Mr Maguire had forgotten the agonies of puberty and did not recognize them in Nat. ‘Ah, well, I expect he’s embarrassed at having us seeing him locked up in there,’ was his explanation. ‘Sure, ye don’t have to go again if it upsets ye.’
Bright was hasty to disabuse him of this assumption. ‘Oh no! I like going.’ And she did, even though it was embarrassing – for her, not for Nat. Indeed, it was embarrassing to go anywhere at all with this feeling that people were staring at the lumps under her bodice that had sprouted virtually overnight. Half of her felt like a woman and the other half like a child. Nat had changed physically too. Whereas they had always been of similar build, he was now taller by two inches. His hands were those of a man, and she had noticed the beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip. Yes, they had both changed considerably and though one part of her character was excited by her womanhood, another side mourned the loss of their childhood bond. How would she ever be able to have the same intimacy with Nat when he came out?
* * *
Nat was fourteen when the authorities decided to release him on licence in the February of 1895, which meant that the remainder of his sentence would be carried out in the service of some upright citizen. It was almost a disappointment to think that he would miss the fortnight’s holiday in Scarborough, especially after a winter as cold as this. How would he fare in these short trousers when out there the rivers were frozen solid? As ever, Mr Maguire saved the day. On being told of Nat’s release date he arrived with an appropriate gift for the occasion: a pair of long trousers.
‘Well, tis not decent for a man to be going about in short breeches now, is it?’
The beneficiary agreed. Since Maguire’s last visit he had discovered from an older youth that what he thought to be some awful malady was in fact just part of growing up. Mr Maguire was right; he was a man. In both body and mind. He had much more confidence now and was able to hold a conversation with Mr Maguire on an equal footing – though as he held the trousers against his legs he half wished his visitor would leave so he could try them on.
‘Sure, they’re only a pair that has grown too short for Patrick, but there’s plenty o’ good wear in them.’ Mr Maguire coughed. ‘Jaze I think I’m getting a dose o’ that there bronchitis o’ yours. Bright sends her fondest wishes. She couldn’t come today but twon’t be long afore you’re coming out so she’ll see ye then. By the way, I’m going to speak to the superintendent before I go,’ added Maguire, ‘tell him we’re willing to take ye back.’
Nat’s pleasure at the trousers faded. ‘I can’t, they’re only letting me out on licence. I’m off into service.’
‘Ah, well now, won’t herself be disappointed.’ Maguire scratched his nose. ‘I suppose they know what they’re doing, but ye would have been quite welcome with us, Natty. Will ye come and visit us on your day off?’
Nat promised he would, but later discovered that there was to be little opportunity for this. The post was in Leeds. He was to be stablehand to a Mr Wood.
‘And I trust you will not let us down again!’ Mr Raskelf pinned Nat with a warning eye.
‘No, sir, I’ll do my best.’ Nat stood before Raskelf in his long trousers – from child to man in one step – and meant what he said. Without being compelled to go to school the world out there was a different place. He had a job and a future.
Mr Chipchase took him down to the station and put him on a train to Leeds. ‘Mr Wood will meet you at the other end. Well, goodbye and good luck, twenty-seven. Take care of yourself and try not to get into any more trouble.’ He rubbed Nat’s shorn scalp.
Far from appreciating the gesture Nat resented being treated like a schoolboy and did not wave as the train pulled out, though Mr Chipchase remained on the platform.
The journey took about half an hour. Not knowing who to look for when he alighted, Nat got off the train and dithered on the platform. In the event Mr Wood found him.
‘You Smellie? Suppose you want summat to eat?’ Thus was the limit of his greeting.
Nat was peckish but did not like the man’s tone and so replied, ‘Not hungry yet.’
‘Oh, miracle of miracles!’ Wood gave a cackle. ‘You’ll be the first lad I’ve known who didn’t eat me out of house and home. Away then!’
Nat followed him. Wood was extremely short, could not have been more than five foot. Looking down on him Nat felt superior, or at least he did until he discovered the lowliness of his position.
