Night's Child (29 page)

B
en Fisher was seated across the table from Ralph Tibbett and he’d just finished mopping up the gravy on his plate with a crust of bread.

“You liked that, eh?” Ralph beamed at him.

“It was good. That’s the second beef pie I’ve had this week,” added Ben, who thought that might impress Ralph.

“That so?” Ralph took a silver case from his pocket and removed a slender cigar.

“The truant officer bought me one,” said Ben.

“Really?” He had Ralph’s interest now. “I’ve never heard of a truant officer standing a boy to a beef pie. When did that happen?”

Ben picked up something in Ralph’s tone and he began to feel uneasy. He’d been presenting his story to make himself look clever, but he thought it unwise to let drop that Murdoch was a police officer.

“He came to the house looking for Aggie.”

“What exactly did he say?” Ralph clipped his cigar and lit it with a match.

“Aggie fainted in class and Miss Slade our teacher was worried about her so she sent this man. But Aggie weren’t home so he couldn’t talk to her.”

“Talk to her about what?”

Ralph held the cigar between his teeth, which made him look as if he was grinning, which he wasn’t. The boy shrank down in the seat.

“I don’t know. Just why she’d fainted, I suppose.”

“Does Aggie ever have good old chins with you, Ben? You know, sister to brother heart to hearts?”

“Not our Aggie. Pa says she don’t have two words at a stretch in her head. She’s a quiet one.”

Ralph was studying him and Ben began to find it hard to breathe. “Didn’t she ever mention that she helps us out as well?”

“No, sir, never.”

“Well she does and does very good too. She models for my employer. She’s a pretty girl, your sister, and he uses her in certain photographs. You know, dressed like a shepherdess or an angel looking down on a baby. Did she never show you the pictures?”

“No, sir. I ain’t seen anything.”

“You wouldn’t fib to me, would you, Ben? These pictures are what’s considered private property. Some people want them all to themselves. They don’t want anybody gawking at their own private pictures. You can understand that, can’t you, Ben?”

The boy had no idea what he was talking about but he nodded vigorously.

“Did this man from the school mention pictures?”

“No, sir. He just said that Aggie was in trouble and he wanted to help her.”

Ralph knocked off some ash on the edge of the table and Ben saw it land on the bare plank floor. There was no carpet, no cloth on the table either. Ralph had said that his employer was a wealthy man but nothing about his apartment revealed that. In fact, Ben would have thought he wasn’t much better off than they were by the look of things. He wished he hadn’t agreed to come, that he was safely in his desk at school, making foghorn noises. He’d been practising and he thought Miss Slade would be pleased by his rendition. But he had been here with Ralph since this morning and, except for the beef pie, it had been a boring time. He’d been left to wander around the studio. He could stand boredom, however, he was used to it, but since Ralph had returned, the atmosphere had changed. He hadn’t raised his voice or looked angry, but Ben’s heart was pounding. He scurried around in his mind trying to find the words to appease him. What did he want to hear? Everything he said seemed to make matters worse.

“What kind of trouble is Aggie in, Ben?”

“I don’t know, sir. Maybe she has a bun in the oven.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Momma used to faint when she had a bun in the oven.”

Ralph grimaced. “And how many buns did your mother bake before she passed away?”

Ben wasn’t sure what he meant. Ralph scowled, his voice impatient. “Babies. How many babies did your mother have?”

“At least three that I remember. The last one got stuck in her belly, which was why she died.”

“Indeed. How tragic. But Aggie isn’t married. How could she have a baby inside her? You know you have to be married in a church before that happens, don’t you, Ben?”

In fact, Ben knew that babies were made in a hot bed where they incubated like eggs and that if a girl grew fat and had a baby without having a husband, she was a wicked girl and would go to hell. Martha had explained it all to him one day. She had been instructing him on the necessity of not touching a girl until they were married in the eyes of God because if he did he would go to hell and have his member chopped off by the devil.

At that moment the door behind Ralph opened and a chubby man with a red face came in. Close behind him was a young woman whose fair hair was hanging loose and unbrushed about her shoulders. To Ben’s intense discomfort she was not wearing proper clothes, only a red silk gown that gaped open at the neck and looked as if it might come undone at any minute. Ben had never seen such a garment before but he guessed this was what well-to-do ladies wore in their bedrooms. Martha had told him as much on one of her infrequent visits after she had gone into service. She said her mistresses both wore silk gowns in their bedrooms and no stockings or shoes. They had thick carpets to walk on so they didn’t get cold.

