Day 5 part 2

A few twists and turns later, and Ernest could see a small courtyard open out in front, with the usual open drain down the middle and a line of washing slung across between two upstairs windows. In front of the washing stood a skinny woman wearing nothing but a corset, bloomers and a feather in her hair. Ernest tried not to look. He tried looking past her to the washing instead, but realised that all the garments hung out on display were those more usually concealed by ladies. Although all around his home women hung washing out every day, theirs were usually grey and shapeless folds of fabric that could be anything. This row of dainties were silky, embroidered, sequinned, carefully shaped, boned and bejewelled.  Sals  dug him in the ribs. ‘Don’t be shy cock. That stuff belongs to the dancing girls – “Petunia and her petals”  - they’ve been airing their smalls on stage and off for years. They don’t care.’
The woman in the centre of the court spoke. ‘What you got there then?’
‘Name’s Ernest. Look at him, Ma , just look. Ain’t he the living spit of Gabriel?’
She came forward and grabbed Ernest by the chin, tilting his face up to the light. ‘Well he could be, cleaned up a bit. Bit more hair. Bit more fat on him. What you got in mind?’
‘Bleedin Nora Ma I ain’t got nothing in mind for him. I was just passing the time of day, invited the lad to breakfast. He needs feeding up. Don’t you go scaring him like that or he’ll be thinking we’re a load of thieves.’
The woman released her grip on Ernest and put her hands on her hips. When she smiled then, it was as if a door had opened, letting in warmth into a cold dark room.  ‘I’m Maggie. Come on then. Inside.’
Ernest followed the women into the building, from where the smell of frying eggs wafted, overlaying the odour of its inhabitants and their laundry. Inside was one large room with three tables pushed together down the middle, and assorted chairs and benches on either side. Two women in dressing gowns and aprons were frying eggs and buttering fresh bread. Ernest slid onto the bench next to Sals and poured her a cup of tea, earning a compliment for his nice manners. He drank his own tea slowly, quietly watching the activity as the various “Talents” wandered in to the room and began eating the food as fast as it was ready.  A young black man in faded velvet sat down opposite, and beamed at Ernest, but said nothing. He was joined by a man about the same age, but as blond as the first was dark. They giggled at each other, buttered bread for each other and attempted to steal food from one another’s plates. After devouring food and two mugs of tea in the time it took Ernest to eat one fried egg, they spoke to him.
‘I’m Julian, and this is my friend, Sandy’ said the young black man.
‘I’m Ernest.’
‘Well of course you are. Deadly serious, in fact.’ Said Julian.
‘My name…’
‘I know, sweetie I was speaking in jest.’
‘Julian, stop messing about. And leave his egg alone. Egg, I said…’ said Sandy.
Ernest smiled, politely. ‘What do you do? In the show, I mean.’
‘Well, if Sandy hasn’t put his back out working the docks again, we are the Flying Lombardos from the Spice Islands.’
‘But if Julian’s got lumbago from lying on his back on cold floors…we do a sort of comic turn.  Champagne Charlie and a couple of Swells from the West Hend. You know the kind of thing.’
‘I’ve never been to a Music Hall.’ Said Ernest. ‘But I work in the market, Spitalfields, and the Costermongers sing a lot of comic songs.’
Julian and Sandy sniffed in unison. ‘Costermongers’.  Said Julian with contempt. ‘They’re a low sort.’
‘Rough crowd.’ Agreed Sandy.
‘They pays up though’ said Sals
‘Oh yes, when they feel you’ve earned it. Otherwise they’ll storm the stage and have the rags off your back and the ribbons from your – from your pocket.’ Said Julian.
‘The men in the market sing hymns and songs about battles.’ Said Ernest, feeling he should stand up for the reputation of his workmates.
‘Yes, sweetie, they do. Cos that’s all they’ve got the wit to remember. Anything more subtle is lost upon them. Bread upon the waters.’ Sniffed Julian
‘Pearls before swine’ chipped in Sandy.
