‘No, she found it.’ Jackson leant across the desk. ‘She also told me a very interesting tale of kidnapping, theft and corruption. Involving you, Sergeant Plant.’
Plant blinked. ‘Really, sir?’ he answered as a rivulet of sweat trickled down his spine.
‘Yes, really. She found the plate, and the Nolan children, in a boarded-up cellar - along with a whole haul of interesting bits and pieces.’ Jackson fixed Plant with an icy stare. ‘Like canvasses from Mount Finching House and Orsett Manor, rare medieval church fittings, jewellery, and all other manner of stolen objects which have yet to be identified, but which I am certain will be found to have come from burglaries from all over Essex and probably beyond.’
Alarm shot though Plant but he cut it short. There was no evidence to link him with Finching or Orsett, or with Nolan and his brats, and if Ma was in trouble she wouldn’t turn him in. She’d need all the friends she could get to keep herself out of gaol.
Jackson set the plate down in the centre of the leather inlay on his desk. ‘Mrs Nolan tells me that on the night before he was arrested, Patrick Nolan came to see me to alert me that he was springing the trap the next day.’
The moisture evaporated from Plant’s mouth.
I told Ma, he thought, forcing his ingenuous expression to stay where it was. I said that she was asking for trouble snatching Nolan’s kids. But would she listen . . . !
Superintendent Jackson continued, ‘The desk sergeant on duty that night, PC Woolmer, remembers a man fitting Patrick Nolan’s description asking for me, but leaving after finding out I was not on duty. In court, Patrick Nolan’s defence was that he had informed you that night, when he met you on patrol.’
‘That was a bare-faced lie,’ Plant answered, hotly. ‘He ought to have the key to his cell thrown away for trying to implicate me, an officer with a spotless record.’
‘So the magistrate at Queen Anne’s Gate court believed, after your statement to that effect was read out at Nolan’s hearing,’ Jackson agreed.
‘They’re cunning fellows those boatmen, as you know yourself, sir.’
‘So you say.’
Under the stiff, tailored navy jacket of his uniform, Plant’s shoulders relaxed. He’d been in tight squeezes before but believed that things would right themselves if he held his nerve. He’d had a few sleepless nights after Nolan’s trial and no mistake, but who would be believed - a jumped up bog-trotter, or that old fleabag Ma, against one of London’s finest? It would go against reason and nature.
‘I do say so,’ Plant replied. ‘And with Ma Tugman in the cells—’
‘Oh, Mrs Tugman’s not in the cells,’ Jackson said calmly. ‘She’s on a slab in the morgue at the London Hospital with her neck snapped.’
Even better! Plant suppressed a grin and asked, ‘And Harry?’
‘Missing. I sent the morning patrol to storm the Boatman but they only found Charlie, who’s now been taken to the incurable ward at the workhouse.’ Jackson’s tone was matter of fact.
Deliverance! With Ma dead and Harry on the run, he was definitely in the clear. Harry didn’t have half his mother’s brains, and without her he was no more a threat than any of the other drunken thugs in the area. With a bit of luck, someone would slit Harry’s throat before the constabulary cornered him.
Yes, it was definitely time to hang up his truncheon and start pulling pints.
‘Good show,’ Plant said. ‘I’m sure that the commissioner will be pleased that you’ve uncovered Ma’s stash in Burr Street.’ He ventured a comradely smile. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if there isn’t a promotion for you in this, sir. And well deserved I’d say, and so would the men, every one of them.’
A wry smile curled the superintendent’s lips. ‘Why, thank you, Sergeant,’ he replied. ‘But you haven’t heard the best bit of the story yet.’ A jovial expression crept over Jackson’s face, which was strangely more alarming that his tough one. ‘Mrs Nolan informed me that not only did Patrick Nolan tell you everything about the operation the night before he ferried Mrs Tugman’s stolen goods upstream but also that he made you write it down.’
The pocket book! The small, manila-covered book with its notated pages and serial number that the officer had to sign for and keep safe or incur a fine of three days’ pay.
Fear and panic now engulfed Plant as his pocket book seemed to burn through the lining of his jacket.
‘Ha!’ he forced out, as he held himself back from bolting for the door. ‘Bunch of liars the lot of them,’ he said. ‘Of course you can’t blame her, poor woman, but surely you don’t believe the ranting of some ignorant Paddy skirt? And I tell you something, if it’s the woman I think it is - curly auburn hair and mature figure, if you know what I mean - well, she’s not his wife just his bit of tickle. She’d say anything to get him out of clink for her own sake.’
Jackson’s expression remained implacable and he leant back in the chair again. ‘Do you remember Danny Donovan’s trial?’ he asked conversationally.
Plant relaxed again. ‘I do. You were the one who sent him to the gallows,’ he said, thankful to have the conversation move from Patrick Nolan on to Jackson’s past triumphs.
‘Well, not me alone,’ Jackson replied. ‘Dr Robert Munroe gathered most of the actual evidence, along with his wife.’
Plant smiled, encouragingly. ‘I remember some such, sir.’
