The Jubilee Plot

by David Field

  ‘Yer Dad’s still in the land o’ the livin’,’ Lizzie advised them bluntly, receiving no responding facial expressions of either relief, or even vague interest, from either of them. ‘That’s what this lady ’ere tells me.’ She looked back at Esther. ‘But ’e still won’t comin’ ’ome in the foreseeable future, that what yer tellin’ me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Esther confirmed. ‘But I’m told that you’re still receiving money regularly?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Lizzie nodded. ‘A bit more than ’e used ter bring ’ome, actually, so ’e musta given the gamblin’ away at long last. This bloke brings it every Friday, regular as clockwork. Would yer like a cuppa?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Esther replied politely. ‘I have to be going now, since I only came to pass on the message.’

  ‘Will yer come an’ see us again?’ Lizzie enquired pleadingly. ‘Only that way, I’ll know that Mickey’s still alive.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Esther replied in a moment of weakness as she felt a wave of pity for the woman and her children. ‘It won’t be every week, mind — just now and again.’

  ‘Whenever,’ Lizzie smiled as she reached out a work-reddened hand to touch Esther on the wrist. ‘If possible could yer get a message ter Mickey that me an’ the kids is fine, an’ that Tommy’s almost walkin’?’

  ‘Of course,’ Esther promised as she rose to leave. That seemed to be the signal for the two older children to scuttle out ahead of her, yelling like marauding pirates as they scampered barefoot down four flights of stairs and out into Pennington Street. Esther smiled as she walked past where they had settled on an upturned cart that they’d converted into a make-believe fairy castle, and fiddled in her handbag for her purse, before handing each of them a penny.

  Then she walked gratefully back towards the bus stop, thanking God for bringing Jack Enright into her life.

  Four days later, and over a week after being offered free range in the East End, Percy strolled into Leman Street Police Station and held up his police badge for inspection by the fresh-faced sergeant on duty behind the metal grille.

  ‘You our new Inspector?’ the young man enquired eagerly. ‘I’m Albert Preedy. You’re Jack Enright’s father, aren’t you?’

  ‘Uncle,’ Percy corrected him. ‘But may I take it that we’ve met before?’

  ‘When you were down here on that “Ripper” business, with Chief Inspector Abbeline,’ Albert replied eagerly. ‘I had tea with him not long ago, and he told me that the stiff that was pulled out of St Katherine Dock was Teddy Ainsworth.’

  ‘That should make my job here a lot easier,’ Percy smiled. ‘I assume that Inspector Ingram’s no longer here?’

  ‘He left last Friday, thank God,’ Albert smiled. ‘Meaning no disrespect, but he could be a right bugger some days.’

  ‘So can I,’ Percy advised him with a frown, ‘so keep your nose clean while I’m here, although it won’t be forever. Only until the Queen’s Jubilee in June.’

  ‘Jack told me about that. From what he said it seems that we’re going to be busy.’

  ‘Busy, and overstretched,’ Percy replied. ‘I’ll need all your roster books, assuming that Inspector Ingram didn’t set fire to them on his way out.’

  ‘No, they’re still where they should be,’ Albert grinned back. ‘But they make glum reading — we’re three men short on every shift, and it’s got to the stage where we have to decide which patrol to abandon. We try to rotate it, so that we don’t get any complaints when folks rumble what’s going on, but even so…’

  ‘I’m hoping to get you more men,’ Percy told him, ‘but they may be drafted in from Holborn or Stepney, and that won’t be until the Jubilee itself, when we’ll need every man we’ve got out on the streets — even those who’ve just come off a night shift.’

  ‘You’ll make yourself as popular as a fart in a colander,’ Albert grinned, then remembered himself. ‘Sorry, sir, I’ll get the records you need sent up to your office. Second floor, two down on the left. It’s been left clean and tidy.’

  ‘I remember where it is,’ Percy smiled, ‘although the last time I was in it I was threatening Inspector Ingram that he’d soon be out on his arse. I keep my promises, as you can see, so keep your nose clean on my watch.’

