‘Beatrice—’ said James.
‘Don’t say it,’ Beatrice told him. Then, much more quietly, ‘Please don’t say it.’
38
Beatrice was nearly half an hour late for the Feast of the Guardian Angels prayer service. She had missed everything except for an off-key rendition of ‘Come, and Let Us Sweetly Join’, sung line by line because so few of the girls could read; and then some quotations by Ida from Basil the Great.
‘All the angels have likewise among themselves the same nature, even though some of them are set over nations, while others of them are guardians to each one of the faithful.’
After the service, as Beatrice was about to take Florence upstairs to bed, Ida came up to her and said, ‘I’m very disappointed, Beatrice. You promised that you would be back here on time.’
‘I apologize,’ said Beatrice. ‘Godfrey didn’t have any purple coneflower so we had to send out for it.’
Ida stared at her hard as if she weren’t sure that she believed her; but now that Beatrice knew that she was complicit in sending her girls off to work in Drury Lane brothels, and not in George Hazzard’s tobacco factory, she found that it was much easier to lie to her.
‘There’s cold beef for supper, and stuffed tomatoes, and barley soup,’ said Ida, still staring at her, and even though she was simply reciting tonight’s menu, she made it sound as if it were some kind of indictment.
‘I haven’t much of an appetite, to be truthful,’ said Beatrice. ‘I’m going to tuck Florrie up, and then I’ll probably retire to bed myself.’
‘It’s likely that some new girls will be arriving here the day after tomorrow,’ said Ida. ‘The Reverend Parsons has told me that five of them at least will be up in front of the Old Bailey, all from Black Boy Alley, charged with lewdness and petty theft. He’ll be attending in person to speak up on their behalf.’
More grist for the reverend’s financial mill, thought Beatrice, as Florence hopped upstairs in front of her.
She felt a sense of relief when they reached their rooms and she locked the door behind her. It occurred to her, though, that she and Florence may not be able to stay here at Maidenhead Court for much longer. It would depend on what Constable Rook discovered in George Hazzard’s garden. Next time, it might not only be her door that was torn with a grappling hook. The trouble was, where she could go?
She remembered some old friends of her father’s from the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries, one of whom had lived in Clerkenwell and another out by Lamb’s Conduit Fields, but she hadn’t seen them since her father’s funeral, and she didn’t know if they were still at the same addresses, or even if they were still alive. The only relative she knew was her Cousin Sarah in Birmingham, but she wasn’t at all sure if she and Florence could expect to be welcomed if they turned up there.
She had another problem: the church had not yet paid her for the time she had spent helping at St Mary Magdalene’s. She had less than thirty pounds left, although she still had a silver-and-topaz ring and two gold necklaces that she could pawn.
She undressed, and washed herself, and put on her nightgown, but she found it impossible to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about James and the way that he had deceived her about the man with the looking-glass face. Was his contrition genuine, or would he go to George Hazzard and warn him that she had reported him to Bow Street, in order to save his own skin? It gave her a cold empty feeling that she could trust nobody now, and that she had nobody in whom she could safely confide, except perhaps for Jonas Rook. It was like floating in space, in darkness, where it was useless to cry out for help, because nobody would hear her.
*
‘There’s a letter for you,’ said Hettie, coming into the kitchen. ‘The boy’s still waiting outside for his penny.’
Beatrice was holding a thick slice of brown bread in front of the fire to toast it. She put down the toasting fork and reached into her pocket. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Three farthings, that’s the only change I have.’
Hettie went to pay the boy and Beatrice sat down at the table to break the red wax seal on her letter. Martha the cook was standing close behind her, so she tilted the letter at an angle so that she wouldn’t be able to see who had sent it.
Dear Widow Scarlet, further to yr visit to Bow Street yesterday, I have this morning recounted yr evidence to Sir J. Fielding. He has agreed to issue a general warrant and I am now assembling a party of law officers and labourers to proceed with the excavation of the garden at the Hazzard Tobacco Factory in Hackney. Should we exhume any human remains we will transport them to the mortuary St Bart’s for a surgeon to assess the cause of death. Yr obdt servant Jonas Rook, Constable.
