The Jubilee Plot

by David Field

‘We can manage,’ Ingram insisted.

  ‘You can, unless we take men from you to prop up Stepney or Holborn, both of which are pleading shortage of manpower.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare! And who’s this “we” you keep referring to anyway?’

  ‘The Home Secretary and Special Branch are the ones who’ve authorised this manpower audit,’ Jack told him smugly, at which Ingram’s face twisted in contempt.

  ‘Idiots, the lot of ’em! Pampered lackeys of a system that’s long overdue a shake-up.’

  ‘Authorised representatives of the Queen and the elected Government,’ Jack reminded him, which seemed to take the wind from Ingram’s sails but not the colour from his face.

  ‘But you have to ask yourself how well they’re actually doing the job,’ Ingram countered. ‘The East End is almost ungovernable, and it’s only got worse since you were stationed here. Ask your friend Albert Preedy the next time you take him out for a meat pie.’

  So you had us followed, Jack thought to himself as he kept a straight face. ‘All the more reason why we need to look carefully at how well policed it’ll be when the Queen attends St Paul’s on the day,’ Jack reasoned. ‘Which is why I’m here, so could I please see your muster lists? The sooner I do that, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that undertaking,’ Ingram growled. ‘But you’ll find that we can rise to any challenge.’

  That sounded hollowly in Jack’s ears as he consulted the lists that were brought up to him by a constable who looked as if he ought still to be in school. For normal policing there was sufficient manpower, admittedly, but given the influx of extra thousands from other parts of London, any one of whom could be a stealthy assassin, it would be tight. And Jack knew from what he had read in Yard reports recently that the struggling, teeming masses of the East End were no longer content to be regarded as some sort of sideshow to be visited by patronising middle-class gawpers who regarded it as an entertaining day out to go ‘slumming’ among the great unwashed, the unemployed, the desperate and the resentful. There had already been violent protests by East Enders marching into the more salubrious areas of the West End with their banners demanding a living wage for a day’s work. If too many of the well-heeled middle-class decided to combine a show of solidarity for their Queen with yet another upturned-noses expedition into the darker corners of Cheapside or Newgate, Ingram’s men would find themselves grossly undermanned for the full-scale riot that might ensue.

  Jack could either let that happen, in a grim ‘told you so’ gesture to Ingram and his men, or he could do what his conscience told him was the right thing and report all this to Uncle Percy, with a strong recommendation that more men be drafted into Whitechapel. His mind drifted back to his own early days on patrol down here, and how he would have fared had all this happened when he was a constable in his first year, with little to no experience of crowd control. He owed it to the poor buggers who’d replaced him, and if Ingram cared little for what his men had to face, then at least Jack could do his best to preserve them from the worst day of their working lives. There was also the distinct possibility, given Ingram’s obvious enthusiasm for some sort of revolution, that Whitechapel was being deliberately left undermanned, to make it easier for the attack on the Queen that seemed increasingly likely to be destined to take place on the steps of St Paul’s.

  Those possibilities were still dominating his mind on that Thursday evening as he stood outside the front door of the Home Front Club, waiting for Liam Brennan. The police coach pulled to a halt, the horse’s breath forming clouds ahead of it in the icy air, and Brennan stepped down with an apologetic smile.

  ‘Sorry that you had to wait out here in the freezing cold, Jack. If you were a member, you could just have walked in unchallenged, so perhaps this evening would be an appropriate time to arrange that. First of all, let’s hurry inside and get something warm inside us.’

  Half an hour later, having each ordered beefsteak and mashed potatoes at the bar, Jack and Liam strolled down the carpeted front hall, drinks in hand, into the room in which pre-ordered meals were served. The conversation was general in nature, given Jack’s reluctance to reveal precise details of the manpower deployments that he’d spent the previous four days investigating, and on the whole it meandered around the many benefits of membership, and the facilities that the club had available.

  ‘How much is the annual membership subscription?’ Jack asked casually.

  ‘It’s free to men like you, still on active service.’

  ‘You make it sound as if I’m in the army,’ Jack smiled.

