The Girl from Cotton Lane (67 page)

Rachel came into the parlour, her long blonde hair tied loosely behind her head with a black ribbon, and Carrie could not help but notice how beautiful her daughter had become. Her large eyes shone radiantly and she seemed to move with a natural elegance.

‘Yer look tired, Mum. ’Ave yer bin finkin’ o’ Joe again?’ she asked with concern.

Carrie smiled wanly. ‘No, luv, I’ve not,’ she lied. ‘It’s this Talbot business.’

‘Still no luck?’ Rachel asked, sitting down facing her mother.

Carrie shook her head. ‘I’m givin’ it till Monday then I’m goin’ ter the police,’ she replied. ‘I can’t leave it no longer.’

‘What would Frank Galloway say?’ Rachel asked.

‘’E told me that if I went ter the police an’ told ’em where I’d got the information ’e’d jus’ tell ’em ’e over’eard it in a pub.

The police’ll most likely discount it as gossip anyway,’ Carrie told her, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the smoke-stained ceiling.

‘I wish Joe was ’ere, Mum. I bet ’e’d find that Talbot fella. Joe could do anyfing,’ she sighed.

‘I wish ’e was ’ere too, darlin’,’ Carrie said softly.

Maisie Dougall had been feeling depressed all week. She had moped about the house, constantly sitting around deep in thought, until on Friday evening her husband finally decided that something had to be done.

‘Look, luv, yer can’t spend all yer time rackin’ yer brains about that Talbot bloke. If yer can’t remember that’s the end of it,’ he told her sharply.

‘But if I could jus’ remember where I’d seen ’im we might be able ter go there an’ find ’im,’ she replied, sighing deeply as she stared into the low-burning fire.

‘Look, gel, yer bin like that since yer come back from the Tanner place. Go an’ get yerself ready an’ we’ll go up the Rovver’ithe ’Ippodrome. There’s a good review up there,’ he told her. ‘Go on, it’ll do yer good ter get out o’ the ’ouse fer a couple of hours.’

Maisie did not feel like going anywhere but Fred was persistent and she finally relented. She did her hair, put on her best brown coat and her matching high-heeled shoes, picked up her handbag and then stood gloomily in the parlour watching while Fred raked out the ashes from the fire.

‘Yer do look a picture o’ misery,’ he remarked, smiling fondly at her. ‘It’s the music ’all we’re goin’ to, not a funeral.’

Maisie did her best to brighten up and when they stepped down from the tram at Rotherhithe Tunnel she was feeling slightly better. Folk were passing to and fro and a line of people was forming by the entrance to the theatre.

‘Fancy a drink before we go in, gel?’ Fred asked.

‘That’d be nice,’ Maisie replied, feeling better than she had done all week. ‘Could we go in that pub we went in last time we come down ’ere?’

‘Yer mean the Albert. Yeah, if yer like,’ Fred said, taking her arm as they crossed the main road. ‘It’s nice an’ comfortable in there an’ yer can always get a seat.’

They had spent a happy half hour chatting together when the door suddenly opened and a little old man walked in and made his way to the bar. He was bent and walked with the aid of a stick, but what caught Maisie’s eyes was the row of medals pinned to his coat lapel. The ribbons looked discoloured and the metal tarnished, and they were all secured with a huge safety pin. Suddenly Maisie gasped and tugged on Fred’s arm. ‘It’s the ole boy!’ she exclaimed.

Fred picked up his drink. ‘What ole boy?’ he asked.

‘That’s it! That’s where I seen ’im!’ she shouted excitedly.

‘What yer goin’ on about?’ Fred asked irritably.

‘What ’appened last time we was in ’ere?’ Maisie quizzed him.

‘We ’ad a drink,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘I know we ’ad a drink, but don’t yer remember what else ’appened?’ she went on excitedly.

Fred pulled on his chin. ‘I remember now,’ he said. ‘That ole boy at the counter was gettin’ a bit upset over those two yobs what was takin’ the rise out of ’im.’

‘That’s right,’ Maisie said triumphantly. ‘Yer was gonna get up an’ stick one on ’em over ’em takin’ it out of ’is medals, but I stopped yer.’

Fred grinned. ‘Yeah, I remember. The guv’nor told the two blokes ter get out an’ they give ’im a lot o’ sauce.’

