by Roz Southey
I went after Joseph Kane, slipping and sliding down the steep Side to the Sandhill. In the busy centre of town, the snow had been worn away almost entirely; carts rattled across the cobbles, a cluster of fisherwomen stood gossiping. I glanced in the coffee house window as I passed and spotted Hugh leafing through a newspaper, but went on to the Golden Fleece.
A coach was standing in the yard, an elderly man arguing over it with the landlord. ‘Devil take it! If I want to leave, I will leave!’
‘But it’s late,’ the landlord protested, ‘and they say the snow on Gateshead Fell is impassable.’
‘Then I’ll go north,’ the old man said obstinately. ‘Or east or west!’
One of the ostlers was lounging against the wall of the yard; he nodded at the elderly man. ‘He expects me to let him take horses out in this weather! They’ll break their legs!’
‘I’m looking for Joseph Kane,’ I said impatiently. ‘The thief-taker.’
‘He ain’t here. Went off to Shields again this morning.’
‘Shields,’ I repeated, with a feeling of dread.
‘Something about catching a ship.’
I was too late.
Hugh looked over the top of his newspaper, as I sank into the chair opposite him, thankful for the warmth of the coffee house’s fire. ‘Heard about the uproar last night,’ he said. ‘I should have come after all. Entertaining, was it?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Gregson always was a sour individual.’ He folded the newspaper. ‘Wouldn’t like to be trapped in there with him. Did any of them know anything?’
‘Never got the chance to ask.’ A trio of gentlemen hurried in and went straight across to the fire to toast their backs. ‘Esther had a word with the daughter, but the girl burst into tears and there wasn’t time to calm her down. I’m going to talk to the apprentice.’ I glanced at the coffee house’s clock. ‘Very soon. Hugh, I think I know who the accomplice was.’
He sat up. ‘Who?’
‘Joseph Kane. I went to the Fleece to ask him a few questions and found he’s gone off to Shields. Left this morning. He said he’d be back but there’s nothing left in his room.’
He whistled. ‘Devil take it, I should have expected that. Handsome fellow, just the rough sort to appeal to the ladies. And the only proof we have that he’s following a thief is what he himself says. How do you know it’s him?’
I told him about my encounter with Alice. ‘She’s certainly not telling me the whole truth,’ I said, ‘and it’s obviously in her interest to convince me the accomplice is the murderer. She wants me to leave her alone and she’s holding on to this fellow’s name as a bargaining tool. But she gave me enough information to guess the truth.’
‘You’ve got to follow him!’ Hugh urged. ‘He’s not going to get a ship in this weather. He’ll still be at Shields.’
‘It’s getting late, Hugh!’ I protested. ‘I’ll never get to Shields before dark. And it’s starting to snow again.’ I got up. ‘I must go. I’ve a meeting with Fowler on the bridge. To talk to the apprentice.’
Hugh raised an eyebrow. ‘Fowler knew the apprentice, did he?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and resisted the temptation to add in the biblical sense.
Snow danced in the wind; the cold seemed even more intense as I crossed the Sandhill and climbed the slope on to the bridge. A woman with the hem of her petticoats muddied with snow trudged towards me; a man and a dog drove a pig into town. The shops were open, and I saw through Fleming’s window a young girl looking intently at a book.
Fowler was leaning against the wall of Gregson’s shop, as if merely idling. He said, ‘Keep your voice low,’ and jerked his head at the upper windows.
‘Any sign of them?’
‘He’s gone quiet,’ someone else whispered. The faint gleam of a new spirit hovered on the door jamb, just below Fowler’s eye-line. ‘Hasn’t said a word since the house was boarded up. Hasn’t come down either – stays up in his room.’
‘Ned? I’m Charles Patterson. I’m grateful to you for talking to me.’
The spirit was startled, as if it hadn’t expected this civility. ‘Oh. Yes.’ He sounded shyly pleased.
‘What about his wife and daughter?’
‘He’s put them in the room at the back. Won’t let them out.’
I glanced at Fowler but he was stony-faced. ‘Has he said anything to you?’
