by BK Duncan
Colonel Tindal heaved himself up by pressing on the arms of his chair.
‘Unless, and until, you inform me that the commensurate knowledge and experience have been visited upon you whilst you slept, I will continue to pay you the compliment of assuming you capable of managing the courtroom calendar. Within its existing limitations.’
He walked around the desk and out of the door. May didn’t feel inclined to warn him that it was raining.
When she returned to her desk she found a bunch of violets accompanying a politely formal note. They were from Jack Cahill. He was now happily settled in his new lodgings; could he take her out this evening by way of thanks? It was a sweet gesture and in such contrast to the way Colonel Tindal had just treated her that it made her want to cry. But the timing was lousy. She was going with Alice tonight to see Stinky Sid’s famed elephants; Sally had refused to take any payment for making the dress so May had been able to stretch to a couple of tickets. She was surprised at how disappointed she was at having to turn Jack down. And it wasn’t just because she’d have had something to shut Sally up with when she next delivered the lecture about her lack of a social life. Despite his fresh manners - and that deplorable jacket - she really did want to see Jack again.
May picked up the telephone and put in a call to the newspaper office. After the switchboard girl dithered a little about whether they had a Mr Cahill on the staff (which made May chuckle about the big splash his arrival must’ve made) she was put through.
‘Miss Keaps, and I thought this afternoon was destined to be unremittingly dull.’
His voice was deeper than she remembered, the Dublin accent more pronounced; or perhaps the wires were distorting it.
‘I had wanted to deliver the flowers in person - I trust you liked them? I somehow had you down as a natural posy sort of a woman - but you appeared to be engaged in... a...’
May felt the heat of a blush; she hoped he hadn’t overheard the worst of Colonel Tindal’s tirade.
‘...conference when I popped in so I decided discretion was the better part of valour and all that. So, am I to have the pleasure of your company?’
May sighed. ‘I’m afraid not. If it were any other time I’d be delighted to accept but I promised my sister a birthday treat this evening.’
‘I might’ve known you’d have a better offer, it being at such short notice and all. But my engagement won’t be until late so perhaps you could get the celebratory tea or whatever out of the way, and fit us both in.’
The image of jelly and cream made the last of her tension drop away. ‘Alice would kill you if she’d heard that. She was seventeen a couple of weeks back and we’re going to see the elephant show at the Hippodrome.’ What was it about him that made her not want to confine herself to a simple refusal? It couldn’t simply be that she was trying to match him word for word.
‘Well, if you change your mind - or the beasts all run amok and the thing finishes early - I’ll be at the Palm Court Nightclub in Gerrard Street from about ten thirty. I sincerely hope to see you then. So it’s adieu, May Keaps, and please pass on a well-wisher’s felicitations to your not-so-baby sister.’
With the line dead, the office was extraordinarily quiet.
***
By late afternoon the sky was so dark it seemed to be a continuation of the roofs opposite. By focusing on the system of doing her least favourite jobs first, May only had the accounts and a further warrant for a witness at the inquest on a stevedore left. Her typewriter ribbon needed changing and she was so engrossed in making sure the clip didn’t spring back and trap her finger that she didn’t notice Dr Swan’s arrival. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest, his sodden mackintosh bundled up alongside the black bag at his feet. With his florid face, habitual baggy-kneed herringbone tweed suit (now decidedly wet on the shins) and paisley bowtie, he looked as if he should be organising a team of beaters on a shoot instead of eking a living amongst the East End poor.
‘I could watch other people working all day.’
May smiled. Dr Swan only had a handful of conversation gambits and this was his favourite; she assumed he had a different set for use around a sickbed. He bent down, opened his medical bag and pulled out something wrapped in greaseproof paper.
‘A meat pie. From Mr Levine. Just delivered his wife of twins. Good job he is a butcher or his brood would eat him out of house and home. Why can’t any of the jewellers ever pay me in kind? Anyway, for you. Doctor’s orders; you could do with fattening up.’
May took the gift in the spirit in which it was intended, she wasn’t the sort to put pride before saving herself the trouble of cooking supper. She put it in her string shopping bag on top of the apples she’d bought from the greengrocers on her way in.
‘It’s a sweetener of course. Because I’ve really come to give you an invoice for my fees. If you could see your way to getting it paid before the end of the month, I would appreciate it.’ He laid an envelope on the desk. ‘Forgive the intrusion, but are you feeling quite all right? You’re looking a little tired. Been to your own quack recently to check you’re not anaemic? Eating your greens like a good girl?’
May let out a bigger sigh than she’d intended. Speaking with Jack had helped, but the events of the morning still disturbed her. And there was no one else she could talk to about it. ‘Do you have a moment?’
‘Lots. For the next ten minutes you are officially my patient. Wait while I see if I can cram one of the chairs from the vestibule into this rat hole of yours; swollen ankles are the curse of doctors past the first spring of youth and who have to spend half the day climbing up and down tenement stairs.’
May focused on the business of spooling the typewriter ribbon until he returned.
