The Esther & Jack Enright Box Set

by David Field

  ‘Typical men!’ Helen muttered, then turned with an apologetic look at Percy and Jack. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’

  ‘This clearly isn’t working,’ Percy announced unnecessarily. ‘How many women do you think you’ve spoken to now?’

  ‘Perhaps twenty, in the two days I’ve been doing it. Many of them were at work when I called, so I’ll obviously have to chase them up on Saturdays, making Sunday dinner at Enright Palace the highlight of my week, when it coincides with one of Jack’s days off.’

  Percy tapped his lips with his fingers, a habitual habit of his when thinking deeply.

  ‘Perhaps you should concentrate on the ones who we know got a visit. Pretend that you’re a concerned Alliance officer who’s trying to coax them back. Give them oodles of sympathy and see what drops out in casual conversation.’

  ‘I’ve done a couple of those already,’ Esther protested. ‘Have you ever tried to have a casual conversation with a woman whose private accommodation was entered without leaving any trace, whose most intimate garments were violated and who was left with two threatening notes, one of them obscene? Every door I managed to get through was opened an inch or two first by a terrified wretch who thought it might be the intruder returning to have their wicked way with her.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ Helen confirmed with a shudder. ‘Ever since the forced entry to my house I’ve never felt safe. Some nights I lie awake at night waiting for the sound of an intruder — you wouldn’t believe how many naturally creaking floorboards one house can have.’

  Percy’s eyes opened wider as a thought struck him.

  ‘You never found any indication of how the intruder got in?’

  ‘No. I examined the front door carefully straight after it happened, but there were no signs of any attempt to force it — no “jemmy” marks, as I believe they’re called.’

  ‘I’d like to examine your door for myself, if I may,’ Percy replied. ‘It might help to narrow the ground in identifying the man responsible to know whether or not he was armed with skeleton keys.’

  ‘What on earth are those?’ Helen enquired.

  ‘Keys that work on any lock of the type they’re made to fit,’ Jack advised her, not wishing to be left out of the intelligence exchange. ‘Only certain types of burglar use them. I think what Uncle Percy’s getting at is that if a skeleton key was used, then we can narrow the search down to professional burglars, rather than amateurs who got lucky.’

  ‘He can’t have got lucky all those times, surely?’ Esther argued.

  Percy nodded. ‘As usual, Esther my dear, a very intelligent observation.’

  ‘Please don’t call me “my dear”,’ Esther responded huffily. ‘It’s so patronising and it reminds me of your sister-in-law.’

  ‘Sorry about that, but the compliment was well meant. Even with skeleton keys you need to be bypassing the type of lock that it was designed for, but from my experience the locks on the individual doors inside rooming houses are of all types, some better than others. Some are so weak that a smart kick will do the trick, yet not a single one of our victims reported a broken door frame.’

  ‘So?’ Jack enquired, genuinely mystified.

  ‘So our man has a different way of getting in and I think it may be connected with the putty that was used to stick the warning notices up. Hence my interest in Helen’s front door.’

  ‘Would tomorrow be convenient? I normally go shopping on Saturday mornings, but if you arrive at, say, one o’clock, I can have some dinner ready for you. It’ll make a nice change to be preparing a meal for two instead of just one.’

  ‘Could we make that three?’ Jack asked politely.

  ‘Yes, of course, if you’d like to tag along as well,’ Helen replied.

  ‘Not so much a matter of “tagging along” as learning something new,’ Jack said with an engaging smile directed at Percy. ‘After all, I am attached to the Burglary section within the Yard and I could benefit from learning about new methods of unlawful entry.’

  ‘I didn’t realise that you were so keen to learn the tricks of the trade,’ Percy commented as they stood waiting for the bus a few minutes later.

