The Girl from Cotton Lane (14 page)

William looked around at the stacks of cartons and bundles and felt that he had been wasting his time tidying the stock. Soon the place would be full of various bits and pieces that Joe Maitland bought in bulk from the manufacturers and sold to outlets and stallholders in the markets. The business seemed to be doing well and all day vans called for items which Joe had listed and William prepared for despatch. It was a never-ending task which offered William little personal satisfaction. He could always get old Benny Robinson, his helper, to sweep the place up and tie up the piles of cardboard, but Benny had already swept up twice that day and he was now busy sorting out bundles of twine which had fallen out of a damaged carton and become unwound. Benny was whistling noisily and he seemed happy in what he was doing so William left him alone. Anyway, the van would be arriving any minute now and Benny would be expected to help in the unloading.

William glanced down at the list of stock he was cataloguing and sighed. He pushed the sheet of paper away and looked around him, his eyes straying up to the dusty rafters. He had been fortunate in getting the job with Joe Maitland, he had to admit. He had been working at the Council depot as an attendant when Joe offered him the job, and he had been very pleased to make the change. William had not been happy at having to work through the night and at weekends and the tasks he had had to perform were not always pleasant. Sometimes he had to push a heavy barrow through the empty streets full of paraffin lamps which had to be placed around holes in the road. On more than one occasion he had had to remove a dead dog from the highway and take it in his barrow to the incinerator, and there were times when he had to take the place of a night watchman who had been taken ill on one of the larger roadworks and stay there until he could be relieved. It had been a very unhappy time for him, especially since he knew that his advancing years prevented him from getting a job as a carman. That would have been something he was very familiar with, having done it in his early years and worked so long with horses since. The job with Maitland had at least given him his weekends off, and the pay was better. He had a good working relationship with Joe too, having known him quite well when the young trader lodged with Florrie Axford.

William looked up at the clock and saw that it was nearing four o’clock. The van was late in coming. Benny usually went home around four-thirty unless the boss offered him some overtime, and Joe Maitland had not arrived back from his buying trip. William realised he would have to handle the unloading alone if the van did not arrive in the next few minutes.

At four-thirty on the dot Benny put on his coat and cap and bade William goodnight. Ten minutes later there was a loud rat-tat on the heavy iron-fronted door of the warehouse. William got up from his chair at the workbench and went over to open up with a puzzled frown. It wasn’t the van arriving for he would have heard the engine, and it couldn’t be Joe Maitland. He always used the side door which led into a small office.

As William slid the bolts the doors suddenly swung violently outwards, throwing him off balance, and before he could recover two heavily built men pinned him against the office wall. Their faces snarled at him as he struggled vainly against their far superior strength, and a tall, broad-shouldered man came into the warehouse and walked slowly and deliberately towards him. William saw that he was well dressed with a dark, double-breasted suit and polished shoes. He was wearing a homburg and his face was swarthy, thickly browed and with a thin moustache, which gave him the appearance of a continental.

The man stopped a foot away from him and for a moment or two William stopped struggling. ‘Tell Mr Maitland his old friends have paid him a visit,’ the man said in a cultured voice. ‘And just so you don’t forget . . .’

William saw the man lean back, one shoulder dropping slightly, then there was a flash of light which seemed to blind him and a searing pain. William felt the floor move from under him, and then blackness.

Benny Robinson left the warehouse in Herring Street and walked across the road to the tobacconist’s opposite. Benny was turned sixty-five and a widower who lived alone in Abbey Street. He had lived in Stepney for most of his life and had come to South London to work for Joe Maitland when the warehouse opened two years ago. Joe had employed Benny when he was buying and selling in the East End of London and found the elderly man to be a conscientious worker who could be relied on to keep his mouth shut. At the time Joe Maitland was involved in some dubious dealing and his buying was not always from legitimate sources. Benny Robinson was content to take his weekly wage and shut his eyes to anything shady, aware that what he didn’t know couldn’t harm him. Joe had met up with Benny again on one of his rare trips to his old haunts and offered him a job, which Benny was glad to accept. Moving to South London was no hardship for the elderly man. He made friends easily and after his wife died there seemed little to keep him tied to his home area.

