She tucked her collar up higher to keep out the early morning chill. ‘Do you think we’ll have to wait much longer?’
Patrick smiled down at her. ‘Just a few moments longer, I’m sure, and then you’ll be able to see him, Mattie.’ He winked. ‘Just in time, too.’
It was mid April now, so she couldn’t have more than a month or so before the baby was born. And now, Mary be blessed, Nathaniel would be with her when her time arrived to welcome their child. As if sensing her excitement, the baby turned over; she smoothed her hand over her stomach then fixed her eyes on the stark prison doors. She could hardly believe that after all these months of fear and uncertainty Nathaniel would soon, very soon, be a free man again. A smile lifted the corner of her lips as she pictured Nathaniel’s surprise when he saw her.
The prison clock chimed six, bolts were scraped back and one of the doors opened. The crowd surged forward to greet those who had paid their debt to society as the prison gate closed behind them.
Patrick grasped Mattie’s elbow and guided her towards the door. He banged the metal hatch in the door with his fist. Keys jangled on the other side, then it opened.
Inside stood the receiving officer, a man with a magnificent moustache and an enormous bunch of keys slung on a chain from his belt.
‘The prison isn’t open for enquires until ten o’clock,’ he said, pushing the metal doors closed again.
Patrick put his hand on it to halt its progress. ‘We’ve come to see the officer in charge on a very urgent matter.’
‘What?’
Smyth-Hilton squeezed himself between them. ‘This warrant,’ he replied, holding up the sealed magistrate’s order, ‘for the release of Nathaniel Tate.’
‘Well, he ain’t going anywhere is he, so you can come back at ten o’clock,’ the officer replied without even glancing at the paper.
Mattie ducked under Patrick’s arm and gripped the bars. ‘Please. Can’t you just fetch the officer in charge?’
The prison warden looked her over. ‘I’m sorry, Missus, I—’
‘What’s the problem here, Trent?’ a deep voice boomed from inside the guardroom.
The officer snapped to attention and saluted. ‘Some people with a magistrate’s permit, Mr Callow, sir.’
The reception officer stepped aside and a tough individual with a jagged scar down his left cheek, granite eyes and three brass pips on his shoulders, took his place.
‘Good morning, sir,’ Mattie said, smiling up at him through the grille. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you so early in the day but we have a court order for the immediate release of Nathaniel Tate,’ she said, as Smyth-Hilton flourished the folded paper again.
Mr Callow’s brows drew together. ‘Tate! Tate!’ He pulled down a ledger from the shelf above. He laid it across his forearm and opened it. He ran his finger down the line of names. ‘Fredrick Tarling, Albert Tatar, Nathaniel Tate—’
‘That’s him! Nathaniel Tate!’ Mattie seized the warrant from the journalist’s hand. ‘We have his release papers. Here!’ She opened it and held it up to he could see it.
The officer glanced at it then back at Mattie. ‘Well, that all seems in order but you’re too late.’
‘Too late?’ Mattie replied, as the floor under her feet seemed to tip sideways.
Callow tapped the page. ‘Tate was sent to the Randolph two days ago. It sailed this morning from Brunswick dock.’
Mattie staggered back and Patrick put out his hand to steady her.
‘But we have a court order for his release,’ Smyth-Hilton said.
‘Well, you’ll have to take it to Australia then, won’t you?’ The senior officer replied. ‘Because he’s gone.’ He slammed the register shut with a thud. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a prison to run.’ He closed the grille.
Mattie, Patrick and Smyth-Hilton stood staring at each other in disbelief for a moment, then Patrick grabbed her hand.
‘Come on!’ he said, hurrying her across the road.
‘Where are we going, Patrick?’ Mattie asked, panting to keep up with him.
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ Patrick replied.
*
Nathaniel raised his head and drew in a deep breath as the pungent stench of the Thames mud filled his nostrils. Above his head, the sailors on the Randolph rolled the last few barrels across the deck above him. He and the other nine prisoners of number four mess sat squashed together on the narrow benches, their heads down and shoulders slumped, behind the iron bars of the cage. He’d recognised a couple of them from Pentonville but the others were from Millbank and Cold Bath Fields. No doubt by the time they reached their destination a hundred days from now, they would be much better acquainted. On either side of them were the ten men of numbers three and five mess.
