The Gambling Man

by Catherine Cookson

  Rory was not unaware of Mr Dryden’s personal opinion of him. He gauged it in the condescending tone the old man used when speaking to him. But what did it matter, he could put up with that.

  He was now receiving the handsome sum of twenty-five shillings a week, with the promise of it being raised when he should finally take over his duties. He’d had glimpses into what these would be during the past few days when he had seen the number of properties in Hexham and Gateshead, and the haberdashery and hatters shops that had been left by Grandfather Kean. All this besides the business old Kean himself had had on the side.

  He became more and more amazed when he thought of what his late employer must have been worth. Yet never a night had he missed, winter or summer, coming to the office to pick up the takings, except when he was called away to visit his father. He had never, not to his knowledge, taken a holiday all the time he had been there, and yet he was rolling in money.

  He wondered what she would be worth altogether. If she ever married, some man would come in for a packet. But apart from her not being the kind to take a man’s fancy he thought she was too independent to think that way. No one, he considered, could be as business-like as her without having the abilities of a man in her make-up . . .

  It was Saturday morning and he had brought the takings from his two men—he thought of them as his now. She had allowed him to choose the-second man himself. This fellow was young and hadn’t done any rent collecting before but he had been to school continuously up till he was fourteen, and that was something to start on. Moreover, he was bright and eager and in need of work. He felt he had made a good choice. And he told her so. ‘Patterson’s doing well,’ he said. ‘Gettin’ round quickly. And so far he’s allowed nobody to take advantage of him, you know, soft-soap him.’

  ‘Good.’ She smiled at him from across the desk; then she said, ‘I would like you to accompany me to Hexham on Monday.’

  ‘Hexham?’ He moved his head downwards while keeping his eyes on her. ‘Very well.’ He sometimes omitted to say miss, but she had never pulled him up for it.

  ‘I think it’s time you saw the places you’re going to be responsible for.’

  ‘Aye, yes, of course.’ He’d have to stop himself saying aye.

  ‘By the way—’ she was still smiling at him—’I should like to come and see your boatyard. I’m very interested in it. I may be of some assistance in supplying freight—in a small way. Would this afternoon be convenient?’

  He thought quickly. What was the place like, was it tidy? Was there any washing hanging about? No, Janie had cleared the ironing up last night and scrubbed out last thing.

  He nodded at her, saying, ‘Yes, that’ll be all right with me. Me wife won’t be in because she works until four on a Saturday, she’s nursemaid at the Buckhams in Westoe, but you’ll be welcome to see . . .’

  ‘Your ! . . wife?’ The words came from deep within her chest and were separate as if they were strange and she had never spoken them before.

  ‘Yes. Yes, miss, me wife . . .’ His voice trailed off for he was amazed to see the colour flooding up over her face like a great blush.

  ‘I . . . I wasn’t aware that you were married, Mr Connor ! . . Since when?’

  ‘Well, well—’ he moved uneasily in the chair— ‘just recently, miss. I didn’t like to mention it to you at the time because the date was fixed for shortly after your father’s funeral. I couldn’t change it, but it didn’t seem proper to . . .’

  Her eyes were shaded now as she looked down towards the desk and on to her hands which were lying flat on the blotter, one on each side of the ledger that he had placed before her. Her back was straight, her body looked rigid. She said coolly, ‘You should have informed me of your change of situation, Mr Connor.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t think it was of any importance.’

  ‘No importance!’ She did not look at him, but now her eyes flicked over the table as if searching for some paper or other. ‘A married man cannot give the attention to business that the single man can, for instance, he hasn’t the time.’

  ‘Oh, I have all the time . . .’

  ‘Or the interest.’ She had raised her eyes to his now. The colour had seeped from her face leaving it moist and grey. This alters matters, Mr Connor.’

  He stared at her, his voice gruff now as he said, ‘I don’t understand, I can’t see why.’

  ‘You can’t? Well then, if you can’t then I am mistaken in the intelligence I credited you with.’

  His back was as straight as hers now, his face grim.

  As she held his gaze he thought, No, no, I’d be barmy to think that. I haven’t got such a bloody big head on me as that. No I No! Yet it was pretty evident that the fact that he was married had upset her. She was likely one of these people who didn’t believe in marriage, there were such about; there was one lived in the end house down the lane. She dressed like a man and it was said that she handled a horse and a boat as well as any man, but she looked half man. This one didn’t. Although she had a business head on her shoulders she dressed very much as a woman of fashion might. He couldn’t make her out. No, by God! he couldn’t.

  He said now, ‘I can assure you, miss, me being married won’t make any difference to my work. I’ll give you my time and loyalty . . .’

  ‘But as I have indicated, Mr Connor, only a certain amount of time and an equal amount of your loyalty . . . a married man has responsibilities. We can discuss the matter later. Mr Dryden has been paid in advance for your quarter’s tuition, you will continue to go to him. That’ll be all at present, Mr Connor. Good day.’

  He rose stiffly from the chair. ‘Good day . . . miss.’

  The maid let him out; she smiled at him broadly. ‘Good day, sir,’ she said.

