Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘Trick me, that’s what you did,’ he spat out, shaking her until her teeth rattled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that brat you’re carrying wasn’t mine.’

  Kate forced the swirling blackness in her mind away. ‘You know you were the first,’ she replied, trying to ignore the pain from her twisted hair.

  ‘Yeh, but who was the second and third?’ His lips curled back in a snarl. ‘A girl who’d give it away like you do would open her legs to any fella.’ He threw her from him and she fell heavily against the chair.

  ‘That’s not true,’ Kate said, backing away from him. ‘I love you, Freddie.’

  He threw the chair aside and came towards her. ‘You fecking caught me, you mean.’ His fist smashed against her cheek.

  Kate reeled, staggered a couple of steps then sank to the ground. He loomed over her with his fist clenched and a hateful expression contorting his face. ‘Caught me with that brat tucked up your skirts.’ He raised his fist again.

  ‘Please, Freddie, don’t,’ Kate screamed, drawing her knees up and hugging her stomach.

  Freddie’s boot lashed out and caught her thigh. Agonising pain shot up her leg. The baby stirred and Kate tucked herself in further, praying silently for the precious life inside her.

  ‘That’ll learn you to give me lip when I get home, you tinker slut.’ He kicked her again then snatched his coat from the nail and opened the door. ‘I’m off to find myself some company that pleases me and while I’m gone you might want to chew on this. It was your sister I was after marrying. Not you.’

  Amos spotted a large swirl of dog dirt too late to avoid stepping in the centre of it and slipping – to the delight of a couple of barefooted urchins sitting on the kerb, who sniggered behind their hands. He lifted his foot to inspect the sole of his boot then scraped it on the kerb.

  His humours had already been curdled at breakfast when he received a letter he could well have done without from Fallon, who pressed him to announce the railway. And it was all that paddy woman’s fault. If Mattie Maguire had done as she ought and sold him the deeds weeks ago, he wouldn’t be forced now to dig deep in his pockets and offer her three times the amount he’d planned.

  He’d judged that the Maguire drivers would be on their rounds, giving him the chance to speak to Mattie alone. He crossed the road and strolled towards the opened gates with Maguire & Son’s painted in an arch over them. As he came within sight of the yard, a long-haired mongrel, who’d been mooching around in the gutter, lifted its head and trotted over, barking and sniffing around Amos’ shoes.

  ‘Get away.’ Amos flourished his cane again.

  The dog growled and then trotted into the coal yard.

  Two shrill whistles sounded. Amos looked up and an invisible hand closed around his throat, cutting off the air. All at once his legs turned to jelly and threatened to give way beneath him as his gaze fixed on the man he’d never thought to see again this side of eternity. Nathaniel Tate!

  It can’t be! It’s not possible his reason told his disbelieving mind. Amos staggered against the wall behind him and groped for a handhold to keep himself from falling. He closed his eyes and tried to steady the chaotic thoughts crashing around in his head. He gulped in a lungful of breath and tried to steady his galloping pulse. Praying his eyes were deceiving him but dreading they weren’t, Amos forced his lids open, and now truly believed his heart would stop at the next beat.

  It was no dream. No illusion. No figment of his imagination. It was Nathaniel Tate standing in Maguire’s coal yard.

  If he sees me I’m dead.

  Amos pressed himself into the wall behind him. Sweat streamed down his spine. He had the sudden urge to empty his bladder.

  Horror-struck, he watched Nathaniel jump on the cart and take up the reins. The dog leapt on the back and the horse started forward. Amos’s heart thumped against his rib cage and, just as the cart turned into the street, Mattie came through the gates carrying Brian on her hip. Nathaniel pulled on the reins and stopped the cart. With a smile, Mattie stretched up and handed him a parcel before he urged the horse on again.

  Amos tried to collect his thoughts. She would look his way at any moment so he had to compose himself. He took a deep breath and waited, but Mattie just stared down the street for a moment before walking back into the yard.

  Amos pitched forward and vomited into the gutter, sending his top hat tumbling across the cobbles. He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, picked up his hat and forced his legs to move. Staggering down the street like a drunk, he stumbled back onto the main thoroughfare, calming himself with a long pull from his silver hipflask. He turned towards Wapping police station.

