Copper Kingdom

The sun was pale and weak, peering intermittently through the grey, scudding clouds. High winds swept the branches of the trees as if trying to shake free the last few remaining leaves. From within the warmth and comfort of the Canal Street Laundry office, Mali sat staring through the small window into the yard.

She sighed heavily. Ink ran from the nib of the pen in her hand, blotting the clean page before her, but she did not notice.

Her mind turned again and again to the first time she’d seen her father after his terrible accident. When one of the coppermen had come to fetch her, telling her that Dad had been taken to the infirmary down on the beach, she could not believe it. Only a few minutes before, or so it had seemed, she had been giving him his grub pack.

She had known at once that Davie’s wounds must be serious for it was rare for any copperman to be taken to the infirmary, the workers preferring to treat their burns with a mixture of beets soaked in vinegar.

Mali had almost swooned clean away when she’d walked trembling into the long ward. Her father was lying flat on his stomach and the face turned towards her seemed shrunken, chin and nose jutting forth in a cruel caricature of himself.

She had felt tears hot and bitter pour down her cheeks but it didn’t matter for Davie couldn’t see her, couldn’t see anyone, he was in some limbo of his own, the edges of his mind blurred with constant medication.

Afterwards, the doctor had told her gently that Davie would never walk again for one of his legs had been so badly damaged that it was beyond medical skill to repair. But worse, the copper had burned and eroded so badly that although Davie would live, it would be as a eunuch.

Some of Davie’s tew gang had been waiting outside the hospital and one of them, Mali thought it might have been Will Owens, though she could not be sure, had blamed the accident on Sterling Richardson. Apparently, there had been some angry words spoken between the two men, leaving Davie upset. He had seemingly lost his concentration which was a dangerous thing when working molten metal, and had stumbled backwards.

The story was jumbled now in Mali’s mind. She sighed, all she really knew was that Davie still lay in the hospital almost a week after the accident, not speaking or moving, just existing, kept alive by dedicated nursing.

Rosa visited Davie day and night, talking to him softly, holding his hand, trying to coax some response from him, but she did not know, and Mali could not tell her, that she would never be a wife now, at least not Davie’s.

The door of the office opened and a gust of cold wind scattered leaves into the room. Mali glanced up to see Mr Waddington, smiling down at her.

He looked cold, his silk scarf exchanged for a fine woollen one that covered his throat and clung to the bottom half of his face so that he looked like an egg in a cup, Mali thought with a glimmer of amusement.

‘Holding the fort, my dear?’ He closed the door and moved towards the fireplace. ‘I’m sure you are doing extremely well on your own but I do feel that at a time like this, I must at least try to pull my weight, for you’ve enough on your plate as it is.’

‘You shouldn’t be out of bed, Mr Waddington,’ Mali chided him. ‘Your chest won’t be cured if you insist on going out in all weathers.’

Mr Waddington sat down at his desk with his scarf still around his shoulders. He seemed much thinner and his face was colourless, almost parchment-like.

‘Let’s have a good hot cup of tea, shall we dear, and afterwards we shall look at the books together for I fear we are still losing money. Ring the bell, there’s a good girl.’ He stared at her intently.

‘You are not looking hale and hearty yourself, Mali,’ Mr Waddington said gently. ‘I know what’s happened to your father is terrible indeed but if the will is strong then the flesh will heal.’

‘You’re right, of course,’ Mali replied, for how could she place her own burden of knowledge on Mr Waddington’s frail shoulders?

Sally Benson brought in the tea, carrying with her the distinctive scent of the packing room of hot well-ironed linen and suddenly Mali felt nostalgic, wishing herself back in time to when she had never lain with Sterling Richardson, never tortured her mind with regrets and reproaches and more, before Davie had been scarred by the copper. But could she have changed anything, anything at all? She doubted it.

Sally put the cups on the desk with a sniff and a baleful look in Mali’s direction. She still held a grudge and doubtless always would but she was too wary, now, to give voice to her thoughts.

