Moriarty (19 page)

“No, sir,” Billy Jacobs said, subdued and ashen-faced.

“No, sir, indeed, Bill; and what should I do with you?”

“I plead for mercy, Professor. We were told that you had gone, left us all in the lurch …”

“And you believed that? You truly believed that I would do such a thing …Me?” He thumped his chest with a balled fist. “Me, the one who has stood for you over so many years? You believed this tissue, this insubstantial story? You believed it, with no scrap of evidence to substantiate it, to prove it, Billy?” A pause for breath, then, “I am ashamed of you!” The sentence was delivered as though it had been cast down on the floor at Billy's ungrateful feet.

“Idle Jack can be most persuasive, Professor. He had both me and my brother convinced that you'd had to flee, never to return.”

“And nobody converted you otherwise?”

“There were so many, Professor; so many had the same story; we became totally sure that you had gone.”

“Well, it's true that I had to flee, but only for a few seasons. You should know I'd never leave my family for good. Not me.” He made a big shrugging movement, as if trying to physically rid himself of blame. “Now I am back. What say you to that?”

“You must know, Professor, that now I know you are back all I'll
want is to serve you as before. I'm sure my brother Bert will do likewise. I beg to be invited back into the family.”

Moriarty's hand went to his cheek, drawing the right thumbnail from just below the eye to the jawline as he grunted. “What do you think, Bert Spear?” he asked, his eyes so intense in fervour that Spear was forced to look away. “Should we take him back, or cast him further into the darkness he has chosen?”

“I think that depends, Professor.”

“Depends?”

“On what surety he can give.”

“Aye, that's a fair way,” he agreed, turning once more to Jacobs. “Billy, our intelligence has it that you were present when Sal Hodges died in Bedford Square, in Idle Jack Idell's house. Would you like to tell me about that?”

“What can I tell you, sir?”

“Don't be a fool, Billy. Who did it? Who did the killing? You?”

“Not me, sir. No. Strike me dumb if I did. I was flabbergasted! Distressed, for she was a proper lady, Sal.” His eyes roamed from side to side, looking around the room as if for a way of escape. “Made me sick as a cat what happened.”

“If not you, then, Bill, who?”

“Why, who else? Idle Jack himself of course.”

“You were there?”

“I was. Saw it all—well, most of it all—and there was nothing I could do. If I'd been able, I'd have saved her, but when Sir Jack's temper is frayed there's no reasoning with him.”

“Why was she there in the first place, Billy?”

“There was a message come in the afternoon that Sally Hodges wanted to see Sir Jack. On a matter of great importance, it said. So word was passed back that he would see her at six.”

“And she arrived? You saw her come to the house?”

“I did, Professor, yes …”

“And…?”

“I let her in and showed her upstairs. Jack has his office up in what used to be the withdrawing room, up there, second storey. Big room, all done up like a tart's parlour. He has little real taste, Idle Jack. Not like you, Professor…”

“Enough of the flannel, Billy. There's no need for it.”

“Sorry, guv'nor.”

Spear could see that Jacobs was frightened—what in the Bible they called sore afraid. Indeed, he thought to himself that Billy Jacobs was sorely sore afraid. Sore afraid enough to piss himself.

“You took her upstairs?”

“I did, and was concerned for her.”

“Why so?”

“She had become so reduced, sir. Lost all her sparkle; become dowdy even. It was like she had slid from favour and didn't look over clean, if you follow me.”

Moriarty nodded. “But Jack greeted her, welcomed her in?”

“He did, yes. Said it was good to see her and even asked after you.”

Moriarty grunted. “After me?”

“He said, ‘It's good to see you, Sal Hodges, and how's the Professor? I hear he's been listening to the music in Vienna.'”

“Really? He actually said that about me and Vienna?”

“Those were his words, Professor.”

“And what had she to say to that?”

“She said you were well and back in London.”

“And how did he take that news?”

“He said he already knew you were back, sir, and he was hoping to talk to you.”

“And they were comfortable together?”

“Perfectly. He bade Sal be seated, asked if she would care for a glass of something, but she said no. Said she'd rather talk.”

