‘Haven’t you worked since you came out?’
The big man shook his head and looked so despondent that Nat agreed to pass half an hour with him. ‘How come you can afford to go for a drink, then?’
The dullard managed to produce a crafty grin. ‘I can’t – I were hoping you’d buy ’em, you’re looking very prosperous in your top hat.’ Nat laughed and went with him. Outside the Eagle and Child a crippled war veteran held up his mug. Nat might normally have walked past him, but as he wanted to parade his affluence before Spud he donated a coin, then retired into the public house.
Spud wrapped his large hand round the pint pot and took a grateful drink. ‘Me laddo wasn’t out long before he went back inside.’
‘Who, Denzil?’ Nat licked the froth from his upper lip, then dried it with the back of his hand.
‘Aye.’ Spud grimaced. ‘In fact I’m surprised to see you looking so fit. He made no secret of wanting your balls.’
‘Aye, they seem to be a very popular line. If I had more than two of ’em I could start a thriving business.’ Nat took another drink, savouring the bitterness on the back of his tongue. ‘I was in Canada when he was due out.’
‘Canada?’ Spud was impressed. ‘How come?’
‘Oh, it’s a long story. It’ll have to keep for another time.’ Nat returned to the subject of Denzil. ‘Why did he get sent back inside?’
‘Stabbed a bloke and his dog,’ replied Spud. ‘He’s fucking mad is that one. He’ll have you if he sees you. You and that poncey Noel and that tart o’ yours.’
Nat realized with a jolt that he did not like to hear Bright referred to in that manner. ‘Haven’t seen either of ’em for years.’
‘No, me neither. I see old Gunner now and then.’ He emptied his pot, then watched the last dregs of foam slide down to the bottom. ‘Eh, I heard ol’ Rodge got out a couple o’ months back. I haven’t seen him though. Think he lives in Sheffield now, married a lass from there.’
‘It’ll be warm in Sheffield then,’ joked Nat. ‘Hang on, I’ll just have to disappear for a minute, Lady Smith wants relieving.’ He rose. ‘Here, go get yourself another pint while I’m gone. No, don’t get me one, I’ll have to be away soon.’
When he came back from answering the call of nature, Spud had only just been served. He sat down again to watch the big frame shamble from the bar with another foaming pot. For a time the ex-gang members swapped reminiscences, then Nat asked, ‘Are you married, Spud?’
‘No. I’ve got me mother to feed me and plenty of lasses to go with. Anyway, I can’t afford it. You?’
Nat shook his head. ‘No, I’m too young and beautiful to lumber meself with a wife. I’m happy enough on me own for the time being.’ He turned the topic to one of employment. ‘So, you were telling me you need a job… where are you thinking of looking?’
‘Dunno,’ Spud projected misery. ‘Work’s hard to get when you’ve been inside.’
Nat nodded in agreement and filed Spud away for future reference. ‘If I hear of anything where will I find you?’
The other disclosed his address. ‘I’m at home a lot these days – thanks, Nat.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’ll have to rush now, Spud. Nice to see you. Bye!’ When Nat left the public house he chastised himself for wasting time that could have been better used for earning money, when who should he bump into but a person who owed him some. ‘I haven’t forgotten, Nat!’ blurted the man, even before a request had been made.
‘Neither have I.’ Nat took out his notebook. ‘It’s been… exactly two months and three days.’ Though his tone was even, the look in his eye was enough to provoke nervousness.
The debtor hopped from foot to foot in an attempt to withdraw. ‘I’m in a bit of a rush now, but I promise you’ll have it by next Friday.’
Nat remained calm. ‘If you think you can afford another week’s interest, it’s no skin off my nose.’
‘Oh, hang on! I can’t pay you until this bloke pays me! He owes me a tenner for some work I did and he’s a bugger to catch…’
Nat cut him off with manufactured good humour. ‘Oh, if that’s the case I’ll go get the tenner for you, but I take the lot.’
‘I only owe you seven!’
‘By the time you can manage to pay the interest will’ve boosted it up to a tenner.’
