He left her in despair and to be alone went down to the lavatory. He bolted himself into the dark shed, sat down and put his head in his hands. He was trapped. He was in despair and anger growing all the time. He wanted to pay them all out — Keogh, Blakers, and that copper. That bastard plain-clothes creeper Merry who had lost him his job for nothing and brought all this upon him.
He could not stay at home for fear that Grace would ask questions about the supposed business in Dalston. He took to going out with Tommy Long once more but he did not take the reins. He sat at Tommy’s side in a brooding and withdrawn silence, vainly searching his mind for a plan to meet the new situation.
They were coming home on Tuesday evening when Tommy roused him with an “Oy!” Tommy flicked the loop of the rein towards the corner of Brick Lane. On the pavement was a group of men. None of them looked round but as the cart rattled past Dido saw that one of them was Keogh.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was fight or go under now. Dido no longer had even Chas. Alone he could scarcely hope to scatter his enemies again. He would be hunted down. His only chance was to defeat Keogh before the other had a chance to rally a fresh group of followers; to seek a fair meeting, man to man. Keogh was longer in the arm than Dido and three stone heavier but Dido was prepared to face him. It was the least perilous course.
Days went by without a move from Keogh. He was said to spend a lot of time in the Brick Lane pub, washing down the taste of prison with ale. He was apparently kept busy fetching and carrying for his wife who was laid up in bed. He had never been a bad chap to her by Jaggs Place standards. He did not appear in Rabbit Marsh. From the perch of Tommy’s cart Dido sometimes glimpsed him in the street but the enemies never came face to face.
Dido began to frequent “The Railway” of an evening. On his first visit he leaned up against the bar, choosing contrary to his custom a place next to a large group of drinkers. He called Tommy Long and ordered two pints. When they had sunk their first long draughts he asked Tommy in a voice that rose above the chatter, “What’s Keogh doin’ these days?”
“Boozin’,” Tommy said. “In Brick Lane.”
“’E ever say anything about me?”
There were listeners now. Tommy said, “’E keeps sayin’ ’e wouldn” like to be in your shoes, not when ’e’s done with you.”
“Well,” said Dido, “I got something to say to Keogh.” He turned to take in the listening group. “What I say to Keogh is, let ’im come and fight it out man to man.”
There were murmurs of approval. Dido said, “Strip to the waist. Bare fists. Make a ring to see fair play. If ’e gets me down ’e can kick me to mincemeat. No one’ll nark on ’im.” He looked around him. “Anyone sees Keogh or any of ’is pals, pass the word on. Fair fight, that’s my challenge.”
He knew that the news would spread fast. Nothing happened. Each night Dido repeated his challenge and broadcast taunts, which he knew would reach Keogh. “Let Keogh show he’s a man. Come without ’is mates. ’E’ll get fair play. If ’e don’t come he’s no man. ’E’ll be shown up for a charlie.”
But Keogh did not appear.
At dusk one Friday night he lingered at the stables. Tommy Long was still rubbing down the pony. Dido said, “Tommy, I got to get him out. It’s me only chance.”
“’E won’t be such a fool,” Tommy said. “’E’ll wait for you to make the first move.”
“Do something for me, Tommy,” Dido said. “Go an’ give Keogh a message.”
Tommy said, “What? Up that pub? They’d murder me.”
Dido said quietly, “If you don’t, Tommy, I will.”
“I thought you was my mate.”
“I thought you were mine.” Tommy went on wiping the pony’s back. “I never arst for trouble. Makin’ a crust, that’s my only business. You got your troubles, I got mine.”
“You live in this street,” Dido said. “What I say goes. Now listen. Never mind the pony. I’ll put ’im away. You go to that pub. Now. This is what you’re gonna say. Say, ‘Dido Peach’ll meet you half-way’.”
“’Alf-way?”
“That’s right.” Dido led the pony into the stable. When he came out he said, “Keogh won’t come to me. I’m not fool enough to go to ’im. Tell Keogh I’ll meet ’im half-way. On the corner of Brick Lane. No one at the back of either of us. We can both see if anyone else is comin’. ’E comes alone. I come alone. Tell ’im.”
Tommy said, “They’ll murder me.”
