Chapter Thirty-four.

Detective Sergeant Crawford was not feeling too optimistic as he hurried along Tower Bridge Road on Monday morning. He had had reason to call on Beckford's the p.a.w.nbrokers a few times in the past and had never made much progress. In fact he was sure that Benjamin Beckford was a fence. The man had a shifty nature and always seemed to be in a hurry to get the interview over. From what he had been told by his contacts, Detective Sergeant Crawford gathered that Beckford was not the most popular businessman in Bermondsey. He haggled over the few coppers he paid out on the pledges and was quick to put the unredeemed items in the window, unlike most of the other p.a.w.nbrokers in the area, who gave their customers a few weeks' grace before marking their possessions up for sale.

Crawford strode purposefully past the market stalls that were being set up along the kerb. As he reached the p.a.w.nbroker's shop, he saw a small huddle of people standing outside with bundles, waiting to be admitted through the side door. They looked cold and forlorn, hopeful of a few coppers for a threadbare suit or a pair of bedsheets, and he sighed sadly to himself as he went into the shop and produced his warrant card. The bespectacled young a.s.sistant stared at it for a few moments as though unsure what to do, then he disappeared into the back of the shop and returned with the owner.

Benjamin Beckford looked irritated as he waved for the police officer to follow him. When he had made himself comfortable at his desk he looked up disdainfully. 'Mondays are always busy. What can I do for you?' he asked quickly.

Detective Sergeant Crawford stared down at the plump, rosy-faced p.a.w.nbroker and noted the smart grey suit he was wearing and the expensive-looking rings on his podgy fingers. He smiled inwardly. He had been stationed in the East End and Hoxton before moving to Bermondsey and never had he seen a struggling p.a.w.nbroker. They seemed to thrive on poverty and deprivation, he thought to himself, and wondered how the fleshy-faced character before him felt as he undid the bundles and haggled over pennies with the hard-up folk waiting outside. Crawford produced a crumpled receipt from his coat pocket and put it down on the desk.

'I need some information about the person who purchased that item, a silver watch-and-chain, and gold medallion,' he said. 'As you can see from that receipt, it was one of a batch of items you bought from the station.'

The p.a.w.nbroker waved Crawford into a chair as he studied the crumpled slip of paper, his hand stroking his smooth chin. 'I can't keep a record of all I buy and sell, officer,' he said officiously. 'But I do seem to remember this item. It was an unusual medallion. Might I ask why you need the information?'

'That watch-and-chain was found on a fire victim and we need positive identification,' Crawford replied.

Beckford pushed back his chair. 'You'd better have a word with my a.s.sistant. He might be able to help you,' he said getting up. 'I'll mind the shop while you talk to him.'

The young man nodded as he looked down at the receipt. 'Yes, I do remember that item,' he said, looking over his spectacles. 'The medallion was a copy-piece. Not very well done. It was the strange carving which attracted my attention.'

'Can you remember who bought it?' Crawford asked.

'Yes. He was a poorly dressed man but well spoken,' the a.s.sistant replied. 'He seemed very interested in the medallion. As a matter of fact, we got into quite a discussion over it. Very interesting.'

'Did you get his name?' Crawford asked.

'No.'

'Can you tell me any more about this man?' the detective encouraged him.

The a.s.sistant scratched his head and looked thoughtful. 'I've seen him in the market quite a lot. As a matter of fact, he usually talks to the chap on the fruit stall outside. He'd most probably know his name.'

Sergeant Crawford made to leave. 'Well thanks for your help,' he said to the a.s.sistant. 'By the way, you said that the medallion was a copy-piece?'

'Yes, the design was taken from an ancient Nordic monument. It's Runic.'

'I beg your pardon?'

The young man smiled indulgently. 'Runes are line carvings and they're from the alphabet used particularly by the Scandinavians and Anglo-Saxons. They're modified by using the Greek and Roman letters to suit the carving.'

'Is that so?' Crawford said, none the wiser.

'Runes are often seen on ancient monuments, and the style of the inscription on that medallion was Runic,' the young man went on. 'Ancient architecture is a hobby of mine and the design seemed familiar so I looked it up. Apparently it refers to Loki, who was an evil G.o.d of fire in Scandinavian mythology. As a matter of fact, the chap who bought the watch-and-chain said he thought the medallion had something to do with the Freemasons, but I don't know if that's so.'

