Paradise Court (33 page)

‘I ain't said nothing, Chalky!' Syd protested. They'd caught him off guard. Maurice and Walter had backed him right into the corner.

‘Shut it!' Chalky warned. He stooped under the ropes and vaulted down to floor level. ‘What the bleeding hell do you think you're up to?' He was face to face with Robert, aware of Joxer's bulky figure in the background. A taut nerve flicked in his cheek and pulled down one corner of his almost lipless mouth. He saw Robert give another signal to the two who'd cornered Syd.

Walter laid into Syd's body with well-rehearsed skill and timing. Syd aimed a return blow but missed, as Walter ducked. They heard the air expelled from his lungs by Walter's second, thudding punch. He collapsed forward as Chalky began to move in to join the fight. But then Joxer loomed up from behind and hooked a massive arm around Chalky's neck. He locked his elbow in position, forcing the man's head back, half-strangling him.

Maurice caught hold of Walter. ‘Wait! See if he's ready to talk!'

Syd gasped and clutched his stomach, then he swung out, dribbling saliva, coughing, catching Maurice on the side of the jaw, so that Maurice had to lunge back at him to prevent him from running off. Joxer held right to Chalky, keeping him pinioned against his own chest. Soon he ran him straight at his accomplice, like a battering ram, and bundled them back into the corner. He was so powerful that both men went sprawling.

Chalky looked up from his humiliating position. His hand slipped sideways into Syd's jacket pocket and he pulled out a knife, gleaming silver, long and sharp. He crouched, and a sneer came on to his face. Syd came up beside him. They edged forward, mocking and jeering as Maurice and Joxer were forced to back off.

‘Go on, Syd, tell us why you never said Chalky was there.' Robert held his nerve. ‘Couldn't be that he was busy backstage, could it?'

‘Prove it,' Chalky snarled. He sprang at Robert with his knife, slashing through mid-air in wild, stabbing movements. Robert raised one crutch to protect himself.

The onlookers backed away. Milo ran to his office to use the telephone to ring Union Street station.

Joxer saw Chalky come at Robert with his knife. He put one shoulder down and charged, so heavy and strong that he knocked the attacker off course. He reached down for the knife as Chalky's arm flailed backwards, then grabbed his wrist and shook the weapon free. It clattered to the floor. Robert swung at it with his crutch and knocked it out of reach. Now Joxer was enraged, and he punched at his man's body and face, letting go a battery of blows.

Syd crouched back down and watched in dismay. Walter wrenched him to his feet and throttled him against the wall. ‘Spit it out!' he ordered. ‘I'm not stopping Joxer until we get what we want from you!' They heard Chalky groan under the weight of the cellarman's punches.

‘All right, all right, he was there!' Syd broke down. ‘So what? Call him off. He'll bleeding well kill him!'

Chalky groaned again. He'd fallen on the floor and tried to curl up, but Joxer rolled him over with one foot and bent to drag him upright again.

‘Right, he was at the Palace,' Maurice challenged. ‘We got that. Now what?'

‘Now nothing.' Syd winced as Joxer landed another blow to Chalky's body.

Walter flattened him against the wall again. ‘He went to see Daisy, didn't he? You was hanging around waiting for him. He went backstage and done her in!'

‘No!'

They heard Chalky slump to the ground as Joxer let him go. The big man moved across towards Syd.

‘Come on!' Robert urged. There'd be another murder committed before long. He saw Syd cower in Joxer's shadow, and realized he couldn't take punishment like Chalky. ‘It was Chalky, wasn't it?'

Syd's nerve broke down. ‘Yes!' he gasped.

Robert heard the confession. His head went down and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Maurice held him up. Joxer towered
over Syd, while Walter kept an eye on their murderer, still lying half senseless on the floor.

‘Call him off,' Syd pleaded. ‘I said it was Chalky, ain't I? He went looking for trouble, said she had it coming. I thought he was gonna smack her about a bit, that's all. I didn't know he was gonna do her in!'

Chalky groaned and lifted a hand in protest. They pulled him to his feet. Vivid bruises already stood out on his cheekbone, a trickle of blood ran from one corner of his mouth. He knew it was all over.

‘Get the police,' Maurice said.

Milo hovered in the background. ‘They're on their way.' There was a stunned silence throughout the gym.

‘Ask him why he did it,' Robert said, his voice shaky. ‘Tell him I want to know.'

