Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  ‘You won’t forget our arrangement?’ The big ganger’s voice penetrated his thoughts. ‘Tomorrow night, between nine and ten. He’s always there, eager to part with his money at the gaming table. Bloody fool! At least for my money I get a pair o’ warm arms round me, an’ a night I’ll not forget in a hurry. Still, each to his own, that’s what I say.’

  ‘You’re sure he has the say as far as setting men on?’

  ‘I’ve told you! He’s one o’ the top hirers at the docks. If anybody can see us right, he can. An’, like I say… there’s big money to be earned on the docks. Enough to make this pay packet look sick.’ He held up his fist and crumpled the small buff envelope between his thick work-worn fingers. ‘That’s what you want, ain’t it, Blacklock? More money to stash away for whatever purpose seems to drive you?’ He paused, again wondering whether this quiet man might open up to him. After a while, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘All right, matey. It’s your business after all,’ he said. ‘But stay in the saloon, and keep well away from that backroom. What! The buggers’ll have you gambling your money away before you can turn round.’ He slapped a friendly hand across Tyler’s back, before striding away with one last reminder. ‘Think on, Blacklock… the docks, tomorrow night, between nine and ten’, leaving Tyler to make his way towards the train that would carry him back to Battersea and his humble lodgings there.

  * * *

  At precisely nine-thirty that same evening, Tyler emerged from the broad-fronted house in the heart of Battersea. With his tall lean figure, strong classical features and rich shoulder-length dark hair, he made a striking and handsome sight. The recently purchased dark suit and long overcoat, with a thin white scarf loose about his neck, ensured that he was well wrapped up against the biting cold that swept the night streets. Putting his head down against the chilling wind, he pressed on with a purpose. A deep angry purpose which, if all went well, would change his station in life, and ensure that he and Beth would never want again for as long as they lived.

  The tavern was crowded. Working men like himself propped up the bar, singing to the accordion and enjoying a well-earned jug of ale. Others were seated at the small round tables – some accompanied by women, and some obviously alone, solitary gaze roving the room, envying others their companions. Now and again, a well-dressed gent would slip in through the door and sidle beyond a narrow dark recess, which was guarded by a formidable-looking fellow attired in a black suit and white shirt, his brown hair larded down and a wary look in his eyes.

  The hands of the old clock above the bar seemed to move with incredible slowness. It had been five minutes to ten when Tyler came in. It was now only five minutes past, and still there was no sign of Abe Pickerton. During the next fifteen minutes, the ale flowed freely. Consequently the proceedings grew rowdier, with the odd skirmish erupting and being instantly suppressed by the landlord’s threat to ‘Throw the bloody lot of you out!’

  ‘Want a good time, do you, darling?’ The woman – a petite thing with a pretty overpainted face – thrust herself against Tyler with obvious intentions, backing off with a surly expression when he remained silent, but smiling gratefully when he slid a coin along the bar as a gesture of compensation.

  It was creeping towards eleven o’clock, with still no sign of the big ganger. Revellers were beginning to thin out, and soon the place would be empty. Disappointed, but not too surprised, Tyler decided to call it a day.

  Outside, the air was fresh and exhilarating after the fog and heat of the tavern. Leaning against the wall, Tyler reached into the hip pocket of his overcoat and drew out a leather pouch containing a pipe and a thick wad of tobacco. On the rare quiet occasion he enjoyed the soothing effects of a smoke. On this occasion, he had much to think about.

  Tyler had idled there only a minute, when he heard the unmistakable sounds of scuffling emanating from the nearby alley. There followed a muffled thud, and a cry, as though someone was in pain. The cry brought back sorry memories to Tyler; memories of darkness and skulking figures, of utter helplessness and grinding agony. In a moment he was hurrying towards the alley, his lopsided footsteps deliberately soft, his approach growing stealthy as he neared the narrow dark opening. Staying close to the wall, he peered down the alley towards the half-light from the open doorway there. There were three of them. It was difficult to ascertain exactly what was taking place, but from what Tyler could make out, one of the men was pinned against the wall by the bigger of the other two men, while the third stood back, his head turning this way and that, obviously keeping watch.