‘Bad news?’ asked Martha, as Beatrice folded the letter and tucked it into the top of her bodice.
‘For some, perhaps,’ said Beatrice.
*
She had promised James that she would send him a message when Jonas Rook was ready to start his exhumation, but now she decided against it. She had no way of telling for certain if there was any risk of him alerting George Hazzard, and she felt slightly ashamed of herself for not trusting him. In spite of that, she thought that there was more chance of justice being done if Jonas Rook’s arrival at the tobacco factory came as a complete surprise, and George Hazzard had no time to dig up and hide any bodies that might be buried there, or think up some plausible explanation for why they were there.
The day seemed to pass with glutinous slowness. Every time Beatrice looked at the clock the minute hand barely seemed to have moved. She gave a crochet lesson to twelve of the girls, and then read them verses from the Bible about prostitution.
‘A foolish woman is clamorous: she is simple, and knoweth nothing. For she sitteth at the door of her house, on a seat in the high places of the city, to call passengers who go right on their ways. Whoso is simple, let him turn in hither: and as for him that wanteth understanding, she saith to him, “Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.” But he knoweth not that the dead are there; and that her guests are in the depths of hell.’
A girl called Rebecca put up her hand and said, ‘Fair do’s, Mrs Scarlet, you shouldn’t prig water, but what’s wrong with eating bread in secret?’
Beatrice couldn’t help smiling. ‘It doesn’t really mean eating bread. It means having secret sexual congress with somebody you shouldn’t, such as a prostitute.’
‘And that’s what they say in the Bible? If that’s what they meant, why didn’t they fucking say so? “Eating bread in secret” – my arse.’
Beatrice was about to answer when Hettie came into the atelier, with another letter. She said, ‘A coachman brung it. He said he was instructed to make sure you read it, and to wait for you.’
Beatrice opened it and it was another letter from Jonas Rook. As she read it, her hands began to tremble, and she tasted bile in her mouth.
Dear Widow Scarlet, I regret to inform you that your surmise was correct, and that we have uncovered the remains of seven females. I have sent conveyance for you, and I ask that you come to Hackney as quickly as you may, in order to identify them. Please inform no one at St Mary Magdalene that you are coming here, and more especially the purpose of your visit. Your obdt servant, J. Rook.
Beatrice stood up. ‘Something wrong, Mrs Scarlet?’ asked Rebecca. ‘I’m ever so sorry, I didn’t mean to curse like that. It just kind of slipped out.’
‘No, don’t worry about that, Rebecca. I’ve been given some very shocking news and I have to go at once. Please, carry on with your crochet and try to be well-behaved for Mrs Smollett. Hettie – can I prevail upon you again to take care of Florrie for me? I may have to be away for three or four hours, perhaps more.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind at all, Mrs S. I love looking after ’er. She’s a little darlin’.’
Beatrice put on her cape and bonnet and then she went into the drawing room, where Ida was sitting at her desk, writing in her accounts book.
‘You’re go
ing out?’ asked Ida, sharply. ‘What about this afternoon’s reading class?’
‘I’m afraid that I’ve something much more pressing to attend to.’
‘Oh, really? Such as what, exactly?’
‘I’ll tell you when I return.’
‘No,’ said Ida, dropping her quill and standing up. ‘I think you had best tell me now. In recent days you’ve been absent from your duties here again and again, on various flimsy pretexts. Do I have to remind you that you were given this position here as an act of charity to sustain you in your widowhood? The church could have evicted you from your home in America and left you abandoned and penniless, but we cared for you with due Christian consideration. The least you could do is show some appreciation.’
‘Ida – don’t think that I’m not grateful. But I’m not at liberty to tell you where I’m going or why.’
‘Oh? Who says that you are not at liberty to tell me?’
‘I regret that I can’t tell you that, either, not yet.’
