.’
Charlie’s face puckered, and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know all the facts, but I had an uncle – he was a boxing promoter. You know the kind – “Gentleman Jim” – with more money than he knew what to do with. Well, Pop took some tart to a boxing match – you know, bare-knuckle job. What the hell he was doing there I don’t know. But then he was a bit of a social climber, ya know, maybe thought it was infra dig. But he dragged poor old Freddy with him, and a bunch of debs too – not, I hasten to add, my dear mother, she’d never have been seen dead at a boxing match.’
Edward could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling again, and he started to feel cold, icy cold.
‘Well, go on,’ he said.
Charlie continued, ‘Well, it all got out of hand and some blokes raped a gypsy girl. Then this tart tried to make Pa take her home. Well, he paid her off, and all of a sudden these horrific murders started, they called them the revenge murders . . . the gypsy revenge murders. Seems the lads who raped the girl were found bound and gagged, throats slit. Oh, yes . . . and some weird markings on their forehead, or so the story goes.’
Edward stared at his tie. It was hanging down the door like a noose, a hangman’s noose.
Charlie yawned and sat up, rubbing his head. ‘Next thing, this whore reappears, saying she’s going to stand as a defence witness for this gyppo, who was charged with the murders, and she wants Pa and Freddy to act as witnesses because they were at the fight. I think she wanted them as character witnesses, not for the gyppo but for herself, so you can imagine what a scandal that would start up . . . so they refused. Then Gentleman Jim, Uncle Charlie, swashbuckles his way into town. He wants this gyppo for his boxing stable, so he organizes all the legal buffs, and gets poor old Pa into such a state that he agrees to appear. He also gets Lord Freddy to stand up for this dreadful woman.’
‘What was she called?’
‘Dear God, I haven’t the slightest. You’ve no idea how tough it was trying to get that much out of Freddy, and he was pretty tight so I’ve no idea how much of that was true. Ma won’t even discuss it, says that if that tart hadn’t made such a fuss, Pa would never have had a relapse.’
‘What happened to the fighter?’
‘No idea. I was just getting to the nitty gritty when Freddy got all tearful . . . Apparently, this old bastard uncle, the gent I owe my name to . . . well, apparently he was a tough negotiator, blackmailed Freddy and Pa . . .’
Edward interrupted. ‘How? What did he have on them?’
Charlie stared at Edward, finding his interest a little distasteful. ‘Freddy never said what made them step forward, but . . . Look, what’s it to you?’
‘But what?’
Charlie’s face tightened, then he shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s just deserts.’
‘I don’t follow?’
‘I didn’t really intend you to, old boy . . . It’s not something one likes to broadcast, but Clarry knew. Maybe that was why he couldn’t wait to get to the front, get himself shot in a decent hero’s death.’ He ran his hand along the name scratched on the bedpost, tracing the childish letters over and over with his fingers. Then he stuffed his hands back into his pockets, no longer joking; Edward felt that he was ashamed.
‘The old man, Edward, turned custard yellow and fled. He left his entire regiment to be hacked to death, that’s why he’s loony. He can’t face the past, can’t face the truth . . .
C’est la vie
, huh?’
Edward knew who the fighter was, knew the woman Charlie had referred to as a ‘tart’ was his mother, but he showed no sign that anything Charlie had said had affected him personally. He spoke flippantly, hoping to get more information. ‘So what happened to the tart and the fighter?’ he asked.
Bored by the subject now, Charlie picked his nose, then lurched to his feet, dismissively. ‘God only knows. No
Charlie’s face puckered, and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know all the facts, but I had an uncle – he was a boxing promoter. You know the kind – “Gentleman Jim” – with more money than he knew what to do with. Well, Pop took some tart to a boxing match – you know, bare-knuckle job. What the hell he was doing there I don’t know. But then he was a bit of a social climber, ya know, maybe thought it was infra dig. But he dragged poor old Freddy with him, and a bunch of debs too – not, I hasten to add, my dear mother, she’d never have been seen dead at a boxing match.’
Edward could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling again, and he started to feel cold, icy cold.
‘Well, go on,’ he said.
Charlie continued, ‘Well, it all got out of hand and some blokes raped a gypsy girl. Then this tart tried to make Pa take her home. Well, he paid her off, and all of a sudden these horrific murders started, they called them the revenge murders . . . the gypsy revenge murders. Seems the lads who raped the girl were found bound and gagged, throats slit. Oh, yes . . . and some weird markings on their forehead, or so the story goes.’
Edward stared at his tie. It was hanging down the door like a noose, a hangman’s noose.
Charlie yawned and sat up, rubbing his head. ‘Next thing, this whore reappears, saying she’s going to stand as a defence witness for this gyppo, who was charged with the murders, and she wants Pa and Freddy to act as witnesses because they were at the fight. I think she wanted them as character witnesses, not for the gyppo but for herself, so you can imagine what a scandal that would start up . . . so they refused. Then Gentleman Jim, Uncle Charlie, swashbuckles his way into town. He wants this gyppo for his boxing stable, so he organizes all the legal buffs, and gets poor old Pa into such a state that he agrees to appear. He also gets Lord Freddy to stand up for this dreadful woman.’
‘What was she called?’
‘Dear God, I haven’t the slightest. You’ve no idea how tough it was trying to get that much out of Freddy, and he was pretty tight so I’ve no idea how much of that was true. Ma won’t even discuss it, says that if that tart hadn’t made such a fuss, Pa would never have had a relapse.’
‘What happened to the fighter?’
‘No idea. I was just getting to the nitty gritty when Freddy got all tearful . . . Apparently, this old bastard uncle, the gent I owe my name to . . . well, apparently he was a tough negotiator, blackmailed Freddy and Pa . . .’
Edward interrupted. ‘How? What did he have on them?’
Charlie stared at Edward, finding his interest a little distasteful. ‘Freddy never said what made them step forward, but . . . Look, what’s it to you?’
‘But what?’
Charlie’s face tightened, then he shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s just deserts.’
‘I don’t follow?’
‘I didn’t really intend you to, old boy . . . It’s not something one likes to broadcast, but Clarry knew. Maybe that was why he couldn’t wait to get to the front, get himself shot in a decent hero’s death.’ He ran his hand along the name scratched on the bedpost, tracing the childish letters over and over with his fingers. Then he stuffed his hands back into his pockets, no longer joking; Edward felt that he was ashamed.
‘The old man, Edward, turned custard yellow and fled. He left his entire regiment to be hacked to death, that’s why he’s loony. He can’t face the past, can’t face the truth . . .
C’est la vie
, huh?’
Edward knew who the fighter was, knew the woman Charlie had referred to as a ‘tart’ was his mother, but he showed no sign that anything Charlie had said had affected him personally. He spoke flippantly, hoping to get more information. ‘So what happened to the tart and the fighter?’ he asked.
Bored by the subject now, Charlie picked his nose, then lurched to his feet, dismissively. ‘God only knows. No
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