‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘We’ll set about parcelling it up—’
The murmuring in the bar stopped and instead of listening to her, everyone was staring open-mouthed at the door.
Ma turned and her mouth, too, dropped open as her eyes fell upon Patrick Nolan standing alone in the middle of her bar.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Patrick ran his gaze slowly around the dingy interior of the Boatman and wondered why anyone, after breaking his back all day for a few pennies, would want to drown his sorrows in a place like this. Even the whores selling themselves for six pennyworth in the alley alongside were a repellent collection of crones. Ma’s pub must be the last stop before the grave, or the pox ward at the London Hospital. With his hands in his pockets, Patrick mentally counted Ma’s men draped over the bar.
Twelve. With a rueful smile to himself, he thought he might just get out alive.
The door swung closed behind him and Patrick looked at Ma. In her shapeless gown and with her swollen ankles she looked more like a vagrant than the head of the most successful criminal outfit on the river, and he wondered in passing where all the money she made went to. Clearly not on her person, judging by the rat-tail hair crammed into a loose knot or the food stains down her front. A brief flash of admiration crossed her face as she looked him up and down. Although his heart pounded in his chest, Patrick gave her his friendliest smile.
‘I heard you wanted a word,’ he said, striding towards her.
Snapper did what was expected of him and growled in Patrick’s direction but didn’t bother to get to his feet. Harry stepped forward and took up the task.
‘Let me slice him, Ma,’ he called over his shoulder, spraying Patrick’s face with spit.
Patrick regarded him coolly. Others now peeled themselves off the bar and gathered behind Harry, jeering and spitting on the floor at Patrick’s feet.
‘Let him pass,’ Ma called out.
Harry balled his hands into fists and jerked towards Patrick a couple of times before he stood aside.
Patrick stepped forward and Ma gave a hard laugh. ‘You’ve got some balls strolling in here after what you’ve done,’ she said. Her fingers clawed around Charlie’s arm. ‘Look at my poor boy.’
Patrick did. Charlie glared at him out of his good eye but the left side of his face slid downwards like a wax candle left in the window on a hot day. His left leg seemed well enough although the foot was turned out at an odd angle, and his left arm had already contracted up. One of the crew on the Seahorse had fallen from the mast and lost the use of one side of his body as Charlie had. By the time they’d reached port his arm was fixed to his side as if it had been nailed there. By the way Charlie’s left fist was clenched, it was clear his arm was heading in the same direction.
‘I see him well enough. But what you can’t see is what your Harry did to my sister’s husband because now he’s in his grave.’
The drinkers in the bar began sliding towards the door to avoid being caught in the blood bath that was beginning to seem inevitable.
Patrick shrugged. ‘I came to talk business, but if you just want to go over who’s done what to who, then I might as well go.’ And with that, his hands still in his pockets, Patrick turned to leave. But, for all his studied nonchalance, he could almost feel the sting of a blade on his windpipe, and the hair on the nape of his neck pricked up.
Like all predators, the Tugmans could smell fear. He had to hold his nerve and with slow deliberation he sauntered to the door.
‘Business is it?’ Ma’s voice called after him.
Patrick turned slowly, the relief swelling in his chest almost painful.
‘What sort of business?’ she asked, leaving off pawing Charlie’s arm.
‘The sort that will profit us both.’
Harry began to speak but Ma shot him a look so sharp it could have cut a diamond.
Patrick put on his artless grin again. ‘See, me and the boys have something you want - boats - but up till now some of us have been working with you and not been getting our fair share, so to speak.’
‘They get paid enough, why should I pay them more?’
‘Because the police are on your tail and they’ve been capturing more boats each day. If they go on at this rate you won’t be able to move the stuff you’ve got stashed around the area and you know it.’
Ma’s watery blue eyes fixed on him. ‘Why should I cut you in?’
‘Because without me you’ll be finished in a month. I have the boats you need, but not for the few pennies you pay.’
‘And what’s brought about this change in the wind?’
‘I have responsibilities.’
Ma let out a long cackle and rocked backwards. ‘You mean the O’Casey woman you’re fecking,’ she said. The men beside her snorted and Ma ran her eyes slowly over him. ‘You must be a bit of a he-goat, Nolan, to tempt a bit of quality skirt like that to warm your bed, and without a wedding band.’ Her tongue traced along her thin lips. Patrick’s skin scrawled.
‘Does your wife know?’ Harry called out, and the men around him sniggered. Even Charlie’s lopsided mouth lifted on the mobile side, and, though Ma laughed too, her rheumy eyes never left Patrick’s face.
He held back his fury. He’d known Josie’s name would come up but it didn’t make it easier to hear it on Ma’s filthy lips. She studied him for a moment then clicked her fingers. Harry sprang forward, as did the man behind Charlie. Before he could move they grabbed him, shoved both arms up his back and pushed him onto his knees in front of her.
