Charles Palliser (43 page)

197

My opportunity seemed to come only a few days later, for one afternoon two of Mr Isbister’s companions arrived at the house earlier than usual. They stayed in the parlour drinking and I could hear their laughter and shouts as I sat upstairs with my mother.

Suddenly Mr Isbister came out into the hall and roared up the stairs: “Jack! Come down here!”

I obeyed and when I found him standing at the door he pushed a couple of shillings into my hand : “Look sharp and bring us three quarts of nine-penny, there’s a good lad.

Arst for Jerry’s reg’lar and they’ll sarve you the Real Knock-Me-Down.”

When I got back from the gin-shop round the corner and knocked on the door, Mr Isbister pulled it open but instead of simply taking the bottles from me as he had done on previous occasions, he said: “Come in and meet the lads.”

Reluctantly I entered the hot little room for the first time for it had always been forbidden to me before, and now the smell made my nose work though I wanted it not to. My master and his two companions had already consumed several jugs and if not actually “knocked down” they had certainly taken considerable punishment. I recognised them as the men I had seen on previous occasions, though I did not know their names. One was very fat and the other extremely thin. Mr Isbister beckoned me forward and then seated himself so that I was standing as if on a stage before the three men.

“You haven’t seen my new boy, have you?” he said.

“He don’t look worth much,” said one of the men.

He was so enormously fat that his chest and stomach seemed almost perfectly spherical and his chin appeared to rest on the top of his chest for I saw no sign of a neck.

He had small black eyes which, set in an oddly small head with thick black curls, seemed to be restlessly staring about them as if in surprise at finding themselves stuck at the top of such a monstrous form. I saw something move and realized that he was carrying a couple of bull-dog pups in his capacious pockets.

“He may not look like much, Ben, but wait until you hear him speak. Now say something to show the genel’men,” Mr Isbister urged me.

“Mr Ben,” I said, “I am very sorry about your mother.”

He stared at me in obvious amazement: “7’m wery sorry about the infernal old nuisance, meself, but I’m damned if I see that she’s any consarn of yourn.”

I looked towards Mr Isbister in surprise.

He leaned forward: “Your mother, Ben,” he prompted. “Your blessed mother as passed away t’other day. It was Jack here what retched her from the dead-house at Bart’s so as you could bury her beside her old feller, according to her dearest wish.”

“Be damned if I hadn’t forgotten,” said Ben. He turned to me: “Well, thank you, my young cully.” He looked at Mr Isbister: “How did you manage that? They’re too wide-awake there, I thought. finesilver’s a sharp ’un.”

Mr Isbister smiled: “See this boy dressed up like a little genel’man and carrying a letter from his dad wrote out proper and sealed and everything.” He suddenly screwed up his face and, speaking several tones higher than usual, said: “Excuse me, Mr finesilver, I ham most confounded sorry to trouble you, 198 THE

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but my dad arst me to give you this here letter and for you to give me the thing mentioned in it what he wants collected.”

Ben and Mr Isbister roared and slapped their knees at this sally. The thin man smiled and drank from his tumbler.

“So how much do you owe us, Jerry?” Ben asked.

“Not a brass fardin!” Mr Isbister exclaimed, the smile disappearing very quickly.

“That was on my own account.”

“Your own account be damned! I won’t take gammon. You know what we agreed,”

Ben said. “Share and share alike: everything what we hears, the time what we puts in, every blessed thing. Eq’al money for eq’al risk. Ain’t that right, Jem?”

“That’s right,” the other man agreed, and wiped his nose emphatically with the back of his sleeve.

“I’ll tell you what, Ben: you can whistle for it,” Mr Isbister replied cheerfully.

“Why, honour among genel’men,” said Ben raising his massive body from the chair with difficulty. “That’s the company’s blunt not yourn.”

Mr Isbister looked up at him as he loomed before him blocking his light, then calmly drank from his tumbler before speaking: “Sit down, Ben.” He added conversationally:

“Or I’ll beat your phiz to a pulp.”

Ben sank back into his seat like a pierced pig’s bladder.

Mr Isbister turned to me and said genially: “Take a seat, Jack. Here Jem, pour the lad a wet. And will you take a second glass yourself ?”

Jem, who had a long melancholy face and weak eyes, replied: “Why, I will. Always wet both eyes, says I.” He poured me a large tumbler. “Here, lad, take it slow and it’ll do you no harm.”

I sat on a chair near the door and pretended to drink the raw spirit whose very smell I had come to loathe.