Daisy had laughed at him, it was as simple as that. He'd called her out from her dressing room into the dark alley, and she'd put her hand to her mouth and laughed at his black eye. She said she was glad Robert had given him it; it was no more than he deserved. She didn't want to go round with his sort, how many times did she need to tell him? He'd better make himself scarce. She laughed in his face and went to call Fred Mills for help.

That was when he followed her inside, after all the others had left. Fred Mills spotted him and left him to sort the girl out. It was none of his business, the manager said. Daisy wouldn't stop laughing. She'd gone hysterical when he started to push her about. Then he drew the knife. It was over in seconds.

‘You done the girl in because she laughed?' Robert repeated. He shook his head in disbelief. ‘And I bet that Fred Mills seen you at it. I bet he knows.'

Chalky stared sullenly back.

‘Bastards, they were all in on it. They let Ernie get it in the neck without lifting a finger!' Robert stammered.

‘Not any more.' Walter put an arm around his shoulder. ‘We nailed them this time, mate. We nailed them good and proper.'

Tommy O'Hagan was proud of the part he'd played in the arrest of Daisy's true murderer. He'd come a long way since he used to hang about Waterloo Station on the off-chance of earning a penny or two cab-ducking, or pestering the carters' yards to cut up hay. He'd seen life in the raw and been to sea. He'd set up his own barrow. He'd officially left school. ‘No more Miss Sweetlips for me,' he told Sadie, remembering all too well Mr Donaldson's less-than-affectionate use of the cane, the books thrown as missiles, the hog-tying of boys to radiators. ‘School's a mug's game for the likes of Charlie Ogden, not for me.'

Sadie appreciated how much Tommy had come on. He worked for himself and was doing very well. He was even thinking of hiring a lad and taking on Billy Wray's stall as well. He'd been practising the newspaper vendor's raucous, incomprehensible cry. And he'd filled out to fit his new jacket; no longer the skinny, ragged-arsed kid. He combed his hair, used a razor at least once a week, and prided himself on his valuable contribution to the family budget.

‘You know something, if I'd been around when our Daisy got herself done in, they'd never have nicked Ernie in the first place,' he bragged.

‘Oh, bleeding Sherlock Holmes now, are we?' At the moment, Sadie would forgive Tommy anything. He'd slung his arm around her shoulder, leaning back against the bar with his other elbow. The room was crowded out with all their friends and family. Ernie sat at a table, the smiling centre of it all.

Tommy polished his nails against his chest. ‘You just gotta keep your eyes peeled, that's all. You gotta be one step ahead.'

Sadie shoved him sideways and broke free. She stood, hands on hips, studying his white neck scarf, his bold brass buckle. ‘Talk about big-headed!' She flashed him a challenging look. ‘You're still nothing but a peaky blinder, Tommy O'Hagan, with that stupid cap and everything. Who you trying to kid?'

Tommy exaggerated his disappointment. ‘Oh, Sadie, don't say that. Here's me thinking we'd clicked.'

‘The day I click with you, Tommy, is the day they cart me off and throw away the key.'

‘I'll go and chuck myself off London Bridge, you heartless girl.'

‘And spoil your nice new jacket? Don't do that, Tom.' Sadie was aware of Charlie sitting with his family at a nearby table. She flirted with Tommy for all she was worth.

Maurice's words about throwing over a good-looking girl came back to haunt Charlie now. Sadie, restored to high spirits by Ernie's last-minute reprieve, sparkled. There was a time last year when he'd sat on a grassy bank with his arms round that girl, taking for granted the nearness of her creamy, smooth cheek, the soft intensity of her dark-fringed eyes. He'd showered her with bluebells and run laughing with her across a sweet-smelling carpet of flowers under branches newly green. He'd given her up, and now he must watch her flirt with Tommy. He frowned.

‘Serves you right,' Dolly said. She followed his gaze and read his thoughts. ‘You made your own bed there, son. Now you gotta lie on it.'

‘Leave the boy alone.' Arthur cottoned on to his son's regret. ‘No need to rub it in.' He pulled at his pint, ready to play the man of the world. ‘Love them and leave them. That's my advice, Charlie. Ain't none of them worth losing no sleep over.' He winked and drank again.

Dolly laughed uproariously. ‘Look who's talking; love them and leave them! A proper little Romeo, ain't you, Arthur Ogden? If you want to know the truth, I think you chucked over a real gem there, Charlie.' She waved at Sadie and called her over to join
them. ‘Just sit tight and be nice to the girl. I'll try and bring her round for you. You never know your luck.'

But Charlie blushed red to the roots of his hair. ‘No, Ma. I told Mr Leigh I'd go ahead and open up.' He pulled a big bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. ‘I gotta dash.' He leapt for the door as Sadie approached.

