by Roz Southey
Apparently the spirit didn’t agree. It was silent.
‘You see, Mr Patterson,’ McLintoch said, conversationally. ‘We have a network of spirits throughout the town. Good law-abiding folks who let us know if any malefactors are working their wicked ways. Couldn’t manage without them.’
This blatant flattery had its effect; the spirit said, a trifle coyly, ‘If you would like it, Mr McLintoch, I dare say I don’t mind saying something.’
‘The night the Gregsons died,’ he said. ‘Tell us what happened.’
‘Came running in here like the devil was after her, she did,’ the spirit said. ‘Hair about her shoulders and wearing only her nightgown under her shawl!’
‘Young female, was it?’ McLintoch said. ‘Pretty?’
The spirit sniffed. ‘If you like them fair.’
‘Anyone with her?’
‘No, Mr McLintoch.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She found herself a corner and stayed there the rest of the night.’
‘When did she leave?’ I asked.
‘Didn’t see,’ the spirit snapped.
‘Sunday, was it?’ McLintoch said.
‘Might have been.’
‘What time Sunday?’
‘Didn’t see.’
I glanced at McLintoch but he apparently thought that was as far as he could persuade the spirit to go. ‘Let’s have a look at the place then,’ he said.
The spirit glided off its windowpane, and made its way towards the end house, disappearing through a gap in the broken-down door. McLintoch had come prepared; he dragged a couple of candle stubs and a tinder box out of his pocket.
I held the stubs while he lit them, wondering why the spirit was lying. I’d seen the girl when she fled the house and she’d been wearing not a shawl but a cloak. Nor had she been wearing a nightgown. Nightgowns are flimsy and white in colour; the girl had been wearing something dark and substantial. And, now I came to consider, her hair had been up, neatly arranged. More evidence against her – a woman fleeing in panic doesn’t have time to put her hair up.
I must have been very close to catching the girl that night and the spirit’s intervention looked more suspicious with every moment.
We came into a damp, dank, stinking darkness. I paused to let my eyes adjust to the gloom. The room was bare except for dirt and dust, and a pile of rags in the corner furthest from the window. A stick was propped against the wall; I used it to prod the rags. A stench of decay rose.
‘She slept here?’
The spirit didn’t answer. McLintoch asked the question again.
‘Yes, sir,’ the spirit agreed.
‘Did the girl bring anything with her? A box or bag or blanket?’
McLintoch dutifully repeated the question.
‘Nothing at all, Mr McLintoch.’
‘Did she say why she was here?’
With a little encouragement from McLintoch, the spirit said she’d thought it an elopement.
‘But you must have heard about the murders,’ I said, trying not to sound confrontational. ‘I know how quick and clever you spirits are when it comes to passing messages.’
‘I was otherwise occupied,’ she said with great dignity, and apparently could not resist adding, ‘There are always some gentlemen who like to pester spirits. You’d think they’d have some respect for the dead, but no, they come blundering in and bother good, god-fearing folks . . .’
‘Now don’t you get yourself in a fash,’ McLintoch said soothingly.
‘I don’t shelter murderers,’ the spirit said indignantly. ‘I don’t have nothing to do with people of that sort. I always was on the right side of the law. You know that, Mr McLintoch.’
McLintoch gave me a speaking look.
‘I never knew nothing about the girl being the one from the bridge until the Watch came and told me.’
I couldn’t understand why she thought I’d believe this. Every spirit in town would have had the news of the murders within minutes of the child screaming.
‘You’ve not found anyone else who saw her here?’ I asked McLintoch.
He shook his head.
‘And there’s no word of her after she left here?’
‘Nay. Nothing.’
McLintoch went through a great charade of wishing the spirit well, and flattering her, leaving her giggling. We threaded our way through the narrow alleys; as we came out on to the Key again, McLintoch said, ‘I’ve been hearing of a fellow from Kent who might have come north. Robs big houses. He woos the maids and gets them to let him in. After he’s had his way with them, he robs the house and is off, leaving them to face the music next morning.’
