Copper Kingdom (10 page)

‘See, there's hardly any steam, the water will be cold if you don't get a move on.'

Mali took the scuttle and carried it to the store where the huge mounds of coke were kept. She worked frantically, only half filling the bucket-shaped vessel before hurrying back to the boiler room. A tall rough-looking woman wearing a man's coat and cloth cap was standing near the boiler. She stared at Mali almost contemptuously, her chin poked forward.

‘Better hurry, girl.' Her tone was menacing. ‘Cos I'm not as patient as Sarah 'ere and if my boiler goes down, you'll feel the back of me hand.'

Mali opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again, there was no point in wasting time arguing. She drew open the door of the boiler, scarcely feeling the heat on her fingertips, and looked desperately at the feeble embers of the fire.

‘That's past savin'.' The woman with the cap rummaged in her pocket and took out a small clay pipe, clamping it between her teeth before crossing her arms and settling herself down on her thin haunches to watch the spectacle.

‘Who'll lay me a shillin' bet that the girl don't mend the fire?' she said with relish. ‘That will teach Big Mary to put a silly young snippet in place of Doris.'

‘Be quiet, Aggie. There'll be no giving or taking of bets, right? Why, Big Mary would have your guts for garters.' Sarah pushed at Mali's shoulder impatiently.

‘Build it up again, there's a good girl,' she said almost desperately. ‘I don't want to stay here late tonight just because you've neglected your work. See I've got to get these sheets out by tonight. Stupid I call it putting a green girl to do a job like this.' Her voice was rising, attracting the attention of the other women, and for a moment Mali felt panic sweep through her. She wanted to run from the laundry out into the street and follow the snaking line of the canal back to the safety of Copperman's Row. She took a deep breath, telling herself to be calm, a simple job like mending a fire even if it was one that kept the huge boiler going was not about to defeat her.

Mali looked around her, searching vainly for paper to thrust into the oven mouth; the only kindling she could find was the cardboard upon which she had been kneeling. Quickly, she tore it into small pieces and fed it into the dying flames. Smoke curled upwards in a thin spiral and Mali coughed a little. Behind her the woman was still complaining bitterly.

‘I'll never get home to my husband tonight, have the broomhandle to me he will, he'll be that grieved if I keep him waiting for his bit o' supper.'

Carefully Mali placed some pieces of coke on the small blaze. Her heart was thumping loudly in fear and she closed her eyes, praying the coals would take. She flapped her hands, fanning the flames and to her delight, the smoke dwindled and a swift roar told her the fire was well and truly ablaze.

‘Well we can thank our stars for small mercies I suppose.' The woman sighed as though disappointed that the small drama was over. Mali rubbed her hands across he face, unaware that she was streaking her cheeks with coal dust.

‘What's been going on here then?' Big Mary was standing watching the little scene, her arms akimbo. ‘God almighty, Sarah, I thought you were giving birth the way you were carrying on.' She moved forward, bending to peer into the furnace.

‘Nearly died on you, did it
merchi
?' She brushed back a stray wisp of dark hair escaping from the tight bun at the back of her head. ‘Well don't worry about it, it isn't the first time and it won't be the last. Now for heaven's sake let's have a bit of peace here is it? Come on, Sarah, get back to work.'

When the women had dispersed, Big Mary stared down at Mali.

‘You'd best be more careful next time, or things might not go too well for you. Some of the women are a bit more wild than Sarah, she just moans and groans and plays merry hell with her tongue, others might lash out with a fist first and ask questions later, so remember what I've said, mind.'

‘I'm sorry.' Mali stared down at her dusty hands. ‘I won't let it happen again.' She moved to the adjoining boiler and Big Mary followed her, the glimmer of a smile warming her face.

‘Well there's no need to feel as if you've stolen a baby's bottle from out of its mouth, come on, it's not such a bad job once you get used to it.'

