The Jubilee Plot

by David Field

  ‘A desire for justice,’ Percy snarled back. ‘As you reminded me, I was three years away from having devoted my entire working life to maintaining a system that grinds the very poor, the most deprived, and the most in need of our protection, into the ground, and then either locks them away or hangs them, in either case solely in order to hide the evidence of their very existence, and the way that our so-called Christian society has dealt with them. I wasn’t required to protect the innocent all those years — I was being used as a convenient shovel for society’s shit.’

  ‘I once thought the way you do, Percy,’ Bray continued in a softer tone, ‘but I had the brains to keep my doubts to myself.’

  ‘You call it “brains” — I call it “courage”. Or at least, “honesty”. As the reward for keeping your mouth shut about what’s happening to the weakest in our community you’ve been rewarded with a bigger shovel, that’s all. At least I’ll be leaving with my integrity intact.’

  The colour rose in Bray’s face.

  ‘In the circumstances, I’ll ignore that insult. You can leave today, if that’ll give you time to clear your desk. I wouldn’t want you around the place for any longer than necessary, in case you pollute some of the younger officers with your revolutionary — some might say “anarchistic” — opinions. Talking of which, how’s that nephew of yours reacted to the things you said in court?’

  ‘No idea — I haven’t seen him since. Hopefully he knows me well enough to appreciate that I spoke from the heart.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t engage your brain at the same time. What will you do for a living now, since I assume that you can’t keep body and soul alive on a half pension?’

  ‘The money I’ll be receiving weekly would be joyfully accepted by a single mother in Whitechapel or Wapping and would feed her and her three children for a month,’ Percy observed with an expression of distaste. ‘But in answer to your main question, I had in mind going back to market gardening. That’s what I did before joining the Met all those years ago, but hopefully I can go back to it in some sort of supervisory capacity — perhaps managing a greengrocery or something — since I’m a bit long in the tooth for wielding a shovel.’

  ‘Good luck any way, Percy. We’ve had our differences over the years, and most obviously over your recent outburst, but you’re one of the best thief takers in the Yard, and you’ll be hard to replace. I thank you for your years of service, and I’m sorry to see them end in this way. That’s all, and I’ll let you get on with clearing your desk.’

  Jim Bermingham wiped the condensation off the inside of the window of his watchman’s office inside Brinsley’s Gem Importers premises in Hatton Garden as he heard a coach stop outside. He never had to deal with deliveries on the night shift, so he was intrigued as to why the vehicle had halted by the front door to the premises he was guarding. Then through the veil of early autumn drizzle that was drifting down past the street gas lamp he caught sight of the conical police helmets of the three men who descended from the rear of the coach and walked up to the front door, sounding the bell.

  He sighed and walked out of his office to the front door, then lowered the hatch through which he could communicate with the outside world. He found himself staring into the urgent face of a ‘bobby’.

  ‘Sergeant Cameron, “E” Division. There’s a team of suspected robbers on your roof, and we need to come through in order to intercept them inside when our men chase them down through the skylights. Open up, please.’

  Jim did as instructed and was about to accompany the sergeant and his two constables when a thought suddenly struck him.

  ‘Them skylights don’t lead nowhere once yer comes off the roof an’ ’asn’t done fer years. They was blocked off, so ’owdyer reckon them blokes is usin’ ’em ter rob the place?’

  The ‘sergeant’ treated Jim to a sick grin as he stuck the pistol under his nose. Behind him, several men ran down the hallway and into the strongroom area carrying large and apparently heavy carpet bags. Jim heard urgent instructions being shouted, and several minutes later, while he was still staring down the barrel of the pistol and trying not to wet himself, there was a massive explosion, and the door to the central strongbox sagged forward on its hinges. Half a dozen men wearing police uniforms gleefully raced inside and began filling the carpet bags with precious stones, then ran outside and threw them into the waiting coach before diving in after them.

