Dear Mrs Scarlet, Wherever you are I must insist that you attend these offices in person so that I may question you more fully about the circumstances in which Mr James Treadgold and Mr Edward Veal both met their deaths.
The remains of the seven young women who were exhumed from Mr Hazzard’s factory garden have now all been removed to the mortuary at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. They are being examined by no less a surgeon than Mr Percivall Pott. However, we can come to no decisions about court proceedings until he has sent us his completed post-mortem reports, which he warns may take some days, or even weeks.
Even so, I am advised by Sir J. Fielding that without irrefutable evidence the likelihood of successfully prosecuting Mr Hazzard for the young women’s murder is remote. It is not in itself an offence to have human remains discovered on your premises. Even if the young women can be shown to have been unlawfully killed in some way, it must be established beyond question who killed them, and should they have been killed on another’s instruction, who issued such instruction.
In regard to your inquiry about the five young women from St Mary Magdalene’s about whose whereabouts you questioned Mr Hazzard yesterday, the Hackney watch have reported to me this a.m. that they did not return to the factory dormitory yesterday evening, and there is no sign of them at the factory today.
I raised this with Sir J. Fielding, but his view is that their apparent disappearance is a separate matter altogether, unrelated to the discovery of the seven dead girls, and that there is no need for it be pursued any further unless prima facie evidence can be found by concerned parties that they are in jeopardy, or have already come to some harm.
I await your appearance at Bow Street at your earliest convenience.
Yr obdt servant, Jonas Rook, Constable.
It was only when she read the letter a second time that she began to suspect that he was telling her between the lines that he was still determined to charge George Hazzard with murder. He was making it clear, though, that they would have to come up with overwhelming evidence. Whatever George Hazzard and Sir John Fielding had discussed this morning, it sounded as if it had left Sir John strangely reluctant to press any charges against him.
It was the way that Jonas Rook had underlined concerned parties that suggested to Beatrice that he was still on her side. By concerned parties she was sure that he meant her, and that he was encouraging her to find more evidence that could bring George Hazzard to book.
She read the letter one more time and then she got up and went to knock on Violet’s bedroom door. Violet called out, ‘’Old on a minute!’ but after a short while she came to the door and opened it, still straightening her gown.
‘Constable Rook has told me that those five girls are still missing,’ said Beatrice, holding up his letter. ‘What do you think the chances are that he’s sent all or some of them to Leda’s?’
‘I don’t know, lovey, but from what you’ve said, and from what that James fellow told you, I wouldn’t say no to layin’ a bet on it.’
She paused, and then she said, ‘There’s only one way to find out, ain’t there, and that’s to go to Leda’s and take a look.’
‘I suppose so. But how can we manage to do that?’
‘Easy. Go to ’er nunnery on Brydges Street and ring the doorbell. We can say that we was passin’ and just dropped in it to say ’ow do you do. She’ll be over the moon to see me, Leda, I can promise you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘’Course I’m sure. We was always close, me and Leda. Like sisters, almost. I used to mend ’er dresses for ’er whenever they go torn by some cully treatin’ ’er rough, because she couldn’t sew for nuts.’
‘What about me?’ asked Beatrice. ‘Won’t she want to know who I am?’
‘You can pretend to be my long-lost friend from when I used to sing at the Spread Eagle in the Strand, after the theatres closed. We used to sing filthy songs and then the customers would bid for which of them was goin’ to take us upstairs.’
‘Supposing Leda realizes what we’re really doing there?’
‘She won’t. She ain’t never seen you before, ’as she?’
‘Only that one time I saw Grace being killed, but as I told you, I had James with me then, and I was wearing a mask.’
Violet said, ‘Listen to me, lovey. I can understand you bein’ shit-scared, after what you went through this mornin’, but it seems to me like justice ’as to be done, and you want to see it done, and I think you’re braver than what you think you are. Besides, I owe you, for what you done for Eliza. She could’ve ended up in quod, or even climbin’ the ladder.’
