Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  It took but a moment for the little man to recover, and when he did it was to say with careful cunning, ‘But of course, Blacklock, that’s exactly what happened.’ He needed to be alone in order to digest what Tyler had just told him. Elizabeth Ward was here? He was gripped by a feeling of great excitement. If she was here then he would be in no hurry to return South. If Beth was here, he would look for her. When he raised his head, Tyler was already seated in the carriage and closing the door. ‘Er… just a minute, Blacklock.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Reynolds smiled nervously. He was on the verge of questioning Tyler further with regard to Beth, but then he stopped himself in time. What the devil was he thinking about? The last thing he wanted to do was to arouse the other man’s suspicions. With lightning cunning, he asked, ‘Aren’t you attending the sale?’

  Tyler would have replied without giving his reason for leaving just now, but having heard the conversation and now the question that indirectly concerned her, the woman leaned forward. Smiling down on Tom Reynolds, she told him, ‘We’re in a hurry to get back to London. You see, Tyler and me are to be married straightaway.’

  ‘Married?’ Reynolds could hardly hide his pleasure, his small piggy eyes roving over the attractive figure now edging itself closer to Tyler. ‘Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, Miss… Miss…’He never liked to be told half a tale – especially when he knew the tale would be of interest to Esther.

  Tyler surreptitiously pressed his companion back against the seat before leaning out of the window and yelling to the cloaked figure up top, ‘Away, driver!’ Then, ‘Stand back!’ he told the little man as the carriage pulled quickly away, leaving Tom Reynolds reeling from the news he had just learned – two snippets of information that made his trip North just that bit more gratifying. The fact that Beth’s lover had not married in all this time had always been a thorn in Reynolds’ side. In spite of Tyler believing that Beth was living in splendour in the Surrey countryside, in wedded bliss with Wilson Ryan, Reynolds was always nervous about his own part in such a deception. It had not escaped his attention, either, that should Beth ever return and find Tyler to be the affluent and eligible bachelor he now was, she might be tempted to forgive and forget, and that would be disastrous for Tom Reynolds in more ways than one. With Tyler Blacklock married though, and he being an honourable man, the likelihood of such a situation was very slim.

  His face broadened by a smug smile, Tom Reynolds swung round, almost careering into a gang of young ruffians who were engaged in a pavement game of Put and Take. The ensuing cries of: ‘Watch where yer going, yer clumsy bugger’ and ‘Are yer blind, matey… is that it?’ would normally have brought a string of threats and abuse in retaliation, but not on this particular occasion. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon’ he told the scowling youths, bestowing on them a smile that rendered them silent as he went on his way.

  It was a more composed and confident Tom Reynolds who now entered the sale room. Yet, as he stood by the entrance, his pale eyes scouring the hall, he was not to know that in a matter of minutes he would be dealt yet another shock. A shock which would have a profound impact on his fortunes, and consequently affect the lives of those unfortunate enough to be acquainted with him.

  * * *

  David Miller saw him first. Having returned with a glass of refreshment for his father, he was standing protectively beside the old man, his keen eyes observing the faces of passersby, and in between dutifully answering the old man’s insistent questions. ‘Who’s here, eh? Fat cats from London, no doubt… come to take what belongs to us Northerners. Bloody cheek! Who else? Do you recognise anybody? What about Jules Barker? Can you see that fellow, eh? Though he’s got a sodding nerve to show up here after he stole that block o’dwellings on Rosamund Street… right from under me nose, the scoundrel. What! Let the bugger try and keep up with me on this one, eh?’ He chuckled low and hugged himself gleefully. ‘Leave him licking his wounds, I will!’ he promised. ‘Same as I’ll do to any manjack as intends to do me out of this one.’ He sank back in his chair and began tapping the wood-block floor with the end of his stick, muttering to himself and glowering at all and sundry from beneath frowning eyebrows.

