The Ruby in the Smoke

by Philip Pullman

  "Strike another," she snarled. "That bloody landlord'll be down in a minute -"

  The light flared up again in his fingers. He held it close as she twisted the catch this way and that and finally forced it back.

  The box was empty.

  "It's gone," she said.

  Her voice was quiet and shocked.

  "Gone, Mrs Holland?"

  "The Ruby, you great staring toad. It was here - in this box - and someone's had it."

  Bitterly she thrust the box back into the hole, after checking that there was nothing else there, and jammed the stone in place just as the door opened and the light of a candle spilled down the stairs.

  "All right?" came the landlord's voice.

  "Yes, thank you, dear. I seen the light, and so's my son. Ain't you, Alfred?"

  "Yes, Mother. I seen it all right."

  "Much obliged to yer," said Mrs Holland as they left the cellar. "You ain't showed anyone else down there recent, I suppose?"

  "Not since Major Marchbanks come down here a month or two back. He was looking at the Tudor foundations, he said. Nice old gent. Killed 'isself the other week."

  "Fancy that," she said. "No one else, then?"

  "My girl might have let someone down, only she's not here at the moment. Why?"

  "No reason," said Mrs Holland. "It's a quaint little place, that's all."

  "It is that," he said. "All right, then?"

  Mrs Holland had to be satisfied with that. But she said to Mr Berry as they waited for their train: "There's only one person who knew where that ruby was, and that's the girl. Hopkins is dead, and Ernie Blackett don't count... It's the girl. I'll have her, Mr Berry. I'll have her and I'll tear her open, I will. I'm angry now, and I'll have her life, you see if I don't."

  Chapter Sixteen

  PROTECTING THE PROPERTY

  On Friday 8th November, Mr Selby took a trip on the river. It was part of his job, occasionally, to make inspections of vessels in the docks, of cargoes in the warehouse, and to issue certificates and bills of lading. He had been a good shipping agent once. He was brisk and vigorous, and he was a good judge of the value of most goods both in London and in foreign markets. He had an eye for a ship, and few people had been known to get the better of him in a bargain.

  So when the chance came up to inspect a schooner to replace the lost Lavinia, Mr Selby took it at once - with a feeling of relief. Here was a job that didn't involve unpleasantness, that wasn't going to mix him up in anything murky or Chinese - just a straightforward shipping job. So on Friday afternoon he travelled to the Blackwall Railway Terminus, well wrapped up against the cold, and with a flask of brandy in an inside pocket, to clear his judgement.

  With him went Mr Berry. The first guardian had had an unfortunate adventure involving a policeman, a public house and a stolen watch, and in the absence of anyone better, Mrs Holland had sent Mr Berry along to Cheapside.

  "Where are we going, Mr Selby?" he said as they got off the train.

  "On the river," said Mr Selby shortly.

  "Oh."

  They walked to Brunswick Pier, where Mr Selby had arranged for a boat to be ready, to take them to the shipbuilding yards by the mouth of Bow Creek where the schooner was tied up. The Pier was deserted, but for a single skiff bobbing at the foot of the steps, with a figure in a shabby green greatcoat and a large hat, holding the oars.

  When they arrived, the boatman stepped out of the skiff and helped Mr Selby down. Then he turned to Mr Berry.

  "Sorry, sir," he said. "The boat'll only take two."

  "But I'm supposed to stay with him," said Mr Berry. "I got to. I been told."

  "Sorry, sir. There's no room."

  "What's going on?" called Mr Selby. "Get a move on, will yer? I'm a busy man."

  "He says there's only room for two, Mr Selby," said Jonathan Berry.

  "Well, take the oars and row yourself," said Mr Selby. "Only don't hang about."

  "Very sorry, sir," said the boatman. "Company policy not to hire out a boat without an employee aboard. Nothing I can do, sir."

  Mr Selby snarled with impatience. "Oh, very well. You stay here, Wossname. Don't stir from this pier."

  "All right, Mr Selby," said his bodyguard.

  He sat down on a bollard, lit a short pipe, and watched placidly as Mr Selby was borne away on the turbid river.

