The Boy With the Latchkey

by Cathy Sharp

  ‘I can’t afford a lawyer though …’

  ‘Maybe I can find one who doesn’t want money,’ Ikey said and smiled. ‘No promises, mind. Just wait and see what comes …’

  CHAPTER 14

  ‘Have you finished those skirts I asked you to do?’ Sam asked as he walked into the workshop and discovered Mary Ellen still at her machine. ‘I need to pair them with the jackets and get them on the rack. I’ve got an important customer coming to buy this afternoon.’

  They were using a lot of Indian cotton now that the government had removed purchase tax from non-woollen materials and India had slashed the high tariffs they’d previously charged. Sam had decided to take full advantage and there were bales of cotton piled everywhere.

  ‘Yes, this is the last one,’ Mary Ellen said and snipped the cotton. ‘Lily checked that pile before she went to lunch. If you’d like to check this last one, I can start pairing them with the jackets … lovely summer suits …’

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Sam said and took the skirt, examining the seams thoroughly and turning it inside out. ‘Yes, it’s perfect, but your stuff always is, Mary Ellen. You should be out to lunch now you’ve finished.’

  ‘Yolande isn’t back yet,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘I’ll help you put the suits together and then I’ll eat my sandwiches. I don’t need to go anywhere – unless you’d like me to shop for you?’

  ‘No, that’s fine; I don’t need any errands today. Let’s get these suits on the rack. Thank goodness none of them ended up on the cabbage rail. I can’t afford for the good material to be wasted too often.’

  Mary Ellen thought Sam looked a bit worried and wondered why. They’d had plenty of work recently, some of it on spec but mostly orders for firms who came back to them time after time. The garments they made with their own label were stacked on the racks in the showroom, but those made for firms had to have their label sewn into them, and should something be spoiled by a crooked seam or a little cut in the material, the label then had to be cut out and the offending article placed on the cabbage rail. That didn’t mean it was worthless, of course, because market traders bought their waste, but for far less money, sometimes less than cost price if the fault was very noticeable.

  Mary Ellen often bought something off the cabbage rail for herself or Rose, but she bought it in a size larger and then unpicked it and made it up perfectly. Sometimes it just meant unpicking one bad seam and taking it in a little bit so the old stitches didn’t show. That was the trouble with thin or delicate material of course, because if you unpicked it there were tiny holes left – unless like Mary Ellen, you completely re-shaped it. She’d suggested it to Sam a couple of times when an expensive article had been spoiled by bad seaming, but he’d shaken his head.

  ‘We have to allow for some spoiled goods, Mary Ellen. I don’t want to risk sending a faulty garment to one of my regular retailers. It could cost me far more than the loss of a dress.’

  ‘We’ve had a few spoiled garments this week,’ she said. ‘I think it’s that new girl, Sam. Twice I’ve caught her setting the machine up wrong, and she got her thread tangled this morning. Do you want me to take her off the machines until I have time to show her what we need?’

  ‘I’m not too worried about a few mistakes,’ Sam said and sighed. ‘I may as well tell you, Mary Ellen. One of my best customers has complained that she was short of garments in her delivery …’

  ‘How could that be?’ Mary Ellen was puzzled, because Yolande checked the orders personally, and Herbie Clarke did the cutting and she always checked that they had the right amount of pieces before she gave them out to the machinists. ‘I always check them right through to when they’re put on the ordered goods rails ready for packing in boxes …’

  ‘Yes, and Herbie ticks each one off his list when he packs them,’ Sam said. ‘It must happen either during the packing or after … before the boxes are taken out for delivery.’

  ‘Do you trust Bert?’ Bert Higgins was their delivery driver. He loaded the packed and sealed cardboard boxes into the small van they used and drove it to the various shops in the East End and also the West End of London; the few orders for outside London were sealed and then taken to the sorting office either by Bert or Sam himself.

