The young man seemed remarkably unconcerned. ‘I knew Father intended to cut ties with them since Tuesday. Dr Fischer dragged him out of the coffee house to tell him he should do so, but I did not think he intended you to make it into a spectacle for the servants and our visitor.’
Mrs Jennings was unabashed. ‘The visitor was uninvited and unluckily timed. And I will not have that woman steal from us.’
‘I think we can spare anything she can carry,’ Randolph said, and with such a sharpness to his voice that Mrs Jennings started. She put down the case she was rifling through.
‘Geoffrey, you may repack,’ she said and left them, walking up the stairs with her back straight and not looking at Randolph as she passed him.
Once she had gone a sufficient distance, Randolph finished his elegant saunter down the stairway and put his hand out to Harriet. ‘Good morning, Mrs Westerman. Tell me, is it true your footman knocked Oxford over in the muck the other day? I heard the story in the club, but thought it too good to be true.’
‘It is.’
‘Capital. No wonder he is off sulking somewhere or other. Can I be of any help to you?’
‘I am looking for Mrs Trimnell. Her father is dead.’
‘Is he?’ Jennings looked surprised. ‘How so?’
‘His throat was cut.’
‘I had no idea he would take being exiled from our family so much to heart.’ He snorted. Harriet looked at him with distaste. The gilded youth in his gaudy setting.
‘There was an attachment between you and Mrs Trimnell. How can you take this news so carelessly?’ she said.
He looked down on her. ‘Lucinda was entertaining company, and I was kind enough to her, Mrs Westerman. But she has been behaving a little strangely since her husband died. She seemed to think she had greater claims on me than she did. Silly girl. She never really did understand her place in the world. Some women are like that.’
Harriet resisted the temptation to slap his face. ‘So you have not seen her or her father since Mrs Jennings found you together yesterday afternoon.’
‘No, I have not. She went running off to her father, but I think she expected me to follow her. Of course, I did not. My own father went to them to make certain they understood that connections between us were at an end.’
‘Your father went to see Mr Sawbridge last night?’
Jennings nodded and stifled a yawn. ‘Yes. As I said, he told me on Tuesday he’d heard rumours that father and daughter had been involved in something unpleasant. He meant to do it all very gently, but then Aunt Maria found Mrs Trimnell and me together and it all came rather to a head. Lucinda ran off to Daddy, and Drax and Pa went over there later in the evening to say we were going to have no more to do with them. I am quite sure Pa would have made a generous contribution to the family fortune; he always seemed to be giving Sawbridge money, but the man must have taken the separation hard.’
VII.6
EUSTACHE OPENED HIS EYES, and the pain in the side of his head tore into white light. He squeezed his eyes shut again until it dulled to a throb; meanwhile, a heavy nausea had seized him. He was lying on a couch in a small room, divided from another by folding panels. There were voices coming from the far side. One belonged to Fischer, but the other he did not recognise.
‘If you let a child goad you in that way, Fischer, I am afraid the problem is yours. I sympathise, but there is somewhere else I simply must be.’
‘But I burned the manuscript! Do you not owe me something for that? The stories that were in there about you, Drax, almost turned my stomach. Please, you must tell me what to do.’
‘Fischer, you know what you have to do! Get rid of the boy and do it quickly and quietly. Good God, you’re almost as bad as that Trimnell woman. Letting your temper run away with you and then whining to other people to clear up after you.’ There was a weary anger in the man’s voice. ‘You could have sent the boy home and denied everything if he ever told Graves about the manuscript, but oh no. Now Graves will have you on charges of assault. So stop snivelling into your brandy and do what needs to be done – or face the fact that your flourishing career as the handsome shepherd of the city sheep is over.’
‘Not everyone finds killing as easy as you do, Drax.’
There was a pause followed by a theatrical sigh. ‘Very well, I shall show you.’
The panels were thrown back and a man in a plum-coloured coat with a monkey perched on his shoulder came into the room. Eustache tried to push himself upwards – shout, strike out – but he could hardly control his limbs.
