Elegy for Eddie (7 page)

Maisie smiled. “My father always says that it’s not the dead who can hurt you—it’s the living you’ve got to watch.”

Gibson laughed. “Never a truer word said, in my book. I talk to them, you know. And I’ve never been followed home, that’s a fact. Now then, I’ll be in the office when you’re finished.” He turned, and the door clicked shut as he left the mortuary.

Maisie stood alongside Eddie Pettit’s open coffin and looked down at his face. As described by Gibson, several layers of thick white sheeting covered his broken body, and she, too, thought it miraculous that there was barely any damage to his face, which seemed strangely childlike. Only a bruise just above the left eye and some grazing to the cheek suggested an accident. She was glad that Maud had been able to visit her son in death soon after the tragedy, when his face still bore a hint of life’s bloom. His heart, that part of Eddie that Maisie thought to be the very best of him, had been crushed.

During her apprenticeship, Maurice Blanche had mentored her to spend time with the dead, if at all possible. She had learned that in quiet contemplation there is respect for the one who has passed. Given their task—that of discovering the truth behind an untimely death—such an interlude served as a reminder that a human life had been lost, and with that, there was much grief. He instructed her that in an urgency to uncover the truth, the human factor must never be neglected. And in one of her first lessons as his apprentice, Maurice had taught Maisie that the dead had secrets to reveal, if only one has the vision to see them.

Maisie lifted her hand and rested it on Eddie’s forehead, as a nurse might bring comfort to a feverish patient. His rich brown hair no longer shone, and she noticed gray at the temples, which seemed incongruous juxtaposed with his barely lined face. The eyes had been closed, but the lips were slightly parted, as if it would only take a slight nudge for him to breathe again. She sighed and spoke in a whisper. “What have you held from us all, Eddie? What was going on? I know you were keeping something to yourself.” She stood still for a moment, then with her hand brushed back his fringe. She wished she could lift the cover to take his hand in hers, but was respectful of his broken body. “You were afraid, weren’t you? Was it Jimmy Merton? Had he been after you?” Maisie drew back her hand and pulled a chair to sit next to the coffin. She closed her eyes, rested her hands on her knees, and quieted her breathing as she began to still her mind. She remained sitting in this position for several minutes, finally taking a sharp breath as if she had been woken from a deep sleep. Opening her eyes, she looked around the room almost as if she were familiarizing herself with her surroundings. Once more she stood next to the coffin, and once more she rested her hand on Eddie’s forehead.

“I’ll make sure we get to the bottom of why this happened to you. And I’ll look out for your mum—she won’t know want, so don’t you worry. Godspeed, Eddie, love. You’re in safe hands now, dear man.”

At once it seemed as if the air in the room changed, and Maisie turned towards the office.

“All done, Miss Dobbs?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Gibson. I appreciate your time.”

“Well, none of them are going anywhere today, are they?”

She smiled as she turned to leave. “Oh, you never know. Some wait a while before moving on.”

Gibson stood by the window and watched Maisie walk along the street and turn the corner. He met all sorts in his line of work, and on this occasion it didn’t surprise him at all to walk into the mortuary and find that it felt a little warmer than it had an hour or so ago.

Chapter Four

M
aisie returned to the office to find the costers already seated and sharing reminiscences with Billy.

“I can go for hours on the streets south of the river and I won’t see a motor car anywhere—only the horses. All the breweries still swear by them, and the bottling factories. Got right of way, they have, so other traffic has to let ’em pass.” Jesse Riley held his audience, pouring tea from his cup into the saucer to cool it down before lifting his saucer to his lips. He took a sip, then saw Maisie. “Oh, sorry, Maisie, I’m forgetting my manners.”

“Miss—let me get you a cuppa.” Billy stood up and brought Maisie’s chair into the circle.

“Thank you, Billy—and don’t you worry about me, Jesse. If that tea’s hot, then you drink it from the saucer. As I’ve said before, you don’t need to stand on ceremony here—this is where I do business; it’s not a palace.”

