The Girl from Cotton Lane (8 page)

A loud knocking on the wicket-gate made Jack start and he muttered to himself as he left the office and walked across the cobbled yard.

Chapter Five

The Kings Arms was a small, homely pub. It stood on the corner of Page Street at the Jamaica Road end, and was the favourite haunt of folk from the surrounding backstreets. The landlord Alec Crossley kept an orderly house and his buxom blonde wife Grace was always jolly and invariably found time to listen to the troubles of her customers, even when she was hard put to it behind the counter. On Saturday evening it was busy as usual, but when Sadie Sullivan walked in the public bar on the arm of her diminutive husband Daniel, Grace soon found herself listening to her troubles.

‘That bleeder ain’t bin in ’ere, ’as ’e?’ Sadie asked.

Grace shook her head. ‘No, luv. I ain’t seen nuffink of ’im. Anyfing wrong?’

Sadie leant on the counter and looked furtively right and left before putting a hand up to her mouth and whispering, ‘I fink ’e’s up ter no good.’

Grace smiled reassuringly. ‘Billy’s a good boy, Sadie. ’E wouldn’t do anyfing wrong.’

‘I would ’ave agreed wiv yer at one time,’ Sadie replied. ‘Since ’e’s bin in wiv that crowd from the Tunnel, though, ’e’s a changed boy. Me an’ Daniel’s worried sick about ’im, ain’t we, Dan?’

Daniel nodded dutifully and sipped his pint, wishing that Sadie would refrain from airing their private business to all and sundry.

‘’E went out at four o’clock an’ ’e was all nervy. ’E told me ’e might be late an’ not ter wait up,’ Sadie went on. ‘’E knows very well I can’t sleep till ’e’s in. It’s that bloody gymnasium. Since Billy’s ’ad that gym on ’is mind ’e’s bin like a cat on ’ot bricks. ’E said ’e needs a lot o’ money ter get it started an’ that’s what’s worryin’ me. ’E could be up to anyfink.’

Grace had seen the irritated look on Alec’s face and she patted Sadie’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, luv, Billy’s all right, mark my words,’ she said quickly as she moved away to resume serving.

When William and Nellie Tanner walked into the public bar Sadie found another ready listener, and Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. Now he had the opportunity to stand at the counter with one of his mates and talk about other things.

‘It’s a good job, an’ the money’s not bad,’ William was saying in answer to Daniel’s enquiry. ‘Trouble is, I miss workin’ wiv those ’orses. I ’ad a long stint wiv Galloway an’ I was gutted when I got the push an’ we ’ad ter get out o’ the ’ouse. Nellie was ’eart-broken. She misses that little ’ouse of ours. That bloody gaff we’re livin’ in now is gettin’ ’er down. Bacon Buildin’s should ’ave bin pulled down years ago, if yer ask me.’

Daniel nodded. ‘We brought our tribe up in that ’ouse of ours an’ I wouldn’t change it fer no ovver place,’ he declared. ‘It’s got a lot o’ memories too. After our two boys was killed I wanted ter move out but Sadie wouldn’t ’ear of it. She was right. I wouldn’t move now.’

William knew just how Daniel felt. It had been the same for him and Nellie when James, their eldest son, was killed in France. It was bad enough losing one son, but to lose two must have been almost unbearable. He sipped his pint and thought about his other two boys. Danny the youngest had settled down in his job as a lighterman and seemed to be popular with the local girls. Charles had been wounded in the fighting but had recovered and signed on as a regular at the end of the war. He was now in India, and judging by his last letter he appeared to be enjoying life out there. Charles had always been the quiet one, William recalled. He had always had his head stuck in a book and never allowed anyone to get him flustered. It was losing that young lass of his that made him sign on, William knew full well.

‘’Ave yer ’eard from young Charlie lately?’ Daniel asked suddenly, as though reading his old friend’s thoughts.

‘We got a letter from ’im only the ovver day,’ William replied. ‘’E seems fine. Nellie worries over ’im though. It broke ’er ’eart when ’e told ’er ’e was orf ter India.’

Daniel nodded sympathetically. ‘Mind you though, it was prob’ly the best fing, when yer come ter sum it all up,’ he remarked. ‘It was a terrible fing losin’ that young lass the way ’e did.’

‘Poor Charlie never could understand ’ow it come ter ’appen,’ William said quietly, staring down at his pint. ‘I’ll never ferget that night when we got the news she’d bin drowned.’

