The Forgotten Children

by Anita Davison

  ‘You’ve left the carriage in the road?’ Flora signalled Sally to wait where she was while she escorted Beatrice to the door. ‘It’s freezing outside. Why didn’t you send your driver round to the mews for a hot drink?’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Beatrice glared at Flora as if she were demented. ‘How will he know when I’m ready to leave if he’s dozing by the kitchen hearth? The very idea I should wait for him is quite ridiculous.’ She swept along the hall to the front door, which Stokes had barely made ahead of her.

  ‘That lamp is far too dim.’ Beatrice pointed an accusatory hand at the porch canopy. ‘I could easily fall and break an ankle on these steps. I’ll talk to Ptolemy about it in the morning.’ Without waiting for a response, she swept down the steps and glided along the path.

  ‘Goodnight, Mother-in-law, and thank you for calling,’ Flora called after her through gritted teeth, while trying not to shiver.

  As soon as the carriage turned the corner into Belgrave Place, Flora sped back to the sitting room, where Sally had made herself comfortable by the roaring fire.

  ‘It’s bitter out there, Missus.’ She blew into her hands and huddled closer, her feet braced against the brass fender. ‘Sorry about barging in like that. If I’d known she was here I would have waited in the kitchen.’

  ‘That’s all right, Sally. Now what is it you have to tell me that I will never guess?’ She chose not to bring attention to the fact Sally had reverted to the sobriquet ‘Missus’ after repeated instructions to call her ‘Madam’.

  ‘We found him.’ Sally’s eyes glinted and she hunched her shoulders. ‘Swifty Ellis. The man that girl Ada told us about.’

  ‘The man with a squint?’ Flora lowered herself into the chair Beatrice had recently vacated. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ll start at the beginning.’ Sally’s cheeks and the end of her nose turning a soft pink as the fire warmed her skin making her quite pretty. ‘We went to that pub in Tooley Street. The Antigallican.’ She mangled the pronunciation, but again, Flora chose not to correct her. ‘Abel bought me a port and lemon and we got talking to the barman about boxing. It turns out he used the same gymnasium as Abel when he was younger, the Lynn Boxing Club on Borough High Street.’ She scooted backwards on her chair, evidently enjoying herself. ‘Most of the local thugs use it as a meeting place for, well, their shady deals and such. Before long, someone mentioned Swifty, who is said to be handy with his fists.’ Sally helped herself to one of the untouched cakes that resided on the tray, saw Flora looking at her and shrugged. ‘Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Shall I ask Stokes for a fresh pot and an extra cup?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please. I could do with a cuppa.’ Either Flora’s sarcasm had passed Sally by, or she deliberately ignored it.

  Sighing, Flora rose and tugged the bell pull. ‘Go on with your story.’

  ‘Well, when Abel asked if Swifty boxed in the tournaments, the barman said the fighting that bloke did wasn’t in no boxing match. His fights had no rules. He’s a bit of a bruiser by all accounts. And Swifty ain’t his real name,’ she said through mouthfuls of cake.’

  ‘Isn’t, Sally, and I had already gathered that. Not that it matters much if that’s what everyone calls him.’

  Stokes entered with a fresh teapot and cup, unable to hide his start of surprise when he saw for whom it was ordered.

  ‘Thanks, Stokes.’ Sally rubbed her hands together, gleefully. ‘Just put it there would you?’

  Stokes’ shoulders stiffened but he obeyed without a word before he withdrew.

  ‘You shouldn’t goad him, Sally,’ Flora chided when the door closed on him.

  ‘Couldn’t resist, but don’t you worry about him. I’ll talk him round. Anyway, as I was saying, Swifty got his name because he’s light on his feet when the situation calls for it, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I suppose that makes a kind of logic. What else did you find out?’

  ‘The barman got a bit wary after a while, what with all the questions we was asking. He did mention Swifty’s a docker at St Saviour’s.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  Sally eyed the cakes again, at which Flora pushed the plate closer.

  ‘Dockers offload sacks and crates onto barges that bring the goods to the city from the ships at Tilbury and Gravesend.’ Sally sank her teeth into a chocolate tart. ‘They stand on the stones with dozens of others every morning for the call.’

