Ill Will

by Michael Stewart

  Back at the Gallows, I bought us both pewter tankards and we found a free table close to where three men were playing cards. The ale was sour but it was a refreshment of sorts. I was getting used to its bitter brew, but only as a means of quenching my thirst. A man was standing by the fireplace, his head on the mantel. He was insensible with beer. I watched him roll his temple on the stone ledge and groan. I saw him drool onto the floor. How I despised him. How I despised people. They were weak. They were fools.

  As I raised my tankard to my lips I noticed that it had a glass bottom.

  ‘Weird,’ I said, holding mine up so the light shone through it.

  ‘It’s so you can see if you’ve been conscripted. If there’s a shilling in it you can refuse the drink,’ Emily said. ‘That’s what my dad said, anyway, but I never really believed him. I mean, why would they bother? If the navy want to conscript, they can do it by force.’

  She had a point.

  The man leaning his head on the mantle groaned again. I turned to the players’ table and watched the men sport. It was a game I wasn’t familiar with. I asked one of them what the game was and he said it was called gleek. I studied it closely. The men exchanged cards, with a view to gaining a flush. This was the ‘gleek’ the game got its name from, and consisted of three of a kind or mournival, which was four of a kind. This was followed by a round of trick-play. Different cards were attributed different points, so that an ace was worth fifteen but a king only three. The cards were given names, such as tib, tom and tumbler. There were four parts to the game: the draw, where players bid for the right to draw card replacements in the hope of improving their hand; vying the ruff, where the players vie as to who has the best ruff; gleeks and mournivals; and finally tricks. There were twelve different tricks played.

  Lots of money changed hands as the men played and I became fascinated by it. I watched game after game until I felt as though I was beginning to understand it.

  ‘See, Emily,’ I said, ‘the dealer deals twelve cards each face down, in three batches of four.’

  ‘I know how to play it,’ she said. ‘I used to play it all the time with my father. If the turn-up is a tiddy the dealer receives fourpence from each player. He gets fivepence for a towser and sixpence for a tumbler. That’s where he went wrong.’ She pointed to the loser, when he lost sixpence. ‘He shouldn’t have vied the ruff.’

  The man who seemed to be doing most of the winning came over to our table.

  ‘You both seem keen,’ he said. ‘Do you want a game?’

  ‘Not just now,’ I said. ‘But thanks – another time, I’m sure.’

  When the men had finished and returned the deck to the innkeeper I requested it for our use. I played Emily several games, she coming out the winner in each instance. It hurt my pride to lose to so young a player, but it was a necessary pain. It was made worse by her continual gloating every time she won. Still, we carried on playing. I was determined to improve my luck. When Emily pocketed the deck at the end of our game, this time I turned a blind eye.

  The next day we found a cemetery on the east side of town. Despite our improved attire we still suffered the usual rejections, but we did manage to persuade a dapper fellow by the name of Mr Jeffrey.

  I cast my mind back to a crumbling headstone in Manchester, its markings weathered by a century of age, and introduced myself as Abel Adams. Emily was my adopted sister, Mabel.

  ‘Abel and Mabel Adams. Your parents clearly had a sense of humour.’ The man smiled.

  ‘Indeed they did, sir.’

  He allowed Emily to summon his loved one, his dear wife who had passed away not two months since. But here our luck was to run out.

  ‘It’s me, my love. How I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Do my ears deceive me?’ He staggered backwards, almost falling over. I rescued him from falling.

  ‘It is she,’ I said. ‘My sister is no longer here.’

  ‘Remarkable. I have thought of nothing else and no one, since you departed,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, my sweetness. How I love you still.’

  ‘I have prayed to God to look after you.’

  ‘God is protecting me here. Do not fear. But it gets lonely without you.’

  ‘I can’t sleep in our bed by myself. The bed feels too big without your warmth.’

  ‘Oh, Jeffrey, my one sweet love.’

