At the top of the hill he paused to look at the rising smoke of the city in the distance. London was home to so many embittered souls. Viola led him down towards Peckham Rye. Carts and carriages rattled past them, heading down in the direction of the market. Sam and Viola turned into a side road lined with newly built terraced houses. They walked in silence. Eventually Viola pointed to one and said with a huge sob, ‘Here. My Tom lives here.’
Sam waited for her to stop crying.
When she had pulled herself together, he knocked on the door. A sombre-looking man opened it. He was tall with red hair and a pale, freckled face. He wore a suit, although neither the material nor the cut suggested a wealthy man. He looked uncomfortable enough in it to lead Sam to the conclusion that it was new, to him at least. From the wailing, moaning noise that Viola was making, Sam knew this was Tom.
‘My name is Sam Toop,’ said Sam. ‘I have business with a Tom Melia?’
‘That’s my name. Do I know you?’ said the young man.
‘No. I live on the other side of the hill.’
‘Then you wish to sell me something?’
‘I simply ask for a few minutes of your time.’
‘I’m afraid time is one thing I am short on right now. I’m already late.’ He stepped out and closed the door behind him.
‘Perhaps we can talk as we walk,’ suggested Sam.
Tom seemed more amused than annoyed by Sam’s insistence. ‘This business you have with me cannot wait?’
‘You must tell him now,’ urged Viola.
‘I’d be grateful to get it over and done with,’ said Sam.
‘Very well. Although, I am only walking to the church and it isn’t far.’
‘The church?’ said Sam.
‘I am getting married today.’
‘Today?’ he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder to glare at Viola.
‘That’s why it couldn’t wait,’ she said. ‘We have to stop it.’
‘You seem surprised,’ said Tom. ‘People get married all the time, you know.’
‘It’s just . . . I wouldn’t want to upset someone on their wedding day,’ he said, speaking to both Viola and Tom.
‘I didn’t realise upsetting me was your intention,’ said Tom, with a smile. ‘It makes me think twice about allowing you to accompany me.’
‘He promised to love me,’ moaned Viola.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam. ‘You must think me most peculiar.’
‘Yes,’ replied Tom. ‘I do rather.’
Last night’s downpour meant Tom and Sam had to jump over large muddy puddles on the way to the church, which Viola walked straight through, without disturbance or reflection.
‘It’s a lovely day to get married,’ said Sam. ‘May I ask the name of the girl you are to wed?’
‘Her name is Perdita,’ replied Tom. ‘A more beautiful, honest and kind girl you could never imagine.’
‘That harlot . . . That double-crossing witch!’ Viola muttered.
‘Then you’re a lucky man,’ said Sam, ignoring her. ‘How did you find her?’
‘I have known her family all my life,’ admitted Tom.
‘What about me?’ demanded Viola.
‘You’ve been sweethearts since childhood?’ asked Sam.
‘I . . .’ Tom faltered. ‘I have never wanted to marry any other girl.’
‘Liar,’ screamed the ghost. ‘Liar!’
‘There was never any other for you?’ enquired Sam.
Tom stopped walking. They were standing at a corner where they could see the steeple of the church only a couple of streets away. ‘Is this your urgent business with me?’ he asked, the smile having fallen from his face.
‘I don’t mean to interrogate you,’ said Sam. ‘But I suppose when I grow up I would like to find a love of my own. I’m intrigued to know how such unions come about.’
‘I was engaged to her sister,’ admitted Tom.
Whether it was Sam’s youth or his disarming manner, this was not the first time he had persuaded a total stranger to open up his heart to him in such a way.
‘Ha!’ proclaimed Viola triumphantly. ‘The truth. Finally.’
‘But I thought you said you always wanted to marry Perdita,’ said Sam. ‘How did you find yourself engaged to her sister?’
‘It was a kindness,’ said Tom. ‘But it doesn’t always seem so.’
