The Quest for the Penny Black Read online

  The Quest for the Penny Black

  A treasure hunt across London

  (Volume One, Notting Hill Trilogy)

  MSA Blackwell

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  A POLICEMAN’S LOT

  THE LADY’S NOT FOR TAKING

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Chapter 1

  The election of 1974 completing the fall of the Conservative government following the disastrous three-day week and growing unemployment, could be interpreted as testing the resolve and phlegm of the British public. But the spirit of ‘a stiff upper lip’, completely alien to the immigrants, who were making a success of the work opportunities offered, was, as ever, contained within the editorials of the local newspapers, strikers marches, union meetings and pubs. For the common people however, hope still dwelled that fate would step in and change their lives for the better. It was in this environment in the late spring just after the election, when the peace of Tavistok Square in Notting Hill, London was broken.

  ‘Mr Drew! Mr Drew!’

  The voice had a low resonance but with emphasis on the ‘oo’ factor sounded like an agonised wail of the graveyard and would be sure to wake up every dog in the vicinity. It vibrated throughout the house, up the street and, it was said, could be heard in the Portobello market half a kilometre away. It had been compared to a lion’s roar announcing its territory, or an elephant charging a foe, or even the cry of a wounded animal awaiting its fate.

  The cry belonged to Doctor Edith Williams or Mrs W as she liked to be known since her retirement, the widow of the eminent Professor Montague Williams, late director of the Natural History and British Museums in London. A world recognised archaeologist and learned translator of early Middle Eastern and Greek languages.

  She was 70 years old and bent forward slightly as the arthritis took over. She lived in Villiers House in Tavistok Square, Notting Hill, bequeathed to her by her late husband, a run-down area but still retaining some of the splendour of its past. Her house was built in 1792 and had a chequered past. To help pay the considerable bills, she had taken in two lodgers. One was Jacob Drew who occupied the second-floor flat on the right and Edna Rowento, a beautician in a spar, who took the flat on the other side of the stairs.

  Mrs W was considered a bit eccentric by those who knew her, but had a brilliant mind following her travels around the Middle East with her then, husband. She was a fellow of the London Museums that met once a month, where her knowledge of the Middle Eastern languages offered invaluable help to those who strove to understand or translate the same.

  She was cheerful if not dominating and would chastise anyone if anything was amiss. Her voice was enough to ensure obedience. She had a charlady, Mrs Jones, who came in six times a week to tidy up the house. Mrs Jones smoked and the sight of a cigarette hanging out of her mouth irritated Mrs W, who would let forth a torrent of abuse. It didn’t make any difference however and Mrs Jones continued as usual. To tend her considerable garden, she employed a Mr Jackson, a retiree, who was paid throughout the year, whether he was able to do much, or not.

  Her dog Rodney, a short-haired terrier, concentrated in biting slippers or peoples’ feet and ankles if he could, and so was avoided like the plague.

  On this day, early in the afternoon, people were relaxing after lunch before the TV sitcom programmes started.

  ‘Mr Drew! Mr Drew!’

  The voice repeated with the power of an opera singer disturbing all but the dead. Jacob heard the call. He could hardly have done otherwise. The game he was watching was approaching a vital stage, so he tried to ignore the call.

  ‘Mr Drew! Where are you?’ The voice was now getting desperate and vibrated up the stairs and out onto the street.

  ‘Blast!’ he exclaimed, easing himself out of the easy chair. Putting on his slippers, he went to the door of his flat and opened it. Leaning over the bannisters, he presented a frightening picture of a middle-aged man with shoulder length hair and sporting a large beard that covered most of his face. To add to the confusion, he didn’t have any top teeth, which made his nose and chin seem to connect.

  ‘Yes, Mrs W?’ he called.

  ‘Oh, you’re there. It’s my ballcock!’

  ‘Your cock?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes! My ballcock. You know, the one in the toilet. It’s stuck again.’

  ‘Oh, all right. I’ll be down.’ Grumbling to himself for missing the game, he changed from his slippers to plimsolls and proceeded down the stairs, tightly gripping the banister rail. It was a dangerous time for it was then that Rodney would jump out and attack his legs.

  Mrs W was waiting at the bottom. ‘Quick!’ she uttered, ‘It will overflow soon!’ They both made their way towards the toilet with Jake ready to kick at the dog if it appeared, which in this case, it didn’t. The toilet was old and served by a cistern mounted high on the wall.

  ‘Up there,’ she ordered. ‘Just release it.’

  ‘Christ!’ he muttered and climbed onto the toilet seat, putting his hand over the sill of the cistern to release the offending cock. It was then that Rodney appeared and looking at Jake’s bare ankle as he stretched upwards, decided to take a bite and with one jump, fixed its jaws around the bottom of his trousers. ‘Bloody ‘ell!’ he shouted, shaking one leg to get rid of the dog. As he shook, so the dog hung on. Finally with both hands hanging on the side of the cistern, he slid back. Crash! Went the cistern, as he tore it off the wall. Splash! Went the water as it poured over those present. The dog yelped and ran off. The cistern hung at a ludicrous angle held up by the water pipe with Jake half suspended by one leg balancing on the toilet. The other scrambled around for footing.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ shouted Mrs W wiping the water from her hair.

