Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  Tucker took out a half-smoked cigar from his top pocket and lit it. ‘Everyone in here is deaf, dumb and blind. They don’t see no one or nuffink,’ he said, shaking out the match. ‘Now what can we do for you, Mr Stebbins?’

  ‘It’s Maguire’s.’

  ‘I guessed as much,’ Tucker said, as the barmaid left the tankards and returned to the board set on two barrels that served as a counter.

  Dicky chuckled. ‘You ain’t had much luck there, have you Mr Stebbins.’

  ‘No I bloody haven’t.’ Amos took a mouthful of brandy.

  ‘It’s the talk of the streets how her rounds-man turned out to be an escaped felon,’ Tucker said. ‘I tell you, we almost crapped ourselves laughing when we ’eard. Didn’t we Dicky?’

  Amos’s lips curled. ‘Well I’m the one laughing now,’ he replied. ‘And now Tate’s under lock and key where he belongs there’s no one left to protect Mattie Maguire.’ He glanced around and then leant forward. ‘Now listen, Tucker. I don’t care how you do it or what it costs but I want Mattie Maguire out of that yard. And quick.’

  Mattie bent over the bed and took the infant from Josie. Thomas, her newest nephew, burped contentedly and a small dribble of milk trickled down his tiny chin. Mattie closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his warm downy forehead before laying him in the crib.

  Josie’s bedroom was warmed by the glowing fire in the hearth and the thick long drapes. Traditionally, in the last few weeks before a baby was due the mother spent a great deal of time sprucing up the house and preparing the baby’s layette. Even the very poorest women tried to have something new for the baby, and most church and mission visiting societies regularly donated bundles of lying-in clothes. Of course, these often ended up in the pawnshop but at least then the mother had a shilling or so to pay the midwife. Thanks to the success of Patrick’s barge, the Smiling Girl, Josie had shillings to spare.

  ‘He’s a grand boy and no mistake,’ she said, tucking the soft, finely knitted blanket around the baby.

  Josie yawned. ‘He is, too, and was bursting to get into the world so fast Patrick barely had time to get the towels and water.’

  ‘So I heard when he dropped in this morning to tell us the news,’ Mattie replied, smoothing her fingers over the baby’s fine hair.

  She’d been checking over the wagons just before seven when Patrick had pushed open the gate. She’d given him breakfast while he told her of Thomas’s sudden arrival in the small hours. After clearing his plate, he’d left to start his day’s work, whistling a merry tune.

  Josie patted the cover. ‘Come and sit beside me.’

  Mattie did. She tilted her head and gazed down at the sleeping baby. ‘Who do you think he looks like?’

  ‘A bit like Mickey I think,’ Josie replied. ‘Have you seen Kate?’

  The lump formed in Mattie’s throat. ‘She popped around on Monday last and I’ve told her that, whatever Freddie says, she’s to call me the moment her time is on her.’

  ‘But she’s got a month or two to go yet, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mattie replied, in what she hoped was a light tone. ‘But you never know.’

  There were no new marks on Kate’s face the last few times she’d seen her, but she didn’t trust Freddie to keep his hands to himself and Kate was carrying low.

  ‘And how is Thomas’s mammy?’

  Josie yawned again. ‘I feel I could sleep for a week. I’m going to keep him on the breast longer,’ she whispered. ‘It might keep the next one at bay for a bit.’

  Mattie raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, sometimes babies arrive quicker than you think.’

  Josie squeezed her hand. ‘Is there no news about Nathaniel?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Mattie had sent a letter to Smyth-Hilton, who’d replied, but only to tell her that although he and Nathaniel had accumulated enough evidence to have Amos Stebbins thrown out of the Chamber of Commerce and St George’s vestry there was not yet enough to force him to open his books. She’d shown the letter to Patrick but he hadn’t changed his mind.

  ‘Annie tells me you’ve been under the weather.’ Josie studied Mattie closely. ‘You’ve not got a touch of chest ague, have you?‘

  ‘I’m fine – just a little unsettled.’

  Thomas grizzled and Josie bent forward to soothe him. ‘Well, you look grand enough to me. In fact, I’d say you’ve put on a little . . .’ Her eyes flew open. ‘You’re not . . .?’