‘A cruelty, more like,’ said Viola.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Sam.
‘I proposed to Perdita three years ago to this day,’ said Tom. ‘I knew she felt the same way, but she would not marry me. She told me that her sister had confided in her that she had feelings for me also. I swear I did nothing to encourage them.’ Tom paused, as though awaiting further questioning. Sam said nothing so he continued. ‘Her sister was never long for this world. All her childhood she was plagued by illness and Perdita knew she had precious few years left with us. She told me that if I truly loved her, I would put her out of mind and make her sister happy in whatever time she had remaining.’
‘She ordered you to love her sister?’ said Sam.
Tom nodded solemnly. ‘And so I did. For Perdita. I told Viola I loved her. I told her we would marry. I wrapped up my feelings and became an actor, playing the part of Viola’s lover. Every day it broke my heart afresh, but Perdita was right. I made her sister happy. Was it right? I don’t know.’
Sam’s eyes flickered over to Viola. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed she knew this to be true.
‘If my opinion counts for anything,’ said Sam, ‘then I’d say it does sound like a kindness. You gave hope to she who had none.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tom. ‘A strange young man you are that you should appear like this to tell me so, and on my wedding day of all days, but for some reason, I do appreciate your opinion. It has not been easy keeping this secret. The gossips have me as a fickle, cruel, shallow man. Perdita and I will move away once we are wed. We’ll start anew.’
The three of them continued the slow trudge to the church. Neither Tom nor Sam spoke a word as they walked side by side. Viola walked behind them silently.
They arrived at the gate that led up to the church. ‘We’re here,’ said Tom. ‘And you have not told me of this business of yours.’
‘It hardly seems important now,’ said Sam. ‘Please let me wish you the best with your marriage.’
‘And good luck finding your own love,’ said Tom.
‘That is some way off yet,’ said Sam.
‘Well, when it happens I only hope your journey to love is less strange and heartbreaking than mine has been.’
They parted with a handshake and Tom took the path to the church door. An icy breeze picked up and rustled the leafless branches of the trees in the graveyard.
There came a knocking, unlike any earthly sound, but one which Sam had heard many times before. It was the sound ghosts heard before they stepped through the Unseen Door.
‘That’s for me, isn’t it?’ said Viola.
Sam nodded.
‘I’m scared.’
‘Yes,’ said Sam.
He had no words of comfort for Viola Trump. She was about to step through a door that led somewhere beyond Sam’s imagination. He expected no thank you and received none.
The dead were rarely grateful for his help.
10
The Boy Tanner
The journey was even worse than Lapsewood had expected. First, the indignity of the Paternoster Pipe, his smoky self intermingled with all the other commuters. Enforcers and Prowlers were heading out into the living world or returning with shackled spirits destined for the Vault. Lapsewood was relieved when he flew up and out of the chimney.
Entering the physical world was a shock. Lapsewood felt things he hadn’t felt in decades, yet the elements had no effect upon him and the cold, wind and drizzle passed through him as though he were nothing.
Hazy lamplights and fires burned within the dense fog that hung over London. Lapsewo
od drifted down with the raindrops and wondered how much his fellow spirits were responsible for the thick fog enveloping the city and how much of it was the winter fuel, burnt to battle the biting cold of the night.
He rematerialised in a cobbled backstreet. He rubbed his temples to rid himself of the spinning sensation in his head. He had picked a quiet street, hoping to have a moment to gather his thoughts but, as he stood gazing at the blackened brickwork that surrounded him, two men stumbled through him, giving him a brief but disturbing glimpse of the inside of one of their heads. Both men reeked of alcohol.
‘Why not the Old King?’ said one.
‘I’ve not been allowed in there since that incident with the landlord’s missus. What about the Trafalgar?’ said the other.
‘Neither of us are allowed in there.’
‘Then the Coach and Horses it is. Don’t forget, it’s your round.’
‘My round? I bought the last one.’
