by Mark Latham
BODIES OF MURDERED POLICEMEN FOUND
LONDON—The bodies of two of the police officers believed murdered on the Isle of Dogs on Monday have been recovered from the Thames.
Sergeant Samuel Boggis, 37, and Constable Reginald Clegg, 34, were found yesterday evening by a group of mudlarks on the Surrey side of the River. It is believed that they were killed before being thrown into the Thames. Constable Clegg had recently been promoted to Special Branch, your correspondent understands, after distinguishing himself in the pursuit of suspected Fenian anarchists after January’s Bond Street bombing.
Scotland Yard has so far refused to confirm or deny reports that two other officers are still missing in action, presumed dead. However, a statement was made this morning by Detective Inspector Melville of Special Branch. He said: ‘The loss of any officer in the line of duty is always a great tragedy. For two to be found murdered is an outrage. The good people of London should rest assured that no effort will be spared in bringing the perpetrators of these heinous crimes to justice.’
Not bloody likely, I thought, screwing up the paper in anger. The Artist had sent a dire warning to Scotland Yard, and to Apollo Lycea. He would not have done so were he not confident that he was beyond the law—whatever hold he and his wretched paintings had over the great and the good of England, it was vice-like. Finding myself in a sudden black mood, I stormed off to my tent.
To her credit, Rosanna left me to my own devices for a respectful length of time before following me, newspaper in hand.
‘I wondered what had distressed you, Captain Hardwick, and then I saw it. Are you one of the officers in this story?
I nodded. ‘I am.’
‘Then you should be happy, not angry.’
‘Happy! How can you say that?’ I snapped. ‘The enemies of England run rampant, three good men are dead, and I am here helpless, weak as a kitten and meandering around on woodland walks.’
‘Calm yourself, my Captain,’ Rosanna said, in such a soothing voice that I was stopped in my tracks. ‘It is no good for you to get so excited. I say you should be happy, and indeed you should be. Whether you want to hide from the world or plot your revenge, you can do so at your leisure. After all, everyone who knows you, everyone who hates you or loves you, thinks that you are dead. You are free.’
TWELVE
The festivities began early. It was Elsbet’s sixteenth birthday, and, given her station amongst her people, this coming of age was a cause for great celebration. A feast was prepared, and as day turned to gloaming the merrymaking began. There was fiddle music, dancing, roast venison, pork, partridge and pigeon, mulled wine, beer and roaring fires. Children sat around wide-eyed as an old man told them stories of great adventures in far-off lands; toasts were made and folk songs sung; young lovers spun each other around in whirling dances to the frenetic music.
I sat some distance from the revelry, thinking somewhat solemnly about my next move in this intricate game; a game in which I was an unwilling participant. Gregor sat with me for a time, but our stilted conversation was interrupted when Nadya and another of the Five Sisters, introduced to me as Drina, came over to bandy words with him. The big man clearly had a lot of love in his heart for the girls, and let them poke fun at him, before leaping to his feet with a roar and scooping Drina up in his arms and slinging her over his shoulder. Nadya danced away from the two of them, clapping her hands together with glee. When Gregor set Drina down lightly, the two sisters each grabbed one of his large hands and dragged him off to the circle to dance. He looked at me over his shoulder as he went, shrugging his heavy shoulders. I laughed at their antics, and waved Gregor away. As I turned back to my cup, I looked up to see that Rosanna had joined the party. She was away from me, on the other side of the bonfire, and I found myself staring at her absent-mindedly as she moved amongst the assembled travellers. When she got up to dance, I could not take my eyes off her.
It was then that I was caught out. I almost jumped from my seat as I felt hands pinch at my sides, and I turned around with a start to see young Elsbet, giggling at my foolishness.
‘I saw you looking at her,’ she said. Her accent was much softer than that of her sisters, I noticed—she sounded far more like an English girl than any of the other gypsies, though her dark hair, dusky complexion and large brown eyes marked her instantly as Rosanna’s kin. ‘You like her, I can tell.’ The girl had caught me out eyeing her sister like a silly schoolboy. I searched my faculties for a clever retort, but was found wanting.
