The Lodger

by Mary Jane Staples

  The knock on her door came just before seven o’clock. Heavens, she had been inundated with knocks lately. Who was it this time? Sergeant Chamberlain? He had said he would look in on her. Well, she had a few things to say to that gentleman.

  It wasn’t him, however. It was a young man from the East Street market, the twenty-year-old son of a stallholder. She bought much of her greengrocery from the stall.

  ‘Hello, Alf,’ she said.

  ‘I dunno about ’ello, missus,’ said Alf Barker, ‘I just come from the police station. Me old man said I’d best go and get it sorted out.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Emma.

  ‘You know what I’m talkin’ about, don’t yer, Mrs Carter?’

  ‘I can guess,’ said Emma. ‘Come in for a moment.’ He came in. She closed the door. ’Alf, was it you, then, last Friday night?’

  ‘Blimey, didn’t yer know it was?’ said Alf, a well-built young man. ‘When I read about it this mornin’, I didn’t give it too much thought. Well, it didn’t give yer name, it only said a woman ’ad been follered ’ome by some geezer considered suspicious, an’ the police was askin’ ’im to clear hisself. I knew it wasn’t me. Well, I thought it wasn’t. I never been suspicious in me life. But me old man started thinkin’ about it this afternoon, ’e thought about what time I’d got ’ome, an’ which way I’d come. I’d been to see me girl friend in Amelia Street, I walked ’ome from there to Brownin’ Street, then up King an’ Queen Street. That made me old man think some more. ’E asked did I see a woman. I said I’d seen you. Mind, I didn’t know it was you at first, it was dark most of the way. Then comin’ up King an’ Queen Street, I said to meself, that’s Mrs Carter, she’s out a bit late, considerin’ what’s been goin’ on. I started to catch you up an’ said goodnight to you just as you was closin’ yer front door. Didn’t you ’ear me? I suppose you couldn’t ’ave, seein’ you didn’t say so to the police, which put me in shoes that didn’t fit an’ was uncomfortable as well. I did speak, yer know, I said, ‘’Ello, Mrs Carter, goodnight to yer.’

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, Alf, I really wish the police had accepted my suggestion that it was just someone going innocently home,’ said Emma, ‘but they’re so pernickety.’

  ‘Well, they can’t leave stones unturned, yer see,’ said Alf. ‘You bein’ a good customer, me old man said I’d best go to the station an’ get it sorted out, which I just did. Mind, I said to me old man I dunno ’ow it was yer didn’t know it was me, not when I’d said goodnight out loud. The police said I couldn’t ’ave been loud enough.’

  Had Nicholas been present he might, at this point, have suspected Emma of actually looking guilty.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Alf, I really am. I suppose I was just so glad to get indoors that my hearing failed me. Oh, well, we women are silly, aren’t we?’

  ‘You ain’t, Mrs Carter,’ said Alf. ‘Me old man noticed yer name in the paper a while ago, when you made yerself ’eard at some suffragettes’ meetin’. Sensible gel, he said you was.’

  ‘What happened at the police station?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Blimey, they didn’t ’alf make a meal of me partic’lars,’ said Alf, ‘me that’s been straight up and all square since me borning day. I told ’em what I ’ad to tell ’em about Friday night, an’ then all about me life’s work an’ me comings an’ goings. Then they said I could go, that I was in the clear.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Emma, ‘I’m glad you had the courage to go and sort it out with them.’

  ‘Well all right, Mrs Carter, no ’ard feelings, I can understand why you was dead scared.’

  ‘Many thanks, Alf, for letting me know.’

  ‘The rozzers said I’d better come an’ see yer.’

  ‘Yes, thanks very much,’ said Emma, her smile rueful as she let him out. ‘Oh, I hope you won’t mention my name to people, or everyone will be gaping and gawping at me.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Alf, ‘the police told me I’d got to treat it ’ighly confidential.’

  ‘That’s a relief, thanks again, Alf,’ said Emma, and he went on his way.

  Twenty minutes later, there was yet another knock. This time it was the gentleman to whom she had a few things to say.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I’ll give you good evening,’ said Emma.

  ‘That sounds as if I’m in hot water.’

