Charles Palliser (42 page)

He glanced behind him up the street and then said to me in a low voice: “Now listen, young ‘un. I’ve been good to you and yer mother, haven’t I?” I nodded. “Now it’s your chance to show your gratitude. All right?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to go to the infirmary ward and arst for Mr Pulsifer who is the superintendent. When you find him, tell him you’ve come for Mr Leatherbarrow. He’s the uncle of a friend of mine, Bob Stringfellow. Bob hasn’t time to fetch the old feller himself, so he’s arst me to do it.”

“But Mr Leatherbarrow doesn’t know me. Will he come with me?”

“Don’t consarn yourself about that,” Mr Isbister answered, with a smile.

“Very well,” I agreed.

“That’s prime,” he said. “I knowed you was up to the game.”

“Where will he go?” I asked, for there was room for only two people on the seat.

“On that straw back there,” Mr Isbister said, jerking his head.

I supposed he would be more comfortable if he could lie down since he had been ill.

“That puts me in mind o’ something,” Mr Isbister went on. He reached into his pocket and brought out a coin. “Now you see this here shilling? You’re to show it to Mr Pulsifer and say it’s for helping you to get the old feller onto the cart out here. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I said.

“If he arsts, say there’s a friend o’ yourn with the cart what can’t help on account of I’ve got a gammy arm. See?” I nodded, reflecting that this did not seem to have prevented him from heaving bales of cloth a few days before. I reached out for the coin and he handed it to me saying earnestly: “There’ll be one for yourself if this goes off all right.”

I got off the cart.

“Go to the gate round the front,” he said, pointing back the way we had come. “And remember, he’s in the infirmary ward.”

I went through the gate and up to the porter’s lodge where I was given directions.

When I passed into the building the sounds from the street were suddenly muffled, and as I began to walk along a long dark stone-flagged passage I heard nothing but the echoes of my own footsteps and the distant sounds of raised voices.

UNDERSTANDINGS

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I passed a yard with a high wall through the gate of which I saw men, women and children — all wearing their distinctive garb and the parish badge — picking at thick knots of tarred ropes. And in another yard there was a loud and mysterious rumbling, though I was unable to see what was making it.

When I had made my way to the infirmary I was directed by one of the attendants to Mr Pulsifer, a tall and sallow-faced individual with a thin, fastidious mouth.

When I gave him my message he looked at me curiously: “Do you have a coach?”

“No, but a person is waiting outside with a cart. I have a shilling for your attendants to help me get Mr Leatherbarrow onto it.”

“Follow me,” he said, looking at me sceptically.

As we left the room he picked up a candle and lit it from a gas-jet while he called to two other men: “Hey Jack! Jem! This way!”

Two burly individuals who had been lounging against the wall smoking a pipe and chatting together, now followed us out of the long room and along a gloomy passage.

“Nobody visited him when he was ill,” Mr Pulsifer said, turning to look at me intently.

“It’s strange his nephew should want him now.”

As we descended some steps and entered a cold dark room in the cellars, I wondered at the inappropriateness of such a chamber for a convalescent old man. Mr Pulsifer led us over to a corner of the room where there was a wide wooden ledge like a sideboard on which I now saw, by the light of his candle, a large shape covered by a piece of cloth.

While Mr Pulsifer raised the candle Jack pulled back the cloth.

“There he is,” Mr Pulsifer said.

I went closer, my eyes straining in the dim light. Then I felt a surge of horror and all my perplexities were instantly resolved: an old man was lying there who, by his marble-like flesh and staring eyes, was no longer in a state to be injured by a ride in a jolting cart.

Because of the near-darkness, the men did not notice my expression. The two assistants picked the awful object up, and, one holding the feet and the other the shoulders while Mr Pulsifer led the way with the candle, carried it back the way we had come. The superintendent took leave of me — with a final suspicious look — as we passed through the infirmary, and the other two followed me with their burden out into the street.

I led them to the cart, where Mr Isbister was standing by the horse’s head, and they laid the body down. I covered it with some of the straw and handed the shilling to one of the men, who both touched their hats politely towards my master — the more politely since he had his face turned away from them — and went back into the building. When they had gone Mr Isbister got back onto the box and as the cart rolled off, he smiled at me and began to whistle tunelessly.