‘Well, I’m... I’m... I’m utterly confounded! I’ve never heard of such behaviour. You appear to think that you can come and go as you please, regardless of your obligations.’
‘Ida, I beg you not be vexed. I would never normally dream of letting you down like this, but this is a matter of the greatest importance.’
Ida came up close to her, sucking her teeth and flaring her nostrils. ‘This is not concerned with that coven of witches, is it?’
‘I can’t say, Ida, and I really have to go. There’s a carriage waiting for me outside the door.’
‘It is, isn’t it? It’s that coven of witches! You claim to be a Christian, and yet you deny the reality of Satan! How can we battle against the forces of darkness if you refuse to believe in their prince?’
‘I believe in him, Ida, but I also believe that he can appear in many different guises.’
‘And what is that supposed to mean, pray?’
‘It means I have to leave. Hettie is taking care of Florrie for me. I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.’
‘Very well. But when you return, Beatrice, we will have to have a serious conversation about your future here.’
‘Yes, Ida. I’m sure that we will.’
39
When her hansom drew up outside the tobacco factory, Beatrice saw that there were seven or eight more carriages and wagons lined up under the poplar trees outside, and a crowd of factory workers milling around or sitting on the grass, most of them smoking.
As she was helped down by the coachman, Jonas Rook came striding out of the factory yard to meet her, wearing a long black frock coat and a large black tricorn hat, so that he looked more like a mortician than a constable. His expression was grim.
‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Widow Scarlet,’ he told her. ‘I’m grieved to have brought you here on such a ghastly errand, but it’s vital that we identify the remains of these poor girls as soon as we can.’
He crooked his elbow, and she took his arm, so that he could lead her through the crowd. She looked around quickly to see if Judith was among them, but there was no sign of her, nor of any of the other five girls whom George Hazzard had taken only two days ago. She hoped that they were still inside the factory somewhere, or had been told to return to their dormitory.
They walked through the factory. It was deserted and silent except for the hissing of the steam boilers. The door to George Hazzard’s office was closed, and a grey-haired, moustachioed constable was standing guard outside it with his arms folded and his bottom lip stuck out as if to show that he wasn’t going to tolerate any nonsense.
‘Mr Hazzard’s here?’ asked Beatrice.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jonas Rook. ‘And not in the best of tempers, I can tell you. He tried to deny us access when we first arrived, but of course we have a general warrant. He’s already sworn to sue us for defamation and loss of profit. Oh yes, and cursed us to everlasting doom.’
They stepped out into the garden. Half a dozen labourers with spades were standing around, and as many law officers, including Hackney parish constables. John Bellflower was there, too, George Hazzard’s lawyer, sitting on the low brick wall like Humpty Dumpty.
The turf had been lifted in the centre of the lawn, exposing a trench that was less than a foot deep but three yards wide and nearly eight yards long. Lying side by side in the trench were the bodies of the seven girls – three of them wearing dresses and petticoats, two of them wearing nothing but corsets and stockings, and the remaining two naked. Four were lying face up, one on her side, and the others face down. It was clear that they had been buried in a hurry. Once they had been laid down in the trench, soil had been loosely shovelled all over them and then the turf laid roughly on top.
‘Dear God in heaven,’ said Beatrice. She had slaughtered and disembowelled and butchered her own pigs in Sutton, and often visited the local abattoir while cattle were being bled to death. She had seen men and women hung and a man who was partially dissolved in acid, but she had never seen anything as grotesque as the bodies of these seven dead girls. ‘Dear God, I hope they didn’t suffer.’
All seven corpses were grossly swollen, and their skin was as grey and shiny as slugs. Their eyes had sunk into their skulls and their teeth were bared in hideous grins. The bellies of the two girls wearing corsets had burst open so that their pale-green intestines had coiled out between their thighs like thick tubes of pasta. Even on this cold breezy day, Beatrice could smell the rotting-chicken stench of death with every breath that she took in.
She clutched Jonas Rook’s elbow again, if only for a moment, just to steady herself.
