In Lonnie's Shadow (10 page)

SEWING BOBBIN

Item No. 1446

Wooden. For silk thread.

Daisy was sewing by candlelight as she did most nights of the week, Saturday being no different to the rest, and putting the last silken stitches on a fine embroidered dress that Madam Buckingham wanted by the end of the week. The colour of pink champagne, it was to be worn by one of the girls for an upcoming political evening at the Big House.

An urgent knocking at her door made her wonder if this was Pearl on a visit. It wouldn’t be the first time at such a late hour. She recollected with a shock how long it had been since she’d seen her. Life was too busy these days and time had slipped away.

She certainly hadn’t expected to see Lonnie standing bloody-faced in the doorway. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ she asked.

At first, the girl accompanying him with her puffy, cried-out eyes, torn dress and dishevelled bonnet was barely recognisable as the pretty girl she’d seen with Lonnie outside the dress shop. With great concern, Daisy drew her into the warmth. At least the fire was still alight and the place cosy enough. It occurred to her the girl had probably never set foot inside a public house.

The Leitrim Hotel boasted nine rooms in its boarding house section, most hardly bigger than a closet, but Daisy had called it home for the past few years. She had made her small room pleasant enough. A sumptuous quilt, looped together by silken thread, velvety ribbons and braid, enveloped the bed in squares of violet and blazing red, leftovers from the many dresses she had sewn for Madam’s girls. On the side table burned a collection of candle ends. Impish shadows danced over the walls. Several pairs of gloves were strewn across the button box, their newly attached beads gleaming like dewdrops in the light. If not for the open Bible, you could easily have forgotten this was the room of a devout follower.

Daisy made the girl comfortable in her only chair. She offered her a sup of broth from the hearth pot, passably warm and flavoured with beef bones and green cabbage. ‘Put some strength into you. Breathe steady, love,’ she said, willingly giving up tomorrow’s dinner.

The girl pushed her hand away, having none of it. She didn’t say a word. Daisy waited for an explanation from Lonnie.

‘The Glass and Bottle Gang attacked us,’ he said.

‘What were you doing mixing company with the likes of them?’

‘They found us,’ Lonnie replied.

Daisy turned to the girl. ‘Are you badly hurt, love?’ Rose refused to be drawn out of her misery. She stared glumly into the fire as if she’d been struck

dumb.

‘I think she’s gone into shock,’ said Lonnie, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

‘They didn’t harm her, did they?’

‘Depends what you mean. Billy manhandled her a bit.’

‘That’s more than enough,’ commented Daisy.

‘Poor thing.’

‘She’ll need to clean up before I see her home. Can she borrow a dress?’

Daisy hesitated. Her only other decent dress, the brown linen one, was starched and pressed, but she felt too embarrassed to offer it. The young lady was far too refined. Then there was her Salvation Army suit, but she had to keep that for mission work. Daisy made a quick decision and ushered Lonnie through the door into the hallway. ‘Be a gentleman then. She doesn’t want you ogling her while she cleans up.’

Shortly afterwards came the call, ‘You can come in now.’

Daisy was combing through the girl’s thick dark hair. Rose was wearing the silk dress Daisy had been so carefully finishing off when they arrived. Frills cascaded from her waist like feathery fern fronds. The neckline, a little more revealing than she would decently wear, was embroidered in a chain of scarlet roses and revealed a pink scratch, the only noticeable sign of the attack. As Daisy made the final touches, pinning Rose’s hair back tight from her face and tucking it inside her bonnet, Lonnie contemplated this tender picture. Rose was the most beautiful vision of a girl he had ever seen.

Daisy, fully aware of the meaning in his look, covered the girl’s shoulders and throat with a shawl.

‘Make sure she keeps wrapped against the cold.’ Lonnie nodded. ‘Has she said anything yet?’

‘Not a word.’

Daisy picked up a fragment of cotton fabric from her sewing box, dipped it in the washbowl and dabbed Lonnie’s blood-crusted nose. ‘I hope it’s not broken.’

Lonnie brushed the comment aside, trying to be brave. ‘It’s nothing. Billy Bottle punches like a pussy.’

‘I’ve a good mind to go and give Francis Todd a telling off. Thinking a change of name and a piece of broken glass gives you the right to terrorise every poor living soul.’ Daisy whispered a string of orders to Lonnie. ‘Once she’s tucked up in her own bed, things won’t seem so bad. Go settle her and don’t leave until you’ve made sure she’s safe. Will you promise not to let the dress be damaged? I need it returned quickly, please don’t let me down.’

