by Amy Myers
I’ve never seen a gentleman’s back look so shaken. He threw a dismissive ‘Highly unlikely,’ towards Hetty and myself, forgot all about escorting Hetty home, lifted his hat in great agitation and stalked away.
That meant that at last I was able to pass the bag over to Hetty once we reached Dolly’s, which she chose to enter by its front entrance, thus evading Jericho. ‘I’ll keep it safe for Phineas,’ she whispered.
I began the walk home, greatly perturbed. The mention of Flint had shaken Mr Timpson. Why? Was it even possible that Flint was one of the Ordinaries, who all looked so respectable, probably with wives and families? Mr Timpson, Mr Splendour and Mr Manley were the three who could most easily have killed Mr Harcourt that night — and any of them might also have killed Mrs Fortescue.
I wondered if I had done the right thing in handing over the Jubilate to Hetty. I tried to feel glad that I had done so and could now return to Hairbrine Court with one problem temporarily solved. I was beginning to feel lost without My Cat Jeoffry, however. It seemed almost as bad as losing Cockalorum.
I climbed the stairs at Hairbrine Court feeling weary and low. The first inkling I had that something was wrong was that the door was locked and a sudden fear struck me as I unlocked it.
I went inside and straightaway sensed the emptiness of the room. I was alone, save for a silent Kwan-yin. And then I knew. I wasn’t going to find Ned at Phineas’ lodgings this time, or anywhere else. It wasn’t a matter of his simply being late again.
He had gone.
XIII
Climbing the Chimney
I tried hard to tell myself there was no reason to think anything was amiss. I reasoned that Ned had been late plenty of times before. It had happened only a few days ago. Ten to one he’d stopped at Rosemary Lane to cadge a pie for supper and been told to wait awhile.
Inside me, though, I knew he wasn’t going to come bursting through that door whistling Jack Robinson, the Dogs’ Meat Man as he so often does. He was gone like Cockalorum, a thought that put me a-shiver. Cockalorum had been drowned in a sack. Was that what happened to Ned?
Stop that, Tom Wasp, I cried aloud. You just take hold of the sense God gave you! I swallowed, lighting a candle with a lucifer as though that might guide him home. Our Lord would shed His light on the situation when he chose. But please Lord, make that now!
Instead He was saying, ‘Come on, Tom. Think straight. Make a plan.’ That was difficult to do when my stomach was churning with fear.
A plan, Lord. Send me one, I prayed. But He was waiting for me to think for myself. Usually the evening begins with lighting the fire to warm up our supper, but not tonight. A plan, I repeated to myself. I must have a plan.
I tried to push all my fears to one side. Ned’s absence might be nothing. It might be that the peelers had nabbed him, if he’d been caught dipping. Even that would be better than the fate my fears were conjuring up and I clutched at the idea of his being safe in a police station. Or he might have had an accident and some kind person had taken him to hospital. Guy’s, most likely. I seized on this, sure I had found the truth of it. Ned wasn’t one for gangs of youths parading the Highway. He could be at that hospital now, crying out for me, and here I was wasting time.
It was already dark, but I rammed on my hat and set off once more. I’d take Doshie and the cart, so that I could bring Ned home safe and sound. It’s Ned’s job to feed him so just in case Doshie hadn’t been fed today I took some hay with me.
Doshie was pleased to see me when he saw it in my arms, but not so pleased to find he was expected to come out. He was hungry, though, no doubt about it, and that set my stomach churning again. Don’t worry, I told myself. Ned’s had an accident, and couldn’t get here.
Once we’d begun the journey, Doshie seemed to be sharing my worries for he did his best to clop along at a smart pace, and we were at London Bridge and paying our toll money in no time. It’s said these toll charges are being done away with and that can’t happen too soon for me. Tonight, those precious minutes handing it over felt like an hour.
By the time I’d crossed the river to Tooley Street I was almost cheerful, convinced I would find Ned in the hospital. If he was well enough to come home, we’d get some nice liver and cook it in our home for a quiet supper. These hospitals are wonderful places, I thought, as I tied Doshie to a post and entered Guy’s. I took my hat off to the brass statue of the founder in the courtyard where clerks were busily running around, and the sight reassured me that Ned was just waiting for me to come. Ned, I’d cry, what are you doing here, lad? I’ve come to take you home.
