Catherine Cookson - The Gambling Man

. . . ‘He did on the twenty-fourth day of January steal from his employer, Septimus Kean, Esquire, of Birchingham House, Westoe, the sum of five pounds ten shillings . . .’

The next words were lost to Janie as she watched John George close his eyes and shake his head. It was as if he were saying, ‘No, no.’ Then the man on the floor was mentioning Miss Kean’s name . . . ‘She pointed out to the accused the discrepancy between his entries in the ledger and the amount of money in the safe.’

Rory had always said they hadn’t a safe, not a proper one. She looked towards Miss Kean. She could only see her profile but she gathered that she was thin and would likely be tall when she stood up. She wore a pill-box hat of green velvet perched on the top of her hair. She looked to have a lot of hair, dark, perhaps it was padded. Even the mistress padded her hair at the back, especially when she was going out to some function.

‘The accused argued with her that he was only ten shillings short and he had the amount in his pocket, and he had intended to replace it. He asked her to recount the money. This she did. He then admitted to having helped himself on various previous occasions to small sums but said he always replaced them. He insisted that there was only ten shillings missing. He then tried to persuade her to accept the ten shillings and not mention the matter to her father . . . When taken into custody he said . . .’

Oh John George! Why had he been so daft? Why? It was that girl. If she ever met her she’d give her the length of her tongue, she would that, and when Rory came to himself and heard this he’d go mad, he would that. But it would be some time before they could tell Rory anything.

The magistrate was talking now about trusting employers being taken advantage of, about men like the prisoner being made an example of; about some men being nothing more than sneak thieves and that the respectable citizens of this town had to be protected from them.

‘Do you plead guilty or not guilty?’

‘I . . . I didn’t take five pounds, sir.’

‘Answer the question. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?’

‘I didn’t take five . . .’ John George’s voice trailed away. There was talk between the magistrate and one of the men on the floor, then Janie’s mouth opened wide when the magistrate said, ‘I sentence you to a total of twelve months . . . .’

She shot to her feet and actually put her hand up to try to attract John George’s attention, but he never raised his head.

A few minutes later she stood by the door of the Court House. The tears were running down her face. Her hour was nearly up and she wanted to call in at the hospital. That’s where she was supposed to be. She didn’t know what she would have done or said if the master had been in the court, but he wasn’t there. Oh, John George! Poor John George!

A policeman came through the door and looked at her. He had seen her in the court room, he had seen her lift her hand to the prisoner. He said, not unkindly, ‘He got off lightly. I’ve known him give three years, especially when they’ve been at it as long as he has. He always lays it on thick when he’s dealin’ with men who should know better. He had the responsibility of money you know an’ he should have known better. Anyway, what’s a year?’ He smiled down at her, and she said, ‘Would . . . could . . . do you ever allow anybody to see them for a minute?’

‘Well now. Aye, yes, it’s done.’ He stared at her, then said quickly, ‘Come on. Come this way. Hurry up; they’ll be movin’ them in next to no time. There’s more than a few for Durham the day and he’ll be among them I suppose.’

She followed him at a trot and when he came to an abrupt stop she almost bumped into his back. He opened a door and she glimpsed a number of men, definitely prisoners, for the stamp was on their faces, and three uniformed policemen.

Her guide must have been someone in authority, a sergeant or someone like that, she thought, for he nodded to the officers and said, ‘Armstrong for a minute, I’ll be with him.’

‘Armstrong!’ one of the policemen bawled, and John George turned about and faced the door. And when the policeman thumbed over his shoulder he walked through it and out into the corridor.

The sergeant now looked at him. Then, nodding towards Janie, said, ‘Two minutes, and mind, don’t try anything. Understand?’ He poked his face towards John George, and John George stared dumbly back at him for a moment before turning to Janie.

‘Hello, John George.’ It was a silly thing to say but she couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. ‘Hello, Janie.’

‘Oh!’ Now as the tears poured from her eyes her tongue became loosened and she gabbled, ‘I’m so sorry, John George. Why? Why? We’re all sorry. We’ll come an’ see you, we will. There’ll be visitin’ times. I’ll ask.’

‘Janie!’ His voice sounded calm, then again he said ‘Janie!’ and she said, ‘Yes, John George?’

‘Listen. Will you go and see Maggie? She won’t know, at least I don’t think so, not until she reads the papers. She’s . . . she’s going to have a bairn, Janie, she’ll need somebody.’

She put her hand tightly across her mouth and her eyes widened and she muttered, ‘Oh, John George.’

‘Time’s up. That’s enough.’

‘Janie! Janie! listen. Believe me; I never took the five pounds. Ten shillings aye, but never the five pounds. You tell that to Rory, will you? Tell that to Rory.’

‘Yes, yes, I will, John George. Yes I will. Good-bye. Good-bye, John George.’

She watched him going back into the room. She couldn’t see the policeman now but she inclined her head towards him and said, ‘Ta, thanks.’

He walked with her along the stone passage and to the door, and there he said, ‘Don’t worry. As I said, what’s a year? And you can visit him once a month.’ Then bending towards her he said, ‘What are you to him? I thought you were his wife, but I hope not after what I heard . . . You his sister?’

‘No, only . . . only a friend.’

He nodded at her, then said, ‘Well, he won’t need any friends for the next twelve months, but he will after.’

‘Ta-rah,’ she said.

‘Ta-rah, lass,’ he said, and as she walked away he watched her. He was puzzled by her relationship to the prisoner. Just a friend, she had said.

She walked so slowly from the Court House that she hadn’t time to call in at the hospital and when she arrived in the kitchen she was crying so much that the cook called the mistress, and the mistress said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Janie,’ and she answered her through her tears, ‘No, ’tisn’t . . . ’tisn’t that, he’s . . . he’s still as he was. It’s . . . it’s John George. I know I shouldn’t have but I went to the court, ma’am, and he got a year.’

Her mistress’s manner altered, her face stiffened. ‘You’re a very silly girl, Janie,’ she said. ‘The master will be very annoyed with you. Court rooms are no places for women, young women, girls. I, too, am very annoyed with you. I gave you the time off to visit your fiancé. That man’s a scamp, a thieving scamp. I’m surprised your fiancé didn’t find it out before . . . . What sentence did he get?’

‘A year, ma’am.’

‘That was nothing really, nothing. If he had been an ordinary labouring man, one could have understood him stealing, but he was in a position of trust, and when such men betray their trust they deserve heavy sentences. Dry your eyes now. Go upstairs and see to the children. I’m very displeased with you, Janie.’

Janie went upstairs and she was immediately surrounded by the children.

Why was she crying? Had their mama been cross with her?