A Breaker of Laws/Chapter 6

by W. Pett Ridge

 

CHAPTER VI

Compassion fought satire in the workshop of Barraclough and Co. on the morning following Alfred's arrest. The news, brought by the husband of the cottage-loaf lady, became known at an early hour, and travelled instantly from one noisy whirring building to the others. Alfred was known only to men in his own shop, and not known by them, with the single exception of Finnis, in any close degree, but now that he had become famous, every man affected to have known him intimately; the morning filled partly with the ordinary work, partly with reminiscences. Only a few dared to support William Finnis in asserting confidence in Alfred's ability to clear himself. The wordy foreman went about between the benches wearing triumph as though it were a new hat.

When the bell rang, William Finnis, hurrying out, put aside all thoughts of a meal, and caught a tram to Greenwich. At the stout wooden doors leading to the yard of the police-court a cheerful sergeant informed him that Alfred's case had just been taken, and that he had been remanded for seven days.

'Any chance of bailing him out?' asked Finnis anxiously.

'You a householder?' asked the sergeant in reply.

William Finnis shook his head.

'Then what's the use of talking?' said the sergeant. 'Besides, it's too big a thing for bail. He'll go to Holloway presently, and anyone that's got a right to see him can see him there.'

'Lively!' commented William Finnis with a desolate air.

'Got a mouthpiece for him?'

'Not yet.'

'Try Rook,' suggested the sergeant. 'Rook'll get him through light if anybody can. They might deal with the case summar'ly—mind you, I don't say they would—and that'll be a jolly sight better than his going to the Sessions.'

'What'd it run to?' asked William Finnis.

'Matter of three guineas to start.'

'I can manage that. Much obliged for giving me the tip.'

'Don't mention it,' said the cheerful sergeant. 'I always believe in giving good advice all round.'

At Exmouth Terrace there was an atmosphere of excitement. Matrons, their dresses partially fastened, stood at front doors conversing with ladies whose heads were out of first-floor windows, or with ladies at front doors opposite; small children, taking advantage of the preoccupation of mothers, sprawled about in the roadway, contesting ardently for the possession of one or two pools of muddy water. Mr. Finnis's arrival at the door of No. 18 stopped the chatter; the matrons looked at him with some reproach and astonishment. The door opened cautiously. William Finnis recognised the lady who performed this service as Miss Ladd.

'Have I mistook the number?' said William Finois, glancing at the little white oval plate on the door. 'Name of Bateson.'

'Come inside,' whispered Miss Ladd, with an air of great mystery, 'and walk as quiet as your great clumsy boots will let you.'

In following Miss Ladd on careful tip-toe, he heard a weak, muffled, wailing cry upstairs. The woman conducting him to the kitchen stopped and listened, and then went on again. Finnis knew her by sight; knew her brother, and disliked them both with the heartiness of a plain man who dislikes few people.

'I'll shut the door,' said Miss Ladd, still in a whisper, 'and then our voices won't be 'eard.'

'Is she better?' asked William Finnis.

'Better?' echoed Miss Ladd with great contempt.

'Yes,' repeated Finnis doggedly, 'better.'

'Why, you poor silly man,' said Miss Ladd pityingly, 'don't you know that there's a dear little baby boy come to town?'

'You're joking!'

'I never joke,' said Miss Ladd sternly, 'and if I did I should give off better jokes than that. I called this morning to see her, and——'

'What for?'

Miss Ladd paused.

'There's no 'arm is my telling you,' she said, looking out of the window. 'I'd made up my mind that someone ought to open her eyes in regard to Alf, and to let her know that be 'adn't been the spotless archangel that she seemed to think him. Made me mad, it did, to see her living in a kind of a fool's paradise, and I called this morning with the idea of telling her—in confidence, mind—of one or two things he'd been mixed up in with that brother of mine.'

'Well,' said Finnis, 'you're a bright, pleasant, genial sort of a character, you are.'

