Death at Hungerford Stairs (28 page)

‘She wanted to be a bit stronger so that she could go,' Dickens finished for her.

‘That's it,' said Zeb.

‘I feel it's my fault, Mr Dickens – I should have come back sooner.'

‘I should've checked on her – I could've just popped upstairs. And the back door was open.' Zeb was as distressed as his wife.

‘I do not think you could have prevented it – you would have to leave her sometime. She would have continued to take some food and when you went out or were busy she would have gone. Could she have gone home?'

‘We thought of that. I just said to Zeb that we should try.'

‘I will come with you.' They would have to see. Perhaps she would go home to where her boy's things were. Perhaps she thought that she would die there. The alternatives were too dreadful. To think of her wandering alone through these streets, he could hardly bear it. He saw from their faces that Zeb and Effie thought the same. And they did not know how long she had been gone.

They hurried to the mean tenement where she and Robin had lived in their one room. The landlady, Mrs Bookless – and she was, apart from her rent books – a blowsy, grimy visaged creature who smelt of gin, and worse, couldn't recall when she'd last seen 'er but they could look if they wanted. She'd better go with them. With some reluctance she gave them a key. Dickens insisted even though she protested that it want right. 'Oo were they, anyway? 'Ow did she know wot they were after? As if, thought Dickens, Mrs Hart had anything to steal. If she had, the landlady would have had it already. She just wanted to be in on it. Ghoul, he thought. Mrs Bookless had to give way. The gent was a bit frightening, she thought. Lawyer, pr'aps. Cheeky beggar. 'Er own 'ouse, too. 'Oo did he think 'e was? Eyes like steel, she thought, quailing a little before his fierce stare. She looked after them greedily. Best go in – she dint want no trouble.

They climbed the rickety stairs to the top of the house. Effie looked at Dickens. She was afraid of what they might find. So was he. They waited, listening. There was no sound but their own breathing. He heard Zeb just behind him on the top step draw in his breath as if in preparation for something terrible, then he heard the breath let out again raggedly. Effie seemed to breathe in short, anxious gasps. Dickens did not know if he were breathing at all.

‘Shall we try the door, Mr Dickens?' Effie whispered. Her face seemed too white in the dark corridor.

Dickens reached out and turned the handle. The door was not locked. He and Effie stepped into the tiny room. The moon shone through a skylight in the roof, and they could make out a table, a couple of chairs and in the corner just the one bed. They hardly dared approach. Zeb, behind them, struck a match and lighted the candle in a saucer on the table. He held it up so that Effie and Dickens could see. The bed was empty.

‘But she's been here,' said Effie. ‘Look.'

Dickens saw that the blanket had been turned back as though someone had just risen. He noted the two pillows. They had shared this bed, he thought. And, he saw, too, the shabby brown bonnet simply left there on one pillow. Her face had rested on the pillow nearest the wall – that is where Robin had slept, he had no doubt. She had lain here. For how long? He did not know, but she had come because Robin had been here. She had wanted to be with him, and then she had gone, not knowing that she had left the hat there – or not caring.

He was angry suddenly. He turned and clattered down the stairs. Effie heard him hammering on the landlady's door. That fat-faced woman with her greedy, calculating eyes must have seen Mrs Hart – and she had let her go. The woman came to her door, angry at the noise. He saw the mouth open in the face which looked as if it were composed of dirty yeast, and he was seized with a desire to take her by the throat and shake her. Mrs Bookless stepped back, cowed, and closed her mouth.

‘You saw her. When?' He shouted at her. Effie was astonished. Mr Dickens, so polite and quietly spoken usually. But, she could see why he was angry. This woman had not cared a farthing for poor Mrs Hart and Mr Dickens knew that. Well, you only had to read the books – you knew that he cared.

Mrs Bookless opened and closed her mouth. She tried to deny it by shaking her head.

‘When?' He took a step towards her. She backed off and he felt his power over her, this fat, blowsy creature who had no doubt terrorised Mrs Hart for the rent. Mrs Bookless looked round, eyes darting. But there was nowhere to go.

