The Furys (45 page)

At the top of the street other forms flittered about in the darkness. He made a decision. ‘I can't stay here any longer.' What had he done? Why should he be afraid to go down? Filled with determination now, he walked boldly back again. At the bottom of the street he was pulled up. Where was he going to? Peter held his breath; then he stammered, ‘I'm going home,' and stared angrily at the man in front of him. He was wearing a high collar and pince-nez. The blue band on his arm reminded Peter that the gentleman was a Special – probably an opportunist, certainly a patriot.

‘Home!' said the man. ‘Where the hell is that?' He subjected Peter to a minute scrutiny.

‘I live in Hatfields,' stammered Peter.

‘Then get to hell out of it!' shouted the man, and lifted his arm threateningly. The boy turned and fled. How many miles had he run tonight? Ah! There was the light. At last! He was safe. He was on the Dock Road. Now it was easy. He knew his way back to Hatfields. The road, unlike the street, was badly lighted. The dimmest of lamps shone feebly, but bravely, every seven or eight hundred yards. The boy walked along under the shadow of the sheds. Here the atmosphere was different. From the quays and warehouses came the smells of raw tobacco, of ripe fruits, of seeds, of rope and oils. Suddenly he started to run again. A man had loomed up out of the shadows. ‘Some drunken man returning to his ship,' thought the boy. He had reached Brook Street now. He stopped to get his breath. Before he was aware of it, the man had caught up with him. The boy, seeing him, again drew into the wall and attempted to make himself as small and insignificant as possible. But, as the man hurried past, something about him caused Peter to start. It reminded him of … of … He dashed away from the wall and ran after the man. ‘Desmond!' he shouted. ‘Desmond!' Then he burst out laughing. It was Desmond. It couldn't be anybody else but his brother. He put his hands on his hips, spread his legs apart, and shouted, ‘Desmond! Desmond!'

The man had stopped. He appeared to be uncertain as to where the call had come from. Then he espied the tall figure standing on the kerb, ankle-deep in rubbish. He came hurrying up.

‘Desmond! Desmond!'

The man stood hesitant. ‘I … who …?'

‘I'm Peter. Don't you know me?'

‘Good God! You! What are you doing here?' The two brothers stood staring at each other, lost for words. Then Desmond rushed up to Peter and gripped both his hands.

‘Peter!' he said. ‘Peter! Well, by God! But tell me – tell me …'

They began to walk along towards Bank Street.

‘I was with Dad,' said Peter. ‘I lost him in a crowd. We were going to see Mr Postlethwaite at the Manton Hospital. But we lost each other. And then I met a man, a most impossible person. I have his card in my pocket – look!' He pulled the professor's card from his pocket. ‘Look!' He was excited. His face was very red.

‘Yes. I know. But what are you doing here? I thought you were in Ireland!'

‘No. I've left now. I gave it up. It was a pure cod. I'm going to sea next week.'

Desmond Fury was dumbfounded. He was quite unable to speak. It was extraordinary enough to meet his brother in that way, but to hear that he had left the college, was actually going to sea! Well … he must collect himself. He must get his breath. It was all too surprising. George Postlethwaite was right after all. And he, Desmond, had lightly dismissed it as one of George's tall yarns. They covered the distance up Bank Street, Peter talking excitedly, Desmond listening attentively but maintaining a silence that astonished the boy. But he did not know that such news had taken Desmond's breath away. At the top of the street they pulled up. Desmond put a hand on his brother's arm. ‘Now I must go. It is getting late. Come and see me tomorrow.'

‘Where? What time?'

‘Do you know the Blue Bird Café at the back of Lewis's yard?'

‘Blue Bird Café, Blue Bird Café,' muttered the boy. ‘Oh yes, yes, I know.' He was growing excited again. ‘What time?'

‘About seven,' said Desmond. ‘By God, you've grown! Well, good-night. You must hurry,' he continued; ‘nearly twelve.'

‘Yes. Good-night, Desmond. Good-night.'

They parted. In a few minutes they had disappeared, Peter round one corner, Desmond round the other. A fog-horn began to blow. A fog was rising over the river.

