The Petticoat Men (33 page)

Dr R. Thompson was quickly in attendance from

Bournemouth—

‘Aha! Well, we know that bit’s true,’ said Mattie, ‘
that
’s the name of the doctor Johnny Hewlettson said he’d call – with your money, Ma!’

—and by evening renal function was restored. The patient, however, had sunk very low, and, in spite of the free administration of stimulants, failed to rally. Telegrams were immediately dispatched to his friends and on Friday morning Mr W. H. Roberts, his solicitor, arrived.

‘Ask for a friend, receive a solicitor,’ he commented mildly as he read.

After a short interview, he declared, in the presence of Mr Wade—

‘There’s that Mr Wade again,’ said Mattie. ‘He keeps popping up.’

—he declared in the presence of Mr Wade and Mr Roberts, that the letter drawn up and since published by the latter was in every respect true. He was too exhausted to add his signature, but his mind was quite clear enough to apprehend its full meaning. He was seen again in the evening by Dr Robert Thompson, and at five minutes past one on Saturday morning he died in the presence of his medical attendant, the landlady, and Mr Newlyn Jnr of the King’s Arms Hotel.

‘A medical attendant and a landlady and Mr Newlyn Junior of the King’s Arms, all in that hot little room in Mudeford?’ interrupted Mattie again. ‘And if he
was
dying where were Mr Roberts and this Mr Wade person? In a cupboard? They should’ve been with him!’

‘This article,’ said Billy, ‘is published in
The
Times
,
and signed by
The
Lancet,
very official and reliable. Someone has arranged for this article to be printed – to stop all the gossip.’ He looked at his mother. ‘And Mattie and I know it’s a truer version at least, whether there was scarlet fever or not.’

‘Billy, stop all this, please,’ said Mrs Stacey. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘However,’ Billy continued, speaking in the same mild manner, ‘I notice this Mr Wade was called a doctor in Mr W. H. Roberts’s earlier letter – and asked for a medical opinion – but appearing in
The
Lancet
report he seems to have lost his title. The only real doctor we can be sure existed is this Dr Robert Thompson from Bournemouth – the one you paid for, Ma! And as he was a connection of the smugglers he’s probably used to discreet consultations. But I bet they wrote the letter that’s supposed to be from Lord Arthur
after
he died anyway, however he died. Poor beggar.’

‘You read out just now that they sent a telegram to all his friends,’ said Mattie. ‘If that’s true why didn’t anybody at all come except a solicitor?’ and she pulled fiercely at a sheet. ‘And there
wasn’t
any landlady, or medical attendant—’

‘Yes, there was, Mattie,’ said Billy. ‘There was that little girl, Marigold, being both. And if the man from the King’s Arms was there he was probably looking for his bills to be paid!’

‘But surely
someone
would have come from his family to be with him when they heard? Or one friend? Just one! Not just a
solicitor
!’

‘Perhaps that Mr Wade was really a friend, Mattie,’ said her mother, ‘perhaps there was someone else there too, but they don’t want to say any names. It’s too dangerous to be a friend or relation of Lord Arthur Clinton at the moment, I’m blooming glad nobody knows you two were there!’

The sheets were now stretched and folded. Mattie leaned against the table and said casually, ‘Do you think – do you think Freddie and Ernest know he’s dead?’ A Plan was formulating.

‘Course newspapers make their way into Newgate, Mattie,’ said her mother. ‘They’ll know all right.’

Billy stood up and threw
The Times
in a corner. ‘I’m going out for a walk,’ he said quickly and once again they heard his footsteps going upwards and the front door bang. Since he’d been fired, he often just disappeared. They presumed he was walking the streets.

‘Billy must
not
feel we cannot manage.’

‘I can make more hats, Ma.’

Isabella Stacey was talking to herself as much as to her daughter. ‘We’ll manage. We’ll find other lodgers somehow. I’ll take in sewing. We’ll manage.’

