Another sound had been drowned out by the echo of that rushing tide: the click of the latch as a key turned in the front door. Nellie was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the open kitchen door. She saw Ted’s gaze shift, suddenly, to the passageway behind her and his expression change, in an instant, from bitter to sweet. Like a spring slowly uncoiling, he stood up, all geniality, to greet Matty.
‘Ah, this must be the canary herself. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Nellie?’
Nellie whirled round, to see Matty framed in the doorway. She wore her stage dress, with a fine chiffon stole of pale gold around her shoulders. Her height, and the elegant coil of her auburn hair, made her look much older than her fifteen years. Her hair shone like spun copper as she stepped forward into the pool of light cast by the gas lamp. Nellie could tell, from the confident way she strode across the room, that this was still ‘Matty on the stage’. Normally, as soon as she walked in after a night at the Star, that persona was dropped, along with her hat and coat. Nellie usually stayed up to make sure she had something to eat before going to bed, and Matty would always greet Nellie with a kiss and a scolding for waiting up. Stepping over the threshold of her home invariably restored Matty to their loving, contrary little canary once more. But tonight she kept her stage armour firmly around her.
‘How d’you know me nickname?’ she asked, with a wide bold smile, as though he was one of the audience.
‘Yours and a few thousand other lovely girls!’ Ted replied, falling in with the banter.
Matty shot a look at Nellie. Beneath the veneer there was little Matty, unsure of this stranger in their cosy kitchen.
Nellie jumped to the rescue. ‘This is Ted, Lily’s brother. He means the canary girls at the Arsenal.’
‘Oh, hello, Ted, pleased to meet you,’ Matty said, dropping the stole over the back of the kitchen chair and sitting down with studied poise. ‘Why were you talking about me?’ She looked brightly at Ted and back to Nellie.
‘I was asking Nellie if she thinks it’s right that your life’s worth half a man’s?’
‘Oh,’ Matty said, ‘that’s right, you’re a Bolshevik, ain’t you? Have you come to stir us all up?’ Her voice was mocking. But then she went on more seriously. ‘I know some of the women complain about the wages, but I’m really not sure my life’s worth twice my brother’s, when you come to think about it like that. Seems to me, if I walk out with thirty shillings a week and Sam’s fighting over there for eleven, then I’m paid too much. Anyway,’ she said with finality, ‘we’re not allowed to strike.’
‘Who cares?’ Ted said, standing up now, ready for a debate.
‘They’ll all care if they end up in Holloway,’ Nellie cut in. She needed to get Ted out. ‘Anyway, Matty, I’ll get you a bite to eat and then you’d best get on up to bed, love. You’re on earlies tomorrow.’
Nellie turned to Ted with a look that brooked no argument. ‘Ted was just going, weren’t you, Ted?’
He didn’t reply. Instead he picked up his cap and moved to the door. As he passed Matty, he extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Matty, I’ve heard you do a great turn at the Star, maybe I’ll come and see you one night.’
Matty gave him her stage smile and inclined her head.
‘’Night, Nellie. I’ll see yer when I see yer.’
He brushed past her and she followed him down the passage.
‘Not if I see you first,’ she whispered to herself, as she shut the door behind him.
But his visit had shaken her. She feared this wasn’t the last she’d be seeing of Ted Bosher and that night she slept badly.
The next day dawned grey, cold and damp again. Yesterday had been a single day of summer and now it had vanished, taking Nellie’s peace of mind with it. Ted’s reappearance had left her unsettled and preoccupied. She was grateful that, at least, it was Thursday. Since Lily had left Duff’s, she and Nellie were in the habit of meeting up in the Green Ginger every Thursday night: it was a comforting ritual they allowed themselves. Little Johnny was left with Mrs McBride and Alice took over at home, while they shared news of Sam and Jock, and Nellie entertained Lily with the latest custard tart news. They considered it well worth the five pence a pint of Russian Stout, their favourite tipple.