  ‘The call?’

  ‘Do keep up, miss-madam, there’s lots for me to remember. They don’t work a regular job, only days when they are needed. The bosses turn away three times as many as get work. Swifty isn’t big enough to be a stevedore, that’s those who unload the ships, so he works on the docks.’ Sally slurped her tea, grimaced and added two sugar lumps to the brew. ‘Anyway, would yer believe it, just as we was about to leave, the barman came over and told us Swifty had come in and was in the other bar.’

  ‘My goodness,’ Flora sank down onto the edge of a chair. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Sally shrugged. ‘We got a good butcher’s at him though. That girl Ada was right, he does have funny eyes.’

  ‘I was worried for a moment that you might have become overenthusiastic and challenged him.’

  ‘What do you take me for?’ Sally jutted her chin, her eyes darkening. ‘He’s younger than we thought, but the way he scouted the bar told me he don’t miss much. He has this look. Surly, like he’ll challenge you to a fight as soon as look at you. He wore those funny gloves with the fingers missing and that coat he wears swings when he moves, like it was heavy. Like as not he keeps the tools of his trade in the pockets.’

  ‘What sort of tools?’ Their evening sounded dangerous to Flora, but Sally had apparently enjoyed herself.

  ‘Who knows, but I’ll wager there’s a knuckleduster in there somewhere.’

  ‘I shan’t even ask what that is.’ Flora gave an embarrassed cough.

  ‘Abel didn’t like him much either,’ Sally sniffed as if this vindicated her. ‘He made me move my stool around so I had my back to him. Told me blokes like that have a sense for who’s got their eye on them. We’ll know him if we see him again.’

  ‘I’m beginning to quite like your Abel. He sounds a sensible man and one who can be trusted. You did well, Sally.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Sally’s eyes gleamed, as if she was about to come to the good part and wanted to savour it. ‘The landlord took a while getting our drinks the second time and when Abel mentioned the bar was busy, he was told they were short-handed due to his part-time barmaid having an accident a few days ago.’

  ‘An accident?’ Flora gasped when Sally’s eyebrows rose. ‘He meant Lizzie?’

  Sally gave a slow, conspiratorial nod. ‘She did the odd evening behind the bar to earn an extra few shillings, what with the wages at the hospital being poor.’

  ‘Then why did she give Miss Finch the impression she didn’t know who this Swifty was?’

  ‘Probably because she wasn’t supposed to be working in a pub. If the hospital knew about that they would have sacked her.’

  ‘I wonder how well she knew him.’

  ‘The barman didn’t think she did,’ Sally said, grimacing. ‘Said a respectable girl like Lizzie wouldn’t have had anything to do with the likes of him.’

  ‘Yet she wanted to tell Miss Finch something. If it wasn’t Swifty’s identity, what was it?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Sally shrugged. ‘Like I said, the barman was getting a bit antsy with all these questions, so Abel said it was time to go.’

  ‘Antsy?’

  ‘You know, ants in yer pants. Fidgety.’

  Flora cleared her throat, bemused by the wide education her maid was giving her. ‘He made the right decision. Without an idea of what Swifty knows, we’ve reached another dead end and I don’t—’

  ‘I ain’t finished, Miss Flora,’ Sally cut her off. ‘Lizzie had an up and downer with someone that night.’

  ‘A what? Oh
, you mean a fight? What night was this?’

  ‘The last night she was at the Corks, working. ‘Bout a week ago, he said.’

  ‘I’m getting confused. What has this to do with Swifty, and with whom did Lizzie have an argument?’

  ‘Dunno, as I weren’t there.’ Sally pulled a face as if this fact should be obvious. ‘The barman didn’t know either. They were in the scullery so he couldn’t see them, but he heard a woman’s voice, “going at poor Lizzie something terrible” was his exact words.’

  ‘Were his exact words, Sally,’ Flora said automatically. ‘Did he find out what it was about?’

  ‘He was too busy in the bar.’ Sally shoved the last piece of cake into her mouth and slapped her hands together, releasing crumbs onto the floor. ‘A Salvation Army couple were there that night rattling collection boxes. One of them was telling some drunk to change his evil ways, you know how the Sally Anne do, but the man didn’t take kindly to him and a scuffle started. By the time the landlord had sorted them out, Lizzie was back in the bar. She was a bit shaken but refused to talk about the row or who she was arguing with.’