The cell was just over two-arms-stretch wide and a little deeper with crude benches nailed around the edges. There was barely enough room for them all to sit, but during the day they would be taken out five at a time for their ablutions and exercise. Those who remained would take advantage of the extra space, be it ever so briefly. At night, they were allocated hammocks which they would string across.
Nathaniel had managed to secure himself the most tucked away hammock position so that he didn’t have men clambering over him on their way to the slop bucket during the night. In many ways the provision on the transportation ships had improved since he had last travelled on one. Previously, the captain held sway; now a surgeon superintendent was in charge. There was also a parson on the ship to give spiritual succour and run reading classes.
When he was marched aboard at Woolwich two days before and into the prison deck, the acrid residue of human excrement sent his guts churning. Horrific memories flooded back: of being locked away in the bowels of the ship for days on end and of the sheer terror of being chained to a post during a hurricane.
In some ways it was as well that he was chained to the men before and behind him or he might have jumped into the swirling waters of the Thames. But that was the coward’s way out, and now the initial urge had passed he knew that when they set sail the routines of the journey would do the thinking for him. Smyth-Hilton had been most apologetic at his last visit when he told him that the auditors hadn’t unearthed the money from Stebbins’s Romford business. But it had always been a slim chance that it would be found and he was just thankful that Patrick had been able to buy back Maguire’s from the bank. He could better face the long, lonely years ahead knowing that Mattie and Brian were safe. He was resolved to fix his mind on her each day, be it under the hot sun of the patched bush or in the cool of evening by a billabong. That way she would always be with him. He would mark the passing years and picture her prosperous and well.
He let his head fall back on the metal bars of the cell. He hadn’t failed in his quest entirely, after all he had shown the world Stebbins’s true nature. But he had failed utterly in the part of his plan that touched his core; he would never now clear his name or marry Mattie.
The muffled sound of the boarding ladder rolling down the side rumbled through the wooden ship. The dozen or so prisoners from Maidstone prison would soon be on board and then the next stop would be Kingston, Jamaica or Bridgetown, Barbados before they sailed south to battle through the storms of the Cape and into the Pacific.
Nathaniel stretched his right leg to ease the cramp in his calf. They wouldn’t be allowed on the top deck to wash or exercise until they were at sea, which made the atmosphere in the tightly packed cell oppressive. The spring weather didn’t help as it brought out the flies and midges in the nearby marshland.
A light cut through the gloom as the hatch above them opened. Everyone craned their necks to get a glimpse of the newcomers but instead of a line of sorry-looking prisoners, the ship’s surgeon squeezed himself through the opening and clattered down the narrow stairs. The prison officers snapped to attention.
Mr Goldney drew a handkerchief from his sleeve and covered his nose and mouth. Nathaniel rolled his eyes. If the
surgeon thought this was bad wait until they’d been at sea a fortnight.
‘Which is number four?’ he mumbled through the fabric covering the bottom half of his face.
A pock-marked senior officer saluted sharply and motioned to Nathaniel’s cell. ‘Over here, sir.’
‘Prisoner Tate?’ he asked.
Nathaniel stood up. ‘Sir.’
Goldney nodded his head sharply to the warden, who produced an enormous bunch of keys. The other officer picked up their rifles and came over.
‘All of you except Tate stand back,’ the senior officer ordered, as the men behind him cocked their weapons and aimed it into the cell.
The men fettered to Nathaniel shuffled back as best they could and when the officer came in he unlocked Nathaniel’s ankle chains.
‘Follow me,’ Mr Goldney commanded.
As Nathaniel walked between the cells his mind raced through the various reasons a captain might call a prisoner out. Punishment. But for what? A special task perhaps? He was one of the few prisoners who could read and write but he doubted the ship’s master needed him on that score. He followed the surgeon up the narrow ladder to the crew deck and then on to the top deck. Instantly, the wind whipped though his hair and the salty smell of the sea filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath and blinked as the sunlight dazzled him.