Mali watched her go with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was all very well for Big Mary, she didn't have to work with women who either ignored or berated her. With a sigh, Mali knelt on the cold damp ground, unaware that her hair had come loose from its restraining ribbon and was falling over her face. All that concerned her now was to keep the boilers going at whatever cost to herself.

The hours dragged wearily on and Mali's back and legs began to ache with the constant bending. Her knees were rubbed raw beneath the thick wool of her stockings but she would not complain, she wanted a job at the laundry and she'd got it and she was determined to stick it out. Her mouth became dry, her lips caked with coal dust, and her eyes felt as though they were full of cinders. She moved now from instinct, feeding fire after fire, too weary to think.

The sound of the hooter echoing through the building was such a relief that she fell back on her heels sighing softly, the coke dropping from her hands. Sarah looked down at her and there was a hint of compassion in her tired face.

‘You're not done yet, lovie,' she said, her brisk tone belying her expression. ‘My wash isn't finished, got to give it another fifteen minutes at least.'

Mali struggled to her feet, the coal bucket was empty. It seemed a great effort to lift it and walk to the door of the coke house where mountains of egg-shaped fuel rose to touch the ceiling. She picked up the small shovel and heard the clatter as the coke showered into the bucket. The pain in her arms was like toothache and tears of self pity burned her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away and half dragging, half carrying the bucket, returned to the boiler house.

‘Here, give me that and get off home,
merchi
.' Big Mary took the bucket easily and opened the door of the furnace, throwing the coke inside. Mali stood staring at her for a moment and then turned and made her way towards the door. ‘Early tomorrow, mind,' Big Mary called after her. ‘And tie some padding round your knees, you'll find the work less painful that way.'

Outside it had grown dark, and the pungent smell of bad eggs drifted from the copper works, penetrating closed doors and windows mercilessly. A sudden burst of shooting sparks illuminated the roadway where a group of girls from the laundry were gathered. Mali moved forward wearily and stood on the outskirts of the crowd, resting her hand on Katie Murphy's shoulder.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph is that really you Mali Llewelyn?' The Irish girl backed away in mock horror. ‘Or is it some demon from Hades that I'm seeing?'

Mali was in no mood for laughter; she rubbed tiredly at her burning eyes and shook her head without replying. At once, Katie put her arm around Mali, contrition on her face.

‘The spirit has gone out of you so it has. Come on home with me and let me ma feed you, sure 'twill give you strength to go to cook some grub for your dad.'

Mali felt warmed; the prospect of returning to her kitchen and lighting yet another fire before she could eat had been a daunting one.

‘All right,' she said and then wondered if her tone had been ungracious. ‘It's good of you Katie,' she added quickly. She would have moved away then along the hard cobbles of the street but a big girl with hair braided tightly around her head barred her way.

‘You're the one who's taken Doris's job away from her aren't you?' Her eyes glittered redly in the light from another gust of shooting sparks. Mali stepped back a pace, staring up in bewilderment.

‘Hey, Sally Benson, there's no call to go picking on me friend,' Katie said swiftly. ‘She don't know Doris from a pig's arse so how can you put any blame on her? We've seen that Doris is swelling up more with every week that passes and it's not dropsy she's got that's for sure.'

‘What's the matter with you, blackface, got no tongue?' Sally ignored Katie and poked a finger at Mali's shoulder. ‘Come on there's a good girl, answer when you're spoken to is it?'

‘I don't know what I'm supposed to say.' Mali's voice shook in spite of herself and she knew that Sally Benson sensed her reluctance to quarrel.

‘No guts either, should have known it, a mewing little brat who's never done a day's work in her life before, spoiled by your daddy is it?'

‘Come on now haven't you got a home to go to?' Big Mary pushed her way into the crowd. ‘Oh you are the one causing trouble, Sally, I might have known it. Picking on new girls is your sport for the day isn't it? But you'll feel the back of my hand if you don't scarper, mind.'

Mali walked along Canal Street, almost too weary to put one foot in front of the other, all she really wanted to do was to fall into a soft bed and sleep. Suddenly she became aware of someone barring her path. She looked up and was dismayed to see Sterling Richardson staring down at her, running his eyes over her begrimed dishevelled figure as though he had never seen anything like it in his life.

