Don’t Cry Alone Read online

  Pausing outside the door to Tyler’s room, Florence Ball swung round. Settling her thick neck into her round dumpy shoulders, she eyed Beth with a kind of arrogance, surveying her slim shapely form and envying her dark bold beauty. She thought about her own Toby jug appearance, and bitterness touched her deep inside. She had never been that lovely; never been lovely in any way. Even as a bairn she was always squat and ugly. There was only one fella who’d ever fancied her, and that was because he was too bloody drunk to see his hand afore his face. Now, envy caused her to reveal her deeper, more secret thoughts. ‘I were never pretty, yer know. Never ’ad but one fella.’ She laughed at the memory, but it was a sad forlorn little laugh. One fella in all her life! And God alone knew, the fella in question weren’t no bleedin’ catch neither. But she was forced to grasp whatever opportunity came her way, and seeing as it might be the only time when she could tempt a fella to lie atween her fat white thighs, she had made that night a night to remember.

  ‘One good man is all a woman wants,’ Beth reminded her.

  The woman shook with laughter. ‘Yer right! Only this bugger didn’t stay long enough fer me to find out what he were med of, because the very next morning, the blighter took one look at what he’d crushed in his arms so willingly the night afore, and didn’t stay a minute longer than it took for him to pull on his bleedin’ pants.’ She chuckled at the memory. ‘I mustn’t grumble though,’ she said, ‘because he did show his appreciation after all… two silver shillings on account, and a thank you that took nine months in the making… three long days of unforgettable pain to deliver, and the past sixteen years to mature. I called her by the name o’ Fanny, cause it was “Fanny” that got her mammy in trouble. Although the little sod never was partial to the name I give her… soon as ever she were old enough to backchat she changed it ter “Annie”. Meks no difference though, she’ll allus be “Fanny” ter me, whether she likes it or whether she don’t.’ She sighed noisily. ‘Naw, dearie, I ain’t never been nothing but dowdy and unattractive,’ she moaned; at the same time thinking how her one good feature had been her thick dark hair. Although even that was an eyesore these days. Looking longingly at Beth’s luxurious hair, still stunningly beautiful even though it was now limp and bedraggled by the earlier downpour, Florence Ball wondered why some folk got nothing outta life and others got it all. But then she corrected herself. There wasn’t a soul on God’s earth that didn’t have a cross to carry; not even the lovely Elizabeth Ward. Her cross was her mother… the ‘lady’ who had come up from nothing and was now more hated and feared than the worst ruffians who stalked the streets of London. Esther Ward was a curse! If she had her way, every house in the East End would be ripped up by the roots and the poor sods in ’em planted in the graveyard. This daughter of hers though… now she was a different kettle o’ fish altogether. Be careful, Florence warned herself. There was ‘them’ and there was ‘us’, and it were allus best to be suspicious o’ ‘them’… however gentle and kindly they might seem. Nor should she forget that she was owed money. And she wouldn’t be doing right by herself if she didn’t wring every penny she could out of this ’ere ‘lady’. Conscience never filled a hungry belly, nor would it keep a roof over a body. Poor folk such as herself couldn’t afford no conscience. Where there was hard brass to be made, it paid to keep sharp – and that’s just what she intended to do… keep sharp until she had a fistful o’ money. Money that was hard earned. Money that was honestly got by. Money of a kind that she might never clap her old eyes on again. Oh, aye! She’d make damned sure that she got her just rewards… although somewhere in her old heart, she felt the stirrings of sympathy for this particular young lady; for she was a ‘lady’, unlike the other one who’d bred her.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Ball.’ Beth’s voice was warm and sincere. She waited patiently for the woman to open the door and admit her into the room.

  ‘Hmph!’ The woman’s smile took the shape of a grimace. ‘Thanks don’t count fer nothing. But money, well now, that’s a different matter agin. But there, go on in, dearie.’ When Beth brushed past her, she added in a low intimate voice, ‘I’ll see you’re not disturbed.’ As she closed the door on Beth’s slight figure, she clutched her two hands across her enormous hanging bosom, bent herself forward and quietly chuckled at her own mucky thoughts. Still chuckling, and with an agility that belied her round bulky form, she scurried away.

