Gaslight in Page Street (58 page)

Nell shook her head vigorously. ‘Yer fergettin’ one fing, Will. Yer told me yerself Jack’s scared o’ that geldin’. There’s no way ’e would ’ave slept in that stable while that ’orse was in there.’

William did not look convinced by his wife’s argument as he chewed on the bacon. ‘Well, as a matter o’ fact I thought about that meself, Nell,’ he replied. ‘But ’e might ’ave got drunk an’ staggered back, fergettin’ about the geldin’ bein’ in there. ’E could ’ave dropped the lamp in fright an’ set the ’ole bloody place alight.’

Nellie pondered on it as she refilled his teacup. ‘But in that case, surely Jack would ’ave run out o’ the stable before the fire got goin’?’ she said finally.

‘P’raps ’e tried to. P’raps ’e fell over an’ cracked ’is ’ead,’ Will countered. ‘Anyfing could ’ave ’appened. I don’t s’pose we’ll ever know.’

‘It’s a terrible fing ter ’appen but it’s worse when it’s somebody yer know,’ Nellie said sadly.

William pushed his empty plate away and got out his cigarette tin. ‘I know what yer mean,’ he sighed. ‘I was prayin’ fer ’im ter come walkin’ along the turnin’, an’ as the time went on I began ter realise it really was Jack’s body they found after all. We’ve known ’im a few years, Nell. The poor ole sod wouldn’t ’arm a fly, an’ when yer come ter fink of it ’e didn’t ’ave much of a life. That’s why I got so mad at Galloway an’ that miserable-lookin’ boy of ’is. They don’t seem ter ’ave an ounce o’ pity between the two of ’em. All George seemed ter be worried about was that bloody watch of ’is.’

Nellie sat down at the table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘Yer wanna be careful, Will,’ she warned him. ‘They might try an’ put the blame on you fer Jack Oxford gettin’ in an’ startin’ that fire. They won’t fink about the way yer risked yer life ter save them ’orses. From what I can see of it they only need an excuse ter get yer out, so be careful what yer say.’

William looked serious as he carefully rolled the cigarette between his fingers and ran his tongue along the gummed edge of the paper. ‘I keep finkin’ about the way Carrie calmed that geldin’ down,’ he said quietly. ‘If it wasn’t fer ’er I’d ’ave got trampled fer sure. She’s certainly got a way wiv ’orses. Ter be honest I don’t fink anybody else could ’ave managed that ’orse.’

‘She takes after ’er farvver,’ Nellie remarked, giving him a smile. ‘Mind yer, Will, that Joe Maitland was bloody good the way ’e ’elped yer. I’ve never spoken to ’im until yesterday. ’E seems a nice sort o’ fella.’

William blew a cloud of cigarette smoke towards the grimy ceiling. He watched idly as Nellie cleared away the breakfast things, then his eyes slowly travelled about the room. He noticed how the varnish was wearing off the back of the door, and how faded and dirty the flowered wallpaper looked. He had promised Nellie he was going to replace it last summer. He glanced at the sideboard, with the framed photos of the children when they were small, and one of him and Nellie standing together outside the railway station the day they went on the trip to Southend. He gazed at the iron ornaments of torch-carrying maidens and the old clock that needed a shake every time it was wound. He smiled to himself as he noticed the illuminated address Carrie had brought back from one of her suffragette marches which Nellie had placed behind an ornament. He glanced down at the open fire and the brass fender, the copper-plated coal-scuttle that Nellie polished vigorously once every week and the coconut mat which covered the worn linoleum. He noticed the sooty black circles around the gaslights on the chimney-breast and how cluttered and untidy the recess shelves each side of the fireplace were. Most of the bits and pieces belonged to the boys and Nellie had insisted that the things stay where they were while the lads were away. The whole room looked shabby and overcrowded, William thought. The whole house was ramshackle and badly in need of renovation but it was the family home, the house he and Nellie had lived in since they were first married.

