by PR Hilton
Scuttle was a salesman for Ewbank and spent a large part of the journey trying to sell Harry the latest self-lifting mangle. The leaflet thrust into Royle's hand proclaimed the new machine to be so good as to be worth talking about. Harry was amused both by the sales pitch, as well as the machine. The journey passed comfortably and Harry Royle arrived at St Pancras relaxed and ready for what lay ahead. Shaking hands firmly, they parted company with the promise of a future meeting over a drink. But Harry knew this was an empty promise.
Chapter 5
Soho, London: December 1938
Getting to the capital was only the beginning, as Harry didn't know anyone or have any place to go. Royle had managed to keep his head down. His money ran out too quickly, and he had only been able to afford a room for the first week. After that, he had given it up, deciding that food was more important than shelter. He managed to wash and shave in different public toilets, but his clothes began to look shabby, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before either, he was spotted, or else would have to give himself up. He had been sleeping rough in different places for three days. Three long days without food and with only water from fountains and toilet sink taps. Harry was trying to get comfortable at four in the morning, in a disused shop doorway, just off the Old Kent Road, hungry and worn out, when voices startled him.
Looking up he saw a woman struggling with two drunken men. She was trying desperately to get away. Harry staggered to his feet and saw the fear in her eyes, as one of the men pointed at him and grunted at him to stay where he was. Royle hurled himself at the big man closest to him. The woman shouted out a warning and was slapped hard across the face for her trouble.
"Watch out he's got a blade."
Her words came just in time for Harry to twist his body to one side and only receive a slash from the razor blade. Royle's fist struck the man's jaw, sending him backwards with such a force as to lift him off his feet. Turning, Royle shouted at the other man, who, releasing his hold on the woman's arm, shambled off into the night. She came over to Harry's side, as he stumbled and held onto a doorway to steady himself.
"You're hurt, he's bleedin' cut you, we need to get you to hospital."
Harry Royle gripped her wrist, as he looked wildly around him.
"No hospitals, I can't risk it. I'll be alright."
"You darlin' look done in to me. Ain't you got no friends around here?"
The man shook his head in defeat and answered.
"I don't have a friend in the world, but I'll be all right. Never mind me. Did they hurt you, are you alright?"
She shrugged and gave him a thin smile.
"I'm fine, it's not the first time I'm sorry to say, but thanks for asking, it makes a change."
The woman struggled and hauled Harry to his unsteady feet. She patted his arm tenderly.
"I'm on me way home, and it ain't much, but you're welcome to stay, it's the least I can do."
Ruth Marker had a small flat in an old house on Poland Street. She lived up at the top of a narrow staircase and had explained to Harry, as she had half helped, half dragged him up two flights of stairs, that below was an old Chinese man and next door a coloured couple. Quickly stripping him of his outer clothes, Ruth discovered that the wound beneath was only superficial, as the layers of cloth had taken the brunt of the attack. She had run down and asked old Mr Chong for help. He had been able to stop the bleeding very quickly and had given Harry some traditional Chinese medicine in the form of tea. After the old man had left the flat, Ruth Marker had cleaned Harry up as best as she could, chattering nervously to him all the time. Royle hadn't taken much in of what she had told him; he had been too tired and too glad of a place to sleep. He had aimed for the worn flower patterned sofa in the corner, but she had steered him over to the bed. Keeping their clothes on, they curled up and with Ruth's arms around him, Harry Royle feeling safe for the first time in many nights, had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep.
The next morning he had woken quickly, the way you do when you suddenly become aware of being in different surroundings. Eyes wide open, he sat bolt-upright. He winced from the pain of the deep cut on his chest and remembered the events of the previous night. The woman from the night before swam into view. She wore a beautiful Chinese, jade green, silk dressing gown, it had two ornate dragons chasing each other across its surface. He noticed in the early morning light she looked much younger, minus her war paint. Harry managed a weak smile. The woman threw him a newspaper, which he caught in an instinctive manner, wincing once more.
