Dancing in the Moonlight (6 page)

‘Please . . .’ Archy was crying now. ‘Please, me wife and bairns. I’m sorry, Jed. I swear I’ll never do it again. I must have been barmy.’

‘Gag him.’ Jed Kane didn’t take his eyes from Tom’s white face as he gave the order.

A cloth was stuffed into Archy’s mouth and a scarf tied round his jaw, his terror-stricken eyes bulging above it.

‘We’re going for a little ride, Mr Crawford. Have you ridden in a motor car before? No? Then you’re in for a treat. It’s a very civilized and private way to travel. Keeps
confidential business confidential, if you get my drift.’

‘Look, this is n-nowt to do with m-me.’ Tom couldn’t prevent the stammering. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘I believe you. Like I said, you’re an intelligent man, I can see that.’ Jed Kane’s voice was soothing, but he nodded to the man standing behind Tom as he spoke.

Tom felt his arm held in a vice-like grip, which left no room for escape. Not that his legs could have carried him at more than a stumble anyway; they’d turned to jelly.

They left the shadow of the sawmills and walked along beside a row of locked and bolted warehouses. The Kane brothers led the way, with Tom and his captor behind and the remaining two thugs
dragging Archy between them. In the distance, at the side of the road aptly named Harbour View, two Morris Cowley motor cars were waiting. Jed slid into the driver’s seat of the first car and
motioned for Tom’s escort to join him. The remaining four men climbed into the other car.

The journey across the Wear Bridge into the Kanes’ lair in the East End was conducted in silence. Tom could feel the sweat running down his face and his shirt was wringing, but he was too
terrified to move a muscle; all the stories he’d ever heard about the brothers were running through his mind and causing a panic that had his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The crowded dwellings, courts and alleys of the East End looked as squalid at night as in the day, the gin shops, brothels and gambling houses shamelessly flaunting themselves once darkness
fell. It was hard to believe that the old river-mouth settlement of Sunderland was once a thriving and well-to-do area where much of the wealth of the town was generated; the fine buildings that
had once housed rich merchant families were now decaying tenements where families lived ten to a room and the gutters ran with offal, dirt and human excrement. The wealthy shipbuilders and mine
owners, gracious patrons of art and architecture, had long since moved from the commercial part of the town to the more fashionable and genteel elevated part of Sunderland, building grand houses in
wide clean streets. The unimaginable depths of squalor and criminal strongholds in the East End they chose to ignore.

Tom, however, was unable to ignore that he had been transported to a place where the normal laws of civilized society didn’t apply. He could vanish without a trace, or turn up as just one
more bloated body floating in the murky waters of the docks.

The cars travelled along High Street East before turning into the labyrinth that was the East End proper. Once they finally came to a halt, Tom thought he was somewhere near Prospect Row, but he
couldn’t be sure. Not that it mattered. There was no possible chance of escape.

They were outside what appeared to be a warehouse of some kind, with a row of terraced two-up, two-down houses on the other side of the road and a public house on the corner, from which ribald
singing could be heard. As they waited with the engines running, the large wooden doors in front of them swung open and two more big burly figures stood impassively holding them back as the cars
drove slowly into the building, one behind the other.

Jed Kane switched off the engine. ‘Here we are, Mr Crawford. Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.’

When he exited the car Tom realized that if the building had been used as a warehouse once, it was no longer. He was standing in a large space, it was true, but apart from the two cars and
shelves with various tins of oil and car tools, it was empty. The occupants of the other car having alighted, they proceeded to the end of the building and through a door which opened into a clean,
high-walled yard.

The Kane brothers to the fore, they all climbed an outside staircase made of iron, which led to a small square landing. When Tom stepped through another door and into the second storey of the
building he stopped dead, so great was his surprise, before the hard hand at his elbow urged him forward.

Instead of the great open expanse he’d expected he was in a thickly carpeted corridor lit by several gas jets along one wall. Various doors opened off it, but he was propelled along after
Jed and Leo Kane so fast that he had no idea how many they passed before reaching the door at the end of the passageway.