Tonight, Nellie was first to arrive in the pub. Once, she would have felt shy of sitting there on her own, but since the war it was a common sight to see women drinking alone. And why not? thought Nellie. They were doing the work of men; surely they should have some of their privileges. Which brought her back to Ted; her thoughts hadn’t strayed far from him all day and she resented it. Still, she couldn’t deny he had a point about the munitionettes’ wages. If only he weren’t so extreme and careless of consequences. She smiled to herself, remembering Matty’s retort about soldiers’ pay. The young girl had stopped him in his tracks, a sight Nellie had rarely seen. She’d so often tried to best him in an argument herself, and failed.
The red velvet curtain round the pub door was pulled aside and in walked Lily. She was a little more buxom since the birth of Johnny, but she had lost the frazzled look of her early motherhood and now her bright prettiness had returned. She came over eagerly and kissed Nellie on the cheek.
‘Oh, good, you’ve got the stouts in!’ she said, undoing her coat. ‘I need this. Johnny’s been such a little bugger today I almost chucked him at Grandma McBride tonight!’ She took a long sip of the dark creamy stout and ended up with a frothy lip, which Nellie leaned over to brush away. She hated to spoil her friend’s good humour, but she was bursting with the news.
‘I had a visit last night. Guess who from?’
Lily paused mid-sip and shook her head.
‘Your brother!’
Lily put down the pint glass and groaned. ‘Oh, Nell, that’s trouble. What’s he doing back? He’s got a cheek, turning up on your doorstep! What did he have to say for himself?’
Nellie told her Ted’s excuse for not coming to see her and his plans for working with the No-Conscription Fellowship.
‘Typical Ted! Poor me! I’m scarred for life, so I can’t pick up a pen and write a letter to me girl, nor me family! I’m sorry, Nell, but he’s always got to be the centre of attention. That’s the only reason he’s working with the conchies. He wants to play the martyr, that’s all.’
Her friend’s dismissive analysis allowed Nellie a little more perspective, she thought gratefully. On her own, she could never seem to get the correct distance between herself and Ted, to be able to see him clearly. ‘He said he’d gone round your mum’s and your dad told him to piss off!’
Lily sighed. ‘Dad’s got no time for him, but Mum’ll find a way to bail him out.’
‘He tried it on with me,’ Nellie whispered.
‘Never!’ Lily’s eyes widened. ‘I hope you told him to sod off.’
‘’Course I did! But then Matty came home, and I tell you, Lil, I’d swear he was eyeing her up!’
‘Matty’s got more sense.’
‘More than me, you mean?’
Lily laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that!’
‘Well, I did. You can’t see it, ’cause he’s your brother, but there’s definitely something about Ted.’ She thought it over, trying to find the key to his attraction. ‘Even though he looks a bit rough now, he can still turn on the charm when he wants to… Oh, I’m probably being silly, it’s just put me all up the wall.’
‘Well, Matty’s got other things on her mind, what with the singing at night and then all day at the Arsenal, she’s too busy for fellers!’
‘That’s the other thing that put the wind up me, though. He’s trying to organize an unofficial strike at the Arsenal.’
‘Just tell Matty to stay well clear. You’re talking about prison for that!’ Lily now looked as concerned as Nellie, and the two girls sipped silently until Nellie decided to change the subject to sixteen-month-old Johnny, which soon had Lily in full flow about her son’s latest exploits.
The so-called summer months of 1916 dragged on, the coldest, greyest and wettest that Nellie could remember, the only sunny day marred by Ted’s return. Still, she had more important things on her mind than Ted. Day-to-day life was becoming much harder as the German blockade took hold, and basic foodstuffs were in short supply. The factory had been badly affected as their sugar had always been imported from Germany. Added to that, half the fruit growers of England were on the Western Front, so the jelly department was working at half-strength. Nellie got used to seeing new faces as women from jellies were moved to powder packing. One day Ethel came in with a basket full of jellies.
‘Free samples, girls!’ She went along the line, handing them out. ‘We’ve got to try ’em out and let jellies know if we like ’em!’ she announced.
‘Oooh, look at lady bountiful!’ Maggie Tyrell took one, then dipped her hand in the basket for another.
‘Oi, one each!’ Ethel slapped Maggie’s hand.
‘I’ve got six kids, Ethel. It’s no good me taking home one jelly, there’ll be murders.’
