Dead Born

by Joan Lock

  ‘Good. Nella seemed pleased about that. Giving the baby the best chance in life.’ He paused before continuing.

  ‘Would you know who they are? I mean, if I wanted to give the child a christening present … ’ he enquired vaguely. ‘I did tell Nella I would, but … ’

  Berger shook his head. ‘We not know. Better that way.’

  Best sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  He’d asked enough questions – none of which had got him very far but had, he hoped, seemed innocuous enough. More next time.

  It had now been established that Nella had died from suffocation but that there had been no water in her lungs – so she had not drowned. It followed that she had not died in the Princess Alice tragedy. Best was determined to find out how and why she did die.

  ‘Look, I’ll have another try for some more money from the fund to help keep you going and I’ll come back in a couple of nights to tell you how I got on.’

  That recaptured his attention – and a certain amount of suspicion.

  ‘You are very good … ’

  Best shrugged. ‘I’ve nothing else to do till I’m well. It’s the least I can do for poor Nella’s family.’

  To Best’s surprise, when he sat down to supper that evening, Murphy was present – looking a thinner and paler version of his usually robust self. So much for his holiday in Ireland. But then, what ailed him was not to be cured by rest, good food and fresh air.

  One thing had changed: he was no longer quite so tongue-tied, at least not with Best, whom he continued to treat as his bosom pal.

  After supper, they strolled out into the garden for a smoke. The threat of rain hung in the air but it was not cold and the soft evening light was like a balm. Best enquired gently as to how Murphy was bearing up and said, again, how sorry he was about Martha. The Irishman proved eager to talk about her and soon explained something which had long puzzled Best. That was how they had managed to get to know each other, given Murphy’s lack of social skill and the fact that there was no obvious contact between the two houses.

  ‘She tripped one day as she was coming down the steps carrying a bundle. I was passing and helped her up. I was going her way, so I carried it for her as far as Upper Street.’ He paused then, with a sad man-to-man smile, before confiding, ‘I wasn’t really going that way you understand. I just pretended that I was.’

  His pride in making the most of such an opportunity was touching, but the idea of him carrying the bundle struck Best as decidedly droll. What, he wondered, would such a good Catholic lad, who always said his grace before meals, have thought had he realized that he might well have been carrying a dead baby? It beggared belief, as Mrs O’Connor would say.

  ‘She was upset about not being able to see her boy and I was missing my family back home,’ he explained, ‘and we got talking.’ It was surprising that the inadequate Murphy had been able to do that but, on the other hand, maybe he was better with women. Some men were.

  ‘And so you managed to see her again?’ prompted Best.

  Murphy nodded, pushing his huge freckled hand through his coarse ginger curls. ‘It wasn’t easy, you know. She didn’t get much time off.’ He stopped and gave a small smile which made his simple face more boyish and appealing. ‘I did take her to see the Mohawk Minstrels at the Aggy once and another time to Collins’s Music Hall - she loved that. She did laugh so much at the minstrels.’ A sudden sob came into his throat and Best patted his arm.

  Two of the lady ‘guests’ were sitting near the end of next door’s garden. One was knitting, the other reading a book, both were heavily pregnant. As the two men approached they had concentrated even harder on their preoccupations. Not only due to the failing light, Best guessed; they were here incognito, and very likely in disgrace, but when Murphy sobbed, the knitter glanced up in surprise.

  Best nodded to her. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘The light will be catching you out soon, I’m afraid.’

  The knitter nodded and smiled back gratefully. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ She finished her line, wound up her ball of wool and stuck it on the end of her needles. ‘Time to go in, Margaret.’ The other woman sighed, closed her book and began heaving herself to her feet. Best would have liked to stay and chat a little, but who knew just who might be noting his interest?

  He nodded again to the ladies before turning his attention back to Murphy. ‘Sad about Nella,’ he said. ‘I got such a shock when I found her body.’

  Murphy did not reply for a moment, then eventually muttered, ‘Yes, I suppose it was sad.’

