Sword and Song (12 page)

My voice sounded distant and oddly matter-of-fact. “What did this book look like?”

“Old,” the spirit said. “And black. And the covers were loose and coming away.”

“Was there writing in the front?”

“It was all written,” she said. “None of it printed. But some of it wasn’t in English – I couldn’t read it. And I
can
read.”

“Of course you can,” Bedwalters said fondly. His expression was astonishing, a mixture of grief, and love, and pride.

“And there was music too?”

“On every page.”

Fischer’s book. Casper Fischer’s inheritance, that Lizzie Ord had seen in her father’s printing shop a year or two back. How in heaven’s name did all this come together?
And how was I to tell Fischer that his book had caused a girl’s death?

“Did
Jem
say where he’d got the book?”

“No, sir.”

“So you met him at the Old Man and he had the book with him. When was this?”

“A week ago, sir.”

“A week before you – ” I couldn’t say the word.

“Died, sir,” she said composedly. “It was the Saturday. A little over a week before. I brought him back here and after we were finished, he asked if I’d keep the book for
him for a week or two. He said it was a gift for his father and he didn’t want to keep it at home in case his father saw it.”

“A gift? In such a bad condition?”

“He said he was going to get it repaired, sir. He said he’d give me sixpence if I kept it safe.”

“And then you met him again on Tuesday?”

“Outside the chandlers, sir, on the Key. He recognised me at once and said straight away he’d get his book off me, and use my services at the same time.”

“So you came back here, you – er – ” I foundered, casting a panicked look at Bedwalters, but he was perfectly calm. “Afterwards, he wanted the book.”

“Not afterwards, sir,” she said. “He asked me for it as soon as we got here. I got it for him and he thanked me and gave me my sixpence. And then – ” She faltered
for the first time; she fell briefly silent, then said more firmly: “I never saw him do it. I was lying on my face for – ” Another hesitation. “That’s the way some
gentlemen like to do it. And afterwards, he leant over me and whispered in my ear. And I’d just realised he’d said
goodbye
when I felt a great burning in my back and – and
– ”

“Hush, hush,” Bedwalters whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

Hugh, still hunched over his knees, shifted violently.

“And he never told you his surname?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything odd he said? Any jewellery he wore?”

“No jewellery, sir,” she said straightaway. A pause. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Well,” I said. “If you do, will you tell Mr Bedwalters?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“I’ll be here,” Bedwalters said.

I had no doubt of that.

He accompanied us to the door. The fine drizzle had eased; the sky was clearing. We stood for a while in silence. An elderly man plodded morosely by, bowed under the weight of half a tree trunk.
I said, “I must go back to Long End tonight. Can you enquire about any missing apprentices?”

Bedwalters’s face lightened. “Indeed, I would be glad of something practical to do. I can send to the towns round about too, to see if anything is known there.”

“We could send a notice to the London papers,” Hugh said. “Raise the hue and cry.”

Bedwalters shook his head. “We don’t know enough, sir. A young man, dark-haired, about Mr Patterson’s height? How many men would fit that description?” He looked at me
with a direct challenge in his eyes. “Can we catch him, Mr Patterson?”

I would not lie to him. “I’ll try.”

He nodded, as if it was exactly as he’d expected. He looked up and down the road as if the passers-by interested him greatly. “Westgate was busier,” he said, “but there
are not so many carts and carriages here, which is a great blessing. There is much less noise.”

We walked away in silence. Only when we reached the end of the street did Hugh say bitterly, “He’s reconciled himself to the change in his station. He already looks on this place as
home.
This place
.” He threw out a hand to melodramatically demonstrate the dilapidated street. “Of all the people who deserve better, Bedwalters and that girl must be
foremost.” He took a deep breath. “When do you have to be back at Long End?”

“As soon as possible. Hugh, can you enquire at the Old Man and some of the other taverns along the Key? Ask if anyone saw Nell with someone of the right description. Someone might know
him.”