‘She’s… been very good to me. Of course I like her,’ I said, coyly. This brought another giggle from the girl.
‘She likes you too you know. She told me. She said, “Oh, my handsome stranger has come at last. My wounded soldier.”’ At this, she clasped her hands together, and took on a wistful air in mockery of Rosanna. I did not believe her charade for an instant, much as I would have liked to.
‘It is not kind to make fun of guests at your own party. Nor of your sister,’ I chided, light-heartedly. I confess she had confounded me. As much as I may have dreamed of childhood recently, I had completely forgotten how to hold a childish conversation.
At this, Elsbet grinned, stuck out her tongue at me, and ran out of sight. I scoured the darkness for her with my good eye, but saw nothing; the ringing of childish laughter was all I was left with. I smiled to myself, shook my head, and turned, where I met with another surprise. Andre was standing over me. He must have been silent as a cat to have come so close to me without my hearing. I was surprised also to see William standing behind him, looking oddly sheepish, and another man whom I did not recognise, though I guessed he must have been part of Andre’s troupe. There was something untoward about their approach. Andre’s lips had a warm smile upon them, but his eyes were saying something else; he was scrutinising me, as though studying an enemy. I got to my feet immediately.
‘My friend,’ Andre began, ‘we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I have come to make amends. Willem here has told me that you are an honest man, and came here not of your own choosing. I cannot bear you a grudge for this.’ With that, he offered me his hand—the wrong hand, for my left was in a sling. There was an awkward moment, then his smile broadened and he held out his right hand instead. It was poor etiquette, but was it gypsy ignorance of manners, or a deliberate jape at my expense? I could not be sure, and so I shook his hand.
‘Anyway,’ Andre said, ‘we should drink together, and be merry.’ He took two glasses from the surly man behind him, and thrust one into my hand. In it was a clear liquid, which I took for some kind of ‘moonshine’. All three of the men wore half-smiles. I looked at William, and he did not betray any malice, and so I clinked my glass to Andre’s.
‘Egészségetekre,’ he said.
I was wary, but not wary enough. I took a gulp of the foul liquid, expecting it to be strong, but was ill-prepared for the effect it had. Andre, it is fair to say, took only the most minuscule sip, and I did not notice if he swallowed it, for my throat was instantly afire and my remaining eye streamed. I coughed and spluttered and actually bent double. William slapped me on the shoulder, laughing whilst saying, ‘That’s the good stuff, eh?’ Yet the slap to my wound was surely intentional, and sent a flash of agony down my arm.
I was taken aback for a moment, but knew that the scene could turn ugly depending on my next action. It was no small mercy, then, that the decision was taken from me. Rosanna stepped in just as I had managed to get my fitful coughing under control. She snatched the glass from the laughing Andre’s hand, and gulped down all of the fiery alcohol in one go, without so much as flinching. She held Andre’s gaze defiantly, and tossed the glass aside where it smashed against a tree stump. William and the other man shuffled backwards, and Andre’s grin evaporated.
‘Rosanna can hold her drink better than this old soldier, no?’ Andre said sarcastically.
‘The captain is my guest, and he is a sick man. To play such jokes on a sick man is not honourable.’ She said so
mething more, in the Romani tongue, and it sounded ill.
The surly man and William each intervened, coaxing Andre away from us.
‘Come, Andre, the night is young,’ the surly man said. ‘No need to get drunk so early.’
Andre backed away from us, grinning. ‘Another time, maybe,’ he said. With that, they went back to join the party, leaving Rosanna and me alone.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What was that?’
‘Vodka; strong vodka. My father used to call it “burning water”. We make it ourselves; the weaker stuff we drink, and the stronger stuff we use to wash wounds and clean the caravans. This is the strong stuff—you should rub it on your shoulder, not put it in your belly.’
Rosanna linked my good arm.
‘Come, Captain—do not let their tricks spoil the evening. It is my sister’s birthday; she is a woman today, and we should make merry.’
