by L M Jackson
‘What was she like, this girl?’
The barman laughed. ‘You know George’s type. Green as grass. She wouldn’t take more than a drop of anything strong, neither. His nibs had half a mind to throw her out.’
‘Do you think she’ll come back?’
‘Likely as not,’ he replied. ‘They always do. Here, Sairey, all that time, you weren’t in the jug, were you? George didn’t say nothing.’
‘No, nothing like that.’
The barman did not press his inquiry any further. ‘What’s your pleasure, then?’
‘Gin-punch,’ replied Mrs. Tanner.
‘A pint of fourpenny,’ added Ralph Grundy.
‘Happy to oblige,’ replied the barman with a wink.
Sarah Tanner watched the young man walk away before turning to her companion.
‘I swear,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to stay here with me, Ralph. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘If you say so, then maybe you might be, missus,’ replied Ralph Grundy, looking round the room, ‘but I ain’t so sure as I would be myself, finding my way home. So I’ll stick with you, if you don’t mind. For the sake of my health.’
‘And a drop of fourpenny.’
‘Aye, that would help.’
It was half-past eleven when Norah Smallwood arrived at the Hole-in-the-Wall. Sarah Tanner knew her in a moment, though she had never seen her before. Others had come and gone, but none so young and none so agitated in their manner. She was sixteen years old or so, with long brown hair tied back and half hidden under a feathered bonnet, and a colourful shawl draped around her shoulders. She hurried to the bar; spoke briefly to the barman. They talked for a moment, then she took a stool at an empty table and sat with her back against the wall, nursing a small measure of gin, anxiously casting her eyes around the room.
Sarah Tanner whispered a few words to Ralph Grundy, then got up and crossed the room on her own.
‘Norah is it?’ she asked in a low voice.
The girl in question jumped in surprise, quite startled that anyone should address her by name.
‘N-n-no,’ she replied.
‘It is, though, isn’t it? A friend of Georgie’s?’
‘Georgie?’
‘My name’s Sarah. I’m a pal of his too; an old pal.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ said the girl.
Sarah Tanner frowned. She had no idea what to say to Norah Smallwood; the truth seemed too cruel. But now, she realised, Norah Smallwood thought she was a love-rival for George Phelps’s affections.
‘It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. Georgie said to give you a message.’
‘What was that, then?’ asked Norah, with obviously feigned disinterest.
‘He said to tell you he … well, that he cared for you, and he was sorry for everything.’
‘What?’
‘Listen, Norah, please, it’s hard to know how to tell you. Georgie told me that before he died; he wanted you to know.’
‘Died?’ said Norah Smallwood, astonished. As she recovered herself, she shook her head in disbelief. ‘What are you on about? Who are you anyway?’
‘He was killed, two nights ago. A man stabbed him. Down Leather Lane – it’s been in the papers, though they don’t know Georgie’s name, not yet.’
‘You’re a bloody liar. What right have you got coming here, scaring a gal to death!’
‘Hush! I’m telling the truth,’ replied Mrs. Tanner, calmly. ‘I swear it. I went to the hotel, and they told me you’d left. So I came looking for you; it’s what George wanted, or I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Just leave me alone!’ exclaimed Norah Smallwood angrily. ‘You better hook it. I’ll tell Georgie what you said. I bloody will.’
‘What was he up to, at the Hummums?’
‘Never you mind! Hook it, I tell you! Or I’ll—’
Sarah Tanner grabbed the girl by both arms, looking her straight in the eye.
‘I tell you, Norah, he’s dead. I saw him and I saw the monster that did for him. So you’d better tell me what’s going on, because it’s not a game. And George Phelps might have told you it was all clover in his line of work, but George Phelps – God rest his soul – was a liar and a thief. So just tell what you know, or it’ll go the worse for you.’
‘Let go of me!’ exclaimed Norah Smallwood, loud enough for others in the room to turn and look, as she attempted to wriggle free. ‘Don’t you bloody touch me!’
‘I swear,’ said Sarah Tanner, ‘I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie?’
‘Well, who was it then?’ asked Norah, her voice still heavy with disbelief. ‘Who done it?’