  ‘Bert has been with me since the beginning,’ Sam said. ‘Besides, he’s as honest as the day is long. No, it has to be here, either in the workshops or the showroom …’

  ‘I don’t think any of the workshop girls take anything other than the offcuts. We all check that with Yolande,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Anything we purchase in the showroom has to go through Mrs Baxter. Jilly bought a tweed suit yesterday, but it came off the cabbage rail …’

  ‘Did you look at it properly?’ Sam asked.

  ‘She just showed me in the bag. I didn’t take it out and look – why?’

  ‘Two of those lilac tweed suits went missing. Pretty Patricia Modes were most upset that two of those suits were unaccounted for. They ordered fifty and got forty-eight and there was enough material to make fifty-five initially. Surely we didn’t have that large a wastage?’

  ‘Have you checked the cabbage rail?’

  ‘They aren’t there, but we sold two dozen garments from the rail yesterday afternoon …’

  Mary Ellen frowned, because there was no way of knowing what had been sold from the cabbage rail. They were mostly priced between fifteen bob and a pound, to cover the cost of the material with perhaps a shilling or two profit, unless the garment was very badly damaged; they were just invoiced as damaged and not itemised.

  ‘I didn’t look through the rail yesterday, because I had that big order to get out for Hobbs,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I had no idea garments were going missing. What can I do?’

  ‘You already do more than your fair share round here,’ Sam said, ‘but could you make it a rule to check the cabbage rail at least twice a day? Just in case something perfect has been slipped on to the wrong rail by mistake …’

  Or on purpose perhaps? Mary Ellen thought the question was in Sam’s mind as well as hers, and it was an uncomfortable thought. She’d believed all the girls in the machinists’ room were honest; they were her friends and she enjoyed working with them. Yet if one of them was slipping perfect goods on to the cabbage rail in order to purchase something cheap herself – or to please one of their customers – then they were letting Sam down. No, she couldn’t think Lily or Yolande or Jilly would be so dishonest, but Herbie and Bert and Mrs Baxter from the showroom were above suspicion. So that left one possibility, the new girl Anna, who had only recently been taken on as a seamstress.

  Anna was the first to return after her lunch break. Mary Ellen watched her take her place behind her sewing machine and start stitching the bodice of a new line in silk blouses. Mary Ellen went to watch over her shoulder because the material was very fine and needed careful work, but Anna seemed to have learned her lessons and was having no trouble with the machine now.

  One by one the girls returned to their work. Mary Ellen had a pile of cotton dresses to machine, but she found herself watching every time a girl went out of the room to take a toilet break and timing her. None of them exceeded the time they were allowed.

  When everyone stopped for a mug of tea mid-afternoon, Mary Ellen took her mug and went through to the showroom. She checked the cabbage rail and made sure that everything was genuinely passed as faulty and then looked round the other rails to make sure that the missing lilac tweed suits had not been slipped in with their own label. Everything seemed in order and Mary Ellen turned to go back to her own bench, but just as she was on the point of leaving the showroom door opened and Mrs Baxter moved forward eagerly in order to greet their customer.

  ‘How nice to see you, sir,’ she said. ‘We have some lovely suits with our own label fresh in today …’

  ‘That’s good,’ he responded with a pleasant smile. Mary Ellen thought he looked nice, though obviously an older man, but well dressed and respectable. ‘Yes, I do need
some stock for the shops in the West End – but I should also like to see what you have on the cabbage rail please. My vendors sell your stuff well on the market, and I may take a larger than normal order today, if you can tempt me?’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. You know we always find you a few bargains …’

  Mary Ellen frowned as she went through to the workshops. What did Mrs Baxter mean by a few bargains? It was true that some of the spoiled goods were almost perfect … She bit her lip, because she mustn’t jump to conclusions. Sam would never believe the thief could be Mrs Baxter and in her heart Mary Ellen didn’t either …

  Mr Connolly owned fifteen market stalls in various parts of London. That morning Billy had been to Bermondsey to collect the money owed from three stalls in the market there. One was selling fresh vegetables; the second had a variety of second-hand bits and pieces, including some nice silver jewellery; and the third had a selection of suits, blouses, skirts and dresses. The first two just paid rent for their stalls but the clothing stall also sold stock belonging to Mr Connolly. Looking at the suits and skirts hanging on the rails, Billy thought he’d seen something similar at Mary Ellen’s workplace, because their stuff had a bit of style about it and some of the garments looked too good to be sold on the market. He looked at a lovely lilac tweed suit, which he thought would suit Mary Ellen and inquired the price.

