Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘If you want to keep your pretty face, Freddie, don’t cross me—!’

  Suddenly, Nathaniel staggered sideways. He shook his head and turned, jerked backwards, then crashed into the mud.

  Freddie stared up at Stefan’s huge body silhouetted in the narrow alley.

  ‘Where the feck have you been?’ he gasped, with a stab of pain in his jaw at every word. He spat out a tooth. ‘The bugger nearly did for me.’

  Stefan looked down at Nathaniel’s inert body. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had to hit a bloke twice.’

  ‘Never mind that. Giss a hand getting him up,’ Freddie said, staggering to his feet.

  Stefan grabbed Nathaniel and hoisted him over Freddie’s left shoulder. He staggered under the weight then found his footing. Nathaniel was a lot heavier than a hundredweight of coal.

  ‘Hey, what about him?’ Stefan asked, kicking the sole of Teddy’s boot.

  ‘You sort him out and I’ll deal with this bugger.’

  ‘Why don’t you just drop him in the river. Its high tide and he’ll be fishmeat at Southend before dawn,’ Stefan said, as he dragged Teddy to his feet.

  Freddie moved his jaw sideways and an almighty pain shot up to his ear. He drew in a sharp breath and recognised the dank, cloying smell of the river not half a mile away. He imagined the splash as Nathaniel hit the surface. He’d probably float a bit before his clothes and boots filled with water and dragged him below the surface. The grey river would bubble and swirl as Nathaniel’s unconscious body disappeared. With the cold closing around him, Nathaniel might even rouse enough to feel the water filling his nose and mouth. Freddie allowed himself the pleasure of contemplating Nathaniel’s terror but replied, ‘I ain’t no murderer.’

  Stefan shrugged. ‘See you at the Blue Boy,’ he said, wedging his shoulder under Teddy’s arm to drag him away. Freddie repositioned Nathaniel over his shoulder and started down the street towards Wapping police station.

  Stefan was right of course, it would have been a whole lot easier just to chuck Nathaniel’s carcass in the drink but the twenty-pound reward was for capturing Tate, not killing him.

  Mattie rolled on to her back with a sigh and stared up at the bedroom ceiling. She had heard St George’s church clock strike two o’clock a while ago and she felt sure she would still be awake when it struck three. In truth, she probably hadn’t slept for more than three hours a night since Patrick brought her the news two nights ago that Nathaniel had been dumped unconscious on the steps of Wapping police station. And why would she sleep? She was almost five months pregnant and her child’s father was under lock and key in Pentonville Prison. It was a foregone conclusion that when he came up before the judge at the Bailey in three weeks he’d be sent back to Australia to complete his original sentence, with added time for escaping.

  Mercifully, and despite the shock of the last few days, her baby hadn’t budged and only yesterday Mattie had felt the first few flutters of movement. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping sleep at bay. With Nathaniel gone they were now down to only two carts and they were losing trade to other coal merchants. Whereas a few weeks ago she was able to pay her creditors promptly, she could already see from the accounts that their income would fall well short of their outgoings by the end of the month. In short, Maguire’s would be forced out of business in a matter of weeks. There was one slim and very risky chance she could turn everything around but that too keep her mind churning over.

  Mattie sat up and plumped the pillow again then rested back and shut her eyes. Below the window the steady footsteps of the officer on patrol plodded by and she heard Buster pad past her door. He started whining and scurrying back and forth, then he came into her room and nuzzled her hand.

  ‘All right, Buster,’ she said, swinging her legs out of bed.

  Buster danced around impatiently as she shrugged on her dressing gown, then he dashed out and thundered down the stairs, his paws barely touching the boards.

  Mattie turned up the oil lamp beside her bed and, holding it aloft, went down stairs. She found Buster in the kitchen furiously scratching at the back door and barking anxiously. Mattie unbolted the door and the dog shot out, but instead of cocking his leg, he galloped through the garden and into the yard. Mattie left the lamp on the table, slipped on her boots, picked up the poker from the hearth and followed him out.

