‘Blood out of a stone,’ Jinnie said.
‘Squeeze ‘em harder, me pretty one,’ was his unfeeling reply.
Nor was it her only problem. Edward was growing increasingly impatient with her excuses. Time after time Jinnie was forced to decline his invitation for a walk on Sunday afternoons, for no good reason that he could see. She would claim to be visiting a friend from the mill or an elderly relative of her mother’s that she’d just discovered, or she’d complain that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to rest. Then Jinnie would have the difficulty of creeping out of the house when he wasn’t looking. The constant subterfuge was forging a wedge between them, one she would find impossible to dislodge unless she could break free of Billy Quinn.
This particular Sunday was wet so there hadn’t been quite such a problem. Edward hadn’t even suggested a walk, though neither had he suggested that they play backgammon in the parlour as he might once have. A distance was growing between them which Jinnie found frightening, for she loved him as much as ever and longed for a chance for them to be together.
‘This is the last time,’ she told Quinn as she stood shivering on the canal bank in the pouring rain and took her instructions for the afternoon.
‘And why would that be, little one?’
‘I’m gonna tell him tomorrow, the whole sorry tale from start to finish and take me chances that he’ll forgive me.’
Quinn put back his handsome head and laughed, white teeth glistening, the fall of hair on his brow slick with rain. He took off his cap, flicked back the quiff and replaced the cap at a more appropriate angle. ‘Aye, ye do that, and I’ll expect you back home first thing the next morning.’
Back home with Billy Quinn? Jinnie’s spirit quailed at the prospect. And there remained the worry over Bella. Was she still seeing Quinn on the quiet, or had she acquired a bit more sense? You could never tell with Bella, she kept things close to her chest. There must be some way to break free, she thought, desperation closing in as she felt hemmed in on all sides. ‘What good am I doing here? You can find any number of chaps willing and able to watch out for you, and glad of the money you pay. Why does it have to be me?’
‘Because you lost me Harold, and he was a good man to have around, so he was.’
‘You lost him yourself with your nasty ways,’ Jinnie shouted right back. ‘Like I said, for all I know you might have murdered the poor beggar.’
The last time she’d queried Harold’s supposed suicide, he’d found her suspicions amusing, now Quinn’s expression of benevolence vanished in an instant and he struck out at her with his fist, knocking her back against the parapet of the bridge, bruising her chin with the blow. ‘I’ve warned ye to keep a civil tongue in yer head and do as yer told. Is that too hard for ye to understand?’
‘No! No, I do understand. I do, Quinn.’ Jinnie was quaking with terror, berating herself for being stupid enough to complain. Always a mistake.
Despite the bad weather it was a busy afternoon. There must have been two or three hundred shabbily dressed men gathered along the towpath, rain dripping from the nebs of their caps, white cotton mufflers their only concession to the Sabbath. There was a lively game of pitch and toss going on between a local group of colliers, known as a croft, who competed fiercely every week, tossing old clog irons at the mott. Whippet racing, pigeon fancying and the ubiquitous ferrets were all in evidence that day, along with the usual variety of dice and card games and the favourite ‘crown and anchor’ cliques, as well as more cruel sports such as cockfighting which took place in carefully selected spots, well away from too many disapproving eyes.
Jinnie’s task, as always, was to be ‘on crow’. This involved her taking up a stand on the fringes of the crowd, keeping an eye out for the slops, a common name given to the police. She was fully aware that it wasn’t always easy to spot them since they had a knack of mingling with the other punters, dressed in plain clothes. Quinn never seemed too worried about such a possibility since he had his ‘mates’ in the force who were ready enough to turn a blind eye. Besides, there’d been no hint of a raid today and bookmakers were rarely caught, were almost immune from prosecution, as were the punters. Jinnie found herself a spot under a horse chestnut tree, where she could shelter from the biting wind and yet have a good view of the activities going on around her. The scene was lively and not uninteresting but she was tired and cold, wishing she could be home in Seedley Park Road with Edward in the cosy parlour.
An hour or so later the rain finally stopped and she ventured out from under the tree to shake the drops from her hair and lift her face to the warm sun. A horse and cart ambled across the bridge, followed a few moments later by a small furniture van and she leaned on the broken fence to watch it go by. A great weariness weighed down her eyelids and she began to day-dream that it was carrying furniture to their own house, hers and Edward’s. Since it was Sunday, they’d have been to church together and she would have cooked them a lovely dinner of Yorkshire pudding with onion gravy, followed by roast beef and apple pie. After that they’d take a walk on the canal bank before going back home together where they’d make love in their own front parlour without any fear of interruption. The dream was so blissfully real, that the activities on the towpath faded from sight and she could see only Edward’s dear face smiling down at her.
‘Come on, miss. You come along with me. We don’t want no fuss and bother.’
It was then that she heard the shouts and Jinnie came to with a start to find it wasn’t Edward’s face looming above her at all, but one topped by a police helmet. Men were running about in every direction. Whistles were blowing, police chasing them every which way. Scuffles and fights were breaking out and at least one man lay prone on the bank. Another fell into the cut and a policeman jumped in to fish him out.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Jinnie cried out in alarm as the policeman grasped her by the arm, though not unkindly.
Seconds later she found herself being thrust aboard the furniture van, along with five or six others, variously described as loafers, wastrels and feckless lumps by their captors.
‘I had a winning hand,’ whined one complaining voice.
‘See how yer luck holds out when you come face to face with the magistrate,’ commented the constable with dry good humour as he thrust Len Jackson on board after her.