  After a thoroughly depressing day perusing a roster sheet that was inadequate, even for everyday policing of one of the most violent areas of East London, Percy decided to call it a day as the lengthening sun’s rays that managed to penetrate his grime-encrusted west-facing office window reminded him that dusk began early in late March. With a sigh, he left things where they were on his desk, told the ‘late shift’ sergeant who was just taking over from Albert Preedy to leave his office untouched, and walked up to Commercial Road in order to catch the bus that would leave him with only a short walk from its eventual terminus at Hackney’s Victoria Park.

  As they clattered and lurched through Bethnal Green, Percy became aware of a stately looking clergyman, complete with dog collar, walking unevenly down the swaying gangway towards where he was seated with his back to the horse end of the carriage. To Percy’s considerable annoyance the man took the outside seat next to the window seat that Percy was occupying, even though there appeared to be several vacant double seats still available.

  ‘Going far?’ the clergyman enquired.

  ‘Home,’ Percy muttered, both annoyed and constitutionally unwilling to give away unnecessary information.

  The man sighed. ‘Thanks to men like you, prepared to risk life and limb in the constant war against crime and evil, we can all look forward to going home every day. Take this Bible, my son, since you will find that it contains words of guidance for you.’

  Before Percy could tell the man where to stick his Bible he’d risen from his aisle seat and headed for the rear platform with considerably more agility than he had demonstrated when he got on. Curious as to why a man of the cloth would be alighting at the roughest location in a rough neighbourhood he opened the Bible that the man had left with him. Written on the inside of the flyleaf was a simple instruction: ‘Marble Arch, 2 pm next Tuesday’.

  ‘Do you have a couple of hours to spare from whatever it is you’re working on?’ Liam Brennan enquired of Jack one day as they sat in their shared office on the Tuesday of the second week of Jack’s return to Bow Street. Jack looked up from the pile of paper and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Anything’s better than ruining my eyesight trying to make all these figures fit,’ he smiled. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘A brisk stroll down to Birdcage Walk, to the Wellington Barracks where many of our club members are based during the day. The Grenadiers are in residence there at present and will be joined by the Coldstreams ahead of the Jubilee bunfight that you’re working on. It might be useful to you to get a general idea of the calibre of men who’ll be guarding Her Majesty during the public parts of it. We can get a spot of dinner in the Officers’ Mess afterwards.’

  As they strode down through St James’s Park, Jack was reminded of Esther’s enthusiastic description of her day in London in order to deliver the messages from Percy and himself. The buds had begun to burst into life on the scattered oak trees and the wildfowl on the ponds were well into their spring nesting ritual. It was a bright cool day, and the stiff walk was a good opportunity to exercise cramped muscles that had sat for too long behind desks.

  Brennan showed some sort of pass to a uniformed official at the gate behind the largely ceremonial Guardsmen in their distinctive bearskin hats. They were waved through, Liam in his sergeant’s uniform and Jack in his well-worn charcoal grey suit, and after a further short walk they passed under an arch and found themselves on one side of a parade ground, up and down which a dozen men were panting backwards and forwards while a drill sergeant barked out less than sympathetic commands.

  Jack looked more closely at them as they came to a sagging halt, men bent double in the effort to regain their breath before being ordered back at a run to
where the drill sergeant was barking a further command as he stood with a notebook and pencil. Brennan grinned as he saw Jack’s bemused expression.

  ‘The best half dozen will form the final team.’

  ‘Two questions,’ Jack replied. ‘First of all what team? And secondly, what happens to the ones who don’t make the final selection?’

  ‘Second question first,’ Liam replied as he kept his eyes firmly on Jack’s face. ‘The ones who don’t make it will go back to their original jobs as uniformed police officers.’

  ‘Really?’ Jack replied sarcastically. ‘I can see at least one who won’t be able to do that. The one straggling to keep up with the rest — the one in the grey vest and trousers? That’s Michael Black, formerly based in Leman Street, who deserted his post weeks, if not months, ago, and who’ll be facing serious criminal charges if he’s ever located. I have no doubt that, if you make enquiry, the remainder of this sorry bunch will be found to have disappeared from sight at a time when they were suspected of corruption while employed as officers inside the Met. You seem to have recruited a bunch of deserters.’

