The Montgomery Murder

by Cora Harrison

  The glass was damp. Sammy was still alive. Alfie dropped to his knees beside his brother, weak with relief.

  ‘I’ll have to bleed him,’ said the doctor decisively. ‘Here, you girl, hold this basin.’

  From his bag he produced a white earthenware bowl with a half-circle cut out of it. Next came a pair of large scissors and a small, sharp knife. Quickly he cut one sleeve from the old shirt. Then he seized Sammy’s arm. It fitted perfectly into the missing half-circle on the rim of the bowl. Sarah made a half-strangled sound as the doctor sliced into the boy’s white arm. Immediately the blood dripped into the bowl. Every one watched silently until the bowl filled. The blood looked very red, thought Alfie, compared with Sammy’s white face.

  ‘Here’s some laudanum. Give him some if he wakes.’ The doctor seized his bag and marched quickly towards the door, saying briskly, ‘Nothing to pay. Inspector Denham will see to that.’

  ‘Wait.’ Alfie went after him and caught the man by the sleeve. ‘Will he be all right?’

  The doctor shook him off and wrenched open the door. ‘Maybe,’ he said indifferently as he clumped up the uneven stairs. ‘Don’t like the look of those eyes, though.’

  ‘He didn’t know that Sammy is blind!’ Sarah gasped as Alfie closed the door.

  ‘And he’s a doctor,’ said Alfie with scorn. Tom gave a nervous giggle and then gulped.

  ‘He should not do that. Take blood from the boy. He needs his blood to make him strong again,’ said Mallesh indignantly, coming out from his hiding place. ‘We do not do this in India.’ He came over and sat down beside Sammy, feeling his hands and rubbing them gently. He picked up the packet of laudanum and sniffed it. ‘Opium,’ he said and put it down again. ‘Do not him give this until we can warm him.’

  ‘You’re right. He’s still as cold as a stone,’ said Alfie, taking Sammy’s other hand.

  ‘I’ll fill some jars with hot water,’ said Sarah, sorting through the pile of jars that Jack collected from houses in Bloomsbury. He got a halfpenny from the pickles factory for every ten jars.

  ‘In India, the hakim, our doctor, would rub him like this,’ said Mallesh. He set his long slim hands on Sammy’s back and slowly began to massage him. ‘I wished once to become a hakim. I had begun to learn, but then my father was hanged,’ he remarked after a few minutes.

  ‘Wrap the jars, Tom,’ directed Sarah. ‘Any old rags will do. Put them beside Sammy.’

  Mallesh seemed tireless. His hands worked to a sort of rhythm, thought Alfie, almost like a man playing a drum, stroking, patting and tapping. And then he began kneading the flesh, like a baker getting the dough ready for the oven. Sammy’s deathly white body seemed to be getting a glow. Sarah kept filling more bottles with hot water, Jack fed the fire, recklessly adding new coal as soon as the flames died down, Alfie paced up and down and Tom sat hunched up in the corner, biting his nails.

  And then quite suddenly Mutsy stretched, groaned and got to his feet. Alfie poured some water into a tin bowl, but the dog ignored it. Walking slowly and unsteadily he came across to Sammy and started to lick his feet, almost seeming to copy Mallesh’s massaging movements.

  And then the miracle happened. Sammy opened his eyes, stretched out his hand. Alfie gripped it and Sammy said in a weak voice, ‘God, Alfie, I’m hungry.’

  CHAPTER 23

  LIKE RATS FLEEING

  Sammy fell asleep after eating two sausages and drinking some laudanum. He lay on the cushions in front of the fire, covered with blankets and with a couple of hot bottles on each side of him and one at his feet. His face was slightly flushed. From time to time, Alfie checked his hands and they felt warm.

  ‘You saved my brother’s life,’ he said to Mallesh. ‘I won’t forget that.’

  ‘I am not happy. I would like to get my herbs,’ said Mallesh. ‘When I left home, my mother gave me a box full of different herbs. It is with my things at the East India Docks. That river, your great river, that is not good to drink.’

  ‘I think he will be all right. He did vomit up that water,’ said Sarah. She got to her feet. ‘I’ll have to go now. The housekeeper is getting suspicious about this aunt that I keep visiting after going to the Ragged School. She asked me to bring my aunt to see her and I had to make up a story about her having a bad leg and not being able to walk. I think they’d all have a fit if they knew I was visiting a gang of boys in a cellar.’

