To bring to fruition his plan to lodge the credit note on time Ikey was obliged to tell Hannah of its existence. She would therefore know soon enough the extent of the funds Ikey was proposing to transfer to New York. This was a major concern to Ikey. If Hannah suspected that he had been funding his escape without her knowledge she would not reveal her part of the combination to the Whitechapel safe, which, of course, amounted to a great deal more in value than the nineteen thousand, four hundred pounds he was sending to New York.
Ikey would therefore need to concoct a story which convinced Hannah that the credit note was to their mutual benefit. He would have to persuade her that he had gone to Birmingham at great danger to himself, when he could just as easily have escaped to America immediately he knew of the raid. He would express in most compelling terms his reason for not so doing, his only thought having been to add to the funds they would have when she joined him with the children in New York.
Alas, his escape had been thwarted by his betrayal and premature arrest and it was Hannah who was now free to act in the matter of their mutual fortune. He would convince her that he must escape in order to lodge the letter of credit with Coutts amp; Company and so ensure the money would be transferred to New York.
Hannah, Ikey felt confident, would co-operate. Her greed would convince her as well as the knowledge that Ikey, should his escape prove successful, would not leave her without the prospect of his share of the Whitechapel safe. Their mutual assurance lay in each keeping their part of the combination secret from the other.
On her arrival at Newgate, Hannah was escorted by the keeper himself to Ikey's cell, being quite puffed by the steep stairs. Outside the door of the cell sat a turnkey, a large, slack-jawed, vacant looking man with very few teeth, chosen no doubt for his strength and not the wit at his command. Hannah waited for the gaol officer who had acted as her guide to depart before she fee'd Ikey's guard a fushme.
'I begs ya to stand well clear o' the grille, mister. I 'as things to do what a wife is obliged to do for 'er 'usband and what ain't respectable to be within the 'earin' or seein' of.' She looked boldly at the turnkey. 'If you knows what I mean?'
The man nodded and grinned, showing the stumps of four yellow and black teeth. Pocketing the five shillings she'd given him with obvious delight, the usual fee for 'showing a blind eye' being sixpence, he fumbled with a set of keys hanging from a large ring, which, in turn, was attached to a stout brass chain affixed to his belt.
'I'll be down the corridor a bit, missus,' he said, then making a small ceremony of unlocking the cell door, he added, 'Take yer time, now, I ain't goin' orf for two 'ours yet.' He let Hannah pass through into the cell, then locked the door behind her, making no attempt to search her hamper or, as was the usual case, to extract the larger share of its contents for himself.
Ikey was seated on his stone bed and did not rise when Hannah entered. She placed the basket down and immediately fell upon him, her demeanour most sorrowful and sympathetic.
'My poor Ikey, they 'ave caught ya and locked ya up!' she moaned. She grabbed Ikey and held his head clasped to her breast. 'My poor, poor darlin'!' she exclaimed, rocking his head in her arms.
Ikey grew much alarmed at this unexpected attack. Hannah had not placed a loving hand on him for years. Even their coupling had been completely without emotion, she taking him while he was piss-erect and half asleep, her single purpose to become impregnated with the minimum of time and effort. Before coming to visit him in gaol she had splashed some vile-smelling potion between her breasts and Ikey felt sure he must suffocate with the effect of this noxious perfume. He struggled frantically and managed after a few moments to extricate himself from Hannah's smothering grasp.
'For Gawd sakes, woman, leave orf!' he exclaimed as he backed away from his wife, adjusting the bandana he wore in the manner of a seaman's scarf and which had slipped to the back of his head from Hannah's embrace.
'Oh, Ikey, what shall we do? We are destitute! I am a poor woman with four small children, now deserted! Oh, oh, woe is me! What shall become of us?' Hannah cried, this time so loud that the turnkey, now seated at the opposite end of the corridor, could plainly hear her.
Then, as sudden as this surprising outburst, her voice dropped to a loud whisper. 'Ya bastard, ya piece of crud, who is this Mary, this whore ya give a 'igh-class brothel to?' Her expression had changed to a snarl. Then, stepping back, she slapped the seated Ikey so hard across the face that his head was thrown against the wall of the cell, and for a few moments he thought he would lose his wits completely. 'Ya shit, you will pay for this!' Hannah spat, though none of her furious invective carried much above a hoarse whisper.
