The Gambling Man

by Catherine Cookson

  The girl bent her knee, then went out. He noticed that although her tone was uppish, as always, she had said ‘Please.’

  He watched her as she sat back in the corner of the couch. She made a movement with her legs and for a moment he thought that she was actually going to cross them. But what she did was cross her feet, and as she did so her black skirt rode above her ankles and he saw the bones pressing through what must have been silk stockings . . . She certainly looked after herself in the way of dress did this one. She was in mourning but her mourning was silk.

  ‘I will come to the point, Mr Connor. I have a proposition to make to you.’

  ‘A proposition?’ His eyes widened slightly.

  ‘I don’t know whether you are aware that property dealing was only one of my father’s interests.’ She did not wait for him to comment on this but went on, ‘Among other things, he had interests in a number of growing concerns and, since my grandfather died, other small businesses have come into the family. Do you know the Wrighton Tallow Works?’

  ‘I’ve heard of them.’

  ‘Well, my grandfather owned the works and naturally they fell to my father, and unfortunately, I say unfortunately, because of the loss of my father they are now my concern . . . How far have you advanced in book-keeping Mr Connor?’

  ‘Advanced?’ He blinked at her. ‘What . . . what do you rightly mean, miss?’

  ‘What I mean is, have you studied any further than that which is required to tot up rent accounts? Have you thought of your own advancement in this line, such as that of becoming a fully fledged clerk in a bank, or to a solicitor, say?’

  ‘No, miss.’ The answer was curt, his tone cold. ‘The opportunities didn’t provide themselves.’ He knew too late that he should have said present, not provide.

  ‘Opportunities are there for the taking, Mr Connor. This town offers great opportunities to those who are willing to take advantage of them. It isn’t only the shipyards and the boat builders and such who offer apprenticeships in particular crafts; there are the arts.’

  The arts! He narrowed his eyes at her. What was she getting at? Was she having him on, trying to get a bit of amusement out of him? The arts! Why didn’t she come to the point?

  She came to the point by saying, ‘I have in mind that I need a manager, Mr Connor, someone who is capable not only of taking charge of the property side of my affairs but who could assist me in the running of my other businesses. There are places that need to be visited, books to be gone over. Of course I have my accountant and my solicitor but these are there only for the final totalling at the year’s end, and for advice should I need it. But there is so much to be seen to in between times and my father used to attend to this side of affairs, for you know, if a warehouse or business is not visited regularly those in charge become slack.’ She stared at him without speaking for almost a full minute before saying, ‘Would you consider taking on this post if, and when, you became qualified to do so? You would, of course, need a little training.’

  His heart was thumping against his ribs causing his breath to catch in his throat. He couldn’t take it in. She was proposing that he should be her manager. He was peering at her through the narrow slits of his eyes now, he was puzzled. Why wasn’t she advertising for somebody right away if the burden of the businesses was so great on her?

  As if she were reading his thoughts she said, ‘I have no doubt I could get someone to fill this post almost immediately, but then the person would be strange to me, and . . . and I don’t mix easily. What I mean is, I take a long time in getting to know people.’

  They were staring at each other through the fading light, and in silence again. It was she who broke it, her voice low now, ordinary sounding, no uppishness to it. ‘I . . . I have known you for some time, Mr Connor, and have always thought that you should be capable of much better things than mere rent collecting.’

  Before he could answer the door opened and the maid entered pushing a tea trolley.

  When the trolley was by the side of the couch she looked at the maid and said, ‘I’ll see to it, Jessie. I’ll ring when I need you.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ Again the dip of the knee.

  ‘Do you take sugar, Mr Connor?’

  ‘No. No, thank you.’

  ‘That is unusual; men usually like a lot of sugar.’

  He watched her pour the weak-looking tea from a small silver teapot and add milk to it from a matching jug, and when a few minutes later he sipped at it he thought, My God! dish-water.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask what tea you preferred. You see, they’re so used to bringing me China; I’ll ring and get some . . .’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t. It’s nice, it’s only different. And’—he grinned now at her—’you can understand I’m not used to havin’ China tea.’