  Alfie didn’t reply. There was too much to arrange. His mind seemed to be exploding with it. ‘I was thinking that you shouldn’t say anything at the Montgomerys’ about Sammy being rescued,’ he said after a minute.

  Sarah nodded. ‘I was thinking that myself. If the murderer is in the house, then let him keep thinking that he is safe.’

  ‘Which one of them do you think it was, Sarah?’ Alfie asked. ‘Not the missus, or her man friend – he hasn’t made an appearance for the last few months as far as you know, so how would he know about Sammy, or about me asking questions? That brings it down to the three men – the butler, Mr Denis or the visitor, Mr Scott. The butler would have known that Sammy was at the house and he saw me at the gatekeeper’s lodge. The fellow that tried to hit me over the head wore a top hat. But the butler was wearing one of those when I saw him and the two toffs are bound to wear them, so that doesn’t narrow it down at all.’

  ‘The butler wouldn’t go on horseback,’ Sarah said. ‘Well, I’ve never seen him, anyway.’

  Alfie thought about that. It probably wasn’t the butler, then, unless, of course, the coachman had asked him to exercise a horse. There didn’t seem any reason why the visitor, Mr Scott, would have murdered Mr Montgomery. More likely to be the spoilt brat son. Alfie’s mind was filled with an exploding hatred of Denis Montgomery. There he was, probably had everything handed on a silver spoon to him since he was half Sammy’s age and then, just because his dad had come back from India and tried to put a stop to his gambling, he had murdered him and almost murdered poor old Sammy and faithful Mutsy, too!

  Sarah took the lid off the pot of boiling water, peered into it and then added a few more pieces of coal to the fire. Jack cleaned out the frying pan with a rag and then sat quietly beside Alfie. Tom looked from one to the other, but said nothing either. He still looked subdued.

  And then into the silence came a hoarse croak from Sammy.

  ‘The one that smelled funny, he’s the one that done it. The fellow that strangled me smelled funny.’ His voice faded, and his eyes closed again. He seemed, thought Alfie, looking at him fearfully, like one who was halfway between life and death. Perhaps he shouldn’t have given him that laudanum. Opium was bad for people. He had seen enough beggars die from it.

  ‘I must go,’ Sarah repeated.

  ‘I’ll come over tomorrow morning,’ said Alfie. He picked up the lantern and went towards the door with her.

  ‘Will that be safe?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Safe enough . . . I know what to do and to say.’ Alfie kept his voice sounding stout and confident, but even he could hear the false note of bravado. After one day there, Sammy had nearly been killed. Did he really want to venture into that place? On the other hand, if he didn’t, he might never find out who the murderer was. Perhaps he and his gang would have to go into hiding, would have to live like rats fleeing from one cellar to another.

  ‘I’ll walk with you.’ Mallesh was beside Sarah, sounding resolute. ‘No one will see me in the fog. I want to get the herbs for Sammy. I’m not happy about him. He has a slight fever. And I’ll get something for the dog’s wound, also.’

  And then they were both gone. Jack and Tom stretched out on the remaining cushions and Alfie sat beside his heavily sleeping brother. Through the window he could see the yellow haze of the gas lamp outside.

  Perhaps it was the fog, but the air of London seemed to him to be thick with evil.

  CHAPTER 24

  ALFIE RISKS ALL

  ‘Mallesh didn’t come home last night.’ Alfie’s voice was sharp with anxiety as he faced S
arah in the small dark back scullery behind the kitchen of number one, Bedford Square.

  He half-hoped that Mallesh had told Sarah something – perhaps that he had decided to stay the night in the lodging house at the East India Dock.

  But Sarah’s appalled face destroyed that last hope.

  ‘He was going straight back to you as soon as he got the herbs,’ she whispered, putting down the pan she’d been scrubbing. ‘He said that it was important to get them into Sammy as soon as possible.’

  ‘Any sign of a policeman?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, there was no one really on the streets – except around St Giles – the usual drunken crowd there.’

  ‘Did anyone in the house see him?’

  ‘No, he just left me there by the stables.’

