Gypsy (26 page)

The next thing he knew, Heaney’s voice was booming in the bar. Sam jumped up and ran in there, noticing it was now eleven o’clock and he’d been asleep for two hours.

‘You look rough,’ Heaney remarked, going behind the bar and pouring himself a whisky. ‘I haven’t heard anything, so get yourself home and cleaned up. It’s business as usual until I tell you otherwise.’

His brusque tone made Sam angry. ‘You don’t give a damn about Beth, do you? Only that someone’s pulled one over on you. What kind of man are you?’

‘The kind that socks insolent young pups in the mouth,’ Heaney retorted, finishing his drink in one long gulp. ‘Now, get home and shave and put a clean shirt on.’

Jack was as good as his word; at two he came into the saloon. He’d changed his bloodstained working clothes for a very shabby seaman’s navy blue pea jacket and an equally old cap. ‘I was told Fingers owns property in Mulberry Bend,’ he whispered to Sam across the bar. ‘No address, and it’s like a feckin’ rabbit warren around there, but I’m going over now to look around.’

‘I want to come with you,’ Sam whispered back. ‘But Heaney will throw a fit.’

‘You’d stand out there like a dog’s bollocks,’ Jack said with a smirk. ‘I’ll go alone. Besides, it’ll be better if you’re here when Fingers does make a move. We need to know what his demands are. We can’t trust Heaney to tell us the truth.’

‘I don’t think he’ll pay anything to get Beth back,’ Sam said fearfully.

‘That’s why we’ve got to find her, and if Fingers has hurt her then I swear I’ll kill him.’

Jack lit up a cigarette outside a pawnshop in Mulberry Bend, leaned back against a wall and surveyed the teeming street impassively. Beth had told him how horrified and scared she was when she and Sam lost their way and found themselves here, but he hadn’t had the heart to tell her that it wasn’t so different to where he’d grown up in the East End of London, or for that matter the slums of Liverpool.

The main difference was that English people were a tiny minority here, and perhaps only half of the rest spoke little or any English.

They were Italians, Germans, Poles, Jews and Irish in the main, with a liberal sprinkling from other European countries, plus negroes who had moved up from the Southern states. The only thing they had in common with one another was the hopelessness of their situation, for this wasn’t just a ghetto of poor people, this was the absolute bottom of the pit.

If you came to this hell-hole in desperation because you’d nowhere else to go, the sides of the pit were too steep and high to climb out again.

Jack knew that the rents charged here for one filthy, rat-and-bug-infested room were in fact higher than for a decent house or a complete apartment uptown. But then, these poverty-stricken immigrants would not be acceptable to the landlords of those places.

All over the Lower East Side people could only manage to pay high rents on low wages by sharing with others, usually friends or relatives. But here the only criterion for having some sort of roof over your head was the ability to pay a few cents per night, and for that you slept on a floor among dozens of others.

Living a hand-to-mouth existence, with no comfort, warmth or even facilities for keeping clean, people soon found themselves locked into a spiral which led ever further downwards. A man could hardly take on strenuous physical work when he had little sleep or a decent meal; a woman couldn’t sew or even make matchboxes unless she had room and light to do it in. Who wouldn’t turn to drink when it was the only thing which numbed the mind from complete despair?

In Jack’s immediate view he could count five grog shops, three saloons, two second-hand clothes shops and two pawnshops. He thought that gave a fairly accurate picture of the needs of the community.

The one greengrocer’s had a display of fruit and vegetables that even from a distance were clearly well past their best, and the dried goods store was only marginally better. People were peddling things all along the kerbside. Two bent old crones were selling stale bread, and he watched as their dirty hands delved into even dirtier bags made from old mattress ticking to bring out another misshapen loaf. Another man was butchering a goat on a piece of wood balanced on one of the street’s ash tins. But even worse were the two Italian men selling stale beer, the leftover dregs from a saloon, passing it out in old tin cans.

‘The Bend’, as it was generally known, because the road was shaped like a dog’s leg, was at least swept from time to time by the council. But just a few steps away in the rabbit warren of narrow, dark alleys running from it, places where neither council brooms nor sunshine ever ventured, the rubbish lay rotting on the ground, mingling with the stink of human effluent. Thousands of people lived in the ramshackle houses, tenements, cellars and even sheds, a pile of rags passing for a bed, a beer crate for a stool.

