by Irene Carr
‘This?’
A catch of the breath, then: ‘Oh! Aah!’
* * *
After Liza left Merryweather she took a hansom to Harrods and bought the clothes Cecily had requested — quickly because she had remembered her promise to William not to be out after dark. She had no fear of Jasper Barbour, saw no reason why she should as Liza Thornton, but she had promised. Another hansom put her down at her hotel in the dusk. A boy in ragged trousers and jersey was selling newspapers near the door, bawling, ‘Barbour arrested!’ Liza bought a copy and gave him an extra penny because he looked cold. She found the item on the front page: Jasper Barbour had been recaptured while trying to break into a house in Kensington and was now safely behind bars. Liza shivered at ‘behind bars’, but sighed with relief.
In the foyer she said to the hall porter, ‘I want to send a message to a ship lying in the river. Can you do that?’
‘Of course, Miss.’ He smiled at her, fatherly. ‘What’s her name, please?’
‘The Wear Lass. She’s a collier and is probably waiting to discharge at Battersea.’
‘I’ll find where she is,’ he assured her. ‘You write out your message and I’ll send a boy to deliver it tonight.’
* * *
So it was that William, aboard the Wear Lass where she lay alongside a wharf, took delivery of a note from a boy in a pillbox cap. He tipped the lad and read the message, written on the hotel’s headed notepaper:
Dear William,
Jasper Barbour has been caught, it’s in the papers. I have a nice room here and have looked at some shops but not bought anything for myself so far. Maybe tomorrow!
I am missing you.
Love,
Cecily
William read it several times and put it away carefully. He went to his narrow bunk thinking of her.
* * *
Liza, in her big empty bed, thought of William. She had torn up her first attempt at the message because she had signed it Liza, the second because, on rereading it, she thought it too affectionate — and wondered how she had come to write it. Then her thoughts turned to Cecily and how she must free her. She revolved in her brain the few facts that she had, the information given her by Merryweather. It seemed there were four or more victims who had presumably refused to testify. Otherwise the sergeant would have called on them instead of the American. Then there were the criminals who called themselves Armstrong, Wood, Dobson and Hunter. They used different names each time, but the method was always the same. As if they lacked imagination. The names went round and round in her mind. And then she was scrambling out of her big bed, seeking writing paper again, struggling into a robe, then sitting at the dressing-table and writing furiously.
* * *
On Wednesday morning Liza handed in Cecily’s new clothes at the prison and hurried on to meet Merryweather. She found him at his station, seated behind a desk and stirring a mug of tea with a pencil. ‘I’ve thought of something,’ she said breathlessly.
‘What would that be?’ He sucked in tea as she told him. Afterwards he said, ‘I can’t believe it.’
She blinked at him. ‘Why not?’
He gave her the first smile she’d seen on his face, but it was wintry. ‘Nobody would be that daft.’
‘They were. They had to have names. Where would they get them from? Would they read them in the papers and call themselves Mr and Mrs Lloyd George?’
‘No, but—’
‘They’ve used the same method every time, never changed it.
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘One of the oldest tricks in the book an’ all,’ he scoffed. ‘Still works, though. Human nature, you see. A woman and a man and temptation.’
‘So?’ Liza said.
He held out his hand. ‘Let me see that list.’ He scanned the names on it. Not many, but d’ye know how many hotels there are in London?’
‘No.’
‘Neither do I, but it’s a hell of a lot — if you’ll excuse the expression.’
Liza stood up. ‘Then the sooner we start, the better.’
The search took most of the day and the rain started early. Merryweather had prudently brought an umbrella but Liza had not. He lent his to her and suffered the soaking with lugubrious stoicism. The umbrella was large, old, black and bent but served its purpose, and Liza had accepted it thankfully.
They visited all manner of hotels, from the very grand, like the Savoy, to the grubby establishments down side-streets that were little better than boarding-houses. They brandished Liza’s list and pored over guest registers, questioned the reception clerk when any name matched one on the list. Merryweather became mournful, but Liza kept him at it. Night fell and still they searched.
