The Choir Boats (21 page)

“I don’t know, sir,” the other soldier said. “Looks like he slipped
into the garden from some other angle, and then found a route up
through the window there, sir.”

The soldiers searched Kidlington. He had a key to the lockbox.
Held tightly in Kidlington’s right hand, the hand he used to turn the
pages of the journal, was Sally’s locket. Calm until now, Kidlington
refused to surrender the locket, looking at Sally with an expression
she could not read. Kidlington had to be pinned against the wall, his
hand pried open. The corporal took pains to open the locket. Sally
saw her picture looking back at her in the lamplight. The corporal
wore a nasty look of satisfaction. “There’s trespassing, and maybe
unauthorized possession of a key to this lockbox — would that be
right, Miss? — and now burglary, in the lady’s private room, no less.
What else might you have been doing, you puttock?”

Kidlington, crying “Sally” in a hoarse voice, scuffled with the
soldiers and was marched out. He locked his gaze on Sally’s face
until he was shoved from the room. In the combination of lamplight
and moonlight, Sally thought he looked like a fallen angel.

The McDoon’s plans of departure were thrown into uncertainty.
Nexius’s anger grew, both at the breach of security and at the delay.
He was angriest at himself for being duped by Kidlington. Barnabas
and Sally were often together in the next few days, but neither knew
what to say.

Sally had barely endured the trial. Kidlington’s testimony
confused and excited her even as it plunged her into despair. He
had begged the court’s forgiveness, acknowledging the wrongness
of his actions but insisting that he had done what he had done not
to harm Sally in any way but to gain a better understanding of her
sentiments towards him.

Eyes fixed on the judge, Kidlington said, “Her anxiousness for
my well-being heightened my resolve to gain her good feeling. I
urge you, sir, and this entire court, to leave her utterly out of these
proceedings. Her good name and character should not be embroiled
in this catastrophe solely of my making. Her character far surpasses
mine.”

The judge snorted. “On that last remark, Mr. Kidlington, I think
we shall all agree. Now then, the most serious charge against you
is that of burglary. You opened the lockbox with a key that you
apparently had purloined or copied. A precious article belonging to
Miss McLeish, namely a locket containing pictures of her and her
mother, were in your hand when you were apprehended. Do you
have any explanation for this?”

“Yes, I held the locket in my hand. Indeed, I was examining it
because its contents I value not in pecuniary terms, but in another
way altogether. I had no intent to remove the locket. I intended
to replace it, along with the journal, within the lockbox, and to
leave the lockbox as I found it. I would have taken myself from the
premises close to immediately, with nothing more than I had come
with, except that I was unexpectedly discovered.”

The first blow fell: the jury found Kidlington guilty on all
counts. (The corporal felt sure he had a commendation coming,
and the prosecutor swelled with pride about the efficacy of English
law.) The second blow fell: the judge sentenced Kidlington to seven
years transportation to Australia. English law, the Law, had spoken.
Kidlington was led back to jail to await the first Sydney-bound ship.
Sally could not see — Barnabas had to help her find her footing on
the way home.

The McDoons avoided everyone but the Termuydens and Nexius.
Sally could neither eat nor sleep, even in the Gezelligheid.

“Sally,” Barnabas said. “Nothing to be done. Rum affair all
way ’round. No way to handle ’em, I’m afraid. I’ve spoken with
the Termuydens and with the judge and even that mastiff of a
prosecutor.”

Sally looked up with wild hope.

“No, my dear,” said Barnabas. “Not to get anything changed.
Can’t, you know, it’s the law. But to see if maybe you and I might
speak with Mr. Kidlington . . . in jail before we set sail for Yount.”

So Barnabas and Sally visited Kidlington, being taken to
Robbens Island on one of the sloops Sally had seen from her
window. Kidlington sat quietly as they entered, his mouth drawn,
looking nothing like the gascon he had been. Australia! The penal
colony. Many never survived that, and very few ever came back. He
trembled as he spoke. No one else was in the room; the jailer waited
outside the door.

“I am sorry, so truly sorry,” he said. “Mr. McDoon, sir. Sally . . .
Sally . . . I did not mean to hurt you, not by the end, not at all. What I
said in court was the truth. But I have not been truthful at all times.
I am most sorry about that.”

