Elegy for Eddie (18 page)

Maisie looked down into the river, at the dense mass of water working its way towards the Pool of London, and from there out to the marshes, and then on to the North Sea. A dredger slipped under the bridge, then a barge and a tug in succession. This was the Thames as a working waterway. This same river would entertain pleasure-seekers at Henley or Marlow, and supply fishermen close to its source, but here it was an ugly mistress—a thick gray killer if you slipped into her clutches. Maisie leaned over the side of the bridge to look down, and wondered how desperate one might have to be to climb down towards the water, and at night. There were certainly places where a man could find a place to put one foot after another, but already the new bridge was slippery, coated with lichen and scum. Yes, it seemed Dawkins might be right—Jimmy Merton could well have come to the bridge via boat. Given that it would take two people to put up a noose, together with the fact that any sane man would not help his friend to take his own life, it seemed reasonable to assume that Merton was compromised—unconscious if not already dead—when a rope was placed around his neck and he was left to hang. The question was, of those who wanted him dead, who might have taken the life of Jimmy Merton?

Chapter Ten

J
ennie’s face lit up when she opened the door to see Maisie standing on the step.

“Come in, Maisie. Come in. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Maud?”

Maisie stepped into the passageway. “Oh, so that’s why my ears were burning.” She smiled at Jennie. “Shall I go through to the kitchen?”

“Off you go, love. She’s in her chair by the fire. She does feel the cold, you know; even has a hot water bottle on a summer’s night. I just walked in the door a little while ago, from my cleaning job down at the pickle factory.”

“You’re still working there, Jennie?”

“Until I drop, probably. Mind you, Maudie and me, we’ve been careful with our money, and Wilf left us a little. And now Maud has earnings that Eddie saved up, we should be all right when it comes to the time I can’t work anymore, though I hope to keep at it for a few more years yet. The rent on this place hasn’t gone up in a long chalk, and we’ve been lucky because when we first came here, the three of us, we could only afford rooms upstairs, but now we’ve got the downstairs as well. Nice enough, for a couple of old girls, eh?”

Jennie chivvied Maisie into the kitchen, and as she entered, Maud held out her hands.

“It’s nice to see you, my love. Fancy you coming back here on account of our Eddie.”

Maisie took the woman’s hands, and was surprised at the strength that seemed to be returning to Maud Pettit.

“You sit down next to me, Maisie. Tell me what you’ve been doing for my Eddie.”

Maisie rubbed Maud’s hands as she began to speak, looking back and forth between the two women as she explained that Jimmy Merton had been found dead, an apparent suicide.

“The police believe that, one way or another, Jimmy was responsible for Eddie’s death, that even if he didn’t create the circumstances for the paper bale to fall, he never made an attempt to help Eddie. They think he might have just wanted to scare Eddie, or intimidate him in some way, but it went too far. They had questioned him a couple of times, but couldn’t really pin anything on him, though they were working with possible witnesses—the fact that he killed himself has convinced the police that Jimmy was their man.”

Maud Pettit nodded, slowly, her gaze on the windowpanes, where dust had collected against the glass outside.

“Kettle’s boiling. I’ll brew us some tea,” said Jennie.

Maisie thanked Jennie, her voice barely more than a whisper. These were people for whom a cup of tea was balm for the shock of bad news; perhaps a death, an accident, the loss of a job or a roof over one’s head. The more desperate the word that came—from a neighbor, in a letter, from the bailiff or the police—the stronger the brew and the sweeter it was to the taste.

“What do you think, Maisie?” asked Maud. “What do you think of these policemen and what they’ve said about Jimmy Merton?”

Maisie looked down at her hands, then back at Maud to answer her question. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. But here’s what I do think—that they’re probably right that Jimmy Merton had a hand in Eddie’s death, and for that he’s paid a price. And I think we must be thankful because now we know.”

“An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, ain’t that right, Maudie?” Jennie began pouring the tea, her hand shaking.

“It’s a terrible thing, all the same,” said Maud. “Two boys growing up here on these streets, you’d think we’d all stick together; after all, we’re all in the same boat. We should be looking out for each other, not one trying to kill another. It’s a terrible thing, terrible.”

“Yes, it is.” Maisie began to choose her words with care. “But now you can rest, can’t you? You know how Eddie died, and you know that, however wrong it all was, the piper’s been paid his due. Now you can mourn, and you can remember Eddie with all the love in your hearts, because he touched so many people—and he brought comfort to the horses; he loved his horses, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. He loved them and they loved him back.”

Jennie brought a cup to Maud, holding on to the saucer until the woman had it in a secure grip.

