Tiger Men Read Free Page A

be put out to work when they should be receiving an education. ‘I believe Charlie has not been to school for the whole of this week –’
    ‘Miss Amy made exactly the same comment late yesterday afternoon when she dropped by with the delivery man, Mr Stanford.’ Polly dived in before the lecture could begin. ‘And I made exactly the same reply to her as I now make to you. Charlie will be back at school first thing Monday morning, I promise. Today being Friday, I thought I’d start with a fresh week – give him time to get over his cough and all.’
    Polly wondered briefly whether young Amy Stanford might have snitched to her father about Charlie. The girl was Charlie’s teacher after all, and had queried his absence. But no, she decided, Miss Amy was no tittle-tattle. Besides, Silas Stanford was as cunning as a rat – he didn’t need his daughter to sniff out truancy. It’s just my luck, isn’t it, she cursed, that the old bastard should choose this week of all weeks to run a check on the records.
    Polly Jordan refused to think ill of Amy. She liked Amy Stanford. All the women of Wapping did. That one really cares, they said. Not like the other wowsers and dogooders and toffs. That one has a heart.
    Amy taught at the makeshift charity school the society had established in a nearby warehouse to provide education for the poor. She was a favourite with the children, just as she was a favourite with their mothers when she arrived with the drayman who delivered fresh produce and supplies on behalf of the society. Taking part in the deliveries had been Amy’s own idea. ‘It will be the perfect way to make contact with the people of Wapping, Father,’ she’d said when Silas had voiced his misgivings. ‘I’ll get to know the families of my pupils, I’ll gain the trust of their parents.’ She’d been most insistent. She’d also been right.
    ‘My goodness, Mr Stanford, she’s a breath of fresh air, your daughter, and that’s a fact. It’s always such a treat to see her. And just look what she give me.’ Polly picked up a silk scarf that sat folded on the table and shaking it free she displayed it with pride. ‘Look at that for colour, now. You’d never use it, mind, would you? Silk like that’s just for show.’
    The scarf was bright pink. Silas recognised it.
    ‘I admired the colour was all I did,’ Polly continued, ‘and then suddenly there she is giving it me. Oh she’s a generous girl, your daughter. I’m keeping it for best, mind.’ She stroked the scarf, then refolded it with care and placed it reverently back on the table. ‘Only special occasions for silk like this.’ Special occasions, my arse, she thought. She’d sell the piece at the first opportunity, but it didn’t prevent her appreciating the gift. She enjoyed the touch and the brief ownership of such a pretty thing, but she would enjoy the money it would fetch even more. Miss Amy was a saint, she was.
    ‘I can’t offer you a cup of tea I’m afraid, Mr Stanford, I’m fresh out at the moment.’ It was a lie, but Polly knew tea was the only offer the man would accept, and she had no wish to encourage conversation. She was feeling a little nervy, to tell the truth. Silas Stanford couldn’t possibly know that Charlie had worked several days at Bob Bates’s smithy shop around the corner when Bob’s own boy had been taken sick. But if she were to be asked questions outright, and then if it were to be later discovered that she’d lied, she might risk losing her widow’s monthly rental allowance.
    She heaved herself up from her chair. ‘I did make some lovely lemonade last night though, with the sugar that come yesterday and some of those nice fat lemons that was with the fruit Miss Amy brought –’
    ‘No thank you, Mrs Jordan.’ Silas hastily rose. ‘I can’t stay long, I’m afraid. I have other calls to make.’ Under no circumstances did Silas drink Wapping water unless it was in the form of tea, and even then he always