  ‘Thank you for your assistance,’ the ‘sergeant’ told Jim before loosing both barrels into his face.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Now that Percy’s made the sensible decision to get out, let’s hope that Jackson follows his lead, like he did when he wasted his life by joining the police force in the first place,’ Constance Enright pontificated from behind her teacup as the Enright family sat enjoying the last of the September sun in the room in the old Church Lane family home that had been grandly christened ‘the sun lounge’. It was the traditional family gathering for Sunday dinner, and from where they sat they could watch Lily and Bertie fighting for possession of the swing on the lawn outside.

  ‘I rather gather that Percy had that decision taken out of his hands,’ Beattie replied icily. ‘He always had a big mouth that went off at all the inappropriate moments.’

  ‘Like when I proposed to you?’ Percy fired back grumpily, and it fell awkwardly silent until Jack felt obliged to come to the defence of his lifelong hero.

  ‘The day that a man feels that he’s not free to express an honest opinion will be a sad one for English society,’ he observed, slightly uncomfortable at the pomposity of his own words.

  ‘You’d never make a politician,’ Percy chuckled back bitterly.

  ‘What was it all about, anyway?’ Constance said, to a responding snort from Beattie.

  ‘Don’t get him started, please! I’ve heard nothing for two weeks except his attempts to justify throwing away half a pension. They’re totally unconvincing, but they sound very grand.’

  ‘I happen to agree with him,’ Jack responded. ‘Given the risks that we run, the dangers we confront, and the occasional unpleasantness that we have to witness, we’re constantly relying on the belief, deep down, that in some way we’re working for the benefit of society.’

  ‘You mean that you’re not?’ his mother enquired. ‘Please don’t say that, since Esther and I can use that line every time some old snob in the Ladies’ Guild looks down their nose at us as the wife and mother of a mere tradesman.’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Jack assured her, ‘in the sense that, by and large, we keep crime off the streets. We can’t stop it happening in the first place, of course, but when we catch the offender and have them locked up for a lengthy period, it deters anyone else from doing the same thing.’

  ‘There was once a time when I believed that as well,’ Percy replied sourly. ‘That was a hundred years ago, before I began locking up the same offenders for the second or subsequent time. Before I’d seen my first dozen innocent corpses or gazed into the defeated and fear-ravaged eyes of the mother of three who’d just been beaten to pulp by the animal she’d vowed to honour and obey.’

  ‘I did warn you not to get him started,’ Beattie muttered. ‘In the circumstances, the only decent thing I can do to make amends is to take him away with me.’

  ‘Not before he’s told us what life has in store for him next,’ Jack protested, and was treated to a hollow laugh from the man in question.

  ‘Not a great deal, if the first two weeks have been anything to judge by,’ Percy advised the company. ‘Despite several personal applications to a variety of enterprises, it seems that no-one wishes to imperil the future of their agricultural produce in the hands of a man whose last thirty odd years have been spent pouring shit onto the general public rather than onto vegetable rows.’

  ‘I’m definitely taking him home now,’ Beattie insisted as she collected her handbag from the side of her chair and rose to her feet. But Jack hadn’t finished asking questions. />
  ‘Has nobody shown any interest in speaking to you about what you can offer, Uncle Percy?’

  ‘Only the Home Secretary, and I doubt that he wants to ask my advice about how to get the best out of leek shanks.’

  ‘He’s asked to see you?’

  ‘Twice, but only, I suspect, to kick my bollocks even harder than Bray did.’

  ‘Percy!’ Beattie all but shrieked. ‘That was outrageous and unseemly! We’re leaving now — immediately!’

  ‘I’ll send you a wire when I’m due for release.’ Percy grinned at Jack as he rose to leave and was guided out of the house by Aunt Beattie steering his elbow as she continued to berate him regarding his language. A slightly red-faced Esther looked up at Jack appealingly, and he took the hint.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to be leaving too, Mother. We left Nell in charge of Miriam, and Billy was expected to keep her company after scything the lawns. In the circumstances, we’d better get home, if only to preserve Nell’s reputation.’

  ‘That young man of hers — “Billy” — certainly makes an excellent job of my lawns, after I showed him how they needed to be done,’ Constance told them. ‘Perhaps as well that he came along when he did, because too much exertion leaves me a little breathless these days and seems to provoke those occasional pains in the chest.’

