All this was making an unfortunate impression on the commander. His spine straightened to an alarming degree, his height, already impressive, seeming to increase by a couple of inches. He had taken on a sinister stillness.
At last the sergeant became aware that he was running into danger and adjusted his tone. ‘Sorry about the din, sir. That caterwauling’s been going on since the constable arrested her.’ He pointed to a small and dishevelled prostitute who was attempting, between yells, to bite out the throat of the meaty lad holding her stolidly at arm’s length. ‘She’s gone bonkers. Name’s Doris. Tart. Has her beat along the Strand. Regular customer. Bit barmy, but this performance is unusual even for her.’
‘Sarge,’ Lily said, ‘give me a minute with her, will you? I’ve had dealings with Doris before – she knows me. I might be able to sort it out.’
She waited for his nod before making her way over to the wrestling pair. Gently she eased the constable’s grip, inserting herself between the two struggling figures. She leaned and whispered in Doris’s ear. After a stunned silence, Doris’s screams turned to sobs, then sniffles and whimpers. Finally she spoke to Lily in a torrent of words that Sandilands and the sergeant could make neither head nor tail of. It seemed to consist of no more than a list of names: ‘Our Alice, little ’erbert, Georgie …’ Lily nodded, whispered a further question and listened to the outpouring of emotion and fear that followed.
Lily turned to the arresting constable. ‘Tom, fetch me a glass of water, would you?’ While he went off to fetch one, Lily spoke again to the dejected figure before her. ‘I can see what needs to be done, Doris. And the sooner the better. Look – leave it with me, love. I’ll find them, see they’re all right and alert Rhoda. She’s still living in Bradman’s Court, is she? Right you are then. Here, have a drink. Thank you, Tom. Now – you know the routine, Doris. Just go through to the charge room with the constable and do what you have to do. Tom’s new around here – you’ll have to show him the ropes! It’ll be faster in the end. And for Gawd’s sake, gel, keep the squawking bottled.’
Sandilands and the sergeant watched in astonishment as Doris nodded, calmly linked arms with the constable and hurried him into the charge room.
Lily returned to the desk, fire in her eyes. ‘She has four children under the age of six left at home by themselves. She was out earning some cash for their dinner. Her mother would normally look in on the nippers but she’s down with the flu and no one else knows they’re there. The smallest is only nine months old and will be screaming with hunger by now. The oldest is only five and can’t control the toddlers. I’ve promised to go round and stir up a neighbour who might be persuaded to lend a hand. It’ll take about an hour. Will you excuse me, sir?’
She was turning for the door in her eagerness to be off. Sandilands grabbed her by the shoulder. ‘No, I won’t excuse you,’ he said firmly. He fixed the sergeant with a flinty glare. ‘Constable Wentworth is assisting me on a matter of national importance. I will not have her precious time wasted doing social work arising from the incompetence of desk staff.’ He produced a ten-shilling note from his pocket and handed it to the sergeant. ‘Give the woman this and set her loose. You should have more sense than to allow the premises to be cluttered up by trivial, time-wasting cases at a moment of emergency.’
‘Yessir. At once, sir.’ The sergeant followed the pair into the charge room, leaving the door open, handed the note over with a flourish and in a few words explained that Doris was to be bailed immediately, orders of the commander.
As Doris ran off with a backward wave and a mouthed ‘Ta, love!’ for Lily, the sergeant turned again to Sandilands. ‘Wonderful, sir. Glad you called by. Now, would the constable like to deal with Rob Roy in the tam-o’-shanter over there? He’s been making his way back to Loch Lomond for the last two hours.’
‘What’s the charge?’ Sandilands asked.
‘Drunk and disorderly. Could have been grievous bodily harm if we’d been able to make one of the complainants stand and testify. Drunk as a skunk. Caught making lewd gestures with his sporran and assaulting any man he heard talking English in Leicester Square. And that takes a bit of doing nowadays but he managed to find and clobber six before we got hold of him. Down here with his mates for a wedding and got left behind. Officer Smithson who’s grammar school educated and knows what he’s talking about says it’s a Celtic custom. All to do with … stag-worship, I believe he said. The horned god … fecundity … plenty of drink taken … that sort of thing.’