'Well, I'm grateful for the lesson,' Crawford smiled, holding out his hand.

The market was busy now. Benjamin Beckford watched from the window as Sergeant Crawford chatted intently to the fruiterer. When the police officer finally walked off, Beckford turned to his young a.s.sistant. 'Tell Riley's courier he can come down now,' he said out of the corner of his mouth. 'And tell him to use the back door, just in case.'

Carrie was kept busy all morning at the dining rooms. The bitter cold weather meant that more mugs of tea than usual were sold and more bacon sandwiches served up, brown and crispy, to the huddled carmen and dockers as they crowded in. Bessie went on endlessly all morning as she helped Fred in the kitchen and the hara.s.sed cafe owner could almost hear himself screaming at the woman to shut up for just five minutes. He gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the unending saga of the buildings where Bessie lived, trying to concentrate his mind on what he was intending to do that evening.

He had spent much time during the weekend deep in thought and had come to the conclusion that he was a fool. In fact, he had been a fool for the best part of his adult life. His parents had expected him to work in the cafe. His own aspirations, such as they were, had never been considered. He had never been in the way of meeting young ladies, and on the very rare occasions when there was a chance for him to do so, his mother had been quick to make things difficult for him. He had been a fool for not standing up for his rights and a.s.serting himself, but that was all in the past. Now he had the chance to court and win a beautiful young woman, and what was he doing but being his usual self and allowing the chance slowly to pa.s.s him by? Well, it was about time he did something about it, he reproved himself, before he became a doddery old bachelor with only regrets to keep him company on long winter nights. Maybe Carrie would spurn his advances, he thought as doubt gnawed at his insides. Well, he would never know unless he had the courage to try.

The afternoon wore on, and when the cafe became quiet it was Carrie's turn to suffer the eternal wagging of Bessie's unflagging tongue. She had heard about the woman on the first landing who had threatened the man on the second landing with a chopper, and the man had responded by throwing a bucket of dirty water over her and was then attacked himself by the woman's husband, or was it the husband who attacked his wife? Carrie was totally confused about the goings-on in Bessie's building, and was glad when Fred let Bessie go home early. He remarked that she must be tired after such a busy day, catching Carrie's look of grat.i.tude and raising his eyes to the ceiling. It seemed quiet in the cafe after her departure and as Carrie wiped down the tables the last of the carmen left.

Fred quickly turned the 'Open' sign round and slipped the bolts. 'I'll let yer out the side door, Carrie,' he said. 'If I don't close now, we'll be open till midnight.'

When she had finished wiping the tables, Fred had a cup of tea waiting for her in the kitchen.

'Sit down a minute an' drink that,' he told her, taking off his messy ap.r.o.n and sitting down himself at the freshly scrubbed table. 'I wanted ter talk ter yer fer a few minutes, if yer can spare the time.'

Carrie eyed him over the steaming tea and saw that he was looking slightly nervous. 'Fanks. I need ter recover from Bessie's goin' on,' she joked.

Fred had his hands clasped and Carrie noticed how he was twirling his thumbs.

'What is it, Fred?' she asked encouragingly.

'I've bin doin' a lot o' finkin' over the weekend, Carrie,' he began. 'I know yer bin ter see Tommy Allen since 'e's bin 'ome, 'cos Bessie told me, an' I know you an' 'im split up before 'e joined up. I don't know if yer both plannin' on gettin' tergevver again, so I'll come out wiv it plain an' simple. Will yer marry me?'

Carrie was startled by Fred's outspokenness and for a few moments could only stare at him. 'I don't know what ter say,' she faltered.

Fred looked into her blue eyes and wanted to take her in his arms there and then. 'Are you an' Tommy gettin' tergevver?' he asked uneasily.

She shook her head. 'It was over before he went in the army, Fred,' she told him. 'I wanted ter see 'im but only ter find out 'ow 'e was. Tommy's goin' back wiv 'is first lady friend.'

Fred nodded. 'Well, I'm askin' yer ter be me wife,' he said candidly. 'I don't expect yer ter make up yer mind straight away. Take all the time yer want, but remember I love yer. I fink I've loved yer from the first time I set eyes on yer.'

Carrie felt a lump rising in her throat and she gulped hard. 'I like yer a lot, Fred, but as I said once before, likin's different ter love.'

