The Lodger (29 page)

He and Chapman left, Chapman muttering about more wasted time. Nicholas turned his mind on better things. Lately, better things all ended up as Mrs Emma Carter. Lovely woman, really. No wonder she had a special friend. Bound to be a man who supported the suffragettes. Time the Government gave women the vote. Better that than having them burn down the Houses of Parliament. Or Scotland Yard. Scotland Yard in flames. Inspector Greaves wouldn't like that.

‘What's funny?' asked Chapman.

‘Funny?'

‘You're smilin'. Buggered if I can see why.'

‘You're right, Frank. We've got a sod of a case.'

Resumed house-to-house enquires were taking time. Walworth was to be covered from its main road west to Kennington Park Road, and from the Elephant and Castle south to Ruskin Street, Camberwell. It meant second calls on most of the houses in this area, and a more thorough detailing of adult male residents.

In Amelia Street, a woman opened her front door in answer to a knock and found two CID men wanting to talk to her. They were both detective-constables.

‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Stephens,' said one. ‘You are Mrs Stephens?'

‘Yes, but what d'you want?' she asked.

He consulted a notebook. ‘It's just you and your husband who live here, Mrs Stephens?'

‘Yes, just him and me.' Mrs Stephens looked worried. ‘Why?'

‘We're continuing enquiries concerning – '

‘But I had a policeman call ages ago, about if we had a lodger, which I told him we don't.'

‘Yes, I see you don't,' said the CID man, tapping the notebook. ‘Is your husband in?'

‘Now why would he be in this time of day, when he's at work?' asked Mrs Stephens, hands fluttering over her apron.

‘How old is he?'

‘Old?'

‘Yes, what's his age?'

‘Thirty-eight, but I don't see as how – '

‘Thirty-eight. Fine.' The constable was friendly. He consulted the notebook again. ‘He's fairly tall, isn't he?'

‘Yes, fairly.'

‘Good build too?'

‘Yes, but what you askin' for? I told the policeman all about him before, my husband said I did right.'

‘Yes, but this time we want to be absolutely sure about men we can cross off our list, if you see what I mean.'

‘Well, I suppose so.' Mrs Stephens still looked worried. ‘But anyway, there's his bad back.'

‘Oh, yes.' Another look at the notes. ‘He doesn't go out much in the evenings.'

‘No, he likes a rest of an evening, and so would anyone with his back.'

‘It's pretty bad?'

‘Well, he's had to go to the doctor with it. Dr Fuller in Walworth Road.'

‘He's not much of a runner, then, eh?'

‘Runner?' Fluttery hands vied with indignant voice. ‘Well, he can walk, he does walkin' day in day out at his job, but if he did any runnin', he'd cripple himself. He puts up with it very courageous, and cheerful too, considering it's hard for him to do things like other men – ' Mrs Stephens stopped and fluttered into faint colour.

‘What's his job?' asked the CID man tactfully.

‘He works for the gas company, readin' meters and collectin' the pennies. His bag gets weighty, I don't know how he manages, but he hardly ever grumbles. I wish they'd give him a sittin'-down job.'

‘Don't wish that, Mrs Stephens, sitting down all day's not the best cure for a bad back. Anyway, it keeps him indoors, does it?'

‘He don't go out in the evenings, but he comes for a walk with me to the shops sometimes, and to the market Saturday afternoons. I go out once a week myself, to see my mother. I like havin' him home in the evenings, he's good company, I just wish he didn't have a sufferin' back. He's had medicine from the doctor, which eases the ache a bit, but – '

‘Thanks, Mrs Stephens, that's all. It's just been routine. Not to worry. Goodbye now.'

When she told her husband about the CID men that evening, he was hardly surprised. ‘Yes, they're still going the rounds, Maudie, they're still after the geezer they call the Strangler.'

‘Yes, but fancy askin' questions about you, Herby, when I told the police constable before all he wanted to know.'

‘No good looking at it like that, y'know, Maudie. If they don't do their job properly, if they don't keep askin' questions, they'll never find the man.'

‘Herby, when I told them about your back, they said a sittin'-down job wouldn't do it much good.'

‘Wouldn't it? That's not what the doctor said. Anyway, if they call again, tell them to come back when I'm at home.'

‘I don't think they're goin' to call again. Still, I worried a bit.'

‘You worry too much, Maudie. What's for supper?'

‘Time you got it settled,' said Mr Rodney Foster that evening. He was in a West End pub with Mr Bates.

‘Listen, it's only been a few weeks,' said Mr Bates. ‘How many times have I told yer you've got to lay the ground first, and walk careful on it?'