Sally reached out to take his hand, but stopped herself.

“My father did not hang himself,” said Kidlington. “He is a
squire in Shropshire, very well-respected in that part of England.
The gambling debts were mine, not his. Never gamble in Bath — they
will strip you clean! He disowned me; my entire family cast me out. I
have no brother in the medical profession, nor in Bombay ’tall. But I
did come to London like Dick Whittington, and I am in the medical
way. That is, I received a small inheritance that my father could
not hinder, and used it to study medicine, and I took employ as an
apothecary’s assistant.”

Barnabas asked, “How did you happen to be on the
Essex
then, if
you have no brother in Bombay?”

Kidlington started to answer several times, finally found the
words. “I had heard that a certain McDoon family would be travelling
aboard that ship, and that they carried with them items of interest
to . . . certain people in London.”

Barnabas and Sally were stupefied.

“There is more to my tale,” he said, looking desperately at Sally.
“My life is a fiction, a Shandy.” His face was stricken. “Those to
whom I owed money, my gambling debts from Bath, they found me
out in London. They sold those debts to wormy bailiffs and dubious
men of business. You may have heard of such men, though I know
your trade never touches on their sort, Mr. McDoon. Ralph Nickleby
of Golden Square, to name one, and Daniel Quilp of Tower Hill for
another, he who holds an interest in the Old Curiosity Shop.”

Barnabas nodded. He knew those names, and felt pity for the
man in front of him.

“They in turn sold the debt to still others,” Kidlington said. “Oh
yes, there is a thriving market in gall and misery. At last I ended
in the clutches of another sort of person altogether, individuals of
ungentle mirth, whose means of collection lack all refinement. I had
no hope of repaying my debts except to perform various tasks that
my final debt-holders presented to me from time to time.”

Sally tried to focus on James’s words but could not. Why did I cry
out? Why did the corporal have to be so officious? Why did the judge
have to be rigid? I would have given the locket to James.

“My upbringing, my studies, my position at the apothecary, all
these things my new associates found novel and useful. Step by
step, I descended into a world unknown to you, a side of London
that dwells and spins far below the world of your City counting
houses and the sunlit terraces of Mayfair. Connected though, always
connected, and I was — I am — a very useful means of connection.”

Kidlington found it hard to go on. “This other world is a hard
one, with no tolerance for error and no care for those who fail. A
thousand sorts populate it: squoriers, night pryers, chowsers, guest-takers, mudlarks, slick-slack men. There is an organization to it, very
hard to pin down. The medal has its obverse: above is Whitehall and
the Palace, below their counterparts. There is a villains’ parliament
of sorts, and an uncrowned king of them all. No one knows who
he is exactly. Some say he is a Professor Moriarty, others say a
Dr. Silvanus. The stories get mixed up. But there is a band which
controls much of what goes on in London’s underworld. Headed by
‘the Chief,’ a strange chap in an old-fashioned coat.”

Barnabas and Sally grabbed the table to steady themselves.

“Oh yes, we’ll come to that. In any case, this band ultimately
controls my debts, you see. As a result, I am frequently required to assist in the, hmmm, mortuary trade, procuring bodies for anatomists and such. Not that I do the actual . . . procurement . . .
but I deal with there surrectionists, arrange for transport and disposition
of the cadavers. I have all the right contacts in my line of work.”

Now the words poured out of Kidlington. “A few weeks before
we met aboard the
Essex
, I overheard two of the ’snatchers talking
about another piece of work they had done for the Chief. Something
about a break-in on Mincing Lane, and an article of great value,
highly prized by the Chief, but that they had not found it. The Chief
was very angry, and everyone was looking to get this thing. What it
might be they did not seem to know exactly. Some kind of jewellery,
they thought, though their instructions included reference to a key,
which they figured was a ruse on the part of the Chief.”

Kidlington’s voice became a monotone. “I had been looking for
such an opportunity, you see. To gain a bargaining lever, something
to break their awful hold over me, something to repay my debts
and secure my freedom. I quickly found out that ‘McDoon’ was on
every varlet’s lips, found out about the
Essex
, and decided to work
my dodge.”

