Daric turned the corner on to Brick Lane. He was paying close attention to his route this time. He got lost once before in this labyrinth of dingy courts, dark alleyways, and narrow streets. Everything looked the same. Every street looked like the next, including a public house found on almost every corner.
Daric had a recurring sense of claustrophobia here, with multi-storey warehouses and common lodging houses blocking out any fragment of the sun’s rays that tried so desperately to cut through the smog-laden air. There were no trees, no green lawns, only soot-covered brick buildings encroaching on cobblestone streets encrusted with dirt and horse manure.
Daric walked past the Frying Pan pub. He peered through the grime-covered windows. He could tell by the shadows milling about inside that the place was busy.
Daric crept around the side of the building and turned down Thrawl Street where he spotted an alleyway that cut behind the pub. As he approached the fence surrounding the yard, he found a loose fence board. It didn’t take him long to wrestle it free. He wriggled between the boards and entered the quiet, unlit yard behind the pub.
Daric cautiously made his way toward the sound he knew would lead him directly to the pub’s back door. He felt his way around the area, stopping abruptly when his hands came upon a wooden crate beside the steps to the back door. “Bingo,” he muttered. He gently lifted the lid and felt around for something he hoped they could use. But before he could retrieve the goods, the back door opened and there stood a man the size of Paul Bunyan.
“Well, what do we have here? Another gutter-wolf?” The man’s voice thundered, as his arm shot out and seized Daric by the collar.
“Inspector, if you’d please,” the man hollered into the pub.
Daric realized if he got arrested, his sister would be alone, out on the streets, and defenseless in her current condition.
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A shadowy figure cautiously approached the huddled mass he had spotted at the back of the darkened alley. When he got close enough, he realized it was a woman. He gently nudged her foot with the toe of his shoe. There was no reaction.
He inched closer. He bent down and touched her cheek. It was warm; unusually warm, he thought. At first, he believed she might be dead. “There’s a lot of that going on around here these days,” he chortled.
Then something caught his eye. He reached for the woman’s left arm, which was peering out from under a coat.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little bobble,” he murmured.
“You’ll make me a tidy little sum, you will,” he snickered. He took a glance back up the alley. He was still alone, but he might not be for long. He needed to act quickly. “Now, come to Papa.” He gently picked up the slender wrist and turned the bracelet, looking for a clasp to unhook it.
After fumbling for several minutes, he still had not figured out how to remove the bracelet. He was getting very nervous. He knew it was dumb luck that no one had seen him yet. Then, suddenly, an idea came to mind.
“If I can’t get you off one way, my precious bobble, there’s always another way,” he croaked delightedly. He reached under his long trench coat and drew out an eight-inch knife.
A soft moan emanated from the motionless figure, curled in a tight ball, lying on the damp ground.
“But first, I can’t have you waking up and screaming while I do this, now can I?” He cackled malevolently again, reaching under his coat a second time.
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“What is it, William?” the inspector replied from inside the pub.
William Farrow, the owner of the Frying Pan pub, was known to his friends as the ‘gentle giant’. But cross him or try to damage his property and you’d be facing a Minotaur, the monster chronicled as half man and half bull in Greek mythology.
The inspector appeared in the doorway and looked down at what William had detained.
Panic suddenly seized Daric, crushing the very breath within him. Even with the dim light that escaped the pub’s interior, Daric knew he had to get away. He intensified his struggle with William’s vise-like grip, desperate to break free.
“Steady on, lad,” William said, hanging on tightly and giving Daric a firm shake to settle him down.
Daric felt like a marionette on the ends of a puppeteer’s strings, as William tossed him about so easily, using only one of his trunk-like arms.
“Take it easy; this big ox isn’t going to hurt you,” the inspector tried to assure Daric. He couldn’t understand why the young man had intensified his fight to break free when he had stepped into the doorway.
Daric settled a bit, looking up skeptically at the inspector.
“Let him go, William. He won’t run away . . . will you?” The inspector’s voice warned that Daric should concede.
Daric shook his head, seeing no other viable options at the moment. He was instantly released. He reached for the front of his shirt and pulled it away from his throat. He gulped down a deep breath.
“William, go back inside and tend to your customers. I’ve got this,” the inspector said.
William stared at the inspector; he didn’t like the fact he was being summarily dismissed. “I want my pound of flesh,” the giant boomed.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, William. Now, go back inside,” the inspector insisted.
The giant bent down. Daric cringed; waiting for the blow he thought was coming.
William burst out laughing at Daric’s reaction. He reached into the crate and extracted a small canvas sack. After securing the lid, he stood erect and glared directly at the inspector, as if giving him a warning. William then turned and headed back into the pub, leaving Daric staring up into an all too familiar face.
“I am Detective Inspector Case, from H Division of the Metropolitan Police. What’s your name?”
“Daric Delaney, sir.” Daric couldn’t believe his eyes. He was staring at another Uncle Richard, a younger version, but unmistakably ‘Uncle Richard’. How was that possible?
