The rat boy climbed from the ring, the ragged ends of his trousers and the toes of his boots soaked with fresh blood. The stench of death was everywhere and the punters, the fun over for the night, began to leave. As was the custom, most of them repaired downstairs to Marybelle Firkin’s public house where the gin whores would be carousing and the fiddler would be playing a merry jig on a gypsy fiddle.
Marybelle Firkin’s inglorious establishment was well known for both ratting and whores and was well frequented by gonophs and macers and magsmen, and all manner of thieves and villains. Towards the latter part of the evening, when the ratting was over, the Pig ‘n Spit became a place of great merriment and fornication with every dark corner as well as the skittle court behind the public house taken up with thrusting bodies and much loud groaning. Lust and loving was bought here for the price of three drams of gin. Hence the people in the surrounding rookery took much amusement by referring to both Marybelle Firkin and the Pig ‘n Spit as ‘Merry Hell Fucking at the Pig ‘n Shit’.
George Titmus, the last to leave the ratting ring, turned the lamps down low. Rose, the little terrier, tried to rise, but slipped on the blood-stained floor. She tried again and this time got shakily to her feet, whimpering and looking up with trusting eyes to see if she could find her master. But she lacked the strength to hold herself up and collapsed back among the dead rats. She was dead before her owner sneaked back up the stairs to retrieve the silver collar about her neck.
With the contest declared in favour of the rats, Thomas Tooth owed thirty pounds to Dan Figgins to be paid by midnight. The fish was landed.
Dan Figgins’ small, cold, agate-blue eyes, only just visible within the multiple folds of scar tissue surrounding them, grew sharp as pin-points as he heard Tooth explain his inability to pay up at the appointed hour.
‘There’s naeone t’ blame for tha’ except yourself, laddie,’ Figgins growled.
Thomas Tooth grinned foolishly and with some courage from the brandy yet within him said, ‘I cannot pay you, sir, you will simply have to wait!’
‘Nay, laddie, ye doesnae understand, ye’ll nae be breathin’ God’s breath beyond the midnight hour!’
Thomas Tooth shrugged. ‘Methinks you cannot get blood from a stone now, sir, can you?’
The crowd gasped at his temerity.
‘Aye, that I can, laddie!’ He turned to the crowd. ‘You cannae blame us for givin’ him a doing, it wasnae our fault he couldnae pay, was it?’
The drunken crowd murmured their approval and someone shouted, ‘Drub ‘im, Danny boy!’ Then added in a dismissive tone, ‘Cheeky bastard!’
‘Ye shouldnae have said tha’, Mr Tooth. I’m a patient mon, but tha’s gone a wee bit too far, I cannae let ye get away wi’ it!’ Dan Figgins smashed his huge fist into the young clerk’s face, breaking his nose in a gush of blood and sending the hapless Tooth sprawling across the room. He knocked into a whore, who careened backwards screaming as she bumped against the far wall, and slid to the floor with the young gambler’s bloody head imprisoned between her thighs.
This created uproarious laughter from the crowd who quickly gathered around the huge fighter, who was now standing with his fists balled above the young drunk.
Dan Figgins reached down, preparing to jerk the sniffing and whimpering Thomas Tooth to his feet, when he felt himself propelled backwards and then turned completely around by an arm the size of a doxy’s leg.
As if by some peculiar magic the huge shape of Mary-belle Firkin was suddenly seen to stand in front of him. Her great ham-like arms were now folded across her huge bosom. The congregation of drunks and whores grew silent as the giant mot and the fierce Figgins locked eyes, hers bigger and even more blue than his own.
The fiddler leaped upon a table beside the huge woman and pulled a long melancholy note from his fiddle, then he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with his bow. Marybelle sighed at his touch then smiled a most beatific smile at Dan Figgins, dropped her arms to her side, and in a voice astonishingly sweet and pure started to sing.
Fine Ladies and Gents
come hear my sad tale
The sun is long down and
the moon has grown pale
So drink up your gin
and toss down your ale
Come and rest your tired heads
on my pussy. . .cat’s tail!