  ‘Such a young girl.’

  Silence.

  ‘You didn’t like her?’

  ‘She was a bitch!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘Just a bitch!’

  Best was startled by the venom in his voice.

  ‘She was spreading terrible, wild rumours about the house – and about Martha! I could have killed her!’

  Oh, thought Best, good grief. That’s something I didn’t reckon on. But did you, Mr Murphy, that’s the question? Did you?

  Somehow he didn’t think so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Voices were raised. Male voices. Best strained to catch what they were saying. It seemed to him he heard the exclamation, ‘dangerous!’ then lower angry mumbling out of which he picked ‘pregnant’ and ‘no use now!’. In the background a woman was crying.

  ‘All Islington has been in mourning, Mr Best,’ Mrs Dawes’s lisping, pseudo-genteel voice was raised deliberately to drown out the invading sound.

  ‘Tch tch, what a dreadful noise,’ she exclaimed when she could ignore it no longer. ‘I expect it’s that butcher, Jones, disputing the bill again.’ She sighed. ‘These tradesmen.’

  She picked up a small silver bell from the occasional table and shook it vigorously. Despite her efforts Best doubted its tinkling sound would carry far but, to his surprise, there was a tap on the door quite quickly and the skivvy appeared around it. ‘Mary,’ said Mrs Dawes irritably, ‘do tell whoever is making that dreadful noise to desist immediately!’

  The girl looked confused.

  ‘Tell them to stop at once! We have an important guest in here!’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Dawes.’ In fact, the voices had now grown more distant.

  It was interesting, thought Best, that she hadn’t enquired who was making the noise. There couldn’t be that many possibilities and he was sure the local butcher was not one of them.

  ‘Oh, and do bring some fresh tea. And, Mary’ – she stopped the girl as she was leaving – ‘if Dr Helman is still about ask him to pop in here, will you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘He comes in to examine our lady guests,’ she explained to Best. ‘I expect you’ve heard about the service we provide here.’

  My God. That was one way of putting it but he was surprised she had mentioned it at all. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve seen some of your lady guests in the garden so I gathered this was a lying-in establishment.’

  ‘We like to call it a clinic,’ she simpered. ‘We offer the best of care to ladies in confinement.’

  Today, she was wearing a low-cut, black moire dress which made her look more like a plump pouter pigeon than ever. Judging by her ever-changing wardrobe and accompanying jewellery, care in confinement seemed to pay well. This, Best thought, is a far cry from the poverty-stricken, ill-fated Mrs Waters and her filthy establishment.

  He didn’t quite know what was expected of him next so he smiled and said, ‘When I first saw the ladies I was a little fearful, I admit.’

  She frowned and grew still. ‘Fearful, Mr Best?’

  ‘Yes, I imagined being kept awake at night by squalling babies! But I have not heard any crying. You must have a magic touch with them.’ Even to Best himself that sounded just a little too sugary but she simpered and laughed, causing her ample creamy bosom to rise and fall repeatedly. He wondered whether he was being reckless, bringing up the subject of the non-crying babies, but she
didn’t seem disturbed.

  ‘That, Mr Best, is because the babies don’t stay. We have such a list of eager adopters awaiting them. People able to give them a fine upbringing and a good life.’

  ‘So Mr Berger tells me. He speaks very highly of your service.’

  ‘And well he might. We found his granddaughter some splendid adopters.’

  Granddaughter? Best had scarcely digested this information when there was a rap on the door and, without waiting for a reply, a tall, dark man entered, wearing a black frock coat and striped trousers. It was the same person he had seen arguing with Martha in the garden – what now seemed an eternity ago. ‘Dr Helman,’ Mrs Dawes simpered. ‘This is Mr Best. The gentleman I was telling you about – the last person to see Martha alive, poor dear.’ She paused. ‘And, alas, also found Nella’s body.’ As she spoke, Helman came towards Best, holding out his hand. ‘I knew you would like to meet him.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ The doctor’s voice lacked enthusiasm.

