Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  Nathaniel smiled fondly down at his landlady giving a silent prayer of thanks that he’d made the Roscoes repeat his story about Hastings over and over until they got it right. ‘I hope you told him how you saved me from the seagull that was after my crust?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She nudged Nathaniel in the ribs. ‘I’m surprised you even remember. You were nought but a nipper.’

  ‘Dirty great thing swooping down on me like that, how could I forget?’

  Dolly had lived in Lowestoft as a child and the seagull story was hers. Nathaniel reasoned that if anyone did question her about her long lost younger brother, the nearer to the truth they kept their story the more believable it would sound. Of course he hadn’t reckoned on Patrick Nolan dropping by but so far she seemed to have remembered the details.

  She beamed at Patrick, who said, ‘She also said that you lived in the shadow of the East Hill.’

  ‘Bless me, no. The West Hill,’ Dolly corrected. ‘There ain’t nothing but rocks under the East hill, Mr Bolan.’

  ‘Nolan,’ Patrick repeated. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have taken you for brother and sister.’

  Nathaniel looked down at Dolly then back at Patrick. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  Dolly slid her arm around Nathaniel waist and he forced himself not to recoil. ‘I guess I favour Ma and you have more of Pa’s features.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said Patrick nodding slowly. ‘That would account for it, but what still puzzles me is that you don’t sound alike either.’

  Nathaniel’s face lost its congenial expression. ‘Dolly, luv, Buttony’s outside,’ Nathaniel said, not taking his eyes from Patrick. ‘You had better fetch the dog’s vittles.’

  ‘Oh my, so I had,’ Dolly said, wiping her hands down her apron, ‘Nice to have met you Mr Dolan, and I’ll call you when supper’s ready, Jack,’ she said, giving Nathaniel a look of utter relief as she bolted through the door.

  Nathaniel stepped in front of Patrick. ‘You were just passing were you? Or perhaps the truth is you’ve come by when you thought I would be out so you could have a nose around.’

  ‘I’m just looking after my sister’s interests.’

  ‘And what makes you think I might damage them?’

  ‘Nothing, so far.’ Patrick’s expression hardened. ‘But no one knows you, Archer, and no one’s even heard of you before you pitched up at the yard six weeks ago so you’re right – I’ve dropped by to check your story out.’

  ‘And are you satisfied?’

  The two men stared at each other ‘Aye. I am.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you from your supper, Mr Nolan.’ Nathaniel opened the door. ‘And feel free to drop by anytime. Perhaps next time you’ll take that cup of tea.’

  Patrick stepped forward until he was almost nose to nose with Nathaniel. ‘Good day to you, Archer, but just so you know, God help you if I find out anything about you that could harm my sister.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dolly Roscoe’s ear-splitting scream woke Nathaniel from a deep sleep and set his heart pounding. Below him, fists hammered on the front door and the dozen or so dogs at the back of the house added to the pandemonium by howling and barking.

  Nathaniel sprang from the bed and splashed the ewer of water left for his morning shave over his face to bring himself fully awake. He shook the droplets from his hair and strode across the floor. Tearing back ragged curtains from the window, horror and panic cut off his breath as he gazed down at two stout constables.

  Who had betrayed him? Smyth-Hilton? Maybe the reporter had summoned the police as soon as he’d left the office. Or perhaps Patrick Nolan wasn’t satisfied with Dolly’s story and called them. How else could they have found him? The picture of Stebbins, fat and prosperous, sprang into Nathaniel’s mind and bile rose up in his throat.

  He snatched his trousers from the end of the bed, yanked them on and managed to shrug on his shirt just as the front parlour door burst open and he heard the sound of heavy boots marching in the hall below.

  Nathaniel’s heart crashed in his chest and stopped his thoughts. He flattened himself against the wall, his ears strained to hear the click of the handle. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his chaotic mind. His eyes darted around the room and then fixed on the small skylight on the other side of the room. It would be a squeeze, but with a bit of wriggling he should be able to get through.

