No Cure for Love

by Jean Fullerton

  Josie wanted to ask why it mattered that Ellen was Irish and a Catholic. Everybody went to a church of one sort or another, but because of the raw pain on her mother’s face she couldn’t. She just stood forlornly, thinking that life was so complicated and unfair.

  The smell of beeswax polish wafted up as Robert entered Wapping Police Station. No sooner had he been shown into a tidy office at the back of the station when Inspector Jackson entered. Jackson was a man about ten years older than him, dressed in his regulation dark-blue, swallow-tail police coat. The gold braid on the coat entwined to make a frog around a number fifty-eight on the stiff upright collar, and buff-coloured trousers and stout boots completed his uniform.

  ‘Doctor Munroe.’ Jackson took Robert’s hand in a firm grip.’ It is good to meet you at last,’ Jackson said, indicating that Robert should resume his seat. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Robert sat down. ‘I understand that you are interested in the activities of Mr Danny Donovan.’

  Jackson put his finger to his lips and pulled up a chair alongside Robert. ‘Let’s keep our voices low.’ He glanced at the door. ‘The news of your visit to me will be with Donovan before sunset; we don’t want him to know the contents of our conversation as well.’

  Robert looked aghast. ‘Your men?’

  ‘Most are as keen as I am to see Donovan swing, but I am ashamed to say there are rotten apples in any barrel. Now, how can we help each other?’

  ‘During my investigation into the living conditions in St George’s Parish it’s became clear that much of the money that should have gone into repair works got lost somewhere in the accounts.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Jackson said wearily.

  ‘I have already spoken to Murray, the churchwarden, but he says he has nothing to do with the parish accounts,’ Robert told him, thinking of the frustrating hours spent in the gloomy vestry with the account books.

  ‘Of course he can’t help you, not unless he wants to make his old lady a widow,’ Jackson told him. ‘I’ve already rooted through the books myself and found Murray just as helpful. But the parish funds only scratch the surface of Donovan’s dealings.’

  ‘Mr Cooper from the Wellclose Square mission told me that you have a dossier on Donovan.’

  Jackson fished out a key on a chain around his neck and went to the large safe in the corner of his office. He opened it and took out a large, buff-coloured file tied with a faded blue tape, and placed it on the desk.

  ‘This is the file on Danny Donovan I have been accumulating since I came into the post three years ago, although some of the statements stretch back before that. It’s all here. Every beating, every missing cargo, every body found floating in the river that has a link to Danny Donovan. It’s known he has a hand in who is taken on at the docks. Those who “see him right” are offered the first ticket. And if a ship’s officer has a perishable cargo, he would be wise to send his “regards” to Danny in coin if he doesn’t want it to rot in the hold.’

  ‘Why haven’t you prosecuted Donovan long ago?’

  ‘It is known, Munroe, but not yet provable.’ Jackson let out a colourful oath. ‘If a body is dragged from the Thames, it’s a pound to a penny that the poor soul has fallen foul of Donovan in some way. If a shopkeeper is found with the life near battered out of him, it’s the same odds that he hasn’t paid Donovan his protection money. And most of the stolen cargo from the ships and bonded wharves passes through Donovan’s dirty hands on its way inland. I was in the army for ten years before joining the force. I’ve seen men cut to ribbons in battle but they look as if they have nicked themselves shaving compared with the sort of slicing Donovan and his bully boys dish out. I have a great deal of hearsay evidence against Donovan, but witnesses are too scared to testify against the bastard in open court.’

  Robert gazed at the file for a moment. ‘Do you have anything in there about a woman called Old Annie? I believe she lives in Dock Street.’

  Jackson flipped through the pages.

  ‘Here,’ he jabbed a finger at one of the entries. ‘Anne Bunton, 23 Dock Street. According to this she’s an old moll, but has long since given that up. She’s been before the beak for a couple of affrays outside public houses and been bound over. What’s your interest?’

  Robert told him about Kitty Henry.

