Death of a Chimney Sweep (12 page)

Alfie took two seconds to think. Every exit was blocked except one.

He put the skull back into his shirt and, before Grimston had crossed the floor, Alfie began to climb the chimney for the second time that morning.

Alfie now understood why master chimney sweeps lit fires under their chimney sweeping boys.

Fear has a great effect.

Alfie climbed that chimney as if it was a nut tree in a park. Legs, arms, knees, elbows, hands, feet, all worked as smoothly as a machine, each one of them propelling him up. The soot was not
bothering him so much now – perhaps he was used to it, or fear of what Grimston would do to him had banished everything else. Suddenly he was in the main chimney. He would not go left or
right, but just straight up – straight up to the roof. There had been a look on the man’s face that spelt murder.

Alfie kept his head tilted upwards as he climbed, desperately looking for a hint of light coming from the sky. It’s not a big house, he was thinking. Only three storeys high. There
won’t be any more chimney flues, he thought. The servants must sleep in the attics and no one would have bothered putting in fireplaces for them.

Still, thought Alfie, I must be about three-quarters of the way up now. Soon I might even see a bit of light above me. He climbed steadily. The idea of arriving at the top and being out under
the sky was a great spur to him.

And then he thought of Grimston.

What would the man be doing? Not waiting patiently in the kitchen; that was sure.

A picture flashed into his mind of Mutsy, the great rat hunter. When Mutsy knew that a rat was in a wall, he became as patient as any cat. He would lie there for hours if necessary, waiting and
watching, and the second the rat made its appearance he would seize it by the neck.

That’s what Grimston would do. Wait for him on the roof until he came out of the chimney.

At last, it began to grow lighter. Soon he would be out. Alfie told himself he could be a match for Grimston – ducking around chimneys, slithering down sloping roofs. The way that he was
feeling now, he just didn’t care.

The chimney pot was a tight squeeze, but eventually he popped out.

He crouched for a moment, taking in a few deep breaths and looking all around him. There seemed to be no sign of Grimston. As fast as he could safely move, he made his way across the rooftop. He
knew where he was going. Only a few days ago he had stood at the corner of St Martin’s Lane and watched Joe come along the same route. If only he had kept hold of him then, had forced him to
tell what he had seen, had not allowed him to go back to that house again, if only he had done
something
. . .

But it was no good thinking about that now – wondering what it was that Joe had actually seen, wondering why the sweeping boy had ended up on the slab in Bow Street police station. His
task now was to bring those human bones to Inspector Denham.

Alfie slithered quickly down the roof and peered over the edge. There was no one on the pavement except a blind man sitting hopelessly against the wall, a begging bowl beside him. Alfie took
hold of the iron pipe leading from the gutter and slid down to the pavement. With a quick look around he bolted into St Martin’s Lane and turned down into New Row.

Soon be in Covent Garden, he told himself. He had to wait for a moment to cross Bedfordbury as a huge lumbering bus drawn by six horses made its way across. He glanced behind him several times
while he was waiting, but there was no sign of the heavy figure of Master Grimston.

The bus moved on and Alfie darted across. Suddenly a cart came flying up the road. Wheels rumbling, cart swaying, Grimston was standing up, brutally flogging his poor horse. With only a second
to spare, Alfie made the pavement and began running wildly.

Another crossing, but this time there was nothing in the way and Alfie shot across. Now only King Street to go and he would be in the piazza in front of Covent Garden. He would be safe there.
The fog had disappeared and the streets were crowded. The piazza would be full of people strolling around; Grimston and his cart would not be able to go at more than walking speed.

Grimston kept close behind Alfie. He was ruthless, slashing with his whip to left and right, and people scattered in front of him. Alfie kept running, though he had a stitch in his side. He was
tempted to dodge down an alleyway, but that would be a waste of time and he was desperate to get to Inspector Denham.