Ikey pulled his legs up onto the stone shelf that served as his bed and backed himself into the furthermost corner, his hands protecting his face. After a few moments he parted his fingers and peeked at Hannah, who stood with her arms folded, nostrils flared, snorting like a bull halted at a turnstile.
'Please my dear, don't 'it me!' he whimpered. 'It were business, that be all it were! Business to our mutual benefit, my dear,' Ikey wailed plaintively.
'Ya fucked her, didn't ya? Ya fucked that shiksa bitch!'
Ikey looked genuinely alarmed. 'Shhsssh! No, no, my dear, not ever, not once, not possible, you knows me, it were business, it were no more,' he lied.
'Humph!' Hannah snorted, then added, once again in a rasping voice, 'Well the whore got what she 'ad coming to 'er, at least there be some justice in this world!'
'We's in shtunk, my dear. I've been blowed and planted,' Ikey said, hoping to change the subject.
'What! Who blowed ya? Planted? What with?'
'Soft, two fives.' Ikey reached down and pulled at his coat and pointed to the tear eighteen inches up from the hem. 'Young tooler planted 'em in there, Bob Marley were the blow!'
'Marley?' Hannah, feigning surprise, shook her head. 'Nah! Not 'im, not Bob Marley, 'e's family!'
'E done it, couldn't 'ave been no one else.' Ikey shrugged. '
'E were the only one what got close enough and knowed about the longtails, 'im with the kid what did the plant.'
'E wouldn't 'ave told no kid, not Bob Marley! Too careful. It must o' been someone else.'
'No, my dear, it were 'im. Kid would 'ave thought the bills were genuine.'
Hannah was, of course, thrilled. Ikey did not in the least suspect her. It had turned out exactly the way she had hoped. She took a kugel cake from her basket and handed it to Ikey who absent-mindedly broke a piece off and handed the remainder back to Hannah.
Ikey then told Hannah about the case he thought he could mount with a good barrister and her heart immediately sank. Although Hannah despised her husband, she had never underestimated his cunning. If Ikey should prove himself innocent of no more than being the negligent landlord of the premises in Bell Alley, he would receive only a short sentence, at most a stretch. In twelve months he would be out and her plans for the future of herself and her children would be in tatters.
'I must escape, it be a matter o' the utmost importance, I must get out of 'ere!' Ikey suddenly declared.
'Get out? Escape?' Hannah looked puzzled. 'But ya jus' said – ya jus' told me yer a good chance to beat the rap?'
Ikey then proceeded to tell Hannah about the letter of credit and asked her to visit Marybelle Firkin at the Pig 'n Spit and retrieve it. He also asked her to have Reuban Reuban and his son Abraham come to visit him. Then he carefully outlined the plan for his escape. As he spoke he pushed tiny lumps of the cake into his mouth, so that by the end of his lengthy instructions the piece of cake he'd broken off seemed to be much the same size as when he'd started.
'Whatsamatter? You ain't 'ungry?' she said, trying to collect her thoughts.
Ikey shook his head. 'Your father must be standin' exactly where I said, on the exact spot what I told you outside the Pig 'n Spit. A hackney what can take four, doors both sides o' the cabin.'
Hannah nodded, though her head was in a whirl. She thought I
key's plan too far-fetched to succeed, but on the other hand she wanted him to lodge the letter of credit. It represented a great deal of money, enough in itself to set her up in America even without the contents of the Whitechapel safe, though it was unthinkable that she would not have this as well. In her mind she too began to formulate a plan.
Ikey's plan was based on the writ of habeas corpus, that is, the right of every Englishman to apply for bail to be granted until his case came up for hearing. In order for this to happen he would need to appear before a judge at the King's Bench court at Westminster, where he would be granted a hearing. This would entail being escorted by two turnkeys to the court and would allow him to travel outside the confines of the gaol.
It was standard procedure for two turnkeys to escort a prisoner by foot to the Court of King's Bench, which was situated not more than a mile from the gates of Newgate, though it was not unusual for a prisoner with funds, wishing to keep his identity and his shame from the passing crowd, to offer to pay for a carriage to be escorted in privacy to the courts.
