‘But he never left the tower!’ Mark said, amazed to find himself defending the old tyrant.
Snutworth shook his head. ‘That would have been no barrier. Besides, I never said that he was part of the crimes, but that may not prevent him being found guilty.’ He shrugged. ‘Making an enemy of the Lord Chief Justice can have that effect, especially if you are no longer quite the figure of respect you once were.’
‘Snutworth… don’t be so…’
Mark struggled with his feelings. Of course the Count had been prepared to sacrifice him without a second thought. But he was over eighty; he wouldn’t last a day on the streets.
‘Cynical?’ Snutworth suggested. He leaned forward earnestly. ‘Mr Mark, we must accept realities. Try to play another game and you’ll be trampled underfoot, which, considering the vast possibilities open to you now, would be such a waste.’
Mark met Snutworth’s gaze, not quite sure what he meant. Then, slowly, some things that the servant had said began to click into place.
‘Snutworth… did Count Stelli have any other family… apart from Dr Theophilus?’
‘All dead, Mr Mark. And the doctor was disowned months ago, all ties officially severed.’ Snutworth smiled. ‘And you know full well that he didn’t keep any other servants. The receivers will hunt for the Count, but if he has disappeared he too will be declared a non-person. In the eyes of the law, dead.’ Snutworth looked up and around at the entrance hall. ‘Its upkeep may be a little expensive, but I’m sure your readings will more than cover that…’
‘It’s… mine?’ Mark said, his mouth gaping. ‘But surely Dr Theophilus…’
‘The law would require him to trade for it – he’s a little old for title gifts. A disowned grandson has no more right to inherit than a passing debtor,’ Snutworth said simply. ‘Besides, I believe he has a practice already.’
‘It’s still his family home… He should have something out of it, at least the medical equipment…’ Mark said, but less forcefully. He was beginning to warm to the idea of staying here as the owner of the tower.
‘You’ve earned this, Mr Mark.’ Snutworth looked him in the eye. ‘Do you want to be at the mercy of others for the rest of your life? Would you give away everything that is yours?’
Mark frowned and opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. He did not need to answer that.
‘And now, if you will excuse me.’ Snutworth rose, leaning stiffly on the cane. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time.’
‘Wait!’ Mark said, hurriedly rising also. ‘Stay a bit longer. If it hadn’t been for your plan…’
‘You are very kind, Mr Mark, but I cannot afford to delay,’ Snutworth said as he adjusted his hat. ‘I am unemployed and have little to trade for my lodgings. I must find a new master without delay.’ He put his hand on the door. ‘Although I fear that the desire for professional assistance is not as popular as it once was.’
‘Snutworth,’ Mark said, taking hold of the man’s sleeve, ‘look… I’ve got no idea how much I’ve inherited. I couldn’t offer as much as Mr Prendergast, at least at first. But, if you’re interested…’ Mark took a deep breath. ‘You understand this city. I still don’t. Not like you do. Would you consider…’ Mark paused, wishing that Snutworth would interrupt, as he had every other time. But he kept looking back, waiting, and eventually Mark had to finish the sentence himself: ‘… working for me?’
There was a long pause. Mark was sure that Snutworth was insulted, that he would stalk away and leave him alone. Instead, eventually, Snutworth’s face broke into a smile and he bowed low.
‘It would be an honour, sir.’
It was the first contract that Mark had ever written himself. He blotted it three times, but in the end it was finished. He stamped his starfish into the wax and it was joined a moment later by an outstretched hand, the symbol of a servant. It felt strange to Mark as Snutworth had to be nearing forty summers, yet as they shook hands up in the Observatory, Mark felt a strange thrill of partnership. Even though Snutworth was a head taller, he could look him in the eye as an equal. Mark was the master, but Snutworth could be his guide, his protector.
Snutworth would never have sold him.
