Lost and Gone Forever

by Alex Grecian

  Now Day took a step back. “You’ve sealed my fate.”

  “I’ve set you free.”

  “What else have you set me to do? What other surprises are waiting in my head?”

  “Nothing. That was the only thing. Oh, well, I did leave a little suggestion in there that you mustn’t ever harm me or stand in my way. That was only to make things easier for me with my comings and goings. I promise, other than that, you’re your own man once again.”

  “I can never go back.”

  “You can go wherever you please. And now I set you free from me. I don’t think we need each other anymore, do you? If you’ll stand aside, I think I can make it to the street. From there, the world is my murky oyster stew.”

  “I’m not letting you go.”

  “You have no choice. Oh, but Walter, look out behind you. That young lady has stopped listening to us and I think she intends to do you harm.”

  Day turned just in time to see a strange woman, wearing trousers and brandishing Day’s own sword. The blade came slashing down at him, and at that same moment, he heard a shot ring out down the length of the alley.

  57

  Ah, Miss Tinsley,” Goodpenny said. “And Mrs Dew. What a delight to find you here.”

  Goodpenny climbed down from the display box inside the window and sat on the sill beside Fiona. He laid a rifle across his lap and took a moment to catch his breath, watching as two constables picked up the unmoving body of Leland Carlyle. The policemen crab-walked the unconscious man to Sir Edward’s private carriage and laid him across the seat inside, folding him at the knees so he would fit.

  “It looks as if exciting things have been happening out here,” Goodpenny said. “What have I missed?”

  “I don’t think I can bear to repeat it all, Mr Goodpenny,” Fiona said.

  “A bear, you say? How terrifying. I’m quite frightened of bears. They have a nasty habit of eating people.”

  Fiona sighed, but didn’t bother to correct the well-meaning little man. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Goodpenny uttered a cry of delight and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a small horn, brown and translucent, ridged like an oyster’s shell, with a leather fitting at one end and a leather strap round the middle.

  “Look what I found,” he said. “It’s a horn.”

  “I can see,” Fiona said. “It’s very pretty.”

  “No, no, for hearing. The horn has been fashioned into an ear trumpet, you see? It’s an aid in hearing. Look at what I do.” He held it up and jammed the leather tip in his ear. “People speak and the sound goes right in here.” He pointed to the flared end of the horn. “It goes all the way through and is amplified during its journey to my ear, like so.” He swiped his finger down the length of the horn and ended with a flourish at his ear.

  “You’ll finally be able to hear, Mr Goodpenny.”

  “Oh, it’s not for me. My hearing’s still sharp. It’s for your young man, Mr Angerschmid. He’s hard of hearing now.” He removed the device from his ear and presented it to Fiona.

  “Thank you, but he’s not my young man,” she said. She shook her head and laid the trumpet on the sill beside her.

  “Give it time. Give it time. I say, that bear’s not still about, is it? We should really get you young ladies to a place of safety. I’m afraid this rifle’s of no real use since I have no bullets for it.”

  “The bear has gone. They took it away to the circus.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “But the bear is quite the least of our problems, Mr Goodpenny.”

  “Bears are enormous problems.”

  “Yes, I can see that they might be. But Mrs Day’s husband has tried to kill her father. That’s him in the carriage.”

  Goodpenny looked up as the driver cracked his reins and the carriage rolled away, revealing Inspector Tiffany, who had been standing on the other side of it talking to an old woman. Tiffany looked up and nodded at them, then bent his head to hear what the woman was saying.

  “What a friendly fellow,” Goodpenny said. “Tell me, did Mr Dew succeed? Did he kill the man?”

  “No. Claire’s father is still alive. For the moment, at least.”

  “Well, then. Many’s the man who’s tried to murder his father-in-law. I’m not sure it’s even a crime these days. I’ve been tempted myself, from time to time. It’s that bear we ought to worry about. If it escaped the circus once, it’s liable to do so again.”

