Tanner Trilogy 01 - Gaslight in Page Street

by Harry Bowling

  On Monday morning Maudie Mycroft swept the house, changed her lace curtains and then whitened her front doorstep. It was still early and she decided to get the copper going. Mondays was always a very busy day for Maudie. She liked to have the house cleaned by midday and there was time for her to do her hair and change into her best bits for the mothers’ meeting at the church. Maudie got down on her hands and knees on the stone floor of the scullery and raked out the ashes from under the copper, then she put in sticks of wood and pieces of torn-up newspaper. Satisfied that all was ready she threw in a piece of rag soaked in paraffin and set it alight. Next she inspected the mousetraps by the door and saw that the bits of cheese were still there. Setting the traps was a job she did not relish, especially when the mothers’ meeting usually began with the hymn, ‘All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small’, and she would find herself thinking about the mice as she was singing it with feeling. Those creatures had to be kept down, Maudie told herself as she walked back into her front parlour. Ernest was frightened of the mousetraps. He had laid them himself at one time all over the house, until he trod on one in the bedroom and ended up with a blackened big toenail. Now he left it to her and she confined the traps to the back door. Ernest had wanted her to get a good mouser but Maudie could not stand cats. They smelt the place out, she thought. Florrie’s place always smelt of cats and snuff. She liked her house spic and span when Ernest got in at night, not smelling of cat’s piss.

  The copper was heating up nicely and Maudie took off the lid and threw in her weekly wash. When she got back from the meeting there would be time to run it through the wringer while the scrag of mutton was cooking, she told herself. Monday was always mutton day and Tuesday she would get a nice piece of fresh plaice or a half sheep’s head. Wednesday was going to be a problem though. If Ernest managed to get a full day’s work at the docks she could get faggots and pease pudden, otherwise it would have to be a slice of brawn and a few potatoes. It was no use worrying about the rest of the week, she sighed. It all depended how Ernest’s work went. At least the house would be nice and tidy for him to come in to.

  At twelve noon Maudie made herself a cup of tea and decided to do without bread and cheese. There was barely enough for Ernest’s sandwiches and in any case there were always biscuits with a cup of tea at the meeting, she reminded herself. The copper was nice and hot now and Maudie shovelled up some small pieces of coal and threw them in. There was just time to do that bit of sewing before getting herself ready, she thought as she checked that the curtains were hanging right. She should have cleaned those windows, she realised, but they had only been done on Saturday and the neighbours might think she was getting house-proud. Being aware of what the neighbours might be thinking was something Maudie attached great importance to. She had heard Florrie going on about Aggie’s fetish for cleanliness and did not like to think that the same was being said about her.

  Maudie was a worrier, and when there was nothing to worry about she invented something. Childless and in her early fifties, Maudie had got religion. Next to Ernest and her tidy home, the church had become the most important thing in her life. Maudie worried about what the other women would think of the black raffia hat that Ernest had bought her as she put it on and secured it with a large hat pin, and she was still worrying as she hurried along the little turning. The day was cold and the wind stung her face as she crossed Jamaica Road and took the short cut to Dockhead Church.

  Reverend Mercer was standing by the door greeting all the ladies. She gave him a warm smile as he nodded a greeting to her. When the venerable gentleman smiled back, Maudie felt all fluttery. She was sure Reverend Mercer reserved his best smile for her and worried in case any of the other ladies had noticed.

  Maudie took her place and solemn organ notes filled the hall as the short service began. As usual the first hymn was ‘All things bright and beautiful’ and Maudie began to worry about the mousetraps. She heard Reverend Mercer’s musical voice leading the congregation and soon it made her feel better, although his choice of ‘The feeding of the five thousand’ for the sermon made her empty stomach rumble and she worried in case anybody heard it. It seemed an extraordinarily long time before they settled down to their usual tea and biscuits and Maudie got into her customary state in case there were not enough biscuits to go round. All was well, however, and she munched thankfully on a custard cream while the lady sitting next to her went on about her wayward husband.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if I was a bad wife,’ she was saying. ‘I worked my fingers to the bone, and what was my fanks? My ’usband ran off wiv this flighty piece an’ I was left ter struggle on. Mind yer, ’e came back. Once ’e found out I’d bin left the ’ouse an’ I was takin’ in lodgers, ’e came back like a shot. Must ’ave thought I was well off, I s’pose.’

  Maudie nodded, worrying that the Reverend might overhear them. ‘My Ernest is a very good man, fank the Lord,’ she managed quickly before the woman started off again.

  ‘Yer should be grateful,’ the woman told her. ‘I’ve not ’ad the best of ’usbands. I was glad ter see the back of mine, in actual fact.’

  Maudie was beginning to get confused. ‘I thought yer said ’e came back?’

  ‘Oh, ’e did, fer a few weeks, then ’e ups an’ goes again,’ the woman said casually. ‘’E wouldn’t allow me ter take in lodgers an’ I ’ad ter get rid of ’em. Mind yer, I took ’em in again after ’e buggered orf, but I wonder if I’ve done the right fing sometimes. I’ve got this bloke stayin’ wiv me an’ ’e’s bin actin’ very strange.’

