Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  Amos took hold of his lapels and puffed out his chest. ‘Well, gentlemen, that concludes our business for the evening. It only leaves me to commend you on your astute business sense in buying shares in what will soon prove to be the most profitable of companies.’ There was an appreciative murmur from his audience. ‘So, if there is nothing else to raise, perhaps this would be a good moment to lay the whole project before the Almighty—’

  The door at the far end of the room was flung open and Mattie Maguire, her brother Patrick, and a young man who looked vaguely familiar, stepped into the room. Oddly, Mattie’s gown, jacket and bonnet wouldn’t have looked out of place in Cecily’s wardrobe. Her brother, too, could have been mistaken for a commodity trader in his well-fitting suit and modest necktie. All eyes turned towards the bottom end of the table as the three latecomers took their seats.

  What on earth are they doing here, the bone-headed Irish? Amos thought, trying to remember where he’d seen their young companion before. Can’t they read the bloody notice on the door?

  ‘I think there is some mistake. This is the Wapping & Stratford Railway Company shareholders’ meeting,’ Amos said, not bothering to keep the irritation from his tone.

  Mattie folded her hands in front of her. ‘Yes, I know. We were unavoidably delayed.’

  ‘Let me repeat, Mrs Maguire,’ Amos said, in a tone he used when speaking at St George’s Sunday school. ‘It is a private meeting. For shareholders.’

  Mattie drew a share certificate out of her crocheted handbag and spread it on the table. ‘I am a shareholder.’

  Patrick delved into his inside pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. ‘So am I,’

  ‘Me too,’ added the young man whom Amos was still trying to identify.

  He hadn’t bothered to look at the list of shareholders before the meeting began. It didn’t actually matter who they were as long as they voted as he instructed, but finding that Mattie, Patrick and this slight young man beside them owned shares in his company made him feel uneasy.

  These Nolans are jumped up micks all right. That’s what’s wrong with this country – people not knowing their place.

  ‘Very well,’ he replied, as they took their seats. He drew a deep breath. ‘As there were no further question perhaps we can now bow our heads—’

  ‘Mr Chairman.’ Mattie rose to her feet and thirty-two pairs of eyes stared along the table at her. ‘I have a question.’

  A shiver of apprehension crept up Mattie’s spine. Could she do it? Could she really persuade the stony-faced men sitting around the table that Amos had lined his pockets with company money? She swallowed and took a deep breath.

  ‘I would like to ask a question about the properties bought on behalf of the company.’

  A rush of blood coloured Amos’s face for a moment, then an indulgent expression spread across it. ‘Although I am pleased to see you’ve invested your windfall rather than squander it as some would, Mrs Maguire, perhaps it would be wiser to observe the proceedings for a while before seeking to participate.’

  The men sitting around the table in tailored suits, gold watch chains strung across their portly midriffs and diamonds twinkling in their cravats, nodded in agreement.

  ‘Women in the boardroom?’ someone muttered.

  ‘Whatever next,’ another added. ‘Perhaps the vote.’

  This brought forth a general titter of laughter. The knot that had twisted Mattie’s innards from the moment she’d walked into the room, tightened. Forgetting the men looking down the table – and their noses – at her, Mattie fixed her eyes on Amos.

  ‘I would like to know how much you sold my coal yard to the Wapping & Stratford for?’ she asked in a clear voice.

  ‘I can’t recall.’ he snapped.

  ‘Why don’t you look at your accounts?’ Smyth-Hilton offered smoothly. ‘Mr Smyth-Hilton, editor of the Working Man’s Defender.’ He inclined his head ever so slightly.

  A bead of sweat sprang up on Amos’s brow.

  A well-stuffed man turned to Mattie. ‘Madam, we have come here to set up this company in proper order and I, for one, would be grateful if we could do that without interference from one who clearly has no understanding of such matters.’ He gave Patrick a caustic look. ‘I call upon you, sir, to take your wife home.’

  Patrick drew himself upright. ‘This share certificate,’ he jabbed the elongated paper on the table with his index finger, ‘means that my sister is entitled to be here as much as any of you.’

  A rumble of discontent ran around the table and someone muttered, ‘Who let the tinkers in?’ Which brought forth several more snorts. Patrick’s mouth hardened.

