The Posing Playwright

by David Field

  The platforms looked like evacuation stations as smartly dressed clerks, office assistants, shop workers and the like alighted from northern dormitory suburbs such as Berkhamsted, Hemel Hempstead, Watford and Harrow, heading for another working day by way of the rapidly expanding Underground Railway. In the end Percy gave up the unequal struggle and indicated for the porter to join him in the waiting room to the side. He’d been pointed out to Percy after a painstakingly thorough search through records had identified him as the lead porter on duty on the day that the Holyhead Boat Train had left Platform Two with Lord Stranmillis installed in his personal Pullman carriage at the rear of the twelve carriage train. The porter’s name was Ted Bloxthorpe, and he was far from happy at being taken out of circulation while three northbound expresses were loading, and generous tips were there for the asking from wealthy travellers with excess baggage.

  ‘I told that uvver copper all I knew,’ Ted complained, ‘an’ I really should be out there, seein’ ter the passengers what needs their bags carried ter their compartments.’

  Percy extracted a pound note and handed it across with a smile.

  ‘That should cover your loss of tips. Now then — the Holyhead Express on the afternoon of Friday 22nd February. Do you remember it?’

  ‘That were the day what ’is posh Lordship ’ad ’is own carriage fixed ter the back o’ the normal train, were it?’

  ‘Yes, so I’m told,’ Percy confirmed. ‘I’m also told that you were the head porter on duty on Platform Two that day — that right?’

  ‘Yeah, that were me. Late turn, two till ten, the ’ole week.’

  ‘And did you assist his Lordship into his private carriage?’

  ‘Yeah. ’E didn’t seem to ’ave no-one with ’im, like most o’ the posh coves do. Yer know, like carryin’ their bags an’ suchlike? ’E seemed ter be on ’is own, an’ ’e were most grateful when I offered ’im a trolley.’

  ‘He had a lot of luggage, is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Not ’alf! There musta bin eight or nine bags in all — all them big ’eavy portmanteau things what posh folks carry their clothes in. They was soft, though, like they was full o’ clothes, an’ they all went onter the one trolley what I pulled ter ’is carriage, then loaded ’em in. ’E give me three quid fer that — biggest tip I’ve ever ’ad at Euston. Mind you, when I were in Victoria one time…’

  ‘And that was all that was carried on board for him?’ Percy interrupted him. ‘No food and drink?’

  ‘None what I saw.’

  ‘Did that particular train have a restaurant car attached?’

  ‘Yeah, the ’Olyhead Express always does, but there weren’t no corridor link between the Pullman an’ the rest o’ the train — it were just coupled ter the back o’ the luggage van.’

  ‘So if his Lordship had wanted a meal during the journey, could he get one?’

  ‘Only if ’e ’opped off the train at Rugby or Crewe, where it’d stop for a few minutes while they changed engines. But ’e’d only’ve ’ad time ter grab a sandwich at the buffet, even assumin’ it were open. The Pullman carriage ’e ’ad were one o’ the early ones, an’ while it ’ad a lavatory, it didn’t ’ave no galley fer cookin’ meals.’

  ‘And how long does it take for the train to get to Holyhead?’

  ‘Nine hours or so, normally.’

  ‘A long time to go without food and drink, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I couldn’ta done it, let’s put it that way.’

  ‘Nor me, I imagine. Just one final question, then I can let you get back to your work. Do you remember how his Lordship was dressed that afternoon?’

  ‘Yeah, like ’e were plannin’ on leanin’ out the winder an’ shootin’ at birds an’ suchlike. ’E ’ad on this big ’eavy shootin’ jacket, an’ boots covered wi’ them puttee things what keeps mud outa yer socks. An’ ’e ’ad one o’ they stupid ’ats what makes it difficult ter see whether yer comin’ or goin’, know what I mean?’

  ‘A deerstalker, you mean?’

