Vernon nodded. The anger that had been driving him a few minutes before was now entirely gone. ‘I shall return to my club,’ he said in a dull monotone.
‘That’s the ticket, sweetheart.’ Hetty patted his hand with hers. ‘And we’ll set the sparks flyin’ when we can.’
Vernon turned without any farewell and began to climb the stone steps. Behind him, Adam heard the door to Hetty’s flat close with a bang. There was no time for Adam to do more than retreat more deeply into the darkness of the unlit street and hope that he could not be seen. However, the Foreign Office man was clearly not taking much notice of his surroundings. He trudged past, oblivious of the presence of Adam, who watched as his hunched shadow reached the one gas lamp in the street and headed off towards the Pentonville Road.
Adam smiled ruefully to himself. Hopes of a romantic encounter with the dancer would have to be postponed. This did not seem like the time for a social call. But the visit had not been uninteresting, he thought. So it was not just Dolly Delaney with whom Harry Vernon had been conducting a liaison. Vernon must have been the plump gentleman in Wimpole Street whom Quint had seen Hetty visiting. The man was an unexpected Lothario, but it would seem that he was involved with not one chorus girl but two. Adam smiled again. He wondered what Sunman would make of this news.
The young man was still debating with himself whether or not he would do so when he heard the door to Hetty’s rooms open again.
‘You coming to visit, ’andsome?’ The young woman’s voice sounded from the darkness. ‘Or you planning to jest stand out there all night and catch your death of cold?’
Adam smiled to himself. ‘Am I welcome?’ he asked.
‘You was invited, wasn’t you?’
‘I do believe I was.’
‘Well, then, you’re welcome.’
Feeling an exhilarating mix of desire and anticipation, Adam made his way down the steps to where Hetty was waiting.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Here, you’ve got to call off this bleeding peeler you’ve set on me.’
As Adam left the gates at the end of Doughty Street and turned down Guilford Street towards the Gray’s Inn Road, a man approached him and seized him by the forearm. It was Jacob Pennethorne, the shopkeeper from Wych Street.
Adam had been reflecting with a mixture of pleasure and puzzlement on his night with Hetty. What a curious and delightful girl she was. He was not sure he had ever met anyone quite like her. Although she had bestowed her favours so generously, he still had little idea what she truly thought of him. When he had left her rooms as dawn was breaking, she had been almost brusque in her farewell. Many men in his position – Cosmo Jardine, for example – would not have concerned themselves with what a chorus girl might or might not think, but Adam found he could not be so blasé. He could not help but ponder on what had occurred. Pennethorne’s interruption of his thoughts was therefore both irritating and impertinent. He shook off the man’s hand and spoke curtly to him. ‘I have no notion of what you are talking about.’
‘This bugger Sampson,’ Pennethorne said irately. ‘He’s been round three times since you came a-visiting. He’s taken away half my stock. You’ve got to have a word with him.’
Adam looked at the shopkeeper. The man did not look well. His hair was greasy and unwashed, his face pale. Although it was a warm spring morning, he was sweating profusely. Adam considered ignoring him and walking away, but decided against it. ‘We cannot talk about this in the street,’ he said. ‘There is a tavern around the corner in the Gray’s Inn Road. Let us go there.’
Once settled in the saloon bar of the Goat and Compasses with a brandy and water in front of him, Pennethorne seemed less angry and more depressed. He sat on a three-legged stool and stared mournfully at the patterned oilcloth which covered the bar floor.
‘Now,’ Adam said, ‘perhaps you will tell me what you mean by harassing me in the public highway.’
‘I told you already,’ the shopkeeper said, still looking downwards. ‘It’s your pal Sampson. Ever since you come to Wych Street asking about that Delaney girl, he’s never left me in peace. Badgering me the livelong day. Stealing my goods. I want you to tell him to stop it.’
‘I have no power to prevent a policeman from doing what he believes to be his duty.’
‘I ain’t so green as a cabbage, you know,’ Pennethorne said, looking up from his examination of the oilcloth. ‘You want me to think it’s a bleeding coincidence that Sampson’s round my shop five minutes after you’ve gone. You set him on to me. You can set him off.’