'And I would a-done it, too,' she said, turning sharply. 'I'd a-spoiled all her fanciful dreams, and I'd a-let her see him without a mask; but when I come into that there passage, first thing was the news that this had happened. Somehow—I don't know how it was, and what's more, I don't care—but somehow that took all the rage out of me; my paddy was over in a moment. When the young lady that's attending on her told me, I came all over of a tremble, and if anyone had tried to knock me down with a feather, down I should have gone. To think of that dear, tiny little kiddie——'

She stopped and sniffed.

'And of course,' went on Miss Ladd with a new light on her face, 'of course, you can't see the sweet boy; but you may take it from me that he's the finest little scamp that ever was.'

'I ain't much of a judge of kids,' acknowledged William Finnis. 'What I really called about was to see what could be done in regard to Alfred.'

'What's the matter with Alf?'

'Oh, nothing,' said Finnis dryly; 'only locked up.'

'Now, you look here, my good man,' said Miss Ladd, with her knuckles on the kitchen-table, 'listen! You go bothering that poor young mother with this bad news, and if I can't punish you for it I'll get someone who can. See?'

'Shouldn't think of bothering of her,' declared William honestly. 'Hope I know myself better. Things being as they are, it seems to me we ought all to do our utmost not to let her know a word about it.'

'Now, that,' said Miss Ladd with approval, 'is something like sense.'

'I'm going to try and see him, and I'll provide the cash for defendin' of him. What you've got to do is to make up something to explain to her why he's kept away.'

The ground-floor woman shuffled with a hurried nod through the kitchen into the scullery, and returned with a pail of hot water and a long bar of yellow soap. The ground-floor woman has been referred to on previous occasions as one costumed incompletely, and in this regard there existed no important alteration. But it seemed that she had been fired for some reason by the event upstairs to throw aside her usual antipathy to work, and was now engaged in scrubbing her rooms and beating her carpets, her infant being perched up high and well out of the mêlée on a cupboard, whilst her husband, spurred by this burst of unusual activity on the part of his wife, went out to make himself completely drunk before noon. Clad in a light ulster and slippers, and gloves that had in their early youth been white, she was so much pressed for time now that she bustled on without a word to Finnis and Miss Ladd.

'And I 'ope you've given up all idea of telling her what you meant to tell her. It won't do nobody no good, and——'

'Bless the man!' said Miss Ladd, raising her voice impatiently, 'that was only a fit of the tantrums on my part. I'm too much of a woman to do anything spiteful to hurt the poor girl's feelings just now.'

'Good on ye!' said William Finnis heartily.

The door of the kitchen opened, and the bird-like young nurse flew in. Finnis bowed awkwardly, and backed to the dresser; the white-winged young woman as she went to the fireplace corroborated Miss Ladd's testimonial in regard to the new arrival. Finnis managed to hint delicately to her that Alfred was in trouble; whereupon the three put their heads together, and before the young nurse fluttered away upstairs with a small saucepan, the conspirators had agreed that Alfred had been despatched by the firm on urgent business connected with the break-down of a steamer at a distant port; that William Finnis and he were in close and regular correspondence; that Alfred was sending anxious inquiries daily in regard to Caroline and the boy. These messages the flying nurse promised to deliver, and Miss Ladd, as one to whom truth was no fetish to be worshipped absolutely, offered to call frequently and lend aid in this respect.

'And as time and tide,' said William Finnis oracularly, 'wait for no man, I will now take upon myself the liberty of bunkin' off.'

'Time you went,' said Miss Ladd with frankness.

'I only hope poor Elf gets off light. It'll be the death of her when she finds it out.'

'Bah!' said Miss Ladd, 'we women have to put up with a lot, and we gradually get used to it. Besides, I have always told 'em they'd get nabbed sooner or later.'

'I wish,' sighed Finnis, 'that it had been a bit later. Good-day, miss.'