  “Oh, Mr Goodpenny! You’re impossible!”

  “Now, now, dear. I don’t mean to make light.” He turned and smiled at Claire. “Mrs Dew, where are your delightful children?”

  Claire looked up and seemed to notice Goodpenny for the first time. “My children?”

  “Young Jemima and his brother, and those two darling babies.”

  “They’re with their governess.”

  “That horrible woman? You mustn’t neglect them for long. They’ll need you about. And they’ll need their father, too. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I’ve recently made your husband’s acquaintance.”

  “He’s gone.” Claire’s eyes welled up and she buried her face in her hands.

  Goodpenny put an arm around her and fished a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. “Forgive me, my dear.”

  “He’s been gone forever and now he’s going to prison. He won’t ever come home again.”

  “Going to prison? Oh, I shouldn’t think so. I’ve met your husband, and he seems like a good man, a capable fellow. A bit lost, perhaps, but that’s why he has you, isn’t that right? Someone who will always bring him back home.”

  “You don’t know us.”

  “I know people, Mrs Dew. And just looking at you, I can tell that you’re a strong person, and that you and your husband need each other very much. Where there is love, there is always a way.”

  “You must love your wife.”

  “I did, my dear.” He nodded and smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Yes, I do love her.”

  Fiona clapped her hands and stood up. “Mr Goodpenny, you’ve given me an idea. But I wonder if you will help me with a small matter.”

  “Anything for you, Miss Tinsley. You know that.”

  “Might I borrow your rifle?”

  “Oh, but it’s not mine. It belongs to the store, I suppose. But with all the loss Plumm’s has sustained, I suppose they won’t miss it for a time.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be getting it back.”

  “Yes, as long as they get it back. Here you are.”

  “You don’t want to know why I need it?”

  “You need it, dear. That is all I care to know.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr Goodpenny!” Fiona bent and kissed him on the cheek.

  Goodpenny rubbed his cheek and watched her run across the street, where she handed the rifle to Inspector Tiffany. Tiffany took it from her, and they stood talking for quite some time. Goodpenny chuckled and patted Claire’s hand. “She’s a good girl,” he said. “Whether Mr Angerschmid realizes it or not, our Miss Tinsley is a prize.”

  “I do wonder what she’s doing,” Claire said.

  Goodpenny picked up the ear trumpet from the sill where Fiona had left it. He lifted it to his ear and leaned forward. “Listen, my dear. Do you smell smoke?”

  58

  Hammersmith looked back and saw that the bed was on fire, the ceiling above it a roiling inferno. Advance scouts of flame, like ant columns, stretched outward across the floor, edging ever nearer his left foot. His back and his feet were uncomfortably warm, beginning to itch with heat. Hatty still hung below the window, dangling from the knotted linen rope.

  “Hurry,” he said. He could barely make out her shape against the dark floor of the alley below.

  “Mr Hammersmith, there’s someone down there.” Her voice was hoarse and qui
et, and he had to lean farther out to hear her. “I think it’s him. I can hear him. Someone else, too.”

  Hammersmith strained to hear. There was muffled conversation below, the clanking of metal on brick, the scuffle of shoe leather on stone. More than one person, and possibly a fight. He pulled his head back in and examined his options. There were none. The door was completely obscured by fire and smoke, and he knew that the hallway outside the room would be impassable. His eyes burned and he was having difficulty breathing. He leaned out the window again, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze on his face.

  “Hatty, you’re going to have to go all the way down. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “They’re below me. Mr Oberon will catch me.”

