‘I suppose you’re relieved,’ Mattie said. ‘I mean with your mam and pa being away and all.’
Josie sighed. ‘Patrick has this strange idea that they would look more kindly on us if I wasn’t with child.’
Mattie tutted. ‘Men do have some odd thoughts, so they do.’ Josie bit her lower lip. ‘I tell you, Mattie, I’m a bit worried that I haven’t heard back from Mam. What if she’s taken a turn for the worse?’
‘I’m sure she’s fine and dandy. You told me that she and Dr Munroe had been out and about and even went to see the military band,’ Mattie said, reassuringly.
‘I know, but that was a month back. What if the fever’s returned?’
‘Josie, I think you’re just getting yourself all het up over nothing. You father wouldn’t have taken her if he didn’t think she was fit enough to make the journey safely.’
Josie’s heart sank. It was just what she’d been telling herself for the past three weeks, and it left only one explanation for her mother’s silence.
‘I know Mam would have been as mad as a captured elf when she read that Patrick was still married but I hoped she might have been a bit more understanding. Especially as Bobby’s birth certificate is a year older than her and my stepfather’s marriage lines.’ Josie shrugged. ‘But as she hasn’t written back I’m starting to think I was wrong. Perhaps, after all the scandal she and Pa went through before, and what with her recent illness, she just can’t bear any more heartache. If that is the case, I can’t see it matters if I’m in the family way or not.’
‘Maybe Mrs Munroe has your mam’s reply.’
‘It’s possible, but Bobby sent Sam around with a letter from Aunt Mary. If Mam had written a letter back, I’m sure she would have sent that too.’
‘Well, I must say, I have to hand it to your sister. She’s got some pluck, smuggling out your clothes like that.’
‘That she has,’ Josie replied.
‘I hear Patrick wasn’t very pleased though,’ Mattie said.
‘It wasn’t the clothes that riled him; it was the fact that I sold them. Oh, he didn’t say anything but he got his what-have-I-done-to-you look in his eyes again,’ Josie said. The image of her family sitting in the parlour loomed up in Josie’s mind and sadness washed over her. ‘I won’t lie to you Mattie, it has been so very hard to think that my parents have turned their backs on me and I’ll never see my lovely sisters and brothers ever again . . . But I would still rather be with Patrick, even as we are now, than not at all.’
‘Pat feels responsible, and you know he’s as stubborn as a mule.’
A satisfied glow spread across Josie’s face. ‘I know, and I love him for it. But I do wish he wasn’t quite so obstinate about the Tugmans.’
Mattie was shocked. ‘You don’t mean he should ferry their gear upstream?’
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I mean about going to the police and helping them put the Tugmans where they belong - on the gallows. My stepfather worked with the police to put an end to Danny Donovan so why can’t Patrick do the same with the Tugmans?’
Mattie looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know about the police, Josie. Our men like to right their own wrongs, you know that.’
‘But at what price?’
Mattie shrugged, then looked down at the baby clothes again. ‘You’re so good with the needle. My wedding dress wouldn’t have . . .’ She stopped, and let her hands fall on her lap. One large tear dropped onto the tiny white-work garment.
‘Oh, Josie, I miss him so much! It’s as if he’s taken my heart to the grave with him,’ she said, her bottom lip trembling as she spoke.
Josie pulled her chair next to Mattie’s and gathered her friend into her arms. Mattie buried her face in her shoulder and sobbed.
‘I lie there each night with his empty place beside me and I wonder how I’m going to get through another day without his cheery whistle as he harnesses the horses or puts on his boots sitting by the fire.’ She lifted her head from Josie’s shoulder. ‘How can something that hurts so much not kill you?’
Josie kissed Mattie’s tear-stained cheek. ‘I don’t know and I don’t want to find out, which is why I urged Patrick to forget about how scores are usually settled and go to the police.’
Mattie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear to see Pat end up like Brian. Oh, Josie, everyone tells me I’m young and I’ll find someone else one day. I know they mean well but there can be no one else for me now. Not after Brian.’
‘I know,’ whispered Josie. And she did. Many a night she’d start awake with a vivid image of Patrick rather than Brian lying in a coffin. She would calm her frantic heart by putting her hand on his chest and feeling his steady breathing and, as the daylight filtered in, she would study every feature of his sleeping face.
As the first few lights appeared in the windows, Patrick flipped his collar up to his ears and pulled his cap down over his face. Keeping to the shadows he quickly opened the yard gate and slipped into the narrow alley at the back of the houses. A dog barked a couple of streets away but then fell silent. Without looking either side of him and with his shoulder scraping the brick wall he headed towards the new police station in Arbour Square.
He had spent three days chewing over Josie’s words and, although it went strongly against the grain, he knew she was right. Still he had to be careful. Ma didn’t just have eyes and ears in the streets, she had them amongst the local police, too.