For a moment his brain couldn’t make sense of what his eyes were seeing. Mattie? It couldn’t be! His mind was playing a cruel trick on him. He shook his head and looked back again. Time seemed to stop. He stared across the battened-down canvas on the cargo hold at the woman he loved. The wind tugged at her chip bonnet and she had a hand on the crown of it to stop it from flying away. She was dressed in the dark green gown and jacket he liked her in and she was smiling up at the captain. Behind her stood Patrick, Smyth-Hilton and a river police officer. He registered their presence but had eyes only for Mattie. Then he saw her swollen stomach.
‘Mattie?’
Her head whipped around and her eyes, her lovely eyes fixed on him.
‘Nathaniel!’
She sidestepped a coil of rope and waddled along the deck towards him. She threw herself in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and clung to him. Nathaniel put aside all the questions of why and how she was here. He kissed her forehead and ran his finger through her hair. The faintest smell of violets drifted up to him.
She tilted up her face as tears shimmered on her bottom lashes. ‘They found the money.’
‘Thank God.’
She wound her arms around him, fitting snugly under his arm and into his hips as she always did. Well, not quite. He released her and, keeping one arm around her, rested his hand on her stomach. He felt a faint movement press against his palm. Love, pride and utter joy swept over him forming a lump in his throat.
‘How soon?’
‘About a month or so.’
Patrick stomped down the deck and joined them. He and Nathaniel shook hands.
‘Thank you,’ he said, seeing the top mast of Patrick’s boat, the Smiling Girl, poking up over the side rail.
‘Thank St Nicholas for a strong easterly and a swift current or you’d have passed Shoeburyness by now and we’d never have caught you in open sea.’
‘But we did,’ Mattie said, as Smyth-Hilton joined them.
‘We’d better get those banns read soon,’ Nathaniel said, grinning.
‘That might have to wait a week or two as you’re not free just yet. Your transportation has been deferred,’ Patrick said. ‘You’re now in the custody of the police.’ He nodded at the river police officers standing with the captain.
‘I’ll be pushing for your hearing as soon as possible,’ Smyth-Hilton said, looking a little green around the gills. ‘With the evidence the auditors uncovered, it should be an open-and-shut case. I think you’ll be able to make an honest woman of Mrs Maguire but with only a week or two to spare.’
Chapter Thirty
The vicar of St George’s extolled the virtues of marriage as Mattie stood beside Nathaniel, her hand resting in his. The sweet smell of the first crop of spring flowers drifted over them as they exchanged their vows. Although it was only the legal part of their marriage, with a nuptial mass planned for next week, the whole family was there. So many people had crowded in that the vicar had opened the door to the main part of the church because they wouldn’t all fit in the porch.
True to his word, Smyth-Hilton badgered the courts, and Nathaniel’s case was heard within two weeks of his transfer to the river police. The evidence had been so overwhelming that it took less time to find him innocent than it had to have him re-sentenced not two months before.
Nathaniel’s sister Emma and her husband Jacob had arrived from Romford on the train the day before the hearing. She and Mattie had wept in each others arms in the public gallery when the judge pronounced Nathaniel innocent. He was released instantly, with his reputation restored.
Mattie and Emma had become fast friends from the moment they’d met. With Mattie growing larger by the day and Brian’s boundless energy enough for two boys, having Nathaniel’s sister around the house had been very welcome. Delicious buns and country pies appeared on the table for tea each day, once Emma had got the hang of the range in the kitchen. Her husband Jacob had made himself useful by taking over the care of the horses. Brian loved his new relatives and happily sat on Auntie Emma’s lap – and thank goodness too, because Mattie’s lap had disappeared. Emma and Jacob were set to stay with them until after the baby was born, but Mattie knew Nathaniel was hoping to persuade them to stay permanently. Jacob was getting on and if he could no longer work then he and Emma would be forced to seek relief from the parish. Nathaniel was adamant that his sister wouldn’t end up in the workhouse.