Inspector Case wore a dark blue sack coat and trousers with a matching waistcoat, complete with a gold pocket watch and watch fob over a stark white shirt. He stood six-foot tall and had a good build, a neatly trimmed Franz Joseph beard and short brown hair. He was thin-lipped with a pointed jaw, broad nose and wide-set brown eyes. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He held a pint of beer in one hand and his bowler hat in the other.
Inspector Case could tell by Daric’s accent that he was an immigrant, but not one of the many poor Russian, Polish and German Jews coming from Central and Eastern Europe to seek shelter here in the East End. He could also tell that Daric wasn’t one of those hardened criminals he was so used to encountering. Besides, this one didn’t have the skills for it.
The East End of London encompassed the London docks and the rundown areas of Spitalfields, Bethnal Green and Whitechapel. It was bordered to the south by the River Thames, to the west by the city of London, to the north by Hackney and Shoreditch, and to the east by the River Lea. The East End had become a popular area for refugees because the main road through the area was a major artery for entering or leaving the city. In addition, the ground here was relatively level and easy to build upon.
“Now, Daric, why don’t you tell me what you were doing back here?” Inspector Case asked calmly.
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Daric recited to the inspector the story that he and Dani had concocted: how they came to be here, in London.
“My sister and I . . . Oh, my God, my sister! Please, I have to go to her. She’s really sick!” Daric pleaded. “I’ve been gone too long. Please, I have to go. I promise I won’t try to steal again. Just don’t arrest me. Please! She won’t survive on these streets without me!”
Daric’s pleas tugged at Inspector Case’s heart. It was only nine months ago when he had lost his own sister, Beatrice, to the streets of this city. Being rais
ed in a ‘privileged’ family, the Case children had everything they could ever want. But Beatrice wasn’t content to play the role of a dutiful daughter and there was no way she would ever be a subservient housewife. She ran away from home in protest of the established norms that society demanded of her and she was swallowed up by the hungry city. The inspector spent weeks scouring the streets for his younger sister until he finally found her lifeless body under Hammersmith Bridge. He didn’t want the same fate to fall to Daric’s sister, not if he could help it.
Inspector Case could see, even in the dim light from the doorway, how distraught Daric was and how he truly cared for the well-being of his sister. It didn’t matter to him where he conducted his interrogation, just as long as he got some answers.
“Okay, relax, Daric. Let’s go to her. You lead the way.” The inspector barely got the words out before he had to take off after Daric.
Daric ran through the backyard, pushed aside the broken fence board, and squeezed his way through. Inspector Case was right on his heels as they ran through the streets, darting around people, carts and carriages, on their way to Dani.
“Hey, wait up!” the inspector shouted, struggling to match Daric’s pace and to keep him in sight.
Police Constable Barrett was walking his beat when he spotted a man running toward him with Inspector Case in hot pursuit.
Police Constable Thomas Barrett, 226H, was from H Division. He had been with the Metropolitan Police for nine years. Barrett was five-foot-seven and weighed approximately one-hundred-eighty-five pounds. He wore the standard police uniform and carried the standard equipment. The uniform consisted of dark blue pants, a custodian helmet with a shiny Brunswick star, and a dark blue, button-down tunic. The tunic came with a high collar to protect the wearer from being garrotted. It also featured white bars on its sleeves to distinguish the police officer from naval or maritime personnel. As for the standard equipment, it included a truncheon, handcuffs, a bull’s-eye lantern, and a silver whistle secured to the tunic by a silver chain.
The bull’s-eye lantern was a dangerous and unwieldy device. It had a steel cylinder that was ten inches high and was topped with a chimney shaped like two pleated dunce caps. Also on its top was a metal handle for carrying the lantern; two more handles on the back of the lantern could be used to attach the lantern to a belt. On one side of the cylinder was a magnifying lens, three inches in diameter and made of thick, convex glass; a small oil pan and wick in the cylinder provided the lantern’s light. The light was weak compared to today’s flashlights, but a police officer could nevertheless use the lantern to help see into dark areas. He could also use it as a signaling device to attract the attention a fellow police officer.
Revolvers were issued to only a select few who, in the opinion of a senior officer, could be trusted to use them safely and with discretion.
Police Constable Barrett ducked around a corner, waiting for the fleeing man to approach. He placed his lantern on the ground because in short order he would need both hands. He heard the running footsteps getting closer. He gauged his timing and, when the moment was just right, he sprang from his hiding place and tackled the man to the ground.
“I’ve got him, Inspector,” Barrett yelled proudly.
“Get off me!” Daric yelled, tossing the smaller constable aside.
“It’s all right, Barrett, he’s with me. We’re in rather a hurry.” The inspector paused for a moment to catch his breath while Daric scrambled to his feet and took off.
“I’ll explain later.” The inspector panted before running, again, after Daric.
“Right you are, Inspector,” Barrett replied, doubting that the inspector had heard him or even cared, for that matter. And here, all I was trying to do was help.
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The thief pulled out a thick wooden stick from under his coat. He took a quick look over his shoulder. Good, no one there, he thought.
