The Gentleman on Pennyfield Street Page 7

  The first name was crossed off her list, so she continued to the next address, which was an old wooden building close to Poplar High Street. Dory immediately saw a fire hazard, but all buildings burned when hit by a bomb. The door was ancient and layers of smudge marks sat like a stain on the door frame. A pervasive smell of boiled cabbage seeped out as an old man opened the door. Turned out the smudge marks were on all over him too. Coal dealer, she guessed. "George Mason by any chance?"

  "Who's asking?"

  "Miss Dory Sparks, just checking records for the ATS. Have you got all the equipment needed to put out an incendiary bomb?" She should have brought some pamphlets to prove her cover, as she couldn't very well say she was investigating a suspicious dumping of a body.

  "The whole back is stacked with coal. I doubt a bucket and a piddly water pump will do much if that lot sets off."

  "Ah," Dory said, lost for words. Actually, that was a problem. The whole block would burn down if a bomb fell here. "I see." This was perhaps something the wardens would have to deal with. Hopefully they knew. "Someone might come speak to you about fire protection with your special circumstances. You are going to the shelter every night?"

  "Why bother? I'm an old man. If the Germans bomb me, then they bomb me. Besides, it's better that I'm here in case an incendiary does drop."

  "Of course," Dory said and then smiled. "Thank you for your time."

  Another name crossed off her list, but she might have a talk with one of the wardens about the place when she had a chance. Stacks of combustible material was probably something that needed to be mentioned to someone.

  Looking up at the sky, she saw that the sun was quickly setting. It was time to head over to her searchlight. She needed to clean the mirrors before the sunset. Orientating herself, she headed back to Poplar High Street, from where she could get on her path to work.

  Dusk was settling as she made it there, and quickly opened the searchlight to access the mirrored panels that concentrated the light. Birds had made a mess on it during the day, so she was dealing with that when Vera turned up.

  "It's going to be a messy night," Vera said, placing her thermos down. "I borrowed a couple of tea bags from Julia down the street. Do you want some?"

  "I'd murder for a cup of tea," Dory said with a sigh, putting the carbon arc back in place. "We're ready to light up."

  “Betsy is checking the electrics downstairs.” Vera sat down on the canvas chair with her mug, handing the thermos over to Dory.

  As darkness fell, they waited, but there was no word from Betsy and no siren came. Vera even went down to check that Betsy hadn't fallen asleep. "Nothing," she said. "Not a peep."

  Looking up at the sky, there wasn't a star in sight and the moon was only a faint glow behind the thick cloud cover. "Why aren't they coming?"

  "Maybe something has changed," Vera said. "Or perhaps they are running late."

  "They're normally here at the earliest opportunity."

  "Hopefully they all dropped dead."

  Dory turned to look at her, her mind racing as she tried to understand. They had been bombarded every night without fail, except the really clear ones, but tonight it was eerily quiet. Most of London was still in their houses, waiting to be called to the shelters. Everyone was waiting for the awfulness to begin.

  Chapter 14

  THEY SAT ON THE roof all night and nothing happened. The light of dawn started creeping over the quiet city, followed by the sound of lorries and buses starting to rumble past.

  Betsy finally emerged from downstairs.

  "Anything?" Vera asked.

  "No mention over the radio," she said and stretched.

  In a way, it felt as though they had energy because the night hadn't been taxing. Normally, exhaustion dampened both their minds and bodies, but they'd just spent almost twelve hours being idle.

  "I might go do some stuff on the way home. I'll get a cheese butty on the way," Dory said as she stood from her canvas seat. She might as well check some of the names on her list before going to bed.

  Vera was packing her stuff and Dory turned off the auxiliary power to the searchlight. It felt strange walking away after a night of nothingness, but there was exhilaration on the street. It seemed most had enjoyed a good sleep in their own beds that night, or else a peaceful night in the shelter. People were out and about at dawn, celebrating a night of peace.

  Dory couldn't help but to feel the elation as well. Could it be that these air raids would end? But her hopes were soon dashed by the paperboy emerging on the sidewalk. "Coventry smashed to pieces!" he yelled, holding the paper up in his hand, handing out copies to those who approached.

  In a way, Dory wished she could bury her head in the sand and ignore this piece of news. They had been so elated that there had been a peaceful night, but it hadn't been. The Germans had just gone elsewhere. Reaching into her pocket, Dory pulled out a penny for a copy.

  One thousand killed or injured, it said and Dory gasped. They wouldn't have expected it, and the death toll was devastating because of it.

  "Good that someone else gets it for a change," a woman said with terse tones.

  No, Dory wanted to argue. It wasn't good that anyone got it, but she did understand how the people around here were sick and tired of being the ones almost exclusively targeted by the Luftwaffe. Night Raids Starting in the Provinces, the paper went on to say.

  Did this mean that they were going to hit every town in the country? It was horrible to think it, but from a strategic point, it was better if the Germans focused on one area, but perhaps they had decided they had destroyed everything they needed to here. Maybe they wouldn't be back.