  ‘Twenty-four hours, you bastard!’ the voice threatened. A shadowy arm was raised high in the air, then the sickening sound of bone against bone. ‘After that… we’ll come looking for you!’ The arm was raised a second time. Taking a deep breath and praying that his leg would not let him down, Tyler tore off his overcoat and began running down the alley. As the dark fluttering images of a certain night skipped through his mind, a blind fury took hold of him and a surge of incredible strength lent wings to his feet.

  ‘Let’s even the odds, you bloody cowards!’ he cried. The voice sounded strange, not like his at all. With a surprised shout, the third man sprang forward. Tyler braced himself. He wouldn’t go down this time. This time he was ready! The blood raced hot inside him, and all the need for revenge he had buried rose to the fore.

  But then there came another cry: ‘Leave it! We know where to find him.’ At once the two men vanished into the night.

  When the agonised groans behind him forced him to abandon pursuit, Tyler cursed aloud. He felt cheated.

  ‘Help me! For God’s sake, help me!’ The man was slumped on the ground. In the semi-darkness he was a moving shadow, his cries pitiful to hear.

  ‘All right matey. You’re safe enough.’ With now-familiar difficulty, Tyler stooped to one knee, his hands reaching out to help the injured man. ‘Whatever possessed you to get mixed up with the likes of them?’ he asked. The man’s head was bent low as he clawed at the wall and struggled upwards. ‘Easy does it,’ Tyler warned. He could see the dark streaks of blood running down the man’s face. It was obvious by his pained movements that he had taken a bad beating. Suddenly, the man showed his face, sullen brown eyes staring angrily. ‘Bugger off!’ he snarled. ‘I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody’s help.’

  Tyler’s stomach turned somersaults. He was shocked to see that the man was none other than Beth’s brother. ‘BEN?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘God Almighty. What the hell have you got yourself into?’

  ‘Get away!’ Thrusting Tyler from him, the other man stared hard for a moment, his vision blurred by an over indulgence in whisky and, on top of that, the beating he had taken. Pressing into the wall to steady himself, he focused harder on the concerned face before him, and when he saw that it was Tyler Blacklock, he was mortally ashamed. He was also bitter and full of resentment. ‘Get away, I tell you!’ he yelled, lashing out viciously and growing more violent when Tyler stopped him from falling over.

  ‘It’s Tyler. Let me get you a cab at least.’

  ‘No. I can manage. Just leave me be.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘It is!’

  ‘Fair enough, matey.’ Tyler stepped back, releasing his hold on the other man, who took one unsteady step forward before buckling at the knees. Without a word, Tyler slid one arm round his waist, and drew Ben’s nearer arm round the back of his own neck, holding it there while the two of them went at a slow agonising pace out of the alley. ‘You bloody fool,’ he told Ben, whose only reply was a pitiful moan.

  Having located a Hansom cab and settled Ben into the back of it, Tyler shook him hard. ‘Don’t tell Beth you’ve seen me,’ he warned. ‘Do you hear me, Ben? Don’t tell Beth you’ve seen me.’ He wasn’t yet ready to face her. Not yet. Not until he was a man of consequence, when it wouldn’t matter whether he had a crippled leg or not. ‘Ben! Do you hear what I’m saying?’ he repeated, turning Ben’s face so he could not avoid lo
oking at him.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.’ Beth’s brother stared at Tyler, his blood-smeared face screwed into a warped smile. ‘You’re a bloody fool,’ he whispered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ben laughed and the blood trickled from the side of his mouth. ‘It won’t matter whether I tell Beth if I’ve seen you or not,’ he answered with a snarl. There was so much hatred in him, so much shame and despair. He knew he was being sucked into a world that was already bringing ruin upon him, and still he could not give up the gambling. He was a coward of the worst order. Even now, when Tyler was offering friendship and trust, he wanted to hurt him for being the man he was… strong and loyal. Everything he himself was not. Some time back, he had learned what had happened to Tyler, and from that had deduced that Beth was not with him. In fact, he had often wondered whether Beth even knew of Tyler’s predicament. Here was the answer then. ‘Don’t tell Beth you’ve seen me.’ It was obvious that Tyler knew nothing of Beth’s having been thrown out of the family home. And, if Beth had known that Tyler was close to death, nothing on God’s earth would have kept these two apart. Somehow, Fate had driven them in separate directions, each ignorant of the other’s circumstances. The irony of it appealed to him. It went a small way towards compensating him for the miserable cards Fate had dealt him. Groaning with pain, he raised his head and looked Tyler full in the eye. ‘Forget her,’ he said. ‘She won’t need you any more, Blacklock.’ His laugh was cynical, spiteful to hear.

