Julius and the Soulcatcher

by Tim Hehir

  The stocky man pulled a meat cleaver from inside his coat. The veiled girl flinched and fought to get free.

  ‘All right, all right, take the book,’ said Julius. He snatched it from under the sales ledger.

  The man’s pale skin creaked like shoe leather as he stretched out a smile. His blue eyes seemed to glow faintly around the black dots of his pupils.

  Julius’s hand trembled as he held out the book.

  ‘Thank you, so much, young sir,’ said the man. His fingers wrapped themselves around the diary.

  The stocky man tucked the meat cleaver away and slunk out of the shop with a grunt of disappointment.

  ‘Such a pleasure to meet you,’ said the small man. ‘I do so enjoy acquiring new friends. I do, I do.’

  He placed the flowerpot on the counter. ‘Do accept this gift? I grew it myself,’ he said. ‘It is a little chilled at present but water and warmth is all it needs, and a little affection. Who knows? One day, it may surprise you.’

  The little man left. The cabbie closed the door, and the cab groaned as he climbed up to his seat. He snapped the whip and the horse moved slowly past the window and out of sight.

  Crimper’s whole body sagged. Mr Higgins patted his chest gently to calm his heart.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Julius to the veiled girl on the floor. She was breathing deeply like a disgruntled tomcat.

  ‘I’m ace,’ she said. ‘Takes more than a mob of tupenny-’apenny villains to put the wind up me.’

  Oh, yes, it’s definitely her, Higgins.

  ‘I beg your pardon, miss,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘You wot?’ said the girl.

  ‘You seem to have changed your accent. The shock has made you speak like a guttersnipe.’

  ‘I ain’t shocked. Talking posh for too long makes me jaw ache, don’t it,’ said the girl.

  She stood up and lifted the veil from her face.

  ‘Hello, Emily,’ said Julius.

  She was indeed very pretty, just as his grandfather had said. But Julius already knew that. He also knew that in a few years she would be the prettiest young lady in the whole of London. He had travelled through time and seen it for himself.

  ‘Er…’ello, ’iggins,’ said Emily, uneasily. ‘How’s fings?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Julius.

  ‘Do you know this person, young Caesar?’ asked Mr Higgins.

  ‘Yes, Grandfather. We met last year when I was delivering books to Jack Springheel.’

  Julius winced at the memory of Emily and her gang of street urchins surrounding him with coshes raised and negotiating a payment not to do him down. Luckily, Professor Fox had leapt up through the cobblestones to rescue him.

  Mr Higgins knew nothing of this. Julius doubted he would believe it anyway.

  ‘Well, little miss, I’ll have my sovereign back, thank you,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘Wot? You bought it fair and square, Mr ’iggins. It ain’t my fault wot ’appens to it after that.’

  ‘I bought that diary in good faith, young lady. If I had known it was stolen I would have called for a constable and had you arrested,’ said Mr Higgins, with the gravity of a headmaster at a school for feral children.

  To Julius’s surprise, Emily’s lower lip jutted out in a pout and she blushed with contrition.

  ‘Come on, now. Hand it over,’ said Mr Higgins.

  Emily rummaged through her purse and slapped the coin on the counter. ‘Can I ’ave the flower, then?’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to see what it does. The little geeza said it might surprise you. I like surprises.’

  Julius looked at the flower for the first time. It was red with four petals: one growing upwards and curving over the others like a protective hood, then two very long and thin petals—one on each side, like arms reaching out around the fourth petal, which resembled a tongue sticking out. The petals were withered along the edges and a number of tendrils hung from the base of the flower and lay on the soil like badly coiled ropes.

  ‘I think he was joking,’ said Julius. He could not decide if it was the most beautiful or the most ugly flower he had ever seen. Emily clearly liked it though.

  Crimper McCready leaned over Julius and Emily to get a better look.

  Mr Higgins polished his spectacles in preparation for a thorough examination. ‘Hmm, it’s an orchid, if I am not mistaken,’ he said.

  ‘A what?’ said Crimper.