‘One o’ the blokes was Talbot,’ Maisie said with emphasis. ‘I’m dead certain of it.’

Fred took another gulp from his pint of ale. ‘Well, p’raps we can get a bit o’ peace now,’ he remarked.

Maisie eased herself from the chair and Fred held on to the table. ‘Where the bloody ’ell yer goin’?’ he growled.

‘I’m gonna ’ave a word wiv the lan’lord,’ she told him.

Fred shook his head slowly as he watched her hurry to the bar. When she finally returned he could see the disappointment written on her face.

‘No luck, gel?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘The silly git don’t remember chuckin’ those two out,’ she replied. ‘’E told me ’e chucks so many people out ’e can’t remember ’em all.’

‘Didn’t yer tell ’im the bloke’s name?’ Fred asked her.

‘Yeah, but ’e said ’e didn’t know anybody called Talbot,’ Maisie replied disconsolately.

‘Well, never mind, at least yer tried,’ Fred said kindly.

At twenty minutes past seven the two of them walked from the pub and made their way to the box office to purchase their tickets. Throughout the show Maisie felt unable to relax completely, her mind going back to Ellie Roffey’s trial. She could picture the young man’s face clearly as he stepped into the witness box to give his evidence but she could not for the life of her remember the address he gave. Nevertheless she knew for certain that he was one of the two men who had harassed the old soldier. He might not be a local man, she thought. He might have travelled there to meet someone and in that case he could have come from anywhere.

Fred was enjoying the show. Occasionally he turned his head and saw that Maisie was preoccupied.

‘Are yer still finkin’ o’ that Talbot bloke?’ he asked her during the interval.

Maisie nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Fred, but we gotta find ’im if we’re gonna get Ellie out o’ that ’orrible prison.’

‘Well, I fink the information should ’ave bin ’anded over ter the police in the first place,’ he told her. ‘It’s bloody stupid you lot playin’ detectives. The bobbies could find that bloke in no time whatsoever. Besides, yer not s’posed ter take the law inter yer own ’ands. What ’appens if young Billy an’ Danny knock ’im about too much an’ the bloke lands up in ’orspital? They’ll get nicked fer sure.’

‘They’ll only frighten ’im,’ Maisie said defensively.

‘Yeah, I know all about that,’ Fred snorted. ‘Those two lads won’t mess about, an’ Billy Sullivan’s a mad sod if ever there was one.’

‘Well, it looks like Carrie’ll be goin’ ter the police now anyway,’ Maisie said ruefully as the band began to return to the orchestra pit.

When the show was over the two stepped aboard the number 68 tram with Maisie still brooding. Fred was in a happy frame of mind, however, and he turned to her and said, ‘D’yer know, luv, we ought ter do this more often. It makes a nice change ter get away from the street fer a few hours.’

Maisie nodded. ‘Yeah, I s’pose yer right,’ she replied in a vacant tone.

‘Must ’ave bin a good six months since the last time we seen a show,’ Fred remarked.

‘All o’ that.’

‘Might ’ave bin longer.’

‘About May, I fink,’ Maisie said, glancing out of the window.

‘Come ter fink of it, it was the middle o’ July,’ Fred said. ‘I remember ’cos it was the night o’ the fire. Don’t yer remember when we walked down the turnin’ an’ saw the fire engine? The firemen were still dousin’ the smoulderin’ sacks.’

Suddenly Maisie gripped Fred’s arm tightly. ‘What time was we in that pub last time we went out?’ she asked urgently.

‘I dunno. The show started at ’alf-seven,’ Fred replied. ‘We left there about twenty past. Why?’

‘Don’t yer see?’ Maisie said quickly. ‘If that Talbot bloke got chucked out o’ the pub before we left at twenty past seven, ’ow the bloody ’ell could ’e see Ellie Roffey comin’ from the yard just after seven?’

‘Yer right,’ Fred said smiling. ‘That’s somefing ter tell the coppers about.’

On Sunday evening the Page Street women were gathered together once more in Carrie’s parlour. ‘Well, we tried our best,’ Florrie said sadly.

‘I’m only sorry my Billy didn’t get ’is ’ands on that whoreson,’ Sadie remarked.

Carrie tried not to be downhearted as she sat with the women. ‘Anyway, at least we’ve got somefink ter give ter the police now,’ she said hopefully. ‘If the publican identifies Talbot then it’ll prove ’e was lyin’ on oath. That should be enough ter get Ellie out o’ prison.’