  He had acquired the title of sir since it was known Miss Kean was sending him for training to be her manager and there was a significant deference in the servants’ manners towards him now. She kept six altogether, with the gardener-cum-coachman. He answered her civilly, saying, ‘Good day,’ but as usual he did not address her by name. His position wasn’t such that he felt he could do so yet.

  Out on the drive he walked slowly, and at one point he actually stopped and said to himself, No! No! And before he entered the main thoroughfare he again slowed his walk and exclaimed aloud now, ‘Don’t be a fool!’

  He had no false modesty about his personal attraction. He knew that many a back door would have been left open for him if he had just raised an eyebrow or answered a gleam in a hungry woman’s eyes. He didn’t class himself as particularly handsome but was aware that he had something which was of greater appeal. If he had been asked to define it he would have found it impossible; he only knew that women were aware of him. And he had liked the knowledge, it gave him what he called a lift. But at the same time he knew there was but one woman for him.

  But he couldn’t get away from the fact that she had done what she had for him because she thought he was single. Now the question was, why? Why?

  Yet again he shook his head at himself and said no, no. Why, the woman must be worth a fortune, and although she was as plain as a pikestaff there were men in the town who, he thought, would more than likely overlook such a minor handicap in order to get their hands on what she owned. Doubtless, some were already trying, for twice of late there had been carriages on the drive and he had seen sombre-clothed gentlemen descending towards them as he approached the house. And he recalled now, they had looked at him pretty hard.

  But coming to know her as he had done over the past weeks, he imagined she would have all her wits about her with regard to such suitors who would be only after the main chance. She was the kind of woman who would do the choosing rather than be chosen, and apart from her face she had a lot on her side to enable her to do the choosing . . . Had she been going to choose him?

  He didn’t answer himself this time with, ‘No! No!’ but walked on, muttering instead, ‘God Almighty! it’s unbelievable.’

&nb
sp; ‘You’re quiet the night. Nothing wrong is there? And what made you go back to the office this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh, I had some work to get through. It’s been a heavy week, and I’ve got that Pittie mob on me mind. Did he say he’d seen them around the day?’

  ‘No. He only stayed in for a few minutes after I got home, I told you. He said he was goin’ down to collect some wood he had roped together.’

  ‘But that was this afternoon. It’s dark, he should be back by now. I’d better take a walk out and see if he’s comin’.’

  He looked towards her where she was kneading dough in a brown earthenware dish, then went out and down the steps into the yard. There was a moon riding high, raced by white scudding clouds. He walked to the end of the little jetty and looked along each side of the river where boats large and small were moored. He liked the river at night when it was quiet like this, but he had made up his mind, at least he had done until this morning, that it wouldn’t be long before he moved Janie away from this quarter and into a decent house in the town. He had thought Jimmy could stay on here, Jimmy wouldn’t mind living on his own, for he was self-sufficient was Jimmy. But now things had changed. This morning’s business had blown his schemes away into dust.

  He’d had the feeling of late that he was galloping towards some place but he didn’t know where. So many strange things had happened over the past months. He wasn’t even wearing the same kind of clothes he wore a few weeks ago for she had hinted not only that he should get a new suit but where he should go to buy it. However, he hadn’t patronised the shop she suggested; he hadn’t, he told himself, enough money as yet for that kind of tailoring. Nevertheless, he had got himself a decent suit, with a high waistcoat and the jacket flared, and the very cut of it had lifted him out of the rent collector’s class. But now the rosy future had suddenly died on him. What would she say on Monday? . . . Well, he’d have to wait and see, that’s all he could do.

  He heard a soft splash and saw the minute figure of Jimmy steering the boat towards the jetty. He bent down and grabbed the rope that Jimmy threw to him, then said, ‘You all right? Where you been all day? What’s taken you so long?’

  ‘The wood I’d had piled up, it was scattered, some back in the river, all over. I had a job collectin’ it again.’

  ‘The Pitties?’

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder. I don’t think it could be bairns, it would have been too heavy for them.’

  ‘Well, leave it where it is till the mornin’, we’ll sort it out then.’

  When Jimmy had made fast his boat and was standing on the quay he peered at Rory saying, ‘What’s up? You look as if you’d lost a tanner and found a threepenny bit. Anything wrong?’

  ‘No, no, nothing. How about you?’

  ‘Oh well, they were around early on in the mornin’ again, two of them. They moored just opposite and sat lookin’ across, just starin’. But I went on with me work, and I stood for a time and stared back. Then they went off.’ And he added, ‘If they try anything I’ll go straight and tell the river polis.’

  ‘It’ll likely be too late then. The only thing is be careful and don’t be such a bloody fool stayin’ out in the dark. They’re not likely to try anything in the daylight, but give them a chance in the dark, and you’re asking for it.’

  All Jimmy replied to this was, ‘Aye. By! I’m hungry,’ and ran up the steps, and when he opened the door he sniffed loudly and said, ‘Ooh! that smells good.’

  Janie turned to him from the table, saying, ‘Aye well, now you’ll have to wait a bit, we’ve had to wait for you.’

