The novelty was more than a passing wonder. Eighty-four years earlier the American colonies had won their freedom from the mother country in bitter battle. Now the young man who would one day be king of England was undertaking the first royal pilgrimage to the land which his great-grandfather had lost.
Sergeant William Clarence Verity, of the Metropolitan Police Private-Clothes Detail, sat on his wooden travelling-box among the sooty brickwork and granite-rimmed breakwaters of Liverpool's Waterloo Docks. To one side of him, barefoot girls with dirty legs and women nursing babies at the breast, huddled with their shabbily dressed menfolk. The surplus population of England awaited shipment by steerage to the new cities of North America. At the opposite end of the quay, protected from proletarian intrusion by a pair of stalwart dockyard policemen, groups of gaily-dressed women in pink or turquoise silks, and spruce family men with trim whiskers, chattered and guffawed self-confidently. Many of them clutched little tins of 'The Sea-Sickness Remedy', thoughtfully purveyed by Thomas Thompson, chemist of Liverpool.
Sergeant Verity, in rusty and threadbare frock-coat, shiny black trousers and tall stovepipe hat, glowered at them all. His pink moon of a face, black hair flattened and moustaches waxed for neatness, grew a shade redder with portly indignation.
'It ain't right!' he said furiously. 'It ain't never right. And you know it, Mr Samson!'
Sergeant Albert Samson, red-whiskered and pugilistic, turned his eyes reluctantly from those of a dark and dimpled pauper-girl with whom he seemed on the point of reaching a distant understanding.
'There's a lot in this world ain't right, but what happens just the same, Mr Verity.'
He spoke with the nonchalance of one unaccustomed to letting other men's troubles bow his spirit. Verity swung round on his lacquered box.
‘I saw it, Mr Samson! In Superintendent Gowry's office. It was signed "Albert", in the Prince Consort's own hand, plain as I sit 'ere! He chose me for guard to the young Prince of Wales for the American visit. Mr Samson, ‘e been gone a week, so have the rest! And 'ere I am!'
'You was needed for the Volunteer Review in Hyde Park,' said Samson cheerily. 'The detail was short-handed as it was.'
'Mr Inspector-bloody-Croaker!' said Verity through his teeth. 'He was in the room when I saw that letter. Sick as the kitchen cat he looked when he knew it was me and not 'im that was asked for!'
Sergeant Samson looked noncommitally across the chocolate-coloured waters of the Mersey, surveying the little boats and barges, with their wine-red or ochre sails. Busy paddle-tugs fussed round the red-funnelled Cunarder at her moorings, where smoke and steam already seeped from her in thin drifts. Samson clapped a hand on Verity's shoulder.
Well, my son, you're going now, ain't yer? With me to see you safe and snug on board!' Verity was not so easily placated.
'It ain't the point, Mr Samson! If this boat should get itself delayed now, I'll be at the other side just in time to meet 'em all coming back. I was to 'ave gone from Plymouth in the flagship. Mrs Verity, and her old father, and the whole boiling of Stringfellows was coming special to see the show. A right fool I been made to look!'
'Draw it mild, old fellow,' urged Samson sensibly, seeking the gaze of the barefoot girl again. Verity snorted.
'It's Mr Croaker behind all this, don't think I don't know it! I tell you, Mr Samson, I gotta eye for 'im. Let him put one foot wrong, that's all, and I'll have him - by his privates!'
'Here!' said Samson, in genuine alarm. 'Don't you go talking like that round Whitehall Police Office. Not unless you want Mr Croaker to have you by your whatsits, and dangle you so high your feet won't even reach down to touch old Lord Nelson's statty.'
Having delivered this advice, he resumed his survey of the girls, while his friend brooded in silence. Presently Samson looked about him. His eyes brightened.
'I just got to run a little errand, old fellow. Shan't be 'alf a twinkling.'
'Huh!' said Verity, still nursing his indignation.
