by Iris Gower
‘Hell and damnation,’ he said to himself, but his words were carried away by the soft breeze sweeping down from the hills.
The public bar of the Cape Horner was smoky, the air fetid with the smell of stale tobacco. The hubbub of voices was deafening for it was a warm day and the sailors, coming from the ships in the dock, were thirsty.
At a table in the corner, Rickie sat with Glanmor Travers on one side of him and Will Owens on the other. Facing him was a motley assortment of men, men with stained shirts on their backs, some of them wearing no boots. They were the dregs of Sweyn’s Eye, beggars and thieves and villains, each and every one prepared to do murder for a few shillings.
Rickie leaned forward. ‘All you need to do is speak to the coppermen,’ he said slowly, anxious to impress. ‘Tell them that the changes being made will put some of them out of a job, for new labour will be brought into the town, men who know all about steel. And it will be cheaper labour too, the Irish poor who will take low wages and be glad of them.’
‘And what’s in this for you?’ A man with a thick body and huge arms poked his head forward. His eyes were glittering and Rickie felt he would not trust him in an alleyway on a dark night.
‘Well, Cullen,’ Rickie paused, knowing that the interest of the men seated around him could quickly turn to scorn. They would not swallow any tale about his concern for the workers, they would laugh in his face. He decided to tell them the truth, or at least some of it.
‘It’s like this. I want to bring Sterling Richardson down and for reasons of my own which I intend keeping to myself.’
‘I suppose that means you want a bigger share of the sheckels.’ Cullen smiled thinly, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his big chest, and Rickie sighed with relief, it was obvious he’d said the right thing.
‘Pay us something on account and we’ll be on our way,’ Cullen said in his harsh voice. He watched carefully as Rickie counted out the shillings and then lumbered to his feet, sweeping up the coins with one huge hand.
Rickie felt more at ease when they had gone; he turned to Travers, who had a doubtful look.
‘Not sure we should have brought the likes of Cullen into this.’ Travers kept his voice quiet as though fearful of being overheard.
Rickie shrugged. ‘It will be all right, you’ll see. The man will do anything so long as he’s paid.’
He turned to look at Will Owens out of the corner of his eye. This was the one he was not sure of, he was more cunning, more subtle than Cullen, and Rickie felt instinctively that Owens was not to be trusted.
‘What do you think of Cullen, Will?’ Rickie asked affably and watched the expression on the youth’s face, carefully trying to read something from his eyes and the set of his mouth. Will Owens shrugged his shoulders, toying with his mug of beer, swirling the dark liquid round and round, deliberating before giving his reply.
‘I agree with Glanmor,’ he said at last, ‘Cullen is not the sort of man I’d like to pin my hopes on, there’s too much of the villain in him for the man to be trusted with anything.’
Unaccountably, Rickie was irritated with the answer Owens gave him. ‘And do you think you could do better?’ he demanded, his voice rising. Owens faced him squarely, his eyes dark and unreadable, but his knuckles were white as they gripped his beer mug.
‘You asked for my opinion and I gave it,’ he said shortly. ‘Do you want me to lick your boots as well?’
Travers thumped the table before him with his glass. ‘Let’s drink up and get some more beer in, I’ve got a thirst like a camel.’ He looked from Will to Rickie and back again and some of the tension eased.
‘Well, I just like to know where I stand.’ Rickie spoke truculently and leaned back in his chair. Inside he was burning with anger, this young guttersnipe was daring to square up to his betters and that was something that stung. He would need watching, Rickie thought moodily, he was the sort who would smile as he stuck a knife into his own mother.
‘Well, have you found out anything of use yet?’ He spoke to Will Owens without looking at him and the youth’s eyes flickered with interest.
‘As a matter of fact I have,’ he said quietly and he looked carefully toward Glanmor Travers. ‘This concerns you too and you’re not going to be pleased.’ He moved his chair forward and placed his elbows on the table, bending his head, wanting to be heard above the noise without raising his voice.
