Read Online A Glimpse at Happiness by Jean Fullerton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jean Fullerton
Ads: Link
enough. Josie’s relief was palpable when she turned and looked at him but, remembering the way her gaze danced over his face, Patrick suddenly hoped the pleasure she showed at seeing him was for more than just deliverance from Harry.
‘She asked after you.’
‘What does she look like after all this time?’ Mattie asked.
What does she look like? Patrick’s mind conjured up the picture of her that had barely been absent from his memory - her rich auburn curls escaping from under her bonnet and her slim waist emphasised by the tailored cut of her jacket, her upturned face and large eyes - these images embedded themselves in his mind. Josie had always been a pretty girl, but now she had matured into a real beauty, so stunning it hit right to a man’s core.
‘Grand. She was grand,’ he replied, knowing it was well short of the mark. ‘She even said she might visit.’
His mother rocked back in her chair. ‘I hope she does. I’d like to hear how Ellen and her doctor are after all this time.’
Mattie stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Did you tell her about Rosa and the children?’
Patrick raked his hands through his hair. ‘I didn’t have time . . . we were in the middle of the High Street.’ He wished he didn’t sound quite so defensive.
Kate gave a flat laugh. ‘So when are you going to tell her, Patrick?’
‘The next time I see her,’ Patrick answered firmly. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. ‘She said she’ll send word when she’s to be expected and I’ll make sure I’m here when she arrives. ‘He grasped the jug of water and opened the door to the passage. ‘And then I’ll tell her everything.’
As Harry opened the small door into the main cellar under Number Six Burr Street, a shaft of light cut into the narrow passage. He stooped so as to avoid braining himself on the low lintel and cursed Ma for not making the secret entrance to their underground warehouse higher.
As he stepped into the main part of the storeroom, he shifted his burden into a more comfortable position. The main room was usually kept empty in case the local police wanted to have a nose around, but today it was crammed with crates and barrels, tobacco and tea.
The Maid of Plymouth had arrived from the Indies on the evening tide and weighed anchor mid-stream. Harry had gathered his henchmen and they had swifted away a decent haul from right under the nose of the ship’s captain and the police patrols.
Ma sat in a colourless old armchair just to the right of the stairs, her eyes darting back and forth over the goods as they were fetched in. She always came down to supervise the division of a big shipment. The main storage and distribution centre of stolen goods in the area lay under a row of old tenements.
They were owned by some lord or earl but his rent was collected by Messrs Glasson, Glasson and Oakes, a small but respectable law firm with offices in Aldgate. They might be respectable but their chief clerk was not. It was he who had pointed Ma towards the crumbling three-storied houses by the railway arch of the Blackwall to City line. Although Ma could tally in her head as quick as any bank teller, she could only just write her own name, so the lease on the four dilapidated houses was agreed with a spit on the palm and a shake of the hand.
When she’d taken them over, most of the rooms were already used by the local prostitutes so Ma just formalised the arrangement and added some muscle to ensure that the police looked the other way, but the real value of the terrace was in the cellars of the houses. Seeing their possibilities from the first, Ma had left the cellar under the end house open and filled the front of the other three with rubble, then she had bricked up false walls, concealing the cavern that held all their stolen goods awaiting a buyer. Anyone looking down into the area to the old servants’ quarters would
‘She asked after you.’
‘What does she look like after all this time?’ Mattie asked.
What does she look like? Patrick’s mind conjured up the picture of her that had barely been absent from his memory - her rich auburn curls escaping from under her bonnet and her slim waist emphasised by the tailored cut of her jacket, her upturned face and large eyes - these images embedded themselves in his mind. Josie had always been a pretty girl, but now she had matured into a real beauty, so stunning it hit right to a man’s core.
‘Grand. She was grand,’ he replied, knowing it was well short of the mark. ‘She even said she might visit.’
His mother rocked back in her chair. ‘I hope she does. I’d like to hear how Ellen and her doctor are after all this time.’
Mattie stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Did you tell her about Rosa and the children?’
Patrick raked his hands through his hair. ‘I didn’t have time . . . we were in the middle of the High Street.’ He wished he didn’t sound quite so defensive.
Kate gave a flat laugh. ‘So when are you going to tell her, Patrick?’
‘The next time I see her,’ Patrick answered firmly. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. ‘She said she’ll send word when she’s to be expected and I’ll make sure I’m here when she arrives. ‘He grasped the jug of water and opened the door to the passage. ‘And then I’ll tell her everything.’
As Harry opened the small door into the main cellar under Number Six Burr Street, a shaft of light cut into the narrow passage. He stooped so as to avoid braining himself on the low lintel and cursed Ma for not making the secret entrance to their underground warehouse higher.
As he stepped into the main part of the storeroom, he shifted his burden into a more comfortable position. The main room was usually kept empty in case the local police wanted to have a nose around, but today it was crammed with crates and barrels, tobacco and tea.
The Maid of Plymouth had arrived from the Indies on the evening tide and weighed anchor mid-stream. Harry had gathered his henchmen and they had swifted away a decent haul from right under the nose of the ship’s captain and the police patrols.
Ma sat in a colourless old armchair just to the right of the stairs, her eyes darting back and forth over the goods as they were fetched in. She always came down to supervise the division of a big shipment. The main storage and distribution centre of stolen goods in the area lay under a row of old tenements.
They were owned by some lord or earl but his rent was collected by Messrs Glasson, Glasson and Oakes, a small but respectable law firm with offices in Aldgate. They might be respectable but their chief clerk was not. It was he who had pointed Ma towards the crumbling three-storied houses by the railway arch of the Blackwall to City line. Although Ma could tally in her head as quick as any bank teller, she could only just write her own name, so the lease on the four dilapidated houses was agreed with a spit on the palm and a shake of the hand.
When she’d taken them over, most of the rooms were already used by the local prostitutes so Ma just formalised the arrangement and added some muscle to ensure that the police looked the other way, but the real value of the terrace was in the cellars of the houses. Seeing their possibilities from the first, Ma had left the cellar under the end house open and filled the front of the other three with rubble, then she had bricked up false walls, concealing the cavern that held all their stolen goods awaiting a buyer. Anyone looking down into the area to the old servants’ quarters would
Similar Books
