Our Lady of Pain (18 page)

“Used ter be,” chirped Daisy. “I was in the chorus at Butler’s.”

“Was you now? I used ter go there Saturday nights. Luwerley it was.”

“I’m down visiting me family. I’ll take a pound of butter as well. I know everywhere around ‘ere. Hey, wasn’t there a grumpy man who used to own this shop? Can’t remember his name. Oh, a pound of sugar as well.”

“That ud be Biles. Died o’ a heart attack. The son sold the shop to me.” She lowered her voice. “The son, Jeffrey, been banged up for murder.”

“Never!” screeched Daisy.

“Yus. Murdered his own sister.”

“Did you know the sister?”

“Member her, way back. Pretty little thing. Ran away. He used to beat ‘er. He wanted ‘er to go with Mr. Jones, him what owned the haberdashery down the Mile End Road. Lived in Breem Lane. Now, she was but fifteen and Jones was in ‘is late thirties. Scandal, it were. Betty, that was the daughter, she said she wouldn’t and Biles beat the living daylights out of her. She took the money out of the till and just went off. Can’t say I blame her.”

“I’m sure this Mr. Jones found someone else.”

“Yes, he got himself a nice little bride and it all worked out in the end.”

Daisy paid for the groceries and they left and walked back to the waiting cab. “That ham did not look fresh,” said Rose. “Give it away.”

“If I give it away to someone nearby, word’ll get back to her. Let’s find out where Breem Lane is.”

Breem Lane was narrow and dirty. Scruffy children without shoes played in the dirt. Blowsy women hung out of windows and stared at the carriage.

“Better let me go on with the talking,” said Daisy as they both stood uneasily by the cab.

She shouted up to a fat woman at one of the windows, “Mr. Jones, the haberdasher, live here?”

“Naw, left to go live uptown.”

“Where would that be?”

The woman half turned her head and shouted, “Marigold!”

“What is it, Ma?” a voice called from inside the flat.

“Someone wanting Jones’s address. ‘Member, him what ‘ad the haberdashery.”

“Notting Hill it were. Chepstow Mansions. Real posh. Liza went to do the cleaning once, but they got rid o’ her.”

Daisy thanked the woman. They got back in the cab. “Notting Hill,” Daisy shouted up to the driver. “Chepstow Mansions.”

“You’re running up a fearsome bill,” grumbled the cabby.

“Get on with you,” ordered Daisy. “We’ve got the money.”

She lowered the trap in the roof and sank back next to Rose. “You have got the money, I hope,” said Daisy.

“Yes, I came prepared. Oh, wait. Look at that poor woman. I don’t think she’s had a meal in ages.” Rose rapped on the roof with her parasol and the cab came to a halt.

“Give her the groceries,” said Rose.

Daisy got out of the cab and handed the woman the paper bags full of groceries and then quickly got back in again. “Drive on,” she shouted.

Meanwhile, Harry and Becket had spent a weary time looking for the witnesses, George and Sarah Briggs. No one seemed to have heard of them. But people regarded them with suspicion.

At last, Becket cleared his throat and said cautiously, “You might try offering money for information, sir. If I were you, I would start with one shilling and a bright child.”

“I think we’re attracting too much attention with this motor. Drive off and park it somewhere up in the City and then we’ll take a cab and when we get back here, we’ll walk about on foot.”

When they returned to Sordey Street, Harry spotted a child who could have posed for an illustration of the Artful Dodger. He was lounging against a lamp post, his hands in his pockets.

“Would you like to earn some money?” asked Harry.

“What for?”

“Information. I’m trying to find a Mr. George Briggs, a driver.”

The boy took off his battered hat and stared thoughtfully inside as if consulting the oracle. “How much, guv?”

“One shilling.”

“Garn.”

“Oh, all right. Half a crown.”

“Let’s see the money.”

Harry took out half a crown and handed it to him. The boy crammed his hat on his head. He put the half crown in his jacket pocket. Then he grinned at them.

