The Gang of St Bride's, page 2
part #9 of Penny Green Series
“Eye colour?” James asked.
“I wasn’t close enough to see, I’m afraid.”
“Height?”
“Well, let me think… I stand at five feet five inches. The woman who turned to look at me was the shortest of the three, and a bit shorter than I am. I’d hazard a guess that she was no taller than five feet.”
“And the other two?”
“Somewhere between my height and the height of the smallest one. It’s difficult to be more accurate than that, Inspector. Between five feet and five feet five inches, I would say.”
“And the hair colour of the other two?”
“One had darker hair, probably a shade of brown. I’m certain she was the one wearing dark blue. The other was also wearing dark blue, but with a slight green tinge. I think her skirts were a dark blue and green plaid. I couldn’t tell you the colour of her hair, though.”
“You remarked that the shortest of the three called out to her companions while you were running. Did you hear any of the words she used?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’m assuming it was something along the lines of ‘Run faster!’ given that she’d spotted me running behind them.”
“You didn’t hear her call either of them by name at all?”
“Sadly, no.”
“And you heard no other words exchanged between them at any time?”
She shook her head. “None. I wish I’d been able to catch up with them, but I’m not accustomed to running as a general rule. The three women gave the distinct impression that they run a great deal. They’re obviously used to evading capture by the looks of things.”
“These ladies were well-dressed, you said. Did they strike you as being of a particular class?”
“An interesting question, Inspector. There was something about the manner in which the shorter one smirked and then urged her companions to run that seemed rather coarse in nature. It wasn’t what you’d expect from a lady with refined manners. My impression was that they were women of a lower class who had assumed the dress of gentlewomen in order to blend naturally with the environs of Piccadilly. Members of a pickpocketing gang would surely do such a thing, would they not?”
“That would make sense.” James wrote this down. “And you’ve already told me your name is Mrs Henrietta Worthers, is that right?”
“Yes.” She reached into a small bag and retrieved a carte de visite. “Here, Inspector, please take this. If you need to speak to me again about this afternoon’s incident, I shall be only too happy to oblige.”
“Thank you, Mrs Worthers.” James took the card and placed it in his pocket. “And thank you for trying to apprehend these thieving women. You’ve been a great help.”
“I’d have been of even greater help if I’d managed to catch one of them!”
James and I walked back to the scene of the street robbery on Piccadilly.
“It’ll be interesting to see how that information tallies with what the victim is able to tell my colleagues in C Division,” he said. “I shall leave them to see to this case. There’s no reason for the Yard to be involved in the case of a street robbery. C Division will be quite capable of managing it.”
“Judging by the comments from some of the onlookers it sounds as though this sort of thing has happened several times before.”
“Unfortunately, it has. We’ve known about a female pickpocketing gang in this area for a while.”
“And nothing has been done about them?”
“I can’t be telling C Division how to manage their own cases. There are so many gangs in London these days, the work required to tackle them is never-ending.”
“I can understand why people feel frustrated when nothing ever appears to be done about them.”
“Work is underway, but its effects aren’t always immediately obvious. I shall speak to Inspector Paget at C Division, he’s at Vine Street. I’ll find out how his work is progressing with regard to this particular gang and ask if he’d like some assistance. If it was easy to stop them, they wouldn’t still be roaming the streets. Besides, you know how it is with these gangs. You think you’ve cracked one and arrested the ringleaders, but then the remaining members reform and continue. It’s akin to chopping off one of the Hydra’s heads.”
“Well, I hope the poor lady who was robbed will recover from her ordeal. She didn’t seem to be injured, fortunately.”
“That is fortunate indeed.”
“Do we still have time for a trip to the Grosvenor Gallery?”
James checked his pocket watch. “Yes, I think so. I’d like to find Inspector Paget and have a quick word with him first, but after that we can continue on our way. Let’s hope Eliza is still there by the time we arrive.”
“And let’s hope she won’t be in a foul temper with us!”
Chapter 4
I sat at the typewriter in the Morning Express newsroom the following day, working on my report of the Piccadilly robbery. The newsroom was a shabby place, with piles of paper on every surface and a grimy window which overlooked Fleet Street.
“It won’t be long now until the return of the great adventurer, Mr Francis Edwards!” said my colleague Edgar Fish. He was a young man with heavy features and small, glinting eyes. “Everyone's looking forward to hearing how he found your father, Miss Green. I understand your father won't be accompanying him, is that right?”
“Apparently not,” I replied glumly. “It seems he prefers to stay where he is.”
“Perhaps he’s become the head of a tribe,” chipped in another of my colleagues: the corpulent, curly-haired Frederick Potter. “Perhaps they even worship him. If they’ve never seen a European before they may consider the mysterious, white-skinned gentleman to be a god of some sort.”
“Potter!” scolded Edgar. “Please be mindful of Miss Green’s feelings. I'm sure she has no desire to hear such idle speculation!”
“There is nothing I haven’t already considered myself,” I replied. “I’ve had plenty of time over the past ten years to consider what might have happened to him.”
