The Petticoat Men (28 page)

I
T
WAS
NEARLY
evening when we finally got to Christchurch next day, even though we had left Wakefield-street so early, me and Billy, not even sure how to get to where we were going, keeping our wits about us for everyone knew the stories of thieves at railway stations and we had our new riches. It was all like a huge adventure, only the second time I’d been on trains, and as we puffed and chuffed along leaving our London behind I thought of Mr Ronald Duggan the perfidious train driver, but not much; and I thought of Mr Dickens dying and how he had taught me to stand up and speak with words, and mostly I thought of Freddie and Ernest in Newgate Prison and if we could find out something to help them while we were helping Billy. It’s all right, it’s all right, I didn’t have any stupid dreams left in my head. That was gone. I wanted to help Billy and I still cared for Freddie, but no dreams. In my head I often saw his terrible face when they sent them to Newgate.

We passed villages and big towns, we got off a big train and on to a coach with beautiful white horses, there were no beautiful white horses in London, they were grey in a week. Then we saw the sea. And then we got a last, smaller train that took us to Christchurch Railway Station and then we had to walk into the High Street and dear Billy, patient as ever, gave me his arm when he saw I was a bit tired, like he always did. And I knew I was lucky Billy was patient with me when I slowed him down a bit, because I knew how much of a hurry he was in. He had a bag on his back too, just the things we needed. And all that money, clinking in our pockets, I never had that much money in a pocket in my life! Ask yourself how you’d feel if your mother gave you nearly about a
sixth
of your year’s earnings and told you to just put it in your pocket!

Christchurch was full of friendly people, they directed us to the High Street, and then to the King’s Arms, just along Castle-street. We looked at the front of it, it was quite big, and a bit too grand for us, we knew not to spend our money on a room there; friendly people told us of the Old George Inn just on the near corner, ‘You’ll get a cheap room there,’ they told us.

But first we did a good investigation of the rest of the King’s Arms in the dusk, down some little alleys that wound round Castle-street, I tripped a bit on the uneven cobbles but we kept winding round and we came to the back of the hotel, just so we could have a good idea of the whole place.

‘Why dont I just go right in and ask for Mr Hamilton?’ I whispered to Billy. ‘Or should one of us wait here at the back, and one of us at the front and just hope he comes out? but I s’pose he might be hiding in an attic or a basement or something.’ Lucky we’d both actually seen him before, a bit balding and a bit thin and a bit snooty. Sort of small somehow.

Billy doesn’t believe in God –
very firmly
he doesn’t believe – but something had got us there, some lucky chance, in the half-light, at the back of the King’s Arms Hotel in Christchurch just at that moment, looking across carriages and horses to where lights were shining inside the building. One of the doors opened. Three men came out and I heard Billy’s sharp breath. We were quite far away but Billy quickly moved near and I followed him, there were enough carriages there and horses rattling their bridles for us not to be clearly seen but
we
could clearly see that one of the men was Lord Arthur and we could hear voices though they weren’t talking very loud. Lord Arthur stood beside a small cabriolet where a driver was waiting.

‘Mudeford,’ said one of the men. ‘Johnny Hewlettson. He lives above the quay. And I hope I’m getting my money back,’ and that man laughed but it was only a half-laugh, as if he expected he wouldn’t.

‘I’m expecting something big to arrive here for me tomorrow, name of Hamilton. Bring it to Mudeford immediately.’ And Lord Arthur climbed into the cabriolet.

And the two men standing in the courtyard waved him away as another carriage arrived and the small cabriolet came right past where we were stood concealed and we both instinctively turned away as the driver used his whip gently and the horse trotted out into the alley and away from us.

Almost not believing our luck we walked back towards the inn. We asked a man we passed about Mudeford, was it a person? was it a place? It turned out it was a place just a few miles away. Billy wanted to go now, asked the same man how to get there.

‘You a smuggler, lad?’

Billy laughed. ‘Do I look like a smuggler?’ he said. He indicated me. ‘With my sister along with me?’

‘I cant rightly see you in the night,’ said the man peering at us. ‘But they come past Mudeford escaping the patrols, and then run into Christchurch, up the narrow channel.’

I said to Billy if Lord Arthur was waiting for money tomorrow, he couldn’t leave till then, so we could stay here tonight and go to Mudeford very early in the morning. ‘Not because I’m tired!’ I said quickly.