  ‘If I had my way, we wouldn’t be here at all,’ David told him. He glanced down at the old man, but then looked away again when he saw that his words were going unheeded. As he raised his head, it was then that his gaze fell on the man at the far end of the hall. For a moment he was unsure, but there was something about the slightly built figure and the startling mop of white hair that held his attention like a magnet. The more he stared, the more certain he became, and the more afraid. He had cause to remember his half-brother, and he had cause to fear him. Arnold Thomas Reynolds had left his mark on the young boy who had come into his father’s house all those years ago. Like Luther, Thomas had a particularly vicious streak which he had all too often exercised on the shy young innocent who had been introduced as ‘your new brother’.

  ‘What you gawping at, eh?’ The old man prodded his stepson with the tip of his cane. ‘Who is it? Who’ve you seen?… Jules Barker, is it?’ When David gave no answer, but continued to look towards the far end of the room, a strange disbelieving expression on his face, Luther jabbed him harder and groaned, ‘Useless! Yer bloody useless!’

  Using his cane as a lever, he pulled himself up in the chair and, screwing his eyes into tiny glittering holes, looked first at David and then followed his curious gaze – straight to the face of Tom Reynolds. Making a sound as though he was choking, the old man visibly folded in the chair, his eyes now round as silver shillings and his mouth falling open. For a moment he lapsed into a profound silence, his whole attention fixed on the man who was his son, and who had appeared like a ghost from the past. ‘It’s him!’ he whispered. ‘It’s my son.’

  He tugged at the younger man’s coat. David looked down to see the old man’s aged features crumpled like old leather, the tears running down his face. ‘Arnold Thomas,’ he said brokenly. ‘My son.’ He kept his gaze riveted on the slight figure. ‘It is him. God Almighty… it is, ain’t it?’ he asked pitifully.

  David stared again at the man, then he returned his gaze to the old one who had been the only father he had ever known, a father who in spite of everything he had idolised beyond all others, and there was a great sadness in his heart. Somehow he knew instinctively that with the return of Luther’s own blood son things could never be the same. Yet he shared the old man’s joy, for he had never seen such intense happiness on the face of another human being. ‘Yes, Father, I do believe it’s him,’ he replied in sober mood.

  ‘Fetch him then!’ The old man scrambled to get out of the chair, all his doubts and astonishment giving way to the excitement which had been mounting since he first set eyes on his beloved son. It did not matter that this son had heartlessly deserted him. All was forgiven now. He was home, and that was enough. ‘Hurry! Hurry, before we lose him again,’ he told David, at the same time gripping the other man’s coat and yanking it back and forth. ‘Go on, damn you!’ He thrust his arm out and almost tumbled over in his great enthusiasm.

  ‘Sit down and then I’ll fetch him,’ David told the old fellow in a surprisingly authoritative voice, and so taken aback was Luther that he promptly sat down, trembling all over. In a moment, David was hurrying towards Tom Reynolds, and the old man was jumping up and down on his seat. He saw the two men meet. He watched as the older one stepped back with an astonished look on his face; then a conversation that seemed to go on for hours when in fact it was only a matter of minutes, and oh, Tom was looking across the room now, staring at the old man. It was too much! Luther could contain himself no longer. Struggling out of the chair he began an unsteady path towards them, calling out, ‘Arnold Thomas! Oh… son… son!’ Tears blinded him and he was sobbing loudly. People stopped to regard him with curiosity, and someone was heard to say, ‘It’s Luther Reynolds… whatever ails him?’ The sight of such a hard-bitten old rogue actually shedd
ing tears was something to behold. But he paid them no mind. Instead he stumbled into the arms of his son, laughing and crying at the same time, content just to hold his own flesh and blood close, and to look into that face which already was showing remarkable similarities to his own – the small sharp eyes, the long narrow nose and loose jowls that came with maturity.

  And while these two embraced and turned back the years between them, David stood aside, a lonely forgotten figure, heavy of heart yet deeply thankful that he had a woman waiting at home, a woman soon to give him a son of his very own. All the same, there was a terrible sadness in him as he looked at these two men, one he would willingly die for, and the other who had robbed his father of a son – yet that same son was held in greater esteem than he had a right to be.

