Authors: The Quincunx
“Jack wooed a cold, cold lady
To leave her mother’s side.
Jack was a bashful wooer;
She would not be his …
Chorus:
“Kneel upon the lady’s shift
To arst her for her hand;
And don’t mind if she’s stiff,
And don’t mind if she’s stiff.
“Jack told his dad his troubles:
‘The lady is too proud
And stiff to let me take her,
A-wearin’ of her … ’
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MOMPESSONS
Chorus:
“Kneel upon … etc.
“The old ’un answered Jacko
In these most helpful terms:
‘You’ll have to straddle her boldly
Or leave her to the … ’
Chorus:
“Kneel upon … etc.”
As the song finished with a climactic clattering of tankards, Mr Isbister said to me:
“Well, young ’un, how do you fancy j’inin’ us tonight?”
“No, Jerry,” Ben suddenly put in. “How do we know we can trust him not to nose?”
“Oh I think we can trust him,” Mr Isbister said placing his arm over my shoulders and pulling me close to him. “He knows what’s good for him and his mam.”
“I don’t want to, Mr Isbister,” I said.
He got to his feet looking down at me with deep malevolence in his little black eyes.
“You don’t want to,” he repeated, advancing upon me.
I stood up as he approached and began to move away.
“I’ve trusted you,” he said. “You know enough to queer our pitch.”
He seized me with one massive fist bunching up my coat-front and pushed me back suddenly against the wall.
“I say Jerry, lay off him,” Jem objected mildly.
“What’s a half-long worth just now?” Blueskin asked quietly.
Ben laughed but Mr Isbister, holding his face an inch or two from mine, said: “You don’t think I took you and your mam in out of pure kindness do you? You ain’t that simple, are you?” To emphasize his point he banged my head hard against the wall. “It ain’t just a matter of throwing you and your mam out. Oh no, it’s gone too far for that. If I can’t trust you … ” He broke off. “Boys like you is fetched out of the river or found in the fleet-ditch, oh, three or four times a week. So do you still say you ain’t a-coming tonight?”
“No, not tonight,” said Jem. “Not if we’re going down the Borough and there’s a fair chance of trouble.”
“All the better,” said Mr Isbister. “He can hold the hoss and keep an eye on the cart.”
For added emphasis he gave me a blow to my head which sent it back against the wall.
“Well, what do you say?”
I was saved by a remark from Blueskin: “Jem’s right. He’d jist be in the way. Wait till we find a gate that wants squeezing through.”
Mr Isbister looked at me resentfully: “All right, not tonight,” he said. “But next time we go out you’ll come with us. Now be off.”
He stood aside so that I could pass, and I left the room. Outside in the dark little hall I paused and breathed deeply. I heard the voices of my mother and Mrs Isbister arguing together in the kitchen, and suddenly I felt that I could not bear the house any longer. I ran out and then hurried through the streets at random, bent simply on getting as far away from there as I could and resolved that I would never go back.
I walked for a couple of hours, going over and over in my thoughts the UNDERSTANDINGS
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choices that were available. If only something had come of my attempt to find Miss Quilliam. That reflection made me suddenly realize that I was not far from Mrs Malatratt’s house and I hurried thither.
When I knocked on the kitchen door Nancy opened it and smiled at seeing me: “I’ve got something for you at last. The genel’man come and settled the account so she’s been
’lowed to take the boxes. She left this.”
With these puzzling words, she reached behind a tray propped against the wall on a sideboard and handed me a letter. I turned it the right way up and saw that the superscription was simply one word: “John”.
“I can’t speak now for the mistress has jist rung the bell,” Nancy said and closed the door.
As I mounted the area-steps I opened the letter — my first proper letter! — and read the elegant hand with my heart thumping:
“No. 47, Orchard-street,
“Westminster,
“The 4th. of June, 18--.
“My Dear John,
“Certainly I remember you, though that time at Hougham now seems to belong to another world.