‘Now then, my boy.’ Drax gathered him up almost carelessly, sat beside him on the couch and held him in place with his left hand while with his right he shut Eustache’s mouth and clamped his nose. Eustache tried to struggle and kick, but Drax simply adjusted his hold slightly. Lights exploded behind his eyes. After a few moments Drax released him and Eustache took in a shuddering breath.
‘There – you see, Fischer? Quite simple.’
Fischer was peering at them from the doorway. ‘Won’t you …?’
‘No. It’s time to get your hands dirty, man.’
‘I’ll pay you?’ Fischer was hopeful and pleading.
‘Pay me?’ Drax still had hold of Eustache’s arms and the pressure on them suddenly increased. ‘I have enough money, thank you, Fischer. What, do you think I am Sawbridge? And don’t pretend there was anything about me in those pages that came as a revelation to you. I have heard you and Jennings both joking over your wine about how I know when to cut my losses. The ones that were too sick to be worth saving, I got rid of. You knew that.’
‘There’s nothing …’ Eustache’s voice was slurred.
‘What, lad?’ Drax grinned down at him. The monkey had its head on one side, and was listening with its master.
‘In the manuscript. There’s nothing about what you did. It only says you purchased the sick ones off the ship … tried to make them healthy and sell them on.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s famous! So in comparison to the rest I must seem a saint?’
Eustache managed to nod and Drax laughed out loud again before wagging a finger at Fischer. ‘And you said … oh, what a naughty man you are.’ He turned back to Eustache. ‘Well, my dear. Now you know what happened with those whom I judged in the end to be too sick for my skills. Though if they fought me off I might keep them a while longer just to see.’ He smiled and the monkey stood straight and pirouetted. ‘Well, I certainly won’t kill you now. Not even as a favour to an old friend. Goodbye, Fischer. I doubt we will be seeing each other for a while. I feel a sudden urge to travel.’
Eustache watched him go then looked at Fischer, trying to think. Fischer still looked nervous. He could be kicked, bitten. Fischer turned away and filled his brandy glass, his hands trembling so hard he spilled some of it. Drax had taken Eustache by surprise. This man would not. If he could just carry on being scared and drinking his brandy for a few minutes longer, then Eustache could get his breath and perhaps the sick pain in his head might lessen a little. He was not afraid though. His anger came back to him like a friend. Even as he was gathering it to himself, trying to force it through his body to make do until his own strength might return, Fischer downed his drink in great shaking gulps then strode over to the door and turned the key.
As soon as the name of Fischer was out of Jonathan’s mouth, Graves began to run. He was not even aware that William Geddings was following close behind him. He bellowed at the crowds in front of him and even the chairmen understood it was better not to block his path. He cut through the mass of people, leaving them confused and staring in his wake. William ran hard behind him, the old ache in his leg flaring with each step, but not slowing for it, and the great white Cathedral with its apostles and worthies lined along its pediments looked down on them in weary compassion as their shouts bounced off its white flanks.
As Fischer began to lower himself onto the sofa, Eustache lashed out, aiming his fingers at Fischer’s eyes. The Revere
nd swung away and Eustache sprang down and scrambled for the door, falling onto his knees from weakness. He heard Fischer grunt but did not look back, crawling towards the door in a crouch, his vision blurred. The sickness in his head threatened to drag him under, but he could still see the door. He reached for the handle, then felt Fischer’s hard grip on his ankle. He tried to kick with his other foot, but Fischer dodged it and hauled him towards him. Eustache could smell the sweat on him, the brandy on his breath. He jabbed at Fischer’s eyes again, but the priest caught hold of his wrist and held him.
The front door opened and Graves burst into the hallway before the maid could speak. He heard a crash upstairs. The maid was holding onto his arm. He shoved her away and dashed up the staircase in front of him, roaring, ‘Eustache!’
He heard the maid shriek and begin to shout for a constable. On the first landing he paused, faced with doors to the right and left – then there was another muffled shout. William tried the handle. Locked. The two men put their shoulders to it together.
