Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  Kate’s eyes opened even wider. ‘Freddie, are you . . .’ She put her hand on his bare arm.

  Freddie screwed his face up into a forlornly expression. ‘Forgive me, Kate, I shouldn’t try to rush you. I respect you too much. Could I walk you out one night? I mean to somewhere respectable like Lusby’s. There’s an acrobat from Arabia and a clown with a little dog doing a turn on Friday.’

  Kate turned on the seat. ‘Freddie, you’re such a gentleman and I’d love to. I’ll tell Mat—’

  ‘Can we keep things a bit quiet, for now, Sweetheart,’ he said, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her closer. ‘Just until we’ve got to know each other better. Then, after a couple of months, I can speak to your brother, Patrick.’ He gave her his most charming smile. ‘I want to do things the right way with you, Kate, my love.’

  Happiness lit up Kate’s face. ‘Alright, Freddie. We’ll keep it quiet, if you say so.’

  Mumble plodded around the corner into Little Turner Street, the narrow shortcut to the yard. As the street was practically empty Freddie tucked his finger under her chin and raised it, then pressed his lips onto hers. He felt her hesitate then she melted into him.

  Freddie was triumphant. Mattie might not recognise his worth but her sweet little sister did. And wouldn’t that be one in the eye for Mattie? He’d like to see the look on her face when she found out that he, Freddie Ellis, the man she’d turned her back on for Jack Archer, was the same Freddie Ellis who’d ruined her precious little sister.

  He pulled back and Kate opened her eyes. ‘Oh Freddie, I’m so happy,’ she said quivering in his embrace.

  ‘Oh, Kate, so am I.’ He kissed her again ‘I’ll meet you at the end of the street at seven o’clock tomorrow. What a night we shall have!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Patrick wrenched open the saloon door and strolled into the Town of Ramsgate. A couple of the men at the bar looked over and acknowledged him with a nod before turning back to their conversation and beer.

  The Town, a narrow public house wedged in between high wharfs, had been perched on the waterfront for over two hundred years. Nelson was reputed to have stopped there, and he and his lady love Emma Hamilton were thought to have rented a small house nearby. The low rumble of male voices mingled with the smoke and drifted up towards the rafters. It was in this same pub that he’d held Brian Maguire as he bled to death, lying in the spit and sawdust. Arthur, the landlord, a rotund, jovial fellow with a receding hairline, greeted him at the bar.

  ‘Evening, Pat. The usual?’ he asked, wiping his hands down the front of his long canvas apron.

  Patrick nodded and Arthur filled a pewter tankard with cool, frothy beer. Patrick swallowed it in one go.

  ‘Same again, I’m gasping. My throat’s like the sands of Arabia with all the coal in it,’ he said. ‘But I shouldn’t complain.’

  ‘You busy then?’ Arthur asked, sliding another pint Patrick’s way.

  ‘Double loads each day.’ He took a mouthful. ‘I’m thinking of asking old Wainwright if he’d lease me one of his boats.’

  ‘I thought you took on another boat a month ago,’ the landlord said, shaking the water off a pewter tankard and hanging it up on the bar’s iron work

  ‘I did, but with gas companies springing up on every scrap of marsh land from here to Putney I can barely keep up with demand.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Arthur replied, as Jock Murray staggered in with a couple of his mates. They had clearly just finished work at Morris’s and still wore their jerkins. Rivulets of sweat meandered down from their foreheads leaving a white tracing through the coal dust on their faces.

  Jock thumped his hand on the bar. ‘Four pints, sweet’art.’

  ‘You wait your turn, Jock,’ she told him flirtatiously.

  ‘Do I have to wait my turn to have a bit with you, Maisie.’

  He then spotted Patrick. ‘Afternoon, Nolan.’

  ‘Jock.’

  ‘Fecking hard day,’ Jock said, as his pint arrived. ‘Four deliveries and the lads have been unloading since noon. Four!’ he raised the appropriate number of stubby fingers. ‘And one of them was to your sister.’

  ‘I thought Monday was Maguire’s day.’