  “When you’re close to the ground, push off from the wall and jump as far as you can. Get as far away as you can, Hatty, and run. You’ll only have to worry for two minutes, I swear it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He couldn’t hear her response. The flames were licking his ear. His trouser leg was suddenly on fire, and Hammersmith dropped his iron pipe. It hit the floor with a low thud, and at the same moment he heard a gunshot from the alley outside. He leapt out the window, clung to the frame above him, and stood silhouetted against the room, using one hand to beat at his smoldering leg. He knew he was an easy target now if Jack was indeed waiting below them with a gun. The fire crackled at his good ear and he shook his head, trying to get the muffled ringing sound to fade long enough that he might hear whatever it was Hatty was trying to say to him. At least she was still there below him. She hadn’t been shot. But she was vulnerable, a sitting duck for whomever was shooting, and her arms had to be close to giving out. He doubted she had the strength anymore to climb down. At any moment, she would lose her grip and drop.

  “Stay,” Hammersmith said. “Just hang on there.”

  He eased himself down, hoping the makeshift rope would hold them both and that it wouldn’t burn before he reached the alley floor. He grabbed the inside of the frame, ignoring the searing pain in his fingers, rested his weight on the ledge, let go with one hand, reached down, and grabbed the rope. Then he let go with the other hand and dropped down so that he was directly above Hatty. Carefully, he maneuvered over her, pushing her with his body so that she was up against the outside wall of the building.

  “Don’t let go,” he said. She nodded, her eyes closed, and he could feel her breath on his cheek. Her hair smelled of smoke and strawberries, and he noticed how long and slender her throat was, how gracefully her head tilted.

  He crawled slowly down, hand over hand, alert to where his hands were in relationship to her torso, her waist, her legs. Finally he was past her and the flames were far enough above him that he no longer felt the heat from them. He reached the end of the rope and let go.

  • • •

  “DOCTOR!”

  Kingsley turned and saw Sir Edward running toward him. “Commissioner, be careful. I don’t know what kind of weapons these people may have.”

  Sir Edward drew up alongside Kingsley and stopped, panting lightly. “Everything’s come home to roost, hasn’t it, Bernard?”

  “I’m afraid it has,” Kingsley said. “But this isn’t the time to fret over it. Walter’s somewhere ahead of us there, along with someone who’s gone chasing after him. This is no place for a doctor or an old soldier.”

  “Did you see Walter?”

  “I did. He seemed fine to me. At least physically. But I made a mistake. I let him—”

  There was a deafening explosion as the domed skylight above Plumm’s burst open, raining glass down on the street. The cobblestones under them bucked and shuddered, and the two men fell back just as a chunk of the department store’s brick-and-mortar wall plowed into the ground where they had been standing.

  “My God,” Kingsley said. “Are you all right?”

  Sir Edward staggered to the curb and sat down. “The world seems to be spinning,” he said. “I just need to—”

  “You’re bleeding. Let me—”

  “No, I think I’m all right. Get going. Get to Walter before this whole place comes down round our ears. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  • • •

  MR PARKER WAS FLUNG backward against the opposite wall of the alley as a tall, thin man dropped out of the air above him and knocked both Walter Day and Mrs Parker to the ground. Mr Parker looked up and saw that there was another person, a girl, hanging in the air above him. People were falling out of the building. Mr Parker realized he somehow still had the gun in his hand and he raised it, intending to hit his target this time.

  Mrs Parker groaned and raised her head. “Darling,” she said, “did you shoot at me?”

  “I missed,” Mr Parker said. “I was aiming—”

  “You never miss. I believe you were trying to—”

  “I’m with the police! Please put down your weapon.” An older gentleman ran toward them, carrying a black medical bag. “Good Lord! There’s a girl up there,” he said.

  The building beside them exploded a second time in a shower of glass and metal and brickwork. Something heavy smashed into Mr Parker’s neck and he fell backward again, but concentrated on keeping the gun in his hand. The policeman was unconscious on the ground, but Mrs Parker was still moving, trying to extricate herself from the tangle of bodies and bricks. Mr Parker shook his head and leaned against the alley wall. He couldn’t breathe, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  He was surprised to see that the young woman was still dangling out of the window. The window itself was gone, but the rope had held fast, and so had the girl. The doctor dropped his bag and positioned himself under the woman.