  And it was not until they came to close the Pier at six o'clock and found him still sitting there, that he realized that anything was wrong.

  "You bloody great codfish," said Mrs Holland, and then she treated him to an analysis of his character, a list of his ancestors and a prognostication of his future.

  "But he told me to wait hisself," protested Mr Berry.

  "You don't realize what's going on, do you? You don't realize what you done at all, do you, you great big stone?"

  "Only because you won't tell me," muttered the big man, but he dared not say it aloud.

  For Mrs Holland had by now become so obsessed by the Ruby that she could see nothing else. Mr Selby had been a temporary interest, promising for a while, but with nothing like the gripping fascination of the other. She ejected the few lodgers she had so as to have the house clear, and hung a sign saying NO VACANCIES on the front door; she dispatched spies to all parts of London to look out for Sally and Adelaide, and, just in case, for a photographer with fair hair as well; she drove Mr Berry into a state of acute nervousness, in which her least movement made him start, her least word made him jump and her sudden appearance in a room made him jump up like a guilty schoolboy. She padded around the house muttering and cursing, she prowled around the edges of her territory, from Wapping Old Stairs to Shadwell Basin, from Hangman's Wharf to the line of the Blackwall Railway, fixing her glittering eyes on every young girl she saw; she did not sleep, but sat up in the kitchen, brewing tar-like tea and sleeping in snatches. Mr Berry walked on tiptoe and spoke very politely.

  As for Sally, she felt lost.

  She had bought a weapon, but she didn't know her enemy; she had learned about her father's death, but she could see no reason for it.

  And days were going by... She felt that she had started something, with her first visit to Cheapside, that was now out of control. Things were revolving obscurely around her, like great dangerous machines in a darkened factory, and she was walking blindly among them...

  She knew she could learn more - but at the cost of another journey into the Nightmare. And she couldn't pay that; not yet.

  It was so ironic. Because for the first time she had friends, and a home, and a purpose. With every day that passed, she felt more secure in her knowledge of the business, and more full of ideas for developing it. Unfortunately most of them cost money, and there was no capital available. She could not use hers, because she could only get at it through Mr Temple; and if she went to him she would lose her independence at once.

  It was easier to think about Frederick. Such a mixture of lazy flippancy and passionate anger, of Bohemian carelessness and dedicated perfectionism! Frederick was a topic to fascinate any psychologist. She thought: I must ask him to teach me photography. But later, not yet; not until I'm free of this mystery.

  With an effort, she turned her mind back to the darkness: back to Mrs Holland. So the young woman and the old one each found their thoughts occupied by the other; and when that happens to people, sooner or later they meet.

  Early on Saturday morning, a man and a boy in a barge laden with horse manure spotted a body in the water in that part of the river known as Erith Reach. With the aid of a boathook they got it on board, and laid it ceremoniously on top of their floating dunghill. It was the boy's first corpse, and he was very pleased with it. He wanted to keep it for a while, and display it for the admiration of the passing traffic; but his father put the boat in at Purfleet, and gave the remains to the local magistrates. The horse manure went on to the farms of Essex.

  Jim had taken to spending most of the weekend at Burton Street. He fell in love with Rosa, who had
commandeered him at once for the Stereoscopic Repertory Company. He was Oliver Twist; he was a Boy standing on the Burning Deck; he was Puck; he was a Prince in the Tower, with Frederick as an unconvincing Wicked Uncle. But no matter how he was costumed or how noble the role, his features were so formed that the only expression the camera could catch on them was a cheerful villainy. They tried him once with "When Did You Last See Your Father?" and he looked, said Frederick, as if he were persuading the Parliamentarians that he could let them have a nice lot of second-hand pikes, dirt cheap.

  "Here," he said when he came in this Saturday, "old Selby's missing! He never come in this morning. I bet he's been done in. I bet that geezer from the Warwick Hotel's cut his throat."

  "Stand still," said Rosa, her mouth full of pins. The studio had been transformed into Palestine, with the aid of a painted backcloth, and she was trying to make Jim look like the boy David for a Biblical series that Trembler said they could sell to Missionary Societies. "When did you last wash your knees?"

  "I bet he never washed his bloody knees, neither. Who's going to look at this picture, anyway?"

