The Girl from Cotton Lane (60 page)

‘This is Mrs Bradley.’

‘This is the almoner speaking, Poplar Hospital. I’m phoning about a Mr Maitland. He was admitted this morning.’

‘What ’appened? What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Carrie asked, her heart racing.

‘I’m afraid he collapsed in the street,’ the woman answered. ‘Mr Maitland had just checked out of his lodgings. We found your name and address in his belongings.’

‘What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Carrie asked again, fearing the worst.

‘The doctor’s seeing him this afternoon,’ the almoner replied. ‘Mr Maitland is comfortable, that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.’

Carrie put the phone down and bit on her knuckles as she stared at the desk.

Jamie looked up from his work, concern showing on his face. ‘Is anything wrong, Mrs Bradley?’ he asked.

‘It’s a friend o’ mine,’ Carrie told him. ‘’E’s bin taken ill.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said, looking down at the ledger again.

Early that evening Carrie left the yard with her father’s words ringing in her ears. ‘Be prepared, luv. Yer might not like what yer see.’

She boarded the number 42 bus and stared distractedly out of the window at the quiet wharves and factories. The river looked peaceful and the dockside cranes seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. She saw seagulls wheeling and diving, and up ahead were the white stone walls of the Tower of London. At the Minories she got off and boarded a trolley bus to Poplar, thoughts beginning to crowd in on her mind as she neared the hospital. She began to fear that her father might be right. Perhaps Joe had changed more than she could imagine. Was she acting sensibly in going to see him, she wondered, or should she just remember him for the good times that they had together? Well, it was too late to turn back now, she told herself. Better she should face him rather than spend the rest of her life in regret.

The man at the reception desk seemed to take an eternity as he pored over the entries in the large book, then he looked up, his face blank. ‘I’m afraid Mr Maitland discharged himself this afternoon,’ he said.

In the late summer the rag sorters’ premises in Page Street burned down. Maudie Mycroft saw the smoke coming from the yard as she returned from a mothers’ meeting at the church. It was nearing six o’clock, and by the time her husband had run to the Kings Arms to raise the alarm the yard was ablaze. The following morning Red Ellie Roffey was arrested and charged with arson. Word spread fast and that afternoon the ageing Florrie Axford sat down in her parlour with Maisie and Sadie to discuss the affair.

‘They wouldn’t let me see ’er,’ she told her friends. ‘The copper told me they’re tryin’ ter raise bail.’

‘Who is?’ Maisie asked.

‘Ellie’s party people, o’ course,’ Florrie said sharply, feeling tired after her trek to and from the Tower Bridge police station.

‘What a silly cow. Fancy ’er burnin’ the place down,’ Maisie remarked.

‘We don’t know if she did do it,’ Sadie replied angrily, giving Maisie a hard look.

‘Well, we all ’eard ’er threaten that ole goat when ’e told us all ter get out of ’is yard,’ Maisie said.

Florrie stared into the empty grate. It was true, she couldn’t deny it. The owner of the yard had not exactly been very helpful from the start, and when Ellie asked him what he was doing to get rid of the rats he had become abusive and told her to stop pestering him and mind her own business. Ellie had held her temper though, until he called her a Bolshie cow. That always seemed to enrage her. That was when she had threatened to burn the place down herself.

Sadie had been quiet for some time. ‘Was there anybody there apart from the guv’nor when Ellie threatened ’im?’ she asked.

‘We were all there,’ Maudie cut in.

Florrie and Sadie exchanged exasperated glances. ‘Apart from us,’ Sadie said irritably.

Florrie stroked her chin with her thumb and forefinger. ‘Not as far as I can remember. Wait a minute though. There was that bloke what looked in the office wiv some papers in ’is ’and. The ole goat went out ’an spoke wiv ’im fer a few minutes, don’t yer remember?’

Sadie nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I remember now. ’E might ’ave ’eard what Ellie said. Mind yer, it’s not enough fer the police ter nick ’er for. Yer threatened ter burn the place down yerself, Flo, an’ they ain’t nicked you.’

