Trickster Read online

  TRICKSTER

  Trickster

  Sam Michaels

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Sam Michaels, 2019

  The moral right of Sam Michaels to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781789542172

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  For Andrew Sydney Blofeld, my beautiful baby boy.

  You’ve always astounded me, from the day you were born until now, to see the extraordinary man you’ve become. I couldn’t be prouder of you and I know you’ll continue to amaze me. I’m the luckiest woman, to have such a caring, brave and gorgeous son – I love you.

  This one is for you, darling, because you’re simply the best!

  Love always, Mum xxx

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part 2

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part 3

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part 4

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Part 5

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Become an Aria Addict

  Prologue

  ‘Leave it out,’ the man protested. ‘We don’t want to be messing with the likes of Georgina Garrett. She’s dangerous, some say she’s mad, and if we don’t want to end up in body bags, we should stay well away from her.’

  ‘What are you, a bleedin’ fairy? She’s a woman, and I ain’t letting her stand in my way.’

  ‘Sod off, Liam, I ain’t a fairy! I like women, not men, but that Georgina is one woman I’m not messing with.’

  ‘Fine, suit yourself. I’ll find someone else to do the job with, someone who ain’t yellow-livered like you.’

  ‘Do that! It’s your funeral,’ the man snapped, thinking as he marched out of the pub that if the idiot was stupid enough to go up against Georgina Garrett, that’s how he’d end up. In a coffin.

  From what he’d heard, and rumours were rife, Georgina had been born on the day that the war had been declared. Though she may not have come out fighting, she was a force to be reckoned with now. He didn’t know what it was, but something must have happened to turn her into the ruthless, heartless bitch who ruled the streets of Battersea.

  He would have liked to know the full story – to know what happened to Georgina Garrett from the day she was born, but of course that was impossible. You didn’t ask questions about her – not if you expected to live.

  Part 1

  The birth of Georgina Garrett

  1

  London, Battersea, 5 August 1914

  Sissy Garrett doubled over in agony as another contraction ripped through her skinny body. She grabbed hold of the butler sink for support, panting hard as beads of sweat formed on her pallid skin.

  ‘Gawd help me,’ she ground out through gritted teeth, and rubbed the under part of her hugely swollen stomach. Her violet eyes were wide with fear and her heart-shaped face was contorted in pain. At twenty-two, this was her first child, and it had been long waited for.

  She looked down at the puddle of water that was seeping through the worn floorboards. Her contractions had come on quickly and taken her by surprise. Now, as she stood in the small, shared scullery, her heart hammered in panic. Mr and Mrs Linehan lived upstairs with their toddler, but Sissy knew they were out. Alfred Linehan would be working, running errands on the streets, and his wife, Lillian, had said she was going to stay at her sister’s for a few days.

  Sissy was all alone, on the cusp of giving birth, and silently cursed Jack again. Her husband frequently did a disappearing act and came and went as regularly as the tide on the Thames. She’d often tell him he was as much use as a chocolate fireguard, and on several occasions his petty thieving had failed to pay the rent. This would leave her having to hide from the landlord in the cupboard under the stairs. Still, she loved Jack dearly, and prayed he would come home soon.

  She slowly walked across the scullery as cockroaches darted for cover. With just one cold tap and a range stove in the room, there wasn’t a table or chair available to steady herself. Discoloured wallpaper hung off the walls and hand-washed, ragged clothes were draped over a makeshift washing line that ran from one side of the room to the other. Black mould covered the back wall, which housed a draughty door leading to the yard and outside privy.

  It was squalid, basic and cheap, but Sissy preferred to grin and bear it rather than live with Dulcie, her mother-in-law. The woman lived with Percy, her drunken second husband. He wasn’t Jack’s father but had taught his stepson the art of larceny. They had the rare luxury of a two-bedroom house, but as Percy’s alcoholism had left him incapable of grafting, Sissy always wondered how they managed to pay the rent.

  When she’d first married Jack, Dulcie had offered them a home, but Sissy had politely declined. She found Dulcie to be a hard woman and feared her quick temper. No, she could never live under the same roof as her. She thought about her own parents who had been dead for several years. She wished her mum was with her now, to hold her hand and tell her everything would be all right.

  Sissy paused in the hallway as another wave of pain gripped her body. ‘Jack bloody Garrett,’ she gasped, steadying herself against the wall, ‘where are you when I need you?’

  She took several deep breaths and waited for the contraction to pass, eventually managing to get to their one room which, like the scullery, was almost bare, except for two wooden chairs, a rickety table and a large bed on which she desperately wanted to rest. It crossed her mind to bang on the wall and attract the attention of her neighbour, but Miss Capstone was a godly woman
and it was no secret that she despised Jack and his unlawful ways. Though Sissy was afraid, she didn’t want to face another scornful lecture and instead lowered her aching body onto her lumpy mattress.

