Into the Storm (34 page)

L
aurence was lying on his bed when Mr. Drabble came into the room.

“Look!” the boy cried, bounding up and holding out his hand, where some coins lay. “I earned eleven cents!”

Tired and dejected, Mr. Drabble made a perfunctory glance at the money. “And how did you get that?” he asked dully.

“I was working. Shoe shining. Blacking boots. You see, I met a boy, and he taught me. It isn't hard.”

“I'm sure it's not,” the actor said as he slumped down on his bed and clutched his thin knees. “And where is Mr. Grout?” he asked.

“I haven't seen him all afternoon,” Laurence replied. “Have you been at the theater?”

After a moment Mr. Drabble slowly shook his head.

“Why not?” a puzzled Laurence asked.

At first Mr. Drabble said nothing. Then he sighed. “I am, as the poet said, ‘bound in shallows and in miseries.'”

“I don't understand.”

“Mr. Laurence … unlike you, I was not offered a position. I was, in fact, rejected.”

“But Mr. Grout said they would hire you for sure.”

“I was invited — merely — to sit with the audience.”

“Oh.”

“You, young man,” said Mr. Drabble as he lay back, put his arms under his head, and stared at the ceiling, “have climbed far higher than I. And you are dealing with boots.”

“Would … would you like my money?” Laurence asked.

Mr. Drabble shook his head.

Laurence held the coins out anyway. “I'll be sure to be earning more tomorrow.”

Tears dropped from Mr. Drabble's eyes. “I'm sure you will,” the actor said, and turned away.

I
t was nearly eight in the evening by the time Maura reached Mrs. Hamlyn's house. Her head throbbed. Her back ached. Her feet were so sore that she carried her shoes, preferring the cold ground to the pain from the leather.

In the hallway she was greeted by Bridy, who gave her a great hug, babbling about someone named Jenkins even as she dragged Maura to the dining table.

Dinner, with Mrs. Hamlyn presiding, had already begun. The eight other young women were there, busily eating like wolf cubs but finding time to chat too. A chair was drawn out for Maura. She sat, sighed audibly, and watched amazedly as her plate was filled with food.

“Your first day, my dear?” asked one of the other lodgers, a lemon-haired, dimple-cheeked young woman in her late teens.

Maura could only nod.

“Then bravo to you, and well begun,” the young woman cried. “I don't doubt but it was the worst day of your life. You can rejoice you'll not have to meet its like again.”

There was a chorus of boisterous agreement from the other boarders, who commenced exchanging dreadful stories of their first days in the mills.

At first, Maura felt too tired to eat, and merely picked at her food. But, heartened by the talk, she soon regained some strength and devoured all she had been given.

As she ate, she paid close attention as the others offered now this suggestion, now that to help her with tomorrow's work.

Dinner done, Maura made her way to the parlor, and at eight-thirty Nathaniel arrived, smiling. But the moment he saw Maura and Bridy, the smile vanished.

“Isn't Patrick with you?” he asked.

“Patrick! To be sure,” Maura said, “I've not seen him since last night, when you left. I thought he'd be with you.”

“He was,” Nathaniel explained. “We went to the mill this morning, but they wouldn't take him on.”

“No…. Why?”

“He's too young, they told him, and … and … because he's Irish.”

“They took me,” said Maura.

Nathaniel could only shake his head. “I thought he'd be in my room. He wasn't.”

Maura closed her eyes. A wave of weariness engulfed her. “By the Holy Mother,” she said, “hasn't he gone off like this before? No sooner did we reach Liverpool than he vanished. The same on the boat as well.”

“Do you think he's all right?”

Caught between her great tiredness and worry, Maura hardly knew how to respond. What she did know was that she needed to rest. “Faith, Mr. Brewster, if I worried each time he did his mischief, I'd be having more lines on my brow than there are in a spider's web.”

“And your job,” the young man said. “Was it very hard?”

“To be sure, I've never known such a day. I'm ready to sleep this moment.”

Nathaniel quickly came to his feet. “Forgive me. I shouldn't be keeping you,” he said.

“You're always kind,” Maura replied, standing herself. “When Patrick returns to you, you can give him a scolding from me, and tell him to come tomorrow evening sure.”

M
r. Clemspool found the way to Mr. Shagwell's house with little trouble.

With his coat close about him, Jeb trudged behind, wondering about the job ahead when he was not wondering about this odd man.

“We can stop here,” Mr. Clemspool announced.

Jeb looked around. He recognized the neighborhood as an area where rich people lived, not a place he came often.

“Do you see that house?” Mr. Clemspool asked, pointing across the street.

By the light of the moon, Jeb saw a large stone building. Save for a few spots of candlelight behind first-floor windows, it was quite dark. “What about it?” the boy asked cautiously.

Mr. Clemspool had spent time pondering how best to explain what it was he wished Jeb to do, so as not to frighten him. “It's a thief who lives there,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Jeb asked, alarmed.

“The kind of man who turns on you cruelly,” the Englishman said, his voice low with anger.

Jeb's eyes grew wide. “He do that to you?”

“To make my point precisely — yes.”

“How?”

