Tanner Trilogy 01 - Gaslight in Page Street

by Harry Bowling

  I’ve been alone too long, she thought as she crossed the square and walked out into the empty Jamaica Road. Why can’t I show him how I feel about him? Maybe he is only waiting for a sign or a hint.

  George had not been drinking so heavily of late and seemed to have come to terms with his bereavement, but tonight there was something on his mind. Maybe she should confront him in his room and let him see she was concerned for his happiness.

  The muffled sound of a tug whistle carried from the river lanes as the fog drifted down. Nora pulled the collar of her coat around her neck and buried her hands deeper into her fur muff. Her high-heeled shoes echoed on the deserted pavements and when she reached the park gates she stopped and turned round. Normally she would have carried on a little further but the fog seemed to be getting thicker. She hurried back towards the quiet square, her thoughts centred on a warm fire and a hot drink before retiring for the night.

  It was then that she saw the couple standing in a dark doorway. The man had his back to her and was pressing against the woman whose face was resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she was groaning as the man’s rhythmic movements became faster. Nora turned her head as she walked quickly past, but the couple seemed oblivious to her presence. She hurried on and turned into the quiet square feeling strangely roused. The woman was probably one of those tarts who frequented the music hall, she thought, and he might be a merchant seaman. Maybe she was wrong. Perhaps they were two young lovers who for their own reasons had to resort to a dark doorway on a cold miserable night to express their love for each other.

  Nora let herself in the house and closed the door behind her. She stood in the hall for a few moments, then taking a deep breath tapped gently on the front room door. She heard George’s gruff voice and as she stepped into the room Nora saw her employer sitting slumped in his armchair before the fire. He had a glass of whisky in his hand and his face was flushed.

  Nora’s heart sank as she sat down facing him. He looked at her enquiringly. She hesitated before speaking.

  ‘I wanted to ’ave a chat, George,’ she said at last. ‘I noticed you were quiet ternight. Is anyfing wrong?’

  He shook his head and stared down into the fire. ‘I’ve ’ad a few words wiv young Geoffrey. It’s nuffink really,’ he said quietly.

  Nora paused for a moment then sat forward in her chair. ‘I’ve bin enjoyin’ our little chats, George,’ she began. ‘I ’ope yer feel the same way. I jus’ want yer ter know I’m always ’ere, in case yer need me.’

  George looked up and noticed that his housekeeper was eyeing him intently. ‘Yer look a bit edgy, Nora. Anyfing wrong?’ he asked.

  She smiled. ‘I came in ’ere wiv the same question. I don’t like ter see yer miserable, George. It grieves me ter see yer drinkin’ alone.’

  ‘I don’t ’ave to,’ he replied. ‘Yer could always join me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said quickly, her face flushing slightly. ‘It used ter upset me when yer spent all that time shut away in ’ere wiv the bottle. I wanted ter ’elp yer, but I didn’t know ’ow. I know yer was grievin’ over Martha but it’s bin a while now an’ I was pleased when yer let me share the evenin’s wiv yer. I thought it was ’elpin’ yer, an’ me too. I don’t like ter see yer go back ter drinkin’ ’eavily again, George. Don’t shut the children out o’ yer life, an’ me too fer that matter.’

  He was watching her closely while she spoke, aware of her embarrassment. Nora was strange, he thought. She had always seemed so prim and proper, never giving way to her feelings. Now she was making him feel uncomfortable. She was a fine woman, he had to admit. Her face was well shaped and her eyes warm and friendly. The high-necked blouse seemed to accentuate her sloping shoulders and small breasts, and her hands were those of a younger woman, long and slender. George noticed how she sat upright in the chair, with her long black cotton dress almost touching the floor. Her still raven hair was pulled high on top of her head and secured with a fan-comb, giving her a matronly appearance that was more suited to an older woman. He realised he had never seen it any other way and wondered if she wore it like that when she went to bed.

  Suddenly he got up, averting his eyes from hers. ‘Let me get yer a drink,’ he said, walking over to the sideboard.

