Elegy for Eddie (2 page)

“But why? Who would want to see Eddie dead?”

“That’s just it,” said Dick Samuels. “We don’t know. But we thought you might be able to find out.” He looked across to Pete Turner. “Pete’s got our kitty, he can tell you about it.”

Turner leaned forward to speak to Maisie. “We’ve had another whip-round, us and a few more costers at the market.” He pulled out a drawstring bag. “We don’t want you to work for nothing—you’ve come up the hard way and earned every penny, so we don’t want favors—but we want you to find out about Eddie. We want you to find out who killed him.”

Maisie was aware that all eyes focused on her. Not only the men were waiting for her to answer, but Billy and Sandra.

“Of course I will, but—” Maisie was interrupted by a collective sigh of relief. She regarded each and every person present, then came back to Pete Turner. “But I don’t want your money. Eddie was dear to all of us, so it’s up to us to do right by him and find out the truth of what happened to cause his death. If it was an accident, well, I’ll discover why it happened, and make sure it will never come to pass again. And if he was murdered, I’ll find out who wanted him dead.”

At first the men smiled and nodded to one another. Then Jesse Riley spoke up.

“Maisie, I’m an old coster and it’s not often I miss a trick. My mum, bless her, said that if you can’t pay anything else in life, you can pay attention, and I just noticed that you said you’d find out who wanted him dead, not that you’d find whoever it was killed Eddie.”

Maisie stood up. “I just can’t imagine someone who knew Eddie, someone who saw him every day, wanting to do anything that might hurt him, which means that if his death was the result of a deliberate act, the person who wanted him dead might not have known him as we do. He had no means to protect himself, even as a boy. He was trusting, gentle and innocent. If he was killed intentionally, someone had a reason—and I can’t imagine what that reason could be. But that’s all speculation. In any case, my assistant, Mr. Beale—” The men turned to look at Billy; Maisie continued. “Mr. Beale will begin by asking each of you a good many questions, so we can get to the bottom of what you know and who you think we should be talking to. And in the meantime, here’s what I want you to do—I want you to rack your brains, think of anything unusual about Eddie in the weeks and months leading up to his death. Did he have any new work anywhere? Who was he dealing with? Did he upset anyone? Was he acting, well, not like Eddie at any time? I want you to think-think-think, and tell us if you remember anything you haven’t already told us about—even the smallest detail could be of use.”

“Do you want us to stay here and talk to Mr. Beale today, Maisie? Until it’s done?”

“Mr. Beale will want to speak to each of you for about an hour, so no, you’d all be wasting your time waiting here. Mrs. Tapley will draw up a list with a time for each of you. Come back here for your appointment with Mr. Beale—oh, and I think it’s best that you don’t say too much to the others down at the market; if they ask, just let them know that we’re looking into it. No more than that. Best to keep as much as we can between ourselves.”

Jesse Riley stood up. “But we thought you’d be working on the case yourself, Miss.”

Maisie nodded. “I will be, Jesse. But Billy and Sandra know what they’re doing—we’ve worked together on many cases, and I trust them implicitly. And while you’re doing your part and they’re doing theirs, I’ll be on my way to see Maud Pettit about Eddie. I’m leaving now—I remember where she lives. And after that, I’ll be visiting Bookhams.” Maisie picked up her coat, hat, gloves, and shoulder bag. She decided to leave her briefcase, as it might seem intimidating—official people carried briefcases, people who might want to take something from you, and she didn’t want to frighten Eddie’s mother. “Now then, I suggest we all meet here again, perhaps tomorrow—Sandra, how about late afternoon, when the gentlemen have finished their rounds? Would you put it in the diary?”

Bidding the men good-bye, she motioned to Billy to come to the front door with her.

“You know what questions to ask them, don’t you, Billy?”

“Yes, Miss. And thank you, Miss, for putting this in my hands.”

“You’ve been with me for enough interviews to open an inquiry; you know what to do, of that I am sure. In any case, we’ll go through the notes together before they come back tomorrow—we’ve got the rest of today to get started on this.”

“What do you think, Miss? Do you reckon they’re onto something. I mean, that Jesse Riley’s getting on a bit, and he looks like the one who got everyone else started.”

