‘You are cheating me. You are charging me more and I’ll bet you’ll just pocket the difference.’
Jack had to give the toff credit. He had more sense than he had supposed. But that did not mean he would let him win. ‘You have to pay for it now it’s poured.’ His voice was neutral, his face making it clear he cared nothing for the young gentleman’s protest.
‘I shall pay you sixpence. That’s a fair price.’
‘Price is a shilling, chum.’ Jack leant forward. ‘Who you looking for?’ He delivered the line in a hoarse whisper.
The toff blinked hard. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Jack pulled back. ‘Shilling for the drink and I’ll tell you where they are.’
The toff scowled, a flush of colour rising up his neck to stain his cheeks. ‘I was looking for a young girl I saw in here last time.’
‘A girl, is it?’ Jack scanned the bar. There was only one customer waiting, and that was old Bill, who would stand there happily no matter how long it took. ‘What she look like, this girl of yours?’
The young toff hesitated.
Jack smiled. He recognised the desire. ‘Let me guess. Red skirt. Pretty, too. Showed you an ankle.’
The blush flashed crimson. ‘That’s her. That’s the lady.’
‘A lady, is it! Fuck me, really?’ Jack laughed at the expression on the toff’s face. It looked like he was holding back a huge turd. ‘That’s Mary, that is. She won’t be in for a bit, but if you take a seat, I’ll send her your way when she comes in.’
‘How long will that be?’
Jack saw the flash of fear on the toff’s face. He was no fool and clearly knew the risk of staying too long in Whitechapel. He was rising in Jack’s estimation.
‘Not long.’ Jack considered the face that looked up at him with lust written into every pore. He knew what it was to fancy Mary. He sighed. He would never have the chance to do what this young posh boy would likely get the opportunity to do this very day. The notion stung. But he knew Mary would not thank him for letting such a wealthy customer slip away. And he had promised to look out for her. ‘Look, chum, take a seat. I’ll see you right.’
‘You will?’
‘Sure as eggs is eggs I will. What’s your name?’
‘Edmund.’
‘Well then, young Ed. Take a pew.’ Jack saw the look of suspicion on the anxious face in front of him. ‘Look, chum, I ain’t going to hook you. Take your drink, have a seat and see what happens. What’ve you got to lose?’
‘Very well.’ The toff made up his mind. He picked up his drink and turned towards the saloon bar.
‘Oi!’ Jack called him back.
‘I say, what now?’ The well-fed face was petulant.
‘Shilling. For the drink.’ Jack offered a rare smile. He was still smiling as he took the coin from Edmund’s hand and slipped it into his pocket.
Jack watched the young toff as he emerged from the back room. His face was flushed, a sheen of perspiration dotted across his brow.
It was hard not to be jealous. Jack felt it burning deep in his gut, as though the devil was sitting inside him stoking some dreadful fire. He tore his eyes from the toff’s face and kept stacking the glasses that he took from the crate on the floor by his feet. The evening rush was not far off, and his ma would tan his hide if the bar were not stocked and ready.
‘Thank you.’
Jack could not bring himself to look up. ‘No problem, chum.’ He kept himself busy. The urge to slap his fist into the toff’s glowing face was becoming hard to resist.
Edmund stood in front of the bar, his pot hat held in front of his groin. He looked at Jack with a quizzical expression.
‘What now?’ Jack growled the question. He wanted the toff on his way.
‘I wonder if I could procure your services?’
‘Do what?’ Jack’s jealousy was making him belligerent.
‘It’s getting dark. I would like you to escort me to Bishopsgate. I can get a hackney carriage from there.’ The toff looked anxious.
Jack felt the urge to refuse the lad. It would serve him right if he was attacked. It was still daylight, but the particular was setting in and Jack knew you would soon be lucky to see more than twenty yards. In the narrow streets around the palace, that would make for an interesting walk for a young man whose wealth was advertised so clearly.
‘You said you would see me right.’ Edmund reminded Jack of his words.
‘I got you the girl – sorry, the lady.’ Jack could not keep the bitterness from his voice.
Edmund scowled. ‘You said you would look out for me.’ The retort was childish.
