The Keepsake

Marty laughed and said he would compose his own on more suitable paper. ‘But how much is all this going to cost?’

Etta had missed this practicality. ‘Oh, I’m not sure – but don’t worry, I’ve some jewellery in my bag we can sell.’ At his objection she overruled him. ‘I insist! Everything is worthless compared to being your wife.’ The last mouthful of bread consumed, she leapt from the bed, soon dancing back to him with some earrings and two brooches. ‘There are lesser items too if you think you’ll be able to get anything for them, a blouse, a skirt…’

Reluctant even to accept the jewellery, he told her, ‘What sort o’ man takes the clothes from his wife’s back? I’m not even sure I should be taking these. You realise I could be accused of stealing them?’

‘Really?’ She projected shock. ‘How disgusting. Should I write a note of authenticity?’

‘Might be an idea.’ After studying the precious items for some seconds, he put them in his pocket. ‘But I won’t sell them, I’ll pawn them; that way I can retrieve them later.’

She replied lightly as she flopped down beside him again, ‘I shan’t want them, I told you they mean nothing.’

Now that everything had been discussed, she cuddled up to him for more kisses. But soon they had to part again, Etta to pace the room in boredom and to survive on the brief visits that her lover paid her whenever he could.

Noon finally came and Marty approached his superior. ‘Mr Wilkinson, please could I go out in my dinner break?’

‘What’s so important that it can’t wait until this evening?’ Wilkinson had no reason to forbid it, he just liked to be awkward.

‘My aunt’s poorly. Mother asked would I call in on her, see if she needs anything. Of course, I could wait till tonight, but if she were to faint and then fall on –’

‘Spare me the long list of ridiculous consequences,’ replied Wilkinson tiredly, but with a smirk of amusement, for at heart he liked Boots. ‘Away with you before I change my mind.’

‘Aw thanks, Mr Wilkinson!’ Marty decided to chance his luck. ‘Er, she lives quite far away, could I tack an extra fifteen minutes on –’

‘I’ll grant you ten. Any more and you’ll make up for it at the end of your shift.’

‘Oh, I will, sir – thank ye kindly!’ Marty rushed off to inspect the rooms.

His first port of call was to be in what he regarded as a nice area, for if he couldn’t keep Etta in the manner to which she was accustomed then he could at least do his best. A stroke of luck occurred when he saw a friend who gave him a lift in his trap, thus saving him precious minutes. Taking this as a good omen, Marty was therefore pole-axed when his enquiry was rudely forestalled. Yes, there was a notice in the window advertising the vacancy, but it was accompanied by a proviso: No Irish.

Dismayed, he wasted no time in proceeding to the next address. Alas, these rooms had been taken at ten o’clock that morning. The third place on his list was closer to home in a street despised even by those of his own class. He had regarded it as a last resort but now dashed there, praying that no one would have beaten him to it. Time was running out. He would have to take these rooms even if they were bug-infested.

He was never to find out, for the rooms had already been taken. By now famished and despondent, he beseeched the woman who had answered his knock, ‘Do you know where there might be anywhere else to let – anywhere at all?’

She weighed up his smartly uniformed figure before directing him to a public house along the street. ‘I think they’ve a room going.’

Marty crumpled in despair. The Square and Compass was hardly the sort of place to bring a lady. For a second he considered the gold jewellery in his pocket, yet to be pawned. But no, Etta expected that would pay for the wedding; if he used it to rent somewhere better it might render them unable to marry and then where would he be? With little choice he thanked the woman and went to involve himself in swift negotiation with the landlord.

His return to the hotel was accompanied by mixed emotions. True, the room was not what he wanted for Etta – classed as furnished, it had the barest minimum of items and was somewhat jaded – but at least it was somewhere they could be together as man and wife. It was only two shillings a week, and they could always move later – a definite possibility for he had achieved an excellent price for the jewellery. The moment his workload allowed it, he dashed to tell her this.

Confined for hours like a restless zoo animal, unable to lace her own corset and having to leave it off, forced to occupy herself by brushing her hair a hundred times and inexpertly attempting to fashion it into different styles, an intensely bored Etta was relieved to see him back and even more thrilled to hear him voicing success. ‘You’ve found us rooms?’ She flung herself at him.

