‘North… to the dockyards. Or maybe Southampton.’ He smiled down on her, squeezing her hands then pulling her to him in one last embrace, gently rocking her as a mother might rock her child. ‘You’ll know where I am soon enough, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it. Every step I take… wherever I lay my head… you’ll know.’ Loath to let her go, he held her a moment longer.
‘When will you go?’
‘In the morning. Perhaps even this very night. Now that it’s decided, there’s no point in delaying.’
‘God go with you,’ she murmured, dark liquid eyes staring up at him.
‘Wait for me, Beth… I’ll be back.’
Her quiet smile made his heart ache. ‘I know,’ she said softly, ‘I know you will. Just as you know I’ll be here, waiting.’
As they parted – Beth going into the house that would seem like a prison for her for every moment he was gone, and he climbing into the carriage that would take him away from her – how could they possibly know that the cruel hand of Fate would shatter the vows they had so lovingly made?
* * *
Tyler could not sleep. Beth was still too warm in his arms, too vivid in his memory. For what seemed an age, but was in fact only minutes, he had lain on his bed, arms folded beneath his head and his eyes closed against the intrusive candlelight, his tortured mind reliving every moment with his love.
Restless and uncertain, he swung himself from the bed and went to the mantelpiece where he stretched out his arms, gripping either end of the cold marble slab and bending his head forward, groaning at the images that would not leave him be. Dropping his troubled gaze to the grey lifeless ashes in the grate, he suffered his first real doubts. How could he leave her? The thought filled him with such despair that it spilled from his lips in an agonised prayer. ‘Dear God! How can I leave her?’ The struggle within him was fierce, and yet he knew there was only one answer. If there was ever to be a future for him and Beth, then he had no choice. He must leave! A tide of anger rose in him.
But then he made himself look forward. He was young, not yet thirty, his back was broad and strong, and he had a mind that was quick to adapt. Since leaving the orphanage he had learned many things; not least of which was the art of survival. And, as Beth had so rightly pointed out, he knew the construction industry inside out. In his earlier days he had been blooded in the labour of a dockworker. He had been a mudlark, a street-trader, an undertaker’s boy, and a thief. He knew all the tricks and had risen above his beggarly beginnings. He could do so again. For Beth’s sake, he could do so again! In that moment, he saw the brooch glittering in the candlelight. Beth’s brooch. He reached out and took it between his fingers, a smile lifting his features, and her love warming his heart. For a long poignant moment, he held the brooch close, his sea-green eyes dark and moist, ‘I’ll make well, Beth,’ he murmured. ‘And I’ll be back for you. As God’s my judge, I’ll be back for you!’
The quiet knock on the door startled him. He glanced at the small clock by his bed. It was gone midnight. Disturbed, he went to the door, ‘Who’s there?’ he said quietly.
‘It’s me… Annie.’
‘Annie!’ At once he remembered how she and her mother had brought him through the worst of his fever. ‘What do you want?’ he asked in a whisper. ‘Is there trouble. Is it your mother?’
‘No. But I must talk with you. Please, Tyler. I won’t stay long. I know it’s late.’ Her voice rang with urgency.
‘Ssh… you’ll wake the whole house,’ he warned. ‘Can’t it wait ’til morning?’
‘NO! Please, open the door. I must talk with you.’
‘Just a minute.’ He glanced round the room. On coming in he had taken his valise from the wardrobe and placed it at the foot of the bed. He had actually begun to pack a few things, but then abandoned the idea. It seemed too final somehow. Now he went to the bed and grabbed the valise, hurriedly stuffing it back into the wardrobe. Explaining his departure was a matter best left for the morning.
On returning to the door, he opened it just wide enough to admit her. ‘What’s wrong, Annie?’ he asked in a concerned voice, before softly closing the door as she came into the room. When he turned, he was astonished to see that she was wearing only a long cotton dressing-robe, the flimsy nightgown clearly visible beneath. And beneath that, her firm round breasts, the dark nipples pushing up beneath the soft material. Strolling to the fireplace, she stretched one long slim arm across the mantelpiece and draped herself seductively, letting her dressing robe fall open to reveal every curve and shadow of her body. ‘I saw you come in,’ she said softly. ‘You looked so lonely I thought you might be glad of some feminine company.’