  ‘An orchid, Master McCready. The strangest of flowers. Their mysterious ways baffle the finest minds in botany. The Greeks thought they were the spawn of animals. Surely you have noticed the orchid mania running riot in London?’

  ‘I ’ave,’ said Emily. ‘There’s fortunes been won and lost on those fings and there’s coves wot sail around the world searching for ’em in jungles and up mountains and ’eaven knows where, and bringing ’em back and selling ’em for a sack full of sovereigns. There’s murders and worse done over ’em.’

  ‘Murders?’ said Crimper.

  ‘Yeah, and worse. Least that’s wot they say. And there’s a blooming great glasshouse full of ’em at Kew Gardens.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘I’m educated, I am. I knows lots of fings,’ said Emily. ‘I was at Kew Gardens and I seen it for myself, didn’t I? That’s when I nicked the diary.’

  ‘From Mr Darwin?’ said Julius.

  ‘I don’t know ’is name, do I. It was in the glass ’ouse. We was there on our outing wiv Mrs Trevelyan. The geeza wiv the diary was ’aving a barny wiv that little geeza who was just ’ere.’

  ‘The one with the red hair?’ said Crimper.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, the geeza wiv the diary waves it in the air at the little geeza. Then the geeza pushes past us—’

  ‘Mr Darwin?’ said Julius.

  ‘Yeah, and he’s saying, “You’ll never get your ’ands on this, Tock.” To the little geeza—’

  ‘So he’s called, Tock?’

  ‘Yeah, try and keep up, ’iggins,’ said Emily. ‘Anyway, then Darwin puts the diary in ’is pocket. That’s when I accidently bumped into ’im and nicked it. If they was arguing over it, I knew it was worth a few shillings. No one saw me.’

  ‘Oh, I think they did, little miss. They tracked you here, did they not?’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘They were roaming the streets looking for you,’ said Julius. ‘Crimper and I ran into them earlier.’

  ‘Can I ’ave the flower then?’ said Emily, changing the subject.

  ‘No. It was given to me by way of compensation,’ said Mr Higgins.

  Emily pouted again.

  ‘Oh, go on, Grandfather, give it to her,’ said Julius. ‘You know we’ll forget to water it, and it looks as if it’s about to die anyway. If it was worth anything they wouldn’t have given it to us.’

  Mr Higgins looked at the half-dead aspidistra on the mantelpiece. ‘Go on then, take it. But you are banished from this bookshop, forthwith.’

  ‘You wot?’ said Emily.

  ‘Grandfather means don’t come back,’ said Julius.

  ‘I know wot ’e means.’

  Julius was surprised to see genuine hurt on Emily’s face.

  ‘Now be off with you, and you too Master McCready. I need an old brandy and a large book—or is it the other way round?—in front of the fire, to steady my nerves,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘You want to walk me ’ome, ’iggins?’ said Emily. ‘In case anyone else tries to kidnap me?’

  Crimper stifled a snigger.

  ‘Er, yes, of course. Where do you live?’

  ‘At Mrs Trevelyan’s Academy for Young Ladies, in Newington.’

  Crimper sniggered, louder this time. Emily glared at him. He stopped immediately.

  At the end of the street Julius, Emily and Crimper listened for the sounds of creaking hansom cabs. There was only the occasional ship’s bell down on the Thames.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ said Emily. ‘They got
what they wanted.’

  ‘Goodnight, then, Crimper,’ said Julius.

  ‘Yeah, goodnight,’ said Crimper, but he lingered, fussing with his scarf.

  Julius glanced quickly at Emily. She smiled.

  ‘You can come wiv us,’ she said. ‘If you’re afraid to walk ’ome on your own.’

  Crimper’s eyebrows tensed like a fist, concealing his currant-bun eyes. He clenched his meaty hands.

  Emily blinked innocently, as he struggled to find something cutting to say.

  In the end, he turned and marched away into the night.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ called out Julius.

  ‘Toffy-nosed git,’ came the reply from further down the street.

  Julius and Emily walked towards Blackfriars Bridge. ‘’e a friend of yours?’ said Emily.