'Go quiet!' ordered Miss Ladd.

In the passage William heard a quiet cough from the top of the stairs. Looking up, he saw the active young nurse holding for his inspection a bundle of blankets, at the top end a red little face with staring eyes. Instinctively, William whispered up the staircase to the little mite of new humanity, 'I see ye, you young rascal you!' and the bundle of blankets moved in the young nurse's arms as though to intimate that he knew a repartee to this remark, and only a want of acquaintance with the English language prevented him from offering it Finnis closed the front-door very carefully, and went up the street under the inspection of the matrons. One of them, the doyenne of all, took it upon herself to interrogate him.

'Bad job about your pal, mister,' said the eldest of the matrons. 'What will he get, d'you think?'

'How should I know?' demanded Mr. Finnis with asperity.

'But,' said the eldest matron, 'you're a friend of the fam'ly, ain't you? 'Asn't she bin told about it?'

'No!'

'Well, then,' declared the lady, 'she ought to 'ave.'

'Look 'ere,' said William Finnis, stopping, 'I've only got two seconds to spare, but I want to say this: if you ladies here have got any good breeding at all about you, if you've got manners that can be called manners, you'll show it by keeping the street as quiet as possible, and not so much as breathing a word about this trouble above a whisper. Of course, if you ain't well-bred ladies, why——'

'I hope,' said the eldest matron, with dignity, 'that we know how to behave ourselves without being told how by an awk'ard slab of a man like you; and you'll find, mister, if you live long enough, that we can conduct ourselves as well as the 'ighest of the 'igh can.'

'Ladies,' said Finnis, lifting his soft hat clumsily, 'you're a credit to your sex.'

Outside the wooden gates of the police-court yard a small, half-interested crowd waited to see the big black van depart. Here the cheery sergeant introduced him to the clerk of a solicitor, and, although Finnis had exceeded the time allowed him for dinner, he felt it worth while to forfeit a few minutes and complete the arrangements. The clerk took particulars, and promised to visit Alfred in Holloway as soon as the money was forthcoming, which important detail Finnis arranged to see to that evening. Going on he caught a tram in order to return to the works. As he went up the steps he looked back. The large wooden gates of the yard were being thrown open; heads of two restive horses appeared and disappeared, not being, it seemed, absolutely agreed on a course of action. Encouraged to decision by a whip, the horses bounded out of the yard into the roadway, the driver holding them well in hand, the large, solid black van with the letters V.R. and a crown for only ornament rocking behind.

Once in the roadway, the horses recommenced their dispute, and it required all the arguments of the sergeant seated by the side of the driver, and all the forcible threats of the driver himself, to again induce them to postpone settlement of their difference in opinion. The small crowd cheered, and Finnis wondered what the men and women boxed inside the vans in their separate compartments thought of it all; wondered, too, being, as a happy fact, ignorant of its solid construction, why Alfred did not force his way through the side and make his escape. It came up now and raced along past the slow, placid tramcar. Sailor boys in the grounds of the Naval School ceased their game of chevy-chase to hurry to the iron railings and see the black van go by; the huge ship, safely anchored in a sea of solid asphalte, was deserted by its crew; on the pavement nurses relinquished the steering of mail-carts in order to watch the van careering away; infants in the mail-carts sat up, open-eyed, anxious to miss nothing in the world that possessed interest. Some of the passers-by made admirable jokes on the subject, saying that they wished they had a chance of a carriage-ride on a fine day like this with no fare to pay, that nobody invited them to stay at a castle, and other remarks of an equally diverting character.

Finnis stood on the top of the tram, watching the van to the end of the road.

'Poor old Elf!' he said, looking absently at the disappearing van. 'He's a child of misfortune, he is.'

The tram gave a sudden jerk. William Finnis lost his footing, and, ejaculating a mild oath, fell head first with a thud on the stone roadway below.