his fellow man, had finally decided to take his leave of the silent world around him. Ikey's defence could therefore proceed unencumbered by evidence of collaboration with his erstwhile partner.
Ikey's case could be built around the premise that he, a simple man, inexpert in the ways of machinery, was merely the landlord of the premises, unaware that amazing works of counterfeiting longtails were being created by the Frenchy foreigner, a deaf mute unable to communicate in the English language. Ikey had merely knocked on the door of the basement premises, accepting the rent due to him in an incurious and routine manner early each Friday morning.
Similarly, Mary Abacus had declared Ikey to be her landlord and her testimony had implicated him in no other way. It was on this issue of being the duped landlord for both prisoners that Ikey's case would depend. In this way the burden of proof lay with the prosecution and, as always in such cases, the silver tongue of an expensive advocate could be used to its greatest effect.
It was a neat enough argument, though as an initial defence Ikey knew it had little chance of working at his first trial in the magistrate's court. Here he would almost certainly be indicted. The scuttlebutt in the penny papers would have long since pronounced him guilty.
However, in the Court of Appeal at the Old Bailey where a fair trial could be guaranteed, and in the hands of a good barrister, this argument could be made to seem most compelling, or, at the very least, it would cast some doubt on the serious nature of the case against Ikey.
Ikey had just three days to contact Marybelle Firkin and lodge the letter of credit. To a man of less fortitude this might have seemed somewhat of a forlorn hope. But Ikey had been in more than one tight spot in his life and, in his mind, formulated a plan which, with Bob Marley no longer his go-between, depended almost entirely on Hannah, her coachman father, Moses Julian, and two carefully selected members of Ikey's own family. The first was an uncle who happened to be of similar age to Ikey, with a striking family resemblance around the eyes and nose. He possessed a small reputation as an actor and a slightly larger one as a broadsman, a card sharp, cheating at cribbage being what he did during the frequent 'resting' periods of his capricious career. His name was Reuban Reuban, a moniker which would have been better suited to a more illustrious thespian. Though he affected the manners of an actor, he was clean shaven and dressed sharp. The second was Ikey's cousin, a young tailor by the name of Abraham Reuban. Actor father and tailor son both had cause in the past to be grateful to Ikey and resided near the Theatre Royal in the Haymarket, this being in close enough proximity to No.59, the Strand, the home of the bankers Coutts amp; Company.
To bring to fruition his plan to lodge the credit note on time Ikey was obliged to tell Hannah of its existence. She would therefore know soon enough the extent of the funds Ikey was proposing to transfer to New York. This was a major concern to Ikey. If Hannah suspected that he had been funding his escape without her knowledge she would not reveal her part of the combination to the Whitechapel safe, which, of course, amounted to a great deal more in value than the nineteen thousand, four hundred pounds he was sending to New York.
Ikey would therefore need to concoct a story which convinced Hannah that the credit note was to their mutual benefit. He would have to persuade her that he had gone to Birmingham at great danger to himself, when he could just as easily have escaped to America immediately he knew of the raid. He would express in most compelling terms his reason for not so doing, his only thought having been to add to the funds they would have when she joined him with the children in New York.
Alas, his escape had been thwarted by his betrayal and premature arrest and it was Hannah who was now free to act in the matter of their mutual fortune. He would convince her that he must escape in order to lodge the letter of credit with Coutts amp; Company and so ensure the money would be transferred to New York.
Hannah, Ikey felt confident, would co-operate. Her greed would convince her as well as the knowledge that Ikey, should his escape prove successful, would not leave her without the prospect of his share of the Whitechapel safe. Their mutual assurance lay in each keeping their part of the combination secret from the other.
On her arrival at Newgate, Hannah was escorted by the keeper himself to Ikey's cell, being quite puffed by the steep stairs. Outside the door of the cell sat a turnkey, a large, slack-jawed, vacant looking man with very few teeth, chosen no doubt for his strength and not the wit at his command. Hannah waited for the gaol officer who had acted as her guide to depart before she fee'd Ikey's guard a fushme.
