Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Such horrible things! And when I told him you’d stop him taking our yard he hurt my arm,’ she held out her arm with the improvised splint Mattie had secure the break with. She caught his hand again and pressed it to her face. ‘He said you were dead but look, here you are my own dear boy, right in front of me!’

  Before he could ask her any more her eyes closed. Nathaniel sat for the next ten minutes holding Queenie’s hand while her breath grew ever more shallow. When the kitchen door opened and Mattie, Kate and Doctor Corbett walked in, Queenie started awake.

  The doctor took off his top hat and put it and his black bag on the table. Nathaniel moved away so the doctor could have the chair. ‘Now, Mrs Maguire, I hear you’ve been in the wars.’

  Nathaniel moved to Mattie’s side. She looked drawn and tired.

  ‘I’ll leave you now, Mrs Maguire,’ he said, wanting to do anything but.

  Queenie’s frail frame was seized by a lung-tearing, wet cough. Doctor Corbett uncorked a bottle from his bag and carefully poured some syrup into one of his small silver cups.

  ‘Thank you again for your help,’ Mattie said, drawing him towards the door leading into the hall.

  ‘While you were gone, your mother-in-law kept muttering about the Fatman. Do you know who she was talking about?’

  ‘Mr Stebbins. I’m afraid Queenie took against him from the first. I don’t know why—’

  Doctor Corbett called her over.

  Nathaniel looked over at the old woman who, now that the medication had quickly taken effect, sat once again with her eyes closed, her sunken chest rising and falling in a laboured manner.

  Amos shifted on his seat to restore the circulation to his nether regions as the Reverend Walter Obadiah Cropper, the founder of The God’s True Word Society, gathered momentum for the roaring climax of his two-hour lecture.

  Despite the tortuous seat, Amos felt better than he had done since discovering Queenie Maguire spying on him. In fact the whole episode had concluded far better than he could ever have imagined. An answer to prayer if ever there was one!

  When Queenie wasn’t sitting in her usual pew on the following Sunday, he asked Cecily to send a friendly note to enquire after her health. When she’d reported that the old woman had been found in the river mud and wasn’t expected to live, Amos had spent a full hour on his knees in the study thanking God for his timely intervention. Queenie would soon pass into a better place, and with her the threat to his carefully laid plans. In truth, he thought it a blessing really, with all she’d suffered over the past three years.

  ‘This, my brothers and sisters,’ Reverend Cropper’s voice shouted thought Amos’s thoughts, ‘is the two-edged sword with which we will bring the lost souls of the world back to the true path of God. And if any in this room shirk from the task that God has called you to, be prepared for the sulphur pits of Hell!’

  There was a deathly silence and then the audience, packed into the London Domestic Mission rose to their feet and applauded deafeningly, some shouting ‘amen’ and ‘hallelujah’. Amos stood slowly and clapped briefly before weaving his way towards the back of the room where tea was being served.

  The trestle tables at the back of the cavernous chapel were staffed by half a dozen middle-aged women wearing black clothes and cheerless expressions. One of the women poured him a cup of stewed looking tea from a large pot and handed it to him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Praise only God, brother,’ she replied, ‘lest flattery turns a mortal’s head.’

  Amos gave her a tight smile and moved away. He took a sip and shuddered. No sugar and, sure enough, stewed. After such a marathon of hell and damnation what he really needed was a brandy and a little jollity at Madame La Verne’s, which is exactly what he’d planned for the rest of the evening.

  ‘Powerful stuff wouldn’t you say, sir,’ a voice from behind him said.

  Amos turned to find himself being addressed by a finely-boned young man with fair curls around his beardless cheeks and a narrow moustache. His jacket, though shabby was of some quality and his voice betrayed a refined education.

  ‘I believe the Reverend is known for his passion for the salvation.’

  ‘So I understand, Mr . . .?’

  ‘Stebbins.’

  ‘What, the Mr Stebbins? Of Grey Friars wharf?’

  Amos puffed out his chest. ‘Indeed, I am,’ he replied, starting to warm to the fellow.

  ‘Why, yes, you’re the talk of the City.’ The young man drew him aside. ‘Are the rumours true about George Hudson and a new railway?’