‘Oh, all right, then, here y’are!’ Ethel’s massive hands scooped up a handful, dumping them into Maggie’s lap.
Nellie looked at the packet, it was branded as ‘War Jelly’.
‘Listen to this, Mag,’ she read. ‘It’s made from rhubarb and beets! Do you think your kids will eat it?’
‘My kids’ll eat anything,’ Maggie assured her. But next day she told Ethel to report back to jellies that ‘War Jelly’ was vile and that even her perpetually hungry brood wouldn’t touch it.
Bread, potatoes, milk, butter, all had doubled in price, and now a government soup kitchen had opened next door to the Salvation Army. Spa Road was constantly packed with shuffling humanity: there was a queue of tramps outside the Sally Army, a queue of women and children for the soup kitchen, and still the long line of recruits snaking down the steps of the town hall. This was the queue that Nellie saw most of, for she would walk to the town hall every day during her dinner break to check the casualty lists posted there. It was a harrowing ritual, for there was never a day when some poor woman didn’t find the name she’d been hoping not to see. Some would merely collapse into the arms of the nearest woman; others would have to voice their grief. The wail would start so pitifully, a feeble moan, building to an unbearable keening that grew louder, till it pierced Nellie’s heart. God only knew what sort of effect it had on the eager recruits, lining up to become statistics on such a list.
Food shortages meant she’d long ago abandoned any scruples about Freddie’s odd contribution to the household. In fact, she blessed every tin of corned beef or sack of potatoes he came home with. But even he could do nothing when the government started watering down her beloved Russian Stout. ‘It’s like a glass of gnat’s piss!’ was Lily’s gloomy opinion of the brew now being served up at the Green Ginger.
In spite of her fears, Ted hadn’t crossed her path again. But a month or so after his visit Matty told her Ted had been frequenting the Star. He’d taken to waiting at the stage door for her.
‘He’s started bringing me flowers, walks me home, and we sometimes go for a drink in the Golden Fleece,’ Matty said, seeming a little embarrassed. ‘I’ve been seeing a bit of him over at the Arsenal too, he still thinks he can organize a strike… I thought you’d want to know, Nellie.’
Nellie felt fear catch in her throat. The thought of Ted’s attention being directed towards Matty was horrifying, like witnessing a bird being fondled by a green-eyed cat, and Nellie’s instinct was to snatch the little canary from his grasp. She didn’t know how much the girl knew of her past with Ted and she wasn’t certain how much to tell her. Matty’s revelation filled her with a sense of failure too. She’d promised Lizzie Gilbie she’d look after the children, hadn’t she? How would letting Matty fall into Ted’s dangerous hands be protecting her? She was about to forbid Matty from seeing him again when she remembered her own father, sitting in his chair, picking away at his pipe, ordering her to have nothing to do with ‘that Bosher boy’. It was ironic to find herself in the same position, and she wouldn’t let panic at her own impotence lead her into the same mistakes her father had made. All the warnings or beatings in the world hadn’t prevented her from doing exactly as she’d wanted. Giving Matty a direct order generally tended to bring out her stubborn streak, and usually prompted her to do the opposite. Perhaps she should just gently warn Matty off Ted.
‘We used to walk out, me and Ted,’ she explained, ‘but he didn’t treat me well and my advice is steer clear, love. He might be handsome enough, but he’s a wrong ’un.’
Matty gave her a long look. ‘I do think he’s handsome, Nell, and he’d make a lovely hero on the stage, but he’s not that good an actor.’
Nellie should never have doubted that Matty would see beyond the veneer of Ted’s charm. ‘No? Well, he took me in, love, and I paid for it. I don’t want you doing the same.’
‘Oh, Nellie, I know he’s just a charmer, but don’t blame yourself. It’s just I’ve had a lot more stage experience!’ She laughed. ‘The thing is, Nell, all the young boys are at the front and it’s just nice to have a bit of attention.’
Matty really was growing up and Nellie would just have to trust her judgement and rely on the little canary’s native intuition. After all, she’d always had that uncanny ability to sniff out the smell of gas.