“What’s this about being married? He’s a bit young to have a trouble and strife, isn’t he?” The man’s voice was loud and should have sounded friendly but didn’t. He had a funny way of pronouncing his words that Ben had heard occasionally at the market. He was from over the pond, he knew that. Ralph almost stood up.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Who’s this woeful scrap of badness?”

“This is young Ben Fisher that I told you about. He’s just had some good grub and we was having a chin about this and that.”

Ben knew at once that Ralph was afraid of this new man and that he had to be even more careful what he said. Then to his dismay, the young woman walked over to Ralph and, plopping herself into his lap, kissed him hard on the lips.

“Hello, Renaldo, my pet. I missed you.”

Ralph gave a warning glance in Ben’s direction and the girl giggled. “Oops, sorry. I forgot…Mr. Tibbett and I are long-lost cousins,” she said to Ben. “What you might call kissing cousins.”

Her words were slurry, and except that she was so young and clean and in a red silk gown, Ben would have thought for certain she was hickey.

The man leaned and caught the girl by the wrist. Ben saw her wince but she didn’t protest.

“Clara, my dear. Go and make us all a nice pot of char. Be quick. A very important customer is due in an hour.”

She got up promptly and walked to the door, staggering and almost colliding with a brass birdcage that was standing in the corner. There was no sign of a bird, Ben had made sure when he came into the room.

Not even waiting until the door had closed behind her, the man spoke to Ralph.

“Miss Clara is trying my patience.”

Ralph nodded. “She’s certainly becoming a handful.”

The other man put his forefinger against his temple. “A note to self. Do not allow Clara to have any of her, er, her cough syrup until the evening.” He smiled at Ben. “In case you’re wondering, little titch, I find it helps to say, ‘Make a note to self.’ Keeps everything tidy in my idea pot.” He tapped himself again a couple of times. “I’ve got a lot of business matters to keep straight. Now what were we saying? Oh yes, the boy getting married.”

Ralph smiled a false smile. “What we were talking about was actually Ben’s sister, Agnes. Seems like a truant officer was visiting the house because Aggie was taken ill at school. According to our laddie here, this man says Aggie’s in some kind of trouble and he wants to find her so he can help.”

“That so?” Uninvited, he picked up Ralph’s cigarette case and helped himself to a cigarillo. Ralph lit a match for him.

“Did he say what kind of trouble, young Ben?”

“No, he didn’t, sir.”

“Aggie fainted in class and Ben was worried that she might be having a baby, which was why I was explaining to him that that weren’t possible. Aggie ain’t got a husband.”

The man drew on his cigarillo and watched the red-hot ash eat into the paper. “That’s right, never mind her being so young, she’s what the reverend would describe as ‘pure.’” He chuckled. “At least I hope she is. I can’t go around photographing girls to be angels if they aren’t pure. That right, Mr. Tibbett?”

Ralph was lighting up another cigar and Ben could have sworn his hand shook. Without even being conscious of it, the boy eased himself away from the table so he would be free to run if a fight broke out.

“Tell me, young fellow, did this helpful officer have a name?”

Ben felt a shiver of fear run up his back. “I don’t remember, sir.”

“What did he look like then? Was he an old dodgy codger dressed in a black suit?”

“Oh no, sir. He wasn’t old.”

“But he had a beard for sure and a bald head?”

“No, sir. No beard, but he did have a moustache and he wasn’t bald at all. He had wavy hair.”

“A carrot top, I’ll wager?”

Ben laughed. He seemed to be pleasing the man now. “Not at all. His hair was dark brown, sort of like mine.”

“Ah. Was he as tall as me?”

“Not much taller, sir. About as big as Mr. Tibbett.”

The man nodded at Renaldo. “Anybody you recognize?”

“No. Do you?”

“Maybe. Then again there are a lot of coves look like that. The point is if they’re sending truant officers to the house, it’s time we found Aggie ourselves. Poor girl might need our help and I’ve come to look on her as a daughter.” He felt in his inside pocket and took out a paper bag. “Ben, I’m partial to sweeties and this bag is full of them. Here.” He shoved one across the table to the boy. “Where might we find your sister, Ben?”

