‘A little. He lived with the gypsies and yet he was not quite one of them. He was often seen alone. But everyone…everyone was always in awe of this man, both in a good and a bad way. Many were scared of him. He seemed to have magic inside him.’
‘How?’ asked Tom.
The man consulted with the brother to his right for some moments.
‘My older brother has clearer memories,’ he continued. ‘He says that the townspeople would turn to Kralis when they were sick. When there was no hope left. He always came, even to places where he was not liked or trusted. He even came here, to help our mother.’
‘Did he succeed?’
The man shook his head.
‘Nothing could save our mother, but he gave her a feeling of peace. He eased her pain and by doing so he eased our pain as well.’
The brother to his left began to speak now in hushed tones. They all listened in earnest.
‘My brother says that he once saw Kralis in the woods,’ he continued. ‘He seemed to appear from nowhere, as if stepping out of the bark of a tree. My brother was quite young and he was scared.’
‘Did Kralis hurt him?’ asked Tom.
‘No, no. He was a gentle man, just very strange.’ He raised his hands high up, ‘Extremely tall, slim, dark with long, thin hair. And his face. How can I say it? His face was identical to yours,’ he said, pointing to Walter.
The brothers regarded him like three wise owls.
A thin smile broke across Walter’s face. ‘You said that your maid, Katrin, spent time with this man?’ he asked.
‘Yes. There were some bad rumours, of course. But then he disappeared from this region. She left some weeks later.’
‘Do you think she went after him?’
The three men talked and then the middle brother replied, ‘We don’t know. All we can remember from so long ago was that she was very sad before she left. My older brother can remember her crying. The family was not surprised when she disappeared.’
Chapter 27
Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The air smelt of burning coal, sweat, coffee, sea-slimed ropes, the chaos of a thousand bustling bodies. Home. He opened his eyes again and shook his head with a smile. Under the peak of his large hat, he watched the bustle of the docks weave around him: horses straining at carts, the clamour of ships and boats being unloaded, bewildered dark faces stepping on English land for the first time. Walter forged on ahead and Tom followed, head down, his bundle of possessions thrust over his shoulder. For one stupid moment his eyes threatened to fill with tears. Not once during his exile had he dared to hope that he’d make it back to London again.
A familiar head bobbed towards them: bald, with a thin moustache and a smile that threatened to slice it into two.
‘Travellers! Adventurers! Welcome home!’ he cried.
Cornelius. The man was so jubilant that he seemed unsure about which of his old friends to embrace first. The result was an eccentric little dance, resulting in a clumsy sort of ‘clutching on’ between all three of them.
‘Remember that Tom is in disguise,’ murmured Walter, as enquiring faces turned to peer at the happy group. ‘We must save our celebrations.’
But Cornelius was too overcome to take heed. ‘Tom, Tom,’ he said, grasping his hands, and then his expression suddenly faded from joy to utter remorse. ‘I am so sorry my friend. For so long I’ve wanted to apologise, truly, for what happened that night. The road was closed and they pushed me further and further back. I couldn’t get to you and Miss Huntingdon!’ He squeezed Tom’s hands until the bones crunched inside.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Cornelius. There was nothing you could have done.’
‘The sleepless nights I’ve had. The sorrow. I’ve lost weight. Can you see? Can you see how thin I am?’
Cornelius did indeed seem slimmer about the jowls. He eyes were filled with such sorrow that it was impossible not to embrace the poor man again.
‘Come, we are friends,’ said Tom. ‘You aren’t to blame. And there is hope. Hope!’
The man’s unquenchable good humour bubbled back up to the surface of his face. He patted both of them heartily on the shoulder. ‘Come on. I expect you’re famished. The Missus has a feast in store for us.’
A small gaggle of children gathered to meet them as they turned into the drapers’ alley. They tugged at Walter’s sleeves and greeted him like an old friend. Tom watched them skip and dart around him like small imps. Perhaps the gypsy children had once regarded Kralis in much the same way. Walter had been almost silent during most of their journey home and Tom had felt it wrong to interrupt him; wrong to interfere with whatever havoc was churning away inside his friend’s mind.