‘So fucking what? Now piss off.’ Jack’s face was hard. He had decided it would be best if he had nothing more to do with the toff.
‘I’ll pay.’
‘I ain’t a fucking whore.’ Jack spat the words out.
Edmund looked as if he had been slapped. ‘You blackguard,’ he exclaimed, before turning on his heel and storming for the door.
Jack watched him go. He was not proud of his words, but he couldn’t forget that the young boy in the fancy clothes had lain with Mary. He had been accepted to a place where Jack was denied entry. The difference was money; rhino. The toff had it, and so had got what he desired. Jack didn’t, and would have to suck on the sour teat of frustration.
He bent low to pick up the next layer of glasses. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a shadowy figure slip out through the gin palace’s door moments after the young toff had departed. He recognised who it was. What it would mean. He closed his eyes and made up his mind. He knew what he had said. He might not have a brass farthing to his name, but he did have his word.
‘Give me your fucking money, or so help me I’ll snap your fucking neck.’
‘I don’t have any!’ Edmund cried. The ambush had been ruthless and swift. He had not seen anything of his assailant until the hands had grabbed him around the shoulders and dragged him into the dank alley. Now he was trapped in a doorway with a locked and barred door pressing into his spine and a dark-eyed miscreant in his face.
‘Don’t fucking lie.’ The man who had grabbed him hopped from foot to foot. His face was hidden behind a thick muffler, a battered and filthy top hat pulled low on his brow.
‘I spent it!’ Edmund felt the tears prick at his eyes. He did not know what to do. His father would kill him, if he survived long enough to make it back to their London house. Shame and fear surged through him, his backside quivering as he tried to think of a way to get away.
The footpad had wasted enough time. His hand shot out, and he cuffed Edmund around the face, slapping him hard. Edmund reeled, the bright strike of pain flashing through his head. The footpad was already searching his clothes, hands moving fast.
‘Step away.’ The command came from behind the attacker.
The hands stopped moving. The footpad turned, furtive eyes darting round quickly.
‘Fuck off, Mud. Ain’t your concern.’ The identification made, the footpad turned back to Edmund to carry on the search.
‘Step away, Jem. He’s a chum of mine. You need to leave him alone.’
‘Fucking bum chum more like. You ain’t got no friends, ’specially not a toff like him. Now shut your fucking muzzle and walk your chalk before I teach you a lesson instead.’
‘I can’t do that, Jem. I said I’d look out for him. Leave him alone.’
Edmund marvelled at the calm tone in the voice of his saviour.
‘For fuck’s sake, Mud.’ The footpad turned fast. A knife appeared in his hand in the space of a single heartbeat.
Edmund saw the lad from the gin palace hold up his hands to show he was unarmed. ‘You don’t need the poker, Jem. Let the boy go.’
‘Not till I ’ave his tin.’ The footpad hefted the knife. ‘Now fuck off.’
‘I ain’t going—’ The words were cut off as the footpad lunged. The knife was thrust hard and low. It was a cruel strike, a disembowelling attack that w
ould kill if it landed true.
The lad from the gin palace saw it coming and twisted hard, his roar of sudden fear drowned out by Jem’s bellow of rage. The knife slipped past, missing his side by no more than half an inch.
Edmund choked down a cry as he saw the lad lash out, his fist moving even as he gasped at the closeness of the knife. It was a half-arsed blow that only clipped Jem’s ear, but it was enough to make the footpad stagger, and Edmund’s saviour saw the opening. He stepped forward, the knife ignored, and drove his left hand with all his strength into Jem’s throat.
The would-be footpad fell, his knife dropping to the ground as he clutched at his neck, his sobs and groans loud as he struggled to breathe.
‘Quick!’
Edmund’s arm was grabbed and the lad from the gin palace hauled him forward. They ran, the footpad left lying in the dirt.
The mismatched pair galloped hard, Jack bellowing with fierce, wild joy, his brush with death forgotten as he pounded through narrow alleys that were mercifully quiet.
