by Tim Hehir
Skinner? What’s he doing here, Higgins?
He looked around for Emily. She was standing some distance away, waiting. He put Mr Flynn’s note into his pocket.
‘Who’s it from, ’iggins?’ she asked.
‘Mr Flynn. He’s going to Bedlam tonight to see Mr Darwin.’
‘Ace. We’ll go too. I’ve always wanted to meet a proper lunatic.’
‘Darwin was raving about Skinner being in London,’ said Julius.
‘But ’e can’t be,’ said Emily. ‘Darwin wouldn’t ’ave let Skinner come back. ’e’d ’ave left ’im in the village, wiv them man-eating fish to guard ’im.’
‘Maybe we didn’t get it right,’ said Julius. ‘Maybe we’re in a present where Skinner wasn’t seeded. We’ll have to see what Darwin says. Then I’ll know what to say to Mr Flynn.’
‘Wot you mean, ’iggins?’
‘Emily.’
‘Wot?’
‘Promise me something.’
‘Wot?’
‘Don’t tell Mr Flynn about our time-jump.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…because I’m not supposed to have the pocketwatch.’
‘You mean you nicked it, ’iggins?’
‘It’s difficult to explain. Do you promise?’
Emily paused. ‘Yeah…all right. If that’s what you want,’ she said.
‘I’ll tell Mr Flynn everything,’ said Julius, ‘when I know what’s going on.’
‘We going to Bedlam then?’
‘Yes. But we’re going somewhere else first.’
‘Where?’
‘To see Clara.’
Julius walked across Blackfriars Bridge and down Blackfriars Road. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and fixed his eyes on the ground. The more he thought about the conversation he had just had, the more angry he became. Angry at his grandfather for his indifference. Angry at his mother. But for what? For leaving? For carrying on her life without him?
‘’iggins,’ said Emily, ‘slow down.’
He ignored her.
‘’iggins, slow down. My legs is shorter than yours,’ she said. ‘You’re vexed, ain’t you?’
He did not reply.
‘Look, ’iggins, if she really is your ma, it don’t matter what your grandpa says. ’e’s just a crabby old git.’
Emily’s teeth chattered in the cold. Julius found his face warming to a smile at the sound.
‘And Clara’s got good news,’ said Emily. ‘She’s got a new situation. She’s going up in the world.’
‘What?’
‘She’s to be under-’ousekeeper at Walworth ’ouse. She’ll be working for a Lord.’
‘When?’
‘Monday. But she’s moving tomorrow.’
Julius wheeled around and strode off again. He turned into Elliot’s Row. Mrs Trevelyan’s Academy towered above the other houses on the street.
Julius stopped in the dark shadow of the wall and waited for Emily to catch up.
‘You staying out here, then?’ she said.
Julius dug his hands further into his pockets and looked at the path leading to the front steps.
‘Did you ’ear me?’ said Emily.
‘She’s leaving tomorrow?’ said Julius.
‘Yeah, I’m ’elping. Mrs Trevelyan ’ired a four-wheeler for all her fings.’
‘She’s going to Walworth House?’
‘Yeah. It’s ace. Lord Bloomingbury’s as mad as a marquis. The ’ouse is e-bleeding-normous, and it’s full wiv animals—hundreds of ’em.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s got his own menagerie, wiv animals from all over the world.’
‘And she wants to go?’ said Julius.
‘Course. She answered an advertisement in The Times. Lots applied, I shouldn’t wonder. Mrs Trevelyan gave her an excellent character reference…’
Julius heard a trailing off of Emily’s voice. Something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Naffing.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s naffing,’ said Emily. ‘Well, the fing is, the advertisement was asking for ’ousekeepers wiv no ’angers-on, no families.’
Julius waited for Emily to continue.
‘But that was before you came. She thought she didn’t ’ave no family, not then,’ said Emily
Julius thrust himself off the wall and strode into the middle of the street.
‘Oi,’ hissed Emily, so as not to be heard by anyone else. Come back, ’iggins.’
Anger surged through Julius’s body.
No family, Higgins. No family.
‘’iggins. Come back,’ said Emily.
‘Why?’
Emily pulled at his arm, spinning him around. ‘You ’ave to tell ’er.’
‘Tell her what?’
‘That you know. That it’s all right.’
‘She should be the one telling me.’
‘Yeah. But what if she’s afraid?’
‘Of what?’
‘That you won’t want ’er.’
Julius turned away.
‘All right, be like that,’ said Emily.
Julius heard her turn on her heels and walk to the gate.
‘’iggins,’ she said. ‘If I ’ad a ma I wouldn’t be sulking about it.’
‘I’m not sulking.’ He said it quietly, although he felt like shouting out to the whole of London.
