For a moment he could not bear to turn back round but when he heard Lilly’s querulous but determined voice he felt ashamed of his cowardice.
‘Mr Rancer. We wish to ask a service of you.’
The first thing that struck him was the smell. Lilly’s breath, as it drifted across to him, had become as foul as a sewer. It was so bad he struggled to turn his face in her direction. She was looking all about her. This time the irises were black but the whites surrounding them had turned scarlet. There was something furtive in the way the eyes flicked this way and that. And then the scarlet tint faded and the eyes were Lilly’s once more.
‘We know that in life you had great power over your son, Joseph. He feared you and obeyed you in everything.’
The creature gave a guttural chuckle.
‘His spirit has taken possession of our friend and we wish him to depart. It is, we believe, in your power to make him do so.’
As Lilly’s speech ended Titus watched the tiny capillaries in the medium’s eyes dilate with blood. The smell came again in a nauseating wave. For a moment the bloodshot eyes landed on him and his heart stopped, but they slid over him to fix on the rose in the jar. One of Lilly’s hands reached up and grasped the flower.
‘Will you help us?’
The hand went up to her face and the creature inhaled the flower’s perfume.
‘Mr Rancer, this is your chance to exact revenge on your son for provoking your murder. Will you help us?’
Suddenly Rancer seemed to become aware that he was not alone. His head jerked this way and that as he tried to find the source of the words. Finally his gaze settled on Titus.
‘We can bring you to your son.’ Lilly’s voice was faltering, exhausted. Her own identity seemed to be struggling to assert itself and the eyes remained those of Rancer’s.
The flower fell onto the blanket as those eyes burned into Titus.
‘Give him to me,’ the voice snarled.
Titus leaped to his feet, knocking over the stool.
‘He’s yours!’ Titus cried. ‘If you do as we say.’
The eyes were fixed on Titus and he felt as though spiders were crawling over his skin.
‘Very well.’
‘Swear. On your soul.’
A laugh like the crackling of burned meat.
‘I swear . . . on my sssoul.’
Lilly’s right hand reached out and, mesmerised, Titus stepped forward and took it. It was slick with sweat but the strength of it made him draw in breath. Just before his fingers crumpled, the hand went limp and Florence returned.
‘Lilly? How are you, my dear?’
‘Fine.’
Her voice was weak and in the last few minutes she seemed to have aged ten years. Titus righted the chair and sat down heavily.
‘He chose to depart,’ Florence said. ‘Next time he may not. You must strengthen yourself if you are to attempt th—’
Before she could finish, the door banged open.
‘I knew it!’ Frobisher roared. He strode forward and wrenched Lilly from the bed by her arm.
‘It’s not what you think, Uncle. He’s a friend of Inspector Pilbury’s . . .’
‘Is this how you repay my kindness to you all these years? Grinding with gutter rats under my very nose?’
‘I wasn’t . . .’
‘Let her go,’ Titus said, stepping forward.
Frobisher ignored him.
‘Filthy whore!’ he shouted, then slapped her and pushed her onto the bed so hard her head slammed against the wall. Titus grasped the collar of his nightshirt and pulled the man’s hairy face to his.
‘She is not a whore,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And I am not a gutter rat.’
Frobisher sneered. Titus let him go but didn’t move away from him.
‘Uncle,’ Lilly said, ‘Inspector Pilbury needs my assistance.’
‘I told you, NO!’
‘But if I can use my gift to aid—’
‘Besmirch yourself with the likes of this,’ Frobisher interrupted, flinging his arm out at Titus, ‘and your gift will leave you, and then where will you be?’
‘The gift is MINE to do with as I will,’ Lilly cried, rising from the bed. At the crown of her head there was a patch of hair matted with blood.
Frobisher stared at her.
‘You need to be taught some respect,’ he said finally, his voice low. ‘In a moment I’ll be back with my belt. If you’re still here, boy, you’ll get a thrashing too.’
As he turned to go Titus punched him hard in the face. The man’s head snapped back, struck the wall, and he fell like a sack of coal onto the floor.
For a minute or two they stood staring at him, waiting for him to come round.
‘Is he dead?’ Lilly said finally.
Titus bent down and felt his wrist. ‘No.’ His voice shook a little. He hadn’t intended to hurt Frobisher. He looked up at her, worried that he had shocked her, possibly even disgusted her. But she laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to smile. Then her face crumpled.
She bit her lip to try and control it.
‘Lilly,’ he said, ‘you can’t ruin your life for this. I’ll stay, and when he wakes up I’ll explain to him that it was none of your doing.’
He stood up and touched her trembling shoulder.
‘I’ll find a way without you.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty smart, for a gutter rat.’
She looked into his face for a moment, then hurried over to the trunk in the corner. From it she drew a coat, a pair of boots and the pale blue dress, which she began to pull on over her nightdress. Before the lid fell shut Titus caught sight of some drawings that had lain beneath the clothes: ink sketches of faces staring out from deep shadows. The uppermost one was of a young woman in a high-collared black dress. It was disconcertingly lifelike.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’m ready.’
