The Petticoat Men

by Barbara Ewing

  Then they swore in the jury, seemed very quick to me, all swearing by Almighty God with righteous enthusiasm, ha! one was Beetle Turner, his nose as red as ever, publican at the Lord Russell down by the river. He was a bit of a rogue, dealt in stolen watches and jewellery, bet he was a bit blooming uncomfortable finding himself called to the Old Bailey! And then at last there was someone crying, Silence in court, and they said we all had to rise for the Judge in his long black gown and his long white wig, escorted in a slow procession of Sheriffs or Aldermen or whatever they were, and the bigwig legal men following – the Attorney-General, the Solicitor-General, the big barristers – all the Stars eh! and a great hump of lawyers behind them, that nasty little prosecutor Mr Poland, Freddie’s lawyers, Ernest’s lawyers, all taking their places on the Stage. Well it was like the Stage it seemed to me, I half-expected a blooming theatrical fanfare any minute, like in a Royal scene from Shakespeare!

  And then just before Ernest and Freddie was brought in, me and Emma – at exactly the same time – observed a gentleman come in and sit at the back of the barristers benches – we turned to each other, sort of surprised at who we’d seen and Emma started giggling – we knew him, it was Sir Alexander Cockburn, the Lord Chief Justice, he was in charge of everything to do with the Law, everyone knew that. But he must be off duty, he wasn’t even wearing his wig, just sitting quietly at the back, I never saw him quiet before! He was at the theatre often, that Sir Alexander Cockburn, knew lots of the actors – he was always coming backstage – I remembered he was sweet on young Ellen Terry at the Haymarket, before she became so famous. He was a very elegant, sociable fellow, always bringing bottles of champagne!

  Then Freddie and Ernest were brought in.

  Ah God, those poor boys.

  It had felt we was at the theatre, but of course now suddenly it didn’t, it was alarming and serious and the court was suddenly still and silent and hot. Just the prisoners’ footsteps and the guards’ footsteps as they were escorted to the dock, even I could hear them. I was glad Mattie wasn’t there, they looked blooming terrible. It was Freddie I was most worried for, they was both deathly pale but Freddie looked to me as if he might faint right here in court. His face was so white and puffy, he kept holding the bar of the dock and then trying to make his collar loose. While Ernest was still. As if, in the end, Ernest was the strong one after all. Who looked like a girl in a man’s suit, standing there. Blank face. They stood as far apart from each other as they could, as if they didn’t know each other and I saw them in my mind, laughing in their gowns down the stairs at Wakefield-street with perfume and powder and excitement and gin and their shadows dancing on the walls.

  The charges Billy had showed us the night before was read out loud, in public, with the new names of people to be arrested and as soon as Lord Arthur Clinton’s name was said about four of the pressmen jumped up and made for the door. A Nobleman arrested for buggery.

  Then there was a strange silence.

  And then a barrister suddenly stood and said to the Judge: ‘My lord, I would request, with the new charges and new indictments to be studied – which have only just come to us, and new evidence including new medical evidence, to be presented – I would therefore request a postponement of this case.’

  And – at once – I thought of Freddie’s father. And what Mattie had said. Maybe it was this he knew was going to happen? But even if it was, it hadn’t gone as the poor man had hoped, the trial wasn’t cancelled, only postponed maybe, with a warrant out to arrest Lord Arthur, which would mean more publicity than ever before. Freddie was staring and staring at his lawyer. The Judge made Freddie and Ernest answer the charges before he gave any decision. All them things read out again, felony, buggery, misdemeanour, blah blah; after every one Freddie said, ‘Not guilty,’ in a shaky voice. Ernest said, ‘Not guilty,’ like a girl, they were both even paler now than when they came in.

  The Judge then sat cogitating for a minute and then he turned to the Attorney-General and politely asked his opinion. The Attorney-General said something like if all parties agreed the prosecution would not demur about a postponement, for he too had more preparation to make. I looked at them all, all the Sirs and Lords, all the ones with the real power. And I suddenly thought, clear as can be: they’ve planned this. Because me, I’ve worked in theatres all my life and I know a rehearsed piece when I see one.