On Monday morning Maudie Mycroft swept the house, changed her lace curtains and then whitened her front doorstep. It was still early and she decided to get the copper going. Mondays was always a very busy day for Maudie. She liked to have the house cleaned by midday and there was time for her to do her hair and change into her best bits for the mothers’ meeting at the church. Maudie got down on her hands and knees on the stone floor of the scullery and raked out the ashes from under the copper, then she put in sticks of wood and pieces of torn-up newspaper. Satisfied that all was ready she threw in a piece of rag soaked in paraffin and set it alight. Next she inspected the mousetraps by the door and saw that the bits of cheese were still there. Setting the traps was a job she did not relish, especially when the mothers’ meeting usually began with the hymn, ‘All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small’, and she would find herself thinking about the mice as she was singing it with feeling. Those creatures had to be kept down, Maudie told herself as she walked back into her front parlour. Ernest was frightened of the mousetraps. He had laid them himself at one time all over the house, until he trod on one in the bedroom and ended up with a blackened big toenail. Now he left it to her and she confined the traps to the back door. Ernest had wanted her to get a good mouser but Maudie could not stand cats. They smelt the place out, she thought. Florrie’s place always smelt of cats and snuff. She liked her house spic and span when Ernest got in at night, not smelling of cat’s piss.

The copper was heating up nicely and Maudie took off the lid and threw in her weekly wash. When she got back from the meeting there would be time to run it through the wringer while the scrag of mutton was cooking, she told herself. Monday was always mutton day and Tuesday she would get a nice piece of fresh plaice or a half sheep’s head. Wednesday was going to be a problem though. If Ernest managed to get a full day’s work at the docks she could get faggots and pease pudden, otherwise it would have to be a slice of brawn and a few potatoes. It was no use worrying about the rest of the week, she sighed. It all depended how Ernest’s work went. At least the house would be nice and tidy for him to come in to.

At twelve noon Maudie made herself a cup of tea and decided to do without bread and cheese. There was barely enough for Ernest’s sandwiches and in any case there were always biscuits with a cup of tea at the meeting, she reminded herself. The copper was nice and hot now and Maudie shovelled up some small pieces of coal and threw them in. There was just time to do that bit of sewing before getting herself ready, she thought as she checked that the curtains were hanging right. She should have cleaned those windows, she realised, but they had only been done on Saturday and the neighbours might think she was getting house-proud. Being aware of what the neighbours might be thinking was something Maudie attached great importance to. She had heard Florrie going on about Aggie’s fetish for cleanliness and did not like to think that the same was being said about her.

Maudie was a worrier, and when there was nothing to worry about she invented something. Childless and in her early fifties, Maudie had got religion. Next to Ernest and her tidy home, the church had become the most important thing in her life. Maudie worried about what the other women would think of the black raffia hat that Ernest had bought her as she put it on and secured it with a large hat pin, and she was still worrying as she hurried along the little turning. The day was cold and the wind stung her face as she crossed Jamaica Road and took the short cut to Dockhead Church.

Reverend Mercer was standing by the door greeting all the ladies. She gave him a warm smile as he nodded a greeting to her. When the venerable gentleman smiled back, Maudie felt all fluttery. She was sure Reverend Mercer reserved his best smile for her and worried in case any of the other ladies had noticed.

Maudie took her place and solemn organ notes filled the hall as the short service began. As usual the first hymn was ‘All things bright and beautiful’ and Maudie began to worry about the mousetraps. She heard Reverend Mercer’s musical voice leading the congregation and soon it made her feel better, although his choice of ‘The feeding of the five thousand’ for the sermon made her empty stomach rumble and she worried in case anybody heard it. It seemed an extraordinarily long time before they settled down to their usual tea and biscuits and Maudie got into her customary state in case there were not enough biscuits to go round. All was well, however, and she munched thankfully on a custard cream while the lady sitting next to her went on about her wayward husband.

‘I wouldn’t mind if I was a bad wife,’ she was saying. ‘I worked my fingers to the bone, and what was my fanks? My ’usband ran off wiv this flighty piece an’ I was left ter struggle on. Mind yer, ’e came back. Once ’e found out I’d bin left the ’ouse an’ I was takin’ in lodgers, ’e came back like a shot. Must ’ave thought I was well off, I s’pose.’

Maudie nodded, worrying that the Reverend might overhear them. ‘My Ernest is a very good man, fank the Lord,’ she managed quickly before the woman started off again.

‘Yer should be grateful,’ the woman told her. ‘I’ve not ’ad the best of ’usbands. I was glad ter see the back of mine, in actual fact.’

Maudie was beginning to get confused. ‘I thought yer said ’e came back?’