‘Feck you, Nolan,’ Harry snarled in his ear.
The blood pounded in Patrick’s brain as an image of Josie shot into his mind. It looked as if the nightmare that woke her up sobbing was about to come true and her next sight of him would be lying on a cold slab at the coroner’s.
Ma fished around in the folds of her ragged skirt and pulled out a short-barrelled pistol. With slow deliberation she turned it in her hands and pointed it at him.
‘My Charlie loves his old ma, don’t you, son,’ she asked.
Charlie grunted something and a simpering expression lit her face. ‘Nice bit of workmanship on this one, see?’ She fingered the fine tracing on the lock mechanism. ‘And not just any old pistol but, as you can see, I get two goes at hitting my target.’
Patrick stared briefly down the double barrels of the gun as Ma pressed them to his forehead.
Images of Josie, Annie and Mickey flashed through his mind as the cold metal dug into his skin.
‘I’ve been practising in the yard on some old bottles and I’m missing more than not but,’ she clicked both firing locks back, ‘I guess my aim would be true enough this close.’
Sweat sprang out along the length of Patrick’s spine and for one awful moment he felt his nerve waver. Clenching his jaws together until his teeth grated, he gave Ma as cool a look as he could muster under the circumstances.
‘Now that’s no way to treat someone trying to do you a bit of good,’ he said, praying that his voice didn’t betray the terror thundering through him.
The barrels moved between his eyebrows. If he reacted he was dead, so he conjured up an image of Josie sewing by the fire, forcing his mind to focus on that and not on Ma’s swollen old finger resting on the trigger.
‘Is there some reason why I shouldn’t just pull the trigger and splatter you brains across the far wall, Nolan?’ she asked, in a conversational tone.
‘Because if I’m not sinking a pint in the Town by half-nine every Irishman on this river front will be down here. There’ll not be a man alive when they leave.’
There was an agonising pause when, for one alarming moment his panic nearly overwhelmed him, then Ma uncocked the gun and slipped it back in her pocket. She nodded. Patrick was released instantly. He stood, hardly believing he was still alive and, suppressing the urge to run from the pub, he gave her a hard look.
‘I’ll send you word,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk money then.’
What could have been a smile curled its way over Ma’s lips. She nodded. ‘Next week.’
‘I’ll need two days’ notice,’ Patrick said, as the sweat rolled down the centre of his back and soaked though the shirt under his jacket. He was still having trouble believing she’d taken the bait.
‘You fecking well have got some balls on you, Nolan, and that’s a fact,’ she said, with grudging admiration.
Patrick pulled the lapels of his jacket down hard and nodded. As slowly as he could he strolled back to the door and left as casually, and purposefully, as he could.
He sauntered along the alley, turned into Narrow Street and continued west. After a few more paces he ducked into the shadows of a doorway and waited as people passed along the street. He remained hidden in the doorway until he was certain that none of Ma’s knife men had followed him, then he leant back, shut his eyes and did something he hadn’t done for a very long time: recited Hail Mary Mother of God in its entirety then crossed his forehead, lips and heart.
Josie started awake with her hand outstretched to the empty space beside her. Rolling over and looking around, she saw Patrick standing motionless at the window, one arm resting on top of the window frame as he stared out towards the river.
Although the threat of the Tugmans still hung over their heads, up until a week ago Patrick had been more or less his usual contented self, but Josie had noticed that he’d become preoccupied over the last few days. She had also caught him several times watching her and the children with a troubled expression on his face.
At first she thought Patrick’s change of mood might have been because he’d noticed that she’d been queasy for the last couple of mornings, but when she mentioned making Mattie some more baby clothes as a way of broaching the subject, he’d just smiled mildly. Most telling had been the passionate, almost frantic way he’d made love to her recently. There was clearly something wrong, and she wasn’t going to be put off getting to the root of the matter by allowing him to tell her that she was just being fanciful.
She sat up, gathering the sheet around her. Patrick looked around and his eyes rested on her bare shoulders. The hard lines of his mouth softened.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful you are,’ he said, his dark eyes renewing the excitement in the pit of her stomach.
‘What’s wrong, Patrick?’
He looked back at the river. ‘I’ve been to the police.’
Thank God for that, Josie thought, but said, ‘It’s the only way,’ and smiled at him. ‘All they need is the evidence.’
‘I agree,’ he said, giving her an odd look then striding across the floorboards to sit on the edge of the bed. Taking her delicate hand in his large, work-calloused one he smoothed over the palm and the tips of her fingers. A shiver ran up Josie’s arm as he kissed it lightly.
‘Last Tuesday I went to the Boatman to see Ma Tugman,’ he said, capturing her gaze with his own.
‘Alone?’
He nodded.