The crowd, delighted and immediately distracted, took up the merry ditty and started to sing it over and over again as they cavorted around the tables and the fiddler sawed his bow across the gut, raising his knees high, prancing nimbly on the table top. The gin whores and the younger doxies danced with the drunks and the place was soon grown most merry again. Even Figgins was taken up by two whores, who whirled him across the room and planted copious kisses upon his broken face.
Ikey arrived back at the Pig ‘n Spit shortly before midnight to find the miserable young Tooth seated in a corner sniffing and blubbing, now rapidly come to realise that he would not see another sunrise. Just when he thought he might try to bolt, hoping to escape into the darkness, Ikey tapped him on the shoulder.
Thomas Tooth, reduced to tears of drunken self-pity, clutched at the sleeve of Ikey’s great coat and begged him to save his life by making good his debt to the awesomely ferocious Dan Figgins, who was threatening to take his life on the stroke of midnight.
‘O’ course, my dear.’ Ikey spread his hands. ‘What are friends for? A friend in need is a friend indeed! Do not fret, all’s well what ends well!’
The arrangements which followed over the next couple of weeks between Ikey Solomon, the contrite young gambler and the carpenter George Betteridge, would prove to be one of the best investments Ikey was to make in his entire life of crime and punishment.
In the testing laboratory at the Laverstoke Mill, Thomas Tooth explained to Ikey, some thirty sheets of the bill paper used for banknotes were brought twice weekly to be submitted for testing and verification of their quality.
It was Thomas Tooth’s task to count the sheets against the number which originally arrived for testing. Then he had to enter his count into the receivals and exit ledger before taking them across a large quadrangle and through a maze of buildings to where the furnace was located, at the opposite end of the mill from the laboratory.
Ikey had George Betteridge build a false floor into a cupboard under a stairway which Thomas Tooth had to pass on his way to the furnace. A single floorboard was hinged so that it lifted neatly up at one end if correctly touched. In a matter of moments Thomas Tooth could conceal two sheets of rolled paper under the floorboard as he passed.
Later, Betteridge, on the pretence of going about some small maintenance task, would retrieve the paper, conceal it in his tool box and take it out of the mill gates under a pile of wood shavings and off-cuts. As a mill carpenter, he was entitled to sell or take these home for his own use as kindling.
The Laverstoke Mill was a quietly run business where standards of workmanship were the preoccupation of the partners. The familiar and trusted local employees were often represented by three generations working at the mill, and not subject to the slightest suspicion. Security measures in this country backwater plainly left something to be desired, but any systems beyond the ones which had existed for more than sixty years seemed entirely unnecessary.
This scam soon proved so successful that Thomas Tooth repaid his gambling debt to Ikey, and agreed to be paid in gold sovereigns for each sheet subsequently delivered. Five sovereigns to himself and two to George Betteridge, whose anxiety that his good fortune might come to an end caused by some impropriety from Thomas Tooth caused him to watch carefully over the younger man so that no errant bragging should bring about their mutual downfall.
The method by which the paper came to Ikey was simple enough. The money would be left with George Titmus at the Pig ‘n Spit, and the paper delivered to him concealed within one of the two similarly constructed long thin wooden boxes and tightly sealed so that the rat master did not
know its contents. An empty box would then be returned with the receipt of the one containing paper, whereupon both men would repair to the rat ring where the young Thomas Tooth, for the most part, would be fleeced of the greater portion of his payment while his carpenter cousin kept a steady eye upon his drinking.
It was late into the evening when Silas Browne and Maggie the Colour finally concluded a deal for the paper and plates of twenty thousand pounds and agreed to a cash deposit of five hundred pounds. While Ikey knew this to be but a fraction of the true value of the merchandise, it was better than he’d expected.
Five hundred pounds was sufficient for Ikey to purchase a passage to New York and allow him to live for a few weeks while he learned the layout of the new city and made acquaintance, by means of some lavish entertainment, with the right connections.
The remainder of the money for the remaining bill paper Ikey requested to be in the form of a letter of credit from a thoroughly reputable Birmingham bank, one acceptable to Coutts & Company, 59 the Strand, London, so that when Ikey presented it to the great London bank they would transfer the money into an account in his name to a bank in New York, without questioning the credit of the bank of original issue.
