Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 49

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, John decided to attend the bank alone. ‘You can wait for me in the Red Lion, if you want,’ he told Archie. ‘It might be better if I go to the bank on my own.’

‘I won’t argue with that.’ Archie was grateful for the chance to opt out. ‘I’d much rather be downing a jug of ale, than sit like a beggar with cap in hand, in front of some jumped-up clerk.’

‘It’s no good me talking to a clerk,’ John said. ‘For something as important as this, I need to see the manager.’

Archie wished him well. ‘I’ll get a jug of ale in for you,’ he said, before he hurried away. ‘I’ve a feeling you’ll be back before you know it; especially if the manager has a po-faced clerk like the one at the solicitor’s.’

John was optimistic. ‘I mean to have an answer one way or another,’ he promised, and with that he headed off in the direction of the bank.

Ten minutes later he was at the counter, and five minutes after that he was being ushered into the manager’s office. A small, shrewish man with a moustache, he exclaimed in a shrill voice, ‘Your luck must be in, young man! I should have been seeing somebody else, only they didn’t turn up.’ Obviously rattled at being let down, he informed John, ‘I can spare you ten minutes.’

When he was seated at the desk, with John sat before him, he took a moment to observe John, before asking, ‘Is it a new account you want to open, or are you after borrowing?’

John came straight to the point. ‘It’s both. I have money in my pocket to put into an account, but that will depend on whether you’re prepared to back my business venture.’

The manager leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, that sounds straightforward enough.’ He glanced at the fold of paper in John’s hands. ‘Is that for me to see?’

Spreading the paper on the desk, John told him proudly, ‘There are two plans here. This one’s a rough sketch of the property I intend buying at auction. The other is a layout of the business I plan on starting, plus an account of the money I have and a rough guess at the money I might need to borrow. Last of all, you’ll find a detailed list of the work I’m skilled at. Oh, and you might be pleased to know, I already have one customer waiting.’

As John pushed the papers towards him, the manager leaned forward to peruse them. ‘I can’t promise anything, you understand?’

John’s heart sank. ‘I understand.’ What he really understood was that he would have to fight tooth and nail to get what he wanted. But then again, nothing ever came easy, not to such as himself it didn’t anyway.

Two hours later, John and his old shipmate returned to their lodgings, a bit the worse for drink and full of apologies as they came face to face with Harriet. ‘Been celebrating, have you?’ she asked, opening the door as she heard them fumbling for the key.

‘Not likely.’ Archie fell in the door. ‘The bastard turned him down! We’ve been drowning our sorrows,’ he added, then burped. ‘Oops, sorry, missus. That snotty-nosed toff looked at John’s well-laid-out plans, then turned him down flat. One customer wasn’t enough to get a business off the ground, that’s what he said.’

Harriet’s smile disappeared. ‘Is that right?’ she asked John. ‘He turned you down?’

Giving her a disheartened nod, John said, ‘I think I’ll go upstairs for a bit,’ and made his way straight up to his room.

‘There are other banks.’ Harriet’s voice followed him up the stairs.

It was Archie who answered. ‘He tried them an’ all. At first he just refused to give up. He marched me down to Victoria Street, where he managed to see the lending manager, but he wouldn’t help neither. Then we went on to that small bank on the corner near the docks. The manager was very nice, and he listened to what John had to say, but he wouldn’t lend him a penny. None of them wanted to help. I’ll tell you what though, Harriet, my old darlin’. They can’t see their noses in front of their faces. What! Give our John a year or two, and he’ll be earning more money than they are. The stupid bastards!’

Harriet gave him a slap on the arm. ‘That’s enough of the bad language!’ she chided. ‘Into the kitchen with you. It’s a good hot cup of tea you need and no argument!’ Before he could protest, she had propelled him unceremoniously into the kitchen.

‘He’ll not give up though,’ Archie told her robustly as he supped his cup of tea. ‘I know him. I know the kind of man he is, and he’ll not give up. You see if I’m not right.’

Upstairs, John laid the papers out on his bed. They none of ’em wanted to help, he thought sadly – yet he knew he could do it! He knew, too, that he had found the right place. Given the chance, he’d soon have the customers queuing at the door, only the money-men couldn’t see it. All they saw was a young, inexperienced sailor who thought he could set up shop against the big boys. Well, he could – and he would! He’d show ’em. He’d be at the auction, and God willing, things just might go his way after all.

