The Friday following her visit to Giles Pickering, they suffered yet another `accident’, on a return trip from Liverpool. A load of timber broke free from the strap securing it, and a third of Blackbird’s cargo was lost, not to mention a good deal of time wasted before they managed to make the rest of the load secure. Nor did they catch the culprit. Jackdaw heard running feet and gave chase, but could see nothing in the darkness.
The following morning as they tied up at Trafford Wharf, Kit strolled over. ‘Dear, dear. Having problems, are you?’
‘As if you didn’t know,’ Ruby drily remarked.
‘You should take more care. The canal system is a dangerous place for a woman. Anything can happen.’
Ruby spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Is that some sort of threat?’
‘As if I would threaten you. Why, yer like family to me, being Pearl’s sister. No, I just wondered if you’d like me to ask around for you, see if I can get wind of who’s causing all this trouble?’ His face was a picture of innocence as he smiled at her.
‘No, thanks, I can manage.’ She walked away from him, determined not to get involved in an argument. But to her great annoyance, he followed her.
‘Make it worth me while and I’d see you were safe in future, Ruby.’
‘Oh, and how would you achieve that, I wonder?’
He grasped her by the elbow, pulling her to a halt. ‘Whatever you’ve suffered so far is nowt to what could happen. Believe me, life could get pretty nasty for a woman alone on these waters.’
‘Ah, but I’m not alone. I have Sparky and Jackdaw with me at all times.’ She tried to pull her arm free, but he was holding her so tightly there was no hope of escape.
‘Lot of good they’ll do you. You know, of course, that there are some nasty rumours doing the rounds about what exactly did happen to your husband? It wouldn’t do your business any good at all were they to get wind of the truth: that it was you who pushed him overboard.’
Ruby gasped. ‘You know very well that’s not how it was.’
He gave a sad little shake of his head. ‘Aye, but since there were no witnesses, who’s to say? Then, having got yer hands on his boats, you sent me to sell that pendant. Now, having spent all of that money, you’re now after the insurance money on the tug and barges, which no doubt your careful husband was astute enough to take out, which would nicely compensate for these so-called “accidents” to your boat.’
‘Dear heaven, you’re trying to blackmail me!’
‘Now that’s not a nice word, Ruby.’ He chuckled softly as he drew her closer. ‘I’m trying to help you, pet. All you have to do is hand over them barges to me, which is only right and proper after the fuss and bother I went to. Oh, we’ll make it look as if I’ve paid you a fair price, on paper that is. Not what you’d get on the open market, of course, but then you’re not in a position to dictate terms, are you? What with your business going down the sewer after all these careless mistakes you’ve been making. Everyone knows that.’
Ruby was gasping. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this. I haven’t made any mistakes. You’re the one deliberately damaging my vessels, and I’ll see that everyone knows it.’
He looked sadly at her. ‘They’d never believe you. They’d only think you were trying to prevent yourself, a reformatory girl, from being accused of murder.’
‘And why would they believe you, a reformatory lad?’
‘Oh, there’d be some who wouldn’t, I’m sure you’re right. But you wouldn’t want to take any risks by arguing the toss, now would you? No, Ruby, I’d say that, all told, your best bet would be to get out of the carrier business altogether. Otherwise things could get very nasty. Very nasty indeed.’
The bare-faced cheek of the man was almost beyond belief, and Ruby told him so, in no uncertain terms, using the kind of reformatory language she hadn’t used in a long while. He simply laughed, finding her fury amusing.
Finally, she managed to wrench her arm free. `You’ll never get your hands on my business. Never! It’s my son’s inheritance. And don’t you ever come anywhere near my boats again. If, as I suspect, it’s you who’s damaging my cargo, then make no mistake, we’ll have the police on you.’
He chuckled as he turned to leave. ‘You have to catch me first. Remember what I’ve said, Ruby. Give in gracefully or it’ll be the worse for you.’ And with an arrogant smirk on his handsome face, he stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled away.
Three nights later they were all asleep in their cabins, save for Jackdaw who was on watch, when Ruby woke to the smell of smoke and pandemonium all around her. A window had been smashed and a ball of burning, oily cotton waste thrown inside the tug. In the seconds it took her to grab her coat, the fire had already taken hold in the main cabin. Children were crying, Aggie was having screaming hysterics, and poor Sparky was doing his best to get everyone up and tackle the blaze all at the same time.
‘Tommy, Tommy!’ Ruby was frantic to wake her son. Gathering him into her arms, she fled, almost falling into the water in her terror.
The minute the other children were all safely ashore, Ruby left him in their care and was back beside Sparky, beating at the flames, Aggie and the older children were filling water buckets from the canal for them to throw. But they could see from the start that it was hopeless. They were fighting a losing battle. Nothing could save the tug. It was more than an hour later that they found jackdaw, lying unconscious on the tow path, a pool of blood spreading beneath his battered head. The shock made the loss of the tug and Ruby’s income seem small by comparison.
They believed that Jackdaw must have heard a sound or spotted something moving in the darkness. With his keen senses, he was always the most effective on watch. It was clear that he must have gone after whoever it was, and this had been the result.
