Theft of Life (41 page)

As soon as the name of Fischer was out of Jonathan’s mouth, Graves began to run. He was not even aware that William Geddings was following close behind him. He bellowed at the crowds in front of him and even the chairmen understood it was better not to block his path. He cut through the mass of people, leaving them confused and staring in his wake. William ran hard behind him, the old ache in his leg flaring with each step, but not slowing for it, and the great white Cathedral with its apostles and worthies lined along its pediments looked down on them in weary compassion as their shouts bounced off its white flanks.

As Fischer began to lower himself onto the sofa, Eustache lashed out, aiming his fingers at Fischer’s eyes. The Reverend swung away and Eustache sprang down and scrambled for the door, falling onto his knees from weakness. He heard Fischer grunt but did not look back, crawling towards the door in a crouch, his vision blurred. The sickness in his head threatened to drag him under, but he could still see the door. He reached for the handle, then felt Fischer’s hard grip on his ankle. He tried to kick with his other foot, but Fischer dodged it and hauled him towards him. Eustache could smell the sweat on him, the brandy on his breath. He jabbed at Fischer’s eyes again, but the priest caught hold of his wrist and held him.

The front door opened and Graves burst into the hallway before the maid could speak. He heard a crash upstairs. The maid was holding onto his arm. He shoved her away and dashed up the staircase in front of him, roaring, ‘Eustache!’

He heard the maid shriek and begin to shout for a constable. On the first landing he paused, faced with doors to the right and left – then there was another muffled shout. William tried the handle. Locked. The two men put their shoulders to it together.

Fischer was lying across him, panting and wheezing. He had managed to trap Eustache’s arms under him. The boy tried to bite but Fischer was too strong for him; his hand forced his mouth closed and pinched his nose tight, the weight of him pressing down his head against the floor so he was unable to shake himself free. He could not fight the panic any further: it crashed over him as he tried to draw breath, found nothing.

William came falling into the room first. Through a haze Eustache saw him hook his arms round Fischer and try to drag him off; at the same moment he heard Graves calling his name in a cracked voice and felt his guardian’s arms round him, pulling him back, but Fischer was full of some desperate fever. Eustache thought he must faint, his panicked heart must burst – then he saw William’s fist bunch and drive with all its strength into the side of Fischer’s head. The blow stunned the man and he fell back; Eustache found himself panting and choking in his guardian’s arms.

‘Eustache, my boy. Eustache!’ He felt Graves’s cheek pressed against the top of his head, his hands checking him over for wounds or hurt.

‘I’m whole, Papa, I’m whole,’ he gasped out, and drank in great gulps of air. Fischer was on his knees, cowering in the corner while William stood over him, his fists balled.

Graves got up, took two strides across the room and hauled Fischer to his feet.

‘That is my child!’ He drew back his hand and slapped Fischer hard across the face, releasing his grip on the priest’s collar at the same time, so he slumped back down to the ground and began to cry. Graves stared down and said quietly, ‘God help me, William, I may be about to kill a man.’

William was still breathing hard. ‘I’ll swear it was in defence of our lives if you do.’

Eustache did not mean to make a sound, but he must have done so, as both men turned back towards him. Graves hesitated then bent down and picked up the boy, holding him so he could rest his cheek on his guardian’s chest. ‘Expect the constables, Fischer. I’ll see you prosecuted for the attempted murder of my boy and I will see you hang for it.’

William looked at the priest a moment longer, noticed the empty portfolio and the ashes piled deep in the grate, then spat on the floor just in front of where the man crouched and cowered. Eustache saw it and rejoiced. Graves walked out first, Eustache still in his arms, his hands around Graves’s neck, and William followed. They went down the stairs past the hysterical maid. A verger, his expression confused and angry, prepared to block their way. William moved forward slightly and, slow and controlled, simply swept the man aside so Graves could pass. They did not even notice the crates and boxes torn open and spilling papers into the hall, the strange tang of smoke that rose from them. The Thornleigh coach was already in sight, with David yelling and cursing at every other vehicle in the road until he could get close enough to them.

‘The boy?’ he said, his face white.

Eustache looked up from his guardian’s shoulder and managed a small wave. The coachman’s expression collapsed with relief. A constable of the city was puffing up to them as William opened the carriage door and Graves carried the child inside, cradling his head.

