by David Field
There was a third, more vague, reason and it lay in the recent past. When Jack — as everyone except his pedantic mother called him — had first introduced Esther to his family, Constance Enright had seemed to entertain some doubts regarding the suitability of the match. That had been in the ‘bad old days’ when Jack had been one of many police constables in Whitechapel on the case of the man calling himself ‘Jack the Ripper’, who had murdered at least five prostitutes before Esther and Jack had discovered the killer’s true identity and prevented any more deaths. In those early days Esther had been scraping together a living as a seamstress, taking ‘outside’ work from her adoptive father Isaac Rosen back to her room in a lodging house down the road from his business premises.
The murder of a fellow lodger and friend had led Esther into a search for her killer that had brought Esther and Jack together, but given Esther’s relatively lowly status at that time, Constance had seemed to suspect that Esther was just a pretty girl ‘on the make’ who’d latched onto a naive young man from a comfortable middle-class background in rural Essex. In the horrified belief that Jack might be of the same opinion, Esther had broken off their rapidly developing relationship, leaving them both devastated. It had taken the wiles of Jack’s sister Lucy to bring them back together, shortly after Jack had saved Esther from becoming ‘the Ripper’s’ latest victim.
Isaac Rosen had died at approximately the same time and as an elderly widower with no children of his own he had bequeathed Esther the garment business, complete with premises, in which Esther had been living for the few months before Isaac’s death. This had made her what Jack chose to call an ‘heiress’ to a small fortune and it might not just have been coincidence that once Esther’s enhanced status had been announced, Constance Enright had a change of heart and was now eagerly contemplating the marriage of her older child, and only son, to a somewhat spirited young lady whose Jewish ancestry was the source of her dark beauty, rather than a ground for suspicion or racial prejudice.
‘Have you given any thought to bridesmaids?’ Constance enquired.
Jack shook his head. ‘We don’t even know where we’re going to live, Mother.’
‘Well you can’t live anywhere together until you’re married, can you?’ his mother pointed out, ‘so let’s decide on the bridesmaids, shall we?’
It was all Esther could do to restrain herself from pointing out that since she was the bride to be the choice of bridesmaids ought to be hers. However, she had no living relatives other than a brother in the Army somewhere in North Africa and no female friends of the sort of whom Constance Enright might approve — only Jewish girls like herself who’d grown up in the increasingly sordid streets of Spitalfields — so she listened with resignation as her future mother-in-law rattled off the options.
‘Of course, there’s no shortage of nieces, thanks to my brother and sisters, but Lucy had rather hoped to be offered “the role”, as she’d no doubt call it, given her theatrical interests. It’s entirely a matter for you, Esther my dear, but since the wedding will presumably be sometime in June, you should waste no time in asking her.’
‘We hadn’t actually fixed the date, Mother,’ Jack complained, only to be met with a dismissive wave of the hand from across the table.
‘That will rather depend upon when the Reverend Black has a date free, will it not, since we’ve agreed that it will take place in St Margaret’s?’
‘Did we agree that?’ Jack enquired as he turned to smile at Esther, who nodded.
‘I think that might be best,’ she agreed with a docile smile across the table at Constance.
‘You see, dear?’ Constance beamed triumphantly. ‘Your wife to be displays far more common sense than you do. You should regard yourself as fortunate in making such a good match with a young lady who can make sure that your bootlaces are tied properly before you leave the house. And talking of bootlaces,’ she added with a sidewise look at her brother-in-law, Percy, ‘what exactly have you got Jackson involved in, now that he’s working with you at Scotland Yard?’
Percy Enright sighed and put down his coffee cup. ‘As I seem to be forever advising you, Constance, I’m not my nephew’s keeper. He and I rarely even pass each other in the Yard’s lengthy and numerous corridors these days, let alone work together. His working duties are entirely the responsibility of Chief Superintendent Morton, who allocates men to specific teams as and when the need arises.’