  Mattie nodded. ‘I’ve missed two monthlies and I’ve not been able to face breakfast for a week. I was the same with Brian. It must have happened in the first couple of days of us being together, and there was me telling you not to worry.’ She gripped Josie’s hands. ‘Don’t tell Patrick. Not yet, not until I’ve heard something from—’

  ‘Of course not!’ Josie took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I pray that you’ll be able to tell Nathaniel before Patrick finds out.’

  ‘Sweet Mother, hear my prayer,’ Mattie replied, trying to imagine Nathaniel’s joy. ‘And, if it pleases the Virgin, he’ll be a free man when I do.’

  ‘May it be so.’ Josie and Mattie crossed themselves.

  ‘But Mattie, what will you do in the meantime?’

  What would she do? Mattie had been asking herself the same thing for weeks. She had two carts sitting in the yard idle most days, hay prices had rocketed, and Morris’s were trying to renegotiate her wholesale price. And even though it was the busiest time of the year, Maguire’s was losing two or three customers a week, so the savings she’d managed to accumulate were dwindling rapidly. Plus, as soon as her waistline grew she would be the talk of Knockfergus. Again!

  Mattie looked squarely at Josie. ‘Anything and everything to keep my children safe.’

  A heavy drip from the overhang above splashed on Patrick’s ear. He cursed and shifted sideways. He had been standing in the shadows outside the address that Tate had given him for almost two hours and was chilled to the bone.

  But what choice did he have? And not just because he was indebted to the bastard Tate for dropping Freddie on his doorstep but because he couldn’t bear to see Mattie so miserable. Hadn’t she been through enough in the last few years? And as much as he would like to be tucked up in bed he would stand here every night until he could prove to Mattie that Tate was nothing more than a crook preying on her loneliness.

  Patrick stamped his feet and pulled his hip flask from his pocket. He’d just taken a sip when a cab stopped at the end of the street. The driver stowed his whip and put the brake on. Patrick waited. It must be almost midnight now and there had already been a steady stream of cabs picking up men with their collars up and hats down.

  I’ve got to be at the mooring at six so another three cabs and then I’m off, Patrick thought, as another mouthful of brandy warmed his bones.

  A blade of light cut across the dark street as the door of number thirty-seven opened. Patrick peered into the darkness at the stout figure standing in the doorway. A very young woman appeared beside him dressed in a short chemise and corset, her white stockings tied up just above her knee. She stretched up and planted a kiss on the man’s cheek then disappeared back inside.

  The man stepped out on to the top step. He still had his hat in his hand and Patrick could clearly see his features in the light cast by the overhead door lamp.

  Patrick choked.

  No! It can’t be. Patrick looked away and then back thinking his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But they weren’t.

  Standing in the doorway of Madame La Verne’s was Amos Stebbins.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nathaniel stared helplessly into his pint. Despite the hubbub of the Duck’s bar, an image of Mattie lying curled beside him in the silence of the early morning danced in his mind. It had been three weeks since he’d kissed her goodbye and, although Boyce had welcomed him like the prodigal son, being thrown back into the society of thieves, pimps and prostitutes showed Nathaniel just how close he’d come to losing his soul before M
attie had rescued it.

  He had long since given up judging a man or woman by absolute standards. After all, what father would not steal a loaf to feed a starving child or a mother sell her body to keep her babies from the workhouse? But having emerged from the penal colony, he was reluctant to return to it. The God-fearing Nathaniel Tate who’d disappeared en route to Botany Bay had re-emerged as the driver on Maguire’s number one wagon.

  The curtain that covered the back passage drew aside and Boyce appeared. He spotted Nathaniel and sauntered across. ‘Cor, luv us,’ he said, throwing himself onto the bench beside Nathaniel. ‘If your face was any longer you’d have bloody splinters in your chin.’ Nathaniel managed a wan smile and Boyce nudged him sharply in the ribs. ‘Let’s have another.’

  He grabbed the bottle and tried to top up Nathaniel’s glass but he put his hand over the top.

  ‘Look,’ Boyce said slapping him on the back affectionately. ‘I know as ’ow you’re pining for your little missus but . . .’

  Boyce’s voice trailed off as his focus shifted to the door. Nathaniel followed his gaze. The trollops and drinkers in the bar had stopped mid-motion, staring at Patrick Nolan framed in the doorway. Nathaniel rose to feet as Patrick crossed the space between them.