  Why, thought Best? Were they still frightened Martha had told him something?

  ‘Such a bad business. We were devastated.’ The man’s fleshy hand grasped his and he placed the other one over the top and held it there as he shook it. Helman had a rich, whisky voice and breath to match. Clearly he had once been handsome, but now he was puffy around the eyes and his clothes had a slightly careless look about them. Not exactly gone to seed but well on the way, thought Best.

  ‘Oh, you must have been,’ said Best. ‘They seemed such pleasant young women although I admit to only the most fleeting acquaintance with them.’ Good grief, he was speaking like Mrs Dawes now. Like someone out of Jane Austen!

  ‘Do stay for some tea, Doctor,’ she said patting the couch beside her.

  ‘Well, I’m not certain I have the time … ’

  ‘He’s such a busy man,’ said Mrs Dawes to Best. She patted the seat again, this time in a more commanding manner. A timid knock on the door signalled the arrival of fresh tea. The doctor acquiesced and sat down.

  Best was still puzzled as to why Mrs Dawes had wanted Helman to meet him. Was she still suspicious? Did she want a second opinion? Or was she making sure that he knew that Helman was part of this set up? If so, why? He was still musing on this matter as the door opened. He looked up expecting to see Mary again.

  ‘Jessie!’ he exclaimed, at the sight of the nervous young woman holding the tray.

  ‘I couldn’t help myself,’ Best told Mrs O’Connor later. ‘It was such a surprise.’

  ‘And you supposed to be a professional dissembler, Mr Best. Shame on you!’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Isn’t it just as well they already knew about your acquaintance with the family?’

  He grimaced self-deprecatingly and nodded. ‘Mrs Dawes explained afterwards that she needed more help and Jessie was filling in till her time came.’

  ‘Oh, dear God, another one.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘It’ll be that father of hers.’

  Best was startled. ‘That’s what Helen said about Nella.’

  ‘Well now, it’s a common enough thing. I can’t see why you’re surprised.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure, do we?’

  ‘Huh,’ she replied and raised her eyebrows. ‘It seems to me there is surely a possibility there.’

  ‘But it wasn’t just that,’ he confessed. ‘What I couldn’t understand was, why had she asked me to tea again so quickly and why she brought Helman in to meet me?’

  Mrs O’Connor smiled to herself. ‘I think maybe I can.’

  ‘You?’ Best was startled. He gazed at his Cheshire cat landlady. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this. I was thinking that things needed hurrying along a little and that you’d been telling me I should make friends with those monsters next door.’

  ‘Yes … ’

  ‘So, I did make an effort in spite of my reservations.’

  ‘Mrs O’Connor,’ begged Best. But she was not to be hurried.

  ‘When that woman came out into the garden the other day to speak to some of her “ladies”, I popped my head over the fence and offered my condolences.’

  She paused. ‘It was the least I could do, don’t you think?’

  Best was sitting on the edge of his chair. ‘Mrs O’Connor!’

  She looked at him pityingly and continued, ‘Well, naturally, didn’t that lead on to you, and your involvement in the matter. Then to your position in life – we chatted quite a while, you understand.’

  ‘Position in life?’ Best was becoming alarmed.

  ‘Financial position, we’re talking about here. You know,’ she said as though explaining to a slow-witted child, ‘you being a wealthy man and all, and liking to invest in small propositions with quick returns.’

  He gazed at her open-mouthed. ‘What!’ he exclaimed half-laughing. He contemplated her with astonishment for a moment, his mind racing to grasp what she was saying. ‘Ah, but there’s a flaw in your story, Mrs O’Connor,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Is that right, young man?’

  ‘If I am wealthy, why am I living here?’ He looked around, ‘Comfortable as it is.’

  ‘Ah, that would be because you’re keeping your head down. That little business you were involved in, in the City. Mightn’t the authorities be glad to know where you are?’

  He gazed at her with astonishment. ‘So, that means if I don’t cough up something for their establishment … ’

  ‘And you’re very likely to – given that you’re a bit silly about money,’ she assured him. ‘Think you know a lot, you understand, but sure, you don’t really. That’s why I’m able to fiddle you on the rent.’