‘What in heaven's name have you been doing?' he asked, his eyebrows lifted in amusement.

Mali glared at him, her defiance concealing the chagrin she felt at being caught in such a state.

‘Honest work, that's what I've been doing,' she said. ‘Stoking boilers down at the laundry. Not that it's any business of yours.'

Sterling gave a wintry smile. ‘Then good luck in your new job,' he said abruptly and walked quickly down the street as though he regretted having stopped at all.

Katie tugged her arm. ‘Good of Mr toffee-nosed Richardson to pass the time of day with you,' she said lightly. ‘Never mind,' her voice held a hint of laughter, ‘there's nothing wrong with you that some hot water and good food won't cure. Come on, black face, sure and won't I race you to Copperman's Row?'

‘Go race yourself, Katie Murphy,' she said ruefully. ‘I'll come along in my own good time.'

Mali brushed aside her tangled hair and paused to look up at the turgid clouds above her. In a sudden mood of optimism she made a silent vow that she would be the best boiler stoker the Canal Street Laundry had ever known.

Rickie Richardson sat in the humid, smoke-filled bar of the Cape Horner, staring out of the dusty window moodily. Across the road, in the grey waters of the dock, the towering masts of the
Eleanor May
bobbed to and fro with the wash of the tide. The sailing ship, paintwork peeling and shabby, had come in for repairs and she stood out now like an old scar in comparison to the shiny new steam packets that were hove to alongside her.

In spite of the coldness of the weather, fishermen sat on the quayside mending their nets, hands blue, faces gaunt with concentration. Rickie shivered, rather them than him be on the receiving end of the easterly wind that was blowing in off the water.

His thoughts turned inward and he saw again in his mind's eye the letter that had crystallised for him all the resentment and bitterness he had always felt for Sterling. It was as though he had sensed even from an early age that he was being usurped from his rightful place in the order of things. And the letter had been proof of that, God knows.

He glanced around him, suddenly aware of the crowded bar. It was about time Glanmor Travers turned up, he was late, Rickie thought – in irritation. He settled back into his seat and hunched his shoulders, blocking everything out so that he could concentrate on his thoughts.

It had been Letty who had brought it to him. He had been bedding the maid for some time and her gratitude knew no bounds. She was a plain little thing and at first he had taken her with very little enthusiasm, simply as a release for his natural urges. But she had turned out to have a surprisingly fine body, her breasts when freed from her impeding undergarments were full and high, her waist small and her hips shapely. But better than that, she was convinced that she was in love with him and her adoration warmed him.

At first she had been afraid to show him the letter, her pebble-brown eyes looking at him doubtfully and he, not understanding the importance of the paper she held between her small fingers, had grown impatient.

He had told the maid in no uncertain terms what she could do with the letter. She had pressed it upon him then and once he had begun to read he was suddenly alert. The blood had been pounding within his head as he'd read the words penned in passion and love, words that had the power to change his entire life.

His mother, proud, upright Victoria Richardson, allowing another man to take her into his bed as if she was some little parlour maid, it was unthinkable! And yet the more he allowed his mind to dwell on it, the more it all fitted into place. He had known all along that Sterling was the apple of his mother's eye. He had often watched covertly as she brushed back the golden hair from the clear brow of her elder son, her affection plain for all to see.

Later Rickie had felt the biting pain of rejection when he alone had been sent away to receive what his parents had called a ‘good education'. It was abundantly clear then that there was some vital difference between himself and his brother. As he had stared at the letter, his first instinct had been to rush from his room and arouse the household, to shout aloud the momentous discovery he had just made. In his impatience, he had pushed Letty aside, half out of his bed, and then sweet reason had asserted itself.

‘Have you read this?' He had spoken harshly to the trembling chambermaid and dumbly she had nodded. He had taken her arm, dragging her back into the warmth of the blankets.