‘Are you sure? He may not let you return.’
‘Better a filthy whore than a slave,’ she said, smiling. ‘Come, let’s go.’
She pulled on the coat.
Titus glanced down at the lumpen shape of Frobisher. He was groaning now. Soon he would wake. Frobisher had asked what Lilly would do without her gift, but without her where would he be? This house, his visits to the club, his smart clothes: all came from her. If she slept the night in the stables with Titus then by the morning Frobisher would be begging her forgiveness.
Big Ben struck midnight as Titus let them through the gate and into the stable courtyard.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s not exactly comfortable.’
Beatrice and Leopold snored quietly in the shadows and their warm breath had taken the edge off the cold and infused the stable with the sweetness of hay and apples.
He lit a candle and placed in on the upturned half-barrel by his bed.
‘You can sleep here.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
While she took off her dress he busied himself gathering up hay and piling it into a rough mattress for his own bed. Holding the hay in place with one of the horses’ blankets he patted it flat and lay down. By now, Lilly had tucked herself under the blankets of her own bed and was gazing up at the stable roof where the shadows danced in the candlelight.
‘Take one of these,’ she said, peeling off the upper blanket.
He shook his head.
‘We Acre lot don’t feel the cold.’
‘In that case take my coat. Or I won’t sleep for worrying about you.’
He picked it up and pulled it over his shoulders so she couldn’t see him shivering. It smelled of lavender.
She rolled over to lie on her side, gathering the blankets under her chin. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ he said. ‘I should have waited till morning.’
‘I’m glad you came. And I like it here. It’s just like a home ought to be.’
; He chuckled.
‘And there was me thinking you weren’t mad after all.’
‘I feel it sometimes. Sometimes I wish I had my ordinary life again. Just me and Mama. But I suppose I owe it to people to try and help them.’
‘You don’t owe anyone.’
‘It wasn’t just that at the start. I thought I’d be helping Mama. Uncle said he’d send most of the money made back to her.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘She died. Not long after I left.’
‘Was that her: the picture in your trunk?’
‘No. That’s Lady Dora Herschel. She died last year. Her mother asked me to contact her. Francis told me to draw portraits of those I contact to prove to the families that I’ve really seen them.’
‘It’s good. At least, it looks like a real person.’
‘Yes, it’s a good likeness. Though I softened her expression. She did away with herself.’
The silence that followed went on long enough for Titus to think Lilly had gone to sleep. But then she spoke.
‘Can I stay here for a few days, to rest and prepare myself?’
‘Of course. Though you know Frobisher will come for you.’
‘He doesn’t know you work here. Just stay out of sight if he comes and he’ll have no clue where I’ve gone.’
She yawned and rolled over to face the wall.
‘I must sleep now. It was so draining, trying to hold that creature back.’
She did not move again and her breathing became steady.
He got up and snuffed out the candle, then he bent down and whispered:
‘Goodnight, Lilly.’
‘Goodnight,’ she mumbled.
18
The next day was warm and bright and the atmosphere in the police station much lighter. Inspector Pilbury took his lunch with the men again and, besides an obsession with checking the kitchen barometer, he seemed healthier and happier. Titus’s own mood improved as he began to wonder if the spirit had loosened its grip now that Pilbury was stronger. He visited Lilly regularly, taking her food or drink or the newspaper, but frequently found her lying on the mattress murmuring wordlessly, and would creep out again without interrupting her.
They stayed up late into the evening, even risking sitting out on the step that led into the station. He did not ask who she had been communicating with and she did not say, but she seemed perfectly at ease and became more so as the days wore on.
Frobisher appeared, as they knew he would, blazing about an assault and abduction. He was given short shrift by the duty sergeant, and Lilly and Titus giggled in the darkness of the stables listening to him rail about his lost livelihood and the probable abominations being suffered by his ward at that very moment.
When he left she grew serious.
‘He will not be able to afford the mortgage payments without the income from the séances. I’ll have to go back or we will lose the house.’
Titus nodded. For a moment they did not move. Leopold kicked at the hay, sending up a cloud of dust motes to drift around them, flashing gold as they spun through the air. Beneath their feet was the almost imperceptible rumble of the underground railway, like a heartbeat. From one of the cells came the mournful singing of a drunk incarcerated earlier for brawling. He was an Irishman and his voice was strong and melodic: he sang a lullaby Titus recognised from his own childhood. She must have known it too because she was smiling and swaying to the rhythm. As she rocked in his direction her shoulder brushed his. She did not move away, but leaned gently into him. A wisp of wind fluttered her hair against his neck. It smelled of hay. Her white hand lay still in her lap, palm upwards as if waiting to be touched.
Then Samson started bellowing for the horses.
The following Friday it was with a light heart that Titus turned his steps towards Little Almonry. Though still sullen, Hannah looked healthy enough, and when he told her he was to be paid in a week’s time and so would be back to collect her, she could not keep the sparkle from her eyes. When she asked after the Inspector he told her that he was back to his normal self. There was no sense in worrying her.
