Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12)

by Frank Howell Evans

  The cold in February was more intense than Londoners had experienced during the whole of the severe winter which had preceded it. The sky was overcast and the moisture on the roads had frozen hard, making traffic of all kinds exceedingly hazardous. The city wore an air of dreariness and desolation.

  The cold day made the landlady of the boarding house on Pollard Street give a thought to the condition of her tenants, one different from her usual idea of obtaining the maximum of rent for the minimum of accommodation.

  “The cold,” she said to her husband, who was busy replenishing the stove with coal, “is enough to frighten the wits out of a Scotsman. In this kind of weather I always feel very anxious, because it was during a winter like this that one of our tenants hung himself. That little trick cost us hundred and fifty shilling in good, honest money. You should go up to the top floor and see how they’re getting on there.”

  “Don’t worry so much!” the husband, John Clemens replied. “They are well enough. Old Man Davidson went out as soon as it was light and a short time afterward Will Platts came down. There is no one upstairs now except for Selma and I expect that she’s wise enough to stick to her bed.”

  “Ah!” answered the landlady spitefully. “I have made up my mind regarding that young lady. She’s too pretty for this establishment.”

  The boarding house on Pollard Street was one of those places, where unhappy men and women could find a shelter in return for some shillings. The ceilings were so low that the occupants had to stoop continually, while the windows admitted only a small amount of light. A bed, a rickety table and two broken chairs were the only furniture in the rooms.

  The young woman, whom John Clemens alluded to by the name of Selma was seated in one of those dreary rooms on that cold winter’s day. Selma was a beautiful young woman. Her long hair partially hid a pair of soft blue eyes. She had thrown over her ragged dress the patched blanket of the bed. She was crouched over the fireplace, in which a few sticks smoldered. She took from her bosom a dirty and crumpled letter and unfolding it she read for the tenth time the words, “Miss, you’re lovely. I give you my word of honor that this is true. The wretched place, where your charms are hidden is not fit for you. A house, worthy to receive you, is at your service in Wardour Street. It has been taken in your name. Think of my proposal and make what inquiries you like concerning me. My father is wealthy, but sickly. From four to six in the afternoon of the next few days I will be in a car at the corner of Five Square. Yours Always, Belvedere Skegness.”

  Selma didn’t appear at all disgusted by such a proposal. She was on the contrary pleased by its contents. “If I only dared,” she mused out loud. For a time she sat deeply immersed in thought with her face buried in her hands, until she was brought back to reality by the sound of youthful footsteps on the stairs. With the agile movement of a cat she hid the letter under her dress. Will Platts entered the room. He was a young man of slender figure, but admirably proportioned. His face was handsome and his hair style betrayed the native of the south of Wales. He had an aristocratic air about him. In her moments of good humor the landlady asserted her belief that her tenant was a disguised blue-blood. One who had been overtaken by poverty. His suit revealed the state of destitution in which he was. His shoes were well polished, but the holes in the soles told the sorry tales of long walks in search of employment.

  Will threw himself on the bed with a despairing gesture. “A failure again!” he sighed.

  Selma appeared to have forgotten the letter completely. The smile faded from her face. “What?” she cried, mockingly. “No success, after all your promises this morning?”

  “This morning, Selma, a ray of hope had penetrated my heart, but I’ve been deceived.”

  A silence of some duration ensued and Will was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the look of contempt with which Selma was looking at him. His helplessness had by now turned her heart to stone.

  “A nice position we’re in!” she said. “Yesterday Mrs. Clemens came to me and asked for the fifty shilling we owe her and told me plainly that if we didn’t settle our account, she would throw us out. The old hag would do anything to see me begging on the streets.”

  “Alone in the world,” said Will, paying little attention to her words.

  Selma continued, “I’ve sold everything that I had. We’ve not tasted food since yesterday morning. I tell you, Will, that something has to be done at once and I don’t care what.”

  Will took off his overcoat and offered it to her. “Take it and pawn it,” he said, but the young woman didn’t move.

  “Will, you’re no longer a child and ought to be able to look things straight in the face. What can I get for that coat of yours? How many days will that last us? And then what?”

  “Be quiet, Selma!” cried Will, suddenly aware of her anger. “You once had confidence in me and then you spoke in a very different way. In those days you loved me.”

  As Will spoke, he became more and more agitated, while Selma maintained her exasperating calm.

  She replied, after a short pause, “If I were a man, I wouldn’t allow the woman I loved to go hungry. I would do anything for her.”

  “What can I do?” interjected Will passionately.

  “I in your place would go into the streets and would earn money and care little for the means by which I made it.”

  Will smiled. “Sweetheart, you seem to forget that I’m an honest man.”

  “You mean you’re lazy.”

  “Why don’t you look for work instead of telling me what to do?” he asked angrily.

  A sound attracted their attention. They turned around and saw an old man standing on the threshold of their open door. He was tall, but hunched down a bit. He had thick eyebrows, long grey hair, appearing from under his hat and a long beard. His clothes were an indication of his poverty. He wore a greasy coat, frayed and torn. Will and Selma knew that he rented the back room and was called Old Man Davidson. The thought flashed across Will’s mind that the dilapidated state of the building allowed every word spoken in one room to be overheard in the other rooms.