Hugh regarded me dryly. “That’s a long shot.”

“Everything in this matter is a long shot,” I said bitterly. “Hugh, you know as well as I do we’ve little chance of success. But we must try!”

Hugh wanted me to linger over a drink with him but we had spent longer than I’d anticipated talking to the spirit and it was later than I’d hoped. I didn’t
fancy riding the seven miles to Long End at night, so I decided to set out at once. I was riding up Northumberland Street on my way to Barras Bridge when I heard my name called. A horseman in a
yellow-green riding coat came clattering up behind me, causing pedestrians to scatter. I looked at the dark lively face with astonishment and doffed my hat. “Mr Alyson.”

He urged his horse alongside mine; the animals might be from the same stable but his was undoubtedly better bred and more highly strung – a glossy black horse that seemed to take fright at
every scrap of paper or flash of colour. Alyson controlled it effortlessly and I felt lumpen by his side.

He was grinning broadly, like a boy playing truant. “See! I made it after all. Am I too late? Is the excitement all over? You have the fellow?”

“Not yet.”

“But the spirit has disembodied?”

“Indeed.”

“And she gave you a good description of the villain?”

“An excellent one,” I said dryly. “Young, dark-haired, about my height – oh, and he wore a gaudy waistcoat.”

Alyson laughed. “So detailed! Does he have a name?”

“Jem.”

“In short,” he said, apparently finding it all exquisitely humorous, “she knew nothing.”

“Nothing of any use,” I admitted. “Except – ”

He curbed his horse’s interest in a passing dog, raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t think he was from Newcastle. He didn’t have a local accent. And she only saw him
occasionally, as if he came to town only now and again.”

“A hint,” Alyson said, thoughtfully. “But hardly of great help. You can hardly go around questioning every man not native to the town.”

“Every
young
man,” I said.

“Even so – there must be hundreds.” He cast me a sympathetic look. “Your trip seems to have been disappointing, Pattinson. You think he will escape unscathed?”

I wondered if there was anything I could do to persuade him to use my correct name. “Not if I have anything to do with it,” I retorted. “I’m not finished yet.” I
was tempted to tell him about the book but thought better of it; I owed Fischer that information first.

We turned to ride over Barras Bridge; a wagon coming the other way narrowed the space so Alyson and I had to ride single file. He, of course, went first. He waited until we could again ride side
by side. “Have you seen the constable?”

“Bedwalters? He’s been dismissed from the post.”

“One has sympathy of course,” Alyson said, in an unsympathetic tone. “But he can hardly be surprised. Associating with someone of that girl’s kind is bad enough, but to
throw caution to the winds and sacrifice everything to her, is simply preposterous! And she is in any case dead! How can such a whimsical gesture profit him?”

I bit back anger. “It can be very difficult to divine other people’s motives.”

Alyson laughed. “I think that’s an understatement!”

He urged his horse into a trot and I was forced to do likewise to keep up with him. We rode out into the country. The sun at times peered through gaps in the cloud layer – it was so low
that it dazzled us as the road twisted and turned. We saw a few locals: two or three labourers in the fields; a clergyman in a smart carriage; an elderly woman picking berries in a hedge. Alyson
began to whistle through his teeth.

“Did your business go well, sir?”

“Business? Oh, the matter of the woodland. I warn you, Pattinson – never inherit an estate. You start out thinking it will be wonderful to have such wealth and then you suddenly find
you’ve also inherited a score of disputes with neighbours, half of which are just about to go to court. I’ve tried to talk Ridley out of it, but he insists on going ahead. Are you
enjoying yourself at Long End, Patterson?”

Startled, I stared at him. He was my employer, paying me to do a job for him. What did he expect me to say?
No, your friends are rude and patronizing. No, the conditions are dreadful.
“The house is very comfortable,” I said. “And your guests are interesting people.”