Daniel slapped down a florin on the counter and caught the landlord’s eye. ‘C’mon, Will, let’s ’ave anuvver pint an’ try ter cheer up. Sadie’s bin givin’ me the bloody ’ump the way she’s bin goin’ on about our Billy. She’s sure ’e’s gonna end up in prison the way fings are goin’. It’s that crowd ’e’s runnin’ aroun’ wiv. Mind you, they’re a nasty bunch, from what I can make out of it.’

The three young men stood a few yards apart from their confederate in the quiet empty street by the river and waited. The sound of Freddie the Nark banging on the small iron gate reverberated along the silent turning and Billy Sullivan winced.

Freddie was confident that the watchman would open up. He and Tony McCarthy had plied their unwitting accomplice with drinks that night in the pub and they had gleaned that Clark’s Wharf was guarded by a conscientious old-timer who was living with his frail and ailing sister. It had been enough to set Freddie’s agile mind working, and he grinned expectantly to himself as he heard the watchman’s voice.

‘Who’s there? What d’yer want?’

‘C.I.D. Paradise Street police station,’ Freddie called out in his most cultured voice, putting his face up to the closed wicket-gate. ‘Mr Price?’

‘That’s me,’ Jack answered.

‘I need to come in, Mr Price. It’s urgent,’ Freddie told him.

The watchman had been schooled in security and he had been told not to open the door under any circumstances. Should there be any emergency he was to phone Dockhead police station, or they would phone him if they had reason to call.

‘I ain’t ’ad a call from the station,’ Jack called out suspiciously. ‘Where’s yer warrant card? Slide it under the door an’ let’s ’ave a look at it.’

Freddie gritted his teeth in agitation. The old boy was being difficult, he cursed silently. ‘Look, Mr Price, I had no time to collect my warrant card. We were called out to Ship Street an hour ago. It’s your sister Peggie.’

‘What’s ’appened to ’er?’ Jack asked fearfully.

Freddie rubbed his hands together and made a sign to his waiting friends. This would do it, he thought. ‘I’m afraid she’s had an accident,’ he went on. ‘One of the neighbours called us. They said they heard a scream and the sound of breaking glass. When we got there she was lying in the front room. She’s in the Rotherhithe Infirmary, Mr Price. I’m afraid she’s been badly cut. She wants to see you. We’ve got a police car waiting. One of our men will take over until we get you back here. Hurry, Mr Price, it’s urgent.’

The watchman stepped back from the wicket-gate. ‘All right, I’ll get me coat. You wait there,’ he called out.

Freddy nodded reassuringly to his friends. After a short time had passed he began to tap his foot on the kerb impatiently. It had gone very quiet. As he waited the young man began to feel the tension knotting his stomach. It was the feeling he got while watching out for the bookies when the police were in the area. ‘C’mon, Mr Price. Hurry,’ he called out loudly.

There was no answer, and suddenly all Freddie’s experience, all his intuition told him to leave, but fast. Panic seized him and with a sudden curse he turned away from the wicket-gate of Clark’s Wharf and gestured at the others to get away. He broke into a trot and the three surprised young men did likewise, aware that something must have gone wrong. Freddie felt his fear growing and he was running now through the quiet riverside lane. He did not stop until he was back in Brunel Road, where the warren of local backstreets seemed to offer safety.

Frankie and Chopper were on Freddie’s heels, but Billy had not been able to keep up with them. His chest felt as if it was going to burst and he felt sick and dizzy as he settled down to a steady plod. Whatever had gone wrong was not important to him now. He felt suddenly light, as though the burden of the last few days had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. When he last few days had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. When he finally turned into Brunel Road and stopped to catch his breath the others were nowhere to be seen. Billy pulled up the collar of his coat and rammed his hands deep into his trouser pockets, feeling suddenly cold as he plodded on. It was when he finally reached the end of the turning by the Rotherhithe Tunnel entrance that he saw the three standing together across the street. The pawnbroker’s clock showed five minutes to the hour and Billy suddenly remembered that Tony McCarthy was due and his friends must be waiting for him. As he hurried across the street Freddie spotted him. ‘Where d’yer get to?’ he asked irritably.

Billy looked at him derisively. ‘What’re you up to then?’ he countered.

‘It’s gone wrong,’ Freddie replied. ‘’E was phonin’ the police, that’s what ’e was doin’. That’s why I said ter scarper.’

