The Esther & Jack Enright Box Set

by David Field

  Esther was aware that Inspector Reid had leaned across and engaged in a whispered conversation with the coroner, who looked sideways at Poll, asked her to confirm her real name and then advised her that: ‘Inspector Reid requires that I formally caution you that while you are not obliged to say anything that might incriminate you when answering my questions, anything you do say today might be used against you in subsequent criminal proceedings. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Course,’ Poll replied with a defiant look directly at Reid. ‘I ain’t done nuffin’ I’m ashamed of, I can assure yer o’ that.’

  ‘Very well. Are you married or single, witness?’

  ‘Single.’

  ‘And your current address and occupation?’

  ‘35 Dorset Street, Spitalfields, not currently employed.’

  ‘Are you also known by the name of “Pearly Poll”?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You knew the deceased Martha Tabram?’

  ‘Yeah, ’cept I knew ’er as Emma Turner.’

  ‘By whatever name you knew her, you and she were in company together on the late evening of the sixth of August last?’

  ‘That’s right — in the White ’Art, it were.’

  ‘And were there others in your company?’

  ‘Some other ladies of my acquaintance, yeah.’

  ‘And did you make the acquaintance of any men that evening?’

  ‘Sure did — a bunch o’ sojers.’

  ‘Guardsmen?’

  ‘So I bin told — sojers, anyroad.’

  ‘And once again I remind you of the caution I administered at the start of your testimony when I ask you what, if anything, transpired between you, the deceased, and these soldiers?’

  Poll grinned lasciviously. ‘We went up an alley in the way o’ business.’

  ‘And what sort of business would that have been?’

  ‘Tottin’,’ Poll replied with a defiant smirk.

  ‘Prostitution?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How exactly did this come about?’

  ‘Well, them sojers come over to our table an’ asked if we was interested in a “short time”, as it’s called, an’ if we knew of anywhere where we could go. They obviously wasn’t local, else they’d’ve known that there’s lots o’ places aroun’ Whitechapel where yer can duck inter some alley or other — even lyin’ down, if the money’s right.’

  The coroner went slightly pale in the face and raised his hand. ‘Yes, thank you, I think we get the general picture. So what arrangement, if any, did you come to with these guardsmen?’

  ‘Well one o’ them ’ad ’is eye on Emma — Martha, that is — an’ another of ’em fancied me, so we sets off down the road — the ’Igh Street, that is — an’ I pointed Martha an’ ’er man up the alleyway next ter the White ’Art, since there’s a doss house up there what never locks its doors, so yer can go on one o’ the landin’s an’ do it lyin’ down. Then I took my gentleman friend to another alleyway further down an’ we ’ad a quick knee-trembler.’

  More laughter rippled around the room and the coroner appeared to blush. ‘I won’t ask you what a knee-trembler is, Miss Connolly, but is it your evidence that you had carnal connection with this guardsman?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And what did you do next?’

  ‘Went back ter the White ’Art an’ spent me fourpence on a large gin.’

  ‘Did you see Martha Tabram again that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When you got back to the White Hart, were the other friends of yours still there?’

  ‘No, they’d scarpered, so I figured they’d mebbe got off wi’ the other sojers.’

  ‘But when you first left the White Hart with your guardsman, the only ones to leave with you were the deceased and her guardsman?’

  ‘Yeah, like I said.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Connolly. I don’t think I have any further questions, unless Inspector Reid here has any other matters he wishes to have clarified?’

  He looked enquiringly at Reid, who shook his head with a slow smile. The coroner turned to address the jury. He first reminded them of the duty they had been called to perform and summarised the evidence, such as it had been. He left them in little doubt of what verdict he expected from them and without needing to withdraw their foreman duly confirmed their finding that Martha Tabram had been murdered by ‘a person or persons unknown.’

  The coroner thanked the jury for performing their public duty with such efficiency and dedication, then turned back to make a few concluding remarks for the benefit of the gentlemen of the press who had been making notes of the proceedings.