  ‘What are you saying?’ A strange and frightening feeling came over Tyler as the words began to sink in. When all Ben did was to laugh in his face, he took him by the collar and yanked him up in the seat. ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded again, shaking the fellow until he cried out.

  ‘She’s married!’ The awful words echoed through the stunned silence. Ben saw the anguish on the other man’s face, and still he was not repentant; instead, it made him feel curiously satisfied. ‘You remember we talked about the fellow… Wilson Ryan? She’s happy, Blacklock. There’s even a child on the way.’ He choked on the last word as Tyler suddenly released him and he fell back with a jerk.

  ‘When?’ One word, but uttered from the depths of despair.

  ‘I don’t know.’ His mind was slowed by the drink and the pain. When was Beth sent packing? Three months? Four months? His thoughts were a jumble. ‘Six weeks maybe… two months,’ he blurted out impatiently. ‘How the hell do you expect me to remember!’

  He saw Tyler reel back, as though punched in the face. For one fleeting moment, he almost confessed the truth… that Beth was carrying Tyler’s child, and because of it she had been thrown out and it was assumed that she had gone to Tyler. He almost confessed how she would never have married Wilson Ryan even if her life depended on it… that there had only ever been one man for her, and that man was Tyler himself. He almost confessed. But he was not man enough. Even that realisation filled him with bitterness. He saw himself as playing a part in Beth’s being thrown out of the house, yet he blamed her, not himself. Beth was the root of all their trouble. He watched as Tyler climbed from the carriage, his face set hard, yet with the look of a haunted man.

  Outside, Tyler dug into his jacket pocket, then handed the driver two coins with instructions to take his passenger to a certain house in Bedford Square. And all the while Ben’s words screamed in his mind. ‘Beth is married. She’s happy… a child on the way.’ Outwardly, he was deadly calm. Inwardly, he was falling apart. How long had she waited for him? he wondered. Weeks? Months? How could he blame her? He should have let her know. Somehow, he should have let her know! Wave after wave of desolation swept over him, taking him down to the depths. Was it really all gone? All the dreams? All the love and the planning? Gone forever! Suddenly, there was no purpose. No point in going on. He watched as the carriage pulled away, his heart weighing like lead inside him, and the tears coursing down his face. ‘Beth,’ he cried, ‘how will I ever stop loving you?’ The wind tore his plea away, and only the silence remained.

  * * *

  Inside the carriage, Ben twisted himself up to peer through the back window at that lonely solitary figure. There was a moment’s regret. But then his own desperate situation came back to him. Soon, Tyler and Beth were forgotten.

  Part Two

  1887

  Friends

  Chapter Five

  ‘One silver shilling and a few miserable coppers. It ain’t much to take home from a Friday flea market, is it?’ The girl fidgeted on the makeshift seat that was little more than an orange-box covered with a sack, then leaning back against the wall behind, she crossed her spindly legs and chuckled, looking for all the world like a little woman. ‘Maybe I should have picked a few pockets instead, eh?’ The smile fell away and was quickly replaced by a worried expression, her thin features pinched and white with cold as she raised her scruffy head to stare at Beth. ‘It ain’t funny though, Beth, ’cause that awful Mr Miller’s coming for his rent tonight and he warned me mam last week that if she ain’t got some money for him, he’ll start proceedings to have us all chucked out on us arse!’

