A Glimpse at Happiness (38 page)

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Authors: Jean Fullerton

Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: A Glimpse at Happiness
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The officer pursed his lips. ‘This is irregular, sir. I don’t—’
 
‘Tell him I was there when Danny Donovan was taken,’ Patrick said, holding the officer’s gaze.
 
At that, the policemen barked an order at a younger constable, who clicked his heels and disappeared into the body of the station.
 
He pointed to the wooden bench fixed to the wall. ‘You’ll have to wait.’
 
Although every moment he sat in the front office was a moment closer to Ma getting wind of what he was about, Patrick calmly took a seat.
 
The clock beat heavy, rhythmic time for several moments before the door to the side of the desk opened and Superintendent Jackson stepped out.
 
He was much as Patrick remembered him: tall, ferocious and, please God, still straight as an arrow.
 
Patrick stood up.
 
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Jackson said, tilting his head to one side. ‘Weren’t you the lad who cracked Danny Donovan across the skull when he tried to murder Mrs O’Casey?’ Jackson clicked his finger. ‘Patrick Nolan, isn’t it?’
 
Patrick extended his hand. ‘It is.’
 
The superintendent grinned. ‘I never forget a face. Good to see you, Nolan, after all these years. Went to sea, didn’t you?’
 
Patrick nodded. ‘I did but I work on the river now to look after my family. We live in Walburgh Street.’
 
The door to the front office swung open, bringing in an officer holding a swaying drunk.
 
‘Come,’ Jackson said to Patrick, ‘we’ll find somewhere quieter to talk.’
 
After walking down several echoey corridors they finally reached the superintendent’s office.
 
‘Sit, sit,’ Jackson said indicating the chair in front of the desk, and sat himself down opposite. ‘Now, Nolan, what have you got for me?’
 
It took Patrick half an hour to spell out his plans for dealing with Ma Tugman and, when he’d finished, Jackson let out a long whistle through his teeth.
 
‘That old sow’s a sharp one, I know that, and what you’ve thought through to catch her is quite impressive, I must say, but’ - the superintendent’s face grew grim - ‘not without considerable risk.’
 
‘I know,’ Patrick replied firmly, ‘but someone has to step forward. I don’t want my children, or any others for that matter, sucked into her web because no one has the courage to stop her.’
 
Jackson eyed him for a moment then stood up. He tore open the door. ‘Fetch Sergeant Plant,’ he bellowed down the corridor.
 
Within a few moments, a puffing Sergeant Plant appeared in the doorway. ‘This is one of the sergeants on the Wapping Beat,’ Jackson told him as Plant regained his breath.
 
‘We’ve met,’ Patrick said.
 
Plant acknowledged him with a nod.
 
‘You’ve been around Wapping for years, haven’t you, Plant?’ Jackson said.
 
Plant doubled-stepped on the spot. ‘I have kept order in the streets by the river for nigh on fifteen years. First as parish constable, like my father before me, and now as a police officer.’ He gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘I’ve always got my ear to the ground and the villains say I have eyes in the back of me head.’ He pulled his shoulders back, putting considerable strain on the buttons on his uniform jacket.
 
Jackson slapped the sergeant on the back. ‘Good man. Now, Nolan here has a plan that could put an end to Ma Tugman and her scum.’
 
Plant smoothed his moustache with his finger. ‘You don’t say.’
 
‘It
must
put an end to Ma Tugman, because if she gets wind of it I won’t live long enough to get another crack,’ Patrick replied.
 
‘What plan would that be then?’ Plant asked.
 
Jackson waved his hand. ‘Never mind the details.’
 
‘Of course,’ Plant replied.
 
‘As soon as I’ve set it in place I’ll give you the nod,’ Patrick said to the superintendent.
 
‘Good.’ He offered Patrick his hand.
 
Patrick took it and gripped it firmly. Jackson regarded him for a moment. ‘You were sweet on Mrs O’Casey’s daughter, what was her name?’
 
‘Josephine,’ Patrick replied, careful to keep his voice an even tone.
 
‘Whatever happened to her?’ Jackson asked.
 
‘She went to her family in America with her mother,’ he replied, suddenly conscious of Plant’s eyes on him.
 
Patrick frantically re-ran the conversation he’d had with Plant in the in the tunnel. Had he given Josie’s full name to Plant? He was sure he hadn’t.
 
Why did it matter? He couldn’t think it did but somewhere, deep inside him, Patrick’s instinct told him to keep her name and whereabouts to himself.
 
‘I had better go,’ Patrick said, noting that the gas lights in the corridor were being lit.
 
Jackson shook his hand again. ‘I’ll get my constable to see you out,’ he said.
 
‘No need, sir,’ Plant said standing to attention. ‘I’ll let him slip out the back door, discreet like.’ His jolly face turned up in a smile. ‘After all, it wouldn’t do for Ma to rumble what he’s up to until everything is in place.’
 
 
Ma Tugman sat in her usual chair beside Charlie and watched the customers in the Boatman supping their ale. The apple of her eye was propped up on his left side by a folded bolster to stop him slipping onto the floor, and clutched a large brandy in his right hand.
 
In the last four weeks he had made some improvement. Although his left arm still had no feeling and became stiffer each day, he could stand now if someone helped him up and also just about shuffle across the floor without taking a tumble. His speech had slowly come back, although it wasn’t easy to understand him as the left side of his mouth and jaw still dangled loose and drool constantly needed to be wiped from his lips.
 
Although each day someone pointed out a little something Charlie was doing that he hadn’t done the day before and reassured her that he would soon be back to his old self, Ma wasn’t so sure and, if the truth were told, she didn’t want him to be.
 