His instruction began immediately on arrival. ‘There’s no time like the present. The stables haven’t been done today, what with the other boy leaving me in the lurch, so you can do them.’ Wood led Nat to the stables, of which there were ten. It transpired that he bought and sold horses for a living. ‘Right, I’ll just introduce you to the others.’ These were having their lunchbreak. ‘This is Tom, Simon, Lewis, Ben and Michael, you answer to them.’ He turned to the others. ‘This is – oh, we can’t have everybody calling you Smellie. What’s your first name?’ Nat told him. ‘Right, Nat, Simon’ll show you what to do. I’m off for my dinner.’ On this abrupt note he left.
‘Well, thank you very much for interrupting my break!’ The young man who was to instruct Nat muttered sarcastically. ‘This is just what I need while I’m eating me sandwiches. See them gloves there? Put them on and follow me. Right, you start at yon end.’ He gestured at the end stable. ‘You pick all the horse tods out of the litter and put them in that wheelbarrow.’
Nat felt this must be designed as humiliation. ‘With me hands? Why can’t I use a shovel?’
‘Because, stupid—’
‘I’m not stupid!’
Simon cuffed him round the ear. ‘You’re all stupid at that ragged arse school! You can’t even move shit from one place to t’other without being given instructions. We’ve had to put up with five buggers from there and they’ve all left. Now listen, stupid. You don’t use a shovel because the litter was only put down yesterday, it’s still good. So, you do as you’re told and pick up the hoss tods one by one, and that’s to be done in every stable. Got it? And careful how you treat them hosses.’
Nat considered that this last command should have been given in reverse, for the horses did not treat him kindly at all – and they were so big! Every time he bent down a hoof would lash out from some direction, and if it wasn’t a hoof it would be teeth. ‘Bastard!’ he cursed the occupant of one stable as it sank its teeth into his thigh. Looking round for a fork or a broom with which to keep it at bay he found nothing and so thumped it on the nose as it came at him again. It whinnied and bucked. Luckily it was tied up, allowing Nat to jump out of the way of its hooves and run outside where he bolted the door. This performance was repeated in half a dozen of the stables. By the time he had finished he was fuming. Wincing at the pain in his thigh he limped back to Simon. ‘Done it. Do I get summat to eat now?’
‘Let’s see.’ Simon took him by the ear and hung onto it during the inspection of the entire row of stables. ‘All right, well done.’ He let go of Nat’s ear. ‘You can have something to eat.’
Nat trailed after him into the tack room, where they had first been introduced. ‘Mr Smellie’s done a good job,’ he shouted to the others who were busy polishing harnesses and carrying out various other chores. ‘He’s going to have some dinner.’ He steered Nat towards an upturned box on which was a knife and fork and a plate. The plate bore two horse turds.
Nat felt the anger boil up inside him. An audience had gathered to watch. Simon was chortling good-naturedly. ‘Don’t get mad, it were only a joke!’
Nat aimed a kick at Simon’s groin. The young man’s legs crumpled and his eyes almost popped out of his head as he fell to his knees with a gasp. Nat was about to aim another kick, this time at his head, but Michael ran forth, caught the leg and tripped him. ‘You little bastard!’ The others grabbed him too and pulled him to his feet. One of them tried to clutch his hair, but finding it too short grabbed his ear instead.
‘What did you do that f
or?’
‘I’ll kill you!’ spluttered Nat, lashing out with his feet as Simon’s agonized face only now came up off the floor. The victim remained on his knees, clutching his groin.
‘It was a joke!’ Michael repeated Simon’s explanation. ‘We do it to every new boy.’
‘You don’t fucking do it to me!’ hissed Nat.
‘You maungy little get!’ The youths’ defensive attitude changed suddenly. One of them grabbed the horse droppings from the plate and shoved them into Nat’s face, grinding them into his skin. ‘You’d better find yourself a sense of humour if you want to work with us. Now get lost, before we tell Mr Wood what you’ve done to Simon.’ Michael gave Nat a shove. ‘That temper’ll get you nowhere.’
Nat turned his back on them and strode away, wiping the horse manure from his cheeks. Much as he fumed over the parting words he knew they were right: temper would get him nowhere. He must be as calm and calculated as his tormentors. The swines! Just when he had the chance of a new life there was always someone ready to spoil it for him.