“While I appreciate that, Miss Green, it can’t be nice to have others sticking their oar in. And besides, it’s not particularly polite.”
“You brought the topic up in the first place, Fish,” said Frederick.
“I don’t think I did… did I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m trying to recall exactly how the conversation went, but I’m quite sure you’re mistaken, Potter.”
“That’s enough bickering from the two of you,” said our editor, Mr Sherman, as he strode into the newsroom, leaving the door to slam shut behind him. He wore a blue waistcoat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. His hair was oiled and parted to one side. “Where have you got to with that story on the Prince of Wales’s visit to Berlin, Fish?”
“Was I expected to write an article about it?”
“Yes!” Mr Sherman scowled. “You haven’t done anything on it?”
“I hadn't realised I was supposed to, sir.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I'm joking, sir!” said Edgar with a grin. “It’s already completed. Here you go!” He got up from his seat and handed the editor his article.
“There’s a time and place for jokes, Fish,” said Mr Sherman tartly.
“And this is neither the time nor the place for them?”
“Exactly. Now, Miss Green.” He turned to me. “I think something needs to be written about guarding oneself against street robbery in this week’s ladies’ column.”
“Of course, sir. What sort of guarding measures did you have in mind?”
“Those are for you to come up with.”
“I don’t think I know of any, sir.”
“You’re a writer, Miss Green, just use your imagination! I should think that most of the advice would be common sense, such as not parading around with one's valuables on display and that sort of thing. All quite self-evident, but it’s important to demonstrate to our readers that we provide timely and actionable advice in our ladies’ column. A number of our readers will be feeling quite worried about shopping on Piccadilly in light of these thefts.”
“Very well, sir.”
“And I’d like you to attend this event.” He handed me a pamphlet advertising a spring fair in Hanwell. “You’ll be aware, no doubt, of the schools there that are used to house and educate destitute children. The fair is being held to secure much-needed income for the schools. As a reputable newspaper we must report on these philanthropic events to help instil the sentiment in our readers’ minds. Reporting on such endeavours encourages members of the public to attend, and that adds to the coffers of these worthy causes. I’m growing increasingly aware of the responsibility our publication has when it comes to shaping the minds of the general public. There was a time when we did little more than report on parliament, the money markets and coroners’ inquests, but I believe we have a duty to inform our readers more widely about the issues we’re facing in society today.”
“Well said, sir,” said Edgar.
“Thank you, Fish.”
“That’s a style of reporting I can firmly agree with,” I said. “How else will the public learn about the inequalities and injustices of this world?”
“It’s important to recognise where the boundaries lie, though, isn’t it?” replied my editor. “It’s one thing to report on the injustices in this world, Miss Green, and another to dive headlong into them and forget all about the ladies’ column for this week.”
I gave a knowing smile. “Quite.”
“Very well. Oh, and I also need a quiet word with you in my office, Miss Green.” Mr Sherman left the room with a slam of the door.
I felt an unpleasant tremor in my chest. What could my editor possibly wish to speak to me about in private?
“Hatpins,” said Edgar.
“I’m sorry?” I replied, puzzled.
“That’s what's needed to guard against street robbery. You’re quite adept with a hatpin, isn’t that so?”
I gave a wince as I recalled the unpleasant occasion upon which I had been compelled to use one in self-defence. “I would only recommend such a course of action in a life or death situation,” I replied. “I think if you have something valuable you really couldn’t bear to part with, it would be better to keep it tucked safely away somewhere.”
“But some ladies like to go out wearing their jewels.”
“I understand that, and ideally it should be safe to do so. Sadly, there are numerous vagabonds out there intent on stealing other people’s precious things.”
“My uncle has a walking cane gun,” said Frederick. “Apparently, it can kill at a distance of one hundred yards.”
“Good grief!” exclaimed Edgar. “Does he have a licence for it?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that it looks just like an ordinary walking cane. He has a sword stick, too.”
“I don’t know about you, Miss Green, but I’m not walking down Piccadilly unless I’ve got Uncle Potter with me,” said Frederick. “What do you think?”
“Uncle Potter sounds like a gentleman to be reckoned with.” I replied, standing up from my seat and heading over to join Mr Sherman in his office.
I took a seat in the cluttered room, its walls yellowed from years of stale tobacco smoke. Like the newsroom, every surface was covered with piles of books and papers.
Miss Welton came in and collected two empty coffee cups from the desk. Mr Sherman waited for her to depart before speaking.
“I’m extremely reluctant to discuss this with you, Miss Green, but I suppose I must.” He gave a sigh and leaned forward onto his desk. “Please remind me of the date set for your wedding.”
“The twenty-third of May, sir.”
“I see.” He sat back in his chair again. “Then I suppose we must discuss a departure date.”
This was a conversation I had feared might happen yet hoped never would.
“Surely I don’t have to give up my job,” I protested.
He gave a shrug. “It’s customary, Miss Green. You and I both know that.”
