by Pip Granger
‘We’ll take Lucky as our guide and interpreter, in case there’s any negotiations. Lizzie’s coming as a familiar and trusted face to look after Peace, who’ll be very frightened. And anyway, it’d take a stronger man than I to stop her. Bobby, you should come for sheer muscle, and then there’s me, for my previous experience in breaking and entering. That’ll be enough, I think.’
After much heated discussion, Bandy and Sugar were eventually persuaded to stay put and to send help, in the form of the police, Brilliant Chang’s friends, or both, if we didn’t return from Limehouse by morning with Peace safely in tow. So in the end it was T.C., Lucky, Bobby Bristowe and me who formed the rescue party.
‘Right you are,’ said T.C. with false heartiness. ‘Perhaps we should take one or two things that could come in useful. Sticky tape, rope, that kind of thing. Perhaps a few tools. Do you have anything that might make a useful jemmy, Bandy?’
We made a strange little group as we queued, each of us holding a lumpy bag, for the number 15 bus at Oxford Circus. After a brief debate, we had decided that it would be easier to plan some kind of strategy on the top deck of a bus, where we could go into a huddle, rather than crammed into a cab, with the cabbie listening in. Anyway, Bobby was a large man, and cabs were small.
As usual in a crisis, T.C. took command. ‘I know it’s probably dangerous, Lucky, but I think you may have to make the first approach when we get to the warehouse. You speak Chinese and it could help to lure one or more of Peace’s captors to the door. It will certainly divert attention from the back of the building, where I think we should be able to gain entry. I had a look at your map, and it looks OK, but you’d better tell me what’s there first, before we commit ourselves.’
T.C.’s careful questioning discovered that there was a lean-to with a flat roof that butted up against the high wall that separated the yard at the side of the warehouse from a cobbled lane. Lucky thought it would be possible to use a plank or ladder to bridge the gap between the lean-to and the warehouse’s first-floor windowsills.
‘I took another look round last night, late, after I left you,’ Lucky told us. ‘It is the best way into the building. There is a door at the back, but the yard is well lit and there are big, iron gates to get through first. The side windows are best.’
‘Where are we going to get a plank or ladder?’ I asked.
‘We’ll have to improvise when we see what awaits us,’ T.C. said grimly. ‘And hope that providence will provide.’
We continued our planning as the bus rattled along the city streets towards God knew what in the narrow, dark alleys of Limehouse.
34
The bus dropped us somewhere on Commercial Road.
Lucky immediately hurried down a side street that led to a maze of narrow, dark streets and alleyways. The whole area was a peculiar mixture of docks, warehouses, small shops and terraced houses. Some were old, sooty buildings, made to look even grimier when they were crammed up against brand new ones, replacements for some of those flattened during the Blitz. There were still gaping holes where the wreckage of bombed buildings had been cleared, but something new had yet to take their place. Then there were the actual bomb sites, virtually untouched since the night they were bombed – except by looters, children and time. In the East End, you were never far away from reminders of that awful war, a testament to the dreadful hammering the people took.
The street lighting was poor. In one way, this was a good thing, as it gave us the cover of deep shadow between the small pools of light, but it also meant we had to tread carefully and stop frequently to get our bearings. I picked up a broken piece of plaster from a bomb site and used it to mark a cross at awkward junctions where several alleys or roads met along our route. I thought it might help me get out of the tangle of streets again, should I find myself all alone and pursued by hostile Chinamen; the thought made me quake in my shoes the closer we got to the warehouse.
We arrived at last and took refuge in an inky black doorway to listen to T.C. whisper his instructions.
‘A recce first, I think. Let’s get a look at this lean-to and see what equipment we’ll need to get in from there. I’ll go with Lucky. You two stay here until we get back.’
Bobby and I just had time to agree before T.C. and Lucky stepped out of our refuge, faded into the gloom and disappeared into the black mouth of a narrow alleyway. I was very glad to have the reassuring bulk of Bobby standing beside me, because all the gung-ho bravado I’d felt at the club drained away when faced with the reality of the situation.
