Gaslight in Page Street (52 page)

‘’E never brought ’er ’ome ter meet yer, then?’ Florrie remarked.

‘Not ’im,’ Nellie replied. ‘’E’s a proper dark ’orse is Charlie. I couldn’t get much out of ’im at all. Apparently ’e met ’er on the station when ’e got off the train. She’s a Red Cross nurse. That’s all ’e’d say. I fink ’e liked ’er. ’E was out wiv ’er every night.’

Florrie sipped her tea noisily. ‘Joe Maitland’s upset,’ she said presently. ‘There was a letter waitin’ fer ’im an’ when ’e opened it ’is face went the colour o’ chalk. It was one o’ those white feavvers. Poor sod was really upset. Trouble is, ’e looks fit as anything. Yer wouldn’t fink there’s anyfing wrong wiv ’im ter look at ’im, would yer?’

‘Who’d be wicked enough ter send them fings frew the post?’ Maisie asked.

Florrie put down her teacup and reached into her apron pocket. ‘There’s plenty o’ wicked gits about, Mais,’ she replied, tapping on her snuff-box with two fingers. ‘I dunno about the sign o’ cowardice -
they’re
the bleedin’ cowards, those who send ’em. They never put their names ter the letters.’

Nellie refilled the teacups and made herself comfortable in her chair again, stirring her tea thoughtfully. ‘I know yer won’t let this go any furvver,’ she said, looking up at her friends, ‘but Frank Galloway got one o’ those white feavvers. The ole man ’imself told my Will.’

Florrie shook her head slowly. ‘I dunno where it’s all gonna end, what wiv one fing an’ anuvver.’

‘Is ’e workin’ in the yard regular, Nell?’ Maisie asked. ‘I’ve seen ’im go in there a lot this last year.’

‘Yeah, ’e’s took young Geoffrey’s place,’ Nellie replied. ‘I liked Geoff. ’E was a quiet fella, an’ very polite. Frank’s different. There’s somefing about ’im I don’t like. I can’t exactly put me finger on it but there’s somefing there. Mind yer, I ain’t ’ad much ter do wiv ’im, ’cept pass the time o’ day. Funny ’ow yer take a dislike ter some people.’

Florrie nodded. ‘I know what yer mean, Nell. I took an instant dislike ter that Jake Mitchell first time I clapped eyes on ’im. Right box o’ tricks ’e is. ’Ow does your Will get on wiv ’im?’

Nellie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Will don’t say much but ’e’s bin quiet an’ moody ever since that Mitchell started work fer the firm. I reckon ’e’s worried in case Galloway forces ’im out an’ puts Mitchell in ’is place, that’s my opinion.’

‘But your ole man’s bin wiv the firm fer donkeys’ years,’ Maisie cut in. ‘Surely they wouldn’t do that?’

‘Don’t yer be so sure,’ Nellie said quickly. ‘Galloway’s got Jake Mitchell in fer a reason an’ they’re thick as thieves. Will was tellin’ me they’re gonna start that fightin’ up again at the pubs. They stopped it when the war started, yer know. I s’pose George Galloway’s finkin’ of ’ow much ’e’s gonna earn on the bloke. There’s a lot o’ bettin’ goes on at those fights.’

‘It’s a wonder the police don’t stop it,’ Maisie remarked. ‘They did before, so yer was tellin’ me.’

Nellie smiled cynically. ‘Those publicans are prob’ly linin’ the ’ead coppers’ pockets, if yer ask me.’

Florrie took another pinch of snuff and blew loudly into her handkerchief, eyes watering. ‘Joe Maitland was tellin’ me the ovver night that there’s ’undreds o’ pounds changes ’ands at those fights. ’E used ter go an’ watch ’em at one time. Nasty turnouts they are, accordin’ ter Joe.’

Maisie got up and stretched. ‘Well, I better be off,’ she announced with a yawn. ‘I got some washin’ in the copper.’

Florrie nodded. ‘I’ve got a load ter wring out. I seem ter be washin’ an’ ironin’ all bloody day since I took Joe in. Still, never mind, it’s nice ter see a man around the place again,’ she said, grinning slyly.

Carrie had resigned herself to the dull, monotonous routine at the café. The days seemed to drag by, the next one just like the last. The same old faces came in every day, and when it became quiet Bessie Chandler sat down at a table and went on endlessly about her friend Elsie Dobson and the man in the next flat who played his accordion at all hours of the day and night and would never be quiet, no matter what her husband threatened to do to him. Fred Bradley tried to stay cheerful but the constant and inane chatter from his indomitable helper usually put an end to that, and more than once Carrie found him out in the back yard, drawing deeply on a cigarette and muttering under his breath.