“This will only take a minute and you won’t feel a thing. At least, I don’t think you will,” he snickered. Raising his arm to strike the blow . . .
“Get away from her!” Daric shrieked. He turned the corner into the alleyway and saw a figure crouched over Dani. His pace accelerated, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the startled thief.
Realizing he had lost his opportunity to claim his prize, the thief darted off and was immediately swallowed by the shadows. His hasty retreat wasn’t because he was afraid of the young man; he knew he could handle him with no problem. It was the inspector a few paces behind Daric that made him nervous. He couldn’t afford to get caught again. He knew this inspector all too well; moreover, the inspector knew him, too. He’d been previously warned: there would be no second chance.
Daric rushed to Dani’s side. She wasn’t moving. Noticing Dani’s exposed arm, he realized instantly what the thief had been after. He was relieved to see the thief hadn’t stolen her travel band. That was close, too damn close.
“Is she all right?” Inspector Case asked, bending down beside Daric, still panting from their race through the East End. Odd, the inspector thought; Daric wasn’t even breathing hard.
Inspector Case saw an eight-inch knife next to Dani’s body. He picked it up, wrapped the blade in his handkerchief and gently secured it in his inside coat pocket.
“He didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you mean. But I need to get her some help; she’s burning up,” Daric said urgently.
“Pick her up and follow me,” Inspector Case instructed. “I know just what to do,” he added, as he led the way out of the alley and onto the narrow street.
Daric picked Dani up gently; she didn’t stir. He cradled her in his arms while he followed the inspector. They soon came across Police Constable Barrett again, walking his beat.
So that’s what all the hurry was about, Barrett thought, noticing the motionless form cradled in the young man’s arms.
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Inspector Case headed directly to the London Hospital, just a short distance away. He wasn’t going there to admit Dani. In all honesty, he didn’t care for hospitals; he viewed them as places where people went to die. He was there to find his wife, who worked at the hospital. She would know exactly what to do.
“Wait here,” Case said to Daric. He turned and ran up the back steps of the hospital and disappeared inside.
Daric sat on one of the steps, still cradling his sister in his arms.
“Dani, can you hear me?” he whispered apprehensively.
“Awwwww,” was the weak response.
“We’re going to get you some help; just hang in there. Everything will be okay, I promise,” Daric said, hopefully. He had no idea what the inspector was up to.
Several minutes later a carriage pulled up and stopped by the steps. The door opened. Case popped his head out and said, “Get in.”
Without hesitation, Daric stood, still carrying Dani, and walked to the open carriage door.
“Here, give her to me,” Case said, leaning out of the carriage. He gently took Dani and pulled her inside. Daric climbed in and settled himself on a bench before taking Dani back. Sitting directly across from him was an attractive young woman.
“Daric, this is my wife, Mary. She’s a teaching nurse at the London Hospital,” Case said with pride and affection.
“This is a hospital? We need to take Dani inside,” Daric urged. He was puzzled.
“Relax, Daric. Mary will know what to do for your sister. Besides, hospitals are for the poor,” Case stated frankly.
“Driver, in haste, if you would,” Case instructed the carriage driver. The carriage lurched forward, gaining speed as it went.
“What happened?” Mary asked quietly, reaching forward to feel Dani’s forehead.
Mary was a beautiful woman. She was five-five with soft auburn hair. She appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties. Mary had warm hazel eyes, and she was wear
ing her nurse’s uniform.
“We’ve been out on the streets for four days, with nothing to eat and only the clothes on our backs,” Daric stated. Then he remembered; he had to stick to their fabricated story. If someone asked, when Dani and Daric were not together, their stories had to match.
Daric recalled when Dani and he had first talked about their ‘story’. He had suggested they use their original orphan storyline. Dani had disagreed. She had argued that, while the orphan story worked for 1937, it would not work for 1888. She had pointed out that, in the 1880s, most people their age would have been married with kids, not living with their parents. As a result, the two of them had come up with a more plausible story.
“We came here three months ago, after our parents were killed in an accident,” Daric said sadly.
“How tragic! I’m so sorry,” Mary said sympathetically, and then looked at her husband.
“Thank you,” Daric acknowledged. “Our only living relative was our grandmother, who lived here in England, Stratford, actually. So, we came to stay with her until we got established here. Four days ago, her house caught fire and burnt to the ground. Everything we owned went up in flames. Our grandmother died in the fire.”
“That’s terrible,” Mary exclaimed. “What did you do?”
Case was a little surprised to realize he was developing a soft spot for this young man. He wanted to do something to help him and his sister. He figured anyone who appreciated his family as this young man did deserved a break.
“We’ve been on the streets looking for work and a place to live since the fire, but we’ve had no luck. Then, yesterday morning, Dani started to complain about being cold. She’s been getting worse ever since. I was trying to get some food, thinking it might help her. That’s when you caught me,” Daric said, finishing his story. He looked caringly down at his sister, still sleeping in his arms.
Lost In Time Page 21