"Not much in it as usual I'm afraid, just some Brigadier's daughter who's got the longest nails and a nice story about some old miner who's now mayor, but still signs on the dole, lovely he is, but not much else. I'm sorry Mr, but I ain't got no food in, but we can eat out if you like?"
Harry, half glanced at the paper as he flicked through its pages. He looked up at the woman in the dressing gown, who was now brushing her short black hair. He squinted sideways at her and asked.
"Two questions, first why? And weren't you a blonde last night?"
Turning to look at him, she laughed.
"Fellers like blondes and when I come off duty, the Barnet gets slung in the cupboard, that way she ain't me, you understand? As for why, well you looked like you needed a friend and I can't put me finger on it, but I just got a good feeling about you somehow. And besides all that, me stars said I'd meet something unexpected in me path this week, so I blame fate. I'm Ruth by the way. Ruth Marker."
Harry Royle got off the bed and ran his fingers through his sleep prickled hair.
"Harry Trent, thanks, Ruth, you're very kind."
The woman shrugged off the words and showed him where the shared bathroom was. On his way out the door she handed him a small wash bag and a faded but clean blue towel. He discovered not only soap but a razor in the bag. The water was cold and with no shaving brush, the soap refused to lather properly, and then his raw skin felt the sting of a bladed used to shaving legs. Still twenty minutes later, he not only felt better but looked more his old self too. Just as he finished his wash and shave, he heard a shuffling of feet outside the door and had assumed it to be Ruth. But on opening the door, he saw a bright face beaming at him.
The man was about thirty years old and reminded Royle of a Jazz musician he had seen a few months earlier. He had seen a number of coloureds on stage and even in films, but he had never spoken to one himself before. He stood frozen for the shortest moment and then couldn't help smiling himself. The man was instantly likable, Royle thought. He addressed Harry.
"You staying with Ruth? She is a perfect lady, you're a very lucky man. So am I, I have a bride of just three months, we are so smitten, I'm surprised she's not trailing me to the bathroom."
With this, he laughed loudly and disappeared into the bathroom. Harry, rejoined Ruth, who indicated that she had washed much earlier and was now very hungry. Over a cafe breakfast, Ruth explained that she had no sob story to tell. She was one of 14 children born in Limehouse and her lifestyle was a choice and not one for which she wanted pity for. Royle discovered over the leisurely eaten meal that Ruth Marker was a strong independent woman.
"I ain't got no Johnson neither."
Harry had looked puzzled at this, so she had continued.
"You know a ponce, man who works me, you know? Look I'm not bleeding well gonna spell it out for ya."
Royle had at last grasped her meaning and had felt embarrassed, considering how long it had taken for the penny to drop. He glanced down at his plate.
"Well good for you, a woman of means. I have to be straight with you, I haven't a penny to my name right now. I can't offer you anything."
"After last night you are two things, one me guest, and two, me friend. You ain't nothing else, believe me, I do what I want, any man tries running me and he'll feel a blade and I carry one, look? Last night those two were too quick and had me before I had a chance."
Royle followed the woman's eyes below the table
top and as she lifted the edge of her dark maroon skirt, he caught a glimpse of a small black handle sticking out of a leather upside down sheath. The skirt dropped and the man met her eyes once more. She continued to speak.
"So you see I'm a big girl and I know who I am and where I am. I owe nothing to nobody and you and me, well we're just us, ain't we?"
They both had smiled genuinely, and a feeling of warmth, previously missing had come into their relationship. A few minutes later, he was half-way through eating a slice of toast, with his mouth full, when the Ruth addressed him in a serious tone.
"Listen, there is one thing I do expect from you and I don't think it unfair, honesty. You be truthful to me and I'm ya girl, but lie and the door's over there. Get me? I won't be lied to, not again."
Royle took advantage of the moment, needing to chew and swallow his food before answering. He took in the humourless expression on the young woman's face and weighed the odds up of lies versus truth. He took a breath and decided on a gamble. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, as he answered her.
