Potato Factory

by Bryce Courtenay

  The officer sighed, ‘Mrs Solomons, do not treat me like a simple-minded Bow Street runner or you could find yourself implicated in this unfortunate business.’

  ‘And what unfortunate business is that?’ Hannah asked politely, maintaining her calm.

  ‘Forgery, madam! Defrauding the Bank of England by the printing of large denomination counterfeit notes of astonishing artistry to be passed through European banks and exchanged for foreign currency, and then reconverted to English currency again, though this time as the absolutely genuine article!’

  ‘Me ‘usband can do that?’ Hannah asked, incredulously. ‘Me ‘usband can make money out o’ scraps o’ paper?’ She shook her head. ‘You ‘ave the wrong man, sir, me ‘usband is but a poor jeweller what makes a small and ‘onest profit from sellin’ o’ betrothal and weddin’ rings and bright little brooches for servant girls, shop assistants, country folks and the likes!’

  ‘Ha! And how, pray tell, does he come to own the salubrious premises in Bell Alley?’

  ‘Salubrious? ‘Ardly that, sir, modest ‘ouse to say the least. An uncle in Chatham, a slops dealer by trade, who passed away, Gawd rest ‘is soul, a good man, sir, who left me ‘usband a small legacy what we used to buy the ‘ouse for rentin’ purposes to decent folk. Our own little nest egg against ‘ard times.’

  ‘A modest house? Decent folk? A bawdy house in partnership with a well-known madam. A high-class establishment fitted out at great cost and with a printing press of the latest design in the basement, a nest all right, a nest of vipers!’

  He pointed his unlit cigar at Hannah. ‘Mark you carefully, we have arrested. . .’ He hesitated and then removed and unfolded a small slip of paper from a pocket in his waistcoat. ‘Damned silly names these Froggies. . .ah yes, Van Esselyn. . .Abraham Van Esselyn, a notorious forger whose services do not come cheaply, and who is not paid in the currency his nimble hands create, but with the real thing!’

  The nose on Sir Jasper’s face looked at Hannah in a decidedly smug manner. Then, without so much as a moment’s warning, Sir Jasper pushed back his chair, rose and banged his fist down on the table, causing the top hat upon it to jump and wobble, then fall to its side.

  ‘Damn you, woman! Do you take me for a complete fool? I will have the truth, do you hear me!’

  At first Hannah thought it must all be a mistake. They had somehow confused her own brothels with an imaginary one in Bell Alley. After all, Bob Marley, whom she had commissioned to report on the aftermath of the raid, had said nothing of a brothel at Bell Alley. But the information on Abraham Van Esselyn was perfectly correct. And who was the woman who ran the fashionable brothel which now seemed to exist at the Bell Alley premises?

  Hannah needed time to gather her wits and to conceal her surprise at Sir Jasper’s astonishing news. There was more going on at Bell Alley than she knew about. She told herself that if some other woman, with an eye to her husband’s considerable fortune, was trying to gain his good favour, both this whore and Ikey would be made to suffer a consequence far worse than the noose at Tyburn.

  ‘Yes, sir, no, sir, but I dunno what it is ya want me to say, sir,’ Hannah blustered as she set about gathering her inward composure. ‘You seems to want me to say me ‘usband’s guilty, is that it? A wife turnin’ against ‘er innocent ‘usband and the law makin’ up all sorts o’ lies about brothels and mistresses to make ‘er do so. Me a faithful wife and lovin’ mother what cannot tell a lie without blushin’ summink awful.’

  ‘Mrs Solomons, I’m sure you are aware that a wife cannot testify against her husband. Only those frightful frogs across the Channel have such a damned stupid law, which, I’m led to believe, leads to all manner of female revenge, not at all in the interest of male justice! Sanctity of marriage, my dear, it’s the foundation of British justice!’

  Hannah’s lips started to tremble and a muscle on her left cheek to twitch. She brought her hands up to cover her eyes so that the absence of tears could not be seen, although, when needed, they would come soon enough.

  ‘I dunno what it is ya want from me, sir. Me what’s got four little mouths to feed, you wants to take me darlin’ ‘usband away! ‘Im what’s done no ‘arm to no one! Where’s the British justice in that?’ Hannah choked out the words and then began to sob miserably. ‘When I come ‘ere it was to a promise o’ reward! But when I gets ‘ere, all I ‘ears is talk o’ brothels and mistresses and takin’ away me poor ‘usband what’s done nuffink to deserve no punishment!’ Hannah commenced to howl loudly for some time, real tears now running down her cheeks, judging the Upper Marshal’s patience carefully.