The spirit sounded rueful. ‘He don’t care about me, long as I don’t make too much noise. I’ve been having a word with the neighbours.’
I tried to be tactful. ‘Saturday night – you don’t remember —’ I cursed my own ineptness.
The spirit said with a wavering voice, ‘Not a thing, sir. I was asleep.’
He sounded on the verge of tears; I hurried on. ‘Did you ever think Alice Gregson might do something like this?’
‘No, sir.’ The spirit glowed a little brighter; I thought that, young as he’d been, he was resilient. ‘Thought she would run off. Went on about London until we was all sick with it.’
‘Did she have any particular friends here?’
The spirit thought about this. Snow drifted across the bridge; I shivered. Fowler shifted into the shelter of the doorway. ‘Said she knew a spirit or two. But she didn’t sound like she thought much of them. I think she might have been expecting someone, mind. Kept looking out the window.’
I started to speak and barely managed to prevent myself mentioning Gregson by name, glanced uneasily up at the dark, boarded, upper windows. There was nothing to prevent Gregson sliding on to the outside of the building and eavesdropping. ‘Did your master have any trouble? Anyone threatening him?’
‘Never heard of nothing like that.’
‘What about money? Did he have any in the house?’
‘In the cellar, sir. Usually kept about ten or fifteen pounds there but I reckon there might have been more. Couple of gents had just paid their bills on the Saturday morning.’
Fifty-two pounds, Alice had said. And Gregson had not had time to get it out of harm’s way.
‘I’ve been down to the cellar,’ the spirit said. ‘There were two boxes and the one with the takings in it is gone, and the other’s empty.’
‘Do you know what was in the other box?’
‘More money, I suppose.’ The spirit laughed. ‘Never knew a man with more money and less inclination to spend it. Took weeks to get my wages out of him.’
Fowler muttered something I didn’t ask him to repeat.
‘Do you know where he got the second box from? Or when?’
The spirit hummed and haahed. ‘Middle of the year, it was.’
‘June?’
‘Maybe. I can’t remember. No, wait! It was the day we went to the fair!’ The spirit appealed to Fowler. ‘Do you remember that?’ Its voice trembled; it said, ‘I was so happy . . .’
‘Don’t sniffle, Ned!’ Fowler said, roughly.
I held my breath but the sharpness seemed to work wonders on the spirit; it continued, more strongly, ‘We was coming back and I said I had to hurry or Master would have me in chains! And we saw flames above the houses – a big fire. I wanted to go and have a look but didn’t dare. And I came back, and lay down on my mattress and couldn’t sleep, I’d had such a good time. That’s why I was awake when Master came in. Well gone midnight, it was.’
I chose my words carefully, not wishing to influence the spirit. ‘The mercer William Threlkeld was one of your master’s customers, wasn’t he?’
‘Lord, yes, sir. We did out his entire shop and house. Last April or May, I reckon. He’d had a lot of building work done and had to redecorate. It was his house burnt down that day of the fair.’
There was a noise behind those boarded upper windows; the spirit said waveringly, ‘He’s moving around, sir.’ I held my breath, looking up. The evening was starting to draw in now, the twilight straining my eyes. Fowler muttered; snow settled on his dark uncovered head and the shoulders of his greatcoat.
<
br /> No more sounds. I said, ‘If anything happens, Ned, you are to go at once. Look after yourself – there’s no point in antagonizing him.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the spirit said gratefully.
I lowered my voice still further. ‘Did Alice ever do anything suspicious?’
‘I knew she was up to something as soon as she arrived,’ the spirit said scornfully. ‘Poking her head into every corner, saying she just wanted to find her way around. She looked at all the business books – the letter books especially. She said she wanted to know what her father had written about her to the lawyers in London.’
‘Did she go into the cellar?’
‘Didn’t she!’ Ned said a little too loudly, with the indignation of youth. He lowered his voice again. ‘I saw her taking the key off the wall.’
‘The key to the cellar?’