Adam thought for a moment. As he did, the door from the street opened and three young men, in high spirits, entered the pub and called for the barman. Pennethorne watched them morosely.
‘I assure you that I had nothing to do with Sergeant Sampson’s visits to Wych Street,’ Adam said. He held up his hand to quieten his companion, who seemed still in the mood to argue the point. ‘As you know, I spoke to him before I came calling upon you but I had no influence on any decision he may have made to mount a raid upon your shop.’
‘Sez you,’ Pennethorne remarked bitterly.
‘Says I,’ Adam agreed. ‘But I am willing to speak to the sergeant and suggest that no further purpose will be served by turning up so regularly on your doorstep.’
The shopkeeper eyed him suspiciously. ‘And who’s to say he’ll pay any regard to you? If you ain’t the one who’s told him to badger me.’
‘There can be no guarantee, I admit. But I have reason to believe that Sampson will heed what I say.’
Pennethorne tipped back his head and downed the last of his brandy and water like a heron swallowing a fish.
‘However,’ Adam continued, ‘there is a quid pro quo.’
‘A quid! I ain’t paying you any bleeding money,’ Pennethorne hastened to say.
‘Not that kind of a quid. More a kind of reciprocal arrangement.’ The haggard shopkeeper still looked baffled. ‘I scratch your back and you scratch mine. I speak to Sampson, and you give me more information than you did the other day.’
Pennethorne stared at the young drinkers on the far side of the bar who were now cheerfully swapping insults and mock punches.
‘I do declare, Barrington,’ one shouted, ‘you’re nothing but a forty-faced liar!’
A red-faced youth with bristling sideburns, presumably Barrington, was waving his pot of ale in the air, sloshing quantities of liquid over the side. ‘Every word the truth,’ he roared. ‘I swear it on the grave of my sainted mother.’
‘Your mother’s alive and well and living in Pimlico,’ his friend said. ‘I’ve met her myself.’
‘So you have,’ Barrington said, and slapped him heartily on the back. All three young men laughed as if this remark was the funniest they had heard in days and retired with their drinks to a table in the far corner of the saloon.
Pennethorne watched them go, with a look on his face that suggested he was cursing the lot of them to hell and back.
‘I’ve told you all I can tell,’ he said eventually, turning his attention back to Adam.
‘I don’t believe you have. And, until you do, I won’t be hurrying to have a word with Sergeant Sampson.’
Pennethorne gazed at Adam as if he hoped that sheer fury might shrivel the young man in his seat. He stood abruptly and walked to the bar, beckoning angrily to the barman. Returning with another brandy and water, he slumped onto his seat.
‘There was another man asking after that Dolly girl,’ he said after another pause. ‘A few days before you were.’
‘Why did you not tell me of this when I visited you before?’
Pennethorne said nothing.
‘Did you know him?’
The shopkeeper threw back half his drink.
‘Did you know hi
m?’ Adam repeated.
‘Yes, I knew him.’
‘And his name is?’
Pennethorne twisted on the three-legged stool as if trying to propel it into motion across the bar-room floor and out of the door into the Gray’s Inn Road.
‘He’s been a customer of yours in the past, has he not?’
The man stopped turning in his seat and nodded miserably.
‘Well, I appreciate your loyalty to your clientele, Mr Pennethorne, but I need a name. What is the name of this man?’
‘And, if I give it to you, you’ll get this swine Sampson off my back?’
‘I will do my very best.’
‘Wyndham. His name’s Adolphus Wyndham.’
* * * * *
As Quint had said, the Three Pigs was not a salubrious tavern. It was located in a filth-strewn courtyard off Leman Street, not far from where they had visited the penny gaff. Adam noticed that the smell of horse dung, so commonplace in its assault on the nostrils throughout the city, was stronger here than on the main thoroughfare. There must be a stable close by. The pub was a building that appeared to be falling in on itself. The roof bowed in the middle and a battered chimney looked as if it were about to slide down it. Windows on the upper floors were broken and a sign, creaking in the slight breeze that was blowing, seemed in imminent danger of falling onto the head of an unwary passer-by. It would have been difficult to find a greater contrast to the brightly lit and inviting gin palaces that lined Whitechapel High Street only a few minutes’ walk away.
