Gaslight In Page Street Part 30

Chapter Thirty-three.

The smell of charred timbers hung over the little backstreet on Sunday morning. Inside the Galloway yard office, Inspector John Stanley leaned back in his chair as he addressed the group.

'We've established that it was a body and at the moment we're waiting on the pathologist's report. If it points to foul play, Scotland Yard will have to be called in. That's the usual procedure,' he said matter-of-factly.

George Galloway was busy pouring drinks from a bottle of Scotch. He looked up quickly. 'What about identification?'

The inspector gave his subordinate a quick glance before answering. 'I took a good look at the remains and I would say that the body was charred beyond recognition. The pathologists might be able to come up with something but I'm not too hopeful.'

Detective Sergeant Crawford nodded his agreement. 'It's always a problem with fire victims,' he added. 'Unless there's something noncombustible on the body that would give us a clue to the ident.i.ty.'

'Have you established how the fire was started?' Frank asked the inspector.

The policeman nodded. 'According to the fire people, there was a paraffin lamp in the centre of the stable. They seem to think that's what started the fire. It's quite possible the victim lit it and then knocked it over accidentally.'

'How did he get in?' Frank asked.

'We found a loose board at the rear of the yard,' the detective cut in.

'I thought you fixed all them boards,' George said, glaring at William.

'I did,' the foreman replied sharply.

'Well, I must say, we wouldn't have discovered it if we hadn't tried from the outside,' the detective said in support of William.

Frank looked intently at the police officer. 'You don't really think that the victim was murdered, do you?'

'As I say, we've got to wait for the report.'

George handed out the drinks. The inspector took his gla.s.s and stared thoughtfully at it before swallowing the whisky at a gulp. 'Have you chaps any reason to suspect who the victim might be?' he asked.

George looked at his son Frank and then over at William who was sitting in one corner. 'What about Jack Oxford?' he suggested. 'Could 'e 'ave been kippin' down in the yard, Will?'

William nodded. 'P'raps, George. 'E might 'ave discovered the loose board and got in that way,' he said, trying to hide his sudden sickening misgiving.

'This Jack Oxford, was he an employee of yours?' the inspector enquired.

''E still is,' George answered. 'Oxford's employed as a yard man. 'E does all the odd jobs an' keeps the yard clean.'

'Well, we can soon eliminate Mr Oxford from our enquiries,' the detective said brightly. 'Can we have his address?'

George stroked his chin. 'The man sleeps in a lodgin"ouse, as far as I know. D'yer know which one, Will?'

The foreman shook his head. ''E moves about a lot. Last time I 'eard 'e was kippin' in Tooley Street.'

The detective sergeant was pinching his lower lip. Suddenly he looked up at the inspector. 'Oxford . . . that name rings a bell,' he said. 'I remember interviewing a Mr Oxford when we called at the lodging-houses over that railway death a few years back.'

'You'd better follow that up, Sergeant,' the inspector said quickly, then turned to George Galloway. 'Incidentally, is Mr Oxford a tall man, and is he in the habit of wearing a watch-and-chain at work?'

''E's over six foot I should say, although 'e's got a stoop,' George replied. 'But 'e don't wear a watch-an'-chain, at least I've never seen 'im wearin' one. I don't fink the silly ole sod can tell the time.'

William gave his employer a hard look and turned to the inspector. 'Was there a watch-an'-chain on the body?' he asked.

'If there was it would have melted with the heat,' the inspector answered, fis.h.i.+ng into his pocket. 'We found this in the yard though,' he added, taking out an envelope and turning it out on the desk beside George.

The firm owner suddenly sat up straight in the chair, his eyes bulging. 'That's my watch-an'-chain! I'd know it anywhere. It was stolen from this office a few years ago. That ole b.a.s.t.a.r.d did take it after all,' he growled, turning to William.

'Yer don't know fer sure,' the foreman said quickly.

'It all points to it,' George said emphatically. 'That was Jack Oxford's body yer found an' 'e was wearin' my b.l.o.o.d.y watch.'

