Vintage Love (125 page)

“Along with fifteen bob!” She could not hide the disgust in her tone.

The distinguished Mark Gregg raised an eyebrow. Quietly he said, “I believe this was the amount due him.”

“Down to the last quarter hour,” she said stiffly.

Mark Gregg looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should have handled it in a more considerate manner. I have lately been experiencing serious business difficulties. I have been much occupied with these problems.”

She said evenly, “My father served your firm from your father’s day. He was a faithful employee here long before you took over.”

“Indeed,” the handsome man said coolly.

“And I have been told that his death might have been avoided if the scaffolding on which he was put to work had been more securely built. Clearly, it was built hastily by your foremen; they put my father up there before it was safe. I say they murdered him!”

His steel-gray eyes were focused sharply on her now as he quietly asked, “You believe that? That our negligence brought about your father’s death?”

Becky defiantly faced the grim shipyard owner, knowing him to be a proud, unbending man. But she had her own pride and her own desperate feelings of grief in the loss of her beloved father. So after the briefest of pauses, she told him, “Yes. I do think your company is to blame for my father’s death!”

Mark Gregg stared at her. Then he pointed to the framed engraving of a magnificent sailing ship with side-wheels amidships and said, “Gregg and Kerr have a fine position in the shipbuilding world. There you see the Royal York, which broke the records for an Atlantic Crossing in 1839 in a voyage which took thirteen days and seven hours! Our firm built that ship!”

“I cannot see that has any bearing on my father’s death,” she protested.

“Just listen to me, young lady,” the older man said coldly. “The point I’m trying to make is that this is a responsible firm. We do not take risks with our vessels or our men!”

“My father is dead,” she said. “The staging did collapse.”

The square-jawed man rubbed his chin, as if he were in a moment of decision. Then those strange eyes fixed on her again and he said, “So you continue to maintain that neglect on the company’s part brought about the death of your parent?”

“I do,” she said stoutly.

“Very well,” Mark Gregg said. And he unlocked a drawer of his desk and reached into it to bring out a half-dozen golden sovereigns. He tossed them on the desk between them and with a biting sarcasm told her, “You may have these as a recompense, since that is what you’re obviously seeking.”

The temptation to take the gleaming gold pieces was great. Her need of them was great enough. But her eyes blurred with tears as she gazed at them and saw them as the worth Mark Gregg was placing on her father’s life! How easy for him! And how cruel he had behaved in making his offer.

In a choked voice, she said, “I came here hoping you might better understand the loss my sister and I have suffered, the grief our father’s death has caused us.”

Mark Gregg showed no emotion. In the same cool way, he said, “I did not know your father. But I grant that the company has lost a good worker. That is why I have offered you this compensation.” He modified his original gesture by picking up the gold coins and offering them to her directly.

She took the sovereigns and with a curl of her lip said, “I cannot allow you to put a price on my father’s life in this way. I came here hoping there might be some repentance on your part and perhaps an assurance from you that you would be careful to try and avoid such accidents in the future. But I see you have nothing but contempt for the likes of my father and myself! Thank you, Mark Gregg, but I can manage without your charity!” And she threw the gold pieces at him.

She did not wait to learn his reaction. Her eyes brimming with tears, she hurried out of the elegant office to the dark stairway. She managed to get downstairs safely, and she almost ran past the old clerk in the reception room in her haste to get outside and away from the place.

It took her a little while to regain her composure. When she did, she began to carefully go over her resources and make some decisions about the future. She wandered along rather aimlessly through the back streets near the docks. Then all at once she found herself staring into the window of a shabby tavern with the ironic name of Seafarer’s Rest, and saw a hand written sign in the window announcing that young barmaids were wanted.

She stood staring at the sign for a moment or two and decided that this was in some odd way an answer to her prayers. She had never been in this kind of tavern before, but now she braced herself and went inside, trying to give the impression she was fully at ease.

Inside, the tavern was dark and dank. Standing behind the bar was a weird looking man with a patch over one eye, he had a long, hooked nose and a shifty look. A tousle of dark hair fell about his forehead. He was clearly looking for someone.