'It's a good start,' he said, smiling. 'Likin' can turn ter love. Yer could grow ter love me in time, Carrie. Yer'd never regret it, I promise yer.'

She felt not at all threatened by Fred's proposal, and was touched by the look in his large dark eyes. She reached out and laid her hand on his. 'I'm really flattered,' she said quietly. 'But I can't give yer an answer jus' yet, Fred. There's the war, an' I'm worried sick over me bruvvers. Besides, I've jus' come ter accept that I won't be marryin' Tommy, an' now I've bin caught off balance.'

Fred's open face became very serious as he slipped his hand over hers. 'Take all the time yer need, Carrie. Jus' remember what I said. It's taken me a long time ter come out an' say I love yer, but it's true, I swear it.'

Carrie left the cafe feeling bewildered. She had been trying to restore some sense to her life and suddenly it had been turned upside down. It had surprised her when Fred first opened his heart to her, but this time he had made it very plain. He had actually said that he loved her and wanted her to love him in return. It was out of the question, she told herself, they were only friends. He was ten years older than her, and they had only walked out once together. They'd enjoyed themselves at the music hall, but it wasn't how she had imagined love and marriage to be in her daydreams. She had always felt that it would be so exciting when she was courted, with her beau taking her in his arms and proposing to her in the moonlight. Then there would be the engagement, with both families meeting each other and making plans. She had held on to her dreams, even though her romance with Tommy had left her feeling unhappy and dispirited. In reality it had been so very different, with no moonlight and no arms about her. Instead she had faced him across a table and he had proposed to her over a cup of tea!

Carrie was lost in thought as she walked along the dark street. It was quiet, with the yard gates locked and all the front doors shut against the cold. The corner gaslamp had been lit and its glow shone on the Tanners' front door as she let herself in. Her mother was laying the table and Carrie noticed that she had a curious, puzzled look about her face.

'Where's Dad?' she asked as she flopped down beside the burning fire and kicked off her shoes.

'Gawd knows what's goin' on,' Nellie replied, rubbing the side of her face. 'A woman knocked 'ere about an hour ago with a note fer yer farvver. I told 'er 'e was in the yard but she wouldn't go in there. She said it was urgent an' could I give 'im the note soon as 'e got in.'

'What did the note say?' Carrie asked.

Nellie shrugged her shoulders. 'I dunno, it was in a sealed envelope. Anyway, when yer farvver read it 'e went straight out. All 'e said was fer me ter put 'is tea in the oven.'

'Dad's not got a fancy piece, as 'e?' Carrie said, smiling. 'What did the woman look like?'

Nellie chuckled at the thought. 'She was a big woman. In 'er fifties and well dressed. I'm sure I saw her go in the yard once. If it wasn't 'er, it certainly looked like 'er.'

'I wonder if it's got anyfing ter do wiv that fire?' Carrie asked.

'Gawd knows,' Nellie answered. 'We'll jus' 'ave ter wait till yer farvver gets back. 'E could 'ave told me before 'e went out, 'e knows 'ow I worry.'

'P'raps that's why 'e didn't tell yer, Mum. It might be somefink serious,' Carrie remarked.

'Maybe yer right. Anyway I'd better dish the tea up, I can't keep it all in the oven,' Nellie moaned.

When the clock struck the hour of seven, she put down her embroidery and sighed loudly. 'Where's that farvver o' yours got to?' she complained. 'Look at the bleedin' time. That chop'll be baked up. Jus' wait till 'e gets in 'ere, I won't 'alf give 'im a piece o' my mind.'

Suddenly Carrie c.o.c.ked her head to one side. 'That sounds like 'is footsteps now,' she said.

They heard the front door open and close and both stared at William as he walked into the room and collapsed into his fireside chair.

'Where yer bin, fer Gawd's sake?' Nellie said irritably. 'I didn't know what ter fink.'

William gave his wife and daughter an exhausted grin. 'Yer never gonna believe this,' he said breathlessly. 'I couldn't believe it meself.'

'What is it?' Nellie almost shouted in her impatience.

'Jack Oxford's alive an' well,' he said, reaching down to take off his boots.

'Oh my Gawd!' Nellie gasped.

''Ave yer seen 'im?' Carrie asked excitedly.

William leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. 'It's a long story.

'Well, go on then,' Nellie urged him.

