The Orphans of Bell Lane

by Ruthie Lewis

  It didn’t take long to find him, less time even than I thought it would. He was sitting on a stack of timber not far from the entrance to the Albion Dock, carving something from a piece of wood. I took off my shoes so I could go silent, then circled around behind him and came up and tapped him on the shoulder.

  He jumped about a mile in the air. ‘You!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sneaking up on you. You’re not a very good lookout, Jimmy.’

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

  ‘Remember last time we met?’ I said. ‘I asked you what you would do if it came to a choice between the Captain and Grace.’

  ‘And I told you not to make me choose,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘That ain’t possible. Not anymore. The Captain is threatening to take her two sons, and my brother, and put them in the gang. You’ve got a choice, Jimmy. You can stay with the Captain and see Grace suffer. Or you can help her, and me, and get the Captain off your back at the same time.’

  There was a long silence. ‘I can’t do it,’ Jimmy said, and he sounded like a frightened child.

  I wasn’t letting him off that easy. I stabbed one finger against his chest. ‘You can. You know you can.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I reckon you know quite a lot about what happened last year, when your da and your brother rebelled against the Captain, and got killed. Am I right?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked, but I saw the change in his face.

  ‘Back in the winter, I said I was sorry to hear about your da getting killed. You didn’t say anything at all, you just looked away. I reckon you know what happened. Is that about right?’

  He was still frightened, but he was angry too, now. ‘It wasn’t right, what they did. I hated my da, and Jake, but they were killed like dogs. It wasn’t right.’

  ‘Then make it right,’ said Mary. ‘Come with me.’

  He hesitated. ‘If they find out I betrayed them, they’ll hurt my ma.’

  ‘Your ma, who didn’t lift a finger when your father sold you to the gang? Like I said, Jimmy, it’s time to make a choice. Grace, or the Captain. You choose.’

  *

  There was a carriage sitting outside Bell Lane, and Mary recognised it as belonging to Mr Gould the timber merchant, one of the governors of the school. Frowning, she opened the door and went into the parlour to find him talking with Grace. Mr Clare was there too.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked Grace.

  ‘A little better,’ Grace said. ‘I tried him on some broth and he was sick. He is still very weak.’

  She looked at the two men. ‘We must get the children away to safety. But I don’t know what to do with Mr Ringrose. I don’t think we can move him any distance. Perhaps I should stay here with him, and send the children away.’

  ‘We can arrange for the children to be taken to my house at once,’ said Mr Clare. ‘But Grace, I don’t like the thought of you remaining here. As I understand it, the gang are threatening to return this evening. If they find the children have gone, they will attack you and Mr Ringrose. We have guards watching the house, but it will still be dangerous.’

  Mary had seen the guards outside, workers from the docks armed with cudgels. She didn’t think they would be able to stand up to the Bull Head Gang. ‘I think I know what to do,’ she said.

  They all looked at the girl. ‘There is someone waiting to see you,’ she said to Grace. ‘May I show him in?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Grace, puzzled.

  Quietly, Jimmy Wilson opened the door and walked into the room.

  Grace gasped. ‘Jimmy!’ she cried, and she rushed to the boy and embraced him. ‘Oh, Jimmy, my dear boy! I thought I would never see you again! Where have you been? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I persuaded him to come,’ Mary said. ‘Mr Clare, sir, and Mr Gould, I am glad you are here, because I think you can help us. Jimmy has something he needs to say.’

  Jimmy gave a little shiver, but then his chin came up. His eyes were bright in his thin, grimy face. ‘Last winter my da and my brother led a revolt against the Captain,’ he said. ‘It went wrong. Da and my brother and two of the others were ambushed in Bermondsey. The Captain had them taken to Albion Dock and he killed all four of them himself. Their bodies were buried out in the marshes.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Clare. ‘Did you witness this, boy?’

  ‘No, sir. But I can give you the names of two men who did. If you arrest them, they’ll talk, provided you promise to keep them safe. They will give evidence against the Captain.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Clare again. Mr Gould nodded grimly. ‘Will you accompany me to the police and tell them what you told me?’

