by BK Duncan
She looked at her shoes, suddenly ashamed at having to admit defeat in front of a man who probably ate the toughest of stevedores for breakfast.
‘So, the truth is, I’m getting precisely nowhere.’
‘And you know why that is, don’t you?’
‘Tell me. I need all the help I can get.’
‘Because you wear a skirt.’
Of all the things she’d thought he might say, she hadn’t expected that. Alexander Laker’s father had worked the docks - and his father before him - and although a man’s domain, tradition demanded women be respected for their contribution. It was not those from the working classes who usually dismissed the female sex because anyone who’d witnessed women on the quayside at five in the morning gutting fish knew that to be a mistake born of ignorance.
‘You can stop widening those cow-eyes at me, Maisie.’
She hadn’t heard that nickname in a long while. Probably not since she’d outgrown Albert’s old shorts.
‘Whether you like it or not, you are to be up against those going to exploit the fact you will ask questions rather than stabbing a man in the back then bending to hear his dying confession. Look, I’ve only a couple of minutes left. Once the ship’s siren signals she’s about to tie up, I have to be on the quay or they’ll be squirreling away what have you behind my back. Now, you know your father and I were at loggerheads over this Trades Union business - I won’t deny I could cheerfully’ve strangled him at times - but he was a straight talker and I admire that in those I’m up against. We had our rows, we had our differences, but we stood toe to toe and said it like we saw it. So I’m going to do you the honour of treating you the same. But I warn you that you won’t like it.’
May could feel her legs begin to shake. She told herself it was the damp of the river seeping up through the floor.
‘I’ve heard word that the Poplar Coroner’s Officer is as corruptible as a hold of fly-blown carcasses. You want me to go on?’
‘Please.’ She could hardly get the word out, her mouth was so dry.
‘I don’t believe none of it of course. Not least because you’re George Keaps’ daughter. But someone is set on tarring your name. And it’s because of the company you’ve been keeping. Shoulder of Mutton Alley ring any bells?’
The yen-shi den. So had the Tong recognised her after all?
‘Talk in the loading sheds amongst some as worked beside your father is that you’re stepping out with a newspaperman who’s partial to the black pearl.’
‘I’m not... And he isn’t.’
‘Whether it’s as straight up as a ship’s mast or not, all the dope dealers in Limehouse now reckon they’ll be spared the cat for some of their darker dealings as you’ll be backing off so as to keep his antics battened down.’
May bit back a scream as a blast from the ship’s siren nearly tore her eardrums. Alexander Laker stood and headed for the door.
‘Pound to a penny there’s a link between them taking the wind out of your sails and the young Elliott business. I’m a wharfinger and as such there are two things I’m certain of in this life: vessels have to be discharged, and cargo placed somewhere under lock and key until the owners are in a position to lay claim. I deal in commodities, not speculation, so I’m saying no more as to what might’ve been going on at Anchor Wharf except that tea’s not the only thing to make its way over from China. There’ll be submerged reefs on that particular trade route, Maisie, so watch yourself or you might find yourself grounded with no high tide on the horizon.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was past ten o’clock when she dragged herself into the office. She’d gone home after leaving Alexander Laker to have quick strip wash at the sink and change her clothes. Her hair still smelled of smoke but she’d rammed her green hat on and hoped that nobody would get too close to notice. She’d checked that no bodies had arrived in the mortuary overnight, collected the post, and taken the cover off her typewriter when the telephone rang. It was the clerk from the City of London Coroner’s Court.
‘At last. I’ve been trying your number for hours.’
May wished she’d had time to make herself a cup of tea, her mouth felt claggy and she wasn’t sure if any of her words would come out intelligibly.
‘Mr Clarke asked me to give you a message. Unfortunately his wife has contracted influenza and has been rushed into hospital. He’s beside himself - as you can imagine what with her being an invalid and not in good health at the best of times. But of course you already knew that.’
She hadn’t.
‘Here I am gassing on when you must have a mountain of paperwork to get through and are just wishing I’d let you get on with it. Mind you, as he won’t be around then you’ll be able to do what I do and just file away any non-urgent stuff. Ha. Ha. I’m sure you wouldn’t get up to such tricks; Mr Clarke is always singing your praises and saying how efficient you are...’
May’s wrist began to ache under the weight of the receiver. Would she never stop talking?
‘...He gave me express permission to issue you with his home number in case of emergencies. Not his town flat, mind, but the family home so I’d be wary of calling him out for just any old death. As our patch is regarded a bit of a flagship by the Lord Chancellor’s Office we will have a locum deputy in Mr Clarke’s absence - a Mr Halliday from Liberty of Tower District - who will be available to attend to those. You only need pick up the telephone if anything of that nature crops up. Well, I think that’s all for now. A pleasure talking to you. Good-’
‘But you haven’t given me his number.’
‘Oh, sorry. Silly me. I expect I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. Lewes 9350. Have you written it down? Remember, Miss Keaps, for emergencies only. Cheerio.’