‘All the time you're walkin' careful, you're spendin' my money. I financed you all the way. So get it over with, church the lady, an' quick. I've got a signed piece of paper, Jerry, and it'll hang yer if you don't come up with the goods.'

‘I don't fancy gettin' hanged, so stop sweatin'. You'll get yer dues.'

‘I better 'ad. Two-fifty expenses and ten grand on me investment. You owe me, mate, so inform me on the church date, as soon as you got it fixed,' said Mr Foster. ‘Also, me lovin' friend, don't forget that if the worth of that mine tops a quarter of a million, I'm due for another twenty thousand.'

‘Your round,' said Mr Bates cheerfully.

‘They're all my rounds,' said Mr Foster acidly. ‘But I'll say this much, I'm doin' it with a good heart and with confidence in yer, Jerry. You're a ladies' man right up to yer handsome eyebrows.'

‘It ain't goin' to waste, Roddy, not this time,' said Mr Bates.

‘Well, after you've pushed the next pint down, get yourself back to Walworth and find out if yer good-lookin' diamond mine has made up her mind. I'd like to collect me earned dues and go for a cruise. I'm buggered if I'm in favour of havin' any more pie-eyed coppers knockin' me up on account of not likin' the look of you.'

‘I'm not responsible for them 'aving all their brains in their flat feet,' said Mr Bates, and grinned hugely.

Maggie played her cards with a cool flourish when her lodger came into the house late that evening. So far she had said nothing to anybody, not even to her girls. She wanted first to settle the issue with Mr Bates, and then open her heart to her family.

Trary had just gone up to her bed when Mr Bates put his head into the kitchen. ‘Maggie? There you are,' he said, smiling.

‘Come in,' said Maggie. He came in, virile, cheerful and healthy. ‘Sit down.'

‘Pleasure,' he said, and seated himself at the table. ‘You're lookin' lively, Maggie. Suits you. You're a handsome woman, yer know.'

‘You're a handsome man. What d'you think 'appened today?'

‘Well, what I've been thinkin' all day is do I get to be a happy man?'

‘Oh, you're always happy,' said Maggie, ‘I never met no-one more cheerful or more pleased with 'imself. Look.' She pushed the
Daily News
page across the table to him. ‘Read that, where it's been circled round.'

Mr Bates's first reading was a casual skimming. His second seemed to be accomplished with difficulty. Gallantly, however, he said, ‘What's it mean?'

‘I'm rich,' said Maggie.

‘You're what?' Mr Bates engineered surprise and a smile of disbelief. ‘Tell us another,' he said.

‘My Uncle Henry left me a diamond mine in South Africa, would you believe it?'

‘No, is that a fact?' Mr Bates tried to sound as if he was humouring her.

‘Would yer like a rich wife, Jerry?'

‘Now, Maggie, come off it, what's yer uncle really left yer, a few old iron bedsteads?'

‘No, a diamond mine,' said Maggie, as cool as sliced cucumber. ‘I've just told you. You didn't know about my Uncle Henry, did you?'

‘Well, I can't recall you mentionin' him, but it's all one to me, Maggie.' Mr Bates was making a very gallant effort indeed to maintain a cheerful innocence. ‘It's you I've got deep feelings for, you and yer girls, not a few bits an' pieces that might net yer a couple of 'undred quid.'

‘But you'd 'ave me as your wife, Jerry, wouldn't you, rich or poor?'

‘Rich sounds embarrassin' to yours truly, Maggie.' Mr Bates tried earnestness. ‘But I'd have you even if you were in the work'ouse. A diamond mine? That's all gammon, yer teasin' girl.'

Maggie smiled, and Mr Bates wondered if he'd been found out. She'd been to that firm of solicitors, of course, the firm mentioned in the notice.

He had spent several years in South Africa, trying his hand at various things in a country burgeoning with promise after the end of the Boer War. He met Henry Rushton early on, and partnered him in prospecting for diamonds or gold. They split up after a fruitless year and went their separate ways. While old Henry stuck to prospecting, he himself drifted from one project to another. He fell in with Rodney Foster, who made money by his wits, not by bending his back. They made money together in the booming mining towns of South Africa, mostly by confidence tricks or gambling. What he made always seemed to drain from his pockets. But then he liked good company, good drinking company and the classier and more expensive type of woman. Rodney Foster banked what he made. He ran into Henry Rushton again, and at a time when he was broke and too many men knew him for what he was, a confidence trickster. Also, he had some woman and her father on his tail, the woman swearing he was the father of her child, that he'd promised to marry her. He would have married her if she'd had any money, but her father was only a piffling railway official. Old Henry, an optimistic character, took him on again as a companion and friend. Henry had a feeling about a new area, as well as a bit of money. He lent Jerry some to equip himself for a fresh go at prospecting. They talked at night of England and home, and old Henry spoke often of his favourite niece Maggie, married for several years to a man called Wilson, but now widowed. Old Henry, if he struck it rich, meant to ask his niece to come out and join him, with her four girls.

