Perhaps Tomorrow

by Jean Fullerton

  An image of Amos flashed into her mind and a prickle of unease started between her shoulder blades. Although the gossip about Cecily’s flight to her cousin’s shot around the street in a matter of hours after the report in the Working Man’s Defender was published, no one had seen Amos. He was a ruined man, shunned by everyone. The general consensus was that he’d got no more than he deserved and a lot less than he should have for his cavorting at Madame La Verne’s. Some said he’d gone abroad and others that he’d thrown himself in the river. No one really knew.

  Mattie took a step to the right to see if there was someone behind a square stone monument.

  ‘Mammy! Mammy!’

  She turned to see Nathaniel striding towards her with Brian on his shoulders.

  ‘Here she is,’ Nathaniel said, as he lifted Brian down.

  Brian stretched his arms up to her then saw Nathaniel’s eyes on him. ‘Remember what we talked about, son.’

  Brian gave him a solemn nod and took her hand. ‘Pa said I’m a big boy now and big boys don’t have to be carried. And Pa’s going to take me to see the Queen’s soldiers in the Tower. Aren’t you, Pa?’

  ‘I am,’ Nathaniel replied. He smiled at Mattie. ‘He’s getting used to calling me Pa.’

  ‘It sounds just right to me,’ Mattie said, as happiness almost stopped her speaking.

  ‘Let’s go home.’

  She nodded, knowing that from this day forth only death would ever part them again.

  Something nipped behind Amos’s ear as he darted behind the square base of Raines monument in St George’s churchyard. He flicked whatever it was away without taking his eyes from the bride and groom – the two people responsible for his present misery. He snagged his foot on brambles and shook it free. He caught sight of his frayed trouser bottoms and scuffed shoes and tried to remember when he had last taken them off. Probably the night before the bailiffs evicted him from his house. He gnawed the side of his nail then spat on the grass.

  Look at him in his new suit and top hat, he thought savagely. Still trying to ape your betters, are you, Tate? His eyes moved on to the heavily pregnant woman at his side. And her too! The trollop! It’s a disgrace. The vicar should never have allowed her to waddle into the church with her belly full of a convict’s bastard.

  But he’s not a convict now is he? A sarcastic little voice at the back of Amos’s head reminded him.

  No, he damn well wasn’t. He was the poor but honest working man wrongly imprisoned but ‘freed by the love of a good woman’, as the report of his court hearing in The Times put it. He was the champion who’d unearthed supposed wrongdoing in a company, saving the shareholders from losing their money. He was the ‘hero’ who’d uncovered Madame’s establishment.

  A dull, rhythmic throbbing started over Amos’s right temple.

  Make the most of your wedded bliss, Tate, he thought, because the next time you go into St George’s church, Mattie will be walking behind your coffin.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nathaniel had been up since before dawn to see out the four delivery carts and consult with the farrier who’d come to check the horses. After bolting down his dinner at noon, he’d caught the omnibus to Cheapside then walked to the offices of Blair & Caldwell, attorneys at law, in Upper Thames Street. The result of his hour-long meeting with Mr Caldwell now sat in his breast pocket.

  Although he was bone weary, he put aside workaday worries and contemplated his new family awaiting his return. When he pushed open the door to the kitchen the warmth from the hearth dispersed the swirling fog clinging to him. He was welcomed by the homely smell of fresh bread and roast meat.

  His sister, ruddy-faced and bare-armed, was shelling peas while Brian played on the rug. He noticed them in passing but his eyes fixed on the woman who really made the house a home: his Mattie.

  Thankfully, Emma had taken on the heavy chores and Millie took Brian to play with her girls most afternoons so Mattie could have an hour or two with her feet up. His gaze settled on her stomach and a thrill of anticipation ran through him.

  She had already cleaned the bedroom and washed Brian’s layette in preparation for the new baby’s arrival. Nathaniel could hardly wait to hold their child who, according to all the Nolan women, would arrive any day now.

  Buster scampered around his legs and Mattie’s eyes danced with joy as she looked at him. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never lose the thrill of having her lovely green eyes rest on him that way.