  ‘Don’t know what yer calls ’em, but yer often sees ’em around the marshes where I used ter live out Essex way. Folks what’s shootin’ the ducks an’ geese out there tends ter wear ’em’

  ‘That’s just about all I need trouble you with for the time being,’ Percy advised Ted with a broad smile of thanks. ‘I’m heading back up to your head office back there near the entrance, and I’ll be sure to advise them how helpful you were.’

  Back in the office of Herbert Wainwright, Superintendent (Southern Division) of the London and North Western Railway, Percy was offered coffee and biscuits, which he accepted with grateful thanks, and enquired as to where he could obtain details of the journey that would have been completed from Euston to Holyhead on 22nd February. Wainwright leaned forward to extract a document from a pile on his office desk, which he then handed to Percy.

  ‘Those are the scheduled times, and so far as I know there were no major incidents that day, so the train should have reached Holyhead within thirty minutes of its scheduled arrival time. But you’ll find detailed records with my two counterparts at Rugby and Crewe. The Superintendent for the Midland Division is Charles Paterson, and you’ll find him in the General Office at Rugby Station. At Crewe, you need to speak to Solomon Johnson, since he covers the Northern Division.’

  ‘In each case, how would those in the office get to know of any delays or other incidents?’ Percy asked.

  ‘If it involved the train itself, then it would be from one of the guards,’ he was advised. ‘As well as changing engines, driver and fireman at Rugby and Crewe, they change guards as well. The guard from here to Rugby would be one of our own, based here at Euston, and if anything out of the ordinary had occurred between here and Rugby, he’d be your man. He would have reported it to us, and I can consult our records, if you wish, and see if our guard reported anything that day. It may take me an hour or two, but if it’s easier for you I can have it sent up to Scotland Yard on one of our mail coaches.’

  ‘Yes, that might be better,’ Percy agreed. ‘But I suspect that what I’m really more interested in is what may have happened well north of here. From what I’ve been told, the Pullman carriage that was attached to the train down here wasn’t attached to the train when it reached Holyhead, but the person who’d been travelling in it used his boat ticket in order to travel across the water to Dublin. Rather odd, you’d have to agree.’

  ‘Most intriguing,’ Wainwright nodded, ‘but once the ticket has been purchased the passenger can travel wherever they wish on the train, consistent with the class of their ticket obviously. But if your missing person had made arrangements to attach the Pullman to the train, then this would entitle them to travel first class on the train and a first-class cabin on the boat. He’d need to show his ticket as he walked through the embarkation point at Holyhead, and then again as he left the gangplank and walked on deck.’

  ‘But anyone in possession of that ticket could have done that?’ Percy said. ‘I take it that no-one would ever ask for identification documents, or anything like that?’

  ‘Definitely not. All that the Purser would need to see would be the class of ticket. Assuming that he was in possession of a First-Class ticket for that crossing, and gave his name, then your man would have been shown to the cabin allocated to him. Those allocations are managed by the Ship’s Purser, and since it was an overnight crossing, it would be a First Class sleeping cabin.’

  ‘So the man who boarded the train here at Euston need not necessarily have been the man who boarded the vessel at Holyhead?’

  ‘Of course not, as I just explained.’

  ‘And if I need to enquire as to anything unusual occurring between the two points, I need to travel to Rugby and Crewe?’

  ‘Again, yes, as I explained.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Wainwright, I think that’s all for now. And thank you also for the delicious coffee and biscuits. If you could send me a copy of any report handed in by your gua
rd on the Euston to Rugby portion of the journey, I’d be most obliged.’

  ‘Delighted to be of assistance,’ Wainwright replied, ‘and if you do decide to make the journey, let me know and I can organise an “All Stations First Class Pass” for you, which will entitle you to travel anywhere on our network during the duration of the pass. In exchange, please let me know of any irregularities you discover regarding our service that day.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Percy smiled as he rose to leave.

  ‘Make the most of these,’ Percy announced as he handed over the large warm parcel to Esther for her to unwrap ahead of placing its contents into the pre-heated gas oven, ‘since they may be the last for a while. I have to head north, as I always suspected I’d need to, since the first stage of Stranmillis’s journey back to the land of his birth seems to have been almost unremarkable.’