Inside I found a young gentleman who listened to me most sympathetically. He led me to a table where they record all those who are currently in the hospital and showed me a ledger of those who had come in that day.
Ned’s name wasn’t amongst them.
‘Perhaps,’ I ventured, trying to overcome both fear and tears, ‘he wasn’t conscious when he came in.’
He looked again. ‘No children of that age.’ When he saw my expression he added kindly, ‘You could try looking in our waiting room. That’s where people sit before being treated.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I clutched at this hope and was directed to a large waiting hall. It was a room of misery and noise, where young children screeched in pain, mothers wept and hardened criminals and opium eaters groaned together, all awaiting the great miracle that would make them better. My hopes rose when I saw a lad hunched up in the corner of a large chair.
I hurried over to him. ‘Ned,’ I whispered. He stirred and turned to me, but it wasn’t Ned.
Another hospital? I could try St Bartholomew’s, but I knew I was deluding myself. I’d try the peelers first.
‘Come on, Doshie,’ I said as I untied him. ‘We’ve got to find Ned.’
He must have understood because he pricked up his ears and we set off back across the river and along the Highway to Wapping. The Thames River police are stationed by the steps to the river bank and I knew the place of old. At night it’s a busy place, being near both the river and the docks. It was not yet eleven o’clock though, and it wasn’t too crowded. As children are disappearing every day in London there wouldn’t be much they could do for me officially, but some of the policemen know me and might help. They greeted me jovially — until they saw my face.
‘What’s up, Waspie?’ one asked me anxiously.
‘My Ned’s missing. Have you got him dubbed up?’ I asked, trying to keep panic at bay.
I failed, for they gathered round me in concern. ‘Not here. He’s too smart for us,’
I swallowed. ‘Then he’s been nabbed for sure. Flint’s mob. They threatened me.’
That sobered them. ‘Slugger Joe?’ one asked.
‘More like Lairy John’s side of things,’ I said heavily, wondering whether I’d ever see Ned again.
‘He’s been busy recently. We’ll keep an eye open for him. Best be nippy, Waspie.’
I knew that only too well. Where to nip off to was the next question.
I tried St Bartholomew’s, but with the same result as Guy’s. With a heavy heart I set off home, patting Doshie for his help and giving him an extra dollop of hay. I walked back in the darkness down Blue Anchor Yard which only boasts two gas lamps, one each end. That’s because the lamplighters don’t care to venture far into the street itself. I usually carry my own lantern, but in my haste I’d forgotten it. The light of the moon graciously appeared to guide me back to Hairbrine Court and perhaps that was the Lord telling me to get in touch with Him.
Ned might have returned in my absence, I told myself, but as I climbed the steps to our door there was a desolation about the place that made me fear otherwise. Our rooms were just as I had left them; still, silent and empty. Kwan-yin was asleep, and even the fire I had lit had gone out.
I took up the Lord’s offer. ‘What’s the plan, now?’ I whispered. He took pity on me, because I realised what it had to be. I had to tackle not Slugger, but Lairy John, who mus
t have known what was afoot. But this time I had nothing to bargain with.
*
I had to eat, though my stomach went up and down like a swing at Bartholomew Fair, churning at the thought of food. I’d be no use to Ned if I didn’t eat something.
‘Where you off to?’ the muffin lady asked when I turned up on Monday morning after an all but sleepless night. ‘You’ve a face like you dropped sixpence in the nightsoil.’
I couldn’t speak. The words stuck in my throat, but I managed a grin, then hurried on my way to Spitalfields.
There’s a good side to Spitalfields too, for all its name came from the spittles which were leper homes. Those lepers have gone now, and the villains have taken their place as outcasts, crawling like maggots on a dead man. But there are plenty of good folk there too and every year a special sermon is preached outside Christchurch. I went once, but it took three and a half hours and it’s my belief that our Lord himself tired of listening to it, especially as He’s so much else to do. Today, He and I would have to work hard together if we were to find Ned.