‘Mr Richardson is going to cause trouble over a loan given to your brother some time back, Glanmor,’ Will said. ‘Heard him talking about it to Ben the works manager. It seems the mine will belong to your brother once the legal rubbish has been dealt with.’
He looked at Rickie, who carefully kept his feelings to himself. He was taken aback that Owens had learned something that he himself had only known since yesterday.
‘He’s supposed to be going out to the mine today,’ Will Owens continued. ‘Going to offer your brother some sort of compensation, a sop to his own conscience if you ask me, Travers.’
Will Owens was enjoying the effect his words were having upon the two men, especially Glanmor Travers who had turned quite pale.
‘Mr Richardson needs that mine,’ Will continued. ‘Have his own supply of coal then won’t he? He’ll be independent, he’s not soft.’ There was a grudging admiration in Owens’ voice that grated on Rickie.
Glanmor took a deep hissing breath. ‘The bastard!’ he said. His eyes were narrowed and his face white and angry. ‘Well that’s it then, he deserves everything he gets.’
Rickie felt a glow of triumph, trouble was brewing and about to boil over and all he’d had to do was to lay out a few shillings.
‘Right then, let’s get down to some serious talking, shall we?’
Chapter Nineteen
It was pleasant in the small office, the sun shone through the open window and a soft breeze drifted in bringing the scent of roses from the bush outside. Mali sat at the old carved wooden desk, the account book open in front of her, not thinking of her work but about Sterling and his vow that he loved her. He must have been teasing her, she decided, for she had not set eyes on him for almost a week.
She looked down at the neat columns, trying to concentrate on her work, and thankfully the figures were all properly balanced. Only one thing spoiled the pleasure Mali found in her work and that was the fact that the laundry was losing money.
‘Good morning, my dear.’ Mr Waddington came into the room, taking off his silk scarf and placing it on the coat stand near the door. ‘I’m not feeling very well today so forgive me for arriving late.’ He sat down in his own chair and leaned back against the hard leather, and as Mali looked at him in concern, she saw that his cheeks were pale, his mouth drawn down at the corners.
‘Tell me the worst, Mali my dear, how do the accounts balance, are we at least breaking even?’ He sighed softly and his long slender hands placed together were blue veined and delicate and they were trembling.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mali shook her head. ‘It’s not at all good I’m afraid, even though we have the volume of work coming in the prices you charge are too low, Mr Waddington. You see what with fuel becoming so dear, not to mention the wages to the women, you are paying out much more than you can afford.’
He rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘What do you suggest?’ He seemed to have shrunken into himself and Mali chewed her lip worriedly for a moment.
‘I suggest that firstly you put up your prices, they haven’t changed at all in ages. You see you’re still charging the same for starching and pressing as you did three years ago and it’s losing you money.’
She looked down at the figures before her. ‘I’m afraid you are going to have to cut back on your working force,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I know it will be hard on the women but you simply haven’t the funds to employ as many as you are doing.’
‘Oh dear.’ Mr Waddington sighed once more. ‘Now how do I decide which people should go? I can’t bear to upset any of my ladies. And I know the
customers won’t like paying extra. All the same I’m sure you’re right.’
Mali looked up at him. ‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought,’ she said, ‘and although the boilerhouse uses all the hands you employ the other departments are needlessly full of women. The checking could be done by the packers as they put the linen into piles and the ironing by half the staff you have there now.’
‘I suppose there’s no alternative. Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let the older women go, people like Aggie, who are not able to pull their weight any more. Sad though it is, I can’t afford to carry them any longer.’
He smiled though there was no light in his eyes. ‘Make me a cup of tea my dear, and have one yourself. We have some unpleasant tasks to complete and so we might as well refresh ourselves before we start.’