“Mr Isbister,” I said, “Why did you not warn me that Mr Leatherbarrow … ”I broke off.

He laughed: “I was a-feared you might be skeered. But now you know there ain’t nothing to be a-feared on.”

After a few minutes he pulled the cart up at the corner of the City-road and Old-street.

“Make your way home from here,” he said and handed over a coin. “There’s that shilling for being a good lad.”

194 THE

MOMPESSONS

I took it but felt a certain disquiet as I climbed down and walked away. After a few yards I glanced back and saw to my surprise that Mr Isbister had not moved off but was watching me. Just before I turned the corner I looked round again and saw him still keeping his eyes on me.

I walked about the streets lost in thought. Had Mr Isbister really been simply helping his friend? If it was something more than this, I could not understand how he could be profiting by it. And what should I tell my mother? I resolved merely to say that my master had given me a half-holiday and a shilling to enjoy it.

When I came out of my reverie I realized that I was near Coleman-street and on an impulse turned aside to call in. The little servant, Nancy, answered the area-bell (I dared not ring at the street-door now) and told me that Miss Quilliam had not been back since our visit.

As I reached the door of the Isbisters’ house half an hour later, it opened and my mother and Mrs Isbister appeared. They were both laughing and clutching each other as if for support, but when my mother caught sight of me standing a few yards away and watching her, she flushed and said: “Why, Johnnie, whatever are you doing here?”

I told her of the half-holiday and the shilling, at which she exclaimed : “How lucky!

We were just going to the shop. Now you can run round and buy another quart of … ”

She broke off and looked at Mrs Isbister, giggling and covering her mouth with her hand.

“The Reg’lar flare-up,” Mrs Isbister, who was having difficulty standing, put in.

“I shan’t,” I declared. “We need the money for other things.”

“Why, that ungrateful ill-mannered young rascal,” Mrs Isbister said.

“Johnnie, you must respect … respect and obey your mother. Now do as I tell you.”

“It’s my money,” I cried. “I earned it.”

Mrs Isbister sucked in her breath through her teeth at this: “I’ve told Jerry agin and agin as how that boy ain’t worth the bother.”

Furious and ashamed, I turned and ran down the street. I walked about for a couple of hours and bought a meat pie which I ate sitting on a broken wall near the church. Where could we go and how could we earn our bread? And yet we had to get away from these people, for I had begun to form an explanation for their interest in us. Our only hope lay in selling the document that the Mompessons and Mr Barbellion (on behalf of our mysterious enemy) were so anxious to obtain. And until I knew why it was so important to them, I was reluctant to try to persuade my mother to do so.

When I got back I could hear Mrs Isbister and my mother still in the kitchen, so I went upstairs and got into bed.

I could not sleep and was still awake when my mother came upstairs several hours later.

“You must not speak to me like that before other people,” she said carefully.

“I hate to see you with her,” I answered. “She’s horrible.”

“She’s not,” she cried. “Of course she’s vulgar and uneducated, but she means well.”

“She doesn’t,” I said. “Can’t you see? Mamma, we must go away from here. I’m sure I can earn more than Mr Isbister gives me.”

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“You?” she said in surprise. “How much could a little boy like you hope to earn? You know, Johnnie, you live on the money I get from Mrs Isbister. It is I, not you, who keeps us.”

“That’s not true,” I cried. “You’re kept on charity. I know how little Mrs Isbister pays other women for the work you do.”

“You’re only saying that to hurt me,” she said. “Why do you do it?”

We argued ourselves into silence, and though my mother fell asleep quickly, I lay awake. After an hour or so she began coughing and woke up, and then we both lay in the darkness for some time listening to the other’s breathing and pretending to be asleep.

Nearly three weeks had passed and my mother had been spending more and more time with Mrs Isbister and yet was increasingly at odds with her and resentful of her treatment. Then on the morning of the 3rd. of May, as we were about to go out on the cart, Mr Isbister told me to put on my best clothes and make myself look smart. When I saw the cart I was not surprised to see the sacking in place once again.