  ‘What did she say?’ he said, turning to me. ‘My name is Thomas, not Jeffrey. Jeffrey is my family name. My wife never called me Jeffrey in her life. What cheap trick is this?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, sometimes the dead are changed in death. It can be terrible hard to confront a loved one in such a changed state. Such a shock to the system.’

  ‘Nonsense. You are both nothing but confidence tricksters. I don’t believe a word. I’ll have you arrested. I’ll report you to the beadle. Exploiting people in this manner. It’s a disgrace!’

  I tried to calm the man down, but he just became more agitated. He started shouting at the top of his voice. ‘Police! Over here! Police!’

  I grabbed hold of Emily and we ran down the path and out of the walled garden. We sprinted up the street, making our way across the town. We ducked into a doorway to catch our breath.

  ‘It’s a trick, isn’t it? You lying bitch!’

  ‘It doesn’t work every time,’ Emily said, holding her sides.

  ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

  ‘It’s you. It’s your fault. Putting me under pressure.’

  I’d been well and truly duped, Cathy, by this wily infant.

  ‘Well, that’s the end of that,’ I said. ‘And we’ll have to keep our heads down.’

  We looked about us. The coast seemed to be clear. We carried on our way. Protected by the crowd. As we walked I reflected. Inwardly I was deeply agitated. I clung onto the possibility that in fact Emily had been possessed by my mother – that she had been honest in saying it didn’t work every time. But the more I thought it through, the more I was convinced of the falseness of her spiritual possession.

  ‘Tell the truth,’ I said. ‘It’s a trick, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘No, you didn’t. I had you hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘You little devil. It’s a bloody good trick though.’

  I laughed bitterly. Inside my mind was a muddle.

  ‘You did have me fooled. You’re right.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Anyway, what are we going to do now? That was our only means of income.’

  ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Emily said. ‘We’ve plenty of money still.’

  I tried to rationalise my emotions. It was time to find some work on the docks, in any case. And I put this proposition to Emily.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘It’s the perfect place to snoop about. If Edward Cubbitt is nowhere to be found, no matter, there are plenty of other people in this town.’

  As we walked down Chapel Street I reflected more on Emily’s trick. So, my mother hadn’t spoken through Emily. She hadn’t died on a ship after all. But perhaps she had died in some other way. Maybe she was here in Liverpool. She could even be working on the docks for all I knew. My mind raced with the possibility. There was a chance, albeit a slim one, that I would be united with her again. I wouldn’t give up. I was more determined than ever to find the truth, regardless of the cost.

  We found Enoch Cotton by the largest of the three cranes, hauling a barrel with the windlass.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘any luck with the gaffer?’

  ‘My word, you’ve smartened yourselves up,’ he said, looking us over. ‘As it happens, there are a couple of vacancies. We need a dock hand. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Bobby.’

  ‘And your sister?’

  ‘April.’

  ‘Well, I tell you how it is, right, you see that office up them steps?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s the gaffer’s headq
uarters. His name is Pierce Hardwar. You go up to his office and say I sent you.’

  The office was at the top of the stairs. I took Emily with me. The door was closed so I knocked twice. I heard a voice from inside beckon us in. I explained that Enoch had sent us.

  ‘Brother and sister, eh? You don’t look much like blood.’

  ‘I’m adopted,’ I said. ‘April’s parents took me in.’

  ‘A sooty, eh. Well, I don’t mind that. Got lots of sooties on my books. Lascars, niggers, Turks. Good workers. Plenty of strength and stamina.’

  ‘What about my sister – do you have work for her?’

  He turned to Emily. ‘I dare say we can find something for a pretty little girl to do.’

  He smiled a crooked smile and peered over his spectacles, the way a crow eyes a caterpillar.

  ‘What sort of labour are you used to then?’ He leered at Emily.

  ‘I’ve done all sorts in my time,’ she said. ‘Farm work, mine work, and the like.’

  ‘You can work for me,’ he said. ‘I’ve spare.’

