Farriers' Lane

by Anne Perry

  “Good God!” Drummond shook his head a little. “I didn’t know that. Is there any truth in it? Can breeding stock be—be spoiled like that?”

  “No,” Pitt said furiously. “It’s vicious and superstitious rubbish. But there are ignorant people who believe it, and the Harrimores are among them. Old Adah actually said so to Charlotte.”

  Drummond was abashed that he had credited it, even for a moment. There was a pink flush up his cheeks.

  “She admitted it?” he said with surprise.

  “She admitted that Jews were unclean, in her estimation,” Pitt answered. “And that was the cause of Prosper’s deformity.”

  Drummond sighed. “But you have no proof, have you?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Well, you’d better see if you can get it. I think I’ll refrain from telling anyone about Aaron Godman until we have something conclusive.”

  “I’ll do what I can. I’ll go back to the theater doorman and see if he can remember anything more clearly.” He walked over to the door and was about to open it when Drummond spoke again.

  “Pitt.”

  Pitt turned. “Yes sir?”

  “When the case is closed I am going to resign. I have already told the assistant commissioner. I am recommending you to take my place. Before you argue, it will not be entirely a desk job. You can govern for yourself a great deal of what you do.” He smiled very slightly, but there was affection in it, and respect. “You won’t have anyone to rely on as I have on you. You will need to do a lot of the investigation of more serious cases yourself, particularly the politically sensitive ones. Don’t refuse without thinking about it very carefully.”

  Pitt swallowed hard. He should not have been surprised, but he was. He had thought Drummond’s mood would pass, but now he realized it had to do with Eleanor Byam, and was final.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said quietly. “I shall miss you deeply.”

  “Thank you, Pitt.” Drummond looked embarrassed, and pleased, and vulnerable. “I daresay I shall see you from time to time. I …” He stopped, uncertain how to continue.

  Pitt smiled. “Yes sir.” He met Drummond’s eyes and knew that Drummond understood, and it was better unsaid. “I’ll go and see the doorman.”

  Micah Drummond felt immensely relieved, almost light-headed, now that he had not only made the decision but also committed himself to it. He had told Pitt. There was no honorable way he could go back on it. It would not matter financially. He would have less money, of course, because he would lose his police salary. To Pitt it would be a vast improvement, but to Drummond the salary had always been pleasant but in no way necessary. He had inherited considerable means and come into the position as a gentleman—not promoted from the ranks, but appointed because of his military experience, his administrative ability, and precisely because he was a gentleman, reliable, commanding men easily, and one of the same class and nature as those who chose him.

  Pitt would be an entirely different matter, but he knew from previous delicate conversations that there were those in power in the Home Office who would approve his appointment.

  There would also be those who would disapprove, who would resent and distrust a man who was of working-class origins, no matter how well he spoke. He could never be one of them; that was something to which you had to be born. But it was time that men in charge of the solving of major crimes were professionals, not distinguished amateurs, no matter how respected or agreeable.

  Within fifteen minutes of Pitt leaving the office, Drummond collected his hat, coat and stick, and left also. By mid-afternoon it was accomplished. He had tendered his resignation, one month from that date, and it had been accepted with reluctance. And as had been implied to him earlier, he had been assured that Thomas Pitt would be appointed his successor. That had not come without a struggle, and a great deal more devious politicking than he had ever practiced before. But now he strode down Whitehall in the bitter wind with a spring in his step and his head high. He entered Parliament Street and hailed a cab, his voice ringing out in the sharp air almost like a challenge.

  The cabby stopped. “Yes sir?”

  He gave the man Eleanor Byam’s address and climbed in. He sat back with his heart beating. He was putting it to the test. If he asked her now there would be no answer but acceptance, or that she did not regard him in that way. There were no excuses left that it would cost him his position either professionally or socially. He turned it over and over in his mind as the cab rattled eastward through the traffic and he was hardly aware of his passage. He thought over every argument she might use, and how he would counter it, all the assurances he would give. All the while a small, sane part of his mind was telling him the words made no difference. Either she wished to accept him, in which case the arguments were unnecessary, or she did not, and then they were pointless. You cannot reason someone into loving.

