Limehouse Boys

5 ~ Discovery at the Registry Office

Chapter 5

Discovery at the Registry Office

Like many of his kind, Josiah Hewlett was observant. He needed to be, as many men like him came to a bad end by ignoring little details, things most people would consider insignificant. He was well aware that someone was having him watched as he went about his business. Worse, as far as he was concerned, some of his regular informants were either absent or providing very little useful information.

Now, walking along Shadwell High Street toward St George in the East, he spotted a pair of Howell’s cronies ahead. He cursed; ever since Howell’s return, the area seemed to be full of that fellow’s friends. Perhaps it had been a mistake to dispose of that jewel box himself, but he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it, and he couldn’t take the chance of it being found among his possessions if someone robbed him.

Well, they would waste their time today; his business this afternoon was completely legitimate. He turned into the doorway of the Municipal Offices and Magistrates Court, and climbed the steps to the Registry.

“Morning, Mister Whippell. I’ve some papers fer yer ter record.”

The small clerk looked up and adjusted his spectacles.

“Good morning, Beadle.” Rising from his high stool, he advanced to the writing desk and opened the register. “What have you today?”

The clerk kept registers of several civic matters, but had long found it vexing that some matters were kept by the church and still others were kept in such places as the Admiralty, Whitehall or not at all. He firmly believed that a proper record of all matters pertaining to births, marriages, deaths, changes in property ownership, indenturing and tax should be kept by a single central authority.

As it was, his role was to record indentures, admissions to the poor house, evictions, transfers of leases and certain other property matters, but these were forwarded to the Land Registry kept in Whitehall. Since there was no central guidance on any of this, he’d devised his own system, and had done his best to persuade the clerks of the neighbouring boroughs to do the same.

“Nought much. Four boys apprenticed, seven indentures fer serving girls, an’ three eviction notices served.”

Handing over the sheaf of papers, the Beadle rummaged around in the pockets of his greatcoat. “An’ I’ve a need ter look up summat.” He consulted a scrap of paper. “I need t’ book fer t’ year eighteen twenty-nine. I kin fetch et mesel’ if’n yer points me at it.”

Shuffling the papers, the clerk nodded. “Certainly, give me a moment, and I’ll show you the record store.”

He entered the details of the documents neatly and quickly, placing each document in one of a series of trays arranged and labelled according to subject.

“Magistrate Biddulf has been remiss, Beadle. He has omitted to sign the alteration on this apprenticing.” Handing it to Hewlett, he added, “It will not be valid until he does. The boy should not be committed to his master until then.” He scrutinised the document. “A master shipwright named Lane, it appears.”

The Beadle cursed silently. This would cause a very unfortunate delay in his plans for Ned Farrier. Accepting the indenture certificate, he growled, “I’ll ’ave ter get ’im next week then. ’E’s gorn ter Sarf End. Mister Lane needs t’ boy now. Can’t it lay, an’ I’ll get it sorted fust thing.”

“It would be completely irregular, Beadle—against the law, if you must know. I could not do it. Were there to be an accident and the boy injured, it would be us who would bear the responsibility.”

Smiling, the little clerk removed his spectacles and polished them. “Master Shipwright Lane will not, I’m sure, be too inconvenienced by the absence of an untrained and unskilled apprentice for another few days.”

Replacing his spectacles, he withdrew a key from his pocket. “Now, I believe you needed the register for eighteen twenty-nine; if you’ll come with me, please.”

The Beadle followed the little man up a narrow flight of stairs to a loft-style attic.

“The ledgers are there,” he said, pointing to a large, ornate table stacked high with ledger books. “If you tell me what you are seeking, I can give you the appropriate book.” Mr Whippell smiled. “Indentured servants, workhouse admissions, apprenticed boys, evictions, tenancy agreements, land transfers; I keep each in its own ledger.”

Despite himself, Hewlett was impressed. “T’ apprentices, I fink.” He hesitated then asked, “Who keeps a register o’ companies an’ ship owners?”

“The Treasury has an office through which large companies are registered. The Lord Chancellor keeps records of certain others, but that is largely a matter for the Guilds and Worshipful Companies themselves.”

Studying the Beadle as he turned the pages in the ledger, the clerk added, “I’m afraid they tend to be rather jealous of such information and reveal it only to their members. As to ships, it depends—coastal or oceanic.”

Taking back the register, he noted the place the Beadle had stopped his search.

“Coasting vessels are generally registered at their home port. The harbour master may keep a record.” His shrug indicated that this was a matter of chance. “For larger vessels I would commend the Lloyds Register, or East India House and the Baltic Exchange.”

“Ta—thank ye very much. I’d best get along. There’s a deal to be done yet. I’ll ’ave ter see if’n I kin catch t’ magistrate ter get this apprentice sorted.”