  “Let go, dear,” the doctor said. “I’ll catch you.”

  Mr Parker raised his gun. He felt panicky, as if he might vomit, and the world seemed to swim in and out of focus. He fired a second time, not sure where the gun was pointed. The doctor staggered forward, but stayed on his feet, his arms out, ready to catch the girl. Mr Parker fired again, then turned at the sound of something moving toward him. A big man with dark wavy hair erupted from the shadows, and Mr Parker felt his abdomen burning. As the man took his gun from him, he looked down and saw a large sliver of broken glass protruding from his stomach. The man yanked and a gusher of blood followed the glass out of Mr Parker’s body.

  • • •

  HATTY COULDN’T FEEL her arms anymore, but her shoulders quivered with the strain of hanging on to the knotted linens. She heard the man beneath her urging her to let go, but she wasn’t sure she could. Her hands were made of stone. She couldn’t see or hear Mr Hammersmith below and she wondered if he’d been hurt or even killed.

  The two explosions had knocked her about, banged her into the wall and disoriented her. Blood trickled into her eyes from a scalp wound delivered by a flying brick. But somehow she hadn’t been knocked off the makeshift rope.

  At last she steeled herself and focused on her numb fingers. She forced them to open one at a time and felt lancing pain shoot up her arms as her petrified knuckles unlocked. She immediately plummeted into the arms of the waiting man.

  He staggered forward under her weight and they hit the wall hard. He fell to his knees and gently set her down before toppling sideways on the alley floor. She sat up and looked at him, recognizing him at last. He was the doctor from Guildhall who had helped so many injured Plumm’s customers.

  “Dr Kingsley? Are you all right?”

  He rolled over onto his back and smiled up at her. “Give me a moment, will you?”

  “Sir, you’ve been shot. I’ll get a doctor. I mean another doctor.”

  “Too late, I think. You . . . you hurt?”

  “I don’t know. My hands hurt, but I’m all in one piece, thanks to you.”

  “You look a bit like my daughter.”

  “What should I do? I can�
�t tell where the blood’s coming from.”

  “Just talk to me for a minute, would you? It’s quite cold down here.”

  “Help will be coming soon,” she said. “Very soon, I’m sure.”

  Hatty looked round and saw the unconscious body of Mr Hammersmith. There were other people, but she didn’t call out to them for help. They were shouting at one another, ignoring Hatty and Dr Kingsley. One of them (she was certain it was Mr Oberon) stabbed another, and the injured man screamed. Hatty screamed, too, and fought the urge to run. Dr Kingsley needed her help.

  She still had Mr Hammersmith’s jacket sleeve hanging loosely around her throat and she pulled it off over her head. She probed Dr Kingsley’s chest with her aching fingers, and he winced.

  “Fiona . . .” He coughed and a bubble of blood burst from his open lips, freckling Hatty’s face and arms.

  “My name is Hatty, sir. If I can find where the blood’s coming from, perhaps I can make it stop.”

  “Be good to each other,” Kingsley said. “Nevil’s a fine boy, but he needs you.”

  “You mean Mr Hammersmith?” Dr Kingsley’s breathing had become shallow, and with each breath he made a gurgling sound that alarmed Hatty.

  “What time is it? I’m late,” he said.

  “No, sir. No, sir,” Hatty said. “Stay awake.” She found a hole in his waistcoat and pressed the soot-covered jacket sleeve into it, hoping that would staunch the flow of blood.

  Dr Kingsley smiled at her. His lips were a ghastly red, rimmed with blood. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re doing a fine job. Proud of . . . Tell Fiona.”

  He closed his eyes.

  • • •

  “NO!” MRS PARKER PULLED herself up and grabbed the sword from the alley floor.

  “Tut tut,” the man Jack said. “Let’s not be hasty.”

  “You killed him,” Mrs Parker said.