Read The Penningtons for Free Online Page B

much better.’
    Dilys shrugged. ‘I dare say they’d rather spend any money they have on food. Soap is hardly a priority if you have so little.’
    Behind them there were tables and chairs but she knew that some of the hungry would choose to sit on the floor with their backs to the wall, ignoring the niceties of spoons, preferring to drink straight from the bowls. It was a defensive measure they adopted early on in their situation and it meant that they could not be attacked from behind and robbed.
    They began promptly and the queue moved slowly. This was not because the supplicants were not in a hurry for their soup but because each person wanted to exchange a few words of conversation – a luxury they rarely enjoyed, due to their solitary lifestyle.
    A quarter of an hour passed but the queue continued and for some reason Dilys glanced up at the next man in the queue. He was tall and gaunt and she imagined his scraggy beard and hair might have been nibbled by rats! Dilys shuddered. He wore shapeless worsted trousers and a collarless shirt and over both a long tattered coat that had lost all the buttons.
    He held out a tin bowl that had seen better days and she dipped her ladle into the large pan of soup and emptied it into the bowl.
    He whispered, ‘Give us a drop more, missus.’
    As she shook her head she caught sight of his eyes, a hard grey, narrowed and intense. ‘I’m sorry. You know it’s not allowed. One ladle-full per person.’
    ‘You spilt some –’ he lowered his voice – ‘ Dilys. ’
    ‘I did no such thing!’
    As he hesitated, Marguerite called sharply, ‘Please move on. There are many people still waiting.’
    He shuffled along, his face averted and, reaching the next table, received a large chunk of bread donated by one of the local bakers. He thanked no one, Dilys noted. As he moved further away he turned back to throw her a last spiteful glance.
    Marguerite lowered her voice, ‘People like him should be banned from the kitchen. He doesn’t deserve a free meal.’
    Dilys was struggling with a sick feeling in her stomach. Shocked, she turned to Marguerite and whispered, ‘He called me Dilys! I’m sure of it. How could he . . .?’
    ‘Called you by name? Of course he didn’t. You’re imagining things.’
    ‘No! He whispered it!’
    ‘It was probably “missus”.’
    ‘Missus? Do you think so?’
    ‘It rhymes with Dilys, doesn’t it, and much more likely than knowing your name.’
    ‘Missus? Could it have been?’ Relief flooded her. ‘I suppose so. A man like that couldn’t know my name.’ She forced a smile.
    ‘’Urry it up, for Gawd’s sake!’ A woman was next in the queue – small and old before her time. Her face was deeply lined and her wispy grey hair straggled from a matted woollen hat. She held out empty hands to show she had no bowl of her own.
    Dilys recognized her, reached for a bowl and re-dipped the ladle. ‘Good morning, Mrs Pegg.’ The woman was rather deaf and spent most of her time begging beside the church porch. Dilys watched as, without bothering to find a seat, Mrs Pegg moved a few feet away from the queue and drank the soup down at once, alternately blowing on it and sipping it noisily. She then handed back the bowl and rushed on to claim her bread.
    The queue seemed endless and before long Dilys felt the familiar ache developing in her back. It would be good to sit down when she reached home, enjoy a cup of tea and a biscuit and relish the solitude. Sometimes she wondered whether to give up this part of her charity work but then Hettie would gloat and say, ‘I told you it would be too much for you!’
    She dipped the ladle again, this time for a tramp she recognized. He went from house to house doing odd jobs for pennies. He had a skinny mongrel with him and Dilys knew that Marguerite would, as always, slip him an extra lump of bread for the dog. He and the dog would sit cheerfully together on the floor, sharing the small feast.
    Five minutes