by Joan Lock
‘What problem?’
‘What to do about Joseph.’
‘That’s not a problem.’
‘Not to you, perhaps! Mrs Briggs has done her best but she’s not been well and I have my living to earn!’
This was their first row. She was wearing that stupid shapeless green dress again, he noticed irritably. The woman had no style!
He dragged off the rest of his sodden coat and hung it on the hall coat rack. ‘You have no right to make decisions about Joseph without consulting me.’
‘You weren’t here!’ she flung back. ‘And I had no idea when you would be back!’
Best removed his bowler and vainly tried to mop the wet from it with his handkerchief, but ended up looking helplessly at his wet hands and wondering where to dry them.
Helen stomped off into the kitchen and returned with a towel which she pushed into his hands.
‘I’ll go and see him in St John’s Wood,’ he said gruffly.
‘You can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ve gone down to Boxmere for a few days.’
Boxmere was their country house in Buckinghamshire. Best gritted his teeth and got on with drying himself, rubbing angrily at his wet face, hair and hands. The woman could be dreadful. How had he ever become involved with her? He knew some thought the attraction was that she was more educated and of a higher class than he, but it was more likely she’d caught him when he was still grieving over Emma – whom she could never replace.
‘I don’t suppose you asked Joseph how he feels about this,’ he snapped.
‘Yes, I did, and he was pleased. He wanted to go!’
Best glared at her. If he was, it must have been due to her coldness, poor boy.
‘Little Edward is his best friend – ever – he says.’ She softened a little. ‘You should see them together. It’s done him the world of good.’
Best refused to be convinced or to give way.
The corners of Helen’s mouth began to twitch.
‘What are you smirking at?’ Even he realized that sounded pretty rude but she began to laugh.
‘You look so funny, Inspector Best, standing there all indignant, with your hair sticking out in all directions and your face all red.’
He glanced in the hallstand mirror. She was right. He looked bloody ridiculous. Her now impishly smiling face appeared behind him in the mirror and his heart lurched. She was such a beguiling woman, so different from any other he’d known – that was why he loved her so.
Chapter Twenty
Jessie, taking in next door’s wash in the late evening sun, was a sight which unnerved Best. From where he was standing she looked so much like Nella – though not yet so pregnant – it was almost as though time had stood still. He wished it had.
But then, he told himself before he became too melancholy (a previously alien trait), you have another chance with this one. You can save her. Maybe he was being dramatic. She might not be in any danger. Well, at least he could help and comfort her. If she’d let him.
Since seeing the washing hung out he had been waiting in the garden for a long time in the hope that Jessie would come to collect it. By the time she did, he’d had to give up the pretence of painting, due to the fading light. Instead, he resorted to contemplative smoking and desultory squinting at the Islington Gazette, which didn’t cheer him much. Two more tiny bodies had been found locally, more elsewhere which, of course, brought reiteration of the cry that something must be done about it. He wondered whether they were wasting their time trying to stem the flow from this source when there seemed to be so many.
Maybe Helen was right when she had said child-dropping would only cease when birth control was fully accepted; men were forced to pay a decent amount to help raise their illegitimate children and the affiliation orders were made to work. He became embarrassed when she talked about birth control. It was not a proper subject for a lady.
Whatever the ifs and buts, there was still poor Nella’s death to avenge.
Jessie ignored him and he pretended that he hadn’t seen her. But, as she worked her way down the line towards him, unpegging, folding and placing the clothes and sheets neatly in the basket, he raised his voice and without looking up said, ‘I used to talk to your sister when she was doing that.’
There was no reply. He hadn’t expected any. ‘Of course she was much more pregnant than you.’ Again no reply, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her hesitate as she pulled out a peg. He turned his head as she came close. She looked pale and frightened. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and strolled across to the fence. He’d established that Mrs Dawes was not suspicious of him, indeed she had been persuaded that he was a bit of an ass, so he took the chance. ‘When we first met I heard this strange sound coming from just there.’ He pointed to the spot just below where he stood. ‘So, I came over to see what it was.’ He hesitated and saw Jessie stop mid-fold. ‘It turned out to be Nella – and she was weeping.’