It was for that reason that he now skulked around in the shadows praying to God that he could get into the station to see Superintendent Jackson before anyone knew what he was doing.
The gaslighter was already setting the lamps ablaze when he passed a couple of drunks stumbling about in Commercial Road. Skirting around them, he continued on towards Turner Street. The old Wapping Police office was nearer but Arbour Square was now H-division headquarters and also where Superintendent Jackson worked.
Dangerous was not even half the word to describe the risk of crossing Ma Tugman in normal circumstances, but with her precious Charlie still paralysed from the blow he’d inflicted, reckless might be a more accurate description of his present plan.
Picking up his pace, he soon reached the front of the new, stone-clad police station then, with a quick look left and right, he slipped through the double doors. The front office had a wooden screen from floor to ceiling with a couple of notices pasted on poster boards. Overall, it resembled a small shop - even down to the polished counter behind which sat a sleepy-looking constable writing up the evening ledger.
With a swift glance around to make sure no one was lurking around who might recognise him and high-tail it back to the Tugmans, Patrick whipped off his cap and went to the desk.
‘I’d like to speak to Superintendent Jackson,’ he said, turning his face as far to the wall as he could.
The sandy-haired officer, who was probably around Patrick’s age, stared at him from under a straight, fair brow.
‘What about?’
‘I have information,’ Patrick replied, in a firm voice.
The officer pursed his lips. ‘This is irregular, sir. I don’t—’
‘Tell him I was there when Danny Donovan was taken,’ Patrick said, holding the officer’s gaze.
At that, the policemen barked an order at a younger constable, who clicked his heels and disappeared into the body of the station.
He pointed to the wooden bench fixed to the wall. ‘You’ll have to wait.’
Although every moment he sat in the front office was a moment closer to Ma getting wind of what he was about, Patrick calmly took a seat.
The clock beat heavy, rhythmic time for several moments before the door to the side of the desk opened and Superintendent Jackson stepped out.
He was much as Patrick remembered him: tall, ferocious and, please God, still straight as an arrow.
Patrick stood up.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Jackson
said, tilting his head to one side. ‘Weren’t you the lad who cracked Danny Donovan across the skull when he tried to murder Mrs O’Casey?’ Jackson clicked his finger. ‘Patrick Nolan, isn’t it?’
Patrick extended his hand. ‘It is.’
The superintendent grinned. ‘I never forget a face. Good to see you, Nolan, after all these years. Went to sea, didn’t you?’
Patrick nodded. ‘I did but I work on the river now to look after my family. We live in Walburgh Street.’
The door to the front office swung open, bringing in an officer holding a swaying drunk.
‘Come,’ Jackson said to Patrick, ‘we’ll find somewhere quieter to talk.’
After walking down several echoey corridors they finally reached the superintendent’s office.
‘Sit, sit,’ Jackson said indicating the chair in front of the desk, and sat himself down opposite. ‘Now, Nolan, what have you got for me?’
It took Patrick half an hour to spell out his plans for dealing with Ma Tugman and, when he’d finished, Jackson let out a long whistle through his teeth.
‘That old sow’s a sharp one, I know that, and what you’ve thought through to catch her is quite impressive, I must say, but’ - the superintendent’s face grew grim - ‘not without considerable risk.’
‘I know,’ Patrick replied firmly, ‘but someone has to step forward. I don’t want my children, or any others for that matter, sucked into her web because no one has the courage to stop her.’
Jackson eyed him for a moment then stood up. He tore open the door. ‘Fetch Sergeant Plant,’ he bellowed down the corridor.
Within a few moments, a puffing Sergeant Plant appeared in the doorway. ‘This is one of the sergeants on the Wapping Beat,’ Jackson told him as Plant regained his breath.
‘We’ve met,’ Patrick said.
Plant acknowledged him with a nod.
‘You’ve been around Wapping for years, haven’t you, Plant?’ Jackson said.
Plant doubled-stepped on the spot. ‘I have kept order in the streets by the river for nigh on fifteen years. First as parish constable, like my father before me, and now as a police officer.’ He gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘I’ve always got my ear to the ground and the villains say I have eyes in the back of me head.’ He pulled his shoulders back, putting considerable strain on the buttons on his uniform jacket.
Jackson slapped the sergeant on the back. ‘Good man. Now, Nolan here has a plan that could put an end to Ma Tugman and her scum.’
Plant smoothed his moustache with his finger. ‘You don’t say.’
‘It must put an end to Ma Tugman, because if she gets wind of it I won’t live long enough to get another crack,’ Patrick replied.
‘What plan would that be then?’ Plant asked.
Jackson waved his hand. ‘Never mind the details.’
‘Of course,’ Plant replied.
‘As soon as I’ve set it in place I’ll give you the nod,’ Patrick said to the superintendent.
‘Good.’ He offered Patrick his hand.