The two men staggered to the end of the alley and disappeared on to the main thoroughfare. Lapsewood had got so used to the quiet life in the Bureau he had forgotten what the living world was like, how full of smells and noises, sights and sounds. It was awful. He would have felt nauseous if he still had a stomach. He followed the two men out into the street.
The early evening darkness of winter had led him to believe it was much later than it was, so he was surprised to find the Strand so alive with activity. Tradespeople were selling their goods. All manner of folk were making their way in search of food, entertainment or one of the many diversions provided by the city. Lapsewood felt fearful of stepping out into such a bustling street. He pulled out the London Tenancy List and looked at it, but with no map of the city how was he to find these addresses?
General Colt was right. He was unqualified for this job. He felt sick with dread. He needed somewhere to sit down, somewhere to gather his thoughts and decide upon the best course of action. He saw the two men from the alley go into a public house and decided to follow them, if only to get away from the chaos of the street. Out of habit, he tried to open the door, but his hand went straight through and he stepped inside.
It was even more chaotic and lively inside the pub than in the street. Everyone shouted over each other. With so many people talking he wondered if there was anyone left to listen to what they had to say. The place was full of the thundering laughs of the men and the high, shrill shrieks of the women, all of them either drunk or on their way. In life, Lapsewood had never been one for drinking. Liquor represented everything he found unsettling about life: its unruly wildness, its loss of inhibition.
In amongst the throng his attention was drawn to a small boy. For a moment he wondered whether he might be a pickpocket, but his translucence revealed him to be a ghost. The boy was standing next to the two men from the alley. He noticed Lapsewood looking at him, winked, and nudged the smaller man’s arm, sending the contents of his glass over his friend.
‘What did you do that for?’ demanded the other.
‘Me? You knocked my hand,’ shouted the first.
‘You think I wanted to dowse myself in beer?’
‘No, I think you’re a clumsy oaf and you owe me a fresh pint.’
‘I already paid for the last two, you skinflint.’
The first man punched the other on the nose. The other came back at the first with a blow to the stomach. Neither noticed the small boy who had caused the argument in the first place. The fight spread like fire through a dry wooden cabin, and soon fists were flying in all directions until the entire pub had descended into a chaotic brawl.
Lapsewood watched as the boy slipped unnoticed through the crowd and straight through a brick wall. ‘Hey,’ he cried.
Lapsewood followed him into a side alley.
‘Hey,’ he repeated.
‘What?’ replied the boy.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Let me see your polter-licence,’ demanded Lapsewood. ‘You can’t cause such a ruckus in a public place without permission from your local administrative officer, plus the signature from his superior and a stamp from the Department of Polter-Activity. All of which is a considerable amount of work for the sake of a moment’s havoc.’
The boy laughed. ‘A moment’s havoc,’ he repeated. ‘I like that. You got a way with words, mister. I’m Tanner.’
Lapsewood was unsure what was so funny. ‘I think I should speak to your local administrative officer,’ he said.
Tanner laughed. ‘I’m a free spirit, mate.’
‘Even free spirits have assigned local administrative officers. Show me your paperwork.’
‘I ain’t got no paperwork and you ain’t no Enforcer. That’s plain enough to see.’
The colour would have drained from Lapsewood’s face had there been any in the first place. He followed Tanner along the alleyway, down a set of steps on to a road by the side of the Thames. The river was dark, murky and uninviting. He lowered his voice. ‘You mean, you’re a Rogue ghost?’
‘I didn’t answer to no one in the last life and I ain’t gonna start in this one,’ said the boy. ‘I ain’t ready to go through that door yet. There’s too much fun to be had here.’
‘By “fun” I presume you mean contraventions of the extensive regulations regarding polter-activity and necessary haunting?’
‘I suppose I would mean that if I knew what half of it meant.’
‘How did you even manage to knock that gentleman’s arm without a polter-licence?’