“He lured me into his house by pretending to be my friend. Then, when I had left my possessions in the room he provided, he insisted upon my immediate departure, thereby forcing me to leave behind what was my own. I don't care for most of it. But I did lose something of particular value. A key.”

“What's it for?”

“My most precious property. I shall give you ten dollars to get that key back for me.”

Jeb looked from Mr. Clemspool to the house. “What's the man's name?”

“Shagwell,” the Englishman spit out.

“Shagwell? Of Shagwell Cotton Mill?”

“The same.”

“I hate that man!” Jeb hissed. “He's worse than a thief!”

Mr. Clemspool smiled broadly. “I'm delighted to agree with you.”

“How we going to get the key?” Jeb said with new enthusiasm.

The man glanced up and down the street. “Come with me,” he said, and started toward the house. Jeb stayed close.

Silently, they moved onto a narrow path at the side of the house. It led them into a yard, a blooming garden in warmer days.

Jeb studied the house. “Which window, mister?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Mr. Clemspool considered. “I believe it's that one,” he said, indicating a second-floor window at one corner of the structure. From inside he had noticed that the window looked out upon a roofed extension of the house.

“Nothing to it,” Jeb whispered after taking it all in. “I can get there easy.”

“Can you?”

“See that barrel?” Jeb said, pointing to a large rain collector by a downspout at the corner of the house. “I'll get on it, then climb to your low roof. From there I can reach that window in nothing flat.”

“Clever boy,” Mr. Clemspool enthused, patting Jeb on the head. “Wonderful boy. I'm glad I have you with me.”

Jeb unbuttoned his coat. “Would you mind holding this?”

“A pleasure.”

“Just tell me where the key is.”

“Once you're in the room, look for a small table next to the bed. The table has a drawer. Open the drawer and you'll find a book. Inside the book's cover lies a key.”

Mr. Clemspool held a ten-dollar bill up to the moonlight. “This will be yours,” he said, “when the key is mine.”

Jeb ogled the money for a moment, grinned, handed his coat to Mr. Clemspool, then turned back to the house.

After stuffing his cap into a back pocket, he hoisted himself onto the barrel. With his two hands on the cornice and with one kick of his leg, he levered himself up to the roof.

Mr. Clemspool looked on with satisfaction, then dropped Jeb's coat on the ground. There was a clink of coins. Making sure Jeb had his back to him, the Englishman quickly checked the coat pockets, found the boy's money, and took it out. Mr. Clemspool smiled. The boy's efforts to reach the roof were so easy, Mr. Clemspool decided he would give Jeb only one dollar instead of ten. What's more, he would use the boy's own money.

Once on the roof, Jeb crept cautiously toward the window. When he reached it, he glanced back down at Mr. Clemspool, who waved his encouragement.

Jeb peered into the room. It appeared deserted. The window sliding up with ease, he stuck his head inside and looked about. Moonlight revealed just what Mr. Clemspool had described.

The boy slithered inside. Two steps took him to the table, where he opened the drawer. In it lay the book with the key exactly where it was supposed to be. All but laughing with delight at the trick he was playing on his family's enemy, Mr. Shagwell, Jeb placed the key in a pocket, then scurried back to the window and searched below for Mr. Clemspool.

Seeing a man standing in the middle of the garden, he started to climb out. Suddenly he stopped and ducked back into the room. The man was not Mr. Clemspool!

“All right, Clemspool,” a voice called out. “Just stay where you are. It's Tolliver, from the police.”

The next thing Jeb heard was the sound of running. “Stop, thief!” came a cry, followed by a blast of a whistle and more running.

Frightened, Jeb dived under the bed. There he lay, heart hammering, praying no one would come look for him.

Ten minutes later he was still hiding when the door to the room opened. Jeb saw the flickering light of a candle.

“He must have wanted to come in here,” said a voice.

“Well, Mr. Shagwell,” said another, “this Clemspool claims he only wanted his own possessions back. There, you see, the window is open.”

“I thought you said he didn't enter the room.”

“I didn't think he had.”

“Perhaps it was open before.” From under the bed, Jeb heard the sounds of the window being shut.

“Mr. Tolliver, sir, the man was a guest in my house. Fortunately, I was warned he was not to be trusted, and I ordered him to leave.”

“What can you tell me about the man?”

“Very little. Hardly know him.”

“You had him as a guest.”

“Business….”

“All well and good, sir, but do you want me to charge him or not?”

“I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Tolliver. May I suggest you keep him in jail for a day or two and then encourage him to leave Lowell. That seems best for all concerned.”

“I'll do so, sir,” returned Mr. Tolliver.

Taking the light with them, the two men left the room.

Jeb held still until he was quite sure the men were not coming back. Then he tiptoed to the window and opened it. In moments he worked his way to the end of the roof, jumped to the ground, and ran off.

Five blocks later he remembered he'd given his coat to Mr. Clemspool. With the money from the day in its pocket! His heart sank, and he all but burst into tears. He did consider going back but was too fearful of being caught.

Disgusted, he thrust his hands in his pants pockets. All he found was Clemspool's key. He looked at it but in the darkness could make little of it. In a rage of frustration, angry at everything and everybody — not the least himself — Jeb trudged home.