Lost and Gone Forever (28 page)

I
n the spring of 1891, Plumm’s department store burned to the ground after a top-floor storeroom full of ammunition and lamp oil exploded. Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of merchandise was destroyed, and seven bodies, burnt beyond recognition, were later found in the rubble. John Plumm was traveling in France at the time and he stayed there until the London press moved on to other, fresher stories and his creditors had been dealt with.

Plumm’s had been touted as the biggest and most extravagant experience to be had in London since the Crystal Palace, and many years passed before another enterprise of its type was attempted.

But in that same season, the city produced two other momentous events, neither of which received the sort of notice that Plumm’s did: Inspector Walter Day resumed his life, and Dr Bernard Kingsley, late of University College Hospital, passed away quietly in his sleep.

F
or the first weeks after Dr Kingsley’s death, his daughter visited his grave every day. Sometimes she would see Timothy Pinch there, and twice she saw Hatty Pitt. She did not speak to either of them. On her fifth visit she found Walter Day at her father’s grave, standing next to a rather pretty young woman whom she hadn’t met. She ignored Walter, but the woman intrigued her, and so she introduced herself.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Kingsley,” the woman said.

“Did you know my father?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. I was injured and he helped me. I should introduce myself. My name is Esther Paxton.”

“Oh,” Fiona said. “You were the one . . .” Her voice trailed off and she made an effort not to look at Walter, who stood awkwardly nearby holding a bouquet of flowers.

Esther saw the expression on Fiona’s face and she flushed. She looked at the tops of her shoes. “I just came to say good-bye.”

“To my father?”

“Yes, and to Mr Day. I never knew Walter’s name or that he had a family. I hope you’ll believe that.”

“Of course.”

“I should have known, I should have thought . . . But I was happy just to have someone there with me again. I would never have—”

“No, I know. Nobody thinks less of you. You helped him when he needed help, and everyone is so very grateful to you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Perhaps you could visit sometime. I’m sure Claire would be delighted to meet you.”

Esther made a small noise and smiled at Fiona. “No. I have my shop to look after, you see. Business is quite good lately, since the fire. My customers are returning.”

Day took a step closer to them and fiddled with the flowers in his hand. “I’m so glad to hear that, Esther. I mean, Mrs Paxton.”

“Thank you, Walter.” She didn’t look up at him. “Miss Kingsley, I’m glad to meet you. From what little I knew of him, I’m sure your father was a good man.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have another grave to see this morning. My husband is buried over there.” She pointed. “He’s in that copse of trees, and it’s been too long since I visited him.”

She left them there, and they watched her walk away. After some time, Walter laid his flowers on Dr Kingsley’s grave and reached out, touched Fiona’s arm, then walked away in the opposite direction.

Fiona remained at the grave that entire morning, as was her custom. It was peaceful there, and quiet. Eventually she took out her sketchbook and began to draw a bird that had perched on her father’s stone.

N
evil Hammersmith packed away his documentation of the Walter Day case and put it all into storage. With the clutter gone, his office seemed bare and forbidding, and so he moved back into his flat and learned to enjoy the company of his new fern.

Walter Day slept in Hammersmith’s office, taking advantage of the empty space and the unused bedroll. He made daily trips to Finsbury Circus, teaching the boys there to sort leftover tobacco by color and age, and to roll new cigars. He gave his folding tray, along with his Reasonable Tobacco sign, to Jerome, who seemed to be the most responsible and resourceful of the lads.

They did not talk about their friend Ambrose.

And Day did not return again to Drapers’ Gardens.

One evening, in the second week after his return, Claire Day came to visit him at Hammersmith’s offices. Fiona Kingsley accompanied her, but Claire left the children at home with their new governess.

Hammersmith, Fiona, and Hatty Pitt waited in the outer office while Claire talked with her husband, and Hammersmith sent Eugenia Merrilow out to fetch tea for them all.

•   •   •

“I
T
’
S TIME FOR YOU
to come home,” Claire said.

“You know I can’t do that,” Walter said.

“So you plan to live here, in poor Nevil’s office on the floor?”

“I’ll find another place to live.”

“Oh? And will you return to that woman?”

Day knew she meant Esther Paxton. “I never . . . Claire, I wasn’t myself.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I cared very much for Esther, but she was only a friend, and never anything more than that. Somehow, I always knew in my heart I was a married man.”