Fischer was lying across him, panting and wheezing. He had managed to trap Eustache’s arms under him. The boy tried to bite but Fischer was too strong for him; his hand forced his mouth closed and pinched his nose tight, the weight of him pressing down his head against the floor so he was unable to shake himself free. He could not fight the panic any further: it crashed over him as he tried to draw breath, found nothing.
William came falling into the room first. Through a haze Eustache saw him hook his arms round Fischer and try to drag him off; at the same moment he heard Graves calling his name in a cracked voice and felt his guardian’s arms round him, pulling him back, but Fischer was full of some desperate fever. Eustache thought he must faint, his panicked heart must burst – then he saw William’s fist bunch and drive with all its strength into the side of Fischer’s head. The blow stunned the man and he fell back; Eustache found himself panting and choking in his guardian’s arms.
‘Eustache, my boy. Eustache!’ He felt Graves’s cheek pressed against the top of his head, his hands checking him over for wounds or hurt.
‘I’m whole, Papa, I’m whole,’ he gasped out, and drank in great gulps of air. Fischer was on his knees, cowering in the corner while William stood over him, his fists balled.
Graves got up, took two strides across the room and hauled Fischer to his feet.
‘That is my child!’ He drew back his hand and slapped Fischer hard across the face, releasing his grip on the priest’s collar at the same time, so he slumped back down to the ground and began to cry. Graves stared down and said quietly, ‘God help me, William, I may be about to kill a man.’
William was still breathing hard. ‘I’ll swear it was in defence of our lives if you do.’
Eustache did not mean to make a sound, but he must have done so, as both men turned back towards him. Graves hesitated then bent down and picked up the boy, holding him so he could rest his cheek on his guardian’s chest. ‘Expect the constables, Fischer. I’ll see you prosecuted for the attempted murder of my boy and I will see you hang for it.’
William looked at the priest a moment longer, noticed the empty portfolio and the ashes piled deep in the grate, then spat on the floor just in front of where the man crouched and cowered. Eustache saw it and rejoiced. Graves walked out first, Eustache still in his arms, his hands around Graves’s neck, and William followed. They went down the stairs past the hysterical maid. A verger, his expression confused and angry, prepared to block their way. William moved forward slightly and, slow and controlled, simply swept the man aside so Graves could pass. They did not even notice the crates and boxes torn open and spilling papers into the hall, the strange tang of smoke that rose from them. The Thornleigh coach was already in sight, with David yelling and cursing at every other vehicle in the road until he could get close enough to them.
‘The boy?’ he said, his face white.
Eustache looked up from his guardian’s shoulder and managed a small wave. The coachman’s expression collapsed with relief. A constable of the city was puffing up to them as William opened the carriage door and Graves carried the child inside, cradling his head.
‘Hold hard! What’s the meaning of all this?’ the constable managed to say between gasps.
Graves looked at him as if from very far away and made no reply. Instead, he settled himself in the plush interior of the carriage, Eustache still held on his knee, then addressed his servants. ‘David, Berkeley Square as quick as you might. William, would you be able to go back to the bookshop and tell them?’ William nodded, and Graves put out his hand through the window. ‘Thank you, Mr Geddings.’
William shook it and as they released each other the coach pulled smartly away. The constable put his hand on William’s arm. ‘What’s happening?’
William spoke loudly enough for the curious slowing their steps to hear him. ‘Dr Fischer tried to murder a child. You may look for us in Berkeley Square if you have need of us.’ Then he turned and walked back in the direction of the Cathedral.
VII.7
HARRIET, TOBIAS CHRISTOPHER AND Crowther all arrived at Hinckley’s Booksellers shortly after William had returned. Instead of enjoying a quiet conversation with Mr Glass, they found themselves surrounded by the family from Berkeley Square. The children had been badly frightened by what William had told them of Fischer’s attack on Eustache. Stephen ran to his mother when he came in and clung to her hand with an urgency she recalled from his early childhood. Lord Sussex had found a seat next to William, and looked as if he would hide under the footman’s livery if he could. Susan was sitting very straight, but she was pale to her lips and held Mrs Service’s hand in her own. They looked all, absurdly young.