I had been so determined that no mere mortal was going to whisk Peace away from us that rage, fear and blind panic had buoyed me up. But the long bus journey, the confusing walk in the dark and the brooding presence of the warehouse all brought it home to me. I hadn’t been reared to clamber over roofs and tackle kidnappers; my training had been for wearing my knees out in prayer and scrubbing the front doorstep to prove our godliness to our neighbours. I hadn’t had any practice in the physical aspects of rescuing people; I hadn’t even been allowed to skip and play leapfrog. And nice girls certainly did not climb anything more taxing than stairs and hills, or biff anything other than a cushion, a pillow or a rug, and then only for plumping or cleansing purposes.
A hysterical giggle caught in my throat as I tried to imagine what my mother and the aunts would make of me skulking about the docks in the dead of night with a huge all-in wrestler, a foreigner and an ex-copper. I rubbed my sweaty palms against the rough cloth of my coat and concentrated hard on not letting everyone down by collapsing into a gibbering wreck. After all, I’d got us all into this by insisting on trying to save Peace, and it wasn’t the moment to change my mind.
I think Bobby must have sensed my thoughts, because he gave me a reassuring squeeze and whispered, ‘Don’t you worry, Lizzie. Them Chinks is only little geezers. I’m sure I can sling a few about if it comes to it. You just stick by me.’
I bit my tongue before I could point out that although there was truth in what Bobby said, the ‘little geezers’ he was talking about put the wind up such formidable types as T.C., Sugar and Bandy, all of whom were used to dealing with men intent on mayhem. Luckily, at that point, T.C. detached himself from the darkness, appeared in our doorway and gave me something other than fear to think about.
‘Right you are,’ he said softly, ‘we’ve found the way in, and we’ve also found where they are in the building. They’ve got the lights on, and there are figures moving about. We’ve lifted a ladder and a couple of planks from a building site round the other side and I think it’s all systems go. I’ve left Lucky guarding our ladder until we get back. Are you ready? Do you remember the plan?’
Bobby and I agreed that we were ready and the plan was lodged firmly in our minds.
‘OK, then let’s get going.’ T.C. took my hand in the dark, and led me and Bobby to where Lucky waited by the ladder. The second we arrived, Lucky and Bobby made their way to the front of the building. Lucky was to kick up a fuss and, if possible, lure Peace’s captors out to where Bobby, lurking in the shadows, would do his best to put them temporarily out of commission.
Once T.C. and I were alone in the alley, I was able to have a good look around. It was narrow, with a high wall on the warehouse side, topped with jagged broken glass set in concrete: it glittered evilly in the dim light from the single lamppost that guarded the exit. Either T.C. or Lucky had taken the precaution of throwing a thick piece of sacking over a section of the glass, so that we could get over it without cutting ourselves to ribbons.
‘Won’t be a tick,’ T.C. whispered, then whisked the ladder down the alley and up against the offending lamppost. He was up the steps in a flash, there was a dull thud, a brief tinkle of glass and the light went out. For a moment I couldn’t see a thing, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw that T.C. was back and busy propping the ladder against the wall ready for our ascent. He whispered in my ear, ‘Wait for the ruckus kicked up by Lucky to start, then climb up after me. I’
ll guide you. We’ve already put the planks between the lean-to and the windowsills. All you’ve got to do is drop down a foot or two to the roof. It’s fairly easy after that.’
The quiet night was shattered by loud banging and shouting. Lucky had gone into action. Swiftly, T.C. shot up the ladder and straddled the wall where it was protected by the sacking. He leaned down to guide me up. Once I was at the top, he helped me over and between us we made sure I landed quietly. T.C. followed. The commotion at the front of the building grew louder.
Suddenly, a light came on. It streamed through the windows and lit us up for all the world to see. Instinctively I dropped to my knees then lay flat, pressing myself into the lean-to roof. I felt T.C. slither on his belly till he lay beside me. We hardly dared breathe.
