‘Pleased with the way it went?’ he asked.
‘Very.’ The man was beaming. ‘We got them all, and what they’d brought in. There are probably one or two more holes that Millgate didn’t know about, but I’m happy with this haul. I’d say we have something to celebrate.’ He surveyed the men who were under arrest. ‘Quite a few who won’t be going out fishing for several years. Just think: if you hadn’t recognized that man from Leeds …’
‘Hotchkiss never came home last night, sir,’ Walsh said. ‘I kept watch from a bedroom window. He didn’t come near the place, as far as I can tell. I left a bobby guarding the house.’
‘Somehow, he knows we’re after him.’ Fowler lit a cigarette.
‘We have a man on the newspaper office,’ Ash said. ‘But I don’t think he’ll be going to work today.’
Harper nodded. The man was going to be desperate, and desperate men did dangerous things. He’d glanced at the list Walsh had made of items in Hotchkiss’s house. In the cellar he had everything he needed to make more bombs. But he was cut off from all that now. Cut off from everything.
He rubbed at his face. He’d been out early with Captain Burt and the Leeds Excise men, arresting John Rutherford and raiding the secret warehouse where he kept his contraband. Everything straightforward and over in just a few minutes, but he begrudged the time he’d had to spend away from finding Hotchkiss. Rutherford had accepted his arrest with resignation, as if he’d known all good things must eventually end.
‘Breaks up the tedium,’ Burt said as he watched his men inventory the store. How much of that would end up in their homes? Harper wondered. ‘Of course, Whitby will come away with all the glory.’
‘They did the work, didn’t they?’
‘We’ve done our share here.’ The captain bristled. ‘This is an excellent little haul. And there are actions going on in Newcastle and York. They’ll come out of it smelling like roses.’
As soon as he could, the superintendent returned to Millgarth. Billy would take much of the credit for ending the smuggling operation, and he deserved it. But as soon as he stepped on to the pavement, Harper’s thoughts were elsewhere.
He wanted Hotchkiss.
‘Go after all his friends,’ he ordered. ‘See if they’ve heard from him, if he asked for a bed for the night. You know what to do. I want a very tight guard on all the women running for election. There’s no knowing what he’ll try. He might decide he wants to have his little blaze of glory.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ash said. ‘What about you? Where will you be?’
He had work needing attention on his desk. But it could wait until all this was over. The fever was in his blood now. He needed to be out there, to be doing something. He wanted to be there when it ended.
‘I’ll be spending the day guarding my wife,’ he answered with relish.
‘Stop fretting, Tom,’ Annabelle told him. ‘You’re worse than an old woman.’
She was out delivering leaflets and knocking on doors along the roads off Sheepscar Street. Harper stayed a few yards away, constantly looking around, aware of who was walking, who was standing on the corner. Martinson was a little further back, just as alert.
The superintendent was looking after his wife, and he had a very sound reason. Hotchkiss had aimed much of his venom at Annabelle. It seemed a fair guess that he’d try to do something to her before he was caught.
He fingered the truncheon in his pocket, feeling the reassurance of the polished wood in his hand. He was ready if Hotchkiss came. And he was out here somewhere, in the thick, dirty air, the harsh smell of the chemical plant drifting across from Meanwood Road.
By dinnertime there was no sign of the man, no word sent from Millgarth. Hotchkiss was still evading the law. But not for much longer.
In the café, Annabelle sat with her volunteers, making a plan for the afternoon. Harper and the constable took the table by the door. If the man tried to storm his way in, they’d be ready to stop him.
‘Is he mad, do you reckon, sir?’ Martinson asked. ‘Barmy, I mean.’
‘Probably. He’s obsessed, that’s for certain.’
‘I heard at the station that he had all the malarkey for making bombs in his cellar.’
‘That’s right.’
He shuddered. ‘I don’t know how anyone could sleep with all that around. I’d be scared stiff it would all go up during the night.’
‘We have it under lock and key,’ Harper told him. ‘It can’t hurt anyone now.’
‘I don’t mind a bit of a scrap,’ Martinson said. ‘It’s a good way to clear the head. But something like that, it gives me the willies, sir.’
