LITMIR.BIZ

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storage rooms, which were like two small shops. Mavis Greenwood helped him to pull out the wooden sawhorses and the planks of wood which made the stalls when put together.

      As she assisted Jimmy, she wondered how Matt Falconer had expected his son to do this alone. It baffled her but she remained silent. She knew it was best to mind her own business.

      Once they were finished with the stalls, she picked up her handbag from the barrow, smiled at Jimmy. ‘And what treasures are hidden under that old sack, then?’

      Jimmy pulled it off and showed her. ‘Copper kitchen utensils me dad got at an estate sale last week. From a big house up West.’ He pointed to a few items.

      ‘Look at ’em, Mrs Greenwood. Copper moulds for jellies, blancmange, salmon mousse; all the things you no doubt make at that big house where you’re Cook.’

      She nodded and picked up a few items, looking them over carefully. ‘Lovely pieces, Jimmy, I’ve got to admit. How much is this mould then?’ she asked, taking a fancy to one.

      ‘Dad forgot to give me the price list, but you can have it for sixpence. I think that’d be about right.’

      ‘Sixpence! That’s highway robbery, Jimmy Falconer!’

      ‘Oh! Well, perhaps I made a mistake. A threepenny bit? How does that sound, Mrs Greenwood?’ He gazed at her, smiling. After all, she had helped him to get there. She deserved a bargain.

      Mavis opened her handbag and took out her purse. She handed him the coin, gave him a big smile, and put the mould in her bag. ‘Thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been very fair. Now I’d better be getting off or I’ll be late for work.’

      ‘Thanks for helping me, Mrs Greenwood. Can I ask you something?’

      ‘Anything you want, but best make it quick, lad.’

      ‘Can you have a heart attack at fourteen?’ he asked, staring intently.

      She stared back at him and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be daft, Jimmy! Anyway, you’re as fit as a fiddle. You must be or your dad wouldn’t expect you to push that heavy barrow up here.’

      Once he was alone, Jimmy began to arrange the copper moulds on the stalls, following his father’s instructions to always put tall pieces at the back, graduating them down in size because the buyer’s eye would look at the first grouping and then move their eyes up to the taller items.

      He worried about his mother as he did this task almost by rote, also wondering where his father was. How long would it take at the doctor’s? Now and then he turned around, looked down towards the gates into the market. It was still quite early, and stallholders were already there, doing the same job as him. Thoughts of Mrs Greenwood intruded, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt. She had blamed his father for his predicament on the road, but it was his fault. He had filled the wheelbarrow too full, piled in far too many moulds and a variety of additional items. He must explain that the next time he saw her. He didn’t want his father to look bad in her eyes.

      Jimmy had just finished arranging the wares on the stalls when he spotted his father coming through the iron gates, hurrying towards him. His first instinct was to rush forward, but he restrained himself, as he had been taught from an early age – control yourself, be dignified. And so he waited.

      Matthew Falconer approached his son, smiling, and drew the boy close to his body for a moment. ‘She’s got a very heavy cold,’ Matt explained, at once noting the worried expression in Jimmy’s blue eyes. ‘She’s back home in bed. The doctor gave her some good cough mixture. She’s to stay in bed, be kept warm and given lots of liquids.’

      Beaming at his father, filled with relief, Jimmy said, ‘I’m thankful it’s not bronchitis or pneumonia.’

      ‘You can say that again. I’m as grateful as you, Jim. Now, I want you to go to your grandmother’s. I need her to give you a bottle of her raspberry vinegar concoction and some camphor bags, as well as any special advice she has. Lady Agatha won’t mind you going, if she’s still there. Your grandmother told me the family is going to France for the next two months, leaving today.’

      The boy nodded. ‘I’ll go now. Shall I take the things home to Mother?’

      ‘Yes do, my lad. Grandmother will no doubt give you a sandwich and perhaps some food to take home for your mother.’

      ‘But what about you, Dad? We forgot to make our snacks before we left this morning.’

      ‘Don’t worry about me. The pie man usually comes around hawking his goods at one o’clock. I’ll manage.’

      ‘I’ll come back, after I’ve given Mother her lunch.’

      ‘No, no, don’t do that! It’s not worth it for an hour or two in the late afternoon. Stay at home, look after Rossi and Eddie, and make sure they have something to eat. Now, off you go.’

       TWO

      James walked out of the Malvern, without a backward glance, feeling happy for various reasons. He was glad his mother did not have some deadly illness and that she was safe at home in bed. He was relieved his father had lost that worried look. Matthew had been whistling when he left the stalls. And he was thrilled to be going to see his grandmother.

      He hurried along the road, wanting to get there as fast as possible. His grandmother, Esther Marie Falconer, was the most important and influential person in his life. As he was in hers. That he knew to be an absolute certainty, because she had told him so. Although she was careful, discreet, not wanting to hurt his siblings.

      James loved his parents, emulated some of his father’s mannerisms and way of dressing; he loved his sister Rossi, now twelve, and his little brother, Eddie, who had just had his ninth birthday. And then there was his wonderful grandfather, who kept an eye on them all. Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer had taught him a lot, especially about geography and the rest of the world. He had even given him a globe on a stand, which James treasured.

      Nonetheless, his grandmother was at the top of his list. She was his guiding light; she had taught him to read and write by the time he was four. When he had gone to school in Rochester at that age, his first teacher had been truly impressed by his ability and his intelligence.

      James realized, as he headed down the road leaving Camden behind, that it was as busy a morning as usual. There were crowds of men hurrying up to the Malvern, who were obviously stallholders, and women, too, customers out for a bargain.

      Mornings and evenings were generally hectic during the week, the streets filled with men and women going to their workplace, and then returning home at the end of the day.

      Some of the men waved to him, and he waved back, smiling hugely. These were the stallholders who had their setups near theirs. James had a genial nature and a ready smile. He liked people and made friends easily. In turn, they were attracted to him because of his charismatic personality and handsome appearance.

      His grandparents were in service near Regent’s Park, and it was not too far away. James knew he would soon be there, once he had crossed Chalk Farm Road. He was headed in the direction of Marylebone.

      He liked Marylebone and knew a lot about the area. His grandmother had told him that the region had been planned and developed by the great Regency architect, John Nash, around 1818, and that his overall architectural scheme had included Regent Street, Regent’s Park, and the beautiful terraces and streets of elegant townhouses close to the park.

      It was there that Philip and Esther Falconer lived, in one of those formally designed John Nash townhouses facing Regent’s Park, belonging to their employers, the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague and his wife, Lady Agatha Denby Montague, daughter of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.

      Esther Falconer had been born in the Yorkshire village of Melton, which was not very far from the great northern seaport of Hull. At twelve, Esther had been pretty, clever and ambitious, and through her mother’s connection

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