‘To the box,’ the spirit said. ‘I said, that’s the money box key, you shouldn’t be touching that. And she said, mind your own business. I said, the master won’t be pleased. And she said, You can’t tell me what to do. Real annoyed, she was.’
I stared at the faint gleam. Was that argument the cause of the lad’s death? Had Alice taken offence at his interference? Was that all there was to it?
‘There’s a man you might have seen her talking to. A dark man, in his forties, handsome in a rough sort of way. A London man. Speaking with an accent not much different from Fowler’s.’
‘Don’t remember anyone like that,’ the spirit said doubtfully.
‘No one of that description ever came in the shop?’
‘Never saw no one.’
More noise upstairs. Prolonged this time. Fowler took hold of my arm. ‘Come away.’
‘Don’t leave me,’ the spirit wavered. ‘I don’t want to be left alone. Please . . .’
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Fowler said in that rough tone. ‘Let him quieten down again first.’
‘But—’
‘You calling me a liar? I say I’ll be back, I’ll be back.’
Fowler drew me off to the other side of the bridge, turned his shoulder to the snow-laden wind. ‘I’ve done your asking around,’ he said, in a voice almost as rough as the one he’d used to the lad. ‘No one’s heard of this exciseman from London. And no one’s been offering old coins for scrap, either.’ He hunched in his thick coat. ‘The thief’ll be taking the coins off to London, soon as the snow clears.’
Or, I thought gloomily, on to a ship at Shields. Possibly at this very moment. ‘Thank you for asking.’
He thrust his hands into his pockets; he was shivering almost as much as I was. ‘His Lordship wants to see you.’
‘I was up there only this morning.’
‘You should have watched your mouth. Something you said set him thinking.’
I began to feel more hopeful. Heron’s no fool – perhaps he’d heard something, or come up with some useful idea. ‘Did he say when he wanted to see me?’
‘At once.’ Fowler mimicked Heron’s patrician tones with cruel accuracy. ‘You know how he is. Wants everything straight away.’
I nodded. ‘Well, he’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen my wife all day and I’m cold and hungry and thirsty, and I’m going home. I’ll go up in an hour or two. Are you going back now?’
‘In an hour or two,’ Fowler said mockingly, and walked back to Gregson’s shop.
Thirty-One
Everyone loves a good intrigue.
[Letter from Louis de Glabre to his friend Philippe
Froidevaux, 22 January 1737]
Esther was in the estate room at the back of the house, sighing over account books; she looked pale, but a plate scattered with crumbs was at her elbow, next to a wineglass, so she’d evidently been eating, which was reassuring. She looked up and said at once, ‘Tell me everything.’
I perched on the edge of her table, shifting the candles back for safety’s sake. The curtains were undrawn and the white garden beyond the windows glowed eerily in the twilight. ‘There’s not a lot to tell. Except that you were right. It’s looking very much as if the accomplice is Joseph Kane.’
She listened intently as I told her of my encounter with Alice Gregson and did not look happy.
‘I do not see how you can be sure of anything she says. She is simply trying to blame everything on the accomplice.’
‘And he’ll blame everything on her.’ I nodded. ‘And I admit Alice became ridiculously vague when it came to the point of the killings. There’s a great deal she’s not telling me, but some of it I think is reliable.’
Esther reached for her wine glass and was plainly annoyed when she found it empty. I rang the bell for Tom. ‘It is much more likely that a man carried out the killings,’ she mused.
Tom came, and I asked for more wine and something to eat. While he was away fetching it, Esther toyed with her ledger and mused over what I’d told her, questioning me closely on some details. After Tom had returned with the wine, she said, ‘Two Alices – that is not a pleasant thought. I wonder how they met.’
‘By chance, I should imagine.’ I cut a wedge of bread and topped it with cheese. ‘Actually, I’ve only ever seen the other Alice in her own world. I wonder if she can step through.’
‘Does it matter?’ Esther sneaked a piece of cheese, murmured in appreciation. ‘I once travelled with you between worlds – surely she could be brought back and forth by our Alice?’