‘Now, sir, to business,’ Snutworth said briskly, as he folded the contract. ‘We had better wait until the Count is officially declared a non-person before we show that to the receivers. In the meantime, however, I think we should set up a few more public prophecies, make use of recent publicity. A little vaguer than last time, perhaps. We don’t want to have to “help” them again. Then, of course, there’s the matter of expanding your interests. Best not to put all of your wealth in one area, too unstable. I would recommend trading some of your new possessions for influence in other commodities.’ Snutworth smiled. ‘Fish, perhaps. Then, of course, there’s –’
‘Just… just wait a moment,’ Mark said, collapsing back into the Count’s – no, into his chair. ‘It’s a lot to take in. Yesterday I was just an apprentice.’
‘I can see it now,’ Snutworth said, stretching out his hands. ‘Every newssheet will carry it: “Apprentice’s meteoric rise”.’ He laughed. ‘Or something like that. Perhaps you can hire Mr Laudate to do your publicity. He certainly seemed inclined to help you.’
‘Uh…’ Mark clutched his head, the pounding in his temples reminding him that he hadn’t slept for at least twenty-four hours.
He felt Snutworth put something into his hand and, looking up, saw a tiny bottle filled with sea-green liquid. There was something scratched on the side: Calm.
‘What’s this?’ Mark asked, squinting at it.
‘Something useful,’ Snutworth said, kneeling beside him. ‘Pure emotion, distilled and prepared for use. Always keep a little on me. An old friend of mine is in the business. It’s rather helpful for moments of stress.’
Mark looked at the bottle, which was no bigger than his smallest finger. It seemed so simple, so convenient. Perhaps too simple.
‘No thanks,’ he said, pushing it away. ‘I think I just need to sleep.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ Snutworth said, returning the bottle to his pockets. ‘Maybe another time. If you wish to retire, I shall draw up some suggestions for your first acquisitions.’
‘Don’t you ever sleep, Snutworth?’
‘Not when my master’s business is calling.’ Snutworth straightened up, his eyes bright. ‘Not when the future has so much potential.’
Mark looked at his new assistant framed in the light streaming through from the dawning sun. For the first time, he saw the Observatory in daylight – the velvet curtains tied back, the brass telescope gleaming. And through the windows he saw a crowd, already gathered at the base of the tower, waiting for admittance.
‘I’ll tell them to come back this afternoon, sir,’ Snutworth said.
But Mark was barely listening as he nodded. In his mind, he was already dreaming. Dreaming of the new life that now stretched out before him. A year ago, he had been worth less than the clothes he stood up in. Now he had wealth, respect, even some influence and power.
He could do anything.
And he would.
Chapter Twelve
THE IDEA
It was a week before the receivers came.
Lily had been waiting for them every day, wondering whether they would give her any warning or just barge in with a warrant for her arrest. She could not tell, since she did not know if what she was doing was illegal. So when she heard that authoritative rap on the door, the first thing she felt was relief.
She caught Benedicta’s eye across the room, where the red-headed girl was gathering up the blankets that they had laid across the old pews. She gave a look of encouragement, anxiously smoothing down the stained apron that she had thrown on over her dress, another of Signora Sozinho’s cast-offs, which was both a little too large and too grand for her work, despite its age. Lily readied herself and tried to calm her mind. She had to look businesslike, to act as old as she could. The rap came a
gain, louder and more insistent. Lily drew herself up to her full height and made her way over to the door.
No sooner was it open than an official-looking document sealed with the stamp of the Directory, a furled scroll, was thrust into her face. As she stepped back to read the warrant, she examined the man who was presenting it, a craggy-faced receiver wearing the shining silver brocade of an inspector. His expression was encouraging: disapproving but not immediately hostile. Certainly not as hostile as that of the younger sergeant behind him, who was peering through the doorway with clear disgust, his nose wrinkling as though he thought them diseased.