So, over the following months, Nellie allowed herself to relax and tried to forget Ted’s presence in Bermondsey. It was towards the end of September before he came up again in conversation. This time it was Eliza James who mentioned him, in one of her letters to Nellie. Eliza’s visits to London were now longer and more frequent. She often spoke at the Fort Road Labour Institute and since the moratorium on strikes she’d been called in to help arbitrate many local disputes. During her extended London visits, she usually rented a couple of rooms in the Morgans’ house. Frank Morgan was now driving an ambulance in France and his wife had taken over as manager of the Co-op. She often put up visiting speakers, or union officials, in their pleasant terraced house in Reverdy Road, one of the more respectable Bermondsey streets, where doctors and professional people chose to live. Eliza wrote that she was coming to Bermondsey the following week to give a speech for the No-Conscription Fellowship and went on to mention Ted.
I hear he has become one of their most committed workers. Though he risks arrest, he’s trumpeting the Absolutist cause now! Sadly, I’ve come to realize he is rather a heedless young man, and stories are filtering back to me that suggest he’s a little cavalier with his own and other people’s safety. The Bermondsey NCF has always been staunchly pacifist, but I hear Ted’s militant ways have put the cat amongst the pigeons. I wonder if I did right to put him in their way… or yours. Has he been in touch with you?
It had the air of an apology. It sounded like Ted was making his true reckless colours known. Nellie didn’t send a reply; she thought it best to save the news about Ted and Matty till Eliza came down. She was glad her initial mistrust of Eliza’s motives had been overcome, and since her engagement to Sam she’d certainly felt more at ease with Eliza, more on an equal footing. It meant that they could be friends – of a sort – and it made it easier for Matty. For the young girl’s loyalties were so hard won and so fiercely held she would never have been able to be friends with Eliza, if Nellie had not. And for that reason alone, Nellie was glad she’d made the effort to befriend Eliza.
When Eliza arrived in Reverdy Road with her son, she blessed the bright remnant of the waning moon. It was no more than a fingernail, but she judged there would be no Zeppelin raid tonight: they only attacked when the moon was dark, so for the moment they were safe. Her journey had been full of delays and she was exhausted. The train timetable had been suspended while a horde of Tommies entrained at Hull Station. Only after the troop train pulled out was she able to board the London train. After hours in a cramped, smelly carriage, the motor taxi had been a necessity, not a luxury – she simply couldn’t face a tram ride from London Bridge Station with her tired child. She scooped a sleeping William out of the taxi and picked up her bag with the other hand. Ruth Morgan, Frank’s wife, was already at the front door and came hurrying to take her bag. The woman was a stalwart type, who could turn her hand to anything. She’d taken over the organization of the Co-op seamlessly and had even been known to do delivery rounds in an emergency. Now she was all domestic bustle and welcome, and the house was cosy with supper already laid out in the dining room. Today, like all the others this summer, had been chilly and the fire in the grate was welcome. After William was settled into bed, Mrs Morgan served her a light supper and began her cheerful chatter: for all her qualities, the woman was a notorious gossip. She knew details of all the political in-fighting at the institute, and the Co-op gave her contact with half of Bermondsey, so her gossip coffers were full tonight. ‘When is your No-Conscription speech?’ she asked.
‘Not until Monday. I’m visiting my family tomorrow.’
‘There’s been murders at the NCF. It’s that young feller Bosher that you sent down.’
Eliza felt a pang of guilt. She had suspected something of the sort, but knew no details.
‘What’s he been up to? He’s not the only Absolutist in the ranks, surely?’
Ruth Morgan shook her head and pulled up a chair, while Eliza ate. ‘Of course, there are others, but you know most of the COs there are happy to do land work, or drive an ambulance, like my Frank – which is dangerous enough, I can tell you.’
Eliza reached out to squeeze her hand – just because the woman was calm and capable, it didn’t mean she could escape that ubiquitous fear for loved ones at the front.
‘Anyway, the Absolutists are totally against the war. But young Ted’s stirring ’em up to fight another war… at home! All I will say is that I’ve heard some of his ideas just don’t fit with the pacifists.’ She leaned forward and mouthed, ‘Anarchist ideas!’