  ‘You are, in a way,’ Brennan told him as his smile faded slightly. ‘We all have our duty to perform for the nation, and when the call comes you’ll be expected to do your bit.’ He leaned back in his chair and gave a barely perceptible ‘thumbs up’ sign to a man who was hovering in the doorway.

  ‘What “call” is that, exactly?’ Jack asked as the man moved from the doorway up to their table bearing some sort of ledger.

  ‘First of all the call of membership,’ was Brennan’s smiling reply as the ledger was placed on the table between them, and Brennan was handed a pen. ‘We had a committee meeting the other evening, and the membership application that I made on your behalf has been approved. You’re very privileged, because there haven’t been too many new admissions lately. All that’s required is your signature, in that third square along the newest row.’

  He turned the ledger round for Jack to read and handed him the pen. Jack looked down and along the row, and learned that his membership had been proposed and seconded by two men whose names were totally unfamiliar to him. Then his eye roamed upwards, and just in time he managed to suppress any expression of surprise or horror.

  Three columns above the one containing his name was the formal record of the recent admission of another member.

  Michael Black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Esther stood on a chair and reached up to place the gold paper angel on the top of the Christmas tree that she’d spent the whole day painstakingly decorating in the corner of the sitting room while Nell kept Lily, Bertie and Miriam occupied in the kitchen making gingerbread men. Then she squealed in fear as she felt a hand creep up her skirt and she leapt off the chair out of instinct. As she came down awkwardly while attempting to turn to locate the source of the outrage, she lost her footing and landed heavily on the carpet, feet in the air, narrowly missing the heavily decorated tree in the process.

  ‘Jack Enright!’ she spluttered, half in protest and half in laughter. ‘If you creep up behind me like that ever again, I’ll kick you so hard in the “you know what’s” that there’ll be no risk of any more children. What are you doing home so early on a Friday anyway?’

  ‘Got the day off, didn’t I? Where did the tree come from?’

  ‘Out of the ground, obviously. There are a few straggly pines on the other side of the railway line, so Billy risked life and limb to go over there and cut one down for us. Do you like the decorations? I kept the children occupied all week making them.’

  ‘There’s a cherub on the second branch from the bottom that looks pregnant, and one of the Father Christmases has what looks like a satisfied grin on his face, but otherwise it looks fantastic,’ Jack said, smiling.

  Esther tutted. ‘Trust you to think grubby thoughts like that in respect of a religious tradition. Your religion, that is. We Jews only had Hanukkah lamps, and I was five before I learned that the Christians cut down trees and decorated them. Since then I’ve always been drawn to them, and this year I thought we’d do our own, rather than gaze longingly at your mother’s. Presumably you’ll be home for Christmas?’

  ‘Of course, but are you suggesting that we do the family thing here, rather than at Mother’s?’

  ‘I think it’s time, Jack. Your mother’s still not looking her old self, and if we allow her to take over as usual, she’ll put herself into the grave with the fuss and stress that she normally p
uts into all the arrangements. Sooner or later the generations do a changing of the guard, and it’s high time that the Enright tribe based itself here for family events.’

  ‘Including Sunday dinner?’

  ‘That was a ritual that your mother invented to ensure that she got to see something of you once you slipped out of her hands and fell under the wicked influence of your Uncle Percy. It’s hardly a family tradition stretching back generations.’

  ‘Have you broached the subject with Mother?’

  ‘At least three times.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The first time she snorted and refused to discuss it, the second time she employed words such as “tradition”, but the third time she was lying back in bed after another funny turn and was prepared to concede the wisdom of my offer.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ Jack asked in alarm.

  Esther nodded reassuringly. ‘This time wasn’t as bad as the first, and she knew what to expect and was sensible enough to lie down and send for the doctor. That was Tuesday, and she was back on her feet yesterday.’

  ‘So it’s all agreed?’

  ‘I’ve still got my fingers crossed, but when you go back on Monday be sure to invite Uncle Percy and Aunt Beattie, and I’ll write inviting Lucy and her family. Once we have the balance of those attending, she won’t be able to back out of what she conceded in her moment of weakness.’

