by Amy Myers
‘I’m sorry you paid good money for this bad news, Ned,’ I said heavily.
‘I didn’t, guvnor. Enoch paid for it. I nabbed the penny out of his pocket.’
I tried hard to look disapproving. Ned knows I don’t like his ways of augmenting our income and never does it when I’m around. Today was different. We were both upset. I’d make it up to Enoch next time I saw him.
‘What does it say, guvnor?’ Ned pretends to struggle with reading in case he’s asked to do more. I didn’t force him but just read it out to him, wondering where to go from here. Phineas had been arrested last night not long after we had left him.
‘What about Cockalorum?’ Ned asked anxiously. ‘He won’t have anything to eat.’
The way I saw it, Cockalorum was quite capable of foraging for himself, but the least we could do would be to check he was safe. Then I would try to see Constable Peters, but I’d pay that trip alone in case it was really bad news. The good Lord must have approved this plan because there was a fish stall on the Highway on the way to Mrs Tutman’s lodging house, and we found some stale fish from yesterday that the fishmonger was anxious to get rid of for nothing. Cockalorum wouldn’t mind a bit of smell. I tucked it on to our handcart with the brushes and cloths.
When we reached John’s Hill there was Mrs Tutman standing outside her front door, telling anyone passing about the murderer she’d been harbouring in her bosom.
‘I always knew something was wrong with that man,’ I heard her say. ‘Wanting a room to himself indeed. Don’t he know that rooms are scarce to come by? Three to a room is my usual. I don’t like to crowd them in, more money or not. And who’s going to pay me now for that room he kept all to himself? Not him, for sure.’
‘I will, Mrs Tutman,’ I declared, aware of Ned fidgeting at my side with shock. ‘You keep that room just for him and I’ll pay for it.’
‘Rent’s due Friday,’ she told me smartly. ‘Two shillings a week, and I’ll have it in advance if it’s all the same to you.’
It wasn’t, but I had to keep Phineas’ room for him. ‘Here’s some now and the rest Friday.’
Ned’s eyes grew round with horror as he saw me take out one whole shilling which we both knew had emptied our money box.
‘What about Cockalorum?’ I then asked. ‘Have you fed him?’
‘Not my job.’ She gave a triumphant grin. ‘Cats indeed. I keep a high-class residence here.’
Not by the look of the matelots and villains I’d seen here, but I decided not to argue the point. ‘Then I’ll make it my job,’ I said grandly. Mrs Tutman sniggered.
When we walked round the back of the lodging house, there was Cockalorum waiting for us, or so it seemed, at the top of those steps. A small window had been left open for his convenience perhaps, as the door was closed. He wasn’t sitting as he normally was but pacing around, perhaps hungry or perhaps missing Phineas. He studied us carefully as we went up but made no objection as we entered Phineas’ room. Perhaps he could smell the fish Ned had brought.
‘Let’s take him home,’ he pleaded.
‘He wouldn’t like that, Ned. He’ll want to be here when Phineas comes home, so it’s our job to make sure that’s very soon.’
It was a small room, but it did have a chimney and hearth of its own for cooking. I saw Phineas’ fool’s cap and costume hanging from a hook, and there was a bookcase with a few books in it. One or two I recognised from my childhood after I’d learned to read, thanks to a kindly lady after I had landed mistakenly on her hearth during my climbing boy days.
There was a small table by Phineas’ bed, and on it were two piles of paper lying on what looked like an open cover. It wasn’t a printed book, more like a collection of old letters, for the yellowing pages were of different sizes and had handwriting on both sides. I looked at one of the pages in the middle of the pile and realised it was some kind of poem. Ned was feeding Cockalorum so I studied it more closely at it, and down towards the bottom of the page on the left I saw the word ‘Cat’. Was that what had caught Phineas’ eye? I was getting the gist of this handwriting now and could make out what it said. The first two lines were:
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him
I looked down at Cockalorum who was busily attacking that smelly fish, and wondered whether he considered himself a servant of the Living God. He seemed to have accepted my presence, thanks to Ned and the fish. I read on further about this cat Jeoffry and his way of life, trying to think why Phineas had chosen to have this poetry by his bed. It must be because he thought this cat Jeoffry was like Cockalorum.