  ‘In what way was it remarkable?’ Jack asked.

  ‘He was travelling alone, with a great deal of luggage that one man on his own could not have been expected to handle. The porter at Euston earned himself an extra week’s wages by way of a tip in assisting his Lordship aboard the private Pullman, but why was he travelling alone, when he was so dependent on other people to carry his luggage?’

  ‘It makes sense that if he was planning to disappear, he didn’t want any witnesses who knew him,’ Esther observed as she spread the table cloth and handed Jack the cutlery to put out. ‘Do we know what kind of luggage? The family silver, perhaps?’

  ‘Clothing, according to the porter’s best guess, so that’s at least consistent with a man quietly moving on, like a snail carrying its home on its back. But he was strangely dressed.’

  ‘Strange in what way?’ Esther asked as she reached across to the draining board to where she’d transferred her notepad and pencils while laying the table.

  ‘Dressed as if he was going grouse shooting or something,’ Percy replied with a frown. ‘And yet, officially, when he got to the end of his journey he was heading into Dublin for a political meeting. He wasn’t to know about the brass band and all that, but one hardly attends a political meeting dressed like that. And if he was planning on stopping off for a day potting ducks or whatever, where was his gun? And why was he booked direct onto the night boat?’

  ‘He really had no intention of completing the journey, had he?’ Esther concluded out loud. ‘And would I be correct in speculating that his Lordship was dressed inappropriately for someone boarding a train at Euston solely in order that his departure would be easily remembered?’

  ‘Good point,’ Percy conceded.

  ‘I take it that the porter who assisted him knew him by sight?’ Esther asked.

  ‘Ah! I forgot to ask the porter that very obvious question.’

  ‘But,’ Esther persisted, ‘if Stranmillis was lumbered with all that luggage, and needed a porter to help him load it on board his carriage, he was clearly expecting some willing hands wherever he got off, and it would have taken a few moments. That suggests that the bags weren’t supposed to be heaved out of the train while it was still moving, but were intended to be unloaded when the train stopped at a station. Or somewhere else along the route.’

  ‘Another intelligent deduction, but unfortunately there are only two stations at which that could have happened,’ Percy advised her. ‘The Holyhead Express only makes two scheduled stops, at Rugby and Crewe. I’ll obviously ask when I travel up there, but if the man was intending to slip away quietly he wouldn’t risk such a public display of leaving his carriage — one that would probably delay the train and would therefore be reported by the guard.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’ Esther asked as she placed the sauce bottles in the centre of the table, along with a large plate of bread and butter, adding, ‘Let’s get this tea while it’s still hot,’ before lowering the oven door carefully with her hand wrapped in a tea towel.

  ‘I can leave whenever I like, but the sooner the better, I suppose. The manager at Euston can fix me up with some sort of pass that will entitle me to roam up and down the London and North Western rail lines as if I were one of its directors, and I’ll probably do it in two halves. Rugby first, then back here to exchange notes, then up to Crewe. Which reminds me, Jack — what have you got to report?’

  ‘Well, there’s no way I’m raiding any more Molly Houses, after that last farce. I spent the whole of this morning in court, telling it the way it was, and all afternoon licking my wounds and answering impertinent questions from those with nothing better to do about how a good looking young male colleague and myself happened to be in a Molly House when the police raided it. Tell you what, though — the name of Oscar Wilde did the trick when we were trying to talk our way past the doorman. But despite what the magistrate was told about the disgraceful scenes we witnessed, the place will be open for business as usual this evening, and as far as I’m concerned it can stay open. Just don’t expect me to go back there, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a shame,’ Percy grinned, ‘since I want you to sit in the public gallery during the Wilde trial when it starts next week. We may learn of some other good leads — and what do you propose to do with the ones I’ve already suggested?’