The girl’s hand trembled as she removed the next peg. Eventually, she looked at him and said, ‘What for?’ Her voice broke and her face began to crumble. ‘Why was she crying?’ she managed.
To his alarm he realized Jessie was near to tears. He wanted to make contact and was using wiles to do so but he’d gone too far. This could ruin it. He adopted a more cheerful conciliatory tone; ‘Oh, it was about having to give her baby away. But she soon cheered up after we’d chatted about it going to a good home and having a better life than she could give it.’
It was the best he could do but it didn’t work. Her shoulders hunched over and she began to sob piteously. Best glanced anxiously at the darkening windows of the house. They told him nothing. Thank goodness she’d reached the end of that clothes-line.
‘Quick,’ he commanded. ‘Go to the next line so the sheets hide you! Come on – stand up straight and go!’
She struggled to stand upright and stumbled across the rough grass to reach the sanctuary of the next line of washing. ‘We don’t want anyone to see you crying!’ Best insisted.
He raised his voice again. ‘Keep working,’ he instructed. ‘And don’t worry. I’m going to help you. And, if anyone asks what I was talking to you about, say I was just saying it was a nice evening and chatting to you about your sister. All right?’ There was no reply, only muffled, choking sounds.
‘All right?’ he insisted.
‘Ye-s,’ came the word hesitantly.
‘Stop that crying,’ he ordered as though to a child, which was all she was really, ‘and keep unpegging that washing. Wipe your eyes on your sleeve. But if they notice your eyes are red, say you were thinking about Nella, right? And missing her.’
Another muffled, ‘Ye-s.’ The line swung backwards and forwards erratically as she made clumsy efforts to unpeg. ‘I’ll speak to you again,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’
He wished he could be as sure as he sounded.
‘We have several bedrooms,’ explained Mrs Dawes, ‘which of course vary according to what our ladies can afford.’
Best had noticed how bleak and bare some rooms were compared with others more warmly furnished and decorated. Even down to the last detail. The better ones had splendid oil lamps, the poorer had candle stumps in pottery holders. He reckoned there were six rooms in all. Not a lot.
‘I can get three in here,’ said Mrs Dawes, opening the door to a room fit to house only one non-pregnant person.
‘A bit of a squeeze but some of them are used to that at home or in the servants’ quarters!’ She laughed. She was probably right, there. ‘Of course, clients for these cheaper rooms tend to come in later so there is a quick turnover,’ she confided with some satisfaction. One fair-haired, rather wan girl was lying on the bed looking rather poorly. The room was chilly and there was no fire in the grate.
‘Don’t forget your duties, Jane,’ said Mrs Dawes crisply. Which answered his question as to how such ladies afforded the fees. Some of
it paid in kind. ‘A few odd jobs, you understand.’
He understood all right.
‘They get so lazy, just lying about,’ Mrs Dawes complained, as she was shutting the door.
‘Do you have to have a licence?’ asked Best, who was endeavouring to appear a novice on the subject. ‘Wasn’t there a law … ?’
‘Oh no,’ she replied firmly. ‘That’s only for baby-farmers. We don’t keep the babies so it’s not necessary.’ So much for the new Infant Life Protection Act – it only protected the still living.
Best tried to smile as he looked down at Mrs Dawes who was standing very close to him. ‘That must be a relief, no interference from the authorities.’ He sighed as though he knew what that entailed.
‘Oh, how true.’ She touched his arm sympathetically. ‘Not that we have anything to hide, of course.’
‘I’m sure not,’ he agreed. ‘This looks to me like a very well-run establishment. Unlikely to attract police attention,’ he said hopefully.