‘You’re only claiming that so as to avoid any responsibility for that time someone took a pot shot at him with a gun,’ Constance insisted. ‘I do hope that you’ll use your senior rank to ensure that nothing like that ever happens again.’
‘I’m only a Detective Sergeant,’ Percy reminded her, ‘and I get what men I’m given. I can’t insist that Jack be allocated on a permanent basis to searching for stolen property, or checking on cab licences. And if the Chief Super wants Jack on burglaries then there’s nothing I can do to stop him.’
‘Is that what you’re working on at present, Jackson — burglaries?’ Constance enquired. Jack nodded with some reluctance. ‘And burglars carry firearms, do they not?’ she persevered. Jack nodded again as Esther slipped her hand into his under the tablecloth. ‘Well,’ Constance continued, ‘I need hardly remind you that you’ll shortly become a husband and no doubt, after that, a father. You owe it to your unborn children to take care that you live for long enough to marry the lovely Esther here. And talking of weddings, who’s your best man going to be?’
Jack gave an ironic laugh. ‘Funnily enough, since I became a police officer I seem to have run out of friends. The boys I grew up with around here treat me as if I joined the French Foreign Legion and the few I’ve encountered on my occasional trips back here cross the road when they see me, almost as if they’ve got guilty secrets they don’t want me to learn about.’
Constance gave one of her all-too-familiar ‘harrumphs’ and turned to glare again at Percy. ‘You see? I knew it was a mistake letting Jackson go to live with you when his father died. It’s thanks to you that he joined the police force, where he risks his life on a daily basis, rather than pursuing the family insurance business. And thanks to you, he doesn’t even have any friends left. The least you can do is to agree to be his best man.’
‘I haven’t been asked yet,’ Percy pointed out, ‘so how can you imply that I’ve in some way refused?’
‘Well, Jackson?’ Constance responded with a demanding look.
Jack sighed. ‘As usual, Mother has taken care of things. I was going to ask, but I was a little reluctant. Will you be my best man, Uncle Percy?’
‘Would that be lawful?’ Percy enquired.
‘I’ll speak to the vicar about that,’ Constance assured them. ‘Now — where will you both live after you’re married? We have plenty of spare rooms here.’
Jack and Esher had anticipated that and Jack gave his mother their pre-prepared excuse. ‘My duties at the Yard require that I live within the Metropolitan boundaries, Mother. That’s regulation and there’s nothing I can do about that. But now that Esther’s come into money, we can probably use it to buy a house, or perhaps a set of rooms somewhere in London itself.’
Constance sniffed. ‘Have you begun looking yet? How much do these things cost?’
‘We’ve not really had much time to look,’ Esther explained, ‘since Jack’s working for seven days out of every nine and the people who specialise in selling and renting out houses are only open on weekdays and Saturdays, so we sometimes only have one day a week in which to look at potential houses and rooms. Even then, it’s not always convenient for the people living in them to open their doors at weekends.’
‘But have you not even settled on an area of London?’ Constance persisted.
Jack came to Esther’s rescue. ‘That’s determined by price, Mother. With the seven hundred or so that Esther got for the old business premises in Spitalfields, we could choose anything from a crumbling old converted warehouse in Whitechapel to a tiny
two-room apartment in Mayfair that’s so small you have to breathe in heavily before squeezing into the kitchen, which is also the living room.’
‘I sincerely hope that you’ve seen the last of Whitechapel — or anywhere in that dreadful East End,’ Constance sniffed.
Esther made a mental note that their final choice would have to be somewhere where the street address was acceptable, even if the house wasn’t. Then she became aware that Constance was looking intently at her from across the dining table.
‘When do you have to vacate that awful factory place where you’re living at present?’
Esther winced inwardly at the description of proud old Isaac Rosen’s bespoke tailoring enterprise as an ‘awful factory’, but managed a smile. ‘October the first.’