She could play with his hair now and he couldn’t move his head away. She would make a show of cleaning the dinner from his mouth as she used to when he was a child. Even his slack bladder meant he was reliant on her for a change of clothing.
 
Of course, that didn’t mean she’d forgotten who’d put her son in such a state. Oh no. She was going to make sure Patrick Nolan
and
his fecking precious family paid for what he’d done to her sweet boy. And that included that whore, Josie O’Casey, who now played wife to him.
 
She chuckled quietly. That bit of news was carried to her swift enough by those women who’d hoped Nolan would do them the favour he was now doing the O’Casey woman each night.
 
Harry’s boys were now rampaging through the docks and streets and it was paying off handsomely. Although the police had managed to seize a couple of shiploads last week, she had still shifted more goods than she’d been able to for a few months, thanks to those boatmen who, knowing what was in their best interests, had sneaked back and almost pleaded with her to help them out. It was just as well. With the nobs up west away in the country for the summer, leaving their houses crammed with movables behind, there were a great deal more stolen clocks and jewellery to be shifted out of London.
 
With the streets coming back in line she could now concentrate on Nolan and make him regret what he’d done to Charlie for the rest of his bog-trotting life.
 
A smile formed itself on Ma’s lips. She glanced at her son. ‘Quiet tonight, ain’t it, Charlie?’
 
He grunted and threw the brandy down the back of his throat. He slammed the glass down a couple of times and glared at the girl behind the bar. Ma whipped the rag from her sleeve and patted it on his chin where a small rivulet of the spirit trickled down. He jerked his head away.
 
‘Now, now,’ she said, continuing with her fussing. ‘We don’t want it all over your nice shirt, do we?’
 
Charlie banged the glass again but she snatched it from his hand.
 
‘Better wait awhile, you know,’ she whispered, casting her eyes down to his crotch.
 
Charlie ground out a series of Fs and Cs as the door swung open and Harry strolled in. He clicked his fingers and the girl at the bar shot over quick as could be with a drink in her hand.
 
‘There you go, Harry,’ she said, simpering at him.
 
Ma regarded her through narrowed eyes. She hadn’t given Harry the time of day until Charlie was carried back half dead and now she was all over him, ungrateful slut.
 
Harry gave the girl a slap on the rump as she turned to go. She giggled and cast an inviting glance at him over her shoulder.
 
‘Don’t you go too far in case Charlie needs you,’ Ma told her. The girl gave her a resentful look and scurried away.
 
‘How’s Charlie tonight?’ Harry asked, nodding towards his brother.
 
Ma folded her arms and tutted. ‘Like you care.’ She waited a few moments before giving a sharp nod. He shuffled to his feet, caught hold of a chair and sat in front of her.
 
‘We got two boat loads from the
Kittymore
and the
Pride of Aberdeen
and swifted a wagon load of silk from the Gilmore and Sons warehouse. The boys are already storing it,’ he said, giving her a beseeching look.
 
It was a good haul and no mistake, but it would give them the problem of moving it. The
Kittymore
carried spirit and, although profitable, the barrels were bulky. She’d already got two crates of silver waiting to be transported to her buyer in Old Pye Street, but she couldn’t complain. She let her smile return.
 
‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘We’ll set about parcelling it up—’
 
The murmuring in the bar stopped and instead of listening to her, everyone was staring open-mouthed at the door.
 
Ma turned and her mouth, too, dropped open as her eyes fell upon Patrick Nolan standing alone in the middle of her bar.
 
Chapter Twenty-Three
 
Patrick ran his gaze slowly around the dingy interior of the Boatman and wondered why anyone, after breaking his back all day for a few pennies, would want to drown his sorrows in a place like this. Even the whores selling themselves for six pennyworth in the alley alongside were a repellent collection of crones. Ma’s pub must be the last stop before the grave, or the pox ward at the London Hospital. With his hands in his pockets, Patrick mentally counted Ma’s men draped over the bar.
 
Twelve. With a rueful smile to himself, he thought he might just get out alive.
 
The door swung closed behind him and Patrick looked at Ma. In her shapeless gown and with her swollen ankles she looked more like a vagrant than the head of the most successful criminal outfit on the river, and he wondered in passing where all the money she made went to. Clearly not on her person, judging by the rat-tail hair crammed into a loose knot or the food stains down her front. A brief flash of admiration crossed her face as she looked him up and down. Although his heart pounded in his chest, Patrick gave her his friendliest smile.
 
‘I heard you wanted a word,’ he said, striding towards her.
 
Snapper did what was expected of him and growled in Patrick’s direction but didn’t bother to get to his feet. Harry stepped forward and took up the task.
 
‘Let me slice him, Ma,’ he called over his shoulder, spraying Patrick’s face with spit.
 
Patrick regarded him coolly. Others now peeled themselves off the bar and gathered behind Harry, jeering and spitting on the floor at Patrick’s feet.
 
‘Let him pass,’ Ma called out.
 
Harry balled his hands into fists and jerked towards Patrick a couple of times before he stood aside.
 
Patrick stepped forward and Ma gave a hard laugh. ‘You’ve got some balls strolling in here after what you’ve done,’ she said. Her fingers clawed around Charlie’s arm. ‘Look at my poor boy.’
 
Patrick did. Charlie glared at him out of his good eye but the left side of his face slid downwards like a wax candle left in the window on a hot day. His left leg seemed well enough although the foot was turned out at an odd angle, and his left arm had already contracted up. One of the crew on the
Seahorse
had fallen from the mast and lost the use of one side of his body as Charlie had. By the time they’d reached port his arm was fixed to his side as if it had been nailed there. By the way Charlie’s left fist was clenched, it was clear his arm was heading in the same direction.

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