  ‘You are. But come in, so that I can boil you in private and not on the step.’ Nicholas stepped in. She closed the door and addressed him. ‘You wretch,’ she said. ‘Having done my duty by reporting the incident on Friday night, my reward is to have van loads of Scotland Yard men descend on me. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? What do you mean by sending your po-faced Inspector Greaves and his assistant to bully me in my peaceful little home?’

  ‘Sergeants don’t send inspectors, Mrs Carter, they run about for them.’

  ‘Serve you right,’ said Emma. ‘Look what it led to, total embarrassment for a young acquaintance of mine, Alf Barker.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been informed Mr Barker was able to clear himself,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s why I’m here, to let you know officially that that particular matter has been settled.’

  ‘Really, Sergeant Chamberlain, must you talk like a police notebook?’

  ‘I frequently have to.’

  ‘You’ve a lot to answer for,’ said Emma, ‘poor Alf was most upset.’

  Nicholas eyed her severely, ‘Are you playing games with me, Mrs Carter?’

  Emma looked astonished, ‘I don’t play games,’ she said, ‘I’m far too serious a person.’

  ‘A likely story,’ said Nicholas. She wrinkled her nose at him like a girl. He wanted to laugh, but managed to keep a straight face. ‘You reported being followed home. That meant we had to make enquiries. So what’s this little Miss Madam act all about?’

  ‘Little Miss Madam? Heavens,’ exclaimed Emma, ‘what an abusive question. I shan’t answer it. I’ll put it down to the strain you’re under. Perhaps you could force yourself to sit down while I make a pot of tea. Would you like some tea and a slice of home-made cake? It’s cherry cake.’

  ‘Cherry cake? I can’t say no to that.’

  ‘How kind.’ Emma wondered exactly what was happening to her, and why she had been lately thinking there had to be other things in her life besides women’s suffrage. ‘Well, please sit down while I go and make the tea.’

  In the kitchen she found herself humming a song.

  Over tea and cake, Nicholas forgot some of his frustrations. He said all the right things about her cake. Emma asked what his interests were outside of his duties. He could have said his prevailing interest right now was herself. He frankly found her utterly engaging.

  ‘I like watching county cricket at the Oval,’ he said. ‘How about you, how are you getting on in your campaign against militancy?’

  Emma said she had high hopes, but that so much of her spare time was taken up by her pursuit of women’s emancipation that she was afraid she was turning into a very dull person.

  ‘You’ve probably noticed that,’ she said.

  He laughed, and it made her think that he was really a very nice man.

  ‘If you’re dull, I’m the king of cabbages,’ he said.

  ‘No, but I really must find time to enjoy some social pleasures,’ said Emma. Pointedly, she thought.

  ‘Good for all of us,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘I’m quite fond of the music hall, you know.’

  ‘Who isn’t?’

  Bother him, thought Emma, I’m trying to make up for cold-shouldering him and he isn’t taking the bait.

  ‘It’s ages since I’ve been,’ she said.

  ‘Well, Marie Lloyd is on at the Alhambra this week,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Really?’ said Emma. ‘I’ve never seen Marie Lloyd.’

  ‘Someone ought to help you put that right. Can’t you get your friend to take you?’

  ‘My friend’s away all this week.’ The
little white lie slipped out all too easily.

  ‘All week? With Marie Lloyd in the West End? I call that very inconsiderate.’

  ‘I can’t go on my own,’ said Emma, ‘you won’t allow me to.’

  ‘Could I do the next best thing?’ asked Nicholas. ‘Could I stand in for your friend?’

  ‘Why, Sergeant Chamberlain, how kind of you, I can freely forgive you now for landing Inspector Greaves on my doorstep.’

  ‘I’m not falling for that,’ smiled Nicholas, ’especially as I’ve excused you for not hearing Alf Barker when he said goodnight to you.’

  ‘Oh dear, yes,’ said Emma, ‘it would have saved so much bother if I had heard him. But in my agitation – I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s be relieved that you aren’t a marked woman, after all,’ said Nicholas, then noted again the brightness of her hair. ‘At least, I hope you’re not.’

  ‘Oh, I feel you’re taking quite good care of me,’ said Emma, tongue in cheek.

  ‘Do you like living alone?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘It hasn’t worried me up till now, and I’ve never felt alone, not pathetically alone. One doesn’t, not in Walworth. Walworth hums with life and people. It’s like a beehive.’