It seemed that our windows lined a corridor that had three doors off it. The rooms looked like offices. Two men stood in the passageway. They were arguing about something, judging by the arm waving and the mouth movements. One of the doors was ajar; it must have been the room they’d come from when they switched on the corridor light. I thought I could see movement from the room behind the door, but couldn’t be absolutely sure. I drew closer to T.C. and whispered very near to his ear, ‘I think there’s someone in that room behind them. I think I just saw some feet – a woman’s feet.’
I felt T.C. nod once and whisper back, ‘It could be where we saw the lights from the other side, when we did the recce.’
We waited silently for the men to stop quarrelling and do something. Still the shouting came from the front of the building, but now it sounded as if Lucky was banging a dustbin lid with a big stick, to add to the uproar. Eventually, one of the men began to walk along the corridor towards the front of the building, but the other returned to the room and closed the door behind him.
‘Bugger!’ T.C. breathed. ‘They’ve left the bloody light on. Still, we can’t help that. I’d better get a move on. You stay here: if I get in and that is Peace in there, I’ll try to get her out to you safely. Be ready to guide her. At least it looks as if there’s only one man in with her at the moment.’
T.C. crouched by the planks that bridged the gap between the lean-to and the windowsill; the whole thing was bathed in light. ‘We just have to pray that no one comes along,’ he muttered.
He turned to me, looked deep into my eyes, and said, ‘I love you, Lizzie Robbins.’ Then he kissed me, passionately, but all too briefly.
He stood up and stepped on to the planks, which bent alarmingly under his weight. Heart in my mouth, I looked down to assess the drop. It wouldn’t kill him, but it could break an ankle if he fell badly. I looked up again to find that he’d made it across the divide and was fiddling with a window.
Cursing under his breath, T.C. took a reel of parcel tape from his pocket and laid strips of it across a section of window, just like we did in the war to stop broken glass from flying about when bombs dropped nearby.
He removed his jacket, wrapped it around his elbow and jabbed it hard at the glass. It smashed, but the tape held so only a little of it fell, landing on the floor with a faint tinkle. Faint to me, that is. For all I knew, it could have sounded like a full milk crate falling down stairs from inside the building.
T.C. threw his jacket to me. I caught it while his hand snaked into the hole he’d made and unhooked the window latch. He levered the bottom window open as quietly as he could and slipped inside the moment the gap was wide enough to take him.
The hall light showed me every move he made clearly. I found myself babbling prayers to a God I was no longer sure I believed in. ‘Please God, keep him safe. Make sure no one else is looking. Bring him safe back to me, please, please,’ I begged.
‘I didn’t tell him that I love him as well,’ I told the night, that merciless yellow light and, if He existed at all, an equally merciless God. I’d begged for Jenny, too, but He hadn’t listened. ‘Dear God,’ I prayed again, ‘please let Rosie and me have him back safe.’ I was hoping that if God wouldn’t let me keep him, He’d at least take pity on T.C.’s little girl. I was praying so hard, I’d had my eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them again, the hall light had gone out.
T.C. was now a shadowy figure, bent almost double with his eye to what I presumed was the keyhole of the door. I saw him stand up and heave his shoulder against the door, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. I heard a high-pitched scream just before the door crashed inward. In the well-lit room stood a Chinese man holding a wicked-looking knife. He was looming over Peace, who was seated beside a large desk.
Once again, the light went out. I heard thuds, muffled screams and crashes and then Peace shot backwards out of the door as if thrown, closely followed by T.C., who muscled her over to the open window then turned as a figure flew threw the air and landed on him. He went down.
Peace hesitated and I screamed at her, ‘Peace, come here. I’m here. Come to me. Across the planks. NOW Peace, NOW!’
Peace did as she was told and I stood up and caught her hand as she reached me. ‘Follow me,’ I instructed and dragged her over the flat roof to the wall. I climbed up on to it, scrabbling against the flaking brickwork with my feet as I heaved myself up, then sat astride the sacking and leaned down to take Peace’s hand and haul her up after me.
