Queen of Thieves

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘That’s her!’ said Mrs Half-Moon Glasses, pointing a finger at me. That big woman moved fast, because she had me in her grasp before I had time to think.

  ‘Gotcha!’ she said, triumphantly.

  ‘You’re making a terrible mistake!’ I squealed, but she wouldn’t listen.

  She marched me up to her office on the fourth floor, down a corridor with dark wood panelling on the walls. The whole place reeked of furniture polish, and I began to feel a bit queasy.

  We stopped in front of a door with brass name plate which said ‘MISS G. HUNTER.’ Keeping a tight hold on my arm the whole time, so I couldn’t do a bunk, she pushed open the heavy wooden door.

  A fella was in the office, gazing out of the window, smoking. He turned to face us, a broad grin spreading across his face.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘your first kill of the day, Miss Hunter.’

  She gave him a look that could curdle milk, as if she wasn’t the slightest bit interested winning his praise: ‘Thank you, Detective Sergeant Hart.’

  ‘You’re wrong about this, there’s been a mistake,’ I cried. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’ I was busy thanking my lucky stars that Molly had taken all the stuff I’d hoisted. In fact, it made me quite bold.

  ‘You’ll find you owe me a big apology,’ I said, crossing my arms and staring at her.

  Miss Hunter snorted with laughter, took my carpet bag and pulled out a pair of silk stockings. Just one. But that was enough to dob me right in it. Molly must have forgotten to take the packet when she cleared out my bag.

  She raised an eyebrow as she sat down at her desk.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Miss Hunter ‘Why is our merchandise in your bag? Where is the till receipt for this item?’

  ‘It must have fallen in by accident,’ I said. That took the wind out of my sails. Molly must have missed a pair, which were nestling right at the bottom.

  My heart sank. Despite his suit, this bloke was a cozzer. I was done for, unless I could find a smart way out of it. Alice had told me that when a hoister’s tumbled, she’s got three choices; run, fight, or turn on the waterworks.

  Well, I didn’t fancy my chances against these two, who had more brawn between them than some of the blokes I’d watched bare knuckle fighting at the top of our street on Sundays and legging it was out of the question because the cozzer had walked around the office and was blocking the door. So, crying was my best chance.

  The only thing was, when I tried to shed a tear, I just couldn’t. Maybe it was fear? I dug my nails into the palm of my hand but still my eyes were dry as a bone.

  ‘A likely story,’ scoffed Miss Hunter.

  She picked up a pencil and began to slowly sharpen it, to a point. There was something very neat and tidy about her, from her immaculate black curls, which grazed her jaw, to her starched white blouse tucked firmly into the waistband of her navy wool skirt.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Hart here is a plain clothes officer, I’ve been working with him to keep a look out because a lot of our most expensive stock has been going missing.’ She stopped sharpening her pencil and glared at me. ‘And that, young lady, is quite unacceptable. We have seen more and more of it since the end of the war, which is why managers such as me, who are prepared to do a little detective work of their own, are so vital.’

  She shot Detective Sgt Hart a glance. He stifled a laugh when she called herself a detective, I could see that, and it pissed her right off, but she ploughed on regardless: ‘It’s as if the younger generation no longer has any respect. What do you think we were fighting the Germans for? So that you could come into Gamages and steal whatever takes your fancy?’

  Well, yes, that was the general idea of The Forty Thieves, I suppose. I kept that thought to myself. The carpet was nice, thick pile, must have cost a few quid. I made quite a study of it, sitting there while she droned on.

  ‘I can take her down the station and charge her,’ said the sergeant, placing a firm hand upon my shoulder.

  Well, that got my attention. I stood bolt upright.

  Suddenly, with this cozzer’s hand on my shoulder, it was easy to start crying. I was scared witless.

  ‘Please,’ I began, tears spilling down my face. ‘It was an accident. And the thing is, I’m pregnant.’

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  Miss Hunter got up and smoothed her skirt down over her ample thighs.