Dido ignored him. “Now listen carefully to this. Say it in front of the others. I want all ’is lot to know. Say, ‘Dido’s game. ’E wants to know if you are.’ Say, if you don’t come, Dido’ll put it all round Bethnal Green that Keogh is a charlie.”
Tommy said, “Oh, Gawd!”
Dido gave him a half-sovereign. “’Ere, I’m not askin’ you to risk your neck. Use your loaf. Go in there and say ’allo to Keogh. Tell ’im you don’t wanna be bad friends with no-one. Buy a round o’ drinks. Pick your moment, wait till they’re matey, then say you got this message. Tell ’em, no offence. This is just what Dido Peach said, it’s none o’ your business, you’re just passin’ it on. Then give Keogh the message.”
“An’ all I get,” Tommy said, ’is the change out of ’alf a sovereign.”
“There’s another ’alf-sovereign when you come back.”
“Gawd ’elp me,” Tommy said. “Why wasn’ I born somewhere else?”
“That’s what the Boers said in the Boer War. Go on, skedaddle.”
Tommy went off. Dido sat on a trestle by the sheds at the back of the yard. The housebacks of Rabbit Marsh loomed high in front of him. The rows of oblong windows glimmered with darkness or pale gaslight. Inside the rooms figures flitted to and fro and voices came to him. A train rattled by on the embankment behind him and its smoke rolled over the yard in a thick, choking cloud. The smoke dispersed. From a top floor he heard a baby crying, then from another house a burst of voices in raucous quarrel.
His gaze wandered back along the windows, then paused, on the nearest ground-floor window. It was the Barskys’ kitchen. Ornate lace curtains hung on either side, but in the space between them he glimpsed a scene that fascinated him.
The table, up against the window, was laid with a dazzling white cloth. In the centre of the table stood two brass candlesticks, polished to a high gleam. In them two tall candles burned with pure flames. Four places were set at the table, each place laid out with plates, patterns of cutlery and rolled napkins, like in films about rich people Dido had seen at the picture palace. There was a platter of fried fish and other dishes of food; and on a board in front of Barsky, an enormous plaited loaf of shining deep brown, fit for the centrepiece of a pastrycook’s window. Red wine in a tall bottle caught the candlelight in a ruby gleam and a full wineglass stood by each plate.
He was no less fascinated by the transformed appearance of the people who sat at table. Barsky’s wife wore a handsome dress of shiny black with a locket hanging by a fine gold chain round her neck. Her hair was done up in a pile of glossy curls like the Queen of England’s, and she sat upright like a queen. Barsky and the boys wore black serge suits, spotless shirts and ties, and small black skull-caps on their heads. The wife stood up, put her hands over her face and bowed a little to the candles, two or three times, as if she was praying; and then it looked as if Barsky was praying.
The sight aroused no train of thought in Dido. He was too sunk in his own dilemma. But he was held by vague wonderment. They were all raising their wine-glasses. Barsky was cutting the loaf, Dido knew these people but they looked like strangers; a tableau around the pure flames of candles.
“’Ere! — ’Ere, for Gawd’s sake!”
The voice broke into his reverie. Tommy was standing in front of him, arms out, flapping his hands helplessly. His hair was plastered in wet spikes, he was soaked from head to foot and his clothes were covered with horse dung. “Well,” Tommy said, “Well, are yer satisfied?”
Dido said, “They didn’t break any bones.”
“Not your fault they didn’t. They poured beer over me. Rolled me in the road. ’Cause you used my pony that time. I told ’em I didn’t know. Keogh said I’d a broke my neck if ’e thought I ’ad. This is what they call lettin’ me off light.”
Dido gave him a coin. “I’ll make it a sovereign. You never earned one so easy. Did you give ’im my message?”
“Yes I did.”
“Did ’e say anything?”
“Yes ’e bleet’n” well did.”
“What you waitin’ for? Another sovereign?”
“’E said there was no green in ’is eye. If you wanna fight ’im you can go up there. Up ’is pub. ’E’ll give you fair play. ’E says ’e’ll wait for you there. Then everyone can see ’oo’s charlie.”
Dido did not speak. Tommy said, “You goin’?”