By the afternoon, Mr Waddington had made out a list of the women who were to be given notice of dismissal. He went round the laundry himself, handing out the papers with a few words of regret for each employee he dismissed. Mali saw a change in him, even since the morning his eyes were lacking lustre and his skin had taken on a grey tinge. She did her best to reassure him that everything would be all right.
‘You’ll see, Mr Waddington, when you have cut your costs things will be better and if we impress on the women that they must be moderate in their use of soap and paper and string, your expenditure will fall even further.’
As she left the laundry later, Mali was surprised to see a group of women gathered outside the gate. Sally Benson pushed her way forward, her face twisted with anger, her jaw jutting belligerently.
‘So you think you’re the boss now, do you? Five minutes in the office and you do just as you like, you little slut,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet you think it’s very clever getting people like Aggie the boot, and then it’s me next, eh?’ She jabbed her elbow painfully into Mali’s ribs.
Suddenly Katie was beside Mali, her voice full of indignation as she shouted at Sally Benson. ‘Hey, now stop that or you’ll get the back ’o me hand for sure. Go on home now and leave us to do the same.’
Sally Benson punched Katie hard in the face and the Irish girl fell backwards against the wall, her hand to her nose which had begun to pour with blood.
‘You’re on your own, my fine madam,’ Sally said smugly. ‘Don’t look for no one to protect you for Big Mary’s gone off home, it’s just you and me.’ Her hands were on her hips, her smile triumphant as she looked down at Mali scornfully.
‘Cat got your tongue then or are you wetting yourself with fright?’ She grasped the front of Mali’s blouse, twisting it between her big fingers so that the material tore from neck to hem with a loud rending sound.
Mali felt anger growing like a racing tide within her. It seemed suddenly that all the pain and loss of burying her mother and the tears she had not even begun to cry since that terrible day in the winter when she had walked beside the fish cart to the graveyard were boiling up inside her like a volcano. Before she knew what she was doing, she had bunched her hand into a fist and lashed out at Sally’s sneering face.
She saw the girl’s mouth start to bleed even as she hit out again and again, unable to quench the need to strike out at something or someone until Sally fell to the ground whimpering like a baby.
Mali felt dazed as if all that was happening was unreal, it couldn’t have been she who had stood there pounding at the other girl with such venom. She rubbed her face as the rest of the laundry women crowded around her, cheering and clapping her on the back. And then Katie was clinging to her, nose still bloody, eyes red.
‘You showed her a thing or two sure you did, Mali, and I’m proud of you, it was about time someone put down that bully for she’s been torturing us all for long enough.’
Mali pushed her way out of the crowd of people. She wanted only to get away on her own, her head was pounding and there were tears running down her cheeks; she felt no jubilation, she simply wanted to run and hide.
She was dimly aware of an automobile drawing up beside her and of an arm pressing protectively around her shoulders. She looked up in surprise, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes.
‘Sterling,’ her voice sounded far away, ‘what are you doing here?’ He was helping her into the seat of the Ascot then and she was being driven away from Canal Street and tears were still running unchecked down her cheeks.
But slowly a glow of warmth began to fill her being, she leaned closer to Sterling’s broad shoulder, revelling in the knowledge that he had come to her when she most needed him. Love was like sunlight filling her being so that she could hardly breathe and she realised she was coming alive, truly alive, and it was as though, since Mam’s death, she had been withdrawn into her own little world where nothing could really touch her.
She did not know where Sterling was taking her, he was guiding the automobile through the back streets of the town but it did not matter, all she knew was that he was at her side and she trusted him to take care of her. He drew the Ascot to a halt a few minutes later at the back entrance to the Mackworth Arms.
‘Come on.’ He took her arm, ‘we must get you cleaned up, you look as though you’d been hit by a steamroller.’
For the first time, Mali became conscious of her appearance. Her blouse was hanging from her shoulders in tatters and there was blood on her hands, though if it was Sally Benson’s or her own, she could not tell.