  ‘That is a very private matter,’ Amos said under his breath.

  The youthful man looked sheepish. ‘I confess I’ve only just come down from Oxford and am not yet accustomed to London ways.’

  ‘The first thing to learn is to keep such matters under your hat.’ He glanced around at the dozen or so other business men drinking tea. ‘Especially when an unguarded word could lose business.’

  The young man pressed a well-manicured ink-stained index finger to his lips. ‘I understand. Be assured you can count on my absolute discretion. The truth of the matter is that my father wants me to make my mark and fortune in the City but I am at a loss as to know where to start. So I see it as providential that I should meet you here in God’s house.’

  ‘Well, just so,’ Amos straightened his diamond cravat pin. ‘I suppose such a display of business acumen was bound to leak out.’

  The young man looked about him. ‘I say, is there a chance I might able to put a bob or two on the venture?’

  ‘Well, I don’t—’

  ‘I could probably get my godfather, the Earl of Danbury interested.’

  Earl of Danbury! One of the most influential ministers in the cabinet was this whippersnapper’s godfather. Providential meeting indeed.

  There had been speculation in the press recently about a peerage for George Hudson, so why not for Amos Stebbins too?

  ‘If I could have the name of your bankers I could ensure my funds are with them in good time. Would two hundred pounds secure a sizeable stake?’ the youth asked.

  ‘Indeed it would,’ he said, thinking that such a timely and hefty deposit so soon after Mr Dunn’s would help to steady the wavering chief clerk. ‘It’s the City & County. But make sure you only deposit it with Mr Fallon.’

  The young man grasped his hand in an extraordinarily firm grip for one so slight. He glanced at the clock behind the tea table.

  ‘Oh, is that the time? I must go,’ he said gathering up his hat and gloves. ‘I’ll wish you a good night.’

  ‘And a good night to you, sir.’

  One of the wise but ill-favoured virgins making the tea came past with a tray. Amos turned and put his half drunk cup of tea on it. When he turned back the chap had already manoeuvred his way through the gathering.

  Damn!

  ‘Hey there! Sir! You didn’t give me your name,’ he called, as the doors swung closed behind the young man.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate put her hand on the wall and lifted her head slowly, praying it wouldn’t start spinning again. The cool early morning air swirled around her, moving her skirts and cooling her brow. Somewhere a few streets down, a dog barked as the knocker-upper tapped on windows with his long pole. The chickens in the coop sat plump and motionless on their roosts while the first streaks of morning light blurred the edges of the pale moon sitting above the garden fence.

  The ground beneath her feet swayed sideways again. She pitched forward and vomited into the small flowerbed beside the rain barrel. She heaved herself up and drew a slow breath through her nose. Perhaps if I make myself a cuppa I’d feel better, she thought. The tea had helped yesterday and the day before, but unfortunately no amount of tea would set her right.

  Kate fixed her eyes on the back door and took another deep breath before starting towards the house. If she didn’t get herself sorted and off to work in the next fifteen
minutes she’d be late. Placing her hand just below her breastbone, she willed the contents of her stomach to stay where they were.

  Quietly she turned the handle and re-entered the kitchen to find Mattie in her dressing gown, standing beside the cot where her mother-in-law still lay. Queenie hadn’t recovered, and even with a dose of laudanum inside her had become so distressed that she refused to be coaxed into her own bed. She’d been sleeping in the cot ever since, eating nothing and only sipping water when Mattie held the cup to her lips.

  Kate put her own worries aside. ‘How’s Queenie?’

  ‘Quiet.’

  Guilt cut through Kate. As if poor Mattie didn’t have enough to vex her, having to tend to Queenie night and day, now she was bringing a pile of trouble to her door.

  ‘Sorry I woke you,’ she said. ‘I crept down as quietly as I could.’

  ‘It wasn’t the stairs that woke me. It was you heaving your guts up below my window; how far gone are you?’

  A denial sprang to Kate’s lips but died there. It had been eight weeks since she’d had her monthly, she’d been sick each morning for the last few days and her breasts were tender. There was no doubt about her condition.

  ‘About three months,’ she replied, straightening up.