Chopper suddenly pulled on Freddie’s arm. ‘There ’e is!’ he said excitedly, pointing.

Billy stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Tony McCarthy was driving a solid-tyred Leyland lorry that had the words ‘Salvation Army’ emblazoned along its canvas sides and on a board fixed above the cab. Tony had seen the four standing dejectedly on the street corner and he put his foot on the brake pedal, bringing the vehicle to a shuddering halt.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said as he jumped down from the cab.

‘The ole bastard twigged it. ’E left me roastin’ outside the gates while ’e went an’ phoned the police,’ Freddie moaned.

‘’Ow d’yer know?’ Tony asked, suspecting that Freddie had lost his nerve at the last minute.

‘I could tell,’ the Nark replied. ‘I get that feelin’ in me guts when it’s dodgy. It’s the same when I’m narkin’ out. I can always tell.’

Tony scratched his head and a sour grin appeared on his handsome face. ‘’Ow we gonna get our money back? I’ve already ’ad ter fork out fer the lorry. Fifty shillin’s it cost me,’ he growled. ‘I ’ad ter spin the geezer a tale that I was usin’ it ter move a poor family out o’ the buildin’s where I live.’

‘Yer ain’t gotta take it back yet. Let’s go fer a ride,’ Chopper butted in, his large flat face breaking out into a smile.

‘We could go up ter ’Ampstead. I ’eard it’s lively up there on Saturday nights,’ Frankie said quickly.

‘’Ampstead’s bleedin’ miles away. It’ll take too long,’ Tony replied, shaking his head. ‘It’ll ’ave ter be somewhere nearer.’

‘I know, let’s go over the water ter Poplar. That ain’t far from ’ere,’ Chopper said helpfully. ‘It’s only the ovver side o’ the tunnel.’

‘What’s so bleedin’ good about Poplar?’ Freddie chimed in.

‘It’ll be a ride, an’ we can come back over Tower Bridge,’ Chopper suggested.

‘C’mon then, let’s get goin’. I don’t feel safe ’angin’ around ’ere,’ Freddie said, climbing into the cab.

‘Where we gonna sit?’ Chopper asked.

‘You lot can sit on the back,’ Freddie said grumpily.

Billy felt a sudden anger towards the shifty-eyed character. ‘Move over, I’m gettin’ in there alongside you,’ he said sharply. ‘I ain’t climbin’ up the back.’

The lorry set off with Chopper Harris and Frankie Albright sitting on the floor of the lorry, their arms resting on the top of the tailboard. Tony was humming to himself as he drove along but Freddie sat silent, sulking over the raid that never was. Billy felt the wind rushing into the cab as the lorry trundled through the tunnel and he felt relieved. It was all so ridiculous, he thought, allowing himself to get involved with these motley characters. It was the chance to get some big money on the quick which had swayed him. The chance to buy the land for the gymnasium had disappeared for the time being, but it was not the end, he told himself. He would raise the money somehow.

The lorry had not long come out of the tunnel when Tony suddenly clicked his tongue and applied the footbrake. A uniformed policeman had stepped out from the kerb up ahead and was waving them into a side road.

‘They’re on to us,’ he groaned, wondering whether he should put his foot down on the accelerator instead. Billy felt his heart sink but Freddie remained calm. ‘It’s all right. Leave the talkin’ ter me,’ he said as Tony turned left and stopped the vehicle by the kerb.

‘Evenin’, lads,’ the constable said affably. ‘There’s a water main burst down by Lime’ouse Church so yer’d be better goin’ via Cable Street. I saw the emblem on the front o’ the lorry as yer drove up an’ I guessed where yer was goin’.’

‘That’s more than we ’ave,’ Freddie mumbled under his breath.

‘Strikes me there’s a lot o’ good bein’ done at them meetin’s,’ the policeman said cheerfully. ‘Don’t mind a drink meself, but I was never one ter get drunk. Moderation is what I say. That’s the trouble, yer see. Too many people can’t ’old their drink an’ they can’t say no. It’s the likes o’ them should be at those meetin’s, an’ if your people manages ter convert just a couple o’ drunkards each time then they’ve done a good job. I see a lot of it, as yer would imagine.’

The three young men sat in the cab totally confused by what he was saying, but Freddie smiled benignly at him nevertheless. ‘You’re perfectly right, constable. I think strong drink is damnation. I think it’s worse than fornication in the eyes of the Lord,’ he declared, nudging Billy with his elbow.