The inspector sighed. 'As I said, Mr Galloway, the victim couldn't have been wearing it. It would have melted. That watch was found beneath a charred timber. As you can see the gla.s.s is broken and the hands are damaged but it hasn't actually been in the flames. As a matter of fact it was still attached to a nail in the timber by the chain. In other words, we suspect that the victim took it off and hung it on the nail before getting his head down for the night, and from what you've told us, Mr Tanner, the horse must have kicked out that piece of timber in its fright. You said the side of the stable crashed out into the yard, didn't you?'

William nodded and turned to George. 'I still don't fink that body is Jack Oxford's, an' I don't fink 'e took yer watch in the first place,' he said firmly.

'Tell me, did you report the theft of that watch, Mr Galloway?'

George shook his head. 'I didn't bovver. I thought it might turn up again.'

'Well, it certainly did,' the inspector said with a smile.

George stared down at the damaged timepiece and the little fob medallion. He could see it clearly: the old toff lying on the ground in that alley off the Old Kent Road and the two of them rifling through his pockets. William was gazing down at the watch too. The medallion had brought its original owner bad luck, and it had certainly not been lucky for the man who was wearing it in the yard last night.

'Crawford, will you pop back to Dockhead and check up on Mr Oxford?' the inspector asked. 'I'll wait here for you. I need to go over a few things with these gentlemen.'

The detective scooped up the watch-and-chain and placed it back in the envelope. 'I'd like to check this out,' he said, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket.

William left the office to check on the horses. The upper stable still smelt of smoke although it had been cleaned and fresh straw had been laid in the stalls. The animals seemed a little jumpy to William and he talked quietly to them and patted their manes rea.s.suringly as he walked in and out of the stalls. The horse which had been trapped by its foreleg looked none the worse. William had bandaged its cuts and bruises, and all the horses had been brushed and curry-combed. The gelding was stabled along with the rest. It munched away at its hay unconcernedly as the foreman gently stroked its singed mane. He had been so lucky, he told himself again. Carrie's quick thinking had most probably saved his life. Joe Maitland too had been a hero. He was obviously used to handling horses.

William frowned as he thought of Jack Oxford, wondering whether it really was his body in the stable. He had to admit to himself that it was quite likely. Jack was still in the habit of sneaking into the yard, although he rarely slept there in winter. Of course he had not been about to tell the police that, not in front of Galloway. He had known about the loose plank for a while now. This time it had been less obvious. He had discovered it quite by chance one day when he was replacing another plank that had been damaged by the wheel of a cart and the one next to it sprang out. William had seen that all the nails had been removed and only one shorter nail secured it. It would be easy for someone to give it a sharp kick from the outside and spring the plank from its fastening. Jack had never caused any problems by sleeping in the yard since the trouble over the theft, and was always careful not to be found out. The watch-and-chain was the real mystery. How could it have shown up after all this time? William wondered. It was inconceivable that Jack would wear it in the yard, even if he did take it originally. There must be another answer. Perhaps the police might be able to sort it out, he thought.

One hour later William was summoned back into the office. He noticed that the detective sergeant looked pleased with himself.

'Well, I've some news,' the subordinate said, looking at the inspector for permission to proceed. 'Jack Oxford was staying at the lodging-house in Tooley Street. I spoke to the owner over the phone and he told me that Oxford has been lodging there regularly for the past year or so. Last night he didn't book in. It seems he had a row the previous night with a man known as Fatty Arbuckle. The lodging-house owner told me he threw this Arbuckle character out on his ear as a troublemaker. Mr Oxford might have lodged somewhere else last night or he might have decided to sleep in the stable. I've also got a preliminary report from the pathologist. There's no indication of foul play. They've ascertained however that the victim was around six feet tall, possibly six two. So at the moment it seems quite likely that the body is that of Jack Oxford, although we can't be certain. We can be certain of one thing, though. That watch-and-chain was found on a body we sc.r.a.ped off the railway lines at South Bermondsey. Records show that the man was a tramp and his body was never formally identified, thus the watch-and-chain were not claimed. I don't know if you're aware, but all items not claimed after a certain length of time are sold and the proceeds go to the police widows' and orphans' fund. This watch was sold to a p.a.w.nbroker in Tower Bridge Road. Our station sergeant remembered it by the unusual fob-piece. He went through the records and came up with the information. One of us will be seeing the p.a.w.nbroker first thing tomorrow and he may have some record of who bought it, although it's unlikely.'