He looked back over his shoulder. Grimston was fiddling with a rope – he seemed to be tying it. Alfie saw Tom standing beside a vegetable stall, looking at him open-mouthed.

The next thing Alfie knew he was caught in a choking noose. Grimston had snared him with his rope! By some miracle he managed to stay on his feet, but he could not move without being choked.
Alfie stopped dead as the cart came nearer.

Then, a large turnip came flying through the air. It caught Grimston just on the side of his head. He dropped the rope and roared his fury, clutching his cheek. Alfie grinned. Tom always had a
deadly aim!

Alfie slipped the rope from his neck, coiled it over his shoulder and ran. There was no chance of Grimston catching him now. He had managed to get the wheel of his cart entangled with a heavy
wagon loaded with turnips. That will keep him there for a while, thought Alfie, listening to the angry shouts as he ran, weaving his way in and out of the stalls. By the time he reached Bow Street
police station he was soaked in sweat and almost fainting from exhaustion. He barely managed to push the door open and stumble inside.

PC Fairley, PC 24 and PC 29 were in the outer office but Inspector Denham’s office was open and empty. Alfie was taken aback for a moment, but he could not afford to wait. He delved into
his shirt and pulled out the skull and two leg bones.

‘Skeleton of a missing boy, apprentice to Master Grimston,’ he gasped. ‘Found concealed in a chimney. Name of Isaac.’

CHAPTER 22

G
RIMSTON

Instantly PC Fairley sprang into action.

‘Grimston,’ he growled. ‘Well, this will give us a reason to arrest that fellow. You, boy, where can I find him?’

Alfie was so surprised that he could not answer for a minute. Was this the same Constable Fairley who had tried to convict him of Joe’s murder by writing down an unfair confession? And now
he was all ready to arrest someone else just because of what Alfie had said. Alfie gaped like a fish, but then gulped and said hastily, ‘These must be Isaac’s bones. He was chasing me.
He knew I was bringing the bones to the police. Isaac was one of his boys – he disappeared.’

‘We’ll get him for murder – for two murders. He probably murdered the boy that you found as well,’ said PC Fairley eagerly. ‘Leave the bones there,’ he said
to Alfie. ‘Let’s go! PC 24 you stay here and tell Inspector Denham what’s happening. PC 29, you come with me and we’ll arrest this man.’ A moment later they were out
in the road running through the market.

‘There he is!’ shouted Alfie, pointing to the cart. The turnip dealer, a heavily-built country man, had grabbed Grimston by the coat and was shaking him like a rat. Alfie waited for
a moment, enjoying the shrill sound of the two police whistles blowing. Two more constables joined them, running out from the Covent Garden marketplace. Alfie was tempted to join them but resisted.
He drew back. He would keep out of Grimston’s way, he decided. His excitement was beginning to die down and doubts were coming into his mind. He looked around. No point in going home. No one
would be there. Tom had disappeared, but it wasn’t Tom that he wanted to talk to. He needed a cool, keen brain to help him to disentangle all the twists and turns of this mystery.

The last of the pious ladies who attended morning service at St Martin-in-the-Fields were just disappearing when Alfie joined Sammy on the steps of the church. There was a
satisfactory amount of coins on the cap beside him, but for once Alfie did not bother to count them. He was hungry – it seemed a long time since that cake the night before – but he was
used to being hungry and at the moment he had more important things on his mind than food.

‘Where’s Mutsy?’ he asked.

‘Tom took him a few minutes ago,’ said Sammy. ‘He said that there was a Punch and Judy show on the steps of St Paul’s at Covent Garden. He thought he could get a few
pence if he and Mutsy did some tricks when the audience moved away from the puppets. Told me that Grimston was chasing you. Told me about the turnip, too.’ Sammy chuckled at the thought.

‘Let’s go into the church,’ said Alfie. He tumbled the coins into his pocket, clapped the cap back onto Sammy’s head, grabbed his brother’s arm and guided him up
the steps and into the church.