Harper thought of the explosion at St Clement’s and seeing the body of the caretaker.
‘It does the same to me. The women are ready to leave. You watch them, I’ll settle the bill.’
‘Very generous of you, sir. Thank you.’
The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. How did she do it? Smiling at everyone, listening to their problems, going from one door to the next and asking for their votes. On her feet all day. He’d forgotten what that was like, although he’d walked a beat for years. His mind began to drift. He wondered what success the others were having, how Billy’s big raid with the Excise in Whitby had gone. As soon as he found himself wandering, he dragged his mind back, forcing himself to pay attention.
At a quarter to four she packed the leaflets away in her basket and walked over to him.
‘That’s me done,’ Annabelle announced. ‘We’ve just enough time to walk over to school and collect Mary. She’ll be surprised to see the pair of us.’
‘Where’s Ellen?’
‘She had something to do in town so I said I’d see to it.’ She put her arm through his and smiled sweetly. ‘Two men watching over me. I feel like the Queen.’
‘Was it worthwhile today?’
‘It’s all worth the time,’ she answered as they walked back through the streets towards Roundhay Road. ‘I might convince one or two more people. If they’re ratepayers, I want them casting their ballots. No point in having a vote if you don’t use it, is there?’
Harper could hear Martinson ten yards behind them. He looked around. Nobody who resembled Hotchkiss. Very few men at all; they’d still be at work until the day shift ended at six. A couple of women stopped to say hello to Annabelle and told her they’d be supporting her in the election. Her gratitude was real, unfeigned.
‘Of course I’m glad,’ she told him. ‘It means a lot to me every time someone says that. They believe in what I’m doing.’
‘What will you do if you win?’
‘I don’t know.’ She chuckled. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I daren’t. I might lose. Maybe no one will vote for me.’
‘They will,’ he assured her. ‘They all know you round here.’
‘Doesn’t mean they like me. I’ve put some backs up in my time.’
It was a board school, built twenty years before. Long enough for the red of the bricks to be lost beneath a layer of soot. A pair of small gravel playgrounds at the front of the building, one for girls, the other for boys, divided by a low wall. Martinson kept a discreet distance as they waited, rocking gently from foot to foot in the old copper’s stance.
As soon as the bell rang, the place seemed to erupt. Children poured out in a welter of noise, laughing, happy, as if they’d just been released from a stretch in prison. It brought memories jarring back into his mind of the joy he felt when each day at Gower Street Primary ended.
Most of the boys and girls had already vanished when Miss Mobley, Mary’s teacher, escorted her out.
‘She came top in spelling again today. Every word was correct, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ Mary said, beaming.
‘It’s all we can do to keep up with her,’ Miss Mobley said. Her face flushed. ‘Now you go off with your mam and dad. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She turned to Annabelle. ‘I just wanted to wish you good luck in the el
ection, Mrs Harper. I can’t vote, but if I could, you’d have mine.’
‘Thank you.’
They turned for home, their daughter chattering away, the words coming too fast for Harper to catch them all. The Victoria stood tall on the corner, just a hop, skip and a jump away. A tram slowed for the junction, brakes squealing, steel on steel. Mary looked up and began to scream.
He jerked his head around. There. Not even ten yards away. He’d never seen the man in the flesh but he knew who it was.
Gerald Hotchkiss. A knife in his hand.
‘Get back to the school.’
Behind him, Martinson was running. Mary couldn’t stop screaming.
Hotchkiss was backing away, already starting to run. But Harper was close. This time he wasn’t going to get away. People were moving aside; he saw the fear on their faces as he passed.
By the time they reached Manor Street, Hotchkiss was only five yards ahead. He turned the corner, feet sliding on the pavement.
Another yard gained. Harper could hear the roaring in his skull.
Just three yards between them now. His fists were clenched and ready.
Near the high back gate of the Victoria he launched himself at Hotchkiss. For a moment he thought it was too soon. But he caught the man’s jacket, pulling hard. The fabric began to rip. He held on, bunching it in his fingers, and Hotchkiss fell on to the cobbles.