Eliza shivered: the fire in the grate was dying down and she felt as though a chill wind had blown through the room. Ruth Morgan noticed. ‘I’m sorry it’s a bit chilly, but you just can’t get the coal…’
‘I’m not cold, just a long day,’ Eliza excused herself.
Mrs Morgan took the plates out and called from the scullery, ‘Will you be at Nellie Clarke’s tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes, visiting Charlie and Matty.’
‘Matty’s turned into a lovely girl. I saw her at the Star the other night. She was marvellous, better than Vesta Tilley! I suppose you know she’s been walking out with that Bosher feller?’
It hit her like a blow in the stomach; she barely had wind to answer the woman.
‘Is there anything more you’ll need tonight?’ Mrs Morgan asked as she came back in, drying her hands on her pinafore.
‘No, thank you, Mrs Morgan, I’ll go up to bed, I think. I know where everything is.’
Ruth Morgan gave her a gas lamp to take to her room. It was connected to William’s by a double door, which she eased open. Her son was sleeping soundly and she softly retreated. Eliza was glad to be alone. Ruth’s news had totally stunned her. Matty at fifteen had indeed blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and it was inevitable she would attract attention, especially from the stage-door johnnies, but Ted must be more than ten years older and totally unsuitable. He was the last person she’d want Matty involved with. What was Nellie thinking, letting it go on?
The next morning was a Sunday and Eliza dressed three-year-old William carefully in his newest sailor suit, his dark hair curling out from beneath the straw hat. She gave him his toy boat and asked, ‘Would you like to sail your boat on the pond today, William?’
‘Yes! Sail the boat!’ The little boy spun round with the boat, ploughing it through imaginary waves. ‘Now!’
She planned to visit Vauban Street that afternoon, but this morning she took a tram to Greenwich Park. Fortunately, the rain had held off and huge clouds scudded across Blackheath, moving swiftly enough to allow patches of sunshine to warm her and William. She walked hand in hand with him to the boating lake and sat down on a bench. She saw Ernest from a long way off, dressed in a tailored tweed jacket, with a brown trilby, and a cane swinging with every step. He strode purposefully towards her, shook her hand and turned to shake William’s.
‘I am Mr James,’ he said formally, ‘a friend of your mother’s.’
William shoved the sailing boat into Ernest’s extended hand and ordered, ‘Sail the boat, now!’ Then he grabbed Ernest’s other hand and began dragging him towards the pond.
Ernest looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she was just about to defend her son’s ungentlemanly behaviour when Ernest remarked, ‘I have been commanded by the admiral. Will you join us?’
She followed them to the pond edge, watching in wonder as her bossy toddler took charge of the man she’d once cast in the role of gaoler. She smiled secretly to herself. Ahhh, she thought with satisfaction, the biter bit!
There followed tea and cakes in a café in Greenwich, during which Eliza was thankful William chose to mind his table manners. Towards the end of their visit, Ernest concluded, ‘He seems a remarkably intelligent young fellow, and strong-willed! You must put him down for a good day school and let me have the details.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. She needed no formal arrangement. Ernest would keep his word, she was sure of it, and she would keep William.
‘How could I let it happen?’ Nellie was incensed with Eliza. ‘When you’re the one who sent him back down here!’
‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got a tongue in my head. I could tell him where to go if I wanted to!’ Matty was equally angry. ‘But I don’t want to… not yet, anyway!’ she said provocatively.
Matty and Nellie were facing Eliza across the kitchen table. The boys had taken William out to play and were now running him up and down Vauban Street on the penny-farthing. Every now and then they would run past the front window, whooping as the little boy bounced up out of the saddle.
‘All I said was that his anarchist talk has got everyone worried at the NCF and if Matty’s connected in any way,’ Eliza shot a meaningful glance at Matty, ‘then she could be implicated!’
Nellie had decided not to go into the details of Ted’s past activities. Eliza was already nervous enough about him.
‘He’s drawing so much attention to himself, giving out Absolutist leaflets, stirring things up at the Arsenal, it’s almost like he wants to be arrested,’ Eliza went on. ‘And I dread to think what he got up to in Russia.’