When they entered the cluttered quarters of the Cornelius household, the scene that greeted them really did make the tears spring into his eyes. At the centre of it all, flapping around the table arrangements was the Missus, with her pyramid of red curls. Sinbad lay at the hearth, carefully guarding a fat baby, who was gripping the end of his tail with a chubby fist. Kayan, now inches taller, flew to them both, laughing and cheering and shaking their hands over and over again. And in the corner, propped up in a fat cushioned chair, sat Ma, with Sally standing by her side.
‘Welcome back, Tom,’ Sally said with that sweet smile of hers. She was looking awfully thin and pale. He crossed the room and gave her a hearty embrace, but it felt as if he was clutching onto a frail flower in danger of getting crushed. He held her back by the shoulders.
‘It’s good to see you again, Sally.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You too.’
He crouched down before his Ma. She looked neat and clean. Her hair had been carefully arranged.
‘Hello, Ma.’
She started a little at the sound of his voice. Her fingers worried nervously at a handkerchief on her lap. She seemed to be looking for him, but couldn’t quite find his face.
‘He died you know,’ she murmured. ‘My husband. He died just this morning.’
‘Yes Ma, I know.’
Her eyes eventually found his and she made another little start. Tom smiled and stroked her hand. It was recognition enough for him.
The table was noisy and full of banter as they ate. The Missus fussed over them all:
‘Did you eat before you came?’ she kept exclaiming, piling more and more food onto their plates.
They all questioned Tom about his foreign exploits and about the life he’d led in Prague. He told them about the music, the handsome houses, the beer… He didn’t speak of the loneliness he’d endured. He didn’t tell them about the small attic room in which he’d boiled throughout the summer and then shivered alone in until Walter’s arrival.
Cornelius ranted about the loss to the world of magic since Walter had stopped performing.
‘When can I tell them you’re coming back?’ he urged him. ‘When is the next extravaganza to be? Just say the word. London’s theatres await you!’
But Walter seemed to be intent on tormenting the man by offering him nothing more than a toast of his drink in reply and lighting his pipe. He exhaled a long snake of smoke between the expectant faces on either side of him.
‘I have been learning the Shakespeare!’ announced Kayan, wrapping his arms round Sally.
‘And maths, and history and French,’ she reminded him, ruffling his hair. ‘I live at the cemetery now,’ she told Tom. Her eyes were large and hollow. ‘Kayan needs a mother, even though he doesn’t think it.’
‘And Sally needs Kayan just as much,’ said Walter softly.
‘And Sinbad!’ added Kayan.
They all looked over at the panther, who was having a large piece of bread inserted into his ear by the fat baby.
‘Oh no you don’t, little Walter!’ cried the Missus, pulling the baby away from the poor cat. Little Walter turned the colour of a beetroot, clenched his fists and let out a shrill scream. The room filled with laughter, shocking him into silence. He peered around at them all from his moth
er’s lap with great, bemused eyes as Sinbad yawned with relief and settled into a sleep.
It was only when they’d finished eating, and Cornelius had pulled a cork out of a special bottle of rum that had ‘toppled off a gangplank’, that the conversation turned to the real reason for their gathering.
‘We’ve been spying on them,’ said the Missus.
‘Spying?’ asked Tom.
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded. ‘Cecil Hearst won’t let her out of his sight now. She’s not allowed out for fittings, so I got one of my girls to go there and measure her for new dresses. He sat there the whole time, she said, watching Mrs Tamara and my girl like an old crow. Mrs Tamara was all wan and pasty because she never gets out, and her hands shook every time he spoke. And she had these dreadful raw patches on her skin. All over. My girl couldn’t make out what was causing them, but they were awful sore looking she said.’
Tom swallowed hard.
Cornelius shook his head. ‘An abomination!’ he muttered.
‘And Daniel?’ Walter asked.