He walked past Emily and around the side of the academy to the head of the stairs that led down to the scullery.
‘Oi, manners,’ she whispered and pushed past him. ‘I’ll go first. Don’t worry, she’ll be glad you’ve come.’
Julius listened to the scrape of Emily’s soles as she skipped down the steps.
Emily waited at the scullery door, her hand poised to knock, as if checking that he was still with her. Then she knocked.
The sound boomed in Julius’s ears, even though it was no more than a tap. He heard shuffling at the window and his heart began to pound.
Clara’s face appeared. Julius knew she had seen him. He looked away, fighting the urge to run.
He counted Clara’s steps coming to the door and ticked off the different sounds—the key turning in the lock, the bolt turning in its bracket and drawing back with a sharp clack.
Julius stepped back into the shadows.
The door opened.
Clara held a candle. It lit up the frightened questions all over her face.
‘There you are, Emily, dear,’ she whispered, not looking at Julius. ‘I was worried.’
She opened her arms to usher Emily inside.
Julius sank back further into the shadows.
He saw Emily and Clara’s eyes meet. Emily whispered something.
Julius watched Clara’s round face, watched the fear and indecision. Emily untied the ribbon of her bonnet. Clara busied herself unbuttoning Emily’s cape.
Then she stopped. Something changed within her, and her body straightened as if fortified. Courage took the place of fear.
She looked into the shadows. ‘Hello, Julius, dear,’ she said.
CHAPTER 15
Saturday 20th January 1838
5:37 PM
Clara’s words sounded perfect to Julius. The cadence of her voice stirred a hint of a memory.
‘Hello,’ said Julius.
‘So you know?’
‘Yes,’ said Julius.
‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘Come inside, dear.’
She hesitated when Julius came close, as if she did not know what to make of his nearness. Julius pretended to be colder than he was so he could remain hunched up and brittle.
‘This way,’ Clara said, and led them into the kitchen. A lamp gave a soft glow, and the fire in the range warmed the room.
‘Emily, my dear, why don’t you warm up some milk? You must be frozen,’ said Clara. She entwined her fingers, knotting them together.
‘Right-o,’ said Emily.
Clar
a stood behind a chair by the range. A book lay open on the table nearby. She clung to the back of the chair to stop her fingers from fidgeting. Emily draped her bonnet and cape across the table. She took a copper pot from a hook and fetched a pitcher of milk from the pantry. Clara handed her a wooden spoon.
Julius unwound his scarf from around his neck and stood in the corner. He could feel every sound vibrating through him—the dull clatter of the copper pot, the lapping of the milk around the wooden spoon.
Emily had her back to him as she stirred the milk.
Julius watched Clara. She was looking at the pot, pretending to be interested in Emily stirring it correctly. He knew she was trying to find the words for what she wanted to say.
‘Isn’t it funny,’ she said, at last, ‘that you and Emily should be friends?’
Julius waited to hear what she would say next.
Emily stirred the milk.
‘And Mr Flynn. He was a close friend of Papa’s once. They fell out years ago, you know. It was lucky I was covered in flour, yesterday, or he’d have recognised me.’ She glanced at Julius to see if he was going to speak, then continued. ‘Mr Flynn comes to visit Emily, but he never comes below stairs. I’d be ashamed to meet him again.’
Clara paused, as if deciding what else she should say.
Julius waited.
At last she said it. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you,’ she said. ‘I knew it was you straightaway.’
Julius dug his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘Were you glad?’ he asked. The words came out wrong. They sounded like an awkward stranger.
‘Of course I was. I know you so well. I walk along Ironmonger Lane on my half-day holiday every month. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you. I’ve seen you growing up. Seen the display tables you’ve set up in the shop window—very artistic.’
Julius felt himself thawing. His eyes smiled.
‘How is Papa?’ Clara said.
Emily stopped stirring and waited for Julius’s reply.
‘We fell out, just now,’ said Julius, and he sniffed as if it were of no concern.
‘Oh…’
‘I…I asked him why you left.’
‘I see. And, um…what did he say?’
‘Nothing.’ Julius stared into the darkest corner of the kitchen. He felt as if he was going to cry. ‘I have to go,’ he said.
‘Wait, please, Julius,’ said Clara. She reached out as if to touch him, but held back.
Julius stood still, waiting.
Clara lowered her eyes, preparing her words. ‘I made a mistake a long time ago,’ she said quietly. She hesitated, not wanting to go on. ‘I ran off with someone. It doesn’t matter who.’
She studied Julius’s face for a moment. ‘I came back on a stormy night, like a drowned rat. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was seventeen, unmarried and in the family way. Mama had passed away so there was only Papa left. He took me in, and you were born upstairs, three days later. You were beautiful, with your baby smell.’