  How in God’s name was Tate not only still at liberty but working as Mattie Maguire’s coalman?

  The butcher came out and took his position by the blood-stained block. He lifted a stiff carcass of mutton from the artistic display of dead animals above him and threw it on the block, then prised the chopper out of the wood. With one swing he thumped it through the meat. There was a crack as it split the bone.

  Amos swallowed. My God, that was a narrow escape. If Tate had caught sight of me I’d be as dead as that mutton now.

  But surely if Tate’s intention was to kill him he’d already be dead. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that Tate was working at Maguire’s. He remembered how he’d spotted Tate outside Maguire’s a few months ago.

  Suppose Nathaniel had followed him there and returned later. What if Tate knew about the railway and was out to scupper his plans.

  Well, damn you to Hell, Tate. You farm boy! You’ll be back in chains before the sun goes down.

  Amos turned into Wapping High Street and marched the hundred or so yards to the front of the police station. He paused to study Nathaniel’s wanted poster on the notice board. The black ink had faded in the sun and the edges of the poster were becoming tatty. One corner of the paper had been pasted over by a reward for information about stolen cargo.

  Now that his pulse was returning to something akin to normal, Amos turned the matter over in his mind. The police might want Nathaniel but he wanted Maguire’s yard. What if . . .?

  Superintendent Jackson stepped out of the front door followed by Inspector Oakes. Amos had been to see Jackson at Arbour Square police station three times to complain about his officers’ lack of zeal. Irritation showed momentarily in the Chief Superintendent’s face.

  ‘Mr Stebbins,’ he said, crushing Amos’s hand as he greeted him. ‘What brings you down these parts?’

  ‘This and that.’ He glanced at the poster. ‘There’s no news of Tate yet?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. And frankly, Mr Stebbins, it’s been over three months since we had report of him and you thought you’d spotted him in the street. Even if he was here I’d put money on it that he’s slipped on to a ship and is half-way around the world by now.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Superintendent, but what if someone was sheltering him?’

  ‘Well, then he’d have company on his journey back to Australia.’

  Somehow Amos managed to suppress his joy.

  Mr Jackson pulled down the front of his jacket. ‘Now if you would excuse us, sir, we are a little pressed for time.’

  ‘Your pardon, sirs, I am keeping you from your duty. Good day to you.’ Amos touched his cane to the brim of his hat and marched past them, grinning to himself. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to pay the market rate for the Maguire yard after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Freddie sat cradling a brandy in the corner of the saloon bar of the Hoop and Grapes, trying to look as if he drank in such a swell establishment every day of the week. Instead of the usual grey-distempered walls, and oil lamps discolouring the ceilings above, the Hoop was wallpapered and had new gas fittings sprouting from either side of the fireplace. Polished and swept floorboards squeaked underfoot instead of beaten earth and sawdust.

  The landlord, a stout, tidy man with slick hair and a waxed moustache made a show of wipin
g the bar. He glanced over and Freddie raised his glass.

  Good stuff he thought, as the mellow liquid slipped down his throat, but then it fecking ought to be at sixpence a shot.

  Luckily Amos Stebbins, sitting opposite, was paying.

  ‘New suit?’ Stebbins asked, looking Freddie over.

  Freddie flicked imaginary specks from his lapel. ‘Straight off Moses Brothers quality rail.’

  Amos raised his eyebrows in admiration.

  Freddie felt pleased with himself. Alongside the clerks and city types in their grey suits and colourless cravats, he cut quite a dash in his pea-green-and-brown-check suit and low crown hat. His yellow cravat added a touch of sophistication. Now that Mattie had started to pay him his worth – at last – he had decided to treat himself. The new clobber cost most of his first week’s increased wages.

  The barmaid sauntered over with another bottle of brandy.

  ‘There you go, gentlemen,’ she said, fingering a blonde curl around her ear.

  ‘Put it on my account,’ Amos said, without glancing at her.

  She bobbed a curtsy and, keeping her eyes on Freddie, slowly made her way back to the bar.