  ‘It is, but now it’s Thursday too.’

  ‘Mattie did say the business was on the up,’ Patrick replied.

  A leer spread across Jock’s fleshy face. ‘The business ain’t the only thing on the up since that fecking new driver of hers arrived.’

  Patrick turned sharply and faced him. Jock held his fierce stare for a moment then looked away and slipped the barmaid a couple of coins. ‘I’m saying no more than the truth. Since fecking Archer arrived he’s practically taken over the place. He does the books, the delivery routes, and he’s throwing his weight around.’ Jock took a noisy swallow of beer. ‘Course, I put ’im in his place right away but,’ he shrugged, ‘women get lonely.’

  Patrick put down his tankard. ‘Watch your mouth, Jock. My sister’s a respectable widow still mourning her husband.’

  Jock laughed. ‘Is that a fact? That explains why she’s got Archer lodging in her front room then? To dry her tears?’

  The door to Mattie’s office burst open and she looked up at her brother filling the frame.

  She smiled at him. ‘Hello Patrick, I wasn’t ex—’

  ‘Is Archer lodging with you?’

  ‘Is that why you’re here and not at home—’

  ‘Is he?’ he bellowed, striding into the room and planting his hands on the open ledger she was writing in.

  Mattie carefully placed the quill in the inkwell. ‘What if he is?’ she asked, looking up at her brother.

  Patrick raked his hands through his hair. ‘For the love of Mary, Mattie. Have you no regard to what people might say?‘

  Mattie closed the book and stood up. ‘People are always putting two and two together and making five.’ She crossed the room to put the account book alongside the others on the shelf. She turned. ‘Jack Archer has the front room downstairs and Kate’s in the room next to me. He only comes into the house after hours for hot water. It’s two shillings a week in my pocket for a room that’s stood empty for three years. I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.’

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like him, Mattie. There’s something about him that I can’t put my finger on but it’s gnawing at my guts.’

  ‘You don’t have to like him,’ Mattie replied.

  ‘Have you met his family?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘I have. And I tell you this,’ he said, pointing at her. ‘Old Eli looks more like his sister than the scruffy baggage who opened the door to me then wittered on about her “dear brother Jack” and their “ma and pa”. Even their bloody accents are different.’

  Mattie’s jaw dropped. ‘You went around to Jack’s lodgings?’

  ‘I did. And I tell you something else—’

  ‘How dare you go snooping around after one of my employees.’ Mattie put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother. ‘I don’t come down the moorings and quiz your crew, do I?’

  Patrick’s gaze shifted slightly. ‘I went to check him out, that’s all. I am your brother.’

  ‘So I suppose that gives you the right to go behind my back, does it?’ Mattie shouted. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, so you have.’ She shoved him in the chest. ‘This is my business and I’ve run it without your interference for three years, so I don’t see why you’re suddenly taking such a keen interest.’

  ‘It’s not Maguire’s I’m worried about, it’s this new coalman of yours. Even Josie’s concerned that he might try to take advantage of you.’

  ‘Did she say that?’

  Patrick shifted his weight onto his other foot. ‘Not in so many words but I’m sure she thinks he’s the sort who’d wheedle his way into a woman’s affections and I don’t want you to be the talk of every street corner.’

  ‘I’m sure Josie thinks no such thing,’ Ma
ttie replied. ‘And when did you ever care about what people said? I’ll tell you something for nothing. I’m not six years old anymore, Patrick, and I certainly don’t need your yea or nay to let out my front room to anyone. So I’d thank you to keep your nose out of my business.’

  ‘Well, I . . .’ Patrick’s face went red as they stood glaring angrily at each other, then he straightened up and pulled the front of his waistcoat down sharply.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ll be off then.’

  Patrick stomped across the office. ‘I just hope for your sake that having Jack Archer in your front room doesn’t lead you to forget that Brian’s only just cold in his grave,’ he said, then set the glass rattling in the frame as he slammed the door behind him.

  As Kate turned the corner of Cannon Street Road, Freddie caught her hand and drew her into the shadows. He slipped his arms around her.

