Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  Suddenly, he was alerted by the sound of a man’s voice. It came from nearby, a grating whisper that was familiar to him. Intrigued, he listened, bending his body towards the sound. ‘Don’t be a fool! Think of what I’m offering you.’ Yes, he knew the voice, but for the life of him couldn’t place it. Shifting in his seat, he drew aside the foliage and peered through the trellis. When the man at the bar turned suddenly, Tyler shrank back, his eyes wide with astonishment. It was none other than Thomas Reynolds, and the fellow with him was Beth’s brother, Ben. Tyler’s thoughts were racing. What in God’s name was Ben doing with Reynolds? Those two had nothing in common; in fact, when he was working for the Ward Development Company, Tyler had received the distinct impression that Ben had no liking for his father’s clerk. And what in God’s name could the obnoxious little man offer Ben that he would be ‘a fool’ to refuse?

  His curiosity aroused, and his instincts telling him that all was not well here, Tyler kept a close watch on the pair. In earnest conversation, they kept their heads bent, their low intense muttering too garbled for Tyler to distinguish. Now and then odd words and phrases would drift towards him. ‘Trust me,’ Tom Reynolds was saying. But why? What the devil was he up to? One thing was certain – the whole time they were talking, the evil little man was constantly topping up Ben’s drinking glass.

  If only Tyler had known the subject of their conversation, he would have intervened without hesitation. A murder was being planned, and Ben was being set up to commit the deed.

  ‘Think of it, Ben… enough money to settle your debts and take you anywhere in the world you want to go. You’ll be able to make a fresh start. Think of it, man!’

  Reynolds picked up the whisky bottle and poured a measure into Ben’s tumbler; only the smallest measure, though, because he wanted the other fellow sober enough to do the job, while at the same time he knew Ben’s courage could come only from the bottom of a glass. ‘I’ve given you his name, and I’ve told you where to find him,’ he murmured. ‘But it has to be tonight… within the hour or he’ll be gone, and Christ only knows when there’ll be another opportunity. It took me enough time and effort to track him down this time!’

  ‘I’m not sure, Reynolds.’ Ben shook his head, the thoughts inside too horrific to contemplate. ‘Killing a man… I’m not sure.’

  ‘Shut up, you bloody fool!’ Reynolds swung round, his sly glance going from one end of the room to the other. ‘Do you want to get us both hung?’ he hissed. Seeing that the other man was weakening, he reminded him, ‘You’re into the club for a tidy sum, aren’t you?’

  ‘You know bloody well I am,’

  ‘And there are others who have their henchmen out looking for you, isn’t that right?’ When Ben reluctantly nodded, he went on, ‘You’ve got yourself mixed up with a real bad lot, Ben, and there’s no way out, you know that, don’t you? And what would your mother do, I wonder… if she knew the extent of your debts? She’s in dire straits herself, so I’m told. Well, now, she can’t help you no more, can she, eh? She might even throw you to the dogs, and who could blame her?’

  At this Ben lashed out, causing the little man to lose his balance. ‘Leave my mother out of this, you bastard!’ he cried, swiping his fist at Reynolds’ face, then bending his head to the bar and making broken sounds when Reynolds skilfully dodged the badly aimed blow.

  ‘It might be a good idea if you were to take him home,’ the bartender suggested.

  ‘No need for that,’ Reynolds told him, ‘he’ll be all right.’ He glared round anxiously. Ben’s outburst had brought a few curious glances.

  The bartender was not convinced. ‘I’m afraid I can’t serve him any more drinks,’ he warned.

  ‘I’m all right.’ Ben straightened himself up and looked at the bartender through bleary eyes; yet there was also a look of determination there. ‘I’ll be leaving soon anyway.’ Not quite satisfied, but not wanting to cause a scene unnecessarily, the bartender moved away; at the same time shaking his head meaningfully to the two burly men who had already started to move in. Seeing his signal, they retreated.

  ‘Good man!’ Reynolds patted his colleague on the back. ‘I knew you’d see the sense of it.’ He ignored the accusing stare that greeted his words. Slyly dipping into his waistcoat pocket, he wrapped his fist round the hard object there. ‘Take this,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll need it.’ He lowered his fist and surreptitiously slid the object into Ben’s hand. Ben shivered. Even through the rag that was wrapped round it, there was no mistaking the long pointed knife inside. ‘Go straight there,’ Reynolds said, nervously glancing about the room. ‘You know where to find him. Don’t forget the seaman’s name… Matthew Armstrong.’