‘Ah, that’s lovely.’ Mr Waddington drank deeply. ‘Just what the doctor ordered. Close the door carefully behind you, there’s a good girl,’ he said as Sally Benson left the room.

‘I’ve been looking over the books very carefully,’ Mali said gently, ‘and I’m afraid the laundry is still not making a profit.’

Mr Waddington looked even more tired as he stared down at the figures in the big red ledger. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders.

‘I know what the trouble is,’ he said tersely. ‘I need new equipment, the old boilers are worn out, take too long to boil the water, so using up costly fuel. I need an infusion of cash. A hundred pounds or so would do it,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps I could raise it in the bank by mortgaging my house but I’m getting old Mali, and fearful of taking risks. I expect I shall simply have to sell out in the end.’

Mali’s heart sank, she needed the wages Mr Waddington paid her for she was now the sole breadwinner and a great deal of her wages were spent on Dad. It was true that sometimes Rosa came home with a few shillings and it wasn’t difficult to guess how she’d earned them and Mali couldn’t blame her. But the girl never offered any money for her keep and even if she had, Mali would have been too proud to accept it.

Mr Waddington put down his cup. ‘But I’ve not come here to talk about my problems. No, I thought you might be able to make use of an afternoon off. Get your coat and nip away sharply and I’ll keep an eye on things here.’ He glanced round him. ‘Though you have everything so well organised that there’s nothing very much for me to do. I expect you’ve made up the wages as usual?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen the incoming bills as well, they’re all filed away.’ Mali rose and drew on her coat though she did not relish going home to the cold empty house in Copperman’s Row one little bit.

The wind blew loudly along the street and furrowed the waters of the canal. A small boy noisily chased his cap along the pavement so that at first, Mali did not hear anyone behind her.

‘Hey you, wait a minute.’ Sally Benson was tugging at Mali’s arm. She still wore her laundry apron and the wind whipped her hair untidily over her face.

‘You’re very thick with the copper boss, aren’t you?’ She did not wait for an answer but spoke again at once, an unpleasant sneer on her face. ‘At any rate when we had that fight he was quick enough to take you away in that fancy automobile just in case I pasted you one.’

Mali felt so beaten down by the events of the past week that she had no spirit to match Sally’s spitefulness. She pulled her arm away impatiently.

‘Leave you alone, is it?’ Sally put her hands on her thick hips. ‘No my fine madam, I’ll not leave you alone. Pay you back I will for hittin’ me and for getting Aggie the boot.’

‘Mr Richardson likes his oats, so I hear.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Had ’em with you I dare say. One thing’s for sure, he don’t clean up the little messes he leaves behind him, no, my Mam has to do that. She’s a midwife, didn’t you know? Did a little bit of work on a lady by the name of Miss Bea Cardigan, she’s from one of them big houses up on the hill.’

‘Just letting you know that servants gossip to my Mam and by all accounts, your rich boyfriend is a right villain. Father of the poor lady’s babba he was and left her in the lurch once he knew of her trouble. Come to my Mam to rid her of the unwanted bundle.’ Sally laughed cruelly. ‘And he don’t want you for anything except to get up your skirt so you needn’t go puttin’ on any airs and graces to me.’

Mali forced herself to walk away and made her way unseeingly past the Mexico Fountain. She hurried along Green Hill, clasping her arms around her stomach feeling sick, wanting only to get indoors and shut herself away from the world.

By the time she let herself into the house, she was trembling and as the smell of rancid fat drifted towards her, she retched and was forced to go outside to the privy. She leaned weakly against the whitewashed walls, trying to regain her breath.

When she was feeling slightly better, she changed from her good clothes into an old skirt and blouse and set to work on the house. Lifelong habits came to her aid and soon she had a cheerful fire burning in a shining grate. When the water was boiled Mali washed the soiled floor, scrubbing hard so that the accumulated grime disappeared. But it was only after an hour’s intensive work that the kitchen looked more like its old self.

Mali sat down with a cup between her hands and enjoyed the blaze of the coals, watching as the flames danced and quivered, and she sighed with weariness.