  In the yard the night air was damp and Mattie shivered. It had rained earlier and felt as if it would again before dawn. Buster was over by the fence adjoining the stable, jumping and clawing at it, barking wildly.

  ‘Buster!’

  He ignored her and continued to snap and snarl.

  Then she heard it.

  A low whisper followed by the clink of metal on metal. Then flames burst up on the other side of the fence.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’ screamed Mattie, hitting the poker against the iron hoop that served as the yard bell so hard it reverberated up her arm. The ringing sound broke the silence and echoed around the yard.

  Throwing the poker aside she ran back into the house, snatched Brian from his bed, and dashed back through the house across the yard and swung the double yard door wide.

  Mercifully, windows of the shops and houses opposite were already being thrown open overhead. Men with buckets in their hands were emerging from their doorways and running to the pump at the far end of the street.

  Zilla, from across the road, her night scarf still tied around her head, ran over. ‘I’ll tuck him in with my Charlie,’ she said, stretching her arm to take the dazed child.

  Mattie handed him over then ran back into the yard and across to the stable.

  Ignoring her stinging eyes, Mattie groped her way along to where the four horses stood, eyes white with terror.

  With the heat and smoke burning her lungs with each breath Mattie dashed along to the stall where Mumble was tied at the end nearest the fire. Squeezing between the horse and partition, she pulled the looped rope to release the frantic beast, who careered out of the smouldering building. Mattie ducked into Poppy’s stall and did the same, then crossed to the other side to set Samson and Peggy loose. She ran out after them just in time to see them race through the yard gates and clatter off down the street. Buster tore after them but turned towards the main road, yapping and growling.

  Mattie followed him around to the side where the fire had started. She almost wept with joy when she saw the line of men already passing buckets from the street pump to the fire. The beat officer was there too, swirling his klaxon for assistance. Part of the fence had burnt away at the base and the wood above was already smouldering. Billowing smoke fanned by the breeze from the river filled the air. Although the fire hadn’t reached the stable yet, the flames were already licking the edge and it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing went up.

  Mattie put her hand out to steady herself on a street lamp. Clinging to the cold metal and breathing heavily to draw air into her lungs, she stared helplessly as the flames travelled towards the stable. Suddenly utter weariness engulfed her. For three long years, through grief, childbirth, heartache and bitter disappointment, she had struggled to keep Maguire’s afloat and now, in a matter of minutes, everything she had worked for was being destroyed. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto the hard metal of the post.

  She should scream and cry or rail against her fate but she just didn’t have the energy. Perhaps if she just sank to the floor God would have pity and take her, Nathaniel, Brian and the child inside straight to heaven now, then all this pain and struggle would be washed away in eternal bliss.

  She brushed a tear from her cheek and another from her nose, then something wet splodged on her forehead. Then a wet drop fell on her lip. Mattie opened her eyes and looked up. Laughter, part hysteria but mainly relief, escaped her lips as the clouds opened.

  She held out her arms as large raindrops fell on her face. She smiled up at the dark heavens, relishing the feel of the water dripping on her eyelashes and skin. Others in the
street looked up and joined in the merriment as the sudden downpour drenched them.

  Neighbours from nearby streets now came running, splashing through the newly formed puddles. The buckets passed back and forth along the human line more swiftly, but with rain now bouncing off the pavement around them the fire was already abating. Although the timbers of the fence would need replacing, stable, house and yard had all been saved.

  Someone from Cable Street arrived with Mattie’s four cart horses trotting behind him and the owner of the wood yard offered to stable them for the night. Mattie thanked the men, many still in their long johns and vests, who were shaking the rain from their hair and congratulating each other on a job well done. Something nudged Mattie’s hand. She looked down to find Buster sitting beside her, with his tongue lolling out to one side, and looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘There you are, you rascal,’ she said, tickling behind his sodden ear.

  ‘Is that your dog?’ Mattie looked up to see two policemen marching towards her with rain dripping off their hats and gripping onto a heavy set man in handcuffs between them.