‘They must ’ave got the evidence,’ Maudie chipped in. ‘They must ’ave found fingerprints an’ suchlike.’

‘Listen ter Mrs Sherlock Holmes,’ Sadie scoffed.

‘She’s right,’ Florrie said quietly. ‘They must ’ave somefing on ’er.’

More tea was passed around and the Page Street women sat deliberating the fate of their friend and ally. ‘Arson’s a serious charge,’ Sadie said. ‘She could go away for a long time.’

‘Can’t we do anyfing?’ Maisie asked. ‘I feel so ’elpless sittin’ ’ere. Poor Ellie come up trumps fer us an’ we ain’t doin’ anyfing for ’er.’

‘I tell yer what I will do,’ Florrie said suddenly. ‘Termorrer I’ll go round ter that place where Ellie used to ’old ’er meetin’s. I’ll find out if there’s anyfing we can do fer ’er. They might want a petition got up or somefing.’

‘Good idea, Flo. I’ll come wiv yer,’ Maisie said.

In the Tanner household another problem predominated as the family sat around in the parlour talking together. ‘Well, I can’t see that it’s much ter worry about,’ Nellie was saying. ‘If ’e was fit enough ter walk out o’ the ’orspital there can’t be much wrong wiv ’im.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Will said, reaching for his pipe. ‘A man don’t collapse in the street fer nuffink.’

Danny was paying his family a visit and he glanced at Carrie with concern in his eyes, aware of the feelings she had for Joe Maitland. ‘It could ’ave bin ’e needed a good meal inside ’im,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve felt like faintin’ more than once when I’ve gone out wivout a breakfast inside me.’

‘Yer gotta eat a breakfast, son,’ Nellie cut in. ‘’Specially workin’ on those barges. If yer fell in the water it’d be all over.’

Danny wished he had not made the remark in front of his mother and he fidgeted in the armchair. ‘Ain’t there no clues as ter where Joe could be?’ he asked.

Rachel was sitting on her haunches near the fireplace. ‘We could go over Poplar and look fer ’im,’ she said. ‘Somebody must know ’im. We could go ter the market in Poplar where Joe worked.’

‘Joe left that market ages ago,’ Carrie told her. ‘’E said ter me jus’ before ’e left that ’e was workin’ in a market in North London. It could be anywhere.’

‘Well, it seems ter me that if Joe was lodgin’ in Poplar ’e’d be workin’ in the area,’ Rachel persisted.

Carrie smiled at her daughter. ‘Look, luv,’ she said kindly, ‘Joe ’ad ’is suitcase wiv ’im when ’e collapsed. We don’t know ’ow far ’e’d travelled before it ’appended. Goin’ lookin’ fer ’im would be like lookin’ fer a needle in an ’aystack.’

‘I’ll ask about,’ Danny said, stroking Rachel’s hair fondly. ‘Some o’ my mates live over the water. Yer never know. Joe was well known to a lot o’ people.’

Danny’s remark made Carrie’s insides grow suddenly cold. Joe was well known, it was true. He had made enemies too, how could she ever forget, and there were people who might want to harm him.

Will was puffing on his pipe. ‘I could take a ride over the water if the weavver’s all right termorrer,’ he volunteered. ‘I could ask around.’

‘Oh no yer don’t,’ Nellie said quickly. ‘Not wiv that chest o’ yours, an’ those legs. I don’t want the police knockin’ ’ere an’ tellin’ me
you’ve
collapsed.’

When the supper was over Danny got up to go, clutching the small parcel of food Carrie had prepared for him. ‘I’ll let yer know as soon as I ’ear anyfing, Sis,’ he said smiling.

Carrie walked across the yard with him. Above, the night sky was filled with stars and a full moon lit up the few scurrying clouds. The air was sweet with the smell of hay and they could hear the sounds of the horses moving in their stalls.

‘D’yer know, Danny, I’ve always loved the smell o’ stables. It reminds me o’ when I used ter go wiv Dad ter the stable in Page Street,’ Carrie said, taking her brother’s arm.

Danny smiled. ‘Yer love Joe, don’t yer, Sis?’ he said suddenly.