In spite of everything, Mali could not find it in her heart to blame Rosa for leaving the greasy dishes in the sink or for the thick dust that had lain undisturbed for days on the furniture, for the girl devoted her time to visiting Davie at the infirmary. She sat with him for hours on end, trying to talk to him and awake some response.

Thoughts of Davie were too painful for Mali to dwell on and so she turned her mind to the problems of the laundry. If only she had the money needed to help Mr Waddington, then she might be able to save the business for him. She had seen ways of economising on small things like soda and soap and new scrubbing boards to replace the old worn ones that tore at the sheets instead of cleaning them. But most of all, savings could be made on the organisation of the delivery of the linen.

At the moment, it was quite a random affair. The errand boy took out the horse-drawn van, moving from one end of Sweyn’s Eye to the other haphazardly. This wasted valuable time and Mali had worked out a more sensible rota which she had not yet shown to Mr Waddington.

Her idea was to call on a given area on the same day and at the same time every week, both collecting and delivering the laundry. This would do away with the necessity of making several journeys to the same place and folks would soon become used to the new method. She sighed, what was the point of thinking about it? All her small ideas put together were not enough to save the laundry from closing.

She was startled by a loud knocking on the door and when she opened it Dai End House was standing on the step, cap twisted in his hand. He smiled at her in embarrassment as Mali stepped back to allow him indoors.

‘Saw you come home early, I did, merchi,’ he said, ‘thought I’d just tell you about the collection.’

Mali pushed the kettle back onto the flames. ‘Collection, what do you mean, Dai?’ She stared at him in bewilderment as he stood at the table and emptied his pockets. He spilled coins everywhere, they fell onto the floor and Dai grinned apologetically.

‘All us from the Mex have been puttin’ together for Davie, a whipround just to show we’re thinking of him. There’s money from the crowd at Maggie Dicks too, goodhearted lot they are even though none of them are coppermen.’

Mali felt tears burn her eyes. ‘There’s kind of everyone,’ she said quickly. ‘Tell them thank you from me and from Dad. Will you have some tea, Dai?’ She moved the kettle so that the water hissed through the blackened spout but Dai End House shook his head.

‘No tea for me, merchi, you know I likes my ale too much to spoil my gullet with tea. Now if there’s anything you want doing, man’s jobs round the house or anything, just let me know and I’ll get a gang over here so quick you won’t see my feet move.’

He left her and she heard him whistling plaintively as he walked away down the street, and she bit her lip as she looked down at the hard-earned money he had brought her.

The coins amounted to five pounds, a good sum, more than some men would earn in two weeks, and Mali was touched and grateful for the gesture. She swept the money into an old tea tin and put it on the shelf, knowing that the day might come when she would be very glad of it.

She was just about to change from her damp skirt and blouse into fresh clothes when there was another knock on the door. Wearily Mali rubbed her hand across her eyes and brushed back her tangled hair, wondering who else would be coming to call on her. She was in no mood for talking to neighbours, however well intentioned, and she only hoped that whoever it was would not stay long.

Her heart almost stopped beating when she opened the door and looked into the windy street. Her face felt suddenly hot as though it had been slapped and she stepped back a pace instinctively.

‘Sterling.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. He moved past her into the kitchen and Mali stared at him in anguish. He stood tall and elegant, his bright hair falling across his forehead, his deep blue eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. In spite of everything, all she longed to do was to rush into his arms.

‘No, don’t touch me!’ She pushed back a strand of tangled hair and stared up at him, loving him so much that the pain of it swamped her senses. He stood upright, his eyes bright and hard. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stared at her for a long moment in silence.

The tension between them was almost tangible. Mali closed her eyes briefly and the sensation of lying in his arms enveloped in his love was so strong that she felt almost faint.

‘Then you won’t listen to any of my explanations,’ Sterling said in a hard voice. ‘We must talk, Mali, surely you realise that?’

‘Why talk?’ she said fiercely. ‘Do you think words can right the wrongs you’ve done me and mine?’

He looked away from her, shaking his head. ‘Mali, what happened to your father was an accident, a terrible, awful accident but I had nothing to do with it.’