“I won’t stay, Jennie,” said Maisie. “I must be getting along. I’m going up to see Jesse, Seth, and the men up at the market—I want to catch them before they go home. They’ll want to know the news too, and I daresay you’ll be seeing Jesse soon, Maud.”

“Oh, he’ll come round to see us. You’d better keep that kettle on the boil, Jen.”

Maisie said good-bye to Maud, who made her promise not to be a stranger.

“It does us good to see a young face about. Two old women like us, we could do with a bit of life around here, especially now Eddie’s gone.”

She saw grief in the woman’s features, and gave her word that she would keep in touch.

At the door Jennie squeezed Maisie’s shoulder. “I know you’re busy, Maisie, so don’t feel you have to visit. Maud’s just feeling a bit lonely. She’s afraid, you see, of being on her own. Not that I’m planning to go anywhere.” She put her hand to her forehead. “I keep meaning to ask you—was that notebook of Eddie’s any help?”

“It’s a help, Jennie, but I’d still like to find the one with all Eddie’s customers and their addresses listed. It hasn’t turned up.”

“I’ve racked my brains and nothing fell out,” said Jennie. “But I’ll keep looking. Take care, young Maisie. And thank you. Thank you for coming over with the news.”

Maisie said good-bye and walked along the road to where she’d parked the MG. She started the engine and for a while sat in the idling motor car, looking about her. She was one of the lucky ones, and there were few. The outcome could have been so different. She felt as if she were in debt, that there was something to be repaid, and she thought she could start with Maud and Jennie. Perhaps she could ensure their security in the house, or have some alterations done to make it more comfortable for the two women as they aged. Despite what Elsbeth Masters had said, she thought it was the right thing to do.

Having set the motor car in motion, she made her way on towards the West End, but a wave of fatigue seemed to envelop her as she negotiated the lorries, horse-drawn carts, motor cars, and weather. And at the same time she felt a pang of guilt. She had told the truth, that Jimmy Merton was dead, and that the police believed him to be responsible for Eddie’s death. The weight she carried within her came from a growing sense that Eddie’s death was just the tip of a very different iceberg.

M
aisie stood on the edge of the market, watching porters running to and fro, and costers clearing up after a busy day. The ground was spattered with dropped fruit and vegetables, and street urchins waited to be thrown a few “specks”—damaged fruit unsuitable for sale—or to be given a coin or two for running an errand. Maisie was pained to see so many of the children running in bare feet and threadbare clothing. She thought she would talk to Andrew Dene; in Maurice Blanche’s last will and testament they had been given a responsibility to ensure the continuation of the medical clinics he’d set up in the poorest areas of London. Perhaps they could add a distribution office to provide discarded clothing to the poor, or she could allocate a certain amount to add new children’s clothing each year; perhaps C&A’s would give her a discount, if she asked someone at the store. She hated to see children so wanting.

She spotted Jesse lifting a box of cucumbers and stepped out in his direction, waving when he looked up.

“Mr. Riley! Jesse! Over here!”

Riley touched his flat cap, and began walking towards her. On the way he called out to a man walking across the market.

“Fred, could you have a scout round for Seth, Archie, Pete, and Dick? Tell ’em we’ve got a visitor and they’re wanted over here.” He smiled as he approached Maisie. “I didn’t think we’d see you here today, Maisie.”

“I’ve some news for you, Jesse.”

“Better wait for the lads. Here, come over this way; they’ve more chance of seeing us if we wait on the corner.”

Soon the other men joined them, making their way past barrow boys and porters, everyone pushing, shoving, and running to bring more produce to the stalls or to load up for deliveries.

“Why don’t we go over to Sammy’s, eh? He won’t mind us taking up a table while we talk.”

Pete led the way through the throng to a small café on the opposite side of the market. The owner waved to the men as they came in.

“Just want to sit down for a minute or two, Sam,” said Jesse. “All right with you?”

“Trying to impress the lady?” said Sam, sweeping back gunmetal gray hair that had flopped into his eyes as he worked.

“You know who this is?” called Jesse. “Frankie Dobbs’ girl. Remember Frankie? Went down to the country when the war started. He still comes up this way now’n again. This is his Maisie.”

Maisie waved to the café owner. She recognized him when he looked up, and remembered being told he was from Malta, though she recalled that when she was a child Sam had jet-black hair, always oiled and in place.

“Maisie? Maisie the little girl who loved my ice cream?”

At once she could almost taste Sam’s special hazelnut ice cream, a crunchy confection that slid across the tongue, so rich it made her eyes water with each spoonful.

“Oh, now I remember you, Sam—you made the best ice cream in London.”