  Still the surface of his brain occupied itself with words. Perhaps it was a kind of anesthetic until he should arrive and the die was cast. Words were easier than feelings, less painful, in so many ways less real.

  “ ’Ere you are, sir!” The cabby’s voice intruded and with a start he brought his attention back to the present and scrambled out.

  “Thank you.” He paid the man generously, almost as a superstitious offering to fortune. And before he would have time to think, and doubt himself, he knocked on the door.

  As before, it was opened by the surly maid.

  “Oh—it’s you,” she said with a twist of her lip. “Well, you’d better come in, although what Mrs. Bridges’ll say I don’t know. This is a respectable ’ouse, and she don’t like her lodgers to ’ave callers in a reg’lar way. Least not as you’d say was followers, like.”

  Drummond blushed. “Maids have followers,” he said tartly. “Ladies have acquaintances, or if seeking their hands in marriage, then suitors. If you wish to retain your position, I would remember the difference, and keep a civil tongue in your head!”

  “Oh! Well, I—”

  But she got no further. He brushed past her and went quickly down the bare corridor towards the back, and Eleanor’s rooms. Once there he knocked more loudly than he had intended, and after the briefest moment heard footsteps on the other side. The door swung open and the maid saw him and her face flooded with pleasure, even relief.

  “Oh sir, I’m so glad as you’ve come. I was so afraid you might not be back.”

  “I promised you I would,” he said quietly, liking the woman enormously for her loyalty. “Is Mrs. Byam in?”

  “Oh, yes sir. She don’t often go nowhere. In’t really nowhere to go.”

  “Will you ask her if she will see me?”

  She smiled, and kept up the fiction. “O’ course, sir. If you’ll wait ’ere.” There was no morning room or library, only a tiny anteroom, less than a hall, but he stood as she had requested while she disappeared, and came back only a moment later, her face full of hope.

  “Yes sir, if you’ll come this way.” She took his hat, coat and stick and hung them up, then she led him again into the small sitting room full of Eleanor’s things. He did not even hear her leave.

  Eleanor was standing by the window and he knew immediately she had not remained seated because she felt at a disadvantage. In some subtle way she was afraid of him.

  Instead of anger he felt sympathy. He was afraid too, of the hurt she could do him if she refused.

  “How nice to see you, Micah,” she said with a smile. “You look very well, in spite of the weather. Is the case progressing at last?”

  “Yes,” he said with slight surprise. “Yes, it is. Pitt knows who did it, and why.”

  Her dark eyebrows rose. “You mean it was not Aaron Godman?”

  “No—no, it wasn’t.”

  “Oh, the poor man.” Her voice dropped and her face was bleak with the pain she imagined. “How dreadful.” She looked out of the window at the wet walls of the next building. “I always thought hanging was barbaric. This makes it
doubly so. How must his family feel?”

  “They don’t know yet. We cannot prove who it was.” Drummond wanted to go over to her, but it was too soon. With an effort of will he remained where he was. “I am quite sure Pitt is right, or at least, I should say, Charlotte. It was she who came upon the answer. But there is no proof and, as yet, no evidence that would convince a jury.”

  “But Godman is innocent?”

  “Oh yes. The proof of that is quite good enough.”

  She looked at him quickly. “What are you going to do?”

  This time he smiled. “Very little. Pitt will do it.”

  “I don’t understand. I know Pitt will do the actual questioning of people. I can recall enough to know that. But surely the decisions are yours?” A flicker of self-mocking humor passed across her face, and a host of memories.

  “That depends when the solution comes, although I expect it will not take long from now. He is angry enough, and sad enough, to give it a passionate attention.”