  He shoved his feet into his boots, climbed onto the rickety dresser and peered out of the small window to the back of the house. Relief flooded over him. The alley at the back was empty. Then he noticed the steep incline and missing tiles of the lean-to roof below. He doubted it would take his weight but, even if by some miracle it did, he’d be very lucky to make it to the end without sliding off and breaking his neck. But what choice did he have? He had to get away. Images of the brutal regime in the penal colony flashed into his mind.

  He couldn’t go back. Not again.

  Boots clumped on the floor below as he swung the small window open and gripped the frame to heave himself up. Then he paused. If the police knew where to find him, why were they searching below?

  Climbing down from the chest of drawers he went back to the front window. The two police officers were still standing in the road but now, beside them, there was a pile of tatty furniture and Dolly in her nightcap and gown. The early morning ruckus brought out the whole street and a couple of women hurried over and threw their arms around her.

  Keeping half an eye on the policemen, Nathaniel laced his boots and slipped on his coat. He opened the door quietly, tip-toed onto the landing and looked out of the window to the back of the house. There was no sign of the police. If he climbed out and down into the back yard he might be able to get away.

  ‘Fecking put them down!’ Tubby bellowed.

  Nathaniel held his breath and peeped around the corner of the banisters. At the bottom of the stairs a squat man wearing a check jacket and with a shaved head marched towards the open front door.

  ‘If yer paid yer rent each week instead of hiding under the table, you and your old lady wouldn’t be out on the street,’ he shouted, pushing past Tubby and throwing the cane chair out the door.

  With his heart still pounding Nathaniel ventured down the stairs.

  ‘Bailiffs?’ he asked another man with oiled hair who stepped out of the Roscoe’s front room carrying a three-legged table.

  The man nodded. ‘If you’re lodging here, you’d better pack up and clear out.’

  Nathaniel only just stopped himself from laughing with relief and returned to his room. He gathered up the copies of land deeds and accounts he’d given to Smyth-Hilton and slipped them into a slim satchel, which he concealed inside his shirt. He removed his belt and wound it around the dozen or so books he’d managed to collect and fastened the buckle securely. Finally, he tied his spare shirt, trousers and smalls together with his best tie, then heaved the mattress from the iron bedstead. He rolled it up and slung it over his shoulder and walked as casually as his racing pulse would allow him, down the stairs and out the front door. The two police officers eyed him.

  They were taller by half a head than most men, with bushy moustaches and matching side whiskers. The brass buttons on their dark navy frock coats twinkled in the early morning sunlight and their top hats sat authoritatively atop their heads.

  Shrugging the mattress more comfortably on his shoulder, Nathaniel started down the street. The taller of the two officers pointed at him. ‘Oi! You! Come ‘ere.’

  ‘Morning, officers,’ he said, trying to remain calm.

  The older one, probably ex-military by the look of the powder burn on the side of his face, looked him up and down.

  ‘That yours?’ he indicated the mattress over Nathaniel’s shoulder.

  ‘Aye. Bought and paid for,’ he replied.

  The younger officer studied him more closely. ‘Where you from?’

  ‘Hastings.’ Nathaniel replied, as Mrs Roscoe’s china
was deposited none too gently on the pavement by the front door.

  ‘My wife comes from St Leonards.’

  Nathaniel forced himself not to react. The officers were only there to keep the peace but if he raised their suspicions in the slightest way they might decide to investigate him further.

  ‘No more than a country mile away,’ he said praying that it was.

  The officer looked at him more closely. ‘What’s your name?’

  There was an explosion of noise as Tubby’s dogs bolted through the front door, yelping and barking as they tore up the street to scatter children and cats alike. Dolly let out a loud wail and slumped on the chair in the middle of her tatty possessions and sobbed. The two bailiffs emerged from the house and piled the last of the household linen on the wet cobbles. Tubby followed them with a guilt-ridden look on his fleshy face. As she caught sight of him Dolly sprang to her feet and rushed at her husband.

  The officer beside Nathaniel turned and chuckled.

  ‘You bastard,’ she shouted snatching up a cooking pot to swing at him. ‘I suppose you’ve spent all the rent in the Bell.’