As he watched them all troop back in for supper he noticed that her hair was finally beginning to grow again, and now curled about her head like a halo. The image made him smile. There were few children less angelic.
Leaving via the porter’s office he told the man that Hannah would be leaving soon, and thanked him for all their kindness to her. To his surprise the porter actually reached out and shook his hand.
‘I like to see a family pick itself up again,’ he said. ‘It does not happen often enough.’
On the way back to the station he found himself humming a music hall tune and, as if to confirm that the fates had finally decided to smile on him, he discovered a shining new penny in the gutter. Victoria’s face, absurdly young and pretty, had the whisper of a smile.
Oh, my love is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June . . .
He passed the Horse and Groom. The some father and son were there, and the boy called after him, ‘Got any errands, sir?’
Titus grinned at the title but shook his head and walked on.
My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune . . .
He took a detour via the river and watched the barges bumping and crowding at the opposite wharf, the men scolding and teasing one another. London held a million opportunities for an enterprising and bright young man. He liked the idea of life as a dredgerman, unfettered by the rules and constraints on land.
As fair as you are, my lovely lass, so deep in love am I . . .
For a moment he was tempted to toss the coin out across the water and wish on it, but he managed to restrain himself and instead gave a little prayer of thanks to whichever god might be listening.
And I will love you still, my dear, till all the seas go dry . . .
He noticed that one of the bargemen in the nearest skiff was not much older than he himself. He was joking around with an older man in a nearby boat.
Till all the seas go dry, my dear, and the rocks melt with the sun . . .
And then suddenly the older man leaped from his own boat, into the boy’s. It pitched and rolled and there were cries of alarm from the other boatmen. The man hurled himself at the boy and Titus realised they hadn’t been joking at all. He tried to make out what was happening but the two bodies fell into the boat in a writhing mass. A light mist was creeping over the water, and a moment later it had engulfed boats and men. The voices became indistinct, but still conveyed their warning or threat, like the calls of animals. Then one of the voices rose above the others, in a bellow that reverberated across the river.
‘I’ll pay you back for that!’
The phrase was familiar and for the rest of the way back to the station Titus tried to place where he had heard it recently. Getting back took longer than he thought as the mist deepened, and when he finally approached the gates it was past six o’clock. The air was now thick and yellow and he could hear the coughs of men out in the yard. Alone in the dark stables Lilly would be cold and hungry. He shouldn’t have dawdled so long.
A shadow loomed up as he let himself in.
‘Inspector Pilbury? Is that you? We’ve been worried, sir. On a night like this you shouldn’t go out alone . . .’
Samson’s voice tailed off as he drew close enough to make out Titus’s features.
‘It’s not him,’ he called back over his shoulder, then melted away.
‘D’you think one of us should go after him?’ a disembodied voice said.
‘Which way did he go?’
‘Bill saw him. Where was it, Bill?’
‘Up towards Little Almonry, I think . . .’
The voices ricocheted around Titus as he stood alone in the smog, and suddenly he knew where he had heard the phrase before. You’ll pay me back.
Titus had stolen a child from Rancer, so he would pay the debt with another.
Hannah.
19
/> ‘Lilly! Where are you?’
The tendrils of smog had even penetrated the stable: the horses were spectres in the gloom, Lilly’s empty bed a slab of darkness in the corner.
Titus ran back outside and across the courtyard to the kitchen. Had she sneaked in to warm herself by the fire while the officers hunted for Pilbury?
The kitchen was deserted. He snatched up a paper and pen and scrawled a note:
He left the note on Lilly’s bed then ran out of the gate, left open in the confusion.
‘Lilly!’ he cried. ‘Lilly!’
A shape loomed out of the darkness.
‘Lilly! Thank God! He means to kill Hannah!’
But the shape resolved itself into something twisted and cadaverous.
‘You lied to me,’ the figure rasped, lurching forward. ‘You said you’d come and find me and you never did. I’m gonna kill you now.’
‘Stitcher? My God . . .’
But the boy drew no weapon. Instead he grasped Titus around the throat and drove him backwards against the courtyard wall, so hard that the gate thrummed. As Titus clawed at the hands around his neck he could feel every contour of Stitcher’s bones. The skin stretched over them was flaking off. His hair was falling out in patches. His clothes were rags.
Grief had killed all the humanity in him, leaving only rage and hatred. The only living things left of him were his eyes which burned with enough passion and loathing to keep a thousand corpses on their feet. He opened his mouth and a stench of decay struck Titus full in the face. But he did not speak: his mouth opened wider to reveal blackened teeth embedded in brown and swollen gums. Stitcher meant to tear him apart with his very teeth.
With a final burst of effort Titus managed to loosen the hands long enough to cry out, ‘Charly’s murderer! I know where he is!’
The horrible mouth closed. The eyes narrowed.
‘Another lie . . .’ he hissed.
‘He’s going after Hannah. Please, Stitch, let me go. I need to stop him.’
Stitcher stared at him a moment then the skeletal hands loosened.
The Hanged Man Rises Page 16