  ‘Oh, you silly, silly girl,’ she said.

  ‘What will your husband say about this?’

  ‘Ain’t married, Miss,’ I said, sniffling and wiping my snotty nose on the sleeve of my dress.

  She produced a handkerchief from her desk drawer and gave it to me, with a perfunctory: ‘I see, like that, is it? What’s your name?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I wanted to scream, ‘it bloody well is like that, you stuck up cow. You try living my life, scraping a living in a London slum.’ But I didn’t.

  ‘I’m Nell, Nell Kane,’ I said, wiping my eyes with her handkerchief. It had her initials embroidered on it swirly golden thread and was rather lovely. I stuffed it into my pocket before she could ask for it back.

  She looked over at the cozzer, who was looming over me, like the grim reaper.

  ‘Given that you are expecting, I think the best course of action is for Detective Sergeant Hart here to deliver you home to your parents… if he is willing to do so… to explain yourself to them.’

  I heaved a sigh of relief. She was a battle axe, but at least she had a heart!

  But then she picked up that bleeding pencil again and began to scratch away at the notepad in front of her.

  ‘And for you to appear at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court in the morning, because Gamages will be pressing charges for theft.’

  Oh, Christ!

  Detective Sgt Hart marched me down to his car, which was was all chrome and leather fittings and smelled of tobacco. If the circumstances had been different, I might have enjoyed the novelty of it.

  He was quite handsome – for a cozzer, that is. Most of them round our way had faces that resembled a King Edward spud. Our local Bobby had sticky out ears, which led the kids in my street to call him Wing Nut behind his back. This one, though, had a square jaw and regular features, apart from a scar on his cheek, which intrigued me. His back was broad and when he sat down in the driver’s seat, the material of his jacket was stretched at the seams.

  We made our way down Oxford Street at a snail’s pace, behind a tram with a Bovril advert plastered on the back. I hated Bovril and now I despised it even more. The rest of the world hurried past, boys on delivery bikes, fellas with their coats slung across one arm, clutching a newspaper in the other.

  Detective Sgt Hart lit up and pulled the window down a bit and smoked, thoughtfully. I considered jumping out and legging it while he was looking the other way, but when we stopped at the traffic lights, he closed his hand around my wrist and said: ‘Don’t get any ideas, I’d out-run you in any case. Just be sensible, for the baby’s sake.’

  As we were crossing the river, he finished his fag and chucked the butt out of the window.

  ‘What’s a bonny lass like you doing mixed up with shoplifting?’

  His voice was soft, persuasive, and he spoke with a Northern lilt. His eyes were deep set and they bored into me.

  ‘Not from round here, are you?’ I shot back.

  ‘Tyneside,’ he said.

  ‘Cold up there, innit? Did you leave because you tripped and cut your face on a lump of coal?’

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. Perhaps I was getting to him.

  ‘You’re quite the minx, aren’t you? And you haven’t answered my question, Nell,’ he replied, gently, placing a hand on my arm.

  ‘You’d better keep your hands on the steering wheel,’ I said, shrugging him off and staring straight ahead.

  ‘Is this what you want? To be a jailbird, as well as an unmarried mother? Sounds like a slippery slope to me.’

  ‘Dunno what you’
re talking about,’ I said. ‘The stockings must have fallen into my bag, that’s all. I’ve never been in trouble before.’

  ‘Do your parents know you’re pregnant?’

  Well, that got me. I turned away, so he couldn’t see the tears brimming in my eyes. This time, they were genuine.

  A smile played on his lips: ‘I thought as much.’

  He paused for an instant, as a brewer’s dray clip-clopped past at the junction.

  ‘Nell, I saw another woman stealing and putting things in the bag you were carrying, because I was I was on the shop floor watching you. I know that you didn’t put those stockings in the bag you were carrying; she did. But she got away before I could stop her. She was a professional by the look of it.’

  ‘So why the hell am I trouble for stealing, then?’ I said, eyes wide with incredulity.

