The Yard (52 page)

“Well, you like his jokes.”

“Yes.”

Hammersmith shrugged. Penelope reached out to touch his chest, then drew her hand back. She turned and walked away. Hammersmith waited for her to look back at him, but she didn’t.

He felt as if he’d gone another round with an enraged bartender.

“Constable?”

Hammersmith turned to see Sergeant Kett hurrying toward him.

“The commissioner wants to see you in his office soon’s you arrive. Looks to me like you’ve arrived.”

“Yes, sir.”

He swung open the gate to the squad room and made his way across to Sir Edward’s office. He noticed that Inspector Day wasn’t at his desk. Blacker nodded to him as he passed and Hammersmith returned the gesture. He knocked on Sir Edward’s door.

“Come.”

Sir Edward was looking through a sheaf of papers and laid them down on the desk when Hammersmith opened the door. He motioned for Hammersmith to close it behind him.

“Mr Hammersmith.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A commendable job. You helped subdue the murderer and his accomplice. And you rescued the boy that set all this in motion. I am impressed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The boy may be called to testify, but Inspector Day has amassed enough
evidence against the tailor that he may not. It would be good if the boy were left alone now. His family’s been through enough, I think.”

“Where is Inspector Day, sir?”

“There was an emergency at home. I’ve given him the rest of the day. And I’m giving you the rest of the day, as well.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m ready to work.”

Sir Edward chuckled and shook his head. “You are ideally suited for police work, Hammersmith.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But…” Sir Edward hesitated and scowled at the top of his desk.

“Sir?”

“You also acted beyond the pale, overstepping your responsibilities at every turn, disobeying the spirit of my orders, and displaying a remarkable amount of independence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is fortunate for you, Sergeant Hammersmith, that I admire a certain degree of independent spirit in my men. But in the future, you will exercise better judgment and find ways of applying your zeal that do not step over the bounds of your proper duty, do you understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“Good. How’s the arm?”

“The wound was shallow. My hand’s broken, but should knit well enough.”

Sir Edward nodded. “Go easy on it. I want you back in fighting form sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, sir. But, sir?”

“Yes, Mr Hammersmith?”

“Didn’t you call me
sergeant
just now? I mean, I believe you may have misspoken.”

Sir Edward nodded. “It is certainly possible. But in this case I did not. As of today, you are promoted to the rank of sergeant within the Metropolitan Police Force.”

Hammersmith stood absolutely still.

“Hammersmith, are you quite all right?”

“I don’t know what … Sir, this is most unexpected.”

“I imagine it is. Beginning tomorrow, I would like you to assist Inspector Day on his cases. We need to begin filling the void left by poor Inspector Little.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe you and Mr Day will balance each other nicely. I have high hopes.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“No, I don’t think you will.”

Sir Edward picked up the sheaf of papers from his desk and studied the top page. Without looking up, he said, “You are dismissed, Sergeant.”

Y
ou needn’t trouble yourself, Doctor,” Day said. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Your house is on my way home.”

“Well, I appreciate your company,” Day said.

Walter Day opened the front door and Kingsley followed him inside. Mrs Dick greeted them in the parlor.

“She’s upstairs, Mr Day. The doctor’s in there with her. It’s bad, sir.”

Day didn’t bother to introduce Mrs Dick and Dr Kingsley. He took the stairs three at a time with Kingsley right behind him. Claire’s bedroom door was closed, and Day knocked. The door was opened almost immediately and a stout white-haired man in shirtsleeves and vest stood there, barring entry. Day craned his neck to see past the stranger.

“Claire?” Day said.

“I’m sorry,” said the old man. “Who are you?”

“I’m her husband. Who are you?”

“I’m her doctor.”

“She doesn’t have a doctor. We’ve only just moved to the city and we have no doctor yet.”

“I am Phillipa’s doctor. She summoned me when your wife took sick.”

“I don’t know who Phillipa is.”

“Phillipa Dick. Your housekeeper. Surely you’re aware of your household staff.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t know her first name. What’s wrong with Claire?”

“Your wife is gravely ill. I fear the worst.”

