Beneath London (26 page)

St. Ives was something of a footnote in the lurid account of the tragedy, for Gilbert Frobisher, whose wealth was inestimable, had recently brought into London a vast great Caribbean octopus that he had intended to house in a vivarium above Allhallows near the mouth of the Thames. And so he had become something of a celebrity.

Henrietta Billson, who with her husband William owned the Half Toad, was just now clearing away the remains of their supper. Gilbert had ordered the removes himself, including lamb from the Romney Marsh and giant rock oysters from Whitstable. But there had been no Gilbert to help eat the food, and even Tubby had made a pitiful job of it. Hasbro had gone out the instant that his supper was eaten, anxious to return to the sink-hole in order to discover whether anything useful had been found out.

Mrs. Billson handed an armload of plates to Lars Hopeful the tap-boy and stood staring at one of the two men by the fire, a small, oily man of perhaps forty years, muscular and veiny, with yellow, curly hair. He was coatless, and he wore blue gaiters. He looked like a racetrack tout rather than any kind of commercial traveler. His partner, a larger, heavier man with a broad face, looked up from his newspaper now and then to stare at Miss Bracken. Henrietta Billson had no use for forward men, and there was a dangerous look in her eye. Suddenly her demeanor changed, and she turned away and disappeared into the kitchen. Alice could see nothing that might have motivated her.

A moment later Mrs. Billson returned, appearing at Alice’s chair with the port bottle in order to fill her glass, although Alice hadn’t requested it and it didn’t need refilling. In a low voice she said, “Might we speak a word to you in the kitchen, ma’am, begging your pardon for the botheration? After a minute or so has passed, if you will, just for the sake of appearances.” She winked then, indicating that this was something of a conspiracy, and then she jerked her thumb toward the two men by the fire before walking away.

Alice sipped her port and attempted to read a copy of
Ally Sloper’s Half Holiday
, which she had found lying on a table. Its humor was lost on her, however, and after several minutes had passed she set it down, rose from her chair, and walked into the kitchen, where the Billsons stood waiting for her.

“It’s these two men, ma’am,” William Billson told her. “They might be innocent as babes, or again they might not be. It’s not for us to say. They come in this evening from Manchester by rail, or so they said – commercial gents – and I gave them poor Mr. Frobisher’s room, which I had thought was empty. But his baggage was still in it and down they come again to wait while Tubby has gone up to fetch it. The room is next door to your own, ma’am, with a connecting door.”

“The thing is,” Henrietta put in, “what Bill is a-trying to say, is that one of them ain’t from Manchester, and if he’s a commercial gent I’ll eat my hat. A cutthroat is more like it. Whether he came in on the train I can’t say, and as a Christian woman I don’t call him a liar, but I just now smoked him as the brother of Jack Penny.”

“Jack Penny?” Alice asked.

“The leader of the Cheapside Boys, them who was murdered this past September right here in Smithfield,” Mr. Billson said. “Jack Penny was drowned in a horse trough, and seven of his mates was hacked to pieces with cleavers.”

“The Snow Hill Massacre?”

Henrietta nodded gravely. “The man in there drinking our good red wine, the small man, is Jack Penny’s own brother, and he’s not from Manchester, not by a long chalk, and he’s using a false name, because ’is own is tainted. He hails from Coldharbour right here in London, and he swindled my own cousin some years back when he was a butcher in Smithfield Market. When was that, Mr. Billson?”

“I make it four years ago, maybe five, since Penny’s been gone from the market.”

“He doesn’t know me,” said Henrietta, “but I’ll never forget his face, not after what he took from Betina, and it wasn’t just her money that I speak of.”

“What you want us to do is what we’re asking,” Billson said. “I can pitch him out, but I’ll need another man or two to do it right. They’re likely to cut up rough. It’s right strange that they put up at the Half Toad, do you see.”

“It
is
strange, Mr. Billson,” Alice said. “But there’s no pressing need to pitch them out. They’re keeping to themselves for the most part, and the last thing we want is more trouble, nor to call trouble down upon the two of you. I don’t much care where they came from or whether they’re lying about it or telling the truth. It’s none of my business.”