‘Hold hard! What’s the meaning of all this?’ the constable managed to say between gasps.

Graves looked at him as if from very far away and made no reply. Instead, he settled himself in the plush interior of the carriage, Eustache still held on his knee, then addressed his servants. ‘David, Berkeley Square as quick as you might. William, would you be able to go back to the bookshop and tell them?’ William nodded, and Graves put out his hand through the window. ‘Thank you, Mr Geddings.’

William shook it and as they released each other the coach pulled smartly away. The constable put his hand on William’s arm. ‘What’s happening?’

William spoke loudly enough for the curious slowing their steps to hear him. ‘Dr Fischer tried to murder a child. You may look for us in Berkeley Square if you have need of us.’ Then he turned and walked back in the direction of the Cathedral.

H
ARRIET, TOBIAS CHRISTOPHER AND
Crowther all arrived at Hinckley’s Booksellers shortly after William had returned. Instead of enjoying a quiet conversation with Mr Glass, they found themselves surrounded by the family from Berkeley Square. The children had been badly frightened by what William had told them of Fischer’s attack on Eustache. Stephen ran to his mother when he came in and clung to her hand with an urgency she recalled from his early childhood. Lord Sussex had found a seat next to William, and looked as if he would hide under the footman’s livery if he could. Susan was sitting very straight, but she was pale to her lips and held Mrs Service’s hand in her own. They looked all, absurdly young.

William and Mrs Service explained to the rest what had happened. The employees of the bookshop had been joined by three other gentlemen Harriet had never met: a rather bedraggled young man called Walter Sharp, a butcher whom Crowther called Scudder and a miserable-looking constable by the name of Miller. They explained that Glass could still not be found, and that they feared for him.

Into the terrible quiet, Mrs Service said at last: ‘Harriet, Mr Crowther, I shall take the children home if William will fetch us a cab. I must help Graves with Eustache.’ Her voice broke slightly. ‘Lord, that I took them to his church! The world is too wicked.’

‘Harriet,’ Susan said, ‘did Dr Fischer kill the bookshop lady? Mrs Smith?’

Mrs Westerman shook her head. ‘I think not, my darling. Mrs Trimnell did so, I believe, when she tried to recover the manuscript. Fischer burned it only this morning? Oh, Lord.’

Crowther put out his hand and smoothed Stephen’s hair. ‘We discovered Sawbridge paid for the attack on Mr Trimnell, but we found him dead this morning. We know Sir Charles went with Drax to tell Mrs Trimnell and Sawbridge that he was severing his ties with them yesterday evening. Some news of what had happened in the bookshop must have reached them. Mrs Westerman suspects that Sawbridge was desperate for their protection for himself and his daughter, and so threatened Drax or Sir Charles in some way and that threat got him killed. Now Mrs Trimnell is missing. She was not at Sir Charles Jennings’s home, nor at her lodgings.’

Christopher rolled his shoulders. ‘Perhaps we should go and pay a visit to Drax. I have heard rumours of how he made his money. Let me go and I shall take the ghosts of some of my murdered brothers with me. He will tell you quickly enough what happened in that room yesterday evening.’

‘I have no doubt of that, Mr Christopher,’ Harriet said, ‘but would we find him at home? If he or Sir Charles killed Sawbridge, they will be hunting Mrs Trimnell now.’

Walter was leaning on the counter, his hands in his hair. ‘Drax? Sawbridge? Mrs Trimnell? I have never heard of these people! If they did for Eliza Smith, then I hope their wicked carcasses rot in hell. Where will you look for this woman?’

Harriet sighed. ‘We do not know where to begin. I think Mrs Trimnell is in fear of her life, but I do not know where she would go for sanctuary.’

It was Scudder who noticed the looks passing between the children. ‘There is some knowledge here we do not have. What do you know, young ones?’

‘It’s a secret,’ Susan said so quietly they could hardly hear her. ‘Eustache’s secret, and there will be terrible trouble if we say—’

Harriet rounded on her. ‘Susan, for God’s sake, enough! The time for secrets is long gone.’ Susan was shocked into silence. It was Lord Sussex who spoke, indistinctly, from William’s lapels.

‘Dauda,’ he said. ‘Dauda has a house to the north.’

William put a finger under Jonathan’s chin and lifted it gently till they were looking each other in the eye. ‘What do you say, My Lord?’