  ‘I suppose its Freddie’s.’

  Kate nodded. ‘But we’re in love.’

  Mattie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘For goodness sake, Kate, how could you be so stupid?’

  Kate bristled. ‘Freddie loves me!’

  Mattie gave a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, is that what he’s told you?’

  ‘He does,’ Kate shouted clenching her fist tightly. ‘And we’re getting married.’

  ‘When would that be then?’ Mattie asked.

  Kate’s gaze wavered a little. ‘I don’t rightly know, but once Freddie knows about the baby I’m sure he’ll arrange it straight away. He does want to marry me.’

  Her sister’s eyebrows rose mockingly. ‘If that’s the case, why have you been sneaking out with him without telling me?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d be like this,’ Kate replied stubbornly. ‘Freddie wanted us to get to know each other a bit better before he spoke to Patrick. Freddie said he wanted to do things properly —’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can see that,’ Mattie cut in. ‘Sweet talking an innocent young girl and getting her in trouble is a very proper way to behave.’

  Kate jabbed her finger at Mattie. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. Young Brian was tucked well up your skirt when you walked down the aisle.’

  ‘It’s not the same and you know it, Kate Nolan. For a start my Brian wasn’t slipping through the back door of every lonely widow on his rounds – nor did he have the Black Eagle Gang as his drinking pals.’

  ‘Freddie said you’d be against us,’ Kate said, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘I know all about Bridy Kepple and that slut Sally from the dairy. But Freddie loves me and he’ll be faithful once we’re married.’

  ‘Faithful!’ Mattie replied. ‘What about the redhead in Prescott Street then? Has he promised to be faithful to her too?’ Her face grew softer. ‘Honestly, Kate, if Freddie had to avoid every woman he’s having bit of jiggy-jig with in the area, Mumble would just circle the yard each day.’

  ‘You’ve never liked him,’ Kate shouted. ‘And I’ve seen the way you’re always on his back in the yard.’

  ‘I’m always on at him because he’s lazy and unreliable, but you’re too blind to see.’ Sadness replaced anger on Mattie’s face. ‘Kate. Freddie’s just fed you a load of old blarney and you’ve swallowed it hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘It’s not true!’ Kate shouted as tears streamed down her face.

  Mattie reached out to her. ‘Oh, Kate, me darling,’ she crooned softly. ‘Come, come, nothing’s so bad it can’t be sorted.’

  ‘There’s nothing to sort,’ Kate said, stepped back to avoid her sister’s embrace. ‘Freddie loves me and once he knows I’m carrying his child I’ll be Mrs Ellis before the month is out. Just you wait and see.’

  Kate brushed past her sister and walked to the hall door. She grasped the handle then turned. ‘And when we’re married we’ll be very, very happy.’

  Mattie put down the quill and rubbed her temples but the pain across her forehead didn’t budge. She wasn’t surprised. Kate had told Freddie of her condition two days ago and he hadn’t been seen since. So now not only did she have a sister with red eyes and throwing up in the yard each morning, she also had another cart without a driver. On top of it all, Patrick had brought his father-in-law, Doctor Munroe, over to see Queenie yesterday but Mattie knew there was nothing he could do. As she sponged down her mother in-law’s frail body and cleared the soiled newspapers from under her she wondered how long it would go on for.

  Josie had sent Annie over to help look after Brian, which gave Mattie a chance to do the bills, but Annie was only a child and Mattie still had to order the yard and care for Queenie as well as clean the house and do all the cooking. She sighed, then picked up the pen again, intent on making out the next end-of-month bill. A fat drip of ink dripped from the nib and splodged across the sheet of paper. Mattie covered her face with her hands. The office door opened.

  ‘Mrs Maguire?’ Jack’s voice asked softly. He saw her tear-stained face. ‘Is it Queenie?’

  Mattie shook her head.

  ‘Then what?’ he asked, pulling up a chair beside her.

  ‘Oh, Ja — Mr Archer,’ she said, blushing that she’d almost blurted out his name. ‘It’s—’ The sob rising in her chest blocked her words.

  ‘Now, now,’ he said, taking her hand.