‘You Bureau lot are always on about licences, but poltering just takes concentration. You ain’t gonna find a better poltergeist than me, licence or no licence. I’ve even unlocked doors. That takes real skill.’
‘How have you avoided capture by the Enforcers?’
‘I’m too quick for them clumsy oafs,’ said Tanner. ‘What about you then, Words? What you doing down here in the grime?’
‘I have a special mission.’
‘What mission?’ asked Tanner.
‘I’m working for the Housing Department. I’m looking for a ghost called Doris McNally. She’s an Outreach Worker for housebound spirits.’
‘How you plan on finding her, then?’
‘I have a copy of the same list of haunted buildings she was working from. I plan to check each one and ask the Residents when they last saw her.’
‘You don’t want to be messing about with haunted houses these days, mate,’ said Tanner.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Black Rot.’
‘The what?’
‘The Black Rot. All us Rogues know about it,’ said Tanner. ‘It don’t surprise me it hasn’t reached the Bureau, though. You’ll all be searching for a form to fill in about it.’
‘What is it?’ asked Lapsewood.
They were walking along the riverbank. Tanner was casually strolling without a care for the living people passing through him, while Lapsewood was leaping around trying to avoid everyone heading towards him, constantly looking over his shoulder for people coming from behind.
‘The Black Rot sets in when a house loses its ghost, then it traps the next ghost to step inside,’ said Tanner.
‘How can a house lose its ghost?’ asked Lapsewood, wondering why General Colt hadn’t mentioned any of this. ‘And how will we find Doris if we can’t risk entering the buildings?’
‘We? I ain’t helping you.’
‘But I need help locating these addresses.’
‘Not my problem, chum.’
‘You are a Rogue spirit, an illegal ghost, without licence or authorisation,’ said Lapsewood. ‘If you don’t help I’ll make sure that you’re tracked down and thrown into the Vault.’
‘Yeah, right? By an Enforcer? Good luck with that. They never caught me yet.’
‘By a Prowler, then.’
‘Prowlers wouldn’t bother with a littl’un like me.’
Lapsewood stopped walking, failing to see the taxicab beh
ind which went straight through him, giving him a fleeting, horrible glimpse of the inside of the cab and its passengers. He shuddered.
Tanner laughed. ‘All right. I’ll help you out. Not because of your threats but ’cause I’ve always had a soft spot for helpless creatures. Give us that list.’
Lapsewood handed it to him. Tanner examined it closely.
‘Looks like Drury Lane Theatre is the nearest one. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.’
‘But where is it?’ asked Lapsewood.
Tanner threw him another pitying look. ‘You never been to the theatre?’
‘Well, no, I . . .’
Tanner laughed. ‘A ghost that’s never even lived. If that ain’t funny I don’t know what is. Drury Lane’s up that alley and to the right.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve had one of my ideas, ain’t I? You’re lucky you bumped into me, Words. Make sure you don’t go inside until I get back.’
Tanner handed the list back to Lapsewood. A thought struck him. ‘So you can read?’
‘What, I suppose you think a poor little urchin like me wouldn’t have had no schooling?’
‘No, but, well, yes . . .’
‘As it happens, I learnt to read after I died. See you in a minute.’
11
Mr Gliddon’s Dying Wish
When Sam arrived back home he found Mr Gliddon, the local grocer, and his two sons talking loudly over each other while Mr Constable sat patiently waiting for a moment to interject. Richard Gliddon, the elder brother, was in his mid-twenties and worked with his father in the shop. Sam was less familiar with Edward, the younger brother, who had moved to London in pursuit of a career as an actor. Mr Gliddon himself had evidently died since Sam had last seen him for, while his sons were sitting opposite Mr Constable, Mr Gliddon was standing in the middle of the desk, his words going unheard by the others.
‘Our father deserves a send-off suited to a man who had earned such respect in his community,’ said Richard.
Constable & Toop Page 5