“You want some, Miss Maisie? Still make it, ’specially for you!”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “I’m here to talk to the gentlemen. But I’ll come back for a cornet when I have time to sit and savor the taste—so remember me, won’t you?”

The man laughed, waved, and continued to clean his small café.

“Got some news for us, Maisie?” asked Pete.

“I have. Yes.” She stopped speaking for a moment, watching the men. Pete leaned forward, but Seth and Jesse sat back, their arms folded. Archie and Dick both folded their arms as well. She went on. “I heard from the police that Jimmy Merton was found dead, apparently by his own hand. He’d hung himself from Lambeth Bridge.”

“Bloody hell,” said Pete, looking back at the others.

Seth shook his head while Jesse looked out of the window, then back at Maisie.

“Merton was under suspicion anyway,” said Maisie. “The police said they couldn’t pin Eddie’s death on him, but they believe he either caused the accident, or at the very least he didn’t make any attempt to help Eddie. And that wasn’t the end of it. My assistant, whom you met—Mr. Beale—was attacked when he left The Lighterman after conducting inquiries. He was left for dead and is now in St. Thomas’ Hospital. He’s out of the woods, but still very ill. Jimmy Merton was fingered as the attacker. The police believe Merton knew he could face the gallows for Eddie’s death, if guilt could be proved—and he doesn’t exactly have a sterling record. At the very least, he could have been sent down for a long time for the attack on Billy, for which there were apparently witnesses. The result was that he took his life to avoid the gallows or prison.”

“Well then, he got what was coming to him.” Jesse looked at the other men. “I’ve no sympathy for him. It’s a shock—I never expect the likes of Jimmy Merton to do away with himself, but you never know what goes on in a man’s head, especially his sort. But I’m not sorry to see the back of him. I don’t think any of us are.”

“Can’t say as I disagree, Maisie. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I never liked the bloke. He was bad all the way through, that one. Good riddance, that’s what I say,” said Archie.

The men nodded in agreement.

“Will your Billy be all right? Will he be able to go back to work, do you reckon?” asked Seth.

“I don’t know, Seth. I—I’m not allowed to see him at the moment. I’ll probably know soon, though.”

“Strong lad, that one,” said Dick Samuels.

“But you could see he’d been wounded in the war,” said Pete Turner. “And did you hear his chest, when he spoke to us down here in the market? He’d been gassed, you can always tell ’em.” Pete looked from Jesse to Maisie. “What about his family? They going to be all right?”

“Yes. I’ll make sure they want for nothing.”

“And you—what about you?”

Maisie smiled. The men had no knowledge of the way in which her circumstances had changed, that she was not only a working woman but one who had considerable wealth.

“I’ll be all right, don’t you worry about me. I can take care of them.”

“That’s all right then.” Jesse frowned for a second or two, then looked at his friends. “Well, lads, we’d better get a move on. Reckon we should go round to see Maudie, don’t you?”

There was agreement all round, and Maisie made her farewells, called out good-bye to Sam, and went on her way. She would have liked to feel as if her investigation was coming to a close, that she had given her clients exactly what they wanted. But there were too many loose ends. The police may have filed the case away, but for Maisie there were still pages flapping in the wind.

T
he office was silent at the end of the day. There were a few messages from Sandra, but nothing urgent. She picked up the black telephone on her desk and dialed the number for the Compton Corporation. James was not available, so she left a message asking him to telephone her at the flat, later. She did not care what James’ secretary might think. For the moment, she just wanted to be alone. She was gathering her belongings when the telephone started ringing.

“Fitzroy five-six-double-zero.”

“Maisie, where on earth have you been? Come over for a cocktail, now. I insist.”

“Pris—oh dear, I know I promised, but I’ve been busy.”

“All the more reason. I’ll drink tea if it makes you feel better.”

“All right, give me a few moments to tie up some odds and ends here, and I’ll come over before going back to the flat.”

“The flat?”

“Yes, it’s my home, and I want to go back there this evening.”

“Oh dear, hit a nerve there, didn’t I? I’ll expect you by half past six then. All right?”

“I’ll be there, Priscilla.”

“I don’t even like the way you said ‘Priscilla.’ Something must be terribly wrong. Half past six, not a moment later. And never mind the tea, I prescribe gin and tonic. Bye!”

Maisie rubbed her forehead. At least she had done two good deeds for the day. She’d given a young man the possibility of work to which he might be suited, and she’d taken news to Maud Pettit that her son’s murderer had paid a price for his actions. Billy’s family were taken care of; and if all went well, she knew Billy would contact her as soon as he was in better health. In the meantime, she would keep her distance from the Beales, though she thought she might ask Sandra to visit Billy on her behalf.