Belle - Lesley Pearse [221]
Belle hardly heard him. She was back on home turf and in wonderland. ‘Everything looks smaller than I remember,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I thought the public houses were so big, the streets so wide, but they are small, even the people seem to have shrunk and grown quieter.’
Noah could only laugh. It all looked, sounded and smelled just the same to him, mucky and weary, wafts of stinking drains and horse droppings. The beggars, drunks, ragged children trying their hand at begging and the street vendors shouting out their wares were all just the same as when he left.
When Belle saw the Ram’s Head she started to run. People stopped to stare at her, and Noah thought that was hardly surprising, for she looked far more Parisian in her grey and white striped dress and jaunty little grey hat than like a girl from Seven Dials.
She hesitated at the saloon door, looking back at Noah as if for encouragement.
‘Go on in,’ he urged her.
Belle pushed open the door, her heart thumping so hard she felt anyone passing would be able to hear it.
The smell of beer and cigarette smoke slapped her in the face. She saw people turn to look at her and for a second she wanted to back away.
But then she heard Mog scream out her name, a sound of absolute joy, and tears came so suddenly that Belle was momentarily blinded.
The small figure in a dusty-pink dress pushing her way through the crowded bar didn’t look like the woman who had mothered her. ‘Belle, my beautiful Belle,’ she said, and the mist of tears cleared enough for Belle to see that Mog was crying too, arms outstretched wide to embrace her.
A loud cheer went up, fifty or so male voices raised in welcome. Mog’s arms were round her, hugging her so tight that any trepidation vanished.
‘Let me look at you!’ Mog said.
Silence fell and all faces turned to the two women holding hands, crying and laughing at the same time as they studied each other.
‘Welcome home, sweetheart!’ someone shouted out, and a roar went up with a great stamping of feet.
Belle didn’t recognize anyone, though she supposed they were all men who had seen her growing up. But she knew their delight was really for Mog. The woman she’d loved all her life was loved by all these people too.
Garth came forward then, but he had changed too. He was just as big as she remembered but his red hair and his beard which had been so unkempt were now neatly cut. He wore a dazzling white shirt, the sleeves rolled up above his mighty forearms, and an emerald-green waistcoat with small brass buttons. But the real difference was his wide smile; she’d seen him throughout her childhood, but he’d always looked so sour and mean.
‘My, you’ve grown into a beauty!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s good to have you home. Now, where’s Jimmy? He’s been pacing up and down all day, checking the time and looking out the door, and now he isn’t even here!’
‘I am here, Uncle,’ Jimmy’s voice rang out, and everyone turned to see him standing quietly by the window where he’d clearly been all along. ‘I just wanted Mog to be able to greet her first.’
His voice had deepened and he was a good three or four inches taller than Belle remembered. His shoulders were almost as broad as his uncle’s, and his once spiky, carroty hair had grown darker and he’d let it grow a little longer which suited him far better.
The picture Belle had held of him in her mind was of a skinny, freckled-faced boy with tawny eyes, a polite manner and the look of a street urchin, but this Jimmy was a man, handsome, poised and confident. Only his tawny eyes were the same.
‘He never gave up on you,’ Garth said, and the look he gave his nephew was one of pride. ‘Well, come on, you great lummox, come and give her a hug!’
Belle felt that the Jimmy she’d once known would have shrivelled up with embarrassment at such an order, but this new one didn’t. He came towards her in three or four strides, swept her up in his arms and swung her round.
‘I thought this day would never come,’ he said as she squealed in surprise. ‘You can’t know how good