I followed her into the heart of the camp, and soon the unpleasant episode was all but forgotten. Though I drew the line at dancing, given my ailments, I did my best to join in with the others, to sip slowly at hot mulled wine and tell pink-cheeked children stories of tiger-hunts in India and mountaineering in the Far East. I tried to sing with the bards, though my efforts at grasping both the melody and the language led to peals of laughter all round. An hour or more passed before Rosanna returned to me, clearly pleased with herself for encouraging me into the fold.
‘Well, my Captain, what do you think of our little family now?’
‘I think you are most hospitable,’ I replied, tactfully.
‘But…?’ she said, putting words in my mouth.
‘I’m not so sure about the other half of the “family”,’ I said, nodding towards a group of men on the fringe of the camp, Andre at their head. ‘Black sheep, I think we’d call them back home.’
She smiled at the jest. ‘And where do you call “home” these days, John Hardwick?’
‘I… I’m not sure I really have a home, as sorry as that sounds.’
‘It does not sound “sorry” at all,’ she said. ‘It sounds as if you are right at home amongst us, for are we not all drifting where the wind takes us? Perhaps you should stay. Follow your feet; indeed, you should follow me.’
For a moment I wanted nothing more than to tell her that I would cast off my old life like a masquerade costume and travel the country with the gypsies. However, I knew in my heart it could not happen, and that I was merely delaying the inevitable by staying with her. My induction into Apollo Lycea had placed a weight upon me even greater than my old captaincy of the Lancers.
‘Rosanna, you must know I cannot stay much longer. Now that I am over the worst of it, I must return to London.’
‘Why? So you can get yourself killed properly this time?’
‘So that I can warn my superiors.’
‘Warn them? If they are so “superior”, do you not think that they can cope without you whilst you recover? Are you always so headstrong, John?’
I thought about that for a moment. ‘I suppose I am, yes,’ I replied.
‘So am I,’ she said. She unlinked my arm, and took a few steps away from the fireside, before turning and holding out her hands. ‘Walk with me, Captain John Hardwick.’
I felt a little abashed—I was actually nervous about walking off into the woods with this sultry beauty whom I hardly knew, and I hesitated in taking her hand.
‘Are you not a gentleman, Captain?’ she asked, her head inclined to one side, and her pout returning. ‘Will you let a lady walk the woods alone?’
Put like that, I had no choice. I held her hand—it was cold from the night air—and I rose to my feet in an ungainly fashion. I was still not myself, and I had drunk three cups of wine, which had certainly not been wise, no matter what my hosts said. Rosanna picked up a lantern, and we took our leave, I daresay with certain eyes from within the camp glaring daggers at my back.
We walked along a woodland path, the sounds of merriment from the camp growing softer as we wended our way though the trees. It was dark, and what little speckled light we walked by was provided by a low crescent moon. I had to stop frequently to rest and lean on poor Rosanna, so it was not much of a walk at all, but she did not complain. Finally, we reached another clearing, from where we could see the stars. Rosanna set down her lantern and took both my hands in hers, and faced me.
For a moment I did not know what to do, or what to expect. I felt like a college boy again, bashful and awkward. Not only that, but I was intimidated—she was strong, and apparently a princess, and I was a battered, weak, one-eyed man in borrowed clothes.
‘John Hardwick,’ she said, firmly. ‘You have been talking to Willem, and my sisters, too. Did you talk about me?’
‘I… well… that is to say…’ I fumbled.
Rosanna threw back her head and shook out her tousled hair and laughed. I remember thinking that her laugh marked her out from the fine ladies I had known before, in England, India and China. Those ladies barely parted their lips and laughed only softly, being careful to hold themselves with utmost decorum at all times. To think on it, one never sees a lady’s teeth. Rosanna was different—she was warm and genuine, and perhaps a little wild.
‘What did they say?’ she asked, smiling.
‘They… Willem said you were royalty. That you are the leader of those people.’
‘And?’