At once, and realising what a bloody fool he’d been to let her in, Tyler strode across the room, his voice deliberately low as he told her, ‘I think you’d best leave, Annie.’ Her answer was to turn her head and gently laugh. It was then she saw the brooch. Her fingers closed over it. The smile fell from her face as she came towards him, one hand reaching out to where his chest was bared at the neck of his shirt. Slim groping fingers touched the frayed bandage there. ‘Do you think I haven’t seen you naked?’ she asked with a meaningful look. ‘My mother let me bathe you… touch you.’ The last two words were murmured like a kiss, her eyes narrowed with passion. When she saw that he was unmoved, something snapped inside her. For too long she had dreamed of lying in his bed, enfolded in his strong arms, their nakedness merging. Tonight she had thought to try for his love, and if he had given it, she would have let nothing come between them… not even the silver-haired man who had promised her a handsome reward for certain ‘services rendered’. Now though, seeing the disgust written on Tyler’s face, she knew that they had been only pipe-dreams. Tyler Blacklock could never bring himself to take her in his arms. Passion drained from her and in its place came a black hatred. ‘Ah… so I’m not as good as your precious “lady”, is that it, eh?’ The sneer disfigured her bold beauty. ‘You think I’m not grand enough for the likes of Tyler Blacklock, eh?’
Jerking her head back to laugh, she fell against him, her breath fanning his face, the smell of whisky strong. ‘Look at me!’ she cried, fighting him like a wild tiger as she tore away her dressing robe and began ripping her nightgown from the neck down. ‘I’ve been with men before… I know what’s wanted. Don’t you like what you see? Don’t you want to stroke me… do what you like with me, I don’t care! Elizabeth Ward would never give herself to you like that, would she, eh?’ she taunted. When he flung open the door, she lashed out blindly, her sharp nails scoring the side of his face and bringing blood. When it trickled down his neck, she laughed hysterically, reaching out to lick it with her tongue.
Incensed, he grabbed her arm, his face set like granite as he propelled her roughly through the door. ‘You’ve said enough, you little fool!’ His voice was low, yet laced with fury. ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’
As he thrust her on to the landing, he was shocked to the core when she began screaming and crying, lashing out at him and shredding the nightgown off her own back, her shrill voice piercing the sleeping quiet of the house. Suddenly, all hell was let loose. Doors banging, people shouting, running footsteps converging from all directions.
‘You bastard!’ Tom Singleton was a docker, a huge ape of a man. From the first day he had arrived here, he’d set his cap at Annie, and she had never repulsed his advances. In fact, there was many a dark night when she had sneaked into his room and satisfied his every need. But then, when Tyler took her fancy, Tom Singleton was given the cold shoulder. He took it badly, and now he saw the reason… Tyler Blacklock! When he swung his fist, Tyler was ready. Blocking the oncoming punch with his forearm, he tried to reason. ‘I’ve done nothing, you bloody fool!’ he yelled. But there was no placating the man. Dismissing Tyler’s protests, he launched into him, egged on by the shouts of the other lodger and Florence Ball, who was cradling the half-naked girl and screaming for Singleton to: ‘Floor the bleeder!’
Realising that the
man had no intention of hearing his side of it, intent instead on giving him a real hiding, Tyler saw that he had no choice but to defend himself. He took the man on, and in spite of his bad arm, gave as good as he got.
The fight was fierce, with blood flowing on both sides, the sound of crunching fists almost drowned by the shouts of those who watched, Florence having deserted the ‘sobbing’ girl to enact her own particular fight by flailing her fat bunched fists in the air, all the while yelling, ‘Garn, yer bugger! Yer dirty sod… ain’t one woman enough fer yer?’ When Tyler rammed the big fellow against the door, she forgot whose side she was on, and began jumping up and down with glee. Her enthusiasm quickly subsided however when Singleton went down, with Tyler standing over him, bloody but triumphant.
It was then that the other lodger stepped forward. It seemed he had been ready for such an outcome, because now he raised his arm to show the glistening blade clutched in his thick grubby fingers. ‘Come on then, matey,’ he growled, spreading his legs and holding out both arms in a defensive stance. ‘Show me what yer made of.’
