by Ken Follett
She picked up the youngest. She knew that he was named Solomon, after Solly Greenbourne, but they called him Sol. "There, there," she murmured. "What's the matter?"
"I want my mama," he said, and cried louder.
"Hush, hush," Maisie murmured, rocking him. She felt dampness penetrate her clothing and she realized the little boy had wet himself. Looking around, she saw that the place was a mess. The table was covered with breadcrumbs and spilled milk, there were dirty dishes in the sink, and there was mud on the floor. It was cold, too: the fire had gone out. It almost looked as if the children had been abandoned.
"What's going on here?" she said to Toby.
"I gave them some lunch," he said. "I made bread and butter and cut some ham. I tried to make tea but I burned my hand on the kettle." He was trying to be brave but he was on the brink of tears. "Do you know where my father might be?"
"No, I don't." The baby had asked for his mama, but the older boy wanted his father, Maisie noted. "What about your mother?"
Toby took an envelope from the mantelpiece and handed it to her. It was addressed simply Hugh.
"It's not sealed," Toby said. "I read it."
Maisie opened it and took out a single sheet of paper. One word was written on it in large, angry capital letters:
GOOD-BYE
Maisie was horrified. How could a mother walk out on three small children--and leave them to fend for themselves? Nora had given birth to each of these boys, and held them to her breast as helpless babies. Maisie thought of the mothers in the Southwark Female Hospital. If one of them were given a three-bedroom house in Chingford she would think herself in heaven.
She put such thoughts out of her mind for the moment. "Your father will be back tonight, I'm sure," she said, praying it was true. She addressed the four-year-old in her arms. "But we wouldn't want him to find the house a mess, would we?"
Sol shook his head solemnly.
"We're going to wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, light the fire and make some supper." She looked at the six-year-old. "Do you think that's a good idea, Samuel?"
Samuel nodded. "I like buttered toast," he added helpfully.
"Then that's what we'll have."
Toby was not reassured. "What time do you think Father will come home?"
"I'm not sure," she said candidly. There was no point in lying: children always knew. "But I tell you what. You can stay up until he gets here, no matter how late. How's that?"
The boy looked somewhat relieved. "All right," he said.
"Now, then. Toby, you're the strongest, you can bring in a bucket of coal. Samuel, I believe I can trust you to do a job properly, you can wipe the kitchen table clean with a rag. Sol, you can sweep up because--you're the smallest, so you're closer to the floor. Come on, boys, let's start work!"
Section 4
HUGH WAS IMPRESSED by the way Scotland Yard responded to his report. The case was assigned to Detective-Inspector Magridge, a sharp-faced man of about Hugh's age, meticulous and intelligent, the kind who would have made it to chief clerk in a bank. Within an hour he had circulated a description of Micky Miranda and set a watch on all the ports.
He also sent a detective-sergeant to interview Edward Pilaster, at Hugh's suggestion; and the man came back with the report that Miranda was leaving the country.
Edward had also said that Micky was implicated in the deaths of Peter Middleton, Seth Pilaster and Solomon Greenbourne. Hugh was shaken by the suggestion that Micky had killed Uncle Seth, but he told Magridge that he already suspected Micky of killing Peter and Solly.
The same detective was dispatched to see Augusta. She was still living at Whitehaven House. With no money she could not hold out indefinitely, but so far she had succeeded in preventing the sale of the house or its contents.
A police constable assigned to check London steamship offices reported that a man answering the description but calling himself M. R. Andrews had booked passage on the Aztec sailing from Southampton tonight. The Southampton police were instructed to have men at the railway station and at the dockside.
The detective sent to see Augusta came back to report there was no answer when he rang and knocked at the door of Whitehaven House.
"I have a key," Hugh said.
Magridge said: "She's probably out--and I want the sergeant to go to the Cordovan Ministry. Why don't you check Whitehaven House yourself?"
Glad of something to do, Hugh took a cab to Kensington Gore. He rang and knocked, but there was no answer. The last of the servants had left, obviously. He let himself in.
The house was cold. Hiding was not Augusta's style, but he decided to search the rooms anyway, just in case. The first floor was deserted. He went up to the second floor and checked her bedroom.
What he saw surprised him. The wardrobe doors were ajar, the drawers of the chest were open, and there were discarded clothes on the bed and chairs. This was not like Augusta: she was a tidy person with an ordered mind. At first he thought she had been robbed. Then another thought struck him.
He ran up two flights of stairs to the servants' floor. When he had lived here, seventeen years ago, the suitcases and trunks had been kept jam-packed in a big closet known as the box room.
He found the door open. The room contained a few suitcases and no steamer trunk.
Augusta had run away.
He quickly checked all the other rooms of the house. As he expected he saw no one. The servants' rooms and the guest bedrooms were already acquiring the musty air of disuse. When he looked into the room that had been Uncle Joseph's bedroom, he was surprised to see that it looked exactly as it always had, although the rest of the house had been redecorated several times. He was about to leave when his eye fell on the lacquered display cabinet that held Joseph's valuable collection of snuffboxes.
The cabinet was empty.
