Tiger Men (9 page)

I
n the months that followed, Mick O’Callaghan not only fitted in well, he became so much a part of the place that Ma Tebbutt wondered how she’d ever functioned without him. So did the girls: they quickly succumbed to the charm of their protector and it wasn’t long before they were competing for his attention. Mick found himself with a veritable harem at his beck and call, should he have wished to take advantage of the fact.

Ma was aware of the situation. Upon the girls’ regular visits to her quarters when she would chat to each, sort out any disputes, and one by one inspect them for any sign of disease, Mick O’Callaghan was invariably the topic of conversation. She finally decided it necessary to issue a warning. Not only to the girls.

‘No sampling of the goods during working hours, Mick,’ she said. ‘If my girls want to give you a free poke, they can do it in their spare time. What they get up to then’s none of my concern, but they’re here to make money and I’ve a business to run.’

‘You’ve no cause to fear, Ma. I’ve not been with one of your girls yet, either in or out of working hours, and I’m not about to avail myself of any offers. I’ve no intention of mixing business with pleasure.’

Mick was telling no lie, though his practise of self-control had not proved difficult for he’d hardly been celibate. He’d sated his lust any number of times in the little room out the back with pretty Molly Bates, the smithy’s daughter who lived several blocks away in Sun Street.

Sensing the truth, Ma gave a satisfied nod. Her next comment, however, took him completely by surprise. ‘You could do Evie a favour and give her a bit of a jig though. Make her feel good about herself, you know what I mean?’

‘Eh?’ He wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. Ma wanted him to bed Evie? Why?

‘The girl worships the very ground you walk on, Mick.’

The statement bore an element of exaggeration, for young Evie couldn’t actually recall the night of her assault beyond the moment she’d scratched her attacker’s face. She did, however, see Mick as something of a hero, a view based purely on hearsay, for Ma had circulated the story of the fight, embellishing the action with heroic detail in order that her girls should feel safe under the protection of one as deceptive in appearance as the handsome young Irishman.

‘Brawn is no match for brains,’ she’d said to them collectively on the evening she’d come downstairs to introduce Mick. ‘Mick here will look after you like he did Evie: that’s his job. But if you’re smart and pay heed to him, he’ll steer you clear of the troublemakers and you won’t find yourself in the predicament Evie did. That way you’ll get to keep your front teeth,’ she’d added meaningfully, ‘do you follow me?’ The girls most certainly had, and they’d nodded obediently.

‘It’s a matter of pride, Mick,’ Ma now said, sensing his bewilderment. ‘Evie was the most popular girl I had, the youngest and the prettiest, and now she’s stuck in the kitchen.’ His confusion still evident, she went on patiently to explain. ‘It’s her teeth, you see. Teeth are one of the main things that’ll put a whore out of business – all the other stuff can be hid behind paint and rouge.’ Ma surreptitiously ran her tongue over her own teeth. Yellow as they were they were still there for the most part and she was proud of the fact. ‘The loss of teeth’s a sign of age,’ she said, ‘and that’s a hard cop when you’re nineteen like Evie.’

Ma poured herself her first tot of rum for the day. It was late afternoon and Mick always called upstairs for a chat before the evening trade picked up.

‘She’s a hard worker, Evie, which is why I’ve kept her on as a full-time domestic, but that’s quite a step down the ladder for one who’s been as popular as she was.’ Ma took a swig of rum before repeating her proposition. ‘So what if, out of all the girls, Evie was the one to find favour with you – just for one night, mind – you being her hero and all. Well for starters, it might keep the others off your back, mightn’t it? And it’d give Evie “face”, like the Chinee say. She’d be able to hold her head high with the girls. She could go back to the kitchen and bugger the lot of them. What do you say?’

‘I say you’re not as tough as you pretend you are, Ma.’

A number of things suddenly made sense to Mick. He’d noticed several women about the place, women scarred or minus teeth, and he now realised they were whores no longer able to ply their trade. They didn’t live on the premises, but Ma provided them with part-time employment as laundrywomen, kitchen helpers and cleaners, alongside her own girls who were expected to lend a hand with menial tasks during the day.

‘In fact, it’s my guess you’ve a real soft heart underneath,’ he said.

‘Keep your Irish shite to yourself,’ Ma replied not unpleasantly. ‘Will you look after Evie or won’t you?’