‘Eh, that’s not right, you’re not having that much. I’ll go round and get it tonight and fetch it straight to you.’
Nat patted him. ‘You’ve just said this man is a bugger to catch. I know people like that meself. Don’t worry, I’ve got ways of dealing with them.’ He ducked back into the Eagle and Child, and shouted into the saloon.
There could be only one reason why the brute had been called upon. The man took one look at Spud and, fearing violence, mumbled to Nat, ‘All right, you take the tenner and we’re quits. Here’s his name and address.’
‘What did you want me for?’ asked a bemused Spud when the man had hurried away.
Nat answered with a question. ‘Want to earn yourself a quid? Go round to this address and collect the tenner that’s owed me.’ He handed over a bit of paper.
Spud’s pendant lips mouthed the address. ‘What if he won’t pay?’
‘Explain to him that I inherited the debt from Reg Sutcliffe. He’s under no obligation to pay it today, but interest will be twenty per cent for every week he doesn’t cough up. Speak to him politely, we don’t want any nastiness. If all else fails then you can kick his head in.’
‘What if I decide to keep the tenner once I’ve got it?’ ventured Spud.
Nat lifted one of his black eyebrows. ‘If you want to burn your boats, lad, I can’t stop you.’ Spud had always been physically stronger. ‘But then again, if you want to make a regular job of it…’ The other was keen to insist that he had only been joking and asked to hear the deal. ‘I might have a few more addresses for you to visit. I’ll give you ten per cent of everything you collect. Deal?’
Spud gasped acceptance. Even if the ten per cent on offer only amounted to a pound this lackwit could never hope for a better opportunity. The two shook hands on it.
‘Good! Well, you might as well start now and save me a job.’ Nat tore a page from his notepad and handed it over. ‘Each time you make a collection tick the name off the list. I don’t want anybody accusing me of extortion.’ With a grinning salute, his henchman departed.
* * *
The King’s lumbago was to manifest itself as acute appendicitis, thereby postponing his coronation, but Nat’s mind was far from such matters. The meeting with his old acquaintance that day had given him an idea for casting his nets into deeper waters. This required a visit to George Rex, the landlord from whom he had once rented accommodation, and the enquiry if Rex had any trouble from his tenants over payment of rent.
The other laughed at the lack of preamble – Nat was still on the doorstep. ‘Aye, I do as a matter of fact. Why, thinking of going into property yourself and come for advice? I can tell you now, it’s not worth it.’
Nat shook his head. ‘No, on t’contrary I thought I might be able to help you. Can I come in?’
‘Aye, you’ve got me intrigued.’ Rex, a genial little man, let his visitor in, asked him to sit down and offered him a glass of port.
Nat accepted and after taking a sip wasted no time before proceeding. ‘So, tell me about these bad tenants…’
‘Scum,’ came Rex’s blunt response. ‘It makes me laugh how people are always going on about landlords being ogres, I could tell them a thing or two about some of the tenants I’ve had…’
‘Tell me then.’ Nat crossed his legs, resting ankle on knee.
‘Well, there were this one bloke…’ Rex narrated one tale after another about those who had cheated him. Nat listened in silence, allowing the man his head. ‘You should see the state some of them leave the place in when they move on!’ exclaimed Rex. ‘That’s if you’re lucky enough to get rid of ’em. I’ve been stuck with one family
for years. They only pay when they feels like it.’
‘Why don’t you just throw ’em out?’ Nat assumed he was stating the obvious but the other man seemed to view this as a revelation.
‘I couldn’t do that!’ Rex gulped his port and reached for the decanter.
‘Why not?’
‘Well,’ the man was nonplussed, ‘I’m not exactly built for it, am I? And the police aren’t interested, I tried them once. Anyway, even if I could throw one lot out I might get another that’s as bad.’
‘So you’re happy to fork out good money on repairing your own property for them to destroy again, whilst others decide whether or not they’re going to pay you this week.’
‘I’m not happy, no, but—’
‘What puzzles me is, how could you afford to buy those houses and fill them with people who won’t pay?’