‘He is there too,’ chimed in Kayan. ‘I got in, once, through an open window in the kitchen. I then climbed up the back stairs. Mr Daniel was up there in his bed, under many blankets. The fire was burning very hot and bright. It was so hot in the room that I couldn’t breathe! I tried to speak to Mr Daniel but his eyes were closed and his breathing was very weak. I tell you - if I was so hot I would surely die!’
Sally visibly recoiled at the words.
‘Did he have a nurse?’
‘No. No one was working there apart from the two evil brothers and a cook. They didn’t see me, but it was very difficult. It took me a long time to escape again. Mr Daniel never leaves the house.’
‘Very few staff live in the house,’ added Cornelius. ‘And the only person allowed to visit is Mrs Hearst’s mother. She comes a few times a week, for about an hour or so.’
‘Kayan, did you see Tamara when you were there?’ asked Tom.
‘No. The doors were mostly closed. I heard piano music; a very sad melody.’
‘It’s Death of the Lady,’ Sally said in a quiet voice. ‘An old folk song. Kayan hummed it back to me and I recognised it instantly.’
Walter thought long and hard. ‘Tell me more about the Brennan Brothers.’
‘Well, they are both the size of cart-horses,’ said the Missus. ‘They guard the front and back doors of the house almost constantly.’
‘Almost?’
‘Yes. We have discovered one chink in their armour,’ replied Cornelius. ‘Patrick, the younger one, misses his lady love. Or something of the sort. He sneaks out the back door on Thursday nights, locks it behind him, and disappears off for two hours or so. His brother’s in on it. He bolts the back door from the inside after he leaves, just to make sure it’s safe, and then goes back to the front of the house. It’s not much, but it’s something.’
‘What time does he leave?’
‘Ten to midnight. Always the same. The other brother’s still there mind, guarding at the front.’
‘Kayan,’ said Walter. ‘Would you be able to draw a map of the upstairs of the house for me?’
‘I will try,’ nodded the boy.
‘And in the meantime, we need to speak to Catherine Huntingdon.’
*
Tom and Walter accompanied Sally, Kayan and Sinbad when they left for the cemetery that evening. Walter had insisted that Tom wear the hat again, as well as a vile fake beard that both looked and smelt like a dead animal.
‘I have been an awful son and a terrible friend to you, Sally,’ said Tom, as she walked quietly along beside him.
‘Oh, don’t pity yourself so,’ she chided back in her gentle Sally voice. ‘You followed your heart. You’ve always tried to do your best by people. How were we to know what Cecil Hearst was made of? You know, Walter never told me you were actually dead. He told me to think of you as dead, and I did. He said it with that look on his face that told me not to question him.’ She paused and drew in a deep, sorrowful sigh. ‘My life moved in a different direction after that. It took me to Somerset. And I fell in love there, not just with my Daniel, but with your beautiful Tamara too. And now both of them are dying in that prison of his…,’
Her voice trembled and she blinked back tears. Tom put his arm around her shoulders, too overcome to speak.
After delivering their companions safely to the cemetery, Walter and Tom meandered back through the streets to Cornelius’s house. The light had faded and the roads were full of long shadows. Young boys darted through alleyways, scavenging for food and playing pranks; just as Walter and Tom had once done. A map of east London had carved itself into the souls of the two men. They still knew exactly where and where not to hide, which characters to avoid and where to curl up under your coat when there was no roof over your head. Yes, they still knew it. This was their home after all. And yet, despite the relief of being back, and the joy of seeing beloved faces again, Tom knew that his days in the east were coming to an end. He was weary of this world he knew so well. He had returned, raised from the dead, to close a chapter. That was all. It was time to make peace and then to start a new, real life.
‘How do you fare, now that you are back?’ asked Walter, as if he could read Tom’s thoughts.
‘Well, I can breathe again.’
‘Your Ma has been well cared for.’
‘Yes. I am indebted to them all. But she’s still slipping away, isn’t she? I am losing a mother just as you are finding one.’
Walter laughed softly. ‘True. And yet mine is not quite the vision of maternal love that I had once foolishly dreamed of.’
‘She will have a story.’