Amy grinned, ‘Mister Leigh this, Mister Leigh that,' she mimicked. You'd think the sun shone out of that nun's backside.

‘Hush, Amy.' Dolly stood up to embrace the youngest Parsons girl. ‘Sadie, we're over the moon for you, girl. We can't hardly believe it. This is the best bit of news we had in ages.' She held her close and patted her on the back. ‘When they took Ernie away it was as bad as losing one of our own, I can tell you. The whole street was cut up. But now he's back!' Even Dolly ran out of words at last. She held Sadie at arm's length, eyes glistening. ‘How about organizing a singsong to celebrate?' she asked. ‘Go on, you got a voice like a canary when you get going. And Amy here. You girls get over there and sort it out for us, put us in the mood.'

Sadie smiled down at Amy. ‘Come on,' she said. She linked arms and they threaded their way through the crowd gathered to join in Ernie's home-coming. When they reached the pianola, she turned to the older girl, who still looked downcast after the strain of recent events. She had put on an unconvincing show of dolling herself up for the occasion with flowers and feathers in her hair, but her conscience was uneasy. ‘What's up, Amy?' Sadie wanted to know. ‘You don't look yourself tonight. It ain't Syd, is it?'

Syd Swan was in deep trouble for concealing material evidence from the Crown. Chalky was firmly behind bars and without its leader the gang had disintegrated. In fact, Whitey and a couple of others had moved across the water until the fuss died down, and Syd was rumoured to be holed up in his ma's place in Walthamstow. Amy knew she was safe from him at present, but she didn't underestimate his long-term resentment. She felt no regret about his absence from Duke Street. ‘No, it ain't Syd,' she confessed.

Sadie softened towards her and took her by the hand. ‘Has any of us said thanks to you yet, Amy?'

‘No, what for?'

‘For fingering Chalky for us. That took plenty of guts, that did.'

Amy inhaled deeply. It took her a while to realize that Sadie meant it, then she shrugged.

‘It did. And you was on the ball to pick it up in the first place, from what I hear. We got a lot to thank you for.'

‘Oh, I ain't been too clever on the whole,' Amy protested. ‘Not really.'

But Sadie wouldn't hear of it. Her gratitude bubbled over, and soon everyone within earshot was saying, yes, Amy Ogden was the one to thank. Without her, Chalky and Syd would have got away with it. They wouldn't all be sitting here now celebrating if not for her.

‘You know,' Dolly said to Arthur, surprise registering in her voice, ‘that girl of ours done us proud.' She sat nodding. ‘All right, so she put a foot wrong here and there. Don't we all? But her heart's in the right place, ain't it?'

Amy's head had gone up, pleased as punch. She was getting ready to sing alongside Sadie Parsons.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Blimey, you mean you two ain't gonna be at each other's throats no more?'

Dolly smiled blithely back. ‘If they can climb out of the trenches for a Christmas truce, I reckon Amy and me can call it a day. That's what I say. Anyhow, I been thinking.'

‘Oh, bleeding Nora!' Arthur hated it when Dolly schemed. It usually cost money.

‘No, seriously. I been thinking. I want to send the girl to learn how to be one of them typewriters. I been talking to Frances, and she says it's the up-and-coming thing; girls working in offices.'

‘Clackety-clack, bleeding machines,' Arthur grumbled. But he could see the writing on the wall. Dolly had ambitions for Amy. Well, it was better than open warfare in the house. ‘Where's the money coming from?' he argued.

Dolly eyed him severely. ‘You gotta get a job, Arthur. That's where the money's coming from.'

Arthur definitely drew the line at that. Moving with the times
was one thing, and having ambitions above your station. But sending a sick man out to work to pay for it was quite another. He wheezed into his beer. He and Dolly would bicker about it for weeks, then Dolly would work miracles to find the money and send Amy off to college. There was no stopping her.

Before Amy and Sadie could get the singing into full swing, Hettie and her friends came round with the collecting tin for the Salvation Army.

‘Cashing in, eh?' Robert winked. He hadn't got used to this transformation in his fun-loving sister, but he respected her decision. He tipped a few coins into her tin.

‘Why not?' Hettie retorted. ‘Don't you think God deserves a bit of the praise and some thanks round here?' She held out the tin and rattled it under the noses of some of Rob's friends. Walter Davidson dug deep in his pocket. ‘It's God kept us going through the darkest hours, ain't it, Ern?'

