‘His mother would have broken her heart. I’ve never seen anything like it. Constable thinks it’s all stolen.’
‘What do you think?’ Tindall said.
Walt looked up and met his friend’s eyes. ‘He’ll hang,’ he said simply.
Tindall walked slowly home to his lodgings. He had ignored the constable’s orders and refused to play the role of guard. Not with Walt. Walt had looked broken enough when he left, hollowed into himself, his usual bright eyes dull behind his eyeglasses. Tindall no longer felt able to poach a bed in front of his fire, for he carried his own guilty secret. After Ibbetson had left that afternoon, and whilst he was supposed to be hunting the goods on his inventory, Tindall had walked over to the constable’s house and told him everything. About what he had seen the night he had followed Foxall and Lutch, about his suspicions about Miss Johnson in the Gilded Lily, and how the perruquier was looking for a girl that looked like her. About the shady transactions that took place in the night, and about the red-haired girl who disappeared from the wagon and the floating shape in the Thames.
Tindall dragged his feet through the slush, ignored the drips from the eaves landing on his broad-brimmed hat and trickling down his neck, for he was deep in thought. His friend would never forgive him when he found out it was Nat who had betrayed his son, and it was no use fooling himself, Walt would guess soon enough who had given them the information.
‘Hackney carriage, sir?’ A cab pulled alongside him, spraying him with sludge from the gutter.
‘No, I bloody don’t. Sling your hook,’ he yelled with venom. Damn fool driver, he said to himself. Then he sighed. He would miss Walt. Nigh on thirty years they’d known each other, and nary a bad word between them. ‘Curse the bloody boy,’ he said.
Walt had sat in his chair a long while, but now he paced up and down the office. It was cold, but the peat stayed in the basket by the fire, the candles stayed unlit. The yard was empty and quiet, except for the drip, drip of iced water from the gutters. There were no customers because the stall was still at the Frost Fair, even though Tindall had said it was thawing. Jay had not returned, and Walt did not know whether they had found him at Allsop’s. He imagined his son’s face, when the king’s guard came, the closed look he always took on when he was accused of anything. The same look he had at six years old when he denied taking the sixpence from his mother’s purse.
Walt looked across the yard. The dogs were sleeping, curled nose to tail by the railings. The weathercock creaked slowly round in the wind. Every now and then he would hear a soft whump as a wedge of snow slid off the roof to land on the cobbles outside.
He had tried to persuade Nat to stay, but he had gone home early. He recalled the slight yeasty smell that accompanied Nat everywhere, and how it lingered in his office in the mornings, and how at first he had thought how odd it was, that even if he forgot to bank the fire, it was always only just sinking to ash when he arrived. He probably thinks I don’t know he sleeps here every night, he thought. Nat had looked embarrassed just now when he left. Bless his old bones, he’d been insistent he was not going to keep watch over Walt as if he was some highway felon.
Walt eyed the key to Jay’s office where it lay on the blotter. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. He had known all along there was something odd about his son. Something he did not understand. His mind worked in a way he just could not fathom, for example he never seemed interested in the usual things – he had never brought a girl home, not a single one. And he spent far too much time in the coffee houses with the fast set.
Walt suggested he take up with Sally, the smith’s daughter, a handsome broad-boned girl, but Jay would always have an excuse ready. Walt had thought it was because Sally was not good enough for him, and had suggested Miriam Edgware, but he had even turned his nose up at her. All the time he could have been a-courting Jay’d been filling those boxes up above the Lily. What for? What on earth for? What hurt the most was the fact that he had not known. That his son had a secret life that went on without him, that he had been shut out, made to look a fool.
Walt swung the key from his palm by its tassel, his nose wrinkling as he bit back tears. There was enough stolen plunder there to string Jay up. And there was not a hope of shifting it, even if he had the men, there was just too much. There was no way he could get rid of it, unless –
Dennis was at his mother’s house when he saw the smoke. It was strange to think she would never come back here, that her bed would always be empty. And there was nobody upstairs still, not even the constable’s man. The table where Sadie used to sit was already dusty, his fingers left dark smudges where he leaned on it. He supposed he would never see Sadie again. He pictured the way her hair parted, showing the fine line of her white skin and the nape of her neck, when she bent over his books. There was a great stone weighing on his heart and he didn’t know if it was for his ma or for her. When Ella had told him she had not seen her either, he ran back home again on the chance she’d go back there, but there was not a sign of her, and he didn’t know where else to start looking. Then the messenger boy came to tell him his ma had not lasted the night. Already the room felt empty without Ma’s cough.
