Midnight is a Place (17 page)

"What are my wages?" inquired Lucas, not yet at all clear as to the nature of this work.

"Five pun' a week, an' ten percent of the value of all you bring in. You'll find it soon mounts up. Right? Right, then. Six o'clock—better make it half five, time for you to get dressed. Good night now, I'm shutting up shop." And Mr. Hobday proceeded to pull down a set of wooden shutters and padlock them so that his stall was completely enclosed. It seemed, Lucas had noticed, to hold a most amazing hugger-mugger of different articles, some common, some possibly valuable, nearly all old and dirty.

Anna-Marie and Lucas left the market and started back toward Haddock Street.

"Where do I look for this stuff that I collect?" asked Lucas. "In the streets?"

"That I am not sure," admitted Anna-Marie. "But without doubt he or this Gudgeon will show you all you need to know. Now we must get you a bag and a pole, and then we had better take some food to poor Monsieur Ookapool, and some money to that
scélérat
at the infirmary."

The pole was cut from a dejected-looking willow, one of a pair that grew on the riverbank near to Mrs. Tetley's house; and there was an old canvas feed sack in the pony cart that would do for the bag, so Lucas was equipped for his new position.

"But, Anna-Marie," he said, "I do not like it at all that you should be alone in the streets all day long, collecting cigar ends. It is too wet and cold for you, and besides, the town is full of rough types; I am afraid that you might get teased, or hurt, or knocked down by one of those wagons that dash along so fast."

"Oh, pooh!" she said. "I can look out for myself, don't worry. And it is a great deal more amusing to be out in the market place looking for cigar ends, I can tell you, than to be at home chez Madame Tetley. She will make me work my fingers to the bone, that one, all day long, and for no pay!"

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Oakapple would not approve of your being out in the streets every day."

"
Eh, bien,
we will ask M. Ookapool what he suggests."

But poor Mr. Oakapple, when they reached his bedside, was still in no case to make constructive suggestions. He seemed to think that he was both conducting and playing the first violin in some huge invisible orchestra, and that his audience consisted of crowned heads and grand duchesses from all over Europe.

"
Lente, lente! Piano, piano!
I am so sorry, your Highness, I am sure the tuba player had no intention of hitting you on the ear. Timpani! Take your elbow off the kettledrum!
Piu maestoso!
Perhaps your Majesty would care to hold the baton for a moment while I adjust the cellist's petticoat? Madamoiselle, please empty your clarinet into the flowerpot, not into my pocket. Thank you, your Majesty, I will be glad to accept a cigar, but if you will excuse me, I shall not smoke it until after the nineteenth movement—"

"
Oh, oh, le pauvre,
" said Anna-Marie, "
il a encore an pea de fièvre—
"

"Please!" cried Mr. Oakapple, "you
must
come in exactly on the thirty-second bar. Let us start again!"

"
C'est inutile,
" said Anna-Marie with a sigh. "It is of no use expecting any helpful ideas from him." She gave the eggs and milk that they had brought for Mr. Oakapple to the sister, and they left the ward. Outside the door was the shock-headed boy, levying his protection money from the friends of patients.

"There you are then, Bright-eyes," he said to Anna-Marie, who gave him a hard look. "Got your subscription to the Friendly Boys' Club, have you?"

"Here already is eight shillings," replied Anna-Marie, handing over the last of her money. "The rest you will get tomorrow."

"All right. But you better bring it tomorrow for certain, or old Ginger Whiskers there will be out in the snow, and that would be a waste of the eight you brought today, wouldn't it?"

"Do you know," said Anna-Marie to Lucas, when they were driving back down the long hill into the heart of Blastburn, "I find this a hateful town. In my opinion everyone who lives here is wicked."

"There don't seem to be many good ones, certainly," agreed Lucas. "Except Mr. Hobday."

"About him we shall see. I think when Monsieur Ookapool is better, we go to live somewhere else?"

"If we can afford to move," said Lucas.