‘About two hours ago. 'Ow do I know?' She was sullen. ‘I arsked 'er –'

‘For her rent?' His voice was contemptuous. ‘And you knew her son was dead, and you knew she had nothing. You must have seen the state she was in.'

‘Gotter make me livin' – thought 'er friends mighter give 'er sumthink.' She looked at Effie who had appeared in the doorway by now.

‘Yes, they did, far more than you could ever imagine. Well, I doubt she'll be back and you can examine your conscience on that matter – if you have one.' He turned and left her. Zeb was waiting in the hall and the three of them went out into the air. At least they could breathe.

Mrs Bookless's flesh ceased quivering. She was that put out. Nosy git. Lotter fuss about nothin' – none of 'is business wot she sed ter Mrs 'Art. Bleedin' cheek. She closed her front door and went back in to see what was left in the bottle. She'd 'ave a good look round termorrer - Mrs 'Art mighter left sumthink. She was entitled, want she?

In the street, they considered where to look. Effie said she would go to Mrs Feak's to ask if she knew anything. Zeb would fetch Occy – he could help search and he knew a lot of people. Someone might have seen her. Dickens would go to Crown Street and fetch Scrap. Then he had a thought.

‘We should go to St Giles's where Robin was found.' He thought of Mrs Hart lying in the bed and he imagined her dragging her way to the churchyard to lie down on that cold tombstone where they had found him. He did not know if she knew which one it was but it did not matter – she might go there.

From Moor Street they turned up Crown Street, making their way to Denamrk Street and then to the church. They went through the resurrection gate into the silent graveyard where he and Sam had seen that poor boy. He remembered how he had imagined the gentleman who had drawn the innocent boy to his side only to stab him in the heart. He felt the anger flare up again. He had to be found – the man who had taken Jemmy's and Robin's lives and, he believed, Mrs Hart's. They spread out to search. But she was not here. The tombs were still under the impassive moon. The dead were quiet. No messages from the grave. Dickens went to look at the chalk mark on that old door. The blind eyes of that crude masked face could tell him nothing. Was it at all important? He did not know.

They were ready to go their separate ways. Messages would be left at the shop if there were news of her. Dickens said he would ask Scrap to search and then he would go to Bow Street to tell the superintendent – they could leave a message there. When they looked at each other's faces they knew what the message would be. Two, three hours had gone. They would not find her alive.

At Bow Street, Rogers had reported that there were no names on the passenger list which indicated that Victorine and Michel would be sailing on the SS
Mediator
. Another blank.

‘Will we be going to Liverpool then?' asked Rogers.

‘I suppose so,' said Sam. Rogers noted the weariness in his tone. Brighton had been no good.

‘Bit o' better news, sir. Mr Wilde left a message sayin' that Mr Outfin 'ad come round. Very weak but 'e'll live, doctor said.'

Sam's face brightened a little. ‘That is good news.'

‘Yer don't think now that 'e's our man?'

‘No, I don't. I am glad about that anyway. Anything else happen?'

‘I went to that church in Golden Square but no one knew anythin' about Mamselle Victorine. She muster gone somewhere else – if she did go to church. An' I asked Stemp to keep lookin' for Tommy Titfer – 'e's bin missin' since that night Mr Dickens and Zeb went to Rats' Castle. No one's seen 'im for days. Stemp should be back soon.'

‘We meant to ask Scrap to take you to that alley where he saw the giant. Perhaps he killed Titfer. We'll do that when Stemp gets back.'

Rogers went out, leaving the superintendent pondering. Stemp would do his best. Sam remembered his outrage when they had arrested Jonas Finger over the murder of a little girl. Stemp had found the child and Sam had seen the pity and revulsion in his eyes when they had noticed the bruises. Stemp had children of his own; he had hung on to the cursing, brawling brute of a man until Finger gave in. He wondered about Titfer, a low weasly sort with a mother and a brother. If he were dead then they would suffer. He would wait for Stemp then go home to Elizabeth, and try to forget for a while the hopelessness of the search for Victorine, and, if he could, the suffering – sometimes it could be overwhelming. You felt impotent against the black tide of misery.