  It was hot. The late morning sun shone brightly through the window, illuminating the dilapidated room. Her nostrils twitched at the musty smell, and she wished she’d opened the window. A cool breeze would be welcome, but Sissy felt too weak and knew she should conserve her energy. She lay back and stared at the flaking paint on the ceiling. She wanted this baby so much, but worried about the sort of life she was bringing it into. Money was sparse, and their home was almost derelict, infested with bugs and vermin. All she could offer the child was her unconditional love.

  A lone tear slipped from her eye and trickled down her face to rest in her ebony hair, which was now damp with sweat.

  The sound of the front door opening snapped Sissy from her worrying thoughts. She heard her husband’s heavy footsteps and sighed with relief as their door flew open. Jack charged into the room like a strong gale bursting open a barn door.

  ‘Sis, you ain’t gonna believe this… we’re at war!’

  Sissy pushed herself up on her haunches and looked at her husband as he waved a newspaper in front of her face. She couldn’t read, but Jack emphatically pointed at the headline.

  ‘See, it says here: “War declared on Germany”.’

  ‘Yeah, well, never mind about that… the baby’s coming.’

  Jack’s eyes widened, and the colour drained from his face. ‘Oh blimey, are you all right? Wh… wh… what do I do?’

  Sissy smiled weakly. It wasn’t often she saw her husband in a flap, but he was now, and it had nothing to do with the war. ‘This ain’t no place for men, Jack. Go and get Mrs Blundell at number seventeen. Give her two and six and tell her to hurry up!’

  ‘Mrs Blundell!’ Jack spat the name through his crooked teeth. ‘The old girl’s always drunk. How the bleedin’ hell is she gonna help?’

  ‘She’s the handywoman round here, and a darn sight cheaper than the doctor. Just go, Jack… get a move on,’ Sissy urged, wincing as pain began to rack her body again. She was aware childbirth wasn’t easy, but she hadn’t expected it to feel like torture.

  Without another word Jack dashed from the room and soon after Sissy heard the front door slam. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the blanket beneath her, and she tried to stifle a scream. Please hurry, she thought frantically, and writhed as the pain became almost unbearable. Jack was right, Mrs Blundell was drunk a lot of the time, but she’d helped most of the local women to give birth. Blundell’s Babies they were affectionately called. If you paid her a shilling, she’d lay out the dead too.

  Sissy quickly tried to push that thought from her mind. Childbearing was a dangerous time for a woman, so she wouldn’t allow herself to think of death. Instead, she tried to focus on names for the baby. She’d wanted Ernest for a boy, after her father, but Jack insisted on George. Well, she thought, it was bound to be a boy. It had certainly kicked her bony ribs hard enough, and fancy being born on the day war broke out!

  The door opened again, and to her relief, she saw Mrs Blundell follow Jack into the room. Thankfully the last contraction had eased, though Sissy knew it wouldn’t be long until the next one arrived.

  ‘Oh, my dear, look at the state of you,’ the old woman said as she leaned forward and placed her chubby hand on Sissy’s moist forehead. ‘Jack, fetch me a bowl of cold water and a cloth to wipe her brow.’

  Sissy tried to turn her face away from the woman’s foul breath. She was sure the stale alcohol fumes must be toxic.

  ‘How quickly are the pains coming?’ Mrs Blundell asked, rolling up the sleeves of her dark grey dress. The material was stretched tightly across her enormous chest, and as she turned away from the bed to walk towards the window, Sissy gazed in awe at her huge hips.

  ‘I dunno… quickly… every five or ten minutes I suppose.’

  ‘And have your waters broken?’

  ‘Yes… I… erm… I thought I’d wet meself,’ Sissy answered coyly.

  Mrs Blundell drew the curtains, but the thin material was too short for the window, so the room was still quite light. ‘We don’t want any prying eyes now, do we? Is this your first?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In that case we’ll probably have a good few hours to wait. Best you send that old man of yours orf down the pub or something. We don’t want him hanging around making a nuisance of himself. Don’t worry, I’ll get word to him when the baby’s here.’

  Sissy nodded, but she didn’t want Jack going to the pub. They could ill afford him supping away what little money they had, and Jack wasn’t very good at holding his liquor. In fact, once he got a taste for it, there’d be no stopping him and he’d carry on drinking until he passed out.

  ‘You look very thin. Have you been eating properly?’

  ‘I try, but you know how it is. Bread and jam most nights, and if I do manage to get my hands on any decent meat, I like to make sure Jack gets a good plateful. After all, he’s the one out there grafting for us.’