Whatever Violet said, Beatrice had never felt less brave in her life. She felt tired, and defeated, and the shock of striking Edward Veal with the grappling hook was only now beginning to wear off. She would have done anything to creep into her bed at St Mary Magdalene’s and pull the blankets up to her neck and close her eyes.
‘You can do it,’ said Violet, looking at her intently with those mint-green eyes. ‘What ’appened to you was bad enough, I’ll grant you. But think what must ’ave ’appened to them poor girls. And what might ’appen to these other girls, if Leda’s got ’em round ’er ken.’
Beatrice nodded. ‘You’re right, Violet. Can Eliza take care of Florrie for me? I can pay you for any food and milk you give her.’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Violet. ‘It don’t matter if we’re gentry-morts or trugs, sometimes us women ’as to ’old ’ands and stick together, because we’re women, and that’s all there is to it.’
43
Violet had to jangle the bell twice before the door to Leda Sheridan’s brothel was opened. Her scarlet-coated flashman looked down at the two of them, and said, ‘Good afternoon, ladies! And what can I do for you? Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, we h’aint but we’ve come to see Mrs Sheridan,’ said Violet.
‘May I tell her who’s calling?’
‘Tell ’er it’s Vi the Pie from Spittle Street. She’ll know ’oo I am.’
‘Vi the Pie from Spittle Street?’ the flashman repeated, cupping his hand to his ear as if he had misheard her.
‘That’s right. That was my name, when we was knockin’ around together. And ’ers was Coddy the Body.’
‘Wait there, will you?’ said the flashman, and went back inside, half-closing the door.
‘Vi the Pie?’ Beatrice asked her, as they waited.
‘I was ’ard on the outside, that’s what the fellows used to say, but I was fruity on the inside.’
They could hear voices and laughter from inside the house, and somebody playing a spinet. Then suddenly the sound of clattering heels, and a long-drawn-out scream. The door was flung open again, and Leda Sheridan appeared, both of her arms stretched out. She was wearing a headdress of purple ostrich feathers and a plum-coloured gown with a deep décolletage that bared her wrinkled cleavage, and panniers on her hips that made her look almost as wide as she was short.
‘Vi! My dear Lord in heaven, it really is you! What a wonderful surprise! I haven’t seen you since – when was it?’
‘Vauxhall Gardens, five years ago, when it was the King’s birthday. What a fuckin’ night that was!’
‘Come in, Vi, come in. Come and have a glass of sherry. And who’s this you’ve brought with you?’
Violet laid her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder and said, ‘This is my friend Bea. ’Er and me used to sing together at the Spread Eagle. Strike me blind, them was the days! And the nights, God ’elp us! I ain’t seen ’er for years, neither, but she come tappin’ at my door this mornin’. Not long back from America, she is, where she was widowed. So I thought, I’ve met up with Bea again, I should meet up with Coddy, too.’
‘Now then, Vi,’ said Leda Sheridan, as she led them into her drawing room. ‘I don’t call myself that any more. Haven’t done for years. A quality establishment this is, with a quality clientele. And I was Mrs Sheridan, the wife of Henry Sheridan, the lawyer, bef
ore the apoplexy took him, so I’m no longer a Codd, not in any respect.’
Beatrice could hear now that Leda Sheridan’s upper-class accent was very forced and precise, and that occasional words sounded cockney, such as ‘mo-ah’ for ‘more’ and ‘wiv’ for ‘with’.
Leda Sheridan tinkled a small bell, and a pretty young girl in a long apron and a mob cap came in.
‘Susan,’ she said. ‘Pour us three glasses of sherry, will you? And fetch us a plate of those Florentine biscuits.’
Violet looked around the drawing room and said, ‘You’ve really done yourself proud, ain’t you, Leda? It’s ’ard to believe you was brung up round Spittle Market, same as me.’
‘I have my dear late Captain Forrest to thank for that, when I was his peculiar. He paid for me to have all the reading and the writing and the elocution lessons, and he taught me the etiquette, too, such as how to talk to royalty, and how a lady should eat asparagus so that she doesn’t look like she’s being suggestive. But it was what I learned about the gentry when I was with him that made all the difference.’
‘All I know about the gentry is that most of them is by-blows,’ said Violet.
