The Cockney Angel by Dilly Court

bed and his even breathing indicated that he was asleep. Irene was too agitated to rest, and the fire had long since burned away to a pile of grey ash. The coal scuttle was empty and it was bitterly cold in the room. Rising to her feet, she went to the window and knelt on the small wooden chest where their clothes were stored with sprigs of dried lavender. She peered out through the bare branches of the tree in the hope of seeing Pa’s familiar figure striding homeward, but there was still no sign of him.
    By three o’clock she was getting desperate. The mere fact that he was out so late suggested that his luck was fickle to say the least. She was chilled to the bone and a sudden cramp in her leg made her stand up to rub her aching calf muscles. It was then that a germ of an idea came into her head. Forgetting her pain, she opened the chest and riffled through the neatly folded garments. At the bottom she found Jim’s old nankeen breeches, a calico shirt and a corduroy waistcoat; clothes that had been outgrown even before he left home, but which Ma had stubbornly held on to, even though they would fetch a few coppers in the dolly shop.
    An idea came into her head that shocked her with its audacity, but Irene was never one to refuse a challenge. Keeping an eye on Arthur in case he should awaken suddenly, she took off her own clothes and dressed in the male attire. It felt strange to see her legs in trousers and Jim’s old boots were a couple of sizes too large for her feet, but she shrugged on the coarse shirt and finally the waistcoat, which she hoped would disguise her feminine curves. Lastly, she crammed her hair into an old cloth cap, and a quick glance in the mirror was enough to satisfy her that in a poor light she could pass for a boy.
    It was a daring plan, born out of desperation, but as she left the shop Irene was filled with nervous excitement. She strode along the pavements with a swagger in her step. So this was how it felt to be a boy. She gave a start as a feral cat sprang out from an alleyway in hot pursuit of a large rat, and somewhere in the darkness of a doorway someone moaned. Irene did not stop to investigate; she quickened her pace, putting her head down as she passed a couple of drunks who staggered along arm in arm as if in some bizarre three-legged race. If they noticed her they gave no sign of it, and Irene couldn’t help smiling to herself. If she had been dressed in her normal clothes no doubt at least one of them would have propositioned her. Free for the first time from the constraints of stays and long skirts she felt that she was invincible.
    When she reached Blue Boar Court, she took a quick look round, and satisfied that there was no sign of a bobby on the beat, she raised her hand and knocked three times on the door in rapid succession. She repeated the action, more slowly this time, allowing a heartbeat in between raps, just as she had seen her father do on so many occasions in the past. The door opened and she recognised the grizzled face of Jed Blacker, commonly known as Blackie, the ancient doorman who had protected the Sykes brothers since they were boys.
    He held up a lantern, peering at her shortsightedly. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I’m Billy Angel’s boy, Jim. I must speak to my old man,’ Irene said, lowering her tone to what she hoped sounded like a pubescent boy’s voice.
    Blackie stared at her, frowning. ‘You run away to sea, you young devil. I remember it well.’
    She had not expected him to remember that far back, but she must act out her part. She struck a pose, tucking her thumbs into her belt. ‘I’ve come back.’
    ‘And not a day older or an inch taller it seems.’
    ‘Have you ever been to sea, mister?’
    ‘No, of course I ain’t.’
    ‘Then you don’t know what a hard life it is,’ Irene said gruffly. ‘Fed on dry biscuits with weevils in, and salt pork what makes you spew your guts up, it’s no wonder I never growed very big. Now, are you going to let