"You what?" John asked.
"Let's go an' find somewhere to eat," she said and casually walked away.
Within moments he was at her side. "Are ye ailing?" he asked.
"Will ye trust me?" she replied urgently.
"'Appen."
"Say goodbye to Mr. Oakshaw," she said.
John turned. "I'll think it over!" he called. "The lady's ailing."
"Don't linger," Oakshaw called, and, as they left the yard, added lamely: "Hope she improves."
"I'll improve his bloody price," she said, with more confidence than she felt.
"Will tha?" he asked, amused and bewildered.
"Aye. What did'st close on wi' yon Oakshaw?"
"A thousand at eighteen, what's that?"
"Seventy-five pounds," she said without thought. "If I get it for last week's price—sixty-two pound ten—what then?"
He considered briefly. "I'll split every pound with thee that's under seventy-five."
Her eyes opened wide; it was clear he didn't believe she could do it. He nodded back the way they had come.
"Art goin back to badger 'im down then?" he asked.
"Never mind! Tha'st seen't last o' yon Oakshaw."
"While four this afternoon," he said. "If th'ast not done it while four o'clock, I s'll be back there and seventy-five poorer."
"Come on," she said. "Time's short."
Oakshaw's yard was hard by the canal bank off Shooters Brow. They skirted quickly round through a number of back lanes and alleys to Ancoats, where they could safely rejoin the canal towpath without being seen from the timberyard. They walked northeast for just over a mile before they met the boat she was looking for. At the Naylor Street wharves, two canal officials looked at them with hostility but, seeing John Stevenson's size and build, let them pass in sour silence.
Her interest in the contents of each barge that went by quickly alerted him to her scheme.
"Eay I'm jiggered!" he chuckled.
"What?" she asked, for his tone seemed to hold some accusation.
"Tha'rt ready enough to go at us fer takkin' chances and maddlin' opportunity wi' certainty."
She halted and looked at him in astonishment. "Do'st fancy I'm appy wi' this day's work? As I'm proud o' missen?" She saw she was right and that he, for his part, could not comprehend her astonishment. "Tha bloody would!" she went on. "If tha'd thought up this work, tha'd be like cock o't dungeap!"
He laughed unable to deny it.
"I tell thee," she said in a voice of great certainty, "I'm standin' 'ere kickin' missen for a fool." She began to walk again. "I've seen yon boats laden wi' timber bound off for Manchester. I've stood on Littleborough platform an' watched them. An' it's never strucken me!"
"Eay but…what if boatman's contracted to Oakshaws?"
"Nay—give us some credit!" She could elaborate no further because at that moment, just as they reached Varley Street Wharf, she saw the boat that was bringing the timber. "This is my fox," she said. "I got scent on 'im first. Reet?"
He nodded. They strolled up to where the boatman stood talking with two other canal men. Though aware of John and Nora he did not break off his talk with his friends.
"'Ow do," Nora interrupted.
They stared incuriously at her, and then slightly more carefully at John.
She nodded at the barge. "Timber," she said.
The two canal men laughed. The boatman looked at his cargo in pretended astonishment and then at her. "Tim-ber!" he said as if it were a new word. "Eay, all't gate from Hull I've been wonderin' what it were—I were fair capped to remember it. Timber!"
She joined their laughter at herself. "I'm in't market for wood," she said.
It was clear they did not even think her serious.
"A thousand cube," she added quietly.
That stopped them. They turned and looked very hard at her. The boatman cocked his ears into a better hearing position. "Yer what?" he asked.
"A thousand cube now. Five 'undred every third week. I'm offerin' a contract." A heavy sniff from John, behind, did not deter her. "To deliver at Calderbrook Lock and Deanroyd."
John began to stroll aimlessly away, as if he had lost interest.
"Yer offerin'?" the boatman repeated.
"Aye," she said, as one talks to a child. "An' yon's still timber. An' I still want a thousand cubes."
The man sniffed. "Calderbrook and Deanroyd."
She looked at the skies.
"Whassit for?" he asked.
She pointed behind her, where John, twenty yards away, was turning round to saunter back. "Fer me man."
"An' why's 'e not buyin?"
"'Cos 'e says ye'll not sell."
"Oh ah. 'E does, does 'e?"
"Aye. 'Cos 'e's contractor to't railways." She saw the hostility come down upon them like a cloud over the sun. "'E says canal folk'll not deal wi't railroad folk—even when it's to their own advantage. 'E says ye'd sooner let dealers in Manchester take't profit than deal direct wi't railroad folk."
She saw the boatman hesitate. "Advantage?" he asked.
She ignored it. "I told 'im. I said, 'Canal folks is same as t'others. If they saw advantage they'd be as quick to take it as what railway men'd be.' But 'e'll not 'ave it."
One of the other men spoke. "An' what do you know o' canal folk?" He spat at the water.
"I know Tom Spur," she said, not knowing whether she was playing an ace or a two. "E's told us…"
"Not Tom Spur at Littleborough?" the canal man asked. He looked interested suddenly.
