A Glimpse at Happiness (18 page)
‘
She
wasn’t one for domestic pursuits,’ Mattie replied, in a measured tone.
She
wasn’t one for domestic pursuits,’ Mattie replied, in a measured tone.
‘Oh.’ Josie picked another pin from her pincushion. ‘I mean, Spain must be very different from Wapping, but I’m sure if you love a man you’ll follow him wherever he goes. Poor Patrick, he must still love her, despite what she did,’ she said. The jealous knot tightened. ‘I mean, he can hardly say her name.’
Mattie climbed down from the stool and several emotions passed across her face as she looked at her. ‘Now Josie, don’t go jumping to assumptions about Pat and Rosa, or anything else for that matter, until you hear the full story.’
Josie’s brows pulled together. ‘What full story?’
‘It’s for Pat to tell you, not me,’ Mattie replied, folding her arms and looking remarkably like her mother.
‘But, Mattie, I—’
The back door handle turned and Patrick walked in.
He was dressed in his corduroy work trousers and rough cotton shirt, with the top few buttons undone. His hair and the bottoms of his trousers were dripping wet and he was without boots.
He smiled at Josie. A warmth spread though her and she smiled back.
Goodness, he was handsome! Even with his unruly damp hair and his workaday clothes, she couldn’t think of a man she’d ever met who’d match him for looks.
‘Afternoon, Josie.’
‘Afternoon yourself, Patrick,’ she replied, with more warmth in her voice than she’d greeted him with before.
He threw his coat over the nearest chair and turned towards the fire.
Mattie shrieked. ‘Patrick Michael Nolan, don’t you take one step more.’ She jumped back on the stool. ‘You look like you’ve been swimming in the Thames and if you splash my dress the saints will have to deliver you.’
‘Can’t a man have a cuppa when he’s home, Mat?’ he asked.
‘It’s all right,’ Josie said stepping between Patrick and his sister. ‘Mattie, you get out of your gown and I’ll make Patrick a mug.’
Holding her skirt out of the way and with her eyes fixed on her brother, Mattie left the room, closing the door behind her.
Patrick sat down in his father’s chair and leant back, while Josie boiled the kettle on the fire then made the tea. All the while, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her.
The Full story . . . What
was
the full story, she wondered, as Mattie’s words turned over in her mind, until the kettle’s whistle had cut through her thoughts. When she’d set the tea to brew, she turned to Patrick.
was
the full story, she wondered, as Mattie’s words turned over in her mind, until the kettle’s whistle had cut through her thoughts. When she’d set the tea to brew, she turned to Patrick.
‘For the love of all, look at the state of you,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips and giving a short laugh. ‘Have you fallen in the river?’
‘No, I climbed down into it,’ he laughed too. ‘One of the barges had been damaged and I lent a hand fixing it. I washed most of it off under the pump at the end of the street, but my boots will need scraping.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Ma would skin me alive if I traipsed the river bottom into her kitchen so I hope you’ll excuse me from appearing improperly dressed.’ He wiggled his toes in his socks.
‘You’re excused,’ she replied, reaching up to pull down a towel from the washing line above the fire. When she handed it to him they stared awkwardly at each other for a second before she poured the tea.
She handed him a cup and their fingers touched. They sat in silence. She caught Patrick’s eyes on her and gave a tight smile.
Patrick raised the cup. ‘Very nice.’
He sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his ankles crossed. The socks covering his large feet were in need of darning.
Josie raised her eyes and studied his shirt. It too was in need of repair. No wife who loved her husband would ever let his work shirt get that frayed.
‘I always liked you in green,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Josie said. A warm glow spread through her.
He took another sip of tea. ‘Annie and Mickey said you told them about the time we went to the Bow fair. I didn’t think you would remember.’
The warm feeling intensified. ‘Oh yes, I remember,’ she replied softly. ‘I remember the mermaid in the jar and the rubber man in his bright tights and waxed moustache.’
‘I bought you a lemonade.’
‘I thought you would faint when you heard the price,’ Josie giggled.
‘I’d have paid twice that just to see you smile.’
The area between Josie’s shoulder blades prickled. ‘I remember you were very flash, dressed in your dapper best,’ she said lightly.
She must stop this - it was too dangerous.
He slapped his legs and a little puff of dust rose up. ‘Like I am now?’
Josie studied Patrick’s square jaw with the old scar on it, then moved on to his firm mouth and up to his warm, green eyes. ‘And I remember that you kissed me behind the lemonade marquee, ’ she said in a quiet tone.
As the words left her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t have said them. It was too forward, too flirtatious, but the memory of their embrace and the feel of his lips pressed upon hers came back with such force that she couldn’t stop herself.
His eyes darkened and the expression on his face changed. She had seen similar looks of admiration from other young men in New York. She’d enjoyed them and accepted them without any obligation. But Patrick’s scorching eyes demanded a response. Unable to hold his gaze she stood up and took her empty cup to the table. Patrick rose to his feet and came to stand beside her.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said in a low tone.
They stood so close together that they almost touched. Slowly, she turned to face him and noticed that the front of his shirt had fallen open. With some effort she forced her eyes to remain on his face.
She forgot the years she’d waited. She forgot Rosa and the hurt she’d had in her heart since she found out that Patrick had married. She tilted her head towards him. Slowly, Patrick raised his hand and Josie felt him touch the fabric of her sleeve.