  ‘I can only observe,’ he commented, ‘that the terrible fate that overtook the deceased illustrates only too clearly the risks taken by those we denote as “unfortunates” when they ply their trade in the dark alleyways of this most violent area of London. We can only conjecture what drives these miserable wretches to hawk their bodies for the few pence necessary to ensure that they have a roof over their heads for one more night, but nevertheless it is incumbent upon me, as one of Her Majesty’s Coronial Officers, to underline the dangers that they thereby court. This case involved one of the most dreadful murders that anyone could imagine and the man who perpetrated it must have been a perfect savage to have inflicted such a number of wounds on a defenceless woman in such a way. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, that concludes this coronial inquest.’

  Esther sat for a moment, contemplating what the coroner had just said and saying a silent prayer for Martha, wherever she was now, while the other spectators filed back out into the mid-morning sun. She turned round, looking for Jack, but he was nowhere to be seen, so she walked slowly and sadly out into the street. Poll was on the pavement next to the pie shop, with several other women around her, and she smiled across at Esther. Then suddenly Jack was by Esther’s side, taking her by the elbow and steering her in the general direction of Aldgate.

  ‘Inspector Reid wants to talk to you,’ Jack advised her.

  Esther looked back towards the building they had just left. ‘Isn’t he still inside there?’

  ‘Not now. His police wagon was waiting for him at the rear of the building and I saw it heading back to Leman Street while I was keeping an eye on Pearly Poll and making a note of the descriptions of her friends. But before the inquest even started this morning, he asked me if I could locate you and take you down to the Detective Office. He doesn’t know we’re walking out together, so please don’t tell him.’

  ‘Why, are you ashamed of me or something?’ Esther enquired, heart in mouth.

  ‘Of course not. It’s just that I’m on duty and — well, we’re not supposed to fraternise with witnesses. Inspector Reid thinks that you’re important to his enquiries.’

  ‘I’ve already told the coroner what I know.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Jack explained as he steered her carefully through the milling traffic at the busy three-way junction of Whitechapel Road, Commercial Road and Leman Street, ‘witnesses don’t know how important their evidence is when they can’t see the overall direction that a police investigation’s taking. I learned that from Uncle Percy.’

  ‘So if I’m a witness, does that mean we can’t meet up again on Sunday, like we planned?’

  ‘That’s different,’ Jack explained. ‘I’m off duty on Sundays. The office is just ahead, on our right.’

  He led the way up the front steps of the gaunt, soot-stained, three-storied building into a hallway whose gloom contrasted markedly with the bright sunlight they had just left. Off to the right, behind a metal cage grille, a uniformed sergeant was processing a pair of protesting drunks, even though it was only just past the middle of the day. From elsewhere in the building could be heard shouts, the occasional scream, and the barking of orders, as Jack led the way up the broad staircase onto the first floor landing, then down a corridor at the end of which was a tall glass-fronted door whose embossed letters announced that behind it might b
e found the ‘Criminal Investigation Department’. Jack pushed the door open and held it wide while Esther slipped past his arm to go in ahead of him, then waited until Jack led the way again.

  As they passed the open door to an office halfway down this corridor they heard a low wolf whistle and Jack stopped for a moment, poked his head through the open door and called out, ‘Forget it, Billy — she’s with me.’

  At the end of this corridor was another glass door that was partly open, revealing behind it the stocky figure of a bearded man who at first glance resembled one of Queen Victoria’s sons, but who Esther recognised as Detective Inspector Reid. He looked up as Jack tapped on the glass of the half-open door and announced, ‘Miss Jacobs, Inspector.’

  Reid waved them both in and offered Esther a seat in front of his desk, before glaring at Jack. ‘There was a cable awaiting my return. The Yard are insisting on sending their own man down on this one. Name of Enright — any relation?’

  ‘If it’s Percy Enright, he’s my uncle,’ Jack admitted.