It was only when they reached the main streets that they slowed. Jack stumbled to a halt, the breath rasping in his throat. ‘Fucking hell.’ The shadow of death danced down his spine and he shuddered, the memory of the knife fresh. He bent double, his hands on his knees, his head hanging down towards the ground.
‘Oh my God.’ Edmund was still standing, but his chest heaved and he sucked down huge lungfuls of air.
Jack straightened and slapped his new friend on the arm. ‘How fucking good am I? Did you see me drop the fucker?’
Edmund cackled, a manic laugh escaping his gasping mouth. ‘Thank God.’
‘Don’t thank him! Fucking thank me.’ Jack’s lungs were recovering. He smeared his hands across his face, wiping away the sweat.
Edmund was still laughing. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’
‘That’s more like it. Fucking hell.’ Jack was beginning to understand the repercussions of his actions. He was missing from the palace, and he knew his mother would throw a fit when she discovered he had left her to it. If her old man happened to be home, it would go badly for Jack when he eventually did return. Then there was Jem to worry about. He was a mean bastard and he would not forgive Jack either for denying him his victim or for the blow he had dealt out.
‘Will he come after you now?’ Edmund’s laughter died away. He had seen the change of expression on Jack’s face.
‘Most likely.’
‘Oh my God. I am so sorry.’ Edmund reached out and clasped Jack’s shoulder. ‘I am in your debt.’
Jack snorted at the grand-sounding phrase. ‘Yes, yes you bloody are.’ He shook his head, forcing away the dread. He was his mother’s son. It would be a fool who would touch him. He was more worried about Lampkin.
‘I shall repay you.’ Edmund was serious.
‘How the hell are you going to do that?’
Edmund scowled. ‘I confess I do not know.’
‘No. People like you don’t think like that.’ Jack sighed, the joy of the escapade fading against the near-certain prospect of another beating.
‘I am different. I shall find a way, I give you my word.’
‘Well, isn’t that lovely? I’ll look forward to it.’
‘You just wait.’ Edmund stood back. He pulled down his jacket, straightening it on his shoulders. ‘I shall come and see you again.’
‘She was that good, was she?’ Jack felt some of his old bitterness return. The young toff would walk away. He would get into the first hackney carriage he found and return to his privileged world. Jack would walk back to his own life, and to a pair of heavy fists.
Edmund laughed, unaware of the emotions coursing through his rescuer. He pounded Jack on the back. ‘She is like Aphrodite given mortal form.’
Jack could not help but smile. By rights he should have hated the rich boy standing in front of him. But there was something about him that was simply impossible not to like. ‘Then I’ll be seeing you, Ed, old chum.’
‘Yes. You will. I bid you a good day.’ Edmund nodded and turned away.
Jack stood and watched him go, hands thrust in his pockets, delaying the inevitable. A paper boy rushed past, a bundle fresh from the printer in his arms. Around him the crowds started to swell, the bustle of early evening swirling into the streets.
Eventually Jack turned and began the long walk back to the gin palace. He might not relish the idea of returning, but he had no choice. He had nowhere else to go.
Chapter 5
‘Where the hell have you been?’
Jack was in no mood to talk. He lifted the hatch and took his place behind the bar without saying a word to his mother, who was already busy serving the first of the evening’s customers. He looked at his first punter.
‘What’ll it be?’
‘Don’t think you can ignore me, Jack Lark.’ His mother snapped the words but did not pause in topping off a small glass bottle. She held it out over the edge of the bar. ‘Threepence, young Sally. And tell your mother I’ll pop by and see her wee one tomorrow.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ A child’s hand reached up and passed over the three coins before taking the bottle with its precious liquid.
‘John saw you was missing.’ Jack’s mother spoke quickly, her face stern before she fixed a beaming smile on her next customer. ‘What’ll it be, my darling?’
Jack grunted in acknowledgement of her warning, and kept up the litany of his trade, his hands never still. But he could not hide the shiver that ran down his spine.
‘You’re a fool, Jack. Why can’t you just do what you are told? Tuppence, my love.’
‘He ain’t my guv’nor.’ Jack spoke for the first time. ‘It ain’t his place to tell me nothing.’