George slumped back in his chair, contemplating his whisky-filled gla.s.s. 'Jack Oxford could 'ave nicked the watch an' sold it ter the tramp,' he remarked.

William was beginning to feel irritated by Galloway's insistence that Jack was the thief. 'That watch was nicked by the tramp 'imself,' he a.s.serted. 'If Oxford 'ad taken it in the first place 'e wouldn't 'ave bought it back from the p.a.w.nbroker, surely? Anyway, 'e might be simple-minded but 'e's not a thief.'

George looked hard at the yard foreman. 'Yer've got to admit it's possible Oxford jus' decided ter do 'imself a favour. 'E must o' known it was werf a few bob.'

William stood up quickly, his face flus.h.i.+ng with anger. 'Yer make me sick,' he said in a loud voice. 'The poor ole sod might be dead an' already yer blackin' 'is name. 'Ow long as 'e worked fer yer? An' 'ow many times 'ave yer 'ad anyfing nicked from the office? Yer always on about loyalty. I reckon yer should start finkin' about yer loyalty ter yer workers.'

George was about to respond as William stormed from the office but he checked himself. 'Never mind,' he said to the a.s.sembled company. 'Will's still a bit shook up from last night. 'E'll calm down.'

The inspector nodded. 'From what the fire people told us your foreman did a marvellous job saving those horses. There was another man too, Mr Maitland who lodges in the street. Apparently he helped too.'

George nodded and got up to see the policeman out. 'Remind me ter see Will Tanner about that, Frank,' he said quietly. 'I fink the man deserves a reward.'

On Monday morning William Tanner opened up the yard at seven sharp and soon the carmen started to arrive. Horses were brought down from the upper stable and put in the carts, and sacks of chaff collected from the loft. Normally it was Jack Oxford who brought down the sacks but this morning the men did the ch.o.r.e without complaint. Word had got round the neighbourhood about the body found in the stable fire and the morning papers carried the full story. William had been constantly glancing along the street, hoping that he would see the familiar figure of Jack Oxford strolling along in his usual shuffling manner, but after ten minutes past seven he knew that the yard man would not show up. Jack was never late. By seven-thirty William sadly admitted to himself that it must have been the simpleton who had perished in the fire after all.

The morning paper said that the police were anxious to trace Jack Oxford and the carmen were all convinced that he had indeed been the victim.

'Poor bleeder. 'E never 'armed a fly. Fancy 'im goin' like that,' one said.

'Fancy sleepin' in the stable. Surely 'e could 'ave found a kip-'ouse or somefink,' another piped in.

'P'raps the police was after 'im. It said in the paper they wanted ter trace 'im,' the third remarked.

One elderly carman took his clay pipe from his mouth and spat a jet of tobacco juice in the direction of the yard cat who had only just returned after the fire. 'I reckon Oxford done away wiv 'imself,' he began. ''E was always a bit funny, ever since 'e got that kick on the 'ead. Mind yer though, if I was gonna do away wiv meself I wouldn't choose fire, nor poison. Ga.s.sin' yerself's best. I remember an ole boy down our turnin'. 'E done away wiv 'imself. Took rat poison 'e did. Terrible ter see 'im it was. Rollin' aroun' the floor an' kickin' 'is legs up in the air. It took 'im ages ter die. Then there was that ole Mrs Copperstone. She tried ter do away wiv 'erself. Drunk a tin o' metal polish she did. They 'ad ter pump 'er out.'

'Are yer gonna stand 'ere chewin' the fat all day, or are yer gonna get out on the road? Jus' let me know,' William said sarcastically.

The elderly carman aimed another jet of tobacco juice at the cat as he climbed up into his seat, hitting it on the head. 'Did Jack 'ave anybody, Will?' he asked. 'I expect the boys would wanna put a few coppers in the 'at.'

The foreman shook his head. 'As far as I know, Jack was on 'is own. 'E never mentioned 'avin' anybody ter me.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y shame,' the carman said as he jerked on the reins.