I realised where the conversation was heading. I did not know whether to play the game or not. In truth, I wanted the moment with her to last forever, but it is my nature to be blunt, and so I was then, for better or for worse.
‘He said that you had a gift. “The Sight” he called it. That you can see things that other people cannot see.’ I did not want to dwell on what Sir Arthur Furnival had said: that I would meet others like him, and should be wary of them.
‘And do you believe him?’ she asked. Her eyes gazed deep into mine. They were like fathomless pools, and regarded me with a curious mixture of kindness and intense scrutiny.
‘I believe a good many things these days that perhaps I would have once thought foolish. I cannot discount the possibility.’ God! What a prig I sounded. She laughed at me again, and I couldn’t blame her.
‘I am glad you cannot discount the possibility that I am gifted,’ she said.
‘My dear lady, that is not what I—’
‘I am teasing you, Captain Hardwick,’ she said, laughing again. ‘And I am no lady.’
‘Rosanna, whatever else you may be, I am sure that you are a lady. Not in the truly English sense perhaps, but a lady nonetheless.’
For just a moment she looked at me in earnest, and I think she perhaps regarded me with a fondness too deep for our incredibly short acquaintance. But it was a fleeting moment, and the familiar, carefree smile quickly reappeared.
‘Always so serious, Captain. That is why I knew you were the one.’
For a second I thought she spoke of me romantically, in that silly way that girls do, but the cold creep that rose from the base of my spine alerted me before I realised—she was not talking of trysts, but of prophecy, and not for the first time that night I found myself lamenting the absurd descent into the supernatural that my life had taken.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, already half-knowing and fearing the answer. Her lovely smile disappeared again, but her eyes remained kind and twinkling. There was no malice in her, I was sure, but I was afraid all the same.
‘Your coming here was as the turn of the seasons. It was foreseen,’ she said. ‘A week ago, my sisters and I saw you in a dream. Not you, exactly, but yet you still. We all awoke with the same premonition—the scarred man with the serious face will come to us, we said. He has died and been reborn; he walks between worlds. He represents danger to us all, but we must not turn him away, for he will need our help if he is to fulfil his destiny. It is foreseen, so shall it come to pass.’
The sudden change in her tone, and the outpouring of information, was much to absorb. As were
her words. ‘It was foreseen’, she kept saying. Hadn’t Tsun Pen said those very words to me, when speaking of his own survival of the coming storm?
‘Rosanna… I—I mean you no harm. As soon as I am well enough I shall be on my way. I promise you that I will not allow my presence here to be a threat to you.’
‘I know, Captain,’ she said, somewhat sadly. ‘You are not the threat. It is what you carry with you. There is a darkness inside you, and my people believe that darkness attracts darkness. You do not mean us harm, but harm will find us anyway, because of you.’
‘I don’t know what to say. If you are so certain of this, why help me at all? You are their leader—the others look to you, don’t they?’
‘Yes, but they know that to follow one such as me will not always be singing, dancing and drinking by the fireside. They know that there is a destiny, which cannot be denied, and they play their part. Perhaps you cannot understand this, coming from a city of rules, and commerce… and lies.’
‘I think I understand all too well. You speak of duty, obligation—honour, even. I think we are not so very different in that respect.’
She smiled at me broadly, and shook her head.
‘No, my brave Captain, we are nothing alike. I am afraid that you are too bound by rules, and laws and money, and officers in smart uniforms, and battles against enemies that you do not even know. No; my people do not follow out of duty, they follow out of love. And I do not think you understand that at all.’ She turned her back to me, doing me the courtesy of sparing my blushes. But if anything her words struck a chord in me, a longing for something more than the life I had. And despite that—or perhaps because of it—I decided to set aside my feelings, and do my duty as a soldier; as an agent of the Crown.
‘And they all love you? They would all follow you through dangers untold, if they knew what was in store? Even those who are not truly your people?’ I was perhaps more interrogatory than I had intended. She looked over her bare shoulder, and her large dark eyes held mine fixedly.