She took a step towards him.
‘Josie,’ he whispered.
The door opened and Mattie came back into the room.
Sergeant Plant grabbed hold of the frayed rope and hauled himself up the narrow steps from the Boatman’s cellar. The other constables had already made it back to the bar but they were all a good ten years younger than he was and hadn’t eaten a full oyster supper two hours before. The steps creaked under his weight and he belched noisily, but the burning sensation around his breastbone remained.
Bloody Superintendent Jackson, he thought as his stomach rumbled again. Why couldn’t he just send a couple of the young lads around instead of dragging the whole of the nightshift out?
Plant pushed open the door and re-entered the bar of the public house. The four constables who had just searched the low cellar beneath the sawdust-covered floor stood to attention beside Superintendent Jackson.
I’d like to tell him a thing or two about the scum living in these streets, Plant thought resentfully, looking at his superior officer with his well-fitting, navy tailcoat and silk top hat.
Superintendent Jackson’s keen eyes rested on Plant and the sergeant’s bravado vanished.
There was nothing you could tell Superintendent Jackson about policing the riverside because he already knew it. Known as Long Jackson back in his Wapping court days, and goodness knows what expletive when he was a provost sergeant in the army, the steely-eyed, steely-haired Superintendent was not to be underestimated. It was he who, twelve years before, had put an end to Danny Donovan’s murderous reign of terror and who had sent several crooked constables to Botany Bay on the back of it.
Swallowing hard, Plant pulled down the front of his jacket and flicked the dust from his shoulders. He marched over to Jackson and, suppressing another belch, saluted smartly.
‘Clean as a whistle, sir,’ he told the superintendent.
Jackson ground his teeth under the generous overhang of his moustache then swung around. He glared at the two men leaning back with their elbows on the bar and the old woman sitting on the chair between them.
They all looked back at the H-division senior police officer with expressions of cherubic innocence. Plant ran his eyes over them slowly. The Tugmans were scum of the earth, and no argument about it.
Harry and Charlie were togged out in their usual manner, the eldest in a tight-fitting flash suit with a watch chain draped across his paunch; the younger in a dark frock coat, as if he were quality. Both sported fat cigars. But it was the unkempt, dishevelled woman sitting between them who was the brains of the family.
Before she hooked up with Old Harry Tugman she was known along The Highway as ‘up and down’ Sally. Looking at her now, it was hard to imagine she was the same woman who sailors fresh off the ship would ask for by name.
Now she just sat around with her swollen legs and broken teeth, taking cuts from all the pilfered cargo and light-skirt along the waterfront. While her two boys barely contained their amusement at Jackson’s frustration, Ma sat with her arms folded across her bosom, drawing on her pipe just like any other old woman.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for,
Mr Jackson
,’ Charlie drawled. ‘But do pop by anytime.’
Mr Jackson
,’ Charlie drawled. ‘But do pop by anytime.’
Superintendent Jackson’s hand clenched the hilt of his cutlass. But he smiled. ‘I’m sure I will. The reward for the
Arcadia
cargo has been raised to fifty pounds.’
Arcadia
cargo has been raised to fifty pounds.’
Harry whistled though his teeth. ‘Did you hear that Ma - fifty pounds?’
Superintendent Jackson glared at them then, with a flick of his head, dismissed the four young constables.
As the door closed behind them, Superintendent Jackson jabbed his finger at the old woman. The dog under her chair growled, then lowered his head submissively as if sensing that a man who’d disarmed murderers and faced loaded pistols wouldn’t be intimidated by a mangy old terrier.
‘Fifty pounds,’ he repeated and left.
With a swift glance at the three by the bar, Plant followed.
Outside in the cool air Superintendent Jackson stood breathing deeply, then started down the alley towards the river. Legend had it that once, to emphasise his point to a felon, Long Jackson had punched his fist through an oak table.
With the superintendent’s scarred knuckles showing white in the dim light coming out from the pubs Plant could very well believe it. Reluctantly, he approached him. ‘I’d say they’d been warned, sir.’
The superintendent let out a string of expletives that wouldn’t have disgraced a sailor.
‘Of course they were
fecking warned
, Plant, and if I ever get my hands on the officer who did it, he’ll wish his mother had left him in the workhouse.’
fecking warned
, Plant, and if I ever get my hands on the officer who did it, he’ll wish his mother had left him in the workhouse.’
The taste of oysters gurgled again and Plant covered his mouth with his hand before asking, ‘What makes you think it was one of us?’
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Send the officers back to their beats, Plant, and then meet me back at the station,’ he barked, and marched off down the street, his footsteps echoing in the narrow alley.
Plant saluted his receding figure and sent the four constables about their business. Pulling out his pipe he lit it and drew on it for a few moments before sidling up the alley towards the back of the pub.
He knocked on the door and heard the lock snap open. With a last glance down the alley he stepped inside. Ma, Harry and Charlie were already waiting for him.
‘’Ow’s you doing, Flower?’ Charlie asked.
Plant stifled his irritation. ‘You got something for me?’
Ma rummaged inside her stained bodice and pulled out a handful of coins. Plant counted the five sovereigns and slipped them into his pocket.
The young skivvy brought in a brandy bottle and glass and poured him a drink. Plant threw it down his throat hoping the brandy, good French by the taste of it, would settle his stomach.
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