One blow. Another, then another, and the knife clattered on to the ground.
Harper took hold of the man’s head and started beating it against the stone. Pull it up, hammer it down. As if he might be able to take away every memory of his life.
A pair of hands grabbed his arms and dragged him away.
‘I think he’s probably subdued enough now, sir,’ Martinson said gently. ‘I’ll get the cuffs on him and whistle up some help.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He stood, dazed, gazing around, not even certain where he was for a few seconds. ‘Thank you.’
‘We don’t want you going down for murder. He was resisting arrest. I saw it with my own eyes. You did what you had to do. And he was armed. There are twenty people who’ll testify to that.’
‘Annabelle?’ he asked. ‘Mary?’
‘They’re safe at the school, sir.’ Martinson smiled. ‘Why don’t you go down and see them? I’ll take care of things here.’
Harper nodded dully. At the corner he stopped. ‘Tell them at Millgarth that we’ve got him, will you?’
‘Gladly, sir.’
Just two hundred yards, but it felt like five miles. He put one heavy foot in front of the other, slowly surfacing like a man coming out of deep water. How could something be over so quickly? After all the searching, all the hopes that had come to nothing, it was done, just like that.
He’d have killed Hotchkiss if Martinson hadn’t arrived. Done it and not felt a moment’s remorse. What was he becoming?
He squatted in front of Mary, put a finger under her chin and lifted her head.
‘It’s fine now,’ he told her. ‘He won’t bother you ever again. He’s going to prison.’
‘I saw him and …’ She shook her head and bit down on her lip. He could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks.
‘I know. But he’s gone now. Everything’s going to be all right.’
Fine words. If only they were true. Who knew when it might be over inside her mind? And what about the daughter of Mr Harkness the caretaker, or Harry Cain’s wife? It would never end for them.
He held his daughter close, then picked her up. ‘Piggy back?’ he asked.
Solemnly she nodded, and he lifted her on to his shoulders.
‘Watch your head as we go out.’
‘Is it really done, Tom?’ Annabelle asked as they walked.
‘It is,’ he told her. ‘It really is.’
TWENTY-NINE
‘I talked to Hotchkiss after he came to last night,’ Ash said. ‘PC Martinson says he put up quite a bit of resistance to arrest. You did a thorough job, sir.’ He smiled. Harper didn’t say a word. Safer to keep his mouth shut.
There were so many answers he could give: he was catching someone who’d killed twice, once in cold blood. A bomber, a child snatcher. It would all be true. But it wasn’t the real reason. He wanted his revenge on the man who’d gone after his wife and daughter. He would have carried on until the man’s brains were spread across the cobbles.
He might not like it, he might keep silent about it, but that was the heart of the matter.
‘Seems he saw you and Walsh by his house, and he thought he’d better scarper,’ Ash continued. ‘He hadn’t expected to see you with your wife and daughter. That startled him, he said.’
‘What did he plan to do?’ His voice was a dry croak. He sipped at a cup of tea. Cold, but it wet his throat.
‘He was going to kill Mrs Harper, sir. That was his aim. It’s a good job you were there.’
‘Yes.’ He wanted to let it go, not think about it any more, but it wouldn’t move from the front of his mind. ‘Did he say why he used those bits of folk songs?’
‘He wanted to scare. To terrify. And he wanted us to be certain it was him.’
As if there could have been any doubt.
The superintendent turned to the other men. ‘You’ve done an excellent job. All of you.’
‘Hotchkiss will be fine to face a jury and hang once he’s recovered, sir,’ Ash finished.
‘It’s over.’ Harper leaned back in his chair. ‘Finally. Now we just have Mischief Night and the election ahead.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Thank the Engineers, please, and tell them we won’t be needing them again.’ He brought his palms down on the desk. ‘Right, what else is there?’
Later, alone in his office, he slit open a letter from Billy Reed.
Dear Tom,
I hear everything went smoothly with the Excise raid in Leeds yesterday. Harry Pepper, the chap in charge here, wanted you along because he thought his people there might be on the take from Rutherford. With the police attending they had to stay honest.