We drove in silence for some time but as we began to go down Cheapside, Mr Isbister suddenly cleared his throat and began to speak. He told me a rambling and incoherent story concerning a friend of his, Ben (“You’ve most likely seen him coming and going at the crib.”). It appeared that Ben’s mother had recently died, and the old woman had always wished to be laid to rest beside her husband in the burying-ground at St. Giles-without-Cripplegate. Ben’s sister, however, with whom he was not on the best of terms, had prevailed upon the family of her mother’s employers — for malign but unspecified motives of her own — to bury their late servant in a different ground. And since they had obtained her ticket to the hospital and paid for her medicines, “the coves at Bart’s will do as they say.” If, however, I were to compose a letter purporting to come from the old woman’s employer, Mr Poindexter, and instructing the authorities to surrender the body to his son and servant — “That’s me and you, see?” — then the old woman’s dying wish could be gratified and Ben’s peace of mind restored.

At this point he appeared to notice the expression of dismay on my face for he licked his lips and said: “There’s two shillin’ in it for you.”

“I don’t think I can oblige you, Mr Isbister,” I said.

The effect of these words was dramatic. His face darkened suddenly and his little black eyes appeared to protrude. He leant towards me and, lowering his voice, spoke rapidly:

“Then you’re both out tonight, you and your blessed mother. Why do you think I took you in? I can get a good price for that room. And boys to help on the cart is ten a penny. And the old ooman says your mother is so slow and stupid she costs her more than her work’s worth in … ”

As he talked I thought of what sudden eviction might do to my mother. And yet the alternative was hateful.

I realized that Mr Isbister was watching me hungrily: “Say three shillin’, then?” he said.

He had mistaken the nature of my scruples, but it might be better to dissimulate them.

“five,” I said.

“You’re a hard ’un, but all right,” he said in ill-disguised relief.

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THE MOMPESSONS

He produced the materials, I wrote the letter, and we drove to the hospital and drew up outside the back-gate in Well-yard. I went in and played my part successfully, once again noticing, as two of the porters helped me to carry out my prize, that Mr Isbister kept his face averted.

He drove off and halted at the same place as before, gave me my money and told me to get down and walk home. I looked back and although he was sitting on the cart watching me, I now acted upon an intention I had formed after the last incident. I passed around the corner but after a few moments crept back just as the cart was moving off. It turned and went back up Old-street and, staying well back, I tried to keep up with it.

The difficulty was not, as I had anticipated, that the cart went too fast for me, for I found that I could just manage to keep up with it because it was slowed down by the other traffic. The problem was that, in the press of other vehicles, I could not distinguish it unless I kept so close that Mr Isbister would see me if he looked round.

And so at the intersection with Goswell-street, where I had difficulty in crossing, I lost sight of it.

As I made my way home I debated my best course of action. Given that I had no conclusive evidence of what Mr Isbister was doing, was I prepared to force my mother into complete poverty and homelessness on the grounds of my suspicions alone?

As I entered I heard low voices coming from the kitchen and looked in. The room was lit only by the dull glow from the grate and my mother and Mrs Isbister were sunk in their chairs at the table and did not notice me.

“Please don’t call me that,” my mother was protesting.

“I’ll call you what I please. Givin’ yourself them airs as if you was a fine lady.”

“You’ve no right to say that.”

“Oh, haven’t I? How dare you speak to me so disrespeckful. Why, Meg, you would

’ave starved, you and that blessed boy, if we hadn’t’ve took pity on you. We on’y keep you out of charity.”

“How can you say that when I work so hard!”

“Work! Why, you’re so slow and you sp’il more than you make. And that’s to take no account of what you cost me in … ” She broke off and looked up: “Who’s that?”

I crossed the room and almost pulled my mother from the chair.

“Come,” I said.

Protesting feebly she allowed me to lead her upstairs where she staggered into our chamber and sat heavily on the bed. When I reproached her for letting Mrs Isbister abuse her, she started weeping and begging my pardon. I gave it rather grudgingly, and she dozed off. I tried to sleep as well, but she began coughing in her sleep and that and the events of the day running through my mind prevented me. The dampness of the house was bad for her lungs and I feared that the long hours she had to work, and other things, were sapping her strength. Yet could I force her to leave the comparative safety of that house? If only I could be sure of what Mr Isbister was involved in! And now it was that the resolution came to .Tie : I would follow the cart the next night that Mr Isbister and the other men went out on it!