“Let me in.”

Day pushed past him. The room was dark. It smelled stuffed-up, acidic, and smoky. There was a row of small glass jars on the vanity across from the bed, along with a pile of squat candle stubs. Claire lay on her bed, propped up by pillows. She smiled weakly at her husband.

“I’m so sorry, Walter. I don’t know what happened to me.”

He went to her and took her hand. It was cold, and when he gently squeezed her fingers, she didn’t squeeze back.

“It’s all right. You’re going to be just fine.”

“Of course I will be, dear. Don’t trouble yourself over me.”

Kingsley had been quiet and Day didn’t realize that he had followed him into the room until he spoke.

“What is all this?” Kingsley said.

“I’m going to cup her to try to reduce the fever,” Mrs Dick’s doctor said.

Kingsley looked aghast. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said.

“Will it help?” Day said.

“Cupping will not help anyone with anything,” Kingsley said.

Day glanced at the jars on the vanity. He had seen people cupped before. It was a more drastic treatment than leeches. Incisions were made in the patient’s flesh, and heated cups or jars were placed over the fresh wounds. As the glass containers cooled, blood was naturally drawn up into them. Pints of blood could be quickly extracted from points all over the body.

“It’s barbaric,” Kingsley said. “A relic of the past. There’s no place for such mumbo jumbo in this modern age.”

“It’s hardly mumbo jumbo, sir. I’ll ask you to keep your lay opinions to yourself and leave me to my work.”

“My opinions are not lay opinions. They are not even opinions. They are fact.”

“Unless you are a doctor, sir—”

“I am,” Kingsley said. “What is your name?”

“Entwhistle. Dr Herbert Entwhistle.”

“I’ve never heard of you. You don’t practice at either of the hospitals where I teach.”

“I’m in private practice. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business now. Tell me you haven’t begun to cut this woman up.”

Entwhistle pulled back his shoulders and thrust out his chest. He looked from Kingsley to Day and back to Kingsley, clearly not accustomed to being confronted.

“No, I haven’t begun making the incisions yet,” he said.

“Good,” Kingsley said. “Inspector Day and his wife were just about to employ me as their family physician.”

He looked at Day, who nodded.

“That’s done, then,” Kingsley said. “And now that I’m in charge here, I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Well, I never!” Entwhistle said.

“Then it’s about time you did,” Kingsley said. “Out you go.”

He made a shooshing motion, and Entwhistle left the room protesting.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to go, too, Detective. Your wife will want her privacy.”

“I’ll be just outside that door,” Day said.

“I’m sure that will be a comfort to her.”

Day smiled at Claire and patted her hand. “Don’t you worry. Kingsley’s a very good doctor.”

“I’m not worried, Walter. Don’t you be worried, either.”

“I have complete faith in you both.”

He gave one last look to his wife as he left the room and Kingsley closed
the door after him. Day was left in the hall with Entwhistle and Mrs Dick, who shot baleful stares in his direction but said nothing. A moment later, the door opened again and Kingsley thrust an armful of jars and candles at Entwhistle.

“Take these antiques with you,” Kingsley said. He closed the door again.

Entwhistle narrowed his eyes at Day. “You’ll regret this,” he said. “Don’t beg me to come back here if that quack makes her worse.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“You’re a fool, Mr Day,” Mrs Dick said. “Dr Entwhistle has been my physician for more years than I can count. He’s brilliant, he is.”

“And yet he’s been unable to cure your sour disposition.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Do you imagine that my wife and I never talk? That she hasn’t told me about your attitude toward her? You’re meant to be helping her about the house, not belittling her at every turn.”

“Your wife is a foolish, spoiled child and it’s about time someone put her in her place.”

“You may leave with Dr Entwhistle. We won’t be requiring your services any longer.”

“You can’t discharge me from my duties. Only the missus can do that.”

“At this moment, Mrs Dick, you do not want to argue with me. Leave my home and never come back here again.”

She opened her mouth to say something more, but saw the look on his face and checked herself. She turned on her heel and marched down the stairs. Dr Entwhistle shook his head and followed after her without another glance at Day.