Watching the Beadle as he left the office replacing his official hat, his staff of office in his left hand, the clerk shook his head. Something tugged at his memory, and he quickly noted the name of Master Shipwright Lane on a tablet he kept handy for such notes. He returned to the loft, retrieved the book and spent several minutes studying the page the Beadle had read. The entry concerned the death of an apprentice in the Limehouse Basin. The name leapt out at him, one Jeremiah Howell.

The Reverend Mr Short’s cook was a stout woman, the result of many years of tasting what she cooked and enjoying her share of the meal afterward. She was clearly uncomfortable in the vicar’s study.

“Well, sir, ah’m not one as gossips, sir, but there be stories, sir. . . .”

“What sort of stories, Mrs Tilley? I am concerned that something is very much amiss in certain matters having to do with the workhouse and the Beadle, but I cannot help those who are suffering unless I know a good deal more.”

“Well, sir, ’tis said that widders oo dies in t’ parishes o’ t’ borough—well, don’t matter if’n they ’ad a bit put by, an’ many do—they’s al’ays declared penniless. Everybody knows they ain’t, an’ everybody knows t’ Beadle al’ays ’as t’ place cleared out, lock, stock an’ ev’rythin’ else afore any can check.”

She paused for breath.

“T’ Farrier widder, she were a case. She kept a very good ’ouse. ’Ad ’er ’usband’s allotment from ’is pay, an’ received a very pretty share from t’ sale o’ ’is duffle when ’e died. An’ she ’ad a lot o’ good custom frum some o’ t’ quality. ’Er boy, Ned, bless ’im, were a good lad too, al’ays polite, an’ everybody knew she’d put money by fer ’is educayshun.”

Her bosom heaved as she remembered, her face colouring as her anger came to the fore. “But t’ Beadle—well, ’e declared she’d nought, not a penny from ’er sewing, nor from t’ sale o’ ’er things.” She scowled. “Al’ays t’ same. ’Is cronies, see. They clears ’t ’ouses. Pays t’ family pennies then sells ter t’ traders sarf o’ t’ river an’ east at a profit.”

Shocked, Stephen leaned back in his seat. “But that’s appalling.”

His feelings got the better of him, and he pushed himself out of the chair and began to pace.

“Are you certain Mrs Farrier had a little money put aside? Where would she have kept it? Would young Ned know, do you think?”

He recalled how Beadle Hewlett had struck the boy during the committal hearing when he attempted to tell the board that his mother had had money to pay her way. He pumped his fist into his palm at the memory.

“Oh, young Ned would know, I believe. If I recall, he said the Beadle had it all away before he could fetch it.”

“That’d be ’is way.” The cook’s voice was bitter. “Trouble is, sir, ’e ’as some bad friends—bad men ter ’ave a-lookin’ fer yer. There’s strange accidents ’appen ter them as speaks agin ’im. An’ some o’ t’ boys apprenticed ter t’ yards downstream doan seem ter live long enough ter learn t’ trade.”

Stephen nodded. He’d been examining the burial records and noticed there seemed to be a disproportionate number of workhouse orphans buried as paupers after accidents befalling them in one particular yard. He ventured a lure.

“What can you tell me of the Howell family? I believe they lived in the Saint George parish—oh, eight or ten years ago.”

The cook’s face changed. “There were trouble o’er that, sir, but nuffing they could prove, see. The widder were well known, and pretty well provided for. ’Er eldest were in the navy, an’ another boy, Jonathan, in India wi’ John Company’s Militia. ’Er two daughters died o’ t’ cholera some years afore. On’y t’ youngest boy were still at ’ome. When she died, ’er jewellery box were gone, an’ so were ’er cash box, though that were well ’idden. Oh, t’ constable were called, an’ t’ Beadle ’ad friends vouch ’e found t’ ’ouse opened an’ searched. T’ boy said it were no such thing, but t’ constable said it were true—even said mebbe t’ boy done it. In t’ end, there were no money an’ no contact wi’ t’ sons, so t’ magistrates decided she were to be buried an’ t’ boy committed ter t’ work’ouse.”

“What happened when his brothers wrote to the board? Do you know?”

“No, sir, I knows nought o’ any letters, but there were the devil ter pay when Jonathon arrived ’ome from India.”

“I expect so.”

“Well, t’ boy ’ad been ’prenticed, see. But when they went ter find ’im, it were first said ’e were dead—then they said it were a mistake, an’ ’e’d run away frum ’is master.”

“Had he?”

“Turned out, ’e’d never been in t’ yard—ever. I doan know the whole, sir, but it’s whispered he’d been taken west . . . ter a place gentlemen goes, fer, well . . . .” She blushed crimson.

Appalled, Stephen sat down. “I see.” Staring at the fire, he felt a chill in his soul.

“’Tis said a lot o’ t’ girls goes that way as well, sir.”

“I see. Mrs Tilley, I am indebted to you.” He stood. “A number of things now begin to make some sense. Thank you. Oh, and I would appreciate you not mentioning our talk to anyone, please.”