‘He don’t mean you, cock’ said Sals to Ernest, who was beginning to slump. She kicked Julian under the table, but Julian was in full flow, waving the crust of his bread around for emphasis. ‘I wrote a play, once. It was performed at Astley’s, no less. It was reviewed by critics and everything. It was a bloody good play.’
‘Well…’ began Sandy
‘Shut up, you. It was my play and it was damned fine work. It was called “Ethel the Pirate’s Daughter.”
‘That sounds exciting’ said Ernest politely.
‘Exactly. But did the costermongers like it? No! They hooted and made obscene noises all through the romantic scenes, and kept demanding that the sailors perform the hornpipe.’
‘Something to do with horns and performing’ grinned Sandy.
‘My life. Was. Ruined.’ Said Julian, and fell into Sandy’s arms, who kissed him and stroked the top of his head. ‘He does this a lot, chick’ said Sandy, looking across to Ernest. ‘Don’t worry – he’s not that ruined.’
Julian sat up again to disagree ‘You might not call this ruined, but I do. I had a name. I had top billing at the Victoria. I…’
‘Oh put a sock in it, do. We’re all in the same boat now.’ Said Sals.
‘Some of us are doing all the bloody rowing. I am a slave, no less than my brothers across the Empire.’ declared Julian, lying flat along his bench with his head in Sandy’s lap.
Maggie had been moving around the room constantly, filling the teapot, cleaning plates, folding laundry and keeping her eye on everyone. Now she stood over Julian and Sandy and managed to slap them both across the face with one move of her dishcloth. ‘Oi. Romeo and Romeo. Stop noodling all over each other and get your bloody room sorted out and packed up. Looks like you’ve had the Grenadier Guards in there.’
‘Oh, would that it were so’ said Julian, springing up as befitted a Flying Lombardo, and dancing out of the room, followed more slowly by Sandy, who winked at Ernest.
Ernest giggled.
‘You still here?’ said Maggie to him, but followed it up with her biggest smile. ‘Ain’t we shocked the shit out of you yet?’ She buttered another piece of bread for him. ‘Get this down you, before you run on home. I’m betting you won’t be sitting down to a full Sunday roast.’
‘We had a rabbit last night.’ Said Ernest, not wanting to seem utterly destitute.
‘Oh well, you’re good for days then’ said Maggie, rolling her eyes. ‘How many kiddies at home?’
‘Just me.’ Said Ernest.
Maggie and Sals both sat back and looked at him. ‘Oh you poor dear. Your poor Ma and Pa.’ said Maggie.
‘There’s just me and Mother.’ Said Ernest in a small voice.
‘Oh bless your heart. Did your Pa pass recently? We’ve got a medium here – ever so good she is. Mystic Mavis. She’ll get him up for you to talk to, just as if he was sat here.’
‘Only she’s got a migraine today. She gets em on Sundays, says it’s all the vibrations of the church going as sets her off.’ Said Sals.
Ernest shook his head. ‘He’s not dead.’ He admitted, but then began to cry.
Sals gathered him to her, while Maggie shook her head. ‘Alright. Nuff said. We know all about that sort of Father, don’t we love.’
‘Oh yes’ said Sals. ‘In drink, inside, in the Navy or just plain scarpered. They ain’t no use either way round.’
‘It’s not that.’ Sniffed Ernest.
‘Well he ain’t left your Ma a fortune.’ said Maggie.
Ernest sat up straight. ‘We have fallen into temporarily tragically reduced circumstances’ he said carefully, remembering the words his Mother had taught him to use whenever challenged.
Maggie and Sals began to laugh. ‘Oh ain’t we all.’ Coughed Maggie. ‘Some of us has been falling for years and years. So who’s your Ma then? She’s raised you for a gentleman, must have had her reasons,  I can see that.’
‘My Mother is the famous, talented and beautiful portrait artist, Rosalina Lowe.’ Said Ernest.
‘Sure she ain’t the Queen of Sheba?’ said Maggie, sarcastically.
‘It’s the truth.’ Said Ernest, defending his Mother once again. ‘She painted a portrait of Lady Harriet and the Prince of Wales gave her a red rose.’