“Mm-hmm. So what did they talk about?”

“This is where it becomes difficult, sir, because Sir Jack asked me to leave the room.”

“So you heard none of the conversation?”

“I didn't say that. I said I was asked to leave the room.” A tiny part of the old Billy Jacobs's sparkle was back.

“Go on then.”

“As I was leaving, I heard her say that she had something that would be of great interest. It was about some girl she had working in her house.”

“In Sal's house, in the Haymarket?”

“That was the meaning, and I saw Sir Jack stiffen. He's been finding ways of getting into your houses, Professor. Begging your pardon, he's taken over some of them. Little gold mines, he says they are, and he's been trying to find a way into the Haymarket house. I know that to my certain knowledge.”

“So you stayed, listening, outside the door?” Moriarty raised a hand to cover the lower part of his face, to hide his smile at Billy knowing to his certain knowledge.

“I did my best. Those doors are fearsome solid, Professor. I could hear little.”

“Just what did you hear?”

“She said she had this secret, but it would cost pretty.”

“You heard that clearly. That Sal wanted money?”

“I don't think just money. I think she wanted money and favours. Position, I would guess. She was after a good place in Jack's family.”

The Professor nodded. “And they fell out over this?”

“She wouldn't tell him what it was, her secret. And he wouldn't set a fee or the promise of whatever she wished. They were at loggerheads, screaming at each other within fifteen minutes.”

Spear saw Billy Jacobs's fear again: His hands were shaking so much he had to cover one with the other and hold them down, hard, on the table.

“And what were they screaming?”

“She called him a louse, a brandy-nosed counter-jumper—you know, Sir Jack has two grocer's shops, one in Hackney and another in Pimlico; he's very touchy about that, being in trade. He was calling her a Drury Lane vestal and they were going at it hammer and tongs. I become concerned.”

“At the shouting?”

“Sir, Idle Jack's temper is …how can I put it…?”

“Volatile?”

“That would be one way”—unsure of what volatile meant—“Then I heard blows. I think she struck his face. That worried me greatly. Then there was this ghastly noise. A choking …I didn't think, just put my shoulder to the door, barged in …”

Billy Jacobs, eyes downcast, shook his tousled head violently, and, Spear noted, clenched his fists so that the knuckles were drained of blood.

“And, Billy?” Moriarty asked, still quiet, pitched low, in almost a throaty whisper.

“And I was too late, Professor. Jack was enraged, face scarlet and the veins on his neck standing out, contorted. He had her at arm's length, holding her by the throat, her on her knees, Sal. When he looked towards me I thought he'd do me an' all. His look was terrible. Then he just took his hands off her throat and she fell like a child's tupp'ny rag doll. Crumpled on the floor.”

“And you still didn't know what the quarrel was about?”

“It was about neither one giving way to the other. She wanted to sell her secret about a girl in her house; and he wouldn't make any promises of payment, or whatever else she wanted.”

“And he told you to get rid of the body?”

“He turned to look at me and let her fall—she flopped down like a sack of feathers chucked on the floor. He looked suffused with anger, if that's the right word; it was coming out of his face, out of the skin. And he said to me, ‘Clear up the mess, Billy. Now. Do it now. Clear it out. The rubbish.'”

“So you got Rouster Bates and Sidney Streeter to go out and lay her in a lodging? The lodging dodge?”

“That was about it.”

“You obeyed him?”

“You don't argue with Sir Jack, Professor. Jack's mighty persuasive.”

It seemed that death had come to Sal's half sister in a crawling, even trivial way, unexpected and unsought. Sal had said that Sarah was hot-tempered, and he knew of Jack Idell's reputation. “Jack will go mad at people at the drop of a coin,” someone had once told him.

“You don't argue with me, either, Billy.” He looked hard and severely at Jacobs.

“Just give me the chance, Professor. You'll not regret it. Just one more chance.”

Moriarty looked up at Spear and gave him a nod, as if to say “we'll talk later”; then he put back his head and called, “Sal! Sally Hodges,” so Sal drifted into the room, coming from the bedroom, her hair down and hanging over her shoulders, this lovely red-gold canopy, as though she carried a burning flame down her back, wearing the white working dress she had hung up on her return from Rugby, her face ruddy and full of life.