Billson nodded, and Henrietta said, “Still and all, I’ve got my eye on them, ma’am, and I’ve got an iron pan that weighs nigh onto two stone to lay them out with if they ask for it. That man Smythe has a roving eye. His filthy intentions are plain on his face when he looks at your Miss Bracken, although she’s no newborn babe herself.”

“I’ll just sweep out the room upstairs, then,” Billson said. And with that he went out.

Alice returned to her chair, only to discover that Miss Bracken sat with the two men now and that Smythe had his hand on her knee, although he withdrew it when Alice walked in. Miss Bracken’s demeanor had grown cheerful, which wasn’t a bad thing, really. Alice soon made out that the three were talking about this morning’s cave-in. Jack Penny’s brother listened to what Miss Bracken was telling him and shook his head sympathetically. He turned to Alice now, gave her a long, pitying look, and said, “May I express my desolation, ma’am, as regards your husband’s tragedy – nay, your own tragedy? My name is Hillman, Ellis Hillman.”

“No, Mr. Hillman, you may not,” Alice told him, refraining from calling him “Mr. Penny.” “There is as yet no tragedy to be desolated about, and I have little regard for a stranger’s unaccountable desolation in any event. I’m certain you mean well, but I’d much rather speak of something else or nothing at all. Preferably nothing.”

“Just so, ma’am,” the man said, touching his finger to his forehead before saying, “I’ll name my particular friend, Mr. Smythe.”

“Charmed,” Mr. Smythe said, nodding to her.

The two men returned to their wine and to Miss Bracken, and in the brief silence that followed Alice heard the rain pecking against the windows and the crackling of the fire. She had a thumping headache and a weariness that made her long for her bed. Did she owe it to Miss Bracken to keep her company? She decided that she did not. The silly woman could do as she pleased – indeed, had apparently been doing so her entire life and would continue to do so whether Alice or anyone else approved of it. Alice drank the last of her port and was just setting the glass down when Tubby Frobisher appeared on the stairs gripping his walking stick in a determined manner.

His face, Alice saw, was rigid with anger, and he strode determinedly to Miss Bracken’s chair and said in a clear, even voice, “I’ll ask you to return my uncle’s property, ma’am, whatever your name might be. Certainly it is not Bracken.”

“What’s
that
?” asked Miss Bracken. “
What
bleeding property, you bag of suet?”

“Gilbert Frobisher’s jewelry. The lot of it. It was in an ivory case inlaid with gold. I saw you coming out of his room earlier in the day. Deny it at your peril.”

“By God I won’t deny it. My gloves and scarf were in Mr. Frobisher’s trunk, if you must know. I took what belonged to me.”

“The jewelry box contained a diamond cravat-pin, cuff links, shirt studs, and a brooch, all with the Frobisher hedgehog crest, all solid gold, the diamonds quite valuable, as was the box itself, which was fashioned by Castellani. You have taken the box and its contents from his valise, ma’am. There’s no conceivable point in denying it. You saw your opportunity this afternoon, and you took it. If you return them to me this instant and promise to be gone in the morning, I’ll pay you two-hundred pounds and let the matter lie. In deference to my uncle I will not put you out onto the road on a night such as this, but if you are not gone in the morning, I’ll summon the police.”

Alice was stupefied, although her first inclination was to suppose that Tubby was correct in his accusation. Anger, of course, might have twisted his thinking, since Miss Bracken was his chief source of regret – the wedge that had been driven between him and Gilbert. Tubby saw her as a devil, and understandably so if it were true that she had stolen Gilbert’s jewelry. But
was
it true? Again Alice considered the silver spoons, the brazen manner in which Miss Bracken had dropped them into her bag. But the spoons were comparatively trivial compared to the jewels, and mentioning them now would needlessly inflame Tubby.

“Come, madam,” Tubby said. “Own up to it unless you’d rather hang.”

“I take offense to your blackguarding this good woman,” the man who called himself Hillman said. “What proof do you have for this accusation? The police will ask the very same question, mind you. Have you any evidence, sir? Your plain dislike for this poor woman does not constitute evidence.”