  As the old woman disappeared down the stairs, a younger figure stepped from the shadows on the gloomy landing. Young, tall and far too shapely for her age, the girl had witnessed the whole scene between the two women. Leaning against the cold damp wall, she continued to stare at the door of Tyler Blacklock’s room. In her mind’s eye she could see the two of them in there; the man who had awakened such passion in her; and the woman… oh, the woman! A woman of stunning beauty. A woman of compassion and goodness. The kind of woman a man would follow to the ends of the earth. ‘Not like me,’ the girl murmured bitterly. ‘A man might look at me and think of one night, maybe two. But not a lifetime. Never a lifetime!’ Her small brown eyes glittered with a strange mixture of hatred and longing. Her finely chiselled features stiffened with resolve. Ever since Tyler Blacklock first came to this house, she had wanted him; wanted him like any woman might want a man. In a few days’ time she would be sixteen. She smiled, her voice soft and passionate as she whispered, ‘You might not think I’m woman enough for you, Tyler Blacklock, but I’ve been woman enough all along, if only you hadn’t been blinded by her!’

  The hatred deepened in the hard eyes. When he was brought home badly hurt and helpless as a babe, she had been secretly delighted, thinking that at long last this was her opportunity. Helping her mother to bathe that strong lean body, seeing his splendid nakedness, and being close to him during the long dark hours, had raised in her a great longing. When he grew stronger and more alert, she had loathed her mother for turning her away; warning her to keep quiet about her part in the nursing of Tyler Blacklock. ‘There’d be ’ell to pay if either of ’em knew I’d let a filly like you loose on ’im!’ Florence Ball’s only concern was for her ‘payment’ and she didn’t want it jeopardised in any way. She had seen the longing in her daughter’s eyes and had been amused by it. She had not seen what lay beneath, though. She had not seen the envy and the obsession. She had not reckoned with her daughter’s cruel and possessive nature.

  All this time Florence Ball’s daughter had skilfully disguised her deeper feelings; biding her time and waiting for the opportunity that must surely come. It was ironic that when the opportunity did come, it was in the form of Elizabeth Ward herself. A certain thought had quietly festered in the girl’s devious mind, until it grew and blossomed into her every waking moment. A plan! A devious and spiteful plan, that was twofold. First, it was designed to separate Elizabeth from her man; and secondly, it could fetch a deal of money in its wake. Here the girl softly laughed. How could it fail? What! The daughter of Esther Ward coming into a place like Lewisham Street and visiting a fella in his own room. My! What would it be worth to keep that little scandal quiet, eh? But not yet. Not just yet. Not until she had a heart to heart with her old mammy. Florence Ball was not a born trouble maker and so she might take some persuading. Ah, but a drop o’ the old stuff would do it. Oil her with a measure of whisky, and Florence would open up like a flower in spring. She quietly chuckled. It was a well-known fact that if you gave folks enough rope, they would likely hang themselves.

  As she strolled across the landing and passed within a few inches of Tyler’s room, the girl paused, leaning into the door and listening intently. There was no sound from within. Her expression darkened. But then she remembered a saying of her mother’s: ‘Everything comes to he who waits’. Well, she did not intend waiting much longer. Patience was not one of her virtues. Now, as she anticipated imminent rewards, her devious expression changed to one of delight. She would have been even more delighted if she had known how, at that very moment, events were already underway which
would pay her more handsomely than she had ever dreamed of…

  * * *

  Inside the room, Beth stood for a moment by the door, her dark eyes resting on the sleeping figure in the chair and her heart going out to him. This was the first time she had seen him out of bed since that night in Whitechapel when he was so viciously attacked. Those first few days when it seemed as though she might lose him had been a nightmare. Even in his pain he had insisted that Ben should: ‘Take her away from here!’ Yet in those desperate early hours she had defied him, staying by his side, until Ben persuaded her that her presence there could put both herself and Tyler in a deal of danger. For herself she was not concerned, but Tyler was helpless. Beth knew how Esther had hounded him; how she would go on hounding him. And if her mother ever discovered that she was still seeing Tyler, there would be no hiding place for him.