“I grieve to hear of the misfortunes that have befallen you and your mother, and I dearly wish it were in my power to help you. But only conceive what I must mean when I tell you that I am now in much less fortunate circumstances even than when you saw me last. However, though I fear I have very few means to help you, whatever may lie within my power I will perform — and more than gladly. If you and your mother wish to come to me, you will find me at the above address.
“In the meantime I remain,
“your very obedient servant
“no less than your friend,
“Helen Quilliam.”
I was a little disappointed, and as I made my way quickly home, I speculated on whether I should persuade my mother to accept Miss Quilliam’s offer, and on how we would maintain ourselves if we did. Before I could urge her to leave the protection of the Isbisters, I decided, I had to be absolutely sure that my master was involved in something as nefarious as what I suspected. And then it came to me: I would follow him and find out tonight!
It was nearly nine o’clock by the time I got back. I crept up to our room and, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter from the parlour and the quarrelling voices of the two women from the kitchen, consumed the saveloy and bread-roll I had bought on the way home.
When, after a couple of hours, my mother at last came up to bed I could tell that it was not the occasion for a rational discussion of the future. Shortly afterwards, Mrs Isbister ascended the stairs, muttering drunkenly to herself. My mother quickly fell into a deep sleep and, except for her coughing, her breathing was soon deep and regular.
Time passed slowly and all the while I could hear shouts and laughter punctuated by bursts of song issuing from the parlour. It was not until a little 204 THE
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after midnight that I heard the men leave the house and instantly I slipped out of bed, pulled on my clothes in the dark, and left the room, squeezing the door shut behind me.
Reassured by the sound of Mrs Isbister still breathing heavily in her sleep, I stole downstairs and, once in the kitchen, released the catch on the window, opened it, and climbed out, gently lowering it behind me.
I now found myself in the little yard at the back of the house which was empty except for a water-butt, a heap of broken bricks and slates, and a dead rat, and which was surrounded by a high wall with a gate. I had scanned it from our window during the day and now scrambled over the gate without much difficulty, and then cautiously made my way along the dark little lane between the surrounding back-yards until I gained the street. Mr Isbister’s three companions were standing by the cart, and as I watched from round the angle of the house, my master himself approached leading the horse, which he had obviously just brought from the livery-stable. He harnessed it as quietly as possible in the light of the lanthorn that Jem held for him, and a few minutes later they boarded the cart and it rolled away. I kept well back when it set off and only emerged from concealment as it reached the end of the street. Now I would find out if I was going to be able to keep pace with it.
Fortunately it was a fine night with many stars and a large bright moon, so that I could follow the cart’s progress from a considerable distance without losing sight of it.
Though by the same token, I had to be more careful not to be observed. Mr Isbister kept the horse to a walk until he reached the high-road, probably to avoid attracting notice. I had never been out so late and though I was surprised by the volume of traffic and the number of foot-passengers on the road, I felt some alarm at the prospect of venturing into the dark bye-ways. Now Mr Isbister set the horse going at a trot — though fortunately for me a slow one, on account of the number of passengers.
At first I was able to keep up with little difficulty by maintaining a steady and gentle run, but after fifteen minutes I was beginning to tire. The cart made its way steadily westward along Bethnal-green-road and then turned south into Shoreditch. By the time it was going at a good trot along Bishopsgate I began to flag and it drew steadily away from me. With my heart and lungs on the point of bursting and my feet in considerable pain because of the poor condition of my boots, I nearly cried aloud with frustration and anger at the thought that I would lose the vehicle after all. Since I had no more reserves of strength or wind, however, there was nothing to be done and a few minutes later it was out of my sight. I assumed that it was going to cross the river by London-bridge but beyond that, I knew I had no chance of regaining my quarry. Yet still I ran on for it was easier to do that than to admit defeat.