CHAPTER XI

1

Mr Fury was tired. He yawned, stretched himself out in bed, and rolled over. Mrs Fury was already up and dressing. The man closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he hoped to find her gone. Then he would lie at his ease. He yawned again. He wanted to ask her where she was hurrying off to, but something warned him not to question. Her manner. He hadn't slept a wink all night. The woman had been so restless. Her movements, her quick breathing, were enough to make Mr Fury cover his head with the clothes.

In the back room Peter was snoring so loudly that Mr Mangan's feeble efforts were put to shame. Peter had had a nightmare. He had been riding pick-a-back with Professor Titmouse round and round Powell Square. The sun was shining down on them. After a while, the professor collapsed. Peter woke up, stared bewilderedly about the room, then fell asleep.

His mother was now dressing herself in front of the dressing-mirror. She looked at the still figure in the bed. It seemed to increase her own vitality. Now she stood fully dressed. She was wearing the same clothes as she had done on the occasion of her visit to the shipping office to see Mr Lake. On every occasion that necessitated a trip to town Mrs Fury wore the same clothes. They might well have had a label attached to them as they hung in the cheap ply-wood wardrobe: ‘Mr Lake!'

She crossed to the window and looked out. The air was damp and the streets covered with a thin film of rain. Nobody about. Hatfields had not yet come to life. The circumstances and the occasion made it possible for the men-folk to lie back at their ease. The women could do the worrying for a change. She opened the bottom window. In addition to the stale smell from the near-by yard there now rose the smell of frying bacon, of grease, of frying meat. People were getting breakfast ready.

Ten minutes past eight. The woman left the room, closed the door silently behind her, and passed downstairs. She stirred the slack in the grate, put up the tin blower and then opened the kitchen window for draught. The fire was soon blazing. She started to make breakfast. At the same time she was forming plans. Should she see Mr Lake first, or should she go at once with Maureen to see this Mrs Anna Ragner?

She sat down to think it over whilst the kettle boiled. Then she got up and went into the back kitchen to get the tea.

She had decided that Mrs Ragner could wait. Anthony was more important. He had been much in her thoughts lately, and she hadn't had a letter from him since the one she received the day after Peter's return. No. They could not stop the boy's money like that. It was a mistake, and it was more necessary than ever. Her husband's five and threepence was nothing, Mr Mangan's pension a pittance. The allotment money was far more important.

Having poured the tea, she poured out a cup, drinking it standing at the table. She did not want anything to eat. She wasn't hungry, and besides, there wasn't time. She put on her hat (the one from Hobhouse's had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper). This new hat came into her mind now. She would wear that hat on some more auspicious occasion. But nothing warranted her wearing it today. For one thing, it required a decent costume to go with it.

Mrs Fury was now ready. There was only one thing to do. Go upstairs and tell Denny she was going to town, leave orders with him, have him see to Mr Mangan and get his own and the boy's meals ready.

As she opened the door of the room, the man, who had been lying awake under the bed-clothes indulging in the wildest day-dreams, sat up. Better that than to be called. Better to show anticipation than annoyance. The door closed. Mrs Fury stood at the foot of the bed.

‘I'm going now,' she said quietly. She looked back at the door, and as though Peter's snores had prompted it, said quickly, ‘And get that boy up too. He would lie there all day, snoring like a pig, if you let him.'

‘Where are you going?' asked Mr Fury. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, then opened them wide. He leaned forward in the bed and looked, not at the woman's face, but at her hands. The grip upon the bed-rail accentuated their whiteness, their slimness. They seemed to stand out, things apart from her person.

‘That's all,' said Mrs Fury. ‘Oh, and see to Dad,' she added quickly.

‘But where are you going to at this time of the morning?' asked Mr Fury.

‘I'm going to see Mr Lake,' she replied sharply. ‘I thought you knew that already.'

‘How did I know? You never said anything to me about it. But look here. I don't think you'll get down there,' went on Mr Fury. ‘Do you know the whole bloody city is in a state of siege? You can't get near Mile Hill now. They stop everybody. Just turn them back without any questions. Not police this time, but soldiers. If it hadn't been for last night's silly business it would have been all right. But those crowds of Buckos from John's Road have got the authorities' goat. Apart from that, it's dangerous.' Mr Fury worked his way slowly down the bed, clothes and all, and caught his wife's hands. ‘It's true,' he said.

