Avery & Blake 02 - The Infidel Stain (13 page)

His manner reminded me of a street patterer – or a preacher. I recalled Allington’s lecture of two days before. About his elbows another pack of underlings had begun to gather, waiting for his attention, like so many small fry about a much larger fish.

He stared at Blake. ‘You remind me of someone. Old Billy Blake, the printer and engraver. Any relation? Lived across the way, by Fountains Court. A bit touched, crazed even. Had a way with words.’

‘No,’ said Blake, garrulous as ever.

Woundy shrugged. ‘Thought you had the look of him.’

‘Mr Woundy,’ I said awkwardly, ‘I fear there may have been some confusion about our visit. Your newspaper and printing works are quite magnificent, but we are here on another matter entirely.’

The generous bow of Woundy’s broad smile snapped into a straight line. The small fry scattered, as if in anticipation of some explosion.

‘Confusion? Who are you then?’

‘Mr Woundy,’ said Blake softly, ‘we are here to talk to you about Nat Wedderburn.’

‘Nat who?’ said Woundy.

‘You know him. He was murdered three weeks ago. Not far from here in Holywell Street. Horrible murder. Your paper had an article about it.’

‘Never heard of him. Gentlemen, if you are not the investors I was expecting, you are wasting my time. Time and money are things I do not waste. How this confusion came about I do not know, but the culprit shall know about it.’

Blake placed his hand on Woundy’s fleshy arm. ‘We had a long talk with Connie. We should like to ask you some questions.’

Woundy looked at Blake’s hand on his sleeve and brushed it off. His voice was low and threatening. ‘We run five murders every week. I do not know the names of all those victims. Once again I say I do not know your Nat Wedderburn – or whatever he is called.’

Blake spoke as I had never heard him before – hard, low and equally threatening.

‘I think you do, and I think it will be a small matter to prove it, Mr Woundy.’

Now Woundy grabbed Blake’s arm and drew him towards him.

‘Take care,’ he said calmly but with a certain menacing air. ‘I say
again I do not know this man. I have never met this man. I am a respectable gentleman. I will not have my reputation trampled and I forbid you to suggest that I have any connection to this man. If you do so, make no mistake, I will bring the weight of my considerable influence upon you. I will call my lawyers upon you, Mr Blake. I will see you in court. Or worse.’

Blake pulled away. He was smiling. ‘That’s a deal of heat to expend on someone you’ve never heard of, Mr Woundy. What of Matthew Blundell? Spontaneously combusted, they say. I suppose you did not know him either?’

‘Throw them out!’ shouted Eldred Woundy. The two burly men at the door lumbered towards us.

‘We are leaving, we are leaving,’ I said.

‘Why the muscle, Mr Woundy? Something to be worried about?’ Blake said.

‘Out!’ Woundy roared.

‘We need no help, we are leaving,’ I called out. The room fell silent; only the clack of the presses behind their doors could be heard.

The bruiser with the red nose came up behind us, intending, I supposed, to be seen to eject us. Before he could lay a hand upon me – before, indeed, clear thought had formed – I turned and knocked his arm away. In response he tried to bring his cudgel down upon me. I let the cold, almost pleasurable, rage overtake me. I grasped the stick and wrested it from him with more force than he expected – I saw his surprise as I cracked it upon his head and shoulder and he stumbled and fell. I also saw the looks of horror on the faces of Woundy’s watching staff. I dropped the stick and we walked into the yard. The bruiser’s twin came after us, however, taking hold of my shoulder with the intention of pulling me round to deal me a blow on the jaw. I hit him fast in the stomach with such force that he doubled up, then I kicked his legs out from under him. He went down. I did not give him a backward glance.

‘William. Enough,’ said Blake. I retrieved my hat, which I had lost in the melee, caught Blake’s elbow and dragged him swiftly into the street.

At the top of Arundel Street by the Strand we stopped. My hand was shaking.

‘I am glad to be away from that infernal din,’ I said, brushing off my hat, pretending to a nonchalance I did not feel. ‘How can anyone work with it?’

Blake pulled on his gloves. Tactfully, he did not refer to my loss of composure, nor to my difficulty in regaining it, but his eyes did not leave me.

‘Noise is the coming thing,’ he said at last. ‘There’ll be plenty more of it.’

Once I had put my fists away, however, the remorse came on. ‘I am concerned that Woundy might blame Connie Wedderburn for our visit,’ I said. ‘That she might come to harm because of us.’

‘There is a deal of bluster about Eldred Woundy,’ Blake said dismissively. ‘I reckon he must have known that someone would come calling about Wedderburn eventually. If he’s that keen to keep the association quiet, I reckon he’ll keep clear of Connie. And if he were to come, it would prove that he knew them.’

‘What if he sends his bruisers?’

‘Look, we can try to find who murdered these men, or we can station ourselves outside Connie Wedderburn’s home. We cannot do both.’

‘I should like to warn her,’ I said. ‘And should we not try to divine the son, Daniel’s, whereabouts?’

‘We’ll return to Holywell Street,’ he said. ‘You may go and tell her. And ask her about Wedderburn’s clients too. Anything she can remember.’

The oldest daughter opened the door a crack and peered out suspiciously.

‘Is your mother at home?’

She let me in. There was a small fire in the grate and food on the table, but I was again taken aback by the bareness and sadness
of the scene. Connie Wedderburn was standing, once more as if dreaming or stunned, her hair defying its pins and tumbling round her shoulders. She had been in the midst of a half-hearted attempt to tidy the room and was holding two plates. She barely noticed my arrival.