  ‘Evening, Nat,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll make you a brew.’

  ‘That would be grand, sis,’ he replied, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘Pa! Pa!’ Brian shouted as he leapt to his feet, scattering his carefully stacked bricks.

  ‘Hi there, young man,’ Nathaniel laughed, as the boy caught him around the legs. He scooped him up. ‘Have you been good for your mother today?’

  Brian nodded. Nathaniel kissed him on the cheek then set him back on his feet. Brian trotted over to Buster and they started their evening game of tag at the far end of the kitchen.

  Mattie rose from the chair and came towards him. ‘Well?’ she asked, a look of barely concealed impatience on her face.

  He went to her and slipped his arm around what was left of her waist. ‘How is Mrs Tate?’ he asked, giving her a little squeeze.

  ‘Grand, grand,’ she replied, ‘But what about the—’

  ‘And the little one?’ Nathaniel cut in.

  ‘Still dancing a jig,’ she answered. ‘Nathaniel, will you tell me—’

  ‘How long now, do you think?’ he asked, answering her exasperated expression with a guileless one.

  ‘For the love of Mary, will you tell me if we have the house or not?’ she all but shouted at him.

  ‘House?’ he replied, giving her a puzzled look.

  Mattie grabbed his lapels. ‘Nathaniel Tate, I’m giving you fair warning that you risk life and limb if you don’t stop shilly shallying about and tell me!’

  Nathaniel released her and stood back.

  ‘Well, now, I have here . . .’ he drew out a folded piece of paper from the inside of his overcoat, ‘the signed and sealed lease—’

  ‘Nathaniel!’ Mattie threw her arms around his neck, almost choking off his breath.

  ‘Of number seventeen Repton Street,’ he continued as she bounced on her toes and hugged him. ‘Co-co-complete, will you let me have some air, woman?’

  Mattie’s arms loosened a little.

  ‘Complete with parlour, a kitchen including a full range, pumped water, three good upstairs rooms, gas fittings downstairs, an outside privy—’

  Mattie interrupted by kissing his chin.

  ‘—and not five minutes’ walk from your mother and brother’s house,’ he concluded as she kissed him again. He unwound her arms from his neck. ‘Now stop jumping about before you give our poor baby a headache,’ he said, trying to look severe but unable to keep the grin from his face.

  Mattie’s fingers caressed his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure, Mrs Tate.’

  His hand slid down to her hip and pressed her into him and Mattie gave him a private glance from beneath her long lashes which set his pulse racing. They were still newlyweds, after all.

  She untangled herself from his arms and turned to her son. ‘Did you hear that, Brian? We’re moving into a house right by your gran and Auntie Josie.’

  ‘Are Auntie Emma and Uncle Jacob coming too?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nathaniel replied, as he took Mattie’s hand and kissed it. They would lose the use of a downstairs room but it meant the whole family would be together. ‘And so is Buster and all your soldiers.’

  ‘Yippee!’ Brian shouted and started chasing Buster around the kitchen. Mattie turned back to Nathaniel. ‘How soon?’

  ‘Whenever you’d like after the twentieth. The sooner the better perhaps,’ he said, indicating her stomach. ‘I’ll speak to Patrick when I see him in the Town tomorrow.’

  It w
ouldn’t take much to load up one of the carts with their furniture. Thanks to Patrick buying back Maguire’s at two hundred and fifty less than Amos had paid for it, they could afford not only a new house but some new furniture and china, too, including several new cast iron beds. It also meant they would almost be within shouting distance of Sarah when the baby came. She’d delivered Brian and all of Josie’s children and was as good as any midwife.

  Mattie hugged him again then a look of dismay spread across her face. ‘What sort of wife am I, nagging the ears off you when you’ve not even had time to take off your coat?’ She slipped her hand under his lapels and started to pull it off. Nathaniel’s hands closed over hers.