‘Aye!’ He swept her up, then tempered his excited response. ‘Well, room, singular – I’m sorry, everything else had gone, it’s all I could manage at the moment – but we won’t have to stay there long. Once we’re safely wed I’ll make a concerted effort to find something better.’ He hugged her tightly, releasing her to say, ‘You do understand you might have to be there on your own for a couple of nights, just till I can arrange the wedding? I’ll take you there when I get off work and make sure you’re safe, but I can’t sleep there, obviously, before we’re man and wife.’ Even if Etta had been willing he couldn’t let his parents down by living in sin.

She nodded, enthusing, ‘Oh, I can’t wait to go there!’

He crushed her again. ‘Me an’ all. How did ye go on with your letter of consent?’

‘Oh, that took me all of five minutes!’ She prised herself free and skipped away to fetch an envelope, which he put in his pocket.

‘That’s great.’ His arms soon encircled her again. ‘Only a few more hours to go.’

Etta pulled a face. ‘More hours of biting my fingernails to the quick, imagining my father’s going to turn up at any moment. I’ll have them down to my elbows before tonight.’

‘Ah well, you can chew on mine if ye like – well you did remark on how clean they were, I thought ye might find them tasty!’ He laughed as she grappled with him, joyful that she shared his sense of humour.

‘I might have to hold you to that! I’m absolutely ravenous.’

Marty admitted, ‘So am I, I didn’t have time for any dinner. Maybe I can get us something from the kitchen.’ Then, he squashed his lips to hers.

It was whilst they were torridly engrossed that someone rattled a key in the lock, forcing self-preservation to override passion. Tearing themselves apart, they turned to stare at the door in horror, having no time to run for the person was entering.

‘Oh, I beg your –’ Joanna had been about to apologise, but at the sight of Marty in the arms of another she broke off, her jaw dropping and her eyes wide in shock. Then, in the same instant she had spun on her heel.

‘Jo, wait!’ A panicked Marty raced to waylay the chambermaid, catching her and dragging her back into the room where he forbade any exit by leaning against the door. ‘Please don’t give us away!’

Joanna demanded to be past. ‘I want nothing to do with this!’

‘All right, but let me explain!’ With Etta an anxious spectator, he grasped the maid’s arms.

‘I don’t wish to know!’ Joanna wrenched free. ‘I just came to check that the room was fit for the next guest – and I see that it isn’t!’ She indicated the rumpled bed with the discarded corset upon it, then glared pointedly at Etta and Marty.

‘Guest? Oh, bloody hell!’ He clutched his head, before gauging her real cause for complaint. ‘Eh, it’s not what you think, Jo! Etta spent the night on her own –’

‘She’s been here all night?’ screeched Joanna.

‘She had nowhere else to go! She’s run away.’ Throwing a fond glance at Etta he decided to let his friend in on their secret. ‘We’re going to be married.’

Joanna’s homely face looked as if it had been smacked. She became very quiet, staring at him as his excited voice babbled on:

‘I’ve got us a place to live! We’ll be going there in a few hours – at least we were, but if someone wants this room…’ His words trailed away in despair.

‘They’re not coming until tomorrow,’ Joanna heard her own voice say dully. Why had she revealed this? She could have been shot of her rival in an instant by stating the room was needed now. But that would solve nothing, would only propel Etta further into Bootsie’s arms.

‘Oh, thank God – saved!’ He threw his face heavenwards with a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Jo. You won’t tell anyone she’s here, will you?’

Remaining stunned and dull of eye, she shook her mobcapped head slowly. ‘I’ve still got to prepare this room, though.’

‘I’m sure Etta won’t mind.’

Hurt and furious, Joanna flared then. ‘I should think she won’t!’ Still in awe of her upper class rival, she directed her hissed objection at Marty, ‘And I’m not having her sitting on the bed after I’ve changed it!’

Amused, but feeling pity for the maid who so obviously coveted Martin too, Etta responded quietly, ‘I shall endeavour to keep out of your way.’

‘And I’d better go before I’m missed,’ opined Marty. He dealt Etta a swift but adoring kiss, then indicated the garments that were strewn about the room. ‘It might be an idea for you to be packed and ready to leave.’

She sighed. ‘I was hoping to have them laundered…’

‘Perhaps Joanna would oblige,’ he said thoughtlessly.

There was a tight reply from the chambermaid. ‘Perhaps Joanna’s got enough to do. Perhaps on second thoughts she’ll come back when the sodding room’s empty!’

Watching her stalk out, Marty grimaced at Etta. ‘Maungy devil, she’s usually a pal.’