  A bald-headed shareholder curled his top lip into a sneer. ‘You might have bought yourself a couple of shares but that doesn’t mean that you and your sister have the right to sit alongside or question your betters. I do not know who you are, nor wish to, but what you are is abundantly clear.’

  Mattie grabbed her brother’s arm to keep him in his seat. ‘And I know what you are, sir. A patsy,’ she told the bald-headed shareholder. ‘And just in case you’re not familiar with the term, it’s Irish for a fool, a dupe, someone who’s been diddled. In fact, you’re all patsies here, because you’ve all been hoodwinked. By him!’ Mattie pointed at Amos.

  Pandemonium broke out as the men in the room shouted their outrage.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ Amos said as held his hand up for silence. ‘Mrs Maguire, how you can accuse me of dishonesty when, out of regard for your fatherless child, I paid well over the current price for your own yard, not a month back.’

  ‘That you did, but I’m still wanting to know how much you sold it to the railway for.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see that this is a question for this—’

  ‘And how much did you sell all the other properties you owned along the route of the railway for?’ Mattie continued. She turned to the other shareholders. ‘I don’t suppose that Mr Stebbins told you that he owned nearly all of the land along the route, which the company has now bought? Well, that’s to say it was owned by him and Mr Fallon there’ – she moved her finger onto the ashen man sitting beside Amos – ‘who you wise and sober businessmen have just voted in as the company treasurer. I have evidence that Mr Stebbins has been buying up properties along the route on the quiet, with the intention of selling them to the Wapping & Stratford at a vastly inflated price with your money.’

  Smyth-Hilton held a hefty file aloft, and there was a moment of total silence before several of the shareholders jumped to their feet.

  ‘Stebbins?’ asked a slim, distinguished looking man.

  Amos stretched his neck out of his collar. ‘I sold a couple of plots of land—’

  ‘How many?’ demanded another.

  Amos drew out his handkerchief and mopped his glistening fore-head. ‘One or two . . . a few. I can’t remember exactly.’ He spread his hands. ‘And I ask you, gentlemen, does it matter who owned them?’

  ‘It bloody does if you’ve used our money to pad your pocket,’ a bald-headed investor yelled. ‘And, now that you’ve paid yourself, are there sufficient funds in the company’s account to engage the engineers we need?’

  Amos licked his lips. ‘I’m sure the City & County will be able to loan the company the funds it—’

  ‘Loan!’ bellowed another investor, who shook his silver-topped cane at Amos. ‘Over fifty thousand was raised in the share issue. Perhaps you ought to answer this good lady’s question, Stebbins. Just how much did you pay for the properties along the route!’

  Panic, fear and fury mingled on Amos’s face.

  ‘Fallon owned the Hawkins timber yard in Limehouse and the row of houses in Fieldgate Street.’

  The company’s newly elected treasurer leapt to his feet. ‘Only because you offered them to me.’ He prodded Amos’s chest just at the point below his carnation in his lapel. ‘It’s you who owned the lion’s share of the sites.’

  The room exploded. Men who, until a f
ew moments before, had looked down at the latecomers with an air of superiority now raged and shouted as if they were a bunch of costermongers in the Garrick’s penny pit.

  Patrick stood up and smashed his fist on the table twice. The noise ceased abruptly and the men in the room turned back towards Mattie. She caught Patrick’s eyes and he winked.

  Mattie cleared her throat. ‘I would like to put forward a motion of no confidence in the chairman, Mr Amos Stebbins, and further propose that the shareholders appoint an independent auditor to investigate fully the financial dealings of Mr Stebbins. And Mr Fallon.’

  There was a moment of silence. Then two dozen voices shouted that they would second the motion.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mattie leant back as the besuited waiter placed a bowl containing a small island of plum pudding in a sea of creamy custard in front of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  The waiter placed the same dish in front of Patrick, Smyth-Hilton and Josie and retired to his place by the kitchen door. The men picked up their spoons and scooped them into their desserts without breaking their conversation. Smyth-Hilton wore a charcoal frockcoat while Patrick was dressed in the suit he kept for best. The party of four received a series of admiring, and curious glances as they walked through the restaurant into the private room where they now sat.