“We had a boy when I was fust on this lay a good few year back,” Mr Isbister said expansively. “And wery useful he was, too. But he weren’t no gentry-boy like this ’un.

And the Jew has got a boy now, but Ikey’s boy don’t speak as nice as what this ’un do.

And Jack here’ll read you off print or hand-wrote letters faster nor a dog kin trot. And write ’em, in the bargain.”

Jem looked at me curiously and even Ben, who had appeared not to be listening, turned a speculative eye upon me.

“So you reckon,” said Jem, “to put him to work, what with the reg’lar line of business being so bad the last few weeks …”

Mr Isbister interrupted quickly: “Exackerly.”

There was a pleasant silence while the three men — even Ben, who was still sulking —

looked at me and drank contemplatively.

“I reckon it’s the weather,” Jem said. “It’s too dry. We wants a nice damp spell.”

Mr Isbister agreed: “Warm and wet. This dry weather ain’t no good to no-one. It’s jist the same in the winter. Cold and dry ain’t no use to us.”

“There jist ain’t enough things,” said Jem. “Pertickerly with the competition. There’s a deal too much. The trade can only support so many.”

“Too many on us and what happens?” Mr Isbister replied. “Why, the price comes a-tumbling down. It’s the Cat’s-meat-man what’s sp’iling the trade for all on us, the honourable men.”

“What’s he getting?”

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“Lampard and Morphew pays twelve for a long, five for a small long, and two for a small.”

The others drew their breath sharply through their teeth.

“It’s a scandal!” said Ben, speaking for the first time since his altercation with my master.

“Why, it don’t show no respeck, do it?” Jem agreed. “Twelve pound!”

They shook their heads.

Jem turned to Mr Isbister: “Things don’t fetch what they used to. What was it you used to get when you started this lay, Jerry?”

Mr Isbister sighed: “Nigh on twenty for a long. Them was the days. Jist a-fore the War come to an end. There weren’t nobody in the trade but us and the Jew.”

“Aye, you and Blueskin was working mates with the Cat’s-meat-man and Barney then, wasn’t you?” said Jem.

I pricked up my ears at this.

“Aye,” Mr Isbister said, adding quickly: “But then we fell out with ’em and started on our own. So that left him and Barney down the Borough and arter that there was a deal o’ competition between us.”

“But then not long arter that him and Barney come off at hooks, didn’t they?” Jem said.

“Aye, the Cat’s-meat-man ’peached on him about seven year back. He had to leave Town and go down into the country but when he come back the Cat’s-meat-man got him took up. He done a couple o’ year at Gravesend at the floating ’Cademy a-fore he managed to buy his ticket.”

“He’s a rum nut, the Cat’s-meat-man,” put in Ben.

“When he was young,” said my master, “there wasn’t nobody in Town to match him

— barring gin.”

“Why did you and Blueskin fall out with him?” Ben enquired sharply. When Mr Isbister didn’t answer he said: “Ain’t it true that Blueskin sarved his brother out?”

“You’ve got the wrong pig by the ear,” Mr Isbister said dismissively. “That were never down to Blueskin.”

“I heerd the same,” Jem agreed. “They say he stuck him with a knife on account of a noise over the blunt.”

“Tell us the story, Jerry,” said Ben. “Or are you a-feared o’ Blueskin?”

“I ain’t a-feared of Blueskin or no man,” Mr Isbister insisted.

At that moment the door opened and a man came in very quietly, and this was all the more striking since he walked with a limp and I saw that he had a wooden leg. He was completely bald, had a thin mouth and an almost fleshless face with blue-grey eyes so pale that they seemed to vanish as you looked into them. He said softly: “Nobody heerd me knockin’, you was a-having sich a good time.”

He appeared to address these words to the whole company, but he smiled at Mr Isbister, if that was the right word for such a scull-recalling grimace.

Mr Isbister stammered: “Why, Blueskin, my good fellow. Come in and set yourself down.”

“What was you all a-talkin’ about so cozy?”

There was an uneasy silence.

Then Mr Isbister said: “We was saying that business being as bad as it is, the lad here can help us.”

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Blueskin smiled at each of them and said softly: “Oh, was you?” Then he turned his cold gaze upon me and I felt a chill as he scrutinized me with those disconcerting eyes.

“I don’t think we should use him,” said Jem.

“Whyever not?” Mr Isbister exclaimed.

“It ain’t right, that’s all.”