‘Where are your brothers and sisters?’ I asked the girl.

‘Took them to Mr Dearlove’s,’ she whispered. ‘He and Pa argued, but he’s good at letters and writing and there’s food.’

‘It seems to me that you are a very brave girl and do a great deal here, helping your mother.’

She nodded solemnly. ‘Can I have another shilling?’

Slightly ruefully, I counted the coins into her small palm.

‘Look, Ma, it’s the Captain from the other day come to see us,’ she said when she had tied them away in her handkerchief. ‘Here he is. He wants to talk to you again.’

‘How are you today, Mrs Wedderburn?’ Very gently, I took the plates from her hands and led her to a chair, pulling one up for myself. I remembered Blake had held her hand, so I did the same now, giving her my best smile. It felt somewhat dishonest.

‘We saw Eldred Woundy this morning,’ I said. ‘I am afraid he was not much pleased to see us. He denied knowing your husband altogether and told us he would take us to court if we pressed it.’

‘He’s always been so taken up with appearances, Eldred.’

‘We mentioned your name, Mrs Wedderburn. I am concerned that our doing so may have placed you and your children in an awkward position. He may be angry. I wished to warn you.’

She looked at me directly for the first time and gave me a sad smile. Her skin was creamy white against her red hair, and her lips were swollen from biting. Even in her dulled state there was something about her that stirred the blood.

‘Eldred? Harm me? You don’t understand. He never would. Never in a million years.’

‘Then I am relieved,’ I said. ‘And I have another question.’

‘Yes?’

‘We would like to talk to your son Daniel. Can you tell us where we can find him?’

She started and drew her hand away. ‘What do you want with him?’

‘To ask him what he remembers about his father’s death.’

‘Carn you just let him be?’ she said hoarsely. Then her face broke. ‘I don’t know where he is. He won’t tell us. You saw him. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Perhaps we could speak to him? Try to persuade him to see reason,’ I said.

‘Could you?’ She took my hand again.

‘We would need to know where he is.’

She gave me a watchful look. Then she said, ‘You see Matty?’

‘Yes, we did. She was most helpful.’

‘She’s a good girl. I’d have done more for her if I could.’

‘I must also ask,’ I said, reddening slightly, ‘if you might remember any regular customers of your husband’s who, er, purchased his publications. I know it is a delicate matter, but it may be important.’

‘They did not exactly leave their cards at the door,’ she said. ‘Nat always kept that side of the business to himself. I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

‘Can you tell me about your husband and Mr Woundy? How they knew one another?’

‘No more today, Captain, please,’ she said firmly. She closed her eyes. The little girl ran and wrapped her arms around her mother, looking at me reproachfully.

I made one last attempt. ‘What is it that so worries you about Daniel, Connie?’

She looked at me and there were tears on her cheeks.

‘Carn say,’ was all she would offer.

Holywell Street was no more alluring in the grey late-morning light than it had been in the dusk, though I fancied the passers-by were giving us a wider berth. Blake was leaning against the shop in an ill humour.

‘Shall we speak to the shopkeepers then?’

He sighed and turned to the large bookshop next door – Dugdale’s – where I had fared so poorly two days before. The red-faced man behind the counter remembered me at once. His expression curdled like milk with vinegar. One or two other customers were browsing furtively. Blake put a shilling on the counter and waited them out.

‘Mr Dugdale—’ he said.

‘I know what you want,’ the man said unpleasantly, interrupting him. ‘
I
want you gone.’

‘Well, you may not know that Wedderburn wasn’t the first victim and I don’t think he’ll be the last,’ Blake said to him. ‘And that ought to worry you. Unless you have good reason to feel safe – and that ought to worry you more. I’m no blue bastard, but I have a powerful patron who wants the truth. And if I decide it, Wedderburn’s murder will be in every paper by tomorrow morning, with all the attendant fuss someone in your line would go far to avoid. My only interest is the murder. This is my card. When you’re ready to talk you can send a boy. I think we have things to say. Good day, Mr Dugdale.’

Dugdale scowled.

‘Do you think he will speak?’ I said when we were outside.

‘Maybe, if he thinks it worth his while.’ Through the shop window I saw Dugdale take up the card and read it.

‘Should we go to the next shop?’

‘No. They’re all like that. Something or someone’s made them jittery. Call it a day. I need to think.’

I was, I saw to my disappointment, being dismissed, but I could not deny that Blake looked as if he was in need of rest. We continued towards Drury Lane, and I became sure that I was not imagining that the clothes dealers and shopkeepers turned from us and avoided our eyes. At the corner with Drury Lane a few bored, worn-looking whores in low-cut garish dresses had gathered, their shawls draped to expose their shoulders. I thought how cold they must be.

‘You’re the one looking for the printer’s killer?’ one called out to Blake. ‘The one with two fingers missing? Let’s see your hand, go on.’

Blake walked over to them, took his hand out of his pocket and
showed the two stumps. They gathered round, giggling and shrieking equally with disgust and curiosity.

‘You’re out early, girls,’ he said. He seemed quite at ease. I hung back, awkward.

‘There’s only a little trade in the afternoon, but we gets to talk and laugh a bit among ourselves, and the blue bastards don’t move us on here. Nights we’re up at the theatres.’

‘You wanna beat some lard and honey together and rub it on the stumps, it’ll stop them chafing,’ said one girl.

‘I got something what’ll stop it chafing,’ jeered another, hitching her skirts suggestively. ‘If there’s any beating to be done, it won’t be a bit of lard and honey.’

The rest of the girls shrieked.