  ‘Yes it is,’ Mattie replied, gathering her saturated dressing gown around her.

  ‘Well then. I’d say he deserves a couple of sausages for supper tomorrow – he’s earned them, catching the bugger who fired your fence,’ the officer replied, lifting the miscreant’s hand with his truncheon so Mattie could see the soot. ‘I’ll come around in the morning to take a full statement.’ He grabbed the prisoner again. ‘Right, Chummy. It’s off to the station with you to answer a few questions.’

  Mattie glanced at the charred fence then, heedless of the wet pavement, knelt down beside the dog. ‘I’d say you certainly saved Maguire’s this time, boy.’ She scratched behind his ear again. ‘Now it’s my turn to save Nathaniel.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mattie sat dry-eyed as Smyth-Hilton ran through the details of the evidence he and Nathaniel had collected. She was dry-eyed because she truly believed she had no more tears to shed.

  She took a sip of water and Smyth-Hilton nodded at Patrick sitting beside her.

  ‘So you see, Mrs Maguire, although I have enough dirt on Stebbins to publish without fear of being sued, I haven’t got the vital piece of the puzzle that would prove Tate’s innocence. Without that, the best lawyer in the land couldn’t stop him being sent back to Botany Bay.’

  ‘I see.’

  Patrick’s chair creaked as he shifted forward. ‘Surely the evidence you already have from others who’ve have been swindled is enough. Couldn’t you use this to push for an enquiry into Stebbins’s businesses? And what about the rogue who fired my sister’s yard?’

  ‘Much of what we have is hearsay. Morris won’t testify, neither will the feed merchant who was offered a bribe by Stebbins to send mouldy fodder to the yard. They all want to keep their reputations, and admitting you’ve been cheating your customers is not the way to do that. And as to the fire, the man the police have charged refuses to say who he’s working for even though it could get him a lighter sentence.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Patrick replied, with a heavy sigh. ‘If he did, his family’s life wouldn’t be worth living.’

  ‘What about the person who turned Tate in?’ Smyth Hilton asked. ‘Perhaps he had some dealings with Stebbins and we could persuade him to testify. You say you know who it was?’

  Patrick and Mattie exchanged a look.

  ‘I will be dealing with him,’ Patrick said, formally.

  Smyth-Hilton raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, no matter. It wouldn’t really help Nathaniel, anyway. I’m afraid that unless Stebbins floats the Wapping & Stratford railway, we only have enough information to embarrass him in the Chamber of Commerce.’

  ‘What about the business with the brothel?’ Patrick asked.

  Mattie hadn’t told him about finding his Annie alone with Amos because Smyth-Hilton couldn’t very well expose Mr Stebbins for the perverted crook he truly was if Patrick had already tied ship’s weights to his ankles and thrown him in the river.

  ‘Ah!’ The editor’s youthful face lit up. ‘There we have better news. An old friend of mine – someone I met at Cambridge – is a member of the Criminal Investigation Department based in Scotland Yard.’

  Mattie’s and Patrick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Although the papers were full of Lord this and Sir that praising the constabulary for their invaluable public service, most didn’t think it a fitting profession for their sons to pursue.

  Smyth-Hilton grinned. ‘He was my roommate’s valet actually and as sharp a fellow you could meet. Inspector Cross has been putting a case together.’

  ‘That’s good news, isn’t it,’ Patrick said, encouragingly.

  Mattie stood, crossed to the window and looked out at the leaden winter sky.

  She had hired a couple of men to load the wagons each day while she and Eli hitched the afternoon horses so all Pete and Billy had to do was deliver, but it wasn’t enough. There was only enough in the safe for this week’s wholesale bill. If she couldn’t buy fodder for the horses she was finished. But that wasn’t the reason she’d made the most difficult decision of her life.

  Mattie turned to face her brother and the journalist. ‘Yes, it’s good news, but it won’t stop Nathaniel being sent back to Australia.’ Mattie fixed her brother and Smyth-Hilton with an unwavering stare. ‘But I know something that just might.’

