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She’d heard Reg creep in a few nights ago and gather together his meagre bits and pieces. She’d pretended to be asleep although an inner voice had been urging her to rear up haughtily onto an elbow and bawl at him to sling his hook. She’d lain there undecided before wearily concluding she’d no more stomach than he had for another slanging match. So she’d listened to his soft footfalls, and doors and drawers opening and closing, until the key had again grated in the lock and he’d taken himself off for good. As the tears had trickled to dampen her pillow she’d impatiently dashed them away, and with them the suspicions that, if she didn’t know deep down that he’d had a point when he’d put the blame on her, she’d have struggled up and flayed him with her tongue.
If only she’d locked the door and turned a deaf ear to Jimmy’s weasel pleading that night, two and a half years ago, she’d still be the Tilly of old: confident and bold, with the will and energy to turn her hand to anything to earn a few bob. Prior to that calamity she’d had a personal taste of Jimmy Wild’s brutality, yet she’d opened up to him and once more suffered the devastating consequences.
‘Did you remember to get the bread from Travis’s bakery? You know I only like his loaves.’ Matilda banished miserable memories to prod at a crusty Coburg, testing its freshness.
‘Yeah,’ Alice sighed. ‘Got it from Travis.’ She sat down at the table adjacent to her mother and plonked an elbow down, supporting her chin in a cupped palm. ‘D’you want to go for a walk today to get a bit of exercise? I haven’t got to be back till four o’clock. Josh is doing a late shift at Houndsditch warehouse and is indoors with the kids.’
About to snap she couldn’t be bothered Tilly gazed quietly at the cup between her palms. She knew she should get out instead of mouldering away inside, feeling sorry for herself, day after day. She gave her daughter a quirk of a smile and a jerky nod, accepting the invitation for an outing. Tilly knew she was fortunate to have daughters who put themselves out for her. But displaying her gratitude didn’t come easily, as Reg would have readily testified.
Having made a laborious descent of the rickety stairs, Alice assisting her mother every step of the way, the two women emerged on to Campbell Road into autumn sunlight. As though several neighbours had foreseen Matilda’s rare appearance they immediately converged on her. Beattie Evans abandoned her conversation with a friend and came straight over. Margaret Lovat diverted from her march to Smithie’s shop and headed her way too. Then Connie Whitton caught sight of Matilda, ceased trying to sweet-talk her rent collector into being lenient till next week, and trotted towards the group.
‘Look a mile better’n when I last saw you,’ Beattie announced with a beam.
The trio of neighbours stood eyeing Matilda up and down.
‘Don’t feel it,’ Matilda grumbled.
‘No, you do, honest, Mrs K,’ Connie piped up. ‘Nice day ’n’ all for a bit of a walk about. Where you off to, then?’
‘Might take a stroll around the park,’ Alice answered brightly.
‘Ain’t goin’ that far.’ Matilda was immediately contrary.
‘Yes, you are,’ Alice countered firmly, rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘You’re out now and going to stay out for a while. Being cooped up in there all day is enough to send anyone bonkers. Anyhow, you know what the doctor’s told you: you got to keep moving about or the stiffness won’t ease off.’
‘Need anything up the shop?’ Margaret Lovat offered. ‘Bring it down for you later if you do, Til.’
Matilda shook her head; she didn’t like relying on her neighbours although she knew their offers of help were genuine. But it was her daughters’ duty to make sure she was all right. ‘Alice just got me some stuff, thanks anyhow.’ It was an abrupt answer.
‘I’d come for a stroll ’n’ all, to keep you company, but I’m gonna have that fat git Podge on me ear’ole in a minute ’cos of the rent.’ Connie scowled over a shoulder.
‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Matilda muttered. ‘That don’t sound too nice, Con ...’
All the women guffawed, even Connie. Beattie gave Tilly’s shoulder an appreciative pat and wiped her eyes. It was good to know that Tilly Keiver still had her sense of humour, despite what she’d been through.