John suddenly felt more optimistic. Who knows, there might not be enough bidders there to see him off. For one thing, the site was a mess, the outbuildings were falling down and the cottage needed a deal o’ work. It would take time, energy and money to put it all together, and not everybody wanted that kind of responsibility. But he did, and his hopes began to flicker again.

On the morning of the auction, Harriet waited until Archie and John had left to walk over to the site. A few minutes later, she stood at the hall-stand mirror, shifting the bonnet on her head this way then that, until she was satisfied that she looked the part. She fastened the buttons on her long coat, tied the fur tippet at her neck, and taking her big black handbag from the hallway table, let herself out of the house and went on quickening footsteps towards the town centre.

On arriving at the corner, she peered round to make sure Archie and John were not still hanging around in the neighbourhood. There was no sign of them. Good.

Harriet smiled secretly to herself as she hurried onwards. It would never do for John to know her intention. Right from the start she had seen him as a proud, but caring man, whose ambitions would take him far. It was a pity that no one else but herself had the foresight to see it.

A couple of miles away, John and Archie were walking along the canal, going around the site one last time. ‘There’s only two hours to go before the auction,’ Archie fretted.

Seeming not to have heard, John strode ahead, making notes as he went. ‘This place was meant for us,’ he called back to Archie. ‘It’s got everything we need.’

‘Don’t be too downhearted if you can’t secure it.’ Catching up to him, the little fella could see how desperately John wanted the property, but it was clear the odds were stacked against him from the off.

‘You can’t know how much getting this place means to me,’ John groaned. ‘I’m just praying that the money I have will be enough.’

‘Aw, look! Why don’t you have another word with Harriet? Ask her to go with you to the auction and if it looks like it’s going away from you, well, you could still borrow the money she offered.’

‘No!’ John wanted the conversation ended.

‘Why not? Good God, man! She said herself she’s got money put by. You can pay it back to her just the same as you would to a bank.’

John wouldn’t hear of it. ‘And why do you think she’s got money put by?’ he asked. ‘I’ll tell you why. Her savings have been scraped together over the years and kept safe for her old age, when she’s no longer capable of taking in lodgers.’

Archie persisted. ‘It weren’t you that asked,’ he argued. ‘She made the offer herself.’

‘All the same, I don’t want her to risk all her hard-earned money so’s I can buy a site and start a business that I can’t be sure will be a success. If I borrow money from a bank and fail, the worst thing they can do is throw me in jail. But if I borrow money from Harriet and fail, she’d have nothing to fall back on.’ John shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Archie. I won’t do it.’

‘So you’ll risk losing the site altogether?’

‘I’ll look elsewhere if I have to … at some other site that will match the money in my pocket.’ Though he knew he would be hard pressed to find one as suitable as this. ‘And that’s an end to it.’

A short time later they caught the omnibus back to the centre of Liverpool, and what they saw at the auction-house made John’s heart sink like a lead weight. ‘God Almighty, Archie, I thought I might be in with a chance, but now I don’t know.’

The place was heaving with would-be buyers: some in work-clothes, others in suits, and one or two shifty-looking characters smoking cigars. ‘It looks like I’m up against it,’ John remarked, sidling towards the front. ‘Keep your wits about you, Archie, and watch my back.’

He’d heard about ‘fixed’ auctions before, and something about the atmosphere here gave him the distinct feeling there was more going on than met the eye.

In the back office, the solicitor, Mr Leatherhead, had given his instructions and Bertram Tilbrook, the auctioneer, was even now preparing to start proceedings. There was a last-minute flurry of heated words between them, with the solicitor finishing in a low, harsh whisper: ‘Make sure you keep an eye on me.’ He gave him a warning glance. ‘I’ll be right there, in your line of vision.’

‘Don’t worry. I know the score!’ Glaring at him angrily, Tilbrook stormed past him and out through the door.

Unconcerned, Mr Leatherhead followed at a more leisurely pace.

Outside on the auction-room floor, people were beginning to grow restless. ‘I’ve had my eye on that land for some time now,’ one bearded lump of a man told his colleague. ‘Now it’s come up for sale, I don’t mean to let it go.’

His colleague laughed at that. ‘You’ll have me to contend with, Alan,’ he retorted. ‘You’re not the only one who can make good use of that lot. It’s mostly the buildings I’m after though, so whichever one of us gets it, we could do a deal with the other. What do you say?’

Broadly smiling, the other man shook hands on it. ‘Makes sense to me,’ he agreed. ‘You want the buildings for storage, and I want the land to farm. I’ve more than enough buildings of my own, so I don’t see why we couldn’t do a deal of sorts.’