  For the first time, she worried about her mother. Surely they wouldn't bomb Swanley, but it was an irrational fear. Swanley was tiny. There would be no reason for the Germans to bomb there. It was nothing more than a little farming town. Still, though, everyone in the country would fear what tonight would bring if the Germans were seeking targets outside of London.

  Tucking the paper into her bag, the elation she had felt at having a quiet night had now melted away and tiredness was nipping at her. Still, she wanted to cross at least one person off her list. Maybe she could check the two in Limehouse and then take the bus back. She could see the bus going there coming down the road, and that made up her mind for her. Picking up speed, she made her way to the bus stop just as the last person in the queue was stepping up on the back. Dory joined the end of the queue and tried to find a place for herself on the full bus as it traveled down East India Dock Road toward Limehouse.

  Limehouse was as devastated as Poplar was, but she eventually found one of the addresses down along the River Lea. It was a nice area and she reached a large, whitewashed house—a respectable house. Well, there was certainly some money here, Dory thought as she looked up at the house. Money was always a motive for murder. Obviously, she was jumping to conclusions.

  Knocking on the door brought a maid, who confirmed that Mr. Jones did indeed live there and he was very much alive. Another name off her list.

  The second name was more complicated because the house was bombed. It hardly made sense that a body would have been pulled out of one ruined house to be placed in another. The neighbor also confirmed that the man had survived the attack and had gone to live with his sister in Bournemouth. Another name crossed out.

  With her task completed, Dory returned to the main road and waited for the bus back. After sleeping, she might tackle a couple more that afternoon, but she was increasingly growing more tired now, even as the people around her were all rushing off to work. Everyone present and accounted for. No one had died that night. It was a wonderful feeling to think that.

  At her stop, Dory got off and trudged up the street, knowing that her house would definitely be there, along with all the others on her street. Maybe with this reprieve, they could start to fix things, repair the crater in front of the house. That was probably wishful thinking, but someday, someday, the crater would
be fixed and cars would drive along the street again.

  With a sigh, Dory pushed open the ill-fitting door and stepped inside the quiet house. She could just walk straight into the kitchen, but it felt wrong. Pointlessly, she locked the door. Vera and Betsy were already asleep upstairs. The house was safe enough during the day. The neighborhood kept an eye on them while they slept, and at night, they locked the kitchen door to keep any opportunists out. So far, their stale bread had proven safe.

  Trudging upstairs, she washed and fell into bed, for a moment staring at the list. Four names down. If she worked on it for the rest of the week, she would get through all of them.

  *

  Over the next week, she found a baker, a drunk, and a retired school headmaster who was no longer retired. Another administratively misplaced man who had died some time ago. A grocer, three dock workers, a member of the home guard and a bassoonist with the Royal Orchestra. One man was in his eighties and had taken a good five minutes to reach the door, all along yelling that he was coming. Dory felt bad having to drag him away from his comfort, but he insisted. It would take that poor man half the night to get to an air raid shelter. Most likely, he didn't even try.

  There was no answer on many of the doors she knocked on, but she confirmed with neighbors that the person wasn't missing.

  Before long, she was down to one name on her list—all the way over in Bethnal Green. It would take some time to get there, so she had left that one for last, and maybe that had been the one she was after all along. A nervous feeling had settled in her stomach. What if it wasn't him? Then she wasn't at all closer to identifying this man. He could be from out of town, or living in an entirely different part of the city. She would either have to give up or search through the records of other hospitals.

  It was still hard to imagine someone taking a body across the whole city to dispose of. It could still have happened, though. In saying that, the man had looked local. He certainly hadn't looked like a resident of the West End. If the man was from nearby, the two hospitals he could have had been a patient at would be Guy's Hospital on the other side of the Thames, or Barts—but it would still be a very long way to cart a body during an air raid, with bombs dropping all around.

  The bus to Bethnal Green took a long time, but she eventually got there and confirmed that Whitby Thomas, a man with a surname as a Christian name and vice versa, was indeed alive. The man found in Pennyfield Street was not on her list. It was disheartening; she'd been so sure she would find him, had thought herself too clever in the means by which she was going about identifying him, but it was all for nothing.

  The poor man would probably never be identified. No doubt, he was already buried, and Dory was sure that someone was getting away with murder. It was a unique frustration. This poor man's life had been taken and no one knew. Well, she knew, but she had been unable to prove it.

  Obviously, she could repeat the exercise with the other two hospitals conceivably within the region, but with the distance, her hope of finding him was diminishing. She would have to, not sure if she could live with herself if she didn't. Still, though, it felt more hopeless now than it did a week ago.

  Chapter 15

  WITH NERVOUSNESS Dory stood at Victoria station. Looking at the large crowded space, it wasn't perhaps a great idea to meet here. Everywhere she looked, she saw soldiers and she was looking for one in particular.

  To be here, she'd had to trade a day off with one of the other ATS girls, which meant she wouldn't have another for a while. Going down to visit her mother in Swanley wasn't going to happen anytime soon. A little guilt Dory simply had to live with.