  She actually laughed now, and he noticed that it changed her face and made her almost pleasant-looking, except that her nose remained just as sharp. ‘I hope it will be a taste you will learn to acquire in the future.’

  He doubted it but he nodded at her, smiling in return.

  He took the buttered scone she proffered him and found it good, and had another, and by the time he had eaten a cake that melted in his mouth he was laughing inside, thinking, By gum! they just want to see me now, all them in the kitchen. They just want to see me now. And wait till I tell Janie. My! who would believe it? She had asked if he was willing to learn to manage her affairs. God! just give him the chance. By lad! he had fallen on his feet at last. It wouldn’t matter now if the boatyard never made a go of it. But he hoped it would, for Jimmy’s sake. He mentioned the boatyard to her now. It was when she said, ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Connor, you have a long walk home. But I will leave you to think over my proposition. Perhaps tomorrow evening you will tell me what you have decided. If your answer is favourable I can put you in touch with a man who would teach you book-keeping and the rudiments of management. And perhaps you could attend night school. But we can discuss that later.’

  He rose to his feet, saying, ‘I’m not more than ten minutes’ hard tramp from my home now; I’m . . . I’m on the waterfront.’

  She raised her eyebrows as she repeated, ‘The waterfront?’

  ‘Yes.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘I became interested in a boatyard, a very small one mind.’ He smiled as he nodded at her. ‘A pocket handkerchief, some folks would call it, but nevertheless it’s big enough to make a keel and scullers and such like. There’s a house of sorts attached. I . . . I took it for my brother. He’s served his time in boat building, small boats that is, the same line, scullers, wherries and such, and it’s always been his dream to have a place of his own where he could build. So I heard of this concern. The man had died, and . . . and it was going reasonable, so I took a chance.’

  Her face was stretching into a wide smile, her lips were apart showing a set of strong white teeth. ‘Well, well!’ She inclined her head towards him. ‘I wasn’t wrong, was I? You do have business acumen. Where is this place?’

  ‘Oh, it’s yon side of the mill dam. It’s so small you wouldn’t be able to see it, not among all the other yards along there. It used to belong to a Mr. Kilpatrick.’

  ‘Kilpatrick?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t recall hearing the name. But . . . but I’m very interested in your enterprise. I must come and see it some time.’

  ‘Yes, yes, do that.’

  She walked with him to the door and although the maid was standing ready to open it she herself let him out, saying, ‘Good night, Mr Connor. We will reopen this subject tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Yes, as you say, miss. Good night.’

  He was walking down the drive . . . no, marching down the drive.

  ‘We will reopen this subject tomorrow evening.’

  Indeed, indeed, we will.

  Would you believe it?

  They said the age of miracles was past.

  Would he go to night school?

  He’d go to hell and sit
on a hot gridiron to please her.

  But on the road he slowed his pace and again asked himself why she had picked him. And he gave himself her own answer. She didn’t mix and it took her a long time to get to know people. Aye. Aye well, he could understand that. She wasn’t the kind that most people would take to. No looks and too smart up top for most men, he supposed, for he had the idea she’d be brainy. And that would apply to her effect on women an’ all.

  Hip-hip-hooray! He wanted to throw his hat in the air. Things were happening. They were happening all the time. Janie! Here I come . . . A manager!

  What wage would he get?

  He’d have to leave that to her of course but he’d know the morrow night.

  4

  Janie left the Buckhams’ with the mistress’s words racing round in her mind. ‘Well, you have a month to think it over, Janie,’ she had said. It would be wonderful for you and it’ll only be for three weeks. And just think, in all your life you might never have the opportunity to go abroad again. And the children would love to have you with them, you know that.’

  Yes, Janie knew that, but she also knew that she was being asked to go to keep the children out of the way and let the master and mistress enjoy their holiday in France.

  She had said she would talk to her husband about it, but she already knew what his answer would be. He hated the idea of her being out every day and if it wasn’t that he had needed her wages he would have put his foot down before now. But with this new development and Miss Kean offering to make him manager, well, she knew that her days at the Buckhams’ were numbered; in fact, she could have given in her notice this morning.

