The Last Train to Scarborough (28 page)

That
statement carried the date '7 November, 1913'

The second sheet was a second statement by Vaughan, dated 9 November:
I would like to add to my
earlier statement as follows: Having repaired to the public house called the
Two Mariners with Mr Blackburn I presented for his inspection certain post
cards of a nature rather 'saucy', as some might say. Not to mince words they
showed young female persons in various states of what is known as
d
é
shabill
é
...

This
was all meant in fun,
the statement ran on.
Post cards of this sort are commonly seen in the sea-side towns and are by no
means - as I understand it - outside the law. I happen to have come by a few
cards of this sort having once been in the post card business. They are really
just the 'old masters' brought up to date and I will quite often produce them
in male company for a bit of a 'laugh' with the boys. However, Mr Blackburn
made it clear to me that they were not his 'cup of tea', and so our
conversation resumed its earlier course.

This
was Vaughan in a corner. The coppers had put the screws on him, having
discovered the cards and confronted him over them. I passed the papers over to
Nugent, saying, 'Complicated shunting.'

'Eh?'

'Have
a read,' I said, handing him the papers.

Who
was lying? Was
anyone
? Vaughan's evidence had been the most interesting. You
were limited about what you could say in a police statement; you were only
supposed to speak about what you knew, and what might have a bearing on the
crime. But Vaughan had tried to throw a bit of doubt on Fielding's evidence ...
And had he heard any noise from overhead when he was in his room, or not?
Also, it was not quite clear whether Amanda Rickerby had been in the kitchen
when

Blackburn
came down with his boots... But what significance could that have either way?

I
drank my beer and looked about the pub. The more booze that went down, the more
I was looking forward to going back to Paradise and seeing Amanda Rickerby. I
wanted to take her on, one way or another.

'What
about those cards?' I asked Tommy after a while. 'Why do you suppose Vaughan
showed them to me when he'd already got into bother for showing them to
Blackburn?'

'I've
an idea about that,' said Tommy.

'Same
here,' I said, and as Tommy stopped one of the serving girls and bought us
another couple of glasses of ale, I gave him the benefit of my idea:

'I
reckon Vaughan showed me the cards for a reason, and it was nothing to do with
selling them on to me and making money. He knew he was on the spot. He knew
there was suspicion about what had happened as a result of him showing them to
Blackburn, who was a very straight bit of goods, remember. Vaughan wanted to
make out that he was free and easy with the cards; that he might show them to
anyone and nothing would come of it - that it really
was
all a bit of a laugh.'

(I
suddenly recalled Mr Ellis, the old boy who'd sold galoshes, and had just quit
the guest house. Vaughan had perhaps held off from showing him the cards on
account of his age, and the fact that he was never likely to be interested.)

Tommy
Nugent was nodding his head.

'That's
it,' he said. 'If the coppers came at him again, he'd be able to say, "I
showed this other bloke the cards as well. Why would I do that if it had caused
any trouble with the first one?'"

'Right,'
I said, stepping aside to let a bloke come by. 'That's exactly...'

Theo
Vaughan was standing immediately to my right. He had his cape over his arm, and
held a glass of ale half drunk and a cigar half smoked, which meant he'd been
in for a while. Cramming the witness statements into my suit-coat pocket, I
turned towards him. He gave a start when he saw me, then he grinned and I
thought: Either he's a bloody good actor or he's only just this minute clocked
me, in which case he would not have heard what I'd said.

He
said, 'How do, Jim!'

I
introduced Tommy Nugent as my driver and Vaughan shook his hand warmly.

'Where've
you been?' I asked him, and he looked at me as if, just for once,
I'd
been over-familiar instead of him.

'Around
and about,' he said. 'Errands,' he added, swaying slightly on his boot heels.
'Meant to tell you about this place,
Jim ...
Pub run
entirely by women, and you don't see that often. Decent looking fillies into
the bargain,' and he practically winked at us both. 'What about your engine?'

'It
isn't quite right,' I said, 'so it looks like I'll be staying another night.'

'Good-o,'
he said.

Tommy
Nugent didn't know where to look, for of course he'd only just been reading
about Vaughan and his very particular line of business. I think it was to
cover up his embarrassment that he muttered something about fetching some more
beers and wandered off in search of a waitress. I too was feeling rather
knocked, so I said, 'I'm just off to the gents, Theo.'

But
he said, 'I'll come with you, Jim.'

He
set down his glass and followed me, cigar in hand, out into a white-washed back
yard - where the rain flew, and the roaring sea echoed - and into a tiny
gentlemen's lavatories with two stalls for pissing. Vaughan stood close enough
for me to hear his breathing, which he did loudly, through both his nose and
his moustache. I wondered what he'd been doing all morning. Evidently, he'd
been drinking for a good part of it. Well, his money had arrived by the post
from Streatham; he was in funds. As he started to piss, he had the cigar in his
mouth; he then lowered the cigar and when he turned away from the stall I saw
that it was extinguished. He was stowing the remnant of it in his waistcoat
pocket as I asked, 'How d'you put that cigar out?'

'Private
method, Jim,' he said.

'All
right then,' I said.
'Why
did you put it out?'

'Can't
smoke in the rain, and I'm off back to the house, Jim,' he said. 'Shall I tell
them you're expected for luncheon?'

I
did not answer immediately. My life, I knew, would be a good deal simpler if I
did not go back, and it might be a good deal longer.

'All
right,' I said. 'What time?'

'It's
generally about one-ish, Jim.'