“And that’s all that kept you from her bed?”

“Of course not,” he said. “And, no, to answer your question properly, I have no plans to ever see her again. Nor do I believe she wishes to see me.”

There was a long silence before Claire spoke again. “I think I can live with that,” she said. “I do trust you, Walter. But . . .”

“But I stabbed your father.” Walter smiled. “You know, I’ve always wanted to stab your father, but I regret doing it in front of you.”

Claire looked away and smiled. “It’s not that. He’ll live. I’ve spoken to Sir Edward, and he explained that you’d been manipulated somehow, that you didn’t know what you were doing. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

“I’d rather you never know.”

“But I hope you will tell me sometime, when things have settled and you feel comfortable.”

“If it’s not your father, there must be something else troubling you.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t remember.”

“But, Walter, why didn’t you remember me?”

His eyes filled with tears, and he put his arm up so she wouldn’t see. He turned away from her and she waited, without going to him or touching him. When he spoke, his voice was like the fog that had lifted from the city. “I did remember. I did, but I lied to myself. I couldn’t lead him back to you. I couldn’t bring that to our house again. I thought I had to start anew and let you go on to live a better life.”

And then she did go to him and put her hand on his arm, and he turned toward her.

“Oh, Walter, I can’t live any sort of life without you.”

“At some point, once the police conclude their investigation, they’re going to take me to prison, Claire.”

“So you’ve continued to stay away.”

“I’ve only tried to shelter you.”

“The men in my life are constantly trying to shelter me, to protect me from themselves and from each other, deciding what’s best for me at every turn. I’m quite sick and tired of it all. I don’t want everything to be hidden away from me. I’m a grown woman and I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices.”

“I don’t want you or the children to see me behind bars.”

“As I say, I’ve spoken to Sir Edward and I don’t believe he has any such plan.”

“I’d like to hear that from him.”

“Then we’ll pay him a visit today. I want our life back. My bed is cold, and the children need their father.”

“Are you sure you—”

“As I say, I can make my own decisions, Walter. And it seems I need to make yours for you, too. So it’s settled. You’re coming home with me, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

W
hen Walter and Claire emerged from Hammersmith’s office, they were holding hands.

“Does this mean I get my bedroll back?”

“Yes,” Day said. “Thank you, Nevil.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m just glad things are back to normal at last.” He glanced at Fiona and shook his head. “No, not normal. I’m sorry.”

“I know what you meant,” Fiona said.

“Timothy Pinch mentioned you yesterday,” Hammersmith said.

Fiona wrinkled her nose, but before she could respond, the door opened and Sir Edward Bradford strolled into the office. There was a small bandage on his scalp, just above his temple.

“Ah, everyone’s here,” he said. “Good. Saves me some time.”

Hammersmith poured another cup of tea and set it at the corner of the desk where Sir Edward could reach it. “Did you find Mr Oberon’s body?”

“It’s hard to say,” Sir Edward said. “Three of the corpses found there were women, and one was a child, probably a boy.”

“His name was Ambrose,” Day said. “I never knew his full name. Just Ambrose.”

“Ah. Yes, Ambrose then. Of the three men who were dug out of that ruin, it’s impossible to say anything about them. Mr Pinch is working to find identifying marks of some sort, but I’ve seen the bodies and I don’t hold out much hope.”

“I was only now on my way to see you,” Day said. “To turn myself in.”

“Turn yourself in for what? Surely Mrs Day has told you I have no interest in arresting you.”

“Someone ought to pay for stabbing Leland Carlyle.”

“Oh, that. No. That was clearly self-defense. Fiona was kind enough to pick up Carlyle’s rifle, a Martini-Henry, from where he’d dropped it in the street. Inspector Tiffany examined the weapon, and it had recently been fired. We’re just pleased that the round apparently missed you.”

Day looked at Fiona, who made a show of fixing her hair in its chignon. “Self-defense?” he said.

“Indeed. I’ve pieced together what must have happened, based in part on knowledge I have of Mr Carlyle’s recent activities. Mrs Day, you may not wish to hear some of this.”

“It’s all right. I can bear it.”

“Very well. Your father seems to have been engaged in a sort of private war with this Oberon person, and Oberon apparently thought it was clever to use Carlyle’s son-in-law as a pawn. So he captured and manipulated Inspector Day. In return, Carlyle hired a soldier of fortune to pursue Oberon, and Plumm’s became their battleground. We found the hired killer’s body in that alley, and it turns out the fellow was wanted in several other countries. He’s suspected of murdering an ambassador. Honestly, we’re all lucky Mr Day escaped with his life.”