  "Cannibals," said Sally.

  "Well, it'll come off in the pot, won't it? You don't seem to care about old Selby. I bet he's dead."

  "Quite possibly," said Rosa. "Now will you stop jigging about, for goodness' sake. We've got work to do..."

  A customer came into the shop, and Sally went to serve him. When she came back she could hardly stop smiling.

  "Listen!" she said. "Listen, this is marvellous! That was a man from Chainey's, the printers. They want to print lots of our pictures and put them on sale all over London. Already! What d'you think of that?"

  "First-rate!" said Frederick. "Which ones?"

  "How much are they going to pay?" said Rosa.

  "I told him to come back on Monday. I said we were too busy to discuss it at the moment, but we'd had offers from several other firms and we'd have to weigh them up. When they come back--"

  "You didn't!" said Rosa. "But that's not true!"

  "Well, perhaps not yet. But we will. I'm just anticipating a little to put the price up. Frederick, when they come back, you must deal with them. I'll tell you what to say."

  "I hope you will. I wouldn't have the least idea. Oh! Have you seen this? I meant to show you earlier."

  He folded back a copy of The Times.

  "For Heaven's sake," said Rosa crossly. "Are you going to take any pictures today, or not?"

  "Of course I am," he said, "but this might be important. Listen: 'Miss Sally Lockhart. If Miss Sally Lockhart, daughter of the late Matthew Lockhart, Esquire, of London and Singapore, will inquire for Mr Reynolds at the Warwick Hotel, Cavendish Place, she will learn something to her advantage.' What d'you think of that?"

  Jim whistled. "That's him," he said. "That's the bloke what killed Selby."

  "It's a trick," said Sally. "I'm not going."

  "Shall I go, and pretend to be you?" said Rosa.

  "Don't go," said Jim. "He'll cut yer throat, same as he did old Selby's."

  "What do you know about Selby?" said Frederick. "You're obsessed, you horrible little boy."

  "Betcher," said Jim at once. "Betcher half a crown he's dead."

  "Done. Sally, I'll come with you if you like. He couldn't do anything if I was there."

  "Supposing it's Mr Temple, though?" she said. "You keep forgetting that I'm supposed to be hiding. He's legally responsible for me so he's bound to be trying all kinds of ways to find me again."

  "But it might be something to do with your father," said Rosa. "He's called you Sally and not Veronica, for a start."

  "That's true. Oh, I don't know what to do. But... Oh, I don't know. There's too much to do here. Let's get on with this picture..."

  On Sunday afternoon, Adelaide and Trembler went for a walk. They went past the British Museum, down the Charing Cross Road, and looked at Nelson on his column; then they strolled along the Mall, and went to pay a call on Her Majesty the Queen, only she wasn't in, for the Royal Standard wasn't flying over Buckingham Palace.

  "She must be at Windsor," said Trembler. "Just like her. Let's have some hot chestnuts instead."

  So they bought some chestnuts and walked through the Park, and saved some bits to give to the ducks, who came and fought for them like little battleships. Adelaide had never dreamed of an afternoon like this. She laughed and joked with Trembler as if she'd forgotten how to be unhappy, and he laughed too, and taught her how to skim stones across the water, until a park-keeper came and told them off. Then when his back was turned Trembler stuck out his tongue, and they both burst out laughing again.

  Which was when they were spotted.

  A young worker from the saw-mill behind Wapping High Street was out walking with his best girl, a housemaid from Fulham. He had had dealings of a mildly criminal nature (tobacco extracted from a warehouse) with one of Mrs Holland's lodgers, and remembered that that lady was offering a reward for news of Adelaide's whereabouts. He was a sharp-eyed young man, and he recognized her at once. He steered the best girl away from the path they were treading and began to follow Adelaide and Trembler.

  "Here," said the housemaid. "Wotcher doing?"

  "Just act natural," said the young man. "I got me reasons."

  "I know your sort o' reasons," said the housemaid. "I ain't going in no bushes with you. Give over!"

  "Cheerio, then," he said, and left her astonished on the footpath.