  ‘He should never have gone near the house,’ said Alfie. He could picture a shadowy figure watching from behind those tall, lace-draped windows.

  Sarah wrung her hands. ‘It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have let him come with me, but it was so creepy in the fog and besides he was telling me all about India – about the food that they eat and everything and we were here before I realised. I was such a fool.’

  ‘I should have gone with you,’ said Alfie, shaking his head.

  ‘You had to stay with Sammy.’ Sarah resumed her scrubbing of pans, efficiently rubbing them with coarse sand and then swilling them in a bucket. ‘How is he?’ she asked, slipping her feet into a pair of iron-soled pattens and clattering out into the yard to throw out the bucket of dirty water.

  ‘He’s better this morning. I gave him some more of the doctor’s laudanum.’ Alfie tried to sound relaxed, but his mind was churning through the possible reasons for Mallesh’s disappearance. ‘I’d better go up and tell the missus the sad news about my missing brother,’ he said after a moment, with an attempt at a grin as Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled off her rough apron.

  ‘Don’t risk it,’ she said nervously. ‘You know what happened – what nearly happened – to Sammy.’

  ‘I can look after myself.’ Alfie knew that there was no point in backing out at this stage. He needed that money the inspector had half-promised him, but there was another more urgent reason. If the murderer were not caught, he and Sammy were in grave danger. He couldn’t spend the rest of the winter looking over his shoulder, guarding Sammy, worrying all of the time.

  ‘Leave it to the police,’ said Sarah, reading his thoughts as usual.

  ‘The police!’ snorted Alfie. He had a poor opinion of the police so far. Hunting down an innocent Indian boy, dragging into prison a poor, sweet-natured girl like Betty. ‘Come on, Sarah, let’s go,’ he said impatiently, seeing her shoulders shake.

  Sarah was crying openly when they came into the kitchen, and the parlour maid and cook turned to stare at her and then at Alfie.

  ‘The little blind boy never came home last night,’ sobbed Sarah, and Alfie felt his own eyes sting. It was so nearly the truth.

  ‘What!’ The cook’s eyes filled with tears and even Nora looked appalled.

  ‘What’ll the missus say?’ Nora whispered.

  ‘I’d better tell her,’ said Alfie, trying to achieve a look that combined bravery with deep sorrow.

  ‘I’ll take him up,’ said Nora. ‘They’re all in the breakfast parlour.’

  Good – I might see them all, thought Alfie, as he followed Nora up the stairs. His bare feet felt the luxury of the thick carpet. Imagine having something like that on your floor! You would hardly need a bed.

  Alfie followed Nora into the breakfast parlour.

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am, sirs.’ The parlour maid curtsied.

  Alfie’s mouth watered at the delicious smells coming from the silver dishes on the table. Mrs Montgomery and two men were there, all eating.

  So which man owned the shadow on the lane, wondered Alfie, looking at the two men carefully. They were both big men, though not as tall as the butler. That must be Denis with the newspaper – he was much younger than the other man, and thinner too – though in a big winter coat the difference would be little in the outline of a shadow. Mr Scott had a bushy moustache and barely looked up from his breakfast. Could either of those two ordinary-looking gentlemen be the Monmouth Street strangler?

  ‘Something terrible has happened, ma’am!’ Nora was keen to be the first with the news. She gulped a little and then announced dramatically, ‘That poor little blind boy didn’t get home last night. Feared run over in the fog.’

  ‘What!’ Mrs Montgomery was on her feet with her two hands held high in the air to show how shocked she was.

  ‘That’s right, ma’am, and this is his brother come to tell the terrible news.’

  Mrs Montgomery turned to Alfie. ‘Oh, you poor boy,’ she said emotionally. ‘What a dreadful thing! Nora, one of the footmen must go straight to Bow Street Police Station and tell Inspector Denham that I want him to get a couple of men to search for this child. He may be lying hurt somewhere.’

  ‘Inspector Denham knows all about it, ma’am,’ said Alfie quickly. ‘I’m just going up to Barts Hospital now. Inspector Denham thought my brother might have been taken there, but I wanted to come to see you first.’ He gulped – it was surprisingly easy to do – and then waited a couple of seconds, lowered his voice and said in broken tones. ‘It’s . . . it’s what . . . it’s what Sammy would have . . . have wanted. You were very kind to him, ma’am.’

