Lavender strode over to the fireplace, removed his drenched topcoat and hat and ran his fingers through his wet hair. The heat licked and dried his wet skin and clothes. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘A pawn-broker in Spitalfields has been attacked by a gang of men who raided his shop this afternoon. They were looking for silver pocket watches.’
Lavender turned his head sharply. ‘Is he dead?’
‘No, but he’s lucky to survive. He tried to fight them off and they stabbed him. Now reporters from the Morning Chronicle have heard about the story; they’ve been to see me already. As the villains stabbed him, allegedly the poor fellow was heard to exclaim: “Townsend’s reward has done for me!”’
‘I’m sure that I can’t be blamed fer that,’ Townsend protested. ‘And one of my old acquaintances – ’
‘We don’t have time for your ruddy old acquaintances!’ Read snapped. ‘We need to act now!’ Townsend’s shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.
‘I think someone has also discovered that it was the Prince Regent who was robbed,’ Lavender said quietly. ‘The word is out on the street; I’ve heard references to Gentleman George’s stolen pocket watch.’
Read groaned. ‘God’s teeth! So by tomorrow morning, the news-sheets will have columns devoted to the story of this robbery?”
‘Probably – but it was only a matter of time,’ Lavender said. ‘The incident happened in broad daylight in a public street. There will have been witnesses.’
‘Unless we make an arrest soon, Bow Street Police Office will be the laughing stock of London,’ Read snapped.
‘Not if we get to the rookery and arrest them up first,’ Lavender said. The other men glanced up in surprise. ‘It’s the Shiels Gang: Conkey Shiels, Timon Roberts and Big George. They’re the ones behind this attack on the pawn-broker. They’ve spent the day trawling the city looking for the snuffer and that damned watch. I suspect that they’re also harbouring Little Beau. If we pay them a surprise visit at dawn tomorrow, we may also find him.’
‘How do you know this?’ Read asked.
‘They attacked Barty Wilton on Drury Lane.’
‘I’m not sure that I’d trust Wilton,’ Read said slowly.
‘In addition to this, Constable Woods saw the Shiels Gang lurking around Piccadilly; they were asking questions about the pocket watch and the snuffer.’
‘Woods?’ Read snapped. ‘What was he doing in Piccadilly?’
‘His job,’ Lavender said, patiently.
‘I sent him home in disgrace,’ Read snapped. ‘I’ll not pay him his wages for working.’
‘That man never follows instructions,’ Townsend said, slyly.
‘Oh for God’s sake!’ Lavender snapped. ‘Two witnesses have confirmed the names of this gang of thugs. Let’s gather up the men, go to the rookery at dawn and round them up!’
Townsend jabbed a podgy finger towards him. ‘Now, now Lavender, keep your temper. How do we know that we can trust any of this information, eh? Constable Woods will be desperate to curry favour with Magistrate Read. He could send us on a wild goose chase.’
Lavender clenched his fists and slid them into his coat pockets. Read had fallen silent, He had picked up a quill and twirled it thoughtfully. ‘It’s the best lead we’ve got,’ he said, eventually. ‘And at least we’ll be seen to be doing something. Go home both of you and return an hour before dawn. I’ll contact the other officers. Those coves will get a rude awakening in the rookery of St. Giles tomorrow.’
It was still dark when Lavender returned to Bow Street the next day. The hallway of the Police Office was packed with twenty hard-faced and powerfully built men. It reeked with the acrid stench of gunpowder, wet horse and male body odour. Dragged out early from their beds, many were unshaven and scowling. A deep, underlying growl – interspersed with the occasional curse or short burst of ribald laughter – emanated from the crowd. Metal handcuffs were distributed and glinted in the dying candlelight. Several bleary-eyed horse patrol officers leaned against the walls, priming their pistols, their boots and uniforms splattered with the mud of the outlying roads of the capital where they had spent the night on patrol.
Magistrate Read was taking no chances. Every available man at Bow Street had been called in to participate in the dawn raid on the rookery of St. Giles. They made a formidable sight gathered together in the gloomy and chilly hallway; even the dark shadows they cast on the walls and flag-stoned floor were elongated and menacing.
