The Hangman's Child (36 page)

Half an hour later, in the sergeants' room, among tall sloping desks and stools, Samson said, 'Had your roasting, then?'

Verity glowered at him.

'Why was you with Mr Croaker down Drury Lane?'

Samson flushed. He brushed his mutton-chop whiskers on the edge of his hand.

'Fair's fair,' he said reasonably. 'You'd had your chance. And Bragg was gone off with Handsome Rann.'

Verity took a step towards him and Samson took a step back.

'I want to know, Mr Samson.'

Samson shrugged.

'Disturbance outside Ma Martileau's. Forty or fifty cabmen and half-a-dozen reverend gentlemen, all swearing a pure virgin been enticed into a house of sin and imprisoned in the attics. Mrs Verity's old father seen rioting! They was going to have their way in with staves and cab-whips to rescue the doxy.' 'And Mr Croaker went down for that?'

'Not exactly,' Samson said self-consciously. 'We heard that bugger Rann been mixed up in it, no one knowing yet he couldn't be because you seen him sink in the mud. Still, it had Mr Croaker off like a greyhound. We got in there with a warrant. Had to fist one or two. Bragg's footmen. Virgin turned out to be Mag Fashion, that hasn't been a virgin since she knew she could be otherwise.'

Verity looked uneasily at his companion.

'Who said about Jack Rann being there?'

Samson beamed and worked his knuckles reminiscently.

'Joker. Told someone he was Rann and if we wanted him he was living on the top floor of Mother Martileau's. By then, of course, you'd seen Handsome Jack in the mud. All we found was Soapy Samuel and Mag Fashion locked in the attics, with Hardwicke and Atwell downstairs counting the money.'

Samson snorted derisively and continued.

'When Bragg went off with Rann, I reckon Hardwicke and Atwell were left behind, to snuff Soapy Samuel and Mag Fashion. Hardwicke and Atwell say otherwise, of course. They swear Samuel went willing to Ma Martileau's, asking for their help, saying he can tell 'em where to fetch more money from the Cornhill Vaults than they ever imagined. Down the Ratcliff Highway, under a floor.'

'Where?'

'They couldn't say,' Samson shrugged, 'some old tosher's place. I reckon Hardwicke sees how they might get the money and skip before Bragg comes back. If there's no money down the Highway, they can always do Samuel and Maggie for having 'em on. So Atwell guards 'em and Hardwicke goes to find the money. The tosher weren't there, them working at nights. Hardwicke comes back with thousands of bank notes, bonds, and sovs, which he swears he only had because they meant to have it off Samuel and the tosher to return it to the lawful owners.' 'What's Samuel say?'

'He don't know a thing about the money. Him and Mag Fashion just went to the house for a bit of a time. No witnesses to say otherwise. Hardwicke and Atwell were downstairs with the money in their hands. Makes them primo for the Cornhill Vaults. Inquiries been made about that today. Seems Lord Mancart had a bill for a thousand sovs dishonoured yesterday.'

'What time was you and Mr Croaker at Bragg's place?'

'About four in the morning. Hardwicke and Atwell never knew then that Bragg and Flash Fowler were dead. I'd say they was about ready to snuff Samuel and Maggie, then off with the money. But they was still there when Mr Croaker came to join the fun. Anyhow, while you was giving evidence just now, Hardwicke and Atwell been charged with doing the Cornhill Vaults.'

'Hardwicke and Atwell couldn't do a china pig!'

Samson grinned hugely.

'And you'd know about that, would you? You was the bright spark reckoned Handsome Rann never done Pandy Quinn. But he did.'

Verity stared at him. 'Who says?'

'Mr Home Secretary. He been through the case. Been through this so-called new evidence. Knives and drains. Nothing but nonsense dreamed up by you and old Baptist Babb and Chaffey, scrubber-up at inquests. So the Home Office still says Handsome Jack was well due for stretching. Only you reckon the bugger saved 'em the trouble, out on the mud.'

They climbed back on their stools and opened their diary ledgers.

'It is true, isn't it?' Samson asked presently. 'What is?'

'Handsome Rann. You saw him sucked down like Charley Fowler?'

Verity stared at him, as if thinking of something far beyond.

'Mr Samson, have I ever lied to you?'

They went back to their chores. Samson looked up again.

'Any rate, I suppose you can have this back now,' he said.

It was the envelope in which Verity had sealed his posthumous memorandum to Croaker. Until Samson tossed it on to the desk, he had forgotten it. He picked it up.

'You bloody opened it!' he said. 'It was to be handed unopened to Mr Croaker if the worst should happen to me!'

Samson shrugged.

'But the worst didn't happen to you, my
son. Only to be unopened if ha
nded to Mr Croaker, supposing the worst happened. Nothing about being unopened if the worst didn't happen. Lot of rubbish about Handsome Rann not doing Pandy Quinn, which Mr Home Secretary says he did. Sly Joanne being snuffed when even the inquest said found-drowned. Still, I liked the last bit -commending Mrs Verity and her infants to friends of virtue and religion. Rich, that was!'