Scowling, he looked round at the huddle of ragged men and women waiting to be ferried out to a wallowing pauper ship. They had been joined by a group of Irish emigrants, soaking wet after their crossing from Dublin on the little packet-steamer with its open decks. The sounds of a fiddle and a hand-organ filled the warm August afternoon. A mellowing sun fell on granite wharves and the brick walls with their placards for lodging houses and their fading government bills, headed by the words 'Notice to Emigrants - Cholera', issued by the Colonial Office.
Even in his indignation and misery, Verity had been vaguely aware of Samson's overtures to the barefoot girls. But there was no sign of Samson among them. As an afterthought, Verity glanced towards the brightly-dressed women and the elegantly suited men at the other end of the quay, where they waited for the first-class tender to take them out to the Cunarder for New York. His eyes widened and his cheeks bulged as though with a sudden eruption of wind.
'You gone ravin' silly, 'ave you, Mr Samson?' he said softly and incredulously.
Samson was standing on the edge of the group, in close proximity to a girl in pink silk, her bonnet worn fashionably well back from her face, showing her features in the latest style.
'Jolly!' said Verity with throaty indignation.
There was no mistaking, even at this distance, the warm gold of her complexion, the slight seductive slant of her almond eyes, the dark hair combed back from the clear slope of her forehead. Even without a facial view, he would have recognized that neat little figure, the delicate whorls of her ears, the slim grace of her neck, the straight slender back and the trim young legs. Her very walk gave her away. Her legs were perhaps a little too short, causing her to move with quick, diminutive steps, producing a swagger of her rounded hips which was both absurd and at the same time cheekily provoking.
The thought that Samson, with his predilection for taking a series of 'common law wives', should have chosen this one filled Verity with dismay. Miss Jolly's appearance on the scene had been the unfailing prelude to murder, extortion, robbery, and the most grievous forms of bodily harm. He struggled to his feet and stood by the travelling-box, gesticulating with the entire length of his plump right arm.
'Mr Samson!' he roared. 'Mr Samson! If you please!'
A few of the fashionables turned to look briefly at the red-faced man who was making all the noise. He was standing at the embarkation point reserved for servants of first-class passengers and it was necessary to assure themselves that it was not one of their own domestics who was causing the disturbance. Samson approached self-consciously. The girl followed at a distance, recognizing Verity and halting just close enough to exchange glances. Miss Jolly's face was inexpressive as the Sphinx, except for her eyes which met Verity's with the stony immobility of distaste.
Verity addressed his colleague in a furious whisper.
'Mr Samson, you lost your marbles, 'ave you? You any idea, 'ave you, what'll be done to you at the Whitehall Office for this little a-moor of yours?'
'Yes,' said Samson impassively, 'I got a very good idea.'
Verity became persuasive.
'Mr Samson, I ain't never interfered in your private business, you know that. I'll allow that Fat Maudie might be a good sort - only except her language being a bit Billingsgate and on the loud side. Whether you married her Church of England fashion or not is between you and her.'
'You leave Fat Maudie alone!' said Samson sharply. 'She never done you harm!'
'All right, Mr Samson, but this one here is another matter. She been a notorious criminal and the only reason she ain't gone to the gallows is her singing Queen's evidence sweet as a linnet every time she was caught.' 'Be quiet,' said Samson wearily.
' 'ave you forgot,' Verity hissed, 'how many of the kings of the swell mob she been spreading her legs for? You forgot how she helped to empty the night ferry to Paris of half a ton of gold, and kill two men, and still twist her pretty neck out of the noose? You forgot how a few weeks ago she was party to blackmail in that Bond Street
stew? She'd have lured the poor young Prince of Wales there, if we hadn't stopped her! Imagine him photographed gaping, while Miss Jolly's bare backside was wagging at him over the footlights!'
'Be quiet!' said Samson threateningly, and Verity was quiet. 'I ain't left Fat Maudie, not even for this tight little tit. I met her here from the Euston train to see her safe on the boat.'
'What boat?'
'New York packet, same as you. But seeing as she'll be first-class and you'll be with the superior servants, it'll save you the distress of having to associate with her.'
'Hang on!' said Verity triumphantly. 'Hang on! This got a real ripe smell about it! Two weeks since, this little bitch was working out her time in Mrs Rouncewell's wash-house, down the Elephant and Castle. And now, all of a sudden, here she is! Dressed up like a fourpenny hambone and going to New York in a first-class state-room. Who's behind this bit of villainy Mr Samson, eh?'