Ruby saw red. She left Aggie and Sparky tending to him and, unable to bear the sight of the blackened ruin of her precious boat, she marched off down the tow path, head held high and war in her heart.
Perhaps it was the very depth of her anger that saved her, the fire alight in her now so that nothing would quench it. This matter had to be settled once and for all. Certainly nobody she met on the canal bank that day was in any doubt that she meant business, and every single one of them offered their assistance, which she politely, if somewhat brusquely, refused.
‘I can deal with my own troubles, thanks all the same.’
And she did. She found Kit, as expected, skulking in the messiest pair of barges she’d ever had the misfortune to step aboard. Ruby stepped over one man prostrate on the deck, presumably the worse for drink, and strode the length of the barges with practised ease. The first mate looked on, goggle-eyed, evidently enjoying the show.
Hands on hips she confronted her enemy. ‘So, you’re up to your old tricks again? Not content with cutting the wire on my timber and losing me half my load, now you’ve resorted to arson. Well, let me tell you, Kit Jarvis, this is your last warning. If you ever come within a hundred yards of my tug again, it’ll be your throat that is slit, from ear to ear. Do I make myself clear?’
He was foolish enough to snort his derision.
‘Oh, don’t think I can’t. So far I’ve been very patient. Too patient perhaps. But don’t forget, I’m a reformatory girl too with friends in the right places. Jackdaw was always on at me about being too soft before it all got out of hand. Now he’s the one who has suffered the most because I refused to heed his warning. That was a bad mistake, Kit, attacking your one-time friend. If Jackdaw wasn’t such a hard nut to crack you’d have done for him. It’s a miracle he survived.’ She allowed herself a small smile as she saw uncertainty creep into his blue eyes. ‘I’ll certainly be hard pressed to hold him back now. But then, why should 1 care what he does to you? You’re not the only one who can take revenge. You and Pearl had best watch out.’
‘Huh, I haven’t seen Pearl in months.’
For a moment Ruby was thrown off her stride, but quickly recovering she
continued, ‘Be that as it may, my sister must make her own way in the world, as she insists that’s what she wants. What she does with her life is no longer any of my concern. And what you do with yours is your business too. But interfere with me and mine, and you’ll wish you’d never set eyes on Ruby McBride.’
‘I already do,’ he grumbled sourly.
‘Good. Then you’ll think twice before taking me on again. Do your worst, Kit Jarvis, if you dare. Tell your sordid little tale and I’ll tell mine, and we’ll see who they believe. I’m willing to call your bluff. And don’t forget, if anything were to happen to me, Jackdaw and Sparky would know well enough where to coming looking for you. Believe me, there’d be no holds barred. And just to show you that I mean business, how about this for starters.’ Whereupon she picked up the long pole used for hauling the barge through tunnels, and stabbing him in the chest with it, pushed him into the canal. He gave a yell of surprised fright as he toppled backwards into the filthy water. ‘Now why don’t you tell everyone that I shoved you overboard, because that bit would be true, wouldn’t it?’
She left him spluttering and swearing, not least cursing at his first mate who was roaring with laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
24 June 1911
The man standing amongst the motley gathering of dockers was tall and with a powerful build that would make him appear dominant in any crowd, despite his evident desire to stay well back and not be noticed. He wore rough working clothes like everyone else, and a slouch cap pulled well down over his eyes, allowing him to glance to right or left unobserved. He was only half listening to the irate debate taking place amongst the dockers who, having finally lost patience with being ignored, had come out on strike. The rest of his attention was centred upon a young woman. She stood on the fringes a few yards away from him, holding tightly to the hand of a child: a boy, of around three or four years old at a guess.
Only yesterday the people of Manchester and Salford had been celebrating the Coronation of George V. The streets were still decked with paper bunting, Union flags, and dusty-looking banners wilting in the heat. It had been one of the hottest summers on record, trade was booming and any visitor to these shores, come to revel in the majesty of imperialistic glory, must have thought it a fortunate land indeed.
But Bart, like many another union man, knew that all was not as it appeared. Underneath the pomp and circumstance festered an open sore of discontent.
A voice rang out, echoing his troubled thoughts. ‘A chap shouldn’t be at risk of losing his job just because he’s joined a union. The bosses have their combinations, why not we men? We should have the right.’
Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd, though one man shouted out a warning. ‘Take care who you say that to, lad. A bloke at Pickering’s Wharf got sacked the other week for just such a remark.’
Bart recognised the speaker as Flitch and smiled to himself. Big he may be, but never foolhardy, not where his livelihood was concerned. The same could be said of most of these men. Good, honest men who asked only for someone to listen to their problems, offer some sort of security, and at the very least provide decent working conditions. He understood their frustrations and felt a nudge of guilt because by doing his disappearing act, he felt he’d let them down somehow.
He’d spent the last few years working on the docks in Glasgow, physically hard labour for a low wage, but sufficiently taxing to allow him to sleep at nights. Now he was back and dockers, carters, railway workers and union men everywhere were making their voices heard up and down the land, here in Manchester as much as anywhere.
