Two Bronze Pennies

by Chris Nickson

  Reed watched as she brought a small package from the pocket of her dress and shyly placed it in his hand. He was careful, unknotting the ribbon then laying it and the paper aside. In the box was a pair of cufflinks with the crest of the West Yorkshires, his old regiment. Something he didn’t even know he’d wanted, but he’d cherish them for the rest of his life.

  ‘They’re …’ he began, but he didn’t have the words for what he felt inside. ‘Thank you,’ he managed finally and kissed her.

  ‘Tom,’ Annabelle said tentatively, stirring him from his thoughts. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ He finished chewing his breakfast bread and butter and looked at her. She’d been up since four, wearing her old dress and apron, and out in the big kitchen in the back garden, first working with the bakers, then supervising the boys as they loaded the handcarts to push the loaves and pies and pastries to the shops. He reached across and brushed a flour smudge from her face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘About opening another bakery.’

  ‘Another one?’ he asked in surprise. ‘What for?’

  She already owned two, both of them local, as well as the pub. During the autumn she’d begun lending a little money to local families. He’d told her the interest rates the Shylocks charged and she’d been horrified, determined to do better for those who needed it. Harper hadn’t been happy at the idea, but he knew that once a thought came to her she never let it drop. So far she’d done well enough, everyone paying back on time. She charged them a halfpenny a week on five bob. People were grateful and eager. He just didn’t want her to come a cropper.

  ‘There’s plenty more opportunity out there. I was over in Burmantofts last week. A lot of folk around, what with all those factories and industry, but not many shops to serve them. I only saw one baker.’

  ‘It’ll mean more work.’

  ‘Not really.’ She poured a cup of tea from the pot. ‘We already bake for two shops. A third wouldn’t take much more, at least to begin with. And we’d only start small. What do you think?’

  He loved the way she wanted his advice, although he knew nothing about business. She trusted him, she truly wanted to know what he thought. She wanted him to be a part of it all. Annabelle had money. More than he knew, most likely. By any standards, she was a woman of means. Compared to those who lived in the streets around the Victoria, she was rich.

  Annabelle could buy or sell most of the self-important men he met, but she had no desire for the big house, a carriage or any of those trappings. She was content in the rooms above the pub. She spent some money on clothes, new gowns to fill her wardrobe, but most went into the bank.

  ‘Have you found a place there yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve not even started looking. I’m going to walk around over there in a day or two. It has to be right.’

  ‘You really think it’ll make money?’ Annabelle had that glimmer of determination in her eye.

  ‘I do. It should be a good little earner,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And it’s close enough.’

  That much was true, he thought as he drained the cup of tea and stood. Burmantofts was little more than half a mile from the Victoria.

  ‘If it’s you, you’ll make it a success.’

  As he pulled on the overcoat, she straightened his tie.

  ‘That suit looks just right on you,’ she said approvingly.

  It did; a perfect fit, the trousers tight across his thighs and tapering over his boots, the jacket cut just right, four buttons, expensive dark grey worsted. It was her Christmas present to him, a whole outfit, with shirt, a set of the new-style fold-over collars and a silk tie, all of it waiting when he returned home the night before.

  ‘I went to see that man who made your wedding suit,’ she’d explained as she held the clothes up for him. ‘That Jewish one.’

  ‘Moishe?’ he said, then gave the English: ‘Moses?’

  ‘That’s him. He did such a good job on that, I told him to make one like it but better.’ Her smile turned shy. ‘I hope you like it.’

  It was the costliest thing he’d ever owned. The material felt smooth and luxurious under his fingers. It fitted as well as a pair of rich leather gloves. Now, staring in the long mirror, he could see just how perfect it was. Moses had performed his magic well. And the new fashion in collars was comfortable. They didn’t rise up and press against his throat. Looked better with a tie, too.

  Annabelle cocked her head. ‘Are you poorly?’

  ‘No,’ he answered in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re very pale this morning, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, giving her a quick kiss before he left.