‘On the authority of the Directory of Receipts,’ the inspector intoned, sounding as if he had repeated these words a thousand times before, ‘we are to investigate these premises on suspicion of illegal actions. You have no right to refuse and –’
‘Certainly, sirs,’ Lily interrupted. ‘Will you come in?’
Lily felt a ripple of amusement as the inspector was stopped in his tracks. Evidently he was not used to co-operation. Recovering himself, he nodded briskly and entered, followed by his sergeant.
‘Can we get you anything?’ Lily said sweetly.
‘Or perhaps take your coats and hats?’ Benedicta added, coming forward with a smile, plucking at the sergeant’s midnight-blue sleeve.
The sergeant recoiled in alarm. ‘Is this some kind of trick?’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Attempting to steal from a receiver is punishable by –’
‘No, thank you,’ the inspector interrupted firmly, flashing a look of annoyance at his fellow receiver. ‘Sergeant Pauldron, remember that these young ladies are not currently accused of anything. And I’m sure there is no risk of them overpowering you.’
Lily wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected a flicker of a smile in the corner of the inspector’s mouth. Internally, she also felt a twinge of pleasure at being referred to as a ‘lady’. She had been a legal adult since she turned twelve, but so far few people, other than Theo, had treated her as anything more than an attention-seeking child. The good feeling was soon gone, however, as the inspector’s eyes swept over the interior of the temple.
Lily followed where he looked. They hadn’t added much. There were still the tables that Theo had set up for examinations, and a few more oil lamps had been added, as trying to operate under the light that shone through high stained-glass windows was impossible. Mean-while, Lily noticed that the sergeant was busy inspecting the font at the other side of the room. He gave a sniff and jerked back in surprise. Despite herself, Lily had to smother a laugh at his expression of surprise.
‘Medical alcohol, Sergeant,’ she explained. ‘Very important for cleaning wounds. I can show you the receipt for it if you want to check.’
The sergeant scowled and began to run his hands along the pews. Lily exchanged a look with Benedicta, who had returned to folding blankets, and then turned her attention back to the inspector. He was quite different from his sergeant. He searched only with his eyes, but Lily was sure that he noticed far more things. Indeed, it was he who came upon the most recent addition.
‘I don’t know how many patients you have, Miss Lilith,’ he said, looking into one corner, ‘but it must be many. That’s a large cooking pot you have there.’
‘That’s for a very special kind of patient,’ Lily said quietly, meeting his gaze, preparing herself for the argument she had rehearsed long into the night. ‘It is designed to cure those whose only disease is hunger.’
‘Something of a backwards step, isn’t it?’ the inspector remarked. ‘A bright girl, apprentice to a doctor, cooking food for debtors? My wife certainly wouldn’t stand for it. She’s a receiver too.’
‘If you have a skill, you use it,’ Lily said simply. ‘Show me someone willing and able and I’ll be happy to pass the job on to them.’
The inspector nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.
‘Pauldron!’ he called out.
The sergeant put down an old incense burner, which he had been examining with great suspicion, and marched forward.
‘Sir?’
‘Take notes on this conversation.’
Pauldron reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew some sheets of paper and a stick of charcoal. He poised the charcoal, ready to write. The inspector cleared his throat.
‘Investigation into…’ He paused, frowning. ‘What do you call this place again?’
‘An almshouse,’ Lily said clearly. ‘A-L-M-S,’ she added, looking at the sergeant’s paper, ‘not weapons.’
‘Investigation into the Temple Street Almshouse, Inspector Greaves and Sergeant Pauldron of the receivers presiding.’ The inspector pursed his lips. ‘Miss Lilith, this building seems to have seen some strange businesses. It looks like a temple to me, a fad from a couple of cycles ago, as I recall. I believe they were selling something called “enlightenment and spirituality”…’ The inspector rolled the words around his mouth as if they had a peculiar taste and then shrugged. ‘It never quite caught on. I see from the reports that we closed it down in the end.’
‘Complaints of being robbed, sir,’ Pauldron added with a sniff. ‘Some of the customers felt no different, even after multiple purchases.’