She touched his arm again and looked up at him, ‘And one very worthwhile investing in,’ she assured him. ‘Quick return, too.’ She dimpled at her little joke.
Jessie appeared beside them, coughed and said timidly, ‘Mrs Dawes – there’s a lady making henquiries.’
‘Show her into the drawing-room.’
‘I ’ave but she’s in an ’urry. Says she can’t wait long.’
‘Tch. Tch. Just as our little tour was proceeding so well.’
‘Mrs Dawes, don’t lose a customer,’ exclaimed Best. ‘I can come back tomorrow. I don’t live very far away, do I?’
‘Of course!’ As she laughed in response, her powdered bosom rose and fell. ‘We can have another tête-à-tête. I look forward to that.’
Best cursed inwardly at the interruption. He was just about to enquire about the strategies she used to find adopters so as to get her to make claims which he could later disprove. He would have to launch into the subject cold next time. Which was never so easy.
‘What about that little errand?’ Mrs Dawes said to Jessie as they descended the stairs.
‘I was just going, Mrs Dawes, when the lady come.’ And, indeed, she was wearing her little brown wool hat and shawl.
‘Get along with you then.’
‘Yes, Mrs Dawes.’
It seemed the arrival of this ‘lady’ had disrupted the plans of others as well. As Best passed the drawing-room door he glanced in crossly to catch a glimpse of the woman Mrs Dawes was greeting. As he did so he nearly died of shock. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a blessing that Mrs Dawes had her back to him and Jessie had already left.
What in God’s name was going on! Why had Helen come here! She couldn’t be pregnant. Could she? The very idea rocked him to his core. Why not, he finally asked himself? What did he know about what she had been doing in Paris? The French were so much more casual about these matters – and wasn’t it she who had defended places like these? But, no. It was impossible. Unbelievable! But the more he thought about it the more he realized that it was possible. Helen enjoyed defying convention. He was sick at heart.
Jessie had turned left as she left the house, then, at the last moment, she turned left again into Liverpool Road. His heart sank even more when he realized she was carrying a bundle. He must follow, mind whirling, doubts assailing him, being dismissed then arising again.
Think straight, man, think straight, he admonished himself. What other reason could Helen have for being there? Enquiring for a friend? But who? And surely she wouldn’t really countenance such a place?
But hadn’t she said they were inevitable? Gone on about women being dragged down by the number of children they had to bear? Not her sister, surely. They had money enough. But would she come to a place right next door to where Best was keeping watch? Was she trying to taunt him? Then a sickening thought struck him: he had never told her the address, not even the exact whereabouts of the house.
Jessie’s step was quickening but he still managed to keep her woolly bobble in view amongst the other pedestrians. But then, suddenly, the bobble was gone.
He looked around desperately. Oh no, he’d been too eager to keep his distance and, let’s face it, too preoccupied. He was going to mess it up again! Then, as the tram in front moved along, he spied her in the middle of the road waiting for a space in the traffic to complete her crossing.
He crossed further up and, this time, once she’d made it to the other side, closed the gap between them. Putting the business of Helen to the back of his mind and concentrating on his quarry was difficult. She’d said they should hurry things up. That was it. She was trying to help him with his investigation, getting inside information. That brought him inexorably back to the fact that she didn’t know the whereabouts of the suspect house.
Jessie had passed the first row of the Laycock Farm cattle lairs when suddenly she turned down, into Laycock Yard, and continued alongside more pens. Then she glanced around furtively, causing Best to duck behind a parked cart.
When he emerged, she had gone.
He hurried forward in time to catch sight of her walking between the stables and workshops of the London General Omnibus Manufactory. What was she doing there? Not, he hoped, what he suspected. If so, what on earth was he going to do in response?
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Hello Jessie,’ said Best, as the nervous young girl emerged from the stables. ‘What have you been doing?’
She started and looked up at him with fright in her eyes as though caught red-handed doing something very wrong. Then the old Jessie resurfaced.