‘Of course she wasn’t his wife then, she was Mrs O’Casey, the mother to one Miss Josephine O’Casey, who, because of an assault by Harry and Charlie Tugman, is now under Patrick Nolan’s protection. It was Miss Josephine O’Casey, educated stepdaughter of Dr Robert Munroe, Medical Officer of the London Hospital and adviser to Her Majesty’s government, whom you have just described as “an ignorant Paddy skirt” and “a bit of tickle”, who brought me this silver salver as proof of Patrick Nolan’s innocence. It was she who told me about the cellars under Burr Street, that you seem to know all about, too.’
The sweat on Plant’s spine turned cold as the Superintendent stood and loomed over him.
‘And the notes in your pocket book.’ Jackson’s long fingers stretched out. ‘Hand it over.’
As her grandmother went to the window for the fourth time in a quarter of an hour, Bobby glanced at her sister sitting next to her and grinned. Lottie grinned back. Bobby looked across at George and Joe opposite in one of their best outfits and smiled at them. George smiled back, showing his missing front tooth, and Joe put his fingers in his mouth and pulled a face at his grandmother’s back.
Since Papa’s letter had arrived last week telling them that their parents were cutting short their holiday and coming home a month early, the happiness in the house was fair bubbling over. Bobby had wished she could somehow get word to Josie that Pa was on his way back and that all would be well but she could not.
Daisy had told Grandmama when Bobby had sent Aunt Mary’s letter to Josie around to Walburgh Street. She had been marched in front of Grandmama and given an almighty dressing down for giving succour to her degenerate sister.
After that, Grandmama had kept such a tight eye on Bobby and Lottie that neither of them could even speak Josie’s name without fear of it being reported. So, although every inch of her wanted to defy the old woman and sneak a note to Josie, she didn’t dare. But all this would be over soon because Mama and Papa were coming home. Bobby knew it was because they had received her letter.
‘I don’t know what can be keeping them,’ Grandmama said, as she let the lace panel fall back.
Joe let go of the side of his mouth and changed his features from devilish to angelic as she turned to face the room. Mrs Munroe glanced at Jack sitting on Nurse’s lap in the chair by the fire and her brows drew into the all too familiar frown but said nothing. Before the arrival of her parents’ letter a week ago, Bobby thought, Grandmama would have reproved Jack for sucking his thumb; now she seemed suddenly more indulgent towards such a childish shortcoming.
‘I expect they are caught in traffic,’ Bobby
said.
Her grandmother nodded. ‘I am sure you’re right, Robina.’
Mrs Munroe sat down and folded her hands on her lap. Her face took on a jolly expression which was at odds with her frowning, thick eyebrows and pursed upper lip.
‘I expect you are all eager to tell your Papa and Mama what a lovely time we have had while they were away,’ she encouraged.
All the children looked at her blankly, without uttering a word. Mrs Munroe’s hands went to her throat and she fiddled with the edge of her lace collar. ‘George, you can tell them how we visited the Horse Guards to see the Queen’s cavalry, and that you decided you wanted to become an officer like my brother, your great-uncle Rob.’
‘I’d rather be like Nelson,’ George replied.
The corner of Mrs Munroe’s eye twitched and Bobby suppressed a smile. George’s resistance to Grandmama’s rule took the form of mentioning the senior service whenever he had the chance.
‘Perhaps as Joe likes to make things with his bricks he will be an engineer like Mama’s brother, Uncle Joe, in America,’ Lottie said, with a look of pure innocence on her face.
A quiver touched Mrs Munroe’s cheeks. Mention of Mama’s Irish family had the same effect as the Navy on Grandmama’s composure.
‘I don’t think so, Charlotte,’ Grandmama replied. ‘I think that by the way he pores over the scriptures Joseph is being called by God to higher things,’ she said, with her God-has-told-me-so expression.
Joe devoured books, and as Grandmama considered The Swiss Family Robinson and German Popular Stories totally unsuitable for impressionable young minds, her brother had to sate his appetite for adventure stories with the only book she approved of.
‘I have noticed,’ Bobby said. ‘He was showing me a section only yesterday in the Old Testament. Judges, chapter four verse twenty one.’
Grandmama’s considerable brows drew together. ‘I’m not very familiar with—’
‘It’s the one where someone’s wife nailed a man’s head to the floor,’ Lottie chipped in.
A coach rattled to a stop outside and Grandmama rose and hobbled to the window.
‘They are here,’ she said, and waved them off the chairs and into a row with Nurse behind them. The children complied and lined up by seniority.
Bobby held her breath as she heard the front door open and the deep voice of her father in the hallway. Papa! He would make everything all right.
The door opened and Ellen and Robert stepped in to the room. Mama looked very well now, with a blush on her cheeks and her eyes bright, while Papa’s face had a light tan.
Grandmama stepped forward. ‘Robert, dear Ellen, you had a good journey, I hope,’ she said with a rare expression of goodwill on her face.
Papa’s eyes narrowed.
‘Tolerable,’ he replied, shortly.