‘I don’t know his name.’
‘You said you saw him,’ she replied. ‘You’re making it up, ain’t you?’
‘It was a Peeler.’
‘Now I know you’re chaffing me,’ replied Norah. ‘Though it ain’t much of a bloody joke. Ain’t you right in the head? Is that it?’
‘I saw him, with my own eyes.’
Norah Smallwood shook her head. But, before she could say a word, there was a distinct thump from behind the door to the Hole-in-the-Wall, which swung open abruptly. A man staggered in, falling upon the floor, with blood pouring from his mouth. Sarah Tanner recognised him instantly: one of the two young men who had stood guard outside.
‘There’s more where that came from, son,’ said the burly, uniformed figure who appeared behind him in the doorway. ‘You should have legged it along with your pal.’ He casually aimed a heavy boot at the young man’s midriff. The young man groaned and slumped to the ground.
‘Now, all I want,’ continued the policeman, who stepped calmly over the young man’s prone body as if nothing had happened, and addressed himself to the assembled company, ‘is someone who won’t give me any lip. Is that too much to ask?’
The clientele of the Hole-in-the-Wall said nothing. At several tables, certain items disappeared into pockets; packets of cards slipped into sleeves; gold watch-chains disappeared from waistcoats.
‘A simple matter, ladies and gentlemen, a young woman by the name of Smallwood. Christian name, Norah. Acquaintance of a gentleman – a man, leastways – named Phelps. I’d like to locate that young lady. Someone speak up, if you please.’
‘That’s him,’ whispered Mrs. Tanner to Norah Smallwood, who sat wide-eyed beside her. ‘Now do you believe me? God help us, that’s him.’
CHAPTER NINE
The barman was the first to speak.
‘I know a chap called, ah, Phillips,’ said the young man, with a straight face. ‘Holds horses’ heads down the Strand. You’ll find him there most nights.’
The policeman cast the barman a withering look.
‘Now,’ said a drinker at a nearby table, taking up the theme, ‘I don’t know about that, but I know a bloke called Phil, now I come to think of it. Tinker, I think he is. Kips down by the Adelphi, under the arches.’
Several of the drinker’s companions laughed. The policeman pursed his lips and walked slowly towards the bar.
‘Come here,’ he said, addressing the barman.
The young man smirked rather self-confidently, rubbed his hands on his apron and walked along the length of the bar.
‘A little closer, son,’ said the policeman. ‘I want to tell you something, confidential like.’
The young man leant forward. But as he did so, the policeman turned on him, swinging the heavy wooden truncheon he had kept concealed beneath his coat. With astonishing speed he made a swipe at the barman’s head, the wood making contact with the young man’s jaw; the crack of splintering bone audible to everyone in the public. The barman screamed in pain but the policeman showed no pity. Even before a drop of blood had been spilt, he had his victim by the collar, thrusting his head down upon the counter, trapping his throat with the truncheon, choking the life out of him.
‘Now,’ said the policeman, ‘I’m not fond of chaff, son. Norah Smallwood. That’s the girl’s name. Have you come acr
oss her?’
The barman spluttered, his voice inaudible.
‘I can’t hear you, son,’ said the policeman jauntily. ‘Speak up so we can all hear you.’
Several of the Hole-in-the-Wall’s customers stirred uneasily in their seats but not one rose up in the young man’s defence.
‘Cowards,’ muttered Sarah Tanner under her breath. She turned to the girl sat beside her. ‘Listen to me,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Does he know you? Have you ever seen him before?’
‘No,’ replied Norah Smallwood. ‘Lor, I’d know it if I had, wouldn’t I?’
Sarah Tanner looked again at the policeman; he had already glanced in their direction and said nothing. It had been dark in Baldwin’s Gardens that night. Too dark to see her face?
‘Stop!’ said Mrs. Tanner, rising to her feet.
The policeman turned his head.
‘Stop – I’ll tell you. She was here last night. I talked to her. I stood her a drink.’
‘Did you now?’ said the policeman, releasing his grip on the bloodied barman, who stumbled backwards, clutching his jaw, knocking over several glasses, sending them crashing noisily to the floor.
