Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘Have you said anything to her?’

  Mattie shook her head. ‘What can I say? She’s a grown woman after all. And now with Freddie paying me compliments and acting like a lovesick idiot, if I mention it she might think I’m after him.’

  ‘I see what you mean.’

  ‘I had a word with Ma about it when she was at the yard on Friday and she tried to talk to Kate but she just ducked the issue and then breezed out of the kitchen,’ Mattie replied.

  ‘What about if I had a word with her after Mass?’

  Mattie shook her head. ‘She knows you’re my friend and likely to jump to the same conclusion. Then there’ll really be trouble.’

  She had already seen Kate’s unhappy face when she heard Freddie call Mattie sweetheart over the dinner table two days ago. Hopefully Freddie would ask her to increase his salary and when she refused he’d revert back to his old self. Then she could tackle the problem of Kate.

  Josie picked up the tea pot and poured them both another cup of tea. ‘What a muddle,’ she said, adding milk to both cups. She beamed across at Mattie. ‘Still. Perhaps this good looking coalman of yours will turn Kate’s head.’

  Mattie spooned a chunk of sugar into her cup. ‘Yes, let’s hope so . . .’

  ‘Ho there, girlie! You waiting for me?’ one of the dockers outside the Bell and Compass called across. Kate looked the other way.

  ‘I’ve got a thruppence hereabouts,’ another one shouted, fumbling in the front of his trousers. ‘It’s the going rate for an up the wall!’

  Kate had been waiting on the corner of Ensign Street for almost half an hour, knowing Freddie usually came by at about this time. St George’s clock struck four mellow notes and tears rose at the back of Kate’s eyes as she thought about the way he’d looked at Mattie yesterday. Of course, Mattie hadn’t seemed to notice. Kate picked up the basket beside her feet and, with a last look up the street, started home.

  Perhaps it was a good thing she’d missed her ride home with him. If he was too blind to notice her there were plenty of others who did. Obviously, when one of the handsome naval officers who came to Wapping from Deptford, or a red-coated captain from the Tower garrison swept her off her feet he would realise he’d missed his chance.

  A horse clip-clopped behind her, rolling the iron-rimmed wheels across the cobbles.

  Kate’s heart did a double beat. Freddie!

  Her head snapped around and she found herself looking up at Mattie’s new driver. He was sitting on the side of the empty cart while Flossy plodded the familiar route home. She shaded her eyes from the sun.

  ‘Miss Nolan,’ he said, pulling the old horse to a stop. ‘I know we’re almost home but why don’t I give you a lift?’

  She should say no. Freddie had taken against Jack and didn’t like her talking to him. To Freddie’s way of thinking there were a hundred local men who knew the coal trade better than Jack Archer and her sister shouldn’t have taken him on, but Kate liked Jack’s relaxed easy manner and confidence. It also occurred to her that if Freddie saw her riding with Jack, it might give him pause to think.

  She handed Jack the basket and jumped on board. He snapped the reins and Flossy started off again. When Kate waved to a couple of her friends as they rolled along she saw their open-mouthed envy when they caught sight of her driver. As the wagon turned into the yard, Mattie appeared through the side gate of the house. Kate stared at her sister for a moment, then realised she was without her headscarf and apron. Added to which she was wearing her dark green gown with its pin-tucked bodice and not her usual navy one. Jack offered Kate his hand and she climbed down.

  Mattie’s gaze flickered between them. ‘Good day?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m done in,’ Kate replied. After six hours of kneading dough and sliding tins in and out of the hatch, the cotton shift under her corset was plastered to her skin. She’d already promised herself a good hot wash in the tin basin after supper.

  ‘The fires of hell couldn’t have been hotter than the ovens today, but I’ve brought us a couple of loaves that won’t last to the morning. I thought I’d make a bread pudding with the raisins and sugar Pat brought last week.’

  ‘That sounds delicious,’ Jack said, jumping down from the rig.

  Mattie’s gaze followed him. ‘Kate’s a very good cook. I don’t know what the Hoffmans would do without her. She has the lightest touch with pastry and her bread’s like a feather it’s so airy. She’ll make some lucky man a good wife one day.’

  Jack smiled mildly at Kate but then the intensity returned to his eyes as they settled back on Mattie. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘You’re back earlier than I thought you would be.’

