Pastworld (23 page)

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Chapter 45

Eve had been dozing, half asleep, half dreaming, but now she was awake suddenly, fearful and alert; she heard rough, low voices outside the wagon.

‘Are they in there?’

‘Far as I know.’

She looked out from under the edge of the canvas. Three ragged men stood outside the wagon. She burrowed herself under a pile of backcloths. It seemed that those who would do her harm had finally found her. Jago had been insistent that if such a thing ever happened she should save herself first. She wormed her way to the escape hole in the wagon board, lifted the trap quietly and dropped out under the wagon just as Jago had made her promise and practise over and over. She rolled silently, quickly, into the dense bushes. Then she watched from a distance.

One of the ragged men hefted a short length of lead pipe in his hand. He read the words out loud from the painted canvas. ‘Jago’s Pandemonium Show. I’ll give ’im pandemonium.’

The other ragged men, one skinny and one with broad shoulders, laughed at that.

‘Kill the light,’ the man with the lead pipe said.

The skinny man behind turned down the wick of his lamp so that its green glow faded out, leaving just dense, fog-smeared, Pastworld night.

Eve lay paralysed with fear, silent under the press of twigs and leaves. A baby started to cry in one of the other wagons.

The ragged man tapped out a little tattoo on the flimsy wagon step. After a moment Eve heard Jago stir and open the front flap just a crack. When he saw who was there, he tried to close it again. The ragged men were too quick for him. They grabbed his arms and pulled him out, then held him from behind with his mouth covered. Eve put her hand over her own mouth to stop herself crying out and remembered the feeling of Caleb’s hands around her throat. She could see the fear on Jago’s face as clear as day.

‘Where is she?’ the ragged man demanded.

Jago shook his head.

‘Call her out, now.’ He nodded to one of the other men to let go of Jago’s mouth. The beggar trailed his dirty fingers across Jago’s lips as he freed his mouth, and all poor Jago managed to splutter was, ‘She’s not here,’ in a hoarse whisper.

The wagon flap swung open silently all on its own, and Bible J stood bleary-eyed, framed by the entrance.

Eve’s hand fell from her mouth in fear. ‘Don’t hurt him,’ she whispered to the leaves.

The ragged man turned to Bible J. ‘Where is she?’ he asked quietly, breathing heavily now, a slick of sweat visible across his forehead. ‘Where?’ he smacked the heavy pipe against the wagon frame.

‘Where’s who?’ said Bible J, quietly but firmly. Eve suppressed the urge to leap up out of the hedgerow and give herself up.

‘You know full well who I mean. Your darkie friend here thinks he’s being very brave and clever, trying to protect her, but he’s not, he’s being very stupid.’

Bible J stared back at him directly, his eyes unblinking. Eve’s mind was working fast. She tried to take in how many had come, what chance they might stand if they fought against them. Two were holding Jago, and the other stood close to Bible J, his dark bulk looming like a shadow, like a stain.

She could see Jago’s eyes wide, reflecting the low light, the whites silvery in the gloom.

The man turned from Bible J back to Jago. Then he did something strange; he kissed Jago very gently on the forehead and smiled at him. He looked into Jago’s eyes as if savouring the moment, and then he struck Jago suddenly very hard on the side of the head with the heavy lead pipe. Jago slumped back suddenly, as boneless as a rag doll, his head twisted over to one side. That was enough. Eve pushed her way out of the layers of leaves and dirt where she had burrowed herself, and she stood up and stepped out right in front of them.

The ragged man, momentarily shocked, looked at her and then laughed quickly. It was a feral barking sound, and then he covered his mouth with his hand and watched her walk forward.

She stood before them all in her long nightdress. Her hair had tumbled down around her shoulders. The beggar took a step forward and jumped up on to the wagon board, level with Bible J. He leaned forward and suddenly struck Bible J hard across the head with the lead pipe, and she watched Bible J fall down next to Jago. She managed to scream out a strangulated, ‘No!’

The ragged man looked pleased at the outcome, at the release of fear and pain that he had caused. He looked at her and shook his head and then said, ‘Used to run with Japhet in the old days. He’s gone soft.’

One of the other ragged men tore the canvas flap all the way open and the man with the lead pipe helped push the slumped bodies of Jago and Bible J in through the open gap. He let them fall like two old sacks back into the wagon. He threw the pipe down hard and it hit the solid turf with a dull thud. He wiped his hands as if he had just disposed of something particularly filthy. Then he turned to Eve. ‘Someone wants to meet you very badly, miss,’ he said. ‘He’s been waiting a very long time and now he requests the pleasure of your company.’ He laughed his horrible barking laugh again.

He pulled her away roughly by the arm but then the broad one stayed his hand and said, ‘Remember what he told us – we are to go very gently with her.’ The ragged man let go of her arm and bowed in front of her and said, ‘If you would be so kind,’ and ushered her forward. They walked past the wagon where the baby still cried. He stopped them for a moment as if to enjoy the baby’s distress and then they took her right to the edge of the park. They went out through the tall iron gates which stood open. Eve was hunched and shivering in her nightdress. No one among the passing Gawkers took any notice of them. She was put into a dark, closed carriage. She could think only of the slumped figures of Bible J and of poor Jago lying together in pain back in the darkness of the wagon.

