She looked surprised. ‘I thought ye were going to meet your friends?’
‘I am, but you can come.’ Nat prayed she would refuse.
The brown eyes looked dubious. ‘All right, but if they get clever I’m coming home.’ She reached for her hat and shawl.
‘Going out?’ Mr Maguire was just on the way in from work as they left. ‘Well, be in for eight o’clock, Bright – and take good care of her, Natty.’
The gang had not yet assembled when Nat and Bright arrived at the camp in St Sampson’s churchyard. Nat half hoped the others would not turn up, but they did and as he had imagined they made vociferous objection to the female presence.
‘She’s cured my bronchitis!’ Nat hoped his firm reply would work with Denzil. ‘I owe her a favour.’
Denzil must have been in a good mood. ‘Oh all right then, she might come in useful if we need wounds tending. Gunner, will you shut your gob!’ During the exchange the other boy had been coughing and clearing his throat.
‘You’ve got bronchitis,’ said an experienced Nat.
‘Nah!’ The leader was dismissive. ‘His balls haven’t dropped yet and somebody’s told him if he keeps coughing that’ll do the trick. Have yours dropped yet?’
Nat blushed to the roots of his hair, wishing Denzil would not be so coarse in Bright’s presence. He mumbled a yes.
‘I don’t believe you. Let’s have a look.’ Denzil made a laughing grab for Nat’s clothes.
‘Behave, Denz!’ A scowling Nat fended him off.
‘What’re balls?’ enquired Bright with interest.
All present laughed apart from Nat. ‘Nowt! They’re just being daft,’ the embarrassed lad told her and rubbed his hands together. ‘Eh, it’s a bit cold, isn’t it? Shall we make some winter-warmers?’
Finding the cans posed a difficulty but once these were scavenged from people’s bins, the rest was no effort. Denzil had a ball of twine with which to make handles for the winter-warmers, and Roger had the matches. ‘He’s an expert wi’ fire,’ Nat informed Bright as he punched holes in his can and handed it to Roger who stuffed it with rags and set light to it. After a moment whizzing the can round and round by its string, the rags inside began to glow. When all were lit the boys sat with their hands to the warmth, Nat sharing his with Bright.
Denzil suggested they go out onto the streets to find amusement. Out here it was still too cold for there to be much entertainment and after a while the youngsters grew bored of making fun of passers-by and Denzil had another idea. ‘Eh, Rodge, give us your matches a minute!’
‘What you gonna do with ’em?’
Denzil snatched the matches and gave them to Bright. ‘See that old bloke there?’ He pointed to a man who was obviously wealthy for he was well-dressed and had a silver top to his cane. ‘Go and sell him these.’
‘They’re mine!’ Roger made to snatch them back.
‘Shut up, Rodge!’ Denzil turned back to Bright and urged, ‘Go on.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’ asked the girl.
‘It’s a bit of fun.’
Bright was always ready for mischief but could not imagine how this could be gained from selling a box of matches. ‘What shall I ask for them?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter – a penny!’ Denzil gave her a shove.
The boys watched her approach the gentleman who turned and looked down at her in surprise. At first he didn’t appear to take the bait, but then after compassionate appraisal of the waif-like face he delved into his pocket and exchanged a coin for the box of matches.
‘Right, come on!’ Denzil led the assault and the others followed, as yet unaware of his intentions.
‘Caught you, you old lecher!’ Denzil grabbed the man’s arm and addressed one of the boys. ‘Go fetch a policeman, Spud! We’ll teach him to take advantage of a young girl.’
‘What the deuce…’ The man tried to shake Denzil’s hold.
‘This girl is only thirteen! You must’ve known that when you paid her for immoral purposes.’
‘How dare you!’ The man swivelled round. A small crowd had gathered. ‘I merely purchased a box of matches from her.’
‘A likely story!’ scoffed Denzil. ‘Where are they?’
‘Here!’ The man brandished the box.
‘They’re not new – look, the box is all scuffed! You gave the girl money to let you have your way with her.’
‘That is preposterous! I only felt pity for the child!’ The man began to panic as the crowd tightened around him.