  ‘For God’s sake woman, stop your damned caterwauling!’ Sir Jasper demanded, banging his tiny fist once more down upon the table. ‘I want your co-operation! I’m willing to pay a very handsome price for it!’

  Perhaps it was the words ‘pay’ and ‘very handsome price’ that Hannah’s ears, always alert to a matter of profit, picked up. Her distress died down to a whimper and her head lifted, her large, tearful eyes peeping through her fingers. ‘ ’Ow much?’ she asked in a broken, tiny voice, throwing in a loud sob for good measure.

  Sir Jasper immediately relaxed and digging into the pocket of his coat produced a box of matches and commenced at last to light his cigar. Then he leaned back so that his chair rested against the wall balanced on its rear legs, the front ones being raised from the floor. Blowing a most satisfactory cloud of cigar smoke to the ceiling, he addressed Hannah in a calm voice.

  ‘Mrs Solomons, we have the luxury of a choice - we can either offer your husband’s mistress an incentive to co-operate with our enquiries or you may, with some little encouragement, decide to. . .er. . .help.’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, me ‘usband ain’t got no mistress! ‘E ain’t the sort. All along I been thinkin’ you must ‘ave the wrong man, now I’m certain in me own mind.’ She smiled ingenuously, her eyes bright from recent tears. ‘Maybe the person what yer looking for is Solomons. Common as dirt, they is, everywhere! We is Solomon, no “s”. Me darlin’ ‘usband is very particular on that point, you see it means summink entirely different, it’s not so kosher with an “s”. Cohen is priests, Levy also, but Solomon, that’s yer actual royalty, that is! That’s yer Royal ‘Ighness, yer genuine King Solomon, ya know the geezer what met the Queen o’ Sheba? ‘E wasn’t called King Solomons, was ‘e now? Nobody ain’t never ‘eard o’ the wisdom o’ Solomons, ‘as they?’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about, woman?’ Sir Jasper leaned forward so that the front legs of his chair clunked to the floor. ‘Whatever you’re called, does it really matter?’ He waved his cigar in the air. ‘You are from the criminal classes and so your name, whatever it happens to be, spells thief, villain, ruffian, rascal! Solomons, Cohen, Levy, they all spell damned Israelite!

  ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, indeed! There is no possibility of a mistaken identity, I assure you, Mrs Solomons, and as to the other matter, I cannot vouchsafe that your husband is paramour to Egyptian Mary. But that she is his tenant we have from the woman’s own lips. She has confessed, in a signed statement, that she rents the premises in Bell Alley from Isaac Solomons. Three of her strumpets have also made statements to the effect that your husband is a part owner, quite sufficient evidence to get him apprehended for allowing a bawdy house on the premises he owns or, even more compelling, being in partnership with another in this tawdry business.’

  Hannah knew now with certainty that Ikey had betrayed her. She knew that Ikey would never simply rent out premises for a brothel without owning the larger part of the enterprise. Her first impulse was to feel an absolute fool, but then a darker anger rose within her. With great effort she fought it down and forced herself to concentrate on what the policeman was saying, though she was unable to control her rising voice, her venom turned to scorn.

  ‘What? Do me a favour? On the evidence o’ three tarts?’ Hannah threw back her head and laughed. ‘Even if me ‘usband was convicted, which ain’t likely, with a sharp
counsellor ‘e’d get no more than a drag. What good’s a three month sentence gunna do ya? Ya must be jokin’, sir?’

  ‘Joking? Well no, not really,’ Sir Jasper blew smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Keeping a bawdy house is a perfectly indictable crime. But I’ll grant you, madam, you do have a point, prostitutes make poor witnesses.’ He glanced irritably at Hannah, suddenly deciding to take her into his confidence. ‘It’s damned messy really, not the sort of stuff the bank goes in for as a rule.’

  ‘If it’s a ‘igh-class establishment, never know who comes and goes, does ya?’ Hannah said cheekily, then added, ‘Could be dodgy, knows what I mean?’ She paused, once again in control of her emotions. Her anger, now well bedded down, would keep for another time. ‘So what’s ya want from me? Can’t rightly see ‘ow I can ‘elp ya.’