  “What do you want here, sir?” he asked angrily.

  The old man didn’t seem impressed by the threatening tone of his words. “I would be telling a lie,” he answered calmly, “if I were to tell you that I didn’t hear every word of what you’ve been saying.”

  “Well, sir,” said Will, becoming red in the face, “now you see how poverty can drag a man down. Are you satisfied?”

  “Come, come, my young friend,” answered Old Man Davidson soothingly, “don’t get angry. I was listening to you and I said to myself, “Old Man Davidson, perhaps you can help this lovely pair out of the scrape they have got themselves into.”

  The promise of assistance from a person, who seemed even more destitute than them seemed so ridiculous to Selma that she could not hide her laughter.

  Will, however was touched by this act of friendliness on the part of the old man, though he was sure that he would receive no penny from him.

  “I would be a fool,” said Will hesitantly, “if I didn’t accept the offer of your assistance.”

  “There, then! The first thing to do is to have a really good meal.”

  “Yes,” said Selma, sighing, “but to do that, we need money.”

  Old Man Davidson unbuttoned his coat and took from an inner pocket a banknote. He unfolded it carefully and laid it on the table.

  “Five hundred!” screamed Selma, surprised. Will didn’t say a word. The thought that some theft had been committed at once occurred to him, which didn’t escape the old man.

  Selma p
aid no attention to them. The banknote was there and that was more than enough for her. She picked it up and smoothed it out as though the crisp paper sang a beautiful song to her ears.

  Will’s empty stomach and conscience were fighting a hard battle. At last he said, “No! Your offer is one that I cannot accept, because I feel…”

  “This is no time, Will, to talk of feelings,” Selma interrupted him. “Besides, can’t you see that our refusal to accept the loan annoys this worthy gentleman?”

  “The young lady is right,” said Old Man Davidson. “Come! Let us say that the matter is settled. Go out and buy something to eat. Fast, now, because it’s getting late.”

  At these words, Selma started. A scarlet flush spread over her cheek. “Late,” she repeated. After a moment’s reflection she stepped up to the cracked mirror, arranged her tattered skirts, took up the banknote and left the room.

  “She’s a rare beauty,” said Old Man Davidson to no one in particular with the air of one, who was an authority on such matters.

  Now that Will was no longer held in thrall by Selma’s presence, he began to be terrified at what had taken place. He also imagined that he caught a sinister expression in the old man’s face which made him very suspicious of the wisdom of the course he had been persuaded to pursue.

  “I have thought the matter over,” he said resolutely, “and it is impossible for me to accept a loan, which would be difficult for me to repay.”

  “My dear young friend, that is not the way to talk. If you don’t have a good opinion of yourself, the world will judge you according to your own estimation. Your inexperience has, till now, been the only cause of your failure. You can repay the five hundred shilling at your convenience.”

  Will shook his head.

  “Give me six percent on it and a signed contract. I’m looking at the matter as purely business, so we can drop the emotions.”

  Will had so little experience in the ways of the world, that the mere idea of signing a contract put him at once at his ease.

  Old Man Davidson, after a short search through his pockets, found a piece of paper and placing it on the table, said, “Write as I dictate, “I promise to pay Mr. Davidson the sum of five hundred shilling for value received. The sum is to bear interest at the rate of six percent per year. Now sign, Will Platts.”

  The young man had just written down his signature when Selma made her appearance again, carrying a plentiful stock of provisions in her arms. Her eyes had a strange glow in them, which Will didn’t notice as he was engaged in watching the old man, who after carefully inspecting the document, hid it in one of the pockets of his ragged coat.

  “You will, of course, understand, sir,” said Will, “that there is not much chance of me being able to repay you any time soon.”

  A smile of benevolence passed over Old Man Davidson’s face. “And suppose,” he said, “that I was to put the borrower in a position to repay the advance before a month had passed?”

  “But that is not possible!”

  “I’m not saying that I could do this myself, but I have a good friend whose hand reaches a long way. If I had only listened to his advice when I was younger, you would not have caught me today in this boarding house on Pollard Street. Would you like me to introduce you to him?”

  “I won’t throw away such a chance.”

  “Good! I will see him this evening and I will mention your name to him. Call on him at noon tomorrow and if he takes a fancy to you your future is assured.”

  He took a card from his pocket and gave it to Will, adding, “The name of my friend is Mr. Berrick.”

  Meanwhile Selma had arranged the table with one or two pieces of broken crockery and scraps of brown paper instead of plates. A fresh supply of coal crackled on the fire. In the eyes of both young people the spectacle was a truly delightful one and Will’s heart swelled. All his doubts were at an end.

  “Come, let us gather around the table,” he said delightedly. “This is breakfast and dinner in one. Selma, be seated and you, my dear friend, will surely share with us the meal we owe to you?”

  Old Man Davidson however pleaded an important engagement at the other end of London. “It is,” he added, “absolutely necessary that I see Mr. Berrick this evening, because I must try my best to make him look on you with a favorable eye.”