  “I still do not understand. You seem to be meaning something far more than you are saying.” There was a question in her voice and anxiety in her eyes. “Do you wish me to know, or …?” She left it unfinished.

  “Yes, of course I do. I’m sorry.” It was ridiculous to be playing games with her, or with himself. He should have the courage to put it to the test. He breathed in deeply and let it out again. “I have given the commissioner my resignation, effective one month from now. And I have recommended Pitt to succeed me. I think he will do it better than anyone else. He will make mistakes, but he will also be more likely than any of the others to achieve something positive.”

  She looked startled. “You have resigned! But why? I know you have lost a certain interest, but surely it will come back. You cannot just give up.”

  “Yes, I can, when there are other things which are of more importance to me.”

  She stood still, looking at him very gravely, the question in her eyes.

  Now was the time. There was no point in trying to be indirect or to surprise her. “Eleanor, you already know that I love you, and that I wish to marry you. When I asked you before, you pointed out that it would cost me my career, and you said that that was the reason you refused. Now it no longer stands in the way. Marrying you could not harm me, it would only bring me the greatest possible happiness. You cannot refuse me now, unless it would not bring the same happiness to you—” He stopped, realizing he had said all he meant, so it would be clumsy to press too hard, to repeat.

  She stood still, her face a little flushed, her eyes very solemn but a very slight smile about her mouth. For several seconds they both stood motionless. Then she held out her hand towards him, palm down, as if to take hold of his. It was an offer, and with a surge of joy he knew it. He was smiling, his heart beating in his throat. He wanted to sing, shout, but to have made a noise at all would have spoiled it. He strode forward and took her hand, pulling her very gently closer to him. Countless times he had longed to do this, imagined it, and now she was here. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of her dress, smell her hair and her skin, more urgent and exciting than all the perfumes of lavender or roses.

  Gently he kissed her, then more powerfully, then at last with total passion, and she answered him with a completeness he could not have dreamed.

  Gracie also had made a decision. She was going to help solve this case, and she knew how; not exactly—that would have to wait until she learned a little more—but certainly she knew how she would begin, and what she intended to accomplish. She would find this wretched boy from the streets who refused to tell Pitt about the man who had given him the message for Kingsley Blaine at the theater door. From what the mistress had said, Aaron Godman, poor soul, had looked very little indeed like Mr. Prosper Harrimore. For a start, Harrimore had been twice his age, and twice his height! The boy could not be such a fool as not to have noticed such a thing, if he put his mind to thinking about it, and remembering.

  It would take a little time, a day or two at least, and it would not be easy to make an excuse that would be believed. But she had been a good liar in the past and no doubt could be again, in the right cause. She had already learned the boy’s name from Pitt, and thus how to find him.

  “Please, ma’am,” she said with downcast eyes, “me mam’s in a spot o’ difficulty. May I ’ave a day orf ter go an ’elp ’er? I’ll try an’ be back as soon as I can; if I can sort everythin’ terday, can I go termorrer? I’ll get up at five an’ do all the fires and the kitchen floor afore I go. An’ I’ll be back in the evenin’ ter do the veges and the dishes after dinner, an’ the beds an’ things. Please, ma’am?”

  The only thing that struck guilt into her heart was the look of concern on Charlotte’s face, and the readiness with which she gave her permission. But it was a good cause. Now please heaven she could find this miserable boy and shake some sense into him!

  She hurried out before any more questions could be asked, and set to her present chores with a will.

  The following morning she was as good as her promise. She rose at five, stumbling in the dark and shivering with cold. She crept down the stairs to riddle the ashes in the kitchen fire, clean it out, black the grate, lay it and light it and fetch up the coal; then the parlor fireplace, black it and lay it. Next she filled the pail with water and scrubbed the kitchen table, then the floor, and by seven she had swept the parlor and passage as well and left everything ready for breakfast.

  By quarter past seven, just before daylight, she let herself out of the front door before Charlotte came down to put on the kettle. Once she was out in the street, the gray dawn still lit by the yellow of the lamps, she hurried towards the main thoroughfare and the omnibus stop where she could begin her journey to Seven Dials.

