Pastworld (17 page)

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Chapter 31

It was the kind of town house a young child might automatically draw if asked. The outer woodwork was dressed with dark blue-black paintwork, as were the window frames, the outer shutters and the front door. It stood tall and shadowy, with its four floors and attic rooms which stretched in darkness all along the roof line. Bible J fished out a key from his navy-blue frock coat, unlocked the front door and ushered Caleb in. The hall of the house was panelled and the wood was painted with flat distemper, in a rich green. The house smelled faintly of burnt wax, of snuffed candles and vanilla incense, musty old fabrics, and real history.

Bible J turned as soon as he had clicked shut the door and put his finger to his lips. It seemed the kind of house where, by rights, there ought to have been a footman welcoming them, or a butler, or maid of some sort. However, there seemed to be nobody in the house at all. It ticked and tocked and hummed with a sense of expectant stillness. There was an air of well-tended luxury. The walls were busy with historic-looking pictures, oil portraits and engraved views of London. It certainly did not seem the sort of place that would normally welcome a character like Bible J, let alone allow him his own key to the door. Bible J led the way up the stairs.

They went into a sitting room on the first floor. It was just a little brighter than the hallway. A single candle burned in a sconce over the mantel. Caleb had never seen such a room before outside of a museum. There was here, as elsewhere in the house, a great profusion of very valuable-looking things. The wide floorboards were waxed, with bright patterned oriental rugs over them. There was a long polished oval table in the middle of the room with fine chairs grouped around it, and some other antique chairs were also lined up higgledy-piggeldy against the panelled walls. There was even a black sedan chair tucked in the corner. Bible J sat himself down on a low sofa under the windows, below the closed shutters.

‘Don’t be shy. Sit down there, that’s it. This house is the real thing, eh?’ he whispered. ‘It’s what they call a proper house, authentic enough for anyone. We live well here,’ he laughed quietly and shook his head. ‘The bloke who owns this gaff is harmless enough, he’s a . . .’ Bible J paused and thought for a moment, ‘he’s a collector, that’s the word. He’s mad for all the old stuff like this, and old houses, and what he calls his ‘salvage’, his ‘treasures’. He runs an old curiosity shop Holborn way and he lives his life here in this old house as a mostly respectable gent. I run errands for him. I help him find the special stuff, see. What better way could there be for yours truly, Bible J the dip, to live his life?’

He stood and went over to one of several antique cabinets against the wall. He opened the door and pulled out a decanter and glasses. He poured something out of the decanter and handed one of the glasses to Caleb.

‘Knock that back,’ he said, ‘quietly, mind.’

Caleb took the glass and drained the contents. His throat was instantly scorched by something which tasted hot and cold at the same time. It was awful. He coughed and spluttered.

‘I said quietly,’ Bible J took the glass from Caleb. ‘That’s his best brandy.’

There was a noise from above them, footsteps across the ceiling.

‘Watch out, that’s set him off.’

Caleb felt warmth from the brandy spreading through his body.

‘Who?’ he said.

‘Himself, the collector, my boss. He’s just sprung you, smudger,’ said Bible J, nodding his head up to the ceiling.

It wasn’t a moment before the door opened and William Leighton walked in.

‘Well, well, Mr McCreddie, what is all this noise? Are you aware of the time?’

Bible J stood up, and he broke out one of his big friendly smiles. ‘Sorry, I only just got back from the police station with that poor lad, Mr Leighton.’

Leighton walked further into the room. He was dressed in a dark waistcoat and had a white shirt with billowing sleeves, a high collar, and a white stock. His once dark hair was peppered with grey now and he favoured long sideburns. He peered at Caleb over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

‘Why, I wonder to myself, does this more or less respectable young man need help from rapscallions like you and me, Mr Japhet?’ he said good-naturedly. Then he walked over to a gas mantle and struck a match. After a popping sound a soft greenish light filled the room.

‘I see you have been at the brandy,’ Leighton said, nodding at the decanter on the cabinet.

‘Sorry, Mr William, I thought he was going to faint,’ Bible J said.

‘Tell me what happened to you,’ Mr Leighton said quietly.

Caleb told him.

It was all horribly true, and the reality of that truth suddenly hit him again in the stomach like a hammer and he slumped back on to the sofa, as if winded.

‘Pour him another glass, Mr McCreddie.’ After a sip or two of brandy Caleb sat up.

‘I was accused of murder by the men who really did it. There are Wanted posters up now describing me more or less.’

‘True,’ said Bible J. ‘I saw one at Farringdon.’

‘An accusation of murder is a serious business in this town, and I mean money business. You’ll be best off with us here for now. Interesting, all very interesting,’ Leighton said.

‘Thank you for saving me,’ Caleb said.

‘I can pull strings if I have to,’ said Leighton. ‘I can grease a few palms when necessary. Bible J here told me of your plight and we hatched our little plan. I am well aware of what it might be like to be lost and alone in this place, and what a state of shock you must be in.’