He could see that Tyler was badly hurt. The blood was pouring from a gash on his forehead, and there was a crimson stain spreading through his shirt from the old wounds beneath; his face was bruised and he was unsteady on his legs. But he stood his ground and faced the man, at the same time ripping off his shirt and wrapping it thickly round his arm, which he then raised to his face as the man began to move in, jabbing the knife before him, a sadistic leer on his unshaven face.
‘NO!’ Florence lunged forward, grabbing the lodger’s arm. ‘There’ll be no murder done ’ere. Don’t want no bobbies knockin’ on my door,’ she screeched, pulling him away. Grudgingly, the man backed off. With a dark scowl at Tyler and the snarled threat: ‘We ain’t done yet, matey!’ he tended to Singleton, who was led away groaning, his legs buckling beneath him.
‘I want you out!’ Florence turned on Tyler. ‘Yer ain’t worth the bleedin’ trouble!’ When he turned away, she swung round on the girl. ‘And as fer you,’ she shouted, slamming the flat of her hand into the girl’s face, ‘yer deserve all yer get. What the ’ell d’yer think yer doing… wanderin’ ’alf naked round the bleedin’ ’ouse at all hours o’ the night?’ As she pushed her away she could be heard threatening all manner of retribution. ‘I named yer right, that’s fer sure… “Fanny” got your old mammy in trouble, and it’s “Fanny” that’ll get you in trouble, or my name’s not Florence bleedin’ Ball!’
Every word was accompanied by the sound of a fresh slap and the occasional tearful protest. ‘Leave me alone, you silly old cow! I tell you, it weren’t my fault.’ However, once inside the scullery the two women collapsed into each other’s arms, shaking with laughter but checking the sound for fear they might be overheard.
Inside the privacy of his room, Tyler laid out the soap and towel, then filled the bowl with cold water from the jug. Next he stripped the bandage from his shoulder and chest, wincing with pain as the frayed cloth stuck to the newly opened wounds. Gently he dabbed cool soothing water over the erupted skin, until the flow of blood slowed to a trickle. When at length it began to congeal and seal the wound, he washed his upper body and splashed his face with the cold water; afterwards drying himself, combing his thick black hair into some semblance of order, and putting on a clean shirt. That done, he took his spare pair of trousers from the wardrobe and placed them in the valise; next came his socks, shirts, and toiletries. Looking around the room, he suddenly remembered Beth’s brooch. After spending a while searching for it, he realised it was missing. Of course. Annie had stolen it.
Clipping his valise shut, he crossed to the door where he took his jacket from the nail there, and threw it over his arm. As he proceeded down to the kitchen where he suspected the girl and her mother to be, his thoughts flew to Beth. It occurred to him that he might somehow get a note to her. But he dismissed the idea. They had said their goodbyes earlier. It was best that he make tracks now; there was nothing to be gained by causing her more pain. The brooch, though. Beth’s brooch would bring her closer to him in the long, lonely months to follow. He had no intention of leaving this house without it.
‘What!’ Florence blocked his entry into the kitchen. ‘So, yer ain’t satisfied with tekkin’ advantage o’ my poor gal… yer accusin’ ’er o’ being a bloody thief into the bargain?’ She put her whole weight against the door in an effort to keep him out. ‘Sod orf!’ she told him. ‘Unless yer want me to scream an’ ’oller fer the blokes up top.’
‘Just tell your daughter to hand over the brooch, then I’ll be on my way,’ he said in a quiet determined voice. He knew she had no intention of creating another rumpus, but called her bluff all the same. ‘Shout them if you like, though, because I have no intention of leaving this house without the brooch.’
‘Stay there,’ she ordered, ‘I’ll get the bleedin’ brooch. Sod and bugger me… anybody’d think it were worth a bloody fortune. I’ve seen it, and so far as I can tell, it ain’t worth all that much at all.’ She swung back into the kitchen to where the girl was seated at the table, the brooch clutched in her hand and a look of feigned resignation on her surly face. There followed a short and fierce argument before the disgruntled woman appeared again, to hold out her hand so Tyler could see the brooch lying there. When he stretched out to take it, she snatched it back. ‘Yer owe me two weeks’ rent,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s that… or this ’ere brooch. Judging by the way you mean to get it back, I reckon it just might be worth some’at after all.’