  Tubby dodged the iron pot. ‘Now, Doll, I—’

  ‘Don’t you Doll me,’ she replied, adjusting her grip on the handle and swiping at him again. He dodged back and a cheer went up from the crowd. Two of the dogs grasped the bottom of Tubby’s trousers and snarled at him as Dolly went for it. There was a metallic-sounding bong as she landed a well aimed blow on the side of her husband’s head.

  The older constable knocked out his pipe. ‘We had better break it up, Knight, before she kills the poor sod.’

  Nathaniel adjusted the mattress again. ‘I’ll leave you to it then, officer,’ he said, as he stepped away. ‘I have to get to work before I’m docked an hour’s pay.’

  The younger police constable glanced back at him. ‘All right, on your way then, chum. Although I don’t know what your governor will say when you arrive for work with all your worldly goods on your shoulders.’

  Male laughter greeted Mattie as she closed the garden gate and walked into the yard to start the day. Her jaw dropped as she saw Jack standing below her with a mattress across his shoulder and an awkward grin on his face. Staring at his tall frame and angular face in the crystal clear light of the early morning, Mattie knew she loved him. Well, actually she’d been in love with him for weeks and had to fight the urge to throw herself into his arms there and there.

  ‘Ho, Mrs M, what do you think of this, then?’ Pete said, as she reached the bottom step. ‘Jack here’s been turfed out by the bailiffs.’

  Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘My sister’s husband spent the rent and I lost my bed.’

  Jack’s eyes captured hers and happiness bubbled up inside Mattie.

  Billy’s voice cut between them. ‘I said that I didn’t take old Jack to be a Bible studying man, Mrs M, but he seems to have taken up his bed and walked,’ he said, slapping his thigh and guffawing at his own joke.

  ‘You had better store your things in the office,’ she said, as he fell into step behind her. He shrugged the mattress into the corner.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry to ask, Mrs Maguire, but there’s an advertisement in Swanson’s window for a room going in Fenton Street, so would you mind if I nipped around there before taking the wagon out?’ One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘There’s hardly a room to be had anywhere for less than three shillings a week and if I don’t get around there smart it’ll be gone. I’ll not be more than half an hour’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘But what about your sister?’

  ‘Oh, she and Tubby have been talking about moving to Cambridge Heath so I was thinking of looking for a room anyhow.’

  The unused room at the front of the house, thought Mattie. If she got an iron bedstead from the Webster’s auction rooms . . . She shook herself. What in the name of God was she thinking of?

  Jack drained the last of his coffee. ‘Well, I had better—’

  ‘You could lodge in the front room,’ she blurted out.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly impose,’ he replied, a little too quickly.

  ‘You wouldn’t be. The room’s been unused for years,’ Mattie replied, willing him to agree but afraid for her peace of mind that he would.

  Several emotions crossed Jack’s face that she couldn’t interpret, then one eyebrow rose. ‘Won’t people talk?’

  Talk! It’ll be around the streets before the sun goes down.

  Mattie shrugged. ‘Don’t they always? And it’s not as if I’m alone in the house. Kate is here, so is Queenie and you’ll be downstairs.’

  His expression changed subtly. Mattie caught an escaped tendril of hair and curled it back in place. She hesitated. ‘If you would rather not, then I—’

  ‘It’s most kind of you, Mrs Maguire,’ he replied, the deep tone of his voice sending delicious shivers though her. ‘Perhaps if only for a night or two.’

  Freddie pressed his back into the hundredweight sack of coal, reached above his head and grasped the raw edge of the sack to heave it onto his shoulders. His body ached with the weight and sharp edges of coal dug into the bones of his spine but he barely noticed the pain.

  He trudged the few steps to the coal hole of the Artichoke and bent forward, and the chunks of coal tumbled through the round opening into the cellar below. One large lump bounced off the rim and landed at Freddie’s feet, but in his mind’s eye, instead of a fist-size piece coal, he saw Jack Archer’s face.

  ‘Ger in you fecking bugger,’ he yelled, as he kicked the nugget of coal against the pub wall. It exploded into dozens of shards and splattered across the pavement. It was a pity he couldn’t destroy the cocky bastard Archer as easily.