Archie tugged at John’s coat-sleeve. ‘Did you hear that?’ he mouthed.

Disappointed, John nodded. ‘I heard.’

‘So, will we go, or will we stay?’ The little man had hoped the two of them would leave and spend an hour or two in the Sailor’s Rest, before returning to their lodgings.

‘We stay!’ Straightening his shoulders and looking ahead to the auctioneer, John told Archie, ‘For all we know, most of the folks here might just be dreamers like ourselves. Happen when it comes right down to it, they’ve got no more money in their pockets than I have.’

Archie thought on that, then he began panicking when the auctioneer banged the wooden gavel on the table. ‘Right, gentlemen!’ Tilbrook blew his nose and looked round the room, his glance momentarily resting on the solicitor. By now, the big man was at the back of the room, raised by the upward slope of the floor and in Tilbrook’s direct line of vision. Standing shoulder to shoulder with him was the equally large, and utterly respectable, form of Miss Harriet Witherington.

From where they stood, the two of them had a clear view of the proceedings, while the only way the bidders would get sight of them, was to make a deliberate turnabout.

‘We’re off!’ Archie could hardly contain himself. ‘What happens now?’ he kept asking. ‘Who’s bidding? Why aren’t you having a go?’ It was his first auction, and the excitement was unbearable.

In minutes the bids went higher than John could have foreseen. ‘Thirty-two guineas!’ The auctioneer was red in the face, his worried eyes shifting to the solicitor on every count. ‘Thirty-four … it’s you, sir.’ His eyes searched the crowd. ‘Yes? Do I have thirty-five?’

‘Bid now!’ Archie urged. ‘Go on!’ But John preferred to wait a minute longer.

At thirty-six guineas, the bidding began to slow down. Then suddenly it picked up again and two of the bidders were the men standing directly behind John. Having made the deal beforehand between themselves, they could afford to go that extra mile, and much to John’s consternation, that was exactly what they did. John could hear other bids coming in, but he was distracted by the murmuring behind him. In the excitement, each man wanted to be the one in control.

The auctioneer grew nervous. ‘Thirty-nine … I have thirty-nine guineas!’ He paused. ‘Forty, then! The bid stands at forty guineas.’ By now the sweat was running down his face and his eyes were more on the solicitor than on the bidding clients.

Taking everyone by surprise, there was a sudden and unexpected development.

Feeling confident, the two men behind John paused to exchange a quick word; and at that moment, four things happened in quick succession: John held up his number, as did another buyer at the far side of the room; Harriet gave the solicitor a dig in the ribs, he lifted his head and the gavel went down with unusual speed. ‘Sold at forty-one guineas!’

Tilbrook’s voice startled the two men, who couldn’t believe their ears. ‘Number sixteen? Congratulations, sir,’ he said to John. ‘If you’ll make your way to the office, please.’ Then he picked up his gavel and paperwork, and stepped smartly down from his desk. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, that’s all for today.’

Behind him the cries went up. ‘Too quick! He brought the hammer down too bloody quick! What the ’ell were Tilbrook playing at? It’s a fishy business, if you ask me. Forty-one guineas for that site! It’s givin’ it away!’

The loudest protests went up from the two friends, who rushed after the auctioneer, furious at being cheated out of their prize. The other bidder had already stormed out.

‘What the devil’s going on, man? You knew we were serious bidders. You brought that damned gavel down without giving us a chance!’

Bertram Tilbrook was used to such outcries. ‘You know the rules,’ he said firmly. ‘If you don’t keep up with the bidding, you lose out.’

‘But we were keeping up!’ one of the farmers objected. ‘Good God! We were the only two bidders left.’

‘No, you were not!’ The auctioneer felt worried enough without letting these two get the better of him. ‘You stopped bidding and I thought you were out of it. Another bid came in. I gave you time to respond, and you didn’t. It’s no use blaming anyone but yourselves. The parcel of land is sold and that’s that.’

Feeling both angry and guilty, he hurried back to his office, unwilling to meet anyone’s eye. ‘Damn and bugger it!’ he muttered as he went. ‘Damn and bugger it!’

Behind him, the two men got to blaming each other. ‘If you hadn’t stopped me to ask how far I was prepared to go,’ one said nastily, ‘we’d have got it easy!’