  ‘Look what I’ve done?’ he retorted. ‘It’s your bleedin’ dog. It ought to be put down. Look what it’s done to my trousers!’

  ‘Now watch your language,’ she complained, looking at the damage. ‘Now I’ll have to call the plumber.’

  Jake eased his way down. Wiping the water off, he observed the damage. Well there’s nothing that can be done today,’ he said. ‘I can’t mend this one. Here, you take my spare key to the toilet on the landing and go and phone the plumber.’

  ‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘Throw the key down to me and I’ll get it arranged.’

  Jake turned the water off and made his way back to his flat. Opening a key box by the door, he removed the toilet key and leaning over the bannister dropped the key down to her. He then went inside and after changing his clothes and dumping them into the linen basket, which they kept for dirty clothes to be washed by Mrs Jones on her work day, made himself comfortable in front of the TV. They were playing extra time so he was pleased he hadn’t missed anything. Mrs W made her way to her grou
nd floor flat. Rodney was sitting on the carpet.

  ‘Naughty dog,’ she scolded. ‘Look what you did to poor Mr Drew’s trousers.’ The dog cowed, hoping that the gesture would mean he would get his biscuits that night.

  Mrs W’s heart melted. ‘Never mind Rodney,’ she continued, ‘you were only playful.’ The dog, sensing a change of mood, snuggled around her legs. ‘poojey, woojey,’ she said stroking the dog’s head. ‘Now what was I going to do? I know, ring the plumber.’ She crossed the room into the hall where she kept her black BT phone. It was the type where one had to use the finger and turn the dial to get the number. Taking out a book from below the phone and putting on her glasses which hung around her neck on a string, she looked through until she came to the number she wanted and rang Sid Mitchell, her local plumber.

  He was in a difficult position because his union had banned all work and he was expected to be out on strike in a picket line. ‘It’s a bit difficult,’ he explained.

  ‘Difficult!’ retorted Mrs W, ‘It’s a bit difficult here too. When are you coming?’

  Mrs W had been a good customer of his for many years and he couldn’t let her down. Sod it, he thought. ‘I can’t come until tomorrow,’ he confirmed. ‘Will that be alright?’

  ‘Very well,’ she answered, resigned that she would have to climb the stairs to the toilet until he arrived. She looked at her watch. It was two o’clock. I must rush, she thought, it’s the V and G Monthly meeting this afternoon. She got changed and leaving a note on her door for Mr Drew informing him that Rodney should be taken for his walk at seven o’clock if she wasn’t back and that she would take a taxi, she made her way Ladbroke Grove. Quite soon a taxi came along and she waved her stick for it to stop. Getting in, she instructed the driver to take her to the Victorian and Albert Museum where the meeting was to take place. In less than twenty minutes, she arrived and after paying the taxi fare, made her way to the main door.

  ‘Good afternoon, Doctor Williams,’ the doorman bid, tipping his hat. He knew her well and was aware that she was a stickler for correctness, for he had adjusted his uniform as he saw her emerge from the taxi.

  ‘Good afternoon Gibson,’ she replied, looking at him closely. Satisfied with his appearance, she went through the door and made her way to the lift, then to the third floor where she was greeted by a number of her friends. The meetings were a regular thing and it helped Mrs W to keep her mind working. The meeting went until 4.30 then it was time for tea. Going into the lounge and taking her a cup of tea offered by a waiter, she sat down and viewed her companions.

  ‘What a ragged lot they look,’ she observed, noting the number of jackets with the patched elbows and the geriatric antics of the members as they struggled to climb out of the deep-set leather chairs. It made her smile, but they were the salt of the earth. A brilliant company of the finest minds now held to ransom by their ageing bodies. She had known most of them for over forty years. Suddenly her thoughts were broken by a lady standing beside her.

  ‘Are you there Edith?’ the voice asked gently.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied looking up. The lady, Margaret Hudson, sat beside her. They had been friends for many years. ‘You live in that Villiers House in Tavistock Square, don’t you?’ she began.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been reading about Sir Robert Smithers, an earlier owner. I believe he lived there.’

  ‘Yes. I recall he was a bit of a bad person.’

  ‘Yes, he disappeared before he was due to be charged for all sorts of things. No, the reason I mentioned him, is that he was supposed to have stolen some valuable items and a quantity of money from the Royal coffers. Nothing was ever found. I’ve got his personal letters and files, plus a copy of the police report, which I borrowed from the archives. Would you like to have them to follow up? I think you’ll find them interesting.’

  She looked up. ‘What a good idea, Margaret,’ she answered.

  ‘By the way, I also did a check on Villiers House, seeing as he lived there.’

  ‘I see. What did you find out?’

  ‘Well, after Sir Robert disappeared, the house was sold to the Earl of Mumford. He lived in it with his family, one of whom was the Governor of the Bank of England. The crash of 1929 took all their money and they moved away somewhere in the country, then went overseas just before the war.

  ‘Oh, dear! How did that affect the house?’