  ‘I’m just going to run next week’s order round to Morris’s before they close,’ he said. ‘I would have gone straight there but I wanted to tell you about the house first.’ He picked up his hat. Buster sprang to his feet ready to follow but Nathaniel signalled for him to stay. ‘I’ll be no more than half an hour and then I can lock up for the night.’ He planted a swift kiss on her lips. ‘Sure, won’t I be back before you miss me,’ he said, in what he considered to be a pretty decent Irish accent.

  Mattie turned to the stove but Emma jumped in before she reached it. ‘Now, you just set your rump down on that chair, my love, and let me see to that,’ she said, tasting the stew then adding a pinch of salt from the jar.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mattie asked, feeling the ache in her back. ‘You’ve been chasing Brian around all day as it is.’

  ‘And it is my pleasure to do so,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll feed Buster then,’ Mattie said.

  Turning to fetch a half-pound of horse flesh from the scullery, Mattie’s eyes fell on the order book on the dresser.

  ‘Nathaniel’s forgotten this,’ she said picking it and her shawl up in one movement. ‘I’ll just run after him.’

  ‘Take the dog with you,’ Emma said, ‘He’ll dash after Nat and save you dancing that baby about.’

  Mattie clicked her fingers. Buster’s floppy ears stood up and he came to sit by her, ready to move when she did. She quickly shrugged on her coat. It might be spring, but once the heat went out of the day the fog from the river could chill you to the bone.

  She reached up to wrap her shawl around her head and the niggle in her back tweaked again. She let out a quiet gasp so Emma wouldn’t hear. The dog tilted his head, looked at her and gave a little whine. Mattie stroked his head.

  ‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said, as she and Buster went through the door.

  ‘And keep an eye out for my Jacob. He said he was only having a swift half with Eli and that was an hour ago!’

  The fog in the yard was so thick she could barely see the double gates so, tugging her shawl around her, Mattie walked as swiftly as she could, with Buster staying close to her heels. Nathaniel had trained the dog well, but today he seemed more attentive than usual.

  Mattie lifted the latch, pushed the gate open and stepped out into the street. She could hear the hollow echo of barges knocking together as they floated in their moorings and she peered down the road towards Limehouse. The one street lamp cast a mustardy haze through the swirling mist and even though Nathaniel was probably only at the end of the street she couldn’t see him through the murkiness. Her shoulders slumped as she thought about his wasted journey. She could have sent Buster after him but although he was a clever dog, he was young, and if distracted by an interesting smell or a scurrying rat he could dart off and lose himself.

  She was about to step back into the yard when Buster’s ears strained forward and he started to growl. Mattie followed his gaze.

  Mr Stebbins!

  She could hardly believe it, but there was no mistaking his rotund figure half hidden in the shadows three doors down on the other side of the road. It had been over a month since the warrant for his arrest was issued but he had yet to be apprehended. Mattie had begun to believe the rumour that he’d left the area so seeing him not twenty yards from her sent fear coursing through her veins.

  She gripped the rough wood of the gate to steady herself and watched as Amos Stebbins slipped silently out of his hiding place and disappeared into the fog. The cramp in her back tightened again sharply and the dog beside her whimpered and fussed around her skirts.

  Sweet Mother of God! Please don’t let it be the baby. Not now, not yet.

  As if in answer to her prayer, the tightening in her back faded. She knew she really shouldn’t be out in the street alone. The sensible thing to do would be to get help but there was only Emma in the house. By the time they fetched Jacob and raised the alarm Stebbins would have caught up with Nathaniel.

  Mattie snapped her fingers to get Buster’s attention. ‘Go, fetch Nathaniel.’ He hesitated and she urged him on again. ‘Good Boy.’ The dog circled around her a couple of times, darted off but doubled back. She couldn’t blame him for not leaving her as Nathaniel had trained him to guard her and Brian.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said, stroking behind his ear.

  There was nothing for it. She would have to go herself and pray that she met the beat constable along the way. At the very least she could raise the alarm once she got to the coal depot. A picture of her first husband Brian, his face bloodless and still as he lay in his coffin, flashed into Mattie’s mind. Sweet Mary, please don’t let it happen again.

  She took a deep breath and walked as far as she could before resting against one of the high dock walls. She peered desperately into the gloom for the bright light of a police officer’s bulls-eye lamp.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she thought, holding her hand on her stomach. Isn’t the truth of it that you can never get sight of the buggers when they could be of service!