Jack had no doubt that most of the ragged, half-starved children he could see hanging around today had no home, for living on the streets was often preferable to ‘home’. At least that way they didn’t have to hand over their meagre earnings from begging or thieving or risk being beaten by drunken parents.

Jack knew exactly how that was, for he had taken to the streets of Whitechapel at a very early age for just the same reasons. School was a place he only went to when the truancy man caught him; all his knowledge and skills, which were mainly those of survival, were learned on the streets.

Meeting Beth on the ship had been like a miracle. The only friends he’d ever had were those from the slime at the bottom of the barrel like him. He’d looked at girls like Beth from afar, wishing he could reach out and touch their silky hair, or just be close enough to smell their clean skin and clothes. He never dreamed he would ever have someone like that for a friend, much less hold her hand or kiss her.

But Beth talked to him as if he was the same as her. She laughed with him, she shared her sadness and her hopes with him. She made him think he could achieve anything he wanted. When she said goodbye on the ship, promising she would meet him in exactly one month’s time on Castle Green, he didn’t expect for one moment that she would be there. But the strength and belief in himself that she’d given him stayed with him.

He spent his first night here in the Bend, for it was the only place he’d been told about by acquaintances back in Liverpool. But for Beth’s influence, he wouldn’t even have noticed how appalling it was, he would’ve numbed his mind with drink and followed the lead of those he met that night. But she had changed his viewpoint, and by the following morning he knew he must get out immediately or find himself sucked in.

Working in the slaughterhouse was hideous. The terror of the cattle as he helped drive them from the ship towards their death, the casual attitude of the men who killed them and the stink of blood and guts made him feel sick to his stomach. But it was work, better paid than most jobs, and even though sleeping on the floor with five other men in one tiny room didn’t seem as if he’d taken a step upwards, he knew he had.

He almost didn’t go to Castle Green a month later. He’d caught Sam’s parting glance at him, and it was cold enough to freeze a brass monkey. He also expected that Sam, with his looks and charm, would have found some fancy position, and that by now Beth would be walking out with someone her brother had picked for her.

It was sheer defiance that made Jack go. He had been tempted so many times to backslide into his old ways of drinking and fighting, and he thought if she let him down he could justify it. But there she was, waiting for him on Castle Green, bright, eager and lovely.

He had been surprised that Sam wasn’t in work, and when he sensed her anxiety about it, he tried to help, never imagining Sam would stoop to being a barman on the Bowery. Jack hadn’t admitted how he was living, or how gruesome his job was — that would have been too much for Beth — but it spurred him on to improve his situation.

Getting moved into the butchery side of the slaughterhouse wouldn’t seem much of a step up to many, but it was. He was learning a trade which would stand him in good stead in the future, and he didn’t have to see and hear the cattle’s terror. Shortly afterwards he got a better room, sharing with three friends. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, he had a real bed and a place to hang his clothes.

All through the summer he thought he had the sun, the moon and the stars because he had Beth. He worked extra hours to get more money so he could save a little; he even went to a night class to improve his reading and writing.

Then came the day he realized she didn’t feel the same about him.

For a while he thought life wasn’t worth living without her. It was like a knife through the heart hearing that his rival was a gentleman, for it brought back all his old feelings of worthlessness. So many nights he went down to Heaney’s and stood outside just to listen to her playing, and he’d be choked up with tears.

It was on one of those nights that it came to him that even if she didn’t return his love, maybe he could keep her in his life as a friend. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, for he’d have to pretend to like Theo the card sharp and put up with Sam looking down on him. But he thought he could do that, in the hopes that one day Beth might need him.

Well, she needed him now. He just hoped he could track down where she was being held and rescue her.

Jack was systematic in his search, up one alley, down the next, checking out each tiny dark court in between. He saw drunks lying insensible, near-naked children with hollow eyes sitting listlessly on stoops. Gangs of young lads eyed him up with suspicion, haggard whores offered themselves for a few cents.