  ‘I’m hungry, woman.’

  ‘Are you ever anything else?’ she laughed at him. ‘Well, there’s some fresh teacakes there, tuck into them.’

  As he broke a hot teacake in two, he asked, ‘What’s for supper?’

  ‘Finny haddy.’

  ‘Good, and hurry up with it.’

  She thrust out her arm to clip his ear, but he dodged the blow and went and sat himself on the steel fender with his back to the oven and laughed and chatted as he ate.

  Looking at him, Rory knew a sudden spasm of envy as he thought, he was born bowed, but he was born happy. Why can’t I be like him? But then the answer to that one was, they had different mothers. He hadn’t thought along these lines for some time now; it was odd but it was only when he was faced with trouble that he let his bitterness against Lizzie have rein.

  Of a sudden he said to neither of them in particular, ‘Will we have to go home the morrow again?’

  Both Janie and Jimmy turned a quick glance on him and it was Janie who said, ‘Of course we’ll have to go home the morrow. We always do, don’t we? It’s Sunday.’

  ‘That’s it, that’s what I mean, we always do. Couldn’t we do something different, take a trip up the river or something? We’ve got our own boat.’

  ‘But they’ll be expectin’ us. It won’t be Sunday for them if we don’t go up; they’ll all be there.’

  ‘Aye, they’ll all be there.’ His voice trailed away on a sigh and he turned and went into the bedroom while Janie and Jimmy exchanged another look and Jimmy said under his breath, ‘Something’s wrong. I twigged it right away.’

  ‘You think so?’ Janie whispered back.

  ‘Aye, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, I did think he was a bit quiet, but when I asked him he said everything was all right.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what he says, but there’s something up. I’m tellin’ you, there’s something up.’

  When, in the middle of the night, Janie was again woken from her sleep by Rory’s voice, not mumbling this time but shouting, she hissed at him, ‘Ssh! ssh! Wake up. What is it?’

  But he went on, louder now, ‘I’ll make it up to you, I will . . . I know . . . I know, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘Rory! Rory! wake up.’

  ‘Five pounds. I had it, I had it. You’re to blame.’

  ‘Rory! do you hear me?’ She was trying to shake him.

  ‘Wha’? Wha’?’ He half woke and grabbed at her hands, then almost at the same time threw her aside, crying, ‘What was the good of two of us doin’ time! I’m not goin’ in there, so don’t keep on. You won’t get me in there, not for five pounds, or fifty. Five clarty pounds. Five clarty pounds. If I’d had the chance I’d have put it back, I would. I . . . would . . .’ His voice trailed away and he fell back on the pillows.

  Janie sat bolt upright in the bed staring down through the darkness, not on to Rory but towards where her hands were gripping the quilt . . . That was it then. That was it! It should have been as clear as daylight from the beginning.

  She saw John George’s face through the grid saying, ‘Tell Rory that, will you? Tell him I didn’t take the five pounds.’ And what John George was actually saying was, ‘Tell him to own up.’ She couldn’t believe it, yet she knew it was true. He had let John George, his good friend, go to that stinking place alone. It was true he couldn’t have done much about it at first, but after he regained consciousness in hospital he must have known. That’s why he hadn’t asked for John George. It should have been one of the first things he mentioned. ‘What’s the matter with John George?’ he should have said. ‘Why hasn’t he come to see me?’

  No, she couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t. But she had to. She now turned her head towards the bulk lying beside her and instinctively hitched herself away from it towards the wall. But the next move she made was almost like that of an animal, for she pounced on him and, her hands gripping his shoulders, she cried, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’

  ‘Wha’? What’s-it? What’s-up? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Get up. Get up.’

  As he pulled himself up in the bed she climbed over him, grabbed the matches from the table and lit the candle, and all the while he was repeating, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

  The candle lit, she held it upwards and gazed down into his blinking eyes.

  ‘What’s up with you? You gone mad or something?’

 
‘Aye, I’ve gone mad, flamin’ mad; bloody well flamin’ mad.’

  She sounded like Lizzie and her grannie rolled into one. He pushed the clothes back from the bed but didn’t get up, he just peered at her. ‘What the hell’s up with you, woman?’

  ‘You ask me that! Well, you’ve just had a nightmare an’ you’ve just cleared up somethin’ that’s been puzzling me for a long time. You! Do you know what I could do to you this minute? I could spit in your eye, Rory Connor. I could spit in your eye.’

  He now leant his stiff body back against the wall. He’d had a nightmare, he’d been talking. He was sweating, yet cold, it was always cold on the river at night. With a thrust of his arm he pushed her aside and got out of the bed and pulled his trousers on over his linings, but didn’t speak; and neither did she. But when he went towards the door to go into the other room she followed him, holding the candle high, and she watched him grab the matches from the mantelpiece and light the lamp. When it was aflame he turned and looked at her and said quietly, ‘Well, now you know.’

  ‘Aye, I know. And how you can stand there and say it like that God alone knows. My God! to think you let John George take the rap for you . . .’