‘She were an hotel skivvy or something like that,’ continued Sarah Tanner, ‘just been given the push.’
‘That’s right,’ replied the policeman, with a tight thin-lipped smile, walking over to her. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Sally.’
‘Is that so, Sally? And what’s your line of work?’ said the policeman. ‘Or needn’t I ask?’
‘I manage.’
The policeman smiled, raising his gloved hand to flick aside a loose strand of hair from Sarah Tanner’s cheek. ‘I’ll just bet you do. Who’s your little friend?’
‘That’s my sister,’ said Mrs. Tanner without hesitation.
‘Hmm. Shy little thing, ain’t she?’
Norah Smallwood looked away, cowering in her seat.
‘You’ve frightened her, that’s all. What do you expect, carrying on like that?’
‘Nothing to be scared of, not if you speak up,’ said the policeman. ‘So you talked to her then, our Miss Smallwood. What did she have to say for herself?’
‘She was looking for some fellow called George,’ replied Mrs. Tanner. ‘But he didn’t turn up and I ain’t heard of him. So I told her where she could find decent lodgings.’
The policeman’s face lit up at the word lodgings. Sarah Tanner watched his expression closely. He had dark, coal-black eyes, a flattened boxer’s nose, and a sly-looking mouth that turned down at the corner.
‘And where was that?’ he asked.
‘There’s a mission-house on Sardinia Street, one that takes young gals. That’s where she went.’
‘Very Christian of you,’ he replied. ‘Now, you wouldn’t lie to a policeman, would you, Sally?’
Sarah Tanner shook her head.
‘Leave her be,’ said a voice from behind the policeman.
Mrs. Tanner’s eyes darted to one side. It was the voice of the drinker who had spoken earlier. He was a little better dressed, a little more flash than many of his fellows, wearing a silk waistcoat and white cravat, perhaps a year or two younger than herself.
‘You heard me,’ said the man. ‘You’ve got what you came for. Leave her be.’
‘I’ll do as I damn well please,’ replied the policeman, calmly. ‘And you won’t be the boy to stop me.’
The man in the silk waistcoat shrugged. He did, indeed, look no match for the policeman.
‘No, you’re quite right, Constable,’ he went on. ‘But I’ll warrant there’s a dozen here with half a mind to try. Now, the only thing that’s stopping them – I’d lay good odds – is that they don’t give tuppence about this girl you’re after. That and that nice blue coat that you’re wearing. But if you lay your hands on little Sally here, spoil that pretty face, well, they might just forget themselves, eh?’
‘Chivalrous lot, are they? Oh, I can see that.’
‘Depends on the circumstances,’ replied the drinker.
The policeman chuckled.
‘Aye, maybe you’re right at that, my lad. She is a pretty little thing. Shame to spoil it. But listen here, Sally,’ he continued, grabbing a rough hold of Sarah Tanner’s chin, ‘if you’re lying to me, I’ll come back. And it’ll go the worse for you and your little sister; you can count on that.’
Sarah Tanner merely nodded.
‘Good girl,’ said the policeman, releasing his grip. He paused for a moment, surveying the room. Then, at last, he smiled a brief self-satisfied smile, and edged towards the door. Stepping over the prone body of his first victim, with a final admonitory glance at the clientele of the Hole-in-the-Wall – as if to say, Follow me? don’t you dare! – he calmly made his exit, closing the door behind him.
With the policeman gone, as the room erupted into confusion and chatter, Norah Smallwood looked up for the first time.
‘He … killed George?’ she said, stunned.
‘Yes,’ replied Mrs. Tanner, taking a deep breath. ‘And I don’t think he’s got your best interests at heart, neither.’
Norah Smallwood looked back down at the floor, covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Before Mrs. Tanner could react, however, there appeared a white handkerchief – offered by the young man in the silk waistcoat who had challenged the policeman. Norah eagerly seized it from the young man’s fingers.
‘Not a bad performance,’ said the man in question.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Sarah Tanner.
‘You’re no more her sister than I am,’ he replied. ‘You’re lucky it didn’t occur to him.’
‘I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.’
‘Reckon I’m not,’ said the young man. ‘I saw you come in; I know a dodge when I sees one. No need to thank me neither.’