  Best could hardly speak for laughing. ‘So, if I don’t cough up, even though I’m a bit silly about money – they could “persuade” me.’

  ‘Well now, that’s about it, yes,’ she admitted, then sat back and folded her arms across her chest in a confident, housewifely fashion.

  When Best had stopped laughing he asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this beforehand? So I could be prepared?’

  She contemplated him with wonder. ‘But then you wouldn’t have acted so natural, now would you?’

  Best, not usually at a loss for words, was, for once, struck dumb.

  Cheadle and Smith were similarly affected when he described his landlady’s actions.

  ‘I think we could do with this woman in the department,’ chuckled Cheadle, who at first had been angry on learning that Best had revealed his identity to her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking what I can do with this opportunity,’ said Best when they had quietened down. ‘I can ask to inspect the premises.’

  ‘And get to talk to the domestics,’ interrupted Cheadle. In his estimation the key to all crime puzzles lay with the domestics.

  ‘I doubt whether I’ll get much from Jessie,’ Best warned.

  ‘Oh, but you’ve got to,’ insisted Cheadle. ‘She’ll know what happened to her sister. Use your charm,’ he said, not quite as sarcastically as usual. The man is softening, thought Best, no doubt about it.

  ‘And I’ll talk to some of the lady guests and, of course, in depth to Mrs Dawes, particularly about what happens to the babies.’

  ‘What you going to do about the money?’ asked Cheadle bluntly. ‘Did this smart landlady of yours tell you where that was coming from?’

  ‘Well … ’

  ‘The commissioner won’t give you none, I’ll tell you that.’

  ‘I thought I would tell them my funds are tied up for a few weeks.’

  ‘They won’t buy that for long.’

  ‘I know. But I’m sure it’ll work for a while. After all, it’s them coming to me. I never said I had any ready money, did I?’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘But if it becomes vital that I produce something quickly, I do have a promise of some help.’

  Cheadle sat up abruptly, ‘From this landlady?’

  ‘Yes; Mrs O’Connor has o
ffered to put in a little – a hundred or two – her savings – to keep things going.’

  ‘What’s her game?’

  ‘She wants it stopped.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Cheadle looked suspicious.

  ‘She’s a good lady,’ insisted Best.

  ‘When you say, “put in”, she realizes—?’

  ‘That she might not get it back? Yes.’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘There’s no alternative, is there?’ Best asked eventually.

  Another silence as Cheadle pulled at the ends of his once luxurious moustache, now showing signs of thinning. He sank lower in his chair as he brooded. ‘Don’t like civvies getting involved.’

  Best didn’t say anything.

  ‘All right. All right,’ the chief inspector agreed eventually. ‘I’ll ’ave to tell the chief superintendent and Mr Vincent. Who knows, they might be able to get the commissioner to cough up some funds to ’elp the department get back on its feet. Though ’eaven ’elp you if it all goes wrong and you lose it.’

  Thanks, thought Best. The usual, gracious support.

  ‘Where’s Joseph?’ asked Best, expecting Helen to say upstairs or out in the park with Mrs Briggs.

  ‘With Matilda.’

  Matilda was Helen’s younger sister who had caused them such grief when she had run off with the young Van Ellen. They’d thought she might have been murdered. Best had been given the job of finding her and that had brought him and Helen together.

  ‘What time will he be back?’ Best shouldn’t really be visiting Helen but he was snatching an hour after his Yard visit. But he dared not be away from John Street too long. Mrs O’Connor couldn’t be on constant watch and, anyway, there wasn’t much she could do if something happened. Thank goodness Cheadle had agreed to Smith coming in for short periods.

  ‘He won’t be back.’

  Best stopped in the act of removing his soaking wet topcoat and frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘He’s staying with them for the moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there are other children there to keep him company and because they are happy to take him.’ She paused. ‘It could be the answer to our problem.’