Gaslight in Page Street (30 page)

Jack nodded enthusiastically, feeling quite relieved. He knew about such devil horses and had very good reason to be wary of such creatures. They had said it was the devil who had got into the horse that kicked the side of his head in.

When the visitor had driven out of the yard, Galloway called his foreman into the office. ‘Well, what d’yer fink?’ he asked, grinning broadly.

‘It’s a beauty, but it’ll take some time before it’s ready fer yer trap,’ William replied.

‘’As it bin raced?’ George asked.

William nodded. ‘It looks that way. There’s lash marks down its flanks an’ it’s bin flogged. I could tell as I led it ter the trough. Yer’ll ’ave ter give me at least a couple o’ weeks.’

George nodded. ‘Take all the time yer want, Will, an’ keep it away from the ovver ’orses. If it kicks out at the Clydesdales, it’ll get mangled.’

The Tanner family sat around the table that evening listening to Carrie’s bad news as they tucked into their mutton stew which Nellie had fortified heavily with pearl barley and carrots. James was leaning his elbows on the table as he scooped up the broth. He shook his head knowingly when he heard the news. ‘What did I tell yer? I knew it,’ he remarked, reaching for another hunk of bread and dipping it into the gravy.

‘’Ave yer got any idea where yer gonna try?’ Nellie asked her daughter.

Carrie shook her head. ‘I s’pose I’ll ’ave ter join the rank at the labour exchange,’ she said, moving the spoon around her broth and looking dejected.

‘Well, don’t let it stop yer eatin’,’ her father urged, trying to get her to smile.

James looked up from his plate. ‘Don’t let yer new guv’nor know yer in the suffragettes, fer Gawd’s sake,’ he said quickly.

Carrie gave him a blinding look as she spooned up her food. ‘It’s nuffink ter be ashamed of,’ she replied indignantly. ‘If women ’ad the vote, maybe fings would be different.’

Nellie and William exchanged glances and Danny grinned at Charlie. ‘Our guv’nor wants anuvver errand boy. P’raps ’e might take on a gel,’ he mumbled, only to receive a sharp kick on the shin from his angry sister.

Charlie gave Carrie a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe yer could get a job in a shop or somefink,’ he suggested. ‘It’d be a change from workin’ in a factory. Or maybe yer could work in one o’ those suffragette offices. They take people on full time, don’t they?’

Carrie shook her head. ‘Yer gotta ’ave an education ter work in one o’ those offices. They don’t take on workin’-class gels. I might be able ter get a job in a shop though,’ she added, perking up slightly.

‘What about ’Arris’s the pawnbroker’s?’ Danny quipped. ‘Yer don’t need much education ter ’and out pawn tickets.’

‘If yer don’t shut up an’ eat yer tea, I’ll box yer ears,’ Nellie shouted across the table.

William tried to keep a straight face as he glanced sternly at his youngest son. Danny had grown into a robust young man and his cheeky expression was never more roguish than when he was ribbing his sister or James. Strangely enough, though, Danny rarely got at Charlie. Maybe it was because Charlie totally ignored his spirited teasing, merely smiling and shrugging his shoulders. James on the other hand was easily provoked. He was now in his nineteenth year and considered himself to be a full-grown adult who was not to be trifled with.

‘Do as yer told an’ eat yer tea,’ James chimed in now, wiping the last of his bread around the edge of the plate.

Carrie had left part of her meal. She sat back in her chair, looking a trifle sorry for herself. Danny had been ready to make another quip but was stopped by his father’s attempt at a stern look and finished his food quietly.

‘By the way, we’ve got a new ’orse in the yard,’ William said quickly in an effort to cheer up his daughter. ‘’E’s a real beauty. Yer can come an’ take a look soon, Carrie, if yer want to.’

Her face brightened. It was something she had always loved to do when she was younger and it made her feel sad to think how she had slowly grown out of it, although she still loved to hear her father talk about his charges. ‘What is it?’ she asked him.

‘It’s a Cleveland gelding,’ he replied. ‘Galloway bought ’im fer the trap but ’e’s bin ill-treated an’ ’e needs ter settle down first.’

‘’Ow can yer tell it’s bin ill-treated?’ Danny asked.

‘Well, usually yer can see whip-marks on the ’orse’s flanks an’ yer can tell by ’ow it be’aves,’ William explained, warming to the subject. ‘Sometimes an ’orse will shy an’ buck when yer approach it, especially if yer carryin’ a lump o’ rope or somefink. Jus’ fink what you would do if I whipped yer fer talkin’ round the table. Every time I picked up the whip yer’d back away, wouldn’t yer?’