Maggie left the parlour and shortly after returned with five hundred pounds in Bank of England notes. Ikey examined each of these using Silas’s eyeglass. When he was satisfied to their authenticity, he handed over the four sheets of billpaper, requesting only the return of the small corner he’d cut away for the boy Josh to deliver earlier.
‘And now for ongoin’ paper supply, how will ‘e do it?’ Maggie asked.
Ikey hesitated. ‘It’s late, my dear, perhaps we can talk about that at some other time?’
Maggie the Colour was adamant. ‘Now is as good as any other. We likes to know where we stands in business o’ money, Mr Solomons.’
Ikey felt immediately frustrated; his presence in America would not allow him to negotiate a further supply of bill paper from Thomas Tooth and personally gain from such a transaction. But he also knew that life has a way of twisting and turning back to bite its own tail, and he was reluctant to close the door on the prospect of a future sale, so he proceeded to negotiate as though his life should depend on the outcome.
Finally, after a great deal of bargaining, an agreement was reached whereby Silas and Maggie would pay one hundred and fifty pounds a sheet for any future paper supplies. This was a much lower price than they’d paid for the stockpiled paper, but Maggie insisted that it involved them in a far greater risk of being caught.
Ikey requested a needle and cotton and a pair of scissors, and when Maggie brought these he removed a large silk scarf from somewhere within the interior of his coat and cut it into four similar sized pieces. Then using the twine from the previous wrapping he rewrapped the plates, each in a square of silk, and returned them to the hem of his coat, making a fair hand at sewing them back within the lining.
Then, thinking to avail himself of the means of sewing, he attempted to stitch together the rip made in his coat when he’d caught it in the door of the coach earlier that morning. The needle proved too small for the heavy felt and would not easily pass through the thick, greasy material, the thread breaking each time and rendering his efforts fruitless. Ikey could feel Maggie’s mounting impatience and finally she remarked curtly, ‘Will you be long, Mr Solomons? It is late and well past time we were abed.’
Ikey finally gave up the task of mending the tear and placed the needle and cotton down on the table. Rising, he walked over to the window and put his nose to a pane, looking out into the darkness where the winter wind howled and buffeted, rattling the stout window frame.
‘I needs to sew them plates in the hem o’ me coat to ‘old me down against the blast o’ the bitter wind what’s blowin’ in the dark and stormy night outside!’ He turned and looked at Silas Browne and pointed to the fire. ‘O’ course, a night’s lodgin’s spent in a warm chair beside your hearth could leave these ‘ere plates on the premises where you’d know they’d be safe from robbery?’ He looked querulously at Silas. ‘I could be gorn before the sparrows wake, my dear, one o’ your likely lads paid a ‘andsome sum to deliver me to me lodgin’s?’
Maggie the Colour shook her head and spoke sharply. ‘No offence, Mr Solomons, we be glad to do business with you, but we’ll not ‘ave a Jew sleepin’ under our roof!’ She cast a meaningful glance at Silas. ‘That be bad luck brought upon our ‘eads by our own stupidity!’
‘Aye, we’ll not be doin’ that!’ Silas Browne confirmed.
Ikey was aware of the common country superstition that a Jew sleeping under a Christian roof brought the devil into the house. It even existed in some of the smaller country taverns where he’d been turned away in the past. Nevertheless he was greatly in need of sleep and very wearied. The prospect of returning on foot, in the dark, along the way he’d earlier come was a daunting, if not to say, dangerous one.
‘No offence taken to be sure, my dear!’ Ikey said hastily. ‘We all ‘as our own little ways, but I caution you to think upon the matter a moment longer. If I should use shank’s pony to get back to me lodgin’s, it could turn out most dangerous at this time o’ night.’ He flapped the lapel of his coat meaningfully.
‘We’ll ‘ave a boy take you in ‘orse and trap,’ Maggie snapped. ‘You’ll be back ‘ere day after tomorrow, at night if you please, with remainder of paper and plates, one ‘undred and ten sheets by the count, then we’ll do further letter o’credit business, right?’