  It would break his heart when she told him about Kate but she had to tell him before he heard it on the street corner.

  ‘It’s Kate.’

  ‘What about Kate?’

  ‘She’s . . . she’s . . . tears spilled over. ‘Oh, Mr Archer, she’s . . .’

  His lips drew into two hard lines. ‘Freddie?’

  Mattie nodded. ‘Kate told him on Tuesday and he’s not been near nor by since,’ she said, almost unable to look into his furious eyes. ‘Patrick has searched every bar in the area but no one knows wh . . . wh . . . where he is,’ Mattie sobbed. ‘I promised Kate I’d try to keep it quiet, but unless we can find him and get the banns posted, word will get out and Kate will be the talk of Knockfergus.’

  A picture of Freddie’s sly face sprang into Mattie’s mind. What sort of life would Kate have with such a philandering ducker and diver? Short of housekeeping money each week, heavy with child each year and doubtless being given a black eye from time to time after the pubs shut. Sweet Mary Mother of God! Mattie covered her face with her hands again, and sobbing once more. Jack sat quietly beside her for a moment then the chair scraped the floor as he rose to his feet. She looked up.

  They stared at each other for a moment then he flipped his cap back on. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Maguire,’ he said. ‘I have some business to attend to.’

  With a mounting sense of desolation Mattie watched him go.

  The last rays of daylight forced their way through the dirty windows and illuminated the bustling crowd of market porters and street traders downing their end-of-day pints. Freddie leant on the bar of the Blue Coat Boy and stared gloomily into his half empty glass. The low-ceilinged pub house stood on the north side of Dorset Street just off Whitechapel High Street in the area known as Old Nichol, which was practically a country unto itself – one where wise strangers didn’t venture alone.

  Freddie threw the last mouthful of beer back and slid his tankard across the counter.

  ‘Pour me another, sweetheart,’ he said to the young woman behind the bar, who had flame-red hair and an eye-catching cleavage.

  While she swayed off to one of the pumps, Freddie put his hand in his pocket and fished out what remained of his money.

  Two shillings and thruppence. Was that all?

  He put two ha’pennies on the stained counter. He hadn’t eaten yet and still had his bed t
o pay for so he’d better make this pint last longer than the last three. As he raised his replenished drink to his lips, a heavy hand slapped him on the back. Freddie turned to find Ollie Mac beside him.

  Although a good four inches shorter and a stone or two lighter than Freddie, what Ollie Mac lacked in stature he made up for with his cunning mind and unpredictable temper. Tonight, as always, he wore his snazzy brown-and-green chequered suit with a tall crown billy-cock hat perched on his head. Mad Teddy and Stefan Magsen stood behind him like a couple of aggressive bookends.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Mac,’ Freddie said, making sure he paid the man who ruled the south end of Spitalfield Rookery the proper respect.

  Ollie gave Freddie a good-natured grin. ‘Mr Mac be buggered. I’m Ollie to me mates.’ He flicked his head and the two men behind him moved out of earshot. ‘Oi! Gilly! Forget the beer and give my friend Freddie a brandy,’ he said, flipping a half crown at the barmaid. ‘Get me one, too, and have one yourself.’ He turned to Freddie. ‘You still hiding from Nolan, old cock?’

  Freddie nodded. ‘You’d think after a week he’d ’ave lost some of his bloody steam.’

  ‘Naw, not that bugger. He’s like a terrier after a rat. Once ’e gets a scent he won’t stray from the track.’ An amused expression stole into his flint-like eyes. ‘And you can’t odds it, can you? After all, you did get his little sister in the family way.’

  The brandy arrived and Ollie poured two generous measures. Freddie knocked his back in one.

  ‘Bloody women!’ he said, remembering Kate’s blotched, tear-stained face. ‘I tell you, Mr Mac, I’m done with ’em,’ he said, watching the barmaid’s neckline as she bent forward to retrieve something from the floor. ‘First I had her sister leading me on and then she, Miss Blue-eyed Kate, lets herself get caught.’

  ‘Why didn’t you bung her a shilling to see Ma Hobbs?’

  ‘I did, but she just started blubbing again and kept going on about how she thought I loved her and stuff.’