Bright was flustered too – what was going on?
Denzil turned to Spud. ‘I told you to go for a policeman!’
The bemused lad did as instructed.
‘No, it’s all a big mistake! Tell them!’ The man entreated Bright, who felt sorry for him now.
‘He did buy the matches, Denzil, like you wanted. It’s true,’ she told the curious onlookers who then began to move away.
Denzil, his plan exposed, blustered. ‘All right, well, if you pay us ten shillings we won’t fetch the police.’
‘So that’s your game!’ The man raised his cane and lashed out with it. Everyone scattered, including Bright. As they fled they heard his threatening cry, ‘Blackguards! I’ll have the law on you!’
‘You stupid bitch!’ A breathless Denzil cursed her when they had reached the safety of a derelict building. ‘We could’ve made a load o’ money if you hadn’t opened your gob!’
Bright was still terrified from the chase. ‘Well, ye didn’t say anything about that!’ She looked to Nat for protection. He did not seem too frightened, nor did the others, for once they had caught their breath they started to giggle about their exploit. Denzil too was caught up in the laughter, and any danger was past.
‘Is this what ye do all the time?’ asked Bright.
Nat nodded. ‘Mostly.’
She made no further comment on what she considered dangerous behaviour, but told herself to have a long talk with Nat when they were alone.
‘I wonder where Spud’s got to,’ mused Nat, then smirked. ‘Eh, you don’t think he really went for a copper, d’you?’
This did not appear to perturb anyone except Bright. ‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘Can we go home?’
Nat wasn’t ready. ‘It’s a bit early. Rodge, light us a fire.’
The rags from one of the winter-warmers were used to set fire to the pile of debris they had scraped into the middle of the floor. For a time they all encircled it, till Bright complained, ‘I’m still cold.’
‘Aye, it’s not very big is it?’ observed Gunner, whizzing his can around to keep it smouldering.
Roger grinned. ‘So, you want a big fire, d’you?’ Taking up a rag, he dipped it into the flames and when this had ignited he went to a pile of refuse in the corner and ignited this.
‘Aw!’ Bright covered her mouth as the flames took hold. The sight of this seemed to excite Roger. His eyes gleamed as he lit more and more rags and scattered them around igniting debris. The flames from the separate fires joined up to form one large blaze. The youngsters stood transfixed, watching it grow. Bright shattered the spell, dropping her can as she exclaimed, ‘I’m off!’ She ran outside. The others joined her but stopped to watch as the fire took hold of the walls.
‘Isn’t it great!’ Roger’s eyes were aflame with ecstasy. ‘Look, oh look! Listen to it crackling!’
The fire expanded, the heat from it compelling the youngsters to move back and watch from a safe distance.
‘I’m off home!’ Bright took Nat’s arm. ‘Come on!’
‘Just a minute, I want to watch!’ Nat was infected with Roger’s zeal.
She tugged at him frantically. ‘Nat, we’ll get caught!’
Her words were prophetic. The beacon could be heard and seen from streets away, drawing people out of their houses. ‘You’d better go.’ Nat nudged her into action. Bright did not argue but ran. Others came running too, amongst them a police officer.
‘The stupid get,
he was only meant to pretend!’ Denzil cursed at Spud, before fleeing.
Nat and Gunner ran too, leaving Roger transfixed by the red glow of the inferno to be easily caught by the police officer.
‘Stop those boys!’ Holding the main culprit by the collar he shouted for assistance to the crowd, but Denzil and Gunner managed to evade capture and disappeared into the night. Spud had miraculously vanished too, each abandoning Nat and Roger to their fate.
Well ahead, Bright did not turn to see their capture and ran most of the way home.
Mr Maguire interrupted the family conversation as his breathless daughter joined their midst. ‘My, look at the state of ye! Ye didn’t have to run all the way home, tis only half past seven.’
Bright sank onto the fender and leaned on her grandmother’s legs, trying to catch her breath. ‘I thought it was later!’