  ‘Yes, well, frankly you’re right, it’s not much to take before the bench.’ He looked up at her and seemed for a moment to hesitate, then added, ‘We also have a problem with the damned frog forger chappie we arrested in the basement of your husband’s premises.’

  ‘Oh, the geezer what’s got the printer? What’s the problem?’

  Sir Jasper drew on his cigar and threw Hannah a dark look. He appeared to be thinking, his eyes narrowed, his head only half visible in a miasma of cigar smoke. ‘Unfortunately he’s deaf and dumb!’

  The Upper Marshal batted away the smoke from his eyes, looked at Hannah and smiled, seeming for a moment genuinely amused. ‘Ideal for a man of his occupation, eh? Most decidedly nimble of hand and eye, though deaf and dumb. Not much chop in the witness box, though.’

  ‘Three tarts and a madam in the Old Bailey and a bludger what’s deaf an’ dumb, it ain’t much to go with, is it then? I’ll bet ya London to a brick that in ten minutes I can find you four tarts who’ll swear on the ‘Oly Bible, even swear on their dyin’ muvver’s ‘ead, that yer forger geezer just recited the ten commandments personal to ‘em, forwards and then backwards and finished it orf with a rendition of ‘Andel’s ‘Allelujah Chorus, and this Van Summink’s a Jew as well!’

  ‘Well, yes, you might be right! What we need is someone or something else.’

  ‘ ’Ere, wait a mo!’ Hannah, astonished, exclaimed. ‘Yer not askin’ me to invent evidence against me ‘usband, is ya?’

  ‘Well, no, not precisely.’ He arched one of his magnificent eyebrows. ‘That would simply be making five witnesses of a kind!’ Sir Jasper’s nose suddenly came alive again, delighted at the tartness of this last remark. ‘As you so wisely observed, women of your vocation will swear to anything on the heads of their dying loved ones.’ He pulled at his cigar, satisfied that he had once again achieved the upper hand.

  Hannah’s hidden frustration at the news of Ikey’s betrayal suddenly overwhelmed her sense of caution. She wanted to bite back and Sir Jasper was available. ‘It takes a whore to know one! Whore’s ain’t only of one sex!’

  Sir Jasper shot upright, the legs of the chair hitting the floor with a crack. ‘Madam!’

  To Hannah’s surprise, after this single admonishment, Sir Jasper returned his chair to its former two-legged position and smiled, a small secret smile. With the sharpness quite gone from his voice he said, ‘I’m grateful we’ve reached common ground at last, madam. Down to brass tacks, eh? I was hoping we might not have to raise the matter of the five, or is it six brothels you own?’ His voice grew suddenly sharper again. ‘Correctly prosecuted, you should receive more than a drag or even a stretch, transportation, fourteen years at the very least, Botany Bay or perhaps Van Diemen’s Land.’

  He waited for a reaction from Hannah and when none was forthcoming he cleared his throat and continued, ‘Why, madam, such would seem the only possible sentence. You shall have fourteen years to regret your lack of co-operation! Do you not think you ought to think upon this? Or is your loyalty and affection to Mr Solomons of such a purity that you would protect him at the cost of a dark, rat-infested prison at the other end of the world for much of the remainder of your miserable life?’

  Sir Jasper waited, removed the cigar from his mouth and examined it at arm’s length. Hannah saw that it had become dark stained with his spittle at the sucking end, while it carried a full inch of spent ash at the other. She observed his cigar, not from any personal interest, but because her wits had temporarily forsaken her, and she knew herself to be hopelessly trapped and entirely at the mercy of the small, cigar-toting policeman.

  Curiously, it did not occur to her to blame the smug little knight for her predicament. Nor did she recall that it was she who had persuaded a reluctant Ikey to employ Abraham Van Esselyn. All she could think was that it was Ikey who had once again caused her downfall. He had absconded and left her as his hostage. He had betrayed her with a whore and robbed her of a prize which was rightfully hers. Come what may, she would make him pay! She would not take a moment’s punishment for the miserable, sodding shit.

  ‘I should remind you that you will never see your darling children again,’ Sir Jasper added. ‘What do you say to that, Mrs Solomons?’

  Hannah inhaled sharply and then in a low voice asked, ‘Now, sir, what was it ya jus’ said about it ‘aving to be, ya know, someone or summink else what is needed for the case at ‘and?’

  Sir Jasper, now also smiling, leaned a little closer and placed his hand on her knee.