‘There’s a ladder here,’ I told her, feeling for the top rung. ‘Climb down into the alley and wait for me. I’m going back for T.C.’ I was vaguely aware that the noise from Lucky and Bobby had grown louder, as if there was a free-for-all going on. But it was T.C. who was the main worry. He hadn’t made it through the window. I crawled across the planks, which wobbled dangerously, grabbed for the safety of the sill and landed on it all right. I slid through the window, aware now of a grunting heap on the floor to my left. I stood over the heaving bodies and realized that T.C. was underneath and the man on top was systematically banging his head on the floor.
I looked around frantically, grabbed a handy, if cumbersome fire bucket full of sand in both hands and brought it crashing down on the back of T.C.’s assailant. The head-banging stopped immediately as the Chinaman went limp. I flipped off the bucket, then put my foot under his torso and heaved him off T.C. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
I was answered with a fuddled moan. I knelt down, got my arms under T.C.’s armpits and heaved as hard as I could, yelling as I did so, ‘Get to your feet, get to your feet this minute!’ I sounded shrill even to my own ears, and worse, I sounded just like my mother on the warpath.
I could hear distant feet thundering up stairs and along a corridor. Every fibre in my body was screaming at me to ‘run, run like hell’, but I couldn’t get T.C. to move. He simply swayed where he stood, dazed and unaware of the imminent danger.
There was a second bucket and an axe where I’d found the first one. I prayed briefly that, as was usual, this bucket would hold water, not sand, and it did. I grabbed it and, without ceremony, threw the contents all over T.C. He spluttered, blinked several times then glared at me glassily. ‘Wha …’ he began. I didn’t let him finish.
‘Get out!’ I hissed, and shoved him towards the open window. Instinct, and the memory of Bandy’s graphic phrase ‘dog meat’, made me turn and grab the axe from the wall; one less axe between them made good sense to me.
I followed T.C. through the window and guided and shoved him, on his hands and knees, across the bendy planks. I was still standing on the windowsill with the axe in my hand when I heard men crash through a door at the end of the corridor. That galvanized me into action. I shot across those planks like a seasoned Big Top star, and stopped only to topple them into the yard, so they couldn’t be used by our pursuers.
Let them make their own bloody bridge, I thought grimly as I pushed T.C. over to the ladder. I straddled the wall once more and hissed at Peace to take the axe that I handed down to her. I heaved and cajoled poor T.C. up on to the wall after me, then stepped on to the top rung of the ladder and told him to follow.
I guided his feet, one after th
e other, on to each rung by the simple expedient of hanging on to the ladder with one hand and grabbing his ankle with the other. Progress was painfully slow as I swapped hands and ankles for each rung, and once, he slipped and almost landed on my head, which would have brought us both down.
Eventually, though, we landed, breathless and damp, him with water and me with sweat, beside Peace, who had been holding the ladder down below in the alley. The darling girl had not deserted her post, and without her help we both would have come a cropper. She also had the sense to lay the ladder flat, once we were safely down, to confound anyone on our tail.
Not that it did us a whole lot of good. We were catching our breath when we heard an eerie scream, like a wild animal in pain. But Limehouse didn’t really run to any night prowlers more exotic than the odd scrawny stray cat, mangy mongrel and rats, plenty of rats. None of which ever made a noise like that. It came again and I looked up just in time to see a man fly through the air and land lightly on the lean-to roof and look over the wall straight at us.
‘Run!’ I screamed. We did. Peace went in front and T.C. was in the middle, being dragged by Peace and pushed by me. Desperation lent strength to my efforts, air to my lungs and muscles to my calves, as we pounded along that alley and tumbled out, to be met by Bobby and Lucky.
‘Lucky!’ Peace cried and ran into his arms.
‘No time for that!’ yelled Bobby, sounding masterful. He’d worked out that T.C. was past it and I was exhausted, and had taken over as our general, thank God. ‘Get going. I’ll block the mouth of the alley.’ It was then that I realized I still had the axe. I thrust it at him and marshalled my little party into a trot.
‘Going somewhere, mateys?’ roared Bobby as he swung the axe in a wide arc so that its head struck the wall and threw off sparks. The men in the alley stopped abruptly, crashing into each other as they did so. It gave us time to dive down the first of the many side streets and alleyways between us and a main road full of witnesses and safety.