  ‘What about Abe and Mary?’

  Esther’s face broadened in a wide smile. ‘Could we really? You wouldn’t mind? Only I imagine that they’ll be all by themselves, and I don’t know if Abe’s ever experienced a Christian Christmas, while Mary will obviously be missing her own family, wherever they are. Ireland somewhere or other I imagine, given her accent.’

  ‘Of course we invite Abe and Mary,’ Jack agreed. ‘While we’re about it, what about Billy? Nell will, I assume, be helping out here, and I’d hate to think of poor old Billy sitting all alone in his gardener’s hut, surrounded by gravestones.’

  ‘You really are a big softie at heart, aren’t you?’ Esther said. ‘Let’s go and see how the gingerbread men are coming along in the kitchen, and I’ll put the pot on for tea. Since you’re so lovely you can have a biscuit to go with it.’

  The weekend continued in this happy domestic vein, and on the Saturday Jack made a point of visiting his mother in time for dinner, if only to discreetly learn more regarding her state of health.

  ‘Why all this fuss, just because I have the occasional giddy turn?’ Constance demanded as she forked another helping of lettuce with a frown of displeasure.

  ‘At least you’re not calling it indigestion any more,’ Jack observed with a smile.

  ‘What does it matter what you call it?’ Constance said irritably. ‘It’s still holding me back from things I have to do.’

  ‘Such as?’ Jack challenged her. ‘You have enough domestic staff to ensure that you don’t need to do things around the house.’

  ‘In my position,’ Constance replied imperiously, ‘one does not need to soil one’s hands with domestic duties. I was referring more to my social duties. The Ladies’ Guild, the bridge club, the soirees at the vicarage and so forth. That wife of yours is determined to take over my secretarial duties in the Ladies’ Guild, that’s obvious, and now she’s stolen Christmas. Did she tell you?’

  ‘Indeed she did, and you should be grateful, rather than resentful,’ Jack chided her. ‘You above all people should appreciate how much responsibility she’s taken on — and with four children to look after.’

  ‘Has she seen any more of her brother?’

  ‘Not since they came to visit last Sunday, so far as I’m aware. They’ll be there on Christmas Day, anyway.’

  ‘I gather from Esther that he’s living in sin with some Irish woman he met in Africa. Was she a missionary or something?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware she was related to someone in his Guards regiment, and they met in Cairo.’

  ‘Not the most ideal of backgrounds, I would have thought,’ Constance sniffed, ‘but there you go. Times are changing, Jackson, and not for the better, I fear. In my day one needed a formal introduction before even speaking to a lady. But perhaps she’s no lady.’

  ‘Really, Mother!’ Jack protested. ‘You have the poor woman condemned before you even meet her. And if it helps to sweeten your opinion of her, I gather that they were introduced by a fellow officer of Abe’s.’

  ‘What sort of name is that — “Abe”?’ Constance frowned. ‘Is it short for something more socially appropriate?’

  ‘Yes — his full name is “Abraham”.’

  ‘Then that’s what I’ll call him, if we ever meet.’

  ‘He’ll be there on Christmas Day.’

  ‘With his hussy?’

  ‘With “Mary”, yes. I hope you’ll behave civilly towards her.’

  ‘That will depend upon how she disports herself. Would you like the rest of this salad, dear, or shall I instruct Cook to feed it to those dreadful pigs two doors up in the Brayshaws’ back garden?’

  Later that night, as they lay in bed Jack expressed his apprehension to Esther. ‘I think Mother’s got quite the wrong idea about Abe’s lady friend Mary. I assume you were unwise enough to tell her that they were living in sin?’

  ‘I thought it was best to be honest with her from the beginning, rather than let it slip out like some dreadful secret. I hope you didn’t tell her that Abe’s a deserter?’