  ‘Have you the police behind you?’ Nathaniel asked.

  Patrick shook his head. ‘Around here a man sorts out his own business.’

  Nathaniel’s stance relaxed a notch and Boyce pushed between them.

  ‘I thought I recognised you, Nolan,’ he said glaring at Patrick. ‘You ain’t fecking in Irish town now, you know. This is my gaff and ’e’s my mate.’ He thumbed at Nathaniel. ‘So if you’ve got a quarrel with him, you’ve got a quarrel with me.’

  Boyce’s two heavies put down their pints and stood ready to move at their bosses signal.

  ‘It’s all right, Boyce,’ Nathaniel said, holding Patrick’s gaze over his friend’s head. ‘It’s a family matter.’

  Boyce stood his ground. ‘Maybe, but if you want ’im dealt with just give me the wink and he’s cat’s meat.’ He spat on the floor at Patrick’s feet and left them.

  ‘Nice friends you have,’ Patrick said. ‘I suppose you met him on your travels.’

  ‘I’d have Boyce as a friend before a hundred others,’ Nathaniel replied. ‘Now you’ve found me and you haven’t got the police outside, what’s it to be?’

  ‘I’m sorry for the loss of your family, Tate,’ he said. ‘And I saw Amos Stebbins coming out of the brothel.’

  Nathaniel let out a long breath. ‘So now do you believe my story?’

  ‘God help me, I do,’ Patrick replied, sliding into an empty booth. The quiet hum of the bar resumed, although many in the room still cast wary glances in their direction.

  ‘How’s Mattie?’ Nathaniel asked, desperate for news.

  ‘Bone weary most days. With two drivers down she’s run off her feet. I’ve sent my Annie to help and my wife’s trying to persuade her to let the front room to a young widow she knows.’

  The barmaid brought two pints of cellar-cool beer.

  Patrick took the nearest one and sipped the froth off the top. ‘So now what?’

  ‘I love Mattie, Patrick, and intend to marry her as soon as I am able.’ He let his head fall back and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I curse myself for putting her through all of this. I should have done as I intended and left as soon as she knew the truth.’

  A hint of a smile touched Patrick’s eyes. ‘Mattie tells me she persuaded you to stay.’

  ‘Its not her fault. I should have stuck to my guns.’

  ‘Aye, you should have. But as my sister can argue the back and the front legs off a donkey, I can understand why you were turned from your purpose.’

  A wry smile settled on Nathaniel’s face and Patrick gave a short laugh. They sat back in their seats more comfortably.

  ‘I promise you, Patrick, I won’t go back to the yard until I’ve nailed Stebbins.’

  ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous. I got her out this time because Superintendent Jackson owes me, but I couldn’t save her if she was found with you.’ Patrick took another draft of beer then wiped his mouth. ‘I’ve been to see your newspaper chum.’

  ‘You’ve seen Smyth-Hilton?’

  ‘Just before I came here.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’

  Nathaniel blinked with disbelief. ‘But hasn’t Stebbins floated the company yet?’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘According to Smyth-Hilton, Stebbins’s credit was so stretched that to stay solvent he was at the point of offering Mattie the full market price for Maguire’s. That was before he spotted you in Mattie’s yard and decided to get rid of you both. Of course, it didn’t work out as he’d planned. But now with you and Freddie gone, Mattie’s losing customers. I figure Stebbins thinks he can still scoop up Maguire’s for a snip if he holds back for a few more months.’

  A few more months! Three weeks apart from Mattie seemed like forever, let alone a few months

  ‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Nathaniel shouted, slamming his fist onto the table. ‘We almost had him. Has he been to see Mattie yet?’

  ‘Last week. He urged her to consider his offer again. He also tried to wheedle out of her what she knew about you but she gave nothing away.’

  Nathaniel raked his hands through his hair. ‘God, I shouldn’t have put her in such a danger.’

  ‘Knowing my sister’s temper, I’d say Stebbins was the one in danger not her.’

  Nathaniel’s smiled briefly. ‘Perhaps. But surely there must be something we can do to make him act sooner.’