  Jimmy nodded.

  ‘The police are no use,’ said Mr Gould. ‘They are in the pocket of the gangs.’

  ‘In Rotherhithe, perhaps,’ said Mr Clare. ‘I mean to go to Scotland Yard. And by heaven, I will knock on the door of the commissioner himself if I must, but I will see justice done. Boy, come with me.’

  Mr Gould, Mr Clare and Jimmy departed, the latter with a backwards glance at Grace. After they had gone Grace stood in the middle of the parlour floor, astonished and agitated. ‘What did you do?’ she asked Mary.

  ‘I thought I knew where I could track him down. And I told him how much Mr Ringrose means to you, and how much you mean to Mr Ringrose, and I asked him to help us.’

  There was a little pause while Grace digested her words. ‘How much I mean to him?’ she said blankly.

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ said Mary in exasperation. ‘Are you really that blind? He is head over heels in love with you, and you with him. Will the two of you please get on with it?’

  They stared at each other. Mary started to giggle. ‘Now I sound more like your mother,’ she said.

  ‘Not for the first time, either,’ Grace said, recovering. ‘Never mind, my dear. It is the function of daughters to order their mothers about. That is the way of the world . . . Oh, Mary! Do you really mean it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary. ‘I really mean it. Go see him, Mother dear, and tell him Albert and the twins are looking forward to having a second Fa, very soon.’

  *

  Her heart thundering in her chest, Grace went up to the bedroom. Walter stirred and opened his eyes as she came in. For a moment he looked around, his wits still cloudy. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just before noon.’

  ‘I see . . . And where am I?’

  ‘In my house,’ said Grace. ‘In my bed.’

  ‘In your bed? Ah. It’s not quite how I imagined it would be.’

  There was a long pause. ‘If I had the strength I would blush with shame,’ Walter said. ‘Mrs Turneur . . . I’m sorry, my wits are addled. I don’t know what came over me.’

  Grace found herself giggling. ‘But you admit you have imagined it,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve imagined quite a lot of things . . . Oh, Lord, that is even worse. I have let the cat out of the bag now, haven’t I?’

  Grace waited. ‘Would it be all right if I sat up a little?’ Walter asked. ‘I’ve something to say to you, but I’d like to be able to see you when I say it.’

  Gently, Grace helped him sit up a little, carefully minding the wound on his back, and tucked another pillow in behind him. He sank back, weak and grateful, his eyes fixed on her. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking of you ever since we first met, that day at the picnic in the park. You, and no one but you.’

  The pounding of her heart increased. ‘No,’ Grace said. ‘It was Mela you were looking at.’

  ‘Dear old Mela. I’m very fond of her, in a brotherly sort of way. But it was you that stole my heart. And then, before I could work up the nerve to do anything about it, you were married, and I felt like all my hopes had been shattered. But I couldn’t stop my feelings. I knew it was you, or no one. You were the only woman I would, or could, ever love.’

  Stunned, Grace stood and s
tared at him. ‘You don’t know what you are saying,’ she said. ‘The doctor said the blow to the head might have disordered your wits.’

  ‘I assure you, my wits are in the best order they have ever been. Let me guess. You think we come from different walks of life, me from the gentry, you from the working class, as I believe Mr Marx and Mr Engels call them. The chasm between us is too wide to be bridged, you say.’

  ‘Not my exact words, but you have the sentiment,’ said Grace. ‘I am the adopted child of a factory worker, and I spent a year in the workhouse. I am no one.’

  ‘That is complete and utter rubbish,’ said Walter. ‘You are brave and honourable and true. You are noble, Grace Turneur, in the finest sense of the word. Where and how you were born are of no account. It is who you are that matters; and to me, you are the finest woman alive.’

  ‘I also have six children,’ Grace pointed out.

  ‘Who’s counting?’ said Walter.