  Josie turned towards Mattie, her eyes sparkling under the lace trim of her new bonnet. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ she said, as the sweet steam from the pudding drifted up between them.

  ‘Yes,’ Mattie replied, thinking terrifying might be a better word to describe having lunch at Crosby Hall, one of Bishopsgate’s most fashionable restaurants. She’d barely tasted the braised lamb with dumpling as she couldn’t stop her eyes roaming around the plush surroundings. The interior of the small dining room they sat in had half-panelled walls adorned with landscape paintings. The gas lamps had cut crystal shades and the table was set with the finest china and the shiniest silverware Mattie had ever seen.

  A week after their coup at the shareholders meeting, Smyth-Hilton suggested that they dine out to celebrate their victory. Mattie had thought it a splendid idea, thinking he meant at the Hoop and Grapes, or perhaps the Pie Bull, but when the cab stopped outside the double-fronted Crosby Hall her heart had missed a beat. As Smyth-Hilton led her in on his arm, followed by Patrick and Josie, Mattie felt that everyone in the room knew that her gown and jacket were second hand.

  ‘How’s Kate?’ Josie asked, popping a spoonful of pudding in her mouth.

  ‘Grand,’ Mattie replied. ‘Although I barely had time to boil the kettle before young Ella started to squeeze her way into the world.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope that now he has a family to keep, Freddie will start to shape up,’ Josie said.

  ‘Yes, let’s hope.’

  Kate’s marriage was a sad state of affairs to be sure, but there was nothing she nor anyone else could do about it. Kate was married now for better or for worse and all Mattie could do was pray for her sister.

  Smyth-Hilton raised his glass. ‘I propose a toast to Mrs Maguire, whose bravery in the face of the enemy is an example to us all.’

  ‘To Mattie,’ Josie and Patrick said in unison, raising their glasses, too.

  Mattie felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘I only asked the questions. You did all the work trawling through the land registry to prove that Mr Stebbins really did own the properties.’

  ‘But what a question, eh? It led to the total collapse of the Wapping & Stratford, a run on the City & County, Fallon’s resignation, and the discovery of enough irregularities and dubious payments in Stebbins’s ledger to keep the accountants working until Christmas.’ Smyth-Hilton placed his well-manicured hand on the three-day-old copy of The Times. ‘And then this.’

  A satisfied smile spread across Mattie’s face. ‘I hear he’s already been asked to resign from St George’s Vestry.’

  ‘And that he’s been booed at in the streets when he walked to his office the other day,’ Josie added.

  ‘Well, he hasn’t got an office any more. Not now the bank’s foreclosed on his mortgage. And the traders who are owed hundreds by him have applied to the court for payment, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he were declared bankrupt by the end of the month.’

  ‘A good job, too,’ Josie said.

  Patrick grinned at her.

  A solid lump of unhappiness settled on Mattie’s chest. ‘Is there any word from the auditors about the stolen money?’

  Smyth-Hilton shook his head. ‘It’s early days,’ he replied sympathetically.

  Mattie put down her wine glass untouched. ‘Then I can’t celebrate,’ she said, her lower lip threatening to tremble. ‘Not until Nathaniel is free.’

  ‘You’ll have to be patient, Mattie,’ Patrick said, reaching across to pat her hand. ‘These things take time.’

  ‘But Nathaniel hasn’t got time.’

  Tears pinched at the inside of her eyes but she blinked them away, determined not to make a scene with everybody looking on. They had turned up for Nathaniel’s appearance at the Old Bailey only to be told that the list had been brought forward and the court had heard his case the day before. Mattie was distraught that she hadn’t caught a last glimpse of Nathaniel before he was sent back to Botany Bay, but tried to console herself with the thought that it was better this way. It was now abundantly clear that she was with child, and at least he wouldn’t be sent back knowing he would never see his child.

  Josie slipped her arm around her. ‘And at least Nathaniel knows that you’ve shown the world Amos’s true nature. Isn’t that what he came back for?’

  Mattie gave a little nod.