Nellie could tell her a thing or two about his bomb-making skills but now wasn’t the time. The annoying thing was that she agreed with her wholeheartedly; she just knew this wasn’t the way to convince Matty.
‘All we can do is advise Matty,’ Nellie said pointedly. ‘She’s old enough now to earn her living and make her own decisions, and she’s not so stupid as to put herself – or her family – in danger because of a bloke!’
Matty responded with a warm smile for Nellie and a scowl for Eliza. At that moment Alice came in with a tray of tea things, which effectively ended the conversation. They called the boys in and squeezed round the table, for what Nellie hoped passed for a splendid tea in these austere days. It consisted of a loaf of Mo the baker’s ‘real bread’, a tiny amount of butter, two pots of fish paste from a cache that Freddie had ‘found’ in a bombed-out shop, a tin of corned beef, from the same source, and a pink blancmange, courtesy of Pearce Duff’s. The allotment owners often paid Freddie in kind and this week he’d brought home a bag of tomatoes and a cucumber. Nellie surveyed the table and thought they hadn’t done a bad job between them.
Charlie turned the conversation to Sam, arguing with the other boys about his brother’s actual whereabouts, always difficult to guess from Sam’s censored letters.
‘He’s been in the thick of it, the Somme, I’m telling you!’ said Freddie.
‘Yes, but their division’s moved on by now!’ Charlie countered.
The boys regularly plotted Sam’s movements on a map pinned to their bedroom wall, but Charlie was the most avid follower of the war. Patiently gathering every piece of information, he scoured newspaper reports and gleaned stories from soldiers on leave till he could predict the next battle with surprising accuracy.
After tea, Nellie read the shareable parts of Sam’s letters to Eliza. He always sent his love to the whole family and this now included Eliza and William, which Nellie could see pleased her.
‘Is he due more leave?’ Eliza asked.
‘I shouldn’t think we’ll see him this side of Christmas,’ said Nellie sadly. ‘Please God, it’ll be over by then!’
‘Not the way things are going, it won’t,’ Charlie said, then added, ‘but he might get a Blighty.’
‘How can you say that?’ Matty shoved her brother.
‘They all want one!’
Alice, ever the peacemaker, intervened. ‘Don’t squabble, you two, there’s enough fighting in the world without bringing it home. What about a song, Matty?’
This was a request the little canary could never resist and the evening ended with them all joining in to the chorus of ‘Pack Up Your troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’. When they came to the last line, Nellie thought of Sam and defiantly sang the loudest, ‘Smile, Smile, Smile!’
Nellie was pleased the evening had ended on a good note, but the next day brought some worrying news. That Monday afternoon, Matty came home looking troubled. After tea, she and Nellie were washing up the dinner things in the scullery when Matty suddenly blurted out, ‘Nellie, I think Ted’s up to something really bad at the Arsenal.’
Nellie studied the girl’s strained white face – she looked almost nauseous. Nellie immediately thought of the young, impressionable munitionettes: if anyone could persuade them to break the moratorium on strikes, Ted could. Most of them probably wouldn’t understand that they could be arrested for it.
‘Has he got them to agree to a strike?’ Nellie asked fearfully.
Matty put down the teacloth and looked nervously back towards the kitchen, where the others still sat round the table chatting. She pulled Nellie out into the back yard. ‘No, it’s much worse!’ she whispered.
Matty hung on to her hand and Nellie felt her strive to control her trembling. Now Nellie began to panic. The girl seemed badly frightened, but what could be so bad that she was frightened the others might hear?
‘What is it? Tell me.’ Nellie was dreading the answer.
‘I think they’re planning to blow it up!’
‘Blow up the Arsenal?’
Matty nodded, squeezing Nellie’s hand till it hurt. Nellie felt sick. She should have known Ted would be up to his old tricks, and if it didn’t go wrong this time, half of south London would be blown to pieces, to say nothing of her own dear Matty.
‘I couldn’t believe anybody would be so wicked,’ Matty said, ashen-faced.
‘That bastard would be.’ Nellie shook her head grimly. ‘He’s tried something like it before. Oh, I blame myself, Matty. I should have shopped him years ago.’
Now Matty wanted to know exactly what Ted had done and Nellie told her the whole truth this time.