Hugh frowned. He knew the snuffboxes had not been lodged with the auctioneers: Augusta had so far prevented the removal of any of her possessions.
That meant she had taken them with her.
They were worth a hundred thousand pounds--she could live comfortably for the rest of her life on that money.
But they did not belong to her. They belonged to the syndicate.
He decided to go after her.
He ran down the stairs and out into the street. There was a cabstand a few yards along the road. The drivers were chatting in a group, stamping their feet to keep warm. Hugh ran up to them, saying: "Did any of you drive Lady Whitehaven this afternoon?"
"Two of us did," said a cabbie. "One for her luggage!" The others chortled.
Hugh's deduction was confirmed. "Where did you take her?"
"Waterloo Station, for the one o'clock boat train."
The boat train went to Southampton--where Micky was sailing from. Those two had always been cronies. Micky smarmed all over her like a cad, kissing her hand and flattering her. Despite the eighteen years' difference in their ages, they made a plausible couple.
"But they missed the train," the cabbie added.
"They?" Hugh said. "There was someone with her?"
"An elderly chap in a wheelchair."
Not Micky, evidently. Who, then? No one in the family was frail enough to use a wheelchair. "They missed the train, you say. Do you know when the next boat train leaves?"
"At three."
Hugh looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. He could catch it.
"Take me to Waterloo," he said, and jumped into the cab.
He reached the station just in time to get a ticket and board the boat train.
It was a corridor train with interconnecting coaches, so he could walk along it. As it pulled out of the station and picked up speed through the tenements of south London, he set out to look for Augusta.
He did not have to look far. She was in the next coach.
With a quick glance he hurried past her compartment so that she would not see him.
Micky was not with her. He must have gone by an earlier train. The
only other person in her compartment was an elderly man with a rug over his knees.
He went to the next coach and found a seat. There was not much point in confronting Augusta right away. She might not have the snuffboxes with her--they could be in one of her cases in the luggage van. To speak to her now would serve only to forewarn her. Better to wait until the train arrived at Southampton. He would jump off, find a policeman, then challenge her as her bags were unloaded.
Suppose she denied she had the snuffboxes? He would insist that the police search her luggage. They were obliged to investigate a reported theft, and the more Augusta protested the more suspicious they would be.
Suppose she claimed the snuffboxes were hers? It was hard to prove anything on the spot. If that happened, Hugh decided he would propose that the police take custody of the valuables while they investigated the contradictory claims.
He controlled his impatience as the white fields of Wimbledon sped by. A hundred thousand pounds was a big chunk of the money Pilasters Bank owed. He was not going to let Augusta steal it. The snuffboxes also symbolized the family's determination to pay off its debts. If Augusta was allowed to make off with them, people would say the Pilasters were grabbing what they could, just like any ordinary embezzlers. The thought made Hugh angry.
It was still snowing when the train reached Southampton. Hugh was leaning out of the carriage window as the engine puffed into the station. There were uniformed policemen everywhere. That meant Micky had not yet been caught, Hugh inferred.
He jumped off while the train was still moving and got to the ticket barrier before anyone else. He spoke to a police inspector. "I'm the Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank," he said, giving the inspector his card. "I know you're looking for a murderer, but there's a woman on this train who is carrying stolen property worth a hundred thousand pounds belonging to the bank. I believe she is planning to leave the country on the Aztec tonight, taking it with her."
"What property would that be, Mr. Pilaster?" said the inspector.
"A collection of jeweled snuffboxes."
"And the name of the woman?"
"She's the dowager countess of Whitehaven."
The policeman raised his eyebrows. "I do read the newspapers, sir. I take it this is all to do with the failure of the bank."
Hugh nodded. "Those snuffboxes must be sold to help pay people who have lost their money."
"Can you point out Lady Whitehaven to me?"
Hugh looked along the platform, peering through the falling snow. "That's her, by the luggage van, in the big hat with bird's wings on it." She was supervising the unloading of her bags.
The inspector nodded. "Very well. Stay here with me at the ticket barrier. We'll detain her as she passes through."
Hugh was tense as he watched the passengers stream off the train and out. Although he was fairly certain Micky was not on the train, nevertheless he scrutinized the face of every passenger.
Augusta was the last to leave. Three porters were carrying her luggage. When she saw Hugh at the ticket barrier she turned pale.
The inspector was all politeness. "Pardon me, Lady Whitehaven. May I have a word?"
Hugh had never seen Augusta so frightened, but she had not lost her queenly manner. "I'm afraid I can't spare the time, officer," she said coolly. "I have to board a ship that is sailing tonight."
"I guarantee the Aztec won't leave without you, my lady," the inspector said smoothly. He glanced at the porters and said: "You can put those down for a minute, lads." He turned back to Augusta. "Mr. Pilaster here claims you have in your possession some very valuable snuffboxes that belong to him. Is that so?"
She began to look less alarmed--which puzzled Hugh. It worried him, too: he was afraid she might have something up her sleeve. "I don't see why I should answer such impertinent questions," she said arrogantly.
"If you don't, I shall have to look through your bags."
"Very well, I do have the snuffboxes," she said. "But they belong to me. They were my husband's."