“I don’t know, sir. She hasn’t been home for the last two nights. Nor at school neither.”

If telling this got Aggie into trouble but meant Ben had less of it, he didn’t mind.

“Sometimes we have to work late into the night,” the man continued. “In which case your sister has been known to stay here with my good wife in charge. But she wasn’t working yesterday.” He tapped his finger. “Think, Ben. Where might she be staying?”

“They have a sister who’s in service,” interjected Tibbett. “Didn’t you say she was with her, Ben?”

“Yes, sir. That’s where she is most likely.”

“That so? Where’s your sister work, Ben?”

Ben hardly paused. It was one thing to risk Aggie’s ire, another entirely to aggravate Martha. He had sworn with a blood oath, painfully inflicted, that he would never tell anybody where she was.

“I don’t know. sir. She didn’t want Pa dunning her for her wages. She told Aggie but not me.”

“Any guesses then?”

“I think the house is one of the grand ones up in the end of the city. Where the bridge is.”

“Bloor Street, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bloor Street wasn’t far, not far enough at all, but it was the first place he thought of.

“You’re not fibbing me, are you, Ben?”

Ben looked him in the eyes in the way he had perfected over the years. “No, sir. Never. I’d tell you if I knew.”

The man grunted. “All right then.” He leaned forward and wiped off a speck of pie crust from the side of Ben’s mouth. “I can’t abide fibbers, little titch. I’d never hire anybody to work for me if I didn’t think I could trust them. Honest and close-mouthed, that’s the kind of boy I like. Are you that kind of boy, young Ben?”

He hadn’t moved his finger and he was pressing it hard into Ben’s cheek. His eyes were the colour of the lake in winter.

“Yes, sir.”

He let him go and held out the bag of candies. “Have a sweetie.”

“What are we going to do about the girl?” Ralph asked, and again Ben trembled at his tone of voice.

“Do? We’ll do nothing. She’s probably tucked away nice and safe with her loving skin and blister. I don’t think we need worry. She’s a quiet girl. Isn’t that right, little Ben?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man shook the bag of sweets. “If Aggie shows up at your house and you come and tell me, or better still bring her with you, you can have the whole bag.”

Ben made himself look happy about that.

The man scrutinized him for a moment, then he said, “Now, my lad, did Renaldo, that’s what we call him here, did he tell you about our little business proposition?”

Tibbett answered, “No, I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Well then, here’s the story, young Ben. A gentleman we know likes to see photographs of boys who are all dressed up like princes. He’s an odd cove, I’ll give you that, but who am I to judge? He’ll only look at boys that are small like you and refined, just like you. Is there any boy at school that you could bring over for a test? I warn you, the gentleman nor me will not tolerate any rowdy rough boys who’ll boast to everybody what they’ve been up to. The fellow must be a quiet sort, bit on the shy side if you like. Like princes are. And he must be able to keep a close mouth, just like you. This gentleman is very particular about his affairs being private. Now if you can bring us such a lad, young titch, you will get a whole bag of sweeties between you and a dollar for you alone. How’s that suit you then, good deal, wouldn’t you say, Renaldo?”

“The best. I wish I got as much when I was a calf.”

“So, Ben, old son, is there any lad you know of who might suit us?”

Ben thought. He didn’t have any friends to speak of and the only one he ever really got along with was Emmanuel Hart and he wasn’t at all small and refined. But there was a boy. He was younger, small and dark-haired, and he hung on the fringes of the playgroup and the groups of rowdy boys just the way Ben did.

“There’s a boy I could bring. I take him home from school sometimes. His ma works because he doesn’t have a pa.”

“Poor laddie. That might make him all the more willing to earn a bit of dash to help his ma. What’s his name, this cove?”

“He’s from Wales. He’s got a funny name. It’s Alwyn Jones.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

B
y the end of the day, Murdoch was tired and discouraged. He felt like a dog in a revolving cage, plodding on but going nowhere. He’d had the satisfaction of hauling Fisher out of bed but the man was so full of liquor, he was incoherent. Murdoch had only managed to shake out of him that he didn’t know where Martha or Aggie were, and he had to accept that.