“Then I’m really free to go home again?”

“By all means, do. You’ve had a long holiday, Walter, and it’s high time you went home and got back to work. That boy Simon is going to be a policeman when he grows up and he needs some instruction. Take the rest of the week, relax. I’ll see you first thing Monday morning at your desk.”

“My desk? I’m back at the Yard?”

“I never sacked you.” He frowned and turned his gaze on Nevil. “Now, Mr Hammersmith, I did make the mistake of sacking you. In light of your single-minded work in bringing Mr Day back to us, I’ve reexamined that decision. I’d like you back Monday morning as well, if you’re willing.”

“I thought you—”

“I always worried you’d get yourself killed as a policeman. But you haven’t stopped putting yourself in the way of danger and you’re not dead yet. I might as well make use of your particular talents if I can. And we need someone to mind Mr Day so this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. He gets into an extraordinary amount of trouble himself. I think more than when the two of you are together.”

Hatty put down her teacup. “What about this place?”

“If you close the Hammersmith Agency, I will have nothing with which to occupy my days,” Eugenia said. “I quite like it here.”

Hammersmith sighed. “I do, too, but we’ve lost our biggest client.” He nodded at Claire. “I don’t think I can afford to keep the doors open now.”

“You could,” Hatty said, “if you had a sergeant’s salary.”

Sir Edward stood quietly watching them, stroking his beard. Hammersmith looked from Hatty to him, and Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders.

“I can’t do both things,” Hammersmith said.

“I’ll run this place for you,” Hatty said. “You know I can do it. I’ll
bring in new clients to replace Mrs Day, and the agency will practically pay for itself.”

“You can’t call it the Hammersmith Agency if Nevil isn’t even here,” Fiona said.

“Actually, I do have an idea along those lines,” Hammersmith said. “Something your friend Mr Goodpenny told me, Fiona. He made me realize I shouldn’t be alone all my life. And seeing Mr and Mrs Day back together again only reinforces that.”

“Oh,” Fiona said. She took a step forward.

“So if she’ll have me, I’d like to ask Miss Pitt to be my wife. Then she’ll be a Hammersmith, too, and the agency can remain as it is.”

“Oh,” Hatty said. She looked round at the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces. “I had no idea.”

“I’ve been considering it these last few weeks. It seems like a sound notion. Practical.”

“Then, yes,” Hatty said. “Yes, I will marry you, Mr Hammersmith.”

She was about to say something else, but the front door slammed and, through the window, they all watched Fiona Kingsley run away down the street until she was swallowed up by the unceasing traffic.

Hammersmith frowned at Day. “I wonder what’s got into her,” he said.

Day leaned close and spoke so that no one else would hear. “I’m afraid you have created a situation,
Nevil.”

T
he giant blue globe had rolled down Prince Street, causing innumerable traffic accidents. At the corner of King William Street and West Cannon, it bounced off Monument Station, crushing a dog against the west wall of the building, and rolled south along King William to London Bridge. The globe hit the eastern side of the three-foot-high balustrade, breaking the rail and twelve posts, then caromed away to the other side, where it launched itself high into the air.

It went down with a splash and floated away downriver.

It eventually came to rest at the East India Docks, where it bobbed in the water for weeks, slowly losing its color. Boys from the area made a game of throwing rocks at it, trying to spin it or sink it, but despite the shoddy workmanship used in the construction of the Plumm’s building, it’s centerpiece installation proved to be surprisingly sturdy and watertight.

John Plumm eventually had it hauled from the water, and a wide hole was cut through it. He furnished the inside as a foyer and
attached it to the front of his renovated building, but he no longer had any interest in running a department store.

His new venture, called the Globe, introduced cosmopolitan culture to the neighborhood, but at affordable prices. A rotating mural of foreign lands and people was painted, at great expense, along the spherical inside of the foyer, which whetted the public’s appetite for the sorts of unusual cocktails served inside.

The nightclub was a success and remained open for many years, until a second fire on the premises ruined Plumm and prompted him to leave London for good. The globe was detached, the remains of the building torn down, and a small emporium was built in its place.

The first stall to open there was Goodpenny’s Fine Stationery and Supplies.