“There’s no green in my eye, either,” Dido said.
Tommy limped away. Dido went to the mouth of the entry, made a precautionary survey of the pavement and of all the dark doorways, then walked rapidly home. He had offered fair play in good faith. He knew he would not receive it if he went to Keogh’s pub. The whole pack would set on him.
His only move had failed. He must live in peril. Yet when he lay in bed next to his sleeping wife, it was not his danger that occupied his mind. Unaccountably he kept seeing that tableau in candlelight framed by a window. It was like a vision of unknown people. It disturbed him. It awakened in him drifts of longing which he could not follow. It made him feel lost and sad, something that drew him but was infinitely out of reach behind the panes of glass. Then his mood changed and he went off to sleep half-wishing he had thrown a brick through the Barskys’ window.
October came. While Dido watched and waited he did not know that he was being watched. Inspector Merry had anticipated trouble from the day that Keogh returned to Jaggs Place. He could not keep a round-the-clock watch on the vicinity; that would be too much attention to give to a slum feud. The constables on the beat had instructions to keep their eyes open and each evening there was a plain clothes man strolling in the area until the two antagonists were safely in bed.
Merry kept on at the shopkeepers, to get evidence for his charge. It was clear to him that none of them would open his mouth without a lead from Blakers; and Blakers remained adamantly silent.
“Look arter me?” he had said at the close of Merry’s latest visit. “You’ll look arter me? It’s Number One you look arter, Mr Merry. With all due respect. And it’s Number One I look arter. Oh, I know what I know. And I know what you want. You’ll ’ear me soon enough if I need the law. Till then —” And he had closed an eye in a solemn wink.
Dido glimpsed Merry on the opposite pavement. He walked on in one direction and the detective in the other. Neither looked round. From the passage as Dido entered the house he heard his mother’s voice in a low grumbling monotone. He went into the kitchen. She was huddled on her chair by the dresser, hands in her lap. “I’m left with nothing,” she was saying. “It’s all gone to pieces. Everything I hoped for. Every one of my boys.”
She raised her eyes to see Dido but did not break off. He was looking at Shonny who sat miserably on the sofa. The boy held a handkerchief brown with dried blood to his nose. His hair was rumpled, his face flushed and dirty. Dried blood discoloured his shirt and his suit was rumpled, dirty and blotched with ink stains.
“It’s not my fate to be happy,” Mrs Peach was muttering. “All my children fail me.”
Dido said to Shonny, “What is it, son?”
Mrs Peach said, “He’s got the sack. Fighting.”
Dido stood over Shonny. Thunderclouds gathered in his expression. “Is this true?”
“He was fighting in the office,” Mrs Peach said. “Things got broken. The firm’s property. He’s been sent home without a reference.”
Shonny sat with his face closed in a sulk but with a light of desperate appeal in his eyes. “All right,” Dido said to him grimly. “What ’appened?”
Shonny muttered, “They called me Beffnal Green.” He cried out, a child’s squeak in his husky, breaking voice. “I don’t say Beffnal Green. I say Bethnal Green.”
Mrs Peach said bitterly, “They were nice boys there. What did he go fighting for?”
“Ever since I started they were on at me,” Shonny said. “Soon as I said I come from Bethnal Green. They never called me anything but Beffnal Green.”
They were nice boys,” Mrs Peach said. “From nice districts. Good families. He fights them.”
Shonny’s spirit rose. “What else you expect me to do? Every day since I been there. Callin’ me names. Beffnal Green. I never ’ad a proper name far as they were concerned. Jus’ Beffnal Green. They locked me in the bog. Put ink in me san’wiches. Every day. I ’ad just about enough.”
Mrs Peach said, “What about that boy who was nice to you when I went up with you?”
“That’s Dennis. ’E talked to me the first day. After that ’e went in with the others. Didn’t want to know me, none o’ them.”
Dido’s silence over him was like a gathering storm. He said fearfully, “I couldn’ stick it any more. I wrote out all these envelopes. This morning. I put my ’and in the drawer to get ’em out, it was all full o’ glue.”
His mother’s voice was thin and accusing. “He attacked them with a ruler. The manager sent him home without a reference. I don’t know what I’ll tell the minister. He’ll never do anything for the boy again.”