It was well known locally that Connie, currently working as a waitress, was not averse to going on the game when she needed cash. It was also known that she’d let Podge Peters into her room for payment in kind when she was really desperate. And she wasn’t alone in that. Even married women classed as respectable were not beyond opening up to Podge behind their husbands’ backs when things were really grim and they were determined to keep a roof over their kids’ heads. With two million people unemployed there was no realistic chance of earning the money any other way.
The women proceeded up the road together at a slow pace so Tilly wouldn’t feel under pressure to keep up. Beattie drifted away with a wave after a few yards, having seen that her neighbour was impatiently pacing in the hope of resuming where they’d left off gossiping.
‘Oh ... ’ere ’e is again,’ Connie muttered as a fat, florid man emerged from a doorway and stared determinedly at her. She sighed. ‘Better go ’n’ see him or he’ll be round hammering on me door later.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Tilly said drolly as the petite blonde walked off.
‘You heard from your Lucy?’ Margaret Lovat blurted out as the three women ambled on.
‘Not for a week or two,’ Matilda answered. Her eldest daughter, Sophy, was married to Margaret’s eldest son. They’d started at Lockley Grange during the Great War and had been there ever since. Four years ago, when Lucy, Matilda’s youngest, turned fourteen, Sophy had got her a job in service there too. Then Danny had done the same for his brother, Timothy, so the Lovats and the Keivers were closely connected as well as being neighbours. When news came from ‘the kids’ in Essex, whether it came to Margaret or to Tilly, it was usually shared around.
‘You heard anything from them?’ Alice asked, glancing at Margaret.
‘Come on, out with it,’ Matilda duly prompted her neighbour, having noticed the woman looking uncomfortable. Nothing escaped Matilda Keiver; she might be a bit battered about the body but her mind was as sharp as ever. ‘If you’ve got a bit of gossip, let’s hear it, good or bad.’
‘Just ... Tim wrote and said he reckons your Lucy’s getting itchy feet. Said he’s gonna miss her if she goes. Reckon my Tim’s always been a bit sweet on your Lucy.’ Margaret frowned at Tilly. ‘Don’t you say I told you none of this. ‘S’pect Lucy’s gonna speak up in her own time if she’s planning on a move elsewhere.’ Margaret halted as they drew level with a gloomy tenement, similar to the one in which Matilda had rooms. The Lovat family were at least housed closer to what was known as the ‘better’ end of Campbell Road.
‘My Luce is too cute to give up a job as good as that,’ Tilly stated. ‘She got early promotion to lady’s maid a short while ago when her senior left.’
‘Yeah, course,’ Margaret replied, and quickly changed the subject. ‘Seen anything of Reg, Til?’
‘No, and don’t want to neither,’ Tilly growled and, grabbing Alice by the arm, she urged her on.
It was only by leaning heavily on Alice that Tilly made it back up the stairs after their constitutional. By the time they were on the landing and unlocking her door Tilly was breathing heavily and frowning in pain.
‘You’ve got to come and live with me for a while, Mum,’ Alice gently insisted as she helped Tilly to sit down at the table. ‘While Reg is away you’ll never manage on your own. You’ve got to come and live with me and Josh in Wood Green—’
‘Ain’t going nowhere, so you can shut that up,’ Tilly tersely interrupted. ‘Told you lots o’ times, ain’t I, the Bunk’s fer me, cradle to grave?’
‘Well, you’ll be in your grave sooner than you think if you take another tumble down those stairs. And it’s on the cards, ’cos I can’t be here every minute of the day fetching you in stuff.’ Alice inspected the cups in the bowl to see if they’d been washed up and were ready to use. ‘Sooner or later you’re going to want something and try and go out and get it yourself. You know how impatient you can be.’
‘Got Beattie ’n’ Margaret if I’m desperate,’ Tilly returned harshly.
‘Yeah,’ Alice said drily, ‘But you never take up their offers of help, do you?’