  Patrick had finally got permission to visit Nathaniel and had recounted the events of the shareholders’ meeting. Nathaniel had said he could face being sent back to Botany Bay now that he knew Mattie’s financial future would be secure. That was all well and good, but Mattie didn’t want to have a future without Nathaniel beside her.

  ‘And we’ve not finished with our friend and his secrets yet.’ Smyth-Hilton tapped the side of his nose. ‘Just keep your eye on the next edition of the Working Man’s Defender.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the solicitors dealing with the Wapping & Stratford,’ Patrick said. ‘They are keen to realise as much money as possible for Stebbins’s creditors, and I took the liberty of putting in an offer of three hundred and twenty-five pounds for your yard. It looks as if they will accept it.’ He grinned. ‘Not bad, eh?’

  Mattie forced a smile and wondered how she was going to tell him that, if they couldn’t free Nathaniel in time, she was considering using every penny she had to follow him to Australia.

  Mattie pushed open Wardell’s door and set the bell attached to it jingling. Samuel Wardell, who was showing a customer a variety of Parisian jugs, acknowledged her arrival with a professional smile.

  Wardell’s had stood on the corner of Hessle Street for as long as Mattie could remember. From every hook and beam hung metal hoops for cart wheels and baskets of all shapes and designs. The counter too was stacked high with jars of glue for the women who made matchboxes at home for the local factories.

  Carefully sidestepping the rat traps on the floor, Mattie took her place at the back of the queue. Her heart sunk as recognised Dot Milligan and Bridget Keane standing in front of her. Dot nudged Bridget and a look of undisguised glee lit their faces. Mattie held her shopping basket in front of her, hoping that this would shield her waistline from too much scrutiny.

  ‘Oh, Mattie, my dear!’ Bridget cried, as she squeezed herself between Mattie and a barrel of pickling vinegar. ‘Why I was only talking about you the other day.’ Her small hazel eyes searched Mattie’s face and then the rest of her. ‘How have you been keeping?’

  ‘Very well,’ Mattie replied, as Dot elbowed her way forward to join them.

  ‘You look it, don’t she, Dot?’ Bridget said, her pale eyes lingering just a little too long on Mattie’s middle.

&nbs
p; ‘That she does,’ Dot replied, as her eyes followed her friend’s.

  Dot drew closer. ‘What about all this business with Mr Stebbins? Railways and land and kiddy knocking shops! Fair curdles your innards.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But, you’d know all about that seeing how it was you who brought ’im down.’

  Mattie felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  Dot gave her a chummy smile. ‘Come on, Mattie, tell us how you knew about the railway and all.’

  ‘I just asked some questions about who owned the land, that’s all,’ she said, knowing they would have read as much in the paper.

  ‘I read that Nathaniel Tate—’

  ‘Your coalman,’ Betty cut in as her eyes drifted again onto Mattie’s stomach.

  ‘—is to be sent back to Australia for a fourteen-year stretch,’ finished Dot.

  The barrels alongside Mattie seemed to press nearer for a moment. Please God, let them find the money, Mattie prayed, as she had done almost every waking moment. Smyth-Hilton kept telling her that they would find the money but it had been almost ten weeks since the auditors were called in and each day that passed was a day nearer to the date of Nathaniel’s transportation.

  The queue moved forward again and the door to the Wardell’s living area opened. Jane, Samuel’s wife appeared, still tying her apron.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Maguire!’ she cried, waving a large envelope at her. ‘I was just going to send the boy around to tell you this arrived an hour ago.’

  Bridget and Dot stood aside as Jane passed the letter between them. Mattie took it and looked at the smooth manila paper with well-ordered writing on the front and a red wax seal on the back.

  Mattie’s heart thumped in her chest as she flipped it over and broke the seal. She scanned down the page and one phrase leapt off the page: ‘. . . have located the missing £2000 from Amos Stebbins’s holding in Romford . . .’

  Mattie shoved Smyth-Hilton’s letter in the front of her coat. ‘I . . . I have to get home,’ she said, dashing towards the door.

  Mattie twisted the handkerchief in her hands and fixed her eyes on the wooden doors of Pentonville prison. She, Patrick and Smyth-Hilton stood amongst a small crowd of women and children also waiting for the gates to open.