“The important thing is that
they
believe Eddie died in suspicious circumstances. They believed enough to cut into their day to see me, to turn up here in their best clothes and to risk my telling them the case wasn’t solid. The fact that they took the chance, and then had the whip-round to get the funds to start an investigation—that’s more than enough for me, Billy. More than enough.” She pulled her umbrella from the earthenware jar, and as she opened the door she turned to her assistant. “I knew Eddie. I remember him well. He was a lovely man—always more of a boy because he never quite grew up. Which is why everyone looked out for him, especially those who’d known him from the time he was a small lad. And he had a gift, Billy, a real gift. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might not have believed it.” She sighed. “If those men have doubt, then I believe it’s well founded. One way or another, we’ll get some answers for them. Now then, I’d better be off.”

“And you turned down their money, Miss. I bet you anything they won’t take your charity, they’re not that sort.”

“Oh, no two ways about it. They’re proud—they’ll try to make me take the money, and perhaps eventually I’ll have to come to some sort of compromise. As far as I’m concerned, they’ve entrusted us to find out the truth about Eddie. I’ll worry about the money later. You see, when my mother was ill, it was my father’s mates down the market—and their families—who tried to help us. So I’m determined not to let them down. Now, you’d better get back up there before those boys get rowdy.”

M
aisie set off towards Oxford Street. From there she could use the underground railway to go across to Lambeth, but not before she’d stopped at the caff for a cup of tea. She had left the office because she wanted the men to know she had taken up the case with no delay, but in truth she wanted time to think. She wanted to remember Eddie, and to cradle his memory in her heart.

Her first recollection of Eddie was when she was just a small girl, about six years old. She was standing with her father, watching Jesse try to calm his horse, a big gray gelding with an abscessed hoof. The animal was stabled under the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge, and it seemed the limited light and a few days standing idle had conspired to upset the horse, who had nipped and kicked out at anyone who dared to come close.

“I’ve got to doctor ’im; if that abscess gets any worse, he’ll be no good to me, and it’ll be the slaughterhouse next.”

Frankie nodded. “I’d send for Eddie Pettit, if I were you, Jesse. He’ll sort him out.”

“I’ve already sent my boy round to Maudie. She’ll bring him, you can depend on that.” He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together.

“He’s worth every penny, Jess, if you don’t want to lose that horse.”

Maisie looked up, from one man to the other, and turned around when she heard footsteps clattering against the cobblestones.

“Here he is.” Jesse touched his cap, and walked forward to greet the woman and her son.

The boy was sixteen at the time, or thereabouts, and was tall for his age. It seemed his mother hadn’t managed to find castoffs big enough for him, clothed as he was in trousers that provided a goodly margin between hem and ankle, and a jacket that revealed his wide but boney wrists and long fingers. His eyes were large, and when she looked into them, Maisie thought it was like looking at the eyes of a cow or a horse. He had clear skin and red-red lips, as if he’d been feasting on berries. His hair was unruly, and he continually brushed it back with his fingers, holding his head to one side as he listened to the men. Maisie remembered his mother pressing a handkerchief into his hand, and telling him to blow his nose. “Always got a runny nose, that one.” Then she smiled up at her boy, and it was clear she loved her son as no other ever would.

Jesse began to speak, but it was as if the boy hadn’t heard a word, for he walked forward and took the latch off the stable door.

“Be careful, lad, he’s—”

Maudie touched Jesse on the arm. “Don’t you worry, Eddie knows what he’s doing.”

The boy stepped into the stable with calm confidence.

Sitting in the caff, staring out of the window, Maisie could see Eddie now in her mind’s eye, and she could feel exactly the curiosity she experienced that day, watching the boy as he opened the door, how he seemed to change when he entered the stall. They could not see what Eddie was doing but could hear his soft voice, talking to the horse as if they were in a deep conversation. He did not shout, nor did he make a plea; he simply talked to a friend. Within two minutes, he had slipped a halter on the horse and was leading him from the stable, the horse with his head low, trusting.

“Got hot water for me to do his foot, Mr. Riley?”

“I don’t believe it. Truly I don’t.” Riley pulled a kettle off the brazier he’d set up on the cobblestones, and poured the water into a bucket.