‘Haven’t needed to. And I can yell out o’ the winder at people, if needs be. Don’t think I’m relyin’ on you ’n’ Beth to that extent.’ Matilda looked a bit sheepish because she knew that last statement was completely untrue. Bethany lived closer than Alice but had just had her second child, Joey, so wasn’t able to help out as often as Alice. ‘Can get about on me own if it comes to it ... just slowly,’ Matilda mumbled.
‘You’ve got to come to mine for a while,’ Alice insisted, setting the cups on the table in readiness for tea. ‘If you really want to come back to this fleapit when you’re better ...’ She shrugged as she glanced about with distaste at the room in which her mother chose to live. She and her sisters had been brought up in a couple of equally squalid rooms. That tenement house had been near the junction with Seven Sisters Road, at the rougher end of the street. Tilly had moved in the right direction and her home was now situated close to Paddington Street, which sliced Campbell Road into two distinct halves. As far as all the Keiver girls were concerned, Campbell Road, top or bottom, was a slum. Sophy, Alice, Beth and Lucy had promised themselves from an early age to escape the Bunk, as the road was nicknamed due to its proliferation of dosshouses. And they’d all made good on their vows.
‘Ain’t going nowhere,’ Tilly enunciated, planting her palms on the tabletop and leaning towards her daughter. ‘And no time fer tea. You’d best be off home right now if you don’t want Josh to be late getting hisself to work.’
Alice buttoned her coat with a sigh at her mother’s curt dismissal. It was better to leave her to stew in her own juice than end up bickering with her.
‘D’you reckon Lucy might be getting itchy feet?’ During their stroll Alice had avoided discussing the subject. She’d listened to Matilda puffing and panting with the effort of walking along so hadn’t wanted to put any additional pressure on her. Alice had mulled things over in her mind as she’d kicked through autumn leaves in Finsbury Park. And she knew that, quiet as her mother had been beside her, she was also brooding on what Margaret Lovat had told them about Lucy.
‘She’d best not have got herself sacked,’ Matilda replied grumpily. ‘Or she’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Lucy wouldn’t get herself sacked, Mum,’ Alice said with a rueful smile. She liked to think she knew her little sister better than anyone. If Lucy was moving on, Alice reckoned it was because she’d chosen to do so. At present Sophy and Lucy visited only about twice a year and, whereas Alice accepted that Sophy and Danny were now settled elsewhere, she’d harboured a hope that Little Luce, still single and fancy-free, might one day return to London to work so they could see more of one another.
But her youngest sister wouldn’t want to come back to Campbell Road to live. That was certain.
Chapter Two (#ulink_6a6626ad-0c1f-52c1-bfe5-5b05671acc80)
‘That ain’t what we agreed.’
‘What you talking about ... what we agreed?’
The woman listening outside the door recognised her husband’s mean, scoffing voice.
‘We didn’t agree nuthin’, as I recall.’
‘Reckon you must have a right problem with yer memory then. I told you a monkey, and a monkey it is, or no deal.’
Winifred Finch shrank aside as, through a sliver of space, she saw her husband whip a glance her way. In her eagerness to concentrate on what was going on she’d gripped tightly at the door knob, making it squeak in protest. She crept backwards, still craning her neck in the hope of hearing more.
The two men had frozen at the suspicious sound with their fists planted on the table and their torsos almost touching across its square cloth-covered top. A single lamp was burning to one side of them and it put sallow colour on their snarling profiles, and jagged shadows on the opposite wall.
The younger of the men suddenly sprang half out of his chair and swept the gold on the table towards him with the edges of his palms. Broad, bristle-backed fingers then crouched protectively over the jewellery as he slunk down into his seat. ‘You don’t want this fair and square,’ William Black spat, ‘don’t fucking have it. I got other places to go. This ain’t high street crap, y’know, Finchie. This is stuff most likely come out of Tiffany’s and Mappin & Webb and the like. I’ll have people rip me arm off to get hold of it, so fuck you.’