By the time they reached Mrs. Tetley's, it was nine o'clock. The eggs and milk for Mr. Oakapple, and rent in advance for a corner of Mr. Hobday's stall had used up a good deal of Anna-Marie's money, but she had also bought a pennyworth of oatmeal, which she mixed with a jugful of water and proceeded to boil over the parsimonious fire in Mrs. Tetley's back kitchen range; when it boiled she added to it a number of crusts, which she had picked up while hunting for cigars. After the whole mess was thoroughly boiled, she and Lucas each had a small potful, which was welcome enough, since the cup of soup in the market was all that either of them had eaten all day. The rest of the porridge was carefully set aside for breakfast in the tin saucepan which had been another of her purchases; then Anna-Marie lit a small tallow candle, and they went upstairs to bed. Most of Mrs. Tetley's other lodgers had already retired.

"Where do we sleep?" whispered Lucas.

"
En haut
—" Anna-Marie gestured upward. They climbed up two flights of stairs, then up a ladder, through a trapdoor. There was a small room—a loft, really, with sloping walls—a pallet on the floor, no other furniture.

"There's only one bed."

"
Soyez tranquille!
I won't disturb your sleep. Seeing that I am not large, that kind Madame Tetley has said I may sleep in here."

Anna-Marie opened a tiny door, only about two foot square, in the sloping wall, and disclosed a kind of little bunk, or closet, large enough, almost, to accommodate a big dog.

"
C'est charmant,
it fits me like a shoe."

And she curled up in it, under a heap of old rags and pieces of torn blanket.

Lucas lay awake for some time on his hard, thin mattress, wondering what the nature of his new employment could be. That it muSt be disagreeable, he had no doubt; otherwise it must already have been snapped up in this town where it seemed so hard to find any work at all. Five pounds a week! What would he be expected to do for such a huge sum?

But at least it would cover their expenses and pay for Mr. Oakapple's treatment.

At last he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

***

Lucas had been afraid that he would not be able to wake in time. His dreams were full of anxiety: he was trying to catch a runaway horse, he was late for school, he had lost something terribly precious and important—his brown book! Where was it?—he had broken some promise that he should have kept....

But at least there was no difficulty about waking, or about telling the time during the hours of dark. The town of Blastburn was plentifully supplied with church clocks, and they struck all the quarters, and if they were not in agreement exactly to the minute, at least they made it plain that time was passing. And as well as the church clocks there were factory hooters, screaming their call to work, and there were the trucks and wagons, clanking over iron rails, whistling mournfully in the dark, and there was the knocker-up, running down the streets, thumping with his iron-shod stick on each door as he passed.

"Wake oop, Mrs. Kelsey, luv, it's a grand snowy morning!

"Five o' t'clock, Geordie Thompson, time tha was stirring tha stumps, man!

"Eh, are ye sleeping yet, boys, t'missus has t'bacon a-frying!"

At a quarter past five, Lucas staggered up from his pallet and put on such clothes as he had removed (not many); very little heat from the tiny kitchen fire climbed up as far as Mrs. Tetley's attic. He was stealing softly to the ladder when a soft bump told him that Anna-Marie had scrambled out of her bunk bed.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered. "There's no need for you to stir yet."

"Yes there is! If you are at work, I will be too."

Lucas tried to argue, but she had made up her mind, and there was no time to spare in arguing. So presently they were both tiptoeing down Mrs. Tetley's steep narrow stairs to the chill, stone-paved back kitchen, where Lucas stirred the ashes in the range and laid a couple of sticks on, while Anna-Marie fetched her pot of porridge out from the closet. As she picked up the pan, she let out a stifled shriek and almost dropped it again.

"What's the matter?"

"A big rat! Sitting right by my pan!"

"Lucky you put the lid on. Where is he?"

"He ran into a hole, the horrible brute!" Anna-Marie balanced the pan over the little flame that Lucas had coaxed into life. But the porridge was frozen solid, and the heat had done little more than soften it before they were obliged to gulp it down in hasty spoonfuls. However they also boiled a little water in the kettle that Mrs. Tetley allowed her lodgers to use, and each drank a hot cupful; that was their breakfast.

Lucas equipped himself with his pole and bag; Anna-Marie took her basket, and they set out. They had expected that the town would be empty and quiet at that time of day, but it was not; many workers went on shift at six o'clock in the morning, and the dark snowy streets were full of hurrying figures: they were like iron filings being drawn toward a magnet, Lucas thought. And the sky was not dark but lit up, here and there, by great bursts of flame as one furnace or another discharged its load of clinker. Little lamplit bakeries displayed loaves and pasties which the running workers bought as they passed, to keep for their midday dinner. Horse-trams, full of factory hands, creaked along the snowy streets. Wagons loaded with produce were already jolting into the market square, and the market building itself was a scene of tremendous activity, as the stall owners carried in crates of goods and laid out their stocks.