“But Inspector Blakely is quite happy for me to continue working after we are married.”
“As am I, Miss Green, but it isn’t appropriate for a married lady. Before long you’ll have a household to manage and children too, no doubt.”
“I’m hardly the sort of person who craves a household and children, Mr Sherman.”
“I realise that. But they go hand in hand with marriage, don’t they?”
“They don’t have to.”
“I imagine it’ll be rather unavoidable, Miss Green. It’s the way things work in polite society.”
“In polite society, perhaps, though I don’t see why I can’t do what a working-class married woman does and continue with my work.”
He gave a laugh. “Working-class? I realise you’ve disguised yourself as such for certain reporting jobs, Miss Green, but you certainly don’t belong to the lower classes. Those women work because they have to, married or otherwise. Your work has always been a choice.”
“Because I enjoy it! I can’t think for a single moment what I should do if I didn’t have my work to occupy me.”
“Your time will soon be taken up with managing a—”
“I have no desire for a household or children, sir.”
“I see. They’re usually somewhat inevitable for a lady who marries, but I won’t pursue that argument.”
“I sincerely wish to keep my job at the Morning Express. I’ve worked here for eleven years now.”
“Yes, you have.”
“And I have found it to be the most interesting and fulfilling role I have ever undertaken in my life. I’ve seen my sister manage a household and I know how much it has bored her. Some ladies enjoy it and are well suited to it, but we’re not all alike, sir.”
“No, I realise that.”
“I should lose my mind if I were unable to do this job. And I know that my husband-to-be is fully supportive of me in that respect.”
“It’s wonderfully supportive of him, Miss Green, and it’s safe to say that there aren’t many husbands like him around. Most insist on their wives giving up any paid employment as soon as they’re married.”
“He’s known for a while that I’m quite different to most ladies.”
“Indeed. And while it’s admirable to see, and a view I share myself, I’m afraid that we must still agree upon a departure date.”
“Because married middle-class ladies cannot work?”
“You could undertake some voluntary employment.”
“But I wish to be a news reporter, Mr Sherman! That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“You could still write… no one can stop you doing that. And you have your own typewriter now, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I can still write, but it’s not quite the same as news reporting, is it?”
“I’m afraid my hands are tied regarding this matter, Miss Green, and we must agree on a departure date.”
“But why?”
“Because Mr Conway will insist on it. You know how important the reputation of this newspaper is to its proprietor.”
“You mean to say that employing a married lady would ruin the reputation of the Morning Express?”
“Not ruin it exactly, but you know what our rivals are like. A recent scandal concerning this newspaper has already taken place, for which I must take full responsibility.”
Mr Sherman had been arrested six months previously during a police raid on the Hammam Turkish Baths in Soho, where it was believed activities of an immoral nature were taking place.
I laughed. “Between the two of us, we make rather an unconventional pair, don’t you think, sir?”
“Perhaps. But defying convention always leads to gossip. We don’t want to give people any further reason to talk about the staff working on this newspaper, Miss Green. It undermines our ability to report on events as we see them. It’s no good at all if the newspaper itself becomes the news! That was the case for a short while and it was quite disastrous, as I’m sure you’d agree. Now that we’ve restored ourselves to a steady equilibrium, we cannot afford to rock the boat again.”
“And by that, sir, you mean that we’ve escaped one scandal but cannot be expected to escape another?”
“Yes.”
I gave a sigh. “It’s simply not right that it should be considered scandalous to employ a married lady.”
“A workplace such as this is no place for a married lady, Miss Green.”
“No, of course not. She should simply remain within the confines of her home.”
“And visit the homes of other married ladies, and go on shopping expeditions and out to parties, and so on.”
“How incredibly dull.”
“I can’t say that it appeals much to me, either. I consider myself quite fortunate to be a man at times like this. I shall miss you, Miss Green. You’re the best reporter I have.”
“Can’t you ask Mr Conway whether he’d be prepared to change his mind about me? While I understand that he wants everything to proceed in the proper manner, surely there’s a way for me to stay. I could ask Inspector Blakely to write him a letter explaining how happy he is for me to continue working after our marriage. Perhaps that would help.”
“It might do.”
“Will you speak to him?”
“Yes, I’ll speak to him, but I think he’ll be adamant about it. I imagine his wife will be quite disapproving, and you know how much he listens to her. Wives wield quite a bit of power, you see. No doubt you’ll discover that for yourself before long.”
Chapter 5
The fields gleamed an emerald green in the spring sunshine as the train pulled into Hanwell Station. The location was on the rural edge of West London, where rows of new homes were under construction among the farms and country houses.
A horse-drawn omnibus decorated with colourful flags was waiting at the station to take visitors to the fair at Hanwell Schools. I climbed the steps to the upper deck so I could enjoy the view and fresh air. It made a pleasant change to escape the smoke and busy streets of central London, though as I looked at the new construction taking place I wondered how long it would take for the fields around me to be swallowed up by the encroaching city.