‘But presumably the new occupiers will require access sometime before that date, in order to measure up for carpet, curtains and suchlike?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Esther replied uncertainly. ‘The people who bought the premises are a property investment company and they’re intending to lease the place out to some sort of commercial organisation. I’m not sure exactly what, but Mr Hemmingsworth — he’s the man I’m dealing with from the property company — asked that I be there tomorrow, to meet a lady who may be their first tenant.’
‘So where will you live between October and June?’ Constance enquired and Esther braced herself for the inevitable campaign as she admitted that she hadn’t yet given the matter a great deal of thought.
‘Well, you clearly can’t go back to one of those horrible lodging houses in the East End where all those killings take place, can you?’
‘We caught the Ripper, Mother,’ Jack reminded her, but he was wasting his breath.
‘That’s not quite the point, is it dear?’ his mother replied. ‘There are desperate characters on the loose all the time down there, as you yourself must realise from the somewhat grubby line of work you’ve chosen for yourself. Esther simply must come and live here. She can have Lucy’s old room, at least until the day before the ceremony, since the bride and groom mustn’t see each other on the morning of the wedding, until they meet up at the altar.’
‘But then she’d need to take the train into work every day,’ Jack objected.
His mother’s eyebrows shot upwards in horror. ‘You surely don’t expect your bride to go to work for a living?’ she protested. ‘And what sort of work, exactly? Taking in sewing?’
‘I do accounts work as well,’ Esther interposed meekly, but there was no stopping the old matriarch once she got her teeth into something.
‘Out of the question! And now let’s adjourn to the sitting room while Alice clears the dinner table. Or perhaps you young people would prefer to take a turn in the garden? You too, Percy, if you intend to smoke that revolting pipe of yours.’
Out in the garden, Percy gave a loud and ironic chuckle as he lit his pipe, then gave a credible, and much practised, impersonation of his sister-in-law.
‘So that’s all “agreed”, Jackson. You and Esther will get married in June, in St Margaret’s, with me as best man and Lucy as bridesmaid. Esher will be living here until the night before the wedding and is forbidden to engage in anything as sordid as work. I’m so glad we got all that sorted out.’
Jack gave him a rude gesture and turned back to give Esther a consoling kiss.
Chapter Three
‘You must be Mrs Trenchard.’ Esther smiled as she opened the front door of the now empty former tailor’s premises in Lamb Street, Spitalfields, to the lady in her mid-thirties wearing a smart business costume.
‘Miss Trenchard,’ Helen insisted as she smiled back. ‘Did Mr Hemmingsworth advise you that I’d be calling?’
‘He did indeed. Do please come in.’
As they walked slowly around the deserted ground floor that had once rattled to the sound of half a dozen sewing machines, but had recently only echoed to the muted Hebrew folk tunes that Isaac had hummed as he worked alone on the latest commissioned made to measure suit, while Esther laboured away at the accounts books on the other side of the dividing curtain, Helen Trenchard was mentally converting the large but now empty space into a busy office.
‘I believe there’s some living accommodation on the upper floors, plus storage rooms and a kitchen?’ she enquired.
‘That’s right,’ Esher confirmed. ‘I’ll show you up there, if you’ve seen enough down here. Then would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘It looks as if you’re still living here,’ Helen commented as they waited for the pan to boil, seated across from each other at the kitchen table.
‘Yes, as you saw for yourself, I have the room on the first floor — until October 1st, that is,’ Esther confirmed. ‘I’m afraid that the top floor still retains some reminders of the fire that almost destroyed the place during an anti-Semitic attack some years ago, from which I barely escaped with my life.’
‘You’ve lived her for a few years?’
‘On and off since I was fourteen and my parents were killed in that pleasure boat disaster on the Thames,’ Esther explained. ‘The Rosens were old family friends and they took me in and taught me all I know about the garment trade.’
‘You’re a seamstress?’
‘Among other things. Towards the end, before Isaac Rosen died, I did his books.’
‘Books of account?’
‘Yes, those certainly. But also order books, textile stock records and so on.’
‘Really?’ Helen mused. ‘Are you now looking for work by any chance? I could use an assistant with your skills.’