'I begs ya to stand well clear o' the grille, mister. I 'as things to do what a wife is obliged to do for 'er 'usband and what ain't respectable to be within the 'earin' or seein' of.' She looked boldly at the turnkey. 'If you knows what I mean?'
The man nodded and grinned, showing the stumps of four yellow and black teeth. Pocketing the five shillings she'd given him with obvious delight, the usual fee for 'showing a blind eye' being sixpence, he fumbled with a set of keys hanging from a large ring, which, in turn, was attached to a stout brass chain affixed to his belt.
'I'll be down the corridor a bit, missus,' he said, then making a small ceremony of unlocking the cell door, he added, 'Take yer time, now, I ain't goin' orf for two 'ours yet.' He let Hannah pass through into the cell, then locked the door behind her, making no attempt to search her hamper or, as was the usual case, to extract the larger share of its contents for himself.
Ikey was seated on his stone bed and did not rise when Hannah entered. She placed the basket down and immediately fell upon him, her demeanour most sorrowful and sympathetic.
'My poor Ikey, they 'ave caught ya and locked ya up!' she moaned. She grabbed Ikey and held his head clasped to her breast. 'My poor, poor darlin'!' she exclaimed, rocking his head in her arms.
Ikey grew much alarmed at this unexpected attack. Hannah had not placed a loving hand on him for years. Even their coupling had been completely without emotion, she taking him while he was piss-erect and half asleep, her single purpose to become impregnated with the minimum of time and effort. Before coming to visit him in gaol she had splashed some vile-smelling potion between her breasts and Ikey felt sure he must suffocate with the effect of this noxious perfume. He struggled frantically and managed after a few moments to extricate himself from Hannah's smothering grasp.
'For Gawd sakes, woman, leave orf!' he exclaimed as he backed away from his wife, adjusting the bandana he wore in the manner of a seaman's scarf and which had slipped to the back of his head from Hannah's embrace.
'Oh, Ikey, what shall we do? We are destitute! I am a poor woman with four small children, now deserted! Oh, oh, woe is me! What shall become of us?' Hannah cried, this time so loud that the turnkey, now seated at the opposite end of the corridor, could plainly hear her.
Then, as sudden as this surprising outburst, her voice dropped to a loud whisper. 'Ya bastard, ya piece of crud, who is this Mary, this whore ya give a 'igh-class brothel to?' Her expression had changed to a snarl. Then, stepping back, she slapped the seated Ikey so hard across the face that his head was thrown against the wall of the cell, and for a few moments he thought he would lose his wits completely. 'Ya shit, you will pay for this!' Hannah spat, though none of her furious invective carried much above a hoarse whisper.
Ikey pulled his legs up onto the stone shelf that served as his bed and backed himself into the furthermost corner, his hands protecting his face. After a few moments he parted his fingers and peeked at Hannah, who stood with her arms folded, nostrils flared, snorting like a bull halted at a turnstile.
'Please my dear, don't 'it me!' he whimpered. 'It were business, that be all it were! Business to our mutual benefit, my dear,' Ikey wailed plaintively.
'Ya fucked her, didn't ya? Ya fucked that shiksa bitch!'
Ikey looked genuinely alarmed. 'Shhsssh! No, no, my dear, not ever, not once, not possible, you knows me, it were business, it were no more,' he lied.
'Humph!' Hannah snorted, then added, once again in a rasping voice, 'Well the whore got what she 'ad coming to 'er, at least there be some justice in this world!'
'We's in shtunk, my dear. I've been blowed and planted,' Ikey said, hoping to change the subject.
'What! Who blowed ya? Planted? What with?'
'Soft, two fives.' Ikey reached down and pulled at his coat and pointed to the tear eighteen inches up from the hem. 'Young tooler planted 'em in there, Bob Marley were the blow!'
'Marley?' Hannah, feigning surprise, shook her head. 'Nah! Not 'im, not Bob Marley, 'e's family!'
'E done it, couldn't 'ave been no one else.' Ikey shrugged. '
'E were the only one what got close enough and knowed about the longtails, 'im with the kid what did the plant.'
'E wouldn't 'ave told no kid, not Bob Marley! Too careful. It must o' been someone else.'