The other farmer gave him a shove. ‘And you, Amos, should have known better than to keep pushing up the price, yer stupid bugger. You could see we were the only two after it.’

‘But we weren’t, were we, you blummen bastard. Thanks to you, somebody else sneaked in and took it from under our noses!’

Oblivious to the furore, John felt stunned by events. ‘I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it.’ Grabbing Archie by the shoulders, he shook him so hard that the old fellow’s teeth rattled in his head. ‘WE DID IT!’ he cried jubilantly. ‘I don’t know how, but by God, we did it!’

As the people poured out, they congratulated John and Archie. ‘Well done, lads!’ someone told John, and another chimed in with, ‘Did my heart good, so it did.’ They all knew the two disappointed bidders. ‘They’ve already got more than they need,’ someone else said sagely. ‘It’s time one of us ordinary blokes got the better o’ them.’

‘Did you hear that?’ John felt so good he thought he’d have to dance right there and then on the spot – and much to everyone’s delight, that’s exactly what he did. ‘One of us.’ He reminded Archie of what the man had said. ‘We’re one of them now,’ he laughed.

‘No, we ain’t,’ Archie answered with a grin. ‘’Cause we’re landowners now.’

Taken aback by his friend’s rush of arrogance, John corrected him. ‘We’ve been lucky today, Archie. Here in Liverpool, we’ve found our place, and our place is amongst the workers. The hardest part is now. We may be landowners, but that’s only the start. We’ve still got mountains to climb.’

Sobered by Archie’s unthinking remark, he said quietly, ‘Every man has a dream, but he can’t do it by himself.’ Nodding towards the last few stragglers, he said, ‘They are the kind of men we need. Men who aren’t afraid to work. Men who will never achieve their own dream, but who like to see folks such as you and me do it for them. Do you understand what I’m saying, Archie?’

The little man nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said penitently. ‘I should be ashamed.’

John gave him a friendly slap on the back. ‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed about,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’ve a right to be really proud. Nobody knows better than me how you’ve always done your share and more. But now we’ve got to get busy. Firstly we’ve to hand over my savings and collect the deeds. Then we’ll survey our little kingdom. After that, we’ll go home and wash up, put on our best togs, and take ourselves off to celebrate.’

He thought of Harriet, of her generosity and her belief in him. ‘If yon Harriet wants to come, we’ll take her as well.’ He gave Archie a cheeky wink. ‘I reckon she’d be glad to come along. She’s taken a real fancy to you.’

‘Lord help me then!’ the little man chuckled. ‘I’ve seen prettier horses. Besides, how could I ever get my arms far enough round her to give her a hug?’

‘Prettier horses, eh?’ John teased him. ‘And what makes you think you’re such an oil painting?’

Archie wagged a finger at him. ‘Now, now. There’s no need to get all personal.’ He took on a look of embarrassment. ‘In fact, if the truth were told, I do believe I’ve developed a soft spot for the dear lady.’

‘Oh, an’ why’s that, I wonder?’ John retorted with a grin. ‘It wouldn’t be because she’s something of a good cook, would it? Or is it because you’ve found out she’s got a bob or two?’

Archie feigned indignation. ‘Not at all! She’s a fine lady, is our Miss Witherington … even if she is a better cook than myself. I mean, what do I care if she’s got her own lodging-house?’ He sighed longingly. ‘Mind you, I’ve got to admit, all o’ that does make her just the weeniest bit more attractive, especially to a mature man like meself, who prefers the finer things in life.’

At that very moment, the woman in question was upstairs in an otherwise empty office, in deep conversation with the solicitor. ‘You’ve caused a bad atmosphere between me and the auctioneer,’ Mr Leatherhead told her worriedly. ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have just given Hanley the land and be done with it!’

‘You know very well why,’ she retaliated. ‘I don’t want anyone finding out that the land belonged to me. Nor do I want Mr Hanley to feel beholden to me. It was best that I had no involvement in it.’ She smiled. ‘It all worked out well, and if for nothing else, I thank you for that much at least.’

She fastened the buttons of her coat. ‘I’d best be away now,’ she said. ‘I don’t want them getting back to the house afore I do.’ A mischievous grin lifted her face. ‘I shall have to look suitably surprised and delighted when I hear the good news.’

The moment Harriet had gone, Leatherhead hurried downstairs to the office where the auctioneer was worriedly pacing the floor. When the door opened, Tilbrook immediately vented his anger on the older man. ‘I could lose everything if this ever came out!’ he expostulated. ‘My job, and my good name!’

