Copper Kingdom (33 page)

Mali smiled. ‘Well it's you I have to thank for the job, if you hadn't persuaded Big Mary that I was worth taking on I'd still be at home twiddling my thumbs now.'

Mali rose to her feet and brushed the grass from her skirts. ‘I am grateful to you, Katie, though I don't suppose it's ever come into my mind to say it before.' She hugged Katie's arm. ‘I'll treat you to tea as way of a thank you.'

Katie did not protest and Mali was pleased for she knew her friend gave most of her money to her father. No one seemed to be buying fish at the moment, the weather was too hot and folks were eating cold meat and summer foods. The most that the inhabitants of the area would stretch to was a salt fish for breakfast on Sundays.

Katie laughed suddenly. ‘Saw Sally Benson yesterday, forgot to tell you, she's got a beautiful shiner, her eye looks as though she's put boot blacking on it. Did her good sure enough, you punching her like that, didn't expect it from you, thought you were too weakly to be any threat to her.' Katie shook her head. ‘She's had it coming for some time and I wasn't the only one happy to see her put down. That girl's been bullyin' us all off and on ever since she came to the laundry. But be careful Mali, she's got it in for you now and if she can, she'll spite you back, you can be sure of it.'

‘She's the least of my worries,' Mali said softly. ‘Come on, let's go and get that tea.'

As Mali and Katie had sat talking on the banks of the canal, Sterling was retreating from Copperman's Row, his face dark and set, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his trousers. He walked down towards the docks and stood staring at the ships bobbing on the tide, the tall masts pointing to the cloudless sky.

The stink of fish permeated the air for the fish market was open, the catches made recently by the fishermen waiting on the quay ready to be bought by the traders. But business was slow and under the heat of the sun the seafood became dried up and unappetising.

Sterling sat on one of the iron bollards, staring over the busy docks. As usual they were a hive of bustling activity, with Chinamen walking beside dark-skinned Africans, and on the largest quay, mountains of coal were being loaded into the innards of the ships. Such tasks were a necessity, even on the Sabbath.

As well as sailing vessels, there were steam packets berthed near the shore and further out in the bay the small craft moved restlessly on the incoming tide.

Sterling tried to recall word for word the conversation he'd had with the woman who'd opened the door to him. He asked her politely enough if Mali was in and she'd shaken back her untidy overbright hair and put her finger on her lips.

‘Hush, don't take offence sir, but Davie will go mad if he knows you've come calling. You've upset his daughter right enough and there's no hope of Mali seeing you, none at all. Not that she's here mind, no, gone out galivanting she has, with a friend. Not saying if it's a fine young bucko or no but I 'spects it is.'

Sterling had pushed open the door, entering the kitchen unasked, and unless Mali was upstairs or out back then the woman was speaking the truth.

‘Leave my girl be, Mr Richardson.' Davie had risen from his chair, his face red with anger, his great arms folded across his chest. ‘Don't want nothing to do with you she don't. Anyway, it's not right, master and the daughter of a worker, getting together, ‘tisn't natural.'

Sterling had backed out of the kitchen then, anger filling him so that he could scarcely see.

The young woman had glanced up at him and there had been something sly in her expression.

‘Just don't bother with her any more, no better than she ought to be,' she whispered. ‘She's told me things that would make your hair curl. Anyways, you let her down somehow didn't you? No keeping anything from me there isn't.'

Sterling saw a gull wheeling overhead and tried to think calmly. He did not altogether believe the word of the young woman for she had struck him as an unlikely sort of companion for Mali. Yet there was an element of truth in what she'd said, he had not returned to the hotel that night in time to take Mali home. And yet surely she could have asked him for some explanation before condemning him.

He rose to his feet impatiently, he had more important things to occupy his mind than trying to gauge the way a woman might be thinking. If Mali wanted him she knew where to find him, but one thing was for sure, he would not be the one to search her out.