  ‘Who’s the queen?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Mrs Ruby Mason,’ said Emma.

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Walworth’s Pearly Queen,’ said Emma, and laughed.

  They parted on very friendly terms later, having arranged the visit to the Alhambra for Saturday evening. Emma wondered, however, if in making up for being ungracious, she wasn’t digging a pit for herself. His interest in her was so obvious. To encourage him was to ask to be pursued. A pursuing policeman would probably be difficult to shake off. Oh, dear. A little laugh escaped her. Saturday evening suddenly seemed very appealing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The professionalism of Inspector Greaves was under strain. He always used tried and proven method in his approach to detection and solution, in the justified belief that in most cases things eventually fell into place. But nothing was falling into place in the case of the Southwark Strangler. Every lead had led nowhere. He and his team had ended up in blind alleys. The stack of reports grew higher daily until it began to look like the proverbial haystack.

  Somewhere in that haystack, thought Nicholas, was the proverbial needle, the vital clue whose importance had been overlooked. He had a feeling about that just as much as he had a feeling the man was going to strike again. He suggested to the Inspector that if the man was single, his parents must either be unimaginative or mistakenly protective. And if married, the same applied to his wife.

  ‘I put it to you, my lad,’ said the Inspector heavily, ‘that he’s clever enough to keep ’is better half ignorant of his excursions.’

  ‘That’s a point,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Bloody obvious, I’d have thought.’

  The gas collector called at Emma’s house on Thursday afternoon, fifteen minutes before she was due to go out.

  ‘Afternoon, madam, read your meter?’ said Herbert Stephens.

  ‘You’re new,’ said Emma.

  He smiled beneath his smart peaked cap. She felt she had seen him before.

  ‘They’re all saying that, Mrs Carter. That right, you are Mrs Carter?’ He referred to his book.

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma, ‘come in.’

  ‘I’ve just taken over this round, and I’ve been meeting my new customers this week.’

  ‘I hope you’re finding we’re all satisfactory. The meter’s here.’ She led the way. The meter was mounted above her kitchen door. ‘Have we met before?’

  He looked enquiringly at her. He saw a nicely-dressed charming woman, with bright braided hair. He smiled broadly, ‘I’ve got you now, Mrs Carter. Hurlocks. Right?’

  ‘A beige blouse for your wife, and a pair of silk stockings as an extra, a birthday surprise,’ said Emma.

  ‘You should have seen her face,’ said Stephens. ‘She nearly fell over herself, she was that tickled.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Emma. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on with emptying the meter.’ She went into her kitchen. The man took longer than the previous collector usually did.

  Calling her eventually, he said, ‘You’ve only got tuppence comin’ back to you Mrs Carter, and it took me a while to empty it. There’s something wrong with the works. It’s registering the output all right, but the input system needs seeing to. Have you had trouble getting the pennies to drop?’

  ‘Only when I’ve tried to hurry it,’ said Emma.

  ‘I’ll get someone to look at it. I’d like to look myself, but I don’t have the tools. Anyway, a fitter’ll call, or I might just come back and fix it myself if it means keeping you waiting, otherwise.’

  ‘As long as it’s working, I shan’t fuss,’ said Emma.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Carter. See you again in three months, if I don’t see you before.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Emma. She saw him out and went back to her kitchen to finish clearing-up after biscuit-making. Through the help of a suffragette friend, she had just secured a little contract to supply three pounds of biscuits a week to the teashop near Camberwell Green. Wait till she told Sergeant Chamberlain.

  Now why should she want to tell that particular gentleman?

  ‘We’re all goin’ out Sunday afternoon,’ said Trary, walking home with Bobby.

  ‘You and your fam’ly?’ said Bobby, matching his stride to her springy walk. Trary kind of bobbed and danced along, as if she was bursting with health. She looked that way too. Bobby didn’t know any other Walworth girl with such a creamy complexion as Trary. She made him think about Devonshire cream. He’d never had any, but he’d heard it was a real treat. When he was earning enough, he meant to go to Devon and try that cream. He’d take Trary, of course. It wouldn’t do to leave her behind. She’d get surrounded if he did. ‘Well, I’m not sure you can go,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind your fam’ly, but I don’t know about you. I was thinkin’ that on Sunday afternoon – ’

  ‘Here we go,’ said Trary, rolling her eyes.