Etta beheld him lovingly and stole one of his words to rebuke him. ‘She cares for you, you eejit.’

He laughed, then frowned. ‘What? No, surely…’

His lover experienced a sudden flash of jealousy. ‘Was she the one who –’

‘No! I’ve never even regarded her as anything other than a workmate. Oh, bloody hell, Etta, how was I to know? She never said anything when I poured my heart out about you. What should I say to her?’

Without revealing her deeply possessive streak, Etta prescribed delicacy. ‘I think you’ve said enough. You could provoke her and she might tell.’

He shook his head. ‘No, she’s not that kind. I’d better go try and make it up to her somehow.’ He gave Etta a swift but devoted kiss. ‘I’ll see you later with some grub, and try not to fret.’ Juggling a collection of footwear, he hurried away.

He did catch up with Joanna, but whatever excuse he offered only seemed to worsen the atmosphere between them and, finally heeding Etta’s advice, he left her to cool off. Besides, there was work to be done, this keeping him so involved that he never got to discover whether or not she had returned to tidy Etta’s room.

Joanna had no intention of going back to that place of sin. In fact, by reliving every sequence of events she had worked herself into a fine lather and was by now so absolutely livid that she even contemplated telling the housekeeper about Bootsie’s subterfuge. But that would only get him the sack and it was not him she wished to be rid of. Instead, her anger making her physically ill, she approached the housekeeper with a request that she might be allowed to leave early. Presented with the chambermaid’s pallor and bloodshot eyes, Mrs Hardy was sympathetic and agreed. Joanna was on her way out of the hotel when she overheard a loud enquiry that halted her instantly.

‘Ibbetson,’ repeated the elder of the two gentlemen testily. ‘Check again.’

Transformed by excitement, she made a detour and crept back to lurk on the perimeter of the resplendently-tiled main entrance. The porter on the reception desk was polite and did as he was bidden, but his answer was the same as before. ‘I’m sorry, sir, there is no one of that name staying in the hotel.’

‘Then I shall search the place myself!’ boomed Mr Ibbetson senior. ‘For I have it on good authority that a member of your staff has abducted my daughter!’

With other employees looking fearful that there was about to be a scene, a delighted Joanna rushed forth to solve the mystery, moreover to rectify her own problem. ‘Excuse me, sir!’ she whispered confidentially, ‘but I think you’ll find the young lady in room eighty-four.’

No one had time to ask how she knew this, for with Ibbetson rushing off with his son in pursuit, Joanna’s superiors had enough to contend with in trying to keep this scandal from other guests. Withdrawing into the background, Joanna’s heart pumped with excitement as she awaited the ejection of her rival. With Bootsie safely tucked away in his rightful place there was no one to prevent it.

But the commotion had drawn a gaggle of observers who now smirked and gossiped and craned their necks to witness the fun, amongst them Marty. Joanna ducked out of sight, for he would instantly know it was she who had given the game away, especially now, as an even louder hullabaloo preceded the Ibbetson girl being dragged protesting down the grand central staircase, the thwarted bride-to-be digging in her heels and gaining a grip on the ornate ironwork, refusing to obey, only to receive a vicious rap from her father’s cane and her fingers wrenched free.

At the sight of his loved one so mistreated, the levity drained from Marty’s face. Immediately he elbowed his way through the watchers, intent on rescue, but Ibbetson had seen him too and roared to his son, ‘That’s him!’ And in seconds they had abandoned Etta and came rushing to tackle him. He saw the upraised cane, feinted to avoid it but only succumbed to a blow from Etta’s brother John. Whilst he was reeling from this the heavy silver top of Ibbetson’s cane thwacked his cheek, causing him to yell in pain, the crowd to gasp and Etta to scream.

‘Stop, stop!’ Horrified at the sight of blood upon her lover’s face she tried to get near, to save him, but the windmilling arms prevented it, knocking her off her feet. ‘Martin!’ Heroically she rose and tried again, but someone pinioned her arms. ‘Father, stop!’

But her screaming entreaties did no good, for her father and brother seemed to have lost all reason, ignoring the hotel manager who had finally been roused from his office and tried politely to intervene – lashing, punching and thrashing Matin with no one doing a thing to stop it, knocking him to the ground until his only recourse was to curl up like a hedgehog. Still they showed no mercy, the silver-topped cane berating him again and again.