Soapy Symonds and Sharkey Morris sometimes put in an appearance, and they helped to put a smile back on Carrie’s face with their comical tales. It was Soapy who revealed the secret life of Bessie Chandler one afternoon when he saw her coming out of the kitchen to run an errand for Fred. The café was quiet at the time and Soapy beckoned Carrie over.

‘I didn’t know Bessie Bubbles worked ’ere,’ he said in surprise.

‘Bessie who?’ Carrie laughed.

‘Bessie Bubbles,’ Soapy said, grinning. ‘Cor blimey, everybody round our way knows Bessie. It was the talk o’ the street a few years ago. Yer remember me tellin’ yer, don’t yer, Sharkey?’

The long lean carman nodded dolefully, winking at Carrie as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Yeah, I remember,’ he said without enthusiasm.

Soapy leaned forward on the table and clasped his hands together. ‘Yer see it was like this,’ he began. ‘Bessie’s ole man works nights at Peek Frean’s. Worked there fer years ’e ’as. Every night after ’e’d gone ter work, Bessie used ter go out o’ the ’ouse carryin’ a shoppin’-bag. Same time every night it was an’ it was late when she got back. People started ter talk an’ everybody reckoned she’d got ’erself a fancy man. Anyway, one night a few o’ the lads went up town fer a night out an’ one of ’em suggests they ’ave a walk roun’ Soho jus’ ter see the sights. Well, ter cut a long story short the lads are lookin’ in a shop winder when this ole brass comes up an’ asks ’em if they want a good time. They turns round an’ who should it be standin’ there but Bessie. She’s all dressed ter the nines an’ she’s got this bubbly blonde wig on. The lads said she did look a sight. Now Bessie’s reco’nised ’em, yer see, an’ she don’t know what ter do. She pleads wiv ’em not ter let on back in the buildin’s an’ one o’ the lads, Mickey Tomlinson it was actually, comes up wiv a suggestion. Bessie wasn’t too ’appy about it, but there was nuffink else she could do. They all ended up ’avin’ a good time an’ poor ole Bessie didn’t get paid.’

Carrie tried to keep a straight face. ‘Yer said it was the talk o’ the street. Did they let on after all?’

Soapy chuckled. ‘Nah, it wasn’t them. What ’appened was, unbeknownst ter Bessie, ’er ole man was ’avin’ it orf wiv this woman at work. Bin goin’ on fer years by all accounts. Anyway, Bessie’s ole man buys ’is fancy piece a new dress an’ ’e brings it ’ome in a bag an’ ’ides it under the bed. That night before Bessie gets ’ome from work, ’er ole man takes the bag from under the bed an’ leaves ’er a note sayin’ ’e’s gotta go in early on overtime. Now when Bessie comes ter go out she finds ’er make-up an’ wig is missin’ an’ there’s a nice new dress in its place. ’Er ole man ’id the dress in the same place, an’ in the ’urry ’e picked up the wrong bag. A couple of hours later in ’e walks wiv a nice shiner an’ lookin’ all sorry for ’imself. Apparently ’is lady friend didn’t go a lot on the present ’e bought ’er. ’Im an’ Bessie ’ad a right bull-an’-cow but they soon made up. There was nuffink else they could do, after all. They was both in the wrong. Bessie showed ’im ’ow she looked in ’er wig an’ ’er ole man seemed ter fink it suited ’er. ’Im an’ ’er ended up goin’ out fer a drink. She was wearin’ the dress ’e bought fer ’is lady friend an’ ’ad the wig an’ make-up on as well. She did look eighteen-carat. Mind yer, she didn’t wear it fer long, not after all the kids in the street kept on callin’ ’er Bessie Bubbles.’

Carrie was laughing aloud and Sharkey had a smile on his face as Bessie came walking into the shop, and they tried not to look too guilty. When she had disappeared into the kitchen Carrie leaned forward across the table. ‘’Ow did yer come ter know all what went on?’ she asked curiously.

Soapy grinned. ‘Elsie Dobson told my ole dutch. Elsie gets ter know everyfink. She’s Bessie’s next-door neighbour.’

‘Yeah, I’ve ’eard Bessie mention ’er once or twice,’ Carrie said, grinning back at him.

