The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

certainty.’ Casually, one of the porters dropped a florin into the outstretched cap.

      Others gasped at the munificent gesture. ‘Bloody hell, I’ll have some if you’re chucking it about!’

      The contributor’s face creased in mockery. ‘Nah – I’ll be getting it back in ten minutes when Bootsie finds out she’s done a flit!’

      Ignoring the ridicule, Marty lauded his benefactor. And as others good-naturedly followed suit he blessed these too, even knowing it was done out of jest, for they would soon be laughing on the other side of their faces.

      ‘Eh, we’ll look daft if he runs off to Timbuktu with her,’ joked one of the boys, nudging his neighbour.

      ‘We won’t be running that far.’ Marty got to his feet, looking smug.

      ‘She might not be but you will! When her dad comes back you’ll find yourself travelling to Timbuktu on the end of his foot.’

      Marty remained smiling and chinked the coins now in his hand. ‘Mock if you will! But Etta and myself will be using this for a deposit on a home.’

      Alas, this drew more than raucous guffaws.

      ‘What’s this infernal racket? Boots!’ Marty jumped and shoved the coins in his pocket as his superior appeared and everyone hurried about their work. ‘I might have known you’d be at the centre of it!’

      ‘Sorry, Mr Wilkinson.’

      ‘You will be! The gentleman in room one-twenty has made a complaint that his dirty shoes are still in the corridor.’

      Marty retreated quickly with an apologetic bow. ‘I must have missed them, sir. I’ll go fetch them now.’

      ‘Jump to it, boy – and return those whilst you’re at it!’ Wilkinson pointed to a lone pair of ladies’ shoes, which Marty quickly seized.

      ‘Yes, sir, I’ll see to it immediately!’ The errand gave him just the excuse he needed to go upstairs again.

      On the way his luck increased, for not only was he able to replace the key but he met Joe struggling under the weight of two cases and whispered urgently to him, ‘When you’ve done that will you keep watch for me? I need to know if that Ibbetson gadger comes back – he hasn’t been past already, has he?’

      Joe said not that he knew of, adding that he would act as lookout so long as he was not needed. ‘You’ll get me hung, you will!’

      ‘Hanged!’ corrected Marty with a grin, and, thanking him, he galloped off to Etta’s room.

      Yet at the point of entering he stalled – not simply because her father might be there but more because he feared his friends could be right. Had he indeed been fooling himself, caught up in the moment? What could a ravishing, wealthy young lady like her see in him? Moreover, how could he be idiot enough to expect her to give it all up?

      But the doubt was transitory. Once inside, everything was all right again. More than all right. In her relief Etta threw herself at him, sparking off a feverish bout of kissing.

      Reinvigorated, Marty said cheerfully, ‘Right, get your hat on, missus! We’re off.’

      Giggling and giddy with happiness, she ran to where the hat still lay on the carpet. It was whilst she was picking it up that her father’s voice intruded, startling the elopers.

      ‘What the deuce are you doing in here?’ It emerged as through a megaphone.

      Wheeling to face the imposing presence, Marty blanched – the wretch must have passed Joe on the way. Under threat, he thought quickly, seizing and brandishing the kid slippers that he had thrown aside on entry. ‘Just returning the lady’s shoes, sir!’ He hoped the father did not recognize the lie.

      But ownership of the shoes was of no concern to Ibbetson. ‘The door was locked – you must have let yourself in!’ Stick raised, the man advanced upon the slender youth.

      Alarmed that her newfound romance was to be spoiled before it had chance to flourish, Etta butted in whilst trying to appear calm. ‘There’s nothing untoward, Father, he was passing the room and I commanded him to fetch me something to drink, which involved him also fetching a key. It was stifling in here, I almost passed out.’

      Marty chipped in to endorse this. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to ignore the lady’s discomfort, sir.’

      ‘You are impudent, boy! I shall have you dismissed!’

      ‘For saving me?’ Head erect, Etta glided forward, desperate to run but knowing that would ruin everything. As things stood, all was not completely lost. ‘I should rather imagine the hotel owner would thank his employee for such quick thinking. He wasn’t the one who locked me in.’

      With her father’s wrath successfully deflected from Martin, immediately she became humble, though it was against her nature. ‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean that to sound in any way defiant. I’m merely trying to explain that the young man was simply doing as he was bidden. Please, Father, you’ve never been unfair to our own servants.’ Etta laid a steadying hand upon his arm, trying not to reveal her true anxiety. How were they to get away now?

      Marty was thinking the same thing. Wisely, in the face of Ibbetson’s fury he dropped his gaze to the carpet and stood meekly awaiting his fate, though under the surface his mind whirred like clockwork for a solution.

      After what seemed like aeons, though his colour remained high, Ibbetson grudgingly decided, ‘Very well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You may keep your job – but only because we shall shortly be gone and I shan’t have to encounter your detestable face again. Now get out and send a porter to transport our bags immediately to the platform!’

      With the man gesticulating for him to leave, Marty gave hasty thanks and obeyed. Henrietta’s heart sank into despair as he dealt her not so much as a glance.

      By now, though, thoroughly infatuated, Marty had no intention of abandoning his prize. Cursing his laxity at not seeking her precise address, he raced downstairs, and, after bewailing his luck to his colleagues and submitting to their friendly teasing, he threw himself on their mercy yet again. Scribbling on a crumpled bit of paper and electing the chambermaid as his go-between, he begged her, ‘Jo, do us a favour! Slip her this message before she lea—’

      ‘He must think I’m barmy!’ Open-mouthed, she advertised her scorn to the laughing assembly.

      ‘Ah, go on!’ Fraught with desperation, he tried to cup her face. ‘Please! I have to get her address or she’s lost to me forever!’

      She craned her head out of reach. ‘And you expect me to care?’ Was he really so insensitive? Could he not tell how much she wanted him herself?

      ‘I thought you were a pal?’ he beseeched her, but she just pushed him bad-temperedly out of her way and left.

      No one else seemed keen to take the risk, laughing off his frantic attempts as pure whimsy. After an infuriated pause there came a brainwave. Swearing and rummaging through a drawer he finally came up with a piece of chalk. Then, grabbing a tray he scrawled something on the underside and rushed from the side exit. Swearing and dodging his way through a collection of laundry hampers that were being off-loaded, he bounded around to the hotel’s main lobby which opened onto the station platform, heading for a spot that Etta would have to pass.

      But she was already well on her way, albeit unwillingly, being half dragged by her father after the porter who carried their bags. Hovering anxiously with his tray, Marty silently urged her to turn around, but Etta marched onwards stiffbacked to the waiting train. Panic rose. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t! Almost at the point of risking everything, he was about to yell out for her not to leave, when, miracle of miracles, she turned crossly to take issue with her father for manhandling her into the carriage and at last spotted Marty. In this same instant he tilted the tray to reveal the chalked entreaty underneath: IF YOU WANT ME TELL ME WHERE YOU LIVE.

      A