I shook my head. ‘The Gregsons had no maid – the women did all the work themselves.’
‘Aye,’ McLintoch said with a grimace. ‘Saves money that way. I wasn’t so much thinking he might have robbed the Gregsons. Unless he persuaded the apprentice to give him the keys.’
So that story was already halfway round town was it? I remembered the spirit sitting on Mrs Blackett’s tea-kettle and suspected she’d found the idea too good to miss passing on.
‘If this fellow’s in town,’ McLintoch pursued, ‘he’s no doubt looking at all the rich houses. You’d do well to have a word with your maids, sir, just to put them on their guard. You know the womenfolk can never resist a smooth tongue.’
He’d just proved his point, with the spirit, but I defy anyone to cross swords with either of the maids in our house. They’re young and attractive, but have minds of their own, and clever minds at that. It gave me an odd feeling, however, to be the recipient of advice like this; five months ago I was a jobbing musician living on around sixty pounds a year, now I’m a gentleman with a smart house, servants and an income too large to think about without getting indigestion. And, apparently, robbers are queuing up to plunder me.
‘Oh, and will you tell Mr Demsey we’ve found his buttons,’ McLintoch added. ‘Some lads picked them up in the Lort Burn. Looks like the thief dropped them off the Low Bridge.’
I stared at him. ‘He threw them away?’
‘Probably thought they weren’t worth keeping.’
I wasn’t going to tell Hugh that – it would only add insult to injury. ‘What about the money, and the ring?’
‘Not found those,’ McLintoch said cheerfully. ‘Stands to reason the money won’t turn up and the ring’s probably on the finger of some whore at the Old Man Inn by now.’
I was going to be very late for my next lesson; I thanked him and hurried off. He was wrong about the ring. When I had glimpsed it the night I was attacked, it had been cleaned up but was still very tarnished. I doubted any whore would think it worth having.
I spent a tedious couple of hours listening to more young ladies cultivating the arts in the hope of attracting good husbands. It was difficult not to be distracted by thoughts of Alice Gregson and her unknown lover. I kept thinking of Esther too; I hated parting from her on bad terms. Surely she could see I had a right to be concerned about her health. Was there time to get back home? Would she not just be more irritated if I dashed back to check up on her? Damn it, what was I supposed to do?
I had a message from Armstrong after my third lesson, agreeing to my allowing Mrs Fletcher in the Gregsons’ house on condition I took ‘great care to ensure she touched nothing and took nothing out of the house’. A suspicious man, Armstrong – he’s seen too much. By this time, I was ravenous. My next pupil lived on Butcher Bank and that put me in mind of the seller of buttered barley at the Cale Cross, which stands at the foot of the bank.
The sun was lowering rapidly in the sky and gleamed in my eyes all the way down the street to the Cross, dazzling me. A cart loomed out of the glare as I started to cross the road; I jerked back to safety, and bumped into someone who had come up on me from behind. I turned to apologize – and saw Joseph Kane.
He stood looking at me, his handsome face torn between a leer and a smile. ‘Charlie Patterson,’ he said
, in what was plainly a deliberate attempt to bring me down to size. His southern accent was very pronounced. ‘You’ve gone up in the world.’ His gaze played over my clothes. ‘I remember the fellow who didn’t have a shilling to pay for me taking care of him on board ship.’
Kane’s taking care of me had consisted largely in leaving me alone. I said carelessly, ‘Would you care for it now?’
He flushed. His own clothes suggested he was not particularly poor, but not particularly well-off either, and he certainly didn’t like me playing the wealthy gentleman with him. I didn’t particularly like myself at that moment either.
‘I heard you’d married money,’ he said, not troubling himself to hide his contempt. ‘And that you fancy yourself a fine upholder of law and justice.’
I didn’t see why I should occupy my time trading insults with a man I disliked and who plainly despised me. I said, ‘I’m sorry, I have a lesson to give,’ and turned away.
‘I need your help,’ he said angrily.
I turned back and looked at him. He was stony-faced.
‘You want to find a murderer,’ he said, ‘and so do I. And I think we’re looking for the same fellow.’