  Some of the men were injured, limbs and heads bandaged. Dory hated seeing it. As with the people here in London, their men were being devastated overseas as well. The worst was that they knew very little of what was going on. Things were mentioned on the news—Egypt and Africa, Norway, but there was very little specifics and they said nothing about how the war was actually going.

  By the looks of it, though, some of these men were tanned well beyond what the English winter sunshine would be responsible for. They must have come from down the Mediterranean or further south. Not all were injured. Most looked perfectly fine.

  Dory studied them. They looked both tired and excited, many here for a few days of fun and entertainment. They were the ones filling the dance halls every night, getting as much enjoyment in before they had to go back. Captain Ridley too, here for a few days to get away from the war. If it weren't for the constant nightly bombardment, it would be easier to forget the war was on.

  Finally she saw him and she stretched up on her toes and waved. He smiled when he saw her. As with some of the others, he was golden with sun.

  "Miss Sparks," he said when he arrived and placed down a small suitcase. The greeting was a little awkward as they didn't really know each other well enough to embrace.

  "Captain Ridley. It's good to see you. You look well." In a way, she both recognized him and didn't now that he stood right in front of her. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other. "I got your letter."

  "And I did get yours, but not in time to write back. Shall we move away from here? Have you time?"

  "Yes, I have all day. I don't need to be back at work until tomorrow night." That didn't sound forward did it? She hadn't intended on implying anything by it. As long as she'd known him, he'd never been the lewd type, which was probably part of the reason she was here.

  If he read anything inappropriate into the statement, she couldn't tell, because he gently took her by the elbow and moved her away from where another wave of passengers was coming. "I need to drop my bag off at home, but after that, perhaps we could have a coffee somewhere."

  "That would be lovely."

  Outside the station, the traffic was mayhem. There were people going in every direction, soldiers being dropped off by family and friends, and soldiers being met in tender and sweet greetings.

  "Is your family nearby?" she asked.

  "My parents have passed," he said as he walked to a waiting taxi. "Pimlico," he said, urging her in. "My mother a few years back."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  The streets looked mostly clear of debris and Dory felt conflicted about it. In a way, it didn't reveal what was happening to London, but also, it would make it easier to forget the war for a while—something Dory wasn't entirely sure she could manage. "This part of London has fared better than the East."

  "That is what I have heard."

  "I trust you are well where you have been."

  "Naturally, I cannot discuss it."

  "Of course," Dory said. What she wanted to ask was if it was safe, whatever role he performed in this war, but she knew he couldn't even answer that. And who had any assurance in this war? Certainly not her. There was every chance a bomb would find her roof one night. Perhaps it was even inevitable. She refused to think about it.

  They pulled up in front of a tall brick building. "Is this where you live?"

  "I will drop off my bag. You can come up if you like."

  If it was anyone else than him, she wouldn't, but she was so very curious. His flat was up five flights of stairs. "Quite a climb after an exhausting day," he said. The walls were painted white and their steps echoed as they climbed. "Although I am glad to see that the building is still here. I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't."

  "I told you our kitchen wall is missing," she said.

  "I recall."

  "Our neighbors are very good at keeping an eye on the place when we are gone."

  "That is kind."

  "Well, you have to bind together in times like these."

  They stopped at a wooden door and Ridley pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. It had the stale air of a place that hadn't seen people for a while. The place was utterly still and silent. It was strange that this place sat here empty when there were so many homeless, but that was the way of things. Some had luck and others didn't. It wasn't her
place to tell him that he should not have his apartment for his own use.

  The sitting room had glass-paneled doors and parquet flooring. It was nice and bright, a lovely apartment. Her house was dark and cramped in comparison. "This is a lovely place." In fact, it was stylish beyond what she would expect from him. It was very arts décoratif, with elegant lines and simple décor.

  "It originally belonged to my uncle and he left it to me after he died." Ridley disappeared into the side room and quickly returned without his suitcase. "Shall we go. There is a nice café down close to the river."

  Dory smiled and followed as he led to the door. "How long are you staying for?"

  "Four days, although two of them are not at my leisure."

  "Oh," Dory said as they walked down the stairs. "I went to see Lady Pettifer the other week. She is doing well. The Ministry of Food has turned the whole of their lawn into a chicken farm. Not the fields, of course, just the lawn. Lord Wallisford has been forbidden to shoot anything, I hear."

  Ridley smiled, but he didn't seem all that concerned about Lord Wallisford's chickens. Why would he be? Perhaps it was only Dory who found him being overrun by chickens amusing.

  Besides the vast amounts of sandbags, the street looked very ordinary. They passed a woman with bright red lipstick, and Dory wished she had some herself, but hers had run out months ago. Cosmetics were typically snapped up as soon as any arrived, and they cost an absolute fortune.

  "We've started growing our own vegetables," she said after a while. "The plot isn't large, but you can't always rely on the stores to have what you need. Do you have a rations book?"

  "Somewhere," Ridley said. "Not planning to use it. I think I will eat out while I'm here."

  "Of course," Dory said, feeling silly now.

  The café was small and a few couples sat along the tables. "This is an Italian place," Ridley said, "but the owner has been interned. Shame. The man wouldn't harm a fly. His daughters manage the place now."