The silent girl showed no sign of gratitude. It was up to Lonnie to thank Daisy for her help and understanding. ‘I’m sure when she’s feeling better, she’ll thank you herself. I’ll see you soon.’

‘You still haven’t told me who she is.’

‘Rose. She’s Rose Payne.’

Daisy’s mouth fell open as she looked from one to the other. ‘God help us,’ she spluttered. ‘Whatever were you thinking? You’ll be the death of us all.’

BOTTLE

Item No. 23

Old soda or lemonade bottle.

Not far away at around the same time, positive she had broken Pearl’s spirit and certain the reptile would do exactly as she was told from now on, Annie Walker hoisted the weakened girl through the trapdoor, freeing her at last from the cramped space beneath the floor. ‘See, there’s nobody else out there who came to help, yer scabby tart. I’m the only one.’ Pearl’s eyes stung with the light. Annie flung her a drink of dirty water, in an even dirtier bottle. Blind to the wrigglers squirming around the bottom, Pearl guzzled the liquid down her parched throat.

There remained one more punishment and humiliation in store. ‘Slasher wants yer and he’s impatient, so better show some gratitude. Consider yerself lucky he still likes that ugly face of yours, or he would’ve cut it from ear to ear.’ She traced a fingernail sharp as a knife edge along Pearl’s throat.

‘Get cleaned up, yer ungrateful little slut. And don’t forget who yer working for.’

Pearl’s face set hard. Her physical freedom had made her no less a prisoner to Annie. She was still trapped, as surely as if she remained locked in the cellar. She pulled herself together as best as she could and stumbled off to follow orders.

FRAGMENT OF WASHBOWL

Item No. 6531

White and maroon earthenware made for everyday use. Staffordshire. From set of bowl and pitcher.

With great commotion, her spectacles tipped cock-eye on her nose, Madam Buckingham charged through the door of number four Casselden Place and into the adjoining bedroom to find Pearl hunched over a washbowl of tepid brown water. ‘You dirty mongrel. You dark horse.’ A solid blow sent Pearl, along with a chunk of tar soap, hurtling to the floor. ‘Seen fit to come back at last have you? My girls’ve been worked off their feet. If it wasn’t for our Ruby stepping in and doing double shifts, we’d be in all sorts of bother.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Look at the state of you, stinking like a cesspit. What you been doing then?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’ll tell you where you’ve been – duck-shoving for that queen of scum!’ She delivered another mighty cuff to Pearl’s ear. ‘Or am I paying you so much money you’re having a holiday? Doing the Block, ooh-la-la, skedaddling around Collins Hill!’ She embellished every reprimand with a hard poke, a push, a slap.

‘Scarpering for so long. Selfish and spoilt.’

Pearl covered her eyes and face to protect against the blows.

‘Stop playing the high and mighty with me, you little cobbler, or else I’ll give you a shearing you’ll never forget,’ the madam snapped. ‘Mark my words, you’re going to make up every missed bit of time. You can work every patch until you drop. The Big House within the hour. Then your spot at the Governor Burke. Finish outside the Princess.’ She wrenched Pearl’s hand away and pinched her on the cheek, squeezing hard. ‘Fix yourself up. You look like the walking dead. No one wants a bag of bones with a pallor as grey as a tomb! Put a bit of colour on your face.’

With a start, Madam Buckingham visibly reined herself in before she did any more damage to Pearl. She wrenched her raging bushfire temper under control, almost as if someone had suddenly doused her flames. She fanned herself, sticky with sweat.

‘There, you’re looking better already. I’m mighty sick of it, my girl. You’ve been nothing but trouble for me. If I’d done a runner in my time, I would’ve had the hide beaten off me. Think yourself lucky I’m growing soft in my old age.’ Abruptly she stormed off, the whole episode over in a flash.

The prospect of working for both madams, the heaviness of her situation, came over Pearl like a blinding migraine. She was conscious of only one thing, to pay off Annie Walker. Maybe in time, with a little put aside, she could walk out of town over the Yarra bridge, away from the lot of them.

She wrung out the washcloth and sponged down her arm, repeating the motion over and over again, but the smell of her captivity and the hands of Slasher Jack clung to her like the odour of a rotting corpse.

GOLDEN GUINEA

Item No. 772

Spoil heap – location unknown. An unusual find in Little Lon. Most likely dropped by one of the wealthier patrons who visited the area.