  ‘In what way?’ Maudie asked, her curiosity aroused.

  ‘Well,’ the woman began, looking around to make sure she wasn’t being overheard, ‘this lodger o’ mine left fer work this mornin’ as usual an’ ten minutes later ’e was back. White as a sheet ’e was. I asked ’im if ’e was ill but ’e jus’ shook ’is ’ead an’ went straight up to ’is room. Somefink mus’ be worryin’ ’im, I ses ter meself, ’e’s bin pacin’ that room all mornin’. I went up ter see if ’e wanted anyfing before I came out but ’e jus’ gave me a stare. The way ’e jus’ stared really frightened me, I can tell yer.’

  Maudie shivered in sympathy. ‘Yer gotta be so careful, the fings yer read about these days.’

  ‘I never read the papers,’ the woman said. ‘They’re too depressin’, what wiv all that war stuff.’

  Maudie nodded. ‘There was somebody burnt ter death in our turnin’ on Saturday night. It was in this mornin’s papers. As a matter o’ fact they fink ...’

  Reverend Mercer’s loud voice interrupted the conversation. ‘Right then, ladies, let us form ourselves into groups for the discussion,’ he called out. ‘Oh, Mrs Mycroft, could I ask you to join our new ladies’ group? You’ll be able to get them started.’

  Maudie felt very pleased that Reverend Mercer should single her out and gave him a big smile as she hurried over to join the group.

  The other woman was cross at not hearing the rest of Maudie’s story and promised herself she would break a habit and buy a paper as soon as she left the meeting.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Detective Sergeant Crawford was not feeling too optimistic as he hurried along Tower Bridge Road on Monday morning. He had had reason to call on Beckford’s the pawnbrokers a few times in the past and had never made much progress. In fact he was sure that Benjamin Beckford was a fence. The man had a shifty nature and always seemed to be in a hurry to get the interview over. From what he had been told by his contacts, Detective Sergeant Crawford gathered that Beckford was not the most popular businessman in Bermondsey. He haggled over the few coppers he paid out on the pledges and was quick to put the unredeemed items in the window, unlike most of the other pawnbrokers in the area, who gave their customers a few weeks’ grace before marking their possessions up for sale.

  Crawford strode purposefully past the market stalls that were being set up along the kerb. As he reached the pawnbroker’s shop, he saw a small hud
dle of people standing outside with bundles, waiting to be admitted through the side door. They looked cold and forlorn, hopeful of a few coppers for a threadbare suit or a pair of bedsheets, and he sighed sadly to himself as he went into the shop and produced his warrant card. The bespectacled young assistant stared at it for a few moments as though unsure what to do, then he disappeared into the back of the shop and returned with the owner.

  Benjamin Beckford looked irritated as he waved for the police officer to follow him. When he had made himself comfortable at his desk he looked up disdainfully. ‘Mondays are always busy. What can I do for you?’ he asked quickly.

  Detective Sergeant Crawford stared down at the plump, rosy-faced pawnbroker and noted the smart grey suit he was wearing and the expensive-looking rings on his podgy fingers. He smiled inwardly. He had been stationed in the East End and Hoxton before moving to Bermondsey and never had he seen a struggling pawnbroker. They seemed to thrive on poverty and deprivation, he thought to himself, and wondered how the fleshy-faced character before him felt as he undid the bundles and haggled over pennies with the hard-up folk waiting outside. Crawford produced a crumpled receipt from his coat pocket and put it down on the desk.

  ‘I need some information about the person who purchased that item, a silver watch-and-chain, and gold medallion,’ he said. ‘As you can see from that receipt, it was one of a batch of items you bought from the station.’

  The pawnbroker waved Crawford into a chair as he studied the crumpled slip of paper, his hand stroking his smooth chin. ‘I can’t keep a record of all I buy and sell, officer,’ he said officiously. ‘But I do seem to remember this item. It was an unusual medallion. Might I ask why you need the information?’

  ‘That watch-and-chain was found on a fire victim and we need positive identification,’ Crawford replied.

  Beckford pushed back his chair. ‘You’d better have a word with my assistant. He might be able to help you,’ he said getting up. ‘I’ll mind the shop while you talk to him.’

  The young man nodded as he looked down at the receipt. ‘Yes, I do remember that item,’ he said, looking over his spectacles. ‘The medallion was a copy-piece. Not very well done. It was the strange carving which attracted my attention.’

  ‘Can you remember who bought it?’ Crawford asked.

  ‘Yes. He was a poorly dressed man but well spoken,’ the assistant replied. ‘He seemed very interested in the medallion. As a matter of fact, we got into quite a discussion over it. Very interesting.’

  ‘Did you get his name?’ Crawford asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you tell me any more about this man?’ the detective encouraged him.