  He slapped the horse affectionately on the rump. ‘This old girl knows the route so well I just let her plod on while I deliver the coal. If I slept in one morning I daresay she could unload the sacks and take the money as well.’

  Mattie laughed a light, carefree laugh that Kate hadn’t heard for a long time. Jack started to unhitch Flossy and Mattie stroked the horse’s neck. ‘She’s a grafter is our Flossy,’ she said, rubbing the soft muzzle. The horse raised her head in recognition.

  ‘She’s not the only one,’ Jack said, nodding at the stack of sacks folded neatly by the stable. ‘And I suppose you’ve been to the market, too.’

  ‘We wouldn’t be eating tomorrow if I hadn’t been,’ she said. ‘It does my mother-in-law good to get out if she’s having a . . . troubled day.’

  ‘She is very fortunate to have you to care for her.’

  They stood and looked at each other as Kate observed their exchange. There hadn’t been a dry eye in Knockfergus, the area north of the Highway, the day Brian died. Mattie had sworn she’d never marry again but then, as their mam often said, never is a quick word to say but a long time to live.

  ‘Kate works hard, too. Up at four every morning without fail. I don’t know what I would have done without her these last few years. But I’m sure she’d like to have a home of her own one day. Wouldn’t you, Kate?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she replied, just as Freddie’s wagon turned in. A curl of pleasure settled in Kate’s stomach but she gave him a cool look.

  Jack removed Flossy’s halter causing her to shake her head and start towards her stable. ‘I’d better settle her in before the hay delivery arrives.’

  Mattie watched him for a moment or two then turned to Kate. ‘Do you think he’s handsome?’ she asked, the flush on her cheek slightly more noticeable.

  ‘Well yes, I suppose he is,’ Kate replied. ‘In a big brotherly sort of way.’

  ‘He never shirks and he’s the sort of man who would turn his hand to anything to make sure his family didn’t go short.’

  ‘Oh, Mattie,’ Kate laughed. ‘How can you know anything of the sort? He’s only been here a week.’

  ‘He’s thirty-three and was born in Hastings. His mother died when he was six and he went to live with his gran, he went to the parson’s school and was top of the class for arithmetic. I believe that, too, as he can tally up the money from the round.’ Mattie tilted her head. ‘He’s an educated man.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘Is he married?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Kate! I can’t go prying into the man’s life.’

  Kate started giggling.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I was just wondering how he ever managed to get out of the yard with you quizzing him all day.’

  Mattie looked across at Jack rubbing down the carthorse with a handful of straw.

  ‘Jack Archer is a man to trust. More than some around here.’ Her eyes darted over to Freddie. ‘And,’ she squeezed Kate’s arm, ‘I think he likes you.’

  ‘Do you?’ Kate looked at her sister in astonishment. Didn’t Mattie see the warmth in Jack’s eyes when he looked at her? Couldn’t she hear the admiration in his voice?

  ‘Well, aren’t you the prettiest girl in the street?’

  ‘I think he’d be calling you that, n
ot me,’ Kate replied, hardly able to keep the amusement from her voice.

  Mattie’s cheeks flamed. ‘What nonsense!’ She patted the bun at the nape of her neck with her free hand and lowered her eyes. ‘He’s just friendly, that’s all. He’s the same with Pete and Billy.’

  ‘Well, then, I hope to goodness he doesn’t look at them the way he looks at you or there’ll be trouble.’

  Mattie rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve got some odd notions and no mistake.’ She glanced back to where Jack was shovelling coal into the hundredweight sacks for the next morning’s delivery. ‘Take it from me, Kate, men the likes of Jack Archer don’t come by too often.’

  Whoever named this place Hope Alley had a cruel sense of humour, thought Nathaniel as he followed Boyce down the narrow passageway between the tightly packed two-up two-down houses on either side. He’d seen their like before huddled around Romford Church. But whereas the squat homes in his native town had small patches of land at the rear where the farm workers could raise a few cabbages or carrots, what had once been gardens here was now hard packed earth cluttered with traders’ handcarts, ladders and barrels. Although there was still a country feel to the place, it was mainly due to the smell of the pigs being fattened in makeshift pens and the cluck of scrawny hens scratching alongside them in the dirt. At the top end of the alley was a decrepit pump from which the households drew their daily water.