To Tom’s amazement he found himself in a large and well-furnished kitchen, complete with a huge black-leaded range, which had something simmering on it. A large table of the better kind,
with a fancy leather-covered top, stood in the middle of the room with eight chairs tucked underneath it, and two enormous dressers packed full with dishes and crockery and kitchen equipment took
up one wall. Under a long narrow window stood two more smaller tables, presumably used for cooking. On the wooden floor, along the length of the gleaming steel fender in front of the range, an
expensive-looking mat had two fine upholstered rocking chairs at either end of it and one of these was gently moving, as though the occupant had just left it. Altogether it was the kind of kitchen
that wouldn’t have been out of place in a grand house, and this impression was further heightened by the two women, dressed in black dresses and lacy white aprons and mop caps, who were
staring at them.

Jed Kane addressed himself to the older of the females, a fat, red-faced woman of about forty. ‘We won’t be needing you again tonight, Jessie. You and Polly get yourselves off to
bed.’

The woman nodded, her eyes flicking back to Tom and the two heavies holding Archy as she said, ‘Yes, Mr Kane. There’s plenty of bread to go with the soup, fresh and still warm, the
way you like it.’ She pushed the younger woman in front of her and they left the room.

‘My cook and maid.’ Jed Kane indicated for Tom to sit down as he and his brother pulled out a chair from the table, although his men remained standing. Archy was standing quiet and
motionless now, the gag still in place, and Tom couldn’t bring himself to glance at him. ‘Does it surprise you, this place?’

Again, Tom didn’t lie. ‘Aye, a bit.’

Leo Kane smiled, revealing teeth as sharp and discoloured as his brother’s, and spoke for the first time. ‘A bit, he says,’ he said to his brother. ‘Aye, an’ more
than a bit, I’ll be bound.’ His hard black eyes turning to Tom, he said softly, ‘We was born in Blue Anchor Yard in the quayside near to the Death House. Bodies found in the river
were kept there and there were plenty of ’em, so you could say we were well acquainted with what life dished out at an early age. Caged animals live in more cleanliness and comfort than what
me an’ me brother did. Ten bairns me mam had afore she died, an’ only me and Jed to show for it, but them filthy tenements did one thing for us. They made us strong, an’ folk know
it.’

He turned to his brother.

‘An’ if anyone forgets that, we remind ’em, eh, Jed? An’ now we don’t live in one room, with our coal in a cupboard and the rain coming through the roof onto a
stinking mattress and the walls crawling with lice.’ He smiled slowly. ‘We live like gentlemen, as you can see.’

‘Mr Kane, I swear I didn’t—’

‘Shut your mouth.’

Leo Kane didn’t shout – he didn’t have to. His soft voice was more menacing than any bellow. And Tom shut up. It had come to him that, for all Leo’s quietness, he was
more to be feared than his brother. It was the deadness of his eyes.

Leo turned to the two men holding Archy. ‘Mr Finnigan thought he could short-change us. A foolish notion. And dangerous. Dangerous for him, an’ dangerous for us because we cannot
allow such a notion to take root in our organization. And so a message needs sendin’ out to others who might have similar foolish ideas – a very visible message.’ He stood up,
walking over to the range. ‘Bring him.’

When Archy had been marched over, Leo looked into the grey terrified face. ‘You thought you could short-change us an’ make a bit more on the side, didn’t you, lad? Do you know
what the Arabs do to thieves like you? They cut their hands off. An’ it works, cos that man never again puts his fingers where they didn’t oughta go.’

He laughed at his macabre joke and the two men holding Archy sniggered obediently.

‘But we’re not Arabs, are we?’ Leo continued. ‘Besides which, that’d be a messy job.’ He reached out and grasped the handle of the big pan of soup with a
thick drying-up cloth. ‘He who dabbles with fire gets burnt fingers, lad.’ He nodded at the two henchmen, who each took one of Archy’s arms at the elbow before plunging his hands
into the bubbling liquid. Archy’s high-pitched screams were muffled by the gag, and his struggles made not an iota of difference to the two burly men holding him. Leo continued to steady the
pan, and now the sounds coming from inside the gag were inhuman.

Tom had risen to his feet, but at Jed’s quiet ‘Sit’ he sank down again, swallowing at the nausea that had curdled into his throat, hardly able to believe what was happening in
front of his eyes.

‘He’s passed out, Boss.’ One of the men holding Archy spoke impassively.