  Ben had been a tower of strength. It was he who persuaded Florence to keep her tongue still about the affair, although it cost him dearly. But it was money well spent; particularly when that sly old woman produced a man of dubious character, but one blessed with detailed medical knowledge; a man with a dangerous thirst for the fiery liquid, and an appetite for young innocents that had brought him to the attention of the courts, and reduced his fortunes to the level of the poorest vagrant in Lewisham Street. The sight of the deep and ugly wounds had sobered him up long enough to stem the flow of blood and save Tyler’s life. Afterwards he returned every day until the danger of infection had passed. Mrs Ball, who everyone knew was not a ‘Mrs’ at all but who enjoyed the title all the same, was a surprisingly capable nurse. Like the hapless doctor she was encouraged to give of her best by the promise of a weighty purse.

  Moving quietly so as not to waken him, Beth ventured further into the room. It was a surprisingly spacious if gloomy place, the one small window overlooking the backyard, and beyond to where the belching chimneys of the adjoining houses coloured the skyline with a thick grey vapour. The room was sparsely furnished but clean. The double bed was topped and bottomed with brightly polished brass railings, and covered by a huge floral eiderdown. Above it, there was an oak-framed seascape nailed to the wall, the scene being somewhat obscured by the brown layers of tobacco smoke which, over the years, had firmly adhered itself to the glass. At the far end of the room, two dark panelled doors led into a walk-in wardrobe. Beneath the window was a long dressing table with curved front and large ornate mirror; close by was a wicker chair with a blue padded seat, and nearby stood a small oak set of drawers. Just visible in the gloomiest corner was a tiny handbasin with a mirror over, and a square patterned rug of indistinguishable colours covered most of the worn linoleum. In spite of the sparsity of its furnishings, the room was respectable and surprisingly welcoming. The one other chair, deeply padded with a high back, was the one in which Tyler was presently sleeping.

  Laying down the tapestry bag, Beth tiptoed across the room, her gaze intent on the sleeping man. Pausing before him, she smiled, thinking how like a child he looked, with his mouth slightly open and his dark hair falling tousled across his face. There was colour in his face now, a faint blush that told her at long last he was on the way to recovery. Partially dressed, he made a pathetic and loveable sight that endeared him to her even more. His long legs were clad in familiar brown cords and stretched out towards the foot of the bed. He was barefoot, and wearing a dark check shirt with one sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and the other hanging unbuttoned over his lean strong hand. The shirt was open to the waist, revealing a broad expanse of chest covered with a carpet of dark hair from one nipple to the other, and showing part of the dressing that covered his wounds. He had lost a little weight, but his inherent strength betrayed itself in the thick muscular sinews of his neck and shoulders. As she gazed on him a while longer, Beth thought she would never love him more than she did at that moment.

  Afraid to wake him, yet more afraid not to, she leaned towards him, her hand tenderly brushing his face. ‘Tyler… it’s Beth.’ Her voice was incredibly gentle, betraying all the love she felt for him. When he stirred, she kept her gaze on his face, hungry to see her love returned in those dark green eyes that only had to look on her and she was lost.

  In his troubled dreams, he felt her touch, heard her voice, and at once he needed her. Slowly, like a man emerging from suffocating blackness, he came to her. His eyes opened and she was there. ‘Beth!’ Joy flooded through him like a tidal wave, but then he remembered. He winced with pain as he struggled upright in the chair. ‘For God’s sake, Beth, you know you shouldn’t come here!’ Pressing down the pain that throbbed into his every nerve ending, he rose from the chair and clasped his hands over her small straight shoulders, looking down on her with eyes that were both angry and admiring, ‘What am I going to do with you eh?’ he murmured through a half-smile. ‘You’re obstinate, disobedient, and downright determined to go against everything I say.’ ‘That’s right.’ Beth’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. The touch of his hands on her shoulders created all kinds of turbulent emotions inside her. She could feel the strength in him, and knew that his love was every bit as powerful as hers.