Emma and Jacob now stood in their best clothes alongside Sarah, who was holding Brian so he could see everything. Kate and her baby, Ella, stood with Patrick, Josie and their children. Behind the immediate family were Pete, his wife and children, Billy and his intended, and old Eli and his daughter. Behind them stood Nathaniel’s old friend Boyce, wearing an oddly sentimental expression.
Mattie glanced up at Nathaniel, standing tall and upright beside her. His hair had grown out from the prison crop and he’d been to the Italian barbers opposite the Crown and Anchor to have a proper beard trim. He’d also been to Moses & Sons to buy a new grey suit and top hat. With his white shirt-collar framing his firm jaw and the added swirl of colour from his necktie, Mattie marvelled at how one man could be so handsome.
He turned and smiled down at her and a thrill of pleasure ran through her. Just when she thought she couldn’t be any happier, Nathaniel slipped the narrow silver ring that had been his mother’s wedding band over her finger.
There had been times over the last few months when she’d almost given up hope that this day would ever come.
‘You look beautiful,’ Nathaniel said quietly as they waited for the vicar to write their marriage lines.
She and Josie had spent the last few weeks unpicking her original pink-striped wedding dress and reworking it to fit. It looked well enough but even with a new bonnet and Josie’s very large lace shawl draped around her, Mattie still felt like the elephant in Jamrach’s back yard.
‘I look like a merchantman in full sail,’ she replied.
Nathaniel’s eyes danced with amusement. ‘You look perfect.’
The vicar handed her the folded certificate. ‘There you are, Mrs Tate.’
Mrs Tate! Joy burst through Mattie and set the baby inside her off on somersaults. At last, she was Nathaniel’s wife.
He offered her his arm and they turned to face their families. Sarah wiped a tear from her eyes as did Josie and Emma from theirs. Leaving the cool of the church behind they emerged into the May sunlight. Their families gathered around to throw handfuls of rice. Mattie let go of Nathaniel’s arm as the men shook his hand and slapped him on the back with their congratulations. Annie and Mickey herded the younger children on to the grass
as the adults mingled and talked.
Josie slipped her arm in Mattie’s and drew her aside. ‘I am so happy for you,’ she said hugging her friend again.
Sarah hobbled over to join them. ‘You look such a blessed bride, and with such a fine looking fella, too,’ she said, glancing at Nathaniel laughing and joking with Emma and Jacob. Her lined face crinkled into a smile and her old eyes twinkled. ‘I’m thinking there must be a touch of Irish blood in his family somewhere.’
The women laughed.
‘And here’s my other darling girl,’ Sarah continued as Kate came over to join them. She took baby Ella in her arms and kissed her forehead.
‘All blessing on you, Mattie,’ Kate said, embracing her.
Mattie hugged her, wishing fervently that Kate was married to someone who would love her as much as she was loved by Nathaniel. Despite having the responsibility of a wife and child, Freddie had carried on as before. There were worrying rumours that he was now in thick with the Black Eagle Gang; however, now that she had Ella, Kate demanded he give her the housekeeping she was due. She even threatened to go to the Blue Boy with Ella in her arms on payday so all his flash drinking pals would see how he treated his own flesh an blood. Freddie backed down and grudgingly gave her five shillings a week.
Her mother ran a concerned eye over Mattie. ‘You should get the weight off your feet, my girl.’
‘In a while – I swear this baby’s playing hopscotch.’
‘You’ve dropped since the other day.’
‘I know,’ Mattie replied. She’d had the sensation of the baby’s head deep in her pelvis for two or three days, and since then there had been one or two contractions each day.
‘I’d say you got that ring on your finger just in time.’
Mattie smiled, knowing her mother was right.
She shifted her weight and her ankles felt tight. Perhaps she had stood for too long. Breakfast was waiting for them at the yard so maybe they should think about making their way back. As she looked across at Nathaniel out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of someone hovering behind the Raines family memorial in the corner of the churchyard.
Perhaps Tomorrow Page 31