Seventeen
Find yourself one of the young men about town, Philippe – he will show you where all the best entertainment is – the cock-fighting, bear-baiting, &c.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 20 January 1737]
I abandoned the thought of buttered barley and took Kane to the coffee house where I could find a spirit to send a message warning my next pupil I’d be delayed. Trying to juggle lessons and this investigation was beginning to be well-nigh impossible. Luckily, tomorrow should be easier; I usually teach in the country on Thursdays and in this weather I’d not be able to get out of town. The town was virtually snow-bound, which at least meant the murderer couldn’t leave either.
Kane looked around the coffee house contemptuously. ‘Fine lot of gentlemen in here.’ He threw himself down into a seat by the window, pre-empting an elderly man who was making his slow way towards it. The gentleman stopped dead, with a look of baffled fury.
I told the girl to bring coffee and game pie; Kane declined the pie and asked for beer. ‘I’m a plain man,’ he said, sneering. ‘I like plain food.’
There was no point in getting angry with him; that was what he wanted. I sat down opposite. ‘Who’s this fellow you are looking for?’
‘A fellow from Rochester in Kent, by the name of Thomas Hitchings.’ Kane gave a direct and insulting stare to a merchant who was talking too loudly about his latest deal. ‘Does he think the whole world wants to know how clever he is?’
I thought that very probable. ‘What’s this man done?’
‘Made himself plenty of money. Poses as an exciseman and makes up to the maids in the big houses. Then they let him in for a roll in the hay and when they’re sleeping he helps himself to the candlesticks and jewellery.’
This began to sound familiar; I said, ‘You’ve talked to the Watch about this.’
‘Spoke to a Scotch fellow – ex sailor, he says.’ Those last words were dripping with disbelief, which was unfair to McLintoch, who’d sailed on the coal boats more years than I’d been alive. Kane ignored the serving girl who brought our food and drink. ‘He said to see you. He says you’re the one as knows about these things.’
‘I’m taking an interest in the Gregson murders, certainly. It doesn’t sound like your man was involved. The Gregsons had no maid and not much was taken. The inquest decided the daughter killed them.’
Kane downed beer in a long draught. He snorted derisively. ‘A girl? Stabbing a grown man? Never! My man’s killed before. Twice. Householders who had the audacity to try and stop him.’
‘Newcastle’s a long way from Kent. What makes you think he’s here?’
‘The last killing made the county too hot – everyone was looking out for him. He went up to London, got on a coal boat. That was two, three, weeks back. I found traces of him in Whitby – he hired a horse there, rode north. He’s here all right.’
‘If I were him, I’d be trying to get a boat out to the Colonies,’ I said. ‘Start again where no one knows him.’
‘Hitchings is too sure of himself to do that.’ Kane poured more beer. ‘Taunt the law and get away with it, that’s the game he’s playing. But no one gets the better of me.’
I cradled the coffee dish in my hands, watching him. I’d forgotten quite how obnoxious he was. ‘What’s your interest in finding him?’
‘Money.’ He sneered. ‘The man he shot has a brother who wants a rope round his neck and he’s paying me to put it there.’ So Kane had left the sea and turned to thief-taking. He put the tankard down with a snap. ‘And I ain’t having no interference from gentlemen like you, Patterson. You’re doing this for the fun of it. I’m doing it to keep food in my stomach and a roof over my head. No interference!’
If he went on this way, he’d get no cooperation either. I said, ‘What does this man look like?’
‘The sort of fellow who appeals to the ladies.’ I presumed he meant the man was young and handsome, and was startled when he went on. ‘Rough-looking, big, strong. Not the prettiest of fellows but he’s full of charm, sweet words and big talk.’
‘His age?’
‘Middling. There’s a groom who saw him clearly. Taller than you, much taller, dark hair and eyes.’
‘He doesn’t sound the sort that could pass as an excise man. They’re usually more gentlemanly.’
‘He can put on an educated voice when he chooses.’
‘But he’s definitely not a gentleman himself ?’