The outrage was so absolute that Verity was lost for words. He tucked the torn envelope into his pocket. At last he said sadly, 'You ain't a man of confidence, Mr Samson. Not a man of confidence at all.'

It was rare for Chief Inspector Croaker to address the Private-Clothes Detail on parade but he did so on the following morning in the yard of Whitehall Place. Verity found himself in the front rank, almost face-to-face with his commander. The day was cool with a breeze from the river, whipping and snapping at the flag, lowered to half-mast.

'In Charles Foxe Fowler we mourn the passing of a senior officer and a gallant comrade.' Croaker was shouting a little, as if to make himself heard above the breeze. 'We mourn his passing but treasure his example.'

'Example, my arse!' said a quiet voice behind Verity. 'The easiness of his manner concealed a
..
. .'

bloody robber,' said the quiet voice and someone sniggered. '... dedication, loyalty and feeling ...' '...up a dollymop's skirt...'

'Silence in the ranks,' said Croaker firmly. 'We do our late comrade disservice by allowing even our murmurs of grief to disturb the discipline of parade.'

At dismissal, Verity turned aside and faced Sergeant Alford.

'Seen the new roster?' Alford asked cheerfully. 'They put you back in uniform all next quarter. Waterloo Road, waving traffic about. Someone don't love you, old cock.'

That night, in the ancient brass bed with the two cradles at its foot, Bella said, 'But if this person Rann never went down in the mud, Mr Verity, you could have took him. Now you gone and told untruth.'

Moonlight through open curtains illuminated his round face on the pillow, dark hair flattened on a head that was hatless at last.

'Your old father done a great thing, Mrs Verity, getting them cabmen together.'

'Only 'cos you let Jack Rann go free and then told untruth.'

‘I
never told untruth, Mrs Verity. I told the inquiry that he and Mr Fowler both vanished. So they did, only different directions. And when Mr Samson asked if I really saw Handsome Rann go down in the mud, all I did was ask Mr Samson if I'd ever told him a lie. Ain't the same as untruth.'

Under the sheet, Bella stroked his leg with her toes. The doubt on her face added a new dimension of prettiness.

'It's not what you was taught in chapel,' she said quietly.

'Ain't it?' he said thoughtfully. 'We was Methodist and Radicals. My old father and my mother was married when the Reform Bill was in the 'ouse of Commons. I was named for it. William Clarence for old King William that was Duke of Clarence and wanted the reform. I was taught justice. How we got to break the power of the squirearchy and the established church. Even Handsome Rann got a right to justice. You know they was still going to hang him if they caught him? Mr Home Secretary decided. Even after Bragg and Fowler and the knife and the drain! Thanks to what I let 'em think, they ain't even looking for him any more.'

Bella turned on her back.

'Then you saved him.'

'Not really. You was right, Mrs Verity, when you said there's lots of good ordinary people in the world, them that never give a tinker's cuss for Home Secretaries, nor Mr Croakers. You know who saved Handsome Rann? He got saved by a poor starving washerwoman and her baby in Newgate Street. And an old tosher down the Ratcliff Highway. And a penny-dancer from a Monmouth Street gaff. And an old cadger dressed up like a parson. And a young medical chap that could never pass to be a doctor. And an old harlot that watches fallen creatures so they don't run off and sell their fancy clothes. And if Handsome Jack did the Cornhill Vaults and got clean away with his share, they'd dance to hear of it, and bust theirselves laughing.'

Bella giggled.

'You ain't never going to let fly with that down Paddington Chapel, Mr Verity!'

He turned on his side and put his arms round her.

'P'raps I won't, Bella. But ain't it true? Handsome Rann's the only one got away with his share. His Miss Jolly's back to showing you-know-what down the Chinese Shades. Mag Fashion'll be kneeling to gentry and ladies in some mourning draper's again. Soapy Samuel got to be nothing but a trick-parson. But don't Rann deserve what he got? After all what was done to him? But they'd hang him still! Thank God I never took him on the mud.'

Bella sighed, as the breeze across the rooftops of the little streets ruffled the curtains at their open window. Then she was confidential again.

'Even supposing,' she said quietly, 'you was sent for ever and ever down the Waterloo Road, just to wave the traffic about, we got so much to be glad about. We ain't starving. We got a roof. There's even a bit put by.'

'There's that,' he said philosophically.

Bella drew him closer.

'And s'pose you was sent to do nothing but
sweep
the Waterloo Road the rest of your life. Even then, William Clarence Verity, you'd still be my good brave sojer!'

He chortled self-consciously.

'I don't know about all that, Mrs Verity.'

‘I
do,' she said.