It was every available man – except one, Lavender realised as he scanned the crowd. There was no sign of Ned Woods. He had hoped that Read would have relented by now and invited his constable back to work. Swallowing his disappointment, he pushed his way through the crowd to the staircase.
Several of his fellow detectives, Vickery, McManus and Donaldson, were gathered with Townsend and Magistrate Read in a group on the bottom rungs of the stairs. Vickery and Donaldson nodded to him as he approached. Their dark, sombre attire contrasted with the blue great coats and red waistcoats of the constables and Townsend’s creased light-coloured kerseymere breeches and battered white hat. Elevated to the rank of detective because of their sharp investigative skills and courage, these men were the best detectives in Britain. Lavender knew that several of his peers regarded Townsend with the same disdain as him but at the moment they were stood in silence as the eccentric detective stood a few steps up and related the dramatic events of the past two days. McManus seemed particularly enthralled. Vickery leaned back against the handrail of the stairs, arms folded across his chest, quietly eyeing the older detective.
‘You were a saphead to let the Prince be robbed while you were on duty, Townsend,’ said McManus with a smirk.
‘It’ll reflect badly on all of us at Bow Street, if we don’t solve this case,’ Magistrate Read interrupted. McManus shuffled uncomfortably and the grin fell from his face. Vickery stood up straighter.
‘And God only knows how many other poor innocent souls will be attacked by that gang before this is over,’ Townsend said, unabashed. ‘’Tis essential we round up these coves today.’
‘Morning, Lavender,’ Read said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Oh you’re here now, are you, Lavender?’ Townsend interrupted. His tone suggested that Lavender was late. ‘Then I suppose that we’d be better get goin’.’ He climbed up a couple more steps and raised his voice over the buzz of the crowd. ‘Who’s with me?’ he yelled. ‘Who’s fer a trip to the rookery?’
Everyone turned and the underlying growl of the men became a roar of cheers.
‘Who wants a share of the Prince Regent’s reward?’ Townsend shouted above the din.
‘Me!’
‘Aye – lead the way, Townsend!’
Townsend raised his pistol above his head and pointed with it to the door to the stableyard. ‘Well, come on! Let’s get those buggers in the rookery and give ’em a rousin’ they’ll never forget!’
He marched down the stairs. The excited cheers of the officers rang in his ears as he pushed his way through the men and led the way to the back of the building. The officers fell in behind him.
‘Detective Lavender!’ One of the desk clerks waved frantically to attract his attention. The man pointed to a young woman standing beside the desk, pressed up beside the wall in the shadows. It was Sarah, the barmaid from The White Bear. He hadn’t noticed her before, unable to see past the milling throng of officers.
She had buttoned her fraying coat up to the neck and was clutching the fringed ends of a plain but clean shawl draped over her shoulders. She looked like a prim, little church-goer rather than a tavern wench.
‘I’ll catch up with you!’ he called after his departing colleagues. ‘How can I help you, Sarah?’ He was torn. Part of him wanted to follow his colleagues to the rout in the rookery but the other half hoped beyond hope that the girl had remembered the thief’s address.
‘I’ve been thinkin’ all night about that address you wanted,’ she said. �
�The storm kept me awake and although I can’t remember it exact, I think I may know ’ow to get there.’ Her heart-shaped face peered up at him intently from beneath her straw bonnet. It was tied beneath her chin with a pretty blue ribbon.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I told ’im the address were no use to me because I don’t know my numbers, so there weren’t no point for ’im to give me the number of the street.’ Lavender cast a quick glance at the last of the officers as they disappeared out of the door. Please God, the girl wasn’t wasting his time. ‘So ’e described ’ow to get there,’ she continued. ‘I think I can show you the place. ’E said I should go out of the back arch onto Jerrmyn Street…’
‘Wait a minute, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Let me get a map.’