'Superintendent Gowry,' said Samson coolly, 'and perhaps others more important even than him. She been brought here especial on the train by the police matrons. I shouldn't wonder if they didn't have a bit of a time with her in that carriage!'
'Mr Samson!'
'Well, yer asked, all right ? I was to meet her off the train, and now I'm to see her on the boat and see she don't get off again before it sails. Orders. All right?'
'But why, Mr Samson? Why?'
'Going to be adopted by a kind old Yankee couple.' ,Verity stood thunderstruck at the revelation. 'Mr Samson! How could you be so stoopid ? How could any of you ?'
'Whatcher mean ?'
'Three years back, Mr Samson, she was brought to England from India to be adopted by a charitable old pair. The same story. And what happened ? Haifa ton of bullion vanished into air from a scaled railway van with double-locked safes. A man was shot by a firing party for a crime he never committed. There was bodies in the river and me suspended and accused of murder! And that little bitch had her dainty hand deep in the game.'
'Excuse us,' said Samson coldly. He turned back to the girl and began to propel her rapidly towards the other first-class passengers who were now descending the granite steps to board the little steam boat which would carry them to the Cunarder at her moorings. Verity almost danced with exasperation as he stood helplessly by his wooden box and shouted after his colleague.
' 'ave you lost your reason, Mr Samson? All of you?'
The whole business was so monstrous that he could hardly begin to grasp it. Perhaps, he thought cynically, the authorities had decided to solve the problem of the almond-eyed girl and her criminal activities by shipping her off to New York, giving London a respite from her talents. The first-class tender puffed its way out to the liner and the expensively-clad passengers went aboard. Samson returned with it and sauntered towards Verity again. Conversation on the subject of the girl was now largely precluded by the presence of a dozen or more male domestic servants and their luggage, gathered at this point of embarkation.
"Now.' said Samson in his most business-like manner. 'Got everything, 'ave you? Got your beef tea? Got your pepper? You no idea how a good dose of pepper in the soup do help the sea-sickness.'
'I have been on a boat before, Mr Samson,' said Verity with all his plump dignity. 'From 'ere to 'indoostan and back. And to the Rhoosian war before that.'
'Right,' said Samson chirpily, 'off we go then.'
Verity and the rest of the group were to go out in the baggage tender. This was a small, snorting steamboat, now moored at the foot of the granite steps. It was piled high with the luggage of the first-class passengers, to which the boxes of the servants, and Verity's own, were being added by the porters. When this was done, the servants, followed by Verity and Samson, filed down the steps and went aboard. The little boat bucked and rocked across the anchorage towards the red-funnelled Cunarder, whose tall stack was smoking bravely in preparation for the departure. Verity looked back once, wistfully, at the outline of the Coburg Dock and the Adelphi Hotel diminishing with every throb of the little steam-boat's engine.
The dark hull of the liner towered above them, sailors standing by the lower deck opening to take the luggage in over the paddle-sponson as it was handed up from the ferry. Packing-cases, portmanteaux, carpet-bags and lacquered boxes were going aboard from hand to hand in steady procession. The captain, holding his speaking-trumpet ready, stood on the paddle-box above and watched. Then the smartly-dressed officers were helping the occupants of the boat up over the little platform of the sponson. Someone shouted, 'Ring the bell! Now for the shore! Who's for the shore!'
Samson held out his hand.
'Safe journey, old chum. There and back.'
Still torn between indignation and sentiment, Verity took the hand in a firm grip.
'Let's hope it will be,' he said piously, and turned to step up on to the sponson. He hardly had time to make his way in and climb to the upper deck, when the paddle-wheels throbbed under him and he heard the hiss of the wake as the dark waters of the Mersey were churned to a dingy froth. Far away, almost level with the Coburg Dock, the ferry boat looked like a child's toy on a great pond. But there was a figure in the stern, Verity could see, which was still, unmistakably, that of Sergeant Samson staring searchingly out to sea.