‘There’s no danger of that.’ Releasing the catches on his Gladstone bag, the solicitor removed a bottle of best whisky. He seized two tumblers from the shelf and poured them both a stiff drink. ‘It all came out well in the end, with nobody any the wiser.’ Handing the other man a glass, he urged, ‘Come on, Tilbrook, drink up. Before number sixteen rushes in here, wanting his prize.’

Swallowing his drink, Tilbrook gasped as the liquid went down. ‘In all the years I’ve worked at this game, I’ve never been known to end a sale before the bidding was finished.’ He looked at the older man with stricken eyes. ‘Maybe we should have called her bluff.’

Leatherhead shook his head. ‘Nay. Harriet Witherington is no fool.’

‘Why didn’t she show her hand before now?’

The solicitor had wondered the same.

‘I can’t work it out myself, and she’s never confided in me on that score,’ he answered. ‘All I know is, after years of living a modest life right under our noses – and I’m quite sure she must have known that her Aunt Amy had left her that land – she came to me with proof of her identity. All her papers were in order, and she knew what had been left to her, better than I did. That were two months ago. She wanted us to sell the job-lot by auction, so she could put the money away for an easy old age. Next thing I know, she’s back in my office, saying we’ve got to let that young pup Hanley acquire the land for a mere forty-one guineas when it’s worth so much more. How could I refuse? She’d known all along that we’d been plundering her inheritance, selling off the contents of that cottage a bit at a time, and she’ll not shrink from exposing us both if we should so much as hint to that young man that she’s had any part in this.’ Leatherhead lifted his glass and drank down the rest of his whisky.

‘She’s a sharp one, I know that,’ Tilbrook agreed. ‘Sitting tight while we dug ourselves into a deeper hole, and then coming forward just when we thought we were safe.’ The auctioneer shivered. ‘I’m telling you, all this is beginning to shatter my nerves.’

‘Pull yourself together, man!’ The solicitor poured them both another drink.

His colleague appeared not to be listening. Instead he was thinking of every way she might get at them even now. ‘How can we be certain she still won’t come after us? There were some fine paintings and pieces of Regency silver in storage from that cottage – and we both got a good few quid out of that.’

‘Because when she insisted that I make certain the property was knocked down to that young man, she promised to look the other way over our misdemeanours.’

‘Is it watertight, that’s what I want to know?’

Leatherhead gave a sly little grin. ‘We’re both in the clear, that’s all you need to know. And now I’d better be off. Here are the signed documents you’ll need from Miss Witherington.’ With a triumphant flourish, the solicitor withdrew the sheafs of paper from his pocket and threw them on the desk. ‘Signed, sealed and delivered. And now I really must go. A very good day to you, Bertram. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you!’

The fat man’s laughter had only just died away when John knocked on the door. Feeling more confident after skimreading the documents, the auctioneer sat up straight, put on his best smile, and called John inside.

‘I’m here for the deeds to my property.’ John placed his wad of notes and coins nervously on the desk. ‘You’ll find it all there, every penny.’

Archie stood directly beside him, grinning from ear to ear. ‘You did well, son,’ he kept saying. ‘You did real well.’

As for John, he was still dazed at the speed of events, and the subsequent outcome. The site was his! He could hardly believe it, even now. It was his future; his wildest dream come true.

Yet the glory of the day was deeply marred by Emily’s absence. He needed her like he had never needed her before. He wanted her so much to be by his side, to share in this day, and all the days to come.

But she was content with her new man. She had no more need of John Hanley. It was a stark and lonely realisation.

‘John!’ Archie dug him in the ribs. ‘The gentleman’s waiting for your signature.’

Emerging from his deep thoughts of Emily, John apologised.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’ Leaning forward, John took the gold fountain pen from Tilbrook’s outstretched hand.

‘It’s not surprising that you are feeling somewhat bemused,’ the other man remarked condescendingly. ‘You’ve got yourself a valuable commodity there, at a very good price. In fact, you could probably sell it on the open market right now, for a deuced good profit.’

John signed his name and returned the pen. ‘Not me,’ he replied decidedly. ‘It’s not a quick profit I’m looking for, but somewhere to build a business that I can be proud of.’

‘What kind of business would that be, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Here, John saw his chance. ‘You might put the word out,’ he suggested. ‘I’m a skilled carpenter and joiner. I repair and build wagons, carts and barges. I can bend a piece of wood to any shape or form, so whatever the customer wants, I’ll provide.’