"Aye."
"As keeps th'Royal Oak?"
"The same."
"'Oo's Tom Spur?" the boatman asked.
The canal man turned to him. "'Is dad worked for thy gaffer. Old Sandy Spur. 'E were bare-knuckle champion o' Lancashire."
The other one spoke for the first time. "Aye. Tha wants to stop off at Littleborough. There's always a pint for navigation folk at th'Royal Oak."
The boatman turned back to her. "Then tha knows Tom Spur?"
"Aye."
"What…advantage was tha on about?"
She took a deep breath, looked back at John, smiled weakly at the men—in short, did everything to foster the illusion that she was a silly young female who had just realized how far out of her depth she had strayed. Seeing no apparent help or escape she plunged in. "We'll give fifteen pence a cube fer yon load an' we guarantee fourteen pence on future deliveries."
The man's face was a battlefield of emotions. His tongue flickered across his lips in nervous greed. His brow furrowed with anxiety in case there was a hidden catch. His eyes darted from Nora to John and back, frightened he would not support her offer. John uprooted a pebble with the toe of his boot and flicked it into the water. The canal men glared at him.
"There's the return cargo," the man said. "It's a catch cargo from Manchester but there's never any lack. What'll I catch at Castleton or Deanroyd?"
"I'll guarantee all the stone ye want. Millstone grit. Any grade ye want."
"Grit?" the man said dubiously.
John gave Nora's arm a surreptitious squeeze to alert her he was joining the game. "Come away, love. It's as I told thee. There's railroad contractors down't line quarryin' stone for lack of it in't cuttins. There's turnpikes can never get too much grit for hardcore. But I told thee—canal folk'll not see it. They'd cut their own throats first."
The boatman, seeing the best offer he'd ever had evaporate before him, suddenly darted forward and grasped Nora's hand. "Done!" He shook it vigorously and spat.
She smiled, pretending a dazed bewilderment.
"'Undred 'n thirty-five quid," he said.
Her look changed to one of scorn. "What's that?" she said. "Frenchman's reckoning? A thousand cube at fifteen pence—I make it sixty-two ten."
"'Oo said a thousand?" His cunning leer told her something had gone wrong.
"Yon." She pointed at the nearby narrow boat.
"And yon?" He pointed to the boat behind. "An
d yon?" And to the boat behind that.
An explosion behind her spun her round, fearful of John's anger. But he was not angry. Far from it. He was howling with laughter, slapping himself on the knee, dancing like a lad took short.
At once she felt angry; angry and also contemptuous. He must have known, or guessed, there was more than one boat—and yet he had let her go on with the deal. What did he intend now? Repudiate the bargain, pay the man a pound or two compensation for the fun and step in and buy just the thousand cube at—say—sixteen pence? Teach her a lesson? Was that it? The humiliation would be more than she could bear; she had to dig her own way out. And quickly.
The worry left her. It was extraordinary how, when you got in a really tight corner, you grew suddenly calm and clear-headed. She stood silent and upright, watching him coolly until his mirth died.
"Reet John," she said. "Tha'd best stop 'ere an sort out the best for us. I've gotten one thousand one hundred an' sixty cubes to sell while four o'clock!" She laid a certain emphasis on that precise time—which was not lost on him.
His mirth really died then. She saw his face fall as he quickly tested her idea for loopholes and found none. She turned to the boatman. "I'll need your cargo manifest or bill of lading," she said.
"Ye can have bill o' lading when I've gotten't cash," he answered. "Ye can take't manifest." He looked at Stevenson for consent.
John nodded, not altogether happily.
She smiled, her confidence completely restored. "I'll split profit with thee if I may trade in thy name." The potential reward, she knew, would outweigh the risk; she saw the same thought winning him over.
"Done," he said. "S'll I come with thee?"
"Nay. Look out't best for us."
She was so proud and fierce that the two canal servants who had almost turned them off on the upward journey now let her pass with even less hesitation. Several times she began to play the imaginary scene of her forthcoming encounter with Ossie Oakshaw through her mind but a streak of superstition told her not to. She feared that if the real encounter took an unexpected turn, she'd spend so much time trying to force it back to its imagined lines that she would let genuine opportunities pass her by. She emptied her mind of all fantasy and forced it to concentrate on the physical world around, playing a game whose rules held that if she could remember each succeeding detail with a painter's accuracy, the coming business would go well.
Before long, she was amazed at the number of sights she would have missed but for this act of concentration. There was a bloated dead cat, gray-skinned and hairless, floating in a miniature lagoon of broken rainbows. There was a midden-heap behind one of the new terraces and already it towered over the rooftops; her nose wrinkled at the putrefying stench it gave off. Wryly she remembered that her old lodging had looked out on just such a stinking heap of rotting garbage and night soil and she had never given it a second thought. She realized what a change only a few weeks among the civilized amenities of the Royal Oak had wrought in her.
The only preparation she made, just before she went through Oakshaw's gate, was to glance down the cargo manifest and memorize the major quantities.