She wanted to believe him, to go and put her head on his shoulder and cry out all her hurt and pain, but she could not.

‘Did you and Dad have words about me just before it happened?’ she asked more quietly. Sterling stared at her, his eyes clear.

She took a deep breath and turned her back on him, closing her eyes, refusing to hear any more even though he was explaining that he had offered Davie a new job away from the copper.

‘Don’t say another word.’ She spoke in a hard voice. ‘You wanted me for one thing only, used me as you did that poor lady, Miss Cardigan.’

His hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him once more and his eyes were lit by anger so that they appeared deep violet.

‘What are you talking about?’ His grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘Bea Cardigan is an adult woman and what happened between us was over before I’d made love to you.’

Mali bit her lip, even now he would not admit that he was the father of Miss Cardigan’s child and that he had done wrong by her. ‘Just go,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more to say, I don’t think I ever want to set eyes on you again.’

‘Oh, don’t you now.’ He pulled her to him and Mali struggled uselessly for a moment. He was so close that their breaths mingled and their hearts seemed to beat together as one. Slowly but surely, his lips moved to hers and clung. Mali ceased to fight and lay quiescent in his arms. Love seemed to flow between them, enveloping them in a mist of emotion. She was sinking into a great whirlpool which was carrying her ever downwards.

Mali became aware then that his lips were not tender but savage and bruising. Fool! The word rang in her mind and she pushed against Sterling so fiercely that he released her. She moved away from him and stood behind the table, that formed an effective barrier between them. He stared at her, his eyes cold now like blue ice. Mali rubbed at her lips, trying to erase the sting of his kisses. He had treated her like a woman of the streets and if he had intended to wound and hurt her he had succeeded.

‘Will you just get out of my life and leave me in peace?’ She spoke bitterly, resisting the temptation to cry out to him that he loved her, must love her for she had given herself to him body and soul. Pride came to her aid and she straightened, smoothing back her hair, her face set, her lips pressed together to stop them trembling.

He moved to the door and then paused, his hand going to his pocket. He drew out a package and dropped it on the table.

‘Don’t plan on refusing this,’ he said, ‘it’s compensation for your father’s injuries. It is not charity but comes from a fund set up for cases such as these.’

‘Cases such as these,’ Mali repeated after him, ‘and money is supposed to make up to my father for all that’s happened to him, is it?’ She paused and there was contempt in her eyes. ‘Isn’t there any humanity in you at all?’

He was opening the door when he spoke his voice was curt. ‘There will be an enquiry into the accident and you can be sure that the blame will be placed squarely where it belongs. Does that satisfy your need for revenge?’

‘Take your blood money and go,’ she said, stung into anger once more. She was on the verge of tears but she would not reveal one hint of weakness.

‘It’s not yours to return,’ he replied. ‘Your father works for the copper company and if he refuses compensation then that’s entirely up to him but I believe he will show better sense than his daughter.’

Mali remained silent as he left the house, there was nothing more she could say. As the door clicked quietly shut, she put her hands to her face, feeling empty and alone.

‘Sterling, come back to me.’ She whispered the words, knowing that now he would never hear them from her lips.

A coal shifted in the grate and Mali knew she must build up the fire, anything to keep herself occupied. Soon she would go to see Dad again and she must try to appear cheerful even if he didn’t recognise her.

‘But he will know me, he must,’ she whispered desperately. She made herself some tea and the hot fragrant liquid soothed her a little. Reluctantly, she turned to look at the package Sterling had left on the table.

Several bundles of notes fell onto the scrubbed boards and Mali realised there must be at least a hundred pounds there. Not much to a man like Sterling Richardson but enough to keep herself and Dad for more than a year. She put the package away inside the old tea tin with the rest of the money. She must talk to Dad, tell him of the kindness of the neighbours and of the generosity of his boss. The first part would be easy enough but to speak of Sterling would break her heart.

She picked up her coat and let herself out into the street. Dai End House was playing ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ on the accordion and Mali’s lips quivered. But then she was composed once more, nodding to Dai, passing the time of day with him just as if her world had not broken into fragments all around her.