They took cab after cab, trudged miles of pavements and picked their way across streets jammed with horse-drawn traffic and littered with manure made liquid by the downpour, the smell of ammonia strong in their nostrils. Until they introduced themselves to Mr Perkins, the manager of a middle-sized hotel who did not welcome the suggestion that he might be harbouring criminals beneath his roof.
He saw them in his office. He was pallid and portly in frock coat and wing collar, looked down his nose at Liza’s umbrella dripping on his carpet and told Merryvveather, ‘I think you must be mistaken, Sergeant. We have a very respectable clientele. Many of our regulars are officers. In any event, I will not have my guests disturbed for no good reason.’
Merryweather was tired and his feet hurt. ‘Blackmail and demanding money with menaces are good reasons. Let’s see your register.’
‘Blackmail!’ The manager wrinkled his nose as if there was a bad smell under it, but he produced the register and Liza bent her head over it. She gasped. ‘Here!’
A slim forefinger jabbed at a name, and Merryweather and the manager craned to see. ‘Mr and Mrs Hawthorn?’ Perkins said, incredulous.
‘Mr and Mrs Leslie Hawthorn,’ Liza said.
‘What are these people like?’ Merryweather asked.
‘Mr Hawthorn is ...’ Perkins hesitated ‘... a rough diamond, but honest, I’m sure. Mrs Hawthorn is a very pleasant lady.’ He had basked in Una’s come-hither smile.
‘I’m sure she is,’ Liza said. ‘And they’re on my list.’ She showed it, crumpled and creased now, to Merryweather. ‘See?’
‘What list is that?’ the manager asked.
‘The names these people used before were all names of Tyneside shipyards,’ Liza explained, ‘and this list is more of the same that we didn’t think they’d used yet. But that’s the one. Hawthorn Leslie is the name of the yard.’
Merryweather addressed the manager: ‘Has Mrs Hawthorn been particularly friendly with any gentleman? Someone of your age, perhaps?’
Perkins flushed. ‘I’ll — er — I’ll find out.’
He left, to return a few minutes later. ‘I’ve spoken to the hall porter and some of the waiters. It seems Mr and Mrs Hawthorn are often with Major Roxborough. He’s one of our regulars, comes up from the country for a week or so two or three times a year. A most respectable gentleman. I’m sure he wouldn’t—’
Merryweather cut in: ‘I doubt if he would, too. Now, which is their room?’
Perkins consulted the register. ‘Two hundred and six.’ ‘Which is the major’s?’
‘Two hundred and ten.’
‘Ahr Merryweather leaned forward. ‘And does the major have to pass their room to reach his own?’
‘Why — yes.’
Merryweather glanced at Liza. ‘That sounds familiar.’ He turned back to the manager. ‘Is there a vacant room opposite the Hawthorns’?’
Perkins checked the register again. ‘Yes.’
Merryweather held out his hand. ‘Let me have the key, please. We’ll keep watch from there.’ It was yielded to him reluctantly, but when he had it he passed it to Liza. ‘I’m going to call up two constables. I’ll tell you now, the man in this case was carrying a knife for cutting throats but we didn’t find one on your friend’s husband.’ He turned to
the manager, who had paled at the mention of a knife. ‘I’ll want to bring my men in unseen. By the back stairs?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And let me know where all these people are, if you can,’ Merryweather finished. ‘Tell Miss Thornton, and she will go up to the empty room and wait there for me.’
He and the manager left and Liza sat on alone. She wondered how long they would have to watch room 206. Then, as she waited for Merryweather to return, the doubts crept in. Suppose her theory was wrong and the names that matched those of Tyneside shipyards were just coincidence? Suppose the Hawthorns were an innocent and respectable couple?
The manager returned. ‘Major Roxborough is at dinner in the restaurant. The Hawthorns are in the hotel, presumably in their room.’
‘Presumably?’ That word, for some reason, sounded an alarm for Liza.
‘They haven’t been seen for some time, but they haven’t handed in their key,’ he explained.