'The note that woman gave yer said ter go ter this 'ouse in Abbey Street about Jack Oxford,' he begun with an amused smile. 'Anyway, when I got there this woman said that Jack 'ad only jus' started lodgin' wiv 'er the previous night an' now 'e was upstairs in 'is room an' wouldn't come out. Accordin' ter 'er, Jack left fer work this mornin' an' ten minutes later 'e was back. She thought 'e was took bad at first but when she 'eard 'im pacin' the floor she got worried. She told me she'd 'eard about the fire from one o' the ladies at the muvvers' meetin' an' on the way 'ome she went an' bought a paper. Anyway, she went up an' 'ad a talk wiv 'im. Jack told 'er somebody stopped 'im on the way ter work an' told 'im the police were lookin' fer 'im about a fire. It must 'ave frightened the life out of 'im. Jack told 'er ter fetch me but not ter talk ter anybody else in the yard. I tell yer, Nell, when I saw Jack's face I could 'ave cried. As yer know 'e can't read an' 'e asked me ter read out what was in the paper. 'Is landlady 'ad already read it out twice but 'e wanted ter 'ear it again.'

Nellie and Carrie were sitting forward in their chairs, listening intently. 'Did Jack know who it was in the fire?' Nellie cut in. 'Did yer tell 'im about the watch they found? It wasn't in the paper, was it?'

'I'm comin' ter that,' William replied. 'Jack said that after 'e 'ad that row in the doss-'ouse wiv Arbuckle, 'e walked out. 'E said it was freezin' cold an' 'e decided ter kip under the arches in Druid Street. Apparently 'e knew some o' the tramps who stayed there. One of 'em, Bernie I fink Jack said 'is name was, used ter be a teacher at Webb Street ragged school an' Jack said 'e was wearin' that same watch-an'-chain that the police found in the fire. This Bernie said 'e'd bought it from the p.a.w.nbroker's in Tower Bridge Road 'cos 'e took a fancy ter the medallion on the chain. It was somefink ter do wiv the Freemasons accordin' ter what 'e told Jack. 'E said it was a special symbol.'

''Ow did Jack know it was the same one?' Nellie asked.

'Well, one night Jack brought some o' the tramps back ter kip down in the stables an' that was the night the watch-an'chain got nicked out the office,' William went on. 'Jack knew which one o' the tramps took it. It wasn't one o' the usual crowd, an' 'e tried ter find 'im an' get the watch back. One evenin' Jack spotted this tramp an' 'e chased 'im. The tramp run up on the railway lines an' got killed by a train. Jack said 'e saw 'im layin' there all mangled up but the watch-an'-chain was still fixed on the tramp's waistcoat. It wasn't even marked. Jack said 'e couldn't bring 'imself ter take it off the body, but 'e'd know that watch-an'-chain anywhere after that night.'

'So it was the school teacher, this Bernie fella, who died in the fire?' Carrie guessed. 'What made 'im leave the arches that night an' come down 'ere ter the stable?'

'Well, that's anuvver story,' William said, taking out his cigarette tin. 'Yer remember that carman Sammy Jackson.'

'The one who beat Jack up over Mrs Jones's daughter?' Nellie asked.

'That's right,' William replied. 'Well, Jackson's down on 'is luck an' sleepin' rough. 'Im an' a few of 'is mates stumbled on the Druid Street tramps an' tried ter take over their fire. Course, when Jackson spotted poor ole Jack, 'e started gettin' nasty. They were all eyein' Bernie's watch-an'-chain too. After all, it must 'ave stood out. It ain't the usual fing yer see on tramps, is it? Anyway, Jack an' this Bernie left the arches in an 'urry. Jack said 'e was perished wiv the cold an' the only place 'e could fink ter kip down was the stable.'

'So Jack Oxford slept in the stable that night as well?' Nellie b.u.t.ted in with a puzzled frown.

'Yeah, 'e did,' William went on. 'But like yer said, Jack was scared o' that geldin' an' 'e took Bernie up in the chaff loft. Jack said that Bernie wasn't too 'appy about sleepin' there. 'E said it was cold an' draughty an' decided ter kip down in the small stable where 'e'd slept the last time.'

'Poor fella,' Carrie said sadly. 'If 'e'd 'ave done like Jack suggested, 'e wouldn't 'ave died.'

'Well, 'e started the fire some'ow,' Nellie said. 'If 'e'd 'ave slept in the chaff loft wiv Jack the two of 'em might 'ave gorn, an' all the 'orses as well.'