‘It ain’t exackly nobby, is it?’ Quint said.
‘It lacks a certain je ne sais quoi,’ his master agreed.
‘Place like this,’ Quint went on, ‘you’d best let me do the gabbing. If you open your ivory box in the Pigs, talking like you do, Gawd knows what’ll ’appen.’
‘I shall be as quiet as a statue,’ Adam said, pushing open a door that might once have been green but was now the colour of mud.
They entered a hubbub of noise. Drunken shouting echoed around a room that was small but packed with people. The shrill sound of a penny whistle came from one corner and, from another, the cracked notes of someone trying to sing. No one paid much attention to the new arrivals. There was one stained wooden table to the left of the door with nobody sitting at it. Quint, tugging at his master’s sleeve, nodded in its direction. They pushed through the crowd of amiably inebriated drinkers, several of whom stared at Adam, and settled on two three-legged stools beside it.
‘We had better partake of some refreshment now we are here,’ the young man said, pushing a sixpence across the grubby tabletop. ‘Go and buy us pale ales, Quint.’
His servant pocketed the sixpence, stood and then looked towards the bar. ‘Oh, Gawd,’ he said. ‘That’s all we bleedin’ well need. Jem Baines.’
‘What is the difficulty, Quint? Who is Jem Baines?’
Quint gestured vaguely in the direction of the bar.
‘A vicious bastard,’ he said. ‘I’d ’eard ’e was in Coldbath Fields for knockin’ ’is tart about. Best place for ’im.’
Adam looked across the room, struggling to see past swaying drinkers. Three men were leaning against the counter, each with an arm around a blowsy, bosomy woman. As he looked, one of them pushed himself away from the counter and, still attached to his female companion, moved towards the table where the two visitors were sitting. People stood back swiftly to let him pass.
‘It seems as if Mr Baines has seen you as well, Quint,’ Adam said.
Baines pushed aside a thin, gangling man who had been slow to get out of his way and came to a halt in front of them.
‘Well, if it ain’t my old pal, Quint Devlin,’ he said, grinning like a devil welcoming a newly deceased sinner to hell. ‘You remember Quintus, don’t you, Kate?’
The woman with him, red-haired and large-busted, looked much the worse for drink. Her eyes were glazed as she stared dully at the newcomers. She made a vague grunt of assent.
‘’Ow you doing, Quint?’ her friend asked.
‘Not much better for seein’ you, Baines.’
‘Now, that ain’t friendly, cully, is it? Not friendly at all. When you ain’t seen your old pal Baines since Julius Caesar was a pup.’ The man was squat and barrel-chested, with a face that looked like a constipated pug dog. ‘Years since I seen old Quintus ’ere,’ he confided to Adam. ‘Tell you ’ow long it is. Last time I seen ’im, ’e ’ad a full ’ead of ’air. Now look at ’im. Damn near bald as a bladder of lard.’
‘What d’you want, Baines?’ Quint snarled.
‘Ain’t so much what I want. More a case of what you want. Coming in the Pigs after all these years.’ Baines leant forward, his hands on the table, and thrust his face towards Quint’s. ‘You come looking for a bit of tail?’ he asked. ‘Is that it? Maybe you fancy a go at Carroty Kate ’ere, eh?’
‘Piss off, Baines. I ain’t got the time to be bothered with you. Or your draggle-tail tart.’
‘You always was a bit of a dismal Jimmy, wasn’t you, Quint?’ The man, pushing himself upright again, didn’t seem in the least put out by Quint’s rudeness. ‘What about your chum? Reckon ’e wants to take ’er outside? Do a perpendickler up against the wall? Kate’d be happy with that, wouldn’t you, dear? Nice, ’andsome chap with flash whiskers. Rather than an old goat like Quintus.’
Although he and Quint had agreed that he would leave the talking to his servant, Adam was growing weary of keeping silent.