Billy grinned at me, but in a very nice brotherly way. We got a room at the Old George Inn and sat to eat a steak pie at a little table in a big room with dark brown rafters where others were munching and drinking and talking and smoking and we weren’t left alone for long.

‘Where you from?’

‘Where you going?’

‘What’s your name?’

They talked in a slightly funny way, slower, they sounded a bit different than us, but it was still English.

I thought to myself how odd and interesting it was to be having this adventure with my brother and sitting with everybody all talking to us and asking our business.

‘What for are you going to Mudeford?’

‘Who do you know in Mudeford?’

‘We dont know anybody,’ said Billy. ‘See my sister? She’s hurt her leg.’

I nearly punched him. Of course they can see that I limp but there’s no need to draw attention.

‘Sea air,’ said Billy. ‘We hear there’s good air, in Mudeford.’

Friendly people looked at my leg and my boot and even poked me, as if I was public property. But a lady serving ale brought me a cold cloth. ‘You could walk to Mudeford,’ she said to Billy, ‘but look at the girlie’s leg. And it’ll be hot again tomorrow, I can tell by the sky.’

‘I can walk,’ I said, loud, ‘I walk everywhere in London.’

She brought a bucket. ‘Here then,’ she said. ‘There’s clean water in here, before I sluice the floors. You put that leg in here, and the swelling will go down and you can walk again tomorrow morning,’ and she took off my boot like Ma did sometimes. I never knew the world had such kind people in it, my leg was a bit swollen too. ‘Wont take you more than an hour or so to get there at an easy pace, the postman does it twice a day and back again.’

‘We’ll leave early,’ said Billy, ‘even before the postman. Who is Johnny Hewlettson?’

There was a funny little silence in the room.

After a while a man said, ‘You sure you’re not a smuggler, lad?’

‘I’m not a smuggler, I’m a clerk! And my sister is a milliner.’

‘I made this hat,’ I said, and I took it off and showed my sewing to the lady who took off my boot. She studied my sewing on the hat with great interest.

One of the men said, ‘Johnny Hewlettson, he’s a big man in Mudeford,’ and then everyone laughed. ‘Mind you, there’s not very many people live in Mudeford! But he owns fishing boats, Johnny Hewlettson.’

‘Fishing boats?’ Billy was careful not to sound surprised or look at me but I guessed we were both thinking of fishing boats maybe carrying people as well as fish. Elijah had said Lord Arthur was trying to run further.

‘We’ll leave very early,’ said Billy.

And we said goodnight to our new friends but I knew they watched us as Billy waited for me to go ahead and I limped up the narrow stairs to the little top room and this was the first night I ever slept in a real inn but after all it was only a bigger version of our boarding house really, I said to Billy.

Even though it was still dark next morning already people were working in the Old George Inn, and the woman behind the bar who had helped my leg last night gave us a big duck egg each and a pickled onion and bread and wouldn’t take any extra money.

When we’d been walking along the Mudeford Road about half an hour a man came past on a horse.

‘They said at the Old George to look out for you two,’ he said, the same slower way of talking, different from us. ‘Hop up, girlie, and I’ll drop you at the Nelson Inn to wait for your brother, not so far now.’

‘Are you the postman?’ asked Billy quickly.

He laughed. ‘Do I look like a postman?’

He was old, about forty maybe but he had a very fine face and a beard, a bit wild, in fact he slightly reminded me of those old paintings of Jesus. Only because he was a bit old maybe he looked more like Joseph the carpenter than Jesus who was the son of God – or possibly who was the son of Joseph depending on how you felt about things – anyway I hoped Billy wouldn’t be rude.

‘The postman does walk to Mudeford, twice a day in fact. He’s famous for it.’

He had a deep rumbling voice. I’d never actually been on a horse but Billy helped me up and I took our bag on my back and sat behind the man.

‘My name’s Mackie,’ he said. ‘I’m a fisherman. Hold tight, girlie,’ so I waved to Billy and I held tight and the horse trotted away and I was jumped up and down for a bit but then I got the feel, holding tight to Mackie, and I thought I hadn’t felt anybody to hold to since Freddie had rubbed my foot and held me, all those months and months ago. If you dont know what I mean, you haven’t been used to holding, and then suddenly that holding is gone. So you wont know what I mean but it’s like a pain.