Maisie knew that if the men were at ease and relaxed, their recollections and comments would come with greater fluency. The habits of the market might not suit some of the company she kept when she was on the arm of James Compton, but this was her domain, and within reason, she liked her clients to be comfortable enough to be themselves.

“Let me tell you what I’ve been doing since we spoke yesterday.” Maisie recounted her visits to Maud Pettit and to Bookhams—though she did not give complete details. She knew these men, and understood it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for them to jump to conclusions and take the law into their own hands.

“And I went along to Haddon Road School and spoke to the headmaster. As you said, Eddie’s teacher was Miss Carpenter, but she left when she married—and that was a long time ago. She’s now Mrs. Pauline Soames, though no one could tell me where she might be living now.”

Seth Knight cleared his throat. “We reckon she might live on this side of the water, towards Camden Lock. Pete here remembered Eddie saying something about going to the library there. Seeing as he could’ve gone to a closer library, it stands to reason that she might live in that neck of the woods and gone with him—or something like that.”

At that moment, Billy returned to the room with a fresh pot of tea. “Sorry about the wait, gents. Mrs. Tapley is a bit better at the tea than me.” He handed a cup to Maisie.

“She’s a bit easier on the eyes, too, mate,” added Dick Samuels.

The men laughed.
Good
, thought Maisie. They were at ease.

She thanked Billy, then turned back to the men. “But Billy here is the man to track down Mrs. Soames,” said Maisie. “Did you hear what Seth had to say about Camden Lock, Billy?”

“Clear as a bell.” He pulled up his chair again. “I’ll get onto it as soon as the gentlemen leave.”

Maisie smiled. “Now then, have any of you recalled anything new since yesterday? Any memories been jogged?”

“Well, I didn’t set much stock about it at the time,” Archie Smith began. “But last night as I was running Gussie, my old horse, through the passage out to the back, I remembered seeing Eddie at the market—must’ve been, oh, about six weeks ago—and he had this notebook he was writing things down in. We told you about that, eh?”

Maisie nodded. “Go on, Archie.”

“Well, it was a right nice little book, none of your cheap stuff. Had a spine, and ‘Notes’ written on the front in gold letters. I mean, it wasn’t top of the line, but like I said, it wasn’t bottom of the heap. Anyway, I mentioned it to Ed. I said, ‘Nice little book you’ve got yourself there, eh?’ And he says, ‘Bart gave that to me.’ I was just about to ask, ‘Who’s Bart?’ when old Bill Flackley came over for a jaw about the moldy old oranges coming in from the docks, and that was that. Last I saw of Eddie that day, he was helping out a copper with a lame horse—they all knew Eddie, them coppers.”

“Bart?” asked Maisie. “Did anyone else ever hear Eddie talk about Bart?”

The men shook their heads, looking at one another as if hoping someone would say, “Oh, Bart—well, that must be . . .” But it was clear that no one knew Bart or had heard of him before.

Maisie made a notation on an index card while asking another question. “You’ve all said that there was something about Eddie that was different in the weeks before his death. A secretary at Bookhams mentioned the same thing, so I can’t help but come back to it. Can any of you put your finger on exactly what you could see that was different? Was he sad? Happy? Did he seem unwell? What do you think?”

Jesse Riley rubbed his chin. “It was as if he had something on his mind. And Eddie was never like that—your dad always said Eddie’s gift was right here and now, and that was the beauty of the man. It was as if—”

“I’ll tell you what it was like,” Seth interrupted. “It was like one of them fairy tales they tell you when you’re a nipper, you know, where a witch comes along and casts a spell, making everyone afraid of their own shadows. Well that was Eddie, going about as if someone had waved a wand and changed him all of a sudden.”

“And no one knows what happened?”

“Might’ve been that bleeding magic notebook, if you ask me,” offered Dick Samuels. “Reckon it all came at the same time. He never lost his way with the horses, though, even with whatever was going through his mind that was bothering him. Never more content than when he was with the horses, Eddie.”