  There was something else on her mind. She had promised John George she would go and see that lass of his, but with one thing and another she had never had time. But tonight Rory would be late, for even now he’d be in Westoe clinching the matter, and so she told herself why not clear her conscience and go round and see that girl. She must be all of six months’ gone.

  When she reached the end of the road she did not, automatically, turn right and cut down to the river but went into a jumble of side streets and towards Horsley Terrace.

  They were, she considered, nice houses in the terrace, respectable. It was number twenty-four; it had three steps up to the front door and an iron railing cutting off four feet of garden. She went up the steps and rapped on the door with the knocker. When it was opened she stared at the young woman in front of her. She wasn’t pregnant. ‘Could . . . could I speak with Miss Maggie Ridley please?’

  The young woman cast a quick glance over her shoulder, then stepped towards her, pulling the door half closed behind her.

  ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘Oh, I had a message for her.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘A message? Who from?’

  ‘Well, he’s . . . he’s a friend of hers.’

  The young woman stared at her for a moment, then poked her face forward, hissing, ‘Well, if it’s the friend I think it is you can tell him that she’s married. Tell him that.’

  ‘Married?’ That’s what I said.’

  ‘Oh, well’—Janie was nodding her head now—In a way I’m glad to hear it. I . . . I hope she’ll be happy.’

  The face looking into hers seemed to crumple and now the whispered tone was soft and laden with sadness as she said, ‘He . . . he was a friend of, of my father’s, he’s a widower with a grown-up family.’

  In the look they exchanged there was no need to say any more.

  Janie now nodded towards the young woman and said, ‘Thank you, I’ll . . . I’ll tell him,’ then turned and went down the steps. Poor John George! And the poor lass. A dead old man likely. The very thought of it was mucky, nasty.

  Rory hadn’t returned when she got in, but Jimmy was there with the kettle boiling and the table set, and immediately he said, ‘Sit down and put your feet up.’

  ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘Well, you should be. And you will be afore the night’s out, I’ve put the washing in soak.’

  ‘Thanks, Jimmy. Any news?’

  ‘Aye, Mr Pearson, you know Pearson’s Warehouse, I went in and asked him the day. I said I’d carry anything. He joked at first and said he had heard they were wantin’ a battleship towed from Palmer’s. And then he said there were one or two bits he wanted sending across to Norway.’ He laughed, then went on excitedly, ‘But after that he said, “Well, lad, I’ll see what I can do for you.” He said he believed in passing work around, there was too many monopolies gettin’ a hold in the town. I’ve got to look in the morrow.’

  ‘Oh Jimmy, that’s grand.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘Eeh! you just want a start. And when I’m home all day I could give you a hand, I could, I’m good at lumpin’ stuff. And I could learn to steer an’ all . . . But I’d better learn to swim afore that.’ She pushed at him and he laughed with her, saying, ‘Aye, but if they had to learn to swim afore they learned to row a boat on this river it would be empty; hardly any sailors swim.’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘It’s a fact.’

  ‘Eeh! well, I’ll chance it, I’ll steer for you, or hoist the sail, ’cos have you thought you’ll need another hand?’ At the sound of footsteps she turned her head quickly away from him and towards the door, and she was on her feet when Rory entered the room, and she saw immediately that he was in great high fettle.

  ‘It’s settled then?’

  ‘Out of me way, Mrs Connor.’ He struck a pose and marched down the room as if he were carrying a swagger stick, and when he reached Jimmy he slapped the top of his own hat, saying, ‘Touch yer peak, boy. Touch yer peak.’

  Then they were all clinging together laughing, and he swung them round in a circle, shouting:

  ‘Ring a ring o’ roses,

  Keels, scullers and posies,

  Managers, managers,

  All fall down.’

  ‘But we’re all going up!’ He pulled them to a stop and, looking into Janie’s laughing face, he added, ‘Up! Up! We’re going up, lass; nothing’s going to stop us. She’s for me, why God only knows, but she’s the ladder on which we’re going to climb. You take that from me. All of us’—he punched Jimmy on the head—’all of us . . . She’s got influence, fingers in all pies, and that includes this river an’ all. We’re going up, lad.’