  The assistant scratched his head and looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve seen him in the market quite a lot. As a matter of fact, he usually talks to the chap on the fruit stall outside. He’d most probably know his name.’

  Sergeant Crawford made to leave. ‘Well thanks for your help,’ he said to the assistant. ‘By the way, you said that the medallion was a copy-piece?’

  ‘Yes, the design was taken from an ancient Nordic monument. It’s Runic.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The young man smiled indulgently. ‘Runes are line carvings and they’re from the alphabet used particularly by the Scandinavians and Anglo-Saxons. They’re modified by using the Greek and Roman letters to suit the carving.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Crawford said, none the wiser.

  ‘Runes are often seen on ancient monuments, and the style of the inscription on that medallion was Runic,’ the young man went on. ‘Ancient architecture is a hobby of mine and the design seemed familiar so I looked it up. Apparently it refers to Loki, who was an evil god of fire in Scandinavian mythology. As a matter of fact, the chap who bought the watch-and-chain said he thought the medallion had something to do with the Freemasons, but I don’t know if that’s so.’

  ‘Well, I’m grateful for the lesson,’ Crawford smiled, holding out his hand.

  The market was busy now. Benjamin Beckford watched from the window as Sergeant Crawford chatted intently to the fruiterer. When the police officer finally walked off, Beckford turned to his young assistant. ‘Tell Riley’s courier he can come down now,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘And tell him to use the back door, just in case.’

  Carrie was kept busy all morning at the dining rooms. The bitter cold weather meant that more mugs of tea than usual were sold and more bacon sandwiches served up, brown and crispy, to the huddled carmen and dockers as they crowded in. Bessie went on endlessly all morning as she helped Fred in the kitchen and the harassed café owner could almost hear himself screaming at the woman to shut up for just five minutes. He gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the unending saga of the buildings where Bessie lived, trying to concentrate his mind on what he was intending to do that evening.

  He had spent much time during the weekend deep in thought and had come to the conclusion that he was a fool. In fact, he had been a fool for the best part of his adult life. His parents had expected him to work in the café. His own aspirations, such as they were, had never been considered. He had never been in the way of meeting young ladies, and on the very rare occasions when there was a chance for him to do so, his mother had been quick to make things difficult for him. He had been a fool for not standing up for his rights and asserting himself, but that was all in the past. Now he had the chance to court and win a beautiful young woman, and what was he doing but being his usual self and allowing the chance slowly to pass him by? Well, it was about time he did something about it, he reproved himself, before he became a doddery old bachelor with only regrets to keep him company on long winter nights. Maybe Carrie would spurn his advances, he thought as doubt gnawed at his insides. Well, he would never know unless he had the courage to try.

  The afternoon wore on, and when the café became quiet it was Carrie’s turn to suffer the eternal wagging of Bessie’s unflagging tongue. She had heard about the woman on the first landing who had threatened the man on the second landing with a chopper, and the man had responded by throwing a bucket of dirty water over her and was then attacked himself by the woman’s husband, or was it the husband who attacked his wife? Carrie was totally confused about the goings-on in Bessie’s building, and was glad when Fred let Bessie go home early. He remarked that she must be tired after such a busy day, catching Carrie’s look of gratitude and raising his eyes to the ceiling. It seemed quiet in the café after her departure and as Carrie wiped down the tables the last of the carmen left.

  Fred quickly turned the ‘Open’ sign round and slipped the bolts. ‘I’ll let yer out the side door, Carrie,’ he said. ‘If I don’t close now, we’ll be open till midnight.’

  When she had finished wiping the tables, Fred had a cup of tea waiting for her in the kitchen.

  ‘Sit down a minute an’ drink that,’ he told her, taking off his messy apron and sitting down himself at the freshly scrubbed table. ‘I wanted ter talk ter yer fer a few minutes, if yer can spare the time.’

  Carrie eyed him over the steaming tea and saw that he was looking slightly nervous. ‘Fanks. I need ter recover from Bessie’s goin’ on,’ she joked.

  Fred had his hands clasped and Carrie noticed how he was twirling his thumbs.

  ‘What is it, Fred?’ she asked encouragingly.

  ‘I’ve bin doin’ a lot o’ finkin’ over the weekend, Carrie,’ he began. ‘I know yer bin ter see Tommy Allen since ’e’s bin ’ome, ’cos Bessie told me, an’ I know you an’ ’im split up before ’e joined up. I don’t know if yer both plannin’ on gettin’ tergevver again, so I’ll come out wiv it plain an’ simple. Will yer marry me?’

  Carrie was startled by Fred’s outspokenness and for a few moments could only stare at him. ‘I don’t know what ter say,’ she faltered.

  Fred looked into her blue eyes and wanted to take her in his arms there and then. ‘Are you an’ Tommy gettin’ tergevver?’ he asked uneasily.

  She sho
ok her head. ‘It was over before he went in the army, Fred,’ she told him. ‘I wanted ter see ’im but only ter find out ’ow ’e was. Tommy’s goin’ back wiv ’is first lady friend.’