‘By Christ, Jack Lark, you are a stubborn fool.’ His mother pushed past and lifted the lid from the wicker basket containing the salted cakes she had baked fresh that morning. ‘Here you go, my darling. Little something from me.’ She dispensed the cake with a smile to a face Jack did not recognise.
He worked on at his mother’s side, filling the glasses with the spirit that he had helped to water down that morning when it had arrived on the cart from the brewer. He never touched the stuff, but he was sorely tempted that day. It would dull the pain of what was to come, the inevitable conclusion already playing out in his head.
‘I want a word with you, boy.’
Jack kept his head down. The bar was empty, the final punters helped on their way. He and his mother had been cleaning up, the last of the day’s jobs nearly finished, when the door opened and Lampkin slipped inside.
‘Go easy on him, John.’ Jack’s mother stepped forward, her hands busy as she wiped the glasses clean. The rag was stained and grotty, its long use evident in every stain. She had already used it to wipe the mahogany bar, but she would not hang it out to air until the last of the day’s glasses had been rubbed dry.
‘Ain’t your concern, woman. Boy, step out back.’
Jack shivered. For a moment, he stayed low, stacking the glasses on to the shelves built beneath the bar. He had heard his mother’s bedmate arrive, his heavy tread as recognisable as the sour smell of spilt gin. At last he eased himself to his feet and came face to face with the man who owned them both.
‘He worked hard today, John. I ain’t never seen him so quick.’ Jack heard the tremble of fear in his mother’s voice. He was not the only one to have felt the power of John Lampkin’s fists. Yet Jack knew she loved the man, although he could never understand why. The man he called master had been installed in the palace not long after Jack’s father had been found dead, his throat slit by the same slut he had run away with. Lampkin had beaten Jack that very first day, their relationship set on to a firm foundation.
‘He fucked off and weren’t here when he should’ve been. Boy knows the rules.’ Lampkin reached forward and cupped Jack’s mother’s face. ‘You know I’m right, love. He needs to know his place or he’ll just mug us off.’
Jack’s mother smiled
at the heavy touch. She leant her face into his hand, her smile quick. Then her expression hardened as she lifted her head and turned it back towards her wayward son. ‘John’s right. You know the rules, Jack. You’re a fool to yourself.’
‘I weren’t that late. Besides, I was saving someone. One of our customers.’ Jack bit his lip. Whining would do no good, but he could not hold back the words.
‘Saving someone, is it?’ Lampkin sneered at the boyish words. ‘I don’t give a toss where you was. You should’ve been here. Instead you were pissing around so your ma had to work twice as hard. And that ain’t right, boy. You shouldn’t treat your dear ma like that. I figure you need a little reminder of your place.’ He smiled at his woman before turning back to Jack, his face set. His hands drifted to the cudgel at his waist. ‘Step out back and wait for me there.’
Jack remembered the flash of the knife, the feeling as his blow landed true. ‘I ain’t a boy no longer,’ he said. He held himself tight, sucking up his courage. He was taller than Lampkin by half a head, and he straightened his back, his hands balling into fists. ‘Time you learnt that.’
Lampkin paused. He looked Jack up and down as if seeing him for the first time. Then he laughed. It was a cruel sound, mocking Jack’s courage, and the fine display turned sour as Lampkin reacted with disdain. ‘You going to fight me, boy?’
Jack felt the fear. It was tied deep in his gut, a knot that swelled to fill his very being. Yet he managed to nod.
‘Then we had best do this out front. Like real men.’ Lampkin pulled the cudgel from his waistband. He considered it for a moment before reaching out and placing it carefully on the bar, watching Jack the whole time. He did not wait for a reaction, but pushed Jack’s mother aside as she stepped in front of him, and moved towards the door.
‘He ain’t a man, John. He’s a boy, just a stupid, foolish boy.’
‘A boy who wants to fight.’ Lampkin spoke over his shoulder as he strode across the sawdust-covered wooden floor of the main bar. ‘I ain’t going to refuse him.’
Jack followed the man he had known as his master for almost as long as he could remember. His mother reached out for him, her hands like claws, her face set cruel.
Jack Lark: Rogue Page 4
