A Glimpse at Happiness (28 page)
The newly founded Peelers, who took over Wapping Office just before her Harry died, had a new interest: the local heavy horsemen who lifted cargos from the ships at anchor, and the light horsemen who swifted away dockside cargo. Jackson, an inspector then, had been one of the new nabbers and had sent old Danny Donovan to the gallows.
Of course the old time Johnnies weren’t all bad. Men like her husband and Danny Donovan often had a nice little arrangement with the local nabs, and often the two sides of the law worked hand-in-hand, so to speak. A word here and a few coins there made the world go round - at least in Wapping and Shadwell. Now bloody Jackson was squeezing that as well and, although she would have cut her own and anyone else’s tongue out for saying it, things weren’t looking too rosy. She, however, was going to remedy that.
The door opened again and Harry slipped in. Ma jerked her head in the direction of her back parlour and he nodded. Heaving herself out of her chair, Ma swallowed the last of her drink and waddled towards the parlour door. Snapper struggled to his feet. The poor old bugger was getting old, too, she thought as the dog tottered, trying to get his back legs to support him.
‘You stay put,’ she told the dog. ‘And keep your eyes on her,’ she muttered, indicating Charlie’s bird standing behind the bar.
The dog settled back down with a huff as she pushed open the door and stepped through to her parlour. Harry and Charlie were standing by a disgruntled Sergeant Plant while two of their men, dressed in the gang uniform of check trousers, shapeless dark jackets and round-topped billycock hats, held his arms. A broad smile spread crossed Ma’s face.
‘Sergeant Plant, what a pleasure,’ she said, as the police officer glared at her.
She hobbled over to the chair by the fire and flopped down. At her elbow on a chipped plate were the half-eaten remains of a chop. She waved away the bluebottle hovering above it and picked it up.
‘Let him go,’ she barked, sinking her teeth into the meat.
Harry’s men released the officer immediately.
‘It a serious offence to assault a police officer, I’ll have you know,’ Plant said, brushing his sleeves with exaggerated movements.
‘And to take backhanders,’ she replied, waving the chop bone at him. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
Alarm shot across the sergeant’s face for a second before a conciliatory expression replaced it. ‘Enough said, but I still don’t see why you had to bring me here; a quiet word would have been enough. If anyone had seen me being dragged into the back of the Boatman—’
‘They’d know to look away,’ Ma cut in, licking the juice from the side of her hand. ‘Now see ’ere. We ain’t slipping you a couple of guineas each week because we like you, Plant. We’re paying you so that we can get our gear through.’ She wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘And we ain’t, because Jackson is jumping all over us before we can get our feet wet.’
A tick started in Plant’s left eye. ‘He’s found out the boats you use and he’s watching for them.’
‘We need to find other boats, Ma,’ Harry said, his lower lip hanging loose and with his usual eager-to-please expression on his face.
Ma shot him a venomous look ‘Don’t you think I knows that?’ She threw the bone on the floor. ‘I’d have plenty of boats if it wasn’t for that bastard Patrick-fecking-Nolan.’
It had been the talk of the dockside streets for weeks after the Maguire wedding, and she’d seen the sly looks sent her way when people thought she didn’t notice. By Christ, she was going to make him pay for that, and soon. Her eyes narrowed and the men in the room flinched.
Sergeant Plant cleared his throat. ‘I ran into him on the quayside where MacManus’s boat was sunk.’
‘At least you managed that without any trouble,’ Charlie said to his brother.
‘He was telling the men to stand together . . .’ Plant shot her a speculative look. ‘I hear they meet in the Town every Wednesday.’
Ma slipped her hand in her pocket and closed it around her knife. She drew it out.
‘Well, Sergeant, it’s a kindness of you to drop by to see an old woman,’ she heaved herself off the chair and grabbed hold of the officer’s sleeve spreading the grease from her fingers over his uniform.
She released the catch of the knife and the blade sprang out. The tic in Plant’s eye sped up as she placed the tip against the brass button of his jacket and tapped it lightly.
She smiled up at him. ‘You sort out Jackson and we’ll sort out the boats.’
Patrick sat in the corner of the Town bar swilling the last of the beer around in the bottom of his tankard. Roy’s barge had been re-floated and was once again carrying cargo back and forth from the Pool to Barking Reach but, since Patrick had called for the river workers to stand together, he had made it his practice to stay a little longer in the pub on Wednesday nights. There was nothing formal about the association. You joined those saying no to Ma Tugman by a handshake and a nod of the head, but nonetheless the cluster of men determined to earn their living by honest means was growing daily.
A wry smile crossed Patrick’s face as three dockers raised their tankards to acknowledge him from the other end of the bar.
His sole intention when he refused to carry stolen goods was to keep himself out of prison, but now he found himself the leader of a full scale revolt against the Tugmans’ rule. He should have realised that once he’d stepped forward others would follow. It had been the same on the
Seahorse
when he’d challenged the cook over the food served in the galley. All he’d wanted then was a full stomach before a day’s work and instead found himself in front of the captain as spokesman for the crew. But victuals was one thing, the Tugmans were quite another. Still, at least with the tension in the street and long hours working on the
Mermaid
, Patrick had little time to think about Josie.
Seahorse
when he’d challenged the cook over the food served in the galley. All he’d wanted then was a full stomach before a day’s work and instead found himself in front of the captain as spokesman for the crew. But victuals was one thing, the Tugmans were quite another. Still, at least with the tension in the street and long hours working on the
Mermaid
, Patrick had little time to think about Josie.