  ‘And yet you, as a serving Scotland Yard officer, have done nothing to have them apprehended, despite knowing of their origins?’ Liam smiled back at him. ‘Our judgment was correct, it seems.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Jack asked as his scalp began to prickle.

  ‘Meaning that in only a few weeks time — by the end of May at the latest — you’ll be required to take command of this lot, when they undertake the task that they’re being kept ready for. All this exercise nonsense is just a front — an excuse, if you like — to keep them available until we need them.’

  ‘Need them for what?’ Jack demanded.

  ‘Later,’ Liam replied as he took his elbow to lead him off the parade ground. ‘Let’s have dinner first.’

  ‘Then what?’ Jack persisted.

  ‘Then Chief inspector Markwell wants to see the pair of us. It’s time to earn your membership, Jack.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Percy jumped hastily aside as the coach rumbled past him in the narrow, rutted roadway under Marble Arch, threatening to launch a cascade of dirty water all over his boots from where it had collected under the slight hollow following the incessant late spring rain. He cursed quietly, narrowly avoided a large lady carrying a basket of bread, and almost collided with the stonework. He was consulting his watch for the fourth time when a carefully concealed doorway in the centre of the side of the archway opened, and a man beckoned him inside.

  At the top of a narrow flight of stone steps, Percy was amazed to find himself in some sort of small reception area with a desk, behind which sat a man in a red and blue livery. The man rang a small handbell on his desk, and out from a room inside what was clearly the centre of the arch itself walked William Melville, a broad grin on his face as he contemplated the look of confusion on Percy’s countenance.

  ‘You’re about to tell me that you had no idea that this place existed?’ he said, and Percy nodded.

  ‘Something like that. People pass under here by the thousand every day, and I’ve been a copper for thirty odd years, yet this place has remained a secret all that time?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Melville advised him. ‘It belongs officially to the Honourable Company of Constables of the Royal Parks, but they’re mainly “ceremonial only” these days, and it will shortly become the smallest station inside the Metropolitan Police. In the meantime, we find it a convenient meeting place close to our office just up the road there, where your message was dropped off for my attention. Step inside my closet and we’ll have some tea.’

  He wasn’t exaggerating about the limited space inside the office, underneath which could be heard the rumble and rattle of traffic and the occasional shrill call of a visitor calling an errant child to heel before they got run over. There was just enough space for a desk with a chair on either side, but once the tea had been served and the door closed behind them, Percy couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was conducting a clandestine meeting inside a wardrobe.

  ‘Now, why the urgency?’ Melville asked.

  Percy’s face set in displeasure. ‘It looks as if we’re nearing the point of no return, and I wanted to make absolutely sure that we have your authorisation for what we’re both about to do, but Jack in particular.’

  ‘You mean he’s been handed the gun with which to do the deed at St. Paul’s?’ Melville said with a look of amusement.

  ‘Almost,’ Percy told him. ‘He’s been told that he’s been selected to lead a team of men inside Buckingham Palace during Day One of the Jubilee celebrations.’

  ‘So what’s your problem?’

  ‘His problem, primarily, is that the small group in question consists of deserters from the Met, at least one of whom — Michael Black — was complicit in the Wapping warehouse fire in which we believe all those military uniforms went missing. They’ve got these men hidden away at the Guards’ Wellington Barracks down the road there at Birdcage Walk, keeping fit and awaiting further orders.’

  Melville sighed. ‘You really aren’t cut out for this Intelligence work are you, Percy? You see everything in terms of challenge — a brick wall with only one side. Can you not for one moment accept that, far from being a barrier, it’s an open door?’

  ‘But surely these ne-er-do-wells are being prepared for some sort of outrage during the Jubilee?’ Percy protested, still unable to think sideways.