  ‘So you enjoyed yourself then?’ he asked, pressing her back against the wall.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Kate replied, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. ‘Oh Freddie, I’ve been so happy these past three weeks. And I wish I didn’t have to but I must,’ she said, untangling herself reluctantly from his arms.

  He pulled her back. ‘Not yet.’

  He captured her lips in another passionate kiss. Kate melted into his embrace as shivers of excitement ran up and down her spine.

  ‘What say we slip into the stable to say our goodnight?’ he whispered.

  ‘But what if Mattie sees us?’

  ‘She’ll have gone to bed hours ago.’ His arm tightened as his gaze ran slowly over her face. ‘I tell you, Kate, every fella in the Garret was green with envy when they saw me walk in with you on my arm.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘Come on. Just for a coupla minutes.’

  Kate gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Well, alright, but we’ll have to keep very quiet.’

  Freddie guided her towards the small door in the right gate. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t give the game away.’ He winked at her. ‘After all, I don’t want to get into trouble with my future in-laws.’

  Kate looked up at the darkened house. It was probably almost ten o’clock so Mattie, who was up at five each day, would be sound asleep. Freddie caught her hand and hurried her across the yard into the stable.

  ‘Over here,’ he said, nodding at the hop of hay that had been delivered that afternoon. Holding her hand firmly he led her between the stalls and they sat down.

  ‘Phew, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?’ he said, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

  Kate’s gaze ran over his sinewy forearms with their light dusting of dark hair and had to stop herself from reaching out to run her hands up them.

  ‘It’s the hay,’ he explained. ‘It makes its own heat. You look a bit flushed. Why don’t you take your top coat off?’

  He was right. It was warm, and the three ports she’d drunk at the variety theatre didn’t help either.

  ‘I think I will.’ She unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off.

  Freddie turned and wound his arms around her, kissing her harder and deeper than he’d done before. Suddenly, she felt breathless and lightheaded. She pulled back and looked at Freddie. He had an unsettling but strangely thrilling look in his eye.

  He rested back in the hay, pulling Kate with him. It flitted through her mind that lying in a byre with a jacketless man who had his sleeves rolled up wasn’t quite proper, but when he snuggled her into the warmth of his body the thought evaporated. After all it was Freddie and they were going to be married.

  He sat up and looked down at her. ‘Do you mind if I take off my tie too,’ Freddie asked, pulling at the knot.

  ‘No,’ Kate replied, her eyes fixed on his hands as they unthreaded his necktie and undid the first two button of his shirt.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, lying beside her on one elbow.

  Kate reached up and stroked his face with her finger tips. ‘I love you,’ she said softly. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Do you have to ask?’ He bent over and pressed his lips on hers. Kate put her palms against his chest and felt the hardness of his body. Her stomach fluttered and she kissed him back. His hand closed over her breast.

  Kate sat bolt upright. ‘Freddie!’

  He looked surprised. ‘I thought you said you love me.’

  ‘I do, but we should wait until we’re married.’

  Freddie ran his hand inside his shirt and another button popped open. ‘You’re right, we should. And I don’t want you to think I don’t respect you, ’cause I do, it’s just that’ – he gathered her to him again and rolled her back into the fragrant hay – ‘It’s just that I can’t help meself. See, I’ve never felt like this before.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I thought perhaps it might be time to drop by to see your brother.’

  Kate caught her breath as she struggled to contain the bubble of happiness inside her.

  ‘Oh Freddie. Why didn’t you say?’

  His hand returned to her breast. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’ He kissed her lightly across her cheek and around her ear. Kate’s eyelids slowly closed. She felt Freddie’s fingers unbutton the front of her clothing. She should stop him of course, but when his hand moved the thin fabric of her chemise aside, she lost her train of thought. She felt the tingle of cool air on her skin and realised that her blouse was fully open.

  She struggled up onto her elbows. ‘Freddie, I—’

  His mouth closed over hers again and he rolled on top of her. Kate’s mind swirled with exciting new sensations. Her skirt and petticoats were pulled up and she felt Freddie’s hand on her thigh.