“He has
nothing
,” Miss Bracken said, staring Tubby down. “He has taken against me because his uncle, who was a good man, loved me more than him. This bloody whale who calls himself a man was
pissing
himself to think that I might come into a portion of the old man’s money some day. But I won’t have a groat now, will I? Not now. How can I when the good man is
dead
? And yet you hate me anyway, don’t you, Mr. Bumfiddle? A woman with naught but a brass farthing who’s been kited away from her home where she was happy. That’s the truth of it. You and your mean offer of two-hundred pounds when you’ve just put ten millions into your pocket! What do
I
say? I say
you’ve
taken the jewels yourself, if there
was
any jewels. Because why? Because you want to use them against me. You’re a jealous, mean pig, who can lord it over a poor, friendless woman like me.
Shame
on you. The great shame of the world!”

With that she burst into tears, hauling a kerchief out of her bodice and mopping her eyes. Tubby was struck dumb, much of his anger having drained away with her tirade.

“Here, now. You’ve got the two of us as friends, Miss,” Mr. Smythe said to her. “Never you forget it. We’ll stand by you, sure enough.”

Alice realized that Henrietta Billson had come into the room carrying her cast-iron frying pan, which was broad enough to cook a Christmas goose. She looked confused, however, as if not certain whose head to flatten.

“By God, I’ll sort it out this very moment,” Tubby said, having recovered his wits. “But I warn you, madam, that my offer is about to evaporate. I intend to search your bags. Anyone who chooses can come along as witness.”

“No one
chooses
to walk with a
turd
,” Miss Bracken said to him, and blew her nose into her kerchief.

After a moment’s hesitation, Tubby turned back to the stairs, and for a time the company sat in shocked silence. Alice noted that the rain had ceased, and she saw the halo of a gas-lamp outside along Fingal Street. Henrietta Billson had gone away, and Alice’s weariness had completely disappeared, although her headache had not. She made up her mind that she would defend Miss Bracken if she must, if only in order to save Tubby the certain remorse of further abusing the woman whom his uncle had been fond of – the uncle who at any moment might walk in through the door, in which case Tubby would despise himself until his dying day.

Tubby reappeared on the stairs, clutching something in his hand, although it was not apparently an ivory jewel case. He looked uncertain rather than angry, and when he was several feet away from Miss Bracken he stopped short and held out his open palm on which sat the three silver spoons.

“What’s
this
, then?” Hillman asked, looking hard at Tubby.

“It’s three silver spoons upon which you can see the Frobisher crest, sir. I’ll forgive you for asking impertinent questions, but you’d best keep silent from this point hence. I’ll say again, this is none of your business.”

“
Impertinent? I’m
impertinent? You accuse this poor woman of stealing valuable jewels and now you throw these three
spoons
into her face? Flash-plate spoons, if I’m any judge.”

“Solid silver, and you’re no judge, sir. Come, what are these doing in your possession, ma’am?”

“I pinched them is what, you fat devil. I saw my Gilbert
die
today, and one thing I knew for certain was that his bleeding nephew would put me out onto the street, as you’ve already threatened to do, because you’re a vile piece of dog waste with the heart of a dried pea. I
loved
Mr. Frobisher, you fat pig, and I took those three spoons to remember him by, that’s all. But
you’ve
got them now.
You
won’t starve after all, now that you’ve got something to spoon up your swill.”

“Indeed I
do
have them now.
Your
Gilbert indeed.”

“Then you’d best summon the police so that I can be hanged. By God, I
long
to be hanged after speaking with the likes of you.”

“What of the
jewels
?” asked Mr. Smythe.

“Still missing,” Tubby began, but just then there was the scuffing of footsteps on the stairs and William Billson appeared, holding his hand out in front of him. In it lay a jewelry box made of ivory and inlaid with gold.

“I found this beneath the bed, sir, when Hopeful and I were sweeping out. It fell from Mr. Gilbert Frobisher’s bag, I don’t doubt.”

Tubby stared at it for a long moment while Miss Bracken audibly wept. After a moment Tubby let the spoons fall to the carpet from his open hand, took the jewelry case from Billson, and moved wearily up the stairs once again, saying nothing and not looking back until Mr. Hillman said, “Hah! And
I’m
impertinent!”

Tubby turned and looked hard at him now, and for a moment there was cold murder in his eye, but he commanded himself and walked on. When Tubby was out of view, Alice rose from her chair, picked up the three spoons, and looked meaningfully at Miss Bracken, who was very quick with a lie. She set the spoons on the table atop
Allie Sloper’s Half Holiday
and went away toward the stairs herself – the lamentable end of a too-long day.