  ‘If you tell me who you are working for, I’ll let the matter drop. I can put you out of the car here, and you can walk home, and get on with your life, as if none of this ever happened. I can tell Miss Hunter that you did a bunk. If not, I will tell the court tomorrow that I also witnessed you stealing as well as receiving the stolen goods from the other woman…’

  ‘But that ain’t fair!’

  He laughed. ‘Life isn’t fair, Nell. And it’s my word against yours. If I say that I saw you putting stockings into a bag, you put them in the bag. Maybe I saw you steal an entire rail of blouses and hand those over too. You’d already given a bag full of goodies to your accomplice and she’d got away with it. So, who do you think a court is going to believe? It’s my word against yours, Nell.’

  God, he was right, but he was an evil sod, all the same. He chuckled. He was actually enjoying himself.

  I watched his throat, clean shaven, and imagined putting my hands around it, and squeezing, hard: ‘It’s often the way that gangs prey on the vulnerable. I expect they took advantage of your situation. If you tell me who they are, I can help you get away from them.’

  My mouth pressed itself firmly shut. I remembered the code. There was no way I was going to grass on Alice and the other girls.

  The car was over Waterloo Bridge now, turning down the road at the end of our street.

  ‘It’s not too late, you can still tell me who you work for,’ he said, slowing down.

  Kids heard the motor car engine and started pursuing us, whooping and kicking their tatty football as they went.

  ‘Nell! Nell!’ they shouted. ‘Who’s yer boyfriend, Nell?’

  I scowled at him: ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  We turned into Tenison Street and another band of little tykes chased after us down the cobbles. Oh my God, I would never hear the end of this. It couldn’t have created more of a stir if his Majesty the King had paid a visit to Waterloo.

  He parked up and chucked a sixpence or two out of the window at them, to make them scatter, before clambering out, straightening his tie and opening the car door on my side.

  I stepped out, keeping my head down.

  ‘Have it your way,’ he said, placing his hand firmly in the small of my back and ushering me towards our front door.

  ‘You’ve gone and done what?’

  Dad erupted like Vesuvius.

  Detective Sergeant Eddie Hart stood in our front room watching me intently.

  Mum was half-in- half-out of the door, not knowing whether she was coming or going. It was like looking at someone doing the Hokey Cokey in a panic.

  ‘Your daughter has been caught shoplifting and she is expected at West London Police Court tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.’ Detective Sgt Hart repeated it, in case Dad hadn’t taken it in the first time.

  ‘Is there any need to make it so formal and press charges?’ said Dad, protectively. ‘She’s a good girl, our Nell, never been in trouble before. I will deal with her. Just leave it to me.’

  ‘The management at Gamages are insisting, to deter other pilferers because there has been a spate of it lately.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s more, isn’t there, Nell?’ said the sergeant, staring me down.

  I couldn’t believe it, he was dobbing me in it, good and proper.

  ‘Well,’ said Dad, his face puce with anger, ‘spit it out, then.’

  The silence seemed to fill the room. Three china geese were flapping their way up the mustard-coloured wall, going nowhere fast. I knew how they felt.

  I wrung my hands, for what seemed like a lifetime.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ I whispered.

  I didn’t see Dad move in to wallop me one, but I felt it, right around the side of my face. It sent me reeling backwards onto my heels and I began to sob. I was a mass of snot and tears.

  ‘You slut, Nell!’ he yelled. ‘Never in all my born days. Your poor mother. She won’t be able to show her face in church!’

  Mum was a lapsed Catholic, she hated going to church, but it was pointless to protest. Anyway, she appeared in that moment, to have found God again. She had fallen to her knees and was saying three Hail Mary’s and crossing herself.

  Detective Sgt Hart, buttoned up his coat: ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be back in the morning to bring her to court.’

  He walked in, lobbed a grenade into our lives, and walked back out again, just like that.

  Once the front door was shut, Dad moved towards me and grasping a thick clump of hair, pulled me towards the staircase.