"Truth, well okay. First I'll tell you, then either you'll run, or I will and you might shop me or you might not, but our little friendship is going to be over. I won't lie to you. I owe you that much and a lot more besides. My name is Harry Royle, I'm wanted for murder and robbery. I didn't kill anyone, but the robbery I did do."
Harry, paused and glanced at Ruth's face, a face which was expressionless, as she listened. She indicated that he was to carry on.
"Why aren't you leaving or at least shouting for help? Why aren't you scared of me?"
Ruth Marker spoke very quietly.
"Harry Royle, nice to have a real name by the way. To be honest, you look scared enough for the both of us. You ain't no killer, besides killers always start explaining how it was an accident, they don't come out with it, the way you did. Then there's that face of yours, me feelings and, of course, me stars. So tell me how you come to be here on my patch Mr Harry Royle?"
Harry talked, he shared his miserable existence during the last months and she listened. Not once did she look disapprovingly or even interrupt, just listened. When the man had finished his sordid tale, the woman leaned back in her chair a little and slowly closed her eyes. Royle could tell that her brain was hard at work and as he was attempting to anticipate her next move, her eyes sprang open.
"Harry, I believe you, you ain't exactly Jack The Ripper now, are you? And if you was a ruthless killer of young women, why didn't I get your blood boiling last night? No, you're innocent of that, the other, well we do what we must in order to survive and I'm in no position to start throwing stones now, am I?
After the cafe, she took him to buy some clothes, nothing fancy, just enough to blend in with the locals and a new shaving kit. She also told him to start growing a Clark Gable. He had tried to argue against a moustache, but she reasoned that it would change him enough and besides, she liked the look. She also told him to expect a new name, as Trent wasn't him at all. That evening, Harry was introduced to the neighbours, Harvey and Billie, the newlyweds and old Mr Chong. There was also a hat check girl from a local nightspot, Jenny Crosby, who was Ruth's best friend. Jenny was tall, slim and blonde, with bright piercing blue eyes.
Royle had started the evening with an uneasy feeling. A feeling which only got worse after Ruth had introduced him as the infamous Harry Royle. On hearing this, his head had begun to spin and he had felt panic well up inside his brain. He had been even more shocked to learn that Harvey had been a sailor who jumped ship to be with his girl and now sold reefers for a living while Mr Chong appeared to deal in anything that was needed. Jenny was the girlfriend of local club owner and Soho gangster Johnny The Teeth Mangusco, who Royle had never heard of, but got the idea that he was not someone to mess with.
Royle sat down and lit a cigarette to steady his nerves. They had all gathered around him and explained that if Ruth said he was on the straight, that was a word from above, and he was one of them.
Later that night he sat smoking alone, sitting on the old sofa while Ruth slept. He thought she looked as though she hadn't a single care in the world. As he turned over the events of the evening, the conversation and the odd lopsided morality being offered by the friendly group, he became confused.
He knew that not very long ago, if he had picked up a paper and read about such people, people who had taken him in on just her word, he would have been appalled. Prostitutes, drug fiends and gangsters, these were the worst kind of people. Still here he was and he felt warm and comfortable, far happier than he had been in the little flat on Denmark Road. Manchester had been cold and full of even colder people, but London, no not even London, perhaps just Soho. He shook his head in an effort to order his thoughts. No not even Soho but the building, the house, these people were warm and genuine.
It made him question all he had learned as a boy, even as a young man. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps each person, each act, must be taken as the direct result of a chain of circumstances. Maybe there is no such thing as a typical this or that. Harvey and Billie were just a couple of newlyweds lost in love. He didn't deal in reefers for fun, he wasn't allowed to stay with his girl, even after they'd wed, and all because of red tape, no wonder the lad had jumped ship.