‘Indeed,’ Greaves concurred. ‘Records indicate that this building was left abandoned until the middle of last year, when it was taken over as a medical practice by a certain Dr Theophilus.’ He frowned. ‘Records also state that he owns part of it and that he is renting the rest of the property from Miss Devine.’ The inspector looked around the room, thoughtfully. ‘In other words, he is legally responsible for whatever happens under this roof. I hope he’s not avoiding questioning.’
‘No, sir, the doctor is visiting a patient,’ Lily lied.
That is what he had told her, but she knew him better than that. He had barely been in the practice since he had heard that his grandfather had disappeared. It had been nearly three weeks since Agora Day, but still every day he went out and every night he came back looking paler than ever. If he kept up these searches in the slums it would only be a matter of time before he caught one of the new diseases. Diseases that made the grey plague look like a mild cough.
‘Anyway,’ the inspector continued, ignoring Lily’s look of concern, ‘you are his apprentice?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That is unusual in itself. Your records do not indicate any form of medical training. Do you come from a background in healing?’
Lily paused briefly before replying, her head filling again with what she had discovered at the orphanage, or rather what she had not discovered.
‘No, sir,’ Lily said quietly, all too aware that she could be wrong. A name embroidered on a strip of fine cloth and a bag of gemstones were her only link to her past. Perhaps her parents had been doctors and had caught the grey plague, like so many others – it might explain how they could afford gems, but not to keep their daughter.
‘And the other girl?’ the inspector continued, unaware of Lily’s thoughts.
‘I’m just an assistant,’ Benedicta called over cheerfully. ‘I lost my old job when my former mistress no longer needed me.’
‘Just the two of you?’ the inspector asked incredulously.
‘There’s more coming,’ Benedicta continued, smoothing out a sheet. ‘My brother and sister are going to help us out with spreading the word. They’re good at that.’
‘Benedicta has come to work for the Almshouse,’ Lily explained. ‘The doctor has given his consent.’
‘Consent to what?’ Pauldron muttered, shuffling his notes. ‘You still have not admitted what exactly it is that this Almshouse does.’
‘That may be because we haven’t asked her yet, Sergeant,’ the inspector said, dead-pan. He turned to Lily and raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need to ask the question.
‘The Almshouse isn’t a business, Inspector Greaves.’ Lily waved her hands as she tried to explain, although the truth was she sometimes barely understood it herself.
‘It’s… an idea. A concept…’
‘A flophouse for debtors and damaged goods,’ the sergeant remarked, distastefully picking at a heap of bedding as Benedicta folded it.
‘Among other things,’ Lily replied, keeping her voice level. ‘We feed those who have nothing to trade for food, and give some of them a place to sleep and wash under a roof. The doctor has agreed to treat some of those who are ill – they’re sleeping down in the cellar at the moment.’
‘Sounds as if you are encouraging people to become debtors, Miss Lilith,’ the inspector said jovially, but with a hint of steel.
‘We’re planning to ask those who can to make food,’ Lily hurried on, trying to put forward the simple parts of her plan first, ‘and find work for the healthy, to help them to return to their own lives.’
‘Maybe even train them in new skills,’ Benedicta added. ‘You’d be amazed how many people can’t read, not even contracts.’
The inspector furrowed his brow.
‘Unusual, and probably pointless, but it’s not our business to stop people from enterprise,’ he murmured, stroking his chin. ‘There is just one thing – why haven’t we received any contracts from this? I hear there was a crowd last night and many more expected. There must be many for us to collect.’
Lily took a deep breath. This was going to be the hardest part to explain.
‘There aren’t any contracts.’
The sergeant’s charcoal stopped moving. The silence was deafening.
The inspector leaned forward. ‘No contracts?’ he asked. ‘Then how can you make sure that these debtors give you what they owe for your services?’
The Midnight Charter Page 13