The auctioneer was not impressed. ‘Not my line of interest,’ he said curtly. ‘But I wish you well.’ In fact, he couldn’t care one way or the other whether John sank or swam. ‘That’s our business concluded.’ He handed John the deeds, and held out his hand for a farewell shake. ‘Good day to you.’

John swiftly reminded him of the receipt, which Tilbrook scribbled out and shoved across the desk to him.

A few moments later, with receipt and deeds safely in his possession, John led Archie out of the building. ‘Another surly stuck-up bugger!’ Archie thrust his hands into his pockets and began to sulk.

Smiling, John waved the deeds under his nose. ‘To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t care if he was the most miserable fellow on God’s earth,’ he joked. ‘Look at me, Archie! One minute I’m standing on the site, wishing and hoping, and the next minute, I’m holding the deeds in my hot little hand.’

Archie gave him a slap on the back. ‘You’re right, matey! It’s time to celebrate!’

John agreed, but, ‘First we must make our way back to the lodgings and tell Harriet the good news. Then I’ll ask if she’d like to come out and celebrate with us. She can advise me as to where I might safely deposit the deeds.’

Archie had his own ideas about that. ‘Go to one o’ them banks that turned you down and shove the deeds under their noses, lad. I dare say this time they’ll fall over themselves to help you.’

John didn’t care much for that idea and said so. ‘Once I’ve tidied the site and made at least one building good enough to work in, I intend starting the business and making money hand over fist. Why should I put my hard-earned profits in a bank that wouldn’t give me the time o’ day when I needed help?’

Archie could see the reasoning behind it. ‘I never thought o’ that.’

John quickened his steps. ‘Harriet will advise me, I’m sure,’ he said hopefully. ‘After all, she’s a businesswoman in her own merit.’

‘So she is,’ Archie agreed loyally. ‘So she is.’ In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Harriet went up in his estimation.

They were entering the alley when Archie sent up a cry. ‘Look there!’ Calling John’s attention to the ragged figure bent over the midden, he declared angrily, ‘Filthy devil! What’s he up to?’

As they approached, they saw how the man was discarding the contents of the midden, obviously looking for food because now, he snatched at a chunk of what looked like bread and rammed it in his mouth. Intent on filling his belly, the tramp didn’t see how John approached him, while Archie stayed back.

‘Don’t eat that filth,’ John said quietly. ‘Go and buy yourself a decent meal.’ Laying a handful of coins on the ground, he stepped away when the man stopped and stared, his mouth stuffed with blackened bread, and his eyes bulbous with fear.

‘It’s all right,’ John assured him gently. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you.’

Now, as the man backed away, John held out his arms in frustration. ‘I only want to help you.’

The tramp continued to study him, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes still open wide, fearful and curious – and deep in the scrutiny there flickered a glimmer of recognition.

Seeing that flicker, which he took to be fear, John said: ‘Have you no work?’

Suddenly, the tramp snatched up the coins and continued to back off, inching his way down the alley, minute by minute widening the distance between himself and John.

Watching him retreat, John was curious; in that moment when the tramp stared into his face, there was a reciprocal stirring of recognition; a deep-down feeling that he knew this man from somewhere. It was unnerving.

There was something about the tramp that made John want to talk with him, to find out more about him.

Now, as the man clumsily stumbled from the alley, John called after him, ‘I can give you work if you want it. Do you know the derelict site by the canal? You’ll find me there most days from now on.’ His voice echoed off the narrow walls. ‘Don’t forget to come and see us. My name is Hanley. Hanley!’

‘He’s gone.’ Archie came up beside him.

‘Do you think he heard me?’ John asked worriedly.

Archie shrugged. ‘Who knows? And even if he did, who can say whether he’s prepared to work? Some o’ these vagabonds are too damned lazy to do anything but scrounge.’

‘Did you see how he stared at me?’ John was still disturbed by it.

Archie had seen, but wasn’t unduly concerned. ‘I expect the poor devil’s mad as a hatter. Most of ’em are.’

The chance encounter played on John’s mind all the way back to Harriet’s lodging-house. ‘I can’t help feeling I know him from somewhere.’

Archie had the explanation. ‘Well, o’ course you do!’ he said. ‘He’s the same fella who spoke to us the other day at the Sailor’s Rest Hotel.’

When John frowned, he went on: ‘We were minding our own business, having a conversation about me not being able to do my work on board ship, when he butted in, said as how the sailors would likely throw me over the side if I didn’t feed ’em.’ He gave a cursory glance up the alley. ‘Cheeky bugger. What’s it got to do with him anyway?’