Leo inclined his head and they lifted Archy’s arms, bringing what remained of his hands out of the pan and letting the unconscious body fall on the floor. Now Jed didn’t stop Tom
when he rose and staggered over to the deep white sink in a corner of the kitchen. He vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach, the cold sweat that had taken him over making him pray he
wouldn’t faint in front of them all. He was vaguely aware of the two men dragging Archy out of the room and then of the clink of glasses, but it wasn’t until he finally raised his head
and turned round that he realized he was alone with the brothers.

Jed held out a glass containing a good measure of brandy. ‘Drink it.’ There was a trace of sympathy in his tone.

Tom crossed the kitchen on wobbly legs and took the glass, knocking back the brandy in two deep swallows. The liquid burned a path into his stomach, but it helped steady his voice when he said,
‘What are you going to do with him?’ as he obeyed the nod of Jed’s head, which indicated for him to sit down.

‘He’ll be taken back to the place he came from.’ Jed poured more brandy into Tom’s glass and refilled his own. ‘You could say he’s lucky. Aye, he’s
lucky he’s of more use to us alive, and serving as a reminder to other scum not to get any ideas.’

Tom pictured the two red lumps of meat he had glimpsed and gave an involuntary shudder. Licking his lips, he said, ‘What about me, Mr Kane? I didn’t know it was your stuff, I swear
it.’

‘Aye, you’ve said.’ Leo spoke, his raspy voice impatient. ‘Luckily for you, my brother believes you. He knows when folk are lying, does Jed.’

The Gypsy mother. Hell, he just wanted to get out of here. Tom gulped at his brandy.

‘Funnily enough, we don’t like this night’s happenings any more than you do. They’re bad for business.’ Leo leaned back in his chair, reaching into his pocket and
extracting a packet of Woodbines. He offered one to his brother and then to Tom. ‘It’s far better when everythin’ ticks on like clockwork. We’ve enough trouble with the
customs an’ harbour police, we don’t need more.’

The smell of the soup on the range was turning Tom’s stomach. He finished his brandy and drew the smoke of his cigarette deep into his lungs.

‘We’d heard your name mentioned afore.’ Leo held up his hand as Tom went to speak. ‘Nowt bad. Like me brother said earlier, the word is you’re bright an’ you
want to get on. About right?’

Warily, wondering if this was a trick, Tom nodded.

‘An’ you’re a North Dock lad, born an’ bred. That means you’re trusted over the river, aye?’

Tom nodded again. The divide between the East End and Monkwearmouth by the River Wear was more than geography. It was well over a hundred years since the bridge had been completed, joining
Monkwearmouth on the north of the river to Bishopwearmouth on the south side, but he was fully aware of the ‘us and them’ instinct that existed. It wasn’t talked about, but it was
there, right enough.

‘We need someone over the river we can rely on. Call it a manager, if you like. A local lad.’ It was Jed who was speaking now and he replenished Tom’s glass. ‘Not just
for the dock business, although that’s the bread-and-butter, but further afield. You think you can handle that?’

‘Me?’ The vomiting and the cause for it, along with the brandy and cigarette and not least the sickly odour of the soup on the range, was making Tom light-headed.

‘Aye, you.’ Piercing eyes held his. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve made a mistake an’ you’re not up to it, Tom.’

It was the use of his Christian name that did it. Suddenly Tom knew he wanted this. It was his chance. The break he’d prayed for. And he sensed an ally in Jed Kane, impossible though such
a concept would have appeared just an hour ago. He straightened in his chair. ‘I’m up to it, all right. An’ I won’t let you down, Mr Kane.’

‘I know that.’ The black gaze held his for a moment more, before Jed turned to his brother. ‘See?’ he said softly. ‘All taken care of.’

PART TWO

Lucy opened her eyes slowly, her swollen lids a reminder that she had cried herself to sleep the previous night, which, in spite of the last two years being hard ones for the
North in general and her family in particular, was unusual. Her mother had always said it was no good crying over spilt milk, and although the state of the country was more serious than spilt milk,
the principle was the same and one Lucy agreed with. Crying got you nowhere.

Even her da now admitted the General Strike had been a disaster; how much of a disaster had come to light as time had gone on. The ignominious defeat of the trade unions had given the employers
the whip hand, and the aftermath of rebellion had taken its toll on working-class men, women and children in the North. While the south of the country prospered from the new ‘clean’
industries that were springing up – cars, vans and trucks being built, electrical goods assembled, and printing and packaging going on in modern factories using streamlined production methods
– many northerners were sinking in a bog of grim poverty and starvation.