  He shook the other man gently. ‘Straight there, mind. Do it quick and clean like I told you, then get out of there as fast as you can. If you do exactly as I’ve said, there’ll be no complications.’ When Ben looked away, he prodded him angrily. ‘You’ll never want again. The money’s here, waiting for you.’ He turned, wrapping his knuckles round the edge of his waistcoat and opening it just far enough for the other man to see the wad of notes secreted there. ‘It’s yours, I tell you… enough to set you up for the rest of your life. Go on, man. Do it! DO IT NOW.’

  Ben’s mind was made up. What did it matter? A man’s life, a stranger who, according to Reynolds, was a villain of the worst order… what was that against his own skin? He was in a desperate situation, and Reynolds knew it. But here was his chance to get out from under. He might never be given such an opportunity again. Then there was his mother. Here, his guilt was tenfold, because he blamed himself for what had happened between his parents. He would take her away from London. They could make a fresh start somewhere in the country, perhaps even abroad. The idea felt good. Yes, she’d like that, he thought. ‘Where will you be?’ he asked, warning ‘Don’t try anything, Reynolds, or I swear I’ll do for you as well.’ He had a dark mood on him now. A mood for killing.

  ‘What kind of talk is that?’ Reynolds demanded with feigned indignation. ‘You know what we arranged.’ He looked at the clock above the bar. It was ten minutes past eight. ‘I’ll be waiting with the money. Midnight. Your father’s old offices.’ He locked his beady stare on the other man’s face; there was fear there. ‘Do it quick and clean,’ he said in a low threatening voice. ‘We don’t want no comeback now, do we, eh?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ben told him in a strangely sober voice, ‘I know what’s at stake.’

  Unaware that Tyler Blacklock had watched their every move, Reynolds kept his beady eyes on his accomplice until he had departed the room and the doors had closed on him. Smiling to himself, he called the bartender and ordered another drink. He was no fool. There was murder to be done this night but he would know nothing at all about it, would he? After all, he was here in a club packed with witnesses.

  Assuring himself that Reynolds could not see him, Tyler skirted the perimeter of the room on his way out. ‘Don’t you want your coat, sir?’ the girl called from her desk in the foyer. She recognised Tyler straightaway. She thought him to be unusually handsome, and a real man into the bargain. Not like the creepy smarmy creatures that could often be seen attending the club.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he told her, rushing after Ben, and finding him already getting into a cab some way down the street. ‘Ward!’ he yelled. ‘Ben Ward!’ Running forward, he clapped his hands on the open carriage door, catching his breath and smiling at the alarmed man inside, ‘Thought I’d missed you,’ he said.

  ‘Blacklock!’ Ben was visibly shocked to see Beth’s old suitor. As always, it was his guilt and jealousy that plagued him. ‘What d’you want?’ he snapped. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

  Realising that Ben had no intention of either coming down to talk with him or inviting him to sit a while inside the carriage, Tyler took it upon himself to climb in, telling the driver, ‘Hang on a minute, will you?’

  ‘Hey! I don’t want you in here. Get out, I tell you. GET OUT.’ Ben had
only one thought in his head at that moment, and it was to do with a man by the name of Matthew Armstrong. He had nerved himself up to do the deed, and the sooner it was done, the better.

  ‘I’ll go when I’ve said my piece, Ben, and not before.’ Tyler settled himself on the edge of the seat opposite. ‘I saw you just now… you and Reynolds.’ He stared at Ben through narrow, suspicious eyes. ‘He’s a rum sort to be drinking with. He’s up to something, isn’t he? What were you talking about?’

  ‘What the hell has it got to do with you what we were talking about?’ Tyler Blacklock always made Ben nervous. ‘Get out of here, or I’ll have you thrown out!’ he shouted. He could feel the knife in his pocket. His fist closed round it. If he had to, he would use it now.

  ‘He was putting you up to something, wasn’t he?’ Tyler insisted, ‘Why would he think you should “trust” him? And what could he offer you that you’d be “a fool to refuse”?’ He saw the strain in Ben’s face, and he knew he was close to the truth. ‘What has he got you into, Ben. Look, man, I only want to help you. I can’t, though, if you don’t tell me the truth.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Ben’s mind was frantically searching for a way out, but it was fuddled with booze. ‘It’s a business venture… him and me… I came here tonight to check it out.’ He was delighted at the ease with which he could lie. ‘Reynolds has the word on a small piece of land going cheap. He wanted Mother to go in with him, but I’ve talked him out of that one.’ He sniggered. ‘It’s time I stood on my own two feet, don’t you think, Blacklock?’

