Bright tutted, but excitement was rising and it was with great anticipation that mother and daughter set off towards town for the royal event. They took a horse tram to Fishergate. In addition to the usual advertisements for Zebra Grate Polish and Grimbles Vinegar the vehicle was adorned with red, white and blue pennants and both decks were crammed with royalists. Bright had not been amongst so many people for a long time, their sweating bodies pressed in on her inviting a flutter of alarm. What had started as a delightful afternoon threatened to be ruined by an irrational panic which ebbed and flowed within her mind. But with the help of Oriel’s distracting chatter, sanity triumphed. When the Prince of Wales appeared Bright cheered and waved with the daughter she loved, blissfully unaware that somewhere in the throng was another person who was close to her heart.
17
Nat had that very day arrived back in York, dulled of spirit and virtually penniless. Unwilling to rob, for the memory of prison was still raw in his mind, he had sought work in Liverpool to provide money for a train ticket home, but no one would take him. So, at the risk of being arrested for vagrancy he had set off to walk, relying on food from the Salvation Army. He could not explain why he had come back here. It was certainly not to marry Bright, for he still had nothing to offer her. However, the intense urge to see her and the child had lured his feet to his birthplace, and a city he knew well was as good a place as any to start earning his living.
The sight of those familiar narrow streets lined with bunting pulled him up sharp as he limped into town. How would he stand this cramped environment after the big skies of Canada? Well… it was too late now. The soles of his boots were almost worn through and his feet throbbed. He leaned against a wall to relieve the weight on them and also to get his bearings. A stray dog nosed him. He bent to deliver a pat. ‘They’ve heard I’m coming and put the flags out,’ he told it, then issued a bitter laugh and walked on.
Hungry and exhausted, he elbowed a bad-tempered passage through the crowds that lined the streets, jostling past vendors with their bundles of Union Jacks, strings of balloons and cheap souvenirs. All this was obviously in aid of a royal visit, but just which member of royalty this was he was in no mood to find out. Above the roof-line the Minster towered from every viewpoint, an overbearing symbol of Christianity. Eager to escape from all these people, he turned down Fossgate, heading for the dosshouse. Nothing had changed here. The bridge on which he had played as a boy was just as he had left it, and he paused to look down upon the scum-laden water. Did Bright still live over there behind the Three Cups? The way he remembered her was as she had been as a young girl, but now she would be a woman of twenty. He could have passed her in that crowd back there and not even recognized her, nor she him. That was just as well. He had no wish to present himself in these dire straits. How tantalizing to know that under her floorboards lay an irretrievable cache. Walking on, he glanced through the archway that led to Bright’s home – and almost collided with Martin Maguire.
For a second Bright’s sibling did not know him and laughingly apologized. Then he peered more closely into the young weatherbeaten face and an expression of loathing flooded those Maguire features. Without a word he brought his knee up into Nat’s groin. His surprised victim crumpled and fell like a stone to the ground, eyes bulging, feeling as if his genitals had been rammed right up into his throat. Expecting to be kicked, he rolled his agonized body into a foetal position, but Martin grabbed him by the jacket, half hauled him to his knees and beat a rapid tattoo on his face. Only when he was out of breath and enough blood had been drawn to his satisfaction did Martin speak.
‘That’s for my father!’ he panted, shoving back his hair. ‘And don’t think that’s the end of it cause my brothers’ll want a go too!’ He walked off, leaving Nat slumped on the pavement, still choking on his own genitals.
None of the passers-by cared enough to ask if he needed assistance, taking a wide detour around his filthy bloodstained body. Eventually, his testicles descended to their rightful place, enabling him to stagger to his feet and onwards to the dosshouse.
