Gaslight in Page Street (33 page)

Carrie had been busy taking orders and serving for most of Monday morning, and when the dining rooms had become quieter she set about cleaning the marble-topped bench tables. There were only two carmen sitting at the end table and one other old man who sat near the door, slowly sipping his tea. Outside the morning mist still hung over the river and laden horse-carts trundled past.

Carrie hummed to herself as she dried off a table-top. Suddenly a young man slid into the bench seat and grinned at her. ‘A large tea please luv,’ he said cheerily.

Carrie looked at him and raised her eyes in surprise. ‘I know yer, don’t I?’ she said.

The young man ran his hand through his dark wavy hair and his grin widened. ‘Do yer?’

Carrie straightened up, feeling suddenly embarrassed before his wide-eyed gaze. ‘Wasn’t you the one who gave me an’ my mate a lift in yer cart?’ she asked.

The young man slapped the table with his open hand. ‘You’re the suffragette gel. The one who ’atpinned the copper,’ he laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t ’ave guessed it. Yer look different in yer pinafore, an’ yer ’air’s done different too. Well, I don’t know. Fancy meetin’ yer ’ere.’

Carrie smiled as she went to fetch his tea, and while she was filling the large mug he watched her. ‘Last time I was in ’ere ole Ida was servin’. What’s ’appened ter ’er?’ he asked.

Carrie brought over the tea and placed it in front of him. ‘Ida’s ’usband is ill. She ’ad ter pack the job up,’ she said, picking up the coppers.

‘So yer’ve packed up bein’ in the suffragettes, ’ave yer?’ he remarked, a smile playing on his handsome features.

‘No, I ’aven’t,’ Carrie said firmly, ‘I still go on marches when I can. Only at weekends, though.’

‘Well, I’ll be blowed. Fancy meetin’ up wiv yer again,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘What about yer mate? Is she still a suffragette?’

Carrie nodded. ‘Mary’s doin’ it full-time now. She works in Blackfriars somewhere.’

The young man put down his mug. ‘My name’s Tommy Allen, in case I didn’t tell yer last time,’ he said. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Carrie. Carrie Tanner,’ she replied.

‘That’s right, I remember yer tellin’ me now,’ he grinned.

Carrie noticed that the two carmen sitting at the end table were listening and hurried back behind the counter to busy herself with the tea urn. Occasionally she stole a glance in the young man’s direction. He was handsome, she decided. She remembered thinking the first time she met him that his dark wavy hair and brown eyes gave him the look of a gypsy, and smiled to herself as she recalled the story that had passed through her mind then. He seemed friendly, with his easy smile and laughing eyes. He was wearing an open-necked shirt with a red scarf knotted around his thick neck, and she could see that he had strong hands. His wide shoulders were hunched over the table and he appeared to be deep in thought as he sipped his tea.

Customers were now beginning to come in for lunch and she was kept busy taking orders. Suddenly she saw Tommy Allen get up and go to the door. He turned and smiled. ‘Keep out o’ trouble, Carrie,’ he said, laughing, then he was gone.

For the rest of the day she kept thinking of the handsome young man with the gypsy looks. She was interested to know where he came from, and she found herself wondering whether or not he was married. Carrie tried to put him out of her mind but she had been intrigued by his manner. He was different from the other young men she had met and spoken to, although she realised that her experience of men was very limited and she had not really encountered many handsome young lads apart from Billy Sullivan. She felt strangely elated as Tommy constantly returned to her thoughts. He would come into the café again if he was interested in her, she told herself. But was he? He was most probably married or walking out with a girl. She vowed that she would get him talking next time he came in, and find out more about him.

On Monday morning George Galloway drove his trap into the yard. Normally, when he spent the whole of Monday morning going over the books with his accountant and making phone calls, he would get William to unhitch the gelding and put it into the stall or else tether it until he was ready to leave, but on this particular morning as he hurried into the office George told his yard foreman to leave the horse in the shafts. Jack Oxford busied himself with the broom and gave the Cleveland a wide berth. The old man won’t be stopping long, he thought.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and Galloway burst out of the office door, his face scarlet. ‘Tanner! Come ’ere!’ he bawled at the top of his voice.