‘Charming though your lady friend undoubtedly is,’ he said, raising his hat to Carroty Kate, who sniggered briefly, ‘we are not here to avail ourselves of her services. We are here to meet a gentleman named Benskin. Perhaps you are acquainted with him?’
Baines stared at Adam as if he was a rare beast escaped from the Zoological Gardens. He swivelled his head in the direction of Quint, clearly searching for some kind of explanation for the arrival of this strange creature in the Three Pigs.
None was forthcoming.
Baines turned back to Adam. He seemed to be debating how to respond to him. The atmosphere, already tense, grew more so. Quint had his hand in his pocket, his fingers clasped around the metal bar he carried there. The barrel-chested man stared thoughtfully at Adam for a moment and then laughed.
‘You’ve got a tongue as runs on wheels, ain’t you, cully? Avail? Acquainted? We ain’t used to such fancy words in the Pigs.’ He laughed again. ‘But, if you don’t want a turn with Kate, I ain’t goin’ to force you. Run along, girl.’ He slapped the redhead on her rear and she turned back to the bar, swaying from side to side as she returned to the other girls. ‘You looking for Benskin, you say?’
‘The gentleman delivered a note to my rooms, requesting my presence here this evening.’ Adam smiled at Baines. ‘So, of course, I hastened to fulfil the engagement.’
The man shook his head as if he could scarcely believe what he was hearing. ‘A tongue as runs on wheels,’ he repeated.
‘Do you know the gentleman in question, Mr Baines?’
‘Ah, now that would be telling, cully, wouldn’t it?’ Baines turned and beckoned to a short, wiry man, his face pitted by smallpox, who was standing by a door at the rear of the bar. The man hastened across the room towards them. Baines leant into the man’s ear and whispered a few words into it. The pockmarked man listened, nodding repeatedly, and then retraced his steps. Opening the door, he disappeared through it.
Baines returned his attention to Adam and Quint. ‘On account of always wantin’ to ’elp a flash gent like yourself,’ he said, picking at a front tooth, ‘I’ve sent that runty cove Williams to see if there’s anybody calling ’isself Benskin out the back.’
‘That is very good of you, Mr Baines. And do you think there will be?’
Baines shrugged. ‘’Oo
can tell?’
The door at the back of the bar opened and Williams reappeared. He made his way to the table where they were sitting and there was another whispered conference between him and Baines. After a short exchange, Williams was dismissed and retreated to his post by the door.
‘Seems there is a cove by the name of Job Benskin out the back.’ Baines was grinning cheerfully, displaying a set of discoloured and mangled teeth as he spoke. He sounded as if this was exactly the eventuality for which he had been hoping. ‘’Oo’d ’ave thought it?’
‘And may I speak to him?’
‘Seems the cove wants to speak to you. Ain’t that ’andy?’
‘Very gratifying for all parties. Should I wait here for Mr Benskin?’
‘Jest walk through and see ’im.’ Baines waved his hand towards the door.
Adam stood and his servant followed suit. The young man shook his head slightly. ‘You will remain here, Quint,’ he said. ‘There is no need for you to accompany me.’
‘Ain’t no telling who’s through that door. Might be this Benskin cove. Might be ’alf a dozen bruisers breathing on their knuckles.’
‘It will be Benskin, I have no doubt. He asked me to visit him here. Why should it not be he?’ Adam began to walk towards the door. ‘Have a drink, Quint,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Exchange reminiscences with Mr Baines here. I am sure the two of you have much to tell one another.’
Quint looked with distaste at the pug-faced man. Baines grinned back at him.
As Adam reached the door, Williams opened it for him and the young man walked into the rear room.
* * * * *
‘I’ve give you the chance once, Quint Devlin,’ Baines said. ‘If you wants to join paunches with Kate over there, she’s yours for the taking. Can’t say fairer than that.’
‘I ain’t int’rested in trulls like ’er.’
‘Now, that ain’t kind, Quint, that ain’t kind. You ’ear that, Kate?’ Baines called over to the bar, where the red-haired woman was pouring a large tumbler of gin down her throat. ‘Quint ’ere’s calling you a trull.’
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