  ‘Oh, Freddie, you’re in a right mood today,’ said Mrs Conner, the landlord’s wife, who was watching him from the doorway.

  Freddie scowled at her. ‘You would be too if you’d had the day I’ve had, Missus. Same again Friday?’

  ‘If you please. And I ’ope whatever’s tightened your nuts has gone and you’re back to your usual cheery self.’

  Freddie jumped on the rig and took up the reins. Mumble started forward as the landlord’s wife disappeared back into the pub.

  Fecking cheery self, thought Freddie, as the wagon rolled down the road. Was it any wonder he was out of sorts?

  When he came back for dinner and realised that Archer had already moved his gear in, Freddie had almost gone berserk and given into the urge to punch his face in but he held back. He might land a couple of blows but Archer would pummel him black and blue.

  Lodge in! Huh! Offered him a bit of ’ow’s your father more like. And after she’d all but agreed to get spliced in the stable. And wasn’t I the perfect gentleman? Fecking women don’t know their own minds.

  The cart turned into Commercial Road and Freddie caught a reflection of himself in the grocer’s window. He adjusted the knot of his kingsman.

  Well, she had her chance, he thought. Plenty more fish in the sea.

  But fury surged up in him again as he saw the easy life he’d planned for himself disappearing over the horizon.

  ‘Yoo-hoo, Freddie!’ called a woman’s voice to the side of him.

  Freddie turned and a smile spread across his face. ‘Hello, Kate.’

  From his vantage point above he could see the pleasing swell of her breasts quite clearly. But what pleased him more than her face – and her pretty person – was the look of utter adoration on her face. Freddie ground his teeth. That’s how Mattie should be looking at him.

  ‘Can I have a ride back to the yard,’ she asked.

  ‘Of course you can, my little darling.’

  He offered her his hand and he felt her tremble as she took it. Stepping onto the wheel she climbed up and a faint smell of flour and yeast drifted over to him. Gathering her skirt together, Kate sat down beside him.

  Freddie studied her face. What was she? Sixteen, almost seventeen? And although she’d been walking out with that mummy’s boy Alfie Lenno
n for months, Freddie doubted he’d have the gumption to push his luck. So sweet Kate was still an untouched flower.

  ‘You’re looking very pretty today, darling,’ he said, and was rewarded with a flutter of eyelashes. ‘If I were to tell the truth, Kate, you always do.’ He gave her his sincerest look. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you that for such a long time but I didn’t want you to think I was being too forward.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie, I’d never think that of you,’ she replied, giving him another look of pure adoration.

  ‘You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, Kate,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Especially as . . .’ he bit his lip and turned away.

  ‘Especially as what?’

  He turned and gave her a mournful look. ‘I thought you were sweet on Jack.’

  ‘Jack? I’m not sweet on Jack! How could I be when I’m. . . .’ she blushed prettily and looked away.

  Freddie slid along the seat pressing his hips and thigh firmly against hers. Her eyes opened wide but she didn’t move away.

  ‘Are you saying you’re sweet on me?’ he asked, closing his hand over hers.

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Kate turned, but not before he saw her flustered expression.

  Freddie’s wounded pride rallied. He was used to women giving him sly glances and allowing him a bit of slap and tickle but the yearning in Kate’s eyes was enough to stir any man.

  ‘Are you?’ He pressed himself closer. ‘Oh, Kate, say you are and I’ll be the happiest fella in the street.’

  She looked sideways at him from under her eyelashes. ‘I didn’t think you’d even noticed me.‘

  He looked astonished. ‘Not notice you! How could I not notice you? In fact, I’ve nearly driven the cart into the gate before now because I can’t take my eyes off you.’

  Kate laughed. ‘Oh Freddie, you are a lark. I just thought you saw me as a little girl.’

  His expression changed to one of smouldering desire. ‘See you as a little girl? Nothing could be further from the truth. When I look at you, my darling,’ he ran his eyes over her slowly and brought the colour back to her cheeks. ‘I see a woman. A woman that I’d be eager to hurry home to each day.’