‘No! No, my dear, beg pardon for abusin’ your sensibilities on that question. You ‘ave all day tomorrow and all night and part o’ the following’ mornin’. Then if you’ll be so kind to send young Josh to the coach terminus to be there at ten o’clock in the mornin’ with a note what contains the name o’ the bank, which must be of excellent standing, and the time o’ the appointment and such other details as what I’ll need. The appointment is to be made the afternoon o’ the day after tomorrow, the paper and the plates to be ‘anded over in the bank after you ‘as ‘anded over the irrevocable letter o’ credit made out in me name to Coutts & Company, the Strand, London.’
‘ ’And over plates and paper in bank? Are you daft?’ Silas exclaimed.
‘What better place, my dear? We simply asks the bank official for a private room to view the merchandise. It be none of ‘is business what the package contains.’
Maggie the Colour sniffed. ‘Don’t you trust us to do it ‘ere, then, Mr Solomons?’
Ikey laughed. ‘You ‘as your bad luck what you just described as a Jew spendin’ a night under your roof, this you claims is deliberate stupidity. We also ‘as a similar superstition, my dear. We believes that to practise deliberate stupidity is worse than witchcraft, and superstition and, most decidedly and emphatically, brings about a great deal o’ bad luck to the person what is stupid!’
‘The coach terminus, ten o’clock, mornin’ day after tomorrow then,’ Maggie the Colour snapped.
‘That be quite right, my dear. Young Josh will give the letter of instructions to someone what might come up to him and say politely, “Dick Whittington’s ‘ungry cat ‘as come to fetch a juicy rat”.’
Maggie’s head jerked in surprise. ‘Beg pardon?’
‘The passwords, my dear, ‘case I can’t make it meself, other pressin’ business intervenin’.’
Maggie the Colour sighed, her patience close to ending. ‘Password? Bah, what rubbish! Anyway, what’s wrong with a single word, like “copper” or “‘orse” or if you must, “cat”? Them words about Dick Whittington’s cat, that be proper nonsense!’
Ikey smiled. ‘You’re quite right, my dear, rubbish it is, but it be more excitin’ for a small lad what’s intelligent! Much more excitin’ to carry more than one word in ‘is little ‘ead as he sets out upon such a grand adventure. It is properly suitable to an occasion such as what we’ve been discussin’, and what is worthy o’ much more than a single word like “copper” or “‘orse” or
“cat”!’
Ikey was tired and a little testy but he’d deliberately created the nonsense about the cat to frustrate Maggie the Colour’s desire to see him depart. It was a small revenge for her rudeness, but sweet enough at that for the lateness of the hour. Now, with the prospect of being taken into the city in a pony trap, he was as anxious to depart as she was to see him go.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was just past midnight when Ikey fought his way against the buffeting wind and sudden flurries of snow to a Birmingham netherken where he was well enough known. It was as foul a place as you could expect for a shilling a night, but by no means at the bottom of the rung. The wind howled about the eaves and the windows rattled as Ikey hammered on the door to be allowed to enter.
The landlord, carrying a candle cupped with his hand against the wind, welcomed him with a scowl, which changed into a sycophantic smile when Ikey stepped out of the dark into the dim candlelight.
‘Oh it’s you! Welcome back to our ever so ‘umble abode, Mr Solomon. We ‘ave much improvement since your last stay. New straw stuffed only last week, like goose down them beds is, and the room I have selected for you is near empty with only two other fine gentlemen sharin’!’ He sucked air through his rotten teeth. ‘Two shillin’ a night and summit to eat in mornin’! There, couldn’t be fairer than that now, could there, sir?’
Ikey handed him a shilling. ‘Master Brodie, your straw’s damp with piss and alive with all manner o’ vermin, and it ain’t been changed in three months. A bowl o’ cold gruel in the mornin’ ain’t what you calls “summit to eat” and I’ll wager the two villains what’s sharing the room ‘as paid no more’n sixpence apiece for the privilege!’
Potato Factory Page 20