Rex was quick to explain the anomaly. ‘Oh, I didn’t buy them! Nay, they were bequeathed to me by my father.’
Nat’s response came out as an accusation: ‘So everything that your father built up, you’re prepared to fritter it through your fingers. You’d rather sit here knocking back that stuff,’ he had noticed that Rex was fond of his port. ‘Not much of a businessman are you, George?’ Before the other could respond Nat shook his head. ‘It’s a crying shame and if I had the money myself I’d buy those houses of yours.’ He meant it. How infuriating that a sop like George could be handed such riches on a plate and was too weak to keep them. ‘But I haven’t got the money and all I can do is to offer what help I can. How much are you owed in back rent?’
Rex looked awkward and bent his face to his glass. ‘I’m not sure.’
Nat sighed and shook his head in rebuke, then put forward his deal. ‘Let me take charge and I’ll soon have your rents coming in regularly plus all the money you’re owed.’
‘I might not be good at making money,’ smirked the other, ‘but I’m not daft – how much?’
‘Twenty-five per cent.’
‘Nothing doing!’ George Rex banged down his glass.
‘Think about this carefully, George. Get yourself a bit of paper and calculate what you’re getting every week at the moment, right? Then work out how much less you’d be getting if you accepted my offer. I can tell you the answer right now. You wouldn’t be getting less, you’d be getting much more. Even after I’ve taken my cut you’ll be a damned sight richer than you are now. Seventy-five per cent of something is a lot more than a hundred per cent of nowt, and you wouldn’t have the worry over whether you were going to get paid next week. I’d be worrying about all that.’
Rex was thoughtful. ‘How…’ He stopped.
‘How do you know you can trust me?’ provided Nat.
‘No, I didn’t mean – well, yes. You could collect all this money I’m owed and I might never see you again.’
Nat sighed. ‘That’s why I’m the businessman and you’re not, George. It would be a bit silly of me to throw away a regular income for the sake of a quick haul, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose it would,’ Rex agreed.
Nat had not finished. ‘And if I wanted to throw money away it’d be a lot easier just to let you continue as you’ve been doing all along. You’ve had plenty of practice.’
Rex accepted that he was no entrepreneur. ‘I still say it’s a lot, though. What about, say, twenty per cent?’
It was difficult for Nat to prevent a look of amazement from crossing his face. He had only expected to end up with half this amount! Forcing himself to sound grudging, he heaved his chest. ‘If that’s all you think I’m worth then I have to accept. Give us a list of your debtors then, George. The sooner I start the sooner you’ll have your brass.’
Pleased with himself, the slightly-built Rex went to a davenport and handed over a notebook.
Nat rippled through the pages. ‘Not very good at bookwork either, are you, George? Never mind, I’ll go through it tonight and work out who owes you what.’
‘How will you go about collecting it?’ enquired Rex.
‘Don’t you worry about how and when, George, you’re paying me to do that now.’ Nat pocketed the book.
‘Well, good luck, you’ll need it,’ offered Rex as his visitor left.
Nat was not so much relying on luck to persuade Rex’s tenants to part with their cash as on the more tangible threat of Spud, to whom he delegated responsibility for collection of the debts, with the offer of a similar rate as before. He himself consolidated the success he had enjoyed with Rex by inviting other landlords to join the scheme. Some already had debt collectors of their own. Others showed a willingness to participate but offered a far lower cut than Rex had done. However, any percentage was welcome to Nat, whose only exertion was in counting the money when Spud had collected it. If he had any reservation at all it was in promising to pay his henchman a cut of the takings rather than a weekly wage, for when Rex’s debts were eventually hauled in they provided a considerable sum. Even allowing for the fact that this had taken a couple of months to accumulate, it meant that Spud had averaged a weekly wage of ten pounds! Nat could have had his services for a quarter of this and his friend would have counted himself a rich man. But however much it irked him he had made a bargain and he must stick to it.
For a time the debts were recovered without violence, but this brought its setbacks. One or two of the debtors began to call Spud’s bluff and were now proving obstreperous. The purse that arrived on Nat’s desk this Friday evening was lighter than he had come to expect. ‘I can get it,’ Spud reassured him, ‘but I’ll need somebody with me.’