  ‘Well done, my dear, how very sensible of you. I feel sure we can come to some satisfactory arrangement, what?’

  Hannah looked up suddenly. ‘Could we not leave England, scarper, never come back no more?’

  ‘Why, madam, that’s preposterous! Simply unthinkable!’

  ‘Why?’ Hannah asked simply.

  ‘Justice, there must be justice! Good God, woman, where would we be if we simply let our hardened criminals escape to other societies. What would they think of the English?’

  ‘They probably don’t think all that much of ‘em as it is,’ Hannah said laconically.

  ‘Balderdash! There’s not a civilised man on earth who doesn’t wish he was an Englishman! An arranged escape? Unthinkable and positively unpatriotic!’

  Hannah cleared her throat, averted her eyes and spoke in a small, almost girlish voice. ‘We could probably leave a little bequest, a little summink to remember us by, a little personal summink what we could leave to yer discretion to use for whatsoever good you might consider in yer wisdom can be done for Mother England?’ She paused and looked furtively up at the policeman. ‘If you knows what I mean, sir?’

  The cigar fell from Sir Jasper’s lips, ‘Good God, woman! Are you attempting to bri- ‘

  At this point Sir Jasper leapt from his chair with a terrible yowl, upsetting the table and sending his top hat flying across the room as he frantically beat at the front of his trousers. The cigar, nowhere to be seen, must have fallen through his waistcoat and down into the interior of his trousers, for Sir Jasper continued to beat at his crotch, while turning in small agitated circles, his legs pumping up and down as though dancing on the spot. Then his foot caught the leg of the upturned table and, losing his balance, he landed in Hannah’s voluminous lap. His head fell upon her breast and his now panicked nose was inches from her own. But for the fact of the room being so small, and that the back of her chair was placed almost against the wall, Hannah, together with Sir Jasper, would have turned topsy-turvy, landing on the floor in a heap of kicking legs, petticoats, pantaloons and flailing arms.

  Hannah was the quicker of the two to recover. She looked down at the hapless Sir Jasper, who was flapping, whimpering and snorting, and observed the smoke rising from that area of his trousers which is known to be most delicate when assaulted. With one arm she pinned him to her breast and with her free hand hastily undid the last two buttons of his waistcoat, shot into the front of his trousers, and plucked the offending cigar from within.

  Hannah’s shameless sense of humour overcame her as she held up the still smouldering cigar. ‘There were two of them little devils down there, sir. I chose the bigge
r one!’ she cackled. Then, the gravity of the situation reasserted itself and she released him, and clamped her hand over her mouth to smother any possibility of a further outburst.

  If Sir Jasper was conscious of this coarse attempt at humour he gave no sign of it. As though caught within a collapsed tent he was struggling wildly to find his way out of the folds of Hannah’s commodious skirts. He regained his feet finally and, clutching his singed and painful scrotum in both hands, he roared at Hannah, ‘You have not heard the last of this, madam! By God! I shall see you and your husband hanged at Tyburn yet!’

  He removed a hand from his crotch and grabbed the cigar from Hannah, throwing it to the floor and stamping on it several times until it became a soggy, pulpy mess. Removing his hands he glanced down upon his recently violated area and observed a hole in the light coloured material not larger than a sixpenny bit, but in a strategically awkward area. Again clasping both his hands over it he backed away from Hannah.

  ‘Damnation and blast! I have an appointment at four of the clock and cannot first go home!’ Sir Jasper cried.

  ‘Why, sir, it is not much of a mend,’ Hannah remarked calmly, ‘an ‘ole no larger than the tip o’ me tongue, and what might come about if a gentleman could ‘ave took forty winks in his club chair with ‘is pipe or cigar in ‘is mouth. You must let me attend to it at once - I am a clever seamstress who will soon repair it invisible.’

  ‘Keep your filthy harlot’s hands off me!’ Sir Jasper said fearfully, backing still further away from Hannah, so that he now stood in the corner with his back against the wall like some miscreant schoolboy who has failed at spelling.

  ‘Tut, tut!’ Hannah clucked. She was accustomed to crisis and mostly took immediate possession of the situation. ‘Come now, sir, it ain’t that bad!’ She rose from her chair. ‘See I shall move yer chair and sit upon it and you shall stand behind me back, remove yer trousers and pass ‘em to me across me shoulder. I ‘ave needle and thread with me and I am trained as a seamstress.’ She smiled brightly, acting quite unconcerned and natural in her manner.