  ‘She’s a pretty piece.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t look at another woman without thinking of Mrs Stebbins’s many perfections,’ Amos replied.

  Freddie looked at him incredulously before taking a mouthful of brandy. Amos’s wife might have tits the size of a baby’s head but she had a belly and arse to match; however, it would do him no good to be caught mocking the well-fed, tightly laced Mrs Stebbins.

  He raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  Amos did the same then drew his chair closer. ‘Thank you for coming, Freddie, I . . . I don’t know who else to turn to.’ He quickly looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s your sister-in-law and that new driver. What’s his name? Jack . . .?’

  ‘Archer,’ Freddie replied flatly. Although he hadn’t seen who’d jumped him and left him senseless on Nolan’s doorstep, Freddie would lay his last penny on it being fecking Archer. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well . . . .now that I’m about to tell you my suspicions they seem utterly ridiculous to me. Perhaps my good lady wife and I are so fond of Mrs Maguire and her little lad that I have let my imagination run away with me.’

  ‘If it’s about Mattie Maguire opening her legs for him, that’s old news.’

  Astonishment flashed across Amos’ face. ‘My goodness.’

  Freddie grinned. ‘Don’t say you hadn’t heard.’

  ‘No, I hadn’t and I’m shocked. Truly shocked.’ He looked beseechingly up at Freddie. ‘What sort of man can he be to take advantage of poor Mrs Maguire in such a way?’

  The smouldering anger at what he saw as Mattie’s cruel treatment of him flared up in Freddie again. If he hadn’t been such a gentleman and instead been more forceful, perhaps he would have been able to afford a smart suit years ago.

  ‘Course I knew he was a wrong ’un from the first, Mr Stebbins.’

  ‘Perhaps my concerns about the wanted poster outside Wapping police office aren’t so unfounded,’ Mr Stebbins replied.

  Freddie’s chair banged on the floor as he sat forward. ‘What poster?’

  Amos glanced around again then leant across the table conspiratorially. ‘There’s a poster on the police office railings offering a reward of twenty pounds for information leading to the capture of an escaped felon by the name of Nathaniel Tate. But now you’ve told me Mattie’s new coalman is called Jack Archer, I can’t see how it could be him.’

  ‘He could be using a false name.’

  Mr Stebbins eyes opened wide. ‘You’re a sharp one, Freddie. I’d never have thought of that. Does he have a heart-shaped tattoo on his right arm?’

  ‘Archer has such a mark. I’ve seen it when he’s been sluicing himself off at the back of the stables,’ said Freddie, smoothing his hair back and thinking how he might impress Ollie Mac with twenty pounds in his back pocket.

  ‘Dear Lord, no!’ Amos let out a groan and several heads turned in their direction. ‘Do you think Mrs Maguire knows? About Archer being this Tate fellow, I mean.’

  Freddie shifted uneasily. ‘Well, I don’t know tha—’

  ‘Because if she did then she would as likely be arrested, and what would happen to the little lad.’

  Freddie shrugged.

  ‘I’m sure a family member, such as yourself and your wife would be ideal candidates to become Brian’s guardian, as you’re both related to the child. Of course, you would have to run the yard, too. The court would give you power of attorney so you could order the business until he came of age.’

  Freddie could have jumped on the table and yelled hooray. With Mattie gone he’d have what he was after all along; Maguire’s yard. That would teach Mattie a lesson for overlooking him in favour of this Tate fellow. Let her think on that while she’s locked in a cell or on the high seas travelling to the other side of the world.

  With some difficulty Freddie suppressed a smile. ‘It’s a rum business and no mistake,’ he said, trying to match Amos’s solemnity. ‘My poor cousin would turn in his grave if he knew how his widow was carrying on. Me ma’s family never liked her, fecking Pope-loving mick that she is.’

  He eyed the man opposite him warily. Had he gone too far? Stebbins was a God-botherer himself, after all. They tended to stick together.

  Amos sighed. ‘I ought to chastise you for your lack of charity, Freddie, but how can I condemn you for proper family feeling.’