When Bible J came to later, his head ached when he sat up and he felt groggy, as if he had been drinking bathtub gin and spike all night. Bright, stabbing beams of light pierced his eyes when he moved his head. He got up and staggered forward and then sat down again on Jago’s bed. Jago lay on the floor. At first Bible J thought that they had killed him. There was blood on the sheet which had draped across his head where he had been thrown. Bible J put his head down close to Jago’s chest. He could feel him breathing. He took stock of the caravan. Some of Jago’s trinkets and holy figures had fallen from the little altar next to the bed when they had both been thrown back into the wagon; otherwise nothing seemed to have been taken . . .

Eve!

He went to Eve’s little bed and steadied himself, looking down at the tangle of sheets. He saw the book she had been writing in lay open by the pillow. He picked it up and saw his own name written there in her neat hand. He took the book and went out and sat down on the steps of the wagon. He breathed in the cool air. Gradually his head cleared. He saw the length of lead pipe lying on the grass. If they were to get Eve back, they would need better weapons than that.

He stumbled down the steps with Eve’s book in his hand. He had to find help for Jago. He walked unsteadily across the wet cobbled path to the other caravans. Someone from the family would surely be around; if not, then he would find help on his own. Then he would go to Fournier Street and rally Caleb and Mr Leighton. The time had surely come.

Most of the wagons were dark, but a light burned in the window of the bearded lady’s caravan. Bible J knocked on the door and then stumbled in across the doorway as she opened it.

Rose, the bearded lady, had been talking to a friend over a late night pot of tea. The friend was a woman in a grey coat with a live spotted cat wrapped around her shoulders like a tippet. The cat stirred on the woman’s shoulder, settled its head on its paws and looked at him.

‘I know you, don’t I? You’re Mr Leighton’s boy, his apprentice; you’re Eve’s young man. My, you gave us a fright. You all right? ’Cause you don’t look too good.’ She looked him up and down and took in the bloodstains on his collar. ‘You look that pale.’

‘Jago’s been hurt,’ he said. ‘They’ve taken Eve away and Jago needs help, a doctor.’

‘Where is poor Jago?’ she asked.

‘In his wagon. They knocked us both unconscious and they took Eve.’

‘That poor girl,’ the cat woman said. ‘What is it with her? First her poor old Jack goes and gets himself murdered, and now they’ve taken her away too.’

‘Murdered?’ said Bible J. ‘Jack? Who was Jack?’

‘Eve’s pa of course, least I think he was. Didn’t she tell you about him? He was looking for her. I saw his body too, identified him in the morgue. The copper reckoned the Fantom got him.’

Rose fetched a clean towel and a jug full of hot water from the little range at the back of the caravan.

‘Come on, you two, let’s go and help poor Jago,’ she said quietly.

Once outside, the cat strained on its leash, pulling them across the cobbled path, excited by the night smells. ‘All right, Kitty, that’s where we’re going anyway,’ the cat lady said.

The fog rolled in around them. Even with the gas lamps on the path it would soon be so dense that visibility would be almost nil.

Bible J began to step backwards away from Bearded Rose and the lady with the cat.

‘Where are you going?’ Rose said kindly. ‘Come on with us. You need looking after too.’

‘I must go,’ Bible J said. ‘I must find her, where they took Eve.’

‘But how? Where will you go? You don’t know where they took her.’

‘I don’t know, but I’ll look for her, and with Caleb and Mr Leighton’s help I’ll find her.’ He ran further up the path towards the gates.

‘Wait,’ the cat lady called. ‘Take this.’ She rummaged in her coat pocket while the cat tugged on the lead. She pulled out the calling card that Catchpole had given her.

‘He knows something, this man. He’s a detective, and he seemed all right. He was worried for Eve too.’ She pressed the card into Bible J’s hand. He trotted backwards away from her.

‘Thanks for this. Look after Jago,’ he called out, and then turned and ran and was soon lost in the fog.

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Chapter 46

The carriage drew up in Moorgate near the old Underground station entrance. The ragged men bundled Eve out of the carriage and after a deft movement they were through the hoarding and into the doorway and the stairwell that led into the old ticket hall. Eve looked around her. The place was dingy, its tiled walls covered with old advertising posters. Eve struggled in the arms of her captors.

‘Gently now,’ the ragged man said. ‘Almost there. He’s been waiting such a long time to meet you, just a moment or two more.’

‘No, indeed. No more waiting for I am here
now
,’ said a voice from the darkness above them. ‘I am here, my Eve.’ A figure approached them down the staircase. He seemed surprised by what he saw, for he stopped in his tracks and inclined his head. ‘I had not realised that you would be so very beautiful. I had not remembered you well enough and my memories, such as they are, have not done you justice. Do you remember me, Eve?’ He stood still before her for a moment while a group of ragged men surged forward behind him to try to get a glimpse of this fabled girl.