May sat for a moment to recover from the onslaught and stared at the number on the pad. Did nearly meeting a horrible end in a place she had no right to be constitute the sort of emergency he’d want to hear about? Would he thank her for disturbing him at what must be a very difficult time? She remembered when Alice caught influenza last year; she had been desperately worried for her life and Alice was a robust young girl, how much more dangerous must it be for an invalid? Should she go and tell the police what had happened last night? Not withstanding that if she did she could be charged with trespassing, she’d been schooled by Colonel Tindal to involve the police at little as possible - he’d thought them fit only for filling their cells with drunks. May doubted Braxton Clarke shared such views but she didn’t know him well enough to tell. Although there was the possibility he’d draw the inference she’d gone to the police because she couldn’t do her job properly. And then it was only a short step to concluding the coroner’s officer role too dangerous for a woman; a twinge in her knee from the jump worked to tell her that he wouldn’t be far wrong.
She’d spent much of the night wracked by self-doubt and knew she could put an end to this bout with a simple telephone call. She took a deep breath, wiped her sweaty palm on her skirt, and picked up the receiver. Her voice sounded as dry as crackling paper as she gave the operator the number. Nine, three, five, zero. A short pause and then she heard the phone at the other end begin to ring. She was counting the seconds when the street door banged. She dropped the receiver back in the cradle as if about to be caught in the act of something she should feel guilty about. It was PC Collier.
‘Morning, Miss Keaps. Bright one, don’t you think?’
May hadn’t noticed.
‘Can’t stay - what with me back on the beat over in Canning Town again. There must be some other body they can give them streets to but somehow it’s always my name the desk sergeant says he’s pulled out of the hat. I reckon he’s got it in for me. I’m going to put in for a transfer soon as I’ve time to get a point on my pencil. Anyhow, a nipper gave me this in the street and asked me to pass it on. Which I�
��m duly doing.’
He handed her a folded piece of paper with her name written on the outside.
‘I’ll be seeing you soon, like as not. That’s if they ain’t got me down to run Scotland Yard single-handed.’ He chuckled to himself as he walked out.
May opened the note. It was from Jack. She felt a rush of elation that he was safe. He wanted her to meet him after work this evening. At the same place they’d hooked up with Roger and the others when they’d gone rambling. The thought flashed through her mind it could be a trap and he’d written it under duress. But then she noticed the postscript: It goes without saying that you’re to be sure to take care you’re not followed. He’d been relaxed enough to make a little agent provocateur joke at her expense. But she would keep her wits about her nevertheless.
***
It seemed to be the most difficult thing in the world to wait for a bus and not look around to see who was joining the end of the queue. May had decided that one of the precautions she would adopt would be not to take the train where she would be in a carriage compartment with no hope of getting off if someone should jump in at the last minute, but to get the bus to the terminus at Woodford and there pick up the one out to Loughton. The entire journey would take her the best part of two hours but Jack hadn’t given her a time and, anyway, it would do him good to be kept waiting; plenty of solitude to think about how he could’ve spared her all that worry.
At last the bus came into view. She boarded and sat downstairs on one of the seats facing the platform. She wished she’d picked up a newspaper or brought a library book so she could pretend to be reading but instead she found herself scanning the faces of the passengers who got on at each stop - even after she was a long way from Poplar. She was on the second bus and well into Essex before she relaxed.
A wind was swaying the tree branches as she trudged to the signpost where the ramble had started. Had that really only been two days ago? She felt so wrung-out she couldn’t imagine ever having had the energy to walk all the way to the ancient wood cresting the horizon. But the clean air felt good in her lungs and she took off her hat and increased her stride until her skin was slicked with sweat and her hair no longer tainted with smoke.
Jack was sitting on the stile at the beginning of the footpath. He waved, then sauntered over with his hands in his pockets. On the journey over she’d anticipated she’d be overjoyed to see him unharmed but now May could see that broad Irish face with its idiotic grin, all she felt was aggrieved.
‘Where the hell did you go? What kind of a selfish bastard leaves a woman lying there unconscious for who bloody well knows what to happen?’
‘Feel better now, Miss Keaps? Want to shout and swear a little more, or are you done? Indignation quite becomes you actually; you’ve a bloom in your cheeks.’
May wished there was a rock she could pick up to hit him with.
‘Seriously, though, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you’re okay. For the record, and so you don’t hold it against me for the rest of our - what I hope will be - long association together, I thought the fire might be the work of the Tong so considered it best if I make myself scarce to remove the possibility of them making the connection between us. Me, we know they know. You, we’re not sure about. So I showed a clean pair of heels for your sake; that big docker was arriving on the scene, so I knew you’d be in safe hands. I reckoned if anyone followed me I could easily throw them off the scent in this bleak nothingness you call countryside.’
She wasn’t going to forgive him. Not yet.
‘I’ve been whiling away the hours trying to piece together what might’ve been behind such dramatic events. I admit I got myself a little distracted from the important business of getting a message to you. But I’m sure you didn’t come out all this way just to listen to me grovelling in apology. Even though I can see how much pleasure you’re getting from it.’