The next few days were spent draped over the line alongside tramps and other misfortunates, though his time here was far from unproductive. He set himself targets. By the end of the week he would be out of here and into respectable lodgings. By the end of the year he would be in a house of his own and married to Bright. The beating from Martin was understandable but it had only succeeded in making Nat more determined to see her when his finances improved. During the long voyage home he had had much time to ponder on his future. There were two roads from which to choose. Out of childish pique he could question the reason in trying to make an honest living when things always went wrong whatever he tried to do. Or he could choose the other road, do everything within the law, put not one foot out of place so that they had no excuse to imprison him again. That was easier said than done. For a start no one would employ him; anyway, he had no desire to be treated like a slave. He would do this on his own, start at the bottom and work his way up as he had tried to do before Denzil’s madness had got them all locked away. He wondered briefly over the lunatic’s whereabouts, then tried to put him out of his mind. That was one relationship which was definitely over. This time no one was going to spoil it for him, least of all Nat himself.
Once recovered from the assault, the young rag and bone merchant launched himself upon the city with a vigour that would have surprised his old masters at Industrial School. Beginning shortly after six he combed the riverbanks and gutters for any resaleable item. Then, when folk were up and about he would call out, ‘Ra-bo! Hen ho Ra-bo!’, knocking on doors all over the city and beyond its boundaries until seven or eight in the evening, or until his vocal cords gave out. At nightfall he would sort through his haul, picking out the best cotton and wool which he would sell to a man who took it to the mills at Bradford to be recycled into shoddy. In a matter of months he had saved enough to purchase a horse and cart, which allowed him to dispense with the man and take the stuff to Bradford himself. His call became well known in York. Children began to refer to him as Shoddy Nat, and would prance after his cart apeing his shout until, more out of fun than anger, he would leap down and cry, ‘Gurt yer!’ making them scream and run, much to their delight.
* * *
Such was his hard work and enterprise that by the following year Nat had the house he had promised himself and found that as well as storage space he could also afford to hire a boy who would collect rags for him on the day that he himself was in Bradford. Unfortunately, he was to discover that the boy was a crook. Returning earlier than expected one evening from the West Riding he disturbed his employee handing over a bundle of rags to another youth.
The one he did not know managed to flee, but Nat grabbed his employee and twisted his arm behind his back. ‘What’s this, one for you and one for me?’
‘Aagh! They’re only rags, Mr Prince!’ Arm at dislocation point the boy stood on tiptoe in an attempt to escape the agony.
‘Which I pay you to collect for me, not some other tow-rag!’
‘It’s a lot of hard work for sixpence!’ The boy’s face was contorted.
‘It’s even harder picking oakum for nowt! Ungrateful little… after I gave you a job an’ all!’ Nat released him with a shove. ‘D’you want me to call the law? No? Well then, just get out of my sight, you’re sacked.’
‘Can’t trust any bugger,’ he told his horse as he locked his warehouse for the night. ‘Now I’ll have to waste time looking for another lad.’
He was still annoyed when he went to bed, fuming over the boy’s ingratitude. Stop it, he told himself, or you’ll never sleep. Think of something else. He turned over and thumped his pillow. It had been such a good day too. Why had that little runt had to spoil it? I said, think of something different! All right, what is there? By, this is a lovely bed. He wriggled into its comfortable mattress. All it needs to improve it is a female body lying on that side. But the type of female with whom Nat h
ad been acquainted over the last few years would never be allowed in this bed. That place was reserved for another. So, when are you going to see her, then, he asked himself? Didn’t you promise yourself that when your financial state improved you’d return to brave her family’s wrath? He had a good business, a nice comfortable house and with people always ready to discard their old rubbish he had great prospects. Why delay? Because I don’t fancy another thumping, that’s why. But you don’t have to go to the house, you could wait for her in the street. He sighed. No, I’ll have to go and face Mr and Mrs Maguire, otherwise how am I going to spend the rest of my married life avoiding them? Get it over with. I will. Tomorrow… no, I can’t, I have to see that bloke tomorrow about… and his train of thought moved away from Bright. When he fell asleep he had forgotten about her.