The days passed into weeks and Sweyn's Eye took on the mantle of early autumn. The soft western hillside, which a short time ago had sported fresh green leaves, was now covered in a riot of red and gold. Dead foliage began to carpet the drowsing earth, scattering in small gusts blown by the keen edge of the easterly wind.

In the town it was a grey Monday morning. Rain swept down from the hills and the streets were misty and lustreless, the inclement weather keeping the inhabitants of the huddled houses cloistered at their own hearths.

Only the copper works straddling the banks of the swiftly flowing river showed any sign of activity. Sparks shot skyward as though in defiance of the full-bellied rain clouds, and green sulphurous smoke mingled with the dismal drizzle.

Inside the sheds it seemed more hot and breathless than ever for the rain kept the smoke low and it caught at the lungs of the copperworkers like darts of flame. Here the air was heavy with the spurts of steam forced from the open-mouthed furnaces and vapour rose high to linger damply among the wooden struts supporting the roof.

Davie was feeling more than a little tired as he wielded his ladle, his great muscles bulged and the veins stood out achingly proud. He discharged the load with his usual skill and it gave him satisfaction to know that when the copper settled, the coin-like slices would come from the mould neat and even.

Davie's stomach rumbled with hunger. Yet again Rosa had forgotten to put him up a box of grub. He was becoming used to it now but sometimes he longed for the days when Mali used to pack the food, he had eaten well then.

He felt a momentary pang of unease. Mali was still determined to move out of the cottage in Copperman's Row even though in the few weeks that had passed since he had brought Rosa in to live with him, he had hoped that things would settle down. He had tried to persuade his daughter that nothing need change but now he could see how wrong he'd been, everything was different now that Rosa was mistress of the little home.

The brasses were dull, the floor stained with grease and debris. Mali, for the most part, kept to her room, unwilling to speak to the woman who she felt had replaced her mother.

And Mali, his beloved daughter, was growing beautiful, tall and proud, more like her mother every day. Jinny had been a fine woman, no mistake about it, but a man needed more than memories to warm his bed.

He moved away from the mould for it was time for him to have a break. He pulled his shirt over his head and the flannel was soaked, the red turned dark like blood with his sweat.

His chest gleamed bronze in the flare from the furnace and he scarcely felt any cooler than he had done before. Rosa was taking all the sap out of him, he mused, she was a girl far too young for an old ram like himself. He was one man trying to make up for the dozens she'd had before, he thought, and was surprised at his own bitterness.

At first, it had not bothered him that she was a flossy. She was young and needed to fill her belly any way she could but he was fast coming to the conclusion that she had loved her work and now that it was taken away from her, missed the excitement of searching for men who would pay for what she had to offer.

The knowledge was beginning to eat away at him, eroding the sweetness he had found in Rosa when they'd first met. He was nothing but an old fool, he told himself, but he was caught in a trap now from which there seemed to be no escape.

He took a draught of beer from the bottle beside him. Rosa had not put up any tea and to Davie's taste, ale was a poor substitute, and the work was as drying as a desert in far Arabia. Well, he could not have everything, he supposed, and there were not many men of his age who could boast of bedding a wench young enough to be his daughter.

He rose with a sigh and took up his ladle once more. He could not sit around mooning all day, that was not what he was paid for. He fell into the circle of men, feeling like a beast tethered to an invisible cord. Dip and move and tip the burden and back round again to the furnace, surely hell could not be a worse fate than this?

He longed suddenly to be out under the skies however grey, breathing fresh air into his guts. He felt restless and strangely uneasy. It must be the result of going without breakfast, he told himself impatiently.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Will Owens was now at the back of him. His uneasiness increased but he told himself that the young man had grown up a little in the past months. Doubtless he still sang songs for the boss and yet there was a new strength to Will's features, a hardness in his eyes, a fresh confidence to the set of his shoulders, perhaps he would turn out all right after all.

Will Owens did not meet Davie's eye. ‘Keep up your stride,' he said in a harsh tone. Davie moved forward more quickly, knowing that he was at fault and had come dangerously close to the glowing ladle.