  The two men walked away deep in conversation, the younger one’s head bent in concentration while the older one gabbled on about: ‘The house, the money I’ve kept for you… it’s a small fortune built up over the years, for you, son, only for you.’ Now and then he would stop and gaze into Tom Reynolds’ face, as though to convince himself that it really was his son come home again. ‘I always knew you’d be back,’ he told him. ‘Ever since that day when you said I’d never amount to anything… that I lacked the guts to make something of myself… I swore I’d show you. If it was the last thing I did on this earth, I’d leave you a fortune to show you how wrong you were about your old dad.’

  ‘A fortune, you say?’ Tom Reynolds had been astonished when David told him that he and the old man were here to bid for some, or even all, of what was being offered here today. He was even more astonished to learn that his father meant it all for him. Something niggled at him. He leaned towards the old man. ‘All these years, you’ve built up a fortune, you say?’

  ‘That’s what I said, son, and that’s what I mean.’ Luther chuckled. ‘You don’t believe me, is that it?’

  ‘Oh, no! No. I believe you all right, Father,’ he replied with a placatory smile. ‘It’s just that, well, how far did…’ he glanced over his shoulder at the younger man who was following them as a dog might follow its master ‘… I mean, did he help you to acquire this fortune?’

  ‘Never!’ the old man snapped. ‘The man’s useless, always has been.’ His answer satisfied Tom Reynolds, who turned to smile deliberately at his stepbrother. Through his teeth he murmured, ‘If he’s useless, then we won’t be needing him much longer, will we, Father?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ the old man said. ‘Now that you’re back, they’ll be out of the door bag and baggage, him, the brats, and that damned wife of his!’

  ‘Brats? Wife? He wed, then?’

  ‘Oh, aye, he’s wed all right,’ the old man disclosed with a scowl. ‘One of the women as lived down Larkhill… stroppy bugger she is.’ He chuckled. ‘Though if I’d been younger, happen I would have bedded her just for the fun of it, eh?’

  ‘Attractive, then?’

  He chuckled again. ‘Oh, aye, she’s that all right. Too good-looking for the likes of that useless sod, although she’s got too much of what the cat licks its arse with for my liking. He’s welcome to her. The brats ain’t his though… they came with her. But he’s finally filled her belly after three years!’ He chuckled. ‘Never thought he’d do it, mind. Like I said though, now that you’re back, son, they’ll be given their marching orders.’ And so he went on, making plans, crawling all over Tom Reynolds, eagerly filling in the details of events since he’d been gone, and asking the same in return. Tom Reynolds gave only enough information to satisfy the old man’s curiosity – his chosen profession, and that he was here on behalf of his employers. He did not reveal that he had never married, just in case the old man was expecting a whole string of heirs to this ‘fortune’ he had accumulated. Nor did he give his address.

  Tom was a man who played his cards close to his chest. At the same time his devious mind was ticking over frantically, dark sinister thoughts beginning to take shape. The old man, for his part, revealed everything, although in truth there was little enough. However, he also was careful not to disclose a particular snippet of information, in case he had made the wrong decision. No matter, though. Now that Arnold Thomas was home, the two of them could discuss that little issue later. There was plenty of time, he told himself. All the time in the world. ‘You’ll not be bidding against your old father, now, will you, son?’ he asked, keeping his voice at a discreet whisper.

  ‘Only if I was all kinds of a fool, which I’m not.’

  ‘Take me to the front, son. I want to see the whites of their eyes while I’m bidding. It’ll be like taking sweets from a bairn.’ The old man glanced back to see David walking quietly behind, pushing his way forward in order not to lose sight of them. ‘You don’t have to stay,’ Luther told him sharply. ‘Arnold Thomas is here now. I’ve little need for you.’ Still David pursued them. Irritated, Luther told his son, ‘Like a barnacle he is. All these years he’s stuck to my arse like a bloody barnacle!’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Tom Reynolds could see everyone surging forward to find their seats before the rostrum. Suddenly he had a new and exciting reason for being here. ‘We can talk about all that later, Father,’ he said reassuringly, deliberately fussing round the old man and searching for the most comfortable seat in which to place him. ‘Right now, there are more important matters to attend to.’ And what could be more important than adding another property to a ‘fortune’ which had been sitting there waiting for him, while he had never known?

  * * *

  ‘Sod and bugger it!’ Luther’s voice sailed above a lull in conversation in the Queen’s Head public house. ‘I’m disappointed,’ he told the two men. ‘I’m more than bloody disappointed.’ He turned to Tom with an apologetic look on his face. ‘I especially wanted to succeed for you, son. You know that, don’t you, eh?’ He took another long noisy swig from his jug of ale. ‘Damn the fellow, that’s what I say,’ he grumbled. ‘The whole bloody shooting match!’ he said with incredulity. ‘He took the whole bloody shooting match, and with a written bid! I’ve never heard the like. What’s more, he paid well above the odds, whoever he is.’ He swivelled his bloodshot eyes from his son to David, then back again. ‘What are you staring at?’ he demanded. ‘Think I’m drunk, d’yer? Well, what if I am? What if I sodding well am, eh? I’m celebrating, aren’t I? My only son’s come home. There’s a real man to watch out for me now.’ He leaned forward to say with a cruel tongue, ‘So you see, David Miller, I won’t be needing you no more, will I, eh? You and that bitch you wed, and them brats – well, you can all piss off out of it.’ David’s continuing silence infuriated him. ‘D’you hear what I’m saying? I want you out! All of you. Out of my house by the morrow!’

  Realising that things were moving a little too fast for his liking, Tom Reynolds intervened. ‘Now wait a minute, Father, don’t be so hasty,’ he suggested. ‘After all, there’s much to be discussed, and I can’t move in with you just like that. I have a life and a home of my own.’ He was careful not to alienate the old man. ‘Although, of course, I’ll be moving back home with you just as soon as I’ve sorted things out,’ he added reassuringly. ‘Besides, David and his family will need time to find a place.’ He smiled at his stepbrother. ‘Isn’t that so?’ His mind was racing ahead; he wanted everything the old man had kept for him, but he had no intention of moving in with the old fool. In fact, his intentions were far more sinister.

  David looked at the other man for a long moment. He saw two things… the same cunning, grasping creature who had deserted his own father when he needed him most, and a man who represented a very real threat to his own contentment. There was something else, too, something about those smiling eyes that sent a chill through him. His instincts were warning him. Of what? He wasn’t altogether certain. One thing was sure, though. He would not leave his stepfather alone in that big old house, nor would he rest easy knowing that Arnold Thomas was there with him. That man might appear to be everything his father had ever
wanted in a son, but as far as David was concerned, a leopard never changed its spots. Luther Reynolds’ son had been a bad one. He was a bad one now. And he was playing a game which David did not fully understand. It was obvious that he had no intention of coming back to live in Blackburn. It was even more obvious that he held little affection for his father, in spite of fawning all over the old man as though he had been filled with joy to see him again after all these years. David knew differently. If Arnold Thomas had missed his father so much, why had he not come back before now? The truth was he hadn’t come back at all, at least not to see his father. If it hadn’t been for his employer sending him to that sale in Liverpool, the obnoxious little man would not now be sitting here, buttering up the surprisingly gullible old man, and leading him to believe that he was planning a homecoming. Addressing himself to Luther, David said patiently, ‘Don’t you think it’s time we made our way home?’

  His response was violent. ‘Do what the hell you like!’ he yelled, thumping his fist on the table and causing the drinks to spill over. ‘You ain’t listening, are you?’ he demanded. ‘I said I want the lot of you out of my house by the morrow. What’s more, you’ll take nothing with you, because what’s in my house is mine, d’you hear? It’s mine!’ He scowled a moment longer, his boozy bloodshot eyes taking in his stepson’s wounded expression, then, flinging one arm round Tom’s shoulders, he chortled wickedly: ‘That’s told him, ain’t it, eh?’ Raising the half-empty jug of ale to his mouth, he slurped at the remainder, ignoring the trickle of brown liquid that meandered down his chin and on to his shirt collar. ‘There you are, son,’ he said, digging into his waistcoat pocket and slapping two silver coins on the table. ‘You and me, we’ll drink us health ’til they chuck us out, what d’you say?’ He leaned heavily on the other man, laughing in his face and hugging him close. ‘You and me, we’ll show the buggers, won’t we, eh?’ He flung one arm wide as though to brush David from his sight. ‘We don’t need nobody… just you and me,’ he said, his mouth almost touching that of his son.