“Hallo, Billy,” she said, her eyes lighting up—sparkling.

“Jesus!” Billy Jacobs hissed. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” There was a general intake of breath.

“It was her half sister you saw topped by Idle Jack.” And Moriarty laughed, a full-bellied laugh, then looked at Terremant and told him to take young Jacobs downstairs. “Give him a pistol shot,” he said, which meant give him a drink. “Make him comfortable for the night. Keep him close.” He told Lee Chow to go as well, but bade Albert Spear to stay behind.

“We will give him one chance, Albert. Feed him, make him happy, then tomorrow send him off to find his brother.” He nodded. “I'll need to talk with him again. But in the meantime, tell him to get his brother and return to the fold. Talk to him. Talk about what else he knows. How Jack gets information concerning me and our family.” This was, of course, a double-edged command, for Spear, like the others, was also suspect as a spy in their midst. So Moriarty added, “Keep tabs on him, mind. We don't want him among us spying for Idle Jack.”

When Spear had gone, the Professor returned to his bedroom where Sal waited for him and they had much sport, both out of bed and in—a joyous and rewarding night, and they drank the best part of a bottle of brandy between them, which kept them warm. During a rest from their lovemaking, Sal read the Tarot for him and couldn't understand why the Hanged Man came up in each of her three readings.

When at last they slept, Sal dreamed of strong men working, digging the ground with spades, while birds sang contentedly. But Moriarty dreamed he was out on a heath in a huge and dreadful storm, like the one experienced by King Lear in Shakespeare's play; and he was enshrined in teeming rain, to the sound of cracking thunder, and
rent by forked lightning gouging at the black sky. And he shouted Shakespeare's words—“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout, Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!”

He danced in the storm, and with him were six young girls, dressed only in cotton shifts, soaked, dancing with him, wrestling him into the short sopping grass.

And when he woke, Moriarty found his manhood huge and strong, like a bold neddy cudgel, so that he had to wake Sal to ease the pain of it.

A
T BREAKFAST
, M
ORIARTY
explained to Sal that he would have to be out all day, though he didn't tell her he was to lunch with Joey Coax the photographer. Moriarty was always careful and rarely discussed his family business in front of others; the two boys were there, in the room, serving the chops and eggs, pouring the strong tea, and passing around bread and toast, making sure Moriarty had the Gentleman's Relish to hand—very partial to the Gentleman's Relish was Moriarty, particularly with chops.

Only after they went out did Moriarty tell Sal that he would be back here at the house by six in the evening when he had a meeting with Carbonardo, Ben Harkness, and others, “to discuss Idle Jack's future,” as he put it. “But say nothing,” he cautioned her, not wanting his closest lieutenants to know his immediate plans.

Sal said she would probably go down to the Haymarket house, and he told her to have a care, to take someone with her, maybe that Harry Judge, Spear's man.

He sipped another cup of tea. Then—

“Sal, my dear, your half sister, Sarah. Do you want a proper burial
for her? Perhaps have her taken back to Hendred to be buried in the churchyard there? If you'd like that, I can arrange it, and for you to be at the funeral.”

Sal asked if she could think about it, and he nodded, knowing at moments like this, relatives needed time to adjust to the grief of parting.

“While we are talking of Sarah,” he went on casually, like an aside, “Billy Jacobs had this story—you may have heard him—that Sarah had come posing as you and told Jack Idell there was some secret to do with a girl in the Haymarket house. Your house, Sal. What d'you make of that? What would be worth passing on to the rapscallion Idle Jack from your house? A girl? Something not quite right, possibly? Any ideas?”

Of course she had no idea. “Sarah was good at making up stories. She had a romantic turn of mind. Sly with it, mind you. I wouldn't put it past her making up some tale about a lost well-born, moneyed girl in the house, worth thousands, trying to sell it to Jack. She listened a lot, must have heard the stories going round about you leaving, having to flee the country from that Sherlock Holmes and Inspector Crow.