‘For what?’
‘For saving your skin.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Tanner, without much grace. ‘But I can take care of myself.’
The young man snorted in derision. ‘Looked like it. Anyhow, you’d better hook it; Sardinia Street ain’t that far.’
‘We’ll be gone soon enough.’
‘I’ll walk you home if you like,’ said the young man, with a grin. ‘Keep you out of harm’s way, like.’
Sarah Tanner looked down; the young man’s arm was all but wrapped about her waist.
‘I have someone,’ she replied, deftly moving to one side.
‘Lor! Not that bag of bones you came in with?’
‘He’ll do.’
‘You make it hard going, don’t you? What did that blue-coat bastard want with her, anyway?’
‘Her!’ sniffed Norah Smallwood, from behind the tear-stained handkerchief. ‘I am sitting here, ain’t I!’
‘Well, what’s he after, then?’ asked the young man.
Norah looked up, rubbing her eyes. ‘How should I know! Mind your own bleedin’ business!’
Sarah Tanner wearily shook her head. ‘Norah, come with me. I’ll take you somewhere. Somewhere safe. You can stop the night with us.’
‘Why?’ asked the girl, plaintively.
‘It’s what George would have wanted.’
Norah Smallwood gazed once more around the room, at the bloody chaos left in the policeman’s wake. At last, still dabbing her face, she acquiesced.
‘Here, you sure you don’t want no company?’ persisted the young man.
‘Oh, I’m spoken for,’ said Mrs. Tanner, nodding at Ralph Grundy as he came cautiously forward to rejoin her.
The young man looked at the old waiter and shook his head in disbelief.
‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered, turning away. ‘Never do an whore a favour, that’s what they say, ain’t it? A fellow should know better.’
Sarah Tanner let the insult go; she watched the young man return to his seat, her face quite impassive.
‘Come on then,’ she said, as the young man sat down and his friends broke into peels of laughter,
‘we haven’t got all night.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘There,’ said Sarah Tanner, putting a steaming mug of coffee down upon the table, ‘that’ll warm you up.’
Norah Smallwood, her eyes puffed and red from her tears, took the mug and sipped. She sat in the lamp-lit warmth of the Dining and Coffee Rooms, opposite Mrs. Tanner and Ralph Grundy, but she still seemed to shiver.
‘George, he loved me, you know,’ said Norah. ‘He did. He said he didn’t want me working, and he’d get us a little cottage—’
‘Of course he did,’ interrupted Mrs. Tanner. ‘But, Norah, please, listen. There must be some reason for what happened to him; I don’t know why, maybe he’d taken something or—’
‘I told you already,’ said Norah, ‘he didn’t have a chance. He was going to go through some of the rooms, that night, when everyone was asleep. He had it all planned out. But then he never come back. I knew there was something wrong, when he didn’t come back –’ she paused to dab her eyes – ‘’cos he promised, see? He promised he’d look after us. And look at me now. I ain’t got no place or nothing.’
Then, as if struck suddenly by the weight of the realisation, Norah Smallwood dissolved into tears once more.
‘Hang on,’ said Ralph Grundy, ‘why did they give you the push, if your precious George didn’t nab anything?’
Norah wiped her eyes with both hands, her face downcast.
‘Spoons.’
‘Spoons?’
‘I just thought I’d show Georgie; he said I weren’t cut out for his line of work, teased me. So I told him I’d do it.’
‘You pinched some spoons?’
‘It was only a couple of bleedin’ tea-spoons,’ said Norah sullenly. ‘Silver-plate. Cook was always down on me, old cow. I didn’t know she’d count ’em again. Not before I’d gone.’
‘Spoons?’ said Mrs. Tanner, a tone of frustration creeping into her voice.
‘Look! It ain’t my fault. None of it!’ exclaimed Norah Smallwood.
‘Now then,’ interjected Ralph Grundy, gently, ‘noone said it were.’
‘Think, Norah,’ insisted Sarah Tanner. ‘There must be something – something Georgie had done, or said. Maybe something he told you, something he gave you? There’s got to be a reason that man came after Georgie, then came after you.’