‘Well, I couldn’t agree with you more,’ said Leda Sheridan. ‘They put on a fine show of being moral and upright, don’t they? Regular churchgoers and devoted husbands. But underneath those fancy waistcoats they have as much raging lust as your common man, if not more. And what’s much more important, they have the money to indulge whatever perversion takes their fancy. That’s what I learned, and that’s what this house is built on. I give them everything and anything they want. They want flogging, or to watch girls playing with a pig? I can arrange it. But I always make them feel like this is the most respectable establishment in London.’
The maid came in with a silver tray, and poured them each a glass of amontillado.
Leda Sheridan raised her glass and said, ‘A toast to happy reunions, Vi.’
‘’Appy reunions,’ said Violet, but almost as soon as they had all taken a sip of their sherry, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed four.
‘My stars, look at the time!’ said Leda Sheridan. ‘I’m afraid that I won’t be able to chat to you for too much longer. We’re staging a special performance here this evening, and I’ve so many preparations to make. Vi – perhaps you and I can arrange to meet another day.’
‘What sort of performance?’ asked Beatrice.
‘Aha, I’m afraid that’s highly confidential,’ said Leda Sheridan. ‘We have some very eminent guests attending, and they insist on absolute secrecy. It would be ruinous for many of them if they were known to have been here and witnessed our spectaculars.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ Violet told her. ‘We know ’ow to cheese it, don’t we, Bea? Some of those coves what used to roll into the old Spread Eagle for some rantum-scantum, they was celebrated, but we never let on to nobody, did we?’
Beatrice nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, not only because the drawing room was so warm, but because she still felt guilty telling lies. She knew that she had to, but she could only hope that God would forgive her if and when her mission was successful.
Leda Sheridan took another sip of her sherry, and then she said, ‘What I can tell you is that we’ll have five girls performing this evening, simultaneous. There won’t be another show in London to match it. We’ve sold over a hundred tickets at a hundred guineas each, and if we’d only had the space to accommodate everybody who wanted to attend, believe me, we could have sold a hundred more.’
‘Five girls?’ said Beatrice.
‘Five, yes! All virgins, of course, and all deflowered at once!’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Violet. ‘Just like you and me used to be, Coddy – sorry, Leda. Lost our virginity every night, didn’t we, but we always got it back in the morning – over and over and over again. I stayed a virgin until I was nineteen, Bea, until I got poisoned with Maggie. I can tell you, though – it’s bloody ’ard pretending you’re a virgin when you’re three months up the duff.’
A bosomy young woman in a pink silk day gown came into the drawing room and said, ‘Mrs Sheridan? Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but the ’pothcary said he was ready for them now, so I’m bringing them all downstairs.’
‘Very well,’ said Leda Sheridan. She stood up and took Violet’s hand between both of hers. ‘Why don’t you call by next week, Vi, perhaps on Wednesday afternoon? I’d love to reminisce about the old days on Fort Street – my goodness! And good day to you, Bea. It was a singular pleasure to meet you.’
They went out into the hall, where the scarlet-coated flashman was waiting to escort them to the front door. But they were less than halfway to the front door when they heard footsteps coming down the staircase behind them, lumpy and irregular, as if a number of people were coming down and they were having difficulty in keeping their balance.
Beatrice turned her head and saw the young woman in the pink day gown. Behind her came the five girls from St Mary Magdalene’s, Judith among them, all of them snatching at the banister rail to stop themselves from losing their footing. They were all dressed in long white nightgowns like a procession of novice nuns, and their faces were deathly pale.
Beatrice looked back at Violet, and gave her a quick, almost imperceptible nod. You were right, Violet. You’ve won your bet. They are here.
The flashman opened the front door, and said, ‘I bid you good afternoon, ladies.’ Before they could step outside, though, Beatrice heard an extraordinary squeal, more like a slide whistle than a young girl’s voice, and then, ‘Beatrice! Beatrice! It’s me, Judith!’
Leda Sheridan reappeared from her drawing room door. ‘Who’s that?’ she said, her ostrich plumes nodding. ‘Who was that calling?’
