Tiger Men Read Free Page B

made sure it was scalding hot and that he could actually see the steam rising from the kettle. Wapping’s water supply came from the Hobart Town Rivulet, and God only knew what sort of disease he might invite should he accept Polly Jordan’s lemonade.
    Silas was wise to practise caution. Upstream, where the rivulet ran cleanly down from the mountain, people imbibed its waters with impunity, but here in Wapping, disease had been known to reach epidemic proportions. Deaths from dysentery, cholera and even typhus were not uncommon.
    He reached a hand into the inner breast pocket of his frock coat and took out a small cloth purse, which he placed on the table.
    ‘There we are, Mrs Jordan: on behalf of the society, your monthly widow’s rental allowance at two shillings per week. Eight shillings in all.’
    ‘Oh Mr Stanford . . .’ Polly’s lisp intensified. ‘It’s so good of you, it truly is. I don’t know how to thank –’
    ‘There is just one way you can thank the society, Mrs Jordan,’ Silas interrupted, ‘and that is to keep your children in school for as long as is humanly possible.’ Which will mean only until they were twelve, he thought. After that, they’d head off for the hop- and apple-picking seasons, which was the way so many of the poor subsisted. But at least, by then, they would have received the elementary education that would serve them throughout life. ‘I cannot stress enough the importance of learning to read and write. Nor can I stress enough the importance of acquiring basic arithmetical skills. It is imperative we safeguard the future of our children, Mrs Jordan, for they are the future of this colony.’
    ‘Oh indeed, Mr Stanford, indeed! My Charlie’ll be back at school on Monday, I swear. Why, little Will’s there right now, learning his sums. He’s clever, that boy. I’m dead proud of him, I am.’
    With four children and another on the way, Polly Jordan couldn’t wait for every one of them to be twelve years old and out picking fruit and hops. She loved each child with a passion, she always had. She’d loved the two she’d lost as well. But she was tired. It was time someone looked after her for a change. Dear Mother of God, she’d earned the right, hadn’t she?
    The interview over, Polly waddled thankfully the several steps to the door, Silas accompanying her.
    ‘I’m delighted to hear that Will is doing so well,’ he said.
    Outside in the lane, as the front door opened, Charlie nudged his mate, and they gathered up their marbles and scuttled out of sight. Best to avoid a lecture, the boy thought.
    ‘I shall see you again in one month,’ Silas said, putting on his top hat.
    ‘That you will, Mr Stanford, and without this, eh?’
    She flashed her toothless grin and clutched her giant belly, and Silas felt himself flush with embarrassment. But to his credit, he did not look away.
    ‘I wish you luck with your confinement, Mrs Jordan. May God watch over you and see you safely through your ordeal.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Stanford.’ Polly wasn’t sure why, in that instant, she felt a desire to communicate with this stern man. Perhaps she was making a personal plea, fearing that the society would no longer support her once the baby was born, or perhaps she felt genuine sympathy for Silas Stanford because of what she’d learnt from his daughter.
    ‘It’s hard bringing up youngsters on your own, isn’t it, sir?’
    ‘Yes, I’m sure it is.’ The question was no doubt rhetorical, but she was looking at him as if they shared a secret, and Silas felt uncomfortable.
    ‘Just as it’s hard losing your loved one to the sea. You’d know that too, wouldn’t you, sir?’
    There was no misunderstanding her now. The starkness of her words and the meaningful look in her eyes clearly stated that they had a common tragedy.
    Silas was rendered momentarily speechless. This is my daughter’s doing, he thought. It had to be. How else could Polly Jordan know of their personal family