  Jackson whistled though his teeth. ‘Procuring the death of a child is a hanging offence. If we could get Annie on that she might turn King’s evidence on Danny, and who knows where that might lead? I’ll send a couple of constables to visit her.’ An astute smile crept across the inspector’s face. ‘You never know what we might turn up.’

  The chandelier above Danny’s head sent tiny points of light over the bleached white tablecloth and the remains of the East London Business Association lunch. All around the table the self-made men of the area and the local dignitaries scraped their chairs back and headed for the drawing room. Leaning forward and lighting his cigar from the candle nearest him, Danny watched them.

  He was alone tonight. He couldn’t very well bring Mike to a function like this, God bless him. He would have been like a bull at a ball here. Not that Mike minded. Besides Danny had slipped him a guinea to buy himself a bit of classy company after the Angel shut.

  Thinking of the man who was like a brother to him set Danny off on an unusually maudlin path. If they could see him now, those barefoot sons of the old country like himself who were once known as the Flower and Dean Street gang! Most of them had long since ended their days at the end of a rope. In fact, as far as he knew, only he and Mike still had the sun on their faces.

  Over by the side table stood several men whom Danny knew very well. Alderman Cotton, John Ridley, Captain Merton and Marcus Millstone, a wholesale tea merchant. Danny rose to his feet and sauntered over to their table.

  ‘Good to see you here, Danny,’ Alderman Cotton said, the heat from the overhead lights causing his forehead to glisten with sweat.

  ‘So, how’s trade?’ he asked Captain Merton.

  ‘Brisk, very brisk. I can’t unload the ships fast enough. They’re queuing way out to Barking Creek,’ the weatherbeaten captain replied.

  ‘Then me boys’ll have plenty of work,’ Danny said winking.

  Merton’s face became troubled. ‘Times are changing, Donovan. There are Polish gangs working the docks now, and it’s a competitive world...’ he trailed off.

  Danny fixed him with a piercing stare. Merton smiled at him genially, but there was a small tremor in his right eyelid.

  ‘Are the provisions on the dockside when your ships sail?’ Danny asked innocently.

  ‘They are,’ Merton replied, looking uneasy.

  Danny’s face creased in a crafty smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. With ships queuing right back to Barking Creek I wouldn’t want there to be any delay in getting your ships off the wharfside, now. I mean, a delay could bring a senior officer from the Company down to see what the problem was.’

  Merton shot a glance at Ridley who re-crossed his spindly legs.

  ‘I am sure you heard about the Emergency Committee meeting last week,’ Ridley said, his voice a notch higher in pitch than was usual.

  Of course he’d fecking heard.

  Fury started to bubble in his chest. Even though Cashman had patched up Hope and Anchor Passage, he had refused to foot the bill for the further repairs that Munroe had demanded through the enforcement order. That cost would have to be borne by the parish funds. Even a veiled threat about telling his wife about Cissy hadn’t made the builder change his mind. The devil himself take the man. Danny ground the cigar between his teeth. Cashman had been too sure of himself for his liking when he visited the builder again in his yard. It was as if he actually thought Munroe would get the better of him, Danny Donovan.

  Danny blew a long stream of cigar smoke above the men’s heads. ‘I heard about the meeting.’

  ‘There was nothing we could do,’ Merton explained. ‘Even Murphy, your own verger, argued ag
ainst the enforcement order.’

  ‘Then why was it passed?’ Danny asked in a chilling voice.

  A few months ago, such a challenge to his authority would have brought forth swift retribution, but now, with Munroe watching his every move, retribution was not so simple. Munroe had paid a visit to Inspector Jackson. Not for the first time, Danny silently cursed the fact that the one senior officer who refused to have his palm greased was in charge of the local police.

  He saw the men look anxiously at each other, then Millstone spoke. ‘I wasn’t at the meeting, so I don’t know why Ridley and Merton were outvoted, but the outbreak of cholera has everyone panicky. The government itself has appointed us, men of substance in the area, to see what can be done to halt its progress. It’s our civic duty, if you will. You have to understand that Doctor Munroe is reporting back to the Home Secretary.’

  ‘So?’