  I squealed with the shock of it, like a stuck pig.

  ‘Please, Dad, no! Let me go!’

  His jaw was set firmly, and his iron grip was tugging at the roots of my scalp as I scrabbled to get a foothold on the stairs.

  A voice was crying out in pain. I realized, that it was mine: ‘Please, you’re hurting me!’

  ‘I’ll show you hurt, you whore!’ Dad yelled, pulling me further up the staircase, my arms flailing. I missed a step, and then another, my shins battering against the dark wood.

  Mum stood as a silent witness to it all, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  It was only two paces from the top of the stairs, across the landing, to my bedroom and Dad threw me, bodily, inside and slammed the door shut.

  I crawled across the floor, shaking and my scalp throbbing, strands of hair coming out in my hand, to peer out of the window. Down in the street, the detective and his car had caused quite a commotion.

  Mrs Avens, the parish foghorn, was holding court on the corner, glancing up towards my bedroom window and kids were running pell-mell after him as he drove away. I sank to my knees in shame. Eventually the kids went in for their tea. I watched the sky turning orange and then fiery red as the sun went down over the city and on the worst day of my life.

  When darkness fell, my heart pounded at Dad’s footfall on the stairs and I hopped into bed and cowered under the blankets, like I used to when I was little, and I was expecting a belting. He didn’t come in, but I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the bedroom door. He was locking me in, like a bloody prisoner!

  When he’d gone back down to the scullery, I tiptoed over to my dressing table and looked at myself in the mirror. A bruise was blackening on my face where he’d struck me, and my eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

  ‘What the hell have you done, Nell?’ I said to my reflection. I didn’t have any answers, just the throbbing pain on the side of my face and a horrible sickly, twisting feeling in my gut, that my life was going right off the rails.

  The key turned in the lock and Mum came in and laid a sandwich and a glass of milk on the floor beside my bed.

  I sat up and hugged her, burying my face on her shoulder: ‘I’m sorry, Mum, so sorry.’

  She stood up, all the colour draining from her face.

  ‘What have you gone and done, my Nell?’

  She started to weep, and the sight of her crying broke me.

  ‘Please, Mum, it was all a mistake,’ I blubbed.

  ‘I can’t save you from this,’ she said, burying her face her hands as she pulled away. ‘God knows, I love you,
Nell, no matter what you’ve done, but your father…’

  She gave me a look and I knew then what she meant.

  His word was the law in our house. He was disowning me.

  ‘I’ll come to court, to be there for you,’ she said. ‘But, you know, it’s going to be really difficult for us to see each other after this, what with the way your father is feeling about it all.’

  We clung to each other, because we both knew this was goodbye, no matter what she wanted.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me, Mum,’ I said, pulling myself together for her sake. She’d suffered enough and I’d made things worse: ‘I can face whatever they throw at me. This will all work out. I know it will.’

  I hadn’t a clue what I was saying, really. They were just words, meaningless words, but I wanted to make it right, somehow, to take away all the pain I’d caused her. I should have stayed in the fur factory, where I belonged, I should have accepted Jimmy’s offer of marriage, even if Dad had thrown me out, at least I’d have him by my side.

  Now I had nobody and I was going to have to face the music alone.

  Mum got up to leave and, as she turned away from me, the door closed on my old life in Tenison Street forever.

  Chapter Eight

  ALICE

  Elephant and Castle, London, June 1946

  There’s an old saying that it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

  And true to form, while little Nell was having her first brush with the law, I managed to stuff an entire rack of silk ties down my drawers, which was nice.

  Molly, meanwhile, made easy pickings of some silverware, pilfering a dozen silver spoons. We draw the line at china, because that rattles like anything, although I did know an old hoister who swore that a maternity girdle was good enough for her to smuggle a whole tea set out of Gamages once.

  Oh, don’t think I’m being heartless. Every hoister ends up getting caught at some point and how you handle it can be the making of you, or your undoing. I’ve done more bird than most people have had hot dinners and it never did me any harm.