  Tears started to flow again. I have done nothing but cry for the last two days, Grace thought. She wiped her eyes. ‘Your wits really are disordered,’ she said.

  ‘Then I hope they remain so for a long time to come. For a lifetime, in fact. Because that is what I have in mind. I know you are still in mourning for your husband. I know I have to wait until the pieces of my skull grow back together. But when I’m better, and you feel you are ready; well, when that day comes, Grace Turneur, will you marry me?’

  She was weeping and laughing all together now. ‘I guess I’ll have to,’ she said. ‘You need someone to keep you out of trouble . . . Walter, tell me this is not a dream. Tell me you really mean it.’

  ‘I intend to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I really mean it,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, though, you haven’t told me if you love me.’

  Slowly Grace bent and brushed her lips against his, and in a moment, all the agitation of the past few days vanished and a sweet peace descended around her. ‘Does that answer your question?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Very much so. I’ll need you to keep kissing me quite often, of course, once we are married. I’m an anxious sort of chap. I need constant reassurance.’

  His eyes were heavy. ‘You also need sleep,’ Grace said, kissing him again. ‘Rest now, my dear, and get well.’

  Walter’s eyes closed. Grace stood for a moment, looking down at his sleeping face. She still felt she was dreaming, and yet at the same time she knew beyond doubt she was not. They were not safe. They were surrounded by storms, but they would come through, and out on the other side a new life was waiting for them.

  ‘Well,’ she said quietly. ‘I must tell the children.’

  *

  Through the long afternoon she waited. Outside, men armed with cudgels patrolled the street. Hermione Lane called in after the demonstration had ended to see how Walter was faring. She gasped when Grace told her about Jimmy’s decision to turn against the Captain.

  ‘Is it really possible? At last, the police will intervene?’

  ‘Mr Clare said he would go to the highest levels if necessary’, said Grace. ‘And in my experience, when he wants to do something, it gets done.’

  The time passed slowly, with Grace torn between the wonder of love and dread at the thought of the immediate future. What if Mr Clare had failed? What if Scotland Yard was too slow, and the Captain got away? She and the children, and Walter, were still in danger.

  Mr Gould thought so too. As evening drew on, he knocked at the door. ‘I’ve brought a carriage,’ he said. Let me take your children away for the night. We can keep them safe, far safer than you can here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Grace with relief. She called the children to her and explained. ‘You must do everything Mr Gould tells you to do,’ she said. ‘Be good, and I will see you again, soon.’

  ‘Yes, mummy,’ the younger ones said in chorus, but Mary looked mutinous. Then came another knock at the door.

  For an agonised moment Grace thought, too late. He is here. But the knock had been a mild one, with no hint of threat. She shooed the children into the kitchen where Mary would look after them, and then answered the door herself, Mr Gould close and protective behind her. They both sighed with relief when they saw Mr Clare on the doorstep.

  ‘The police have taken the Captain and his accomplices,’ he said. ‘It is done.’

  *

  ‘They are asking you to come to the police station,’ Mr Clare said to Grace. ‘Can you be spared?’

  Mary came into the room, smiling at Mr Clare. ‘For a little while,’ she said. ‘But not for too long. She is needed here.’

  ‘I shall return her promptly,’ Mr Clare said.

  Mr Gould came with them – there was no need to send the children away now – and while they rode in his carriage to the police station on Lower Road, Mr Clare explained what had happened. ‘I spoke to Inspector Franklin at Scotland Yard and told him your story, and then introduced Jimmy. The boy did very well, spoke honestly and truthfully, and Franklin was quite persuaded. He came down with a team of armed constables and they went into Albion Dock. I gather there was something of a fracas, but they managed to take the Captain alive.’

  ‘And why do they need me?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Jimmy was right. Two of the gang members arrested have agreed to given evidence against the Captain. Franklin has charged him with the murders of four men, including Wilson and his older son, but he also intends to add a range of charges relating to the threats to you and your school, and the kidnapping of Jimmy Wilson and Billy Doyle. He will have a few questions for you about what happened.’