  And watching it all, in the background, the Lord Chief Justice, Sir Alexander Cockburn and I know this was fanciful but to me he looked like a theatre director, watching the actors from the back of the stalls.

  And then the Judge leaned forward and said: ‘If all parties agree, of course there can therefore be no objection to a postponement till the next sessions’ (as if they hadn’t all breakfasted together earlier in some gentlemen’s club, ha! well that’s only my opinion but that’s what I thought).

  I looked at Freddie. There was colour back in his cheeks, he was staring at his lawyer still. The jury was dismissed and that Beetle Turner looked as if he was making straight for his public house on the Strand, as if he couldn’t get there fast enough. The pressmen were furious – Lord Arthur Clinton mentioned and the whole thing postponed at once! one threw his hat on the floor in disgust, probably from Reynolds News! Freddie and Ernest were led away once again and us all pushing to get out, talking and muttering. Emma disappeared – then I saw her having a word with her “gentleman barrister friend”. Outside Ernest gave a few little waves to people but Freddie saw no one I think, just stared ahead. But they both looked as if going back to Newgate Prison in the police van was preferable to going on with the case.

  Emma came rushing back up to me. ‘Just fancy, Isabella! That old party fellow, Sir Alexander, skulking in the wings! You know the Queen refuses him a peerage because he’s too naughty – all those children by a lady not his wife! And Isabella, listen, I just saw my friend, and he told me there’s been another case about Lord Arthur Clinton in another court! A cab driver was suing for a big fare not paid – he said he’d driven Lord Arthur all round London for hours, and then Lord Arthur told the driver to wait outside the Opera Hotel. And he didn’t come out again, and when the driver finally went into the hotel he found Lord Arthur had skipped out the back way! They called for Lord Arthur Clinton to appear in court – but nobody came! Isn’t it all exciting!’ and Emma rushed off again. And I remembered then how sure Mattie was that Lord Arthur had passed us in a cab. So he must be hiding in London, somewhere.

  I also saw Algie again outside, proud in his policeman’s uniform, thanked him for getting me in, asked after his pa. Algie said his pa had lost his mind.

  I stood there, wondering if I was going to lose mine. Postponed till next month, us no idea about our future or our fate. It wasn’t even lunchtime.

  I didn’t know if I should go on with my heart attack, or laugh.

  24

  On Monday, when Billy went back to the clerks’ desk at the end of the day, having delivered piles of copied documents to the Colonial Secretary’s office, he found the same old verse by his place.

  There was an old person of Sark

  Who buggered a pig in the dark

  The swine in surprise

  Murmured ‘God bless your eyes,

  Did you take me for Boulton or Park?’

  A message was also waiting: he was to go at once to the office of the Head Clerk Mr Jenkins.

  The Head Clerk’s room smelled strongly of spiced pomade. This time they didn’t even sit at the desk. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Stacey,’ said Mr Jenkins at once. ‘That same bishop, a hypocritical gentleman if I may reiterate, has got his way now. As Lord Arthur Clinton is now accused, and no doubt the trial becoming more sensational, and likely more publicity for your home, I’m afraid your position is be terminated immediately.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘You have been here for ten years, Mr Stacey, I know that. I tried very hard to make them change their minds but I am afraid it was impossible. The House of Lords
is bursting with bishops, as you know, and this one is their spokesman (self-apppointed, I wouldn’t mind wagering). He said no references, but I’ve written you one anyhow, to hell with Bishop Julius.’ He handed a paper to Billy.

  ‘Bishop Julius?’ said Billy. He remembered him, coming in to the Prime Minister’s office when Mr Gladstone had turned so pale.

  ‘He’s a hypocrite as I say,’ said the Head Clerk. ‘I am sorry, Mr Stacey.’