They had reached the gate and Carrie nodded. ‘’E’s the only one fer me, Bruv,’ she replied, squeezing his arm.

‘You’ll find ’im, Carrie. It’ll turn out all right in the end, you’ll see,’ he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

When she had bolted the wicket-gate Carrie stood for a few moments looking up at the velvet sky. ‘God, where are yer, Joe?’ she said aloud, tears clouding her eyes.

Ellie Roffey was brought before Tower Bridge Magistrates’ Court and remanded on bail for trial at the Bermondsey Crown Court in November. On advice Ellie stayed away from the Page Street area, and until her trial she went to lodge with her married daughter in Kent. During her absence from the riverside community the fire at the rag sorters was a main topic of discussion in the pubs. Many people were convinced that Ellie had started it and when Florrie walked into the snug bar of the Kings Arms one evening with her jug and ordered a pint of mild and bitter she became embroiled in an argument.

‘She’s as guilty as the day’s long,’ a big woman was saying to her friend in the adjoining bar. ‘They’re all the same those Bolsheviks. ’E was a Bolshevik, that there Peter the Painter, an’ look what ’e got up to.’

‘Yer talkin’ out o’ yer arse,’ Florrie told her in a loud voice, leaning on the counter and peering around the partition.

‘I’m not talkin’ ter you,’ the woman said, glaring at Florrie.

‘Well, I’m talkin’ ter you, yer silly big mare,’ she replied, clutching her purse tightly and jutting out her chin.

‘Who’s chucked ’er a bun?’ the big woman asked her friend.

‘You mind I don’t come round there an’ smack yer in the gob,’ Florrie told her.

‘You an’ whose army?’ the woman growled.

Alec Crossley came over and raised his hands in the air. ‘Now look, I’m fed up wiv ’earin’ about the fire an’ who done it,’ he shouted. ‘Now drink yer beer an’ shut yer trap, Polly. And as fer you, Florrie Axford, if yer don’t stop threatenin’ my customers I’m gonna bar yer. Yer gettin’ as bad as Sadie Sullivan. I nearly ’ad ter bar ’er once.’

Grace Crossley had filled Florrie’s jug and she put it down on the counter by her elbow.

‘Good job ’e only nearly barred ’er,’ Florrie said to the landlady. ‘Sadie would ’ave pulled the bloody place down.’

Grace had known Florrie for many years and she had grown very fond of her. ‘Mind ’ow yer go ’ome, luv,’ she said kindly. ‘Ellie’s gonna be all right, yer’ll see, an’ if it’s any consolation ter yer, I don’t fink she did it.’

Frank Galloway locked the wicket-gate and walked along Wilson Street. His mind was troubled. Bella had been acting strangely of late and he sensed that something was going on. She had been very attentive to his everyday needs, and that was not like her. He was aware that the last time she had shown any decent amount of consideration for him was when she had that little toad Hubert in tow. Frank had been duped for a while, until he saw her kissing Hubert by the taxi cab when the two of them arrived home from a show and she thought he would be fast asleep. He had pretended to be sleeping when she came in and Bella had been unaware that he knew what was going on, until the little toad showed his face at the flat. Frank had shown him what was what then and since that time Bella had behaved herself, it seemed, apart from her spasmodic forays to the dress shops where she usually ran up a considerable bill. Caroline was becoming secretive too now and it seemed as though he was being played for a fool. It had been a mistake allowing Bella to talk him into sending the child to that exclusive school. Caroline was becoming more like her mother by the day.

Well, things were going to change, Frank vowed. They would have to. The business was going through a bad spell and a couple of lucrative contracts had been lost to that Tanner woman. She was proving to be a thorn in his side and it was causing him problems with the old man. Lowering the contract rates was the only answer if they were to stay in business but his father would not hear of it. He seemed to think they could ride the storm but he was wrong. Their rates had remained static while most of the other transport firms in the area had lowered theirs and competed for contracts with a considerable advantage. The trouble was, the old boy was living in the past. The silly old fool would be the undoing of them all, Frank thought, sighing deeply as he pushed open the door of the Crown saloon bar.