During the afternoon, which he spent lying low, he imagined ways in which he might get even. Simon’s temper cooled before Nat’s. When the latter emerged from his hiding place in order to cure his hunger, Simon called to him, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Nat under his breath.
Simon did not hear. ‘Come and have something to eat, you must be famished – something proper this time.’ When Nat ignored this he started coaxing, ‘Come on! I didn’t mean it, honest.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ Nat remained sullen.
‘All right, don’t believe me then, but I’m off for my tea, so you might as well come too ’cause there’ll be nowt else till breakfast.’ Simon disappeared round the side of the building.
Nat struggled with his hunger for the next few minutes then, hating his own weakness, wandered in the same direction. When he came around the corner Simon had already gone inside up the stairs to the lads’ living quarters. Nat paused at the bottom of the steps, then ascended. His workmates were already at the wooden table helping themselves from the huge pan of stew that Mrs Wood had sent over, as she did most nights. ‘Fetch that chair up.’ Mouth full, Michael pointed with his fork.
Nat had taken in the situation very quickly. All appeared normal. Grabbing the chair he swung it over to the table and sat down. ‘Help yourself.’ One of the others, Nat couldn’t remember his name, handed over the ladle. Nat wasted no time in filling his plate. Michael threw him a knife and fork.
‘Ah!’ As if remembering something he should have done, Simon took a mouthful of bread and left the table. Nat was already shovelling meat and carrots into his mouth as Simon returned. ‘You’ll want some dumplings with your stew, Nat.’ He threw two round objects onto Nat’s plate, showering the others with gravy and drawing forth howls of complaint. Nat stopped eating and fixed his eyes to the plate where two horse turds sat amongst the meat and vegetables.
‘I told you he’d fall for it again! They’re all bloody thick!’ Simon led the communal laughter, then pointed at Nat. ‘That’ll teach you to kick me in the balls, you little arsewipe.’
Nat put his hands to the underside of the plate and hurled it upwards to roars of objection and much dodging of gravy. He charged from the room, clattered down the staircase and out into the freezing night.
Half an hour in that cold told him he would never see the morning if he stayed here, but he could not share a room with those swines, he just couldn’t. Perhaps if he knocked at the door of Mr Wood’s house… after a moment he made towards it, but when he arrived he could not lower himself to beg for mercy. Instead he leaned against the wall, clutching his arms around his shivering frame.
The door opened. A woman hurried out to the midden pile, looking startled when she saw him. Her booming voice drew attention that he would rather not have had. ‘What’re you doing out here, love?’ It was Mrs Wood, whom he had met on his arrival, a countrified type with red cheeks and a mob-cap. She was taller than her husband, her bright blue eyes on a level with Nat’s. He did not answer. ‘Oh, them boys been pulling your leg, have they?’ She gave a knowing smile. Her teeth were like those of a horse.
You soft old bitch, thought Nat. The contempt must have shown on his face, but Mrs Wood chose to ignore it. ‘What did they do?’
‘They put horseshit in my food.’
‘Oy! Don’t you use language like that in front o’ my wife!’ Mr Wood had been listening through the open door and now rushed out to deal Nat a hard blow.
Nat flushed. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled to Mrs Wood, rubbing his ear. ‘I forgot where I was.’
‘Well, that’ll be the last time or I’ll give you something you won’t forget!’ The diminutive Wood was furious.
‘Norman!’ boomed Mrs Wood, and laid a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. ‘The boy’s said he’s sorry.’ She turned to Nat. ‘So you haven’t had any tea?’
‘I haven’t had anything since breakfast,’ complained Nat.
‘Aw!’ Mrs Wood turned to frown at her husband.
‘I asked if he were hungry when he arrived! If he’s too daft to say yes then what can he expect?’ Mr Wood went back into the house.
‘Well, you’ll not get much work from him if you don’t feed him!’ Mrs Wood took Nat’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s get you summat warm – eeh, these hands, they’re frozen!’ She rubbed them between her own rough palms. ‘Good job we don’t expect you to milk cows.’
Nat was too hungry and cold to feel any gratitude towards Mrs Wood, but later with a bowl of untainted stew inside him he tendered a half smile in recognition of her charity.
‘Were it good?’ asked his employer’s wife.