Caleb shut the bedroom door and breathed out a long sigh. It was late now, dark at the window, and as he looked over the roofline and the looming church spire he thought,
I’ll never find him. Dad’s dead by now, as cold as this glass.
He pulled his head back behind the little calico curtain. A lone ragged man was walking slowly past the house, his head covered with a rough sacking hood. He moved off down the street without looking up once.

A night light burned on the mantle. Caleb got into bed.

He couldn’t sleep. He lay staring up at the flickering shadows that crossed and recrossed the low ceiling. He imagined more ragged men. Saw them clearly in his mind gathering in the street below, their faces hidden either by identical rough hoods, or by skull masks like his own. He was sure he heard them whispering, plotting.

He got out of bed and looked out of the window again. The street was empty. A light burned in the house opposite. Otherwise there was nothing but wet cobbles and fading wisps of fog. He got back into bed and listened to the house around him as it creaked and settled. He forced his eyes shut and saw at once his father’s face and heard him call out clearly, ‘Run.’ He tried counting in his head, one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, precise seconds as he had been taught. Finally he lost count and dreamed a vivid dream that he was slowly falling. That he was being chased through the air by an airship. That he landed on a steep staircase in a tall tower and ran down and down the spiral stairs giddy with fear until he finally reached the cobbled streets and then he was running, and running faster than he had ever run before. He was being chased by the moon with its big, pale, bone face, like a skull. Tatters of fog trailed out around the moon like a highwayman’s cape. The moon came grinning after him, low and fast over the cobbles.

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Chapter 32

Two Buckland Corporation cadets flanked Inspector Lestrade as he climbed the steps of the Buckland Corporation headquarters again. The night porter stood to attention as soon as he saw him and made a half-hearted salute. The Inspector swept up the central staircase and went straight to Abel Buckland’s office. He indicated that the cadets should wait outside, and then he opened the double doors.

Mr Buckland was sitting at the top of a very high stepladder looking down on his miniature city. The room was in almost complete darkness except for the tiny lamps and lights all over the model laid out below him. He looked over as the door opened and slammed closed again.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Good evening, Abel,’ said Lestrade. ‘I can report that we were correct. The body was indeed that of Dr Mulhearn. I had it from my man. He took one of Jack’s personal acquaintances to identify the body.’

Buckland stayed where he was, staring down at the vast toy city below him, at the lines of little airships blinking in formation above the streets, at the little model steam trains chuffing along the tiny suburban routes.

‘I am afraid the local police have bettered your man,’ Buckland said sadly. ‘Look on my desk.’

Lestrade skirted round the huge model and went to the desk. The oil lamp was lit and there was enough light to see the envelopes stacked on a ledger. There was a brown envelope on top with the flap open and the ties loosened.

‘Look inside,’ said Buckland.

An official arrest photograph and statement were inside.

‘Look carefully,’ said Buckland.

‘
Number 19248
,’ read the Inspector, ‘
a pickpocket, self-confessed, found on an omnibus trying to steal
.’

‘He gave his name to the duty clerk.’

‘So he did, it’s all down here. Oh I see,
Brown, first name Caleb
.’

‘Brown, first name Caleb, yes, that’s the very one. You have a man out looking for the boy and his father, and guess what, the locals had one of them strapped into a neck brace blinking in front of one of their cameras. Ironic, don’t you think?’

‘Sorry, Abel, I assumed . . .’

‘Never assume. That boy is the son of Lucius Brown, my partner at one time, a founder and pioneer of this place. Need I say more? Caleb Brown is now in very grave danger, as is my precious Gentleman – I need to save him, and to save him I must find him. We have a chance, a real chance at last. Your man needs this information and right away. You see in all of their cack-handed incompetence, the local desk clerk signed this young Caleb Brown over to that thumping ‘official’ crook William Leighton of all people for a ‘consideration’ of £20. It’s down there in black and white in best clerk’s copperplate. Time of arrest, so-called guarantee bond, address, everything. Now get the information over to your man and do it now.’

‘I will of course at once. I’m sorry –’

‘Let me stop you there, Lestrade. No waffling, no excuses. Before you go have a look at the topmost tip of the old Tower 42 on my model beside you.’

The inspector looked closely at the miniature of the threatened building, the last of its kind, complete with tiny demolition notices. A model of a cloaked and masked figure stood on the tallest point. His hands were raised high; he was holding a tiny severed bloodied head.

‘The Fantom,’ said Buckland. ‘Pray that it will not be your head or mine he is holding ready to leave in that high place.’

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Chapter 33

Caleb was woken early the next morning by someone coming into his room. He thought at first in his bleary half-awake half-dreaming state, that he was at home and it was his father. He quickly sat up in bed. Then reality kicked in and he remembered. It wasn’t his father; it would never be his father.

It was a sallow-faced woman in a dusty black dress, her hair scraped back tightly from her face in a hard-looking bun, and black glass jewels glittering on her front.

She went to the window and pulled the curtains back roughly, which let the grey morning light into the room. She turned and studied him. She spoke briskly, ‘So you’re a new one then. What are you called and how’d he find you?’

‘I’m Caleb, Caleb Brown,’ he said defensively.

‘Good morning, Caleb Brown, if that’s your name.’