‘And who do we have here?’ Magistrate Read stood at his shoulder, staring coldly at Sarah. His tone was censorious. ‘This young woman is keeping you from your duties, Lavender.’
‘This is Miss…’ Lavender hesitated, unable to remember her last name.
‘Benson, sir,’ she said. She bobbed Read a dainty curtsey. ‘Miss Sarah Benson.’
‘Miss Benson has some information regarding the snuffer,’ Lavender explained. He took a huge breath. ‘It could be important. I think we need to listen to what she has to say.’
Read’s eyes widened. ‘Then you’re very welcome, Miss Benson,’ he said.
‘Yes, and I’m to get the reward money,’ she said quickly. ‘What did that fat, little man mean when ’e invited those fellahs to come and share the reward wi’ ’im?’ Lavender heard the sudden distrust in her voice.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ he said. ‘He’s mistaken. The reward is for finding the silver pocket watch and I believe that the man we talked about yesterday has the item with him. If you can lead us to him, you can share in the reward.’
‘In that case, that fat, little fellah is not very bright then, is ’e? ’ Sarah threw them both a disarmingly pretty smile. Lavender felt Read stiffen beside him.
‘Do you have a map of Piccadilly in your office, sir?’ Lavender asked.
‘You know I do.’ Read stepped back and indicated with his outstretched arm that they were to lead the way up the dark staircase.
Read kept a large collection of Richard Horwood’s 1779 maps rolled into scrolls in the bookcase in his office. As he and Lavender went through the scrolls, searching for the map of Piccadilly, Sarah stood in the centre of the spartan room and curiously examined her surroundings.
‘So this is where you police work,’ she said. Her eyes alighted on the two soot-blackened, framed portraits of the Fielding brothers, founders of the Bow Street police force, above Read’s cluttered desk. ‘My, they’re a pair of miserable lookin’ bleeders,’ she said to Read. ‘Are they relatives of yours?’
Lavender thought Read would choke but somehow the magistrate contained himself and managed a strangled; ‘No, Miss Benson, they aren’t.’
‘Come here, Sarah,’ Lavender said. He unfurled the Piccadilly map, spread it across the desk and turned up the lamp. ‘Let’s start again. The man told you to leave The White Bear and go out through the rear archway into Jerrmyn Street…’
‘Yes, and I were to turn left towards the market. I were to pass the hosiers and the stables.’
Lavender nodded and listened patiently, comparing what the girl said with his knowledge of the poorer east end of Jerrmyn Street. He ran his finger along the street on the map and pushed back a lock of dark hair that fallen forward over his face with his other hand. To the east of the church was an area of poor repute. It was a labyrinth of burrows and dilapidated houses that extended to the market and St. James Square. These cramped, narrow lanes contained a whole range of shops on the ground floor with cheap lodgings above. It was exactly the kind of place where he expected the thief to live.
Sarah reeled off several more landmarks she had been told to find, then she hesitated. She moved closer towards the map but he knew the printed street names meant nothing to her. He smelt the scent of cheap soap emanating from her warm, little body.
‘He said to turn down …St. Albans Street. That’s it: St. Albans Street – until I reached Market Lane.’ Now she paused.
‘What next, Sarah?’ he asked gently.
‘I think it were North Street.’
Lavender sighed. There was no North Street on the map. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I thinks so.’
He hesitated for a moment, leaned forward to get a better look and was hit with a moment of inspiration. ‘Was it Norris Street, Sarah? There’s a Norris Street just here.’
Her bosom heaved with relief. ‘Yes! That were it. Norris Street. I remember now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure!’ Her voice rose with surprise that he doubted her. ‘I remember because there were a foul-mouthed old butcher called Norris lived next door to me Ma, and I can remember thinkin’ that ’e didn’t deserve to ’ave a street named for ’im.’
‘And at what number house on Norris Street did this man live?’ Read asked.
‘Now there’s the problem,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t pay much attention to that because I don’t know what my numbers look like. But ’e described it to me. There were an ’aberdashery next door, he said. There’d be wools, fine silks, ribbons and the such like in the window. I remembers that because I like me ribbons.’