It was quite dark inside – dark, and warm from the glowing, coal-filled heater beside the altar and from the people who had prayed there for the last hour. An elderly sacristan was
quenching the candles with a small metal hood and he looked around enquiringly when the two boys came in.

‘Out you go,’ he said sternly, once he had seen them properly.

Alfie hesitated. He must look a terrible sight – his clothes were filthy, stained with soot, and no doubt his face was the same. He was about to retreat, but then found his courage. This
church was an ideal place for a chat with Sammy – warm and quiet and, above all, he was safe from Grimston here. There was always the possibility that the man might have been released by the
police by now. And if he were, the first thing he would do would be to come looking for Alfie.

Alfie snatched off his cap, and took off Sammy’s also. ‘Is it all right if me and my brother come in to say a prayer, like?’ he asked respectfully.

The sacristan frowned, surveying Alfie from head to toe, but then smiled as he looked at Sammy. ‘Our little songbird,’ he said. ‘Come in, little bird, come into God’s
house.’

Sammy nudged Alfie, but respectfully answered, ‘Thank you, sir.’

Alfie steered him into a seat, glad that the church was so dark, so the sacristan couldn’t see the grin that kept trying to twist his mouth. Little bird, indeed! He would have fun teasing
Sammy about that sometime – but not now. Now things were very serious.

The boys sat in silence, faces turned towards the altar until the sacristan left the church. Then Alfie turned his mouth close to Sammy’s ear, urgently whispering the story of the morning,
the climb up the chimney, finding the skeleton, the arrival of Grimston in the old lady’s kitchen, the chase through the London streets and finally the constables’ pursuit of
Grimston.

Sammy nodded from time to time, but at the end he said, ‘It don’t make sense.’

‘Why not?’ Alfie felt annoyed. He had doubts himself, but he had hoped that Sammy would assure him that the case was now solved, that Grimston would be put in prison and that Alfie
would be free from his fear that the master chimney sweep would hunt him down and murder him. ‘Why don’t it make sense?’ he asked aggressively.

‘None of it makes sense.’ Sammy sounded irritated. ‘Use your loaf, Alfie! How could Grimston murder a boy and stuff him up a chimney? You was going on about how hard it was for
you to get up there. I bet Grimston would make three or four of you. You said he was a big brute of a fellow. He couldn’t get up a chimney to save his life, I’d reckon.’

‘That’s true,’ said Alfie. ‘I was sort of thinking that myself, but then I thought Grimston might have strangled him, carried him onto the roof and stuffed the body down
the . . .’ His voice trailed away. Even to himself, this did not sound likely.

‘More likely this chimney sweeping boy, Isaac . . . more likely he died in the chimney. Died of breathing in the smoke and the soot. You yourself was telling Tom all about the number of
boys that die in chimneys.’

‘True enough,’ said Alfie, feeling discouraged.

‘Must have been there for about a year – likely the rooks ate the flesh from him,’ said Sammy thoughtfully. ‘But it don’t make sense. Why didn’t nobody guess?
A body stuffed into a chimney! The smoke would have gone pouring back down into the rooms again. No fire could burn at all if a chimney had a boy wedged into it – don’t care what you
say, Alfie, it just don’t make sense to me.’

‘No, it don’t.’ Alfie sat very quietly, looking ahead at the small red light that burned near the altar. He heard his brother chuckle quietly beside him.

‘Think!’ urged Sammy. ‘Remember what the cook told Sarah about the empty house. Remember this afternoon when you went to Bow Street police station. You got a surprise,
didn’t you?’

Alfie stared at his brother. Sammy had a smile on his face, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, his blind eyes staring impassively ahead – looking into his own mind.

‘When you told me about the chimney that hadn’t been cleaned, I started to work out what had happened,’ said Sammy.

Suddenly Alfie understood everything. ‘They’d have had to call for the sweep every day,’ he said slowly, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together, just to make sure that
everything made sense. ‘No one could have lit a fire below a blocked chimney like that.’