Ruby McBride (24 page)

‘And what about our childer?’ one man, known as Flitch, called out. He was a big, burly chap who worked as skipper on a Pickering-owned pair of barges. ‘They need an education, same as town childer do. What about his promise to get us a school for them?’

‘What good did schooling ever do anyone? Our childer need to know how to manage a boat to be sure of a safe future. What more do they want?’ Sparky countered.

‘We could all be out of work tomorrow if the Ship Canal doesn’t start making more profit,’ Tom warned. ‘So we have to tread carefully.’

‘But we could at least have some proper privies on the canal bank.’
 

They were off again on another tack of grievances, more concerned now with the plight of their wives and children who travelled the canal system with them, moving from one local authority to another - Manchester, Cheshire, Liverpool, Leeds - so that no local inspector could quite catch up with them to check on how much schooling their children were getting, if any at all. And nothing got done to improve their lot.

Bart listened with patience till they finally ran out of steam, then he held up his hands for quiet. ‘It’s no good grumbling when you insist on taking your entire brood with you in overcrowded, unsanitary conditions on board your boats. But if you want better provision for your families, decent lavatories, laundry, showers and washing facilities, which is all very laudable, you have to do something about it. So what is your decision? Do we send a deputation to Pickering, or sit back and take what he throws at us? Isn’t it time you aired these grievances directly to him?’

A long and uncomfortable silence, then Flitch stepped forward, wiping his hands on the back of his grubby trousers. ‘We all reckon it would be best if it came from you. We’re good at shifting stuff about, shovelling and lifting and managing our boats. You’re the one who thinks and talks well.’

‘You never thought before you spoke in your entire life, Flitch,’ Sparky yelled good-naturedly, and the big man grinned.

‘That’s what I mean. Not my line of country, thinking. I leave all that brain work to the wife.’ He glanced about at the other men who were nodding, just as if they had held a debate and come to an agreement. Bart could guess what was coming, and braced himself for it. ‘We’d rather you spoke up fer us. We reckon as how Pickering’d be more likely to listen to you. You’re one of his own kind like. So we wants you to be our spokesman.’

‘You want me to tackle Pickering on my own?’

‘Aye. With our backing like, but - aye - on yer own.’
 

The brave words faded into silence and Bart knew that they’d lost. Whatever argument he personally presented to their tyrannical employer, would be instantly rejected. They couldn’t have picked a worse representative for their cause.

Bart’s request for an interview was turned down, not simply once but on three separate occasions. Finally, some six weeks after the meeting with the men on the dockside, Giles Pickering finally agreed to receive him.

The two men confronted each other in the plush interior of Pickering’s office and it seemed for a while that neither was willing to be the one to broach the subject they were clearly there to address. The older man ostentatiously drew out his pocket watch to indicate that his time was precious and there was a limit to how long he was prepared to tolerate this imposition. Uninvited, Bart drew up a red velvet, button backed chair and sat down, spreading his long legs as he reclined in comfort upon it.

‘As arrogant as ever, I see.’

Bart offered his crooked smile then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Is it not possible for us to have a civilised conversation for once?’

‘That is entirely up to you, Barthram. You are welcome in my office at any time, as you well know. I’m sure I’ve never intended to cause offence by my actions.’ And in complete contradiction to these words Pickering continued, ‘Where are your lackeys, your mates from the docks? Don’t tell me they are trusting you to solve their petty problems?’ The mockery in his tone was unmistakable but Bart held on to his patience, albeit with difficulty, grinding his teeth together and clenching his fists in the effort required to stop himself from marching out of the door or, better still, planting one of them in the other man’s face and knocking that sardonic expression into Kingdom come.

‘Lackey’ was precisely the sort of word Pickering would choose. That or slave, minion or underling. He was a man who considered himself without equal. The cold, ascetic face with its trim beard and neatly clipped moustache, slick black hair which gleamed in the shaft of sunlight from the tall Georgian window, and the expensively tailored three-piece suit, broadcast loud and clear his good opinion of himself.

‘So get on with it. I can’t stand about here all day.’

By way of reply, Bart pulled out a sheet of paper from his inside pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the desk before him. ‘Our list of demands.’

‘That sounds very like a threat.’ Pickering opened a humidor and took out a cigar. He did not offer one to the younger man. As he went through the business of clipping and lighting it, he scanned the paper before him. ‘Preposterous! Only a fool would agree to such demands. Schools? Showers? Safety precautions? By heck, it’s a load of namby-pamby nonsense.’

‘It may have slipped your attention but this is a new era, a new century in fact. The Victorian age is gone.’

‘Aye, and with it any sense of decency.’

‘These people are poor. If you, as their employer, can improve their living and working conditions, it behoves you to do so. They deserve better.’

Giles Pickering blew out a cloud of noxious cigar smoke. ‘It behoves them to improve the state of their morals. If they’re in difficulties, it’s of their own doing. It’s not the responsibility of the state or employers to correct those evils, but themselves. Less profanity and drunkenness and happen they’d be better able to put a bit by.’

‘Out of what you pay them? Don’t make me laugh.’
 

Pickering grew red in the face. ‘I had to make my own way in the world, so I don’t see why I should pity them what squanders their wages.’

‘You succeeded by being utterly ruthless and stepping on anyone who got in your way.’

‘
It worked, didn’t it? Not that it stopped you behaving like some sort of plaster saint.’

Bart stood up, thrusting back the chair as his patience came close to snapping point. ‘I knew I would be wasting my time. When have you ever listened to anyone’s point of view but your own? When have you ever cared who you hurt so long as you get your own way, in business as in everything else?’