Then a dark thought struck me. I quickly turned the pile of papers over to see if there were a name on the leather cover — and there was. I read the two words Jubilate Agno. I did not know what they meant, but I remembered Mrs Fortescue using them. I went very cold inside, realising with dismay where this might be leading.
I was very much afeard that this was the poetry folder for which the thief at Harcourt’s Antiquarian Bookstore had paid his tuppence, and if so that meant Phineas could have been the thief who had broken in at the dead of night. Surely that couldn’t be the case — and yet here I stood, staring at the name Jubilate Agno. Even if this wasn’t the manuscript that Mrs Harcourt claimed was missing, it showed that Phineas had been in the bookstore.
Cockalorum growled and I addressed him sadly: ‘You may be a servant of the Living God, Cockalorum, but we’re all in trouble, you and us alike.’
His eyes twitched. He was alert, ears pricking, listening but not to me. Something else had his attention. Footsteps were coming up those steps, and they must be a stranger’s, because he’d know Phineas’ and not be on guard as he was now.
It was a warning to me too, and something made me slam the folder shut, so that the handwriting inside could not be seen. Then I hurried to the door leaving Ned with Cockalorum, who had leapt up on to the table by the side of the folder, crouching and still growling.
‘It’s something bad, guvnor,’ Ned whispered. ‘He knows it.’
It was worse than bad news. As I pulled the door open, I saw Slugger Joe. His face was grim and it grew even grimmer when he saw me.
‘What you doing here, Wasp?’ he rasped. ‘You poke your nose in everywhere. Clear off. Now.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked bravely. He’d reached the top of the steps and was towering over me as I stood blocking the doorway.
‘Where’s that stuff, Wasp? His dear old mother wants it,’ Slugger leered.
‘Wait till Phineas returns,’ I said mildly. ‘He can give it to her then, whatever it is,’ I added hastily.
‘Out of my way, Wasp. I’ll find it myself. Well, well.’ His tone changed as he peered past me. ‘If it isn’t little Ned. So you’re here too. Here to nab all you can while poor Phineas is banged up in the clink waiting for the rope?’ Slugger’s eyes were darting everywhere — and then they fell on the Jubilate Agno.
Fear leaves you when you don’t have time to attend to it because you’re busy trying to hang on to your life. What to do next?
I stood in front of the Jubilate. Slugger made a move to shove his way past me. I moved left to stop him. Then he moved to his left to shove again so I moved right. I could smell his funk. I could feel his hot rancid breath as his beefy hand clutched my shoulder and forced me off balance into the middle of the room where I collapsed on to the floor. Slugger was after that folder and he’d nab it. Ned was in his way and he ran at Slugger Joe, only to be tossed on top of me. There’d be no stopping Slugger now.
There was a way. I was forgetting Cockalorum, who came flying at Slugger with a high-pitched screech of a miaow that would put all the banshees in Ireland to shame; he had launched himself from the top of the table, and was clinging on to Slugger’s ragged clothing, twisting, wriggling and clawing at his enemy’s hands, wrists and face as Slugger tried to free himself. Blood was running fast as Slugger cursed
. At last he managed to throw the cat off, although a new onslaught sent him staggering backwards outside the open door. Cockalorum was hissing and crouching ready to pounce again as Slugger began to regain his balance. Then the cat hurled himself once more against the enemy and Slugger was propelled back two or three steps as Cockalorum made contact.
By now Ned and I were on our feet again — in time to see Slugger lose his balance, tumbling down the steps into the yard and leaving the victorious Cockalorum hissing from the top of them.
Slugger picked himself up and limped away. ‘I’ll be back,’ he croaked. ‘I’ll wring that blasted cat’s neck if it’s the last thing I do.’ And then he left.
Ned was whimpering and I felt like doing that myself. ‘There’s something going on that we don’t understand, Ned,’ I said heavily. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Not much. Guvnor, we’ll have to take Cockalorum home with us now, won’t we?’ He looked at me defiantly.
I was thinking how little I wanted to look after that cat, but knowing how much we owed to him, I knew Ned was right. ‘We’ll take that poetry with us too.’
