Like its neighbours, number 12 Church Street was a two-up two-down terraced house. They shared a privy with four other families.

  Once Eileen got Verity settled at the kitchen table, she sent Ellie-May out into the yard to fill the kettle from the communal tap. When she returned moments later, Verity was hunched over the table, her head in her hands. She had ceased wailing, but her thin shoulders shook with silent sobs. Jack knelt on the floor beside her. He met Ellie-May’s frightened gaze, his expression grim. His friend hovered in the doorway, her heart thumping.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she croaked. Tears burned behind her eyes.

  ‘We’ve been evicted,’ Jack spat angrily.

  ‘Drink this, Verity, love.’ Eileen set a mug of strong beef tea in front of Jack’s mother. Her fingers twitched in acknowledgment but she didn’t look up.

  ‘Come on, Ma,’ Jack whispered encouragingly. ‘It’s good for the shock.’

  Verity slowly raised her head, her red-rimmed eyes staring at her son as if she’d never laid eyes on him before. She had been a pretty girl once, with blue eyes and wheat-blonde hair, but years of poverty had taken its toll. Now her thinning blonde hair hung in a greasy plait down her back. Years of poor diet had ruined her teeth. Despair had etched deep lines into her face. Long, thin fingers, nails bitten to the quick, snaked around the mug. She lifted it to thin, chapped lips.

  ‘That’s it, Ma,’ Jack encouraged her. ‘Drink up. We’ll sort something out, I promise.’

  ‘It’s the workhouse for us, Jack.’ Verity swallowed a mouthful of tea, wincing as it scalded her throat. She glanced up at her neighbour. Eileen was slathering butter on thick slices of bread. ‘You’ve always been so kind to us, Eileen,’ she said, fresh tears welling. ‘You’re the only one in the street who’s ever given me the time of day. I’ll miss you.’

  Eileen set the plate of bread and butter in front of Jack, who eyed it hungrily.

  ‘Go on, lad, tuck in.’ Jack took a slice, biting into it greedily. Ellie-May crept closer and crouched beside her friend, an unfamiliar ache in her chest.

  ‘Like I said, you’re welcome to stay here tonight, Verity.’ Eileen pulled out a chair and sat down opposite the woman who had been her next-door neighbour for ten years. She took Verity’s hand. ‘Things will look better in the morning.’

  Verity shook her head, a look of steely determination in her eyes. The rest of her tea remained untouched, tendrils of steam curling upwards. ‘No, we’ll go now,’ she said dully. ‘No point delaying the inevitable.’

  ‘It’s a long walk, Verity, love,’ Eileen cautioned her. ‘You might not make it before they shut the gates for the night.’

  The pain in Ellie-May’s chest grew more intense. Jack was going to the workhouse? It must be a mistake, a cruel joke. Jack couldn’t go away. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. She let out a sob. Eileen reached over and stroked her red hair, her own heart heavy. It would break Ellie-May’s heart to lose Jack. They’d been inseparable since they were old enough to toddle into each other’s houses.

  ‘Can’t Jack stay with us, Mum?’ Ellie-May implored, a tear trickling down her pale, freckled cheek. ‘Our Bert will be off to sea in a few weeks. Jack can go in with Arthur, can’t he?’

  ‘He’d be welcome to stay, Verity,’ Eileen offered. ‘Just until you’re sorted out.’

  Verity shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I can’t be parted from him.’ Pulling herself together with noticeable effort, she gave Jack what she hoped was an encouraging smile. She’d let him down, she knew that, and she knew it was selfish of her to insist he went with her, but she couldn’t manage without him. She needed him. ‘We’ll look after each other, won’t we, Jack? Just like we’ve always done.’

  Eileen pursed her lips, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to remind Verity that it was usually Jack who did the looking after, rather than the other way around.

  ‘Come on, Jack.’ Verity pushed her chair back. ‘We’ve a long walk ahead of us. Thank you for your hospitality, Eileen, but we’d better get going.’ Jack got to his feet, his head hanging in shame. His heart felt too large for his chest.

  Eileen sighed, and got up, flinging a plump arm around Verity’s drooping shoulders.

  ‘I hope things get better for you, lass, I really do,’ she said with feeling. For all her faults as a mother, Eileen was very fond of Verity. She certainly wouldn’t wish her in the workhouse. Heck, she wouldn’t wish that fate on her worst enemy.

  ‘Don’t go, Jack,’ Ellie-May whispered. They were standing on the front step. Many of the neighbours had gone indoors, respecting Verity’s privacy in what they realized was a dreadfully shaming moment. Only the children, making the most of the late afternoon sunshine, still lingered, pausing in their play to watch the goings-on.