The trouble was there were too many unions: small, regional groups with too little power or muscle to use against the employers, who rarely managed to agree with each other let alone join forces and work together for the benefit of all. Owners and managers were every bit as stubborn, and often refused even to speak to a union man, let alone employ one. Madness!
The syndicalists might speak with passion of their dream for creating one big union that would tailor the share of power in society to suit all, but there was little chance of their succeeding in this over-optimistic aim. Unlike his father, Bart had never seen them as an evil and sinister force, out to destroy the very people who provided them with work, and found it hard to hold his patience with such an attitude. Though in truth he believed the real answer lay in seeking a middle ground, one less radical but fair.
‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ his father would say. ‘The world is changing too fast for me. Join forces with me in the business, if you care that much.’ Yet Bart had always refused, knowing the cost of such an action would be high. Swallowing his pride for one thing. Learning to work with his father for another. Quite impossible.
And now his father was gone. Giles Pickering had died of a heart attack less than a week ago. Bart had returned for the funeral, and now had some hard decisions to make. Did he stay, and take responsibility for his heritage, or return to Glasgow and anonymity?
It surprised him that he’d even been given the choice, but the solicitor had called him into his office and outlined the terms under which he could take control of Pickering’s. And there were indeed conditions. No unions had been one. He must take his proper place in society and stop denying his background and heritage for another; also recognise that his stepmother could continue to live in the house for the remainder of her lifetime. Bart had listened carefully and then walked out of the door without giving his response. Even in death his father attempted to control him. But Giles Pickering could not halt the progress of history.
‘I got the push last week,’ one man cried out. ‘For being an agitator, though I’d only attended a couple of meetings. I’ll show ‘em agitating! They won’t know what’s hit ‘em, once I get started.’
‘Don’t talk so daft. We’re wasting our time. The union will never be recognised.’
‘It will if we keep faith. We have to hold fast to our beliefs.’
‘Aye, and stick to our demands for a wage above starvation level.’
‘How can we hope for that when employers want things all their own way.’
The argument raged on, but Bart’s attention was again distracted by the woman who was now moving away. She had her head down as she talked to the boy, and a swathe of nut-brown hair fell forward over her cheek. He ached to go over to her, push back the hair and kiss her, as he might once have done without a moment’s thought. Though would she have welcomed such a kiss even then? He thought not. There were times, in the privacy of their bed, he’d felt he’d come close to possessing her, yet even that may well have been an illusion.
They’d got off on the wrong foot from the start. He shouldn’t have bullied her into marrying him. He probably would never have done so had not that pompous Chairman of the Board of Guardians been so determined to have her locked up for inciting a riot. The prospect of that lovely girl being incarcerated in a stinking cell had been more than he could stomach, even then, and he’d put forward an alternative suggestion without hesitation.
And not for a moment, a second, had he regretted it. He loved her now even more than he had loved her then. He froze as he saw that she was walking towards him, heard the clear tinkle of her laughter, and his heart clenched into a ball of pain deep inside. He should walk away now, before she spotted him, but somehow his feet wouldn’t respond. He stood transfixed, paralysed by the sight of her.
Discovering she had taken Kit Jarvis as her lover had nearly broken him. He’d followed her because he’d been unwilling to believe it could be true. For a time, after he’d saved her from that crazy escapade on the ship, he’d thought he’d finally won her. But Kit Jarvis had put him right on that one, and the fight, coming as it did on top of the argument with his father and his failure to help the men, had well-nigh finished him. His whole life had suddenly seemed useless, without value or purpose. It had been touch and go for a while at the bottom of that filthy canal but even after he’d finally come up, s
ome distance from the tug and gasping for air, he’d felt no urge to return.
Looking back, he didn’t regret taking advantage of the fight and his plunge into the canal, cold and unpleasant though it had been. He’d been right to leave. Look at her now, with living proof of her betrayal. The child was dressed in a spotless blue shirt, buttoned at the cuffs but open at the neck, and knee-length grey trousers. The child looked healthy and robust, with rosy cheeks and a large floppy beret pulled down over his head to protect him from the sun.
She was wearing a blue linen, ankle-length dress that moulded to her figure as she walked. It suited her, contrasted well with her colouring. Her hat, he noticed, was a golden straw with a matching blue ribbon. She’d taken it off in the heat and was swinging it idly in her hand.
She was less than ten yards from him now. Were she to glance up, she might look straight into his eyes. Fortunately, she was utterly absorbed in the child who was playing with a diabolo, trying to make the bobbin spin in the limpid summer air.
‘Toss it, Tommy. Go on, don’t be afraid. Roll it along the string, then up it goes.’
The child was concentrating hard but didn’t quite have the necessary dexterity. The spinning bobbin flew from its string well enough, its painted colours glittering in the sunlight, but did not return as expected. Ruby laughed uproariously as she chased after it.
Their fingers closed on the toy at the same moment. ‘Oh, thank. My son dropped it, he...’
She stopped speaking and every vestige of colour drained from her face as she looked up into his eyes. Then she put her hand to her mouth, shook her head slightly as if in disbelief. Bart handed her back the bobbin, tugged the neb of his cap and gave a cool smile.
Ruby McBride Page 29