Ned wasn’t interested in poetry. ‘Why?’
‘That must be what Slugger’s after, and what the thief paid tuppence for,’ I said unthinkingly.
‘You mean Phineas was the cracksman, guvnor?’ Ned looked impressed.
‘He paid for it,’ I added hastily. ‘When he saw something in the poetry about a cat he thought of Cockalorum.’
Ned looked puzzled. ‘Why do a bust at Harcourt’s place if he wanted to buy it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. Should I say more? Yes. Ned was old enough to understand. ‘What worries me is that Phineas might know more about Mr Harcourt’s murder than we thought, Ned.’
It was possible that Phineas had seen the Jubilate at his mother’s home, if he’d visited her since last week, but I discounted this. Slugger Joe wouldn’t have left it lying around if he’d been the cracksman and paid tuppence for it. He’d have given it straight to Flint, or rather, his fellow deputy Lairy John. That, after all, is where Mr Harcourt seemed to have obtained it in the first place. It must have been stolen property.
Ned was aghast. ‘But he didn’t kill that bloke, guvnor. Not Phineas. You said the pigmen had nabbed him by mistake and he’d be back soon.’
‘Let’s hope, Ned. Now let’s get going. Cockalorum can ride on the handcart.’
Ned saw the sense of speed, and promptly carried Cockalorum down the steps to the cart, and I tucked the leather folder beneath my arm and we set off. Or tried to. Cockalorum wasn’t happy and jumped off the cart, ready to resume his place at the top of the steps. None of our blandishments worked.
‘We’ll have to bring a box back,’ I said in the end. ‘If we make haste we can be home and back within the half-hour.’
‘All right,’ Ned agreed, rather to my surprise. It took but fifteen minutes to reach Hairbrine Court trundling our cart. Our landlady Mrs Scrimshaw was in the court as we arrived and looked surprised, looking back past us to the entry.
‘What’s that cat doing?’ she asked suspiciously.
I glanced round as Ned laughed. There was Cockalorum, following us down the street. This, I decided, was an independent cat indeed. No ignominious cart-riding for him. I began to respect him more and more.
‘Looks like we’ve another lodger temporarily,’ I explained to her hopefully.
‘We don’t like cats round here.’
‘Cockalorum isn’t just a cat,’ I said, remembering that poetry I’d read about Jeoffry. ‘He is of the tribe of Tiger.’
‘Then you keep him tied up, Mr Wasp,’ she snorted. ‘I saw tigers in Jamrach’s Menagerie. Nasty, fierce animals, they are.’
‘It just shows,’ I said to Ned as Cockalorum followed us up the stairs as though he had lived there all his life. ‘He seems fond of me now, having followed us of his own free will.’
Ned grinned. ‘I stuck the rest of that old fish in your pocket, guvnor.’
*
Ned and I had already discussed arrangements for the new arrival. ‘He can sleep in my room,’ he had pleaded.
I wasn’t sure how Kwan-yin, Ned’s much loved linnet, would take to this, but she is a placid bird and the situation could at least be tried. Fortunately, her residence is by the window in our main room where I sleep. Thanks to an improvement in our fortunes a year or two back, we are able to rent two rooms, one for Ned and one for me and our table. Our privy is in the basement and shared of course; there’s even a washroom there, courtesy of the same financial improvement. It has a tap all of its own that runs water four times a week if we’re lucky, twice if not. To the great pleasure of my landlady, this washroom makes us the envy of the neighbourhood, and so she obliges me in small matters, such as turning a blind eye to Cockalorum and policemen.
I had little time to spend on Cockalorum though, now that he’d been introduced to his temporary home. I had to talk to Constable Peters about Phineas urgently. If he had been arrested at his lodgings then the Metropolitan Police would have been present as well as the City of London force. What was worrying me about this Jubilate Agno folder I’d brought back with me was that it might provide damning evidence against Phineas for implicating him in Mr Harcourt’s murder, as well as for his being the thief. If I didn’t tell Constable Peters about it, though, I might end up making things worse for Phineas — and for me.
Phineas would be in Newgate, where all poor souls go before they are tried at the Old Bailey, but for those on remand no visitors are allowed there for ten days. That meant I might not be able to ask him yet about the Jubilate Agno. But I was going to do my best to do so. I’d pay a visit to Scotland Yard straight away.
‘All in all, it’s a conundrum, Cockalorum,’ I informed him. The cat seemed to have accepted me as a decent sort of person who not only carried fish in his pocket but might light the fire for him to lie in front of. ‘Not yet, Cockalorum,’ I told him. ‘Constable Peters first. Think of Phineas.’
Cockalorum cast a glance at me, as though he now realised I was a mere appendage to Ned. At least I wasn’t regarded as a target like Slugger Joe. I reminded the cat, who was peacefully licking his paws, that he was a servant of the Living God and just for the moment I was standing in for our Lord as far as he was concerned. And that meant his keeping away from Kwan-yin too. To do him justice, so far he hadn’t even glanced the bird’s way.
‘What am I going to do about this book and Constable Peters?’ I asked Cockalorum, as Ned seemed to have disappeared about his own business.
I felt foolish talking to a cat, but Cockalorum glanced up at me, looking very wise, so before I left I read him one last line about Jeoffry: For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.
‘You did that this morning, Cockalorum. For that you shall be treasured,’ I told him. Cockalorum purred and went to sleep.
*
Scotland Yard in Whitehall Place is always busy, and for a sweep it’s harder to have an urgent request taken seriously. This afternoon Mr Harcourt’s funeral would take place and I was anxious to join Clara to see the cortege pass. It was some time before I was permitted even to sit in the waiting area at Scotland Yard, however, despite the fact that my business was with the Detective Department, which is now held in growing regard. I resisted several well-meant attempts to direct me to the boiler rooms and was relieved when Constable Peters finally arrived, looking most worried. He suggested we took a walk to St James’ Park, it being a fine day. This is but a short distance away, through Horseguards, where mounted cavalry soldiers stand sentry each side of the entrance.
At last, surrounded by governesses out with their charges and many other Londoners eager to breathe the fresh air of trees and grass, Constable Peters felt free to talk. Passers-by probably assumed I was under arrest, we chimney sweeps having a bad reputation for aiding and abetting criminals, owing to our knowledge of the interiors of wealthy houses.
‘You’ve heard
the news about Phineas Snook, Mr Wasp? Do you believe him guilty?’
‘No.’
‘The City of London police are quite sure they have their man. It fits well. They’re convinced Flint wasn’t just hired to murder Harcourt but was the main player in this murder case, and that Slugger Joe carried it out on his behalf, using Phineas as a willing tool.’
‘What evidence do they have against Phineas?’ I asked in desperation.
‘He was there in Paternoster Row the day Mr Harcourt was killed and expressed harsh feelings towards him on account of his treatment of Miss Hetty. You know about that, Mr Wasp.’
I did, and it was depressing to hear that the police were already aware of Phineas’ presence in the Row that day. It was strange though that Phineas had asked me to warn Clara about Mr Harcourt if he was going to the Row himself. I did my best to defend him. ‘He was there in the late afternoon but it’s a long time from then to midnight, which is about when Mr Harcourt was killed,’ I pointed out.
‘He also went to Dolly’s Chop House.’
‘When?’ I asked. Phineas hadn’t answered my question about his visit and I’d assumed it was only to the alley where Hetty had seen him. ‘Who claims that?’
Constable Peters consulted his notepad. ‘Mr Jericho Mason, a cook at Dolly’s. It seems Phineas was demanding to know if Mr Harcourt was to be present that night at the Tarlton Ordinaries’ dinner. Mr Mason confirmed he was, whereupon Phineas insisted on seeing Miss Pomfret. When Mason said she was not there he became very aggressive and accused Mason of falsehood. He stated that Mr Harcourt was a villain and said he would kill him if he refused to stop making advances to her. He then punched Mr Mason and again demanded to see Miss Pomfret.’
My horror grew. I could not believe this of Phineas. He wasn’t a violent man. Far from it. But Jericho Mason was a man of mystery and I would not take his word for it alone.
‘Jericho’s the only witness?’
‘No. Mr William Wright supports him.’