  The door opened again, and Jack walked in carrying an enamelled bowl of water.

  ‘Good man. Now pull up that chair for me and bugger off. Your wife is going to be busy for ages yet, so you go and wait in the Cedars and I’ll send one of my boys to come and get you later.’

  Sissy looked at Jack and covertly shook her head.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Blundell, I’ll stay here and help out.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing! A man in a room when a woman’s giving birth… I’ve never heard the likes of it!’

  Jack looked sheepish and threw an imploring look at his wife before reluctantly agreeing to the woman’s orders. ‘All right, but I’ll be outside, on the stairs.’

  This was one of the reasons why Sissy loved her husband so much. Yes, he was a rogue, but a lovable one, and when he wasn’t out grafting, he was always there to look after her.

  ‘I suppose that’ll be OK, but I don’t want you bursting through that door when you hear your missus screaming, ’cos believes me, she will. Just remember, young man, thousands of women have done this before and the pain is normal.’

  ‘All right, thanks, Mrs Blundell. I’ll be right outside, Sissy,’ Jack added nervously. As he walked from the room, he didn’t once take his eyes off his wife.

  Sissy could feel another wave of excruciating pain washing over her. She gritted her teeth and groaned loudly as Mrs Blundell mopped her brow.

  ‘That’s it, my girl, deep breaths,’ the woman said soothingly.

  Sissy didn’t know Mrs Blundell very well, but her reassuring manner and calming voice had quickly gained her confidence. With her grey hair in a bun, and a face etched with deep grooves, she looked to be well into her sixties and it was reputed that she’d birthed babies since she was a teenager. What Mrs Blundell didn’t know about childbearing wasn’t worth knowing, but handywomen were outlawed now as the government had trained midwives to take over the role. Sissy didn’t trust a new, young midwife, and felt safer in Mrs Blundell’s hands. Also, the experienced woman was a lot cheaper than the medical professionals.

  *

  Jack had sat on the third step up for over three hours. He’d paced the hallway, gone outside for fresh air several times, and now sat back down again. He tapped his foot as he worried about his wife on the other side of the door. It sounded like she was having a rough time and he longed to go in and comfort her. But he knew the rules, and Mrs Blundell had made it quite clear that he wasn’t welcome.

  He could have kicked himself. If only he’d put some money aside, he could have paid for a proper doctor. Yes, Mrs Blundell had birthed lots of babies, but everyone knew she was partial to the gin. A sudden scream broke his thoughts and he jumped to his feet at the sound of his wife’s ear-piercing cries. The sound was long and arduous, then he heard Sissy cry, ‘Please… I can’t take any more.’

  Someone hammered on the front d
oor, so Jack rushed to open it, but was disappointed to find a very stern-looking Miss Capstone stood on the step.

  ‘I take it from the noise that your wife is in labour?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Is the doctor with her?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘So, I assume Mrs Blundell is with her?’

  Jack nodded again.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ his neighbour said, sounding irritated, and she pushed Jack to one side as she barged past him.

  She was a slim woman with pointed features and thin lips. She always wore a hat and dressed in black, but no-one knew who she was in mourning for, as from what Jack had heard, she was a spinster. She lived with her brother and was known to rent out rooms, but it seemed the lodgers never stayed very long. Jack guessed they were put off by having the Bible constantly shoved down their throats. He didn’t like to argue with God and even less so with women, so he didn’t offer any resistance as Miss Capstone glared at him with beady, disdainful eyes, then entered the room where his wife was bringing his child into the world.

  *

  ‘Miss Capstone, can I help you?’ Mrs Blundell asked, sounding annoyed at the uninvited visitor.

  ‘I doubt it, but I thought I may be able to help you. It sounds like the woman is struggling.’

  ‘No, she’s fine. Everything’s going as it should,’ Mrs Blundell answered curtly.

  Sissy wanted to pull the covers over her bare legs, embarrassed to be showing so much of herself to her neighbour, but she didn’t have the strength.

  ‘Well, yes, it’s God’s will. A woman’s pain in childbirth is part of the suffering brought into the world through sin. He said, “I will make child bearing painful”. I’ve no doubt He has made your pains twice as bad, as you are spawning a child of… well, that good-for-nothing thieving husband of yours!’

  Sissy was shocked at Miss Capstone’s words, and her haughty attitude riled her, but she was quickly distracted by an overwhelming urge to push.

  As Sissy’s body felt as though it was splitting in two, she saw Mrs Blundell march to the door and throw it open. ‘Miss Capstone, take yourself and your self-righteous judgemental views out of this room,’ the woman shouted.