Appalled to have brought this upon the one she loved, at first Joanna stood frozen to the spot, biting her lip in terror at the violence, but when no one ended it, when it seemed that Bootsie might even be killed, she found the courage to rush forth and protect his cowering body, imploring his attackers to desist, and only now did they do so, standing back to examine their work, panting with grim satisfaction at the vengeance meted out, the victim’s blood sprayed upon their clothes.

‘Martin!’ Etta screamed and struggled to be free, even biting one of the hands that imprisoned her in order to run to him. But she was not allowed to do so, her father and brother grasping a slender arm each and dragging her from the hotel, protesting and shrieking for her lover. ‘He’s injured! I demand to see him! You cannot keep us apart!’

‘I can and I will,’ came her father’s grim reply, his fingers digging into her flesh as she wriggled.

‘I am most exceedingly sorry, sir!’ The hotel manager tried to make amends, wringing his hands and hurrying alongside them, but was ignored by all, his voice drowned out by Etta’s.

‘You can drag me to the altar but you can’t force me to utter the vows! I’d cut out my tongue before that! I’ll run away again and again! You’ll never stop me – Martin, I’ll love you forever!’

Through a fog, Marty heard the declaration of undying love, formed a bloody, grimacing smile and attempted to nod, before entering a tunnel of unconsciousness.

Angry at being demeaned by the Ibbetsons, the manager came hurrying back, growling at those who huddled anxiously around Marty to ‘Remove him’ before shooing the rest of the staff about their business then forming an obsequious explanation for the guests who had been disturbed.

Hefting him between them, Marty’s colleagues struggled to convey his dead weight to the servants’ quarters, a frightened Joanna hovering alongside, the rest dispersing to chatter about the incident in shocked tones.

‘Oh, Bootsie, I’m sorry!’ With others laying him on a table, Joanna fetched a cold damp cloth to tend his injuries, wincing and whining as she dabbed at the blood. ‘I never meant to get you in trouble.’

‘I think he did that for himself,’ a porter comforted her, then clicked his tongue at the audacity. ‘The scallywag.’

A younger male conveyed admiration. ‘Good old Bootsie, I say. What a dark horse – how did you know he’d stashed her up there?’

‘I only found out by accident. I thought I was helping him out of trouble by getting rid of her.’ Joanna looked shifty, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. ‘I didn’t know they were going to half-kill – aw, Bootsie, please don’t die!’ She dabbed at him frantically, nauseated by the sight of blood on the cloth.

To the relief of all, Marty soon came round, and by the time Mr Wilkinson appeared he was sitting up, despite remaining shocked and in terrible discomfort. His superior was relieved too, although he showed no sympathy. Having received a personal grilling from the manager for his lack of supervision, his eyes were hostile and his request was delivered through gritted teeth. ‘Would you care to explain yourself?’

At the victim’s bruised and bewildered expression, Joanna answered for him. ‘I think he’s too dazed, sir.’

Wilkinson did not thaw. ‘Am I to assume that Lanegan has been consorting with a guest’s daughter?’

Unable to defend him, those supporting his battered carcass turned their eyes on Marty, who did not appear to know where he was, let alone what had happened.

‘I shall take your silence as an admission, Lanegan,’ hissed Wilkinson. ‘You will therefore remove yourself from the premises.’

Seeing that the boot boy still failed to understand, his friends exchanged looks. ‘You’re dismissing him, sir?’ ventured one brave soul.

‘I most certainly am.’

Feeling guilty, Joanna risked her own position. ‘But, begging your pardon, sir, he’s the victim of a dreadful crime.’

‘The only crime that has been committed here is that Lanegan has brought this hotel into disrepute!’

‘But he’s too ill to walk, sir!’

‘Then fetch a cart and convey him to those who care – and it does not take all of you to do it!’ Ordering all but two back to work, the furious Wilkinson strode away.

The page and the chambermaid studied their friend, who had begun to shiver. Marty beheld them too, but did not respond to their questioning for their voices were muffled as if emerging from a drainpipe. ‘Oh, look at his eyes,’ he heard Joanna say, ‘they’re right odd.’

Avoiding the nasty lesion, Joe pressed the victim’s brow. ‘He’s really cold an’ all. And he looks as if he’s going to throw – whoa!’ He jumped back as Martin spewed vomit, Joanna taking the full force of it.

Regarding her frontage in disgust, she did not cast blame – it did seem poetic justice after all – but stoically removed her apron and carried it between thumb and forefinger for disposal.