  Nora felt she should decline his offer but the strange excitement she had felt on seeing the lovers still persisted. She made no effort to stop George pouring out a large port, telling herself she was going to need it if she were finally to unburden herself to him. The time was ripe, she tried to convince herself.

  George was standing beside her with the glass of port held out to her. He smiled, and she noticed how his eyes appraised her.

  ‘Yer know, I’ve never seen yer wiv yer ’air let down,’ he said suddenly.

  Nora took the glass from his hand and sipped the port, hoping it would ease her fluttering stomach. ‘That’s a strange fing fer yer ter say,’ she replied, attempting to stay calm.

  ‘Let it down,’ he told her.

  ‘I beg yer pardon.’

  ‘Let it down. Let me see yer wiv it down on yer shoulders,’ he said.

  Nora’s face felt hot and her cheeks flushed a bright red. ‘Mr Galloway,’ she said indignantly, ‘I’m forty years old. You’re making me feel like a flighty young woman.’

  George put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘Martha used ter wear ’er ’air like that an’ she would never let it ’ang loose. Take it down, Nora, please.’

  Slowly she placed her glass on the small table at her elbow and reached up to her hair with both hands. George sat down on the edge of his armchair, transfixed, as she removed the fan-comb and the two long hairpins. Her hair dropped down and she slipped her fingers through the raven locks until they were spread evenly and resting on her shoulders. Her face had paled and her eyes dropped as Galloway reached out his hand to hers.

  ‘Yer’ve got beautiful ’air,’ he said in a low voice that made her tremble inside. ‘Will yer stay wiv me ternight?’

  Nora picked up her glass and sipped the drink, purposely evading his gaze. ‘Are yer sure, George?’ she whispered, hardly recognising her own voice. ‘Is it me yer desire? Me, Nora Flynn?’

  He held her trembling hands in his and fixed her with his dark eyes. ‘I’ve wanted ter make love ter yer fer a long time, Nora,’ he said softly. ‘Yer’ve always fended me off wiv yer reserve, but I knew that there’d come a time. I could sense it when we talked. Until now I couldn’t make a move wivout yer givin’ me a sign. Yer never did, though.’

  ‘Is ternight so different?’ she asked.

  He looked down at her hands for a moment. ‘Young Geoff an’ me got at it again,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It was nuffink really, only about Jack Oxford. I was gonna put the idiot off an’ Geoff was against it. ’E sided in wiv that yard foreman o’ mine. I gave way in the end but Geoff wasn’t satisfied. ’E felt I should give ’im more sway in the runnin’ o’ the business. That’s what the argument was over ternight. When Geoff finally stormed out I got ter drinkin’ an’ I realised ’ow empty me life’s become. Ternight I need yer, Nora. Yes. Ternight I need yer, an’ ternight I could see the change in yer eyes the minute yer walked in that door.’

  Nora felt her breath coming fast as he stood up and reached down to her. She got up from her chair to face him and he pulled her to him, kissing her hard. ‘No, George!’ she gasped as his hands moved down her body. ‘Give me a few minutes, then come to my bed. Please?’

  Before he could say anything she turned and hurried from the room, her whole body shaking as she made her way quickly up the stairs.

  When she reached her room Nora stripped and climbed into her old bed, eagerly listening for his footsteps on the stairs. She stroked her hands along her hot body as she waited for what seemed an eternity, then at last the creaking of the stairs sounded loudly and she heard the door opening. He stood silhouetted there by her bed, his bulk rising above her, then he was beside her, his hands roug
hly caressing her nude body, his wet lips moving along her neck. Her whole body shook and she let out a faint sob as he joined with her in a fierce embrace.

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie made her way to the factory, her coat collar turned up against the bitter cold. She was now just seventeen and it seemed to her as though she had worked at Wilson’s for ever. It was really only three short years since she started, but in that time she had been moved from the top floor to the floor below, where she learned to trim the hides and chamois leather pieces, and then to the ground floor to learn grading and sorting. Each move had been a step up the ladder for her but she felt a little sorry for her friend Mary, who seemed to have been overlooked for promotion and was still sweating away on the top floor. Carrie knew that her friend had not helped herself by her frequent absences from work and her reputation for being actively involved with the suffragette movement. Mary seemed happy enough though, especially since she had got herself a new workmate.

