Dancing in the Moonlight (5 page)

Lucy said nothing. From the moment Tom had spoken and her eyes had met his, she’d been filled with a sort of jerky panic that made her stomach jump.

As though Jacob hadn’t spoken, Tom continued, ‘I’ve brought you a side of bacon, lass, that’s all. All right? I know you’re hard pressed’ – now he
included Ernie and Donald in a sweeping glance – ‘and I thought you could use it.’

‘Like I said, man, we can’t take it. Not that we’re not grateful, mind.’ Ernie’s voice was apologetic. It didn’t do to get on the wrong side of Tom Crawford
if you could help it. ‘But you know what our da’s like, he’d go barmy. It’s just the way he is.’

‘Then maybe it’s time he changed?’ Tom’s mouth twisted in a smile that wasn’t a smile. ‘The workhouses are full of folk like your da. Meself, I’d rather
make sure my family’s looked after, whatever it takes.’

‘Cut the high-and-mighty claptrap.’ Jacob had ceased struggling, but the look on his face combined with the blood from his bleeding nose had turned him into someone Lucy barely
recognized as her Jacob. ‘You’re feathering your own nest and everything comes second to that. You’d see our mam and da, Frank, Ralph, the whole lot of us sent down the line
before you’d lift a finger.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Aye, and you know it, so don’t come the Holy Joe about their da. He’s worth a dozen of you.’

Curiously, Lucy noticed that the angrier Jacob became, the more Tom regained his composure. Now he straightened, shrugging off Ernie’s hand on his arm before bending to pick up the package
wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, which had fallen to the ground during the ruckus with his brother. ‘You don’t know what you’re on about, boy, and I haven’t
noticed you refusing to eat the stuff I bring to the table. One law for your mouth and one for your belly, is it? And don’t try it,’ he added warningly as Jacob began struggling in
Donald’s grip once more, ‘because this time I’ll make sure you don’t get up again.’ Turning to Ernie, he added, ‘So, I still can’t persuade you to come in
with me and tell Sid Chapman where to stick his paltry shifts, eh? You’re daft, man, you know that, don’t you? The yards have always been little more than slaughter houses, but
they’re worse now they’ve got the men fighting each other for work. Safety’s gone out of the window. You heard about the accident at Pickersgill’s yesterday? The gangway
collapsed and there’s fifty-odd injured and three dead.’

Ernie nodded. Pickersgill’s was a Southwick yard, but bad news travelled fast and he’d heard lurid reports about men being hurled to the ground from a height of forty feet. Some of
the workmen on the gangway had been painters carrying tins of red paint and the disaster had looked even worse than it was – the injured covered in paint, so that the whole scene had looked
like one of the slaughter houses Tom had spoken about. But it was no good dwelling on what might happen when you were in the yards; you just had to get on with it. He said this now to Tom, who
shook his head. ‘You want to get out while you can, but it’s up to you. Anyway, I’ll take this in to Mam. She’ll be glad of it, and I dare say baby brother’ll eat his
fill an’ all, eh, boy?’

Ernie was helping Donald to hold Jacob as Tom sauntered out of the yard and into next door, whistling as he went. Once Tom was in the house, Jacob slumped, red-faced and looking close to angry
tears. ‘I hope he gets caught and they throw away the key,’ he muttered bitterly. ‘Him and his big ideas.’

Ernie glanced at Donald and then at Lucy, who was standing silently by, before saying awkwardly, ‘Everyone does a bit of fiddling now and again, Jake.’

‘Maybe, but it’s more than a bit of fiddling, Ernie. Oh’ – Jacob made a throwaway movement with his hand – ‘to hell with it and him. He’s always had me
mam eating out of his hand and he rules the roost indoors, you’ve no idea. As soon as I can, I’m out of it.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Aye, I do.’ Jacob’s tone was flat now, weary-sounding, but as he glanced at Lucy, he added, ‘I don’t mean leave Monkwearmouth, just our mam’s. Once I’m
earning I’ll get a room somewhere.’

‘Aye, well, that won’t be for a while yet, so if you take my advice you’ll try and get along with him while you’re under the same roof,’ said Ernie stolidly,
holding out a handkerchief for Jacob to wipe his bloody nose and mouth. ‘Don’t rile him, Jake. You can’t win. And in his own way he was only trying to help.’