William watched him drive out of the gate followed by the others, and when the last cart had left he picked up the broom and swept the yard. Inside he was still seething over George's remarks about Jack Oxford, especially as they had been made in the presence of the police.

When he finished tidying the yard William went over to the store shed. This was Jack's domain, he thought sadly as he looked around at the little bits and pieces. How many times had he caught him snoozing in the corner? There was the stained tea-can and the faded picture of Queen Victoria as a young woman hanging behind the door. Polis.h.i.+ng rags, dubbin and a tin of metal polish were all strewn on the workbench and beside them there was a bridle that Jack had been mending, with a large needle still embedded in the leather. William sat down on the upturned crate and took the Daily Mirror out of his pocket. He had read the story twice already but he opened the paper again and looked down at the paragraph.

BODY FOUND IN BERMONDSEY FIRE.

Firemen tackling a blaze at the Galloway cartage firm in Page Street, Bermondsey late on Sat.u.r.day evening discovered a charred body in the fire. Police say that no formal identification was possible as yet but they are anxious to trace the whereabouts of Jack Oxford, an employee of the firm. Oxford went missing from his lodgings in Tooley Street on Sat.u.r.day evening and police would like anyone with information on the missing man to contact them at Dockhead Police Station, Bermondsey.

William folded the newspaper and put it into his coat pocket. For a while he sat back with his head resting against the wooden slatting. It still seemed unreal that Jack was gone. He tried to understand why he should have gone to the stable in mid-winter. He could have found a different lodging-house, after all. There did not seem to be any sense to the whole affair, and the more he thought about the tragedy the more puzzled he became. With a sad shake of his head he stood up and made his way out of the yard for his breakfast.

Nellie was looking thoughtful as she scooped two rashers of streaky bacon and a fried egg on to his plate. 'D'yer know, I still can't believe that was Jack Oxford in the fire,' she said with a frown. 'Jack never wore a watch. An' ain't it strange that it was the one Galloway 'ad pinched?'

William nodded slowly as he dipped his bread into the soft egg. 'I'd back me life on Jack not takin' that watch, Nell, but s'posin', jus' s'posin', 'e did take it. It could 'ave preyed on 'is mind an' suddenly 'e sees it in the p.a.w.nbroker's. 'E could 'ave bought it, an' when 'e went ter the yard ter put it back, 'e some'ow started the fire.'

Nell shook her head vigorously. 'Yer fergettin' one fing, Will. Yer told me yerself Jack's scared o' that geldin'. There's no way 'e would 'ave slept in that stable while that 'orse was in there.'

William did not look convinced by his wife's argument as he chewed on the bacon. 'Well, as a matter o' fact I thought about that meself, Nell,' he replied. 'But 'e might 'ave got drunk an' staggered back, fergettin' about the geldin' bein' in there. 'E could 'ave dropped the lamp in fright an' set the 'ole b.l.o.o.d.y place alight.'

Nellie pondered on it as she refilled his teacup. 'But in that case, surely Jack would 'ave run out o' the stable before the fire got goin'?' she said finally.

'P'raps 'e tried to. P'raps 'e fell over an' cracked 'is 'ead,' Will countered. 'Anyfing could 'ave 'appened. I don't s'pose we'll ever know.'

'It's a terrible fing ter 'appen but it's worse when it's somebody yer know,' Nellie said sadly.

William pushed his empty plate away and got out his cigarette tin. 'I know what yer mean,' he sighed. 'I was prayin' fer 'im ter come walkin' along the turnin', an' as the time went on I began ter realise it really was Jack's body they found after all. We've known 'im a few years, Nell. The poor ole sod wouldn't 'arm a fly, an' when yer come ter fink of it 'e didn't 'ave much of a life. That's why I got so mad at Galloway an' that miserable-lookin' boy of 'is. They don't seem ter 'ave an ounce o' pity between the two of 'em. All George seemed ter be worried about was that b.l.o.o.d.y watch of 'is.'

Nellie sat down at the table and rested her chin in her hands. 'Yer wanna be careful, Will,' she warned him. 'They might try an' put the blame on you fer Jack Oxford gettin' in an' startin' that fire. They won't fink about the way yer risked yer life ter save them 'orses. From what I can see of it they only need an excuse ter get yer out, so be careful what yer say.'