  Reid snorted. ‘Well, it would seem that I can’t be trusted to investigate the simple snuffing of a back-alley tottie, despite all my years in the Detective Branch. But I suspect it’s political, since I hear that the Home Secretary and the Commissioner are concerned that some Army maniac may be on the loose with a bayonet. Anyway, sorry, Miss Jacobs,’ he concluded as he apparently remembered that he had a civilian visitor.

  ‘How can I be of assistance to you?’ Esther enquired politely.

  Reid glanced at Jack. ‘Constable Enright here tells me that you believe that the landlord of the White Hart identified the wrong woman going into George Yard with a guardsman on the night that your friend was killed.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Esther confirmed, ‘and you were at the inquest this morning, when Pearly Poll lied about leaving the premises with only Martha and the two soldiers. According to Jack Brougham, a whole crowd of them left at the same time and the woman who went into the Yard with the guardsman was wearing a green gown, not a black jacket and green skirt, which is what poor Martha was wearing.’

  ‘We think we know who the woman in the green gown was,’ Reid informed her. ‘Her name’s Polly Nichols and she’s terrified of speaking out against Pearly Poll, even though we offered her a bodyguard. We need you to identify her as having been among those women with Pearly Poll in the snug bar of the White Hart that night. Constable Enright assures me that you’ll be able to do that.’

  ‘You remember, Esther?’ Jack reminded her. ‘You told me on the first day of the inquest that the woman sitting with Pearly Poll had also been at her table on the night you met her with Martha. That was Polly Nichols.’

  ‘Don’t prompt the witness, Enright. And she’s “Miss Jacobs” to you.’

  ‘Sorry sir.’

  ‘Jack — sorry, Constable Enright — is correct, sir,’ Esther confirmed. ‘It was the same woman. But what do you think really happened, bearing in mind that the women went off with the guardsmen shortly before midnight, whereas poor old Martha didn’t die until two in the morning?’

  ‘That remains a mystery at present,’ Reid admitted. ‘But I’m impressed by your powers of analysis, Miss Jacobs. If it was indeed Polly Nichols who went with the guardsman and that was around, say, midnight, then we can eliminate the guardsman as the murderer. Unfortunately that idiot of a coroner couldn’t see beyond the end of his spectacles and he seems to have been sold on the idea that it must have been a man with a bayonet, since that explains the deep wound to the heart. But I never encountered a murderer yet who took two weapons to do his dirty deed and a strong man could have inflicted all those wounds, if determined enough. And if the stab to the heart came first, then whoever it was would have been fully energised, which explains why the remaining wounds seemed slighter. Put in simple language, the murderer was running out of energy, but not, it would seem, enthusiasm. I’m hoping that Polly Nichols can supply some clues when we find her again.’

  ‘You’ve lost her?’ Esther enquired, aghast.

  ‘Let’s just say that she’s lost herself,’ Reid replied. ‘She left here, refusing any bodyguard and giving an address in Thrawl Street, Spitalfields. But when my men called to collect her two days ago, her lodging house keeper said that she’d moved out. That could be a lie, of course, and I have men watching the place in case she returns. But if by any chance you see her on your travels, be sure and notify the nearest constable without delay.’

  ‘Thrawl Street’s just around the corner from where I live,’ Esther advised him, ‘and I’ll be sure to keep a look out for her myself.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Reid replied. ‘And since you’ve confirmed my suspicion that Pearly Poll’s been lying to us, I think that’s all I need detain you with today. Constable Enright will see you safely home.’

  Chapter Six

  Sunday eventually came and Jack was eagerly awaiting her in the kitchen in his best brown suit with a cutaway jacket, shiny brown boots and matching bowler. Esther felt slightly outclassed in her blue jacket and skirt combination, with black lace-up boots, but it was all that she possessed that Jack hadn’t already seen her in and it would have to do. Hopefully Jack was more interested in her conversation that her fashion taste, since it was conversation that she craved, particularly with so much churning around inside her head. She wanted to get to know Jack better before embarking on a more regular relationship and she wanted to learn more of the events that had taken her only friend from her in such a brutal fashion.