Of course he’d been expecting it, but it was different when it happened. He didn’t know what to do so he changed into his best dark suit. He supposed he should go back to Epping, but there was no hurry now. Absentmindedly, he picked up the corner of Ma’s crocheted blanket, but let it drop as he followed the thick grey plume in the sky.
He walked to the window and watched the smoke unfold into the foggy air, one roll upon the next in an ever thickening cloud. He barely noticed it, until Widow Leadbetter from across the way hammered on his door.
‘Thought you might like to know,’ she said breathlessly, ‘it’s Whitgift’s. It’s afire.’
‘What?’
‘You’d better go. Looters are out already. Come on, lad, shift yourself.’ She held out his coat.
Dennis stared at the smoke. It couldn’t be true. Not Whitgift’s.
‘Word’s out the gates are open. Folk have gone to get their goods – and a bit more besides if they can carry it.’
As he looked, a huge flower of flame shot up into the smoke.
‘Oh my word, Ella!’ Wordlessly he grabbed the coat from her hand and, without thinking, plunged out of the front door. By the time he got there the Gilded Lily was fully alight. The yard teemed with shadowy figures scurrying into the building and running out with armfuls of goods. The warehouse doors were open, and there was no sign of the nightwatchman, or Jay. Jay’s chambers were well alight, smoke pouring from all the windows and the roof.
‘Stop!’ yelled Dennis to one man. ‘Where’s Walt Whitgift?’
But the man did not falter, he put his head down and scurried away. Just then a king’s guard arrived with a fire machine. Dennis waited for him to dismount. As he did, several other lads he recognized from the yard joined him.
The warehouse was now a burning wall of flame behind them, the flames licking up the side of the wooden stalls and creeping along the stacks and bundles of clothes. The heat intensified, red floating particles drifted into the air, the fire began to blow, a sound like wind rushing through trees.
Dennis ran back into the yard shouting, ‘Ring the bells, we’ll need all the help we can get, it’s dry as a tinderbox in here.’
‘It started in Jay Whitgift’s office,’ said the stable lad breathlessly, ‘but I can’t find the gaffer, or Jay. There’s nobody in charge.’
‘Where’s Miss Johnson?’
‘She’s out, gone with Jay.’
‘Tell them to ring the bells backwards, maybes it’ll bring them home.’
‘And like as not the other half of London on the make,’ said the lad ruefully before running off.
‘It’s no use,’ said the king’s man, ‘we can’t get water whilst the river’s iced over. We’ll have to use the fire hook.’
‘Is there anybody in the buildings?’
�
�Lad says they’re all out at the Frost Fair.’
As he spoke the wind blew a flurry of sparks into the sky. The smoke belched thicker from the Gilded Lily’s windows. As the bells of St Martin began to peal a crowd gathered, jostling to get near the warehouses. Dennis saw a woman run by, her arms piled high with pewter.
‘Wait!’ he cried, but it was hopeless, people poured like ants from inside the doors. More came in from outside and seeing the looting quickly joined the pillagers.
Dennis felt a tug on his arm. ‘I saw the smoke.’ Tindall was breathless, coughing. ‘You can see it from Blackfriars. Where’s Walt?’
‘Don’t know. No one’s seen him.’
‘Oh my lord, where can he be? Dennis, you’ve missed a right to-do.’
‘What’s up?’
‘The law’s on to Jay Whitgift for burglary and murder. They’re sending more men. The constable’s gone haring over to Allsop’s on Trinity Lane with Mr Ibbetson, chasing after Jay and those poor girls. And now this.’
‘Which girls?’
‘Miss Johnson and another girl. The nightwatch saw them go. Be more than an hour ago now.’
‘Two girls you say?’
‘Yes. That yellow-haired Miss Johnson and another dark girl.’
‘Did you see her face?’