‘I suppose so. But there’s still too much unexplained. Why, for instance, leave the child alive to raise the alarm?’
Esther cut off a corner of bread with the knife Tom had brought; she must be feeling a great deal better. ‘Perhaps that was the point. The murderer wanted her to raise the alarm.’
‘In heaven’s name, why?’
Esther mused. ‘Suppose this Richard – or whatever his name is – wanted Alice to be trapped in the house and blamed for the killings. He roused the child then ran out of the front door, thinking Alice could not escape.’
‘But there’s still the rope,’ I protested. ‘Alice knotted the rope in advance. Why?’
We sat in silence for a moment. I was thinking that Esther’s theory worked the other way round too, that Alice could have roused the child to trap her lover. Damn it, which of them had done the killings? Did this Richard really exist or had Alice been cleverer than I thought, and persuaded me to believe exactly what she wanted. No, there was indeed a man involved – the one stealing the antiquities. Was that Richard, or someone else entirely? And what about the Alice from the other world? What was her part in all this?
I drew the curtains against the chill evening; the room became warm and cosy in the candlelight. ‘Charles,’ Esther murmured, ‘Why don’t we just have a quiet evening at home and talk? It seem such an age since we simply sat together.’
She was regarding me with her mischievous smile and I wanted to sink down on the sofa, banish the servants, and pretend the Gregsons had not been killed.
‘I have to go out again,’ I said wearily. ‘Heron wants to see me. Something I said this morning has given him pause, evidently.’
Esther sighed. ‘I suppose there won’t be much time until this matter is settled. Afterwards then?’
‘I promise.’
‘I won’t let you forget,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I presume you won’t have time to see Mrs Fletcher? She was here this morning, trying to get information out of me. She said to tell you particularly that she wants to know everything that is happening.’
‘She’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’
As I bent to kiss her farewell, Esther raised her hand to caress my cheek; I angled my head to rub against her fingers. She laughed softly. ‘Send Heron a message saying you cannot come tonight.’
I was tempted, very tempted, but shook my head. ‘He’ll only blame Fowler for not making the urgency of his request clear.’ I kissed her palm. ‘Besides, he may indeed be able to help me clear this matter up – and the sooner I can do that the better.’
For the second time that day, I tramped up Northumberland Street. In the dark this time, although it wasn’t particularly late. It was bitterly cold and I shivered all the way despite my greatcoat. The last snowfall hadn’t come to much, and what remained lingered only at the sides of the street; carts had worn the snow in the middle to dirty slush and, in some places, to nothing at all. On Heron’s lawns, however, the snow still lay in a thick layer, pristine white except for a line of prints made by a cat.
The butler showed me into Heron’s study again at the back of the house. In the candlelight, the heavy wainscoting and tall bookcases lurked in shadows. Heron was standing in front of the fire with a glass of wine in his hand; a salver on the table held another unused glass. When I was announced, he nodded dismissal at the butler and turned to pour me wine. He said, ‘It is time to put an end to this matter.’
My heart sank at once; that brisk tone never portended anything good.
‘This man is plainly collecting all the antiquities found in the mercer’s shop,’ Heron said. ‘He has already made one attempt to get into this house. I suggest we encourage him to make another.’
I’d been right to be concerned. ‘You mean we should set a trap for him?’
‘Exactly.’ Heron gestured at the tall windows that, if I remembered correctly, led out on to a terrace overlooking the garden at the back of the house. ‘We will leave a window unlocked into this room. Then we will keep watch and when he walks in we will apprehend him.’
How easy it sounded. But I’d done something similar myself about a year back and knew that things didn’t always go to plan. ‘We?’
‘Myself, you and Fowler.’
Well, I had no faith in my own ability in a fight, but I’d seen Heron at swordplay and wouldn’t like to have to face him. The real difficulty would be keeping Fowler from shooting the thief, if he thought he’d anything to do with Ned’s death. He boasts he never misses.
Heron was raising an eyebrow at my hesitation; I said, ‘There are so many things that can go wrong.’ Knowing already I’d never talk him out of it.