‘Oh, Lady Harriet.’ Said Maggie. ‘Well why didn’t you say so?’
‘Ma.’ Chided Sals. ‘He don’t know only what he’s been told. The Prince of Wales gave your Ma a rose, did he?’
Ernest nodded.
‘We’ve had his little brother, Prince Victor, along to our shows, ain’t we Sals? But it wasn’t a rose he tried to give you was it? A rosy…’
‘Ma!’ said Sals. ‘That’s my business.’ She  produced a man’s handkerchief from her tunic pocket and dried Ernest’s face. ‘Don’t you worry sweetheart. Our Pa…’
Maggie spoke over her ‘Now who’s sharing who’s business?’
Ernest looked from one woman to the other. Maggie looked not that much older than Sals. ‘Are you sisters?’ he asked.
‘Yes’ said Sals.
‘No.’ said Maggie.
Maggie sat down next to Ernest, and leaned on her elbows on the table. She spoke softly, out of earshot of the others in the room. ‘I don’t know if you’ll understand this yet, but if you do or you don’t, I don’t want no questions. I’ll tell you this once, and then it’s said and done and you don’t speak about it again.’
Ernest nodded, wide eyed.
‘My Sals and me, we have the same father.  When I was fourteen, Ma left me and two little brothers – she ran off with a spiritualist from Barnet, but he couldn’t abide children. So, when he was gone, well, Pa turned his attentions to me. I had to do all what Ma did for him. And I mean all of it.’ She sighed. ‘I love my Sals to the ends of the Earth and back, but she shouldn’t be in the world. She was made in the wrong way.’
‘I was made wrong, but I come out perfect.’ Grinned Sals, at ease with her own history.
‘Some as may argue with that’ said Maggie. But she smiled at her daughter, and at Ernest. ‘And some as may say that you need to be back with your lovely Mother, young man, before she raises a hue and cry from here to St Giles.  Come on, I’ll walk you back out and set you on your way.’
Ernest bowed to Sals and to the dancing girls, who curtsied in return, and left  the court with Maggie’s bony hand between his shoulder blades.  Ernest was glad she was with him. Not only because if he got lost he would be wandering for hours, but because he wanted to ask her advice. He felt happier with Sals, but Maggie was a mother and she would, he was sure, understand him. He stopped and turned to her. ‘Maggie – please, can I ask you something?’
‘Remember what I said.’ Warned Maggie.
‘Yes. Not about that. Only – about my Mother. I said something to her. I don’t want to go home because –‘
‘What did you say sweetie? Can’t be that terrible, a good little lad like you.’
‘It was terrible. It was.’
‘Alright don’t turn on the waterworks again. Spit it out.’
‘Mother refuses to tell me who my Father is  - his name, or anything about him. I said – I told her – that this was because she does not know his name.’
‘Oh’ said Maggie. ‘Ouch. That’s a hard line to hear from your own sprog.’
Ernest could only nod.
‘Still, you’ve a right to know some day. Otherwise you’ll be working round the streets, looking at every toff and wondering if he’s got your ears.’
Ernest nodded again, knowing he had been right to trust her instincts.
‘Take it slow cock. She’ll tell you all about it when she reckons you’re old enough, or you need to know to protect yourself. Till then, let it go.’
‘But when I go home.’
‘She’s your Ma, and you’re all she’s got. She’ll be made up to see you back.’ Maggie grinned at him. ‘But since you’re learning to be a grown man, learning how to say sorry to the woman you love is lesson one.  Get her some violets, say yes Ma and no Ma all day, and keep the house neat.’
‘I do that.’
‘Good boy. I knew you were well trained. Now you mind and come back to us, though. I want you to see Gabriel, and the Prof. Can’t always say when Gabe will be around – he’s got a funny set up at home an all – but his hair will stand up when he sees you.’
‘Can I see your show?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘No my lovely. Not you. Your Mother has brought you up nicer than a monk up a mountain and we’ve shot enough holes in that for one day. You stay away from the show. Come back next Sunday, we’ll all be resting up here.’
Ernest surprised himself by giving Maggie a kiss on the cheek, before he turned and ran for home.