‘All right, fire away.’ He nodded towards the corridor leading to Colonel Tindal’s chambers. ‘He’s not about to come barging through is he? I do believe in keeping my consultations - even impromptu ones such as this - private.’
‘No. He went out earlier. But it is about the coroner.’
‘I thought so. Is he working you too hard?’
‘It’s not that. But I’m worried about him; he seems out of sorts a lot of the time and gets very snappy.’
‘Drinking more... ?’
It felt like betrayal to agree but Dr Swan had mentioned it first. May nodded.
‘You know why, don’t you?’
‘His son. In the War.’
‘Exactly. So that means it is unlikely to get any better. I deal with imbalances of the body, not of the mind, but from my experience if he hasn’t learned to accommodate the grief by now then he probably never will.’
Dr Swan sat back and May felt herself flush under his scrutiny.
‘This is a hard question and I am loath to place the responsibility on the shoulders of one so young but you are the only person in the position to judge: would you say he was losing his grip?’
‘On the job you mean?’
‘Yes. A coroner has a vital role and must be relied on to carry out his onerous tasks despite distressing personal circumstances.’
May put her hand to her mouth and nibbled at one of her nails; it was a childhood habit she resorted to in times of stress. ‘He is sometimes a little distracted after lunch, but he has never failed to hold an inquest or follow the correct procedures as laid down in Jervis. He occasionally forgets or overlooks a few things, but it’s my job as coroner’s officer to see to those.’ She switched her gaze away from the filing cabinet and to the window, being careful not to catch Dr Swan’s eye. ‘I suppose I can’t tell any more when he’s just being Colonel Tindal, and when he’s a little under the influence.’
‘My dear, May, that is not something for you to decide. Your duty is to consider carefully whether you think his behaviour is interfering with his ability to do the j
ob. And if you suspect it is then you must report him to the Lord Chancellor for... what’s the official term? Inability or misbehaviour, if I recall correctly. In the meantime, I prescribe for you more sleep, a glass of port wine on occasion, and a healthy dose of liver salts every Friday night. And if I see no visible results by the end of the month, I’ll be ordering you to pack yourself off for a weekend of seaside fun and frivolity.’ He stood up. ‘I must be off to look in on Fred Ash; do you remember him? Used to accept the Temperance League shilling and spend it in Spotted Dog. He’ll be eighty soon. You could do worse than take a leaf out of his book and try to think of yourself more, and worry about others less. The world will still turn without you to guide it - and when you get as long in the tooth as Fred and I are, you’ll be grateful for that fact. But for now just ease up on the tiller a little, will you?’
‘I’ll try, Dr Swan, really I will. And thank you, it helps having someone listen.’
‘Better out than in, as we say in the medical profession. And if you could see your way to getting that invoice sorted...’ He started to scrape the chair across the floor. ‘I’ll return this from whence it came and you’ll be able to get back to seeing if you can swing that cat. Tootle pip.’
***
It was no longer raining by the time May left for the day. She was a little later than she’d liked to have been. A series of telephone calls from the magistrate’s court over a missing piece of paper led to having to pull out every file to look for it. Such a stupid omission made her feel unprofessional and inefficient. But Colonel Tindal was right and the office was entirely her domain. If the committal sheet hadn’t been attached then she had no one to blame but herself. She’d take the carbon copy around to them first thing Monday.
The tram was pulling away from the stop as she got to East India Dock Road. The apples and meat pie were making the shopping bag cut into her fingers, but she suspected the walk would do her good. She was surprised Dr Swan hadn’t added a bout of vigorous early-morning calisthenics to his prescription. Thinking of him brought back her dilemma of what to do about Colonel Tindal. Could his recent conduct really be regarded as inability or misbehaviour? It seemed such a brutal definition - and final. If the Lord Chancellor removed him from office then for a man as proud as Colonel Tindal such a disgrace would be tantamount to a living death.
As May crossed Kerbey Street there were three issues crowding her head. The first was whether or not the coroner was doing his job properly, the second was that she didn’t know if she could bring herself to institute formal proceedings even if his behaviour warranted it, and the third was that she had no concrete proof. She’d heard what she thought was a brandy bottle clunking in the back of a drawer; he was sometimes unfocused after lunch; could be short and even rude to witnesses; he spoke to her at times as if she were a wilfully inattentive child; he distrusted expert medical testimony and thought all policemen either corrupt or useless; he made up his mind about the correct verdict for an inquest and ensured the jury knew when he disagreed with them. All character traits that marked him out as opinionated and individualistic, but not necessarily negligent - certainly no more than she had been to lose a committal sheet.
She swapped the string shopping bag into her left hand. Not too much further now. But she wanted this problem sorted before she got home or she would never be able to relax. It was her duty to do what she could to ensure the people of Poplar had a competent coroner, but she also had a duty to Alice. To keep earning a salary from which she could just about make good her promise to fund her through night school. If Colonel Tindal were to be replaced then a new coroner might want to bring in someone of their own. Even if this didn’t happen straight away he’d be bound to discover the ways in which she had been overstepping her authority and covering up for Colonel Tindal. So either way she would lose her job.