“Lawyer Armstrong picked them very well,” he agreed. “They are good people, very good people. Of course, some are rather
idiosyncratic
, shall we say? Heron, for one.
Have you ever got a word out of the fellow?”

“He is naturally reserved,” I said.

“And that Colonial, always talking about his inheritance.” Alyson was looking about him as if he thought he’d caught a glimpse of something unexpected. We were on a lonely
stretch of the road with no one about, and a hump of woodland loomed up ahead. I fancied he didn’t like the look of it – all gloomy and shadowed – and neither did I.

“Have you been looking for this book today?”

I tried to sound indifferent. “With singular lack of success, I’m afraid. I spoke to Charnley but he didn’t know what had happened to it. It appears to have been stolen from
his shop.”

The sun hid behind a cloud again as we entered the first stretch of woodland following the pale road in the gloom, I began to think I’d been unwise to set out so late. And my early start
was catching up with me; I was tired, and it had been a long day. I began to be desperate for sleep.

“Stolen?” Alyson mused. “Then it must be valuable. Perhaps it’s bound in gold!”

“Perhaps there’s a family tree drawn on the flyleaf – valuable evidence in an inheritance dispute.”

Alyson chuckled. “Perhaps there’s a bequest described in verse and set to music.” And he raised his voice – a remarkably pleasant tenor – in a mocking rendition of
that popular psalm tune, Old Hundredth, with only a mild distortion of the rhythm.

My horse started, danced. I hauled back on the reins. Alyson’s highly-strung animal screamed and reared and the reins flew out of Alyson’s hands. He crashed to the
ground. I tried to grab the animal as it bolted past but it jerked out of my reach. My own horse almost took fright again.

By the time I had control once more, I knew we were safe. Any robber would already have taken advantage of our confusion to hold us up. I swung my horse round, and glimpsed two men running
across a distant field.

They were already too far away to catch. I clambered down from my horse and hurried to Alyson. He lay face down on the rough track, but was stirring as I reached him. I touched his shoulder. His
arm shot out in angry rebuff; he pushed himself over on to his back, swearing viciously.

There was a graze along his forehead as if the shot had just caught him; his hands were bloodied and crusted with earth. Mud smeared his smart riding coat. “Get my horse, damn
it.”

The animal had bolted two or three hundred yards along the track. I tossed the reins of my own horse over a low-hanging branch and went after it. It was sweating whitely, dancing about with
rolling eyes. I muttered soothing nothings. Then I heard unmistakable sounds and glanced back to see Alyson astride
my
horse, cantering towards me.

He didn’t even slow down. As he cantered past, he called out; “Use my mount,” and spurred on. By the time he came up with his own horse, he was at the full gallop and spooked
the animal into another nervous frenzy.

And when I got to it, the damn animal was lame.

There were, I estimated, two or three miles still to go to Long End, and the only option was to walk, and not quickly either, with a lame frightened horse tugging on its reins
at almost every step. In lanes where the setting sun penetrated less with every minute, where the fields on either side were shrouded in gloom, every rustle of leaves made me think the attackers
were returning to finish me off.

Two
attackers. And not simple highway robbers – no one had actually tried to steal anything. So, a deliberate attack. But
two
men? The apprentice had an accomplice? That
suggested the matter was a great deal more complicated than I’d thought.

I passed two cottages deep in the wood and wondered whether to take shelter there. Better to continue, I thought. How could I be certain that neither of my attackers originated from these hovels
or were sheltering there themselves? I would have made better progress if I’d turned the horse loose in the first field I came to, but ten to one someone would steal it and Alyson, I
suspected, would probably insist I paid him the animal’s full value.

I’d covered less than a mile and was in open country when I saw a horseman cantering towards me. A neat slight figure wearing a large concealing greatcoat, and a tricorne jammed down hard.
There was nothing I could do but stand and wait for his approach. Swearing under my breath, I vowed to spend some of my few savings on a pistol.