The voyage, however safe, was not a happy one. Behind the little door of the servants' cabin, well aft and deep down in the hull, were two horsehair slabs, on one of which Verity's box had been left. The cabin would normally have held a pair of manservants, but the workings of the official mind required that a police officer should mix only with his own kind. At first he was glad of the extra space, but as the empty days and restless nights passed with agonizing slowness, he would have been glad of almost any man's company. He thought affectionately of Sergeant Samson.
Apart from the narrow berth, the only other adornment of the cabin was a looking-glass with a small bull's eye mirror above for shaving. Other than the cabin there was nowhere to go except the saloon, and the after-deck, which was permitted to passengers of his class but which reeked of soot and smoke blown back from the funnel. The saloon was long and narrow with windows at intervals down the sides. It reminded him of nothing so much as the interior of a hearse. A few mournful looking stewards warmed their hands over a stove at one end, beyond the long dining-tables and the racks fixed to the low roof to hold the drinking-glasses and cruet-stands securely, in the event of rolling seas and heavy weather. A group of cadaverous footmen were playing whist, but the cards would not lie on the table, obliging the players who took tricks to keep them in their pockets.
Day and night, Verity lay on his horsehair slab and listened to the tramp of boot heels on the deck above. Late on the fourth afternoon, the distant sounds of a ship at sea grew louder. Every plank and timber creaked. There was a more violent movement from time to time, accompanied by clattering on the decks above and the gurgling of water in and out of the scuppers. The ship rolled and pitched until, without warning, she lurched to one side and the sea burst through the deck skylights and slopped down into the cabins below. Miserably, Verity resigned himself to a night of storms.
By the next morning he had made his resolve. He must find the girl, confront her in her state-room and frighten or coax the truth from her. Light-headed from sleeplessness he struggled to his feet and went up to the top deck. He had guessed that in such weather as this it would be deserted and that it would be easy enough to pass the barrier and gain the first-class promenade, forward of the funnel. He stepped out on to the wet planking, the sea still running high and the horizon like a black hoop. The first lifeboat had been smashed like a walnut shell by the gale. Part of the paddle-box planking had been torn away, leaving the iron struts of the wheel exposed as it whirled its spray about the deck. The funnel itself was encrusted by white salt, the storm-sails set, the rigging knotted, tangled, wet and drooping.
There was no one to be seen. Verity strolled forward, as nonchalantly as the conditions would allow. He passed the barrier and moved casually tow
ards the first companion-way which led down to the state-rooms. A burly figure suddenly materialized in what he had thought was the empty doorway.
'You ain't first-class!' it said.
'Stop a bit,' said Verity reasonably.
'No one been out this way this morning,' said the man, 'so anyone trying to go down must have come from elsewhere.'
'I got a special reason, a matter of business.' A second large man appeared behind the shoulder of the first.
'What business?'
With a sense of triumph, Verity produced his warrant-card and held it where they could both see.
'I'm from Scotland Yard,' he said proudly, 'Private-Clothes.'
‘I don't care if you're from Buckingham Palace,' said the first man, 'you're not first-class. You don't look first-class.
And you could have stole that card anywhere!'
'I'm a police officer!' said Verity with indignation.
'Not here you aren't,' said the man and closed the companion way doors.
For six more days, Verity lay on his horsehair slab and thought.
'Even Mr Croaker ain't soft enough to fall for the same dodge twice,' he said to himself. 'Then why the mischief is she sent ?'
He lay there thinking of the girl's past. Even her real name was a mystery. She was known professionally as Miss Jolly from the cant term for a 'jolly' as one who brought trouble in her wake. Her apprenticeship had been picking up Pall Mall clubmen in Waterloo Place and taking them to her room in Panton Street. Then her trim gold figure and dark odalisque eyes had given her a second income, doing harem dances before coster audiences at a penny-gaff. Her true proprietor, however, was Lieutenant Dacre, the cracksman of the famous South-Eastern Railway robbery, whom she helped to spirit away almost half a ton of bullion from its sealed van. She scuttled about her business like a frightened little mouse, knowing that she might hang for his murders if he were ever caught.
Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal Page 3