Trade had picked up at the Galloway yard during the early summer and more casual carmen had been employed. William Tanner was hard put to it to keep the horses and carts on the road and there were always lame animals to take care of. Jack Oxford made himself as inconspicuous as possible but even he found it difficult to take his afternoon nap now without someone calling for him. There was more chaff-cutting to do and more harnesses to clean and polish. The yard had to be swept clean of dung at least twice every day and the stables needed frequent mucking out. Sometimes Galloway left the trap standing in the yard and Jack made sure that he gave the gelding a wide berth. The cart-horses did not trouble him but the trap horse was different. It reminded him too much of the wild stallion that had almost trampled him to death all those years ago. The gelding had a fiery nature, and sometimes as it was driven into the yard in the morning Jack was sure that it looked at him with an evil glint in its devil eyes, just to let him know that it was going to get him.

Life had changed very little for Jack over the years. He still slept in the lodging-house, although the owner was taking in more strangers than usual now and some of them were young men who looked to Jack as if they were on the run. The police often called and many times he had been woken from a deep sleep by a torch flashing in his face. He had wondered whether he could sleep in the stables during the summer months, like he had before on occasions, until the trouble over the watch-and-chain. With all the extra carts and bales of hay stacked in the yard it seemed to him that he could easily loosen a fence plank without its being discovered. It would mean being extra careful, though, that no one saw him and no one came back with him. It was his good deed that led to his being found out the last time, he remembered. William had been good about it that time but the old man’s other son was different to young Geoffrey. He would not think twice about sacking him if he was found out. He would have to decide soon, though, if things got much worse at the lodging-house.

Jack walked over to the harness shed and sat down on an upturned beer crate. It was mid-afternoon and soon the carts would be coming in. He might be able to get the yard swept before he left if they were not too late, he thought to himself. Then he could get on with those pieces of harness first thing next morning. Jack leaned back against the wall of the shed and waited. He liked things to be clear in his mind and once he had made a decision he felt happier. It had been miserable lately, he reflected. Frank Galloway was always grumpy and Jake Mitchell was forever taking the rise out of him. He was a nasty bloke and it wouldn’t do to upset him. Even William Tanner seemed to be gloomy lately. Everything was dreary now. The war seemed to have made everyone miserable, and since Soapy and Sharkey had left no one laughed any more.

Jack stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. It was all quiet and there was nothing he could do for the time being, he reasoned, unless he started on cleaning the harness. No, he couldn’t do that now. He had already said he was going to start on that in the morning. Maybe he should take a short nap. He would hear the carts coming in and he would feel a bit more fresh and ready to get the yard swept.

It was late afternoon when Jake Mitchell drove into the yard behind another cart and jumped down from his seat holding his aching back. ‘Where’s that bloody idiot Oxford?’ he moaned at the carman who was just about to unclip the harness-chains from the shafts. The carman looked at him blankly and Jake stormed off towards the small shed at the end of the yard. As he strode into the dark interior, he stumbled over the yard man’s outstretched legs and fell against a wooden bench.

Jack woke up with a start. ‘Wassa matter?’ he mumbled, still not properly awake.

‘Wassa matter? I told yer ter fix that seat fer me last night,’ Jake growled. ‘Yer never done it. I’ve got a poxy backache over that seat. It wouldn’t ’ave took yer five minutes.’

Jack stood up. ‘I didn’t ’ave time, Jake. Mr Galloway told me ter sweep the yard up before I went ’ome,’ he said quickly.

Jake Mitchell leaned forward until his face was inches from the yard man’s. ‘Yer got time ter doss in ’ere though, yer lazy long bastard,’ he snarled.

Jack’s gaunt face took on a pained look. ‘There’s no need ter start callin’ people names. I told yer I didn’t ’ave time,’ he said placatingly.

Jake’s large hand shot out and gathered up a handful of the yard man’s coat lapels. ‘Why yer saucy ole git,’ he growled. ‘I’ve a good mind ter put one right on your chops.’

‘I ain’t scared o’ yer,’ Jack croaked. ‘I ain’t gonna let yer bully me.’

Mitchell suddenly let go of Jack’s coat lapels, raised his arm and swung it down in a long swipe, the back of his hand catching Jack a sharp blow across his cheek. The yard man stumbled sideways and fell on all fours by the door. He blinked a few times then painfully staggered to his feet.

‘I ain’t frightened o’ yer,’ he said with spirit, moving around just out of Jake Mitchell’s reach.

‘Yer will be when I’m finished wiv yer,’ Mitchell snarled, grabbing Jack and drawing his hand back for another swipe.

The unfortunate yard man closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he waited for the blow, but it never landed. There was a sudden scuffle and his coat lapels were released. Jack opened his eyes and saw William Tanner standing between him and his tormentor.

‘What the bloody ’ell’s goin’ on?’ the foreman asked in a loud voice, looking from one to the other.