Ikey had applied for bail the moment he had been bound over at Lambeth Street and the hearing was set for two days after Hannah had visited him. Reuban Reuban and his son Abraham, alerted by Hannah, had arrived during that afternoon. Ikey had spoken to them at length and Abraham had taken several measurements of Ikey's person.
At half-past nine on the morning of the hearing two turnkeys marched Ikey through the gates of Newgate. It was the custom for turnkeys who had been on duty to take the extra duty of escort to court hearings so that the day staffing would not be disrupted. This was an unpopular rule, as it attracted no extra stipend for working, at the least, half of the day shift, or even more if the court was delayed. The two men who escorted Ikey were therefore tired and somewhat dulled from the frequent tots of cheap gin and Spanish brandy they had received from prisoners during the night and were not inclined to treat him with respect.
The King's Bench in Westminster was a steady half an hour's walk from Newgate and was scheduled to commence at half-past the hour of ten o'clock. It was a week before Christmas and while no snow had fallen during the night a chill wind blew in from the North Sea. It brought with it a light fog which, added to the smog caused by the winter fires, made the streets as dark as the night itself. Moreover they were packed with Christmas shopping crowds and the smoking flares carried by the coaches and brandished by messenger boys dodging through the crush of people and between carriages added to the general annoyance and difficulty of conditions on foot.
It seemed almost a miracle when a hackney coach appeared through the gloom and appeared to be empty.
'Shall I 'ave the pleasure, gentlemen, of offerin' you a ride?' Ikey asked. He silently congratulated Hannah's father, Moses Julian, for his expertise in having the coach so 'fortuitously' available. Ikey's two escorts needed no further persuasion and he hailed the hackney with a sharp whistle.
'Where to, guv?' the coachman called down to them.
'Westminster!' Ikey called back. 'King's Bench!'
'We'll 'ave to go 'round back way, guv, through Petticoat Lane. Coaches jammed tight as fiddlesticks from 'ere to Westminster. It be the bleedin' fog,' he pointed his whip into the barely visible crowd milling along the pavement, 'and them bleedin' Christmas shoppers.'
Ikey glanced questioningly at the senior of his two escorts, a coarse looking man with a bulbous nose to rival that of Sir Jasper Waterlow, upon the tip of which resided a large wart not unlike a woman's nipple in appearance. It was therefore truly astonishing that his name was Titty Smart, though it may be supposed that this was a sobriquet and not his Christian name. He was also the senior of the two men, much experienced and seventeen years in the prison service, and he now grunted and frowned saying gruffly, 'Mr Popjoy and I accepts.'
Ikey, with both his hands shackled, one to a wrist of each man, was held steady at the rear by the younger Popjoy as he climbed with difficulty into the interior of the hackney. The coach turned off the Strand at the first convenience and into a lane which despite its narrowness immediately seemed to improve their progress. The lighted flares stuck to each side of the hackney momentarily turned the drab grey walls of the smog-shrouded buildings into a bright mustard-coloured burst of light as they passed, giving the effect of magic lantern slides changing with rapidity. This flickering effect and the rocking of the coach soon began to have an effect on the weary turnkeys. Ikey watched as their chins sank to their chests and their eyelids rolled shut, only to jerk open every once in a while until the effort became too great and they could no longer stay awake.
The coach turned into Petticoat Lane and then into Rosemary Lane and, as they were about to pass the Pig 'n Spit, Ikey called loudly to the coachman to halt. The two turnkeys wakened with a start and their free hands went immediately to their truncheons.
'Gentlemen, you are wearied from your duties as good men should be what have spent the long night in the service o' the King.'
Ikey dragged the arm of Albert Popjoy with him as he took his watch from his fob pocket and clicked it open, examining its face briefly. 'We are makin' excellent progress and will arrive at the King's Bench well before the time we are to be called before 'is worship.' He nodded towards the window. 'This 'ostelry, a tavern o' most excellent reputation, be closed to all at this hour, though I assure you it is open to us at any hour. 'Ere be a supply o' brandy the likes o' which may not be found anywhere in the kingdom. A veritable elixir of a miraculous nature what is said to heal the sick and cause the lame to walk again! A tonic extracted from the finest Frenchy vines, matured in English oak for twenty year or more, to render it now more British in its character than ever it were French. It can be mulled in old pewter and be used with great purpose to warm the cockles and keep the eyes brightly open! What say you, gentlemen?'