Jinnie fell to her knees in the back of the van which had carried her mythical furniture to her dream house and burst into tears.
Jinnie was charged with ‘loitering for the purposes of betting’ and bound over to appear before the magistrate. She’d probably get a ten pound fine or fifty-one days. In their way the police were being generous for, satisfied with a few arrests of this nature on their books, they weren’t too troubled that the bookie had slipped from the scene with the speed of greased lightening, lost in the hundreds of fleeing punters. For Quinn this would represent success. For Jinnie the day had turned into a disaster. She didn’t possess such a large sum, had no hope that Quinn would save her as he should, so had an unacceptable choice to make. Either she asked Edward to pay the fine, or she did the time.
As it turned out the choice was made for her. She was brought from the police cells within an hour of being incarcerated. Someone must have informed on her as Simeon himself stood at the desk with an expression like thunder on his face. Without a word he led her outside where his motor stood waiting at the kerb, Sam in the driving seat. In response to an irritable flap of his hand, Jinnie climbed aboard and in complete silence they drove back to Seedley Park Road.
‘Right, are you going to tell us what that daft nonsense was all about, or is this the usual way you repay a person’s generosity?’
Sitting facing her fiancé and future father-in-law in the gloomy parlour Jinnie rather thought she would have preferred the magistrate’s court, even Strangeways to the condemnation and disappointment she read in their eyes.
She swallowed carefully, cleared her throat and began to speak. ‘I didn’t have any choice...’
‘No choice?’ Simeon roared. ‘Don’t try to make more of a fool of me, lass, than you have already. There’s always a choice.’
Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she could do nothing to stop them. It’s true,’ she sobbed. ‘That’s why I haven’t been able to spend Sunday afternoons with you these last weeks, Edward.’ She gazed pleadingly at him, begging him to intervene, to hold her in his arms and assure her that all would be well but he sat mute, rigid in his mother’s chair, his face like granite.
Simeon took off his spectacles and began to polish them vigorously on a large pocket handkerchief. ‘Going off with your fancy man, was that the way of it?’
‘
No!
Billy Quinn made me do it.’
‘Oh aye? And if Billy Quinn, whoever he might be, were to tell you to jump in the cut and drown yourself, you’d do that too would you?’
Jinnie jerked her head in what might pass for a nod. ‘Yes. If Quinn told me to jump in, aye I would. Otherwise, he might throw me in himself, or worse. I reckon he’s done that already with a friend of mine, though I can’t prove it.’
There was a small silence as the two men digested this startling information. After a moment Edward said, ‘So why didn’t you tell us you were being threatened by this man, Jinnie? We could have helped you stand up to him.’
She gazed bleakly into Edward’s kind eyes, marvelling at the innocence in that boyish face for all there was evidence of hurt. How could she begin to explain her predicament without revealing everything? Even a half of it would lose her his love for ever, she was sure. Telling Edward the truth about her so-called ‘accident’ with the mythical horse would have been bad enough. To explain all of that in front of his father as well, was more than Jinnie could bear, yet she could see no other way. She must tell what Quinn used to do to her as a young girl, though she certainly had no intention of revealing what he still did on Saturday afternoons before his race meetings in that smelly bedroom of his.
Her hesitation was causing Simeon to grow red in the face with temper. ‘Well, answer him. Is this Billy Quinn your fancy man, or isn’t he?’
She almost shouted back her response. ‘
No
! I’ve
told you, I’d no choice.’
Edward held up a hand, calming them both. ‘Then you must tell us everything, Jinnie. Why won’t you? How did you get involved with this Quinn in the first place, and what hold does the man have over you to make you do something illegal?’
‘Aye. Let’s have the truth now. No fairy stories.’
So she told them. She gave a confused picture of the betting, the Draw Club, the possible fate of Harold, followed by a brief description of her relationship with Quinn when he first found her, close to starvation at twelve, finishing with exactly what Sadie had done to her that day, and why. Her voice was bleak, cold and matter-of-fact. When she was done, Jinnie sat back and waited for the sky to fall.
The only sound in the room was the pendulous ticking of the mantel clock. After a few moments it began to whirr and wind itself up preparatory to striking the hours. Jinnie counted eight slow chimes before an awesome hush once again enfolded them.
‘Dear God!’ The voice that finally broke the silence was Edward’s, the tone one of shocked disbelief. Jinnie risked a glance at his ashen face, her own awash with tears.
‘I were no more’n a kid when he took me in,’ she stoutly defended herself. ‘How could I stand up to him, a grown man. A violent man. He’s not one to cross isn’t Billy Quinn. I tried to tell you on the tram that time, then lost me nerve. I were afeared of owning up to the fact that I might not be able to give you any children; in case you didn’t want to wed me once you knew the truth. I’m - I’m right sorry.’
Two pairs of eyes considered her in stunned silence. Knowing the strength of Simeon’s morals, of how he had reacted to his own daughter becoming involved in a birth control clinic, Jinnie didn’t hold out much hope. Nevertheless, she could have sworn there was a slight thaw in the atmosphere, a touch more sympathy in their joined gaze as they considered what options a twelve year old, half starved orphan might find in the streets of Salford.
Then Edward was on his knees before her, his arms enfolding her to the solid comfort of his chest, his hand smoothing her hair, wiping the tears from her hot cheeks. ‘My love. My little love. Don’t cry, my darling. Don’t cry. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I love you still. I shall always love you.’ Then turning to Simeon he informed his father that first thing in the morning he intended to call the banns. They would be wed within the month. ‘And Billy Quinn will never be allowed to hurt you again. Not ever.’