  ‘You need to take it easier,’ Esther advised her affectionately. ‘I can always take over some of the Ladies’ Guild correspondence from you — you only have to ask.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of burdening you further, dear,’ Constance insisted. ‘You have enough to do, bringing up four children, two of whom seem to have given up fighting with each other, and are now gazing forlornly through the kitchen window, no doubt hoping that Cook will let them back into the house.’

  ‘I’ll go and get them,’ Jack offered, ‘and then we must be off. It looks as if Tommy’s settled down to sleep in Esther’s arms, so this might be a good time to slip away, since the pram ride always seems to knock him out completely.’

  As they walked slowly back up Church Lane towards the crossroads where they would be turning right into Bunting Lane, Lily and Bertie having opted to turn the journey home into a race, Jack was a little concerned at what he’d heard earlier.

  ‘What was all that about Mother’s health?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ Esther assured him. ‘She’s past her best, that’s all. Most women her age find that they can’t quite keep up any more.’

  ‘She’s only fifty-five,’ Jack objected. ‘Admittedly the soft life she’s been leading has allowed her to put quite a bit of weight on, but she’s no great age. But she was complaining of shortness of breath and pains in her chest, wasn’t she? Has she seen Doctor Browning about it?’

  ‘You know your mother,’ Esther replied. ‘And she accuses me of being over-proud, sometimes! She just waves her hand in the air when I suggest it and puts it down to “needing to shed a few pounds”. I’ve given up with her.’

  ‘Keep a watchful eye on her for me, all the same,’ Jack requested. ‘And talking of watchful eyes, Billy Manvers tells me that he spent every morning last week trailing behind you and Lily, with no sign of anyone following you. Perhaps you were imagining it after all.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Esther agreed as she steered the pram carefully round a muddy pothole in the lane. ‘Why did the Home Secretary want to see Uncle Percy, do you think? Is he in even more trouble for what he blurted out in court that day?’

  ‘Uncle Percy never “blurted out” anything in his entire life.’ Jack smiled. ‘He no doubt weighed and measured every word, and he clearly believed what he was saying. He was right, as well — London’s going to the dogs, and I don’t just mean the ones the Met uses. On the surface is a huge commercial success story, but underneath it’s just a festering boil waiting to explode its puss over everyone.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Esther grimaced, screwing up her mouth in distaste. ‘That was an awful expression to use, Jack Enright. Your language is no better than your uncle’s.’

  ‘Bad language is the only way in which to express what London’s rapidly becoming,’ Jack replied by way of justification. ‘The decent folk on the surface are outnumbered ten to one by the ones underneath who’re just ripe for some sort of revolution, and it’s only a matter of time. You’ve presumably read in the newspaper all about these anarchists, as the editors call them?’

  ‘Yes, but aren’t they just foreigners trying to infiltrate our Government?’

  ‘Some of them, certainly, but from what I read in the crime reports wired up from the Met, they’re persuading ordinary London folk round to their way of thinking, trading on their poverty and resentment.’

  ‘Perhaps as well you work in Essex, then.’ Esther smiled as they approached the driveway to number twenty-six. ‘Hello, what’s going on here?’

  There were two men rolling and wrestling on the front lawn, their clothing covered in the cut grass that Billy had clearly not raked up after scything it. The reason why he’d not got around to it was most probably the fact that he was one of those wrestling, while his opponent was a man twice his height and weight, although seemingly twenty years older. Lily and Bertie were watching their antics, entranced, as Jack rushed onto the lawn and separated the two, then grabbed the newcomer as he gave every indication of running off. On the assumption that Billy had a good reason for his actions, Jack asked for his assistance in pulling the man’s arms up his back until he could slip, from his jacket pocket, the wrist restraints that he carried with him everywhere.

  Once the man had been subdued, and as he stood panting and sweating in the late afternoon sun, Jack demanded to know what was going on.