No wonder he’d been pensive, Josie thought. He’d probably been trying to make sense of how he’d been allowed to walk out of that drinking hole alive.
‘I told them that, because of Brian’s death and the number of damaged boats, the boatmen in the association have had second thoughts about carrying her stolen goods,’ Patrick continued in a calm voice.
‘Have they?’ she asked, running her hand up his forearm and disturbing the smooth hair just to assure herself that he was still whole.
The corners of Patrick mouth lifted and he kissed her hand again. ‘Not a bit of it. If anything they are even more determined to stand against her.’
‘Then—’
‘I told Ma we would help her out but we wanted more money.’ He slid his arm around her. ‘And that I would take the first shipment as a show of good faith. I plan to find out everything I can, then give the information to the police so that they can catch Ma and her thugs. Handling stolen goods carries the sentence of transportation, but only if there’s enough evidence to link the Tugmans to the crime, and not some poor bargeman.’
‘You don’t actually trust her, do you?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Of course not. She’s only biding her time until she can pay me back for Charlie,’ he said, kissing her hair. ‘But I’m going to set her up before that can happen.’
Josie braced her hand on his chest. ‘No, Patrick! No!’
‘Shhh, sweet, you’ll wake the children.’ He tried to gather her back to him but Josie held him off.
‘Maybe when you see them you’ll realise what a stupid idea this is.’
A determined expression set on his face. ‘It’s the only way, Josie. You said so yourself.’
She grasped his upper arms. ‘I said to tell the police, not to act as bait.’
Patrick was resolute. ‘Trust me, Josie. I know what I’m about.’
It was only just early morning, probably no more than five o’clock, but already her stomach felt unsettled. She wasn’t yet certain that she was carrying his child but thought perhaps she should tell him as a way of dissuading him from his course. She studied his face, noting every small detail, including his unwavering gaze. She raised her hand and traced her finger along his cheekbone. ‘Of course I trust you.’
He slid his arms around her, drew her to him and then rolled her on her back, covering her mouth with his to end further discussion.
She knew that if she told him her suspicions about her condition it wouldn’t change his mind - indeed it would only add to his burdens. So she gave herself up to the pleasure of Patrick’s hands and lips and tried to blot out the sense of foreboding that had suddenly coiled itself deep within her chest.
Having seen Annie and Mickey to bed, Patrick waited an hour or so for the surrounding streets to fall silent before he slipped out of the house.
Once Josie had said her piece on the morning he’d told her of his plans, she hadn’t tried to dissuade him again. For that he was truly thankful.
He had qualms enough without having to argue and talk the whole thing over with her every time they were alone. He smiled to himself - Talk? The last thing they did when they were alone was talk!
From the first time they had lain together, Josie had responded to his lovemaking in a way he could never even have dreamed of, but since the morning he’d explained how he was going to rid the area of the Tugmans they had made love as if judgement day was coming. Hopefully it was - for Ma.
His big gamble was that Ma’s need to get her goods shifted would override her desire to pay him back in kind for Charlie. So far her greed seemed to have the upper hand, but he had to set the trap swiftly before she changed her mind and the police found his gutted corpse floating face down in the Thames.
Although the new police force, with its headquarters in Scotland Yard, was concerned with more than just theft from the docks, the tradition of telling them absolutely nothing was deep-rooted in people’s minds. But Patrick knew it couldn’t continue and was now prepared to defy the custom.
The constable stopped scratching the quill across the open book and looked up.
‘We haven’t had any women brought in yet,’ he informed Patrick from beneath his fair moustache.
‘Women?’
The constable gave Patrick a pitiable look. ‘You’re looking for your old lady and I’m telling you there’s none in the cells.’ He waved the pen towards the front door. ‘Come back later, when the pubs are chucking out.’ He went back to his task.
‘I’ve come to speak to Superintendent Jackson,’ Patrick said in a firm voice.
The officer looked up and raised his eyebrows. ‘What about?’
‘Is he here?’ persisted Patrick, in as calm a voice as he could manage. ‘It’s important that I see him.’
Important wasn’t the word; vital was. He hadn’t heard from Ma all week
and was beginning to doubt if she was actually going to take the bait until late this afternoon when she’d sent word that the cargo would be ready tomorrow. This left him precious little time, but if he tried to stall Ma, she would smell a rat and his swim in the Thames would surely follow.
Chewing his lips, the constable behind the desk regarded Patrick thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Superintendent Jackson isn’t on duty until tomorrow morning.’
This was a fine fecking kettle of fish. Patrick mentally ran through his options.
It was common knowledge that Ma had a couple of rotten peelers in her pocket but Patrick couldn’t be sure who they might be. The constable keeping the front door could be honest, but equally it could be that if Patrick told him about Ma’s shipment he would send word straight to her.
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 28