Maisie and Billy talked with the men for another ten minutes or so, though no more specific information was imparted.

“Have you spoken to your dad, Maisie?” asked Archie Smith.

“Not yet, Archie, though I’m planning to see him soon.”

“You probably don’t remember this, girl, but your dad knew Eddie better than anyone outside of Maud and Jennie. In fact, when Eddie wanted a haircut, that’s where he went—around to where Frankie kept Persephone, underneath the railway arches.”

“Dad cut Eddie’s hair? I don’t understand.” Maisie leaned forward.

“Well, you weren’t to know, were you? I doubt if Frankie talked about it, on account of Eddie being afraid of the scissors.”

“What do you mean? I’m sure I saw Eddie using scissors or a knife to cut a bandage, that sort of thing.”

Jesse shook his head. “No, what it was, I reckon, was that Eddie didn’t like the flashing in front of his eyes, so close to his head. It was that sharp metal, that clicking—hated it, he did. When he was a lit’lun, it was all Maud could do to get the boy’s hair cut—Eddie could have a temper on him at times, no two ways about it. It was your dad who sorted him out. He told Maudie to bring the boy around to the stable and he’d cut his hair. Frankie knew, you see, it was as if he understood straightaway; he knew two things—that Eddie wouldn’t play up with a horse there to watch him, and that the boy didn’t like that sharp metal close to him. So your dad put a blindfold on Eddie, and cotton wool in the boy’s ears, and then he’d sing all the while he was cutting, so the sound of the snipping and the metal on metal wasn’t so bad. And it went on like that until your dad left—but that’s why he came up on the train every couple of months: to cut Eddie’s hair.”

Seth laughed. “Bet you thought it was to see us lot!”

Maisie smiled and shook her head. “The things you don’t know about your own family.”

“You can always trust Frankie Dobbs,” said Jesse.

“Yes, that’s something I know.” Maisie stood up and shook hands with each man in turn. “Billy will come down to the market and leave a message with one of you when we’ve got something to report. I think it’s best we just get on with it now—don’t worry if you don’t hear anything for a few days; it sometimes takes a while to get to the heart of an investigation. But send a message immediately if you remember anything—as I said before, even the smallest detail can help us.”

The men filed out, with Billy escorting them to the front door and out into the square. He came back into the room as Maisie was collecting the teacups.

“What do you think, Miss?”

Maisie set the cups and saucers on the tray with the teapot and looked up at Billy. “I think we have to find Pauline Soames, and we also have to find out who this Bart is. And I have to talk to my father—it seems he knew Eddie better than most.”

“Funny, that, about the hair,” said Billy, taking the tray from Maisie.

“Not really, when you think about it. Eddie was scared by things that were too much for his senses to absorb. The scissors close to his head was probably more than he could cope with, and scary for a person who felt emotions so keenly. And there was something about this notebook that I believe had the same effect on him—it was too much for him. Far too much.”

Billy nodded. “And that bloke Archie Smith, what did he mean about running the horse along the passageway?”

Maisie laughed. “Unless you’d seen a coster when he’s finished for the day, Billy, you wouldn’t know this, but a lot of them can’t afford stables, so they keep the horse at home if they’ve got a bit of a yard at the back. They take off the harness, lead the horse to the front door, then slap him on the rump so he trots along the passageway, past the kitchen and right out the back door to the yard. By that time the horse is good and tired anyway, so all it wants to do is eat a bag of oats, a flake of hay, and have a good night’s rest.”

“Well I never; me an East End boy, born and bred, and I never knew that.”

“And if you had Eddie Pettit around, you never needed to pay for doctoring, either,” said Maisie.

“So, you want me to look for this Mrs. Soames?”