Ellen stared at her coolly. ‘Where is my daughter Josie?’ Grandmama’s neck flushed bright red and her eye began to twitch again. ‘She’s not here at the moment and—’
‘So Bobby wrote,’ Ellen cut in.
Grandmama gasped and then her eyes narrowed as she looked across at Bobby.
‘We will discuss the matter in private later, Mother,’ Robert told her.
Grandmama gave a hesitant laugh. ‘Yes, that would be better. Now children, tell your dear Mama and Papa what fun we have had.’
Bobby, Lottie, George and Joe rushed at their parents. Ellen caught the boys in a close embrace, telling them how they had grown, while Bobby and Lottie hugged Papa, burying their heads in his chest and clinging to his jacket as if never to let him go.
As her father’s strong arms closed around her and Bobby smelt the familiar bay rum cologne a weight fell from her shoulders. His lips pressed on her head and she hugged him even closer. She and Lottie then hugged their mother as Papa hunkered down to talk to the boys and, finally, somehow they all managed to hug each other at the same time.
After everyone had kissed everyone else, Papa straightened. ‘Well, you all look none the worse,’ he said, glancing at Grandmama.
She bustled forward, twisting her lace handkerchief in her hands. ‘As I was saying, Robert, the children have all—’
‘Papa,’ Joe said, tugging on his father’s jacket bottom.
Robert scooped his son up. ‘Yes, son?’
‘I want Josie to come home.’
All eyes fixed on Mrs Munroe.
She flipped the lace square in her hand up and down. ‘They don’t—’
‘You’re looking tired, Mother,’ Robert said in his stern voice. ‘Perhaps you should lie down for a while.’
Two splashes of crimson burst onto Mrs Munroe’s cheeks. ‘I am perfectly well, I assure you, Robert.’
Robert’s mouth curled but it wasn’t a smile. ‘You must allow me to be concerned about your health, and I insist that you go and have an hour or two’s rest in your room while the children tell us what has been happening since we left.’
Mrs Munroe knocked on her son’s study door and waited. After a few moments he called ‘enter’ and she went in. Robert was standing with his back to her, staring up at the family portrait. Since Robert and Ellen had arrived back the day before she hadn’t had a chance to speak to him alone. Dinner last night had been a haphazard affair, with the children all talking at once as if they’d forgotten every word she’d ever said to them.
But she hadn’t reprimanded them. After all, poor Robert had already had his homecoming marred by having to explain to the children about their wayward half-sister. Well, at least most of them were young enough to forget all about her in time . . .
She should have written, she knew that now, but hadn’t for fear that telling her of Josie’s descent into depravity would hinder poor Ellen’s recovery. Of course, if she’d known that Bobby would be so deceitful as to write to her parents in secret, she would have put pen to paper. She only hoped that Robert would deal with his eldest daughter’s lack of honesty appropriately. Deviousness was a trait to be nipped in the bud.
She studied his rigid back. She didn’t relish a conversation about Josie O’Casey but she knew her duty.
Mrs Munroe ran her eyes over him and a swell of motherly pride rose up in her. He was a fine son and one any mother would be proud of. Perhaps now, when all was said and done, it was a blessing that he hadn’t gone into the military all those years ago. The army wasn’t what it was when her dear brother had worn his red coat for balls and assemblies and the occasional battle against the French. Now, English soldiers were sent to the four corners of the globe to fight naked savages. No - better that Robert was at the top of his profession here, at home, not in some far-flung garrison of the empire.
He turned and regarded her coldly but indicated that she should sit. He remained standing, with his hands behind his back.
The pain in her neck started to throb.
‘Mother, Ellen and I are very distressed about Josie,’ he began.
Mrs Munroe summoned up a sympathetic smile. ‘I am sure it is a great shock to you both. It was not easy for you especially to hear that the young woman whom you have loved like a daughter has turned her back on all respectability and attached herself to a married man.’
Robert winced. Mrs Munroe shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry Robert, I truly am,’ she said, hoping she sounded so. ‘But I did warn you about Miss O’Casey’s wayward and impetuous nature. Had I known sooner about her involvement with this Nolan man then maybe I could have saved her from total disgrace. By the time I found out about the liaison, it was too late.’
Robert turned away from her and stared up at the picture again.
Poor boy, she thought, gliding across the room to him. His eyes remained on the canvas.
Giving him time to let the enormity of Josie’s infamy sink in she, too, gazed up at the portrait and her eyes rested on Josie, on what she considered the girl’s brash smile.
She laid her hand gently on his arm. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Robert, for her present situation. It�
��s in the wild blood she inherited from her drunken father.’
Robert stared down at her with a look of astonishment on his face.
‘I don’t blame myself—’
‘Good. You have no rea—’
‘I blame you.’
‘Me!’ Mrs Munroe’s hand flew to her chest. ‘How am I to blame for—’
‘I blame you for bolting my daughter out of her home in her hour of need.’
The pain in her neck started to throb again. ‘She left of her own free will and I don’t think you understand the depths to which Miss O’Casey has fallen.’ She drew in a dramatic breath. ‘Patrick Nolan is married!’
Robert’s brow furrowed as he took in her words.
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 35