Although it was only seven-thirty in the morning, it was well into the working day at the Alcock stables. Lonnie walked uncertainly through the gates of the Glen and looked around. Not bad. Maybe not quite as grand as Golden Acres, but what he made out was big and impressive enough – ordered stables, well- manicured turf, white painted fences. This is it, he thought. He was determined to make his own good luck. His da had always told him things don’t just happen, you have to make them happen. ’Bout time he acted on some good advice.

He crunched his way down the pebbly driveway towards a well-designed building. A right royal house for the gaffers, or for Mr Alcock himself by the size of it. Its many windows were catching the sunrise. As he approached the place he spied several Lonnies walking along in the pinkish reflections and took the chance to flex his muscles. Still a weedy little carrot top, he thought grimly.

A yardman walked over to him. ‘What’s your business?’

‘Lonnie McGuinness. I’m after Mr Alcock.’

‘Maybe I can help.’

‘He asked me to call over – well, his foreman did.’ The man steered Lonnie in the direction of a nearby yard where the Glen foreman was attempting to saddle an unbroken horse. Lonnie placed his hands on the fence rail and accidentally knocked off a golden guinea, which fell to his feet. He bent and picked it up, watching in silence as Ned coaxed the horse into accepting the saddle. No easy feat for so foreign an expectation. Ned murmured softly to the unsettled horse. Lightly stroking, kind, always firm. Eventually he turned around and noticed Lonnie standing at the rails.

Lonnie cleared his throat and held out an open hand. ‘Did you lose this, sir?’

‘No, I didn’t. But only a while ago Mr Alcock was standing there when he sold a horse for sixty guineas. I’m sure he’ll soon find out he’s only got fifty-nine. Thanks for your honesty.’

Lonnie hadn’t even had a second thought about returning the coin to these good people. Had he picked it up at Golden Acres, it may have been a different story. He looked towards the horse. ‘I reckon you’ve gained its confidence.’

‘I have lad,’ Ned said. ‘But you’ve taken your time coming here. I thought you’d all but forgotten us.’

Lonnie stared at the ground in embarrassment, worried sick he’d left his call too late. ‘I thought you needed more time, sir. You’ll still speak to me, won’t you?’

‘Let me be frank with you,’ the foreman answered.

‘I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. If I’ve spotted you right you’re a fair rider in the making and honest, too. So, how about starting at the Glen? You’ll get a lot more riding to do here. Mind, you’ll still have to muck out and do all the other jobs we ask, but you’ll get a fair go and we’ll pay you a bit more than you’re used to.’

‘I’d do anything to work here, sir.’ Lonnie had never uttered more heartfelt words. He would be the most promising worker they’d ever had, muck out in his best suit if need be. A thought – well, more of a hare-brained notion – occurred to him. He wondered if he should raise it. For some unknown reason he couldn’t even fathom himself, he went ahead and asked anyhow. ‘Before I take the job, there’s something I’d like to speak to Mr Alcock about.’

Ned’s answer was no surprise. ‘Tell me and I’ll pass it on for you.’

Lonnie knew he wouldn’t have a second chance. He’d have to see it through and hope for the best. He took a deep breath. ‘Can’t.’ Now he’d gone and done it. Darned fool, risking his new job on a crackpot notion he’d only this tick dreamt up.

‘I thought I’d got the oil on you, boy. Am I wrong? We’re offering you a chance of a lifetime to ride in a stable second to none.’

‘No, it’s only …’

Ned cut off his lame efforts to explain. ‘Look, I’m a busy man and Mr Alcock is much busier. Do you want the job or not?’

Well, he wouldn’t have to worry now, would he? Lonnie had already overstepped the mark and spoiled his chances. Before he could make things right again, a voice interrupted. ‘Who is it I don’t have the time to speak to?’Lonnie gave thanks for the luck of his own Irish ancestry. The tall brawny man striding towards them seemed jovial enough.

‘Good morning, Mr Alcock. I was just telling the lad here how busy you are and to stop squabbling with me and take the job we’re offering him.’

‘Maybe you have a better offer?’ Mr Alcock asked. A shadow of confusion and disappointment passed over Lonnie’s face. He was making a mess of this good and proper. ‘No sir, I’d love to work for you.

It’s only …’

‘Only what?’

‘The lad’s full of muddle, sir,’ interrupted Ned.

‘Won’t give me a yes or a no. Won’t speak to me. Wanted you in person. But he’s as honest as the day’s long. Just picked up a guinea he has, and handed it to me without a second thought. Honesty like that doesn’t come along too often these days. If you allow me to speak on his behalf, I reckon he deserves a chance to have his say.’