  Carrie normally took little notice of the stories abounding throughout the factory, but this time she knew it was true that Mary had found herself a lover. Her new companion was a girl of her own age who would sit enthralled as Mary went on about her campaigning. The two were inseparable and sat holding hands during their lunch breaks, leaving the factory in the evenings arm in arm. Nevertheless, although Mary’s private life was the talk of the factory, she had earned the girls’ respect for her dedication to campaigning on behalf of women. Some of the other girls were becoming interested in the suffragette movement, and one or two had gone along to watch the marches. There had also been a lot of publicity in the newspapers recently and only a week ago it was reported that two of the leading figures in the movement had been arrested and sent to prison for interrupting a court hearing in Manchester.

  As she walked into the factory on Thursday morning Carrie was thinking about the coming weekend. She and two of her workmates had agreed to join Mary on a big march to Trafalgar Square where they would be addressed by prominent figures involved in the movement. Carrie’s decision to join the marchers had caused some tension at home and her brother James had been forthright in his condemnation. ‘Bloody stupid if yer ask me,’ he had growled. ‘They should lock the lot o’ yer up.’

  Charlie had merely grinned and got on with his tea, but the youngest member of the Tanner family was curious. ‘Why are you goin’?’ Danny had enquired. ‘If yer get locked up, they’ll stick a tube down yer froat an’ force-feed yer. Our teacher told us that’s what they do.’

  Silence was restored around the meal table by her father, who glared at Danny and threatened to force-feed him if he didn’t finish his meal.

  The day seemed to drag on and Carrie’s two workmates, Jessica Conway and Freda Lawton, chatted away incessantly about the big day. Carrie was thinking of other things as she sat at the wide bench, sorting and grading the leathers. She had met Sara Knight in the street a few days ago and persuaded her to go along with her to the church club in Dockhead that evening. Carrie had a special reason for going, for that evening the club was putting on a boxing tournament and Billy Sullivan was fighting in one of the bouts. Billy was eighteen and the eldest of the Sullivan boys. He had asked her to come along to see him box. Carrie had grown up with the Sullivan boys and was looking forward to the evening. Of all the brothers Billy was her favourite. When they were children he had always been quick to single her out from her friends and often gave her little gifts as a token of his friendship. Once he had offered her a whole set of cigarette cards, though she had not taken them, knowing how he treasured them. On another occasion he had removed a bandage from his finger, purposely to show her his painful whitlow, and when she screwed her face up he stole a kiss, only to receive a sharp kick on the shin as Carrie wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. They had remained friends, however, and one time Billy had taken her brothers’ part against the boys from Bacon Street Buildings.

  ‘Mary reckons we’ll be asked ter carry a banner,’ Jessica was saying. ‘I’m gonna feel silly. Will yer carry one if they ask yer, Carrie?’

  ‘Sorry. What d’yer say?’

  The two girls exchanged glances and Freda nudged her friend. ‘Carrie’s got ovver fings on ’er mind,’ she giggled.

  ‘’Ave yer got a young man then, Carrie?’ Jessica asked.

  She blushed and tried to ignore the giggling. ‘It’s just a boxin’ match,’ she answered quickly. ‘Billy Sullivan’s fightin’ an’ ’e asked me ter go an’ see ’im, that’s all.’

  Jessica turned to Freda. ‘I know Billy Sullivan. ’E’s nice. Fancy our Carrie goin’ out wiv a boxer.’

  She smiled and got on with her work. Billy was nice, she thought. He was the oldest of the seven Sullivan boys and had often been involved in scraps to defend his brothers or to defend himself when his younger brothers turned on him. The Sullivans were always fighting, but most people in the street realised that the family were more often than not the victims of their own reputation. Carrie was aware that her youngest brother Danny idolised Billy Sullivan and had been taking boxing lessons from him. Billy had told her that young Danny was a natural and should join the boxing club. Her mother had forbidden it but her father felt it would do the lad good. Danny was forever pestering his mother to let him join and in the meantime continued to take lessons.