‘Where’s himself?’ asked her father. ‘Didn’t I ask him to look after ye?’ Bright hoped she did not look too guilty. ‘He brought me home first, then went off somewhere with his friends.’
‘Well, he needn’t think he’s staying out till midnight,’ warned Mr Maguire. ‘At ten o’clock this door is locked and he sleeps on the doorstep.’
It was as Mr Maguire went to undertake this duty later that there was a knock at the door. ‘Just in time!’ he called, expecting to see Nat when he opened the door. Instead he found a member of the constabulary. ‘Oh…’
‘Mr Maguire, I believe you are the guardian of a Nathaniel Smellie.’
‘Jazers, what’s he done?’ Mr Maguire gave a heavy sigh, and was further exasperated to be informed that Nat, along with another boy, had been detained in relation to a case of arson.
‘Arson! Jazers Christ!’ Mr Maguire put his head in his hands as the officer left some time later. ‘We’ve only been harbouring Beelzebub.’
Bright was already in bed, though she could hear the commotion below and knew what it was all about. She wondered whether to go down and tell them that it wasn’t Nat who had started the fire, but then her daddy was far too angry to listen to reason tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Tomorrow came and she was no braver, but as it turned out Nat had no need of her testimony; after vigorous questioning the police believed his story that he was not the one who had started the fire, but had merely been present when his friend played with the matches – ‘But I warned him not to!’ Neither he nor Roger disclosed the identity of their companions that night.
Nat had feared that the man they had accused of propositioning Bright might come forward, but he had not, obviously wishing to keep the delicate matter to himself. At the conclusion of the legal proceedings, Roger was found to be a danger to the public and was ordered to be detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Nat, found wanting in discipline was lucky enough to escape with another spell in Marygate. ‘If lucky is the word!’ quoted Mr Maguire, still unaware that his daughter had been involved. ‘My God, the lad’s been out barely six months!’
* * *
This time, number thirty-four as Nat was to be known, would remain at the Industrial School until the age of sixteen. In contrast with his last period of incarceration he decided to make use of his time here by attempting to learn a trade.
‘Well, at least you’re showing signs of owning a brain this time, twenty-seven.’ No matter how many times he was corrected Mr Chipchase persisted in using Nat’s old number. ‘Let’s hope we can make something of you, though I doubt very much if it’ll be a carpenter judging by this effort.’ The officer affected a pained grimace as he inspected Nat’s third wasteful attempt at a mitre joint, then tossed the ill-fitting pieces of wood aside. ‘At the rate you’re going we’ll end up with an awful lot of jigsaws. Why don’t you try origami?’ He patted Nat’s shoulder and handed him a broom. ‘Sorry to thwart your efforts, twenty-seven, but I think you’d be more use to me with this.’
Alas, this was not to be Nat’s only failure. He had little aptitude for any of the other trades either, and after a few months was relegated to labouring jobs. ‘I’m not bothered!’ came his hostile retort when mocked by his peers. ‘I’ll be going back to collecting scrap when I get out of here. Who needs a trade? You watch, I’ll make more money than all of you put together!’
On all too infrequent occasions the monotony was broken by a visit from Mr Maguire and his youngest daughter, the first of these meetings at Easter and now, again, in June. He noticed a change in Bright straightaway. She had done her hair in a different fashion but it wasn’t just that. She looked – older somehow – ‘womany’. Yet, contrary to this hint of maturity, she kept blushing every time he looked at her. It made him redden too.
Bright squirmed in her white summer dress. ‘We’re off to the Grand Yorkshire Gala next week. I’m going up in a hot air balloon.’
‘I said ye might be able to,’ corrected Mr Maguire, fanning himself with a newspaper. It was Nat’s double misfortune to be locked away during one of the hottest summers ever.
‘I’m off an’ all.’ Nat, infected by Maguire’s action, used his cuff to wipe sweat from his brow. ‘Our band’s playing there.’
‘I didn’t know you were in the band.’ Bright showed delight.
‘I’m not, I just meant the school band.’
Bright flushed. ‘Oh…’
‘Hey, d’ye still have that tin whistle we bought ye?’ asked Mr Maguire.
