The Cockney Angel by Dilly Court

dark passage that led into Hanging Sword Alley and then into Fleet Street. It was raining and the gutters overflowed with filthy water polluted with horse dung. In the flickering lamplight, the cobblestones glistened with an oily sheen, and the thin soles of her boots slipped and slid as she tried to keep pace with the young constable.
    ‘What was all that about?’ Irene demanded breathlessly. ‘What right have the cops to arrest women who were just enjoying a peaceful evening out?’
    ‘It’s not for me to say, miss. We were just following orders.’
    ‘Well, I call it downright bullying.’ Irene shivered as the rainwater seeped through her thin clothes, and she sneezed.
    Burton glanced down at her and his stern expression softened. ‘You’re soaked to the skin.’ He took off his uniform cape and wrapped it around her shoulders. The heavy garment was still warm from his body and it smelt strongly of wet wool and cheap pomade.
    ‘Why did you do that?’ Irene demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.
    ‘Just following orders, miss.’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with your boss, Constable.’
    ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, miss. The inspector is tough, but he’s fair. I won’t have a word said against him.’
    Irene could see that it was useless to argue, and they walked on briskly and in silence until they reached the corner of Wood Street. She stopped and took off the cape, handing it back to him with a grateful smile. ‘I hope you ain’t too wet.’
    ‘I’ll soon dry out. Goodnight, miss.’
    ‘Goodnight, Constable, and thank you.’
    ‘I hope we meet again in more pleasant circumstances,’ he said shyly.
    Irene angled her head, eyeing him with mixed feelings. He was a nice-looking young chap and kind too. Had the circumstances been different she might have warmed to him, but she could hear Pa’s voice in her head warning her not to trust a copper. It was a hard lesson, learned young, and memories of tonight’s fiasco were still fresh in her mind. She knew very well that Constable Burton was waiting for a word of encouragement, but she said nothing, merely nodding her head.
    If he was disappointed, his well-schooled features did not betray his feelings; he saluted her smartly and hurried off with long strides in the direction of Fleet Street.
    Irene let herself into the shop, locked the door behind her and tiptoed upstairs. The only sound in the darkened room was that of her father’s stertorous breathing and the occasional soft sigh as her mother moved in her sleep. It was cold, and despite the constable’s chivalrous act, her clothes remained damp. She undressed to her shift and climbed into her bed, but it was a long while before she succumbed to sleep. She couldn’t help worrying about Arthur and wondering what had befallen him after the police raid on the gaming club. Old man Greenwood would be furious if Arthur was up before the beak in the morning, and it might even jeopardise his journeyman examination. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and, with a deep sigh, she turned on her side and curled up in a ball.
    Next morning, she awakened to find that her father was up and dressed, seemingly none the worse for wear. He chucked her under the chin with a disarming smile and announced his intention of going to Faulkner’s bath house in Newgate Street.
    ‘But, Pa. That costs money and we need food.’
    Billy smiled benevolently. ‘Of course we do, my pet. And I will bring something back with me when I am bathed, shaved and fit to mix with society.’ He dabbed ineffectually at the patch of mud on his frock coat and sighed. ‘Goodness knows what happened to me on the way home last night, but I seem to have taken a tumble.’
    ‘It was the night before last, Pa. Don’t you remember nothing?’
    ‘Not a thing, my little cabbage. It’s all a merciful blank and I daresay is not worth bringing to mind.’ Billy took his battered top hat from the mantelshelf and rubbed it on the