  ‘Was the barman sure it was a woman?’

  ‘He said he thought so, but didn’t see her. Next thing he heard, Lizzie was dead.’

  ‘Did he tell the police about this argument Lizzie had?’

  ‘You’re such an innocent, Miss Flora.’ Sally’s raised eyebrow conveyed disdain. ‘Nobody says nothing to the police without being asked first. And maybe not even then. That’s the way it is in Bermondsey.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate.’ Flora relaxed back in her chair. ‘We don’t know even know what the argument was about.’ Was it a woman who had killed Lizzie in the hospital yard?

  Sally’s face fell. ‘I thought me and Abel had done a good job.’

  ‘You did. I don’t mean to imply otherwise.’ Flora’s thoughts raced. ‘In fact, how would you like to do a bit more investigation for me?’

  ‘What sort?’ Sally pressed a finger to the remaining crumbs on the plate and brought it to her mouth.

  ‘Tomorrow evening, I want you to follow someone. See who he talks to and what he does. I cannot go as he’s likely to recognise me, but you’ll be invisible.’

  ‘Oh, thanks a bunch.’ Sally looked up sharply, a ring of almond crumbs around her mouth.

  ‘Sorry, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Can I take Abel with me?’

  ‘Excellent idea. A couple will raise fewer questions. We’ll finalize the details tomorrow when I’ve thought it through.’

  ‘You’ll have ter put it straight with Stokes, what with me having two nights off in a row. I know I’m your maid but he likes to think he runs things below stairs.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll handle him. Now, Bunny won’t be back for hours, so I think I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘Well then,’ Sally rose slowly, ‘I’d better be going up and get your night things ready.’

  ‘I’ll be up presently. Oh, and Sally, there’s an envelope on my dresser. It’s something to thank Abel for his help tonight. Could you have it sent round to him in the morning?’

  ‘No need for that, I’ll take it meself.’ Sally’s broad smile told Flora that aside from the discovery of “Swifty”, Sally’s evening had gone remarkably well.

  She sat for a while after Sally had gone, watching the fire burn down to glowing red coals that shifted and hissed in the grate.

  Was the argument Lizzie had had in the pub been what she was going to tell Alice about, but was killed before she could do so? Was that why she was killed? What was the connection between Mr Buchanan and Lizzie Prentice, if there was one? Eventually, Flora’s head began to feel filled with cotton wool, so she gave up and went upstairs to bed, her internal debate having produced far more questions than answers.

  Chapter 17

  The fire in the bedroom Flora shared with Bunny had long since burned to silvered ash, the temperature rapidly dropping until her nose felt cold to the touch. The nocturnal noises of the house combined with a strong wind that rattled windowpanes and moaned down the chimney. Shivering, she wrapped the thick counterpane between her bent knees, fighting to stay awake so she might relate everything Sally had told her when Bunny returned from his evening out.

  Sometime after the hall clock struck twelve, she must have fallen asleep, for she woke to the sound of Sally’s arrival with her morning tea.

  Groaning, Flora turned over to where a dent in the mattress and a lingering smell of her husband’s favourite cologne was the only evidence he had slept there.

  ‘Where’s Mr Bunny this morning?’ She yawned and stretched her arms above her head. A glance at the mantelpiece clock made her gasp. How had she slept so late?

  ‘He’s downstairs with a visitor.’ Disapproval stiffened the girl’s shoulders as she tugged open the curtains on a rattle of brass rings.

  ‘Who?’ Flora bolted upright and threw off the coverlet and shielded her eyes with one hand, observing Sally’s pinched mouth with amusement. It wasn’t often her maid took an instant dislike to anyone, but when she did, there was usually a reason. The last man who elicited that look had proved to be a Serbian spy.

  ‘It’s that Inspector Maddox.’ Sally moved the tray from where she had placed it on the dresser, repositioning it on the nightstand. ‘Him who gave you all that earache in the Evangeline Lange case. Not that he would have caught the fella if it hadn’t been for us.’ She scooped Flora’s negligee from the bottom of the bed and nodded in the direction of the dressing room, ‘I’ve run yer bath, Madam. Best get to it before it goes cold.’