  His breath clouded the air as he strode out. He should have known better than to think he could fool her.

  He listened carefully for noises as he walked. Everything was fine now. But when he woke, he hadn’t been able to hear anything in his bad right ear again. Not a sound. He’d panicked, full of fear as he dressed.

  It only lasted for five minutes. Then the hearing suddenly returned, no worse than it was before. Just like the day before. But the time seemed to stretch out forever. It was long enough to imagine himself always like this, half-deaf, and it terrified him, his very worst fear made real. A blasted future. Made to leave the police, back to a lifetime of pushing barrels every day at Brunswick’s Brewery.

  He breathed deep, icy air in his lungs. It was over, he told himself, it had passed. He needed to focus on Abraham Levy, not his own problems.

  The night before, he’d gone back down to the Leylands, seeing the constables on patrol. Apart from them the streets were empty. On Nile Street he knocked on the door and waited. A rush of voices and then the rabbi was standing there, the long grey beard majestic, his eyes filled with sorrow, pain and a touch of anger.

  ‘Inspector.’ He sighed. ‘This isn’t a good time. You know we’ve just buried my nephew.’

  He knew. In the ground before sunset the day after death.

  ‘I need to talk to Samuel.’

  ‘Not now, Mr Harper,’ Feldman said. ‘Please.’

  ‘It’s important, sir,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t you want Abraham’s killer caught?’

  The man bristled. His mouth became a thin line.

  ‘Come in, then,’ he said grudgingly.

  ‘No, sir. I’d like to see him in private.’

  For a few seconds they stared at each other until Feldman turned away. Light spilled from the house. Harper waited outside in the cold and dark. Finally Samuel Levy appeared, still in his good suit, a wary look on his face, pulling on a battered overcoat two sizes too large for him.

  He was tall for his age with thick, curly hair and full lips. In a year or two all the girls would be after him. For now, though, he was still lean, caught between boy and man. A scared lad who’d lost his brother.

  They walked the streets for the better part of an hour. The talk was stilted at first, Levy keeping his secrets close. Bit by bit it eased and things began to spill out. Samuel had looked up to his brother. He’d followed him, listened closely and taken the words to heart.

  ‘Did he have run-ins with people?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Levy admitted, then quickly added, ‘but it was usually nothing more than words. If people started something, Abraham wouldn’t back down. None of us would.’ He stared at the inspector with youthful defiance. ‘Why should we?’

  ‘Was there anyone in particular?’

  ‘Not really. If any of them came out here, we’d try to chase them off.’

  ‘No fighting?’

  Samuel hesitated. ‘Not often.’ Pride came into his voice. ‘Most of them ran fast enough as soon as we fought back.’

  ‘The girls fought as well?’

  ‘Of course.’ He seemed astonished at the question. ‘Why not? This is their home, too.’ For a few seconds he was silent, eyes assessing the inspector’s face. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’

  He led the way along the
streets into town, moving quickly and purposefully. He stopped outside a rooming house on Vicar Lane, pointing at a sign in the window. ‘Take a look at that.’

  Roughly written on a piece of cardboard were the words NO JEWS.

  Harper glanced at the boy. ‘Are there many more like this?’

  Levy walked away and the inspector followed. The lad paused outside businesses and lodging houses, simply pointing at the notices that read NO JEWS WANTED.

  There were only a few of them, but even one was too many, Harper thought. He’d never seen them before.

  ‘How long have those been up?’ he asked as they walked back to the Leylands.

  ‘Long enough,’ Levy answered darkly. ‘A few months.’

  How had he missed these, Harper wondered? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned it? He waited before broaching another question.

  ‘Tell me, Samuel, do you know about any groups?’

  ‘Groups?’ There was a bitter edge to the boy’s voice. ‘What do you mean? What kind of groups? Gangs? Ones that hate us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s really only one that causes much trouble. They’ve come down here a few times. Do you know what they call themselves? The League for the Defence of the Realm.’ Levy snorted with disgust.