  ‘If that were true, Ben, nobody would be more delighted than me. If that were only true, you would have my best wishes.’ It would be a grand thing if Beth’s brother could mend his wasteful ways.

  ‘It’s true all right.’ Ben felt the worst was over. ‘If you don’t believe me, go and ask Reynolds. Go on, ask him… though I wouldn’t blame him if he told you to mind your own bloody business.’

  Tyler continued to study the other man. He wanted to believe him. In fact, he was tempted to believe him. After all, he had heard Ben tell Reynolds to: ‘Leave my mother out of it!’ And it was feasible that when Reynolds told Ben to ‘trust me’, Ben might have been questioning his sincerity. Also, if Reynolds believed he had found a bargain and was keen to persuade Ben of the same, he might be forced to make the comment that Ben would be a fool to refuse. It all fitted. And yet, there was something here that made Tyler’s instincts bristle. Was it his dislike of Tom Reynolds that made him suspicious? But had he really the authority to interfere? ‘You’re right,’ he said at length. ‘It’s none of my business. But I worry about you, Ben. I would hate to see you get into something with Reynolds… something bad, that you couldn’t easily get out of.’

  Ben laughed, and it was a convincing sound. ‘I can take care of myself, Blacklock. Like I said, it was just a small matter of business between me and Reynolds. It was the booze that made me get heated. Just the booze. It’s a good deal he’s offering.’ Suddenly he was afraid that Tyler might question him further. ‘But of course, I can’t tell you. You might snatch the land from under our noses.’

  Tyler shook his head. ‘Do you really think that?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘You’re not in any trouble then? Reynolds doesn’t have any sort of a hold over you?’

  ‘I’ve already told you!’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Tyler prepared to leave, ‘But you can’t blame me if I watch out for you.’ He paused before saying in a softer voice, ‘I owe that much to Beth.’

  ‘You owe her nothing.’ The mention of Beth had touched something half-decent in Ben and his instantaneous reaction against it made him want to lash out. ‘You don’t owe me anything either, so I’ll thank you to get out.’ He lurched forward to open the door, but the effects of his drinking were still on him, and he slithered to the floor. When Tyler grabbed hold of him and sat him back in the seat, he silently glowered.

  ‘As you say, Ben, I don’t owe you anything. But I reckon you’d do well to get home and sleep it off.’ He got out of the carriage and could be heard giving the driver the address of Esther Ward’s house. Once the carriage was underway, he returned to the club. There was no use his going home. He might as well stay here and see the evening out.

  * * *

  ‘What’s that, Guv?’ Ben’s driver strained his ears above the sound of the horse’s hooves against the cobbles.

  Hanging further out of the window, he shouted his instructions. ‘The docks, you bloody fool!’ he yelled louder. ‘The Mariner alehouse on the docks!’ When he was sure that the driver was changing direction, Ben sank back into the seat, hanging on as he was thrown roughly from one side to the other, and repeating Reynolds’ words. ‘Do it. DO IT NOW!’ Murder a villain. It wasn’t too high a price to pay for his own safety. Afterwards, he wouldn’t let his conscience bother him. Not when he was free from everything that had plagued him these past years. As they came in sight of the London Dockside, Ben Ward was actually smiling. No, it was not too high a price to pay at all.

  * * *

  The sailor was in a hurry. His ship was not long docked and the smell of booze and women was irresistible. ‘What’s that you say, matey?’ Pausing in his stride, he glanced at the figure in the shadows. He couldn’t see his face. It unnerved him when he couldn’t see a man’s face. He came closer, but the man receded deeper into the gloom.

  ‘I’m looking for an old pal o’ mine,’ the man said in clipped tones. His forced accent was not familiar. The sailor deduced that he was not from these parts, happen a foreigner come in on one o’ them Dutch ships. The thought made him relax. A foreigner, eh? All the same, there was no need to hide in the shadows.

  ‘This pal o’ yourn, matey,’ the sailor asked. ‘What name does he go by?’