'Right
you are,' I said, in as light a tone as I could. 'Yes,' I said, 'tell Miss
Rickerby I'll be in for one.'

I
looked at my watch: midday. I did not care for the constant march of the second
hand. It wouldn't take Vaughan an hour to reach Paradise, but he went off
directly, and when I regained the bar I found out from Tommy that he'd done it
in double quick time as well - hadn't even finished his drink. None of this was
at all like him, and his behaviour had increased my state of nerves, so that I
was fairly short with Tommy as he quizzed me about Vaughan: short to the point
that he gave up talking, and just fell to watching the rain and the serving
girls with a hopeless sort of expression that made me feel guilty.

It
was Amanda Rickerby - she brought out the worst in me. Half the reason I wanted
rid of Tommy was so that I could have her glances to myself. I couldn't help
thinking that I had a clear run at Paradise, what with Vaughan being such an
off- putting sort of bloke, and Fielding being... well, was he queer? What was
my intention? I did not mean to try and ride the lady exactly, but I certainly
meant to do something with her: to arrest her, for instance; have it out with
her about Blackburn. I would tangle with her somehow, and I wondered whether my
real intention was to get revenge for the way Lydia had tried to push me about.
But I knew that I ought not to think this way. If my wife pushed me about, it
was because I let her.

I
said to Tommy, 'When I go off, will you send a wire to my wife? You might go
back to the station, or do it anywhere. The address is the post office,
Thorpe-on-Ouse.'

'Saying
what?' he asked, and I thought: Saying kind things in general.

'Tell
her I'll see her tomorrow,' I said.

He
nodded.

'I'm
off, Tommy,' I said, and it was surprisingly easy to get away from him, and
without even making an arrangement for the next day. Or perhaps not exactly
surprising,
I thought, as I walked along the Prom, with head down
and coat collar up, trying hard to keep a straight course against the battering
of the wind. After all, he'd seen that the situation at Paradise was pretty
involved, and he was back there, warm and dry in the women's pub with a glass
of beer in his hand and the guns at his feet should any trouble arise. But it
didn't seem likely to - not where Tommy was, anyhow.

The
iron wall of the chain locker cracked and the grey Mate stood in the gloom of
the companionway holding the pocket revolver.

'How
are you, my friend?'

'We've
anchored,' I said.

'Come
along with me,' he said, and he was holding the outer door open.

'What
became of the kid?' I asked. 'Did he jump?'

'Nothing,'
said the Mate'... He got wet,' he added, at length.

'Why
did he jump?'

'Yes,'
said the Mate. 'Why? I would like to know too.'

Stumbling
onto the deck, I saw that our ship had arrived at its rightful home, for it was
now one of hundreds or so it appeared. Under the dark blue, roaring night sky,
I had the impression of ships in lines stretching fore and aft; some were on
the wide channel in which we were anchored - the Thames Estuary, of course -
while others appeared to have been picked up and set down amid the streets. I
saw a ship that had interrupted a line of street lamps; a ship at close
quarters with a church. I had the impression of many smaller vessels patrolling
the lines of the big ones like prison guards, and I had the idea that this was
also a city of one-armed men, a city of cranes that were all lit by small white
lights like Christmas trees. Most were still but every so often one would stir,
as though it wanted to confer with its neighbour, or couldn't stand the
sight
of its neighbour, and so must turn aside. The fore-deck of
our collier seemed to command the whole of the great docks but I knew I saw
only a fraction of the mass; that Beckton stood only on the fringes of the
London docks proper and that I had imagined beyond the limits of my vision.

'Where's
the gas works?' I asked the Mate, who was eyeing me with his chin sunk into the
up-turned collar of his brass- buttoned coat. He shifted his grey-bearded chin
so that it came clear of the collar, and indicated an expanse that shone moonlike
a little way for'ard on our starboard side - it was perhaps a quarter of a mile
off. I saw a jetty crowded with cranes, and two colliers docked there. All was
silent and still on the jetties, but you could see the way things would go on
come first light. High-level railway lines ran back from the jetties and these
penetrated the factory buildings set down amid the great fields of pale blue
dust; the lines smashed through the front walls, came out through the backs and
ran on to the next, like lions jumping through hoops in the circus, only these
were not factories but retort houses, where the coal was taken to be burnt and
the gas made. The York gas works, at Layerthorpe, ran to one retort house but
here were dozens, all tied together by the railway lines and set in the wide
expanse together with their companions the gas holders, which were perfectly
round, like great iron pies.

'Have
we made the turnaround?' I asked the Mate, and he didn't answer but indicated
with the revolver that we were to walk along to the bridge house once more. As
we made our way, there came one repeated clanging noise, echoing through the
night, the beating heart of the London docks, as I imagined.

Once
again, there was nobody about on the fore-deck, and I saw nobody but the Mate
prior to being sat down before the Captain in the chart room. The chart lay on
the table as before, the oil lamp and the coffee pot on top of the chart. I
doubted that the Captain had given it as much as a single glance on our way
from the north. He and the Mate evidently navigated by second nature or force
of habit. Running the ship was something they did casually, while attending to
other business.

The
Mate gave the revolver to the Captain. Behind the Captain's chair, the door
leading to the bridge was closed and there was no man out there. For the first
time since waking, I noticed the silence of the ship.

The
Captain sat with arms folded, and his eyes never left me. I would have said he
was a handsome man, although he looked a little like a marionette. There was
something neat, cat-like about him.

'Coffee?'
he said, and he leant forward and poured me a cup.

'Do
you want some carbolic?'