  ‘Of course they are, and Jack just received his ticket to a ringside seat. Provided that he lets us know, at the last minute, what’s being planned, we can nip it in the bud with our own people.’

  ‘But that will place him in extreme danger, will it not?’

  ‘Of course it will — isn’t that what he joined up for?’

  ‘He joined as a young, idealistic and starry-eyed constable of the Metropolitan Police at the age of nineteen,’ Percy reminded Melville in a voice trembling with anger. ‘He’s now just approaching his thirtieth birthday, with a wife and four kids, and you expect him to throw himself in front of an assassin’s gun?’

  ‘Let’s not exaggerate, Percy,’ Melville frowned in irritation. ‘We’re simply asking that he keep in with this mob, passing regular information on to you, and ducking behind the parapet when the lead starts flying. My only concern is that all this is a little too obvious, as if we’re being led by the nose up a blind alley while all the real action is planned for somewhere else.’

  ‘Like St. Paul’s, you mean? I’ve maintained all along that this will be where the Queen’s at her most vulnerable, which is why I’m working my arse off trying to stretch an under-strength East End police force into something resembling a safety ring of blue uniforms. To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t trust the army types to do a proper job, armed only with their tin soldier toys.’

  ‘And it never occurred to you that the East End might be the red herring in all this?’ Melville queried with raised eyebrows. ‘It’s so obvious that the Queen will be at her most vulnerable then that I think that the enemy are relying on us going down the wrong track and wasting our limited resources on Day Two when all along their real target has been Day One.’

  ‘Not for the first time, you’re telling me that I’m wasting my time,’ Percy grumbled, but Melville shook his head.

  ‘On the contrary, you’re fulfilling a most valuable role in all this. For as long as you’re seen to be racing around guarding against an attack on the second day, the forces of anarchy will think that we’ve bought the ruse. That’s why this door that’s been opened for Jack’s so important. They may be under the false illusion that they’ve bought his loyalty and may even try to use him to feed you disinformation — to keep you focused on Day Two, that is. If they’ve really made a serious error of judgment, then they may even be relying on Jack to play a part in whatever they’re really planning. But let’s go cautiously here.’

  ‘In what way?’ Percy enquired, well out of his depth with all this thinkin
g and double thinking.

  ‘We can’t jump too eagerly at the chance Jack’s been given. He has to string things out a bit — appear reluctant to prove disloyal to his oath of allegiance. I hope he hasn’t agreed already?’

  ‘No,’ Percy assured him. ‘That’s why I’ve come seeking your advice, and perhaps as well that I did. For how long do you want Jack to appear reluctant? He’s already been interviewed by Markwell at Bow Street and been given a week to think about it.’

  ‘Make him drag it out for a fortnight,’ Melville instructed him, ‘then he can agree with feigned reluctance, making it look less suspicious. Given his excellent record within the Met I’m surprised that they chose him, to be perfectly honest with you.’

  ‘That’s another thing,’ Percy added. ‘It’s all too convenient that his wife’s long-lost brother Abraham turned up when he did, with that tart of a woman Mary Carmody in tow. We haven’t been given the information we need on the circumstances in which that man deserted his post — in fact, the army won’t even admit that he has. For my money, Jack and his wife were deliberately targeted from the very beginning, and if Jack hadn’t been seconded onto your team I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they intended to get him involved in something underhand in the course of his police duties, then go to ground like all the others did. And we don’t know why some of those who opted to play the enemy’s game finished up dead.’

  ‘They clearly weren’t regarded as good enough for this little elite team that’s being kicked into shape for the big day,’ Melville suggested. ‘And so far as concerns Jack being targeted from the outset, and with the greatest respect to him, of what subversive value would a Detective Sergeant in an Essex backwater have been? He clearly became important when they somehow learned that he was working for Special Branch alongside you.’

  ‘Why didn’t they try to subvert me instead?’ Percy thought out loud, and Melville smiled.

  ‘Feeling unimportant again, are you? I thought that Assistant Commissioner Doyle had given you the come-on. Have you heard any more from him?’