The inspector turned to Hugh. "What do you say to that, Mr. Pilaster?"
"They were her husband's, but he left them to his son Edward Pilaster; and Edward's possessions are forfeit to the bank. Lady Whitehaven is trying to steal them."
The inspector said: "I must ask you both to come to the police station while these allegations are investigated."
Augusta looked panicky. "But I can't miss my sailing!"
"In that case, the only thing I can suggest is that you leave the disputed property in the care of the police. It will be returned to you if your claims are verified."
Augusta hesitated. Hugh knew it would break her heart to part with so much wealth. But surely she could see it was inevitable? She had been caught red-handed and she was lucky she was not going to jail.
"Where are the snuffboxes, my lady?" said the inspector.
Hugh waited.
Augusta pointed to a suitcase. "They're all in there."
"The key, please?"
Again she hesitated; again she gave in. She took out a small ring of luggage keys, selected one, and handed it over.
The inspector opened the case. It was full of shoe bags. Augusta pointed to one of the bags. The inspector opened it and drew out a light wooden cigar box. He lifted the lid to reveal numerous small objects carefully wrapped in paper. Selecting one at random, he unwrapped it. It was a small gold box inlaid with diamond chips in the design of a lizard.
Hugh let out a long sigh of relief.
The inspector looked at Hugh. "Do you know how many there should be, sir?"
Everyone in the family did. "Sixty-five," said Hugh. "One for every year of Uncle Joseph's life."
"Would you like to count them?"
Augusta said: "They're all there."
Hugh counted them anyway. There were sixty-five. He began to feel the pleasure of victory.
The inspector took the box and passed it to another policeman. "If you would like to go with Constable Neville to the police station, he will give you an official receipt for the goods, my lady."
"Send it to the bank," she said. "May I go now?"
Hugh was uneasy. Augusta was disappointed, but not devastated. It was almost as if there was something else she was worried about, something more important to her than the snuffboxes. And where was Micky Miranda?
The inspector bowed, and Augusta went out, followed by her three heavily laden porters.
"Thank you very much, Inspector," said Hugh. "I'm only sorry you didn't catch Miranda as well."
"We will, sir. He won't get aboard the Aztec unless he's learned how to fly."
The guard from the luggage van came along the platform pushing a wheelchair. He stopped in front of Hugh and the inspector and said: "Now what am I supposed to do with this?"
"What's the problem?" the inspector said patiently.
"That woman with all the luggage and the bird on her hat."
"Lady Whitehaven, yes."
"She was with an old gent at Waterloo. Puts him in a first-class compartment and then asks me to take the bath chair in the luggage van. Glad to oblige, says L Gets off at Southampton and pretends she don't know what I'm talking about. 'You must have mistaken me for somebody else,' she goes. 'Not likely--there's only one hat like that,' says I."
Hugh said: "That's right--the cabbie said she was with a man in a wheelchair ... and there was an old fellow in the compartment with her."
"There you are," the guard said triumphantly.
The inspector suddenly lost his avuncular air and rounded on Hugh. "Did you see the old man pass through the ticket barrier?"
"No, I didn't. And I looked at every passenger. Aunt Augusta was the last." Then it hit him. "Good God! Do you think it was Micky Miranda in disguise?"
"Yes, I do. But where is he now? Could he have got off at an earlier stop?"
The guard said: "No--it's an express train, nonstop from Waterloo to Southampton."
"Then we'll search the train. He must be on
it still."
But he was not.
Section 5
THE AZTEC WAS FESTOONED with colored lanterns and paper streamers. The Christmas party was in full swing when Augusta boarded: a band played on the main deck, and passengers in evening dress drank champagne and danced with friends who had come to say good-bye.
A steward led Augusta up the grand staircase to a stateroom on an upper deck. She had spent all her cash on the best cabin available, thinking that with the snuffboxes in her suitcase she need not worry about money. The room opened directly onto the deck. Inside it had a wide bed, a full-size washbasin, comfortable chairs and electric lights. There were flowers on the dresser, a box of chocolates beside the bed and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on the low table. Augusta was about to tell the steward to take the champagne away, then changed her mind. She was beginning a new life: perhaps she would drink champagne from now on.
She was only just in time. She heard the traditional shout of "All ashore that's going ashore!" even as the porters brought her luggage into the cabin. When they had gone she stepped onto the narrow deck, turning up her coat collar against the snow. She leaned against the rail and looked down. There was a sheer drop to the water, where a tugboat was already in position to ease the great liner out of the harbor into the sea. As she watched, the gangways were withdrawn one by one and the ropes cast off. The ship's foghorn sounded, a cheer went up from the crowd on the quay, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the huge ship began to move.
Augusta returned to her cabin and closed the door. She undressed slowly and put on a silk nightgown and a matching robe. Then she summoned the steward and told him she would not require anything further tonight.
"Shall I wake you in the morning, my lady?"
"No, thank you. I'll ring."
"Very good, m'lady."
Augusta locked the door behind him.
Then she opened her trunk and let Micky out.
He staggered across the stateroom and fell on the bed. "Jesus save me, I thought I was going to die." He moaned.