‘As does everyone.’
A bony dog crossed their pathway, intent on a scent with its nose to the ground. They stopped to let it pass.
‘Will it work do you think?’ asked Tom. ‘Tomorrow’s meeting?’
‘That will be entirely her decision,’ replied Walter. ‘But there’s one thing I can be quite certain of.’
Tom turned to his friend, raising his eyebrows. ‘And that is?’
‘That tonight I will fairly pickle myself with opium.’
Chapter 28
It was the strangest feeling to be back again; standing under the vast, domed roof. Far above their heads was the Whispering Gallery. Tom could barely bring himself to look up at it.
It was still early and the building was quiet. Walter had stayed away all night, returning to the Cornelius’s sometime after dawn, stinking and dishevelled. The Missus had personally scrubbed the smoke out of his hair and dressed him in a fresh purple suit of her own design. He stood next to Tom now. The expression on his face said nothing at all.
The distant sound of a door creaking skimmed through the air. Tom flinched. He turned to see the approaching figure of a tall, slender woman dressed in grey. She made her way slowly towards them, like a reluctant bride.
When she was close enough to see Tom’s face, she halted. She raised her hands to her mouth and then let them slowly slide down her neck. It was if a shadow had passed through her. Her chest heaved. Ever slower now, she approached them both
Walter kept his eyes cast down to the floor, as if he could hardly bear to look at her.
‘You came,’ he said, in a low, quiet voice.
‘You summoned me,’ she replied. And then, turning to Tom, she said, ‘The last time I saw you, you were a broken corpse on this very floor.’
‘I’m afraid that you were mistaken that night; fooled by an illusion. Mrs Huntingdon, we would like you to come with us. There’s a person we want you to meet.’
The journey was a silent one and even when they snaked between the misty morning graves of Bow Cemetery, Catherine Huntingdon didn’t stop to say a word or raise a question. Only her clenched jaw and an occasional twitch across her set expression offered a glimpse of whatever was simmering inside her. How uncannily similar she and Walter were after all.
They entered the small h
ome with the pitched, beamed roof. It was warm and pleasant inside. Sally and Ma were sitting by the hearth. Cornelius and the Missus had brought Ma over that morning. She looked frail but content enough, wrapped up in a huge shawl. She peered around confusedly at the group, but when her eyes fell on Catherine Huntingdon, they lit up.
‘Ah!’ she trilled, as if suddenly acknowledging an old friend. ‘You came back.’
She raised a shaky hand towards her and Catherine stepped forward to take it.
‘Look at our two boys,’ said Ma. ‘All grown up and strong. My husband died you know,’ she added wistfully. Catherine sank down to her knees before her. Tom could see that her back was trembling.
‘How are you, Molly?’ she murmured in a broken voice.
‘Oh, a little out of sorts. I’ll get the supper on. In a minute,’ her eyes flickered drowsily. ‘You watch your Walter there. He’ll get into no end of trouble if you don’t.’
Catherine turned to them both. Her eyes shone with tears.
‘You know,’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ Walter replied.
She let go of Ma’s hand and rose to her feet.
‘How do you know my mother?’ asked Tom.
‘I came to visit you Walter, once. You were at a different workhouse to where I’d left you, but I managed to trace you down. I don’t even know why I did it, I… perhaps I just wanted to see if you were alright. Half my mind was intent on getting you out of there, although I don’t know what I would have done with you. It’s so long ago; I can’t really explain what I was feeling. I just knew that I needed to see you.’
‘And?’
‘And when I got there, they told me that you’d run away just a few days before. They took me to see Molly, the mother of the boy you’d left with, in case she might be able to divulge something. I sat with her for hours. She knew nothing of course, but for some reason I found myself telling her everything. Molly was the only one who could keep my secret.’
‘You came to my performances,’ said Walter, ashen faced. ‘I often saw you in the audience. It made me wonder who you really were. And now I know. I also know that you are not the high born lady you pretend to be. You were just a simple maid once, no better than the rest of us, who fell for the wrong man.’
Illusion Page 25