  ‘Sort of. I help him with his schoolwork. He’s eighteen and still hasn’t passed any exams so Mr Flynn suggested I help him.’

  ‘Proper little philanthropist, ain’t you, ’iggins?’

  On Blackfriars Bridge a line of new gas lamps on poles rose up along the railings like iron trees. Although it was still early in the evening the streets were almost deserted. The few remaining people, wrapped in layers of coats and shawls and scarves, hurried home.

  Emily stopped and rested the flowerpot on the railing. She leaned over and sniffed the black waters below. The winter cold kept the stench of the Thames at bay.

  ‘So, you seen Mr Flynn, lately?’ she said, casually.

  ‘Yes.’ Julius leaned on the railing too and listened to the rhythmic lapping of the waves.

  ‘When?’ she said.

  ‘Umm. On Saturday.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I see quite a lot of him. He and Grandfather are friends again, after their night in the police cells for illegal bell ringing. He comes to the shop for tea quite often. And there’s the bare-knuckle bouts. I go to them with Crimper sometimes.’

  ‘So you and Mr Flynn are mates? In the same gang?’

  ‘I suppose so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, no reason, just wondering.’

  Julius and Emily listened to the water again.

  ‘Do you like the school Mr Flynn arranged for you?’ said Julius.

  Mr Flynn had offered to find schools for Emily and her gang of street urchins as a reward for their help in the Springheel case.

  ‘Chartwell Ladies College? I got sent packing from there for starting a riot.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I was bored.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Julius.

  ‘So anyway, Mr Flynn sent me to Mrs Trevelyan’s gaff. He ’ad to pay extra to make ’er take me. Told me to behave myself or ’e’d send me to be a lighthouse keeper’s apprentice at Muckle Flugga.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘I don’t want to find out.’

  Julius and Emily walked along the wide thoroughfare of Great Surrey Street.

  ‘Mr Flynn ain’t been to visit me since ’e came before Christmas to give me a present.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘A book.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t read it, did I. Reading’s boring.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You been on any more adventures since we nabbed Springheel?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Julius. ‘Just school, the shop and the odd book to read.’

  ‘Sounds ’orrible.’

  Julius smiled to himself.

  ‘It was ace though, weren’t it,’ said Emily, and her face ignited with nostalgic glee. ‘And when the Watchmakers came. It was like magic when the professor did that fing with the pocketwatch. It was ever so…so…exciting.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ said Julius.

  ‘Do you still ’ave it?’

  Julius felt a heavy feeling in his chest. It was like grief and loneliness entwined inside him. It was the same whenever the pocketwatch came to his mind.

  ‘The pocketwatch? No, it’s hidden away,’ he said.

  ‘Well, if anyfing comes up, you will tell me, won’t you?’ said Emily.

  Julius forced himself to smile. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘The fing is, it’s all right being a lady and getting

  educated, and being warm and fed and all that, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It’s boring.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, if anyfing comes up?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll let you know.’

  When they arrived at the obelisk outside the Blind School, Julius spoke again. ‘Is that why you tried to sell stolen goods at Grandfather’s shop? Did…did you want to see me again?’

  ‘I didn’t know you lived there, did I? Why would I know that?’

  Of course, Higgins. It’s the future Emily who stood outside the bookshop with you. This Emily barely knows anything about you.

  ‘I wasn’t planning on nicking naffing when we went to Kew Gardens, but the geeza was waving it about and, what could I do? And everyone knows Mr ’iggins is as bent as a Peckham peddler. No offence. So I knew ’e’d buy it off me.’

  ‘So you were surprised to see me?’

  Emily did not reply.

  They walked on for a time. ‘Anyway,’ she said, eventually. ‘If you see Mr Flynn, tell ’im I’m available. But don’t tell ’im about the diary, I’m not supposed to be thieving no more.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Julius. ‘But you shouldn’t really be—’

  ‘This is it,’ said Emily, stopping outside large house on Elliot’s Row.

  A brass plaque at the gate read Mrs Trevelyan’s Academy for Young Ladies.

  ‘Well, it was nice to see you again,’ said Julius. ‘I hope you weren’t too frightened earlier.’