‘Do you live in Mudeford, Mackie?’ I asked, into his shoulder. When he answered me I could feel his voice, you know that? you can feel someone’s voice vibrating if you’re leaning into their back?

‘Often I do,’ he said. ‘I like to hear the sea always.’ And I heard it too, as we came near.

And when Billy arrived I was waiting with a room booked at the Nelson Inn, well I ran a boarding house didn’t I? it wasn’t so different and I paid in advance with some of Ma’s money like any old experienced traveller. And although he had called me ‘girlie’ as if I wasn’t a grown-up person, that Mackie the horseman was very kind, and had asked me my name and about me and told me he couldn’t live without the sea and gave me an apple.

When Billy had washed his face and drunk a cold drink we walked down to the Mudeford quay. It was a wonderful place to us visitors from London, boats and nets and people and the smell of fish and rope and the open sea further out there, I could feel the warm sea wind on my face as we walked to the end. It was mid-morning, some of the fishing boats had come in now, fishermen were cleaning fish, women helping them, some little girls too, and the very youngest ones looking for crabs and laughing, I looked for Mackie but he wasn’t there. Someone offered us some whelks to eat so we sat on wooden posts and ate them: looking, listening. Then I held on to a rail and walked to where the quay sloped down, near where the little children were crab-fishing. I suppose it was where they dragged up nets. I bent down and rinsed my hands and felt the lovely cold sea, and the bottom of my gown was suddenly all wet and I laughed with the children and ran backwards in my clumsy way.

We looked very obviously strangers of course.

‘You here on a visit?’ said a man finally, who was pulling ropes together, winding them into a bundle.

‘We’re looking for Johnny Hewlettson,’ I said to him before Billy had time to answer. There was silence for a while.

‘I’m Johnny Hewlettson,’ he said finally.

‘Mr Hewlettson, we’re looking for – for a man who is hiding, just now, he came last night.’

‘Never heard of him,’ still pulling the ropes, winding them, coiling them.

‘Mr Hewlettson,’ I said, ‘we dont know what name he is using, but it might be Hamilton, and he will be hiding but if you do just happen to see him could you just tell him that Mattie and Billy Stacey from Wakefield-street are staying at the Nelson Inn tonight and that we have a message from – from Stella.’

The rope winding stopped just for a moment and then started again. ‘Is that so?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

He looked at Billy. ‘And what do you say, or do you let her do all the talking?’

I saw the two of them, sort of taking the measure of one another, like – well have you ever seen a fight where people dont just go at it straightaway but look at each other carefully first? I almost expected them to put up fists.

But Billy was smarter than that. ‘If you do happen to come across this person, Johnny Hewlettson, will you tell him you saw us?’ he said. ‘Tell him who we are, and that we’re at the Nelson Inn if he wants to see us, and if he doesn’t we’ll be going back to London tomorrow morning and will leave him alone. Nobody knows we came.’

‘And what made you come to Mudeford of all places?’

Billy looked at Johnny Hewlettson. ‘Elijah. Tell him Elijah Fortune.’

Johnny Hewlettson shrugged. Went back to winding ropes.

‘Goodbye, Mr Hewlettson,’ I said politely.

We walked slowly back to the inn, breathing the sea, wondering if we had lost our chance.

‘Something will happen,’ said Billy calmly. ‘You’ll see. It was good you said “Stella”, and Lord Arthur knows Elijah is a trustworthy friend.’

‘He might think we’re bringing money from Elijah,’ I said suddenly. ‘Can we give him at least something, Billy, do you think?’

‘Maybe we can,’ said Billy, nodding.

The weather had got hotter and lowering even though we were by the sea. The day was darkening, I was getting uneasy by then, we’d waited a long time. Seagulls were wheeling and calling in their sharp voices.

‘Perhaps he’s already gone,’ I said finally but Billy said, ‘Just wait.’ We’d eaten a pie, we were sitting on a seat in the dusk at the back of the Nelson Inn.

Then a little girl appeared.

I’d seen her on the quay earlier – she must have been about ten years old and she had a dirty face but bright, inquisitive eyes and she looked us over, and then carefully looked at my feet, before she spoke. ‘Aren’t youse the visitors? For Mr Hamilton?’