‘Now ... now ... now ...’ the older man soothed. His slitted eyes darted back to the glitter visible beneath his associate’s hand. He was sure his wife was spying but he’d deal with the nosy cow later. He relaxed back in his chair and spread his arms, gesturing for a truce. ‘Didn’t say I don’t want it, did I, Bill? Just said we ain’t agreed a price yet. Certainly ain’t agreed the sum you come out with.’ He snorted a laugh, hoping he was conveying how farcical he thought Bill’s figure. His mockery sounded false and nervous, and did nothing to alleviate the tension in the gloomy room.
Eddie Finch had known Bill Black for many years. He did business with him on a regular basis despite Bill living Lambeth way and Eddie being an Islington resident. Bill might turn up, unannounced, any evening, and unload from his car several cases stuffed with stolen goodies. Eddie knew Bill made the journey to see him north of the water because he liked the way he did business. If Bill had any better associates over Lambeth way paying good prices Eddie knew he wouldn’t have seen so much of him. He’d no intention of being railroaded into paying over the odds. He slew a crafty glance at the jewellery.
This little stash was entirely different from what he usually got offered. As a rule Bill brought him a few boxes filled with luxury items of leather and linen, knocked off from some top West End store. But this wasn’t fifty quids worth of nice stuff from Derry and Toms or Selfridges, which he’d get a handsome profit on by channelling it through market stalls and clothes dealers. This was serious money. But Eddie wasn’t about to let Bill know how keen he was; neither did he relish getting into a scrap with the nutter.
For one thing, he had his wife and kids about the place, and he didn’t want a tear-up occurring in his own home. For another, Bill was almost half his age and about a stone heavier. He’d seen the damage Bill could inflict when in a paddy. Last week, when in a south London pub for a business meeting with another of his partners in crime, Eddie had seen a fellow who looked a right state courtesy of Bill’s vicious temper. Apparently, he’d spoken less than respectfully to one of Bill’s lady friends. Bill was known to have plenty of women always on the go. In all probability it had been a slag he had no real feelings for that had been insulted yet it had resulted in a bloke nearly getting kicked to death. Eddie could see that Bill hardly had a mark on him so the fellow must have either been too pissed to put up a proper fight or had a lousy punch on him.
Eddie’s excitement at the prospect of getting his hands on some lovely stuff had given him a racing heartbeat and guts that gurgled, but he’d no intention of letting Bill know he was seriously rattled. For a long, long time he’d wanted a plump sum to add to his little nest egg and Eddie reckoned he’d found one. He wasn’t going to let it slip away.
‘Winifred!’ Eddie summoned his wife in a bellow. ‘Take a drink, won’t yer, Bill?’
A diminutive woman with frizzy brown hair and a sullen expression immediately shuffled into the parlour from the adjoining kitchenette. A small boy peered about the edge of the door with huge dark eyes, but when Bill noticed him and gave him an exaggerated wink the child shrank back out of sight.
‘Get us a couple of whiskies while we sort out some business.’
‘Ain’t gonna make no difference to the price.’ Bill Black gave a sour smile. ‘I’ll take a drink with you, Eddie, but I still want a monkey or nothing doing.’ As Winifred beetled back to the kitchenette Bill noticed Eddie’s eyes dart again to his humped hand so he temptingly wriggled his fingers, exposing the shimmer beneath. Weak lamplight caused the diamonds to spark fire and the dark stones appeared huge and profound.
‘Fuckin’ hell, that is nice,’ Eddie whispered, lunging to pick up a ring by its platinum shank. The huge sapphire at its centre appeared black until he angled it towards the light and it burst into colour.
‘Get most o’ yer monkey back on that piece alone, won’t yer?’ Bill softly drawled, watching Eddie with foxy eyes. ‘Tell you the truth, I reckon I must be nuts lettin’ it go.’ He inclined closer to whisper, ‘Betty took a fancy to that sapphire and I nearly had to break her finger to get it back off her, the greedy mare.’ He continued watching Eddie’s expression as he turned the ring this way and that, letting the lamp work its magic.
Eddie fumbled under the edge of the tablecloth to pull open a drawer and find an eyeglass. Having screwed it in, he went to business.