  ‘Thanks, John,’ said Billy, and he was gone to Elijah Fortune.

  ‘I’ve got to find Lord Arthur Clinton in a hurry,’ said Billy to Elijah.

  ‘You and everybody else apparently,’ said Elijah. ‘Why?’

  ‘My position is terminated.’

  Elijah whistled a few bars of ‘Home Sweet Home’ while looking at Billy carefully.

  ‘I suspected it might be. What makes you think Lord Arthur is the clue?’

  ‘I need this work, for our family. I have to get it back. And I want to keep working here. I refuse to let them get rid of me when I’m good at my work – and I believe Lord Arthur and Mr Gladstone are – connected in some way.’ And there was something about the way Billy spoke: some anger but some certainty also. Elijah beckoned to one of the other doorkeepers.

  ‘Stay here for ten minutes, Cyril,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Billy.’

  The Central Lobby, the Members’ Lobby, and the debating chambers were on the ‘principal floor’ of the Parliament. Daylight could be seen through leaded windows and a few steps led down from various doorways into the London streets. Billy thought he knew most nooks and crannies in the Parliament where Elijah, whistling still, led him, but Billy did not know the tiny staircase far along the corridor from the Central Lobby. He just knew he was going downwards, past the clerks’ offices under the Central Lobby, and then down again towards the basement where the sewerage pumps spewed their waste into the Thames. But between the clerks’ offices and the basement there was another floor: other rooms down some back steps past anonymous oak doors, dark corridors lit by gaslight, then a darker, tiny passage.

  Elijah took a key from his waistcoat and they seemed to enter an almost invisible door.

  Inside everything was red. Red velvet curtains, red-covered cushions, red lampshades, red wallpaper. And under one of the red lamps, reading, a great pile of books beside her, sat an old bent woman with claws for hands it seemed, and wearing a red hat.

  Billy couldn’t help it: he laughed, and she, looking up, said at once: ‘Good heavens! You must be Joe Stacey’s boy, how lovely. Have a cake, dear. Your dear pa always liked my cakes.’

  ‘This is my wife, Dodo,’ said Elijah. ‘Used to be a singer and a dancer in the music hall, comedy songs mostly, but the arthritis has got her. I’ll have a quick cake too, my dear. Sit down, Billy.’

  And as Dodo got up laboriously from her chair, Billy stood again, to help her, but Elijah motioned to him quickly. And when she had gone from the room he said, ‘She so wants to move and she can’t always, so let her try.’

  Billy looked about the red room. ‘This is handy and nice!’ he said. The cosy red hideaway underneath the workings of the state somehow made him want to laugh again, just with the oddness and the pleasure of it.

  ‘We’re very lucky and comfortable down here,’ said Elijah. ‘Dodo and me.’ He pulled aside one of the red curtains. If they looked upwards they could see dusk and feet passing in a concrete alley. Elijah closed the curtains again.

  ‘After she left the stage, and before the arthritis really got her so bad as now, Dodo used to work here as well as me, so we got this place. Dodo was one of the housekeepers. Kept the Members in cakes – some of them nearly cried when she had to retire! Now listen, lad. I don’t know all the ins and outs because the nobility try to keep everything quiet from people like us, but I do know Mr Gladstone was very friendly with the late Duke of Newcastle, Lord Arthur’s father, and had something to do with helping him get his divorce from Lord Arthur’s mother in the old days when divorce was almost impossible.’

  ‘Have a cake,’ said Dodo, appearing with two plates, each holding an iced cake, and the two men smiled and ate and she smiled back. ‘Just like your pa,’ she said to Billy. ‘And how’s your ma?’

  ‘She’s well, Mrs Fortune. She told me of you, that you were a singer and a dancer, and she and Pa used to go to the music hall to see you.’