‘When yer gonna see ’em?’ Sadie asked.

‘I’ll go soon as I can termorrer mornin’,’ Carrie replied, sipping her tea thoughtfully.

Maisie looked pleased with herself, but she was soon deflated by Florrie’s cutting remark. ‘Pity yer didn’t remember where yer’d seen ’im a bit sooner,’ she said.

‘Well, if the rest of us ’ad paid attention at the trial an’ remembered ’is address we wouldn’t ’ave ’ad this trouble, would we?’ Maisie replied sharply.

Carrie raised her hands. ‘Look, it’s no good talkin’ about what could ’ave bin,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ve just gotta pray she gets out quickly.’

‘S’posin’ the police can’t find this Talbot man?’ Maudie said.

‘Gawd a’mighty, Maudie, why don’t yer look on the bright side fer once?’ Sadie admonished her.

Florrie took a pinch of snuff and when she had sneezed loudly into a discoloured handkerchief she looked around at the others. ‘I fink we should be considerin’ what sort of ’omecomin’ we’re gonna put on fer Ellie,’ she remarked.

‘Why don’t we get the church ter let us use Murphy’s?’ Sadie suggested. ‘We could ’ave a good ole knees-up there.’

‘We’d ’ave ter borrer a pianer from somewhere,’ Maisie said.

‘What about Alice Johnson? She’s got a pianer,’ Maudie chipped in.

‘’Ow the bleedin’ ’ell are we gonna get it round ter Wilson Street?’ Sadie asked her.

‘That’s no trouble. I’ll get one o’ the men ter cart it round there,’ Carrie said.

Fresh tea was passed round and the women sat making plans for Ellie’s release, while above, in the small back bedroom, Rachel was busy with her own plans.

Frank Galloway had purposely stayed away from the yard all week with the excuse that he was suffering with his stomach. The business was being looked after by the yard foreman, who was aided by the new clerk and overseen by the aged George Galloway who looked in now and then, walking slowly with the aid of a silver-tipped walking stick. On two occasions Theo Harrison had called around to ask Frank Galloway’s whereabouts, only to be told by the harassed clerk that he was off sick. Harrison’s remark that he was going to be a lot worse very shortly was passed on to the older Galloway who in turn contacted his son by phone to ask just what was going on.

Frank Galloway wished he had given Carrie Talbot’s address. He began to despair over the women’s delay in locating him, which meant that Theo Harrison would be at liberty for longer, and was not encouraged by Peggy’s depressing information that Theo had taken to carrying an axe tucked down his belt and was threatening to bury it in Frank’s head. Peggy herself was now temporarily installed at her sister’s home in Surrey and had told Frank that he should stay away from her for the time being. She had also added that her personal account had been stopped by Theo and that her aggrieved husband was intending to seek a divorce, naming Frank as the co-respondent.

Frank Galloway began to look over his shoulder as he left the house for his morning papers, believing that Theo Harrison would no doubt be using his private investigator to discover his whereabouts. Bella would soon find out about his infidelity, and she would get wild and insist he leave the place. It was all so worrying, he thought anxiously, picking up the telephone and consulting a small address book. He had originally passed on the addresses of Talbot and his cohort Bennett to Theo with the information that the two were reliable scoundrels and would do anything for a price. Now there was no time to lose, and he just hoped that his involvement in the affair would not be uncovered.

Billy Sullivan and Danny Tanner walked through the maze of backstreets behind the Elephant and Castle late on Monday evening. When they turned into Corporation Street and glanced up at the house numbers Danny took Billy by the arm. ‘There’s number twelve,’ he said, pointing across the turning. ‘Now look, Billy. We gotta do this right. We don’t mention money, remember? All we do is be friendly an’ look like we’re a bit green.’

Billy grinned as he reached up for the knocker. ‘I ’ope they fall fer it,’ he said quietly.

The loud knock brought no response from inside and Billy began to look disappointed. ‘’Ave we got the right address?’ he asked.

Danny nodded. ‘I’d jus’ popped in the office ter see Carrie when she picked up the phone. I saw ’er write it down.’

Billy brought the doorknocker down hard once more and then they heard someone moving about inside. The door finally opened and they were confronted by a heavily built man with a stubbled face and bleary eyes. ‘What d’yer want?’ he asked brusquely.