‘Aye. Thanks.’ Contented, Nat remained in his chair.
‘Well, don’t just sit there!’ For the past twenty minutes Mr Wood had kept throwing Nat black looks from his seat at the kitchen fireside. ‘You’ve had summat to eat, now go back where you belong wi’ t’others.’
Nat balked at the idea of spending the evening with his tormentors. ‘I were going to wash t’pots.’ He directed his offer at Mrs Wood, knowing she would be more receptive.
‘Eh, you’ve found a good un here!’ she cried to her husband, her great teeth flashing. ‘What a nice lad! There’s no need, though, I have Betty to help me.’
Nat was swift. ‘I’ll do ’em with Betty then. You sit yourself down.’
‘Oh, I’ll not argue!’ Mrs Wood joined her husband at the fireside while Nat proceeded to clear the table and take the pots to the scullery.
The washing up delayed his return to the bunk room by only half an hour, but at least it gave him a chance to get warm before crossing the yard. Not to mention that whilst Betty wasn’t looking he was able to take a sharp knife and a piece of cake from the larder. When he left the cake was in his stomach and the knife in his pocket.
There were many sarcastic taunts to endure before the other lads grew bored and undressed for bed. Nat forced himself to be calm. Retaliation would wait. Slowly the noise of coughing and farting from his room-mates ceased, until only the growl of Michael’s snoring prevented Nat from making his move.
‘For God’s sake, shut up!’ Tom threw a boot at Michael. The latter moaned, turned over, and silence was resumed. Nat lay tense and waiting. After what was probably half an hour he lifted his head and looked round the dormitory. All were still. Knife in one hand, blanket over the other arm, he rose from his straw pallet and crept towards the nearest bed – Simon’s – where he halted and glared down at the occupant. You piece of shit – he gripped the handle of the knife and directed it at the unconscious youth – you think you’re it, don’t you? But one cut, just one and you’re nowt. Anger made the blade jerk. Goodbye, horsefucker.
Nimble of step, Nat took to the stairs and was out into the night. Putting the knife between his teeth he took the two ends of the blanket and knotted it round his throat like a cape. Prompted by devilment, h
e headed for the stables. Remembering which of the horses were most compliant when he had cleaned their stables today he chose only these. The knife was well chosen too. In no time at all the deed was done. The last victim turned a bemused face to examine the remains of her tail. With the resulting pile of horsehair transferred to a sack, the marauder embarked on the road to York. Cloaked in his blanket, Nat laughed with delight as he pictured Simon’s discovery of the mutilated nags and his consequent explanation to his employer.
8
‘Well I never did, we’ve got a royal visitor!’ Mrs Maguire responded to the knock on her door and pulled a shivering Nat along the passage. ‘Away to the fire darlin’! Sure, what in God’s name is this you’re wearing?’ She tweaked the blanket that Nat clutched around himself. ‘Stinks to high heaven.’
Mr Maguire was there too, obviously preparing for work. ‘An’ what’re ye doing here? Didn’t ye say the fella at this school had found you a job?’
Nat’s teeth were chattering. He hunched over the fire near Granny Maguire, whose spoon was precariously raised and lowered over the bowl of porridge on her lap. ‘Changed his mind.’
‘And have they just let y’out then?’ Maguire looked at the clock. ‘Jesus, couldn’t they wait to get rid of ye? Tis only twenty to six. Have ye had breakfast?’
Nat shook his head.
‘Downright inhuman – get him something to eat!’ Mr Maguire ordered his wife, then pulled his dangling braces over his shoulders and shrugged himself into a jacket. ‘I’ll have to go or I’ll be late for work. See you tonight, Nat.’ Donning his hat, topcoat and scarf he grabbed his lunchcan and left.
‘Ye can’t keep doing this, Nat,’ reproved Mrs Maguire, doling out some porridge, then wiping Granny’s mouth and divesting her of the empty bowl.
‘I’ll pay for my keep.’ Nat pushed aside the blanket to dig into his pocket.
‘Sure I wasn’t referring to money – God in Heaven, where did ye get all that anyway?’ Mrs Maguire’s mouth had fallen open at the number of coins he laid on the table.
Shoddy Prince Page 19
