Stone's Fall

The road I was looking for was off a street, and off an avenue. All were named after imperial heroes and events of the not too distant past. I wondered how many of the inhabitants noticed after a while. Did it make their hearts swell with pride that they lived in Victoria Road? Did it make them work harder, or drink less for having a house in Khartoum Place? Were they better husbands and fathers because they walked to work along Mafeking Road, then into Gordon Street? Was Mr James Steptoe, I thought as I knocked on the door, a more respectable, patriotic Englishman for living at 33 Wellington Street?

Hard to tell. His mother, who answered the door, certainly looked respectable enough as she peered uncertainly at me. The trouble was, I could make out only a little of what she was saying; I supposed she was speaking English, but the accent was so thick she might almost have been another Serbo-Croatian anarchist. This was a problem I had not anticipated. Still, if I couldn't understand her, she seemed to understand me well enough, and invited me in, and showed me to the little parlour, kept for best. After a while James Steptoe came in, warily and cautiously; he was shaped rather like a bull, almost as broad as he was tall, with a thick neck emerging from his collarless shirt, and black hair covering his forearms where the sleeves had been rolled up. He had thick dark eyebrows, and a shadow of beard around his mouth. He looked like someone who played rugby, or worked down a mine rather than pushing pens and dockets.

I shook hands, and introduced myself.

'Are you the police?' A short sentence, gruffly spoken, but a great relief. I understood it. Mr Steptoe was bilingual.

'Certainly not. Why should I be?'

'I'm eating,' he said.

'I do apologise for disturbing you. I can either go away for a while, or wait, as you please. But I'm afraid I must talk to you this evening. I have to return to London tomorrow morning.'

He studied me carefully. 'Are you hungry?'

If I write out his words in normal speech, and say I could understand them, do not think that he spoke in a normal, or easily comprehensible fashion. He did not; my time with Mr Steptoe was a triumph of concentration and much of what the rest of his family said escaped me entirely. I said I had eaten, thank you, but could easily eat some more.

He nodded at this then led me down the little corridor into the kitchen. It was a bit like being presented at a court ball; eight faces examined me intently as I came in and stood, a little sheepishly, by the little stove. I felt like an interloper, a foreigner, a threatening presence.

'Father, this is Mr Braddock, from London. This is my mother,' – the old woman smiled severely – 'my sister Annie, my two brothers Jack and Arthur, Lily, my fiancée and Uncle Bill. Jack – move. Mr Braddock here wants your chair.'

'London?' said the father, who tended to speak in one-word sentences.

'That's right,' I said. 'I'm here to sort out a few legal matters with regard to Lord Ravenscliff's estate. I need to discuss a few matters with your son.'

'Everybody knows all about that,' said he. 'Don't think you have to hide anything from them. What else is there to say? I've been tried and found guilty, haven't I? Everyone knows. Or did he see the light and leave me some money?'

'I'm afraid not,' I said with a grin. 'And he didn't leave me any either, if that makes you feel any better.'

'So?'

'Lord Ravenscliff believed that you were innocent of the accusations made against you.'

This caused a stir. 'He could have bloody well told me,' said Steptoe junior.

'As far as I understand, he came to his conclusion about three days before he died. He had no opportunity to tell you.'

There were looks all around the table, half pleased, half resentful that I should have the power to affect their lives in such a fashion.

'Now, there is a problem,' I continued. 'While Lord Ravenscliff may have been convinced, he did not put down in writing his reasons. So I have the task of redoing all his work. In other words, to find out what was happening. So I need from you a full account. When it is complete, Lady Ravenscliff will write to Mr Williams at the plant, you will get your job back and, I am sure, be paid in full for the wages you have lost.'

It was a handsome offer, and one which I was not entitled to make. But it did the trick nicely. From then on they were falling over themselves to tell me whatever I wanted to know.

'So, please tell me the precise circumstances of this accusation.' Lawyerly, I thought.

'It was all lies,' said the mother defiantly. 'Jimmy'd never . . .'

'Yes, Mother, it seems we're all agreed on that,' he said patiently. He thought for a while, then glanced around at his family with a slight smile, and asked his mother to make another pot of tea. As she filled the kettle from a big bowl of water near the back door and put it on the hob, he began.