  ‘I’m not,’ Jack replied with a grin. ‘I’ll be representing Aunt Beattie — just in case.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Esther climbed wearily up her final staircase for the day, to the top floor of the common lodging house in Walpole Street, Wapping, inconveniently located between the noise and soot of the railway and the smell from the river. She stepped daintily around the children playing marbles on the top landing with a set of round polished stones that looked as if they had been collected from the river bank and reached out to tap on the door of number seventeen. Curiously, and unusually, it was unlocked and swung in lightly as she knocked, revealing the sight of a girl little past her teens leaning over a crib of some sort in an attempt to pacify an infant that was whimpering quietly inside it.

  ‘Come in, Wally, it’s on the latch,’ the girl called out, then stood upright and looked round when there was no response. ‘Who the ’ell are you?’ she demanded.

  Slightly embarrassed, Esther smiled reassuringly as she replied: ‘My name’s Esther Jacobs and I’m from the National Women’s Labour Alliance.’

  ‘I ain’t a member o’ that no more,’ the girl insisted.

  ‘I know and that’s why I’m here,’ Esther replied. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘If yer must, but me man’ll be back in a mo an’ ’e don’t take kindly ter visitors on ’is days off.’

  ‘You are Tilly Chalmers, I take it?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me.’

  ‘I’m here to enquire about your reason for leaving the Alliance, Miss Chalmers.’

  ‘None o’ yer bloomin’ business.’

  ‘Of course it’s not, in the sense that it was your decision. But we seem to be losing quite a few members recently and we were wondering if the fault lies with us, or if there’s some other reason.’

  Tilly looked hard at the entrance door to the single room.

  ‘I come ’ome one day ter find the door bust open an’ all me clothes flung around the room. Some o’ them ’ad bin stolen an’ all — like personal fings, if yer gets me meanin’.’

  ‘You mean your underwear?’

  ‘Yeah. ’As there bin others?’

  ‘Yes, quite a few. Did the person responsible by any chance leave you a note?’

  ‘Yeah, but it meant nowt ter me, ’cos I can’t read proper. But me man Wally, ’e read it ter me an’ it said as ’ow if I stayed in that union, I’d get me face cut open. I weren’t goin’ ter risk that, not wi’ a baby ter look after. That’s ’im in the cot there — Tommy. But fortunately ’e were wi’ me neighbour across the landin’ — Mrs Tasker, that’s ’er name. She always looks after ’im while I’m out workin’ at the fish dock an’ Tommy were safely wi’ ’er when the burglar called.’

  ‘And the door to your room had been forced, you say?’

  ‘Yeah, it ’ad. Whoever it were took a jemmy or summat ter the wood at the side an’ the door musta just popped open.’

  ‘It looks alright now, though,’ Esther commented as she looked back towards it. ‘You must have got it repaired.’

  ‘Yeah, me man did that. ’Cept ’e weren’t me man then. I were told about this bloke what lives down the street what fixes doors an’ things an’ ’e come an’ replaced the wood. That’s why the door’s still cream, but the frame at the side ain’t been painted yet. ’Im an’ me took a fancy ter each other an’ now ’e’s ter be found ’ere most nights. ’E’s fair taken ter little Tommy, so that’s alright, an’ me an’ ’im’s thinkin’ o’ maybe gettin’ ’itched once the weather gets warmer. Are yer married yerself?’

  ‘Not quite, but I will be after June,’ Esther replied, feeling desperately ashamed of the splendid ceremony she’d be given in a country parish church, compared with the brief registry office process in which this unfortunate young innocent would commit
her body, her devotion, and her pathetic weekly wage to some wastrel who’d move on once the novelty wore off, no doubt leaving another infant or two in his wake.

  ‘So your man — Wally? — fixed your door for you?’ Esther enquired, intrigued that this break-in seemed different from the others.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right — an’ ’e read me the note an’ all.’

  ‘Do you still have the note?’

  ‘Nah, Wally threw it away ’cos it were that upsettin’ fer me.’

  ‘But you saw it before he threw it away?’

  ‘Course I did — weren’t yer listenin’? It were lyin’ in the bubby’s cot — ’cept the bubby weren’t in it, like I said.’

  ‘Can you remember what the note looked like?’

  ‘Why all the questions? You wi’ the Peelers or somefin’?’