When she saw Oakshaw's wide and condescending smile, she knew at once how she would manage him. And she blessed the caution that had stopped her from imagining this encounter; for her mind would have cast him in her own mould—fierce and predatory. It would have been a real old ding-dong set-to up there behind her eyes; but here in the timberyard by the canal backwater, it was not going to be like that at all. It was going to be very quiet and sweet.
"Are ye better ma'am?" he asked.
She thought, Better than you! but she said, "Well nigh, thank you Mr. Oakshaw."
"'E's sent ye back to close th'deal 'as 'e?"
"I intend to make a deal, aye."
His eyes narrowed. "It's eighteen pence," he warned.
"And that's cost?"
"Aye."
She looked puzzled and a little dazed. "Ye sure?"
"Cross me heart, hope to die. Show us a bible I'll swear it."
She smiled in vast relief. "Then I've news to crown your week for ye, Mr. Oakshaw. I've gotten it for seventeen pence, an' I'll let you ave it 'at cost'— my cost!"
He frowned; the first stirrings of alarm showed in his face. "Let me have what?"
She thrust the manifest into his hand. He took it in a bewilderment that rapidly changed to alarm as he ran his eyes up and down the items listed.
"What's up?" she asked. "Seventeen pence—I've saved ye nine pound on that lot."
"Seventeen pence!" he began scornfully before he realized he couldn't pursue that line very far. "But this is mine," he said. "My cargo."
"Oh—'e never told me as you'd already paid for it."
"Well, of course, I 'aven't paid for it. Not yet."
"'E never said as it were contracted to ye."
"Nay but it's a regular delivery, like. There's no need for contracts."
She smiled sweetly. "Until today," she said.
He looked at her, then at the manifest, then back at her. A younger man would have grown angry; but he was survivor of almost forty years of trading, a lifetime of win-a-little, lose-a-little, the sort of man who would rather salvage cash than pride, any day of the week. He snorted, shook his head ruefully, and said, "Seventeen pence!"
Now it was her turn to face internal conflict. She knew beyond doubt that she could hold him to the price; the predator within urged her to do so—tempted her with the profit she'd gloat over as she split it proudly with John. But a wiser Nora forced her to consider her broader interest. She wanted a triumph to take to John. True. But she also wanted a good story about herself and her skill to get passed around the Manchester taverns where the traders and suppliers met. And she didn't want an enemy in Oakshaw. A hard price would not win her that. The time to be really hard was when she was inviolate and her position unassailable. And that was a long, long way off yet.
"Tell ye what Mr. Oakshaw," she said, "I've just made a regular contract for timber for us at Summit, so we'll do no more trade for it 'ere in Manchester. But there'll be other contracts soon enough, I dare say. An' we s'll need a good regular supplier 'ere then. I'd not look to make an enemy of ye where I might 'ave a good friend in't course o' time. So I tell ye what I'll do. I'll knock a farthing off if ye pay by bill of exchange. An' I'll knock a halfpenny off if ye pay cash. But I can't stand a bigger loss nor that."
Of course, he no more believed she was taking a loss than she had believed his "cost" of eighteen pence. He looked away, no doubt wondering whether he could drop her more.
"It's just that if we are to deal together," she continued, "it's as well we neither take t'other for a fool. You took us for fools—I got that mad when I 'eard you call eighteen pence 'cost,' ye drove me to do this. Trouble is"—she laughed richly, forcing him to smile—"I were that mad I went and bought t'lot!"
He knew he was beaten and that she was making acceptance easy for him, but he had one last try. "Hundred 'n thirty pound ten!" he said. "I've never kept that much in cash."
She laughed again. "Nay! We're keepin' our thousand cube. There's nobbut one thousand, one hundred an' sixty to sell. So I'm only askin' fer seventy-nine pound fifteen."
"Only!" he cried, but he was smiling. Now that the bargaining was over, he looked at her appraisingly. "Are ye partial to a drop of sherry, Mrs. Stevenson?" he asked.
"I am that, Mr. Oakshaw."
"I've never done business with a lady before, so I don't know whether the customary courtesies'd be a bit forward, like."
The way to his office led beside a long line of sawpits. When they passed by, the work slackened and halted as one bottom and top sawyer after the other took in the unfamiliar sight of the guvnor with a female.
His office must once have been quite imposing, but there was now so thick a pall of sawdust over everything that it might as well have been a corridor in a flour miller's. The glass into which he poured her sherry, though, was
clean and sparkling; he held it up to the dusty window. Rich and golden, it was the brightest colour there. He poured himself one and toasted her silently. Gravely, she responded. It made her glow within as it slipped smoothly down.
After he had paid her he said: "I'll send one o' me men with ye. All that cash. D'ye carry no pistol?"
"Nay." It had never occurred to her.
He saw her to the gate. "I shall need th'bill o' lading," he said, waving the manifest loosely. "This grants no title."
The workman-escort walked a dozen paces behind her. His presence alerted John to her success. When they had less than a furlong to go, he left the boats and came to meet them.
World From Rough Stones Page 25