  ‘That’s three pounds ten bob, mate,’ the stallholder, Joe, said. ‘Cost yer double up the West End that would …’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Billy asked, because there always had to be something, given it was selling at half price on the market to what it would be in the shops.

  ‘Nuthin’ far as I can see,’ the man replied. ‘I reckon some of this cabbage stuff is fiddled, but I only sell it …’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve come to collect Mr Connolly’s money.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember yer comin’ wiv ’im,’ the trader replied, looking sourly at Billy as he handed over a small bag of money. ‘Be careful wiv that – and I want yer mark ’ere ’cos I ain’t responsible if it goes astray.’

  Billy looked inside the bag and saw the bundle of notes. ‘How much do you reckon’s here then?’

  ‘Twenty quid … do you want to count it?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll take your word for it,’ Billy said. ‘If it doesn’t tally I’ll come back and knock your head off!’

  The trader hesitated for a moment then scowled. ‘All right, there’s sixteen quid, ten shillings and thruppence halfpenny. Give us the book and I’ll make the figure right …’

  ‘Yeah, I think Mr Connolly would appreciate that; he doesn’t take kindly to being cheated and neither do I …’

  The market trader looked at him oddly, as if he didn’t know if Billy was for real. ‘OK, mate, ’old yer ’air on, I was just testin’ yer …’

  ‘That’s fine, just don’t try it on again, right?’

  ‘Nah, I’m straight, me. It ain’t me yer want ter look out fer, mate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re bloody honest Joe, ain’t yer? Still wet behind the ears I reckon, but yer’ll ’ave ter find out fer yerself. It’s more than me life’s worfth ter tell yer,’ Joe said and grinned again. ‘Just watch yer back that’s all. Things ain’t always the way they seem – and don’t cross the old man, that’s my advice.’

  ‘Why should I want to cross Mr Connolly?’ Billy asked. ‘He’s given me a good job and I’m grateful.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll just bet you are,’ Joe said. ‘Well, good luck, mate. I wouldn’t be in your shoes …’

  Billy walked away feeling puzzled. He went into the gentlemen’s conveniences at the edge of the market, entered a cubicle and counted the money. It was exactly what Joe had told him, which meant that he probably was honest – as honest as most traders. He’d tried to trick Billy, but maybe he was testing him. Some of the traders he’d visited had paid either rent or the previous day’s takings without comment; one or two had been reluctant to part with the money, making out they weren’t sure he had the authority to collect it, although Mr Connolly had been everywhere with him the first time. Maybe that was what Joe meant, and yet there had been an odd look in his eyes that puzzled Billy – and what did he mean about some of the stuff being fiddled?

  Mr Connolly was an honest man, a rich, respectable man. He wouldn’t have pinched stuff on his stalls, Billy was certain about that, because the last thing he wanted was to break the law and end up in prison like his brother, but Joe didn’t get all his stuff through Mr Connolly so if he had some things he thought weren’t honestly gained, they might have come from anywhere …

  Feeling thoughtful, Billy tucked the money from Joe into the money belt he wore and left the toilets. He needed to visit three more markets that morning and he had to be back to escort Mr Connolly on a visit to the club that evening.

  He was going to earn every penny of his generous wages, and it was a good thing Mary Ellen was too busy to expect him to take her out most nights, because he wouldn’t have much time … but if he did well, he would have his own stall that he could work on Saturday mornings. He just had to decide what he wanted to sell, and he thought he might go in for cabbage; he could buy it from Sam, like others did … unless Mr Connolly insisted that he take stock from him exclusively.

  Billy didn’t much care one way or the other. He wouldn’t even have thought of running his own stall if it hadn’t been for his employer. The stalls themselves were difficult to get hold of, because most stayed in families and got passed down from father to son, just the way Ted Hastings’ stalls would, except that he only had a daughter.