Judith lurched to the bottom of the stairs. She staggered and almost fell, but then she pushed her way past the young woman in the pink silk day gown and came stumbling towards Beatrice, flapping her arms.
She collided with her, and gripped her cape to keep herself upright. Her hair was tangled like a bramble bush and her eyes were glassy. She smelled strongly of stale perspiration and some sweet chemical, like ether.
‘Beatrice,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I don’t know what I’m doin’ ’ere. ’Ow’s little Florrie? ’Ave you come to take us back to St Mary’s? I don’t know ’ow I got ’ere. Where am I?’
Leda Sheridan came marching up to them with her panniers bouncing noisily.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ she demanded. ‘How does this girl know your friend, Vi?’
‘This is Beatrice,’ said Judith, emphatically, although she was slurring her words as if she were drunk. ‘Beatrice looks after us at St Mary Magdalene’s, don’t you, Beatrice?’
‘What?’ snapped Leda Sheridan. ‘You work at that bunters’ home? Is that why you’ve come here – to find out where your girls have got to? You’re not that Beatrice that Mr Hazzard was warning me about? Widow Nosey, that’s what he called you! Vi – is that who this is? Why did you fetch her here if you knew who she was?’
‘I didn’t ’ave the faintest bloody clue!’ Violet protested. ‘She’s the same Bea what used to sing with me at the Spread Eagle – ’ow was I to know what she does now? Is this true, Bea? Is that why you wanted to come ’ere? You fuckin’ took advantage of me, didn’t you? I can’t fuckin’ believe it!’
Beatrice didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t deny that she had been working at St Mary Magdalene’s, but she didn’t know if she ought to protest that Violet had known that she did, and that coming here under the pretence of a social visit had been Violet’s idea, and not hers. But Violet gave her a look which she took to mean ‘stow it!’ and so she said nothing.
‘Come on, Bea, let’s go,’ said Violet, and stepped out onto the porch. But Leda pushed her way in front of Beatrice and said, ‘Oh no, you don’t, madam! I can’t have you going to the traps about this. I’ve got my clientele to consider. Charlie!’
The flashman cam
e around and gripped Beatrice by the left arm.
‘Take your hands off me!’ Beatrice demanded. ‘I shall have you taken for assault, as well as abduction! Violet, tell this creature to let me go!’
‘Oh yes, and why should I?’ Violet retorted. ‘You’ve done nothin’ but tell me porkies and now even my bestest old friend Coddy ’ere thinks she can’t trust me! I’m off!’
With that, she went down the front steps and stalked off along Brydges Street.
Beatrice tried to twist her arm free, but the flashman held even tighter, and pulled her back into the hallway. Leda and the young woman in the pink day gown took hold of Judith and half-pushed her and half-dragged her back to join the rest of the girls.
Once all the girls had shuffled along to the back of the house, and had been herded through a door next to the performance room, Leda Sheridan returned to confront Beatrice.
‘If you attempt to harm me, you will face very serious consequences,’ Beatrice told her. ‘I know a constable at Bow Street who won’t rest until you are punished for this.’
‘And I know an Old Bailey judge who won’t be at all happy that you’re trying to spoil his evening’s entertainment,’ Leda Sheridan replied. ‘I shall inform Mr Hazzard that I have you here, and I shall ask him what he wants done with you. I can assure you that you won’t enjoy it, no matter what it is. It doesn’t pay to interfere in other people’s business, madam, especially when it comes to the gentry and to peers of His Majesty’s realm.’
‘Let me go!’ Beatrice repeated, and tried to kick the flashman’s shins, but he swung her around and shook her as hard as if she were a dusty carpet.
Leda Sheridan pulled her purse away from her, and then said, ‘Take her upstairs, Charlie. The end bedroom. And put the bracelets on her.’
‘You can’t do this!’ Beatrice shouted at her. ‘I insist that you let me go!’
‘And I insist that you shut your muff,’ said Leda Sheridan, between clenched teeth, and returned to her drawing room, dropping Beatrice’s purse behind the sofa.
The Coven Page 33
