Page 29 of The Songbird of Wychwood
GEORGE
Mr. Simmons and I left the pub and immediately took a hack to Bow Street. A crowd had assembled outside the magistrate’s court beside the police station and there was quite the ruckus. As Simmons and I stepped down from our hack and he paid the fair, a fellow was led out of the front doors of the magistrate’s court in manacles, to be delivered to the waiting horse drawn police wagon. This was very unusual as criminals were usually taken out of the back door. Whoever this cove was, someone high up wanted him to see the full force of the public’s disgust at his crimes. I shuddered, thinking that if the Peelers believed my story, soon Alfred Grayson would be getting the same treatment.
Together Simmons and I took the steps up and into the Bow Street police station. The station was busy, with ner-do-wells, drunkards, and skeevy looking coves being taken through the halls to be questioned or added to the drunk tank. I turned to Simmons to see he looked a little afraid and anxious at being in such a vexatious crowd.
“Keep an eye on your pockets,” he said in warning tone, and he was right. This foyer was packed and a crowd was a pickpocket’s dream!
“Let’s get this over with, aye!” I suggested as I joined the queue to speak to the desk Sergeant. Simmons had previously spoken on this matter with a Detective Inspector Meadows who said he needed evidence to back up the claims. The desk Sergeant was a small pigeon-chested man in his fifties who wore a huge walrus moustache and oiled salt and pepper hair. I could tell by his bearing that he was an ex-soldier and sure enough, he had a game leg and limped to the counter to attend to us.
“Hello my good man. We would like to speak with Detective Inspector Meadows about the contents of this here file. We’re happy to wait,” Simmons said brightly, holding the manila file up for the man to see.
The desk Sergeant perused the two of us and I guess that he didn’t think much of what he saw because he said, “That’s all well and good then, cos DI Meadows is a very busy man.”
It seemed I’d need to use my wiles to soften this fellow up! “What’s your name, sir?” I enquired sweetly.
“Sergeant Ball,” he said hoitily, “and you are?”
“George Dancie. I’m an actor at the—”
“You’re Dixie Normus!” he exclaimed in a pleased gasp. Roars of laughter ensued from nosey buggers around us listening into our conversation.
“I beg your pardon!” a suited gentleman was passing said.
“Ch…ch… Chief Inspector Holbrooke, sir, sorry sir. This gentleman is an actor sir, he plays a character, a cowgirl who sings about her fella not being able to…” the sergeant stuttered, his face scarlet with embarrassment.
Holbrooke held up a calming hand, “That’s enough Sergeant Ball. Now, what can we do for you Mr.?”
“Dancie, George Dancie,” I offered my hand, which Holbrooke took and gave me a surprisingly soft handshake. If I wasn’t mistaken his finger brushed a circle into my palm. “This is my legal associate Mr. Simmons. We’ve come to deliver evidence on a very serious matter…it was requested by DI Meadows.”
Holbrooke turned to Sergeant Ball, “Is interview room one in use?”
“No sir.”
“Very well, I shall take this file to DI Meadows and gentlemen, if you would accompany Sergeant Ball you can wait for Meadows in the interview room.” With that, he plucked the file from Simmons grip and strode off down the hallway. Both Simmons and I watched him go with our prized file of evidence. I was worried. What the hell had just happened?
“Gentlemen, if you’d follow me,” Sergeant Ball said as he lifted the flap of the counter, stepped through and the proceeded to limp in the opposite direction to Holbrooke. Simmons and I shared a wary look before following the officer to interview room one.
We were sat in the interview room for what felt like hours. It was a cold room, half tiled in turquoise blue which added to the feeling that we’d been plunged into an ice house. Apart from Sergeant Ball coming back to ask for an autograph, we were left alone. When the door finally opened again and a man stepped in it was not this DI Meadows that Simmons had previously spoken to, but the tall, thin, suited man who had spoken to us earlier. Chief Inspector Holbrooke.
“Gentlemen,” he began pleasantly. “Mr. Simmons is it, yes?” he drawled, “I’d like to speak with Mr. Dancie alone if you wouldn’t mind,” he said pinning his powerful gaze on my mousy legal advisor.
“But sir, this is most irregular,” Simmons complained, but Holbrooke raised a calming hand.
“Indeed, indeed, but I insist that you allow us to converse in private. This matter does not concern you,” he said broaching no argument. Simmons then turned and gave me a pained confused look. I nodded, letting him know it was alright for him to do as he was directed. He rose and with his face twisted into a confused scowl, he left the interview room and closed the door. I had no idea what was going on, and hoped Simmons hadn’t left completely in case I needed him to help me.
“Ah, alone at last,” Chief Inspector Holbrooke grinned, and his previous hard-faced look had softened to one of…goodness…affection? He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat.
“I must confess to being a little overcome to be meeting you at last…unconcealed, as it were,” he admitted. “I saw you and your compatriot enter and I recognized your pretty eyes. I was sure as soon as I shook your hand that my eyes had not deceived me. You are indeed the darling songbird, Miss Georgette!”
Heat rose to pinken my cheeks. I lowered my eyelids then looked up coquettishly.
“It is you, goodness, my dear. How I long each week for another chance to hear you sing.”
If I’m honest, I was rather taken aback. The Chief Inspector did look a little familiar, but I wasn’t so sure that I’d be speaking so freely about Wychwood. As of yet, I hadn’t said a word to confirm or deny his assertion. I was in a bleedin’ police interview room for goodness sake and I worried that this was a trick to get me to reveal the existence of our secret club. The employer would want me to remain silent, and so I smiled and waited for Chief Inspector Holbrooke to continue.
“I’m so sorry for the delay. I read the file of evidence and then took it to Detective Inspector Meadows. I lit quite the fire under him. He’s had an eye on Pittman’s printworks for some time now and Mr. Alfred Grayson is also known to him. You’ll be pleased to hear that the evidence you provided is enough for the crown to prosecute. Are you willing to give a witness statement and appear in court for the crown?”
“Yes, of course, I’ll do whatever it takes to get justice. Grayson stole my songs and profited from them. That ain’t on,” I said fiercely.
“Good, good. Don’t you worry; this matter will be dealt with to the full force of the law.”
“Thank you, Chief Inspector. I’m much obliged. But I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”
“Justice never sleeps, Mr. Dancie!” he beamed, looking rather boyish. “Meadows will be along shortly to take your witness statement, and that of Mr. Simmons. I’ll issue an arrest warrant for both men and they’ll be in custody by the end of the day.” At that Holbrooke stood and I offered my hand for a gentlemanly hand shake, however, he bowed and kissed the back of my hand. “I look forward to meeting you again and hearing you sing.”
When the Chief Inspector had gone, I sat alone in a daze. Mr. Grayson would be arrested by the end of the day, which meant I had my final Thursday performance at the Middlesex tonight. I’d have to move quickly to remove my belongings from the theater before he was released on bail, cos he’d have a vengeful fire in his belly by then.
But to where could I go?
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