In the morning, though, after he had eaten breakfast and sat with his cup of tea planning the day ahead, a tap, tap tapping interrupted his thoughts. Curious, he stood and looked out of the window into the back yard. A thrush was endeavouring to produce its own breakfast from a snail shell, using a brick as its anvil. Nat watched the speckled bird and was immediately reminded of Bright. You have to go and see her, face them. It’s now or never, he goaded himself. Gulping down the last of his tea he washed and dried his pots before making himself more presentable by means of a shave. Luckily he had just received his shirts back from the laundry. Grabbing a collar, he fixed it round his neck and then donned a tie. With his jacket on and his hair brushed he stood to attention before the mirror. Oh yes, very presentable. But the face that looked back at him was less confident, and his stomach had begun to churn. Blaming it on the bacon, he left the house and set out on foot for the Maguire residence.
On the way he purchased a bunch of narcissi from a barefooted flowergirl, rather by way of a peace offering than any show of thoughtfulness. There was yet a lot of black garb on the streets as a mark of respect for the old Queen who had died earlier in the year. Nat had barely noticed the passing of an era, so involved was he with his own life. The acid in his stomach bubbled and scalded as he stood before the Pig Market, urging himself to go in. What’s the matter with you? You’re smart, you’re quite well off, you’ve got a lot to offer her… but what if she’s married to somebody else? The idea hit him like a sledgehammer. He hadn’t really thought about that before. Well, you’re not going to find out by dawdling here. Flowers held aloft and heart thumping, he strode to the Maguires’ door and knocked.
It just had to be Martin who answered. Seeing Nat on his doorstep he went wild, but this time Nat was prepared for the blow and instead of resigning himself he dropped the flowers and grappled with Martin, each shouting and cursing at the other.
‘I want to see her!’ grunted Nat into the bigger man’s shoulder as the other tried to crush him with a bearhug.
‘Well, you can’t!’ Still clasping him, Martin lashed out with his boots whilst Nat hopped around to avoid them, the narcissi crushed underfoot. Other Maguires, hearing the uproar, rushed out to witness their crude choreography.
‘Stop! Stop! Mind his lovely suit!’ howled Mrs Maguire as her other sons joined in, grabbing Nat and pulling him away from their brother, but only in order to punch him themselves. It had been trial enough to stand up to a man who was ten years older, but now with three of them at him Nat didn’t stand a chance.
‘Go inside, Mam!’ ordered Martin, his face dark with authority. ‘We’ll settle this.’
‘Oh, don’t hurt the lad!’ Mrs Maguire was pulled inside by her daughter Mary, spared the sight of the viciousness that was inflicted upon Nat until he was forced to cry out, ‘All right! All right, I’ll go!’ Dribbling blood, his clothes all ruined, he fended off his attackers with upraised palms.
‘He’s had enough, Martin,’ Patrick warned his brother, who seemed bent on delivering more violence.
‘I thought he’d had enough the last time!’ spat Martin. ‘I’ve a good mind to finish him altogether.’
‘Whoa now!’ The other two grabbed him. ‘What d’you mean the last time? He’s been here before?’
‘He has! But I said nought cause I’d no wish to upset Mam – and if he comes here again I’ll bloody well kill him!’ His violent finger almost perforated Nat’s chest.
Flinching, and cradling his ribcage, Nat backed out of the yard with the three brothers prowling after him. ‘I know you’re angry, and I can understand that!’ he panted, words emerging on a bubble of blood. ‘But I just wanted to say… I was sorry, and to see…’
‘Sorry?’ Martin’s face twisted and he kicked at a broken flower. ‘Jesus, you will be!’
‘If you won’t let me in will you just ask Bright to come out?’ There was desperation in Nat’s voice. ‘I need to talk to her…’
‘Get out o’ here! Why d’you think she’s hiding in the house? You think she wants to talk to you? Ye might as well be dead for all she cares. Get out, go on, get out! And don’t come back or I swear we’ll kill ye!’
‘Why didn’t ye just tell him she isn’t here?’ asked Patrick when Nat had limped away. ‘He might try again.’
‘Not him.’ Martin thrust out his chest. ‘He’s not that brave.’ He led the way back to the house.
‘Oh, Christ, look at this!’ He pointed to Nat’s blood on his shirt. ‘I’ll have to get changed and be late for bloody work – Mam! Mam! Have I got a clean shirt?’