  ‘No, but as I said, the Alliance which I represent has sent me to find out as much as we can about who’s been threatening our members.’

  ‘Well, it were just a piece o’ paper, like yer see on noticeboards an’ suchlike. An’ it were printed, like it were in a newspaper.’

  ‘Just the one message?’

  ‘That’s what it looked like ter me. An’ how many times does it take ter warn somebody that they’re gonna get their face cut open?’

  ‘Thank you very much, Miss Chalmers, you’ve been a great help. And all the best for your wedding.’

  ‘An’ good luck wi’ yourn. Thanks fer not tryin’ ter get me back inter that union — it’s more than me life’s worth. An’ chances are that Wally wouldn’t fancy me any more, wi’ me face carved open. Yer can see yerself out, can yer? Only bubby’s started cryin’ again.’

  Esther stood outside on the pavement, thinking deeply, as Saturday shoppers walked past her in both directions, carrying groceries that no doubt had to last them until the next pay day, if there was one. She shuddered to think that only some guardian angel had preserved her from a life like this, as she made her way down to the main road, where the bus would take her back up to Lamb Street, on the Liverpool Street service that stopped outside her door.

  She could barely contain her excitement as she pieced together all that she had just learned from Tilly Chalmers. A different mode of entry that had made it possible for a man named Wally to visit her and carry out the necessary repairs that marked him out as a man skilled in woodworking. The usual plundering and theft of undergarments, but no obscene note in woodworker’s pencil, almost as if the intruder knew that Tilly was illiterate anyway. And the threat itself, which according to this Wally was nothing like the others. The threat to Tilly was far more violent in its terms and this also marked it out as a different sort of attack on an Alliance member. A woman in Tilly’s position living with that sort of threat would be only too willing to trade her body for the physical protection of a man.

  Something else was nagging at Esther’s mind as well, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Then her conscious brain shifted with a jerk into another mode as she looked down the bus queue and there, only several people away, was Bert Freeman. She hoped that her face didn’t betray the shock as she waved half-heartedly towards him in a ‘Do I know you?’ sort of way and he nodded back formally. The bus drew up a few moments later and Esther took a seat near the downstairs front, allowing herself only a brief glance to confirm that Freeman was also on the bus, a few seats behind her and staring fixedly out of the window as they rattled and swayed north across Whitechapel Road.

  Any remaining hope she might have entertained that he would get off somewhere in Whitechapel were dashed fifteen minutes later when she passed him as she moved down the bus to the platform from which she alighted onto the busy pavement across the road from the Alliance headquarters. She dared not look behind her, but instead glanced from the corner of her eye at a movement to her right as she pretended to be selecting a safe moment to scuttle across the road between the carriages and carts that formed a constant stream up and down Lamb Street. There was someone crossing at the same time, but was it Freeman?

  Breathlessly she fiddled in her handbag for her front door key, conscious that her building was empty on a Saturday. Once the key was safely in the lock, but before turning it, she looked swiftly behind her and there he was, leering stupidly at her.

  ‘I thought it were you, Miss, but I weren’t sure. What a coincidence, you bein’ down Wappin’ way an’ in the same buildin’ what me missus lives in.’

  ‘Why did you follow me?’ Esher demanded with as much authority as her quavering breathlessness would allow.

  ‘I weren’t followin’ yer, in the sense you means.’ Freeman smiled back reassuringly. ‘It’s just a case that we was both goin’ in the same direction ter the same place. I was wonderin’ if I left me best ’ammer at yours when I finished that job fer yer.’

  ‘You left your men to finish that job off and you had plenty of time to collect any lost property — at least two days. I can assure you that there’s no hammer left inside there. We were very particular in cleaning the place up, after your men left all those wood shavings behind them. Good afternoon, Mr Freeman.’

  She turned her back on him and swiftly turned the key in the lock, expecting at any moment that a brawny hand would grab her wrist, or pull her back from the door by her clothing. She was tensed, ready to scream her lungs empty, when the door yielded to her desperate push and she opened it enough to slide inside and slam it behind her, whimpering in fear as she leaned her full weight on the back of the door, in case he tried to kick it in. She only scuttled away from it when the urgent prompting of her bladder forced her upstairs at a run.