A smile twitched at the side of Read’s mouth. ‘I’m sure you do, young lady.’
‘Well, he said he lived next door. The ’ouse ’ad a brown door with a wall lantern beside it. Well-lit he said. But I was to go in quietly so as not to wake up his landlady and come to him on the top floor.’
The smile dropped from Read’s face.
Lavender straightened up, satisfied. With Sarah’s directions they could find the snuffer. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Sarah. We are grateful.’
Her eyes gleamed. ‘Do I get me reward now?’ she asked hopefully and spun round to stare straight up into Read’s face. ‘I wants me own stall on the market and sell straw bonnets, you know. I need that money to start up.’
‘Now young lady,’ Read said, slowly. ‘You will need to be patient for a while. This is what will happen. Detective Lavender will go to Norris Street and arrest this man. Hopefully, he will also recover the stolen watch.’
‘The watch that belongs to the Prince?’
If Read was wrong-footed by her comment this time he didn’t show it. He nodded and his voice was kind. ‘If we find the watch in Norris Street, the reward will be shared out between you and Detective Lavender.’ Her intense gaze now switched to Lavender.
‘I want you to go home now,’ Read continued, ‘and come back here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Let Detective Lavender do his job. I should be able to let you know what has happened by then.’
‘And you won’t try to cheat me?’ she asked.
‘I’m one of the King’s magistrates, Miss Benson. You have my word of honour as a gentleman and a magistrate that I won’t try to cheat you.’
‘Yer a beak?’ Her dark eyes widened again. ‘You never said.’
‘Yes,’ Read replied. ‘I am a magistrate. And to show my personal gratitude for your help, I’d like you to have this.’ He fished in his coat pocket for a couple of shillings. ‘Have you eaten today, Miss Benson? No? Well, this should buy you some breakfast and leave enough to buy you a new ribbon as well.’
With gleaming eyes and the coins clutched in her hot little hand, Sarah took her leave. ‘Don’t let ’im escape!’ she called out to Lavender over her shoulder as she left.
‘You know what she is?’ Lavender asked as he rolled up the map and replaced it on the shelf.
‘I’ve guessed,’ Read replied. ‘But I think the girl genuinely wants to better herself. There’s ambition shining in those pretty eyes.’
Lavender reached for his gloves. ‘Do you want me to follow the others to the rookery and arrest the snuffer afterwards?’
‘We?’ This was a new and surprising development.
‘Yes, I’ll come with you. You might need some assistance. Apart from the clerks and the gaolers who are needed here, there’s no-one left at Bow Street to help you. And yes, before you point it out, I am well aware that I have deprived you of your usual crime-fighting partner.’
They hailed a cab and were soon on their way through the glistening and flooded streets to the rabbit-warren of narrow lanes around St. James’ Market.
‘I’ve told the clerks to send a message to Norris Street the minute they hear any news from Townsend,’ Read said.
Lavender was surprised that Read had offered to accompany him and not particularly grateful. If the thief turned violent when they tried to arrest him, he wasn’t sure how the overweight and unfit older man at his side would react. He was concerned that Read might be more of a liability in such an event than a help. They travelled in thoughtful silence until Lavender suddenly rapped on the roof to attract the attention of the driver. He stuck his head out of the cab window and told him to take a short detour down Piccadilly.
‘What are you doing?’ Read asked, surprise.
‘Calling for reinforcements,’ Lavender replied. It wasn’t long before he saw the man he needed. He ordered the cab driver to stop again, leaned out of the open window and shouted at a crumpled beggar lounging in the shadows of the overhanging eaves of the houses.
‘Ned! Get in the cab – we’re off to arrest the snuffer and I want you to identify him.’
The beggar leapt to his feet and strode towards them. Pushing back his hat, Woods pulled away the layers of scarves from around his neck to reveal the huge grin spread across his large, round face. ‘I knew I could rely on you, sir,’ Woods said to Lavender with a wink. There was still a mass of black and purple bruises over his right eye.
The Piccadilly Pickpocket Page 4