William looked serious as he carefully rolled the cigarette between his fingers and ran his tongue along the gummed edge of the paper. 'I keep finkin' about the way Carrie calmed that geldin' down,' he said quietly. 'If it wasn't fer 'er I'd 'ave got trampled fer sure. She's certainly got a way wiv 'orses. Ter be honest I don't fink anybody else could 'ave managed that 'orse.'

'She takes after 'er farvver,' Nellie remarked, giving him a smile. 'Mind yer, Will, that Joe Maitland was b.l.o.o.d.y good the way 'e 'elped yer. I've never spoken to 'im until yesterday. 'E seems a nice sort o' fella.'

William blew a cloud of cigarette smoke towards the grimy ceiling. He watched idly as Nellie cleared away the breakfast things, then his eyes slowly travelled about the room. He noticed how the varnish was wearing off the back of the door, and how faded and dirty the flowered wallpaper looked. He had promised Nellie he was going to replace it last summer. He glanced at the sideboard, with the framed photos of the children when they were small, and one of him and Nellie standing together outside the railway station the day they went on the trip to Southend. He gazed at the iron ornaments of torch-carrying maidens and the old clock that needed a shake every time it was wound. He smiled to himself as he noticed the illuminated address Carrie had brought back from one of her suffragette marches which Nellie had placed behind an ornament. He glanced down at the open fire and the bra.s.s fender, the copper-plated coal-scuttle that Nellie polished vigorously once every week and the coconut mat which covered the worn linoleum. He noticed the sooty black circles around the gaslights on the chimney-breast and how cluttered and untidy the recess shelves each side of the fireplace were. Most of the bits and pieces belonged to the boys and Nellie had insisted that the things stay where they were while the lads were away. The whole room looked shabby and overcrowded, William thought. The whole house was ramshackle and badly in need of renovation but it was the family home, the house he and Nellie had lived in since they were first married.

On Monday morning Maudie Mycroft swept the house, changed her lace curtains and then whitened her front doorstep. It was still early and she decided to get the copper going. Mondays was always a very busy day for Maudie. She liked to have the house cleaned by midday and there was time for her to do her hair and change into her best bits for the mothers' meeting at the church. Maudie got down on her hands and knees on the stone floor of the scullery and raked out the ashes from under the copper, then she put in sticks of wood and pieces of torn-up newspaper. Satisfied that all was ready she threw in a piece of rag soaked in paraffin and set it alight. Next she inspected the mousetraps by the door and saw that the bits of cheese were still there. Setting the traps was a job she did not relish, especially when the mothers' meeting usually began with the hymn, 'All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small', and she would find herself thinking about the mice as she was singing it with feeling. Those creatures had to be kept down, Maudie told herself as she walked back into her front parlour. Ernest was frightened of the mousetraps. He had laid them himself at one time all over the house, until he trod on one in the bedroom and ended up with a blackened big toenail. Now he left it to her and she confined the traps to the back door. Ernest had wanted her to get a good mouser but Maudie could not stand cats. They smelt the place out, she thought. Florrie's place always smelt of cats and snuff. She liked her house spic and span when Ernest got in at night, not smelling of cat's p.i.s.s.

The copper was heating up nicely and Maudie took off the lid and threw in her weekly wash. When she got back from the meeting there would be time to run it through the wringer while the scrag of mutton was cooking, she told herself. Monday was always mutton day and Tuesday she would get a nice piece of fresh plaice or a half sheep's head. Wednesday was going to be a problem though. If Ernest managed to get a full day's work at the docks she could get f.a.ggots and pease pudden, otherwise it would have to be a slice of brawn and a few potatoes. It was no use worrying about the rest of the week, she sighed. It all depended how Ernest's work went. At least the house would be nice and tidy for him to come in to.

At twelve noon Maudie made herself a cup of tea and decided to do without bread and cheese. There was barely enough for Ernest's sandwiches and in any case there were always biscuits with a cup of tea at the meeting, she reminded herself. The copper was nice and hot now and Maudie shovelled up some small pieces of coal and threw them in. There was just time to do that bit of sewing before getting herself ready, she thought as she checked that the curtains were hanging right. She should have cleaned those windows, she realised, but they had only been done on Sat.u.r.day and the neighbours might think she was getting house-proud. Being aware of what the neighbours might be thinking was something Maudie attached great importance to. She had heard Florrie going on about Aggie's fetish for cleanliness and did not like to think that the same was being said about her.

