Gaslight in Page Street (56 page)

There was another problem causing Frank considerable anguish and dismay. He had been receiving a spate of anonymous letters and the most recent one was torturing him. Enclosed was the usual white feather, but the contents of the letter itself had grown darker and even more hateful. It was printed in crude capitals and badly composed but the message was clear enough. Frank was accused of getting rich from the war, exploiting the poor workers under him while being an abject coward, hiding away while his elder brother did his fighting for him and laid down his life on the battlefield. Frank knew that he should have burnt all the letters as he had the first one but found himself carefully keeping every one hidden in his desk drawer at home, aware that he might never find out who had written them.

That Saturday evening was quiet in the Tanner household. William dozed in front of an open fire and Nellie sat quietly working on her embroidery. Carrie was curled up in an easy chair, reading a short story in the
Star
, her eyes occasionally flitting to the drawn curtains as the wind rattled the window-panes. After a while she folded up the newspaper and dropped it on the floor beside her. How different from when the boys were at home, she thought. Usually there was a fight for the paper and the fireside chair, or an argument over cards or a game of dominoes. Usually James and Danny would be doing the arguing, with Charlie burying his head in a book and refusing to get involved. They were all involved now, Carrie sighed.

As though reading her mind, Nellie looked up from her sewing. ‘Wasn’t the newspaper bad terday?’ she said in a worried voice. ‘It was full o’ the war. There don’t seem no end to it.’

William stirred. He sat up, scratching his head. ‘I ought ter see if the geldin’s all right,’ he said wearily.

‘Yer changed the poultice this afternoon,’ Nellie said without looking up from her sewing. ‘Surely it’ll keep till the mornin’?’

‘I s’pose yer right,’ he nodded. ‘I’ll change it first fing termorrer.’

‘Was it Galloway’s fault the ’orse fell lame?’ Carrie asked.

William shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s ’ard ter say,’ he replied. ‘What ’e is or what ’e ain’t, George don’t ill-treat ’is ’orses. But ’e might ’ave run it a bit ’ard, ’specially if ’e’d bin at the booze.’

‘It’s a beautiful ’orse,’ Carrie remarked. ‘It’ll be all right, won’t it, Dad?’

‘It’s an inflamed tendon. It’ll be fine in a few days.’

Nellie got up and stretched. ‘I’ll put the kettle on an’ see ’ow that currant pudden is,’ she said. ‘It’s bin boilin’ fer over two hours.’

Suddenly there was a loud rat-tat on the front door and Nellie exchanged anxious glances with Carrie as William went to see who it was. Immediately, he rushed back with a serious look on his face. He grabbed his coat from behind the door and snatched the yard keys from the mantelshelf.

‘It’s ’Arold Temple. ’E reckons there’s smoke comin’ from the stable,’ he shouted as he dashed from the room.

Carrie and her mother jumped up and put on their coats, following him out into the street. William quickly unlocked the wicket-gate, and as he was about to step through into the yard the end stable burst into flames.

‘Quick!’ he shouted to Harold. ‘Run up the pub an’ tell ’em ter phone the fire brigade!’

William stumbled through the gate and dashed across the yard, aware that the gelding was tethered in the flaring stable. He could hear its terrified neighing as he drew close and he felt the heat of the flames on his face. There must be a way of getting in there somehow, he thought frantically. In desperation he grabbed a saddle blanket draped over the hitching-rail and threw it in the horse trough to soak it, intending to shroud himself and dash through the flames, but then the side of the stable was suddenly kicked out and the singed animal darted out into the yard, bucking and rearing. William just managed to throw the blanket over the animal’s back as it reared up and sent him sprawling. The stable was now burning fiercely and the heat of the flames was making it difficult for him to breathe. He could hear the women screaming as the horse reared up above him, about to trample him. He tried to dodge the hooves and Carrie was suddenly beside him, grabbing at the gelding’s trailing bridle-rope. William rolled out of the way and Carrie struggled to reach the bridle as she pulled back on the rope. The gelding was backing into the far corner of the yard, away from the flames, and Carrie was being pulled forward despite leaning her whole weight back. William staggered to his feet, fearing for his daughter’s safety, but she was slowly managing to urge the terrified animal towards the gate. It was still rearing up, frightened by the crackling flames, as he ran to the gate and slipped the main bolts.

‘Take ’im up the street, Carrie,’ he shouted as he threw open the heavy gates.

Once he saw that she was in no danger from the horse, he dashed back into the yard and grabbed a bucket. As fast as he could he scooped water from the horse trough and tried to contain the fire, but soon realised it was no use. The stable contained bales of hay which were burning fiercely. Smoke was billowing up to the main stable and he could hear the animals there neighing and crashing their hooves as they tried to get out of their stalls.

‘Quick!’ he screamed at Nellie as she stood by the gate. ‘Get me somefink ter cover the ’orses’ ’eads wiv. Towels, coats, anyfing.’