‘Billy’s always just – vanishing,’ said Mattie crossly. ‘I hope he comes back soon, I wanted to talk to him very important, and he’s always rushing about!’

And then she suddenly dived into the pot cupboard; pots of all sizes immediately appeared on the kitchen floor in disarray, as if a burglar was searching the cupboard for treasure. Then she scrubbed the cupboard walls with a brush. Mrs Stacey, thumping the folded sheets with the iron which had been heating on the stove, watched her daughter carefully. Neither of them spoke further.

The basement kitchen got hotter and stuffy even though the door to the small, dark backyard was open. There, three stray cats lay stretched out in the shade.

After a time Billy returned. He looked calmer, cooler, not like someone with scarlet fever, and he was carrying a very battered top hat.

‘I’ve got work.’

‘
What?
’

‘
Have
you, Billy? Already?’

He handed them an advertisement.

Clerk and hearse-follower required.

Must have excellent handwriting

Grave mien and good manners.

I
NQUIRE
WITHIN
.

‘It’s a funeral parlour along Tottenham Court Road,’ he said. ‘I saw the advertisement in the window, and I had in my pocket my reference from the Parliament that the Head Clerk gave to me. And I put on my gravest mien and was offered exactly half of the salary I was earning at the Parliament. Will you refine this hat for me, Mattie? Mine was lost when they threw me out. I picked up this old one from the market for you to improve upon because I start on Monday.’

Mattie answered calmly, ‘I’ll start it tonight if you come to Newgate Prison with me now, this afternoon.’

Her brother and her mother stared at her.

‘I think we should tell Freddie and Ernest we saw Lord Arthur in Mudeford before he died. They were his friends once and we’re the only people who can tell them we at least went to see him, and talked to him about them, and gave him some money and arranged for a doctor.’ The other two remained silent. ‘It’s not just to see Freddie any more. I know I was lonely, I know I made his friendship bigger than it was. But I will always remember him for his kindness. And I think we should do this.’

Mrs Stacey stirred something on the stove, regarded her children. She knew Mattie so well, but she must be allowed to manage her heart in her own way.

‘Perhaps she’s right, Billy. It would be respectful of a death and there doesn’t seem to have been much respect around.’ She suddenly banged at the stove. ‘But that’s the end of it, do you hear me, both of you? No more talk of murder or suicide or “Mr Wade” or anybody else. And I’m very glad and proud of you, Billy, that you’ve found work so soon, even if it isn’t really what you want – it’ll do for just now till this blooming business fades away and I love you, do you hear me? Both of you! You are a brave, true, loyal girl, Mattie. And I’ll make a jacket with those long tails for you, Billy, like they wear at funerals. I’ll start it while you’re gone.’

When Billy laughed he looked like Joe Stacey, stage carpenter and visionary of real stage doors. ‘For bribes of a top hat
and
a new jacket,’ said Billy, ‘I’ll go to Newgate Prison.’

30

U
GH
! W
HEN
WE
got to the corner of Newgate Street – ugh, honestly, it’s this ugly horrible ghastly stinking filthy place, the prison is, grim gates and walls and a sewer near by – or probably the sewer’s actually inside – I reckon it must be, from the stink there. And all the dirt and all the damp seeping out of the wet walls and something like pain coming right out at you through the bricks and concrete, they’ve just started to do hangings inside there now instead of out in the street. Billy told me they used to hang sodomites at Tyburn and people threw stones at them and spat. They used to put them in the stocks too – and throw stones and spit at them there too – why do people
spit
at them?
I saw those ugly spitting faces outside the Magistrates’ Court.