Benny had made friends with the local tobacconist and when he walked into the shop at four-thirty-five on Monday he was immediately drawn into conversation. At four-forty-five Benny walked out of the shop and saw smoke coming from Joe’s warehouse. It was curling out around the edges of the large double doors and for a moment or two Benny stopped and stared, then with a shout of alarm he ran across the road as fast as he could and pulled on the hanging padlock flap. As the doors swung outwards a cloud of black, evil-smelling smoke gushed out and Benny could see a fire raging in the far corner. What frightened him most was the still figure of William Tanner lying prone beside the office wall, blood already beginning to turn dark on his battered face. Benny knew he had to get William out of the smoke before he did anything else. He bent down, grabbed the inert figure’s wrists in his large hands, and pulled.

Carrie had finished cleaning the tables and was busy sweeping the floor when there was a loud knocking on the side door of the dining rooms. Fred was in the kitchen tidying up and putting the freshly washed pots and pans in their proper places. He went to see who was there.

‘It’s Carrie’s farvver. ’E’s bin in an accident.’

Carrie’s heart was pumping furiously as she dashed through the kitchen to the front door. She found Maisie Dougall standing in the doorway, a serious look on her ruddy face.

‘What’s ’appened ter me dad?’ she cried out in alarm.

‘There’s nuffink ter worry about,’ Maisie reassured her. ‘’E was in a fire an’ they’ve took ’im ter Guy’s ’Ospital as a precaution. ’E’ll be all right, luv.’

Carrie reached for her coat, her heart still pounding in her chest and a tightening sensation in her throat causing her to gulp. ‘Where’s me mum?’ she asked quickly.

‘She’s at the ’ospital wiv ’im, Carrie,’ Maisie told her. ‘Yer muvver asked me ter come round an’ tell yer. Yer dad’s in Drake muvver asked me ter come round an‘ tell yer. Yer dad’s in Drake Ward.’

Carrie looked anxiously at her husband. ‘Yer’ll ’ave ter give Rachel ’er tea, Fred,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll ’ave ter go right away.’

‘Go wiv ’er, Fred,’ Maisie urged him. ‘Don’t worry about the baby. I’ll take care of ’er till yer get back.’

Carrie hurried through the evening street and Fred struggled to keep up with her. He had insisted on going with her but Carrie was beginning to wish he had stayed in the shop. As they made their way along the Jamaica Road to the tram stop he tried to reassure her but Carrie’s mind was racing. ‘I ’ope ’e’s not burned bad,’ she muttered anxiously.

Fred squeezed her arm. ‘Yer dad can’t be too badly ’urt, luv,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Maisie said it’s only a precaution.’

They sat together on the rattling tram, Fred holding her hand and Carrie biting her bottom lip in frustration as the tram stopped at the Tower Bridge Hotel for the conductor to alter the points. ‘I do wish ’e’d ’urry up,’ she groaned aloud.

Finally the tram got underway and as it started to pull up at the end of the track by the foot of Duke Street Hill Carrie was already out of her seat and waiting on the platform at the rear of the vehicle, with Fred at her side gripping her arm for fear that she would fall off before it actually stopped. They hurried through the long arch, dodging between the workers who were making their way to London Bridge Station, and then quickly crossed St Thomas’s Street and hurried through the high, wide gates of Guy’s Hospital.

William was propped up against pillows as Carrie and Fred walked up to his bed. He grinned self-consciously at them. His face was discoloured and swollen about the eyes and a plaster was spread across his forehead. Nellie was sitting at the bedside. She nodded to Fred as Carrie leaned over and kissed her father gently on his cheek.

‘What ’appened, Dad?’ she asked.

‘There were some callers,’ he replied, a wry smile playing about his lips.

Carrie looked down at him, suddenly aware of how frail and haggard he looked. ‘Callers?’ she repeated, a puzzled look on her face.

‘Some men beat yer farvver up an’ then they set the ware’ouse alight,’ Nellie said, her voice full of emotion.

‘Who were they, Dad?’ Carrie asked with anger rising in her voice. ‘D’yer know ’em?’

‘I’ve never laid eyes on ’em before,’ he replied, ‘but I’ll never ferget the bloke who laid me out. ’E looked like an Italian but ’e didn’t speak like they do. ’E jus’ walked up ter me calm as yer like an’ ses, “Tell Mr Maitland ’is ole friends ’ave paid ’im a visit.” Then ’e ses ter me, “Jus’ so’s yer don’t ferget,” then ’e put me lights out.’