William and Mrs Service explained to the rest what had happened. The employees of the bookshop had been joined by three other gentlemen Harriet had never met: a rather bedraggled young man called Walter Sharp, a butcher whom Crowther called Scudder and a miserable-looking constable by the name of Miller. They explained that Glass could still not be found, and that they feared for him.
Into the terrible quiet, Mrs Service said at last: ‘Harriet, Mr Crowther, I shall take the children home if William will fetch us a cab. I must help Graves with Eustache.’ Her voice broke slightly. ‘Lord, that I took them to his church! The world is too wicked.’
‘Harriet,’ Susan said, ‘did Dr Fischer kill the bookshop lady? Mrs Smith?’
Mrs Westerman shook her head. ‘I think not, my darling. Mrs Trimnell did so, I believe, when she tried to recover the manuscript. Fischer burned it only this morning? Oh, Lord.’
Crowther put out his hand and smoothed Stephen’s hair. ‘We discovered Sawbridge paid for the attack on Mr Trimnell, but we found him dead this morning. We know Sir Charles went with Drax to tell Mrs Trimnell and Sawbridge that he was severing his ties with them yesterday evening. Some news of what had happened in the bookshop must have reached them. Mrs Westerman suspects that Sawbridge was desperate for their protection for himself and his daughter, and so threatened Drax or Sir Charles in some way and that threat got him killed. Now Mrs Trimnell is missing. She was not at Sir Charles Jennings’s home, nor at her lodgings.’
Christopher rolled his shoulders. ‘Perhaps we should go and pay a visit to Drax. I have heard rumours of how he made his money. Let me go and I shall take the ghosts of some of my murdered brothers with me. He will tell you quickly enough what happened in that room yesterday evening.’
‘I have no doubt of that, Mr Christopher,’ Harriet said, ‘but would we find him at home? If he or Sir Charles killed Sawbridge, they will be hunting Mrs Trimnell now.’
Walter was leaning on the counter, his hands in his hair. ‘Drax? Sawbridge? Mrs Trimnell? I have never heard of these people! If they did for Eliza Smith, then I hope their wicked carcasses rot in hell. Where will you look for this woman?’
Harriet sighed. ‘We do not know where to begin. I think Mrs Trimnell is in fear of her life, but I do not know where she would go f
or sanctuary.’
It was Scudder who noticed the looks passing between the children. ‘There is some knowledge here we do not have. What do you know, young ones?’
‘It’s a secret,’ Susan said so quietly they could hardly hear her. ‘Eustache’s secret, and there will be terrible trouble if we say—’
Harriet rounded on her. ‘Susan, for God’s sake, enough! The time for secrets is long gone.’ Susan was shocked into silence. It was Lord Sussex who spoke, indistinctly, from William’s lapels.
‘Dauda,’ he said. ‘Dauda has a house to the north.’
William put a finger under Jonathan’s chin and lifted it gently till they were looking each other in the eye. ‘What do you say, My Lord?’
‘Sawbridge had a daughter with one of his slaves. She was very pretty and Sir Charles fell in love with her.’
Stephen tugged on his mother’s hand. ‘When he came back to England he could not leave her, so he bought her a house near London.’
‘He made it all very beautiful and she lives there by herself and Sir Charles visits her,’ Susan said. ‘She has one maid and a blind cook and when the local girls come in to do the rough work she has to stay in her room because she is such a secret. Mr Sawbridge used to write and tell his other daughter Mrs Trimnell about it, and she’d get very jealous. Mr Trimnell read the letters and wrote it down.’ Susan wiped her eyes. ‘Might she go there? They are sisters, after all.’
‘How do you know these things?’ Harriet asked.
‘The manuscript. Eustache was trying to copy it out last night and we helped him,’ she said.
Stephen let out an exhausted sigh. ‘We didn’t manage to finish it all. We left out all the God business.’
‘You copied it?’ Harriet said. ‘The four of you?’ She took a tighter hold of her son. ‘Dear God, what have you read?’
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