  Once they were back among the tombstones, she wasted no further time. ‘Is there any news of Polly Nichols? I’ve been looking out for her, but with no success.’

  ‘Afraid not,’ Jack replied, ‘but it is Sunday, I am off duty, and I’m not supposed to fraternise with witnesses, remember?’

  ‘You’re holding my hand, all the same,’ Esther pointed out, refraining from adding that he’d been doing that since they’d passed the end of George Street.

  ‘As long as we’re not discussing the case, you’re not a witness, so I can fraternise with you,’ Jack replied.

  ‘So, if you let go of my hand, we can talk about the investigation?’

  ‘Is that what you’d prefer?’

  ‘Yes and no. I’d like to talk about the investigation, but I still want to hold your hand.’

  Jack thought for a moment, then to her sudden alarm let go of her hand.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Esther enquired sharply.

  ‘Take hold of my hand,’ Jack instructed her. She did so and he leaned in close and pecked her on the cheek. ‘Now you’re fraternising with me, so that doesn’t count. Ask away.’

  ‘Why do you think Polly’s hiding from Pearly Poll?’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that she is,’ Jack reminded her. ‘For all we know, Polly’s hiding her from us because she knows what happened when Pearly Poll went off with one of the guardsmen. Perhaps it was that guardsman who killed your friend.’

  ‘But either way, that must mean that Polly knows something about Martha’s murder that Pearly Poll doesn’t want the police to know, mustn’t it? Looks like she doesn’t want to get done for organising a prostitution ring. I know you police politely look the other way when it’s just one woman at it, but that you come down hard on those who run brothels. ’

  ‘You’re remarkably well informed for a seamstress,’ Jack teased her. ‘But that’s what Inspector Reid’s thinking along the lines of. If Pearly Poll knows what really happened that night, then the friends who were with her must obviously know something as well and maybe Polly Nichols is hiding from the guardsman who did it, since she may have been the one who went off with either him or his friend.’

  ‘Has your uncle arrived yet?’

  ‘He starts tomorrow and Inspector Reid’s not very happy.’

  ‘Is he blaming you for the fact that he’s been replaced?’

  ‘He hasn’t been replaced. They’ll be running the case together, that’s all.’

&
nbsp; ‘But isn’t Scotland Yard more important than Leman Street?’

  ‘Strictly speaking no, since they’re both just Detective Branches. But Scotland Yard tends to get called in when the case is regarded as a serious one.’

  ‘Aren’t all murders serious?’

  ‘Of course they are, but this one has aroused concerns regarding the security of the armoury at Wellington Barracks.’

  ‘The bayonet, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, except in Leman Street we don’t think a bayonet was necessarily what was used. You can penetrate a breast bone with a strong blow of an ordinary knife, even a penknife.’

  Esther shuddered. ‘It’s horrible! Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘You were the one who introduced the topic,’ Jack reminded her. ‘So what shall we talk about?’

  ‘Have you ever walked out with another girl?’

  ‘No. My mother wanted me to “pay attentions”, as she called them, to the vicar’s daughter when I was home one Christmas, but she was quite dull and all she could talk about was her older sister’s children.’

  ‘Was she pretty?’

  ‘Not particularly. Not like you, anyway.’

  ‘And why did your mother want you to pay your attentions to her? Does she want you to marry young and give her lots of grandchildren?’

  ‘No, I think she just wanted to keep me at home and away from Uncle Percy’s influence, along with the lure of the wicked city. And I think we can leave the grandchildren to sister Lucy — she has the men queuing up for her.’

  ‘Is your mother religious?’

  ‘No, just motherly, I suppose you could call it. She just wants the best for me, that’s all. A good wife, a secure home, lots of children, a comfortable income and a safe occupation.’