Belle (51 page)

She tried to kick back at her assailant, but he threw her against a wall, then kicked the door to the street shut. There was little light but even so she knew it was Kent, just by his shape and smell. She screamed at the top of her lungs until he silenced her with a punch in the face.

‘I should’ve killed you in the first place, I knew you’d be trouble,’ he snarled at her, thrusting a foul-smelling rag into her mouth to silence her. ‘I’ll finish you off this time though, but first you’ll be my ticket out of London.’

Her eyes were growing used to the gloom now and she saw him pick up a length of cord to tie her hands behind her and round her ankles in much the same way he had the first time he captured her. When he’d trussed her up, he flung her over his shoulder and carried her up some stairs.

The smell of the place made Belle’s stomach heave. It was the same kind of smell that wafted out of the most squalid tenements: human waste, mice, damp and plain filth. Like downstairs, it was very gloomy, with just a faint glow of light coming from the far end of a big room. She could see broken chairs lying amongst other debris and she thought it must have been a club or a dance hall at some time, but more recently desperate people had been living here.

Kent dropped her to the floor, which jarred every bone in her body, and with that walked away in the direction of the faint glow of light at the end of the room.

As Belle lay there amidst the stinking squalor, her face stinging from Kent’s blow, it occurred to her that she was always regretting things. Why hadn’t she taken notice of Garth’s instructions not to go out? But even bigger than that regret was the horror that her own mother had lured her here. Why would she do that?

That hardly mattered now though, in the face of what Kent was going to do to her. He had nothing to lose and he was an intelligent, cunning man. She couldn’t imagine how he thought she would be his ticket out of London, but he must have a plan.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Jimmy came up from the cellar and went into the bar, expecting Belle still to be cleaning. She had already finished, everything was gleaming and the floor still wet, but she wasn’t there. Assuming she was upstairs with Mog, he ran up, but Mog was alone, gathering up dirty bed linen.

‘Where’s Belle?’ he asked.

‘Cleaning the bar,’ Mog responded.

‘She’s finished that and she’s not in the kitchen,’ Jimmy said, then opened each of the bedroom doors to check she wasn’t in one of them.

‘Out in the yard with Garth?’ Mog suggested.

Jimmy opened the window and called down to his uncle who was sitting on an upturned crate smoking his pipe, ‘Is Belle out there with you?’

His uncle shouted back that she was in the bar.

Jimmy replied that she wasn’t. He was growing worried now.

‘Where else can she be?’ he said to Mog, and ran off downstairs again to check the parlour that they rarely used.

He was standing in the kitchen looking anxious when Mog came down a few minutes later. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘Do you think she might have gone out, even though we said she mustn’t?’

‘Maybe she needed something urgently.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know, Jimmy,’ Mog said. ‘But girls get ideas into their heads. I expect she thought it was urgent.’

‘At half nine I popped up for some hot water and I could hear her sweeping,’ Jimmy said. ‘Did you see her after that?’

‘Well, I called out that I was going to change the sheets, and she made a joke about me not going back to bed,’ Mog said. ‘That was at ten.’

‘She must’ve gone out the side door,’ Jimmy said. ‘Garth has been in the back yard all along so she didn’t go that way.’

‘Fancy her being so sneaky,’ Mog said. Then, looking at Jimmy’s stricken face, she went over to him and patted his arm. ‘Stop worrying, she probably needed hairpins, or she saw someone she knew out the window and ran out to chat to them. She won’t have gone far.’

‘I don’t like it, Mog,’ he said. ‘Look, she’s taken off her apron, she wouldn’t do that if she’d just popped out to speak to someone. Besides, she’s been gone half an hour now.’

Mog looked round at the apron hanging on the door. Just that it was hanging up was unusual as Belle normally left it on a chair, anywhere but on the hook. She went over to it and felt it – the only time Belle hung it up was when it was wet.

‘It’s bone dry,’ she said. But as her hands skimmed over it she felt something stiff in the pocket. She reached in and pulled the letter out, and as she read the contents her face turned pale.

‘What is it?’ Jimmy asked.

‘A letter from her mother,’ Mog gasped out. ‘Only it isn’t Annie’s writing, and whoever did write it wanted to meet up with Belle.’

Jimmy snatched it out of her hand and read it. ‘But that’s Annie’s address,’ he said. ‘Are you sure it’s not from her?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I saw Annie’s writing every day for over twenty years, and that’s not it.’

‘But surely Belle would know that?’