  ‘I’ve never heard of them.’

  ‘We’ve chased them off whenever they’ve come into the Leylands. But if they see any of us in town they’ll follow us. Insult us, spit on us. Abraham—’ He stopped suddenly.

  ‘What? What was your brother going to do?’ Harper waited, hoping for an answer. ‘What?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me.’ The admission sounded like defeat. ‘He said it was better if I didn’t know.’

  He sat in Kendall’s office at Millgarth station, recounting the conversation. The superintendent looked rested, as immaculately turned out as ever; the knot on his tie was neat, sideboards carefully trimmed along the jawline, the smell of pomade filled the room.

  ‘The League for the Defence of the Realm?’ the superintendent asked with a frown. ‘Doesn’t mean anything to me.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘You think they could be behind this?’

  ‘I’ve no idea yet,’ Harper said. ‘But at least we have somewhere to start now.’

  ‘What do you want to do, Tom? Bring them in?’

  ‘We have to find out who they are first, sir.’

  ‘Then get the word out,’ the super ordered.

  ‘I will.’ But carefully, he decided. Some of his snitches could be members. ‘I do have one idea.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘After we find them, we put one of our men in the group.’

  Kendall let out a slow hiss of breath. ‘No. We don’t have months to spend on this, Tom. I need someone in court as soon as we can.’ He shook his head. ‘Find out the names and pull them in. Force some answers out of them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘With luck we’ll have this closed by the time the Frog comes on Sunday.’

  Harper was at the door, already turning the knob, when the superintendent asked, ‘Is that a new suit?’

  ‘A Christmas present from my wife.’

  ‘It looks good on you,’ Kendall said approvingly. ‘Very smart.’

  The pubs were busy. Harper moved quickly from one to another. The Rose and Crown, Whitelock’s, the Pack Horse, the Leopard Hotel; he went from Great George Street down through town. He saw some familiar faces, but no one had heard of the League. Finally he stopped in the Old Nag’s Head on Kirkgate. The sign outside promised Pure Yorkshire Ales, but he doubted there’d ever been anything pure in here.

  It was a single, low-roofed room, scarred and stained by years of abuse. The gas mantles hissed, but even with the faint light it always held a deep gloom, as if the price of entering was giving up hope. He gazed around; no one he knew.

  Outside, the cold seemed to burn against his skin. He glanced up at the sky. Smoke from the factory chimneys rose, acrid and dark. Christmas was over and Leeds was back at work. Finally, rubbing his hands together to warm them, he crossed Kirkgate to the office of the Gasworkers and General Builders’ Union. Maybe there was someone who might be able to help him.

  A fire blazed in the hearth, warming the man who sat at the desk. His wing collar was grubby, his tie was awkwardly knotted and his suit had seen better days. But there was a grin under the red beard.

  ‘Seasonal visit, Inspector?’ He gestured at a chair and Harper sat gratefully, unbuttoning his coat. ‘Spirit of goodwill?’

  ‘And good wishes to you, Mr Maguire.’

  Tom Maguire was a union organizer, a socialist, a speaker at meetings and a poet when he wasn’t earning his wage as a photographer’s assistant. He’d been at the heart of the gas workers’ strike a few months earlier and seen them beat the council.

  ‘You’re looking dapper.’

  ‘My present from Annabelle.’

  ‘She’s a generous woman,’ Maguire said. He’d known her since he was a baby, growing up Irish, just a street or two away from her family on the Bank. ‘Good taste in clothes, too. But you’ve not come just to show off your tailoring.’ He smiled. ‘Too chilly out there for you?’

  ‘I’m looking for some information. Have you ever heard of the League for the Defence of the Realm?’

  ‘Not an organization that’s likely to ask me to join.’ He leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp, an amused smile playing across his mouth. ‘Why are you interested in them?’

  ‘They might have something to do with that killing in the Leylands.’

  ‘Abraham?’ Maguire pursed his mouth and shook his head slowly. ‘Now that’s a sad loss. He was a good lad, I met him a few times.’