‘Are you sure that you have the strength to do this, Widow Scarlet?’ he asked her. ‘If it’s too much for you, please tell me.’
‘No,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘I have to. I have to – for them.’
She let go of his elbow and stepped forward, taking out her handkerchief to hold up to her face. The girls’ bones had pierced through their skin in several places – their hips and their ribcages and their kneecaps – and as Beatrice approached the trench she could see the body in the red gown that she had first discovered, face down, with its shoulder blade still sticking out. She recognised the gown, and of course this was where Florence had picked up Jane Webb’s crucifix.
One of the constables rolled the body to one side so that Beatrice could see her face – and in all its blind and grimacing horror, it was Jane.
She walked slowly along the side of the trench. Although they were so badly decomposed, she could put names to four of the girls, and she could remember the faces of the other three, even though she had never known their names.
The constables and the labourers watched her in solemn silence. When she reached the end of the trench and pressed her hands together in prayer, they took off their hats and caps to show their respect.
‘You know them?’ asked Jonas Rook, who had been following close behind her.
Beatrice nodded. ‘Yes. All seven of them. Mr Hazzard’s coven of witches. Witches! They didn’t manage to fly very far, did they, poor girls? Poor, wretched girls.’
John Bellflower had climbed off the wall and had been hovering close by, and now he came up to her, briskly rubbing his hands together. ‘You remember me, ma’am. John Bellfower. Mr Hazzard’s lawyer.’
‘Widow Scarlet has nothing to say to you, Mr Bellflower,’ said Jonas Rook, stepping in front of him.
But John Bellflower persisted. ‘Did I hear aright, that this lady has identified these bodies, and that these are the very same girls who summoned Satan?’
‘You will have to wait until this case comes to court,’ Jonas Rook told him.
‘Case? What case?’
‘The case against your client Mr George Hazzard for manslaughter.’
‘What? Manslaughter? And who will bring such a case?’
‘Widow Scarlet, of course, with Mr Fielding’s full support.’
‘That’s preposterous! Mr Hazzard had
nothing whatsoever to do with these young women meeting their maker!’
‘Oh, no? Then who did?’
‘Where’s your proof, constable?’ John Bellflower blustered. ‘Where’s your substantive evidence? Why, he’s a respectable man of business, Mr Hazzard! He’s a highly regarded member of the Worshipful Company of Tobacco Pipe Makers and Tobacco Blenders, and a selfless donor to countless needy charities. A paragon of virtue! Why, some regard him quite rightly as a living saint!’
He paused for breath, and waved his hand towards the seven bodies lying in the trench.
‘I grant you that the death of these unhappy young women is terrible beyond belief, but I assure you that Mr Hazzard is just as appalled by their discovery as I am. Yet let’s be realistic, constable, look at the condition of these bodies. This can’t be the doing of any man. This must the work of Satan himself!’
‘You don’t really believe that, Mr Bellflower,’ said Jonas Rook. ‘Neither for a single moment do I. As for evidence, well, you shall hear it if and when we lay it before a judge and jury at the Old Bailey.’
John Bellflower turned to Beatrice. ‘I cannot imagine what your motivation is for persecuting Mr Hazzard in this way, madam,’ he protested, spitting as he spoke. ‘You may take it from me, though, that you will suffer the consequences. Oh, yes!’
‘Now then, sir!’ said Jonas Rook. ‘I advise you not to threaten Widow Scarlet. My general warrant gives me the power not only to detain Mr Hazzard, but to arrest you, too, as an accessory, and anybody else who seeks to obstruct this inquiry.’
Beatrice said, ‘I wish to speak to Mr Hazzard. Is that possible?’
‘You wish to speak to him now?’ asked Jonas Rook. He seemed to be surprised by her sudden calmness.
‘Yes, if possible. I have at least two questions I wish to ask him.’
‘I doubt very much that he’ll agree to see you, madam,’ said John Bellflower.
‘He’s in no position to disagree,’ said Jonas Rook. ‘If you really wish to speak to him, Widow Scarlet, come with me.’
The Coven Page 29