I walked through the market with bright coloured scarves and kerchiefs everywhere, probably mostly stolen, and I picked my way through to where I’d met Lairy. The same huge guardian at the end of the smelly alley stared at me, but didn’t stop me. That suggested I was expected, which made me cold inside, as though the devil himself had said to me, ‘You come here, Tom Wasp. You’re mine now.’
Don’t be crack-brained, Tom, I quickly scolded myself. This is your chance to find Ned. Nevertheless my knees were knocking together as I went through the door, with the guard treading at my heels. Lairy was there, lounging in a chair and looking as cocky as before, with a smug smile on his face.
‘Thought you’d find your way here again, Wasp. Took your time, didn’t you? I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Most kind,’ I said churlishly.
‘After your lad, are you?’
No pleading here, I warned myself. He’d enjoy that.
‘What’s your game?’ I asked briskly. I made it brisk so that I could ignore my heart which was beating like a drummer at the Victoria Park bandstand.
‘The game’s called Three Players, Wasp,’ he sneered. ‘Me, you and young Ned.’
‘Four,’ I corrected him. ‘There’s Flint.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I do the bargaining.’
‘I’ll only deal with Flint.’
‘Going to let the kid croak, are you?’
I’d put a foot wrong. Two feet perhaps. I did my best to withdraw a step or two. ‘I’ve seen your face, Lairy. If he dies, you’re for the rope.’
His eye narrowed. ‘It’s you who’ll be the stiff, Wasp.’
Checkmate. ‘Let’s talk.’ I added a touch of briskness again. ‘What’s the price and where is he?’
I had to know where Ned was or I’d never get him out alive. But I also knew that they’d most likely kill him even if I did what they wanted.
‘Price is that Tarlton play, Wasp. You know where it is. All of it.’
‘What’s that mean, all of it?’
‘All what Flint wants he gets. Me too.’
I decided to be clear on this point. ‘What Flint wanted was the Seven Deadly Sins manuscript and that’s what he’s got. Slugger Joe stole it from the bookstore after getting Phineas Snook to look for it.’
‘Not what Flint says. He ain’t got it and he wants it. He’s a customer waiting.’
If that was so, then I still couldn’t understand the situation. Slugger Joe wouldn’t have let Phineas keep the Tarlton script after they raided the bookstore and I couldn’t see Slugger wanting to keep it for himself. Or even Lairy. Too much at stake for them not to play by Flint’s rules. But I was getting desperate. Ned’s life depended on Flint having that script.
‘You tell Flint I ain’t got the script either,’ I said. ‘He must know that. Slugger turned over my place and Phineas’. It wasn’t there in either of them.’
‘Oh yes it was, or you know where it is.’
‘If I did,’ I howled, ‘why wouldn’t I have given it to its rightful owner or sold it on? I wouldn’t have held on to swag like that. Too dangerous.’
‘Rightful owner, eh?’ he jeered. ‘And who’s that, in your opinion?’ He was watching me most carefully.
‘How should I know? Mrs Harcourt perhaps, but then her husband never paid for it, so it still belongs to Phineas Snook.’
His eyes glinted. ‘Get it for Flint, Wasp, and the kid goes free.’
‘Where is he? How do I know you’ve not —’ I could barely say the words — ‘killed him already?’
‘You’ll have to take that chance, pal.’
‘I’m no pal to Flint’s clever-boots.’
His eyes flared fury. ‘Clear off!’ he roared, ‘and get that script back here.’
I staggered out of the shop into the air — not clean air round here, but as clean as it ever gets in this part of smoky old London. I pushed my way through the crowds not knowing where I was going or what to think. The noise of the street cries, traffic and general hub-bub swallowed me up in their own chaos. I knew no one and no one cared about me and Ned.
And then I saw Jericho Mason, of all people, pushing his way through the market crowds. I gawped at him. There he suddenly was, and in my daze I’d nearly run straight into him. What was he doing here on a working morning? He wasn’t too pleased to see me and tried to shove me out of his way. I wasn’t having that, so I clung on to his jerkin.
‘I’ve got things to do, sweep,’ he said, trying to tear himself free, but I wasn’t going to let him go.