  And Dodo smiled and smiled, and Elijah smiled at her too, for she had been so lovely. And he loved her still.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said to her, for the cake. And then he turned back to Billy. ‘The present pathetic Duke,’ said Elijah, ‘Lord Arthur’s eldest brother, Linky they call him, is a nitwit and a gambler and usually lives in Brighton or Paris, and is obviously not giving any assistance. If he had any sense at all he’d get his brother away to France where these things are not a matter for the law. Just keep that information in your head. And I know where Lord Arthur is.’

  Billy was so surprised he stood at once, spilling crumbs.

  ‘He’s staying at a hostelry in Christchurch, the King’s Arms, he’s trying to leave the country. I got a message, asking if I can help him.’

  Billy looked at the Head Doorkeeper in surprise. ‘How could you help Lord Arthur?’

  ‘He needs money,’ said Elijah. ‘He never has any money. He thinks someone in the Parliament might help him, and the Central Lobby is where everyone passes. I’m to send it to the name of Hamilton. If you see him, don’t tell him how no one wants to know, and I’ll keep trying anyway.’

  ‘Thanks Elijah.’ And the men finished up their cake.

  And Dodo said, ‘Isn’t it sad that Mr Dickens has passed away.’

  When Billy got home that evening, down in the kitchen that smelled of herrings, where Mattie was folding clean towels and his mother was just about to put an apple pie in the blazing oven, he stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, quite still.

  ‘I’ve been dismissed,’ he said.

  ‘What? Even though the trial’s postponed?’

  ‘Especially as the trial’s postponed apparently. They expect there’ll be much more publicity with Lord Arthur called for.’

  Mrs Stacey did not ruffle or speak of the workhouse, just stood there with the apple pie, as if she had forgotten where to put it. Both women were silent-shocked, even though he had warned them.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to them both. ‘I told you, I’ll get my position back. I am going to Christchurch, tonight, because I believe that is where Lord Arthur is. And if I can find him, I just might find out why Mr Gladstone went so white in the face. Surely it can’t just be because he knew Lord Arthur’s father, for goodness sake! So can we eat dinner now, Ma, please, before I leave.’

  ‘He’ll hardly want to be found by you,’ said Ma quietly after a moment, ‘if the police can’t find him.’

  ‘I’m not going to arrest him,’ said Billy dryly.

  ‘I saw him here in London,’ said Mattie. ‘I told you I saw him, Billy.’

  ‘He certainly was here in London,’ said his mother. ‘He apparently tricked a cabman in London not long ago, it was in one of the courts. How do you know he’s now in Christchurch? Some rumour? It’ll be like chasing a pin.’

  She opened the oven and the heat came rushing out but still she clutched the apple pie to her, looking at her son.

  ‘Elijah told me.’

  ‘What?’

  He raised his voice. ‘Elijah! And I met his wife Dodo. She’s got terrible arthritis, Ma, all curled up. She asked after you.’

  Mrs Stacey then quite slowly bent down again and put the apple pie in the hot oven; when she closed the door it was a relief that the extra heat was cut off.

  ‘Dodo was such a clever dancer in the music halls long ago, till that blooming arthritis started. And she had a lovely, laughing voice and she sung them comic songs. And she made delicious cakes.’

  ‘She gave me one. It was delicious too.’

  ‘The audiences rea
lly did love her, me and Pa used to go, I told you. Well, if anyone will know what’s to be known, I expect it will be Elijah.’

  ‘He got a message about Lord Arthur needing money. Why would Elijah get such a message?’

  Mrs Stacey looked at her son. ‘Elijah’s that sort of person. Everyone has always relied on Elijah somehow, it was always like that at Drury Lane too when he worked there.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Mattie to Billy.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said her mother.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Billy.

  ‘Let me come, Billy. I’ll help you. I’ll help you find him, I’ll be useful, no one will hide from a lame girl, you know that – I could approach him first and he wouldn’t be frightened that I was from the police or anything, he might remember me, limping.’

  The top of the stove now banged and clanged.

  ‘Sit down and eat, both of you,’ said Mrs Stacey. She took a pot off the top, ‘Do you really think you can do it, Billy? Get your position back?’