We netted the whole ring. One of Pepper’s men was wounded, but it was nothing serious. I had to shoot the ringleader of the smuggling family, but I only winged him. With the arrest, Harry thinks he might have shut down most of the smuggling on the coast for a generation, if it can ever start again.
We gave Terrier John ten pounds from funds and sent him on his way. It wouldn’t be safe for him round here now. I told him to steer clear of Leeds, but you know what he’s like. Don’t be surprised if you see him there. Funny, isn’t it, we’d have never had this success if I hadn’t come across him before and wondered what he was up to here. Small world.
Give Annabelle our best hopes for the election. We’ll see you on December 23rd.
Sincerely,
Billy
The blaze crackled and roared. You could probably see it for a mile or more, Harper thought. One woman was going round selling bonfire toffee, another with parkin. He bought some for Mary, more for Annabelle.
The little girl was transfixed by the fire, watching the flames shoot up, gasping at the creak of wood as part of it collapsed, sending the crowd dancing back with shrieks and laughter, and applause as flames licked at the Guy at the top of the pile and it started to burn.
It was a neighbourhood do, on the waste ground beyond the rhubarb fields. A boy in a cap that was too big for him was being chased by some others, until a hand reached out and clipped one of them on the head; that put an end to things.
Harper glanced at his wife. She was smiling, but her mind was elsewhere. Of course. Another two hours and they’d announce the election result. Since Hotchkiss’s arrest she’d been out every day, throwing herself into meetings, as if the sense of relief had sparked her even higher. Very soon she’d know if all the work had paid off. He reached across and squeezed her hand. She turned, but she wasn’t really there.
‘Come on,’ he said to Mary, ‘isn’t that Maisie Taylor over there? Why don’t we see what she’s been doing?�
��
He’d watched his daughter carefully since the day he’d caught Hotchkiss; they both had. But she’d carried on as if the moment had passed, and it hadn’t affected her. Maybe they’d be lucky and it would all flow over her. But a part of him had lived too long and knew too much to believe that.
Ten o’clock. The church hall was full. Mary sat on the chair next to his, leaning her head against his chest, fast asleep. All the candidates milled around, unable to settle, talking with their supporters.
Annabelle had a small crowd around her, almost twenty, most of them women. Sergeant Buckley from the Engineers was there in his dress uniform, enjoying all the attention the ladies were giving him. But Harper could tell that Annabelle was barely listening to what everyone said. Her hands fidgeted with her reticule, her gloves, the handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.
They’d gone home after the bonfire, just long enough for her to change into her favourite plum-coloured gown. No bustle, a high neck, the leg-of-mutton sleeves plumped out. A black velvet hat pinned in place, a deep breath and she was ready.
Tonight was a special night; Mary could stay up late.
‘Let her see how it works, Tom,’ Annabelle said. ‘Even if I don’t win, she’ll know that I tried.’
He’d wake the girl for the results. Victory or defeat, she’d see what was possible for a woman now. Then who knew what she’d do in the future?
The returning officer climbed on to the platform and waved at the candidates to join him. They stood in a line, two with their heads held high, Oldroyd and Wilkinson staring down at their feet as if their polished shoes were the most interesting thing in the room. Harper nudged Mary until she was awake, and sat her on his lap.
‘This is it,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll see if your mam’s won.’
‘The votes in the election for Poor Law Guardians for Sheepscar Ward have all been counted,’ the officer said. ‘I would like to remind you that the two candidates with the most votes will serve for the next three years.’ He coughed and looked out at the expectant audience. ‘Mr Courtney Wilkinson, Conservative, twenty-eight votes.’ A few hands clapped. Someone giggled loudly. No surprise, Harper thought. The Tories were always going to be on a losing wicket here. ‘Michael Oldroyd, Labour, one hundred and twenty-three votes.’ The applause was louder. Relief on the young man’s face. Defeat, but not disgrace. ‘William Moody, Liberal, two hundred and eighteen votes.’ His supporters cheered loudly. ‘Mrs Annabelle Harper, Independent, four hundred and seventeen votes.’
The Tin God Page 24