The Petticoat Men by Barbara Ewing Read Free Book Online Page A

once but Mr Plunger thought that immediately meant he could come and sit with us, a bit too close to me, in our little back parlour and look about and comment rudely about our Pa’s Joshua tree and the chairs and why didn’t we have a maid?
    ‘You need a man to take over here,’ he said. Billy was blooming well right there in the room! and at once I saw Ma starting to ruffle, and then Mr Plunger sort of put his arm round me, you could smell beer and pies, really strong. Ma was wild, for Billy’s sake, and seeing me moving away carefully, trying not to be too rude, from Mr Plunger’s sort of embrace.
    But Mr Plunger didn’t know Ma and he went on: ‘I dont mind marrying a cripple.’
    I’m used to it, I dont care, who cares, but Ma cannot stand that word: cripple. She sat up very straight and made a kind of strangling sound like she does when she’s really angry (sometimes she reminds me of that turkey that lives on the other side of Regent-Square) and I looked at Billy and he winked at me very quickly.
    ‘If you think, Mr Plunger…’ and Ma sort of fluffed herself up, even more like that turkey. ‘If you think you would be lucky enough to marry my beloved daughter and somehow receive 13 Wakefield-street as some sort of dowry ,you have made an unfortunate mistake. We have a man in charge thank you and there is no way 13 Wakefield-street will ever have the word Plunger attached! Off you go!’
    And off he went and me and Billy was laughing and in the end Ma recovered herself and she joined in too and that was the end of Mr Plunger. And you needn’t think just because there’s something wrong with my foot that I’m all virginal and innocent either, course I’m not, and I’ve been – well never mind about all that, I’ve had an interesting life and I know lots.
    And we dont need a maid! We’ve always worked hard, we dont provide meals, just breakfast sometimes if they ask (and always something for Mr Flamp of course) and although we had acquired “Mrs Beeton” like everybody else in London we didn’t use it much, except if we got stomach-ache or something.
    And anyway it was Ma herself who decided not to let Mr Flamp go. He had lodged with us for ages, permanent, he was a merchant’s clerk until he got too old and then one day after all those years living with us, he came to Ma and me and said, ‘Mrs Stacey, I have looked into my situation and I have planned for the future. I have come to say goodbye.’
    And he had packed up all his things in only a little bag and he was wearing his best jacket that he kept neat in the cupboard for special occasions. All his belongings in the world in one small bag.
    ‘Where are you going, Mr Flamp?’ said Ma, surprised, and he said, very dignified, ‘I’m going to the Christian Mission sit-up, that will be my next home, it is a penny, and I thank you all for your kindness,’ and Ma straightway said, ‘Mr Flamp. You are not going to sit up all night for a penny in the Christian Mission or anywhere else. You’ve been here for years and you know everything about 13 Wakefield-street – we need you here, you are our watchman when we all happen to be away from the house. In fact the truth is, Mr Flamp – we cant manage without you. So you would do us a great favour by agreeing to stay, and your monthly payment, from us to you, is the room – plus five shillings, and I’ll hear no more about it!’
    Mr Flamp had a strange look on his old face. We realised it was him trying not to cry. We made him big thick potato soup and put two sausages in it and I helped him hang up his best jacket again.
    Ma is the kindest person I know, no matter that she ruffles up sometimes. She’s always kept a little bag of pennies in her cloak, for as long as I can remember, and every time she passes an old lady begging she gives a penny. Always. No one else, well if you gave one penny to all the beggars in London you’d be a beggar yourself but Ma always says to me when she sees an old