The thought of a pewter of mulled French brandy, expensive at the best of times, was too much for an old soak such as Titty Smart to refuse. 'The one. We'll have the one and then be off.' He looked at his partner, the younger Albert Popjoy, whose expression seemed doubtful. 'The one, it can't hurt to have the one, lad, now can it?' Smart sniffed, snorted and then rubbed his nose furiously with the edge of his forefinger, as though awakening it to the delicious prospect of the delectable brandy fumes.
'Pull in around the back,' Ikey instructed the coachman.
The coachman touched his whip to the horses and the hackney moved into the small lane which led to the courtyard behind the Pig 'n Spit, drawing up beside the back door. Smart opened the door on his side of the coach to see the head of the cellarman's boy suddenly appear through the open barrel chute at ground level. 'We be closed, sir, we opens again four o'clock. Four o'clock 'til four o'clock o' the mornin',' he yelled, squinting up at the turnkey.
Ikey stood up and leaning over the lap of the still-seated Smart stuck his head out of the coach door. 'Open, my dear, it be urgent business with your mistress!'
The boy's head disappeared underground again and a couple of minutes passed before he opened the back door. He wore a leather apron and carried a cooper's hammer and, judging from his height, appeared to be about fourteen years old. 'Who be it what's come callin'?' he asked.
'Call your mistress, my dear. Tell 'er, Ikey Solomon.'
The boy stood his ground. 'She won't take kindly, sir, she ain't been aslumber more'n two hour.'
'There'll be a shillin', lad,' Ikey said, then repeated, 'Call Mistress Marybelle, tell 'er Ikey Solomon and friends 'as come 'round to pay their respects.'
The expression on the boy's face remained dubious but finally he nodded his head and closed the door. The three men climbed from the coach and the coachman moved the hackney to a tethering post. Several minutes later, which they spent waiting, with their breath smoking the air around their heads and their feet stamping the frosted ground, the door was once again flung open. Filling its entire frame was the giant shape of Marybelle Firkin. She was clad in a bright red woollen dressing gown which gave the immed
iate effect of a giant tea cosy with a pretty porcelain head in curling papers sewn upon its top as an ornament of decoration.
'My Gawd, bless me if it ain't you! Ikey Solomon! What a bloomin' pleasure!' There was no hint of annoyance in Marybelle's voice at the early hour. Had the turnkeys been more alert they might have wondered why this was so. A woman who has been up all the night to the boisterous demands of her drunken customers is not usually wakened as easily or in a mood of such pleasant alacrity. They might also have questioned why, when the tavern had been closed to patrons a good five and some hours, a hearty fire blazed in the private parlour with the mulling tongs in place between the coals.
'Come in, come in gentlemen,' Marybelle invited, turning and waddling down a passage, leading the way into a bright, warm room. 'Welcome to me 'umble parlour, make y'selfs comfortable.' Then, seeing the three men standing huddled close together at the door, she pointed to the leather chairs beside the fire. 'Sit, make yourselves at 'ome. Ikey sit 'ere, love.' She patted the back of a comfortable leather club chair nearest to where she stood.
Ikey lifted his arms, at the same time lifting the arms belonging to each of his gaolers, displaying the manacles for Marybelle to see. He looked at her sheepishly, raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders in a mute explanation of the predicament in which he now found himself.
'Blimey, o' course! The pigs, they's nabbed ya!' Marybelle folded her great arms across her bosom and glared at Titty Smart and Albert Popjoy.
'Now listen to me, gents, this be me private parlour.' She pointed to the panelled walls. 'See it ain't got no windows for boltin', and there be a key in the door what ya can use to lock it!' She walked over to where they stood and removed the large brass key from the stout oak door and handed it to Titty Smart. 'Yer welcome to me best brandy and the warmth o' me 'earth, but ya ain't welcome wif yer manacles in me tavern!' She pointed at Ikey. 'Mr Solomon 'ere be me right good friend what's me guest. I'll thank ya kindly to remove them pig's bangles from 'is wrists or ya can fuck orf right now!'
The Potato Factory Page 25