Whilst Joe tended Marty, whose teeth had started to chatter, she returned with mop and bucket and swiftly cleared the mess. Then the page suggested, ‘Away, we’d better get some transport and take him home to bed.’

Averse to consigning him to a handcart as their superior had suggested, they hailed a cab and with the jarvey’s assistance bundled him inside, a guilt-ridden Joanna pressing the shilling fare into Marty’s hand and closing his fingers around it.

‘We can’t send him on his own like a parcel,’ decided Joe. ‘Look at him, he doesn’t even know what day it is. One of us should go with him and explain to his ma what’s happened.’ When Joanna shrank at the thought of her own malicious role in this, he announced, ‘Right, I’m off then and bugger me job!’

Marty could not summon the words to thank him. He was hardly aware of anything as he was taken home in disgrace. Dazed, and barely able to hold a handkerchief to his cheek, he stumbled from the cab as, simultaneously, his mother responded to the knock on her door.

‘Mother o’ mercy!’ At the bloodied state of her son, Agnes Lanegan was instinctively protective and, along with Joe, supported him over the threshold to a chair. But then there came fury as the full tale emerged and she raged at him, ‘Didn’t I warn you about wanting things you can’t have? You damned fool, look at the state of ye! What the hell is your father going to say?’ But her ire was directed less at Marty’s actions, more at the callous treatment that had been meted out to him, and she was swift to see that her ranting was not doing an ounce of good.

Under the wide and watchful eyes of her younger children and her anxious elderly uncle, she and Joe transferred Marty to the sofa then she pounded upstairs to fetch blankets, which were snuggled about him. ‘Brandy! That’s what we need.’ Shoving a cup at Joe and sending him to the Brown Cow, she herself made a pot of tea, and whilst this was brewing she tipped the rest of the contents of the kettle into a stone hot-water bottle, wrapping this in a towel and tucking it at Marty’s feet, crooning and fussing. ‘Oh, my poor dear boy, what have they done to ye?’

Uncle Mal shook his head gravely. ‘Beat near to death, he is.’

Joe returned within minutes, the brandy being dribbled down the patient’s throat, followed by hot sweet tea.

‘Will I pour you a cup, Joe?’ Sounding vague, Aggie stood back to assess the situation. Though swathed to the chin in blankets, her son still shivered and trembled, teeth chattering, his face a swollen mass of lacerations, and he had not uttered a word. It deeply concerned her.

The page backed away. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Lanegan, I’d best return to work. I hope he’s soon recovered.’

‘Dear God, so do I, dear,’ muttered Aggie, but, looking at that trembling impostor, she feared her happy-go-lucky son might never return.

3

Wounds knitted, awareness restored, after his ghastly experience Marty felt he had lost a fortnight, but in fact had been lying there only a couple of days. According to Uncle Mal, his mother had barely left his side during those first perilous hours, spooning water through his split lips, performing the most intimate tasks, though he could remember little of them. He still ached in every crevice but now felt able enough for action after his midday mug of oxtail broth.

Forming each move gingerly to lessen the hurt, he rose from the threadbare sofa and waited a while to steady himself whilst his parents, younger siblings and Uncle Mal watched intently. ‘Sorry for putting you through all this, Ma.’

‘Isn’t that what mothers are for.’ Aggie’s heart bled for him, and she sighed. ‘’Tis a shame she never even managed to leave you a wee keepsake before they took her.’

Tottering to the mirror above the fireplace Marty grimaced at his pasty reflection, carefully examining the encrusted lesions. ‘What need have I of trinkets when I’ll soon have a real, flesh and blood keepsake – and now I’m back to normal I can go retrieve her.’

‘Normal, says he!’ A howl came from his father’s chair, making the smaller children jump. ‘There’s nothing normal about you. What ignoramus would set himself up for another whipping like that? Sure, he must’ve beat the brains out o’ ye.’ Redmond was grumpy and tired; he, too, had just been sacked, for taking a nap in work time.

Martin made allowances, his reflection displaying nausea. ‘She’s in danger, Da, I have to –’

‘Did you witness her father whipping her?’ demanded Redmond.

‘No, he –’

‘He reserved his punishment for you, and quite frankly I can understand why!’ After trudging eight miles home with no pay for his morning’s work, Redmond was abnormally uncharitable. ‘What a damn fool to think you could get away with stealing his daughter!’