Just as I reached the bridge, I suddenly realized that a vehicle that was pulled in to the side of the road a few yards ahead of me was the cart! I had nearly run upon it! I hastily ran up Lower-Thames-street and then crept back to watch. This was a stroke of luck and it gave me the chance to get my breath back. After some minutes a figure approached from Upper-Thames-street to the west and, after a few words were exchanged, climbed aboard as the cart moved off. I assumed that this was the man, Harry, whom they had referred to.
It went through the toll-gate on the bridge and a moment later I followed, slipping through the horse-gate so that the toll-taker, busy with his leather UNDERSTANDINGS
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apron and money-pocket, did not even notice me. Once the cart had entered the Borough it went only a short distance down some side-streets and then drew up in an unlit lane. I stayed some distance away and watched the five men get down and take from the back of the cart certain objects which I could not make out because they were wrapped in sacking. And they were taking other precautions against noise for I heard not a sound. Then four of them made their way down an alley-way that led off the lane, and now I could see that they were carrying dark-lanthorns and long-handled tools.
Above the tops of the houses on that side I saw the spire of a church. The fifth man stayed with the cart and as I crept past it in the darkness on the other side of the lane I thought that I could make out that it was Jem, and I could see that the piece of tarred sacking was in place.
I dared not go down the alley-way after the men in case they looked back, so I cut through other streets until, by a kind of tacking, I came up against a wall topped by railings and peered through. I could just discern dark figures moving among the pale stones and then was able to make out what it was that they were unwrapping. I needed to see no more. Exhausted, horrified, and in need of respite before setting off on the long walk home, I leant against the wall trying not to hear the faint sounds of metal striking earth.
Suddenly I heard a noise from behind me: footsteps were approaching down the alley-way! I left the wall and pressed myself into a door-way opposite it just as a group of six or seven men approached. I felt the back of my neck tingle as I realized that they were treading as soundlessly as they could and then saw that they were carrying long staves.
The man in front, who appeared to be directing the others, was of very striking appearance, as I saw in the pale moonlight that fell directly upon him. Though he was small he had a strangely large head for so diminutive a figure, and it jutted out like a tortoise’s. As I watched he lifted a hand to halt his followers, and raised his head to listen. His face was sallow and his mouth was a mere slit, but he had a huge beaked nose and very deep eye-cavities, and as I watched him seeming to sniff the air, I sensed an animal-like eagerness that frightened me.
Immediately behind him was a tall, good-looking young man with frank, manly features that contrasted strangely with those of his dwarfish leader. At another signal from the latter, the men pulled kerchiefs from their pockets and wrapped them about the lower part of their faces so that they resembled a party of sufferers in search of a dentist.
Then after a few muttered words they passed through the gate by which the others must have entered.
From the faint sounds I heard a minute afterwards, I realized that the newcomers had attacked Mr Isbister’s gang and that a fight was taking place. But it was a very strange kind of conflict, for those involved were taking pains to make as little noise as possible, and though I heard the muffled thud of club and spade against person several times, I heard no voices except once when there came a cry of pain which was quickly bitten off.
I knew I should get away while I was still undetected, and so at last I tore myself from the railings and retraced my steps. When I reached the lane where the horse and cart were I began to creep cautiously past, though nobody seemed to be in attendance. As I did so I saw something lying in the ditch at the side of the carriageway and when I went closer I found to my horror that it was a man. He was motionless and when I went right up to him I saw that it was Jem and
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that he was bleeding from a wound to the head. Of all of Mr Isbister’s gang he was the one whom I least disliked.
I hurried on my way and in the next street came across a couple of horse-drawn carts guarded by two men carrying dark-lanthorns and cudgels. I worked my way round them by back-lanes and then ran as fast as I could and did not stop until I reached the toll-gate on the bridge. From there I alternately walked and ran, exhausted as I was, for I had formed a resolution which I needed to act on very quickly.
I met nobody now except the occasional milkman and a few market-carts and then some children on their way to the early morning market at Bethnal-green where they presented themselves to be hired out for the day. When I reached home I found the street was quiet, though the dawn was already beginning. I hastily climbed back over the wall and in through the window, reassured to find that the house was perfectly silent.