William was in the upper stable. He hurried down, surprise showing on his face at the sudden outburst. ‘What’s up?’ he asked quietly.

‘What’s up? I’ll show yer what’s up. Come in ’ere,’ Galloway shouted.

William followed his boss into the office, trying to puzzle out what could have made him so angry.

‘Somebody’s nicked me watch-an’-chain. An’ that’s not all. Take a look at this,’ he growled.

William walked over to the open desk and saw the haddock bone lying on the greasy strip of newspaper. His first instinct was to burst out laughing but he managed to control himself. ‘Who could ’ave nicked yer watch, George?’ he asked incredulously, scratching his head.

‘The same bastard who ’ad those fish an’ chips,’ Galloway said pointedly.

‘I guessed that much, but who could ’ave took it?’ William wondered, frowning.

George stood with hands on hips, shaking his head. ‘I took it off when I ’ad a sluice on Friday afternoon, an’ I fergot ter put it back on when I left ’ere at five. It couldn’t ’ave bin any o’ the carmen, they was all finished before I left. There was only you an’ that idiot Oxford left.’

‘Well, I didn’t take it,’ William said quickly.

‘I’m not sayin’ yer did, but I wouldn’t mind bettin’ Oxford took it. Who else would be stupid enough ter leave fish-an’chip scrapin’s in the desk?’

‘Come on, George,’ William said, turning on his employer. ‘Jack Oxford wouldn’t ’ave took yer watch. I know ’e comes in ’ere at times but the man ain’t a thief.’

‘Well, if it wasn’t ’im, who could ’ave took it?’ George growled. ‘Could somebody ’ave come in the yard after I’d gone? It’s not the watch so much, it’s losin’ the fob piece. Yer know ’ow long I’ve ’ad that.’

William nodded. The fob had gone the way it came, he thought to himself. ‘The only fing I can fink of is that somebody got in ’ere over the weekend,’ he offered. ‘It might ’ave bin an ole tramp. ’E might ’ave got in frew the back fencin’. I’ll go an’ ’ave a look see.’

Jack Oxford moved smartly away from where he had been standing near the office door and bent over his broom industriously as the foreman came out into the yard.

Within a few minutes William had returned to the office. ‘There was a loose plank by the end stable,’ he told Galloway. ‘That’s ’ow they got in. I’ll get it nailed up straight away.’

George puffed angrily and slumped down in his chair, grimacing with exasperation at his sudden loss. The explanation seemed to satisfy him, but William made a mental note to have a word with Jack Oxford as soon as Galloway was out of the way. He had noticed that the plank had been loosened from the inside.

Chapter Nineteen

George Galloway was in a bad mood as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and tried to fix his cravat. He had had to replace his watch-and-chain, and now his new grey suit felt tight around the chest. Nora looked in through the open door and when she saw George puffing, came in.

‘Let me fix it,’ she said, reaching up on tiptoe.

George sighed. ‘We’re gonna be late,’ he grumbled. ‘It’ll take at least an hour ter get ter Brixton.’

Nora stepped back from her handiwork. ‘There, that looks better,’ she said, glancing in the mirror and adjusting her wide bonnet. It seemed right that she was going along with George to see Frank get married, as she had watched him and his brother and sister grow up and had taken care of the three of them. It was the first time she had gone to a wedding since she and her husband walked down the aisle together. ‘I should ’ave bought the grey bonnet,’ she said. ‘This looks more suitable for a funeral.’

George pulled a face. ‘Yer look very nice,’ he remarked.

‘Yer look very smart yerself,’ Nora said, appraising him with a smile. ‘Grey suits yer. Now c’mon, it’s time we left.’