John lapsed into deep thought.

‘Hey!’ Archie gave him a nudge. ‘Have you gone deaf or what?’

John was still thinking about the tramp. ‘I can’t help feeling I’ve met him before, not at the inn, but somewhere else.’

Shrugging, Archie pointed ahead. ‘We’re back,’ he said, ‘and you can put that fella outta your mind, ’cause you don’t know him from Adam. What’s more, you wouldn’t want to neither.’

On seeing Harriet at the door waiting to greet them, John brought the conversation to an end. ‘Happen I’ll have it out with him when he turns up at the site,’ he remarked hopefully.

Archie laughed out loud. ‘I’ll bet a pound to a penny you’ll not clap eyes on that one again – unless it’s to see him rummaging about in middens and such. If you want my advice, you’ll steer well clear. He looks a bad lot to me, straight outta prison I shouldn’t wonder – else why would he be tramping the streets, when he looks fit enough to be earning a wage, tell me that, eh?’

Harriet called to them. ‘Get a move on! Lord knows, I’ve been waiting long enough for you to get back! What happened at the sale? Is it good news or bad?’ She opened her tin of snuff and applied a pinch to each nostril, to help hide her emotion. She knew well enough what the news was, but they didn’t know that, and they never would, if she had her way.

So, when John broke the thrilling news to her, she feigned great excitement. And neither he nor Archie were any the wiser.

Not too far away, in the Sun public-house, Emily’s estranged father was also imparting news, but of a different nature. ‘I’ve just seen a ghost,’ he told those who would listen. ‘Fair shook me up, it has.’ Fumbling in his pocket for one of John’s coins, he handed it to the landlord.

‘I’m not surprised,’ the landlord replied with a wink at his other customer. ‘If you will keep roaming the streets at twilight, you’ll see all manner o’ ghosts. That’s when they come looking for your kind.’

‘That’s right enough!’ the other customer remarked. ‘You wouldn’t catch me out after midnight, I don’t mind telling you. That’s when the witches and werewolves go on the prowl. I’ve heard tell how some of your kind get snatched off the streets, never to be seen again.’ His voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes grew wider with every word. ‘Vampires, too. They’re never far away, or so I’m told.’

For a minute the tramp wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not; until he saw the smile and a wink pass between him and the landlord. He grinned at them through his unkempt beard. ‘Go on with you! I’m not that easily taken in.’

‘It’s your own fault,’ the landlord laughed. ‘You left yourself wide open for a joshing, with your talk of seeing ghosts and such!’

Throwing another coin on the counter, the tramp ordered a refill of ale. ‘I didn’t mean that kind of ghost,’ he explained. ‘I meant a ghost from the past … some man I recognised.’ Taking the ale, he swigged it back. Seeing John had given him a real turn.

The landlord saw how shaken up he was and said as much. ‘From the way you’re trembling, I’d say it was somebody you owe money to.’

Michael glared at him. ‘Well, you’d be wrong!’ he said, growing more confident with every gulp of the potent brew. ‘If you must know, it was a young man who lived not far from my farm.’

Seeing the other men look from one to the other with disbelieving expressions, he told them. ‘Oh, aye! There’s more to me than what you see in front of you.’

‘If you’ve got a farm, what the blazes are you doing wandering the streets round the docks?’ That was another customer, a slight fellow with a drooping moustache.

‘Because I choose to, that’s why!’ When the memories came flooding back – of his father, and of Aggie and Emily, he saw again what he had lost. ‘I couldn’t stay, d’yer see?’ he muttered as though to himself. ‘I weren’t strong enough.’

‘Why was that then?’ The landlord took up a cloth and began to wipe the counter.

‘My family … the farm. They were my life.’ Michael recalled the pleasure of bringing in crops and gathering the harvest. There was no greater feeling in the world than labouring under the sun, stripped to the waist with the sun on your back and God’s green and plentiful land stretched out before you. ‘I expect you think I couldn’t work if I tried,’ he accused the two men, ‘but I’ve worked my fingers to the bone on that place, and never regretted a single minute of it.’

‘So why did you leave it?’ The landlord was cynical. He’d heard it all before, from vagabonds and dreamers, who lied through their teeth every time they opened their mouths. He observed Michael, with his filthy beard and grubby clothes, and wondered why this one should be any different.

‘Things just got on top of me.’