  ‘I’ve lined that Ross chappie up for tomorrow morning, although I haven’t told him yet. Then I’ll no doubt need to come home for a good bath.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I’m told that you wish to see me in connection with some important matter?’ Robert Ross smiled at Jack as he waved him into the vacant seat in front of a desk loaded with paper. The room was some sort of garret on the fourth floor of a somewhat faded building in Piccadilly that housed an insurance office on the ground floor and various professional offices on the floors between that seemed to share a reception desk whose guardian had announced Jack’s wish to speak with Ross. Ross himself beamed back at Jack with a rosy round face that reminded Jack of an eager schoolboy.

  ‘So what can I do for you?’ Ross enquired. ‘Are you by any chance an author — perhaps a playwright — or even a publisher? Although you look a bit young for the latter.’

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ Jack advised him as he held up his badge. ‘Detective Sergeant Enright, Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Will you blood-suckers never give up?’ Ross’s beaming smile was replaced by a crimson snarl, and he sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. ‘Isn’t it enough that I’m being forced to give up my closest, dearest friend? Isn’t it enough that I’ll be ruined professionally — yet again — when the trial’s reported? What do you leeching parasites want this time — or are you here to tell me that I’ve been double-crossed, and that I will be prosecuted, along with Oscar?’

  Jack took a deep breath. ‘I was informed that in exchange for testifying against Mr Wilde you won’t be prosecuted personally for anything you may reveal, and so far as I’m aware that position has not changed in any way. I’m simply here for more information.’

  Ross expelled a large breath of air, like an inflated balloon being released before its end could be appropriately tied. His face resumed its normal hue, and he attempted another smile. ‘Forgive that outburst, but you’ve no idea of the strain I’m under these days. No-one can, unless they suffer from the same — “disease”, shall we call it? I’ve heard it said that we homosexuals can be cured, and if so, believe me, I’ll be the first in the queue, but until that happy day I have to live with what I am — what I’ve been for as long as I can remember. The constant yearning, the constant fear of betrayal and prosecution. The attempts at blackmail. The gnawing fear that the beautiful creature that you’ve just met, and whose body you’ve just explored, may prove to be another agent provocateur sent by you people, or a blackmailer seeking to suck your last penny out of you. You’ve no idea.’

  ‘Of course I haven’t,’ Jack agreed, ‘and I’m sorry if my presence here has somehow caused you anxiety. It’s just that I need some information from you — information that perhaps only you can supply.’

  ‘Are
you about to ask me what it’s like to be one of us?’ Ross demanded defensively. ‘You wouldn’t be the first in your line of work to ask me that, usually with an accompanying snigger. Well, let me save you the effort of asking. Assuming that you don’t share my affliction, imagine for a moment that you meet the most beautiful woman your mind could ever conjure up. She’s your every dream, your every fantasy, and your entire body aches to know every inch of hers, to blend with her in an act of love bordering upon worship. Then you’re told that you can’t even hold her hand because the law forbids it. Perhaps she turns out to be your sister or something, but whatever the reason, society will condemn you to a lengthy prison sentence if you know her in the only way that every taut fibre in your body demands. That’s what I live with every day of my life, Mr Policeman, so go ahead and laugh, then get out of here!’

  ‘I have experienced something along the lines that you just described,’ Jack replied in a voice that shook slightly with emotion. ‘But in my case it was in connection with a woman, and I was most fortunate that she consented to be my wife. If she hadn’t, I don’t know what I’d’ve done.’

  It fell silent for a moment as their eyes met, and Ross seemed to crumple to half his size. Given that he had been somewhat diminutive to start with, he looked even more like a chastened schoolboy as he said quietly, ‘Let’s start again, shall we? And would you like some tea?’

  While he fussed about with the tea things at the small gas stove and table in the corner of the room, Ross was obviously still anxious and suspicious.

  ‘Did Carson send you?’

  ‘Not directly, no,’ Jack replied. ‘Since we’re being honest with each other, I’m prepared to admit that I’ve been sent to ensure that the — the “group” that you and Mr Wilde were both members of didn’t include anyone so highly placed that the revelation could prove to be an embarrassment to the Government.’