She walked slowly to the shining counter, happy that the bar was empty for the moment. She said, “I have read your notice in the window.”

The thin man with the black eye-patch eyed her with no interest. “Not for the likes of you! I need barmaids who can sing for the customers when things get dull.”

She had a clear singing voice and so had Peg. Her hopes rose a little. She refused to give up so easily. A smile which she hoped might seem enticing crossed her pretty face. She asked, “Do you have any favorite songs?”

The thin tavern owner scowled. “I hate music of every sort, myself,” he said. “But the blokes what come in here like a saucy tune. ‘The Liverpool Maid’ for example.”

Now her heart began to pound. There had to be a fate in this! The song he’d mentioned had been a favorite of her late father’s, and both she and Peg had sung it for him many times. She said with delight, “I know it!”

“So?” the man with the eye-patch said sourly.

She did what she felt she should. Standing very erect, she began singing, ‘Liverpool Maid’ in her best voice. She included all the saucy verses which her father and Jimmy Davis had taught her. The bartender was impressed.

Ending the song, she said, “There!”

As she did so a loud clapping came from directly behind her, and she turned to discover a handsome young black-haired man in the rough clothes of a seaman standing there. There was a smile on his handsome, young face and a twinkle of approval in his black eyes. She had assumed the bar was empty, and the remembrance of the verses she’d just sang made her cheeks crimson!

The young man laughed and, removing his peaked, sailor’s cap, said, “Davy Brown, at your service, Miss. That’s a good song, and you did it well. Can I coddle your sweet voice with a drink?”

“Thank you, no,” she said, embarrassed and moving away from him.

“Don’t be ashamed,” the smiling Davy Brown told her. “You were first rate. Wasn’t she, Luther?”

The one-eyed man shrugged. “Not bad!”

“Twice as talented as the last wench you had working here,” Davy said. “And twice as good looking! Why not admit it?”

Luther glanced at the young man with his single eye and then leaned over the bar to talk with her. “It’s not a fancy place,” he warned her. “We get toughs and tarts as part of our regular night trade. You’d have to hold your own with them!”

“I could,” she said. “Just so long as I’m not expected to be a tart also!”

The thin man frowned. “I don’t ask that! Luther Crown is no pimp! I run a straight place, even if I do get a mixed trade!”

“You do get that!” Davy Brown said jovially.

The thin man ignored him. He asked Becky, “Is your sister as attractive as you?”

“She’s more attractive!” Becky insisted.

“Can she sing?” he asked.

“Yes. She knows more songs than I do,” Becky said. “And we often blend our voices in a duet which people seem to enjoy.”

“I own the place next door,” the owner of the tavern said. “Rooms go with the job and whatever you can manage in tips. The salary is ten bob each, take it or leave it!”

“We’ll take it!” she said delighted.
“Come to work tonight at six, and you stay until the place closes,” Luther Crown told her. “Mrs. Crown will be here to show you how to serve the beer, and I’ll tell you when we want a song!”

“Thank you,” she said. Turning to the young sailor who had been watching it all with a smile on his handsome face, she added, “And thank you, too, for your encouragement!”

“We’ll be meeting again,” the young man said warmly. “My name is Davy Brown, remember? What is yours?”

“Becky Lee,” she said shyly, noting his bronzed skin and sturdy build. He was a fine figure of a man, and by his speech he seemed educated beyond his station in life. She added, “And my sister’s name is Peg.”

Davy laughed again. “And according to you, she’s prettier than you and a better singer. I don’t believe it!”

She laughed with him. “Truly it is so! And she is also a full year younger than I am.”

“I’ll be here to see you both tonight,” Davy said. “And that won’t mean changing any of my plans, for I spend most of my nights here in this sinful place!”

“Watch your words, sailor!” the man behind the bar warned him.

“I meant nothing by it,” Davy Brown said. “Give me a whiskey to drink this young lady’s health. I must do it alone, since she has refused to join me.”

“I drink very rarely,” she said.