  He watched Grace curiously. ‘The Captain claims he is your cousin. Is that true?’

  ‘He had already left home by the time we went to live with Aunt Edith,’ Grace said. ‘I never knew him.’

  The police station was guarded by two constables in blue uniforms with long-barrelled rifles in their hands. They saluted Mr Clare as he handed Grace out of the carriage, Mr Gould following close behind. Inside the station there were more policemen, looking busy and determined. There was no sign of Sergeant Bates or any of the other officers Grace had seen when she and Mr Raikes had called.

  A tall man in uniform hurried up, saluting. ‘Mrs Turneur? I am Inspector Franklin of the Yard. Glad to see you, ma’am, and thank you for coming. If you would follow me?’

  They seated her in a small office, Mr Clare standing behind her, another constable sitting to one side taking notes. ‘Could you please repeat the threats the Captain made against you and your family and pupils?’ the inspector asked.

  Grace did so, and went on to describe the events surrounding the kidnapping of Jimmy and then later of Billy. ‘What will happen to Jimmy?’ she asked at the end.

  ‘You mean, because of his involvement with the gang? He is still a boy, and it is quite clear that he was coerced. No action will be taken against him. He is free to go where he wishes.’

  ‘And the Captain?’ Grace asked.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not much doubt about it, ma’am,’ the inspector said. ‘The charges relating to his threats to you and the kidnappings are serious, but they’re window dressing compared to the charges of murder. The evidence from the two thugs who confessed is already overwhelming, and I have men out searching for the bodies now.’ He looked at Grace, with sympathy in his eyes. ‘I hope this does not cause you distress,’ he said. ‘I understand there is a family connection.’

  ‘Is he here?’ Grace asked.

  ‘In a cell downstairs. You may see him, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Grace.

  She knew Mr Clare and Mr Gould were puzzled, and she was not sure herself why, but she needed to confront the Captain one last time. Inspector Franklin led the way down to the cells, her two companions and another constable following. The inspector pointed into one of the cells. ‘There he is,’ he said.

  Grace looked through the bars. She saw the Captain, manacled hand and foot, his clothes torn and ripped. His hat
was gone, and he had a black eye and bruises around his mouth. He had clearly put up a fight before being arrested.

  Slowly his head came up, and he saw Grace. A smile played around his battered lips. ‘Little Grace,’ he said. ‘Have you come to gloat?’

  ‘No,’ said Grace. ‘I just wanted to be sure that it was real. I’ll sleep much safer, knowing you are behind bars.’

  The smile deepened. ‘Don’t be too sure. The Bull Head Gang has been dispersed, but the bluebottles didn’t catch all of us, not by any means. The gang will reform, and it will begin again.’

  ‘But you will not be leading them,’ Grace said.

  ‘And for you, that is a pity. I spared you out of . . . family feeling, shall we say. Another leader might not be so accommodating. No, little Grace. You’re not out of danger, not by a long way.’

  The Captain paused. ‘There is one thing that might help. Even behind bars, I am not without influence.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Grace asked.

  ‘You could intercede on my behalf,’ the Captain said. ‘Inform the authorities that you forgive me for my crimes and have no wish to see me hang. The judge might listen to a plea from a cousin, who has lost so many of her family already. She would not wish to see her only surviving adult relative die as well.’

  There was a long pause. Then, slowly, Grace shook her head. ‘Once, I might have done so,’ she said. ‘I could forgive the threat to my school. I might even forgive you for the attack on Walter Ringrose, because he is going to live. But you crossed over the line when you threatened to take my sons. No, Captain. Those are my children, and I will defend them to the death.’

  She stared at the manacled man from under her dark eyebrows. ‘You are no kin of mine,’ she said. ‘I will not intercede for you, Captain. Indeed, I hope you hang.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘This is a bad business,’ said Walter. He was sitting up in bed reading a newspaper, a bandage around his head and a frown of concern on his face.

  ‘What is?’ Grace asked, arranging the breakfast tray on his lap.