  Cotton drew himself up tall and stepped forward. ‘We’re businessmen, Donovan, and leaders in the community. ’ Those around preened a little and nodded. Buoyed by their support he continued. ‘How would it look if we interfered with Munroe’s attempts to stop the outbreak? The press and those godly reformers would be all over us.’

  Merton nodded his head. ‘Munroe’s a doctor and trained to be thorough. I think that it is in our best interest to cooperate with him.’

  Danny’s eyes narrowed. These puffed-up idiots, who did they think they were? Had they forgotten the little favours he did them? Did they think about their place in the community when they were enjoying the entertainment in one of his whorehouses at no cost, or when their wives had expensive silks on their backs because of his arrangement with the wharfmen?

  If he went down because of Munroe’s investigation, he would not be alone.

  ‘Thorough is it?’ he said, his mouth pulled back in a chilling grin, and the men around him looked alarmed. ‘Oh, yes, Munroe’s thorough. Will you still be telling me of his thoroughness when he starts to look into the scales in the East India Company shop and the amount of sawdust there is in the flour?’ Ridley blanched.

  Alderman Cotton flushed scarlet. ‘Now, look here...’

  ‘And will you still be fretting about the Home Secretary when the Revenue start to look into what goes into certain warehouses and compare it to duty paid?’ Danny cut in, jabbing a finger in their direction.

  There was silence.

  ‘I am surprised that you, with all the different comforts you have to offer, haven’t advised our good doctor to be more prudent in how he goes about his enquiries,’ Merton said with a sneer.

  In any other company Danny would have changed such an expression with his fists. But this was the upper room in the Hoop and Grapes, not Paddy’s Goose. He shrugged.

  ‘Such as? He doesn’t need money. He’s not a drinker or a gambler and has no interest in investments. All he’s interested in is shit and water.’

  Millstone laughed and the other three glared at him.

  Cotton stubbed out his cigar violently in the glass ashtray beside him. ‘Surely he must have some weakness, something he’s interested in other than drains.’

  ‘He sounds more like a saint than a man,’ Ridley interjected, waving to the waiter for another brandy.

  Millstone snickered. ‘Munroe’s a man all right, he’s in the Angel often enough. I saw him there myself last week, and he seemed mighty interested in your singer, Ellen.’ He nudged Merton beside him. ‘Can’t say as how I blame him though.’

  Ellen. Yes, Munroe was interested in Ellen, but Danny was hardly in a position to offer her to him. And even if he were able to bribe Munroe with her favours, he wouldn’t because he was going to have Ellen for himself.

  With slow deliberation Danny sank back in the buttoned leather chair. He rolled the glass around in his hand, watching the dark spirit swish back and forth. ‘Let me put it like this, gentlemen. You just take care of your business and leave me to take care of mine.’

  Robert looked up at the large clock with Roman numerals that sat high on the cream-painted wall of his office in the new Cholera Hospital. Four twenty-five. Jabbing his nib into the inkwell on the desk, he returned to the papers spread out before him.

  He could just hear the chink of enamel bowls being emptied and the regular tapping of the nurses’ heels as they went about their business.

  To the committee’s credit the cholera hospital had been set up just as Robert had specified. It had sixteen beds, new linen and heating from steam pipes. There were four nurses during the day and two at night to care for the sick. There was even a litter to bring the sick to the hospital if they were unable to make their own way there. He had ordered a controversial regime that included as much fluid as the person wanted, clean privies and no bleeding of the patients. So far, those who had survived the disease with this treatment were greater than the number succumbing to it. Robert made his usual meticulous notes.

  The clock struck the half hour melodiously. Pinching the corners of his eyes Robert forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  The numbers in the neatly written column danced before his eyes but he continued nonetheless. He had to. He was very near to linking the incidence of cholera with where people drew their water. If he could prove the link then he would be able to prevent the spread of the disease.

  He heard the hospital door and the noise from the room outside ceased abruptly. Robert stood up to investigate what could have caused such a silence and came face to face with Danny Donovan, dressed in his usual gaudy fashion finished off with a gold watch, cravat pin and cuff clips. Black Mike trotted behind him. Robert’s gaze travelled over Danny’s bloated features as he stood in the centre of the ward.

