by David Field
‘I asked another resident of the building to attend at Leman Street Police Office and inform the duty sergeant of what had occurred. I was relieved at my post by fellow constables and began enquiries at the White Hart public house, a few yards from the entrance to George Yard. The proprietor, a Mr Brougham, advised me that a lady answering the description of the clothing I gave him as being worn by the deceased was known to him as Martha Turner and lived at an address in George Street, Spitalfields. I made subsequent enquiries and located a Miss Jacobs, who advised me of the deceased’s movements until approximately eleven o’clock on the previous evening. I was then involved in an attempt to identify a guardsman who is believed to have been in the company of the deceased at a time closer to her death, but without success.’
‘Yes, thank you, constable,’ Coroner Collier interrupted him, ‘we’ll get to that part of your evidence in just a moment. For the present, please describe the place where you found the body.’
‘It’s a doss house, sir. Sorry, I mean a common lodging house, of the standard layout. There’s a staircase with landings, from which the individual rooms are accessed and the body was lying on its back on the first floor landing.’
‘Was there anything to indicate that the deceased had recently been in any particular room?’
‘No, sir. She was lying smack in the middle of the landing.’
‘And you mentioned blood?’
‘Yes, sir. Quite a lot of it actually, sir.’
‘Did you gain the impression that the body had been moved since the wounds were inflicted on it? Anything to indicate, for example, that it might have been dragged onto the landing from one of the rooms?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Very well, now what can you tell this inquest about a guardsman?’
‘Well, sir, when I spoke to the proprietor of the White Hart, he advised me that he’d seen a woman he believed to have been the deceased, along with another woman, heading off down the High Street, each of them in company with a guardsman. He knew the other woman very well, it seems, and was able to advise me that the deceased — or who we believe to have been the deceased, anyway — went off into George Yard with her man, while the woman he knew better carried on down the High Street with hers.’
‘Who was this woman that the proprietor knew better than the deceased?’
‘He named her as Pearly Poll, sir. That’s the name she’s known by, anyway.’
‘And will this Pearly Poll be giving evidence to this inquest?’
‘I’ve no idea, sir. Inspector Reid’s in charge of the witnesses.’
‘Very well. So I gather from your earlier testimony that you set out to find this guardsman. That was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes and no, sir. It just so happened that earlier that night — at around two am, it must have been — I had occasion to question a guardsman about his behaviour. He was loitering around the entrance to George Yard and when I challenged him he said that he was waiting for a friend of his. His precise words were: “No problems, sonny. I’m just waiting on a chum who went off with a girl down that way,” and he pointed further on down the High Street. It wasn’t until I spoke to the proprietor of the White Hart that it occurred to me that this must be the man who paired off with the deceased and so I went along to the Tower Barracks to see if I could see him again.’
‘And were you successful?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Very well, you may stand down.’
The Coroner consulted his notes, then looked down encouragingly at Esther.
‘Miss Jacobs, I believe you’re next.’
Esther climbed into the witness chair, took a deep breath, recited the oath after the official had handed her the Bible, then smiled wanly back at the Coroner, who again consulted his notes.
‘You are Miss Esther Jacobs, of Number 19, George Street, Spitalfields?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Esther replied, as her throat suddenly went dry.
‘You’ll have to speak up a little more loudly than that, Miss Jacobs,’ the Coroner advised her. ‘This is a fairly large room and it contains quite a lot of people who have nothing better to do with their time. If the jury are to hear you — and they’re the ones on the benches beside me — you have to speak up a little more loudly.’
‘Sorry, sir — I’m very nervous.’
‘Yes, of course you are, but you have nothing to fear from speaking the truth. Unless, of course, you’ve been up to something you shouldn’t.’
‘I can assure you I haven’t, sir.’
‘That was my attempt at humour, Miss Jacobs. Now, you list your occupation as seamstress — is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And how did you come to know the deceased?’
‘She was my neighbour, sir. She had the room across from mine in the lodging house.’
‘These common lodging houses are notorious for their fluctuating populations. How long had you known the deceased?’
‘Three or four months, sir, but we became very friendly during that time.’
‘You’ll forgive me for mentioning this, Miss Jacobs, but you seem to be a sensitive young lady of some education and breeding and yet the deceased appears to have been what we call an “unfortunate” in this polite society of ours. How well did you actually know her?’
‘We spoke every day, sir, and we exchanged information about our previous lives. I know that she was what you called an “unfortunate” at one time, but she’d changed her ways since she met Harry — that’s her husband — and I can’t believe that she’d go off down a dark alleyway with a man she’d only just met.’
‘As I understand these things, Miss Jacobs, it’s not customary for prostitutes to ask their marks for references or formal introductions.’
There was general laughter and Esther blushed.
‘I’m just saying, sir, that I believe that Martha was making every effort to live a decent life and on the night she was killed her husband was waiting for her at home.’