‘Her mother never wrote her a letter; the most Belle would’ve seen was a few scrawled shopping lists. She’d not even seen that for over two years. And I don’t think Annie would say that about not wanting to come here; she’s a lot of things but she isn’t a coward.’

Jimmy looked at the letter again. ‘Maiden Lane, that’s where I broke into that office. It was a club then, but they closed it down eighteen months ago.’ He looked at Mog, his eyes suddenly sparking with fire. ‘This is Kent’s doing. He’s got her there. You tell Garth, and get the police to come down to Maiden Lane. Tell him it’s the old club next to the back door of the theatre. I’m going there now.’

‘No, Jimmy, he’s got a gun!’ Mog said in horror, but she was too late. He was already rushing for the door, stopping only to pick up a cudgel Garth kept for threatening would-be troublemakers.

He ran down through the market like the wind. He heard people shout to him but he didn’t stop or even shout back. There was only one thought in his head: he had to save Belle.

At Maiden Lane he was forced to stop for a moment as he had a stitch and was out of breath. He bent over till the stitch went, then went to the door of the old club. He could see by the refuse around it that it wasn’t in regular use any more. It was his guess that James Colm, the man who used to run the club, had given Kent a key to hole up in here until the heat died down. Even though the police did know Colm was involved with the trade in young girls, they probably hadn’t considered Kent might be here as the club had been closed down for so long.

The door didn’t look very strong, but as Jimmy lifted the cudgel to smash it in, he realized Kent would hear him and he’d be ready and waiting with his gun. He might even shoot Belle too.

There was nothing for it but to climb up the front of the building and go in through the window.

He ran round to the Strand, remembering how the last time he’d gone in there he was afraid of being seen. That didn’t matter now, but he did hope that anyone watching wouldn’t create a hue and cry so that Kent was alerted something was going on.

Tucking the cudgel into his shirt, Jimmy began to climb. He was much stronger now than he had been back then, and he shinned up the drainpipe effortlessly and stepped on to the window sill of the old office. The windows were so black with grime it was hard to see in, but standing well back to the side and hoping the curtains he remembered were still hanging to hide him, he rubbed enough of a patch on the glass to peer in.

The office was in a shambles. He could see an old mattress on the rubbish-strewn floor. The filing cabinets were gone, but the desk remained, and Kent was sitting at it, poring over what appeared to be a map.

He was facing the window: one sound from Jimmy and he’d look up. Jimmy peeped through the hole again, hoping to see the man’s gun. But if it was lying somewhere in that room it was out of his line of vision. There was no sign of Belle but then she was probably out back in the old club.

Jimmy shrank back as he considered what to do. He thought of climbing down and asking someone in one of the shops below to go round the back and hammer on the door. That might make Kent go to investigate and he could smash through the window once his back was turned. But Kent would almost certainly pick up his gun and take it with him. Jimmy wasn’t prepared to run the risk of Belle being hurt.

He peered in again and marvelled at how calm the man appeared to be, sitting there studying his map as if he was merely planning a holiday. But he wasn’t looking dapper the way he had been when Jimmy had spied on him two years earlier. Back then his hair had been dark, only grey at the temples, but now it was all grey and so long it hung over his filthy, collarless shirt. He hadn’t shaved for some time, but not long enough to have grown a beard. His once neatly trimmed military-style moustache was like a bush, virtually concealing his lips.

A few people on the pavement were gathering now to look up at Jimmy. He could hear the hum of their voices, and guessed they thought he’d been locked out and was trying to get in through the window. He heard one woman call out, telling him to be careful as he’d break his neck if he fell.

All at once an idea came to him. If those people made enough noise Kent would get up to look and see what was happening. The desk was nearer the second window, and there appeared to be less clutter there too, whereas Jimmy could see there was a pile of boxes beneath the window where he was. So Kent would take the easiest route to look out, and as he did so, Jimmy could smash his way in and hopefully knock Kent out before he could grab his gun.

It certainly wasn’t a foolproof plan; all it had in its favour was the element of surprise. And he’d have to synchronize smashing the window and jumping through, plus bashing Kent with the cudgel before he had a chance to gather his wits.

But it was the only idea Jimmy had, and while he stood on the window sill considering the virtues and dangers of it, Belle was in there, in mortal danger.

So he half turned and began flapping his arms around and pretending to slip off the sill. He knew the people below wouldn’t realize how deep the sill really was, and he willed them to start shouting at him.

‘Stand still, we’ll get help!’ someone shouted.