  Mattie took several deep breathes to steady her racing heart as she walked through Grey Friars warehouse towards Amos Stebbins’s office. The clerk opened the door and ushered her in. Mr Stebbins looked up and smiled warmly at her.

  ‘Mrs Maguire,’ he said rising to his feet. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’

  Mattie offered him her hand and as his thick fingers closed around her hand she was thankful she hadn’t yet removed her gloves. Although her morning sickness had all but gone, being so close to Amos was making her stomach churn.

  ‘Get Mary to make Mrs Maguire a cup of tea, will you?’ Mr Stebbins instructed the clerk.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk left.

  ‘You look very well,’ he said, gesturing her towards a chair. ‘Have you recovered from the ordeal of having a wanted criminal under your roof?’

  Mattie nodded. ‘I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know he’s been recaptured. The nights I’ve lain in my bed shivering with fear he’d come back . . .’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You poor, poor soul. And what’s this I’ve heard about a fire at the yard?’ he asked in his best church voice.

  Mattie gave a tight-lipped nod. ‘I know it’s all . . .’

  ‘Please sit down, dear lady,’ he said, pulling out the chair for her.

  ‘May I confide in you – as a friend?’ Mattie asked as he resumed his seat on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Of course you may.’

  ‘This whole business with Nathaniel Tate . . .’ As she said his name her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue, ‘has made me realise how foolish I’ve been, trying to struggle on alone with the yard.’ She drew her handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘I can see now that running Maguire’s is just too much for me.’ She glanced up to see his reaction. ‘So I thought as you’ve been such a good friend since my poor husband passed on, I’d come to talk about the offer for the yard you mentioned before.’

  Triumph lit Amos’s eyes briefly. ‘Well now, I’m afraid things have changed since we last spoke. My associate has already found another business that suits his purpose so unfortunately that offer is no longer on the table.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers.

  Amos stood up and came around the desk. He pulled over another chair and sat beside her, taking her hands. Mattie studied his fleshy jowls, his wiry whiskers, noted his moist loose lips and the callous cast of his pale blue eyes. She suppressed a shudder.

  ‘My dear, Mrs Maguire.’ He patted her hands and contorted his face into a picture o
f abject misery. ‘I don’t like to see you like this. Not after all you’ve been through. And that little lad.’

  ‘Couldn’t you buy my yard, Mr Stebbins?’ Mattie said, giving him a wide-eyed innocent look.

  Amos scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, I don’t know. It’s a depressed market and with two carts idle and your orders slipping away . . .’ He sucked on his teeth and shook his head slowly. ‘I could give you four hundred pounds for Maguire’s and’ – he put his hand on his chest and looked heavenward – ‘I will trust the Lord to honour my losses.’

  Mattie bit her lip and pretended to consider. ‘I was hoping to start a little school in Bow by the river. Nothing fancy you understand, just in the front parlour, but I would need fifty pounds to buy the lease on a suitable house and, as it is Brian’s father’s and grandfather’s business, I’m aiming to put at least five hundred pounds by for his future . . . five-seventy-five?’

  Mattie held her breath. Perhaps she had gone too far. Or maybe he would refuse and let Maguire’s sink further before renewing his offer. He had to agree now or all would be lost! Her heart lodged in her throat.

  Amos chewed the inside of his mouth and studied her closely. After what seemed like an eternity a smile crept over his face. ‘Very well. But only for your little lad’s sake, five hundred and seventy-five.’ He stood up and offered her his hand. ‘Deal?’

  With an unsettling mix of triumph and indecision coiling together in the pit of her stomach, Mattie studied his outstretched hand. An image of Nathaniel smiling down at her formed itself in her mind. She rose to her feet and grasped his hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Stebbins. I always knew you to be a true friend.’

  Mattie stretched out and picked up the pen from the ebony stand and dipped it in the crystal inkwell. Across the desk sat Ebenezer Glasson.