‘I’m sure many a cuckolded husband has found himself in that unfortunate situation, Miss Jacobs, but be that as it may, did you have any reason to believe that the deceased was about to revert to her previous calling when you parted company with her?’
‘No, sir. Quite the opposite.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In the snug bar of the White Hart.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘There was a group of other women at another table and half a dozen or so soldiers.’
‘Guardsmen?’
‘I wouldn’t know, sir, except they were wearing army uniforms.’
‘And what time did you leave her?’
‘Around eleven o’clock, sir. She was meant to be following closely behind me.’
‘But she didn’t?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You felt no apprehension, leaving her there alone?’
‘No sir. It was Bank Holiday and the place was quite crowded.’
‘What reason, if any, did the deceased give you for not returning home with you, bearing in mind that it’s well known that the streets of Whitechapel, and for that matter Spitalfields, are quite hazardous after dark?’
‘She had business to discuss with another woman who was there as well.’
‘Was this woman by any chance called “Pearly Poll”?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you didn’t see your friend again?’
‘No, sir.’
‘By what name did you know the deceased?’
‘Martha Turner, sir. Wife of Henry Turner.’
‘You’ve never heard her called Martha Tabram?’
‘No, sir, although I believe she was married once before.’
‘One final question. Did the deceased appear to possess any money that evening?’
‘Enough to buy drinks, sir, although she did mention two small debts that she’d recently incurred.’
‘Was
she drunk when you left her?’
‘I’m no judge, sir, but I couldn’t say she was entirely sober.’
‘Very well, thank you, Miss Jacobs. You may also stand down.’
As Esther took a vacant seat on the front row, she looked back up to see the coroner in a whispered conversation with Inspector Reid. The coroner looked up when he became aware that all eyes were upon them and he announced a ten minute adjournment.
Esther decided that she needed some air after her ordeal in the witness box and wandered outside, where she stood under the shade of an awning that projected from the window of a pie shop, deciding whether she might spare some coins for a mutton pie as she smelt the tempting aroma wafting out from the shop. Tradesmen’s wagons rolled up and down the dusty cobbles of the busy thoroughfare, their iron wheels grinding out a cacophony of noise that all but drowned out the calls of the street hawkers. It was so noisy that she didn’t hear the first tentative words from the police constable who sought to address her. It was only when he caught the elbow of her jacket that she realised that there was someone there and she started in alarm, then turned to look up into the bluest pair of eyes she could ever recall, set in an open, boyish face that was smiling at her beneath a police helmet.
‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘That’s all right — you gave me a surprise, that’s all.’
‘I’m Constable Enright and I’m attending the inquest with Inspector Reid. I was interested to hear your evidence in there — you don’t believe that your friend went off with a guardsman, do you?’
Esther shook her head. ‘No, and what’s more, I can’t for the life of me make sense of what your colleague in there said about her being killed at two o’clock in the morning. I left her at eleven and according to the landlord of the White Hart, she went off with the guardsman not long after that. If she had been persuaded back to her old ways, which I doubt, it wouldn’t have taken three hours, would it?’
‘What wouldn’t?’ the constable asked cheekily and Esther blushed.
‘What she was supposedly doing with the guardsman. And that’s another thing — I know Martha could be pretty irresponsible when it came to drink, but she knew her husband was waiting at home and they’d been separated for a while, so she’d be glad to see him back and anxious to get home. The last thing she said to me was that she’d no intention of going back to totting and she was very nervous about that woman Pearly Poll.’
‘I agree with you that the times don’t add up and that’s what Inspector Reid’s thinking. But where do you think she was for those three hours?’
‘Maybe Pearly Poll will be able to tell us.’
‘She might, if we could find her,’ he replied.
Esther’s face set in a puzzled frown. ‘But she’s in the back row, along with one of the other women who were with her that night. I thought it a little odd that she wasn’t sitting in the same row as me, waiting to give evidence.’
‘You mean she’s inside there, attending the inquest?’
‘Yes, towards the back. Wearing a big black hat covered in feathers, next to a scrawny woman in a red bonnet.’
‘Excuse me just a moment!’ Constable Enright said excitedly as he scuttled back into the Institute.
Esther waited a few more minutes before going back in and when she did so she found herself moving against a tide of observers on their way out. Back in the room in which she had given her evidence Inspector Reid was talking to Pearly Poll, his hand on her arm in a restraining gesture and a stern look on his face. Constable Enright noticed Esther standing hesitantly in the doorway, smiled, and came back down the gangway between the chairs in order to speak to her.
‘You were right! That’s Pearly Poll and her friend and Inspector Reid is mightily indebted to the pair of us. The inquest’s been adjourned until we can properly identify your friend.’
‘She was Martha Turner — I told the Coroner that.’
‘There’s some suggestion that she may still have been married to her former husband. But you’ll have to come back on another day if you want to be there for the rest of the evidence.’