‘So do I,’ agreed Alcock. ‘Spit it out, lad.’

‘I want you to buy a horse.’ There. Lonnie had said it, plain as day, seeing as everyone wanted directness.

Ron Alcock pointed to his foreman. ‘See Ned here. He’s a very skilled and capable man who I pay a lot of money. And why do I pay him so much? Because it’s his job to find me the best horses and riders around. If that’s not good enough for you, young man, I’m intrigued.’ He turned to Ned. ‘Tell me again, what’s this fellow’s name?’

‘Lonnie McGuinness.’

‘The one from Crick’s?’

Ned nodded. Lonnie didn’t know what to make of the sharp look which passed between the two men. Ronnie Alcock placed an arm around his shoulder and led him a few paces away. ‘Come on then, lad, let’s leave Ned to his other business. Let me hear what you have to say about this horse.’

‘He’s real smart, Mr Alcock. Speedy, I mean. Exceptional. If you’d buy him, sir. And you should buy him.’ Lonnie heard himself rabbiting on at full speed.

‘Hold on, son. So this is what’s too secretive for my foreman’s ears; the same man I trust to find the best horses money can buy. How old are you?’

‘Sixteen, sir.’

‘And how is a sixteen-year-old going to convince me I should buy a horse on his advice alone? Especially a lad who should be jumping at the chance of a job here, but is more interested in selling me a horse.’

‘He’s not mine to sell, sir. The Cricks own him. But with the right training, this horse is a sure winner. I willingly admit I can’t look at any horse the way your foreman can and know at a glance how good it will become. But I know the heart of this one.’

Lonnie knew he was fast losing Mr Alcock’s favour, but he was determined not to give up. If he could only convince him. Lordy, he’d give it his best shot.

‘Would you buy Lightning for a hundred guineas?’

‘Lightning’s not up for sale. And if he was he’d cost a lot more.’

‘What if I say this horse is as good as Lightning, maybe even better?’

‘I’d say you’re still talking in riddles. There’s not a horse around at the moment to compare.’

‘A horse with spirit. A horse who is unproved, but I reckon could be the best. Real special. He hears me. I don’t know why, but when I ride him he goes so much better for me than for anyone else. If you buy him I can leave the Golden Acres without a second thought.’ Lonnie’s own strong sentiment for the horse took him by surprise. He hadn’t realised how attached to Trident he had become.

‘If I thought for one minute you were saying that if I didn’t buy this horse you wouldn’t work for me, I’d kick you out by the seat of your pants. I’ll not be blackmailed.’

Lonnie tried a final appeal to the Glen’s business side. ‘If the Cricks ever find out how good he really is, money won’t buy him. But right now I bet you could persuade them to sell him for as little as a hundred guineas. That’s what Thomas Crick said he’s worth. It’s a steal.’

The world seemed to slow down as he waited for a reply. Ronnie Alcock took out his pipe and lit it. Puffs of smoke dawdled upwards. In the distance a horse stood idly at the railings. Lonnie knew he had made an impassioned plea. Now he prayed it would work. Seconds ticked over. Any minute now the Glen owner would grab him by the seat of the pants and fling him out. He braced himself.

‘Ned likes the look of you in the saddle,’ Mr Alcock said, eventually breaking the silence.

Lonnie’s face broke into a smile as wide as a barn door.

‘Not so fast. There’ll be one or two more things you’ll have to prove. Talk to Ned about the job. Then I’ll give some thought to your proposition about the horse.’

‘But you’ll buy him, Mr Alcock, sir?’

‘By Jesus, you have a load of pluck, son. No promises. I don’t even know the name of this so- called superb animal.’

‘Trident, sir.’

‘What? Lightning’s brother!’ Mr Alcock shook his head in disbelief. ‘He’s tops to look at, but word has it he’s a duffer. I’ll have to think this one over good and proper …’

It hit Lonnie like a brick that even if Mr Alcock did buy Trident, he could not start work at the Glen right away. There was too much riding on the street race. He must stay in the good books with the Cricks until it was over. Not that he could admit to Mr Alcock he was in any way involved in illegal racing. Anyhow, he’d jump that hurdle later. For now, he would go along with anything they said. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then, sir.’ Lonnie stood rigid, not daring to move away until he was given the all clear, a fact not lost on Ronnie Alcock.

‘Anything else you’d like, lad, or shall I be off, leaving you to run the Glen by yourself ?’

‘No, sir!’ Lonnie grinned, relieved, and sped off down the drive.