Michael mentally relived the events that had combined to bring him to his knees: the bad seasons and failing harvests, the inevitable debts that piled up out of his control, the awful worry of it all, leading to sleepless nights and a kind of madness by day. Then his mother’s passing – the burial of his stillborn son … his eyes filled with tears.

‘I thought I were man enough to deal with it all,’ he said in a choked voice. ‘Only I weren’t, or I wouldn’t be here talking to you, would I?’

The slight fellow with the tash regarded him with suspicion. ‘Under all that dirt and grime, you look able enough to work,’ he observed. ‘It might do you the world o’ good if you turned your hand to a day’s honest labouring. Make a bit o’ money. Get yourself cleaned up and find decent lodgings. You never know, you might eventually find it in yourself to go home and put things right.’

Michael angrily dismissed his suggestion. ‘What would you know?’ he growled. ‘You weren’t there! You know nothing.’

‘Well, I know what I see, and that’s enough!’ The big man felt no sympathy for him. ‘As far as I can tell, you’ve no damned right to feel sorry for yourself,’ he snapped. ‘Wasting your miserable life roaming the back streets, grubbing for food and talking of what you’ve lost, when there are good, hardworking men who would give their right arm to own a farm and have a loving family.’

Michael did not like the picture the other man was painting. ‘Like I said … you know nothing.’

‘Look at yourself!’ the fellow went on heedlessly. ‘You’re a disgrace. You smell o’ dog-piss and midden rubbish, and here you are, telling us you’ve got a farm an’ family to keep you warm, and you expect such as us to feel sorry for you!’

Narrowing his eyes, he gave Michael a suspicious look. ‘Or are you lying? Mebbe you don’t have a farm, or even a family, come to that. Mebbe you’re just a dreamer like the rest of us.’

‘I’m no liar! I worked the farm alongside my father. And I do have a family, just like I said.’ Michael lowered his gaze. ‘The best family a man could ever have.’ Shame engulfed him.

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ The slight fellow’s eyes glittered with hatred. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, eh?’ Prodding Michael in the chest he said threateningly, ‘Well, I’m not so lucky, more’s the pity. I’ve got no family, y’see? There’s no farm neither. I eat, sleep and exist in a back room in some dingy lodging-house. Some days, I’m lucky to earn a crust by sweeping the streets, clearing away the muck that you and your kind leave behind. But I’ll tell you this much, my friend! I can walk down the street holding my head up high, ’cause I don’t beg nor steal from nobody!’

Momentarily silenced by the other man’s outburst, Michael quickly downed the dregs of his ale, and called for another.

‘You’ve had enough!’ Stirred by the slight fellow’s brave words, the landlord took the jug away. ‘What’s more, I don’t like the look of you, so I’ll thank you to leave.’

Seeing how the situation was worsening, Michael didn’t argue. Instead, he bade them good day and made his way out.

He walked awhile, then sat down on the bench outside the marketplace and began to wonder what it would be like to ‘go home and put things right’, like the fellow suggested.

‘I’m not ready to go home,’ he murmured. Made uneasy by the idea of walking back into Potts End, having to face the suffering his leaving must have caused, his courage left him altogether. One day he’d go back and ask Aggie for her forgiveness, but not yet.

Getting up from the seat, he began his aimless wanderings again. Yet in the turmoil of his mind he had not forgotten the incident in the alley. He recalled John’s kindness, and the words he had shouted after him. He found himself repeating them now. ‘ “The derelict site by the canal. You’ll find me there most days”.’

He paused, the merest whisper of a smile lighting his face. John Hanley, he thought with a tut. Whoever would have thought it, eh? And the burning question: Did he recognise me, I wonder?

Michael thought of all the places he’d been to all over Liverpool, and suddenly realised which site John had meant. In fact, many a time he had rested his weary bones in that old outbuilding.

As he moved on, John’s generous offer continued to haunt him. Now, when he was sinking so low he could hardly recognise himself, it was something to think about. But did he really want to see John in such close quarters?

Salmesbury was a small place, where everyone knew almost everyone else. John must be aware of his desertion of family and responsibilities. But then, as he recalled, John Hanley had been sweet on his Emily. So what was he doing here in Liverpool?

Thinking of Emily, his beloved daughter, with her sunny smile, her cheeky plaits and her love of life, Michael fell against the wall and began to weep. Afterwards, when the pain was eased, he squared his shoulders and walked on.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with a need for his family.

But there was a way to go yet.