King of the Sea

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"If you do anything bad to Emma because of this, I'll never speak to you again!" There! What would it have cost to say those few words? Bread and water. All right, but her mother would also have taken the threat seriously. She might have ticked Emma off but she'd never have booted her out like that.

Catherine closed her eyes and stamped her feet angrily. George looked up and whimpered. "Not you," she assured him. "You wouldn't harm a ... yeurk! Now look what you've done to my glove!"

She arrived at Highbury Corner and stared around, at a loss what to do next. A policeman's head suddenly appeared level with hers, almost resting on her right shoulder as he leaned over her from behind. "The pillar box is over there, young lady," he said jovially. Then, seeing the letters from close to, he added, "But I wouldn't go posting them, if I was you. What did you bring them out for?"

She looked at the letters and, casting her eyes heavenward, gave out an exaggerated "Tsk-oh!" long and drawn out. It was not her usual gesture at all but a good imitation of what most of the girls in her class would have done.

"Picked up the wrong ones, eh?" he asked sympathetically, squinting to read the name and directions on the envelopes. "You Cap'n Troy's daughter then?" he added. "Miss Catherine, isn't it? I know your mother. We're both in the Operatic." He rose to his full height and she saw he was a sergeant. "Yes," he added. "I recognize you now. You came to our Parsifal last November, if I'm not mistaken."

She smiled brightly at him though inside she felt as disgusted as could be. Just her luck! She couldn't meet any old policeman; she had to run across Sergeant Corby, one of the finest baritones in the Operatic Society who, of course, would be bound to let it drop that he'd met her.

Actually she thought rapidly if she offered to take the afternoon post down a couple of days this week, her mother would assume the meeting had occurred on one of those occasions. Her smile became

more genuine. "Then you must be Sergeant Corby," she said, holding out her hand. "How do you do? My mother says you have one of the finest voices she's ever heard." "Amateur voices," he said, shaking her hand with

some diffidence. She was surprised to see that her compliment had embarrassed him. "Amateur or professional," she assured him. "Come come, young lady!" He was more embar

rassed still.

She took a chance on it. "Actually, I also came out to see if one of our maids was here. She left us to work somewhere else today but she went without saying goodbye and I wanted to give her a little memento.

Who did she sound like? Where did these light, delicate, perfectly formed little phrases come from, so trippingly off the tongue? Then she had it: her Aunt Daphne, of course.

The Sergeant frowned. "Not under a cloud, I

hope?"

Catherine-c*m-Daphne gave him an admiring smile, much as to say, "You see and understand everything!" She sighed. "There was" - what would Aunt Daphne call it?"a discord of souls, yes. She's seventeen, I think, a little taller than me, with bright red hair and freckles. She'd have carried a bag."

"Or two," the Sergeant confirmed. She knew from his eyes, the moment she'd mentioned Emma's hair, that he had seen her. "She was stood over there by the tram stop about an hour ago," he said.

"Ah." Catherine slumped in disappointment. "So she'll have gone by now."

The man held up a finger and smiled. "I noticed her first on my way up Holloway Road about an hour ago, like I said. And I noticed her there not fifteen minutes ago, on my way back." "So she wasn't waiting for a tram?"

He shook his head. "For someone getting off the tram. And he came, too. They went straight inside that pub there." He pointed to the City Arms.

"Ah." She smiled gratefully at him, wondering why he would be hanging around the area all that time. "I'll just wait here then." "I'll go in and chase her out, if you like," he offered.

"No, no - please!" She was aghast at the image it

conjured up. However, at that moment, she got the shock of her life to glance across at the pub and see Emma leaving on the arm of her own brother Lawrence. Fortunately, Sergeant Corby was staring away up the road at that moment - as he had done, casually, from time to time during their conversation. She had an intimation that he had only stopped to talk with her to give himself an excuse to go on loitering there.

The suspicion hardened when he suddenly stiffened and said in an altogether brisker tone, "Anyway, I must be pressing on. No rest for the wicked, eh?"