‘Oh, it’s my name all right,’ Caleb said, throwing back the bedclothes.

‘I’m Mrs Boulter, and I run the household here,’ she said.

Caleb looked into her hard dark eyes. There was no welcome in her severe, blank face. He could find no warmth, no humour, no expression except one of exasperation.

‘Come on then. Get yourself dressed quickly, come down to the kitchen and I suppose I’ll give you some breakfast. No dawdling. I’m a busy woman.’

Bible J came in a minute later. ‘Morning,’ he said cheerily, and draped some clothes across the fireguard. ‘Here. Try these, smudger, the house style.’

‘Get yourself dressed, and then come down.’

Caleb put the new clothes on, and then he caught sight of himself in the mirror over the washbasin. His hair was plastered down now, and curled across his forehead in dark ringlets. The dark waistcoat and the white linen made him look older. Above the washbasin and the mirror was a black-and-silver tinsel picture which read ‘God is Love’. Caleb wished he could believe it.

He clattered down the narrow stairs to the kitchen in the basement. What little light there was came in through some thick squares of dingy glass at street level. Mrs Boulter handed him a china bowl of porridge.

Caleb ate the sticky porridge at the kitchen table while she clattered about at the sink.

‘Did he tell you of any duties you would have here?’ she asked.

‘No one said anything about duties. I don’t think I’ll be here for very long.’

She turned from the sink and quickly looked him up and down. ‘You’ve the look of a thief like that other one, and not much healthier. You’d best try and keep your wits about you in this house and jump to it when himself upstairs tells you.’

Bible J swept into the kitchen.

‘Good morning, Ma B.’ He helped himself to tea from the pot on the table.

‘Mr L sends his compliments,’ Bible J said, ‘and could you send young Mr Caleb here up to the morning room with a breakfast tray.’

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‘Come.’

Bible J opened the door wide and let Caleb through first with the breakfast tray. Caleb stood for a moment in the middle of the crowded room, which was piled high with more treasures.

Mr Leighton sat on the other side of an oval table.

‘Well, good morning, young man. Come in. Just put the tray down here,’ he said.

Caleb set the tray down carefully and then just stood.

‘The house uniform looks very well on you. First of all, some dull housekeeping matters. Here in this house as a general rule and certainly in this particular room, if there are any clients or visitors I am to be referred to as Mister William, for authenticity’s sake. I would like you to refer to me publicly by that name always, do you understand, Caleb?’

‘Yes,’ Caleb said.

‘This is, I hope, an agreeable and welcoming household. It is managed by Mrs Boulter. I strongly believe in charity for young persons from the streets here. I have helped many others like you. Why, young Mr McCreddie here, for instance, I have helped since I found him many years ago.’

Bible J smiled and nodded, holding his jacket lapels in both hands.

Mr Leighton ate some of the toast and while he chewed he opened a handkerchief to reveal the rusted-looking pocket watch and the length of dirty string. ‘Mr McCreddie showed me this watch, which was among his haul from last night.’

‘It was the murdered man’s,’ Caleb said, ‘though it says it was presented to my father. It was once my father’s watch.’

Leighton turned the watch over. He rubbed at the inscription with the handkerchief.

‘It seems that your father was an important person, Caleb. Do you think that’s why the ragged men took him?’

Caleb fumbled for an answer. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied hesitantly.

‘An important man to the Buckland Corporation at least. When the police talked to you at the station did you give them your real name?’

‘Yes.’

‘It will take a while, but the message will get through to them. The wheels grind slowly here in Pastworld but they do grind.’ He smiled to himself. ‘You and your father are something of a mystery then, Mr Brown.’

‘Yes, Mr William.’

‘Very good, I like mysteries. Now we will say a short prayer for you and for your father’s safe deliverance. Let us bow our heads.’

Leighton closed his eyes; Bible J winked at Caleb. Caleb let his head drop forward.

‘Oh Lord, look down upon this miserable boy and treat him with mercy, and his father too. If you must, then take them to your bosom without pain and suffering and lead them to dwell with you in eternity, amen.’

‘Amen,’ said Bible J with a smirk. He was working on his teeth with a sharpened matchstick.

Caleb raised his head and Mr Leighton said, ‘Yes, indeed. You are a mystery, I shall look into it. Meanwhile best see if Mrs Boulter has anything for you to do.’

Then he handed Caleb the pocket watch and dismissed him quickly with his hand. Bible J winked at him again as he closed the door. They went back down to the kitchen, where Caleb was given boring chores to do by Mrs Boulter. First he had to clean the stone floor with a stringy mop and a bucket of water. Then polish and buff two pairs of black elastic-sided boots. He biffed the leather uppers of the boots with the polishing brush. It was satisfying enough, if he imagined that he was attacking ragged men, scattering them and pulling his father up from the cold ground. Eventually Bible J came back down, and sat with his feet up on the table.

‘Mr William likes what he sees. He’s got a sniff of something big with you. You’re a good find. Later he says you can help me to lay out the chairs and prepare the room upstairs for one of his “scientific” meetings tonight. I was forgetting, smudger, do you scare easy? Our man upstairs, he likes to speak to the dead.