* * *
Nat’s recovery from his beating took longer this time, not simply because of the physical wounds but also the painful knowledge that Bright had severed their friendship. On reflection it was what he had expected in the first place. He had after all let her down. It was just so devastating to realize that he had not a friend in the world. Throughout everything he had always been able to depend on Bright, or at least on her memory, and now she was gone.
This rejection could have led him to ditch his ambition too – what had been the purpose of all this hard work if not for her? Don’t kid yourself, his inner voice urged. You were doing it for your own self esteem as much as to win her; there’s no reason why you should give it all up now. After all, ambition is the only thing you have left. Look at it another way, there’re plenty of women out there who’re much wealthier and more handsome than Bright – why, she could have changed an awful lot since you last saw her, could have become really ugly, you might run a mile if you saw her! True… but she’s got my kid. This led to a bout of paranoia. Maybe she didn’t want to see him because she regarded him as a bad influence on the child! Well, he’d see about that. She couldn’t keep it hidden from him forever.
Again the voice censured: Don’t waste your time! Get on with your life – and you can start by replacing that boy you sacked! Nat nodded to himself, knowing from experience how unhealthy it was to sit and brood. The rejection hurt deeply but he would get over it, and one day Bright would read in the newspapers how rich he had become and would be sorry she had not waited for him.
* * *
Britain’s argument with South Africa dragged on into another year, but for Nat who had a vested interest they could continue blowing each other apart for as long as they liked. War meant guns; guns meant scrap metal. Although finding iron these days was as difficult as panning for gold, the rewards were just as lucrative and Nat was one of the few who did not join the street celebrations when the Boers were defeated.
During the summer of 1902 his business continued to grow, expanding from rags and scrap and shoddy into money-lending and other spheres. Remembering how in childhood he had exchanged crusts for favours, he now employed a similar tactic, showing willingness to do someone a good turn if the deed were reciprocated – and just in case it happened to slip any recipient’s memory he entered the names of all who were beholden to him in a book, to be amassed like coins in a bank account until he himself required a favour and hauled in the debt.
It was as he went to retrieve one such debt on a grey June morning that he encountered the big lumbering frame of Spud Cato as
both walked in opposite directions past the site of a razed church in Pavement. The man recognized him instantly. ‘Nat! How’re you doing?’
Nat, though reluctant to waste time, felt obliged to pass a few moments with his old pal. ‘I’m all right now this bloody downpour’s stopped.’ An electrical storm through the night had brought teeming rain, making the gutters flow like miniature rivers and the air heavy with the smell of electricity and damp earth.
‘Aye, we seem to have had nowt but rain lately, don’t we? Eh! Have you heard t’King’s badly? He’s got lumbago. Me mam gets that, you know.’
‘Aye? He mebbe caught it off her then.’
Spud never was one for irony. ‘I don’t think it’s catching, is it?’
Nat could not think of anything to say, looking around whilst trying to conjure up a topic. Someone had forgotten to remove a Union Jack after the Boer War celebrations. It had obviously been outside the shop for weeks and was filthy with soot, the bedraggled linen flapping half-heartedly from its short pole. ‘So how long’ve you been out, Spud?’
The lumpen face reproved. ‘You’re on dangerous ground there, seeing as it was you who put me in.’
Nat was quick to acquaint Spud with the truth. ‘It wasn’t me who ratted! Noel’s father guessed it was us and sent them to arrest me. Bright – you know the lass I used to live with – she fingered Denzil thinking she was helping me. You know me, I’d never have dropped anybody in it.’ Spud nodded acceptance. ‘Oh well, it’s all water under t’bridge. Come and have a drink in t’Bird and Babby, just to show there’s no hard feelings.’ He jabbed his thumb at the nearest public house.
‘Can’t, I have to see a bloke who’s gonna put a bit of work my way.’
Spud looked glum and rammed his hands into his pockets. ‘Can he find a job for me while he’s at it?’
Shoddy Prince Page 41