‘What day?’
‘We don’t know yet, since it’ll depend on how much more evidence we can get. If you give me your address again, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
Esther duly obliged, then walked back out, deeply troubled in her mind. She was no police constable, but none of what she’d heard seemed to fit the facts that she knew. And she still couldn’t believe that Martha had gone back to her former life, when her future lay with Harry, who’d just come back to her.
She found herself approaching the front door of the White Hart and shuddered as she looked up into George Yard, where poor Martha had met her death. A brewer’s cart was unloading barrels onto the narrow pavement and landlord Jack Brougham was helping the driver’s boy roll them into his premises. He looked up as he saw Esther standing there and smiled. Encouraged, Esther followed him inside and waited until he came back up through the flap that led down to the cellar. He frowned as he saw her standing politely at the counter.
‘We’re not open ’till noon,’ he advised her gruffly.
‘I’m not here for a drink,’ Esther advised him.
‘That’ll make a change,’ Jack grinned. ‘But if you’re another one o’ them from the orphanage, after money, I gave pretty generously last week, so sling yer ’ook.’
‘Actually, I’m here for some information,’ Esther was surprised to hear herself say.
‘An’ what sorta information would that be?’
‘It’s about my friend Martha — the one who was killed next door in that alleyway.’
‘George Yard, yer mean? A queer sorta place is George Yard. All sorts of riff-raff collect in there.’
‘You told the police that you saw my friend go into the Yard with a guardsman?’
‘Yeah, so what?’
‘Were there only the two of them, can you remember?’
‘As best as I can recall, there was a whole crowd o’ them left at the same time.’
‘With Pearly Poll?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. She were in the lead, wi’ a soldier of ’er own. I remember ’er tellin’ the other woman — yer friend, it musta bin — ter take ’er mark inter George’s Yard an’ she’d go down the road a bit wi’ ’er admirer. ’E were another guardsman.’
‘The woman who went into George Yard — you told the police it was my friend?’
‘I told the police what I’m tellin’ yer now — it were a woman in a green dress. They all looks the bloody same ter me, ter be honest wi’ yer.’
Esther’s eyes opened wide. ‘You said a green dress. Not a green skirt?’
‘It’s the same thing, int it?’
‘No. My friend was wearing a green skirt and a black jacket. Are you telling me that the woman you saw going into George’s Yard was wearing a green dress? You know, green all over, top and bottom?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, like I told the police.’
‘The woman who went into George Yard wasn’t my friend!’
‘Then ’ow come she finished up dead in there?’ George challenged her, as her face fell.
‘I don’t know,’ Esther replied, ‘but at least now I know that she hadn’t gone back to her old life. Thank you very much, Mr ...?’
‘Brougham. George Brougham.’
‘Thank you, Mr Brougham. You may be getting another visit from the police.’
‘I gets that every night, thank yer anyway,’ Brougham grinned back as he took another incoming barrel from the brewer’s boy and bounced it down the cellar stairs.
Chapter Three
Life returned to normal for Esther after all the excitement of the inquest. Day after day in her room, mending, shortening, lengthening, taking in and letting out garments with such mind-numbing regularity that she was beginning to think that everyone in East London was changing shape weekly. There was little to relieve the boredom and little
to distinguish one day from another as she worked away in her chair by the window, making the most of the available daylight and occasionally glancing down at the spasmodic action in the yard below, where overripe sides of meat from local butchers were converted into cat-food. It was still summer, but unseasonably wet, so at least she wasn’t obliged to open her casement window for coolness, letting in the nauseating smell from the yard below.
Harry Turner called in twice, in order to collect a few of his things from the room across the landing that he’d shared with Martha, but Esther gave him a wide berth, in case he somehow blamed her for the fact that his late wife had been drinking in the White Hart before she met her cruel end. Most of the time, as she sat working her deft fingers with needle, thread and scissors, Esther’s mind would drift back to that fatal night and the facts that didn’t add up. She told herself that she should advise the police of the mistaken identification of Martha as the one who’d gone off with the guardsman, but she wasn’t entirely convinced in her mind whether this was to assist the police investigation into Martha’s death, or simply to rescue her friend’s reputation. Then one day she got her opportunity.
She got up when she heard the tapping on her door and when she opened it Sadie Thompson stood there with one of her disapproving looks.
‘There’s a bobby downstairs in the kitchen askin’ fer yer. What yer bin up to, then? This is a respectable ’ouse, this is.’
‘And I’m a respectable boarder,’ Esther reminded her with a smile. ‘It’s probably more about Martha. Is the constable a good-looking young one with the most entrancing blue eyes?’
‘I thought yer said yer was respectable?’ Sadie countered. ‘Best go down an’ find out what ’e wants, afore yer give the place a bad name.’
Constable Enright had removed his helmet and was standing uncertainly by the sink, as Esther breezed in with her bag of tea and two cups.