Liza stood up. ‘Thank you.’ She was uneasy. Suppose the Hawthorns were up to something now? ‘I’ll go up now and wait for the sergeant,’ she said.
She took the umbrella with her and ascended in the lift; a page-boy was at the controls. On the second floor she walked along the corridor, silent on the thick carpeting, to room 201: 206 was further along, its door flanked by a low table with a vase of flowers on it. She let herself into 201 and closed the door behind her, but not completely. In the light from the corridor she could make out the dark-curtained window, a double bed, dressing-table, and a big free-standing wardrobe and chairs. She turned and peered through the crack she had left. She could see the doorway of 206. She wondered how long it would be before Merryweather arrived, and glanced down at Cecily’s little watch.
When she looked up again a man had emerged from 206, had closed the door but left it ajar. He was making straight for her, a key in his hand, a big man, bearded, heavy. That was all she saw, and then she was backing away into the darkness of the room to hide beside the wardrobe. The key grated in the lock but the door swung wide under its pressure. The man grunted — surprised at finding it was not locked? He glanced around the room but did not see Liza, hidden beside the wardrobe. He closed the door but not completely, leaving a thin strip of light. He swung an upright chair from its place against the wall and sat on it, peering out into the corridor.
Liza stood deathly still. She was trapped in this room with the stranger.
19
WEDNESDAY, 6 FEBRUARY 1907, LONDON
He was only a few feet away. Liza could hear him breathing. Could he hear her, or the dripping of the umbrella on the carpet? She hardly breathed at all, mouth open. If she moved her head a fraction of an inch she could see him bulking large on the chair, lit by that narrow crack between door and frame. She wondered how he had got a key. The one she had used was in her handbag, along with the list. Then she told herself it did not matter how he had got in. He might have stolen or bought a key from a chambermaid. The important thing to her was that he could reach her in two strides and then— Merryweather had said that the man had threatened his victims with a knife. She could see his hands, big and hairy, clasped into fists on his knees. She imagined them on her body, and her skin crept.
Oh, God! Where were Merryweather and his constables?
The man at the door moved on his chair, restless. Liza shifted her weight from one leg to the other and a board creaked under her. She froze and held her breath, sure he must have heard her, but he only moved again and cleared his throat. Then his restlessness ceased and he was leaning forward in the chair. Liza heard a woman’s voice, the words slurred: ‘Why, hello, Major. Will you help a lady in distress?’
A deeper voice, jovial: ‘If I can, m’dear. What is it?’
‘I can’t open this bottle. Leslie has gone off to Portsmouth to talk to some naval men about business again. He won’t be back until tomorrow and I’m all alone on my birthday. But come in and open this bottle for me. I’m no good at these men things ...’ Both voices faded and then there was silence.
The man at the door relaxed, sat back in his chair and took a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. He sat with it in the palm of his hand and his breathing was regular once more. Liza wanted to change legs again but dared not, had an irritating itch on her nose but would not risk moving to scratch. The minutes ticked away. Five? Six? Liza could not be sure, but then the man rose from the chair and threw the door wide. Liza flinched and tensed for now the light flooded in, bathing the room and the wardrobe that hid her, but he did not glance behind him. He strode away up the corridor in the direction of room 206 and was gone from her sight.
Not for long. Liza scurried out into the corridor just in time to see him shove open the door of room 206. Not locked, she noted. He disappeared inside and his voice came at first in a shocked cry, ‘My God! What’s this?’ Then it changed to an enraged bellow, ‘You swine! Take your hands off my wife,’ and, finally, was solicitous, ‘Has he harmed you, my dear?’
Now Liza was on the threshold and looking into the room. Her first emotion was shock. A man in his fifties, balding and with a toothbrush moustache, stood by the bed, his jaw hanging loose, eyes popping. Beside him was Una Gubbins, as Liza had known her at school. Now she was a voluptuous young woman with her charms on display, her dress and shift around her waist so that she stood bare-breasted. Her full lips pouted and she answered, ‘Not hurt, but shamed.’ She buried her face in her hands.