Just as we got to the big horrible entrance a carriage drew up with two fine gentlemen in it, they brushed past us, very important and high-hatted and high-tone with some official-looking papers under their arms. We were all in the entrance at the same time so I heard them with their barking voices: ‘Mr Frederick Park,’ and they gave their names in confidential tones – I couldn’t hear that bit though I tried. The gaoler bowed and went away and then he came back and opened a big iron gate with a big clanging noise and the gentlemen disappeared through an arch and an iron door – and you know what? even those two fine gentlemen had the clanging door locked behind them and the keys turned! We heard footsteps echoing away down a long dark corridor and a loud voice barked back: ‘
What an odour!
’

‘They must be their lawyers,’ said Billy. ‘Arranging things. Wonder who’s paying?’

We told one of the prison officers we would wait till they came back, they took blooming ages, we listened to the noises of the prison, there was shouting coming from all different parts and lots of banging and clanging. We stood outside, occasionally we spoke quiet to each other, leaning against the damp stinking walls – imagine being here, locked up, imagine even working here.

Sometimes I took little looks at Billy, he was pale still but much more himself somehow. I gave him a hug because I felt sort of happy to see him not looking like scarlet fever was eating him, dear old Billy, he smiled. The afternoon had got used up with walking and waiting: the light was going now, I watched strange red sun-lines stretched out across the darkening sky and I wondered if Freddie and Ernest could see them too, down in the cells and it made me shiver to think of them, no sky I expect, either dark or light.

At last the gentlemen came back with their elegant kerchiefs over their elegant noses, they called quickly and loudly for their waiting carriage and ordered it to take them to Piccadilly. ‘Thank the Lord it will only take another week or two at the most,’ said one to the other as they climbed in. Billy gave our names to the gaoler who stomped away again.

We’d brought cheese and apples and bread and Billy had three half-sovereigns in his pocket.

The gaoler came back. He didn’t even unlock the big gate this time, just talked through it. He had a lamp now, it cast strange shadows.

‘Not today, youse,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ said Billy. ‘The others went in. Mr Park and Mr Boulton are not convicted prisoners yet.’

‘They dont know you,’ said the gaoler bluntly. My heart dropped down to my feet as if it had fallen out of my body.

Billy stepped forward, nearer to the man. ‘Course they know us,’ he said. ‘It must be a mistake. Would you be so kind as to tell them,’ he said, ‘that Mattie and Billy Stacey have news for them.’ He wasn’t menacing, but there’s something about Billy as I’ve said before.

‘News?’ The gaoler didn’t budge.

‘Tell them – this is important – tell them we have news of Lord Arthur Clinton because we – met with him.’

The old gaoler had lines of tiredness on his face, we could see he wasn’t keen to go back yet again along the long, long corridor, but I saw Billy give him a coin and off he went, the footsteps echoing heavy and weary, the lamplight disappearing.

‘Surely they’ll want to see us?’ I said to Billy, confused. ‘Perhaps they didn’t understand. Freddie always came over and spoke to us at the court,
always
.’

He gave me an odd look but didn’t say anything, not then.

Back echoed the tired footsteps, nearer and nearer, we saw the light flickering towards us again. His face shadowed through the iron gate. ‘Sorry, lad,’ he said to Billy quite kindly. ‘They said they dont know you. They said they had no idea who you are and please stop bothering them.’

Stop bothering them?
I couldn’t believe Freddie would say that. ‘But – did you tell them we had been with Lord Arthur Clinton?’ My face must’ve looked distressed because he didn’t speak rude.

‘They’ve got big important gentlemen lawyers and suchlike visiting them, miss, not people like you. Off you go now.’

We trudged back home again in silence, still carrying the apples and the cheese, through the unfriendly streets where people screamed and shadows lurked. Finally Billy did speak.

‘Mattie. Try not to mind. We’re part of the world they have to distance themselves from now,’ he said. ‘To get out of prison.’

‘How do you mean?’ Even in the dark I saw him think how best to say it.

‘We’re from Wakefield-street, Mattie. We’re from all the criminal things – the gowns and the wigs and the perfume and the jewellery. That all has to be cancelled now, so they can – get out of here.’