  ‘What do you think? You know Mother — everything has to be proper and “appropriate”, as she’s fond of calling it. And I think she’s still in a huff about losing Christmas Day to you. Still, she may have a point about Mary.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what do we really know about her?’ Jack observed. ‘We only know what they choose to disclose, and even that’s a bit on the shady side. She’s out there, married to an officer — or at least, one hopes it was an officer and not the regimental drummer or something — and after what must have been a brief acquaintance on the dance floor she ups and leaves her husband and takes up with a man she hardly knows.’

  ‘You’re getting as bad as your mother; do you know that?’ Esther chuckled. ‘You and I met during an inquest into the murder of a prostitute. And we were never even formally introduced. Did you ever tell your mother that?’

  ‘Of course not. And at least we had the decency to “walk out” together for two years, then get married, before we did the deed. It’s just that I’m a bit uneasy that your brother’s being taken for a ride by a beautiful woman who may, for all we know, have a shady past. Perhaps, when they come over here for Christmas, we should invite them to stay here with us, then you can gently pump her for more information.’

  ‘I’m not a police officer, Jack. I don’t “pump” people for information.’

  ‘For someone who’s not a police officer, you have a remarkable history of getting involved in my cases, mainly on the insistence of Uncle Percy. I’m just suggesting that you’ll be well placed to learn more about her, that’s all.’

  It fell silent for a moment, then Esther sighed. ‘It’s another of your cases, isn’t it? You’re investigating Abe, and you daren’t tell me, so you come at it sideways and ask me to find out more about the lady in his life.’

  ‘We’re not investigating Abe, honestly.’

  ‘And Mary?’

  The silence said it all, and Esther rolled over, then sat up in bed and looked down at Jack accusingly. ‘What’s she suspected of, Jack?’

  ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘I know you well enough, Jackson Enright, to know when you’re lying to me. Now — what’s she suspected of?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Then I can hardly be called upon to interrogate her, can I?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to interrogate her. I just thought, since she’s so important to Abe, and he’s so important to you, that you might feel more comfortable if you knew a little more about her, that’s all. Pardon m
e for caring.’

  ‘Don’t get all huffy, Jack,’ Esther urged him as she leaned down and kissed him, ‘not when you’re going away again tomorrow. That reminds me — are we expected at your mother’s for dinner?’

  ‘No, thank God. I think my visit today was enough to satisfy her, so I’ll keep doing that every Saturday, then hopefully the tradition will fall by the wayside. Uncle Percy and Aunt Beattie are pleading head colds this week, and at least they have this dreadful weather to give them an excuse.’

  ‘I rather enjoy the cold nights,’ Esther purred, ‘since it means we have to snuggle up together for warmth.’ She wriggled down alongside him and wrapped her arms around him. ‘Let’s just fall asleep in each other’s arms, and I promise I’ll ask the right questions of Mary.’

  At the appointed time on Monday morning, Jack and Percy puffed their way up the last few steps that gave access to the front entrance of St Paul’s, and looked back down. Percy grinned. ‘That was enough of a struggle for me, so I can well understand why a seriously overweight old lady thirty years older than me might baulk at walking up here while maintaining her dignity.’

  ‘That doesn’t make our job any easier,’ Jack complained as he looked down to his left at the houses that sat almost alongside the venerable old pile at the top of Ludgate Hill. ‘A half decent marksman with a serviceable rifle could pick her off at his leisure from up there, whether she’s wobbling up the stairs or sitting in her carriage. Are we sure we can’t persuade the Queen to change her plans?’

  ‘What, you and I together, you mean?’ Percy replied jokingly. ‘I’m advised by this man walking up to meet us that there have been several attempts to change the minds of those who organise these things for her, and that all of them have fallen on deaf ears.’

  ‘Which man were you referring to?’ Jack said with a puzzled frown as he surveyed the handful of people mounting the front steps.

  ‘The old man with the walking stick. That’s Melville, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

  Jack watched with fascination as the bent old man made his way painfully up the steps, stopping after every two or three in order to regain his breath, but never straightening up. Percy was faintly amused to learn that even the head of Special Branch preferred to don disguises, while Jack was still asking himself why the nation’s security was entrusted to a hunched old cripple when he made yet another pause for breath one step below them and hissed his instruction.