  ‘Thank you, Sally,’ Flora said absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

  If Inspector Maddox was prepared to come to the house, surely he must have some information to give them? That or he was prepared to open an investigation. Curiosity, together with the layer of ice on the window made Flora rush her bath and she tried not to fidget while Sally pressed hairpins into the soft sausage curls piled on her head and fastened the tiny row of buttons on her dress.

  Finally released from Sally’s deft hands and admonitions to keep still, Flora hurried downstairs. A lingering smell of hot fat and coffee emanated from the dining room containing only a maid stacking plates and dishes onto a tray.

  She returned the way she had come and entered the sitting room, where a handsome man in his early thirties, with coal black hair and eyes to match beneath fine arched brows, leapt to his feet as she entered.

  ‘Ah, Flora, there you are.’ Bunny approached from beside the fireplace. ‘You remember Detective Maddox.’ As he passed her on his way to a chair, Bunny whispered, ‘Sleepyhead’ in her ear.

  ‘You should have woken me,’ Flora whispered back, moving to take the inspector’s outstretched hand. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Inspector.’

  ‘I was hoping we wouldn’t meet again, Mrs Harrington.’ At Flora’s raised eyebrow he shifted in embarrassment, but his handshake was firm and confident. ‘I meant, not on this end of an investigation.’

  ‘We happened to run into one another at the Law Society dinner last evening,’ Bunny said, making Flora wonder just how much of a coincidence that was. ‘He works out of Camberwell Church Street these days, don’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘Camberwell?’ Flora frowned.

  ‘Bermondsey and Southwark are in his patch. He’s investigating the disappearance of Isobel Lomax.’ He gave her a pointed look that conveyed clearly how hard he had worked to instigate that particular conversation.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Realization dawned and she perched on the edge of the sofa, her attention on the policeman’s face. ‘And how far have you got?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to discuss ongoing investigations, you understand.’ Maddox flicked up his jacket flaps as he resumed his seat. ‘We’re working on the theory that the nanny hasn’t been candid with us. Other than that, I cannot comment.’ Flora was about to disagree but he forestalled her with an upraised hand. ‘Your husband was quite insistent we also l
ook at the case of children missing from St Philomena’s Hospital. You are friends with the Matron, I understand?’

  ‘I am, Inspector. Though I hope you aren’t going to tell me we share a fertile imagination and they aren’t really missing?’

  ‘My dear,’ Bunny interrupted with a noisy clearing of his throat. ‘Shall I ask Stokes to bring you some coffee?’

  ‘No, that’s all right.’ Flora waved him away. ‘I’ll have something later, I—’ She broke off as she caught his warning look. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I understand you have procedures to follow, but many aspects of this case don’t fit.’

  ‘Indeed, but please don’t think I’m unsympathetic.’ Maddox’s voice softened, losing much of its clipped formality, his eyes darkening to a deep chocolate colour. ‘I’m not immune to the plight of these children. I’ve dealt with many cases where minors are treated by their own families like commodities to be disposed of as they will. We had a similar incident last year when I worked out of Canon Row, but the investigation went nowhere as the families refused to talk. As far as we’re aware, the children never returned. I’m still haunted by what might have happened to them.’

  ‘What do you think happened to them?’ Flora asked.

  A look of mutual understanding passed between Bunny and the policeman but was gone in an instant. Bunny fidgeted and Maddox cleared his throat, but no one ventured an answer.

  ‘Detective,’ Flora began with an inward sigh, ‘I realize you feel the need to protect my sensibilities, but there really is no need.’ She directed an accusing glance at Bunny to include him in the statement.

  ‘I beg your pardon, I’m sure.’ Maddox rubbed both hands along his thighs and leaned forward until he was perched on the last four inches of his chair. ‘I don’t mean to patronize you, but these cases are never straightforward. These children have apparently been taken with the consent of their families.’

  ‘Consent? You mean they were given away?’ Bunny’s confirmation of what Flora had already surmised made her stomach churn.