His employer did not particularly like having to resort to violence himself. ‘Well, don’t look at me. I’m not paying you and doing the job meself.’
Spud allowed his lower lip to droop, unsure of what to do.
Nat provided the answer. ‘If you need help you’d better hire it.’
The other was dumbfounded – he had never envisaged himself as an employer. ‘Can I do that?’
‘Do what you like, you’ll be paying him out of your cut.’
‘Oh…’
‘Well, you don’t expect me to fork out when you’re the one who can’t handle it?’
‘No, no, it’s just…’ Spud grinned. ‘If I pay this bloke would I be his boss?’
Nat marvelled at the stupidity of one who took delight in giving away money. ‘As long as you can keep him in line. I won’t be held responsible if he gets too rough, nor for anything you do, come to that.’
‘How much do I pay him?’
‘As little as he’ll accept,’ advised Nat.
So, Spud hired an assistant at a rate of two pounds per week, the debts continued to flow in, Nat took his percentage without having to lift a finger and everyone was happy with the arrangement.
Encouraged by the success of his new venture, Nat continued to purchase books of debts and collect rents until his improved finances allowed him to bring another of his many ideas to fruition, at which point he approached George Rex again. ‘Rather than paying me a percentage to get your money every week, why don’t you sell one of your houses to me? That one in Huntington Road. I’ll give you a fair price for it.’
‘How much?’ was the abrupt demand.
‘Two hundred.’
‘Two-fifty.’
‘Done.’ Nat had been prepared to pay four hundred.
‘You can buy the others for that price if you want,’ offered the delighted vendor who owned three more properties.
‘I can’t afford them yet,’ answered Nat, ‘but if the offer holds good in a year’s time I think we can strike a bargain.’
In his new capacity of landlord, Nat visited his property. It was a big house, far too big for the two eccentric old bachelors who lived in it. With a little enterprise he could separate it into apartments and get four times as much rent. With no qualms he gave the old men notice to quit. When they ignored his request and barricaded themselves inside he dispatched Spud and his friend to visit. ‘You can
do what you like, within reason, but if you get too rough you’re on your own, understand?’
News of the eviction spread. Though Nat could not be accused of using violence himself it was well known that he employed others to do it, and so he began to adopt an aura of menace. He was happy to perpetuate this notoriety, enjoying the flash of fear that his sudden appearance would invoke in others, for he knew from experience that, apart from wealth, there was no greater power than fear.
18
The same hand of providence that averted a collision between Nat and Bright on the afternoon of that Royal visit was also to spare her through the ensuing five years, mainly because she was kept far too occupied at the old lady’s beck and call to venture into town.
During that five years Bright was also obliged to repeat the story of Oriel’s paternity over and over again, for the child’s tender years caused forgetfulness of the details.
‘Tell me the story of when you had me,’ she would beg when being tucked up at night.
‘But it always makes you cry!’ her mother would protest.
And the raven-haired child would snuggle under the covers and sigh, ‘I know, but I like it.’
So Bright would lie beside her daughter on top of the covers, take her hand, and in her soft half-Yorkshire, half-Irish brogue would once more repeat the tale whilst Oriel boo-hooed into her shoulder.
When not weeping for her mother’s tragic tale, nine-year-old Oriel was an extremely garrulous child who, despite Miss Bytheway’s attempts to contain her spoke with the fervency of an auctioneer.
Bright often found it a strain too. ‘Oriel darling, slow down,’ she would urge as her daughter tried to convey some new idea. ‘Finish your sentences – are ye thinking I’m a mind reader?’
But Oriel could not slow down, could not see why she should have to. Why couldn’t people speed up? Miss Bytheway was so slow and her mother was almost as bad.
The elderly spinster had almost reached her seventies and was of great concern to those who survived on her charity. With each day Miss Bytheway came nearer to death, and Bright to the threat of homelessness. She was ill yet again and the doctor had had to be called.
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