Everywhere else in New York there were Christmas decorations, festooned trees and shop windows full of ideas for presents. But although tomorrow was Christmas Eve, there was no hint of any festivity here.

Jack spoke to many people. Mostly he pretended he was just off a ship and had been told that he’d got to look up someone called Fingers Malone. Mostly people shook their heads and said they didn’t know anyone by that name. An old whore with a pockmarked face spat and said he was an evil bastard, but couldn’t be drawn as to why, or where he could be found. A couple of lads of about thirteen bragged they’d done a few jobs for him. Jack was pretty certain they’d only heard his name and wouldn’t even know the man if he stood in front of them.

In a dirty, smoky saloon on Mulberry, the barman said he owned a chunk of property in Bottle Alley, but a man drinking at the bar said it wasn’t there, it was in Blind Man’s Court.

By eight in the evening Jack’s feet ached. He was so weary of repeating the same story to so many people that he doubted he was making much sense, and he’d scrutinized every inch of both Bottle Alley and Blind Man’s Court. The Bend was no place for a stranger to hang around at night, for the alleys were dark, full of drunks eager for a fight and young lads on the prowl looking for someone to rob. It was also bitterly cold, so he felt he had to go back to Heaney’s to see if Sam had any news.

It was a relief to get back to the Bowery with its bright lights and gaiety. Music thumped out from the German Beer Gardens, and a marching band was playing Christmas carols. The pedlars were out in force, selling everything from cheap toys to men’s suspenders. There were toffee apples, roast chestnuts and waffles, and the warmth from the stalls and the sweet smells reminded Jack that Beth might be cold and hungry.

Jack spotted a familiar face in the crowd ahead of him.

He had only seen Theo once, but his striking good looks were memorable, and in the Bowery such a man would stand out, even without his full evening dress, complete with top hat and a cloak.

Jack stepped right into his path. ‘Mr Cadogan!’ he said.

‘Do I know you?’ Theo asked, looking Jack up and down as if astounded that a man so roughly dressed should know his name.

‘No, sir,’ Jack said. ‘But I’m a friend of Beth’s, and she’s in great danger. I was just going down to Heaney’s to see her brother, and I spotted you.’

Jack half expected the man to claim he had urgent business and couldn’t stop now, but he didn’t. ‘In danger?’ he exclaimed. ‘Tell me what’s happened!’

Jack explained and added that he felt she was being held somewhere in the Bend and how he’d just come from there. ‘But sommat might have happened since I’ve been gone.’

‘Poor dear Beth.’ Theo sighed, looking genuinely distressed. ‘I had intended to go and collect her later this evening, I’ve been away in Boston for some weeks. But I’ll come with you now and perhaps with our combined force we can make that dreadful Heaney get her released.’

Heaney’s was packed as usual on a Saturday night and a negro pianist was acting as a substitute for Beth.

Sam looked wild-eyed and frantic, his customary bonhomie with the customers gone. ‘Thank God!’ he exclaimed as Jack and Theo came up to the bar. ‘I’d been thinking everyone had deserted me.’

Theo had a few words with him, but over the din of the drinkers Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then Theo turned back to Jack, caught hold of his arm and pointed to the back-room door. ‘We’re going in there,’ he said.

Jack was somewhat bemused that the man he’d taken for an upper-class jackal who liked to scavenge in low places did appear to have some courage.

Theo didn’t even knock on the door, just charged in. Heaney was sitting at a table writing in what looked like a ledger. His eyes grew wide at the unexpected intrusion.

‘I hear you’ve had a demand from Fingers Malone for the return of Miss Bolton,’ Theo bluffed, his voice cold as steel. ‘You may have your reasons for not informing her brother what they are, but as her fiance´ I insist on knowing.’

Jack was fairly certain Beth had not become Theo’s fiance´e because she would’ve said so at Thanksgiving. While he hated the idea that this might be on the cards, he was glad Theo had come up with a good excuse for his intervention.

‘As the demand has been made of me,’ Heaney said, getting out of his chair, ‘it’s my feckin’ business.’

‘Not when a young lady is in peril,’ Theo snapped at him, and took a threatening step towards the older man. ‘Now, tell me what you know, and be quick about it.’