  ‘I were in the kitchen, ’avin’ a cuppa wiv Nell,’ Billy explained, ‘when I sees this ’ere cove steppin’ off the railway line over the garden fence an’ then down the side o’ the ’ouse. Then when I went outside, ’e were ferretin’ through yer rubbish bin, so I chased ’im, an’ caught up wiv ’im on the lawn ’ere. I reckon what ’e’s a burguler or sumfin’.’

  ‘We’ll find out, shall we?’ Jack said as he tightened the notch on the wrist restraints, causing the man to squeal like a piglet. ‘Now then,’ Jack leaned forward, ‘not only can I release the pressure on those wrists, but I can also tighten it. First of all, may I take it that you’re the slime who’s been following my wife and daughter to and from school recently?’

  The man nodded, and Jack released the restraints slightly.

  ‘See? I’m a man of my word. Now, who are you, and what do you want?’

  ‘My name’s Herbert Shaw, and I’m a private investigator. If you’ll free my hands, I have my business card in my pocket.’

  ‘Later — perhaps,’ Jack replied, ‘when you tell me why a private investigator needed to follow my wife.’

  ‘She’s Esther Jacobs, right?’ Shaw wheezed.

  ‘She was once Esther Jacobs, but now she’s “Esther Enright”, because she’s married to Jack Enright. That’s me, by the way, and I’m a Detective Sergeant, so keep talking.’

  ‘I was hired to find her.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘That’s between me and my client.’

  ‘And this is between me and you,’ Jack hissed as he turned the wrist restraints up two notches, and the man screamed in agony.

  ‘Jack, stop it!’ Esther pleaded with him as she rushed across to join them. ‘Lily’s obviously upset to see her father behaving in such a brutal fashion, and she’s started to cry.’

  Jack jerked his head in Esther’s direction.

  ‘There’s the lady you’ve been following at the request of your client, or so you’d have us believe. Start talking again, or you won’t be able to use your hands for a week, due to the lack of circulation. You may even require surgery afterwards.’

  ‘Esther Jacobs?’ Shaw enquired, and when Esther nodded he continued. ‘I was hired to locate you by someone who wishes to contact you again after a lengthy lapse of time.’

&nb
sp; ‘Who?’ Esther asked, totally at a loss.

  ‘He gave the name of “Abraham Daniel Jacobs”, and he claims to be your brother.’

  As two men walked into his rear garden via the side path, Percy looked up from where he was removing the last of the trellis framework from the vegetable patch after harvesting the remainder of his crop of runner beans. The taller of the two men was in the lead as they walked across the lawn towards Percy.

  ‘Detective Inspector Enright?’

  ‘I was, until three weeks ago,’ Percy replied sullenly. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘You’re to come with us,’ the man advised him.

  ‘Really?’ Percy replied defiantly.

  ‘Really,’ the man confirmed. ‘The Home Secretary asked you nicely — twice. Now he insists.’ He took a small folder from his inside jacket pocket, opened it, and held it high in the air. ‘Superintendent Melville, Special Branch. This is my colleague Sidney Reilly. We’re both armed, but hopefully we won’t be required to demonstrate that fact on this sleepy Monday morning in a quiet street in Hackney.’

  ‘Neither you nor the Home Secretary have any authority over me since I resigned,’ Percy insisted.

  Melville smiled. ‘Even as a private citizen the Home Secretary can command your presence. And since he’s giving up his morning off in order to speak to you, he’d be personally offended if you declined this third invitation. If we have to come back here, it’s unlikely that we’d be bearing a fourth, and your wife’s too young to be wearing black just yet.’

  ‘This is an outrageous breach of my personal liberty!’ Percy insisted angrily, but Melville simply smiled even wider.

  ‘One of the aspects of my job that I particularly enjoy. Now, may I suggest that you get cleaned up, give your wife an excuse, and accompany us to the coach waiting discreetly at the end of the road?’

  Three hours later, Percy was seated in a beautifully tended garden in a Buckinghamshire village, and Home Secretary Sir Matthew Ridley was pouring the coffee and inviting Percy to help himself to the scones and jam.