Without a word he slipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his shirt to draw out the exact sum, which he had counted earlier. This he delivered into her outstretched palm. And, grunting with approval, she gave over the brooch, promptly slamming the door on his departing figure and telling her daughter, ‘Good riddance to ’im,’ when she heard the front door close. A moment later, something disturbed the two women. Going to the kitchen door, the girl gingerly opened it and peeped out. She was relieved to see the bruised and burly figure of Tom Singleton coming furtively down the stairs with his friend behind. When he stared at her with a meaningful expression, she quickly nodded, a wicked smile shaping her ruby red mouth. Joined now by her mother, she watched as the two men went softly down the passage and out of the front door. Realising the seriousness of their intent, and suddenly afraid, Florence ducked back into the kitchen, pushing the girl before her and firmly closing the door. ‘We know nothing! Remember that,’ she warned the girl. ‘We know nothing!’
Outside, fog hung like a grey cloud over the darkness, and shadows lurked in every corner. The eerie echo of his footsteps against the pavement gave Tyler an unnerving sense of being the only man alive on God’s earth. Somewhere ahead of him, the sinister lamentation of mating cats rose up like something out of Hell. He thought he heard a sound – behind him. Curious, and a little afraid, he stopped and glanced back, but there was nothing; only the light from the ground floor of the boarding house. He turned away, smiling at the thought of Florence and her daughter, no doubt still arguing and enjoying every minute of it.
There it was again! A familiar sound, like the brushing of a boot against the pavement. Convinced that he was being followed, he stopped and pressed himself flat against the wall. Silence descended. The darkness and the smog intermingled to make an impenetrable barrier. Holding his breath, he strained his eyes to pierce the gloom. The silence was unbearable. Rivulets of sweat began to meander down his back, welding his shirt to his skin and raising fire from the raw wounds in his chest and shoulder. He remained like this for what seemed a lifetime, listening and watching. The silence deepened, an awful death-like stillness that wrapped itself round him like a mantle. He waited a moment longer. Had he been imagining things? Maybe it was only the marauding cats or the many vagabonds who were known to frequent the alleys hereabouts. Taking a deep breath to still his pounding heart, he bent to collect the valise from the ground where he had softly dropped it.
‘NOW!’ Th
e gruff cry was the last thing he heard before a blunt heavy object came out of the darkness, crunching against his temple and sending him reeling sideways. Struggling to right himself, he realised there was more than one attacker, but could not identify them, these large shadowy bulks with limbs flailing and a thirst for blood that was terrifying. With startling clarity he knew they meant to kill him. Blinded by the blood that ran down his head and into his eyes, Tyler launched into the thick-set ruffians, his tight-clenched fists slamming into jutting bone and yielding tissue. But the harder he went into the fray, the more punishment he received. The men were merciless in their onslaught. Weakened by the loss of blood and earlier injuries, Tyler was soon overcome; forced to the ground in a pool of blood, seemingly lifeless. And still they came at him… with their fists, with their boots, and swinging the cudgel again and again, until vengeance was satisfied. Next they searched his valise and emptied his pockets. Only then did they turn away. From the window of the boarding house, the woman and the girl were silent accomplices; but to the half-naked sweethearts who huddled in fear only a few yards away, the greatest nightmare was that the ruffians should catch sight of them.
Inside the kitchen, Florence Ball pulled the girl away from the window. Wide-eyed and frightened, they turned their attention to the door. When it slowly opened, the older woman gasped, clutching the girl and repeating a hoarse whisper, ‘We know nothing. Remember… we know nothing!’
With a satisfied smile, Tom Singleton gave his landlady a share of the money, together with the warning, ‘Keep yer mouth shut, or we’ll all be strung up!’ When he pressed Beth’s brooch into the girl’s hand, he made no comment; but his smiling eyes flashed a warning, telling her that she was in his debt and would do well not to forget it.
* * *
‘Is he dead?’ The young woman stood trembling, while her sweetheart bent to examine the broken bleeding body.
Don’t Cry Alone Page 8