  No, Billy wouldn’t mind where his stock came from, as long as it was bought honest. He was pleased with his new job and the Saturday morning stall would just be an extra bonus. Soon he would have enough money put by to rent a place of his own, and once he had that Rose would have to admit that he was doing a steady job and perhaps Mary Ellen could persuade her to let them get married on her eighteenth birthday in September …

  Mary Ellen was in the showroom when Billy entered that evening. She was surprised, because although he sometimes came to walk her home after work, he normally waited outside.

  ‘What are you doin’ here, Billy?’ she asked.

  ‘I wanted to have a look at the cabbage rail,’ he said. ‘I think I might sell clothes on the market when I get my stall, Mary Ellen. What sort of price are those suits? I saw something similar today but that was a lilac tweedy thing … very much like those on that rail …’

  ‘They aren’t cabbage,’ Mary Ellen frowned. ‘That’s our own label stuff and we sell them for three pounds and five shillings.’

  ‘The one I saw looked similar but the material was grey with lilac bits and the bloke was selling it for three pounds ten shillings.’

  ‘Where did you see it?’

  ‘On the market,’ Billy looked at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’ve had some of those lilac tweed suits go missing – about four I think. It was a special order we made for a firm with their own label and they expected fifty out of the material they ordered and bought, but when they got them there were only forty-eight. I’ve been checking and Yolande says we made fifty-two but we didn’t do the fancy velvet collars on the extra two and they went on our own label rail; they aren’t here now and they haven’t been listed as sold …’

  ‘Pinched you reckon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary Ellen looked over her shoulder. ‘Keep your voice down, Billy. Sam wants me to keep a check on the stock rails in future and that’s why I stayed after Mrs Baxter left and decided to check – and I’m sure we’ve lost at least four suits in that material.’

  ‘None of them went on the cabbage rail?’

  ‘Yolande checked them all as perfect and so did I …’ Mary Ellen bit her lip. ‘We can’t afford to lose stuff like that, Billy. It’s worse that two of a customer’s suits went missing, because Sam had to buy more cloth and we’ve made up the missing suits and se
nt them off, but if we’re losing our own stuff too …’

  ‘It’s odd, but one of the market traders I spoke to today said there wasn’t anything wrong with the suit he was selling. Do you think some of the suits were put on the cabbage rail by mistake? Could they have been sold to a market trader as cabbage?’

  ‘Ah, still here, Mary Ellen?’ Sam greeted them with an odd look instead of his usual beaming smile. ‘How are you, Billy? Mary Ellen tells me you’ve started working for Mr Connolly – sort of his minder?’

  ‘Yeah, I was lucky he gave me a job,’ Billy said. ‘Ellie was just tellin’ me you’ve lost some stuff, Sam? I saw a suit that was similar to one you made selling on a stall in Bermondsey market for three pounds ten shillings. Didn’t look as if there was anything wrong with it …’

  ‘It could have been the lilac tweed, Sam,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘Yolande told me she’d made two suits out of the remainder of the cloth and put them on our rails, but they aren’t here – and they aren’t in Mrs Baxter’s receipt books either …’

  Sam nodded and looked grim. ‘So we know for sure that pilfering is going on,’ he said, a flicker of anger in his voice. ‘I hoped it was just a one-off mistake, but I’ll be keepin’ a sharp eye out in future …’

  ‘I’ll look every day,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘It’s not right that any of our staff would cheat you – and I can’t work out how they do it.’

  ‘The stock must be switched to the cabbage rail somehow,’ Sam said. ‘Either one of the staff knows when someone is coming in and they do the switch when Mrs Baxter’s back is turned, or—’ He broke off, looking concerned.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out when I’m on my rounds of the stalls,’ Billy offered. ‘I know what your stuff looks like, Sam, because Mary Ellen shows me sometimes and I’ve seen her wearing things.’

  ‘We have to find a way to stop the pilfering,’ Sam said. ‘Can’t think how though … Mind you, that’s the least of my problems at the moment …’