  He followed them out of the Park and up through Trafalgar Square. He lost them at the bottom of St Martin's Lane, and then nearly ran into them in Cecil Court, where they were gazing into the window of a toyshop. He kept up with them as far as the British Museum; nearly lost them in Coptic Street; tried to stay further back and out of sight, because the crowds were thinner up here, and then had to get closer, because it was getting dark; and finally saw them turn the corner of Burton Street. When he got there, they had vanished - but the door of a photographer's shop was closing.

  Well, that's something anyway, he thought; and hurried off back to Wapping.

  Chapter Seventeen

  KING JAMES'S STAIRS

  The man from Chainey's the printers came on Monday, as Sally had arranged. Frederick, well rehearsed, insisted on a royalty of twenty per cent, rising to twenty-five per cent after ten thousand copies had been sold. The printer was taken aback by this; he had expected to make a single payment and buy the pictures outright. But Sally had thought of that and told Frederick not to budge. The printer agreed to take the Historical series, the Famous Murders and the Scenes from Shakespeare. He also agreed that the pictures should be known as Garland's, and not Chainey's; that they should be sold at a price of 2/6d a set; and that they, the printers, should bear the cost of advertising.

  Slightly bemused, the printer left - but not before he had signed an agreement. Frederick rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he'd done.

  "That was just right!" said Sally. "I was listening. You were firm and you knew just what to say. We've started! We're on our way!"

  "I'm a mass of nerves," said Frederick. "My soul is too fine for this commercial jousting. Why don't you do it?"

  "I shall, as soon as I'm old enough to be taken seriously."

  "I take you seriously."

  She looked at him. They were alone in the shop; the others had gone out for various things. He was sitting on the counter, she was standing a yard or so away, with her hands on the wooden rack Trembler had made to hold the stereographs. And she was suddenly very conscious of all this. She looked down.

  "As a business-woman?" she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  "As all kinds of things. Sally, I--"

  The door opened and a customer came in. Frederick jumped down from the counter and served him, while Sally went through into the kitchen. Her heart was beating fast. What she felt for Frederick was so confused and powerful that she couldn't begin to articulate it; she hardly dared think what he had been going to say. Perhaps, in
another minute or two, she would have found out.

  But then there was a bang on the kitchen door, and in strolled Jim.

  "Jim!" she said. "What are you doing here? Aren't you at work?"

  "I came to collect me winnings," he said. "Remember I made a bet with the guvnor? Well, I was right. Old Selby's dead!"

  "What?"

  Frederick came in at that point, and stopped short.

  "What are you doing here, gargoyle?" he said.

  "I come to tell you some news. You owe me half-a-crown, for a start. Old Selby's snuffed it. They fished him out the river on Saturday and we had a copper round this morning, and the place is closed. There's investigations going on. So let's have me money."

  Frederick threw him a coin, and sat down.

  "What do they know about it?" he said.

  "He went off on Friday to look at a schooner near Bow Creek somewhere. He took a skiff at Brunswick Pier, and it never come back. Nor did the boatman. That big feller o' Mrs Holland's was with him up till the Pier, but he never went on the skiff, 'cause there's a witness as saw him waiting. What d'you think of that, then?"

  "Blimey," said Frederick. "And you think it was the man from the Warwick Hotel?"

  "Course it was. Stands to reason."

  "And did you tell the police that?"

  "What for?" said Jim scornfully. "Let 'em whistle."

  "Jim, this is murder."

  "Selby was a villain," said Jim. "He sent her dad to his death, remember? He don't deserve no better. That ain't murder that's natural justice."

  They both looked at Sally. She felt that if she said yes, we'll go to the police, the other two would agree. But a part of her mind insisted that if they did, she would never learn the truth.

  "No," she said. "Not yet."

  "This is dangerous," said Frederick.

  "To me, not you."

  "That's why I'm concerned," he retorted angrily.

  "You don't understand. And I can't explain. Oh, please, Frederick, let me find my own way through this!"

  He shrugged. "What d'you think, Jim?"

  "She's mad. Best leave her be, in case it's catching."

  "All right. But Sally, will you promise always to let me know what you're going to do, and where you are? If you're determined to thrust yourself into danger, I want to know about it."