“Dunno,” he said and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him.

But two other boys had witnessed the transaction. One stepped forward. “We can find old Briggs for you. But it’ll be half a crown each.”

“No tricks,” said Harry. “You don’t get a penny until you take us to him.”

The boys set off and Harry and Becket followed. They walked through one miserable street after another. The weather had turned warm and humid. The air was redolent with all the smells of dirt and poverty.

“We must set up a charitable trust for these sort of people now that we are in funds,” said Harry. All the money he had earned he had invested shrewdly.

“If I may be so bold, sir,” said Becket crossly, “charity begins at home.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning me and Daisy would like that little apartment.”

“You are quite a nag, Becket. I’ll see to it.”

“Up there,” said one of the boys, coming to a halt. He pointed up at a tenement.

“No money until I know he’s there. Which floor?”

“Up the top.”

“Then follow us.”

Harry climbed the stairs to the top of the ramshackle building. “That door,” said the other boy, pointing.

Harry knocked. He heard the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps and then the door opened.

A stooped, grey-haired man opened the door. “Mr. George Briggs?” asked Harry.

“Yes, who wants ter know?”

Harry gave a crown to the boys and said, “Run along with you.”

Then he faced George Briggs. “May we come in?”

“You’re not from the police?”

“No.”

“Come in, then.”

The flat consisted of one room with a bed set into a recess. Briggs sank into a battered armchair. “What’s this about?”

“Do you remember Betty Biles?”

“Course I do. Prettiest thing to ever grow out o’ this muck heap.”

“You and your wife witnessed a will she wrote.”

“I’d forgot about that. She come round here with her brother and she was black and blue. Old Biles had taken ‘is belt to her cos she wouldn’t marry Tim Jones. She said she was running away and she was going to be rich and she wanted to make sure anything she got would go to the brother, Jeffrey.”

Harry told him the story of Dolores’s murder. “Poor soul,” said Briggs. “I ‘eard about that. Fancy her brother doing it! They were that close.”

“Jeffrey has hanged himself,” said Harry. “If there is a chance he did not do the murder, who would?”

“Blessed if I know. The only nasty piece o’ work in that girl’s life was her father.”

“What about this Tim Jones?”

“Oh, him. He got a haberdashery down the Mile End Road. But I heard he’d sold it and moved uptown.”

“You don’t know where?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“What about your wife? Would she know?”

“My Sarah’s been dead this past five years. But you could try round Breem Lane, where he used to live. Maybe someone there would know.”

The fat woman in Breem Lane shouted down to Harry and Becket. “Everyone wants to find Jones today. There was two young ladies asking. Come in a cab.”

“What were they like?” asked Harry.

“There was a cheeky Cockney one and the other was pretty but didn’t say a word. I told ‘em Jones had moved up to Notting Hill—Chepstow Mansions.”

“That must be Rose and Daisy,” said Harry. “We’ll need to hurry.” He called back up to the woman, “When was this?”

“Must ha’ been a couple o’ hours ago.”

“Let’s go,” said Harry urgently. “They could be in danger.”

Come away; poverty’ catching

—
A PHRA BEHN

Rose and Daisy located Chepstow Mansions. It was a new building of red brick off the Portobello Road.

“He must have done well out of the sale of his shop to move all the way here,” said Rose.

Inside the hall of the flats, a porter was on duty. Rose asked for Mr. Jones. “He won’t be in at the moment, ladies,” said the porter. “You’ll find him at his shop. You can’t miss it. It’s right on the cross.”

They paid off the cabbie and walked up to the cross and there it was: Jones Haberdashery, a double-fronted shop.

“Looks prosperous,” said Rose. “Let’s go in.”

“I’m hungry,” complained Daisy.

“We’ll eat as soon as we’ve seen him.”

Rose pushed opened the door of the shop and Daisy followed her in. A stout women in a black dress approached them. “We are just about to close.”

“We’ve come to see Mr. Jones. Here is my card.”