  We were taken on that morning and set to work. My job was as a dock hand, loading and unloading cargo mainly. Shifting and lugging. Emily’s work was less defined. Gofer and sweeper-upper. The wages were poor, Emily’s not being enough to even feed herself; the object, however, was not to become rich, but to gain knowledge. I wanted to find out more about dock life, to discover who, if anyone, knew Mr Earnshaw. My plan was to find out who I was. I worked alongside Enoch, soon becoming tired of his conversation.

  ‘I’ll tell you how it is – my wife, she’s not too good. She’s taken to her bed. Can’t get out. Doctors don’t know what it is. She’s a mystery to every physician in the land. Lucky my two daughters are old enough to look after themselves. I’m not kiddin’, I don’t know what I’d do without them. They cook the evening meal, do all the cleaning and the laundry, this and that.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  We were unloading a medium-sized dragoon by the name of Lord Rochester.

  ‘That’s how it is. I come home from here and there’s generally a hot meal waiting for me. Been married to the wife now fourteen year. Oldest girl is fifteen, youngest is thirteen. They’re young women, you know what I mean. Got boys sniffing round them like dogs round a bitch in heat. I’ll tell you how it is. I’m not kiddin’, if I find out they’ve done something, I’ll knock ’em into next week.’

  Most of the time I was able to ignore what he was saying. It wasn’t conversation. He didn’t ask me any questions. All I had to do was nod from time to time. I got the impression that whether I had been there or not, he would have nattered on regardless. He would have talked to a gull or even a barrel.

  ‘Don’t say much, do you? I like that. I’m not one for idle chit-chat either. Some folk don’t know when to shut up, I’m not kiddin’.’

  I helped him hook a box of indigo to the rope of the crane.

  ‘How well do you know Edward Cubbitt?’

  ‘As well as any do round here. Worked these docks over eight year now. Edward’s one of the oldest workers. Must be in his fifties. Thought he’d given up his sea legs. Plenty of life in the old dog yet, eh. What did you say you wanted him for, any road?’

  ‘I want to talk to him.’

  ‘Be careful with that,’ he said as I dropped the rope and the block swung towards him, nearly missing the side of his head. ‘Crack someone’s skull, one of these,’ he said, taking hold of the block so that it stopped swinging. ‘What do you want to talk to him about, any road?’

  ‘A Mr Earnshaw.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘You won’t have. He came here nine years ago. He found me on the street. Brought me to his home. Brought me up as one of his own. He died a few years ago.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of other blokes go back that far. You could start with the gaffer, old Mr Hardwar, goes back at least twenty year. There’s Jack Lancaster too, works in the Customs House, goes back twenty year an’ all. I’ll tell you how it is, there’s no shortage of old-timers here. As for strange men and orphan boys, there’s plenty of them too.’

  After the shift had finished, I waited for Emily to return from an errand, delivering a note to someone at George’s Dock, then we walked over to the Customs House. Enoch had given me a good description of Jack Lancaster. Tall man with a stoop and a mop of curly blond hair. In his forties. We went over to the Harbour Board offices and to the Customs House. The office door was open. I peered in and saw a man by the description Enoch had provided sitting behind a table. We waited by the harbour for him to finish work. Near to these buildings was a big slate with the names of ships coming into the docks: the St Inez, the Carnatic, the Fortune, the Lottery, the Enterprise; next to these, the time of the tide, what time they were coming in, and what dock the ship was going to.

  Eventually the gentleman who fitted the description of Jack Lancaster left the building and locked the door behind him. The rest of the workers had already gone home, or gone to one of the many alehouses thereabouts. He walked slowly and we were careful to keep our distance as we followed him up the lane. We saw, on the corner of Dexter Street and St James Place, a number of small children huddled together on the step of a public house. They were barefooted and had scarcely enough clothing to cover their nakedness. They were weeping. None of the passers-by took notice. We watched as this Jack Lancaster approached the children. He dug deep into his pockets and poured pennies into their hands. So grateful were they that they commenced weeping again, but this time tears of joy. So this Jack Lancaster was a bit of a soft touch. Good.