  An approaching woman, noticing this, said, ‘What’s that Sunny Jim doin’ to yer, love, tryin’ to lead yer up the garden path, is ’e?’

  ‘Yes, and round the mulberry bush as well,’ said Trary.

  ‘What a life for a gel,’ said the woman, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound, that’s what I say. Wish I was you, love.’ Laughing, she went on.

  ‘Funny old girl,’ said Bobby. ‘What was I saying?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Trary, ‘I’m just waitin’ to suffer long speeches.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said Bobby, ‘I was thinkin’ that on Sunday afternoon you and me could wheel mum’s handcart to the workhouse off the Old Kent Road. She’s goin’ to fill it with unrequired seconds that we don’t want, and givin’ them to the poor people in the workhouse.’

  ‘Oh, that’s ever so charitable, Bobby, I hope your mum gets blessed by the vicar, but can’t you take them to the workhouse in the mornin’? Then you could come with us in the afternoon. Mr Bradshaw’s comin’ too.’

  ‘Well, Sunday morning’s busy down the market,’ said Bobby. ‘Tell you what, Trary, I’ll get me dad to wheel the handcart. Yes, ’e can take the stuff to the workhouse. I’ll tell him he won’t get any Sunday dinner if he says no.’

  ‘Oh, you are funny about your dad sometimes,’ said Trary.

  ‘I’m doin’ my best,’ said Bobby. ‘Where you goin’ to on Sunday afternoon, then?’

  ‘It’s a special outin’,’ said Trary. Her mum had said Bobby could be let into the secret if he wanted to come with them. ‘I’ll be in my Sunday best, I’m expectin’ to look ravishin’, so perhaps you’d better not walk with me, in case people wonder why a lovely girl like me has to put up with a talkin’ hooligan like you. But you could walk with Lily, if you like, Lily never minds who she’s with.’

  ‘Well, I can’t resist that,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ll
walk with Lily. I like Lily, we’ve had kisses. We could ’ave some more.’

  ‘Cheeky beast,’ said Trary, quivering with bliss because she’d found a boy utterly entertaining. ‘I don’t want you draggin’ my little sister Lily into the bushes, thank you. I’ve heard about boys like you. Still, notwithstanding’, you can – ’

  ‘Notwithstandin’?’ said Bobby, showing his usual grin of admiration.

  ‘Yes, you can come with us,’ said Trary, ‘we’re leavin’ after dinner, we’re goin’ to look at houses in Herne Hill.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Bobby.

  ‘Mum’s thinkin’ she’d like us to move there.’

  ‘Herne Hill?’ said Bobby. ‘She’s goin’ to rent a place in Herne Hill? It’ll cost ’er a quid and more a week. That’s disastrous, that is Trary. It’s all over before we’ve ’ardly started.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Trary in alarm.

  ‘Well, me here in Walworth, you miles away in Herne Hill. You’ll get a Herne Hill boy, I’ll ’ave to look for a Walworth girl. That’s grievin’ news, Trary.’

  More alarmed, Trary made the Elephant and Castle subway ring with indignation as she cried, ‘Don’t talk silly. I’m surprised at you, a boy your age talkin’ as silly as that.’

  ‘It’s not silly, it’s – ’

  ‘I’m not listening!’ Trary mounted the exit steps with her nose high in the air.

  Out in the sunshine, Bobby said, ‘I’m only pointin’ out – ’

  ‘If you go with other girls, Bobby Reeves, I’ll never speak to you again! Oh, you blessed miserable boy, what about your dyin’ promise never to let me walk home from school by meself? When I go to a new school, you’ve got to keep your promise, you’ve still got to come an’ walk me home, so there!’

  ‘At Herne Hill? ’ave a heart, Trary. And I wouldn’t be able to come once I started me apprenticeship, in any case.’

  ‘Oh, you rotten squiffer,’ said Trary, totally upset, ‘you might as well say goodbye to me now, then. You’re just talk, you are, like I’ve always said. Anyone would think Herne Hill was in Australia. I never thought you couldn’t be faithful to your friends, I wonder you’ve got any. Don’t you talk about not comin’ to see me when it’s only Herne Hill, or you can just go and – you Bobby, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, d’you hear?’