‘Don’t let yer missus get a gander at that one. Go missing, it will, ’fore you’ve had a chance to shift it.’
Eddie snickered and continued twisting the ring to and fro.
Words were unnecessary. Bill knew the weasel sitting opposite would throttle his missus or his kids if any of them so much as touched anything of his without his say so.
Eddie put down the sapphire and began examining a square-cut diamond ring set in yellow gold. He carried on until every single item had been thoroughly studied. He didn’t have much of a clue what to look for; the gems looked big and clean under inspection and that seemed enough. But he’d once had a job as a goldsmith’s apprentice in Hatton Garden and liked to think he knew a bit about the trade despite the fact he’d been sacked for stealing a bracelet before he’d been employed six months.
‘Well?’ Bill prompted, having impatiently observed his companion staring transfixed at the collection of gems neatly arranged in the centre of the table.
‘Give yer four.’
‘Get stuffed.’
Winifred shuffled in and nervously put down two tumblers half-filled with Scotch. She audibly swallowed and gawped, dumbstruck at the jewellery adorning her dirty tablecloth.
‘On yer way,’ her husband gruffly ordered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the kitchenette. Immediately she did as she’d been told, pulling the door to after her.
‘Shut it!’ Eddie barked. He waited until he heard a click, then said, ‘Bleedin’ nosy cow’s probably got her eye stuck to the keyhole instead.’
‘Can’t blame her. All women love jewellery, Eddie. You’ll probably get the shag of yer life if you just let her wear a couple of bits. Betty likes to slip on a few baubles when we’re at it ... says it excites her ...’
‘Give yer four fifty,’ Eddie wheezed out. ‘Can’t say fairer’n that.’
‘Can, Eddie,’ Bill sighed. ‘Can say five hundred and you’re still getting a steal.’ He chuckled at his little joke. He knew he’d got him. Eddie desperately wanted the stuff and he couldn’t blame him. It was the bargain of the century. If Bill had had more time to shift it he’d have gone elsewhere. He knew he could have got closer to a grand if he’d sold the stuff individually. But he wanted shot of it quickly because it was hot and he might at any time get a visit from the boys in blue.
He also needed some money pronto to pay off what he owed on other deals. His spare bedroom at home was stuffed floor to ceiling with fur coats, and the bad girls who’d hoisted the stuff for him were giving him earache about getting their share of the loot. He needed to keep Betty and her crew sweet because they earned him a fortune, and a few of the girls didn’t mind joining him in bed when Betty’s back was turned. Bill glanced at Eddie; he knew he had a wad about the place somewhere. Much as Eddie Finch liked to plead poverty, the miser always had ready cash.
Bill glanced about the parlour with distaste. Considering the dump Eddie lived in it wasn’t surprising he had a stash; he certainly didn’t spend any of his money on his home or his family.
Eddie swiped a hand over his bristly chin. ‘There ain’t gonna be no comeback on this, is there?’
‘Nah! The girl I got working for me, she’s young but real cute. No flies on her. We’ve covered her tracks.’
‘Nothing going to be in the papers, then, to identify it? No list of items up Scotland Yard getting looked at?’
‘Got hoisted off some posh bloke’s tart.’ Bill shrugged. ‘When I say tart, course I mean a right high-class brass. Set up in style, she is, in Mayfair. The old boy, who I can tell you is an MP, ’n’ all – but no more clues,’ he joked playfully – ‘well, he ain’t gonna want it splashed all over the papers that his mistress’s jewellery got robbed when it’s probably a damn sight better than anything he’s ever bought fer his missus, is he?’
‘Who is this girl you use? Is it Betty?’ Eddie was playing for time while he thought things through. He doubted that Bill would have used Betty Pickering to steal this lot. For one thing, she was the woman in his harem he fancied the most and he wouldn’t risk getting her banged up on a long stretch for something serious. Betty already had a police record for shoplifting and had done short sentences. Her face was well known; she wouldn’t easily get a job in service, even with false references.