  Selma was glad to see the old man take his departure, because she could feel his piercing eyes on her as if he was trying to find out the minutest secrets of her heart, but still this didn’t prevent her from putting on a sweet smile and inviting him to stay.

  But Old Man Davidson was resolute and after impressing on Will the necessity of punctuality in regards to his appointment with Mr. Berrick the next day, he went away.

  As soon as the door was closed he bent down and listened. The young people were as merry as larks and their laughter filled the room. Will had in his pocket the address of the man, who was to make his fortune and on the mantelpiece was the balance of the banknote, which seemed to him an inexhaustible sum. Selma, too, was delighted, though she could not refrain from jeering at their benefactor, whom she called an “old fool.”

  “Laugh at me while you can, my dears!” said Old Man Davidson, “because this is the last time you will do so.”

  With these words he crept down the dark staircase, which was only lit on Sundays, owing to the high price of gas and peeping through the glass door of the landlord’s office, saw Mrs. Clemens engaged in cooking. With the timid knock of a man, who had learned how to behave in poverty, he entered.

  “Here is my rent, landlady,” he said, placing on the table ten shilling and twenty pennies. Then, as the woman was scribbling a receipt, he said he had inherited a little property which would enable him to live in comfort during his few remaining years on earth. Fearing that his well-known poverty might cause Mrs. Clemens to discredit his assertions, he took out his wallet and showed her several banknotes. This exhibition of wealth so surprised the landlady, that when the old man left she insisted on walking him to the door.

  He turned eastward as soon as he had left the house and entered a grocer’s shop at the corner of Bethnal Green Road. The grocer, thanks to a cheap gin, manufactured for him by a pharmacist in Barking, had achieved a certain notoriety in that part of town. He was a very stout widower, a former sergeant in the police. His name was Pinner. Mr. Pinner was so busily engaged, giving orders and seeing that they were followed, that he didn’t even notice the entrance of Old Man Davidson, but had he done so, he would not have taken too much trouble for so poorly dressed a customer. But the old man had left behind him in the boarding house every sign of humility and servility and making his way to the least Crowded portion of the shop, he shouted in an imperative tone, “Mr. Pinner!”

  Surprised, the grocer hastened to obey the summons. “How the deuce does the man know me?” he thought, forgetting that his name was over the door in gilt letters fully six inches long.

  “Sir,” said Old Man Davidson, without giving the grocer time to speak, “didn’t a young woman come here about half an hour ago and change a five hundred shilling banknote?”

  “Most certainly,” answered Mr. Pinner, “but how did you know that? Ah, I know!” he added, striking his forehead, “there has been a theft and you’re in pursuit of the criminal.”

  “Pardon me,” answered Old Man Davidson. “I’ve said nothing about a theft. I only want to ask you if you would recognize the young woman again?”

  “Perfectly! An impressive young woman with hair that you don’t see every day. Should I,” continued the grocer, “come with you to the police station?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Old Man Davidson. “I would prefer it if you keep the matter quiet until I talk to you again.”

  “Yes, yes, I see, a false step just now would put them on their guard.”

  “Just so! Now, will you let me have the number of the banknote, if you still have it? I want you also to make a note of the date as well as the number.”

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p; “Yes, yes, I see,” answered the grocer. “You may require my books as corroborative evidence. That is what we used to do when I was a copper. Excuse me, I will be back immediately.”

  All that Old Man Davidson had desired was done with the greatest speed and he and the grocer parted on the best terms. The tradesman watched his visitor’s departure, perfectly satisfied that he had been assisting a police officer, who had deemed it fit to assume a disguise and who would not interfere with his gin business. Old Man Davidson cared little about what he thought. He arrived on Five Square, stopped and looked around as if he was waiting for someone. At last he saw a detestable looking youth of about eighteen years of age. He was so thin and stunted that he hardly appeared to be fifteen.

  The young man was leaning against a wall, begging for money, but also keeping a lookout for the police. He had a thin crop of sandy hair. His complexion was colorless. A sneer curled the corners of his mouth, which had a thick, hanging under lip and his eyes had an expression in them of revolting cynicism. Old Man Davidson walked straight up to the youth and with a sound smack sent his hat flying.

  The young man quickly turned around, obviously in a terrible rage, but recognizing his assailant, he shrank back.

  “Is this the way you follow orders?” asked Old Man Davidson, snarling.

  “What orders? I have heard of none!”

  “Never you mind that. Didn’t Mr. Berrick, on my recommendation, put you in the way of earning your livelihood? And did you not promise to give up begging?”

  “Beg your pardon, guv’nor, I meant to be on the square, but I didn’t like to waste time while I was waiting. I don’t like being idle and I have copped seven pence.”

  “Menlowe,” said the old man, with great severity, “you will certainly come to a bad end. But come, give your report. What have you seen?”

  During this conversation they were walking slowly along the road and had passed Hotel Ollerton.

  “Well, guv’nor,” replied the young rogue, “I just saw what you said I would. At four fast, a car drove into the square and pulled up bang opposite the shoemaker’s. Dash me, if it weren’t a swell turnout!”