  Harper wasn’t surprised that the pair would know each other. ‘What did you make of him?’

  ‘Clever.’ He thought. ‘He was angry but I could understand that. It’s not just the Jews, you know. They’re new here. The English have hated the Irish for centuries.’

  ‘And the League?’

  ‘They’d have us all out of here if they had their way.’ He toyed with a pencil, turning it over and over in his hand. ‘Anyone who comes here is stealing their jobs and taking their charity. Not that such a thing exists,’ he added.

  ‘Who are they? Do you know?’

  Harper pursed his lips. ‘Find one of them on his own and he’s a very scared little man. Put a few of them together and they become bullies. You know the type, Inspector.’

  He did. He’d arrested enough like that in his time. ‘Any names?’

  ‘You know that normally I wouldn’t help the police.’ Maguire continued quickly before Harper could interrupt. ‘But in this case it’s a service to my country.’ He counted them on his fingers. ‘John Godfrey, Rob Woods, Daniel Warner, Peter Lawton and Richard Boyd. Those are the ones I know.’

  ‘Where will I find them?’

  ‘That’s your business, Inspector. I’m not here to do your job for you.’ But his eyes were twinkling as he said it.

  Harper stood and glanced out of the window. A thin sleet had begun to fall. Maguire followed his gaze.

  ‘That good suit’s going to get wet.’

  At Millgarth the inspector asked Tollman about the names. If anyone would know it would be him; the desk sergeant had a memory that ran as deep and long as a river.

  ‘Boyd, Woods and Warner,’ he said after some consideration. ‘We’ve had them in before now. Drunk and disorderly. Three times for Woods, if I remember right. Nasty piece of work.’

  ‘Where did we arrest them?’

  ‘Cork and Bottle, I believe, sir.’

  That surprised him. Back when the public house had been part of his beat it had been a peaceful enough place. But times changed.

  He assembled the constables carefully. Ash, bemused as ever; he’d arrested the men before, he knew them. And four other uniforms, all of them big men.

  ‘Any problems, use your truncheons,’ Harper ordered, waiting until they all no
dded. ‘I want them back here. Separate cells.’

  ‘Are you going to question them tonight, sir?’ Ash asked.

  ‘No. Let them stew till morning. Right, any questions?’

  Reed took the last train back to Leeds. Elizabeth left John, the oldest, in charge of the others, still happily playing with their presents.

  ‘My mam’ll be home in a minute,’ she said as she put her arm through his. ‘You know, I can’t remember when we had any time just to ourselves.’

  The platform was empty, no other passengers waiting. She put her arms around him rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘When do you have a day off again?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he answered. ‘We have a murder case.’ Tentatively, he stroked her hair and heard her sigh with contentment.

  ‘Are you going to come out here when you’re free?’

  He nodded. It had become habit. When the shifts were long he clung to the thought of seeing her again, the same way he used to look forward to a drink. And still did, from time to time; just not so often any more. She was open, loving, generous. She’d chosen him and he couldn’t understand why.

  He heard the train approaching. Her eyes were sad as he kissed her.

  ‘Make sure you take care of yourself,’ she told him.

  ‘I will.’ He knew what she hoped, that some day he’d pop the question. But how could he take responsibility for her and the children when he could barely look after himself? He didn’t want her jerking awake in the night when the bad dreams came to him. He didn’t want them there when his temper roared.

  SIX

  Robbie Woods was still wearing handcuffs when the officer brought him into the interview room. Harper nodded and the constable removed them. He drank his tea and waited as the man rubbed his wrists.

  ‘You didn’t seem too happy last night,’ the inspector said.

  Woods glared at him and found his voice. ‘Why the bloody hell would I? I wasn’t doing anything, just having a drink with my mates.’

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘No.’ He was a heavy man, already run to fat, a tattered coat over a shirt with no collar. His face was sullen, heavy overnight stubble on his cheeks and dark, ratted hair under a checked cap.