They were companions, not partners, prospecting individually. Henry always went about it as if a strike was just round the corner, and eventually he did strike. A rich vein of blue, he said, a blinder. Jerry accompanied him to Johannesburg, where he had the mine legally documented. They stayed several days in Johannesburg, celebrating. They met Rodney Foster on their last day, and he joined the celebrations. Never having got close to prospecting himself, and never having seen a strike, Roddy rode back with them the next day, by which time good old Henry wasn't too well. He dosed himself with quinine, while Roddy made uncomplimentary remarks about the shack. The following day, it was obvious Henry needed a doctor, he was in high fever. He had lucid moments, however, during one of them he managed to write out his will and to get Roddy and himself, Jerry, to witness it. He asked him to see that it got to his solicitors in Johannesburg, if that was how things were going to work out.

Mr Bates remembered how he'd had a go at bringing an old Zulu witch doctor. It was only a thirty-minute ride. He felt if he could keep Henry alive, he'd get far more out of him than a dying handshake. But by the time he returned with the old Zulu, Henry had gone, and Roddy was cursing at being in charge of a corpse on a day fierce with heat. He and Roddy buried him, and left for Johannesburg the next day. On the way, Roddy referred to the will and the fact that old Henry's niece Maggie was going to be a rich woman. A rich widow woman. An idea was born and took root. Any rich widow was worth marrying, even one with four children.

They turned about, rode back to the shack and found a letter, just one. It was from old Henry's niece, and bore her address in Walworth, South London. Mr Bates handed the will to the Johannesburg solicitors, but kept the letter. He was going back to England immediately, he said, and would be only too pleased to find Mrs Wilson. It was what his old friend, Henry Rushton, would have wanted him to do. Roddy financed the venture. The idea, of course, was to marry the widow before she came to know about the legacy. Just use your natural charm, said Roddy, and she'll jump at you. In return, Roddy was to receive ten thousand pounds, plus a further twenty thousand if the value of the mine turned out to be sky-high.

They were held up on the voyage, the ship's engines giving trouble. They had to put in to Sierra Leone for repairs. They got to England a lot later than envisaged, which made them worry about the possibility of the widow receiving the glad tidings in advance of Jerry Bates. That didn't happen.

But she had had the news now. And what else did she know? Nothing that was upsetting her, judging from her friendly smile. Well, she had a lot to feel friendly about. He'd feel friendly to Lucifer himself if he'd just been left a diamond mine.

‘It was lovely and kind of you, Jerry, to offer to be a father to my girls,' she said. ‘Not many men would take on as much as that.'

‘A privilege, Maggie, not a liability. Soon as I met you all, I said to myself, Jerry, I said, 'ere's a house that's as good as a treasure chest. I'm not sayin' bein' comfortably off don't count, but in the long run, what's money? It buys yer bread and pays yer rent, but it don't give a man something priceless. An' what's the top note in pricelessness? As far as yours truly's concerned, it's a ready-made fam'ly, it's a fine wife and four girls. I'd swap any diamond mine for that.'

‘You're such a good man, Jerry, honest you are,' said Maggie, ‘you've never minded me bein' poor, and you've done me lovely kindnesses, like settling with that Mr Monks and my rent owings. I don't 'ardly know I could live up to you if we married. But if we did, you wouldn't be embarrassed about my riches because I'm not really rich, after all, not after what I did about what Uncle Henry went and left me. I told the solicitors that my mum an' dad, an' my sister, were to 'ave everything except two and a half thousand pounds. Well, Uncle Henry was my mum's brother, and she an' dad's havin' a terrible time in Australia, and so's my sister. Her Australian husband's out of work, and my dad only gets to do bits of jobbin' carpentry. I couldn't take all that money, I signed a document at the solicitors.' She had. She had made over part of the legacy to her parents and her sister. They were to have three thousand pounds between them, leaving her with two and a half thousand pounds, less solicitors' expenses. ‘So no, I'm not really rich, y'see, I'll just have about two and a half thousand pounds. That won't embarrass you, will it?'