May had reached the end of Ellerthorp Street. They lived a third of the way down. As was customary in all the long rows of terraces in the area the house had been divided to maximise rent - she and Alice occupying the ground and first floors, a coal-whipper and his wife in the basement. In an uncharacteristic fit of generosity the landlord had agreed to let her continue to pay dockers’ tariff on account of what happened to her father. May knew she’d never be able to afford the luxury of four rooms (small though they were) anywhere else. The place was damp and the privy in the yard had to be shared with the neighbouring families, but it was home and she didn’t want to lose it.
She was at her front door before she could say she’d made up her mind once and for all. She wouldn’t report Colonel Tindal. If nothing else he came under the heading of better the devil you know and so she would do anything she could to keep him occupying the position of coroner for as long as possible. The relief of making the decision wasn’t enough to lift her mood however. She was tired of doing things for other people’s benefit and wanted to do something for herself for a change. She wanted to go out with Jack. The elephants were Alice’s treat anyway and she’d probably enjoy them more without her big sister in tow. She’d propose an arrangement that should make them all happy.
Chapter Seven
But Alice didn’t let her get further than explaining that she’d rather not go to the Hippodrome, before flying off the handle. She flounced around the kitchen for a good ten minutes before May could get her to listen to anything other than her own moaning about how nothing was fair. She sat at the kitchen table and waited until even Alice appeared to grow bored with her histrionics.
‘What I was going to suggest was that you take the bus over to Elaine’s and ask if she’d like to have my ticket. You’ve plenty of time to fetch her back here to get ready.’
Alice threw her arms around May’s neck. ‘Is it all right if I stay the night?’
‘If Mrs Gibson says it’s okay, then it’s fine with me. Are you working tomorrow?’
‘Manager’s doing the box office. Says he wants to check I’ve been doing everything right. Except I’ll be going there in the afternoon - not going to tell you why yet, it’s a surprise.’
‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing, mind you find the time to take the laundry to the washhouse. Make it before midday or the water in the tubs will be dirtier than the sheets.’
Her sister planted a wet-lipped kiss on her cheek then snatched her outdoor coat from the back of the kitchen chair. ‘Be back in a jiffy. Will I be telling them we’ll have supper out?’
Now she was pushing it; Alice’s pittance from the theatre barely covered her daily fares and a hot meal when she was working into the evenings, and everything had gone up so much recently the monthly food budget would be hard enough to reconcile without adding in unplanned extravagances. May belatedly remembered that Mrs Gibson had three small mouths to feed, no husband, and only Elaine’s wages from the match factory to depend on. It was inconsiderate to expect her to stretch to catering for Alice as well.
‘Take that meat pie with you now and you’ll be able to have some of that. Tell Mrs Gibson it’s by way of thanks for putting up with you.’
Alice stuck out her tongue before dashing out of the room. May hadn’t turned the tap on to fill the kettle before the front door slammed and the house was left to readjust to the silence. She fixed herself a slice of bread and marg. She’d much rather have a slice of meat pie - particularly as she’d lugged it all the way home and had the string burns across her palms to prove it - but it had gone to a better cause. Besides, she didn’t know if Jack was proposing dinner and she wasn’t used to eating twice in an evening. Sally had clients who dieted to keep their figures, but here in the docks most people never got the chance to get fat. The rich turned food away to stay thin: the poor just never had quite enough to eat. A political reality never destined to feature in one of Andy Taylor’s exposés of inequality because every East Ender already knew it to be true.
May’s thoughts turned to the realities of tonight
. She’d never been to a nightclub before. The prospect was exciting but nerve-wracking, too. What would she wear? Would there be dancing involved? That made her almost reconsider going; she couldn’t bear it if she made a fool of herself in front of Jack. Not because she cared all that much what he thought of her - not yet, anyway - but because he would have such a field day teasing her about it. She could imagine his eyes twinkling as he tried to keep a straight face. All the Irish were excellent dancers, weren’t they? Didn’t they have shindigs or whatever they called them at every crossroads? She’d read that in a periodical article about the Emerald Isle in the library. May slapped her palms hard on the tabletop as she stood as a reminder that even if she felt as unworldly as Alice at this moment, it didn’t follow that she had to make every situation equally melodramatic.
She’d filled a further hour with pointless and unsatisfactory housework before her sister was back with her pasty-faced friend in her shadow. May hadn’t seen Elaine for a while and burgeoning womanhood wasn’t treating her well; her hair was lank, her chin dotted with white-headed spots, and her arms seemingly welded across her chest to hide her emerging bosoms. May secretly hoped that the dream of becoming an actress wasn’t a shared one or Elaine would be very disappointed. Alice was striking with dark hair and blue-grey eyes but she also made the air in a room shiver with energy whenever she entered. Elaine sort of plopped into a vacant space. May suspected it was an awareness of this contrast that made Alice like to go around with her.
The girls were only in the house long enough to use the water in the kettle May had been heating for her hair wash, raid the washing basket for the least dirty stockings they could find, and for Alice to tuck May’s money for the tickets into the top of her bodice.
‘Don’t lose it.’