The long corridors of the hotel were hot and stuffy and Mali prayed that no one would see her like this. Sterling’s hand was firmly holding hers as she followed him into his room. The carpet was thick and lush beneath her feet and on the beds and windows were heavy drapes hanging in rich folds. From the harbour she heard the plaintive hooting of a tug and suddenly she wanted more than anything to belong, really belong to someone.
‘There, lie down on the bed, I’ll send for something for you to drink, perhaps a brandy is what you need.’
‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘just come and hold me, Sterling.’ He sat beside her at once, taking her in his arms, brushing the tangled hair away from her face.
‘Sweet little Mali,’ he spoke softly and she turned her lips towards his, waiting, wanting his mouth upon her own.
A stream of pure emotion ran like fire through her veins, she clung to him, feeling the warmth of his body against her breasts. Her heart was pounding so fast, she could hear it like the rush of the ocean in her ears. She didn’t know who moved first but she was lying back against the pillows, her eyes closed, her breath mingled with his.
His hands were tender as he removed the torn blouse, he kissed her shoulder and his mouth was warm and passionate. He explored the softness of her breast with his tongue and flames of desire swept through her, she could not think of anything except the new sensations that were possessing her.
They lay close together on the bed, naked now and for a long moment, they looked at each other with joy.
‘You’re perfect, Mali,’ he breathed, ‘so beautiful I can hardly believe you’re real.’ He cupped her face and his mouth was upon hers, his tongue probing, exciting new awareness in her and she responded by tentatively reaching out and touching him. She felt him shudder and knew with a feeling of happiness that she had the power to rouse him to passion. His breathing was ragged and his body tense and strong.
‘Come to me,’ she whispered shyly and he rose above her so big and powerful that she closed her eyes in ecstasy. She felt him touch her thigh and he was so gentle, his fingers sensitive, and she loved him so much that she could not bear it.
He came to her slowly, careful not to give her pain, and she wound her arms around his bare back, pressing him closer, knowing that he was her destiny, he was making her his own and now she would never be free of him, would never want to be.
The clock on the wall ticked away the hours. Outside the air had grown cooler and darkness was wrapping a soft mantle over the town. Mali woke in Sterling’s arms and she leaned on one elbow, looking down at him, loving him, want
ing his passion again.
She kissed his mouth and he awoke, staring up at her with his clear blue eyes alight. He put his hand behind her head and drew her down to him, his mouth on her nipple, his tongue hot and passionate. Mali whimpered with delight and clung to his strong neck, holding him close to her.
‘I want you, Sterling,’ she whispered and she was suddenly held fast while he was thrusting into her.
This time she felt no pain, only intense joy and happiness. Her body responded to Sterling’s as though from some inborn natural instinct and together they moved in rhythm, lost in each other, having no existence outside this room.
Later, as they lay drowsily in each other’s arms, Mali thought she had never known such happiness. She reached up and touched Sterling’s cheek and laughed as she felt the roughness of his chin.
‘You need a shave,’ she said softly, ‘but you are still the most handsome man in all the world.’ He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips gently.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said, ‘I must take you home.’ He rose from her side and stood tall and beautiful, like a marble sculpture in the moonlight that shone now through the window.
Mali felt suddenly cold, she had not thought of going home, but of course she would have to resume her normal life even though everything in her cried out that the entire universe was turned upside down.
Tonight, she would sleep in her own bed and tomorrow go to work in the office, try to help Mr Waddington sort out his problems.
‘What’s wrong?’ He began to dress and she watched him, unable to look away. She brushed back her hair from her eyes and Sterling came to sit beside her on the bed, buttoning up his shirt quickly. ‘You’re very quiet,’ he kissed the tip of her nose, ‘not sorry are you, Mali?’
Suddenly her arms were around his neck and she was kissing the warmth of his throat. Sorry? This was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
‘Of course I’m not sorry,’ she whispered and he held her at arm’s length, staring down into her face, though in the moonlight she could not see the expression in his eyes.