  ‘Almost there,’ Boyce told him with a reassuring grin. ‘And don’t worry,’ he said, indicating Nathaniel’s hat that he’d pulled down over his eyes. ‘The Old Roberts don’t patrol around here. And,’ he winked, ‘if people see you with me they’ll know better than to gab about it.’

  Nathaniel cast dubious eyes around what would soon be his home.

  ‘What did you say their names were again?’ he asked, as they stopped in front of the house at the end of the row.

  ‘Tubby Roscoe and his wife Dolly,’ Boyce replied, as he bashed on the door with the side of his fist. Something akin to a pack of wolves snarling and yapping crashed against the other side of the door making it judder on its hinges. ‘They breed dogs.’

  Nathaniel had been working at Maguire’s for five days and as he would probably be there for a few weeks yet he needed to have some plausible explanation for his sudden arrival in the area. As he stared at the peeling paint on the front door, and the cracked windowpanes, Nathaniel wondered who exactly Boyce had selected amongst his many acquaintances to be his new ‘family’.

  ‘Get back you beggars!’ screamed a woman’s voice from inside the house. ‘Mister R!’

  The door rattled as the unseen woman struggled to master the pack of hounds. A man’s voice ground out a string of expletives and the barking grew fainter. The door opened and a woman’s face appeared. She was probably a year or two older than Nathaniel, at thirty-five or so. But with her dirty grey hair and spindly frame she looked much older.

  Nathaniel wondered if there was anything about Dolly Roscoe that might convince anyone that they were born of the same parents. She barely reached four-foot-ten-inches, while he had to duck to avoid lintels. Her chin was round and receded instead of square and blunt. Her skin was peppered with freckles and her hair still showed the odd strand of red. In short, the other end of the scale from his dark colouring.

  She looked at Nathaniel suspiciously before she spotted Boyce. ‘Oh, Mr Boyce. Wot an unexpected pleasure,’ she said, opening the door to let them in and then swiftly closed it behind them.

  ‘Hello, Dolly,’ Boyce said stepping in and giving her a wink. ‘How’s me best gal.’

  ‘All the better for seeing you,’ she replied coyly, and quite at odds with her haggard demeanour.

  ‘Me and Dolly go way back, don’t we?’

  ‘That we do,’ she agreed. ‘Of course that was when I was known as China Rose.’

  ‘Is that where you come from?’ Nathaniel asked, trying not to think about what may have squelched under his foot.

  Dolly doubled over and slapped her thigh. ‘Bless me, no. I just had some regulars amongst the Orientals in Limehouse. Of course that was before I met Mr R. I don’t turn tricks no more,’ she said, with a broad grin that displayed her missing front teeth.

  The door at the far end of the hall opened and a man wearing a stained, long-sleeved, three-button vest, grubby trousers and unlaced boots shuffled into the passageway. He looked Nathaniel up and down.

  ‘I’ve thrown ’em in the yard,’ he said, closing the door to the scullery at the far end of the passageway. ‘This who you need a bit of ’elp with, Boyce?’ The pipe in his mouth bounced as he spoke.

  ‘That’s right, Tubby.’

  Nathaniel heard the faint click of the front handle behind him. He grasped the knife stuck in his belt and spun round.

  Standing in the doorway was a blue-eyed blonde, a swarthy brunette and a bleary-eyed sailor. The girls’ gowns were unbuttoned, allowing their breasts to spill out. Nathaniel let go of the blade.

  ‘Oh, Boyce,’ they shrieked in unison.

  Leaving the sailor propped up against the door frame, they dashed past Nathaniel and hugged Boyce.

  ‘’Ello, girls.’ Slipping his arm around their waists he looked at Nathaniel. ‘This here is Nancy.’ He tickled the blond who giggled. ‘And this is Bella.’ He squeezed the other girl.

  Ducking under Boyce’s arm, Bella swayed, hands on hips, over to Nathaniel.

  ‘And who’s this?’ she asked, walking her fingers up his chest.

  Nathaniel closed his hand over hers to stop its progress. ‘Jack Archer,’ he replied trying to ignore the fact that she’d wedged her crotch against his thigh.

  She stretched up and gave him a lavish kiss. ‘Well, Jack, I do a special rate for big, handsome fellas.’