He refocused on Sally and Barnabas. “I was not working for
them
when I booked my passage. I
hate
them. I wanted to ransom whatever
the item of value was for my freedom. Yes, I intended to befriend you
to rob you, I confess that. But I befriended you all too well.”

All three wept now. What else was there to do?

“I know you must have difficulty deciphering truth from
falsehood when you hear me,” Kidlington nearly moaned. “That
is far worse punishment than transportation to Australia. Please,
please believe me when I say that I did not perjure myself but spoke
the truth in court: I did not intend to steal the locket, except only to
steal a glimpse of you, Sally. Sally?”

It was a long while before any of them could speak again.
Kidlington regained enough composure to continue. “I will face any
danger for you. When word of this trial gets out, and it will, the
Chief and his men will want me dead. The penal colony is full of
their people. I know what I face.” He paused, perhaps just a little bit,
even under these circumstances, for effect. “Especially since I have
read bits of your journal, dear Sally. . . .”

Whose secrets were bigger? Sally said, “Don’t speak of it . . .
James.” His name came out blurred.

“Sally, I must,” said Kidlington, even the shade of bravado gone,
wanting desperately to salvage what he could. “I know your Cretched
Man. He’s my enemy too. The Chief, oh damnation!” Kidlington
slammed his fist on the table.

Trembling, Kidlington said, “I only read a little, Sally, and only
from sweetest interest. I know how wrong that was, but I only read a
bit, and I understood little of what you write about . . . a key, a book,
a letter, a voyage to a place called Yount.”

Hearing Kidlington say “Yount” was like a gale in their ears. He
knew, he really knew! Sally had so longed for this moment, but not
like this. She sobbed. The jailer stumped by again outside the door.
He ignored the sobbing, which was a fixture of meetings in that
room.

“Yount,” said Kidlington. “A struggle against the Cretched Man.
I read that much. It has consumed me since I read it. I hear a sound,
nay, a music in me. Yount. I want to go with you. I want to join you.”
At last he broke down completely, could say no more. His ship was
leaving the Cape soon, but it would not be going to Yount.

The jailer had enough of the muffled sobs, thinking it was about
time these fancy people understood the nature of real justice and
did not overstay their welcome. He rapped on the door to announce
the end of Barnabas and Sally’s interview with James Kidlington.
Sally and Barnabas rose slowly.

“Here, James!” cried Sally. She took out her locket and thrust it
across the table at him. He put up his hands to refuse it, but she
lunged forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Take it,” she said. “I would have given it to you a hundred times.
I would give it to you a thousand times if that would free you!”

She turned and fled. Just beyond the doorway, she half-turned
and saw James Kidlington at the table, mutely holding the locket.
She paused for one footstep, capturing every feature of that face in
her memory before the door was closed behind her.

The trial over, nothing could further delay the journey to Yount.
McDoon & Associates, hardly able to slip off unnoticed after the
publicity of the trial, made ready to leave. They spread the word that
they were sailing up the African coast to the Persian Gulf, the better
to acquaint themselves with trading opportunities at Zanzibar,
Socotra, Aden, and Muscat. They would give power of attorney to
the Termuydens to represent their business while they were gone.

“She has arrived,” said Cornelius. “The
Gallinule
is just outside
Table Bay, anchored at fourteen fathoms over a mile to the southwest
of Robbens Island. That way she avoids even the most inquisitive
eyes. We are sending out supplies by boat to them: fresh water, food
— salted goat’s meat especially for you, Mr. Sanford — medicines,
the like. Even some cases of books — that is especially welcome, we
are told. She will leave straightaway once you are onboard.”

Dinner at the Gezelligheid on the eve of their departure was a
subdued affair. After the meal, as everyone lit candles to retire to
bed, the Mejuffrouw came to Sally and Barnabas. Even in the half-light, her eyes shone.

“We wish you Godspeed,” she said. “For each of you, your heart’s
desire is bound up in this quest. I cannot see how this will end,
for you or for us, but I sense a greatness in both of you, uncle and
niece.”