May capitulated a little. ‘I take it you’ve reached some conclusions?’
‘Not sure I’d go that far, but I have been racking my - I’m sure you’ll say not overly substantial - brains and I reckon I could have put my finger on what might’ve been behind that letter we found in the shipping office.’
He took a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Then proceeded to strike match after match in an effort to light one. If he tried to prolong the tension any longer, she was going to ram that casual we down his throat. At last he was puffing away and seemed ready to continue.
‘I can tell by that steely look you’re fighting to have any patience with me but it’s a long story and I’m going to have to fill you in with all the background or it won’t make any sense. It concerns my gambling investigation.’
‘I might have known. Everything is always about you, isn’t it?’
‘That’s not fair. It was you who involved me in this, remember? Now are you going to shut up for five minutes and listen?’
May put her hat back on and pulled it down. She’d give him until the wind threatened to give her earache and then she was leaving: however revelatory his scoop.
‘After spending most of my nights in the gambling den, I finally got the man who works the bar to talk to me. Seems he bears a grudge towards the owner and was more than happy to spill some of the secrets of the operation. He doesn’t know I’m a newspaperman of course. Anyway, every new punter is assessed to see how addicted they are - games thrown in their favour or the chance to stack the odds by using their own pack of marked cards a couple of times. Then, once the punter feels they are invincible, they provide only opportunities to bet on things that require no skill - cockroach races or which fly will reach the spilt rice wine first. All the alcohol is free and sometimes spiked with cocaine. So you can see that the poor dupes don’t really stand a chance... Am I boring you?’
She’d yawned. Unintentionally, but her lack of sleep was catching up. May started pacing in an attempt to keep focused.
‘Most of these new boys are rich and white - rather like me, in fact; no wonder I blend in so seamlessly.’
She snorted.
‘And they are encouraged to write promissory notes with their fathers’ business interests as collateral. These debts are allowed to build up until, one day, they are told it is time to pay up. After that, things start to get very nasty. First comes the intimidation. Then the violence. If none of that works there is a convenient fatal accident. Crooked lawyers then swing into action to enforce the debt through the courts and, with the son out of the way there is no one to deny that it hadn’t been accrued through a foolhardy business venture. They have a number of dummy companies set up for the purpose.’
Jack paused to light a fresh cigarette from the stub of the old one.
‘You have to admit that it’s ingenious. You said the Tong wanted to take over Elliott Shipping, didn’t you? Now can you see where I’m going with this?’
May kicked at a piece of flint with her toe. Maybe she hadn’t been paying enough attention but she wasn’t seeing things illuminated in the way Jack obviously could - although she certainly wasn’t going to admit it. Jack smoked for a little more in the silence.
‘What if Miles was up to his neck in debt with them and had, or was about to, complete the process of signing over Elliott Shipping? If he’d tried to back out for some reason then that explains the blackmail, and maybe on his final evening they gave him enough opium to ensure he provided that last signature, and then the fatal cocaine to make the transaction watertight.’
May stopped pacing and looked up as a flock of crows returned noisily to their roost. Jack had something. But there wasn’t any evidence Miles Elliott had been a gambler. She walked a little way down the hill in an effort to try to get everything straight in her mind. Perhaps he hadn’t been and the Tong had simply used the same tried-and-trusted method to secure the business for themselves. Which, in turn, would give them exclusiv
e use of Anchor Wharf. And Bert had heard that was what they wanted. Add to that Alexander Laker’s strong hints that drug smuggling was involved. The two together meant that Miles Elliott’s usefulness to the Tong was distinctly time-limited; once they had got him to test out how secure the place was for a base of operations then all they had to do was to cut him out of the picture and move in there themselves.
She strode back up to the signpost, her tiredness blown away on the wind.
‘Are you coming back with me?’
‘Thank you for your help, Jack... That’s quite all right, Miss Keaps... In fact it was my very great pleasure to spend what was left of last night kipping under a hedge with a herd of bulls.’
‘I think you’ll find they were only cows. Do all newspapermen exaggerate so much or is it only you?’
‘Uncle Paul’s coming to pick me up. I’d say you’d be welcome to stay and hitch a ride but he’s got some business out his way and I suspect we’ll be going straight on to dine with Lady Dewberry at Monkams Hall.’
May shrugged and turned away. She was striding down the hill when his voice reached her on the wind.
‘And I think you’ll find the female of the species is almost invariably more dangerous than the male. But I’d make an exception to the rule in your case and say, most definitely...’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Vi had just finished a slot in the Wednesday afternoon show and was taking off her greasepaint. In the proper dressing room; she’d moved out of the amateur one on Monday night, straight after Horatio had dealt that body blow about Alice. What was it the girl had said during her so-called acting in rehearsal? Not going to allow you to make me feel I’m dirt. Well, neither was she. The other turns had either all gone back to their digs or were in the wings waiting to go on. There was a tentative knock on the door and the cause of her recent heartache came in.