Jacob’s face took on a blank look, but Lucy knew exactly what he was thinking and she agreed with him. Tom Crawford would never do anything out of the goodness of his heart. The bacon,
like the previous offerings, was a means to an end. Her da had been right: Tom was trying to suck her brothers into his shady dealings and gain a foothold in this family, and the knowledge
terrified her.

Tom Crawford was whistling as he left the house later that same day, but his feeling of wellbeing didn’t last long. The August evening was warm and sultry and the smell
from the privies as he walked swiftly along the back lane made his nose wrinkle in distaste.

Filthy pigs, he thought savagely, as he passed one particularly ripe-smelling back yard. In spite of the late hour a woman was sitting on the back step nursing an infant at the breast, her
skirts pulled up over her knees. A group of mat-haired, snotty-nosed children were playing around her, three of them naked and the fourth, a girl of about seven or eight, with a ragged dress
covering her skinny body. The family was well known in the district, and when the woman called out to him as he passed and he didn’t answer, a torrent of abuse followed him.

It wasn’t until he had reached Milium Terrace and walked north past Potato Garth towards North Dock that he stopped to take some deep breaths. The air wasn’t much sweeter, but
anything was an improvement on the back lanes, he thought, his lip curling. He would say one thing for his mam: she kept the house and yard as clean as a new pin, and daily buckets of ash in the
privy meant you could sit there without gagging, whereas some of them . . .

Tom turned and looked back the way he had come. Animals had cleaner habits and looked after their young better, too. As soon as he could he was getting himself a house on the outskirts, a place
in its own grounds, where there was space between you and your neighbours. A grand house, fancy like. He could do it. He knew he could do it.

The light was all but gone now and the night was dark, a thin crescent moon doing little in the way of illumination, but this didn’t bother him. He could look after himself, he thought
grimly, and certain activities were best conducted under the cover of darkness. He began walking once more, massaging and flexing his aching right hand as he did so. But his bruised knuckles were
worth it. That little runt of a brother had needed taking down a peg or two, talking to him like that in front of Lucy and her brothers.

He turned right at North Dock, past the lifeboat house and then the dock office and continuing to where the silent sawmills stood in pitch-blackness. The docks and wharves and warehouses were
different places at night, the great cranes used to unload cargo standing like forbidding sentinels and only the sleek river rats and the odd cat or two scuttling about in the darkness. He had been
fascinated by the river as a child, often escaping the back lanes to watch the dredgers and hoppers, cargo vessels, sailing ships, tugboats and huge turret ships, and small boats of every
description as they’d gone about their business. The smell of industrial smoke and the sound of paddle-wheel blades beating the water had been almost romantic to a little lad, and when the
small foy boats had carried hawsers to buoys in the river he’d watched for hours. In those days he’d dreamt of sailing the ferry or the water boat that took fresh water to the ships in
the river and the docks when he grew up; funnily enough, he’d never wanted to be a sailor on the high seas. From listening to their talk it seemed too hard a life. He marched on, smiling to
himself. He’d been canny even then.

It was as he reached the bulk of the mills, discernible as a dark mass against the night sky, that a number of shadows detached themselves from the blackness. Tom stopped abruptly, his eyes
narrowing as he peered into the darkness. He’d only been meeting one man with whom he’d hoped to do some business, one of the dock foremen who had a large family to feed and who
supplemented his wage by looking the other way when certain goods fell off the backs of lorries – or, in this case, ships. Had Archy Finnigan been playing a double game and got the dock
police waiting for him?

He was poised ready to run, when a movement just behind him revealed another figure. This man was as broad as he was tall and built like a brick outhouse. He’d been standing out of sight
behind a stack of crates. Tom must have walked straight past him. Realizing escape was impossible, he forced himself to stand still. He’d deny everything. They had no proof, they hadn’t
caught him in the act or with anything in his possession, although his mam’s front room was packed with stuff. He’d been due to sell it on tomorrow, damn it. He began to sweat
slightly.

‘Mr Crawford, isn’t it?’

The group in front of him moved closer, and now Tom found himself wishing it
had
been the police. Swallowing hard, he had to lick his lips before he could say, ‘Aye, that’s
me.’