Patrick took it and gripped it firmly. Jackson regarded him for a moment. ‘You were sweet on Mrs O’Casey’s daughter, what was her name?’
‘Josephine,’ Patrick replied, careful to keep his voice an even tone.
‘Whatever happened to her?’ Jackson asked.
‘She went to her family in America with her mother,’ he replied, suddenly conscious of Plant’s eyes on him.
Patrick frantically re-ran the conversation he’d had with Plant in the in the tunnel. Had he given Josie’s full name to Plant? He was sure he hadn’t.
Why did it matter? He couldn’t think it did but somewhere, deep inside him, Patrick’s instinct told him to keep her name and whereabouts to himself.
‘I had better go,’ Patrick said, noting that the gas lights in the corridor were being lit.
Jackson shook his hand again. ‘I’ll get my constable to see you out,’ he said.
‘No need, sir,’ Plant said standing to attention. ‘I’ll let him slip out the back door, discreet like.’ His jolly face turned up in a smile. ‘After all, it wouldn’t do for Ma to rumble what he’s up to until everything is in place.’
Ma Tugman sat in her usual chair beside Charlie and watched the customers in the Boatman supping their ale. The apple of her eye was propped up on his left side by a folded bolster to stop him slipping onto the floor, and clutched a large brandy in his right hand.
In the last four weeks he had made some improvement. Although his left arm still had no feeling and became stiffer each day, he could stand now if someone helped him up and also just about shuffle across the floor without taking a tumble. His speech had slowly come back, although it wasn’t easy to understand him as the left side of his mouth and jaw still dangled loose and drool constantly needed to be wiped from his lips.
Although each day someone pointed out a little something Charlie was doing that he hadn’t done the day before and reassured her that he would soon be back to his old self, Ma wasn’t so sure and, if the truth were told, she didn’t want him to be.
She could play with his hair now and he couldn’t move his head away. She would make a show of cleaning the dinner from his mouth as she used to when he was a child. Even his slack bladder meant he was reliant on her for a change of clothing.
Of course, that didn’t mean she’d forgotten who’d put her son in such a state. Oh no. She was going to make sure Patrick Nolan and his fecking precious family paid for what he’d done to her sweet boy. And that included that whore, Josie O’Casey, who now played wife to him.
She chuckled quietly. That bit of news was carried to her swift enough by those women who’d hoped Nolan would do them the favour he was now doing the O’Casey woman each night.
Harry’s boys were now rampaging through the docks and streets and it was paying off handsomely. Although the police had managed to seize a couple of shiploads last week, she had still shifted more goods than she’d been able to for a few months, thanks to those boatmen who, knowing what was in their best interests, had sneaked back and almost pleaded with her to help them out. It was just as well. With the nobs up west away in the country for the summer, leaving their houses crammed with movables behind, there were a great deal more stolen clocks and jewellery to be shifted out of London.
With the streets coming back in line she could now concentrate on Nolan and make him regret what he’d done to Charlie for the rest of his bog-trotting life.
A smile formed itself on Ma’s lips. She glanced at her son. ‘Quiet tonight, ain’t it, Charlie?’
He grunted and threw the brandy down the back of his throat. He slammed the glass down a couple of times and glared at the girl behind the bar. Ma whipped the rag from her sleeve and patted it on his chin where a small rivulet of the spirit trickled down. He jerked his head away.
‘Now, now,’ she said, continuing with her fussing. ‘We don’t want it all over your nice shirt, do we?’
Charlie banged the glass again but she snatched it from his hand.
‘Better wait awhile, you know,’ she whispered, casting her eyes down to his crotch.
Charlie ground out a series of Fs and Cs as the door swung open and Harry strolled in. He clicked his fingers and the girl at the bar shot over quick as could be with a drink in her hand.
‘There you go, Harry,’ she said, simpering at him.
Ma regarded her through narrowed eyes. She hadn’t given Harry the time of day until Charlie was carried back half dead and now she was all over him, ungrateful slut.
Harry gave the girl a slap on the rump as she turned to go. She giggled and cast an inviting glance at him over her shoulder.
‘Don’t you go too far in case Charlie needs you,’ Ma told her. The girl gave her a resentful look and scurried away.
‘How’s Charlie tonight?’ Harry asked, nodding towards his brother.
Ma folded her arms and tutted. ‘Like you care.’ She waited a few moments before giving a sharp nod. He shuff
led to his feet, caught hold of a chair and sat in front of her.
‘We got two boat loads from the Kittymore and the Pride of Aberdeen and swifted a wagon load of silk from the Gilmore and Sons warehouse. The boys are already storing it,’ he said, giving her a beseeching look.
It was a good haul and no mistake, but it would give them the problem of moving it. The Kittymore carried spirit and, although profitable, the barrels were bulky. She’d already got two crates of silver waiting to be transported to her buyer in Old Pye Street, but she couldn’t complain. She let her smile return.
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 27