Dido was looking down at Shonny. His hand moved and Shonny flinched. But the hand dropped on Shonny’s shoulder. Dido said, “Poor little bugger.”
Shonny was wide-eyed. Once in a blue moon he heard Dido use a swear word. Dido said, “You stuck it all that time?”
Tears were nearly breaking out in Shonny’s cracked voice. “I wanted to get on. I did. I did try, Dide.”
“You never told me? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d ’a gone up there.”
“Didn’t want you to. I can mind myself.”
From Mrs Peach, venomously, “Yes! Fighting!”
Dido said to her, “Make ’im some tea, mother. Shonny, you go up an’ get changed. If we can’t get that suit cleaned I’ll buy you another. Tailor-made as well.”
“That’s right,” Mrs Peach said, “let him think he’s a hero. After he’s thrown away his chance.”
Dido turned to her and said resignedly, “I suppose this is my fault, too?”
“Fighting?” She said it on a hopeless sigh, looking away. “It wasn’t me that set the example.”
“Go on, son,” Dido said to Shonny. “I know what you fancy. Bread an’ scrape. Dripping an inch thick and plenty of salt, eh? Go on, mother’ll get it ready.”
Shonny said, “I don’t wanna go back there, Dide. She wants to take me back there an’ ask pardon.”
“How will he get another job without a reference?” Mrs Peach cried. “He’s let the minister down. There’ll be no help there.”
“They can stick their jobs,” Dido said. “Now on you stay at ’ome, Shon. The other lad can run the barrow. You give your mother a hand. I want someone at ’ome anyway. Keep an eye open.”
Shonny said eagerly, “Keogh?”
“Go and get them dirty things off. When you’ve washed yourself you can ’ave your tea.”
Shonny went out and ran upstairs like a child. Mrs Peach shuffled about for the tea things, sighing to herself.
Dido said, “It’s all right, mother. Boy’s no worse off.”
She did not answer. He said, “I’ll see ’e don’t lack money in his pocket. Enough of that an’ you’re a gentleman.”
A last flash of spirit broke out of her misery. “Gentleman!”
“That’s right.” He looked at her steadily. “Money. Never you mind where it comes from. Long as ’e’s got it, nobody’ll call ’im Beffnal Green.”
“Dide! Dide!” They heard Shonny’s voice, juvenile again when raised, from the first-floor land
ing.
Dido opened the door. Shonny was calling, “Dide! Mum! Grace wants you.”
Behind the boy’s voice they could hear Grace’s faint, distressed cries from the top bedroom. Dido went up the stairs in bounds. His mother and Shonny hurried after him. He went into the bedroom. Grace was grimacing and clutching the sheets and gasping his name. She said, “I think it’s starting.”
His mother came in. She went straight to Grace. The men and their misdoings forgotten she stooped over the girl and said, “There, there, dear! I know. I know.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Grace was listening to Mrs Peach. Her left hand lay on the coverlet and Dido, on the other side of the bed, put his hand on it. She ignored him and he drew away, feeling unwanted. He said, “Adn’ I better go down the doctor’s shop?”
Mrs Peach said, “What do we want him for? She’s a healthy girl. Send Shonny for Mrs Trewitt. We shall be wanting her in an hour or two.”
Mrs Trewitt was the midwife, an elderly, scrubbed, church-going woman who looked after the doctor’s shop round the corner and did most of his deliveries for him.
“You go and make a nice pot of tea,” Mrs Peach said to Dido. “I’m sure we could all do with it.”
Dido went downstairs, feeling as if he was being dismissed like a little boy who is given a task to keep him out of the way. Afterwards he took Shonny out. He treated him to a fish-and-chip supper and a music-hall. It was not out of indifference that he spent the evening away from home but for the boy’s sake, and because he did not want to hang about uselessly.
When they came home Mrs Trewitt was there. Grace lay with her eyes closed grimacing now and again as a spasm came. She opened her eyes, looked at Dido and said, “You go to bed.”
Dido shared Shonny’s bed for the night, in Chas’s old place. He listened for a little while to feminine voices and tramping on the stairs; then he fell into a sound sleep.
King Dido Page 27