  ‘Oh Kate,’ he said, looking down at her with an expression of utter devotion on his face. ‘Let’s not wait. There’s no harm in it, is there?’

  ‘No, but what if I . . .’ she blushed. ‘You know.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise,’ he said, as his fingers slid under the edge of her drawers. His hand ventured higher and he kissed her across the top of her breasts. He shifted and his hand went to the front of his trousers.

  ‘That’s my lovely girly,’ he said gruffly, as he tugged her underclothes down.

  As he heaved himself between her legs, Kate closed her eyes. He was right, there was no harm, and anyhow, they could be married before the end of the month.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Queenie rubbed her cloth in the tin of beeswax and slid it along the altar rail. Although it was only Tuesday – two days before the women of St George’s did their weekly cleaning – the verger, Mr Harris, always left a polishing rag in the vestry for Queenie should God call on her to give the church that little bit of extra shine.

  She rubbed the soft cloth back and forth in a large sweep, then her eyes drifted to the place where she’d stood as a young bride. She giggled and the sound echoed up into the vaulted ceiling of the empty church.

  That had been a ruckus and a half. An illiterate Paddy and a grubby tinker were some of the kinder names her pa had called Tommy. Pa had locked her in her room and refused to give his consent until she told him she was in the family way, but she’d lost that one and the three after. There had been a little boy, named after his father, who’d stayed for a few months before his lips went blue. A boy and a girl followed on, but before their first birthdays they had joined their older brother in the graveyard. Queenie’s fair brows pulled together and she buffed the wood some more. Her arm hurt but she carried on until the ache in her chest faded.

  Then she had Brian. From the moment Ma handed him to her all wrapped in a towel and screaming, she knew he was her darling boy, her precious one who wouldn’t leave her like the others. No early grave for him.

  Grave! Grave!

  Queenie’s breath caught in her throat as the black, screaming horror that lived deep within her threatened to wake up.

  ‘La, la la tra la la larrr!’ she sang as she summoned up an image of Brian, driving the wagon, eating his dinner and sitting in
front of the fire with his boots off.

  The darkness slowly vanished and Queenie let out a breath. Some days she had to sing all day just to keep it at bay, but not today. She was safe.

  Perhaps I’ll get him a pot of whelks on the way home. He likes them with a bit of vinegar splashed over.

  She picked up the tin of wax and the cloth and hobbled to the pulpit on the left side of the church. It was a grand affair, with deep moulded columns all around and rising some four feet from the floor. Queenie ran her fingers over one of the cherubs and thought of her grandson with his bright curls and dimpled cheeks.

  Grasping the narrow iron rail she climbed the half a dozen stairs to the enclosed space within. She had a clear view of the pews between the carved pillars. She noticed there were some scuff marks on the floor of the pulpit where Mr Garrett stood, so she knelt down, intent on bringing the shine back to the dull woodwork. She was just about to start her work when the vestry door opened and two pairs of heavy feet marched across the flagstones. They stopped just in front of the pulpit. Queenie looked between the wooden posts and her mouth pulled into a tight line.

  What’s Mr Fatman doing here? she thought, leaning back to keep herself out of sight.

  He was with Mr Dunn, the squat choirmaster whose wife often had the faint smell of gin about her.

  Amos Stebbins extended his hand. ‘So we are agreed, then,’ he said, his voice booming around the empty church.

  Mr Dunn held back for a moment then took it. ‘We are, but are you sure you’ll be able to get the deeds?’

  ‘Fear not. I’ll have Mrs Maguire’s signature on the bill of sale for Maguire’s yard within the month. Less probably.’

  Queenie couldn’t breathe. Brian’s yard!

  Mr Dunn ran his hand over his bald head. ‘Mattie Maguire’s no fool, Stebbins. If she hears the slightest whisper about the railway she’ll work out that her yard is on the route and have us over a barrel.’

  Railway!

  ‘That’s why I asked you to meet me here and not at my office,’ Amos said, lowering his voice.