The Kane brothers had a man on either side of them, both of whom were great bruisers, and one of them had Archy Finnigan in tow. Even in the dim light Tom could see Archy was scared to death. He
knew how Archy felt. The brothers themselves were slight, thin individuals with small hands and feet. When Tom had first had them pointed out to him some years ago, he’d thought their
physical stature didn’t match their reputation. It had been a little while later, after hearing about a particularly gruesome murder that the criminal fraternity had attributed to the
brothers, that he’d come to realize brains combined with ruthlessness was more scary than brawn.

The brother who had spoken stepped right up to him, so close Tom could smell the tobacco on his breath when he said, ‘And what brings you to this neck of the woods, Mr Crawford, and on
such a grand night? I’d have thought you’d have been courting some lassie or other in a nice quiet spot, a handsome fella like you.’

Tom found his throat was dry and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. For the life of him he couldn’t get any words out. He stared into the small ratlike face in front of him
and now he fully understood how the brothers could inspire such terror.

After a moment or two Jed Kane smiled, his sharp yellow teeth adding to the impression of a human rodent. He could smell the fear coming off the man in front of him. ‘But how remiss of me,
Mr Crawford. I haven’t introduced meself. The name’s Kane, Jed Kane. And this is my brother, Leo. Mr Finnigan I think you already know.’

Tom, his wits returning, nodded. ‘Aye, I know Archy.’ Deciding he’d be telling the brothers nothing they didn’t already know, he added, ‘We’d got things to
discuss the night.’

‘Things to discuss . . .’ Jed let his voice linger tenderly on the last word. He turned to his brother. ‘Things to discuss,’ he repeated softly. Swinging back to Tom, he
said, ‘What things exactly?’

‘Jed, I swear you’ve got it wrong. I wouldn’t pull a fast one—’

Archy’s words were cut off as Jed made a movement with his hand and the man holding Archy punched him hard in the stomach.

Jed Kane smiled at Tom. ‘Never knows when to keep quiet, our Archy. Have you noticed that?’

Tom smiled sickly back.

‘So why are you here, Mr Crawford? Spot of business, was it?’

Tom looked into Archy’s pleading eyes and then Jed Kane’s merciless gaze. ‘L-look, I know nowt about it being your stuff, Mr Kane. Archy said he had some extra left over from a
deal he’d done recently and he’d let me have it for a good price, that’s all I know. If I’d thought it was yours, I wouldn’t have touched it with a bargepole,
but—’

‘But?’

‘You – you don’t normally have any truck with this side of the river, or that’s what I’d heard.’

‘Is that so?’ Jed Kane tilted his head in a bird-like movement. ‘Then you’ve been informed wrongly, Mr Crawford, but that’s by the by. I repeat my question. What
does this “stuff” you mentioned consist of?’

Tom thought about lying, but only for an instant. If Archy had tried to rip off the Kane brothers he deserved everything coming to him, and he wasn’t about to risk his own neck by
attempting to cover up for Archy. He was bang smack in the middle of this hornets’ nest as it was. His only hope was to speak the truth; he had a feeling Jed Kane would know if he lied. There
were rumours the Kanes’ mam had been a Gypsy and they’d inherited her second sight, and he wasn’t about to put it to the test. He looked from Jed to the other brother and then
back again before answering, ‘Rum, coffee and French brandy in the main.’

Jed nodded slowly. ‘And you have clients lined up who are willing to buy from you?’

Hell’s flames, this was getting worse. Tom hesitated; he blinked and wetted his lips. ‘Aye.’ All he needed now was for his contacts to be ones the brothers used.

‘An enterprising young man.’ Jed had turned and was speaking to his brother, who had remained silent throughout. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Leo? Aye, an enterprising young man,
sure enough, and intelligent too, I’ll be bound. Is that right, Mr Crawford?’

Tom didn’t know what Jed Kane wanted him to say and so he said nothing.

‘Unlike our mutual friend here,’ Jed continued, still in the same pleasant tone, ‘who is stupid as well as being the worst type of ignorant scum. Because only stupid, ignorant
scum would think they could do the dirty on us and get away with it. A man’s word is his bond. Isn’t that right? And if you can’t trust someone . . .’

Tom felt his bowels coming loose at the implied threat. He could only imagine what Archy was feeling.

‘But there’s another thing at stake here. My brother and I run a business, and word soon gets about. If we’re seen as mugs, what message does that send? You get my
point?’