Ernie heard her shout and nodded back. He wanted to wallow in the moment, to agree with everyone, see the smiles on people's faces. He still couldn't believe the moment when the key had turned in the lock and Duke had come into the cell specially set aside for the condemned man. He was with Mr Sewell, who delivered the news. They'd caught the real murderer. Ernie was free to go.

Duke had confirmed it; it was true. Rob and the girls were waiting outside at the prison gate, all of them. The warder held the door wide open. Ernie was reprieved. He had remembered to thank God, and the warder who'd looked after him without harshness or contempt.

‘Good luck, mate.' The warder clapped him on the shoulder and sent him on his way. At the gate, he fell into everyone's arms and they took him home in a taxi. He slept in his own dean bed.

‘All right, all right, less of the Onward Christian Soldiers, thank you very much,' Robert murmured. ‘It used to be Frances what was bad for business, but she turned out normal lately, and you stepped in for her.'

Walter kicked him under the table. ‘Give it a rest, Rob.' He was fascinated by the change in Hettie, knowing there was a
good-looking, vivacious woman lurking under that poky bonnet. He could understand her turning to the Army, though, and thought Robert was being too hard.

‘She don't mind, do you, Ett?'

‘Not if you cough up all the coppers you got in your pockets, Robert Parsons; I don't care what you say.' She asked after Walter's bruised hands and said thank you to him for the hundredth time. Her combination of natural warmth and zeal for the cause was irresistible. She and Freda took record amounts, before they set up the singsong with Sadie and Amy, turning their faces to the ornate ceiling and bursting with praise for the Lord.

Walter grinned at Rob. ‘I wouldn't argue with her if I was you, pal.' He was happy to sit and talk things over with his friend. For the first time since his return from the Front, it seemed Robert wanted to look ahead and make plans. They brought up the old dream of owning a taxi.

‘Whoever heard of a one-legged taxi-driver?' Robert complained. ‘Or a one-legged docker when it comes to it.'

‘How about a one-legged motor-car mechanic?' Walter didn't see that his injury would stop him in the long run from learning how to take care of car engines. ‘We could still be partners; Davidson and Parsons, Hackney Motor Carriages.'

For a few minutes, their conversation took off; men who knew about the combustion engine would be in high demand after the war. Modern transport was going along those lines. Robert recalled his brave friend, George Mann, having to heave the horse-and-cart munitions wagon out of the mud. ‘It's had its day, that kind of thing. From now on it's going to be motorized everything.' He agreed it would be a good line of work to get into. ‘Only one problem,' he pointed out.

‘What's that?' Walter was reluctant to fall back to earth just yet. He fancied a whole fleet of taxis, shiny and black, with running-boards and big chrome bumpers. He wanted an office with a telephone, and people ringing up to be taken into the West End.

‘It's the little matter of pounds, shillings and pence, mate.'

‘Ah.' Walter sighed. ‘Ain't no harm in dreaming.' Then there was
one other problem he thought it only fair to point out. ‘It ain't on the cards right away in any case. I been thinking, Rob. I ought to join up.'

Robert's mood switched in an instant. ‘Enlisting?' He tried not to give away his own doubts and fears.

‘I think I ought.' Lord Kitchener's face with its black moustache and piercing eyes had begun to appear on posters. The finger of accusation pointed at those who still thought to let others lay down life and limb for their country, but not themselves. Walter had too much pride to resist the call for long. ‘I ain't keen on aiming at the Hun down the barrel of a gun, don't get me wrong. I ain't one for all that. But I'm fit and strong, Rob, and it don't seem right to hold back no more. This jamboree's going on longer than they thought, ain't it? If I join up straight off, do my bit and come home a hero, there'll be a job waiting for me at the end of the line, won't there?' He attempted a confident grin. ‘Then we can start saving for that taxi.'

Robert found it hard to look him in the face. ‘Good for you, mate.' He shut out the mental pictures of mangled bodies, blank terror, the insanity of slaughter for ten yards of mud.

‘I'm off up the Town Hall on Monday morning,' Walter promised. ‘Then you won't have one up on me no more.'

‘Well, drink up,' Rob said. ‘It's on the house.' Awkwardly he took the two glasses by hooking his thumb through both handles and dangling them from one crutch.

Duke served the beer and looked straight at his son. ‘You sit down, mate. I'll get Joxer to fetch them across.' The cellarman had reported for duty as usual the minute Chalky had been taken into police custody. He said nothing as he buttoned his waistcoat and left the gym, and he didn't intend to discuss things thereafter. He knew he had a job for life with Duke, and they'd each mind their own business. His face was expressionless as he brought Robert the two pints of beer.