“Well, perhaps we won’t need to,” Ben said. “Is there anything in from the searchers?”

“No,” said Mr Isbister. “Old Nellie out in St. Botolph’s work’us sent word to say she had something, but then it weren’t no good. Relatives come for it.”

They sighed and shook their heads.

“Relatives!” said Ben scornfully, and the others muttered in agreement.

“Has any on you had any luck today with the blacks?” Mr Isbister asked.

Ben and Jem shook their heads.

“Nothing,” said the latter. “I walked around till my feet was sore.”

“I followed one,” said Blueskin. “From Great-Tower-street. It looked a good ’un.” At this the others smiled, but then Blueskin added softly: “Only then it went down the Borough.”

Their smiles disappeared.

“Then that ain’t no good to us,” Jem said. “The Boys o’ the Borough will have that one.”

“I don’t see why they should,” Blueskin said. “The Cat’s-meat-man comes up this way. Why shouldn’t we go down there?”

None of the others met his eye and he went on: “That’s the way I reckoned it, so I paid Sleeth fifteen to forget to lock the gate same as last time.”

“We’ll settle next time,” Mr Isbister said, “when we’ll have done some business.”

“We’ll settle now,” Blueskin said very gently, and with a scowl my master reached into his pocket and handed over fifteen shillings.

“While you got your blunt handy, Jerry,” Ben began as Mr Isbister shot him a hideous look, “you can settle up for what we talked about earlier.” He turned to Blueskin: “Jerry got the boy to colleck a thing from Bart’s.”

“Is that so?” Blueskin said. “Well done, Jerry. Cop us the blunt.”

With an ill grace Mr Isbister gave each of the three men two sovereigns.

“What, only ten?” said Blueskin ironically. “You was done brown. Especially with things so hard to come by just now!”

“It weren’t a good ’un,” said Mr Isbister.

“What about Harry’s share?” Jem asked.

The other three looked at each other.

“Harry won’t know,” Blueskin said. “Leastways, not if none on us don’t tell him.”

“So that’s another ten each,” Ben said.

As Mr Isbister counted out the money and gave it to them, Jem protested mildly: “I don’t think we should. It ain’t honourable.”

“Don’t you want your share?” Mr Isbister snarled.

Jem pocketed it ruefully.

“Well,” asked Blueskin, looking round the room, “who’s game for the go tonight?”

“Have you forgot the drubbing the Boys o’ the Borough give us last time?”

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Mr Isbister asked indignantly. “Look at this.” He rolled up a sleeve and held up an arm : “Be damned if I haven’t still got the scars where the Cat’s-meat-man pinked me.”

Blucskin said softly: “I ain’t forgot at all, not at all, Jerry. That’s why I says we can’t let

’em have it all their own way, or where will it end?”

“I’m cap’n,” said Mr Isbister. “I decide.”

“It’s our living that’s getting took away from us. We all decide,” said Blueskin gently.

“That’s the ticket, “ said Ben, and even Jem grunted in support.

“So what do you say?” asked Blueskin, turning to them.

“We ain’t had no luck for weeks,” said Ben uncertainly.

“You want a broken head, do you?” my master sneered.

“See, last time we wasn’t ready for ’em,” said Blueskin to the other two as if Mr Isbister had not spoken. “But if they come tonight we’ll make ’em welcome.”

“Aye, that’s right,” cried Ben, glaring at Mr Isbister. “We’ll win the horse or lose the saddle, says I!”

“What do you say, Jem?” Blueskin asked.

“I ain’t happy, but if you go I’ll make one with you.”

“There’s a plucky Briton!” Ben exclaimed, turning his massive body so that he could glare at Isbister. “So we’ll go! And if anyone says contrairy, then damn him for a yellerbelly!”

“Well, Jerry?” Blueskin asked quietly.

“Why, I’ll come. In course I will. Did I ever say different? “

Blueskin thumped the table beside him and looking round at the others, cried: “So we’ll go a-wooing, then?”

Ben and Jem laughed and Blueskin shouted: “Go on, Ben, give it to us.”

Ben began to sing to the tune of “Wapping Old Stairs”, and the others passed the jug round as they joined in the chorus, the comical point of which was to come in early cutting off the last line. As they did so they banged their tankards down on any nearby surface. All this time, to my dismay, Mr Isbister, singing in a tuneless bass, kept his gaze fixed upon me with a smile that I found more disturbing than any grimace. It was as if he were inviting me to admit that I was enjoying the joke: