by David Field
‘Indeed I was,’ Percy reassured him. ‘I’m from Scotland Yard, and it may be that we can make some financial contribution to assist in his care.’
‘Never ’eard o’ Scotland Yard doin’ owt like that,’ the man insisted, ‘an’ anyways, ’e’s well provided fer. I’m the boy’s uncle, so bugger off — now.’
‘I have to see the child, in order to complete my report,’ Percy insisted, and the man’s face darkened as it became more menacing.
‘I’ve told yer once ter leave an’ my associate ’ere’s very ’andy wiv ’is fists,’ the man said as he gestured with a jerk of his head towards his diminutive ginger-haired companion.
‘That right?’ Percy asked the smaller man, who look puzzled by the words, but remained silent.
‘Now — yer gonna go, or what?’ the taller man demanded.
Percy nodded. ‘As you insist, but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to recommend any payment from the Metropolitan Police Benevolent Fund.’
‘That’s only fer widders,’ the tall man advised him accurately, and Percy was still asking himself how this rough-looking scruff was aware of that when he stepped to one side, leaving a clear path between the two men that Percy was impliedly being invited to take, which he did, making a mental note to conduct further investigations into the Cameron family.
Jack experienced a strong sense of déjà vu as he stepped into the entrance hall of Leman Street Police Station, shaking the rain from his coat while he walked up to the Charge Desk, with its associated ‘fish tank’ to the left, already beginning to fill steadily as the morning drunks were unloaded from the wagons at the door, or carried in by grunting constables. The Sergeant on the front desk looked familiar, and Jack smiled as he was asked for his name.
‘You don’t remember me, clearly,’ he told the Sergeant, who looked more closely at him, then broke into a grin of his own.
‘Jack Bloody Enright! The last time I saw you was when we brought you up from the cells, charged with murder. Then we were told to release you ’cos you’d croaked the Ripper, even though you weren’t officially one of us at the time. What ever happened to you after that?’
‘A long story, Albert, but none of it would have happened if you hadn’t loaned me your billy club to do it with.’
‘As I recall you all but stole it from me. But what brings you back here — I take it you’re back on the force?’
Jack extracted, and displayed, his police badge with a broad smile.
‘You’re not the only one who made it to Sergeant, as you can see. I’m normally based in Chelmsford these days, heading up a very small and totally inadequate Essex Detective Branch, but I’ve been selected for a special duty, assessing the readiness of Met. stations for the Diamond Jubilee next year.’
‘That some sort of regatta on the river?’
‘No, a bit more than that. The Queen will be celebrating sixty years on the throne, and we’re expecting tens of thousands in the streets, all from different parts of the world.’
‘Sounds like a normal day in Whitechapel,’ Sergeant Preedy grinned, ‘but I hope that means more manpower down here? Right now we’re stretched like a hen’s arse with a duck’s egg in it.’
‘That will depend on my report,’ Jack advised him, taking early advantage of the manpower shortage he’d been relying on as his excuse to ferret through records. ‘To begin with I’ll need to see the beat rosters for the past few months — say, back to July.’
‘You’ll need Inspector Ingram’s permission for that,’ Preedy advised him. ‘And he’s a grumpy bugger at the best of times, although don’t tell him I said so. Do you want me to send word upstairs?’
‘This is somewhat irregular,’ Inspector Ingram advised Jack from behind his narrow spectacles, his gimlet eyes reflecting his disapproval. ‘But since the Home Secretary’s commissioned it, and since it will hopefully mean more manpower for us, I’ll authorise it. If you care to wander down into one of the Detective Branch offices — and God knows, we have enough of those empty at the moment — I’ll have the rosters sent in to you without delay. In the meantime you might want to sample the tea room. It’s one floor up, at the end of the hallway.’
‘Yes, I remember it well.’ Jack smiled as he rose from his chair, leaving the Inspector with a quizzical look in the eyes behind his spectacle lenses.
Shortly under an hour later, suitably refreshed with tea, Jack began his attempt to make sense of the duty rosters from recent weeks relating to the infamous ‘Beat Four’ that would place the constable allocated to it immediately in front of the Bartrams’ warehouse that had been the subject of the arson attack some weeks previously, with the suspected loss of a quantity of army uniforms that the convenient fire had been designed to conceal. Evidently Beat Four was no more popular than it had been in his early days as a constable on the Wapping waterfront.
For several weeks prior to that in which the fire had occurred, the duty had been allocated, on the night shift, to Constable Michael Black, who Jack could only assume was new to Whitechapel, and therefore ripe for being allocated the worst beat in the Division. But at the start of the week in question he’d been inexplicably replaced by a Constable Edward Ainsworth, and it had been Ainsworth on notional fixed-point duty immediately outside Bartrams when the deed had been done. This clearly raised certain important issues that needed further investigation.
First, the obvious one of why Ainsworth had not raised the alarm. Either he’d been disabled, and possibly murdered, or he’d simply turned a blind eye to what was going on behind him, possibly at gunpoint, and too embarrassed afterwards to admit that he’d been rendered powerless. If the latter, there would have been a report from him in the incident file from Special Branch in Jack’s possession on the desk in front of him, and there clearly wasn’t. This left the uncomfortable possibility that Ainsworth had been murdered, or otherwise disposed of, but the quick answer to that would be found in the ‘roll call’ sheets for the following day, which would reveal whether or not Edward Ainsworth had reported for duty on the subsequent night shift. At the same time, Jack could search the roll call records for any clue as to what had kept Constable Michael Black from what should have been his regular beat.
Rather than distract Inspector Ingram from his no doubt onerous and varied duties, Jack went in search of Sergeant Devlin, now an ageing old warhorse who’d been holding down that rank when Jack had been a constable serving under him. Bill Devlin was now allocated ‘Headquarters’ duties following a near riot during the official opening of the ‘Blind Beggar’ public house in Whitechapel Road two years previously, when the brewery that owned it laid on far too much free ale, and poor old Bill had suffered multiple fractures to both legs as he led the police charge against a wall of drunks armed with chair legs.
Part of Bill’s duties consisted of maintaining the manpower records, and he raised no objection when Jack collected the files he needed, claiming that he had Inspector Ingram’s authority to assess manpower strength ahead of possible additions to the roster in time for the Diamond Jubilee. Jack was fortunate that he had already made a note of the home addresses of both Constables Ainsworth and Black and had noted the absence from duty of Michael Black for a week before Beat Four was reallocated — at his own request, Jack noted with suspicious surprise — to Edward Ainsworth, who had not reported back for duty the morning after the attack on Bartrams, or any day since.
Fortunate in the sense that he looked up with mild alarm as he heard a shout of protest from the doorway of the modest office in which he’d installed himself while examining records. There stood a steely-faced Inspector Ingram, who was clearly not seeking a quiet chat regarding Jack’s progress thus far.
‘What d’you think you’re doing, ferreting through the roll call records?’ Ingram demanded, and Jack went for the obvious excuse.
‘If you wish to be considered for an urgent increase in manpower,’ he explained in a measured and, he hoped, a reasonable tone, ‘then I need to assess
where you’re most vulnerable, and I can see immediately that you’ve recently experienced difficulties with regard to men failing to report for duty.’
‘I’m not letting you report back about lack of morale in Leman Street,’ Ingram advised him icily, ‘so hand those records over to me — now!’
‘If you insist,’ Jack returned pleasantly. ‘As it happens, I’ve got what I wanted from them anyway.’
‘Good — then you can bugger off back to Whitehall, can’t you?’ Ingram snarled back at him. ‘Or do I need to have you escorted out?’
‘Hardly,’ Jack continued to smile, ‘since I know the way out from long, and I may say bitter, memory. I thought Inspector Reid was a bit rough on his men, but you appear to have raised the bar a bit higher in that regard.’
‘Out — now!’ Ingram bellowed, and Jack did as requested, needing little encouragement to head downstairs to see if his favourite pie shop from ‘the old days’ was still in business.
‘You weren’t wrong about Ingram,’ he grinned at Albert Preedy on his way out.
Chapter Seven
‘Billy’s doing a magnificent job of scything the lawn as usual,’ Constance Enright observed as she moved back from the sun lounge window extension towards the table in the main sitting room on which Alice had laid out the tea and salmon sandwiches, and on which Esther had arranged the incoming correspondence for the Ladies’ Guild for Constance’s attention. Outside it was overcast, with the prospect of further rain, and Esther was hoping that it would hold back until after she’d been able to collect Lily and Bertie from the Board School that they both now attended.
‘I think he’s only too delighted to be able to live and work so close to Nell,’ Esther replied. ‘They make a really sweet couple, and Jack and I intend to give them a splendid wedding in what I suspect will be the near future.’
‘How good is Nell, really?’ Constance asked. ‘I know you set your heart on giving her a good start after her unfortunate days in that orphanage, but have you been adequately rewarded?’
‘It’s not a matter of reward,’ Esther told her. ‘It’s simply a matter of following your inner urgings to help people who deserve it. Nell was well taught in domestic duties at the orphanage, and she’s a superb cook, if somewhat basic in her repertoire. She’s also taken fully to the other jobs she’s had to learn, like setting fires and cleaning fireplaces, and hopefully after they’re married she and Billy will find a position as a married cook/housekeeper and handyman somewhere close by here, so that we can keep in touch with them.’
‘You must be very grateful for Nell’s company around the house while Jackson’s away all week, irresponsible boy that he is.’
‘I certainly am,’ Esther confirmed, ‘and I’m missing Jack already, after only a day, but I won’t let on when he comes home on Friday. I’ll keep it frosty, just to remind him that he has responsibilities at home that he’s neglecting while he gets into mischief with Uncle Percy.’
‘What are the two of them working on, anyway?’ Constance asked as she bit into her second salmon sandwich.
Esther shrugged. ‘Jack wouldn’t say, but that’s just typical of him, making his work sound all mysterious, when it’s basically just a manpower review, as far as I can tell.’
‘I’d like to think that it’s a little more sophisticated than that, dear,’ Constance replied. ‘Anyway, let’s get on with these letters, shall we? Is there anything from the Bishop’s office about the Harvest Festival?’
‘Not that I noticed when I opened them,’ Esther advised her, ‘although the Bishop was highly complementary during the tea party that followed, so no doubt he’ll get around to writing to express his appreciation. Are you alright?’
Constance had winced, then turned pale. She was rubbing her left arm with a puzzled expression but smiled back weakly at Esther as she gingerly lowered herself into the vacant chair.
‘Just a stab of indigestion, I imagine, although it seems to have quite robbed me of breath. Oh dear.’
Beads of sweat were standing out on her forehead, even though it was only moderately warm in the sitting room that day, with a low-burning fire, and little sun coming through the glass roof of the sun lounge. She continued wincing and grimacing, then fell backwards in her seat.
‘Perhaps if I lie down this dratted pain will go away,’ she suggested. ‘Could you help me to the sofa, dear?’
Thoroughly alarmed, Esther held Constance under the elbow and guided her, doubled up, towards the padded sofa under the window, then helped her into a horizontal position. Esther banged heavily on the window glass until she had caught the attention of young Billy outside, to whom she waved with hand gestures to indicate that he should come into the house. A few moments later, minus his boots, he appeared in the sitting room doorway, and Esther called out urgently, ‘The mistress seems to have been taken ill. Do you know where Dr. Browning’s surgery is?’
When a nervous looking Billy nodded, Esther ordered him to run at full speed and fetch the doctor. Once Billy had disappeared, Esther did what she could to comfort Constance, who was white-faced and complaining of the worst indigestion she had ever experienced. The all-purpose maid Alice rushed in, equally white-faced.
‘Billy says as ’ow the mistress ’as bin taken poorly. Is there sumfin’ I can do?’
‘Just keep an eye out for Dr Browning,’ Esther instructed her, ‘and bring him straight in here when he arrives.’
Some thirty nervous minutes later, Constance was beginning to complain about the unnecessary fuss while Dr Browning stood back up after sounding her chest with the aid of an instrument draped round his neck and addressed himself to Esther.
‘Did you notice if she came out in a sudden cold sweat?’
‘Yes, she did,’ Esther confirmed, as Constance assured them both, yet again, from her prone position on the sofa, that it was just a touch of indigestion — no need for all this fuss.
‘Did you get shooting pains down your left arm?’ the doctor enquired, and when Constance shook her head vigorously, Esther confirmed that she had seen Constance clutching her arm.
‘And I suppose you’re going to assure me that you didn’t experience any breathlessness either?’ Doctor Browning said with a tolerant smile.
‘Yes, I did,’ Constance admitted, ‘but I get that with indigestion.’
‘You also get it with heart attacks, which is what you’ve just experienced in a minor form,’ the doctor advised her as he took out his notepad and wrote something down before tearing the sheet from the pad and handing it to Esther.
‘You’re the daughter?’ he enquired.
‘Daughter-in-law.’
‘Take this prescription to the chemist’s. The tablets have to be taken three times a day, after meals, and your mother-in-law requires at least three days in bed with absolutely no stress or activity. After that, a little gentle exercise each day — perhaps a sedate stroll to the crossroads and back, but no further. And you won’t appreciate me saying this, Mrs Enright, but you need to shed at least a stone in weight.’
After the doctor had gone, there was the predictable argument until Esther persuaded Constance into her bed upstairs with the promise of returning to her bedside the following day and going through all the abandoned correspondence with her. Then before venturing out into what had now become persistent drizzle in order to collect Lily and Bertie from school, Esther popped her head into the kitchen, where the cook was sitting drinking tea.
‘Whatever you were planning for the mistress’s supper, forget all about it and make it either a thin vegetable broth or a boiled egg. And only one slice of toast.’
‘So how did your first day go?’ Percy asked Jack as he leaned back in the armchair in front of the fire that Mary, their daily help, had lit before leaving for the day. Jack sat in the chair opposite his and protested yet again at Percy’s insistence that they say nothing about their work until they got home. ‘Every man and his dog uses the omnibus,’ was Percy’s excuse, ‘and we
don’t want to be overheard. Added to which, we’re supposed to be engaged on separate enquiries, and we don’t want some genius to join up the dots.’
‘I was doing fine until that pompous martinet Ingram threw me out of Leman Street,’ Jack complained. ‘He was very tight-arsed about the duty rosters that lay behind the beat allocations. As I already explained, “Beat Four” is the critical one — the one that covers the very location of Bartrams’ warehouse. The constable who was normally allocated to it — a bloke called Michael Black — went absent from duty a week before the fire. I wasn’t able to find out why, and it was while I was trying to find an innocent reason for it that Ingram threw me out. At the same time, I was curious to learn that the man who was allegedly on duty at that fixed point — a Constable Edward Ainsworth — had actually volunteered for it.’
‘Seems suspicious, I agree,’ Percy agreed, ‘but perhaps he had a good personal reason for wanting to be at a fixed point — other, that is, than being in with the gang that did the raid.’
‘That’s the curious thing,’ Jack insisted. ‘That Number Four beat is like a punishment and is normally inflicted on the newest bobby into Leman Street. Believe me, that’s what happened to me, and I didn’t get free of it until the next bloke arrived, two months later. So why would Edward Ainsworth actually volunteer for it, and why hasn’t he reported back for duty since the night of the fire?’
‘I don’t suppose you got any home addresses before you were chucked out of the station by Inspector Ingram?’
‘I was well taught by an uncle of mine,’ Jack grinned, ‘and I got addresses for both Michael Black and Edward Ainsworth. That’s what I’m going to be following up in the morning. So how about you?’
‘Before I tell you,’ Percy instructed him, ‘remember to remind me again about Inspector Ingram when I’ve finished. He could be the second line of enquiry for me tomorrow.’
‘And the first?’