  At the end of the working day Carrie left the factory and hurried home with excitement building up inside her. Her workmates’ taunts had set her thinking. Billy Sullivan was just one of the lads in the street but he had taken an unusual interest in her lately and she was flattered. All the local girls liked him and she felt it would be nice if she could boast that Billy was her real beau.

  As she hurried into the house and helped her mother set the table for tea, Carrie hummed happily, and when the family gathered for the meal she became the object of a certain amount of banter from her brothers.

  ‘So yer gonna see Billy Sullivan fight, are yer, Carrie?’ James said, looking at Charlie for support.

  ‘Billy’s gonna win easy,’ Danny butted in.

  ‘I dunno so much,’ James said through a mouthful of sausage. ‘I ’eard that bloke ’e’s fightin’ is pretty good. ’E’s the East End champion.’

  ‘That’s nuffink,’ Danny countered. ‘Billy’s the best boxer in Bermondsey.’

  ‘Shut yer traps an’ get on wiv yer food,’ Nellie grumbled.

  James folded a thick slice of bread and dipped it into his gravy. He had grown into a hefty young man since starting work at the sawmills. The heavy work had developed his arms, and his thick neck was set on wide shoulders. His fair hair was full and tended to curl, and his dark blue eyes were deep-set and wide-spaced. James had begun to feel grown-up and tended to ape his father’s mannerisms. Charlie, on the other hand, was a quiet, studious lad who had just started work in an office. He had had to take a certain amount of good-natured teasing about the sort of job he did - his older brother was always reminding him that office work was for cissies. Charlie took it all in good part and rarely lost his temper, to the chagrin of his two brothers and particularly James.

  ‘One day yer might be comin’ ter see me fight at the club,’ Danny remarked after a while.

  ‘Oh no she won’t,’ Nellie said firmly. ‘I’m not ’avin’ any o’ my kids growin’ up ter be boxers, so shut up an’ get on wiv yer tea.’

  Danny pulled a face and bent his head over his plate. William looked up at Nellie. ‘I dunno, Nell. It’s a good club an’ it teaches the kids ter look after ’emselves,’ he said, pushing his empty plate away from him. ‘Billy Sullivan ain’t turned out such a bad lad. Look ’ow ’e used ter fight in the street. Those Sullivans were always gettin’ inter scrapes. Ole Sadie used ter pack a punch too, although she seems ter be quieter lately. I remember the time when ...’

  ‘All right, Will, let ’em finish their tea,’ Nellie chided him. ‘I wanna get cleared away early. I’ve got Flo an’ Maisie comin’ roun’ later. We got some fings ter talk about.
’

  William did not want to ask just what schemes the women were planning and decided it would be better if he departed to the Kings Arms as soon as they turned up.

  At seven o’clock Sara Knight arrived and the two girls left for the club at Dockhead. Carrie was pleased to see Sara looking well. She seemed to have put on weight and her long brown hair was well brushed and tied neatly at the nape of her neck with a ribbon. Her eyes were bright, and as they made their way through the drifting fog she giggled happily and took Carrie’s arm, falling into step beside her.

  ‘I’m startin’ work at the tea factory in Tooley Street next week, Carrie,’ she said. ‘It’s much better than sackmakin’. The girls earn good money there an’ yer get packets o’ tea cheap. Me mum’s ever so pleased. She didn’t like me doin’ that sackmakin’. Yer ’ad ter supply yer own string an’ the money was terrible. Some weeks I only took ’ome ten shillin’s. I’m gettin’ fifteen at this job.’

  ‘Is yer dad all right?’ Carrie asked.

  Sara nodded. ‘’E’s found a real job. It don’t pay very much but it’s better than sellin’ shoelaces an’ collar studs. We don’t ’ave the relief man callin’ on us any more an’ me muvver can put ’er china plates on the dresser now. The lady next door used ter mind ’em fer ’er. If the relief man ’ad seen ’em, ’e’d ’ave made ’er sell ’em.’