Eve looked at the young man. He was dressed in black evening clothes and had a charming smile. He also had bright eyes very like her own. In her state of shock she had no clear memory of this young man, but there was something, some attraction welling up from that pocket of hidden memory, a strange sense of liking, desire even.

‘But where are my manners? You’ve heard me speak of young Eve.’ The Fantom turned her by the shoulders to face all the ragged men ranged around the tiled walls. He kissed Eve tenderly on both cheeks and then tilted her head up by the chin.

‘Ah, my Eve, it really is you.’ The Fantom was trembling, a tiny betrayal of weakness. None of the ragged men had ever seen him tremble before. ‘I would have known you anywhere, my angel, even though you’ve grown more beautiful than even I could have imagined.’ He smiled.

The young man had a handsome, chiselled, pale face with those smiling sharp sea-blue eyes, like Caleb’s. ‘Oh my but you have grown,’ the Fantom said.

Then he knelt down in front of her and looked up at her. Eve could not help but smile her mysterious smile. She felt entranced, enchanted. The man reached up and touched the tiny silver earring on the lobe of Eve’s right ear, and then he smoothed her eyebrows with the tip of his finger. ‘I looked at you when you were new. They showed you to me once. I am called Adam.’

‘Of course, Adam,’ she said again and the number one flashed across her thoughts. ‘I do remember something,’ said Eve. ‘You wore white – no not white, it was more of a calico colour – and I called you something.’

‘You did, that’s quite right. You called me number one,’ said the Fantom.

‘Later we were in the trees together, it was night-time,’ said Eve, ‘and there was a bonfire party with fireworks and Jack was there.’

‘Dr Jack Mulhearn, yes, poor old Jack, he was there and drinking champagne and so was Lucius Brown and they were all patting each other on the back because of us, my Eve.’

There was a sudden faint rumble, a distant noise from the tunnel below.

The Fantom ignored the noise. He was still mesmerised, looking into her eyes, when Eve suddenly took his hand and lifted it up to her throat. There was silence among the ragged men who had heard the distant noises but weren’t sure what to do as the strange reunion tableau unfolded before them.

The Fantom stayed still, his hand around Eve’s throat. He looked into her bright eyes, so like his own.

He spoke quietly to his ragged men. ‘It appears from those noises off, that someone, Lestrade possibly, has found us. The day has come. It seems almost meant to be. You can hear it as well as I can. You know what to do now, for we have long trained for and discussed this possibility. I want you all to go now, all of you, and deal with them. Leave us – we will stay here for we have things to do and important people to meet.’

The ragged men went in a crowd to the arms store, which was in a long corridor behind the ticket hall. They came out minutes later bristling with weapons, rifles, pistols, grenades and cartridge belts. The Fantom stood just where they had left him, with the strange girl shivering in her white nightdress as she stood patiently with the Fantom’s hands round her throat. The two were looking into each other’s eyes in a kind of daze.

The ragtag army of men clattered off down the steps of the deep escalator. They headed down the platform and then on to the tracks and up the tunnel itself towards the source of the noise.

‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting like this,’ the Fantom said quietly. ‘You’re shivering. You must be cold. I have some warmer clothes, clothes that were made expressly for you. Come with me.’ He lowered his hands gently from around her throat and then he took her by the hand, and together they went up a short staircase to a long corridor. The entrance was closed off with retractable iron grilles which the Fantom unlocked and then opened wide. The tunnel had a high domed ceiling, and instead of being lit by rows of oil lamps like the rest of the space it had a sequence of cut crystal chandeliers lit by bright electric candles which the Fantom switched on. The chandeliers stretched down the corridor in a long line and the prisms showered the curved walls with little reflections and slivers and rainbows of light.

‘Like raindrops,’ Eve said suddenly.

‘Inauthentic,’ the Fantom said, ‘but so pretty.’

A dress rail and a floor-length cheval glass stood in the middle of the bright tunnel.

‘As this is a special occasion, our anniversary and the birthday of this whole place, I think evening wear, don’t you?’ They walked together the length of the rail and the Fantom stopped by a black velvet dress with long sleeves and a scoop neck.

‘This will do very nicely.’ He took it from the rail and held it out to her.

He reached up and unbuttoned her mud-stained nightdress at the collar. She pulled his hand up to her throat again. He gently removed it.

‘No,’ he said, ‘we’re not ready, not just yet.’

The nightdress fell to the tiled floor. The Fantom stood back and appraised her as if she was a mannequin as she stood in her pale spectral nakedness. She stared back at him, strangely unafraid despite her obvious vulnerability. He handed her some underclothes from the rail, all white with broderie anglaise details and little velvet ribbons.

‘They made all of this for you, Eve, just for you.’

She put the underwear on unselfconsciously and then pulled the dress roughly over her head. The Fantom hooked the long line of fasteners together at the back of the bodice.

‘There,’ he said, ‘perfect. Now come with me. I want you to meet someone very special.’