  Later, when in bed together and closely wrapped against each other, he said to her, ‘You haven’t seemed as over the moon as I thought you would be. There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?’

  She didn’t answer, and when he insisted, ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘There’s two things on me mind, Rory, but if I mention them they’ll both cause rows, so I’d better not, had I?’

  He was quiet for a moment before saying, ‘Go on, tell me. I won’t go off the deep end, whatever they are . . . I promise, whatever they are.’

  It was a long moment before she said, ‘Well mind, don’t forget what you said.’

  He waited, and then her voice a whisper she began, ‘The missis, she wants me to go with them to France for a holiday. Of course, it’s only to keep the bairns out of the way, I know, but she keeps tellin’ me that I won’t get the chance again . . .’

  ‘Who says you won’t get the chance again? They’re not the only ones who can go to France. You’re not goin’. You told her you’re not going? All right, all right, I’m not going to get me neb up about it, but you did tell her you weren’t goin’?’

  ‘I said I didn’t think you would hear of it.’

  ‘That’s right I won’t. And you can also tell her when you’re on, that you’re putting your notice in . . . Well now, the other thing?’ He waited.

  ‘I went the night to take a message to . . . to John George’s lass. She’s . . . she’s married.’

  ‘Married!’

  ‘Yes, to an old man, a widower with a grown-up family.’

  It’s . . . it’s the best thing.’ She could hardly hear his voice but she was relieved that he had kept his promise a
nd hadn’t gone for her for mentioning John George or his affairs. And now, a minute later, he was mumbling into her neck, ‘When he comes out I’ll set him up. I’ve . . . I’ve always meant to do something for him but now I can, I’ll set him up properly in something.’

  ‘Oh, Rory, Rory. Aw, that’s . . . that’s my Rory. I knew you would. Aw ta, thanks, lad, thanks. I’ll tell the missis the morrow straight out, I’ll tell her me husband’s put his foot down and said no France and that I’ll have to be givin’ in me notice shortly. Oh, Rory, Rory . . .’

  In the middle of the night she was wakened by him crying out. His arms were flaying about and when she put her hand on his head it came away wet with sweat and she cried at him, ‘Rory! Rory! wake up,’ but he continued to thrash about in the bed, gabbling out words from which she could distinguish bits of the conversation that they’d had last night. ‘I’ll make it up to John George, I will, I will. I always meant to.’ Then he began to shout, ‘’Twas being shut in, ’twas being shut in.’

  When she finally managed to wake him he spluttered, ‘What’s it? What’s-the-matter?’ Then putting his hand to his head, he added, I was dreamin’ . . . Was I talking?’

  ‘Just jabbering. It was all the excitement.’

  ‘Aye, yes,’ he said, ’all the excitement. By! I’m wringing.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Lie down, right down under the clothes here.’ She drew him towards her and held him closely, soothing him as if he were a child, until he went to sleep again.

  5

  On three afternoons and three evenings of each of the next three weeks Rory visited Mr Dryden, to be coached in the matter of accountancy and business management.

  Mr Dryden had in his early years been in accountancy, and later had become a solicitors clerk, and the reports he gave to Miss Kean on the progress of his pupil were most encouraging. ‘He shows great acumen,’ he told her. ‘I think you have made a wise choice,’ he told her. But he also told his friends with a smirk that old Kean’s daughter had taken on a protege. ‘Ha! Ha! they said. Well, she wasn’t likely to get a husband, so she had to resort to a pastime. Yet, as some of them remarked, she ought to have known her place and picked her pastime from a grade higher than that of rent collectors, and this one by all accounts wasn’t a skin away from a common labouring man. If it wasn’t that the fellow was already married you could put another version to it, for as had already been demonstrated in one or two instances she was a strong-headed young woman who took little heed of people’s opinions. Look what she was like on committees. She had got herself talked about more than once for openly defying the male opinion. Of course, this was due to the type of education she’d been given. She had been sent away, hadn’t she? To the south somewhere, hadn’t she? That was her mother’s doing. So . . . well, what could you expect?