‘Nuffink,’ she said defiantly. ‘I ain’t been doing nuffink!’
‘Then why were you in there?’ He glanced over her, into the stable. ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ He took her arm and tried to guide her back in but she resisted.
‘T’ain’t no business of yours but if you really want to know I was taken short,’ she said sulkily. ‘I ’ad to go. Couldn’t ’elp it.’
Best shook his head and began exerting some pressure on her arm. ‘I don’t think that’s true, Jessie, do you?’
‘Yes, it is!’ She was near to tears now but she stared him out. ‘Anyway, ’ow do you know?’
‘I know because when you went in you were carrying a bundle. Now, you’re not.’
She began to tremble. ‘Oh Gawd!’ she exclaimed, tears spilling over. ‘Oh Gawd! They’ll ’ang me!’
‘Have you killed anyone?’ he asked sharply.
‘No! No!’
‘Well then, they won’t hang you.’ He knew that was not necessarily so. They’d hanged Mrs Waters without proving she had even meant to do the babies harm and only at the last minute had they commuted the death sentence on her sister – whom some felt was more blameworthy. ‘But, if I’m right about what’s in that bundle, this is very serious. You’re what’s called an accessory after the fact! So you’d better start telling me the truth!’
She began to wail loudly. ‘I ’ad to do what she said! I couldn’t ’elp it. I didn’t do no wrong.’
Best looked around nervously to check whether the noise had attracted any attention from the workshop. So far, no sign. He pushed her into the empty stable.
At first he could see nothing but as his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness he spotted a lumpiness in the straw in the right-hand corner.
She was trying to pull away now and threatening to become hysterical. He held on tightly and dragged her over to the tell tale mound where he pushed aside the straw. There it was – the pathetic, naked corpse of a newborn baby boy.
‘Mrs Dawes said I ’ad to take the shawl back,’ she whined piteously and began to struggle more desperately.
‘Shut up!’ he commanded sharply. ‘Just shut up while I decide what to do with you.’
Right from the start he had been hoping to see what he had just witnessed – someone dumping a baby’s body. But, had Mrs Dawes wanted to place him in an appalling quandary she couldn’t have managed it
better. He didn’t want to see this young girl suffering years of hard labour in prison, or worse, the death penalty. Besides, as things stood, she would be much more use to him inside 7 John Street, helping him solve a more serious murder – that of her sister, Nella.
On the other hand, he had found a body. As a police officer he had no choice but to act on that fact. Call other authorities, arrest the girl, charge her …
Jessie had given up her noisy protestations and was whimpering quietly in a corner. She was a pathetic sight. Her pregnancy was becoming more apparent in the thickening waist and expanding curve of her stomach. She was wide-eyed, pale and shivering due not only to fright but also the inadequacy of her thin cotton dress and worn woollen shawl. No wonder she had also wrapped the shawl which had held the baby over the top of her own.
‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘Pull yourself together and let’s go.’
He’d made a decision, right or wrong. He would probably regret it bitterly but somehow he was past caring.
‘So who is the father of your baby?’
Jessie looked sullen but Best had the upper hand now.
‘The boy next door,’ she offered unconvincingly.
‘You’re lying!’ snapped Best. ‘I’m risking a lot to help you and you’re still lying to me.’
He had given tuppence to a small boy to take an anonymous message to the nearest policeman or police station, telling them the whereabouts of the latest small corpse. He was still in a terrible quandary about what to do next.
While he’d seen Jessie deposit the body he had not yet arrested her – despite the fact that this was the breakthrough they had been awaiting for so long. Cheadle’s reaction didn’t bear contemplation. That long-awaited promotion would be rescinded and it would be back to the beat – if he was lucky. But more like the sack – or even prison – particularly if the baby had clearly been murdered.
But if he hadn’t done his duty in that respect he was determined to make use of his hold over Jessie to extract the truth from her.