The woman took Rose’s card and retreated into the back shop. She returned after a few moments, looking flustered. “I am afraid Mr. Jones has left for the night.”

“I’m sure he’s in there,” said Rose when they walked outside.

“You went the wrong way about it. We should have asked about ribbons or something.”

“If he’s an innocent man, the sight of my name wouldn’t frighten him. Oh, look, there’s a tea room across the road. We can have something to eat and drink and watch and see if he leaves.”

They ordered tea and buttered muffins and sat at a table in the bay of the window. A boy came out and started to put shutters up over the windows. After some time, the woman who had spoken to them left with two other women.

They waited and waited. “I wonder if there’s a back door,” said Rose uneasily.

“Come on,” said Daisy. “We’d better go and look. Can’t sit here all night.”

A narrow lane ran up the side of the shop. This led to another lane along the back of the shops.

“He must have left from the back,” sighed Rose. “Let’s go back to Chepstow Mansions and try him there.”

But the first thing they saw as they approached the block of flats was Harry’s car parked outside.

“They’ve beaten us to it,” mourned Daisy. “We may as well wait for them and get them to drive us home.”

They both leaned against the car.

A policeman approached them and eyed them up and down. “Now, now,” he said. “Go about your business. This is a decent neighbourhood.”

“This motor belongs to Captain Cathcart,” said Rose in cutglass tones. “I am Lady Rose Summer and we are waiting for him.
You
go about your business, Constable.”

“Not my fault,” grumbled the policeman. “The porter in there, he phones and says there’s a couple of prostitutes outside.”

“Just go away,” Rose was saying furiously when Harry and Becket joined them.

“This officer has accused us of being prostitutes,” said Rose.

Harry turned hard black eyes on the constable. “I’m right sorry, sir,” he said. “But it was that porter what told me.”

“Just go about your duties,” said Harry. The policeman touched his helmet and walked off.

“Now,” said Harry, “what are you doing here?”

“Looking for Mr. Jones. We tried to talk to him at his shop but he escaped by the back way.”

“Well, I tried as well, but he had warned the porter not to admit anyone. Let’s get out of here. We need to talk. You are putting yourself at risk.”

They went to the tea room opposite the haberdashery. Rose told Harry all they had found out. She said finally, “Are you sure that Jeffrey Biles was not our murderer?”

“I am not sure at all. He did not receive any visitors.”

“Not even a lawyer?”

“He did not ask for one. But a lawyer would have been appointed to him before his trial.”

“Then it must have been one of the guards at the prison,” said Daisy.

Becket gave his wife an indulgent smile. “What on earth would a guard have to gain by killing him?”

“Money,” said Daisy. “Maybe someone paid him to shut Jeffrey up.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” said Becket.

“Wait a minute,” said Harry. “I will go to Kerridge tomorrow and ask if I can interview the guard. We must try everything. Perhaps Jones became so obsessed with Dolores and was furious when he found out she had become a tart that something in him snapped. I mean, why does he refuse to see us? Why did he leave by the back door of his shop rather than be confronted by Rose and Daisy?”

“I would like to come with you,” said Rose.

“Don’t you think it will be difficult to escape?” asked Harry. “Your parents must be wondering where you are.”

“I told them I was going down to the East End to do charity work.”

“Nonetheless, there is no need for all of us to turn up at the prison. It would occasion too much comment and a prison is no place for a lady.”

“Oh, I wish I were a man,” complained Rose.

Harry smiled at her. “I am so glad you are not. Now, I had better take you home.”

Outside the earl’s town house, Harry helped Rose down from the car. He bent and kissed her hand. “When all this is over,” he said, “we will find a way to get married.”

“We may have to elope,” said Rose.

“I am sure I will find a way to persuade your parents. I know they have told me I am not to see you, so find out some social engagement you are going to and telephone my office and I will try to meet you there.”

Rose felt that wings were bearing her into the house. I really do love him, she thought, and then her face fell as Brum informed her in severe tones that Lady Polly was asking for her.