  ‘Armstrong. Matthew Armstrong’

  The sailor let out a great roar that frightened the man deeper into the shadows. ‘Well, I’m buggered! Matthew Armstrong, eh? Why! He only happens to be off the very same ship as meself,’ he laughed. ‘I do believe he’s in the ale-house this very minute. Come on,’ he invited. ‘Come inside wi’ me… happen I can persuade yer to dip yer hand in yer pocket and buy us a jug, eh?’ A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘Or have yer only got a pocket full o’ them foreign coins, eh? Never mind. It ain’t no matter, ’cause I’ve got a fistful o’ silver shillings just waiting to be spent.’

  ‘No. Send him out, will you do that?’

  ‘If that’s what yer want, matey.’

  ‘Matthew Armstrong. Send him out.’

  ‘Aye, I will that. Happen he’ll be able to persuade yer to join us.’ Stretching his head forward into the darkness, he saw only the silhouette of a man, a young one judging by the straightness of his limbs. But then he would be young, wouldn’t he, if he were a pal o’ Matt Armstrong. After all, the lad himself were still a bit wet behind the ears. ‘I’ll tell him,’ he said, swinging away and going at a smart pace into the Mariner alehouse. A swell of noise greeted him as he entered. ‘Garn, yer bleedin’ old soaks!’ he shouted jovially. ‘The lot on yer are already six sheets to the wind.’

  Inside the alehouse, the sailor went in search of Matt. He found him seated at a table, a sheet of paper before him as he penned a letter. ‘Hello, matey,’ the sailor’s voice caused Matthew to look up. Quickly, he put his half-written letter away. He had learned not to give these old sailors any excuse for ribbing him. ‘There’s a bloke outside. An old pal o’ yourn, I reckon.’ The sailor laughed aloud when two females came up to latch on to him. ‘Huh! Desperate for me company are yer, gals?’ he asked, adding with a wink at Matthew, ‘Like ’em in pairs, I do.’ He pretended to struggle when the giggling girls tried to pull him away. ‘What yer gonna do with me, yer randy buggers?’ he asked, his face a picture of delight as he gave in and let them drag him on up the stairs. ‘The feller’s waiting outside,’ he shouted. ‘Shy he is… I reckon he’s a foreigner. Fetch him in, Matt.’ He would have sa
id more, but was too quickly whisked away.

  Matthew remained seated, racking his brain to try and fathom who it might be that was waiting outside. He didn’t have any real pals, and he certainly didn’t know any foreigners. For a moment he was tempted to finish his letter to Beth. On the high sea, he had had time to reflect on things. It had taken him a long time to pluck up the courage to write to her, and now that he had, he would rather get the letter finished and away. He even got it out of his pocket with the intention of completing it. But his curiosity was aroused. Obviously the fellow outside must know him, or he wouldn’t have been able to ask for him by name. Folding the letter back into his pocket, he pushed back the bench and stood upright. He had grown a good deal these past months, but was still painfully young compared to the old salts that frequented the alehouse.

  From his vantage point in the alley, Ben watched and waited. In a short while his patience was rewarded. A tall slim figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway. ‘Over here, Matthew,’ he called. ‘I’m here, in the alley.’

  Though intrigued, Matthew paused a while. He had not recognised the voice, nor did he relish the idea of going into that dark alley. ‘Who’s there?’ he asked. He came forward and the light fell on his face. He looked incredibly young and frightened. ‘Who is it?’ he repeated, coming forward hesitantly. Suddenly, the dark shape sprang forward, wrapping its hand over his mouth. In an instant, he was dragged into the shadows. No one saw. There was no one there but himself, and the stranger that came at him out of nowhere.

  * * *

  It was five minutes to eleven when the carriage halted outside the club and Ben climbed out. He was like a man haunted, his eyes furtive, his manner calculating, and his face set like stone. He knew he was a fool to come back here, but he was driven by a blind unreasoning fury, a sense of revulsion that made him want to seek out Tom Reynolds. And if he was caught in the act it didn’t seem to matter anymore. The events of the night had sobered him and he desperately needed a drink. They had business between them, he and Tom Reynolds, business that would not wait. As he strode through the foyer, he did not see Tyler Blacklock collecting his hat and coat from the desk; and Tyler did not see him. ‘Thank you.’ The girl smiled gratefully when Tyler put the two coins into her hand. ‘Goodnight, sir.’