by Jim Eldridge
‘It’s only me, I’m afraid. Mr Wilson has another appointment. Are you sure you can cope with answering questions?’
‘If it helps find the bastard who killed Ma and Cousin Kathleen,’ said Breda grimly.
‘Did you know about Kathleen going to the barracks?’
Breda nodded. ‘Ma took her on Tuesday.’
‘Your mother went with her?’
‘Yes. Kathleen had only arrived the day before and Ma said she’d get herself lost if she tried to find it on her own. So Ma left me to look after Sean and Margaret while she took Kathleen to the barracks.’
‘Did they say anything when they got back?’
‘No, but Kathleen looked upset, so I guess things didn’t go like she’d wanted.’
‘Did she say why she wanted to go to the barracks?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t ask her?’
‘It wasn’t my business,’ said Breda. ‘I guessed it was something to do with a soldier.’
‘What to do with a soldier?’
Breda looked at her and winced. ‘You know what soldiers are like with women.’
‘You thought a soldier might have got Kathleen into trouble?’
‘It’s happened to others,’ said Breda.
‘But Kathleen had only just arrived in Manchester,’ pointed out Abigail. ‘There wouldn’t have been time for a soldier from the barracks here to get her in trouble.’
Breda shrugged. ‘Maybe the soldier who’d got her in trouble had been in Ireland and then moved to England. Or maybe she said she’d just come from Ireland, but she hadn’t. Maybe she’d been somewhere near, like Bolton or Stockport.’
‘But why would she lie?’ asked Abigail.
‘I don’t know,’ said Breda. ‘People do. Anyway, she was upset.’ She gave a sly smile. ‘That’s why she hit Dapper Dan.’
‘Dapper Dan?’
‘Dan Daly’s his name, but they call him Dapper Dan because of the fancy waistcoats he wears. It was that evening and she was sitting out on the street with me – I was trying to find out more about where she’d come from, and why; she said she was from Mallow in the old country – when Dapper Dan comes along and starts chatting to her. Fair play to her, she knew what he was up to. I left them to it and went indoors, because I knew what Dapper Dan was after from her and I didn’t want to listen to that kind of talk. Ma always said if Dapper Dan tried to talk to me, to walk away from him. Suddenly I hear this smack, and a yell from Dapper Dan. I went out, and there he was, bending over and holding his face, as Kathleen hit him again, a real hard one that almost knocked him over.’ She chuckled. ‘It was wonderful to see. Well, Dan was all raging at her, telling her he’d sort her out, but she just pulled back her arm to let him have another one and he went off fast.’ She gave a smile of admiration as she added, ‘Kathleen may have looked like a quiet one, but she had a fire in her and she wasn’t afraid.’
‘She sounds like she’d be a good person to have on your side.’
Breda nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. I’d really have liked to have got to know her. But there wasn’t much chance for that. I had to go to work at the mill, and by the time I come home the house is always full, so there wasn’t much chance to talk.’
‘You shared a bed, I understand,’ said Abigail.
‘Yes, but along with Marie and Molly, and with Oona and Margaret on a mattress next to the bed. So there’s no place for talk that means anything. The girls need their sleep.’ She gave a thoughtful frown, then said, ‘There was another man who called looking for her. A stranger. A toff. It was the next day, the Wednesday.’
‘What did this man want?’
‘He asked if the young woman who’d come to the newspaper office was in. I said I didn’t know who he meant. He said she’d come to ask about the army, so I knew he must mean Kathleen. I didn’t know she’d gone to the newspaper office, but later I heard from Peter that she’d asked him which was the best local newspaper. Peter’s the one who reads, see.’
‘He didn’t ask for her by name?’
‘The toff said he’d forgotten it. But that he’d met her at the newspaper office. The Manchester Guardian.’
‘Did you tell him her name?’
Breda gave a smirk of a smile and shook her head. ‘I’m too wise for that. I told him again I didn’t know who he was talking about.’
‘But he knew the address she was staying at.’
‘He said she’d given it to him, but I didn’t believe him. Then he gave me a card with his name on and asked me to give it to her. I was going to give it back to him, but he went before I could. Anyway, I kept it just in case he might have been telling the truth and gave it to Kathleen that night.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She looked at it and said it must be the man she’d met at the newspaper who’d told her about the museum. She asked me what he wanted with her. I said I didn’t know, he didn’t say.’
‘What did she do with the card?’
‘It looked like she was going to throw it away, but then she stopped and put it in her bag.’
‘Do you remember the name on the card?’
She gave Abigail a smile. ‘I remember it because he told me. William Bickerstaff.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As Abigail and O’Brien walked back towards St Michael’s, Abigail told him what she’d learnt from Breda.
‘It seems that Kathleen lost her temper with a man called Dapper Dan. Dan Daly, I believe.’
‘Him!’ snorted the priest with heavy disdain and disapproval.
‘Another of your parishioners?’ asked Abigail.
‘Thankfully, no,’ said O’Brien. ‘I’m not sure what religion he is, if any at all. He’s a loathsome man who preys on young women, and he seems to target those who are single who arrive on their own from Ireland. I’m told he watches the boat train and makes a note of any obviously poor young women arriving carrying a large bag.’
‘Prostitution?’ guessed Abigail.
O’Brien nodded. ‘At first he charms them, then he tells them he can give them the chance to make more money than they can working in the mills, and easier.’
‘From what Breda said, he obviously made that offer to Kathleen, and she hit him,’ said Abigail. ‘I like this young woman. She had spirit. It makes me more than ever determined to find out who killed her and bring them to justice. Do you think it’s possible this Dan Daly was the one?’
‘It’s possible, although I’ve never heard of him killing anyone. I know he beats the women when they won’t do what he says, but there’s been no mention of knives.’
‘But it is possible?’ pressed Abigail. ‘Especially if none of the women have hit him before. And publicly, for all to see. That won’t have done his reputation any good. Some of his women might start to think they could react the same way.’
‘And so he kills her as an example to them?’ said O’Brien. He looked doubtful. ‘It seems unlikely. For one thing, if he was going to do it he’d select somewhere other than the museum to do so. Daly is a coward. There’d be too big a risk of him being caught there. If he was going to do something like that, he’d choose a spot where he wouldn’t be likely to be seen. And somewhere in the slums, not in a place like the museum.’
‘Actually, Father, on that same topic, I wonder if you’d heard any rumours about other men preying on the young women in your parish. The poorer young women.’
O’Brien gave a snort of derision. ‘Endlessly!’ he said. ‘When they’ve taken drink it seems to be worse.’
‘I don’t just mean the men in your parish, I was wondering about educated men.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Like a reporter on the Manchester Guardian, William Bickerstaff, for example. Breda said he called last Wednesday asking for Kathleen. Although not by name. We know he met her at the newspaper office the day before.’
O’Brien frowned thoughtfully. ‘Bickerstaff. The name isn’t familiar to me. But that’s not to say it may not have
happened. Some men from what could be called the upper strata are attracted to women who appear poor and vulnerable.’ He scowled. ‘It’s not much different to what Dapper Dan does, except those sort of men don’t do it for the money. But it’s still taking advantage of women who are vulnerable and at a disadvantage.’
Daniel was already back at the hotel when Abigail arrived.
‘How did it go?’ he asked.
‘Most interesting. We have three new suspects. One is an escaped murderer called Con Gully, and another a pimp called Dan Daly. Dapper Dan Daly, the locals call him, because he wears fancy waistcoats.’ She filled in him on what she had learnt about both men from the priest and from Breda. ‘Of the two, this Con Gully sounds the sort who’d kill without compunction. Father O’Brien thinks it unlikely the other one, the pimp, would have had the nerve to stab Kathleen in such a public place as the museum. He says he would have chosen somewhere more private, like a quiet back lane.’
‘Yes, that makes sense but he’s still worth bearing in mind. You said three new suspects.’
‘The third is one we’re familiar with. William Bickerstaff. Apparently he turned up at the house in Ancoats looking for the young woman he’d met at the newspaper office. This was the day before she died. He told Breda he’d forgotten her name, but I don’t believe that.’
‘Kathleen never told him it,’ said Daniel.
‘And if she didn’t tell him her name, I don’t believe she told him where she was staying. So how did he find out?’
‘He must have followed her,’ said Daniel.
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Abigail.
‘Remember what Inspector Grimley said about him. Maybe there’s something in it. I think I need to have a word with Mr Bickerstaff.’
‘I wonder if we oughtn’t to take this information to the police,’ said Abigail thoughtfully.
‘Inspector Grimley hasn’t been very receptive so far. And we know he’s biased against Bickerstaff.’
‘Perhaps there’s another inspector we can take it to. This Superintendent Mossop that Bickerstaff told us about.’
‘Grimley was the investigating officer in Kathleen’s killing. Protocol says that any information has to go to him.’
‘But he’s declared the case closed!’
‘I think we need to look into it and get some stronger evidence before we take it to the police to avoid the risk of them just ignoring it.’
‘How did it go with your military historian?’ asked Abigail.
‘Interesting,’ said Daniel. ‘Peterloo was definitely a military disaster, and a social tragedy. Civilians died, cut down by the soldiers, however much Bleasdale would prefer to excuse it.’
He gave her the facts as Bleasdale had given them to him.
‘That’s dreadful!’ said Abigail, horrified.
‘It is,’ agreed Daniel. ‘And now I think it’s time for us to hear what Bickerstaff calls “the other side of the Peterloo story”.’
‘What other side can there be? The soldiers cut down innocent civilians.’
‘Acting under orders, according to Bleasdale, and therefore innocent. I feel sure that Mr Bickerstaff will have a less tolerant opinion. And after we’ve heard what he’s got to say, when I give you a signal, perhaps you’d find an excuse to slip away so I can talk to Bickerstaff about why he was stalking Kathleen.’
‘What’s the signal going to be?’ asked Abigail.
‘A cough?’ suggested Daniel.
‘Too open to error,’ said Abigail. ‘You might get a bout of coughing halfway through a question, and I hurry out of the door. No, a look will be sufficient, then leave it to me to make my departure.’ She frowned. ‘I must say, the more we find out about Mr Bickerstaff, the less I like him.’
‘Suspicious, certainly,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But let’s hide our feelings about him for the moment; we don’t want to put him on alert when I start probing about him and Kathleen.’
They found Bickerstaff still at the offices of the Manchester Guardian.
‘Just putting the copy of my story to bed,’ he said. ‘It’ll be in tomorrow morning’s paper. How did you get on with Hector Bleasdale?’
‘Most interesting,’ said Daniel. ‘As you indicated might be the case, he gave the official version that favours the army, although admitting that there were tactical errors on their part.’
‘Tactical errors!’ snorted Bickerstaff, outraged. ‘It was bloodthirsty carnage!’
Daniel noticed the few other people in the reception area reacting to Bickerstaff’s anger, concerned looks on their faces.
‘Perhaps it might be better to talk somewhere less public,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, that might be a good idea,’ admitted Bickerstaff. ‘Sometimes I get a bit too excited when things make me angry. But where can we go? There aren’t many places around here where we can talk without people eavesdropping on us.’
‘How about our hotel?’ proposed Abigail. ‘I notice they have rooms available for meetings. We can see if one is free. It’ll certainly be more comfortable than in your office’s little box-room, or the museum, both with the risk of interruptions.’
‘I’ll get my coat,’ said Bickerstaff, and disappeared into the bowels of the building.
‘Good thinking,’ complimented Daniel. ‘The perfect setting for getting him to unburden himself.’
With Bickerstaff in tow, they left the newspaper offices, and a short while later were sitting relaxing in one of the hotel’s small private meeting rooms, this one decorated comfortably as a sitting room. Or, rather, Daniel and Abigail were relaxed; Bickerstaff became agitated once Daniel asked him to tell them about Peterloo, ‘the real story’.
‘The men of the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry were drunk when they attacked the crowd,’ said Bickerstaff. ‘Completely out of control.’
‘So you believe they are the ones at fault, rather than William Hulton.’
‘No,’ said Bickerstaff firmly. ‘Hulton bears responsibility for sending the troops in. As did the government of the time for actually sending troops to Manchester in order to attack the meeting.’
‘You’re sure they did that?’
Bickerstaff nodded. ‘The meeting was organised by The Manchester Patriotic Union. They were connected to the Manchester Observer, which was the radical newspaper of the time, by a man named Joseph Johnson. Johnson wrote a letter to Henry Hunt in London asking him to chair the meeting and speak. Johnson’s letter was intercepted by spies of the government and read before it reached him. The government interpreted the letter as a planned insurrection and ordered hundreds of troops to be deployed, but I’ve seen the letter and it was no such thing. Yet the government sent six hundred men of the 15th Hussars to Manchester, along with several hundred infantrymen, four hundred men of the Cheshire Yeomanry, and a Royal Horse Artillery Unit with two six-pounder guns.’
‘Hector Bleasdale mentioned the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry,’ said Daniel.
‘Ha!’ snorted Bickerstaff derisively. ‘Shopkeepers playing at soldiers. A militia made up of tradesmen who hated everyone who subscribed to radical politics, or who had a social conscience.’
‘And they were drunk?’
‘Most of them,’ scoffed Bickerstaff. ‘They were nearest to the event by choice because they were spoiling for a fight. As they weren’t regular army they weren’t under the control of the commander, and all they wanted to do was attack the crowd. There was no reason for them to do that, and with such savagery. The crowd at the meeting was orderly, well-behaved. The journalists who reported on the meeting for the Manchester Observer and for The Times in London both said so in print.’
‘With a crowd of that size, I find that difficult to believe,’ said Daniel. ‘We used to have meetings of radicals when I was in the Metropolitan police, and even a crowd of as few as fifty could turn very nasty if inflamed by a charismatic speaker.’
‘Which is why the organisers of the meeting worked hard to ensure that didn’t happe
n,’ said Bickerstaff. ‘Strict instructions were given to each contingent to make sure their conduct was orderly. Whole communities came, many marching en masse from their hometowns, such as Stockport and Rochdale. It was a happy occasion, full of expectation. There was no trouble. Many of those who attended were women bringing their children, and the menfolk were determined that no harm should come to them.
‘The trouble came about because, as I said, the idiots from the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry were eager to attack the crowd and cut them down to teach a lesson to these so-called radicals, and the instruction from William Hulton to intervene and arrest Henry Hunt and the others was all the excuse they needed. That was the trigger. They charged, cutting women, children and men down left, right and centre with their swords. It was a bloodbath, made worse when Hulton sent the Hussars in as well. There were dead bodies everywhere.’
‘Fifteen dead, I understand,’ said Daniel.
‘Fifteen known dead,’ insisted Bickerstaff. ‘Another five hundred were injured, and it’s not known how many of those died from their injuries afterwards because the injured were afraid to come forward and admit they’d been wounded at the meeting for fear of losing their livelihood. I know of one wounded man whose children lost their jobs at the mill just because he had been at the meeting. The particular mill was owned by one of the Manchester Yeomanry.’ He shook his head and added bitterly, ‘The soldiers and their commanders should have been charged with murder. And the mill owners should have been dragged up before the courts for the part they played!’
‘I understand that one of the speakers alongside Mr Hunt that day was a mill owner, John Knight,’ said Daniel. ‘That his name was on the arrest warrant.’
‘Yes, well, there are always exceptions,’ muttered Bickerstaff grudgingly. ‘Knight was one of the rare mill owners with a social conscience. And that was then, not now,’ he finished firmly.
‘But now in Manchester you have Mr Jesse Haworth,’ said Abigail. ‘A mill owner who I would suggest has a strong social conscience. It was he who put up most of the money to sponsor Flinders Petrie’s recent excavations in Egypt, with the result that the artefacts that were uncovered by Petrie are in the Manchester Museum for everyone to see, not just the privileged.’