Pickering’s face creased into tight lines of fury. ‘So we’re dragging up old history now, are we?’

Bart planted two tightly clenched fists on the desk as he leaned closer. ‘What you did to Alice was despicable! As for my mother. . .’

‘Get out! I’ll not be vilified in me own office.’

Bart strode to the door, pausing with his hand grasping the brass knob as he recalled the real purpose of his visit. This wasn’t the moment to pursue personal vengeance. He must save all of that for later. The time would come. What mattered now was his mission, his promise to the men. He took a deep, steadying breath and again turned to face his adversary.
 

‘All these men are asking for is a fair rate of pay and decent conditions for themselves and their families. It doesn’t all have to happen overnight, but some sign of goodwill on your part might help to prevent further trouble in the future.’

The older man’s face grew florid and blotched with temper. ‘Don’t you threaten me with talk of your bloody strikes. I’ll sue anybody who damages my business. If men aren’t hungry, why would they work? That’s all I have to say. Nothing more!’

‘And I have nothing more to say to you, Father. Nor ever will have.’

Kit had never expected the baron to be an easy quarry. Somehow or other, no matter what the risks involved, he needed to devise a workable plan, one that rid them of Barthram
Stobbs but kept his working boats. Kit could make good money out of those barges. He said as much to Pearl night after night. Not that she listened.

‘Who cares about a few boats? Money is far more useful. Hasn’t that sister of mine managed to get her hands on any yet?’

Frowning, Kit explained the difficulties; that although Ruby was eager enough to leave her husband, she was less keen to rob him.

Pearl gave a derisive snort of disbelief. ‘Don’t tell me your charms are failing? I’ll accept that sister of mine always did have a mind of her own, but you should have had her eating out of your hand by now. I’ve been waiting all year for that bright new start you promised me. The fancy frocks, a place of our own, money to jingle in my pocket. How much longer do I have to wait?’

‘Not much longer, Pearl. Not long now.’

‘The waiting won’t be worth it if all we get at the end is a pair of bloody barges. A string of working girls to earn us brass would do us more good, so’s I don’t have to turn tricks any more. Mind you, I’d be that sorry to pack it in. I take pride in me work, I do that. And you aren’t the only chap what fancies me, Kit Jarvis, don’t think you are. Happen it’s time I came out of hiding and tackled Barthram Stobbs meself. I’m good at squeezing a bit of cash out of a bloke.’

‘No, Pearl. It’s too soon. The minute Ruby finds you she might simply take you to live with them in that poxy little house on Quay Street. There’s nothing she’d like better than having you under her thumb again, all safe and sound. She talks of little else, spends every minute she can searching for you when she’s not working on the boats.’

‘And I’m sick of not daring to go out and about as much as I’d like. She’s stubborn is our Ruby, and if she keeps on asking for me, she’s bound to come upon one of me gentlemen sooner or later. Then the fat will be in the fire.’ Pearl shrugged her shoulders, nearly bare in the flimsy nightgown she wore, and sauntered over to the dressing table to pour herself a tot of gin. ‘Mebbe I should let her find me. I could happen get my hands on the money a lot quicker.
 

Kit sat chewing his nails, annoyed with her for stating the obvious, a fact he was well aware of and worried him constantly. The last thing he wanted was for Ruby to find Pearl too soon, let alone discover how she earned her living. She’d consider it her duty to save her sister. And Kit’s need for the money Pearl earned him was far greater. It was the reason he insisted she stay indoors as much as possible, at least until he had his hands on something more substantial and long-lasting, like those barges. Even Pearl’s beauty wouldn’t last forever. But she was right, they couldn’t go on like this for much longer. One day their luck would run out. But first, he had to work out a plan.

‘He’s a slippery character is the baron, and no fool. He’d be sure to get suspicious if you suddenly turned up out of the blue and then started wheedling him.

Pearl tossed back the gin and refilled her glass. ‘We have to do something. We can’t afford to hang about.’

‘I know. I know. I’ve never missed a trick yet, and don’t intend to start now. Not after everything I’ve gone through, and all because of your sister. She owes me good and proper, I’ll tell you that for nowt. All we have to do is put our brains to steep and come up with some way to lighten the baron of enough of his wealth to see us in clover, without him ever suspecting he’s been robbed.’

‘And how do we do that? Strike him deaf, blind and dumb first?’

‘Why not? Happen I should just knock him over the head and have done with it.’

‘He’d see you coming a mile off. From all accounts he’s wily as a snake.’

This, of course, was the crux of their problem. The baron was far too intelligent and well versed in methods of fraud and trickery
to be easily conned. And he’d be utterly ruthless if it ever came down to fisticuffs between the two of them. Kit had no appetite for a fight, yet no matter how many ideas he came up with, none seemed workable or even feasible.

His only hope seemed to be to work on Ruby. Perhaps he could persuade her to help.

Chapter Seventeen

To Ruby’s everlasting shame she could not help herself from responding to her husband’s love making. Most nights she was in his bed early, eagerly waiting for him to come to her. On that very first morning when she’d woken to find herself alone, she’d lain in a daze of guilt and yet felt reluctant to rise, wanting only to languish in his bed and go over and over the events that had forever changed her from a girl to a woman. So much passion, so many delightfully unexpected discoveries. The night with Bart had been a revelation.

She did not wonder why he had not chosen to take her during the years they’d spent together on the tug, despite his strongly professed desire for her. Nor did she give him any credit for making her first experience of love making particularly enjoyable. Ruby was far too preoccupied with blaming him.