‘Oh, ’e did, fer a few weeks, then ’e ups an’ goes again,’ the woman said casually. ‘’E wouldn’t allow me ter take in lodgers an’ I ’ad ter get rid of ’em. Mind yer, I took ’em in again after ’e buggered orf, but I wonder if I’ve done the right fing sometimes. I’ve got this bloke stayin’ wiv me an’ ’e’s bin actin’ very strange.’

‘In what way?’ Maudie asked, her curiosity aroused.

‘Well,’ the woman began, looking around to make sure she wasn’t being overheard, ‘this lodger o’ mine left fer work this mornin’ as usual an’ ten minutes later ’e was back. White as a sheet ’e was. I asked ’im if ’e was ill but ’e jus’ shook ’is ’ead an’ went straight up to ’is room. Somefink mus’ be worryin’ ’im, I ses ter meself, ’e’s bin pacin’ that room all mornin’. I went up ter see if ’e wanted anyfing before I came out but ’e jus’ gave me a stare. The way ’e jus’ stared really frightened me, I can tell yer.’

Maudie shivered in sympathy. ‘Yer gotta be so careful, the fings yer read about these days.’

‘I never read the papers,’ the woman said. ‘They’re too depressin’, what wiv all that war stuff.’

Maudie nodded. ‘There was somebody burnt ter death in our turnin’ on Saturday night. It was in this mornin’s papers. As a matter o’ fact they fink ...’

Reverend Mercer’s loud voice interrupted the conversation. ‘Right then, ladies, let us form ourselves into groups for the discussion,’ he called out. ‘Oh, Mrs Mycroft, could I ask you to join our new ladies’ group? You’ll be able to get them started.’

Maudie felt very pleased that Reverend Mercer should single her out and gave him a big smile as she hurried over to join the group.

The other woman was cross at not hearing the rest of Maudie’s story and promised herself she would break a habit and buy a paper as soon as she left the meeting.

Chapter Thirty-four

Detective Sergeant Crawford was not feeling too optimistic as he hurried along Tower Bridge Road on Monday morning. He had had reason to call on Beckford’s the pawnbrokers a few times in the past and had never made much progress. In fact he was sure that Benjamin Beckford was a fence. The man had a shifty nature and always seemed to be in a hurry to get the interview over. From what he had been told by his contacts, Detective Sergeant Crawford gathered that Beckford was not the most popular businessman in Bermondsey. He haggled over the few coppers he paid out on the pledges and was quick to put the unredeemed items in the window, unlike most of the other pawnbrokers in the area, who gave their customers a few weeks’ grace before marking their possessions up for sale.

Crawford strode purposefully past the market stalls that were being set up along the kerb. As he reached the pawnbroker’s shop, he saw a small huddle of people standing outside with bundles, waiting to be admitted through the side door. They looked cold and forlorn, hopeful of a few coppers for a threadbare suit or a pair of bedsheets, and he sighed sadly to himself as he went into the shop and produced his warrant card. The bespectacled young assistant stared at it for a few moments as though unsure what to do, then he disappeared into the back of the shop and returned with the owner.

Benjamin Beckford looked irritated as he waved for the police officer to follow him. When he had made himself comfortable at his desk he looked up disdainfully. ‘Mondays are always busy. What can I do for you?’ he asked quickly.

Detective Sergeant Crawford stared down at the plump, rosy-faced pawnbroker and noted the smart grey suit he was wearing and the expensive-looking rings on his podgy fingers. He smiled inwardly. He had been stationed in the East End and Hoxton before moving to Bermondsey and never had he seen a struggling pawnbroker. They seemed to thrive on poverty and deprivation, he thought to himself, and wondered how the fleshy-faced character before him felt as he undid the bundles and haggled over pennies with the hard-up folk waiting outside. Crawford produced a crumpled receipt from his coat pocket and put it down on the desk.

‘I need some information about the person who purchased that item, a silver watch-and-chain, and gold medallion,’ he said. ‘As you can see from that receipt, it was one of a batch of items you bought from the station.’

The pawnbroker waved Crawford into a chair as he studied the crumpled slip of paper, his hand stroking his smooth chin. ‘I can’t keep a record of all I buy and sell, officer,’ he said officiously. ‘But I do seem to remember this item. It was an unusual medallion. Might I ask why you need the information?’