Jenny, the slim blonde hatcheck girl came from Surrey and her father was a solicitor of all things, but you can't help who you fall for. What is a gangster anyway? Harry scratched his head and tried to work out the answer to his question, but he just kept coming up with Sunday paper quotes and second-hand information. Whatever the true answer, he would get closer to it the following night because he was going to be introduced to Johnny Mangusco, and the promise of work. The work in question worried him more than a little. However, he knew that he really would start to feel like a kept man if he continued to live off Ruth and her generous nature. So beggars couldn't afford to be choosers, not this time.
The White Cat Club stood a little way off from The Italian Club on Charring Cross Road. It wasn't a large club and looked more like a shop with a little sign above the front entrance, something you would only think of entering as either a last resort or a means to stay dry if it were raining. The inside, however, was a different story. The club was much bigger than the outside suggested and the room spread out in two tiers, with a stage at the very back. There was a generous amount of tables and a handsome dance area, which was flanked by a long low bar. Just tucked inside the entrance was the cloakroom.
Jenny waved another girl over, as soon as she caught sight of Royle walk in. Jenny Crosby linked his arm carelessly and walked him across the dance floor. Couples were moving slowly, seemingly indifferent to the music playing from the bar area. The stage was empty, a small Jazz drum set crouched panther-like, ready to strike behind the microphone stand. Thick wooden speakers stood to attention on either side of the stage. Smoke curled in thick wisps around the ceiling and a stale smell of alcohol, tobacco and desperation formed an atmospheric cloak falling about the head and shoulders of the place.
To the rear of the stage was the small office. Knocking three times, pausing, and then knocking twice, Jenny pushed the heavy wooden door open. Before they could go in, a man came out quickly. Royle noticed he had blood running down his sleeve and a bloodstained handkerchief wrapped around his hand. He passed them in the briefest of moments and the woman didn't appear to notice anything wrong. Inside and with the door closed once again, Harry saw a dark haired man sitting behind a highly polished wooden desk. He wore a dark suit and had his hair slicked back. He sported a pencil moustache and looked a little like a professional dance instructor. The man smiled at Royle and waved Jenny back out of the door. In the corner of the room, two men leaned up against the wall. They looked to Harry's eyes to be like twin ex-heavyweight boxers, washed up, but still deadly, in matching dark suits. Both men bore the marks and scars of past beatings, obtained perhaps in a moment or two of now tarnished glory. The man behind the desk continued smiling in a failed attempt
to exude charm. His manner was both oily and grim at the same time. He was wiping blood not only off a thin bayonet but also off the surface of the desk.
"Mr Ro, sorry Mr Trent, it is a pleasure to meet you. I believe we can be good for each other, what do you say?"
Harry, glanced at the heavies and back at the man behind the desk. He took the briefest moment to decide on the best course of action and answered a second later.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know you and as for helping each other, well only time will tell on that one, anything else, well you and the boys can always try me if you like?"
Harry, couldn't manage even a weak smile, the thugs in the corner had him more than a little nervous. He tapped his foot in a steady rhythm on the wooden floor, which echoed in the confined space, and folded his arms across his chest. The other man's smile turned into a grin and beaming he waved the two other men out of the room. With a shuffle of shoe leather, a stray curse and a click of the door catch, they were gone. Alone in the room, the man behind the desk stood. He wasn't a big man, but he was a self-assured one.
"Royle I like you. You have balls and I do like that. You gave the boys a run and that's good. Could you take em? Don't answer. Me I think maybe you could. But that don't matter one bit, they think you could and that matters. The foot tapping had em rattled, me I saw their eyes. That and the arm crossing. Me, me you don't fool. I've had moments of uncertainty and moments of fear, you feel the shakes coming on and you either show em and they see a chink in your armour, or you hide the shakes in your hands by folding them and the leg wobble with a toe tap. You're good, you are also hard. Honesty, this I need, those two outside, they look good, but they're piss-poor. Between you and me Royle, they didn't even have a day to have had, if you get my meaning. But they scare punters and are good to dish out a slap or two. You, you I can work with. I know all about you, what you was charged with and the frame up way back."