‘My business, that is, Eddie.’ Bill tapped his nose. ‘Can’t expect me to go telling you me trade secrets. Don’t you worry, she’s a pro all right. Weren’t there working as a maid for this tart more’n a week.’ He made a diving motion with a hand. ‘Straight in, she were, had a mosey around, found where the jewellery box were hid and Bob’s yer uncle.’ He abruptly drew the gems into his fingers, his expression grim. ‘Time’s up. Ready or not?’
‘What you doin’ downstairs, Jenny?’ Eddie had scrambled to his feet at the sight of one of his teenage daughters stationed in the doorway. ‘I told you to stay in yer room, you disobedient little ... Winnie!’ he roared, summoning his wife.
Winifred shot out and gawped at Jennifer. ‘You know yer dad don’t like you downstairs when he’s got company,’ she wailed. Her bony hands began flapping in front of her pinafore to shoo the girl away.
‘Only after a drink of water,’ Jennifer breathed in a high nervous voice, but she couldn’t stop her gleaming eyes from sliding towards Bill Black.
‘Leave her be; ain’t doin’ no harm.’ Bill sent the girl a subtle smile. He knew Eddie and Winnie had twin daughters who were about fourteen. This was the little minx who gave him come-on looks; the prettier one, called Katherine, seemed a right stuck-up cow. Considering who she was and where she lived she’d no right to such airs and graces, in Bill’s opinion. He’d seen Jennifer before, watching him out of an upstairs window when he’d been unloading stuff from the boot of his car. He knew her sort – had a throb in her fanny before her tits were big enough to be of interest. Bill was wise enough to decline gaol bait but he wasn’t averse to stringing her along and letting her know he’d be ready when she was ...
‘Fetch her a bleedin’ cup of water and get rid of her,’ Eddie growled through set teeth at his wife. He’d seen Jennifer stare at the pile of gems before her eyes skittered away. Once Bill was gone the little slut would feel the back of his hand.
A moment later, Winnie thrust a chipped cup at her daughter, slopping some water down the front of Jennifer’s nightdress in her haste to get rid of her.
Once Winnie had taken herself off back into the kitchenette and the stairs creaked quietly, Bill said, amused, ‘Now ... where was we, Finchie? You want this stuff or not, ’cos I’m on a promise and I don’t want Betty to go off the boil, if yer know wot I mean ...’
‘All right,’ Eddie muttered in defeat. ‘Give yer half now and half on Friday.’ He pulled out of his pocket a thick roll of notes and, having slowly counted out, slapped most of it down on the tablecloth. ‘Look ... just left meself a tenner to get by.’
Bill laughed at his sulky expression as he picked up the cash. ‘You know that ain’t how it works, mate.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Eddie snapped, slamming himself back in the chair. ‘Yer reckon I’ve got five hundred notes about the place?’
‘Tell you what.’ Bill tilted his head, eyeing him shrewdly. ‘I’ll take yer two ’n’ ’alf and leave you them.’ He pushed some rings towards Eddie. ‘Then Friday I’ll come by with the sapphire and you can settle up.’ He waved the ring beneath Eddie’s nose before pocketing it.
Eddie jerked immediately to his feet. He reckoned come Friday Bill would have sold it elsewhere. ‘You don’t trust me to pay up?’ He was all huffy indignation.
‘Course I don’t, mate.’ Bill also got to his feet. ‘What kind o’ mug d’you take me for?’ He picked up the whisky and downed it in one swallow. ‘Say thanks to the missus fer the drink, won’t you now, just in case she can’t hear me.’ A sardonic glance was sent towards the kitchenette.
‘No ... hang on ...’ Eddie stopped him by the door that led into the gloomy passage. He swiped a hand over his jaw. ‘I’ll see what I can rake up.’ He went into the kitchen and closed the door quickly behind him. Raised voices could be heard, then a shove from her husband sent Winifred, holding her son by the hand, hurtling out of the small room. The momentum was too much for the boy’s balance and he fell to his knees, but Winnie immediately hoisted him up by an arm before flouncing out of the parlour. A moment later the stairs started creaking again.