‘In or out of working hours?’

‘Whenever there are most eyes upon you I’d say. Working hours, but a slow night when there’s little custom.’

‘What’s wrong with tonight then? Tuesday’s never busy.’

‘I’ll look forward to hearing the gossip,’ she said with a smile. ‘The girls won’t be able to resist.’

Ma was right. The gossip reached her ears within less than twenty-four hours. Peg and Maeve couldn’t wait to spread the news. They paid her a visit shortly after midday.

‘Evie? Really?’ Ma raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘My, my, how surprising.’

‘He was feeling sorry for her,’ Peg said, not spitefully but put out nonetheless: she’d had her sights set on the Irishman. ‘Well we all feel sorry for Evie,’ she hastily added, ‘poor thing. Mick took pity on her, he did.’

‘That’s not the way it looked to me.’ Maeve was quick to disagree. ‘He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Lusting after her something fierce, he was, Ma.’ She gave a saucy wink. ‘Peg’s just jealous is all.’

‘I am not, Maevy. You take that back. You take that back right now. I am not jealous, not one bit, I’m not!’

Maeve laughed. Peg’s fierce protestation spoke for itself. ‘And it didn’t sound like pity the way Evie told it neither,’ she said. ‘They had a right good time together, Ma. That’s what she told me.’

‘And you can’t begrudge her a good time, given what she’s been through.’

Ma intervened before Maeve could twist the knife any further. Maeve and Peg liked to egg each other on. Two of her top girls, they’d been at the Hunter’s Rest longer than the others and, both Irish, they were close friends but fiercely competitive. Despite their advancing years, for they were now thirty, they were popular with the men, Maeve’s provocative dancing and Peg’s voluminous breasts keeping them in regular demand.

But neither had come anywhere near Evie for prettiness, Ma thought with a tinge of regret. Evie had been pretty and gutsy and fun, and it was a bleeding shame she was washed up so young.

Ma would never have openly acknowledged the fact, but she’d always had a soft spot for Evie. Evie was a fellow Londoner and she reminded Ma just a little of herself as a girl.

‘Oh, we don’t begrudge Evie, Ma.’ Worried that Ma’s sudden pensiveness might signal disapproval, Maeve was quick to protest. ‘We don’t begrudge her at all,’ she said and Peg nodded in vigorous agreement. ‘We’re really sorry about what happened to Evie.’

‘I know you are, love, I know. You’re a good girl, Maeve. You too, Peg,’ she added (Ma never displayed favouritism). ‘Now off you run, and leave me to my paperwork.’ Like dutiful children they kissed her on the cheek and departed. They
are
good women at heart, Ma thought. Despite the competition Evie’s youth and prettiness had presented, neither Maeve nor Peg took any pleasure in the girl’s predicament.

The bedding of Evie changed a number of things, Mick discovered.

Although he and Ma never spoke of the subject again, he sensed a subtle shift in their relationship. An unspoken bond of something approaching fondness seemed to have developed between them. Far more noticeable though, was the change in the girls. Overnight, they appeared to accept the fact that he was unavailable. Even Peg stopped vying for his attention. Ma was right, Mick thought. Bedding Evie had been the way to keep the others off his back. And as for Evie herself, far from posing the problem he’d thought she might, Evie’s response from the outset had been remarkably healthy.

‘Why’d you pick me?’ she’d asked afterwards as they’d lain, bodies entwined, on his narrow cot. ‘Why’d you pick me over the other girls?’ She’d been extraordinarily forthright. Bold even. ‘It was because you felt sorry for me, wasn’t it?’ Confronting though her manner was, she’d shielded her mouth with her hand as she’d queried him, and Mick had found the gesture strangely affecting.

‘No,’ he’d said, ‘it wasn’t because I felt sorry for you at all. It was because you’re the only one I’m allowed to sleep with.’ His reply had taken her by surprise. ‘Ma told me I’m not allowed to sample the goods.’

Evie had let out an involuntary hoot of laughter, forgetting for a moment to shield her mouth, then, registering her exposure, quickly returning her hand. ‘I’m no longer the goods all right,’ she’d replied without rancour, ‘blimey, I’m out of the race altogether.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, my lovely.’ He’d run his hand over the perfect twin curves of her breasts. ‘You’re a fine runner-up.’