  A band of pain shot around her middle and she doubled over and tried to breathe through it. She bit her lip and Buster’s wet nose snuffled at her hand. Come on, Mattie, she told herself, you have to keep going. Gathering all her willpower together she straightened up and rested her back her on the wall again, praying the contractions would fade soon.

  ‘Can I be of assistance?’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin as she found herself looking into the youthful face of a policeman.

  ‘Blessed Mercy. Amos Stebbins is heading for the Morris Coal depot after my husband,’ she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him along with her. ‘He’s a wanted man. There’ll be murder if we don’t stop him.’

  The officer dragged his rattle from under his cape and swung it. The clackity-clack echoed around the street and when they arrived at Morris’s a few minutes later, four other officers joined them. The small access door was half open and Buster scampered through it followed by the officers and then Mattie. The dog stood rigid for a moment then dashed away barking for all he was worth, disappearing into the darkness of the yard.

  ‘Over here,’ one of the officers called.

  Mattie’s heart nearly leapt out of her mouth as the police lamp flashed onto a body slumped at the foot of the scales. Another of the officers joined the first and crouched beside him.

  ‘It’s the watchman,’ he called back. ‘He’s hurt but alive.’

  Stopping in front of Morris’s office door Nathaniel shoved his hand in his breast pocket.

  Damn!

  He’d knew he was too late to catch the yard manager but the watchman had let him in and loaned him a spare lamp so he could leave the book in the message box. Stupidly, he’d forgotten that he’d left their order book on the dresser before going to sign the lease on the house. What a wasted journey. If he’d done as Mattie suggested he’d now be warming himself by the fire with a hot cup of tea in his hands.

  The sound of boots crushing fragments of coal sounded behind him. Nathaniel turned and swung his lamp at what he thought was the watchman

  ‘I’ve left my—’

  But it was Amos Stebbins who stood in the beam of light pointing a gun at him.

  ‘Good evening, Tate,’ he laughed, aiming the barrel at Nathaniel’s chest. ‘H
ow’s married life?’

  Nathaniel didn’t answer or even blink. At this distance, if Stebbins’s finger slipped on the trigger the shot would tear through his chest and he’d be dead before he hit the ground.

  ‘Is dear Mrs Tate well?’ Amos continued in a conversational tone. ‘When I saw her on your arm outside the church last week she looked blooming. Is baby Tate due soon?’ His expression changed from convivial to vicious. ‘What a tragedy that, yet again, poor Mattie will lose her new husband just like the first. Before he sees his child born.’

  No! screamed a voice in Nathaniel’s head but he forced himself to remain calm. ‘It’s over, Stebbins, and killing me will just make things worse for you.’

  ‘Worse!’ Amos bellowed. ‘How could it be worse? Look at me!’ Nathaniel’s eyes flickered over Amos’s unshaven face and tatty clothes. ‘And it’s your fault, you poxy bastard.’ His face screwed up into a ball of loathing. ‘Why couldn’t you have been bitten by a snake or caught some horrible disease while you were in Australia instead of coming back to destroy everything I’ve worked for.’

  Fury rose up in Nathaniel as he thought of his trial at Chelmsford, three blistering years in the barracks at Botany Bay, his family’s grave and, lastly, Mattie, almost swindled into the workhouse; however, despite his sensible mind screaming at him not to rile a man aiming with a gun at you, Nathaniel took a step forward.

  ‘But you didn’t work for it, did you? You lied, cheated and robbed others to line your own pockets,’ Nathaniel spat out. ‘And the reason I came back was because you destroyed my family. You, Amos Stebbins, are reaping the harvest you sowed seven years ago. If you want to lay the blame of your downfall at anyone’s feet, it should be your own.’ He reached out an open hand. ‘You have wronged me and many others,’ he said, in a calm, almost soothing voice. ‘And now you have to be a man and face up to the consequences. There’s no avoiding it. At present you are only looking at a prison sentence but if you pull that trigger it will be the rope.’