‘No. I didn’t see her at all, ’twas only the nightwatchman saw, ’twas he who told me. Said they were hanging onto each other like they were drunk.’
It could be Sadie. Dennis felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest.
‘Trinity Lane, was it?’
Tindall nodded.
‘Sorry, Nat, I’ve got to go.’
‘But—’
It was not a thought that made him run, more like an instinct, something his heart knew although his legs did not.
Chapter 43
Sadie held tight to Ella’s hand as they were pushed into Allsop’s small drawing room. She stayed quiet now, as Ella had asked, with her head bowed, her hair covering her face. Ella had stilled her face too into a neutral mask, but Sadie could feel her tremble.
At first she did not see the other man, for he was sitting in the chair with his back to them. He was not wearing a wig and his bald head was stubbled and wrinkled at the nape with rolls of flesh. When he heard them come in, he stood up and turned, his eyes bleary in their pouchy sockets. Ella gripped Sadie’s hand more tightly and, keeping hold, moved in front of Sadie to put herself in between them.
‘What’s all this?’
‘Said you wanted the Savage Sisters, did you not?’ Wolfenden smiled and winked at Jay. ‘Spared no expense, as it’s your birthday.’ The other men laughed at his discomposure.
He stood up. ‘You bloody coxcomb. You never did.’ He looked genuinely taken aback. ‘No, these are not they. You can’t fool me – where did you get them?’
‘’Tis true,’ Whitgift said.
‘I wasn’t serious! Bloody fool, Wolfenden. What the hell am I supposed to do with them?’
‘Oh come on now, Allsop. Never known you short of starch when it comes to a skirt. The fellows have a few ideas even if your ale-addled brain has not.’
Sedley grabbed Wycliffe by the arm and mimed pumping his fist up and down.
‘I thought one of them was supposed to have the Devil’s patch on her face?’ Allsop said.
‘Take a look then,’ Jay said. He drew his rapier and with the tip of it nudged Sadie forward into the empty space between Allsop and Ella. Sadie stepped forward, head held high, and as Ella had told her, she said nothing.
‘Show me her face.’
Wycliffe took hold of her hair as if he did not want to touch it and pulled it back so that her head was forced backwards. She stiffened but remained silent.
Allsop walked towards her and leaned over her. He threw the liquid from his glass into her face. She gasped but stifled it. Allsop handed his kerchief to Wycliffe, who rubbed at her face at arm’s length. Sadie winced as the liquid stung her eyes.
‘Well, I never,’ Sedley said. ‘Take a look at that. It is the bloody Savage Sisters.’ He laughed uproariously.
Jay looked towards the door where Foxy and Lutch were leaning either side, watching impassively. ‘You two can wait outside now,’ Jay said. ‘Remember your orders.’
Foxy and Lutch nodded and went out, banging the door behind them.
‘So this is the famous patch-faced girl,’ Allsop said. ‘Well, she’s a curiosity, all right. Ugly, isn’t she? She doesn’t look much of a fighter. Wolfenden can take her. I’ll take the other.’ He walked to Ella, who flinched as he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘She can watch while Wolfenden has her sister. Maybe that will make her wild.’
‘No. Please no. I’ll do anything.’ Sadie saw Ella sink to her knees before him. ‘Please – I’ll do anything you please, but let my sister go free.’
‘Get up.’ Allsop kicked Ella with the tip of his buckled shoe.
She stumbled to her feet. ‘I beg you—’
Allsop punched her hard in the side of the face and she staggered and fell, clutching her cheek.
‘I’ll take the young one first.’ Wolfenden pulled Sadie’s arms behind her and pulled her towards the ground.
‘No, please,’ Ella wept.
Sadie wanted to scream and shout, to struggle. But Ella had told her not to fight back, hadn’t she, and so she was silent.
She closed her eyes as she felt Wolfenden’s weight come down on her. Allsop’s voice: ‘Come on, fellows, want to see some sport?’