  As she washed her hands afterwards, she remembered what had been bothering her earlier, like a gas flame bursting into life between her ears. After creeping carefully back down the stairs and checking that the front door was securely bolted, she moved through the opening into her section of the office, carrying the lamp that she needed in order to combat the rapidly descending dusk of that early February evening. A quick search of the relevant folders yielded the warning letters that she had collected from various members she had visited the previous day, two of whom had received the full treatment of stolen or disturbed underwear and a crude additional message in pencil. She shivered as she read yet again the filthy suggestions that they contained and imagined how it would feel having Freeman’s hands wandering inside her most intimate apparel while they were being worn, then she forced herself to conduct the most important part of the experiment that had occurred to her.

  Thankful that she had taken such great care to keep everything alphabetical, she extracted the letter of resignation allegedly written by Tilly Chalmers. A Tilly Chalmers whom she now knew to be illiterate, whose letter would almost certainly have been written for her by Wally. Like the warning letters from the other two files, it was written in thick pencil and was badly spelt.

  She gave a squeal of triumph, but quickly cut it short in case anyone was listening outside. Then she crept to the darkened front window that looked out over Lamb Street and peered as far to the right and left as the window frames allowed. There were several passers-by, but no sign of Bert Freeman. With a swift prayer of thanks, followed by a further Hebrew prayer remembered from childhood that called for Yahweh’s protection of the tribes of Abraham, she crept stealthily up the shadowy creaking stairs into her bedroom.

  On Monday she’d get Jack to fix a bolt on the inside of her bedroom door. In the meantime, prayers would have to suffice as she dropped her outer clothes to the floor and slipped between the sheets in her undergarments, just in case. She finally fell asleep with the happy thought that tomorrow was Sunday — who would ever have imagined that she would so look forward to a Sunday dinner hosted by Constance Enright?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack arrived half an hour early, just in case Helen had in mind inveigling Uncle Percy inside the house and plying him with charm and God knew what all else. He owed his father’s brother and his wife everything, he reflec
ted, as he leaned back on the front fence and gazed across at Victoria Park. He’d lived here in Hackney ever since his father died and Uncle Percy had kept his promise to his dearly loved older brother and taken Jack under his wing. Jack’s mother had protested loudly to no avail, since Jack had always hero-worshipped his wise and worldly Police Constable uncle, a boyhood obsession that matured into respect when Percy went up through the ranks, then joined the Yard as a detective.

  It had been almost inevitable that three years later Jack would choose the same profession and earn his way out of uniform in Whitechapel to join Percy as a Yard detective. This elevation owed much to the role played by them both, working as a team, in exposing the infamous Jack the Ripper and ending the spate of gruesome killings in Jack’s Division. But none of that would have been possible without the street-wise, but somehow still enchantingly vulnerable, Esther — his bride to be.

  ‘I might have known you’d be here first,’ came the familiar voice to his right, as Percy walked towards him with a broad grin. ‘Even though I live just a few streets away, in the house you spent your formative years in, you still contrived to make it here earlier from your lodgings in Farringdon.’

  ‘I wanted to make sure that Miss Trenchard didn’t drag you in there to a fate worse than death if Aunt Beattie found out. And why are you grinning like that?’

  ‘On my way down Mare Street, I passed a fixed point bobby on the corner, sitting on a garden fence as if he was a gardener taking his morning tea break. I walked up to him, flashed my police badge and told him what a disgrace he was to the image of a fine force. I threatened to report him if he didn’t smarten up his act and I guarantee that he’ll never sit on that fence again. Now, why aren’t you already examining that front door?’

  ‘I thought I’d leave that to you. And I didn’t want to be seen to be acting suspiciously.’

  ‘That possibility obviously didn’t concern whoever gained access to Miss Trenchard’s house. Are we sure we’ve got the right address?’