‘Sawbridge had a daughter with one of his slaves. She was very pretty and Sir Charles fell in love with her.’

Stephen tugged on his mother’s hand. ‘When he came back to England he could not leave her, so he bought her a house near London.’

‘He made it all very beautiful and she lives there by herself and Sir Charles visits her,’ Susan said. ‘She has one maid and a blind cook and when the local girls come in to do the rough work she has to stay in her room because she is such a secret. Mr Sawbridge used to write and tell his other daughter Mrs Trimnell about it, and she’d get very jealous. Mr Trimnell read the letters and wrote it down.’ Susan wiped her eyes. ‘Might she go there? They are sisters, after all.’

‘How do you know these things?’ Harriet asked.

‘The manuscript. Eustache was trying to copy it out last night and we helped him,’ she said.

Stephen let out an exhausted sigh. ‘We didn’t manage to finish it all. We left out all the God business.’

‘You copied it?’ Harriet said. ‘The four of you?’ She took a tighter hold of her son. ‘Dear God, what have you read?’

‘It was horrible,’ Susan said. ‘And everyone knows it happens really, and we wander around pretending we don’t. Eustache didn’t want the names to be lost and we thought he was right.’

Harriet looked round at them all; she felt horrified and diminished by what they might have learned, and sore at the thought of Eustache hurt in Berkeley Square. All to save those names. She wished they didn’t know. They had already seen too much, this odd collection of children, while so many others in their privileged position glided from golden cage to golden cage, knowing neither that the cages existed, nor the blood cost of their building.

‘Mr Glass is there too,’ Miller said with sudden conviction into the silence.

Crowther looked at him with interest. ‘Constable Miller?’

The man puffed out his cheeks as he collected his thoughts. ‘I got some conversation out of a certain cabman. He took a fare, who I’m thinking was this Sawbridge, up to a place near Devil’s Lane. That’s north. Now you say Mrs Trimnell killed Eliza Smith, and I’ll take that on your say-so – but she didn’t carry a fit young lass like Penny out of the shop over her shoulder. I think Mr Sawbridge went to clear up after his daughter. He hits Penny over the head with a bottle and then needs to get rid of her. Now I spent half a day walking round up there, and it’s lonely true enough, but not such a great place to bury a girl on an evening. There’s not enough by way of cover when you’re doing your digging. Hornsey Wood, then, you might think. True, it’s quieter, but there are always folks up at Copt Hall and they’d notice something going on. But if I knew a friendly house out there with a bit of garden, it’d make sense to go there and borrow a shovel. Especially if I knew there were no servants to speak of in the place. I reckon Sawbridge went and covered up the murder done by one daughter by burying Penny in the garden of his other girl. I’d swear to it.’ The constable thought a moment then looked disappointed again. ‘Though if Mr Glass and the dogs
had
found a grave there, I don’t know why he’d still be standing over it weeping. He’s no fighting man, but I doubt a maid and her mistress could prevent him coming back to tell us what he’d discovered.’

‘Perhaps your Penny is still alive,’ Tobias said. He had been standing listening to them all, his arms crossed over his chest. ‘Alive but hurt, so Mr Glass can’t just take her away over his shoulder.’

Walter brightened. ‘Yes – he’d have to stay and guard her, hope that Constable Miller here had forced the address from the driver and that we’d come after him.’

‘Go and find out,’ Harriet said immediately.

‘Too bloody right we will! Come on, those that will,’ Scudder said. ‘I know a fella will give us good horses off Smithfields.’ He reached for his coat, then he paused. ‘Any of you fighting men? I’ve got a good bit of strength in my arm, but it seems like there’s a parcel of murdering dogs on the loose and I’d as lief have a fellow with us who knows how to handle a gun.’ Tobias stood up to his full height. Scudder looked him up and down. ‘You’ll do.’

‘Mr Crowther?’ Christopher said, turning towards him. Crowther reluctantly shook his head. ‘I will not be able to keep pace with you until my ribs heal.’

‘You must finish it, Mr Christopher, please,’ Harriet said, still holding her son’s hand tightly.

He bowed. ‘But there is something wrong here, my friends. Dauda is not a woman’s name. It is a man’s.’

Susan looked confused. ‘Trimnell says “she”, and “daughter”, and “girl” in the papers he wrote. He calls her “Sir Charles’s creature”.’