  ‘Put him down, Bella,’ Boyce said. ‘He ain’t here for a bit of jiggy.’

  Bella ran her finger around Nathaniel’s jaw. ‘Pity. Maybe another time.’

  The sailor stumbled into the hallway and knocked into Nathaniel. ‘Sorry mate,’ he said, through his rum-soaked breath. His unfocused eyes swam for a few seconds before he spotted the two tarts.

  ‘There you are, you little minxes,’ he said, wagging a playful finger at them.

  Nancy hooked her arm under the sailor to hold him up. ‘Up we go,’ she said, looking at Bella and jerking her head towards the stairs.

  ‘You had better come in here,’ said Tubby pushing open the door to the front room.

  The furniture in the couple’s main living area consisted of one old wooden bed covered with grey bedclothes, a table with their half-eaten supper on it and a couple of old upholstered chairs with more stuffing protruding out than padding within. A mantel shelf, with a couple of tallow candles stuck in to pools of wax at each end, sat over an empty fire grate, while faded curtains hung from a rope strung across the window and kept out what little sunlight there was.

  ‘So what’s the fiddly?’ Tubby asked, scratching his rear.

  ‘This is me old pal, Jack Archer,’ Boyce said, thumbing towards Nathaniel, who was trying not to stand within flea-jumping distance of the bed. ‘And Dolly’s long lost little bruvver.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ Dolly Roscoe’s asked, her eyes darted over Nathaniel. ‘’E ain’t no killer, is he? I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if I ’ad a murderer in—’

  ‘I’ve killed no one,’ Nathaniel told her firmly.

  ‘Well, what you done then?’

  Nathaniel turned to Boyce and raised an eyebrow. Boyce’s eyes narrowed as he studied the dog breeder and his wife.

  ‘Now, now, Doll,’ Tubby said, perspiration beading his bald head. ‘What you don’t know you can’t tell and Mr Boyce’s business ain’t none of ours.’

  Alarm flashed across Dolly’s face. ‘Oh . . . oh, pardon me, Mr Boyce.’ She laughed nervously. ‘You know what I’m like.’

  Boyce’s eyes fixed on the couple as they stood uncomfortably before him. ‘I do. But Jack’s like my own flesh and if any—’

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t you worry,’ Tubby cut in. ‘Jack’ll be as safe as houses with us. Won’t he Doll?’

  She nodded her head like a rag doll being shaken.

  ‘I thought he could lodge in your empty room at the back.’

  Tubby rubbed his chin. ‘I suppose. Although now we’ve got the blood out of the floorboard we were going to let it again. You know times are hard and—’

  ‘I need a cover not charity,’ Nathaniel cut in. ‘What did your last lodger pay?’

  ‘Two shilling a week.’

  Nathaniel pulled out the coins from his pocket. ‘Here’s a crown. That’s two weeks’ rent and enough for me to have a bucket of hot water when I get in each night.’ He handed it to Dolly.

  ‘Right you are, Jack. Do you want a evening meal, too. It’s no trouble.’

  Nathaniel glanced at the half-a-dozen cockroaches darting around the base of the cooking pot. ‘No. I’ll make my own arrangements.’

  Boyce walked to the door then turned. ‘You won’t let me down will you, Tubby?’

  ‘Of course not, Mr Boyce. You can count on us.’

  Boyce touched his temple in a salute and went back into the hall, Nathaniel following.

  ‘Boyce, do you really think people will believe that Dolly Roscoe and I are related?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Nathaniel ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, for a start you look more like my sister than she does. And what about—’

  A door on the first floor opened and Nancy, Bella and the sailor appeared at the top of the stairs. The sailor staggered, buttoning up his flies, with the girls close behind. Nathaniel and Boyce stood back to let them pass. Bella winked at Nathaniel as she and Nancy left the house looking for their next client.

  ‘And what about them two?’ Nathaniel asked, as the door closed. ‘What if Mrs Maguire finds out there’re two trollops living in the room next to me?’

  ‘Just tell her they’re your nieces.’ Boyce laughed and jabbed him lightly in the chest. ‘You’re the fecking idiot who took the job and made me the fecking idiot who had to find you some kith and kin. Now I grant you, Tubby and Dolly ain’t the Duke and Duchess of Westminster but they’ll keep mum.’