‘Are you in the garment trade?
‘No, although a good number of my members are and your background in that would be an additional bonus.’
‘Members?’ Esther enquired.
Helen nodded, then reached into her handbag and handed Esther a business card. ‘“The National Women’s Labour Alliance,” as you can see. I had very few of these cards printed until we had a permanent business address. When I take over this place I’ll have more done and your first task — should you choose to take up my offer of employment — will be to find a low cost printing firm in this vicinity. You will come and work for me, won’t you?’
Esther didn’t require long to consider her options. If she played her cards right she could kill two of Constance Enright’s birds with one stone.
‘Would I be able to remain living here?’
Helen looked slightly doubtful for a brief moment before nodding. ‘I had half intended living here myself. I need to move out of my present house, after ... well, let’s just say that I could use the sale proceeds towards further establishing my new Alliance. But yes, if it means that you’d be available here all the time, you could remain living here. In addition, I could offer you a wage of ten shillings a week. It’s not much, but hopefully I’ll be able to increase it once the Alliance finds its feet. And of course, you’d have your living accommodation.’
‘I feel obliged to advise you that I’ll be getting married next June,’ Esther said. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be living then, but it’ll have to be somewhere here in London, because of my fiancé’s job, so depending upon where it is I could probably take a bus down here every day.’
‘What’s your husband’s job?’ Helen enquired.
‘He’s a detective constable with Scotland Yard,’ Esther replied proudly.
‘I’ll try not to hold that against him,’ Helen muttered. ‘But yes, of course, you could travel to work every day — until the babies start arriving, that is.’
‘We weren’t planning on starting a family immediately,’ Esther advised her.
Helen laughed bitterly. ‘Very few women do, but that’s what happens. And that’s how men can dominate their lives. Either they’re unable to work because they’re burdened with annual childbirth, or if they can they’re paid an insulting pittance in reward for long hours and the risk of getting dragged into dangerous machinery. That’s what my new Alliance has been formed
to put a stop to.’
‘Sounds very worthwhile,’ Esther enthused. ‘I grew up around here and I’ve seen a good bit of the garment trade for myself. As you say, the women who work in it are open to exploitation.’
Helen nodded enthusiastically. ‘Not just in the garment trade either, as you’ll discover when you come to work for me. You will, won’t you?’
‘Did I not already say yes?’ Esther replied with a broad smile. ‘If not, then I’m happy to confirm that I will. It just so happens that I’m seeking to escape from a form of exploitation myself. But only verbal. And from my future mother-in-law.’
Chapter Four
Mabel Barker looked up apprehensively at the dark clouds sweeping in from the west as she quickened her pace up Station Road from her place of work as a refreshment assistant at Brockington’s Cattle Yards in the centre of Luton, towards the cottage that came with the job. It was looking like rain and her washing was out.
She decided to get it in before entering the house and scuttled down the side path and into the laundry, where her washing basket was kept. From there it was only a few steps across the grass to her clothes line and as she felt the first few raindrops on her head and neck she began removing the pegs hurriedly as she passed down the line, throwing both pegs and dried clothing into the basket. Then she came to a gap she hadn’t noticed in her hurry to avoid the impending downpour.
Her best blue underwear was missing from the line and in their place someone had pegged a large sheet of white paper. She only had the benefit of a local Board School education, but even she could read what was there in bold capital letters: ‘DON’T JOIN THE OTHERS’. And above it, written much more crudely in pencil, was a far more threatening message which sent shivers down her spine.
Chapter Five
‘I’m so glad you decided to come home for your wedding, Jackson.’ The Reverend George Weston smiled as he poured out three glasses of sherry in the vicarage living room late one Saturday afternoon. ‘You grew up here and although I wasn’t the vicar in those days your mother tells me that you were a regular church-goer until your father died and you moved to London to live with your uncle. Now, or so your mother tells me, you’re a police officer dedicated to doing good in this sinful world and it’s always such a comfort to a man to have the support of a wife waiting at home.’