‘Well, then, it’s true. I didn’t want to believe it; I thought it was his fantasy,’ Matty said, when Nellie had finished.
Nellie sat down on the penny-farthing trailer, pulling Matty in close next to her. She put her arm round the shivering girl. ‘But when did he tell you? Did he give you the details?’
‘No, it was about a week ago. He just asked me not to work night shifts, especially not Zeppelin nights. And I said we didn’t get to pick and choose our shifts, and he told me he didn’t want me getting hurt and to make an excuse not to be there. Anyway, one of the girls got ill and today they asked me if I could stay on for the night shift tonight. I met him in the pub at dinner time and he went nuts when I told him. He grabbed me, look!’ Matty rolled up her sleeve to show Nellie a red weal, encircling her arm. ‘Then he went pale as a ghost and said that because he thinks a lot of me he had to warn me, but I wasn’t to breathe a word or we’d both end up dead!’ Matty’s trembling was now uncontrollable and Nellie soothed her till her limbs were still.
‘Go on, what did he say next?’ she asked, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice.
‘He said there’s a group want to smash the profiteers and tomorrow there’d be nowhere left for me to work, because tonight they’re going to get into the Arsenal and blow it sky high. He said he wasn’t going in himself, but they’d made him get the information for them. Then he called me a stupid little cow and hadn’t he told me not to work Zeppelin nights and it was going to be one tonight. He wouldn’t let me go till I promised not to stay for the night shift.’
On moonless nights, Nellie, like everyone else, would listen out for the Zeppelins’ sickening hum, their pale cigar shapes heralding an explosion of flame along the Thames as they bombed the docks. She was used to the raids and the anxiety, but not inured to them; any one of those bombs could miss their target and land on nearby Vauban Street. But Woolwich Arsenal was another matter altogether: a direct hit on it would ignite hundreds of tons of TNT. Nothing would survive for miles around. But a bomb, strategically placed there, might well have the same effect. And now Nellie began to realize why Ted’s friends had chosen a Zeppelin night. An air raid would be the perfect cover, and what’s more, the explosion might lure in the Zeppelins to finish off the job.
‘Matty, you said Ted had given them information. Did you ever tell him anything he could use?’ she asked gently.
The young girl paused to think and then put her head in her hands. ‘Oh, God.’ Her voice was small, strangulated, not Matty’s voice at all.
‘What sort of things?’ asked Nellie.
‘He used to ask me in such a natural way, Nell, like he was worried about my safety. I didn’t know. He asked about where I worked, where the exits were, how many coppers guarding the TNT store… Oh, Nellie, what are we going to do? If we don’t do something, think of all the people that could die!’ Matty began rocking back and forth, repeating over and over, ‘What can we do?’
They were both almost paralysed with fear, but Nellie had been in this position before and was determined not to make the same mistake again. This time there would be no covering up for Ted, no misplaced loyalty or excuses. He had to be stopped.
‘Come on, Matty, we need some help.’
When they got to the house in Reverdy Road, Ruth Morgan answered the door. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Nellie, Eliza’s not in. She’s giving a speech at the NCF.’
‘Did she say what time she’d be home?’
‘Soon, I hope. She said she wouldn’t be late, she’s left the little one with me.’ Just then there was a piercing cry from inside the house. Mrs Morgan looked anxiously behind her. She looked frazzled. ‘That’s little William, he hasn’t settled since Eliza went out. Poor mite, I’m a bit of a stranger to him.’
‘He knows us,’ offered Nellie.
Ruth Morgan smiled gratefully. ‘Follow me!’
William’s screams had grown frantic.
‘He’s in a right two an’ eight,’ said Matty. ‘I better see to him.’ Mrs Morgan led her upstairs, while Nellie went to wait in the front parlour. Soon the sweet strains of Matty singing a lullaby floated downstairs, and William’s cries ceased almost immediately. Mrs Morgan came back into the parlour, smiling at Nellie. ‘Thank God you two arrived, he was set to go on for hours!’
Nellie smiled. ‘He’ll never give in, that one.’