  And that, he thought with satisfaction, should be worth a couple of pence at least.

  ‘What about the dog?’ asked Denis Montgomery suddenly. ‘The dog went home with him, didn’t it?’ He lowered his newspaper and stared at Alfie, though his jaws still continued to munch the crisp slice of bacon. Alfie’s heart began to beat a little faster. Was he looking into the eyes of a pitiless murderer – a man who would not even baulk at strangling a blind child and dropping his body into the river? This was a typical London toff’s voice. What did the other one sound like?

  ‘He’s gone, too,’ said Alfie with a quiver in his voice. ‘He was a very good dog to my brother – always looked after him.’

  ‘Poor children – you were alone in the world, were you?’ Mrs Montgomery’s eyes were glistening. ‘Just the two of you?’

  Alfie nodded. Her hand was going for her purse. She opened it and took out something. It was silver – he saw it gleam in the bright light from the gas lamp over the table.

  ‘Give the boy this, Nora, and if he wants something to eat make sure that he has it.’ She handed the coin to Nora, who took it with a sidelong glance at Alfie.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Alfie. ‘I’ll be sure to tell you the news if I find my brother at the hospital.’ He did his best to sound brave, or at least to sound as if he were trying to sound brave, but his eye was on the two men eating their breakfast. He wished that Mr Scott would speak, but he just went on munching his toast.

  ‘Who was the man who asked about the dog?’ Alfie whispered as he and Nora went down the stairs together. He knew it was Mr Denis, of course, but he hoped she might volunteer some new information about her employer’s son.

  ‘That was Mr Denis Montgomery. He’s fond of dogs – fond of betting on them anyway,’ said Nora. She didn’t repeat the invitation to have something to eat and Alfie didn’t bring up the subject. Nora gave Alfie the coin reluctantly, dropping it into the centre of his outstretched palm as if she feared to touch him. She would have liked to keep the coin, thought Alfie; it was a whole shilling! However, he thanked her for it as profusely as if she were the lady of the house herself, and Nora gave a stately nod.

  There was a pudding-shop at the back of St Martin’s church where you could get a pudding for a couple of pence. Alfie’s mouth watered at the thought of it as he walked out of the back door, rubbing the shilling between his fingers. If only he could find Mallesh now, they would all have a great supper tonight with the money that was flowing in. He looked into the mews, but neither coachman nor groom was there so he mad
e his way towards the gate.

  ‘How’s the betting slate getting on?’ he asked, putting his head into the cosy lodge of the gatekeeper.

  ‘Well, I’ve made one great bet with myself. There was an Indian came here last night – fellow in a turban, you know – and he was with the little scullery maid at number one. He hung around for a while – just to make sure that she got in safely I suppose – and guess what happened?’ He waited expectantly, but Alfie just shook his head.

  ‘Can’t guess,’ he said.

  ‘Well, just as he was going to walk away from my gate, there was a big hullabaloo and a lot of shouting and out rushed the butler with the groom and the coachman from number one and they grabs this fellow and they drags him off. They were going to take him down to the police station. I heard that all three of them have gone down to Bow Street this morning to swear evidence against him. ’

  ‘And what’s the bet you made?’ asked Alfie, trying hard to make his voice sound careless and uninterested.

  ‘Have a look here, see what I wrote; see the bet that I made with myself about when this Indian will come back.’

  Alfie looked at the slate. It didn’t make any sense to him – it was just a whole lot of lines and curves – so he looked at the gatekeeper with as intelligent an expression as he could manage.

  ‘That’s right!’ said the gatekeeper. ‘I’ve put the word in great big capital letters. Look at it here: NEVER.’ He gave a nod of satisfaction and added, ‘Mark my words, we’ll never see that Indian boy again.’

  CHAPTER 25

  SARAH IN TROUBLE

  By the time Alfie reached Seven Dials, he realised that the footsteps he had heard behind him from time to time were still following him. They clopped along loudly, iron striking against the paving stones in a hurried, uneven fashion. He stopped and drew into the doorway of the Crown Inn and waited. He was not frightened, just curious. Today was not like yesterday. The day was misty, but the thick fog had gone and the streets were now full of people and, of course, he was not a blind ten-year-old, but a sharp-eyed twelve-year-old.