‘Leave her alone, you bastard.’ It was Ella. Sadie heard sounds of a scuffle and tried to turn to see what was happening, but Wolfenden had her in a tight grip, one hand on her chest thrusting her back to the floor, the other pudgy hand fastening around her throat. She closed her eyes as if asleep. Wolfenden kept a hand at her throat whilst he lifted her skirt. She felt him fumble at his breeches. She turned and fixed her eyes on Ella. Ella’s eyes sought hers and in that moment Sadie felt Ella’s love blaze like anger.
A staccato knocking made Wolfenden start, and slam Sadie’s head hard against the floor. Her eyes opened wide and she cried out. The pounding of the iron knocker at the door was insistent. Wolfenden rolled off, fastening the flap of his breeches.
Allsop paused, his hand wrapped over Ella’s mouth. He listened as they heard the manservant open up. ‘You can’t come in,’ she heard him say, ‘his lordship is indisposed.’
‘Help us!’ Ella had managed to free herself from Allsop’s grip. There were more men’s voices, and a commotion in the hall.
‘Hold her,’ Allsop yelled at Sedley, but he was already opening the window.
Wolfenden and Sedley made a dive for the opening and scrambled out. Jay Whitgift made to follow them, but Wycliffe took hold of his sleeve.
‘Hey, fellows, don’t go without me,’ he said.
Jay was still trying to shake him off when the door burst open.
‘Stay where you are.’ A roughneck constable levelled a pistol at Allsop’s chest.
He flung his hands up. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing in my house?’
‘Which is Josiah Whitgift?’
‘I am,’ said Jay, his rapier already drawn. ‘What of it?’
‘Into the hall. Now. You too.’ He waved his pistol at Sadie and Ella.
‘Do as they ask,’ Sadie shouted, dragging Ella away, and they stumbled through the door. There were two armed men in the hall and Foxy and Lutch were face to the wall with pistols pressed to their necks.
Sadie turned to see Jay Whitgift, with a face like thunder, followed by Allsop who was looking from side to side in a panic.
‘What’s this about?’ blustered Allsop. ‘You will hear from my lawyers.’
‘Much good it will do you,’ the constable said. ‘You are all under seizure. We are investigating the murders of several young women –’
Allsop threw Jay a desperate look, before making a clumsy run for the front door. He shoved the terrified manservant to the side a
nd put his hand on the handle. A king’s guard drew his sword but Allsop ducked out if its way and punched him in the jaw. The sound of it was like the crunch of broken glass and the guard toppled. The constable spun on his heel and fired. Sadie heard Ella scream as the noise of the shot reverberated in the room, before the blast turned her momentarily deaf. Allsop slumped to the ground – a red hole like a flower split open in the back of his coat. The noise seemed to galvanize everybody into action.
The guard who was still holding Foxy and Lutch ran over to Allsop, his pistol ready, and rolled him over. Allsop’s eyes stared up in an expression of disbelief. A wet patch of red crept out from under him.
‘Dead,’ the guard pronounced.
Wycliffe crouched on the ground, his hands over his ears and head.
Foxy and Lutch exchanged a brief glance before they made a sudden lurch down the corridor.
‘Quick! The back stairs!’
The guard who had been punched staggered to his feet and the rest plummeted after them, leaving the constable alone in the room.
Sadie was still staring at Allsop’s body when Ella shouted her name. But the warning came too late. An arm snaked around her throat and pulled her backwards. She recognized the dark velvet of Jay Whitgift’s coat. He had hold of her from behind, the crook of his elbow was like a vice on her neck as she staggered, half falling, towards the door. The constable’s gun pointed directly at her chest. Jay was using her as a shield. She kicked out now and struggled, but he held her firm. The constable began to reload his gun with powder and cocked it back.
‘No!’ Ella shouted and grabbed him by the arm. The shot went off but hit the plaster in the ceiling, so that a shower of white powder added to the smoke. Ella coughed and staggered before running after them into the hallway.
The door was suddenly open and Sadie was stumbling backwards, being dragged down the stone steps. She choked, Jay’s arm was cutting off her breath. From the side of her eyes she saw the black boxwagon draw up at the side of the house.
‘Get in!’ yelled the red-haired man from the front seat.
The constable had reloaded his gun and fired a third time, but Jay kept Sadie in front of him as he threw himself backwards into the wagon and the shot went clean through the wagon door.
The Gilded Lily Page 40