She’d laughed again and, rolling on her side, she’d ducked her head into his shoulder to avert his gaze as her fingers reached for him. ‘Well, if you’re ever after damaged goods, Mick, you know where to come.’

‘I do indeed,’ he’d said.

As a result of that night, a relationship had developed between Mick and Evie: a relationship not of lovers, but of friends. Perhaps even something akin to siblings, for Mick felt protective of Evie, tough though she was, and Evie looked up to him as she would a big brother. She delighted in the knowledge that she was his favourite among the girls, even though she was relegated to the kitchen. And she was not offended when, as time passed, he didn’t take her up on her offer. She hadn’t really expected him to. Men didn’t pay for toothless whores, so why should Mick choose to bed a girl who had no front teeth, even for free?

The reason Mick didn’t take Evie up on her offer was not because of her lack of front teeth. Nor was it because of any compunction he might have on moral grounds given his brotherly feelings for her. It wasn’t even because of pretty Molly Bates, the smithy’s daughter, who regularly hung around the pub in the hope of an invitation to the little back room. Molly, too, was for the most part ignored. Mick’s life had undergone a radical change, and it had all started with Eileen.

Mick met Eileen on a bleak and wintry August afternoon. It was a Saturday and he’d popped out to buy a treat for Ma from the little baker’s shop in Bathurst Street. He would purchase a bag of scones, freshly baked and piping hot from the oven, and she would eat them while they were still warm with great dollops of butter, and swigs of rum on the side. After eight months at the pub, Mick was attune to Ma’s every whim. Indeed, his place in her affections was by now so well established he even referred to her as his ‘special girl’, a term she dismissed as ‘Irish shite’, but which she clearly enjoyed. Sometimes he catered to her fancies simply to keep on side with her, but at other times he genuinely wished to please. Today, the latter was the case, for Ma’s chest was unsettled by the dank winter conditions and she was suffering from a severe bout of bronchitis.

He walked up Campbell Street. Ahead reared the forbidding sandstone walls of the gaol, home to public hangings in the past, and to the vilest of acts man could perpetrate upon his fellows. God alone knew what still went on behind those walls, Mick thought. He never once passed the place without giving thanks. The very sight of it is enough to keep a man on the straight and narrow, he told himself. There but for the grace of God . . .

He’d come out hatless and, as he turned into Bathurst Street, he pulled the collar of his heavy woollen coat up around his ears. An icy wind seemed to sweep down directly from the mountain, which loomed in the distance, its peak shrouded in mist. There’ll be a right blizzard blowing up there, he thought, and he stood for a moment gazing up at Mount Wellington. Up there, a man wouldn’t stand a chance: he’d be lost to the elements, dead as a maggot and no-one would know. It’s easy to feel safe down here in the busy, self-important heart of Hobart Town, he thought, but the mountain makes a mockery of us all. It just stood there laughing at the whole of mankind, a timeless reminder of the fragility of human existence.

Mick actually found the danger of Van Diemen’s Land thrilling. It was rather like being on the run from the law. You never knew what fresh threat lay around the corner.

He ducked his head from the biting wind that was making his eyes water, and digging his hands deep into his coat pockets, for he’d also come out minus gloves, he crossed Argyle Street and headed straight for the baker’s shop.

He was just several paces away when the door opened and he collided with a woman on her way out.

‘Oh, I do beg your pardon,’ he said automatically. Given to gentlemanly behaviour in the company of women, Mick would have doffed his hat had he had one and then, eager for the warmth of the shop, he’d have excused himself and edged his way past. On this occasion, however, he didn’t. He remained exactly where he was, for this was a woman who demanded attention. She was tall. In her buttoned boots she stood only an inch or so shorter than he and, despite her heavy bell-shaped skirt and matching velvet pelisse, he could tell at a glance that she had a fine figure, for the pelisse, while forming a full cloak at the back, was stylishly cut in at the front to reveal a slim waist. Her features were fine and her milk-white skin flawless, but it was her eyes that most captured his attention. Her eyes were animal-like, green or hazel, it was impossible to tell. And beneath the fashionable poke bonnet was a glimpse of hair as red and vibrant as a fox’s brush. This is a woman of style and breeding no doubt, Mick thought, but this is also a wild one.

With no hat to doff, he placed a hand to his breast and gave a quick formal bow. ‘So clumsy of me,’ he said. ‘Do please accept my sincerest apology.’