Smoke was now seeping into the upper stable and William dashed up the slope carrying his coat. There were a dozen horses stamping and crashing their heavy hooves against the stall-boards. With great difficulty he managed to untie the far horse, throwing his coat over its head as he ran with it down the ramp. Nellie grabbed the bridle-rope from him and quickly led the frightened animal out into the street as William dashed back up the ramp. By the time he had rescued seven of the horses the stable was filling with smoke. Flames were licking at the dry weatherboards and he realised that he might not be able to save all the horses before the whole place went up in smoke. He had to save the Clydesdales, he thought, grabbing a blanket that Nellie held up for him and dashing back up the ramp. The two animals worked together in the shafts and one might follow the other down.

He managed to free the first of the massive beasts. Once it had the blanket over its head, it allowed itself to be led towards the ramp. It was a desperate gamble, William knew. He was taking a change that the animal would not bolt while he was freeing the other Clydesdale. If it ran down the ramp it would either stumble and break its neck or else career into the onlookers in the turning and probably kill someone.

William finally managed to untether the second Clydesdale. It reared up, massive hooves crashing down on the stone floor. There was nothing to cover its head with and the yard manager said a silent prayer as he grabbed the first horse and led it down the ramp, whistling loudly at the other animal. The second horse reared up again and stared wildly for a few moments, then it trotted forward and followed its partner down to the bottom of the ramp. When they were beyond the gates the horses became quiet and allowed themselves to be led away up the street.

William felt near to exhaustion after his efforts and Nellie was screaming for him to wait until the fire brigade arrived but he knew he must try to save the last three horses. They had broken loose in the upper stable and were likely to cause themselves injury or worse if he did not get to them quickly. As he staggered up the steep ramp, gasping for breath and with his heart pounding, Carrie ran into the yard. She had helped tether the horses together at the end of the street and they were being calmed by Florrie and some of the local menfolk. Nellie cried out to her as she dashed past but she ignored her mother’s entreaty. Suddenly she was grabbed by Florrie’s lodger Joe Maitland, who forcibly dragged her screaming back to Nellie.

‘’Old ’er!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll give yer ole man an ’and.’

When Joe Maitland reached the upper stable he could barely see William who was dodging about, trying to stay clear of the horses’ flying hooves. Joe made his way over to him, and together they managed to grab one of the terrified animals. There was no time to cover its head. Joe brought the horse rearing and kicking down the slope, holding on to the tether as tightly as he could. Once out in the street the animal quietened down, and Joe ran back up to the smoke-filled stable as he heard the fire bell coming. The yard foreman had his back against the far wall, holding on to a tether and trying desperately to shorten the rope. Joe slid along the side of the stalls narrowly avoiding being struck by the kicking hooves and the two men pulled the last but one of the horses to the exit. The animal had kicked and reared until it was exhausted, and blew hard as they led it down the ramp.

Firemen were dashing from the tender and the first hose had already been connected to a stand-pipe as the two men ran back to save the last horse. They could hear the water being played on the fire and against the walls of the main stable as they reached the top of the ramp. The terrified horse was lying on its side with its foreleg trapped in a splintered stall-board, unable to get up. The two men found it difficult to breathe in the dense smoke as they worked to free the animal. Desperately they tried to prise the planking away but it resisted all their flagging efforts.

‘It’s no good!’ William shouted. ‘We need somefink ter lever it wiv!’

Joe dashed back down the ramp and soon returned with a fireman who set to work with his axe.

‘Is its leg broken?’ Joe shouted to William.

The foreman shook his head. ‘I don’t fink so. We’ll soon find out.’

Finally the animal was freed and it struggled to its feet. The fireman led the limping horse down to the yard, followed by the two staggering rescuers who had their arms around each other’s shoulders to hold themselves up. Folk were clapping and cheering as the men stumbled out through the gates and collapsed on the pavement.

The blaze had been contained and the main stable saved. Firemen were dousing the weather-boards and black smoke was rising into the air from the ruins of the end stable as Nellie brought out mugs of tea for the two exhausted men.

‘It’s Joe, ain’t it?’ William asked, holding out his hand.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ the young man answered, his white teeth gleaming in his blackened face.

‘Well, I couldn’t ’ave saved all them ’orses on me own, Joe. I’m much obliged,’ William said gratefully. ‘It took guts ter do what yer did.’

The two rescuers were finishing their tea when the fire officer walked out of the yard with a serious look on his smoke-streaked face.

‘Is the owner here?’ he asked William.

‘Somebody’s gone fer ’im,’ Nellie cut in.

‘I’m the yard foreman,’ William said, standing up.

The officer took him by the arm and led him to one side. ‘Keep this to yourself,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we think there’s a body in the stable. We can’t be sure yet but I’ve sent for the police.’

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 identity.’

‘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 glass 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.