Nellie looked very serious as she listened to her battered husband reliving his terrifying experience. She leaned forward and gripped his hand in hers. ‘Now listen ter me, Will,’ she said firmly, ‘yer gotta tell Joe Maitland yer packin’ up. Tell ’im soon as yer see ’im. I always knew there was somefink a bit fishy about that bloke when ’e lodged wiv Florrie. She couldn’t get ter the bottom of ’im. Then there was that turn-out wiv the boxin’ shows. Yer told me yerself ’e put the finger on the goin’s on at the Crown. People like Joe Maitland make enemies an’ I don’t want you gettin’ involved wiv somefink what’s got nuffink ter do wiv yer, d’yer understand?’

William smiled at his wife and gave her a large wink. ‘Righto, Muvver. I’ll tell Joe soon as I see ’im,’ he replied.

Fred leaned forward in his chair. ‘’Ave the police talked ter yer yet, Will?’ he asked.

‘They come in ter see me earlier,’ William replied. ‘They left jus’ before Nellie got ’ere. There wasn’t much I could tell ’em except ter give ’em a description o’ the Italian-lookin’ bloke. I can’t remember what the ovver two looked like, it ’appened so quick.’

Carrie sat around the bed with her mother and Fred chatting for a while, and it was not too long before they saw Joe Maitland coming down the ward. He looked very worried and nodded respectfully to the three of them before leaning over the bed, concern evident on his face. ‘’Ow are yer, Will?’ he asked anxiously.

The ward sister came over before William could reply. ‘There’s only two allowed around the bed,’ she said stiffly.

Carrie got up and kissed her father before she left the ward, followed by her husband who was talking to Nellie.

‘Yer was sayin’ about Joe Maitland blowin’ the whistle on the fights at the Crown, Nell. What was that all about?’ Fred asked her.

Nellie was holding on to his arm as they walked out into the corridor and he felt her tense. ‘It was a couple o’ years ago,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It was just about the time yer was gettin’ married. The police raided the Crown in Dock’ead an’ stopped the boxin’ that was goin’ on there, an’ they nicked a lot o’ street bookies who was there at the time. The same night the lan’lord fell down a flight o’ stairs an’ broke ’is neck. Joe Maitland used ter go ter the fights, an’ apparently ’e was the one who tipped the police off.’

‘But why should Joe Maitland do that if ’e went ter the fights ’imself?’ Fred asked, a puzzled look on his face.

‘Well, accordin’ ter Will, Joe’s bruvver used ter fight in the pub tournaments over Stepney,’ Nellie went on. ‘One night ’e got set about over refusin’ ter chuck a fight. ’E died in ’ospital a few days later. Rumour ’as it that Maitland only went ter the fights ter get all the evidence ’e could. Mind yer, it’s only rumour really. I wouldn’t repeat what I said, not to anybody. The people round where we live never talk about it. Yer never know who’s listenin’. It was said that George Galloway was one o’ the blokes who ’ad Joe’s bruvver beaten up, but it was never proved.’

‘George Galloway?’ Fred queried. ‘But I thought yer was sayin’ that Joe’s bruvver got beaten up over Stepney. That’s a bit out the way fer Galloway, ain’t it?’

Nellie’s face took on a hard look as she walked beside him along the tiled corridor. ‘George Galloway is a swine, Fred, believe me,’ she said with passion. ‘Yer know the story about what ’appened ter my Will, but there’s a lot yer don’t know about the Galloways. That ole goat used ter travel all over London ter the fights. ’E’s a man wivout pity an’ ’e don’t care who ’e steps on ter get what ’e wants. Believe me, I know.’

Nellie’s last few words stayed in Fred’s mind and later, in the comfort of the cosy front room above the dining rooms, after Maisie had left, he was moved to speak to his young wife about what her mother had said to him.

Carrie leaned back in her chair and stretched out her stockinged feet. ‘George Galloway is detested by everybody around ’ere,’ she answered him. ‘I’ve told yer before, ’e pays less than any ovver firm in Bermondsey an’ ’e sacks ’is workers fer the least fing. ’E wouldn’t tolerate the union fer ages an’ as soon as any of ’is workers tried ter get the union in they were put off. What’s more ’e owns ’alf o’ the ’ouses in Page Street an’ they’re fallin’ ter pieces. ’E won’t spend a penny on ’em. I jus’ loathe and detest ’im. What ’e did ter my dad after ’im workin’ fer the man all those years was enough, apart from anyfing else.’