Danny grinned widely and Nellie got up from her chair to clear away the plates, realising that her husband was likely to go on for some time now he was on the subject of horses. As she carried the plates into the scullery and filled the enamel bowl with hot water from the copper, she could hear William’s deep voice and her children’s laughter as they sat around the kitchen table. She ought to feel contented at the happy gathering, she knew, but there was something lurking deep down inside her which made her feel strangely apprehensive and worried for the future.

Chapter Seventeen

Carrie was feeling a little nervous as she left her house in Page Street on Friday evening and walked through the thickening fog to Fred Bradley’s Dining Rooms in Cotton Lane. As she turned into Bacon Street and passed the old tenement buildings she heard a baby crying and a woman’s angry voice. Carrie wondered how her old school friend Sara was getting on and promised herself that she would call on her very soon. It was quiet and eerie in the riverside streets after the hustle and bustle of the day, and as she crossed into Cotton Lane which ran from the end of Bacon Street down to the river Carrie could see the vague forms of giant cranes looming out of the fog.

It was her father who had told her about the vacancy. He had got the information from Sharkey Morris who often used the dining rooms. Nellie had not been too happy at the thought of her daughter serving meals to carmen but had been persuaded not to worry, and Carrie laughed to herself as she recalled what her father had said. ‘It’s a sight better than slavin’ in a factory, especially the tin bashers,’ he had enthused. ‘Besides, our carmen use Fred’s place all the time an’ they’ll keep an eye on ’er.’

Carrie reached the shuttered shop which was situated on the corner of the turning overlooking the river. She glanced up at the faded name over the boarded-up window before knocking on the side door. The lane was deserted, and she could hear the swish of water lapping against the shore and the soft murmur of the turning tide. There was the sound of a bolt being drawn and then Fred Bradley was standing in the doorway smiling at her. ‘Yer Carrie Tanner, I take it?’ he said, standing aside to let her enter.

She followed him into the passage and felt the heat of the coke fire as she entered the small back room. Fred bade her sit beside the fire and planted himself on an upright chair facing her. ‘I’m sorry yer ’ad ter drag yerself out on a cold night, missy,’ he said. ‘I’m kept busy fer most o’ the day, especially now Ida’s left me in the lurch.’

Carrie smiled. ‘It’s all right. Me dad wanted ter bring me but it’s only five minutes from our ’ouse. ’E told me yer wanted somebody ter wait on the customers?’

Fred Bradley took out his pipe and proceeded to fill it from a leather pouch. ‘Ida’s bin wiv me fer years but ’er ’usband’s took chronic sick an’ she’s gotta see to ’im night an’ day,’ he explained. ‘They wanted ter put ’im in the infirmary but Ida wouldn’t ’ear of it. They never ’ad any children an’ they’re devoted ter each ovver. Terrible shame really. It’s consumption, I fink.’

Carrie took the opportunity to study the man while he was preoccupied with his pipe. He was of about average height, bulky and with wide shoulders. Although his dark wavy hair was streaked with grey his complexion was fresh and his jaw square-boned. His eyes were brown and heavy-browed, and tended to widen as he talked. In between he smiled disarmingly to reveal strong even teeth. Carrie judged him to be in his mid-thirties although his mannerisms made him appear older.

‘I never married, yer see,’ he went on. ‘I took the dinin’ rooms over from me parents when they got too old ter manage them. They’re both dead now an’ I’ve run the place fer over ten years. Ida used ter take the orders and serve up the food as well as pour the tea. I do all the cookin’, which takes most o’ me time, but I’ve got a woman who comes in early in the mornin’ ter do the veg an’ ’elp me make the meat pies. Yer seem a likely lass so can I ask yer ’ow much yer was expectin’ in wages?’

Carrie stared down at her button-up boots. ‘I was earnin’ fifteen shillin’s a week at the factory,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, I’ll match that fer the first two weeks, an’ if we both suit each ovver I’ll make it up ter seventeen an’ six,’ he told her. ‘Of course, yer’ll get yer dinner free an’ as much tea as yer want. Ida used ter ’ave a bite ter eat durin’ the mornin’ as well. I fink we can fatten yer up if nuffink else. Well, what d’yer say?’