  She was not completely sure what she intended to do, but she had been with Charlotte more than once when she had gone detecting. It was a matter of asking the right questions of the people who knew the answers, and most important, of asking them in the right way. Which was why she was better suited to this particular task than either Charlotte herself or even Pitt. She would meet Joe Slater as an equal, and she was convinced she would understand him better. She would know if he were lying, and possibly even why.

  It was a windless day, but bitterly cold. The pavements were slippery with it, and the chill ate into the bones through thin shawls and stuff dresses. Her old boots were little protection from the icy stones.

  When the omnibus stopped she alighted with several others and looked around her. It was only a hundred yards to the place Pitt had mentioned, and she walked smartly. It was a narrow street and all along the left side were barrows and stalls selling small goods, mostly of fabric and leather. She knew very few of them were new; nearly all were remade from old fabric, the good parts cut out and used again. The same was true of the shoes. The leather was unpicked, recut and restitched.

  Now she must begin to look for Joe Slater. Slowly, as if searching for a bargain, she moved along the lines of rickety barrows and benches made of planks of wood, or even goods set out over the stones of the curb. She did not feel the guilt that Pitt did when seeing the pinched faces, hollow, anxious eyes, thin bodies shivering in threadbare clothes. She had tasted poverty too thoroughly herself. Its familiar smells and sounds settled over her, making her wish she could turn and go back to the omnibus and leave it all behind. There was a warm kitchen at home in Bloomsbury, and hot tea at eleven o’clock, sitting with her feet by the stove, and the odor of clean wood and flour and laundry.

  The first half dozen sellers were middle-aged, or women, and she kept on going, eyes averted so she did not get drawn into haggling. When she finally found a youth she looked at him carefully before speaking.

  “Yer want summink, or yer just ’ere ter stare?” he demanded irritably. “Do I know yer?”

  Gracie shrugged and half smiled at him. “I dunno—do yer? Wot’s yer name?”

  “Sid. Wot’s yours?”


  “D’yer know Joe Slater?”

  “Why?”

  “Cos I wanter buy summink orf ’im, o’ course,” she snapped.

  “I got plenty that’s good. Want a new pair o’ boots? I got boots abaht your size,” he said hopefully.

  Gracie looked at the array of boots in front of him. She would have liked a new pair. But what would Charlotte say if she wore ones like these, remade from old leather, other people’s castoffs? Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Who looked at boots under a long skirt? And all Gracie’s skirts were on the long side because she was so small.

  “Mebbe …” she said thoughtfully. “ ’Ow much?”

  He held up a light brown pair. “One and fivepence ha’penny, fer you.”

  “One and twopence three farthings,” she said immediately. She would not have dreamed of paying the first price asked.

  “One and fourpence farthing,” he replied.

  “One and tuppence three farthings, or forget about it,” she said. They were very nicely shaped boots, and a good color. There was only one piece of leather on them that looked really scuffed. She made as if to turn away.

  “All right! One and threepence,” he offered. “You can go a farthing.”

  She fished in her large pocket and brought out her purse. She counted out two sixpences and a threepenny piece but kept them in her hand.

  “Where can I find Joe Slater?”

  “In’t them boots good enough for yer?”

  “W’ere is ’e?” Her fingers closed over the money.

  “Leather aprons, ’bout ten stalls down.” He held out his hand for the money.

  She gave it to him, thanked him and took her boots.

  She found Joe Slater approximately where Sid had told her. She regarded him discreetly for several minutes, judging what she would say to him, how to begin. He was a lean, scrawny youth with fair hair and careful gray eyes. She liked his face. Of course it was a swift judgment, and she was very prepared to change it if it proved necessary, but so far there was a quality in his features which pleased her.

  She made up her mind. She lifted her chin, straightened her back and walked over to him, her eyes bright and very direct.