  ‘I’m sure he never said any such thing.’ Beth recalled David Miller’s very words, and Cissie’s were far more colourful; what David Miller had said was, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Armstrong, but I have my own problems to contend with. My father’s aged now, and we depend on the income from our houses to make a living. If you can’t pay the rent on time, then we’ll have to get someone in who can.’ David Miller was a mild-mannered and compassionate man, but his stepfather, Luther Reynolds, was renowned as a mean, miserly bugger. It was he who owned the properties, and he was the one who had the last say. The beleaguered David Miller was merely his stepfather’s mouthpiece.

  Beth suspected that the young man had pleaded with his father in the case of Maisie and her rent arrears, but to no avail. However kindly the warning was put, the implication was unmistakable. Maisie was being given one last chance to rectify the arrears; failure to do so would undoubtedly result in the whole family being evicted bag and baggage. And with countless folk in dire need of accommodation, there were any number of tenants to fill the miserable terraced houses on Larkhill. ‘Right, Cissie,’ Beth said now, ‘pack up your things. We’re going home. Your poor mother’s been out of her mind with worry.’ Maisie Armstrong had been frantic when the time rolled round to five o’clock on this Saturday afternoon and the girl had still not come home. Beth also was worried and had volunteered to go out in search of Maisie’s daughter. Her search had taken her first to the railway station, then here to the market-square, where she had found Cissie, cross-legged on her orange-box, with her few bundles of kindling wood gone and the market-place all but deserted.

  ‘Aw, Beth, I’m sorry if me mam were worried but I ain’t stopped all day, honest to God!’ Her blue eyes grew big and round when it suddenly occurred to her how Beth might think she had not put the day to good use; especially when there was precious little to show for it. ‘First thing this morning, I cadged a ride on a barge that were going to Liverpool docks… I was sure there’d be some flowers coming in from one o’ them far-off countries. But there weren’t! At least, I never clapped eyes on ’em, that’s for sure. Then I hid in a waggon coming back, and it went all the way round Lancashire afore ending up in Blackburn.’ She grimaced, rubbing her buttocks with the flat of her hand and groaning. ‘Oh, I were that sore, Beth. Anyway… after that, I scoured the market, nicking whatever old crates were lying around, so I could break ’em up for kindling wood. It weren’t easy neither,’ she declared, showing the blisters on the palms of her hands. ‘Honest, Beth, I’ve worked real hard all day. All bloomin’ day, and only four measly coins to show for it.’

  ‘I think it best if we don’t tell your mother about your escapades today.’ Beth had been horrified listening to the girl’s account of what she’d been up to. ‘What’s more, Cissie, I want you to promise me that you’ll never cadge a ride on any more barges. Have you any idea what
trouble you could have got yourself into?’ she demanded. ‘You know how often you’ve been warned about the docks,’ she insisted. ‘I mean it, Cissie! I want you to promise me.’

  The look on Beth’s face told Cissie that she was in the wrong. ‘Oh, all right then,’ she said quietly.

  ‘All right then… what?’ Beth softly insisted.

  ‘I won’t cadge no rides on no barges, and I won’t go to no docks.’

  ‘Promise, Cissie!’

  Slapping her two hands against her linen skirt and puckering a weary little face, Cissie made a loud performance of drawing in her breath through her mouth and blowing it out of her nose. ‘Oh, all right then. Promise,’ she moaned.

  ‘Then we’ll say no more about it, eh?’ In the months that Beth had known Cissie, she had learned that the girl did not give her promises readily. However, Beth also knew that when Cissie did make a promise, neither Hell nor high water would induce her to break it. Beth too would keep her word, and never disclose to Maisie that not only had Cissie gone away from Blackburn, but had actually disobeyed Maisie’s strict instructions that under no circumstances should she ever be tempted on to the many barges that travelled the Liverpool and Leeds waterways; especially since most of them went to the docks – which according to Maisie was a frightening place where a young lass could be lost forever without trace!