“Him just don’t like the dark. None of ’em do, but most of the time they’re too tired to say anything about it. Him’s had a chance to think about it, what with his foot. And he don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Well, he’s got to be for now. Or he’ll end up on a dinner plate. Can’t have a horse who doesn’t work for his keep.” Riley walked towards the horse, but Eddie stopped him.

“I’ll do that, Mr. Riley. Best I doctor him today.”

Maisie watched as Eddie cared for the horse, who seemed as soft as a kitten with Eddie there. He soaked the hoof, then dried it and applied a bread poultice, wrapping the hoof to secure the paste before leading the horse back to the stable. He remained in the stable for another five minutes, perhaps more, talking to the horse with a soft voice. Then he emerged, turning to put the latch on the door. And as he joined the men, his mother, and Maisie, the confidence seemed to ebb from him; he had nothing to say to those gathered. Jesse handed Maudie a few coins, and she nodded, and while the men began to clean up around the stables, Maisie watched mother and son walk away along the cobblestones: the small, rosy-faced woman and the tall boy, walking along in a loping gait, his arms held out at his sides, his head lowered to listen to his mother as she spoke to him. Maisie remembered thinking that he reminded her of a storybook character, a gentle giant.

M
aisie set down her cup and looked up at the clock on the wall. It was almost eleven o’clock. She wouldn’t be back at the office until mid-afternoon at the earliest, by which time Sandra would have left to go to her other job. She wanted to catch Sandra before she left the office, so she left the caff to walk down towards Soho Square, where there was a telephone kiosk.

“Good morning—”

“It’s me, Sandra—only don’t say anything. Are the men still there?”

“Just one, then another couple are coming back later.”

“Sandra, I’d like you to do something for me—when Billy’s finished with the interview, tell him you have to leave on an errand. Here’s what I want you to do—go down to Fleet Street, to both the
Express
and the
Times
, and look up anything you can find on an accident at Bookhams Printers. Billy will be able to give you the exact date. If you’ve got time, you can leave your notes at the office for me to read when I get back.”

“Right you are.”

“Good girl. Do you have a lecture this evening?” Sandra was enrolled in classes at the Morley College for Working Men and Women.

“Yes, so I won’t be home until about ten.”

“And I won’t be there this evening, Sandra; you’ll have the flat to yourself. See you tomorrow.”

S
tanding in front of the small soot-blackened terraced house on Weathershaw Street, where Maudie lived with her son and Jennie, brought back memories of Maisie’s own childhood. She had lived in such a house in Lambeth. Her mother and father had started off with one room, then managed to rent another, and then the kitchen and downstairs parlor of the “two up, two down” house. The same had been true of Maudie and her lifelong friend, Jennie. Time had moved on and they now had the downstairs rooms as well as the bedrooms above.

“Hello, Mrs. Pettit.” Maisie remembered that the woman had always been referred to as “Mrs. Pettit” out of respect for her son, even though she had never married. “I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

“O’ course I remember you; you’re Frankie Dobbs’ girl. Went across the water to work and ended up doing well for yourself—but didn’t you come back here to live in Lambeth a few years ago?”

“Yes, Mrs. Pettit. I lodged at the boarding house on Solomon Street for a while.” Maisie leaned forward. “I’ve come about Eddie, Mrs. Pettit. May I come in?”

The small woman looked at her for a moment, and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. “Well, what with this heat and that reek coming off the water, you’ll catch something dreadful if you stand out here, make no mistake. Come in, girl, and sit in the scullery. Jennie’s made up the fire and the kettle’s on.”

Maisie followed the woman along a narrow passageway to the back of the house. Jennie Robinson was taller than Maud, and was strong about the shoulders, though lean, whereas the dead man’s mother seemed not only small but diminished. Now they were indoors, Maisie could see Maud had become frail, and it was hard to believe that she was sixty-two—she appeared to be closer to eighty. She took her seat alongside the black cast-iron stove as if she were cold into her bones and could not get enough warmth.

“Jennie, remember Frankie Dobbs’ girl? Went into service across the water, after her mother died, God rest her soul.”

“Of course I remember,” said Jennie. “They always said you’d do well, what with you having a bit more up there than most.” She pointed to her head.