  ‘Your friend Smyth-Hilton says he could print his piece about Stebbins now but this wouldn’t overturn your conviction.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Nathaniel ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘Perhaps I should try to slip along to see Smyth-Hilton myself.’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘You’ll be nabbed as soon as you poke your nose out of here. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here until your journalist friend digs up enough evidence. You’re safe enough here in the north end of the rookery.’

  Nathaniel gulped down a mouthful of beer.

  What if Amos never floated the company and sold off the land? Or when they investigated his accounts they couldn’t trace the missing money from Romford? He couldn’t spend the rest of his life in the Duck. How under God’s heaven would he ever be able to marry Mattie?

  From his hiding place in the butcher’s doorway Freddie watched Nathaniel and Patrick as they emerged from the side of the Duck and Drake. They shook hands heartily before Patrick walked off towards Bishopsgate. Nathaniel turned down the side alley. Freddie took the last drag on his rolled up cigarette and flicked it in a high arch into the gutter.

  ‘It’s ’im. Let’s go,’ he said to the two men standing behind him.

  Mad Teddy and Stefan Magsen were two of Ollie Mac’s best men. Teddy, the younger of the two, was in his mid-twenties, just a year or two younger than Freddie. Scrawny, with sharp weaselly features and mousy brown hair, Teddy was never turned out in anything less than dapper. Even now, although they were supposed to be avoiding the notice of the peelers, he wore a green-and-yellow jacket so garish it could have guided ships into harbour, with a Billycock hat at such an acute angle it was in constant danger of sliding off the side of his head. His handle of ‘Mad’ came not from his readiness with a knife but because every now and then he would fall to the floor, his teeth clenched and limbs rigid for a few moments, after which he was murderously aggressive.

  Stefan Magsen was a different kettle of fish. In his late thirties and built like an alley shite house, his broad bovine features and almost white blond hair made him popular with the trollops along the highway. If rumours were to be believed, he’d killed half a dozen men with one blow of his massive fists. He didn’t need ‘mad’, ‘crazy’ or ‘bull’ as a prefix – one look in his ice-blue eyes told you all you needed to know.

  ‘He’s
heading for the back,’ Freddie said, as they left their hiding place and crossed the highway.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll catch him,’ Stefan told him.

  Too bloody right, thought Freddie. This time he’d get the bastard good and proper.

  He crossed the road followed by Stefan and Teddy. As he stopped at the corner and peered down the side of the pub the two men behind him flattened themselves against the wall. The whole alleyway was pitch black and for a moment he thought Nathaniel had given them the slip; then he spotted a flicker of movement ahead. He turned and jabbed his finger at Stefan and made a circling movement. The blond giant nodded and, with a speed at odds with his bulk, retraced his steps to the other end of the alley. Freddie removed the cosh he’d hidden down the back of his trousers and beckoned to Teddy. Together they entered the alleyway.

  The light from the street lamps immediately disappeared, leaving Freddie blind until his eyes adjusted. Something scrambled beside him then brushed against his leg. A rat! Sliding along the rough brickwork, Freddie tip-toed towards where he’d seen the movement. He reached a back door and pushed it gently to see if Nathaniel could be hiding behind it but it was locked. They had just reached the mid-point between the two streets when Teddy grunted, pitched forward and thumped into his back.

  Freddie spun around. ‘What the—’

  ‘You looking for me, Freddie?’ Nathaniel asked, in a low voice.

  Where was Stefan, Freddie thought, frantically trying to back away. His heel jammed against Teddy’s body and he only just kept himself upright. Nathaniel’s hand shot out and gripped him around the throat. Freddie flayed out with his fists, but they punched into thin air. Something with the density of a hammer smashed into his face. He heard a crack and yelped as pain shot along the base of his lower teeth on the right side of his face.

  ‘Got a new friend have you?’ Nathaniel, asked as he dragged Freddie over Teddy’s inert body. ‘Given up getting the police to do your dirty work, eh?’

  Nathaniel caught his collar, necktie and throat in one mighty grasp and dragged Freddie forward. He wrenched Freddie off his feet and slammed him into the wall behind him. Small starbursts popped at the edge of his vision and his ears began to ring. Nathaniel thumped him against the wall again, forcing the air from Freddie’s lungs, then let him go, sending him crumpling to the squelchy floor.