  We carried on up the street with the silhouette of Jack Lancaster in the distance. We speeded up, closing the gap but careful to retain enough space between us so as not to arouse suspicion. Eventually we saw him enter a tavern. A few moments later we were outside ourselves.

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s each play our parts. Leave all the talking to me.’

  Inside it was dark, there being only one small window at the far side of the bar. There was a billiard table that had two gentlemen around it, playing a game. I saw Jack Lancaster at the bar counter ordering a drink. He sat down in the corner with his tankard. We got served and walked over to his table.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘I’m Robert Dyer, and this is my sister, April. We work in the Old Dock. Just started today, as it happens. I recognised your face just now. You work thereabouts too, don’t you?’

  We sat down at his table. He looked perturbed.

  ‘I’m waiting for a friend,’ he said. ‘I’m not being rude but that seat is taken.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Emily said, ‘we’re not stopping.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘should your friend arrive, we’ll gladly exchange seats. Anyway, like I was saying, I wouldn’t bother you, it’s just you looked familiar and with us just starting work . . . We’re new to the area.’

  ‘We don’t know anyone,’ Emily said.

  ‘I do work near the Old Dock, as a matter of fact. The Customs House,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, right, yes. That must be where I’ve seen you. Seems like a good place to work.’

  ‘It’s not bad. Not as good as it used to be, back in the day.’

  He took out a tin of snuff and pinched some onto the back of his hand. He snorted two lines, one up each nostril.

  ‘Do either of you partake?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks. Nor my sister. You worked there a long time then?’

  ‘Twenty year.’

  ‘Perhaps you can help us,’ I said.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We’re trying to trace someone. Our father. He’s gone missing. He came here nine years ago and we wondered if he’d been seen since.’

  Jack Lancaster laughed. ‘Nine year, you must be joking. I can’t remember what I did last week, let alone a man from nine year back.’

  ‘He was called Mr Earnshaw.’

  �
�Nope, name doesn’t ring a bell.’

  He shook his head vigorously. He looked furtively around the room. I described his appearance.

  ‘I can think of half a dozen chaps look like that,’ he said.

  He scratched the end of his nose.

  ‘He was from Yorkshire. Near a place called Keighley.’

  ‘People from all four corners of the world come to Liverpool. There’s nothing remarkable about that.’

  He scanned the room again and fiddled with his collar.

  ‘I miss my dad,’ Emily said. ‘If I could just see him one more time.’

  She looked at the man with doleful eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help. Lots of men come and go. Then there’s men like me that stick around. I sometimes think I should have moved on when I had the chance. It’s too late for me now.’

  ‘Please help us,’ Emily whispered. She looked up at Jack mournfully.

  ‘I’ve told you. I don’t know your father.’

  Emily’s bottom lip trembled. Her eyes welled up. She held onto Jack’s sleeve. Jack looked around awkwardly. The clock on the wall ticked. Emily tightened her grip and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘Please, sir,’ she pleaded.

  Jack looked around the room cautiously, then, shuffling up closer, he said in a low voice, ‘Listen, there was a man by the name of Mr Earnshaw back in the day.’

  ‘Where was he from?’

  ‘I suppose he could have been from Yorkshire. He had some business arrangement with Jonas Bold.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Who’s Jonas Bold?!’ The man looked scared for a moment. He glanced around the room again. ‘A very powerful man. Even got a bloody street named after him. Owns half the town. And then some. Owns an iron foundry, a sugar refinery, two distilleries. Lots of fingers in lots of pies. Bit of a do-gooder these days. He set up a dispensary a few years ago to provide free medicines for the poor. Never stops nattering on about it. Gets on your nerves. There’s them that do good and them that like to be seen to be doing good.’