Mrs Morgan cocked her head, listening. ‘Well, Matty’s certainly got the touch. I’ll make you some tea, you might as well wait here for Eliza. She won’t be long now. Besides,’ she said, ‘if he wakes up and Matty’s not here, there’ll be hell to pay!’
Nellie was glad of the distraction; it had calmed Matty down and given her time to think what she would say to Eliza. She was still shocked to the core that Ted could even think of putting Matty in danger. True, he’d warned the girl, but what about all the other innocent canaries who might be working tonight, to say nothing of the families who lived around the Arsenal? No doubt Ted would class them as casualties of the class war, and the arms manufacturers a legitimate target.
Soon Matty joined her and Ruth Morgan, and Nellie tried to keep up chatter to distract Matty, who looked anxiously at the mantelpiece clock every few minutes. They both started up when Eliza’s knock came. As she walked into the parlour, Eliza’s first worried question was: ‘Is it Sam?’
They put her at her ease and Mrs Morgan praised Matty’s lullaby skills. ‘I’ll take myself off upstairs now and leave you three, if you don’t mind,’ she said tactfully.
Eliza thanked the woman and apologized for her son’s tantrums. When they were alone she turned a worried face to Nellie. ‘If it’s not Sam, it’s got to be something serious to bring you here. What’s happened?’
She listened intently as Matty repeated her story, then Nellie added what she knew of Ted’s past activities. It felt unreal to Nellie to be sitting in this respectable room, full of heavy furniture, antimacassars and dainty ornaments, discussing anarchist plots.
‘The only thing I don’t understand,’ Eliza said eventually, ‘is the timing. Why choose a Zeppelin night, when security is highest?’
‘Where will everyone be looking?’ asked Nellie.
Matty and Eliza replied as one. ‘At the sky!’
‘And I reckon the bombers will try to slip into the Arsenal while everyone’s distracted by the Zeppelins! We’ve got to tell the police. He’s not getting away with it this time,’ Nellie said, with finality.
‘I’m responsible for this,’ Eliza said hollowly, looking up at Matty. ‘I put you in harm’s way. I sent him here.’
Nellie knew how she felt. ‘It’s not your fault, Eliza. If it’s anybody’s, it’s mine. I should’ve given him up five years ago. Sam would’ve done, if it weren’t for me.’
Matty looked impatiently from one to the other. ‘Oh, stop wallowing, you two,’ she said fiercely. ‘I could say the same. I was the silly cow give him all that information! It’s nobody’s fault but Ted’s, and all that matters is how we stop this!’
Eliza got up. ‘It’s ironic, I’ve seen him tonight. I’ve just been talking to a room full of gentle Quakers and pacifists, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and there he was sitting in the front row, smiling at me and no doubt despising the lot of us. At least he has his alibi. I’ll telephone the police, but I don’t want Matty involved.’
Nellie agreed.
‘And I don’t want Nellie involved,’ Matty quickly jumped in.
‘None of us need be involved,’ Eliza said firmly.
She walked determinedly to the telephone on the side table and pulled aside the heavy curtain. She peered out.
‘It’s a dark moon,’ she said.
Nellie and Matty listened in silence as Eliza got through, after many attempts, to the right police officer.
‘Yes, I believe it will happen tonight. They plan to get in under cover of a Zeppelin raid… No, I don’t know how many bombs… no, I don’t have more details, but I do know that unless you take this seriously, Officer, the Arsenal and everyone in it will be blown up… No, I don’t wish to give my name.’
The telephone clicked as she rested it back in its cradle. The three women looked silently at each other. It was left to Matty to voice their remaining concern.
‘What shall we do about Ted?’
‘I have an idea,’ Eliza said. ‘He’ll be handing out anti-conscription leaflets in Bermondsey Square tomorrow evening. It only needs for the police to come along at the right time and…’ Eliza shrugged.
‘Can they arrest him for that?’ asked Nellie.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Eliza, ‘and once they find out he’s an Absolutist, he’ll be drafted…’
‘But Ted’s not going to serve,’ Nellie added, following Eliza’s reasoning, ‘so what happens then?
‘He’ll go to prison… for a long time,’ said Eliza. ‘Hard labour, it won’t be pleasant.’
‘Give me that phone,’ Nellie said.