‘Damn you!’ the bearded man shouted. He was half turned away from her but Liza knew him, too, now she saw him with Una: Piggy Cooper. He had changed, but not for the better. From a plump youth he had grown into a menacing brute. He took a long stride towards the older man who, Liza guessed now, was Major Roxborough. Piggy reached under his jacket and drew out a wicked-looking knife. Light glinted on the blade and he threatened, ‘Try to run and I’ll carve you! I’m going to thrash you then sue you, drag you through the courts! You’ll pay for this!’
The major eyed the knife warily but stood his ground and answered, ‘I’m damned if I’ll let you thrash me!’ Then he temporised: ‘It’s all a misunderstanding. Surely we can settle this between ourselves and save the lady embarrassment?’
‘Trying to buy me off ?’ Piggy said contemptuously.
‘Please, Leslie, my love,’ Una begged, ‘I don’t want publicity.’
‘If you say so,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll settle for cash.’ He took another pace further into the room.
Now Una lowered her hands and saw the dark-haired girl in the corridor. She gaped, then pointed a finger. ‘What are you doing here?’ And then, to Piggy, ‘It’s that Liza Thornton.’
He spun round. ‘Who? Her! What the ‘ell—’ He strode towards Liza, who backed into the corridor. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
‘Long enough,’ Liza answered coolly, because now Merryweather and the two constables were hurrying along the corridor from the direction of the service stairs. Piggy saw them, too. He grabbed for the vase of flowers on the table by the door and threw it in the path of Merryweather and his men. The sergeant stumbled over it, blocking the way of the constables. Piggy lashed out at Liza with the knife but she shrank away. He charged off along the corridor and she followed on his heels, reached out with the umbrella and thrust it between his legs. He fell with a woof as the wind was knocked out of him. Liza jumped on to his shoulders and squatted there, driving his face into the carpet. He still held the knife but he was unable to reach back to use it.
She did not have to hold him there for long. In seconds a constable was twisting the vicious weapon out of Piggy’s grip. Then he clamped on handcuffs and hauled Liza’s prisoner to his feet. She straightened her skirts and brushed herself down, examined the umbrella and found, with relief, that while some of the spokes were bent it still worked. Then she saw Una, properly dressed now, being led out of her room by the other constable. She glared at Piggy and snarled, ‘You yellow bastard! You ran like a rabbit and left me to it.’
‘Keep your gob shut,’ Piggy snapped back at her.
‘I will not! I’m not taking the blame for your big ideas.’
‘You were all for it when you saw the money! A damn sight more than we took off old Kitty Thornton when we burgled her place. And you couldn’t wait to come down to London.’
‘I thought you knew what you were doing, thought you were a man, but you’re a bloody cheapskate!’
Now Liza knew where her savings had gone and rage filled her. Merryweather had been talking to the major but with an eye and an ear on Piggy and Una, writing busily in his notebook. Liza waited until he was done, then she went to him and came straight to the point: ‘I’ll be a witness.’
He smiled sourly. ‘Thank you, but you probably won’t be needed. You heard them just now? I reckon they’ll sell each other out. Besides, I told the major we’d keep his name out of the papers and he’s agreed to testify. They’ll go down.’
‘There’ll be another charge.’ Liza told him briefly of the theft from Kitty, admitted by Piggy.
‘That, too.’ And Merryweather wrote again in his notebook. Liza had not finished by a long chalk. ‘Will you discharge Mr and Mrs Calvert, please?’
He sighed. ‘You must appreciate that there are formalities.’
‘I appreciate that I’ve helped you to catch the real criminals. It’s most important to me that the Calverts are released and I’m asking you to help me.’ As if casually she glanced down at the twisted umbrella that had stopped Piggy — and Merryweather took the point.
He cleared his throat. ‘True. All down to you, Miss. I’ll do all I can.’
* * *
Within two hours Cecily and Mark were back in the Jefferson Hotel, with Liza and Merryweather. The sergeant told the startled manager that a terrible mistake had been made. ‘Is Mr Randolph Stevenson still a guest here?’
‘Why, yes, Sergeant.’