  ‘Oh, Beth! Beth! Don’t you realise you could be making trouble for yourself by coming here?’

  ‘You mean my mother?’

  ‘Yes, I mean your mother, and your father… your way of life and the security you have.’ He moaned deep inside himself, raising his face to the ceiling and staring hard at the flaking plaster, as though seeking an answer there.

  ‘None of that means anything to me,’ she told him softly. ‘I love you, Tyler, and I want to be with you. Always.’

  He looked at her now, at those glorious black eyes, at the strong and beautiful features which were so very determined, and he saw the frightening depths of her love for him; frightening only because he knew it could bring her great heartache. But how could he tell her? How in God’s name could he tell her that there was no hope for them – and never could be? ‘Oh, Beth! Beth!’ The anguish was heavy in his voice as he tore himself away from her. From the window he stared unseeingly towards the skyline, the jutting roofs and clustered chimneys all merging with the greyness of another evening. ‘Do you think I don’t love you?’ he asked bitterly, deliberately averting his gaze from hers.

  ‘No, I don’t think that.’ Sensing his struggle, Beth kept her distance. Suddenly she was afraid.

  ‘I love you more than life itself… more than I ever thought possible. I love you too much, Beth. Too much to risk your hatred. Too much to take you away from a life that’s comfortable and safe. I’m nothing, Beth. I’ve got nothing, not even the dignity of work. Oh, I know I’ll get work elsewhere, up north in the mills or the docks perhaps. But it’s not enough, don’t you see? I can’t ask you to share a life that will bring you only hardship. I can’t even be certain that I will get work, or even a place to live. I could be tramping the length and breadth of this country, the same as I’ve done before. Times are hard, and there are too many men chasing too few jobs.’

  All of these things had long been a source of worry to him, and he used the arguments with conviction. Nothing destroyed love more surely than poverty and hardship, and he was not prepared to risk losing Beth in that way.

  ‘I have money.’

  ‘Never!’ He swung round to face her, his eyes blazing, ‘If a man can’t support his woman, he doesn’t deserve her!’

  Beth would not be deterred. She came to stand by the window with him. ‘Is that what I am?’ she asked, forcing herself to look out where the guttering was spewing the rain on to the flagstones below. There was the whisper of a smile on her mouth. ‘Your woman?’ She liked the sound of it, and from Tyler’s own lips it was the most wonderful sound on earth. Raising her head she looked at him boldly. ‘Do you honestly think I care for what I have now?’ she said, the smile slipping away and a serious expression shaping her lovely features. ‘Like you, I have nothing. Nothing worthwhile at least.’

  For a long poignant moment he conti
nued to gaze on her, wishing with all his heart that things could have been different. But they were not, and wishing would not make them so. In the hazy evening light that filtered in through the window, he saw the pain behind her smile. The dark eyes were soft and yielding, tearing at his heart like savage claws; the soft milk-white skin glistened like pearls, pale and smooth against the rich warm colour of her hair. Instinctively he reached out to entwine his fingers in the fine curling strands that fanned her face. When he saw the tears swim into her eyes, his resolve melted. With a moan he clasped her to him, bending his head and resting his face against her hair. She shivered in his arms. The dampness of her clothes and hair became obvious to him. Cursing himself for not realising earlier, he thrust her away at arm’s length, glancing first at her coat and then at her wet, draggle-tailed hair. ‘God Almighty, Beth… you’re soaked!’ With his good arm he tore the coat from her and flung it over the back of the chair. Propelling her across the room towards the crackling fire, he told her firmly, ‘I’ll fetch Florence. You must get these wet things off straight away or you’ll catch pneumonia.’ He turned away.