William glanced from one to the other with a serious look on his tired face. 'Bernie didn't start the fire,' he told them. ''E was murdered.'

'Not Jack!' Nellie gasped.

'It was Sammy Jackson who killed Bernie, an' Jack saw 'im do it,' William said darkly.

'Sammy Jackson!' the two women exclaimed in unison.

William nodded. 'Jackson must 'ave followed the pair of 'em back ter the stable. Jack told me that a little while after Bernie 'ad gone back down to the yard 'e 'eard a noise. 'E looked out o' the loft just in time ter see Sammy Jackson aim a lighted paraffin lamp into the small stable. Jack said 'e shouted out an' Jackson dashed back out o' the yard. 'E said Bernie never stood a chance. The stable was filled wiv smoke an' flames in seconds, an' Bernie was drunk anyway, accordin' ter Jack. 'E said 'e tried ter save 'im but the flames beat 'im back, an' when 'e 'eard the wicket-gate bein' unlocked 'e dashed out frew the back fence.'

'My good Gawd!' Nellie muttered. 'What'll 'appen now?'

'Well, Jack's job's gorn, that's fer certain,' William said with conviction. 'I'm not gonna be able ter do anyfing ter 'elp 'im this time. As fer Sammy Jackson, the police'll pick 'im up soon. I left Jack at the police station makin' a statement.'

'What a terrible fing fer that Sammy Jackson ter do,' Carrie said with a shiver.

''E must 'ave blamed Jack Oxford fer gettin' 'im the sack an' 'e saw 'is chance o' gettin' even,' William remarked. 'If it wasn't fer the geldin' bein' in that stable, 'e would 'ave.'

'It was strange that watch-an'-chain bein' found the way it was,' Nellie reflected. 'It was a wonder the poor bleeder wasn't wearin' it.'

William nodded his head slowly. 'I s'pose 'e would 'ave been if 'e'd 'ave bin under the arches, but as 'e was on' is own 'e prob'ly thought it was all right ter 'ang it up on the post. Who knows?'

He lit his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. 'I s'pose the coppers'll give it back ter Galloway when this is all over,' he sighed. 'If I was 'im I'd take the watch, chain an' that b.l.o.o.d.y medallion an' chuck the lot in the Thames. It's brought nuffink but bad luck to everybody who's worn the b.l.o.o.d.y fing.'

On Tuesday morning Jack Oxford walked out of the Galloway yard for the last time, clutching his week's pay. Will Tanner watched sadly as the tall, stooping figure ambled along the turning and disappeared from view. He had tried to plead on Jack's behalf but George Galloway had ranted and raved, saying that the yard man was lucky to be getting any wages at all considering the money it was costing the firm to replace the stable. He was furious about the gelding too. It was nervous and jumpy because of the fire and unsuitable to be used in the trap. William had asked for time to work with it but the yard owner was adamant. 'It's goin' ter the auctions. The b.l.o.o.d.y animal's too dangerous now ter take out on the roads. That idiot Oxford's got a lot ter answer for,' he growled.

Had George Galloway seen his ex-yard man's face as he walked along the street that Tuesday morning he would have been even more angry. Jack was actually smiling to himself. The policemen had been very nice to him, he thought. They had thanked him for his help and said that they would have another chat with him when they caught Sammy Jackson. Jack was happy to be back in such nice lodgings and Amy Cuthbertson was looking into the possibility of getting him a job at a tannery in Long Lane. Amy knew the foreman there and the man had promised to speak on his behalf. It was so fortunate that he had b.u.mped into her in Abbey Street on Sunday morning, he thought to himself. She told him her husband had left her for good and she was now taking in lodgers once more. Jack had jumped at the chance, and as he ambled out of Page Street for the last time with a huge grin on his face he felt that things were beginning to look up for him at last.

Chapter Thirty-five.

As 1917 wore on the newspapers reported new, larger battles in France. Casualty lists grew, and like Ypres and the Somme before them, Messines, Cambrai and Pa.s.schendaele were becoming household names. During early summer the tragedy of war reached into yet another Bermondsey backstreet, when at the battle of Messines in June Private James Tanner of the East Surreys Regiment fell in action. Corporal Charles Tanner was wounded in the same offensive and one of the stretcher-bearers who helped carry him back from the line was his younger brother Danny.