He bent his head to his paperwork. Reports on the three dead boys. Inspector Harker had sent him word about the inquest on Jemmy. It had been short. Harker had passed on the newspaper article which reported that Inspector Harker and Constable Parker had presented themselves, and said they had the case in hand, and were sure if they had time they could procure important evidence, and that they had a clue already. The investigation was proceeding in association with Superintendent Jones of Bow Street who was also investigating two murders which had similarities to the murder of Jemmy. The man who had found the body gave his evidence, which was not much. After a brief consultation between the coroner and jury, it was decided that the inquiry should be adjourned. It would be the same for the other two. He had managed to put off the inquest on Robin, but time was running out – a verdict of wilful murder by person or persons unknown was what he dreaded. Not unknown, he thought – just unfound. He did not want to go chasing to Liverpool, but he would have to unless they materialised at Bow Street to confess to their hideous crimes – and that, he thought gloomily, was very unlikely.

He looked at the
Standard
to see if there were any more reports about the dead boys. There had been a couple of short paragraphs on the deaths of Robin and the disfigured boy – the latter report assumed that the boy had died in the fire. Today's front page was full of news from Europe and France, giving most space to the row between the Assembly and the President, Louis Napoleon.There was a long section on the commission to be established to improve the metropolitan water supply – about time, thought Sam. The newspapers had been full of the cholera epidemic which had raged all summer. Page two was interesting. They had reproduced a letter from Charles Dickens which had been first published in
The Times
in which he argued against executions in public. Sam had to agree. He had seen the Mannings hanged and felt the horror of the baying crowd. And he wondered whether it was right to take a human life. But then he had been in court to hear Mrs Manning's screaming denunciations of British justice. She was a liar and a callous, greedy murderess. He had not pitied her when he heard what she had done to Patrick O'Connor yet when he saw her hanging form, he had turned away, and now he had to catch the murderer of children – it was impossible to forgive that, he thought.

There was a knock at the door; Rogers came in with Stemp who looked as though he had something to tell.

‘Sir, well, I don't know if it's any use
–
I 'aven't found Tommy Titfer – but I 'eard something by the way. Titfer was runnin' errands for a toff and some folk are sayin' that 'e, Titfer, was takin' boys to 'im. I thought we should see Fikey again – 'e might know more than 'e told you.'

‘Well done, Stemp – good work.'

‘Want us to bring him in?' Rogers was eager.

‘I think we might pay him a visit.' This might be something – at least it was action. ‘And I think we should go and see the boy, Scrap – he saw the giant dragging a body on the night Tommy Titfer disappeared. We need to find out if Titfer is alive or dead.'

Another knock on the door. Dickens and Scrap appeared. Something had happened.

‘Mrs Hart has vanished. I just came to tell you. Occy and Zeb are searching. We went to her lodgings. She had been there but was gone. I fear the worst. Scrap says he will help me.'

‘Stemp has just brought information about Tommy Titfer. We are just off to Fikey Chubb's shop. I need to borrow Scrap for a little while to show us where he saw the giant with the body. In the meantime, I'll let you have Feak to help. I'll need Rogers and Stemp at Chubb's but we will come back to you as soon as we can. Where do you want to meet Scrap?'

‘At Zeb's. I'll go back there now. We have looked at St Giles's but she wasn't there – we will probably have another look. Scrap, we will see you at Zeb's in –'

‘Half an hour. It won't take long will it, Scrap?'

‘Nah, I remember where I seen 'im.'

They went out together through the usual crowd. Sam looked at Dickens. They remembered the night they had taken Mrs Hart to Zeb's and how the crowd had parted at their coming. Sam shook his head. He held Dickens back for a moment.

‘Have you thought of the river?'

Dickens looked sombrely back at him. ‘I have. I thought we might find her before –'

‘And where, that's the question.'

‘I know. Too many places to search. I will get back to Zeb's. Come, if you can.'

‘I will.'

Scrap took the three policemen through the winding alleys to the ruined house where he had hidden in wait for Poll. They went through to the alley where Nat Boney's house was in darkness. No dogs barked. Business was bad, then, thought Scrap. Good. I wonder where all them dogs went. He pointed the way that the giant had gone and went on his way to meet Dickens at Zeb's shop.