‘You tell Mrs Pomfret and Miss Pomfret too that my Ned’s been taken,’ I yelled at him, clutching hard. ‘Kidnapped by Flint’s mob. But you know that, don’t you? You’re one of them.’
He gazed at me as if the words meant nothing, then pushed me roughly aside, sending me staggering into a plump lady who looked at me as though I was trying to nab the kippers she’d just bought. Was Jericho on his way to see Lairy John? If so, I’d done no harm in coming here because the more people knew about Ned the better. If he was still alive I wouldn’t have much time wherever they were holding him. They would lose patience. Too much trouble to give him food and water. I’d no choice now. I’d have to find Slugger Joe.
And then a golden path opened up before me — in my mind that is, as the streets of London aren’t paved with gold, especially not in Spitalfields — and it wasn’t Slugger I was thinking of.
At the end of my golden path stood Mrs Snook.
For all she didn’t see eye to eye with Phineas and for all she was devoted to Slugger Joe for reasons of her own, she must have some motherly feelings for Phineas and perhaps that might stretch to a maternal spot for young children. Could she be looking after my Ned on Slugger’s orders?
The flare of hope waned as I considered the unlikelihood of Mrs Snook tenderly feeding my Ned pies and puddings. Then it flared up again when it occurred to me that she might at least know about his being kidnapped. Kidnapping children is a popular London trade, sometimes just for their clothing, sometimes to sell them for purposes of chimney sweeping — or worse. For all I knew, my Ned, who had been an ‘anybody’s child’ and sold as a climbing boy, might have been born a duke’s son.
On the small chance that Mrs Snook might be able to help, I hurried back to Wellclose Square and on to Pell Street as fast as my legs would carry me, gathering my courage to knock on that familiar door in the yard.
‘What do you want?’ She granted me her usual welcoming greeting, standing there as formidable as Mr Dickens’ Mrs Gamp.
‘A word, Mrs Snook.’ I tried to keep the trembling out of my voice and I was hoping she’d call me in so I could see if there were any signs of Ned. But it was the doorstep for me again.
‘Say it here,’ she sneered, ‘and one word only.’
‘Kidnap,’ I promptly replied.
She stared at me looking, as I was sadly aware, genuinely puzzled.<
br />
‘My Ned,’ I continued desperately, ‘he’s only a lad and he’s been kidnapped by the mob. Thought he might be here with Slugger — Phineas’ Uncle Joe,’ I quickly amended.
‘My Joe wouldn’t do a thing like that,’ she cried indignantly, although not, I thought, convincingly. ‘I don’t want no boys here. I had enough with Phineas and look what’s happened to him after I brought him up so decent.’
I had to speak out for Phineas. ‘He’s not guilty, Mrs Snook. It’s my belief he’ll be released soon. I saw him in Newgate.’
‘Better not tell Joe that,’ she snapped. ‘They don’t get on.’ I could almost see her wrestling with herself and then she blurted out: ‘How is he?’
‘Missing home cooking.’ I thought this might please her, although when I thought of the loving way Clara and Hetty were looking after him, this might not be true.
‘’E wanted to move out,’ she said crossly. ‘I didn’t push him out. It was all because of that cat Cockalorum. First it makes Joe sneeze and then it attacked poor Joe just because he tried to put it outside where it belongs.’
‘The cat’s dead now so Phineas might come back here to you. Joe drowned him.’
More indignation. ‘My Joe wouldn’t do a thing like that either.’ A pause. ‘Did he?’
‘Yes, and now his mob have kidnapped my young Ned. He’s only ten.’ I knocked off a year or two for effect.
‘Ten?’ she said and I thought I detected a softening. ‘I remember young Phinny at that age. I took him to Bartholomew Fair to see his pappy perform. Both of them real artistes.’
I saw an opportunity. ‘I wish my Ned could do something like that. It’s no life for him, chimney sweeping and calling the streets.’
‘He’s not here,’ she said abruptly, ‘this Ned of yours. I ain’t seen him.’
I believed her. ‘Could be Joe didn’t want to upset you by bringing him here. Somewhere else he might have put him perhaps?’
‘He doesn’t talk business with me.’
‘What is his business?’ I asked, wondering how he explained killing people to order.