“Yes, find out where she lives. I reckon she must be about sixty-five or thereabouts by now. And you might start at a library within walking distance of Camden Lock. Don’t go to visit if you find her—just bring me the details. And the other task is to nip along to a pub called The Lighterman; it’s just past Bookhams, at the end of the street. The workers get in there after the day shift has finished. It’s probably best if you give the impression that you’re looking for work, so you’re asking around to see if anyone knows of vacancies at the factory. Money is passing hands all the time these days—men who can barely feed their families are parting with cash they’ve borrowed just to get a word in the right ear for a job, so you might need a few pounds.” Maisie opened her bag and pulled five crisp notes from her purse. “Here—I know it seems like a lot, but I’ve heard the foremen down the docks are rubbing their fingers together for no less than five pounds to pick someone out of the line for work. And I’d rough those notes up a bit if I were you—you don’t want to look as if you just came from the bank.”

Billy took the money. “Makes you sick, don’t it, Miss? How there are men out there—working men, union men—taking advantage of the poor blokes who are down on their luck.”

“It does—but I don’t mind parting with money to find out why Eddie had changed in recent weeks, and why he was scared.”

M
aisie walked to the window and looked out across the dusky square. The day’s warmth was diminished now, as a chill damp air seeped up from the river and along the streets. She thought about her flat, knowing that if she were alone, she would doubtless set off for Chelstone that very evening—but not if she couldn’t get the MG to start. James had suggested she buy herself a new motor car, but she’d replied that all the time the MG was running without too much maintenance, it was good enough for her. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. If she went back to the flat and packed an overnight bag, she could be at Victoria by seven, and with a bit of luck she would arrive at Tonbridge station in time to catch the last branch-line train to Chelstone; she could walk from there to her father’s house. She wondered about James, knowing he would be disappointed not to find her at his home, but at once she knew that, not only did she need to see her father, but she had a great desire to be on her own for a while. As she considered her thoughts, she placed her hand on her chest. Yes, she needed to get away from London, from Ebury Place, if only for a day or so. She craved the fresh country air. She wanted to feel her lungs filled with one deep breath after another.

She picked up the telephone and dialed the Ebury Place number.

“Simmonds, good evening. It’s Miss Dobbs here. Would you take a message for Viscount Compton for me? Lovely, thank you. Please inform him that I’ve had to leave town for Chelstone and—no, Mr. Dobbs is in good health, thank you, Simmonds, but I have to see him on a matter of some urgency. I’ll most likely catch the early train on Thursday morning. Yes. Thank you very much.”

Later, seated in a warm first-class carriage, lulled by the side-to-side motion of the train as it made its way through London down to Kent, Maisie knew that she might fool Simmonds, and even James. But there was never a chance of fooling Frankie Dobbs.

L
ong way to come at this time of a night. Couldn’t you wait until the morning? Mrs. Bromley will be upset when she knows you’ve stayed here at my cottage and not up at the house—it’s your house now, Maisie, and Mrs. Bromley takes great pride in looking after you while you’re there. You might let her do a bit more for you, and—”

“Dad—please don’t. I just wanted to stay here tonight, in my old room. Now, if
you
would only move up to The Dower House—”

“I thought I’d made myself clear, Maisie.”

Maisie sighed. “Yes, you did. I’m sorry, Dad.”

Frankie said nothing as he poured scalding water into a brown teapot and slipped the lid into place. He wrapped a woolen tea cozy around the pot and set the pot on the kitchen table with two large mugs, a spoon, a jug of fresh milk, and a bowl of sugar. Finally, Frankie sat down opposite his daughter.

“Choked me up when I found out about Eddie.” Frankie turned his head and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed the cloth to his eyes, then faced Maisie again. “Terrible way to go, I’m sure.”

Maisie nodded. “They all came to see me, you know. The lads.”

“What do you reckon?”

Maisie shrugged. “If something’s amiss, I’ll find out what it is. Certainly, there are some unanswered questions. I thought you might be able to help me, Dad—you knew Eddie as well as anyone.”

She uncovered the teapot, stirred the tea, and began to pour the strong brown liquid into the mugs. Frankie wiped his eyes again.