‘Born in the gutter. Mother a whore. He’s here, Patterson, I know he is, and the way this snow’s come down, he won’t be able to get out. I have him and I’m not letting him slip through my fingers!’
I said placatingly, ‘I’ve no wish to stand in your way. But I’m far from certain your man was involved in the Gregsons’ deaths.’
He leant forward. ‘It bears all his hallmarks!’
I shook my head. ‘I do suspect there were two people involved but your man doesn’t sound the sort to appeal to a young delicately reared society miss.’ Or perhaps he might have; he’d be well out of Alice’s experience. He might have attracted her by his air of danger. Roughness has a power of its own.
‘That Watch fellow says there’ve been suspicious characters hanging around, and they say you was robbed and the murder house ransacked last night.’
‘Monday night.’
‘That was my man! Out for the valuables he left behind. Come on, Patterson!’ he said impatiently. ‘He took the key from you – that’s the way he does it. So he can lock himself in and no one outside the wiser.’
He had a point. I was not convinced, but it could do no harm to keep an open mind. I wondered if Fowler might know something of this Kentish fellow – he has contacts in the rougher parts of town. I was not about to give his name to Kane, however; I said, ‘I can recommend places where men like him might go . . .’
‘I’ve tried the taverns,’ Kane said. ‘I haven’t been wasting my time, you know, waiting on your lordship’s favour.’
He really was abominable. ‘Including the Old Man Inn on the Key? And the chares behind the inn are a hotbed of crime – if he’s hiding anywhere, he’ll be in there.’
‘I want to know everything as happens,’ Kane said, without troubling himself to thank me for my advice. ‘As soon as you know, I want to know.’ He drained his beer and stood up, knocking the chair back into that of the gentleman behind him and taking no notice of his protests. ‘And once we’ve got our hands on him, I’m taking him back to Kent. He’ll hang there.’
He walked out, treading on someone’s foot on his way.
More lessons. More pupils who hadn’t practised since the last time I saw them, but swore they’d assiduously sat at the harpsichord for hours; malicious fate guaranteed I had none of my good
pupils that day. I wondered how reliable Kane’s story was, whether a flighty young girl would have fallen for an older, tougher man, whether Esther was feeling better. If only I could get home.
But I’d promised to meet Mrs Fletcher and in the gloom of the early winter evening, I walked along the Key, shivering in the piercing cold despite my greatcoat. No one was lingering for long in the open; even the whores were indoors. On the bridge, the snow had been worn down, the cobbles showing through; a frost was settling and making the cobbles treacherously slippery. Mrs Fletcher, wrapped up in a thick cloak, was pacing about the road; she said with a lift of her chin, ‘You’re late, sir.’
I wasn’t going to argue with her. ‘Business.’
The watchman at the door of the shop was yawning. ‘No sign of them spirits yet, sir. Reckon they’ll come tonight. When they’re killed violent, they always come at night.’
I unlocked the shop, and lit the candles on the shelf beside the door. They were very short now, one of them little more than a stub; I hunted behind the counter and found a box of new candles, lit them from the old.
Mrs Fletcher had followed me in; I looked up to see her very still in the middle of the room. She shivered. ‘It’s cold.’ She didn’t sound her usual self; she was subdued and obviously unnerved. ‘I can feel the dead,’ she said. ‘Like a heavy weight.’
I hadn’t expected anything of that kind from her; she seemed too prosaic a woman for such fancyings. She walked round the counter to stare at the stained mattress that still lay there, and the dark marks on the floorboards. ‘We all do things we later regret, do we not? Do you think the killer is regretting this even now?’
‘I don’t have the least idea.’
‘Or perhaps,’ she said, more lightly, ‘he’s even now delighting in getting away without anyone suspecting him.’
I let the pronoun pass without comment. ‘The spirits may know something.’ Despite myself, I shuddered. ‘It feels almost as if there’s a thunderstorm in the offing.’
She strolled about the room, fingering pictures on the wall, setting an overturned chair upright. ‘I can’t tell if anything is missing from the shop but I suppose my father must have kept records of everything here. Of course, the apprentice may have altered them.’