  ‘Doctor Munroe,’ Danny said pleasantly. ‘Meself and Mike, we thought we might drop by and have a word, with you. Private like.’ Danny swept his gaze around the ward.

  Robert led them into his office and closed the door.

  Resuming his seat, he waited until the two men had settled into their chairs on the other side of his desk.

  ‘What is it, Donovan?’

  Danny’s face lost its pretence of friendliness. ‘You’ve been making some powerful enemies, so you have, Doctor Munroe, with your enforcement orders and bringing in inspectors to look into parish affairs,’ he said, picking up the crystal inkwell and turning it over in his hand.

  ‘I am surprised. Most folk seem mighty thankful that their streets are at last clean and their pumps working. If I’ve made enemies, it’s not of the ordinary folk hereabouts but of those who rob and cheat them to line their own pockets.’

  Danny’s hand closed around the inkwell. ‘The folk around here are ignorant and don’t know what’s good for them. They’re too busy drinking and fecking.’

  ‘And you profit from both, don’t you? Dealing in both drink and prostitution as you do. And of course making good use of them yourself at the same time. I believe the late Kitty Henry was an intimate friend of yours. That is before she bled to death after some butcher cut your child from her.’

  Danny’s face became a jigsaw of red and purple blotches and there was a crack of bones as his hand gripped the crystal inkwell tighter. Black Mike laid a hand on Danny’s arm. He shrugged it off and sprang to his feet. He drew the fist holding the inkwell back but Robert didn’t flinch. Black Mike took hold of Danny’s raised arm, more forcibly this time, and stopped it from completing its arc. Robert’s cool eyes locked on Danny’s and the men stood, the hatred palpable between them, for several seconds. Then Danny tossed the inkwell onto the desk. It landed on Robert’s research papers spilling the indigo ink across them.

  ‘I’ll be warning you, Doctor,’ Danny ground out.

  Robert went to his office door and threw it open. ‘Out!’

  His gaze didn’t waver. Then in a swift move for one of his size Danny spun on his heels and headed for the door. Black Mike, as always, was a step behind. Danny stopped as he came abreast of Robert and jabbed his finger at him. ‘You’ve been warned.
’

  Holding her lace handkerchief up to her mouth Caroline feigned a cough to hide a yawn. Beside her Mrs Munroe sat calm and serene and the hotel butler stood ready to open the door. For the third time the older woman’s glance went to the clock on the mantelshelf. Caroline followed the glance. Seven twenty-five.

  Before she could stop it, a long sigh escaped her. As if it wasn’t boring enough to have to dine privately with Robert in his mother’s apartments rather than taking a table at the one of the Covent Garden dining houses frequented by London society, she had to wait under the disapproving eye of Mrs Munroe for Robert to arrive. In fact, after their last meeting when he’d quizzed her about his work and been so beastly, if they had actually been engaged she would have seriously considered breaking with him. But she couldn’t even have that satisfaction as she had yet to receive his proposal.

  Caroline stole a glance at Robert’s mother and her shoulders slumped as she slid down in the chair.

  When her mother had read out Mrs Munroe’s invitation to ‘take the season’ with her she had imagined balls in Whitehall, regimental parades at Brighton, and being seen in the Pump Room at Bath, not churches in Cheapside, promenading in Weymouth and taking the waters at Tunbridge.

  Mrs Munroe was dull enough when she called on Mama and droned on for hours about how the poor should attend Sunday service to improve their morals, so why on earth did she ever agree to accompany her south on her yearly visit? Robert, of course. It was only because she had been so sure that Robert was going to make her an offer of marriage. But he hadn’t, and now what?

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had an opportunity. If he’d wanted to he could have joined them for their stroll in St James’s Park. Then he couldn’t join them for the recital of the Messiah because he had to supervise some hospital thing. Then, just as they were getting ready to take tea with him in his rooms, he sent a note telling them he was too busy, and now they were leaving the day after tomorrow. But there was still time. If his mother would absent herself tonight, if only for twenty minutes, Robert could do as he should and all would be well.