  ‘Me? Naaaa.’

  ‘Well, er…goodnight then.’

  ‘’ang on. I ’ave to show you where to come and get me if anyfing comes up.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I—’

  ‘It’s round the back,’ said Emily, leading Julius along the side of the house. ‘Knock on the scullery door and tell Clara you want to see me. Got it?’

  At the back was a stairway leading down to the servants’ entrance. Julius followed Emily down the steps. She untied the ribbon under her chin and removed her bonnet and her hair fell down across her fur-lined cape. As she looked at the candle flame in the scullery window, the faint yellow light played across her face.

  ‘Why did you run away, earlier?’ asked Julius. ‘You knew it was me. I was just about to call out to you.’

  Emily shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘Just did.’

  ‘Did something frighten you?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to go, that’s all. Don’t go trying to make somefing out of naffing.’ She twirled the bonnet ribbon around her finger.

  Julius lowered his eyes. The sudden happy shock he had felt at seeing her again had taken him by surprise. It saddened him to realise that she had not felt the same. Then he remembered again—this Emily barely knew him.

  Often, in the six months since the Springheel case, he had allowed his mind to wander back to the other Emily—the future, fourteen-year-old, Emily he had met in the parallel timeline.

  He had fallen a little bit in love with her, and he liked to think that she had fallen a little bit in love with him. She had kissed him before he sailed on the Bountiful. That must have meant something. He wanted this younger Emily to be a little bit in love with him too. But she wasn’t, why would she be? She was just on the lookout for an adventure.

  She wanted to check up on Mr Flynn, not you, Higgins.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to make anything out of it, Emily. I was just—’

  ‘Yeah, well don’t.’

  ‘Is that you out there, Emily?’ came a voice from inside.

  A face appeared at the window.

  ‘That’s Clara,’ Emily said, in a friendlier tone. ‘She’s the one you send to get me if anyfing comes up.’
/>
  ‘Who’s—’

  ‘She’s the assistant cook, and she’s ace. She does everyfing round ’ere. She lets me in on the quiet. If Mrs Trevelyan knew I was out and about she’d send me packing.’

  A key turned in the lock and the door opened to reveal a short, plump woman with wide, smiling eyes.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she whispered.

  Emily stepped inside. ‘Good night then, ’iggins,’ she said. ‘And don’t forget, Emily’s available.’

  ‘Gracious me,’ exclaimed Clara, staring at Julius.

  ‘It’s all right?’ said Emily. ‘’iggins is sort of a kind of friend of mine. He was just seeing me ’ome.’

  Julius lifted the peak of his cap. ‘How do you do?’ he said.

  ‘Look, ’e gave me this.’ Emily held up the orchid. ‘If ’e calls again, send Nell up to get me, it don’t matter when it is or wot I’m doing.’

  ‘Er, very well,’ said Clara, looking at the orchid in confusion, then back at Julius. ‘Higgins? From Higgins’ Booksellers?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, do you know it?’ said Julius.

  Clara’s eyes widened. ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Bye then,’ said Emily. ‘Can’t stop ’ere nattering all night. Remember, ’iggins, Emily’s available.’

  She closed the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 3

  Friday 19th January 1838

  8:51 AM

  The next morning, freezing drizzle fell over London. Julius dragged his feet along Milk Street on his way to the City of London School.

  At the age of fifteen, he was in his final year and he hoped to go to Cambridge University to study history while he waited for the call from the Guild of Watchmakers to begin his time traveller apprenticeship. This morning, however, his mind was not on his studies.

  He stopped at the school gate, stamping his feet and deliberating.

  He had slept fitfully—dreaming of Emily and the Springheel case, of the Guild of Watchmakers lifting their top hats to him in St Paul’s Cathedral, of travelling through time with the giant pocketwatch.

  The idea of sitting on the hard school bench until the bell rang at half past three was already calcifying his brain. He thought of the ancient ink stains on his desk, of Mr Crowley’s cane thwacking the blackboard, of Crimper McCready jabbing at his shoulder, asking for all the answers.