  Freddie relaxed. ‘Family feeling as you say, Mr S. Brian and me were more like brothers than cousins and it makes me blood boil to see his little lad being brought up by the likes of her.’

  ‘Well, I’ve certainly done my best to help where I can. I’ve even . . .’ he looked away. ‘No, perhaps I shouldn’t mention the offer for the yard.’

  ‘Offer?’

  Amos stroked his carefully trimmed whiskers with his index finger. ‘I have an associate, several in fact, who are looking to invest in local business. They are particularly interested in Maguire & Son’s,’ Amos told him. ‘They are all fair and honest businessmen like myself and willing to offer a better-than-market price.’

  ‘Are they?’

  An oiled strand of hair fell over Amos’s right eye. He smoothed it back. ‘Indeed. I would have thought she would have jumped at seventy guineas.’

  The image of what seventy shiny guineas might look like stacked in piles alongside the reward money for Tate’s capture flashed into Freddie’s mind.

  ‘But no, she refused outright.’ Amos poured Freddie another drink. ‘And now of course if Archer is Tate then poor Mrs Maguire won’t be in a position to accept the offer – not if she’s imprisoned for sheltering an escaped convict.’

  Freddie gulped down his newly-replenished drink in one mouthful.

  ‘That would be a shame. For young Brian, that is.’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t suppose your business acquaintances would mind waiting a little while longer for the yard, would they?’

  Nathaniel stood back and inspected his repair. Peggy had managed to loosen a plank from the side of her stall so he’d bought a new pine plank from the timber merchant and half a pound of nails from the ironmonger and spent the last hour nailing it back into place

  He’d met Smyth-Hilton again on Monday and, as the journalist recounted the result of his trip to York, Nathaniel’s spirits rose. Amos wasn’t the only one being scrutinised for dubious business practices. After a coup by his own shareholders, the Railway King himself was engaged in an acrimonious fight to save his business and political life. In Smyth-Hilton’s view, Hudson was very likely to withdraw his support from the Wapping & Stratford railway and this might prove to be the final straw to bankrupt Amos. This alone wouldn’t immediately shed light on Stebbins’s part in Nathaniel’s false conviction, but once Amos was unveiled as a crook and a rogue, his duplicity would be uncovered and Nathaniel would be exonerated by the evidence he’d accumulated.
r />   He’d wrestled mightily with his conscience for the first few days about staying at Maguire’s, but things settled back to normal and, although it grated against every honourable bone in his body, he had to admit Mattie was probably right about the small risk of discovery. No one had yet connected him with the wanted poster and it had been almost five months. Why should they now? With Amos’s downfall almost within touching distance and the woman he loved in his arms each night, Nathaniel gave himself up to the pleasures of the moment and prayed that before too long he’d be in a position to marry Mattie.

  How could he leave her? She had become his very reason for being. He’d loved Marjorie, but never like this. Marjorie had been the sweet love of his youth but Mattie Maguire was the love of his life.

  Mattie’s throaty laugh drifted across the space and Nathaniel threw aside the hammer.

  ‘Mrs Maguire. Would you like to come and see the repair?’

  ‘You’ve finished!’ She came into the stable.

  Nathaniel’s arm shot around her waist and he pulled her out of sight. ‘I’ll never be finished with you, woman,’ he said, enjoying the sensation of her curvaceous body against him.

  Her hands flew up to his chest as if to shove him away but her eyes sparkled. ‘Nathaniel!’

  He pressed her into the sweet-smelling hay.

  ‘I thought you wanted to show me something,’ she said, smoothing her hand up his chest and setting his pulse racing again.

  He began to unbutton her blouse.

  ‘Honestly, we can’t – it’s broad daylight.’

  ‘Morning, noon or night is all the same to me, Mattie Maguire,’ he answered.

  She ran her hands up around his neck. ‘I have to go in. Annie needs to get home before dark.’

  He pressed his lips to hers gently. ‘I’ll follow.’

  ‘Don’t be too long.’ Mattie slipped out of his embrace and had just reached the stable door when three well-built police officers marched through the gates. She stepped back into the shadows dragging Nathaniel with her, just in time.