‘Well!' exclaimed Mrs Fury. Slowly she withdrew her hands from the bed-rail. The word ‘Well', and the manner of its utterance, seemed to mock her husband's apprehension and concern. This concern now manifested itself very forcibly, for Mr Fury climbed out of bed and hurriedly dressed. As he threw his braces over his shoulders, he said quickly:

‘It's no joke! You can't just trot off to town as though you were going on a picnic. It's too serious. The authorities are angry and they'll stop at nothing. Haven't you heard about the curfew? You can't get into the street after ten. Believe me, Fanny, you don't know how bad it is. You haven't been to town. I have, and I know.'

He was now dressed. He went up to his wife.

‘Look here! I'll go. Just say what you want doing, and I'll go like a shot. If you went off now, I'd never rest. I wouldn't know what to do. I'd just be worrying all the time. Now then! You get that coat and hat off, Fanny.' His eyes rested on the straw hat and he said petulantly, ‘Aye, woman, you're a caution. D'you know, that morning we went down with your sister to look for the boat, d'you know, Fanny, I didn't mind anything except you wearing that bloody old hat? And after me getting you one at Hobhouse's!'

‘Listen to me,' said Mrs Fury. ‘What would this Mr Lake do for you? Nothing. Well, please understand that I intend to see Mr Lake myself. They are not going to do just as they like with Anthony's money.' Mr Fury resigned himself. They could go on talking all morning, but that woman would never alter her mind. He knew it only too well.

‘All right, woman! You go ahead. If you see Lake I'll raise a cheer. I'll even put a long chalk-mark on this here ceiling. I've told you. You'll get turned back. Why walk six miles for nothing?'

‘Don't be so ridiculous! How do you think we're going to live? I …' Mrs Fury stopped. Mr Fury was looking at her in a peculiar way. They stood facing each other outside the front room door. The combined snores of Peter and his grandfather rose, cutting the silence.

‘If you had not used up that money, and I
know
you have,' Mr Fury's eyes seemed to say.

‘And I have,' Mrs Fury's changing expression supplied the answer.

‘All right, then. Off you pop,' said Dennis Fury.

She'd be back in half an hour, fretting and scolding, if he knew anything.

‘Dad must go downstairs today. See you give him the milk pudding I have just put in the oven. And I have left everything in the kitchen for you. You have nothing to do but light the gas and put the pans out.' She made a move towards the stairs. ‘And keep your eye on that boy,' she added quickly, and her voice seemed to convey a warning note.

‘Yes, yes. Of course. All right. Ta-ta.' Mrs Fury had gone out the back way. Dennis Fury thought, ‘Silly woman. Just won't be told. Won't be told. Determined! Determined! And she knows I know about my money. Aye. My own bloody money that I saved. No need to ask where that went. Well, must go and wake him up.' He stood on the landing and shouted, ‘Peter! Peter! Seven bells. Seven bloody ringing bells,' he said. ‘Get up.' Then he went into Peter's room.

‘Yes, coming!' Peter had shouted, and immediately buried himself in the clothes again.

‘Come on!' said Mr Fury, as he opened the back room door. ‘Your mother's gone to town on business. We have to look after the house today.' He sat down on the bed.

The boy sat up. ‘What time is she coming back, Dad?' he asked. Then he got out of bed and began to dress. He was thinking of Desmond now. Seven o'clock at the Blue Bird Café. He'd manage it somehow or other.

His father was busy filling his pipe. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I never asked your mother what time.'

‘Oh!' Peter carefully folded the blue pyjamas he had received from Aunt Brigid. ‘How is Mr Postlethwaite?' he asked. He stood against the table looking at his father. How old he seemed to be getting, and even smaller each day! A little old man.

‘Oh, he's all right. Silly old beggar,' replied Mr Fury. ‘Well, better get below and see what's doing. I asked your mother three times if she had had any breakfast. “Yes,” she said, “I had breakfast.” But she only lies, Peter. Only lies. The woman eats nothing, and I know it. She's gone down to town to see Mr Lake! That's where she's gone. Sometimes I think your mother is a trump. You ought to be proud of her. The best woman in this street. I was a fool once. She ought never to have come to Hatfields.' They went downstairs.