Nora sat straight-backed in the trap as they left the square. It was the first time she had ridden in it and she felt a little apprehensive as the gelding broke into a trot in response to George’s flick of the reins. The high wheels rattled over the cobbles and she gave George a quick glance as they turned into Jamaica Road. He looked very distinguished, she thought. His grey Homburg matched his suit and his greying hair was swept back at the sides and plastered down with brilliantine. He had trimmed his full moustache and was wearing cashmere gloves turned back at the wrists. Nora noticed the glances from people they passed and she smiled to herself. Her life was now happy once more, she reflected. She had the independence that she needed and the love of a good man as well. He was considerate, if a little moody at times, but she was not a young woman with her head full of childish romantic notions. George came into her bed on regular occasions and she was happy with their relationship. The one thing that made her feel sad, though, was the way he often ignored young Josephine and seemed to have very little room for her in his life. Josie was growing into a pretty young thing and she needed her father to show an interest in her. He seemed uncomfortable in her company and rather curt at times, but maybe that was understandable and even excusable in a way, Nora allowed. He was a gruff, coarse man who had never really tried to refine himself and it seemed that he harboured no desire to change now.

The journey took over an hour and the wedding guests had already assembled in the church when George and Nora arrived. Heads turned as they walked along the aisle. George’s shoes were squeaking loudly. ‘I should ’ave stuck some axle-grease on ’em,’ he said in a voice loud enough for those nearest him to hear.

Nora winced as the couple in front turned around and looked blankly at them. ‘Keep yer voice down,’ she whispered, smiling at him through clenched teeth.

A hush had descended. Suddenly the church organ boomed out the Wedding March. Heads turned as Frank’s bride Bella came down the aisle on the arm of her father with four bridesmaids holding her train. Josephine was one of the first pair and Nora nudged George as the procession passed them. ‘Doesn’t she look lovely?’ she whispered.

He was looking at Bella and nodded.

‘I was talkin’ about Josie,’ Nora muttered sharply.

Bella looked relaxed and self-possessed as she walked slowly towards the altar. She was wearing a full-length white dress cut very tight at the bodice to accentuate her large bosom. She wore a full veil crowned with a flowered tiara and her face was heavily made-up. Nora could not help feeling that she looked anything but a demure bride. She was glancing from side to side and smiling in that artificial way, fluttering her eyelids and running her tongue over her full, glossy lips as if she was putting on a show and loving every minute of it. Nora felt a little guilty for her thoughts. Maybe she was being unkind to Bella on her wedding day and maybe the marriage would be a blessed one, but Nora could not help having her doubts.

The wedding reception was held at the Ram, a large public house nearby. The guests sat down to a lavish meal in a large first-floor room and George mumbled under his breath every time the feasting was interrupted by someone getting up to make a speech. Nora nudged him after one effeminate young man rose to his feet and showered praises on Bella and her successful run at the Collins Music Hall. ‘P’raps yer should get up an’ say a few words?’ she suggested.

George shook his head vigorously. ‘I’d ’ave ter be pissed before I got up an’ said anyfing,’ he told her, tucking into his food.

Nora had been studying the various guests closely during the meal and had noticed the young woman sitting near Geoffrey who seemed to have eyes only for him. When the young man got up to read out the telegrams and give the customary toast to the bridesmaids, she sat with her chin resting in her hands, seemingly enraptured. He glanced constantly in her direction and Nora’s sharp eyes read the silent messages that flashed between them. The woman looked older than Geoffrey and was dressed modestly. She was attractive with dark hair, and Nora became intrigued. Was that Geoffrey’s lady friend, she wondered, the married woman he was seeing?

The wedding feast was over, and as the guests moved into an adjoining room for drinks a team of workers swiftly cleared away the tables. Musicians were gathering on a raised dais at one end of the large room and very soon they struck up with a waltz tune. Frank and Bella took the floor and led off the dancing. George stood watching the swirling figures with a large whisky in his hand and Nora stood at his side, her eyes still studying the group. They were mainly theatrical folk who laughed loudly and made exaggerated gestures. The women seemed to float sooner than walk, she thought, and the men stood in various stagey poses, their thumbs tucked in their waistcoat pockets as they guffawed together with little or no restraint. One or two of them were already becoming drunk and their laughter was getting louder. George looked as if he felt quite out of place and seemed determined to get drunk too, swallowing large draughts of Scotch whisky as if to drown his inhibitions.