Maudie was a worrier, and when there was nothing to worry about she invented something. Childless and in her early fifties, Maudie had got religion. Next to Ernest and her tidy home, the church had become the most important thing in her life. Maudie worried about what the other women would think of the black raffia hat that Ernest had bought her as she put it on and secured it with a large hat pin, and she was still worrying as she hurried along the little turning. The day was cold and the wind stung her face as she crossed Jamaica Road and took the short cut to Dockhead Church.

Reverend Mercer was standing by the door greeting all the ladies. She gave him a warm smile as he nodded a greeting to her. When the venerable gentleman smiled back, Maudie felt all fluttery. She was sure Reverend Mercer reserved his best smile for her and worried in case any of the other ladies had noticed.

Maudie took her place and solemn organ notes filled the hall as the short service began. As usual the first hymn was 'All things bright and beautiful' and Maudie began to worry about the mousetraps. She heard Reverend Mercer's musical voice leading the congregation and soon it made her feel better, although his choice of 'The feeding of the five thousand' for the sermon made her empty stomach rumble and she worried in case anybody heard it. It seemed an extraordinarily long time before they settled down to their usual tea and biscuits and Maudie got into her customary state in case there were not enough biscuits to go round. All was well, however, and she munched thankfully on a custard cream while the lady sitting next to her went on about her wayward husband.

'I wouldn't mind if I was a bad wife,' she was saying. 'I worked my fingers to the bone, and what was my fanks? My 'usband ran off wiv this flighty piece an' I was left ter struggle on. Mind yer, 'e came back. Once 'e found out I'd bin left the 'ouse an' I was takin' in lodgers, 'e came back like a shot. Must 'ave thought I was well off, I s'pose.'

Maudie nodded, worrying that the Reverend might overhear them. 'My Ernest is a very good man, fank the Lord,' she managed quickly before the woman started off again.

'Yer should be grateful,' the woman told her. 'I've not 'ad the best of 'usbands. I was glad ter see the back of mine, in actual fact.'

Maudie was beginning to get confused. 'I thought yer said 'e came back?'

'Oh, 'e did, fer a few weeks, then 'e ups an' goes again,' the woman said casually. ''E wouldn't allow me ter take in lodgers an' I 'ad ter get rid of 'em. Mind yer, I took 'em in again after 'e b.u.g.g.e.red orf, but I wonder if I've done the right fing sometimes. I've got this bloke stayin' wiv me an' 'e's bin actin' very strange.'

'In what way?' Maudie asked, her curiosity aroused.

'Well,' the woman began, looking around to make sure she wasn't being overheard, 'this lodger o' mine left fer work this mornin' as usual an' ten minutes later 'e was back. White as a sheet 'e was. I asked 'im if 'e was ill but 'e jus' shook 'is 'ead an' went straight up to 'is room. Somefink mus' be worryin' 'im, I ses ter meself, 'e's bin pacin' that room all mornin'. I went up ter see if 'e wanted anyfing before I came out but 'e jus' gave me a stare. The way 'e jus' stared really frightened me, I can tell yer.'

Maudie s.h.i.+vered in sympathy. 'Yer gotta be so careful, the fings yer read about these days.'

'I never read the papers,' the woman said. 'They're too depressin', what wiv all that war stuff.'

Maudie nodded. 'There was somebody burnt ter death in our turnin' on Sat.u.r.day night. It was in this mornin's papers. As a matter o' fact they fink ...'

Reverend Mercer's loud voice interrupted the conversation. 'Right then, ladies, let us form ourselves into groups for the discussion,' he called out. 'Oh, Mrs Mycroft, could I ask you to join our new ladies' group? You'll be able to get them started.'

Maudie felt very pleased that Reverend Mercer should single her out and gave him a big smile as she hurried over to join the group.

The other woman was cross at not hearing the rest of Maudie's story and promised herself she would break a habit and buy a paper as soon as she left the meeting.