  ‘Well, apparently he had married one Nancy Drew, a socialite in 1920 when she was made pregnant by him. They had a son whom they called Jacob. They got divorced soon afterwards and he married again. She insisted her name be added to his name, so being an honourable, owing to his father’s position, he was known as The Honourable Jacob Mumford-Drew. Does that ring a bell?’

  ‘Of course it does. You know I’ve got a Jake Drew living in my house now.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a coincidence then?’

  ‘Really Margaret,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think it’s any of our business, do you?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Now I am interested in the Smithers thing. I’ll take the files home.’

  ‘Better still, I’ll get them put into our car and when you’re ready, we’ll give you a lift home.’

  ‘Thank you dear. By the way, how is Henry now?’

  ‘Oh, he’s much better now. It was his 82nd birthday last month, you know?’

  ‘Was it really? How time flies. Why I remember you and he as a courting couple.’

  She laughed. ‘Your memory is better than mine.’

  ‘What’s William doing now?’

  ‘Oh. He’s a lecturer at one of the local colleges.

  ‘He must be, let me see, about 39 now.’

  ‘You won’t believe it. He’s 40, actually. I don’t know when he’ll settle down again. Since his divorce he’s had one girlfriend after another. I wish he’d get married again. I’d like to be a grandmother before I die.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mrs W replied, ‘but you’ve only one son, so you must be patient. I’m sure he’ll find the right one soon.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Suddenly a whistle blew which indicated it was time to re-join the meeting. With much huffing and puffing, the members struggled out of the comfortable leather chairs and walked back towards the meeting room, albeit some of the members were supported by others and the tapping of sticks along the marble corridor sounded like the ticking of many clocks; all to discuss the all-important question of whether the Royal collection should be lent to the Germans.

  The meeting broke up at half past six and Margaret was taken by her friend to the staff car park where her husband was waiting. ‘Hello Edith,’ he gushed holding her arm and kissing her on the cheek. ‘You look lovelier than ever.’

  ‘Oh, you’re always naughty,’ she returned. She looked at Margaret. ‘He hasn’t changed, has he?’

  ‘No. He’s a terror in the old people’s ward of the hospital.’

  ‘Get in,’ he said gently opening the door. The journey took over thirty minutes owing to the heavy traffic. Soon they stopped outside the house. ‘Will you come in for a while?’ she asked.

  ‘No thank you, we have another appointment. Here,’ he said opening the door, ‘let me carry the files for you.’ Taking out a box, he staggered up towards the front door. To his surprise, it suddenly opened to be greeted by a man who looked like a hairy monkey.

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, recoiling slightly.

  ‘It’s all right!’ shouted Mrs W. ‘It’s Mr Drew, my lodger.’

  ‘Here, give me the box,’ said the apparition, taking it from Professor Junket. He disappeared into the hall, and then reappeared a few minutes later. ‘Anymore?’ he asked.

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Right and he walked out of the gate to the car followed by the professor.

  ‘How do you do?’ Jake bid, bowing slightly at Margaret

  She was taken aback by the quality of his speech. Very well educated, she thought
. Turning, he shook hands with the professor. After offering greetings, the ice was broken.

  ‘I believe you live here.’ he commented.

  ‘Yes,’ Jake replied, breaking into his Cockney accent. ‘I’ve been here for a while.’

  ‘Well it’s nice to know that Edith, I mean Doctor Williams, has a man around.’

  It was time to go. ‘Come on Mr Drew,’ said Mrs W, beckoning him to go indoors. ‘Goodbye Margaret and Henry. I’ll keep in touch about the files.’

  ‘See you soon,’ they responded getting into the car and driving off.

  Jake carried the boxes to the study where Mrs W pointed to him to put them next to the desk, the one that her husband had used so often when trying to solve an ancient archaeological problem.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right. I’m off to take Rodney for his walk. I’ll get you something from the fish and chip shop, if you like.’

  Mrs W liked fish and chips. It made such a difference from the rice and other gastronomic meals she used to eat when she and her husband were abroad and some of the present makeshift meals that she cooked, mostly frozen, on the days she couldn’t cook. ‘That would be very nice,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have a cod and chips with lots of vinegar.’

  He laughed, ‘It’s as good as done,’ he said. ‘Now, I’ll get changed and collect Rodney.’

  ‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’ He turned and she heard him tramp upstairs. She felt sorry for him.

  I think he’s had a rough life, she surmised. Gathering her thoughts, she turned to Rodney. ‘Come on boy,’ she began. ‘Let’s find your lead.’ Rodney wagged his tail. He liked to go out and sniff all the lamp-posts. Jake came down and collected Rodney.

  Stepping out of the house, he proceeded along until he came to Portobello Road. Rodney stopped and peed against every lamppost. Getting to the fish and chip shop, Jake tied Rodney to the lamppost outside and went in. The shop was empty. He ordered the food plus a small amount of fish and chips for Rodney to eat outside and stood back to wait. At that moment, two youths entered. When they saw Jake, they laughed. ‘Christ!’ one exclaimed. ‘It’s a monkey!’ The other youth caught on, ‘How did it get out of the zoo?’ This brought on shrieks of laughter from both of them.