"Ah, there you are then, my young cove," Lucas was greeted by Mr. Hobday, who looked like an industrious goblin as he darted about, taking down the shutters of his stall and disposing his extraordinary wares to the best advantage. There were strange fragments of ironmongery, rusty metal pots, pieces of china or stoneware, mostly cracked or broken, chunks of carved stone which might have come off a church, weapons, swords, pistols, even some portions of armor, and a small tray of jewelry.

"And here's Gudgeon, he's prompt to his time, too; punctuality and regular habits is what piles up the lolly. Gudgeon's your mate, boy, he's my other tosher, and he'll show you the ropes; he looks a bit simple, does old Gudgeon, but he's a staunch, cool cove in a tight corner; he's one o' the longest-working toshers in the trade. Well, old Gudgeon, what did you get for me yesterday, eh?"

Gudgeon was a big bony fellow with a leaden complexion, pale bluish eyes, and a broken nose. His hair, which was perfectly white, was cropped so short that it looked like fur, and he was so remarkably dirty that nothing more than the general outline of his person or clothes could be made out. A most extraordinary stench came from him: salty, strong, sweetish, and rank, it seemed to surround him almost visibly. Anna-Marie and Lucas each involuntarily took a pace backward. But Gudgeon did not notice this or take offense if he did; he was carefully unrolling a big canvas bag.

"Here we be, then, mester, look at this lovely little lot," he said proudly. "One candlestick—silver, or my name's not Tom Gudgeon—a velvet tablecloth—or maybe it's an altar cloth—with tassels, three shovels, some pots, a horoscope, length of iron chain, and a statue."

He spread the items out. They were dirty and damp and smelled as bad as their finder. Mr. Hobday was particularly interested in the statue, which was wooden, and seemed to be of an angel; at least it had wings. He inspected it carefully and pronounced that it was a real old un or
hid
name was not Elias Hobday; some cove at the museum would be sure to fancy it. And the candlestick was a good one too, sterling silver with the smith's name on it.

"A very nice lot, Tom, very good indeed," he congratulated Gudgeon.

"Ah, and there's coins, too, Mester Hobday. Here we are—" Gudgeon pulled a handful of them from a kind of pouch he wore across his front: old dark coins, so thin and dirty that they looked to be of no value at all, but Mr. Hobday studied and sorted them all most carefully.

"See how honest he is, boy? Some toshers 'ud keep such stuff back, but not Tom; honest as butter, he is. I'll get this lot valued, Tom, and give you your chop tomorrow. Now you'd best be showing the boy—what did you say your name was, Luke? right—show him how to put on his rig."

Lucas went behind Mr. Hobday's stall, where he was kitted out in the canvas trousers, long coat, canvas apron, and bag, with a bull's-eye lantern strapped to his chest; a stout hoe head was nailed to his pole.

"Good hunting then, lads," said Mr. Hobday, "and I'll see you at this time tomorrow."

Lucas said a hasty good-bye to Anna-Marie who while he was getting dressed, had purchased a quantity of cigar leaves at another stall, and was now rolling new cigars filled with the teased-out tobacco extracted from yesterday's stubs, which she had left drying overnight.

"Don't wait here for me—go back to Haddock Street at six," he said. "I don't like to think of your being out alone in the dark."
And then he thought how foolish this sounded, for daylight had not yet come and there was no sign that it ever would. "I'll take care to be home in time to visit Mr. Oakapple. Do be careful now," he added, still anxious at the thought of her long day alone.

"Perhaps I shall see you about the streets," said Anna-Marie hopefully.

"Perhaps."

But from all this equipment it seemed to Lucas that their destination must be somewhere more dirty and dangerous even than the streets of Blastburn. And so it proved. Tom Gudgeon led the way out of the market building, and stopped immediately, at the foot of the town cross.

"'Tis handy they keeps this spot swept clear of snow," he said. "Saves us toshers a deal o' shoveling," and he stooped and lifted up a heavy round iron manhole cover. "In wi' you then, lad—don't loiter about."