Day heard one of the glass jars fall from the doctor’s arms and tumble down the stairs, but he didn’t hear it break. A moment later, the front door opened and slammed shut. Day leaned against the wall next to his wife’s bedroom door and listened to the rainfall against the roof. He had no idea how long it might be before Kingsley finished with Claire.

As it turned out, he didn’t have long to wait. The door opened after a
few minutes and Kingsley stepped into the hall, wiping his hands on a white towel. He patted Day on the shoulder and smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye.

“I have some rather good news for you, Detective. Your wife isn’t gravely ill at all. She’s with child.”

“She isn’t.”

“She is.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am nearly always serious. She’s pregnant.”

“And that’s made her sick?”

“Yes, a bit. But her situation has been compounded by that damned girdle she wears. She’ll need some bed rest and she’ll need to stop wearing girdles for the duration of the pregnancy, as they can only complicate matters for both her and the baby.”

“She’s really going to have a baby?”

“She really is. You both are, but she’ll be doing most of the work.”

A wave of relief washed over Day. He grabbed Kingsley’s hand and pumped it up and down.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave you at the mercy of that Entwhistle creature. Cupping, indeed! He would have killed her!”

Day stepped back and swallowed hard. He slumped against the wall.

“But I’ve only just realized,” he said. “We can’t have a baby here. I’ve let the housekeeper go. Not half an hour ago. We’ve nobody to help with a baby.”

“You needn’t worry about that yet. You have a few months to figure it out.” He paused and pursed his lips as if a thought had just occurred to him. “In fact,” Kingsley said, “I may know a young woman who would be glad to help with a baby. She’s only fourteen, but that’s old enough, I think.”

Day smiled. “Send her round, then,” he said. “But I’d like to see my wife now, if I may.”

“Oh, of course.”

Kingsley stepped aside and Day rushed into the room. Claire held out her arms and Day went to her.

“Can you believe it?” Claire said.

“I’ve scarcely had time to think about it yet.”

“Nor I.”

“All I can think of is my happiness now that you’re all right.”

“I have to stop wearing my corsets.”

“That’s what the doctor tells me.”

“I’ll be fat and ugly.”

“You will never be any such thing,” Day said. “You will always be the most beautiful woman in London.”

And he meant it.

L
ONDON, FIVE HOURS AFTER
M
R
L
ITTLE’S FUNERAL
.

T
hey stood in Trafalgar Square in a light drizzle. Henry Mayhew, the dancing man, was not dancing. He was watching a rainbow formed by the hazy light of the lamppost. Next to him, Walter Day moved from foot to foot, nervous. He’d been anxious since he’d found out that he and Claire were expecting a baby. He still wasn’t sure about London. Devon might be a better place to raise a child. But Walter had caught a killer, and he no longer questioned his place in the city. He was a detective and he was helping to make London safe.

He drew the flat black pouch from his pocket and opened it. The brass key was still there, atop the ugly, more utilitarian skeleton keys. He took it out, closed the pouch, and put it back in his pocket.

“Henry,” he said.

Mayhew turned his attention to Day.

“This key I’m holding?” Day showed it to the dancing man, who nodded. “It fits this door. I’ll wager you didn’t even notice that there was a door here.”

“I did notice it, Mr Day.”

“Well, I never did. At any rate, this is the key to it.”

He put the key in the lock and turned it, opened the door, and stepped to the side so that Henry could enter ahead of him. With both men standing inside, the kiosk seemed much smaller than it had the last time Day had been there. Henry’s head nearly brushed the ceiling.

“Dr Kingsley mentioned that you might be going to work for him.”

Henry smiled.

“You’ll need a place to live,” Day said. “Until you save some money.”

Henry looked suspiciously around the tiny room.

“I know it’s not much,” Day said. “It’s awfully small, and it’s not warm, and it’s not all that comfortable, I’m sure, but it’s dry and it’s safe and you won’t have to spend the night in a heap on the sidewalk. And, if you decide you want to dance, there’s a much larger audience for it out there on the gallery. This is a park. You should dance in a park, Henry.”