Of course he thought of her when his eyes opened in the morning and he wondered if she, too, had lain awake half the night thinking of him. He thought about her while he sipped a mug of hot, sugary tea and ate a bowl of oats after loading the first hold of coal in the morning, picturing her having breakfast at a table with a starched white cloth on it and the finest silverware. And, if he wasn’t careful, as the day went on he would find himself thinking about her warm smile and happy laugh when he stopped for a mug of coffee and a lunch of bread and cheese; or, sometimes when the wash rolled along the side of the boat, he would recall how her hair swirled in the breeze. Thoughts of her caught him unawares most nights when he got home and his children greeted him. He couldn’t help but imagine her there, too, waiting for him. And when he lay in the dark with desire for her coursing through him, he thought of what he wouldn’t give to have her in his arms.
The pub door opened again and Brian stepped inside. He scanned the bar and spotted Patrick. He ordered his pint and sauntered over.
‘I’m surprised you’re still here, Pat,’ he said taking the froth off of the top of his tankard.
Patrick smiled. ‘I’m just waiting to see a couple of the lads from Richard Street. One of their neighbours had their rigging cut and he lost three days’ money re-working it.’
‘The Tugmans again?’ Brian asked, the light from the lamp making an orange halo around his head.
Patrick nodded. ‘Who else? I met Pug Sheppard from Clarke Street. His men have had enough of handing over their wages and running the risk of being captured by the police. They want to stand with us now.’
Brian gave Patrick a smile that had just a shadow of the freckle-faced lad he’d once been. ‘We’ve been mates a long time, haven’t we, Pat?’
‘Aye, we have,’ Patrick agreed, thinking that he couldn’t remember a time before knowing Brian.
‘Do you remember how we used to come home with bloody noses after fighting with the Leman Street boys?’ he said. ‘And how your mam used to feed us bread and dripping after school?’
Patrick laughed. ‘Aye, and your mam used to think I was too wild for you to play with.’
‘Well, you fecking were,’ Brian replied. ‘I remember the day you faced down that big lad from Cable Street, you know, the one with a face like a monkey.’ He shook his head. ‘One blow from you and the big bugger crumpled like a paper lantern.’
‘You have to know where to hit them,’ Patrick said, relaxing back in the chair.
Brian grinned. ‘And I remember how we used to sneak up behind the girls walking home from school and pull their hair.’
Pain grabbed at Patrick’s chest. Josie, with her hair tightly twisted into two long plaits, had been one of the girls they had teased. But Josie didn’t shriek and cry; she’d turned around and swiped at him. If he could pin down the moment he actually fell in love with Josie O’Casey, it was when she belted him around the head with her satchel all those years ago.
Brian’s voice cut through his thought. ‘Cor, didn’t we have some times then?’
‘That we did,’ Patrick agreed.
‘So you won’t mind me asking’ - he paused for a moment - ‘are you all right, man?’
‘Same as ever,’ Patrick replied, forcing a casual smile.
Brian let out a loud sigh of relief. ‘Thanks the Lord, ’cause frankly, Pat, you look like squashed dog’s shite.’
‘I’ve just had a couple of long days, that’s all.’
Brian gave a nervous laugh. ‘Course you have, course you have.’ He took another deep draught of beer. ‘All right then.’ He cast his eyes over Patrick’s face. ‘I know you’re pining for Josie O’Casey, but who knows what’s around the corner, eh! It might all come right, even now.’ He buried his face in his tankard.
Patrick studied his old friend and now brother-in-law. As Brian had said, they’d always been close, right from the time when they were runny-nosed toddlers sitting on their front steps. They’d had their scraps of course, but they’d taken the other’s injuries as their own. When Patrick returned home from his travels to find his friend all set to marry Mattie, he couldn’t have been more pleased. Brian had stood beside him through all of Rosa’s shenanigans, but even with all that, Patrick knew it had taken a lot for Brian to mention Josie.
He slapped Brian on the shoulder. ‘You’re a good mate, none better.’
Brian grinned and was about to say something when the door burst open and Harry Tugman stepped in.
It took a moment for Patrick to register that a dozen or so of Harry’s hard-bitten bully boys had shoved their way in behind him.
Patrick and Brian stood up and chairs screeched on the wooden floor as other men did the same. Where a few seconds before there had been the low hum of male voices, now there was only the creak of wooden floorboards as men shifted their weight from one foot to the other in readiness for a set-to.
Harry was dressed in his usual visiting outfit: checked jacket and corduroys with a top hat wedged on his head. It was clear from the sneers on his gang’s faces and their hands concealed in jacket pockets that they hadn’t just popped into the Town for a quiet drink.
Tugman’s men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the exit to the street. Some of the pub’s patrons slid along the side towards the door leading to the steps down to the river. The rear door crashed back and half a dozen more of the Tugman gang pressed in.
The pub was probably at least half full, with the regulars outnumbering Harry’s men two to one, but they weren’t scrappy street fighters and even with favourable odds they’d be hard pushed to hold off Tugman’s thugs. Patrick subtly stretched and flexed his hand.
Harry grinned. ‘Evening,’ he said in a jovial voice. ‘I’ve got a message from me ma.’
There was a flash of light as he snatched a twelve-inch blade from inside his coat. In the same instant Patrick jerked his own knife out, crouched and balanced himself, ready to pounce. The barmaid screamed and the room exploded.
The boatmen pulled out blades or grasped bottles at the same instant that Harry’s men dived into them. Glass smashed and shards crunched underfoot as the men lunged at each other. Arthur scrambled to protect his stock behind the bar, but two of Harry’s men grabbed him and threw him through the window, taking out the central panes of glass and much of the wooden frame. A couple of the boatmen, seeing a way out, jumped through the gap and ran off down the high street.
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