All at once the murmur of voices became a hubbub, growing even louder as others stopped to join in. Quickly Jimmy put his eye to his spy-hole and saw Kent getting up. To make sure the man went right to the window, Jimmy pretended to slip again, and the gasps and calls for him to stay still were so loud that he knew Kent must be looking out.

Jimmy had put the cudgel on the window sill when he first climbed up. Now he snatched it up, swung it back, and with all his strength crashed it into the glass. At the moment of impact he hurled himself forward, eyes closed. He felt shards of glass scrape his head and cheeks, but still held on to the cudgel and only opened his eyes as he hit the floor. He staggered, then spun round to see Kent was still at the window, but he’d turned round and his eyes were wide with shock.

Lifting the cudgel above his head, Jimmy leapt towards the man and brought it crashing down. The blow landed on Kent’s shoulder and he reeled back with a howl of pain. Jimmy lifted it again, and with even more force hit him again on the side of his head.

Kent slumped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Jimmy was half blinded by blood. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve to clear them, then looked around. Kent’s jacket was lying on some boxes, the gun sticking out of the pocket.

He snatched it up, tucked it into the waist of his trousers, kicked Kent to make sure he was unconscious, and when he didn’t move, went to find Belle.

She was lying on the floor right up by the staircase door, trussed up with a gag in her mouth, her eye blackening from a blow.

‘It’s all right, you’re safe now,’ Jimmy said as he removed the gag from her mouth. ‘Kent’s out cold and I have his gun. But I’ve got to go back in there to make sure he doesn’t wake up. Just wait a few more minutes, the police will soon be here.’

‘So it was you,’ she said in wonder.

Jimmy chuckled. He wanted to untie her and hug her, but he had no knife on him to cut the rope and he was afraid Kent might come round. ‘Yes, it was me, but hold on, sweetheart. I can’t untie you now.’

Belle watched as he walked back towards the light at the end of the room. He had such a light, lithe step, and it reminded her of the day he’d slid on the ice as they went down to the Embankment Gardens in the snow. That seemed a lifetime ago.

She had been in such abject terror lying here on the floor that she’d wet herself. She’d been able to see Kent sitting with his back to her right at the end of the room, but he was just a dark, unmoving shape. She didn’t know what he was doing but she was convinced he was preparing to kill her. She had no hope of rescue. No one would think of looking for her here.

After trying vainly to free herself she gave up. It seemed to her that it was her fate to die through violence, and she’d just cheated it by being saved from Pascal. Then all at once there was shouting coming from the front of the building. She hoped it was the police, but with that hope came even greater terror because she knew Kent wouldn’t simply give himself up. He would either start shooting or use her as a hostage. Either way she knew that she would die, whether here or somewhere else.

She saw Kent move from his seat, and then heard that incredible crash and tinkling of glass. Light suddenly streamed in and she saw a silhouette of another man with something big and heavy in his hands, then heard a thump and a howl of pain. Another dull thump and the man walked towards her.

The light was behind him so she didn’t know it was Jimmy, not until he spoke. She thought of how an entire police force hadn’t been able to catch Kent and arrest him, yet Jimmy had managed it all on his own.

‘My Jimmy, a hero,’ she murmured to herself.

He was shouting now to someone below the window. He was telling them to come to the back door. ‘Smash it down!’ he shouted. ‘I can’t leave this bastard. And one of you cut Miss Cooper loose when you get up here. She’s tied up.’

Suddenly the stink of this place and the terror she’d felt disappeared. It was almost as if she was floating among clouds, and she could look down and see her past spread out before her. Kent was the man who had caused everything, and now he was caught, she was free. Free to put it all behind her, free to make a life of her own choosing.

Jimmy was right in saying that one day she’d find herself realizing that some good things had come out of all she’d been through. She knew about people now, the wicked and the good and all those in between who were a bit of both because they’d been damaged by the bad things that had happened to them. She understood how greed could distort people’s thinking, and how lust without love would never completely satisfy anyone.

Truly wicked people were quite rare, she realized. Kent was one, Madame Sondheim and Pascal another two. But people like Martha, Sly and perhaps Madame Albertine in Marseille had probably become bad through greed and association with wicked people.

Yet on balance there were many, many more good people. Aside from Mog and Jimmy, there were Lisette, Gabrielle, Philippe, Noah, Garth and Etienne. Maybe some would argue that like herself, most of them were not entirely pure, but they stood up for right when it was needed.

Belle heard the sound of wood splintering, then the comforting tread of heavy boots on the stairs. It was all over now: she and Jimmy could go home very soon, and she could start her new life.