Nat looked downcast, but more at the memory that the whistle provoked than the loss itself. ‘No, it was locked up in the house when… you know.’
‘What?’ Maguire had forgotten.
‘When his mam left,’ whispered Bright. She returned to the former topic. ‘There’s going to be fireworks at the gala, too! It’ll be great. I’m glad they’re letting ye go – I might see ye there.’
Nat said he hoped she would, but on the day there were so many hundreds of people milling in the brilliant sunshine on Asylum Fields that he could not see his friend. He did however meet Mr Chipchase on his day off, an encounter which prompted surprise. He had not realized that any of the officers were married with families, but here was Chipchase with his wife on his arm and two adult-looking sons.
‘Why, if it isn’t our very own Grinling Gibbons!’ Mr Chipchase paused to deliver a cynical smile from under his boater. ‘Enjoying yourself, twenty-seven?’ Receiving a mumbled affirmative, he nodded and moved on without introducing his wife.
Nat was not particularly keen to meet her, she looked a miserable bitch. However, he was interested enough to follow the Chipchase family through the crowd for a while, envying the sons who were allowed a hot-air balloon ride and wondering if Bright had succeeded in persuading her father to allow her up in one.
She had. ‘Oh, it was really exciting!’ she told him when next they met, clasping her hands to her breast. ‘But scarey too, especially the bit where ye look down an’ see all these faces getting smaller and smaller…’ She gushed on and on about it in her usual fashion until she saw Nat looking bored and asked, ‘Did you get to go? I never saw ye.’ He nodded. ‘Did ye have a go on that Alpine Glassade? I did – I caught me dress at the top and put a big rip in it!’ She turned to laugh at her father, then back at Nat. ‘Hey, the Duke and Duchess of York are coming in October! Will ye be going to see them?’
Nat shrugged. Ever since Kendrew had rudely acquainted him with his true origins he was no longer interested in royalty, though he would keep his invented surname. ‘I’m not bothered, but I suppose they’ll drag us there.’
Bright frowned at his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Oh, it’ll be lovely! I can’t wait to see her dress.’
With his obvious boredom in the subject, Bright’s conversation petered out, leaving it to Mr Maguire to provide the chat with only the odd comment from her. Why was Nat behaving like this? Had Bright directed the question at Nat she would still be no wiser, for Nat did not know the reason himself why these strange moods came upon him. He wanted to dispell the confusion on her face, wanted her to know that he looked fo
rward to these visits for weeks ahead, but the moods controlled his every action. He knew he must present an uncaring image, feared it would drive his friends away, yet he could do absolutely nothing about it.
* * *
One year ended and another began. Still the Maguires persevered with the otherwise friendless youth, though each visit became increasingly awkward. Neither Nat nor Bright could understand it – it was as if they were strangers, blushing with embarrassment for no apparent reason. However, on this particular occasion there was good reason for Nat’s discomfiture as he sat listening with half an ear to Mr Maguire’s monologue. It had finally happened as old Bramble Conk had warned: his acts of personal abuse had resulted in him damaging himself. Something had leaked from his insides and he did not know from whom to seek help. He must sit here as if everything were normal, unable to tell his friends that he was slowly dying.
‘Are you listening to me?’ demanded Maguire, causing Nat to jump.
‘Yes!’ Nat composed himself and tried to look interested, though he had no idea what Maguire had been saying.
As the man pressed on with topics that varied between the Grand National and Mr Gladstone’s resignation, Nat’s eyes strayed to Bright, performing a quick examination of her curves before looking away. It was sufficient to lure his mind onto a dangerous track and before he knew it something was happening – down there. Oh no! He pressed his thighs together. Please don’t let it happen in front of Bright! Stop thinking about it! Stop!
Forcing himself to concentrate on something awful whilst trying to show interest in his visitors was a feat Nat was unable to manage convincingly. The Maguires left shortly afterwards, Bright questioning her father over Nat’s odd behaviour when they were on the way home. ‘I can’t understand it. We’re the only ones who go to see him, yet it was as if he wanted us to leave.’
Shoddy Prince Page 18