He nooded approval. “That’ll make you more valuable to Luther. The last two slatterns he had were lushes who drank on the sly twice what they earned for him!”

Becky saw three other older men in sailor’s clothing come through the doorway and quickly said, “I must be getting back home. My sister will be worried about me.” And to the glum Luther she added, “And we’ll be here for work at six! I promise!”

“I’ll take the sign from the window,” the one-eyed man said grudgingly.

Utterly delighted with her good luck, she hurried out into the narrow street. In one daring move she had found jobs for herself and Peg, along with free rooms for them both. They could manage with food and be free to leave their present flat and sell the furniture. By being careful, she could just about pay the landlady and the undertaker by the time she’d sold the few things and added her slight savings and the total of their first week’s wages at the tavern. Then they would be free of the shadow of debt!

Once again she had a momentary vision of the gleaming, golden sovereigns on the desk of Mark Gregg. But she knew she had done right. Had she accepted them, she would have shown contempt for her father and for herself. A bitterness against Mark Gregg and his kind welled up in her, a bitterness which would always be with her. With it there came a grim determination on her part to succeed, despite the cruelty of the world around her.

She was in so good a mood she bought two oranges and some roasted chestnuts from an old woman street peddler. Hurrying home with these treats, she set them out before an amazed Peg and told her of the events of the morning.

Peg listened, and when Becky had finished she said, “The tavern sounds like an awful place!”

Becky sighed. “It is not Buckingham Palace but it is a place where we can earn our living until we can find something better.”

“I thought Mark Gregg might offer to adopt us and take us into his fine house,” Peg said with disappointment on her pretty face.

“More of your romantic notions,” Becky said with a hint of anger. “You must get over them and adjust to real life.”

“I will,” Peg promised. And then more brightly, she said “Your Davy Brown sounds nice.”

“He could be,” Becky said with carefully assumed disdain. Not wanting Peg to get more romantic fancies. “I’ll decide that after I know him better. And you’d better remember that! Don’t judge anyone until you know them well! And don’t trust anyone who is a stranger!”

Peg pouted prettily. “You sound like my parent, not my sister only twelve months older.”

“Someone has to put sense into you and try to protect you,” Becky told her. “We have a busy day ahead, what with packing and moving. And we must go over all the songs we know. Singing is to be an important part of our work!”

They arrived at the house next to the tavern before six with their scanty belongings wrapped in packages which they carried. They were greeted at Number Eight by a buxom woman in dustcap and work dress. The woman’s red face was adorned by warts on the end of her nose and on the sides, as well as in the middle of her cheeks. She was not a beauty.

“You’re the girls?” she asked in a whiskey voice. “I’m Mrs. Crown! I’ll show you to your rooms and then you can come over to the tavern when you’re ready and I’ll teach you how to draw the beer properly from the kegs!” She went down a long, murky corridor with them, following as she complained about having to continually instruct new girls.

At the very end of the corridor she halted and opened a door on a tiny cubicle with a narrow, iron-frame bed, dresser, and no window. “That’s one of the rooms,” she said. “The other is just beyond. They’re both the same.”

Peg stood in the doorway and studied the first room with despair. “There’s no window. It’ll be dark all the time!”

“No,” the woman said, pointing upward, “There’s a glass over the door to open for air and to let in the light.” She seemed to disregard the fact that the hallway itself was airless and almost dark.

Becky put her things down on the bed in the second room. She told the ugly woman, “They will do nicely.”

“I like agreeable girls,” Mrs. Crown said with a frown in Peg’s direction. And turning to Becky again, she added, “You have the privileges of my kitchen providing you clean up afterwards. The first mess that’s left behind, and that’s the end of using my kitchen.”

“We will be careful, I promise,” Becky said.

The big woman nodded. “We’ll see! The last ones was drunkards. You can be no worse! When you’re ready to begin in the tavern, come over. I’ll be waiting for you!” And she waddled back along the murky corridor.

Peg ran to Becky in her room and said, “These rooms are dreadful!”

“We can manage with them for a little,” Becky told her. “We must! And when we’ve fixed them up a little, they’ll seem much better!”