Carrie smiled. ‘When can I start?’ she asked, unable to conceal her enthusiasm.

‘Monday mornin’, eight o’clock,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Yer should get away around five o’clock or just after. I like ter be all shut up by ’alf-past. I run the dinin’ rooms fer carmen an’ dockers, an’ there’s no trade after five.’

Carrie stood up and straightened her coat. ‘Fank yer very much, Mr Bradley. I’ll be in at eight o’clock,’ she said cheerily.

‘Call me Fred, everybody does,’ he grinned, showing her to the door.

At 22 Tyburn Square Nora Flynn was sitting with George Galloway in his large front room. The fire was banked up with a pine log and the heat made her feel drowsy. Galloway got up from his comfortable chair and filled his whisky glass from the lead-crystal decanter, his heavy features flushed with the spirits he had already drunk that evening. ‘Ter tell yer the trufe it’s come as a bit of a surprise, Nora,’ he remarked. ‘I would ’ave preferred the lad ter wait fer a few more years but ’e’s made ’is mind up an’ she seems ter be a nice young lady.’

Nora nodded. ‘’E’ll be twenty-five this year. ’E’s a man now, George. My ’usband was only twenty-one when we got married.’

Galloway sat down heavily and stirred the pine log with a poker. ‘It’s the crowd ’e mixes wiv that troubles me,’ he went on. ‘Those music ’all people are all “dearie” an’ “darlin”’, an’ I get a bit awkward in their company. Mind yer, Bella’s all right an’ she seems ter fink a lot of our Frank.’

Nora stared into the fire. She had met Frank’s future wife on a few occasions and had taken an instant dislike to the woman. She was too brassy, Nora felt, and a lazy bitch into the bargain. If young Frank was not careful she would have him running behind her like one of those Pekinese dogs which that sort were fond of dragging around. She was a very attractive woman, it was true, but then all those music hall artists were. Plenty of paint and powder, and a shortage of manners to boot. It was a wonder George had not seen through her. He was usually a good judge of character, she felt. Perhaps he was blinded by the attention Bella paid him. She was inclined to lay it on thick where George was concerned.

‘Don’t yer fink she’s very sweet on the boy, Nora?’ he asked.

‘I’m sure she is,’ Nora replied without much enthusiasm. ‘They seem well suited.’

Galloway sipped his whisky as he stared into the flames and Nora picked up her glass of port. They were well suited in a way, she thought. Young Frank was a manipulative sort, able to twist his father around his little finger. Everything he wanted, he got. He had been determined not to enter the family business and instead learn accountancy, and his father had bowed to his wishes. Now he was planning to marry that flash tart, and again he had George’s blessing.

It had not been so with young Geoffrey. The lad had wanted to go his own way but had been as good as forced to enter the business. It was the same with his choice of women. George had been critical of the young ladies he had brought home and now Geoffrey was having a relationship with a married woman, unbeknown to his father. It was Frank, not Geoffrey, who had told her. It had slipped out one night when he was the worse for drink. He had become loose-tongued in a euphoric moment during one of Bella’s visits, and while Nora was preparing the evening meal had sat with her in the back kitchen and flippantly talked about the liaison that his elder brother was supposedly keeping secret.

‘I’ve found a replacement fer Rusty,’ George said suddenly, looking up from the fire. ‘The ole boy’s gettin’ past it an’ I’m puttin’ ’im out ter grass. P’raps it was an extravagance, what wiv the way the business is goin’, but it looked like a bargain at the time an’ I couldn’t turn down the chance. A man’s gotta keep up appearances when ’e’s in business. I learned that a long while ago.’

Nora nodded absently, her mind straying to thoughts of Josephine. She had been waiting her chance to tackle George about his daughter and she decided now was as good a time as any.

‘It’s strange ’ow the family ’ave all grown up suddenly,’ she said casually. ‘Take Frank, ’e’s gettin’ married in a few months’ time, an’ Geoffrey is doin’ well in the business. Josephine’ll be fourteen next month. There’s ’er future ter fink about.’

Galloway slowly revolved the glass of whisky in his hand and looked closely at his housekeeper. The boys had been no trouble, he had always known how to deal with them, but he was aware how different it was with his daughter. She had been brought up by Nora and had never really taken up much of his time. He had always felt a little uncomfortable when talking to the child, and as she grew older it became more so. She reminded him so much of Martha in her ways and mannerisms. She had her mother’s eyes, the same complexion and quiet, light voice.