He felt as though he had been working for hours, moving round and round in an everlasting circle. God damn it, he would have to get out of the sheds, find another job, something that would give a bit of life to a man instead of this everlasting heat and stench.

There was a bustling at the door of the sheds and glancing up, Davie saw Sterling Richardson enter. Rain dripped from the loose-fitting overcoat he wore and the huge goggles over his eyes gave him a strangely threatening aspect. Davie tensed, he felt that this man was responsible for Mali's unhappiness and for that alone Davie longed to put a big fist in his face. But he must be fair, he had heard that there had been a fight outside the laundry between Mali and some other girl and Mr Richardson, far from being responsible for Mali's torn blouse and dishevelled appearance, had driven her away in his car. Davie had no proof that anything untoward had happened after that. True, when accused, Mali had turned on him angrily, said she'd been with a man, but that might have simply been a gesture of defiant fury. At any rate, she barely spoke to him these days, like a stranger she'd become and it hurt him deep inside.

Davie sighed, he had thought of giving the boss a hiding just in case he had laid a hand on Mali but what useful purpose would that serve? It would put Davie out of his home as well as out of a job and so he bit on his temper hard.

Mr Richardson was in his shirt sleeves now for all the world as if he was going to do an honest day's graft, he who had never lifted a shovel in his life. Yet he was not soft, Davie gave him full credit for guts.

‘Morning, Davie.' Sterling stood beside Davie now, his eyes level. ‘Hope your family are well.'

Davie nodded, touching the forelock of damp hair that clung to his brow. ‘My girl's doing fine, office worker now she is, but I 'spects you know that.'

Sterling glanced away. ‘Don't take that tone with me, Davie,' he said harshly and Davie felt rage flame through him.

‘Then keep away from my girl, is it?'

The two men stared at each other for a long moment in silence and both knew that Sterling could have the last word if he wished.

‘How would you like to try a new job?' Sterling spoke at last. It was clear that Mr Richardson meant to ignore the clash between them and Davie took a deep breath, determined to follow suit.

‘What job is that?'

‘Manufacturing zinc wire, it would mean an increase in wages.'

‘Sounds all right to me.' Davie tried hard to keep the excitement out of his voice, it didn't do to appear too eager.

‘That's settled then, you might as well finish off your shift here and then tomorrow go into the foundry, I think you'll find the work not quite so arduous.'

He moved away along the rows of furnaces, stopping to talk to a few of the other men and Davie turned back to the furnace, dipping his ladle, lifting it with renewed energy, knowing that after this shift, he would not be doing it again.

‘One of the chosen then are you?' Will Owens' voice grated on Davie and he glanced over his shoulder quickly, his temper rising.

‘What's it to you, you cocky young swine?' he said. ‘Don't you think you'd have jumped at the chance if it had been offered to you instead of me?'

Will Owens was not deterred. ‘But it wasn't offered to me, was it? Must be a reason for it, something the rest of us don't know about. The boss gives you a way out of this hell hole on a plate and better wages to boot and you've got the nerve to call me a songbird. Well I say there's something here that stinks to high heaven.'

Davie emptied his ladle, suddenly weary of the fight. ‘Get back to work, boyo,' he said, ‘jealousy won't get you anywhere, so shut your mouth for now and if it's quarrelling you want, I'll see you outside, later.'

As the morning wore on, Davie grew more and more exultant, he was to have a rise in wages. He could buy Rosa some fripperies and perhaps a little gift for Mali, something that would bring the smile to her eyes once more.

Matters would soon right themselves, he thought hopefully, Mali would grow used to Rosa and perhaps begin to show the girl how to keep house, for she'd never been given the chance to look after a place of her own and so couldn't be blamed for not living up to Mali's idea of cleanliness.

As if he had brought her to the works with the force of his thoughts, Davie looked up and saw Mali standing uncertainly in the doorway.