Only after he'd gone did she think of saying, "Not while you're around, I'm sure, Sergeant!" It would have rounded off her Aunt Daphne impersonation nicely. She was just going to call out to Lawrence when she saw the pair of them vanish round the corner into Canonbury Road. She had to wait a while until a safe moment came for crossing, so she was only just in time to see them turning into Goldsmith's Place. There were no other pedestrians on that side of the road so, feeling rather visible, she crossed to the tram stop and mingled among the crowd waiting there. As she turned she saw Lawrence and Emma standing half way up the front steps to a house on the left of the street, about five doors down. A hand lettered card in the window read: ROOM TO LET. Even as Catherine spotted it a woman stood up on a chair and took it down. Lawrence held out a hand to Emma. She shook it warmly and then stooped to give him a quick peck on the forehead before she turned and bolted indoors.

Catherine's heart leaped with joy. They were lovers! Secret lovers! They had been in love for months and now he was "doing the decent thing by her" - a phrase she had once heard Uncle Brian use. And what had Aunt Daphne replied? "Very, very often, I imagine!" Well, it didn't make complete sense, but oh, what a weight off her conscience! Good old Lawrence!

She gave the family whistle, which her father said was the cry of the hoopoe. Respectable people turned and stared at her askance but what did she care? She'd never see them again. And anyway, today was the day when she'd just grown up, could do what they liked. and grown-ups

Lawrence turned and sought her out. What a glorious smile he had! What a wonderful bro he was to have! Built like a rock. The Rock of Gibraltar. Depend on him always. "What brings you down here?" he asked.

"Oh, Larry, it's so dreadful! Mama has booted her out Emma. She kicked her out without notice or wages or anything."

He could keep a secret, too! Looking into those frank, pale-brown eyes you'd never suspect for one moment that he already knew all about it. "Hold your horses," he said, taking an obstreperous George from her. "Start from the beginning. The mater's given poor Emma the order of the boot? Is that it?"

"Yes. And I don't know what she's going to do. She's got no money and no character. What can she do? I came down to see if I could find her. Oh, do help me look for her."

He hesitated a moment and then fell in with her suggestion. Twice they went round the Circus, peering in at all the café windows, asking likely people if they'd seen a girl with bright red hair and a gladstone bag. "She'll be all right," Lawrence said comfortingly when at last they abandoned the futile search. "Tell you what, Little Face. I'll get her parents' address off Ma Johnson and pop round and see her tomorrow. I'll bet she's gone there. And I'll make up at least her wages out of my own pocket."

"How can you? I thought Furnival's aren't paying

you yet." He winked. "Bit of luck with the gee-gees. Not a word at home about that, though, eh?"

"D'you know the cause of it all?" she asked out of

the blue. "Why Mama booted her out?" He blushed but recovered quickly. "Water under the bridge, eh?"

It occurred to her that Lawrence could teach her more about growing up than anyone - Aunt Daphne, whose amused aloofness from all life's more than battles had always seemed to Catherine to be wonder fully grown-up-more, too, than all her earnest talks with Miss Kernow, important though they were. But Larry had a whole repertoire of useful tricks for stopping conversations and preventing people from finding things out - which was what "growing up

seemed to be mainly about. Like just now: murmuring "water under the bridge, eh?" and staring off into the distance with an all knowing little smile. What did it mean? Nothing. It was one of those marvellously empty phrases. But when he spoke it, with such confidence, it just convinced you he had an entire handful of trumps. "What'll her parents think when you just turn up

like that?" she pressed, realizing that her best chance to get things out of him (like the fact that he bet on horses - which she could well believe) was now, before he had time to think and prepare.

"Dunno." They turned off the main thoroughfare into Highbury New Park. "Don't really care much, either."

She took his arm on the less-crowded footpath. "They might think you're in love with her or something." The sudden tension in his arm belied the lightness

of his guffaw. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "You're not in love with her, are you?" she continued.

More of his cleverness. He turned and faced her

solemnly. "Of course I am, Little Face. And how cunning of you to sniff it out. Please, please don't breathe a word of it, though." "Larry!" She gave him a soft punch and pretended

to accept his making a jest of it.

That was another way of being grown up: When people accused you of something, admit it so facetiously they'd feel foolish for speaking out.

All these things she stored away in her mind, feeling quite certain that each would have its day.