Julius hung his head. He had to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying. He had never thought of himself as a baby. For some reason that he could not fathom, he felt like a big brother to his baby self.
‘There was gossip up and down Ironmonger Lane,’ said Clara. ‘Your grandfather couldn’t hold his head up in the street. He’d had such plans for me—I was going to marry well, I was so clever, so refined, I was going to bring the family back to its proper station. We both loved you, Julius. It was just… difficult.’
Clara pretended to clear her throat to stop her tears. Julius looked up, glancing quickly at her before looking away again. He clenched his jaw, fighting a battle inside himself not to cry in front of her.
‘So you left,’ said Julius. ‘To have you own life.’ He had not meant the words to sound so harsh.
Clara looked up, startled. Julius watched closely as her face told him what he already knew—she was searching for a lie.
‘It was difficult at home, Julius,’ said Clara. ‘Your grandfather…’ Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘Your grandfather brought you up, all by himself. You mustn’t forget that, Julius. He could have handed you over to the parish or…or sent you to a boarding school. But he didn’t.’
What’s she talking about, Higgins? He looked after me because she left.
Emily turned to look at Julius. Julius could feel his face burning and tears pooling in his own eyes. He glared at her. She quickly looked away. He did not trust himself to speak.
‘I’m here now,’ said Clara.
‘Milk’s ready,’ said Emily, as if bringing joyous news.
Julius sniffed and ran his hand under his nose.
‘Emily said you have a new position,’ said Julius. ‘You’re going away.’ He tried to sound conversational. It came out all wrong.
‘Not away. Not far,’ said Clara. ‘I…I’d like you to visit.’
‘No family ties,’ said Julius. ‘That’s what the advertisement said.’
Clara stared at Julius, stunned. ‘I know, but…’
Her words died. He could see the realisation in her face. She had betrayed him a second time. The pain in her eyes pleased him.
Now she knows what it’s like.
Julius began to rewind his scarf. Clara clasped her hands.
‘I’m going,’ said Julius. It was barely a mumble.
‘But the milk?’ said Emily.
Julius was already at the door. ‘I have to meet Mr Flynn at Bedlam.’
‘’ang on, ’iggins. I’m coming wiv you.’
‘I’m going by myself,’ said Julius. The curtness in his voice stopped her dead.
‘Oi. Don’t be like that,’ she said.
Julius barely heard her. He ran from the kitchen, up the steps and into the freezing night.
He was out the gate and hurrying along St George’s Road when he heard footsteps running to catch up. He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and quickened his pace.
‘Go back,’ said Julius.
‘But you might need me, ’iggins. You might—’
‘I won’t need you and stop calling me “’iggins” like you were a costermonger’s daughter. It’s “Higgins” or “Julius”. You’re getting an education, use it.’
‘Oi, don’t speak to me like—’
Julius stopped abruptly under a gas lamp and faced her.
‘Go away. Go. Away,’ he shouted. ‘You’re not wanted.’
The gas light cast a pallor across Emily’s face. Julius studied every feature, every contour and individual eyelash, waiting to see the pain fill her eyes when his words sunk in. She had a father in Mr Flynn and a mother more or less in Clara. She had got them so easily and she seemed to take them for granted.
He wanted to see her feel pain too.
But Emily was silent, her face devoid of expression. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘See if I bleeding care.’
She studied his face with a contemptuous blankness. Julius’s anger shrivelled and died. He swallowed. She smiled to herself and then walked back towards the gate.
‘Emily…Em—’ he called out.
She kept walking.
‘Emily, come back.’
She went through the gate and Elliot’s Row was silent again, empty.
‘See if I care,’ he said, his anger reigniting.
At the end of the street he stopped. The things he had said to Emily stabbed at him. He closed his eyes and cursed himself.
‘She knows I didn’t mean it,’ he said. He clasped the pocketwatch for comfort.
You could time-jump far away, Higgins. And keep time-jumping until you find an empty land where there’s no one to complicate things.
He walked on in a wretched haze until he came to iron gates guarding the grounds of the New Bethlam Hospital. All was dark, but for faint lights in many of the windows. The hospital was built of grey stone with wide columns and a dome at the centre. It reminded Julius of the dome of St Paul’s. But this was not a cath
edral; it was a place for lunatics. He went to the side gate and looked through.
He could keep walking until dawn, until he came to a valley with a stream running through it. He could hear the flowing water already. He could sleep on the bank.
The iron railing was cold against his cheek. He pressed against it even though it stung. Clara’s face came to his mind again.
Something was wrong. He ran their conversation through his mind. What was all that about Grandfather not giving him to the parish or sending him to a boarding school? Clara was hiding something? He stared at the dark dome, as if the answer was there. The cold was forgotten. Neither she nor grandfather wanted him to know why she left. But why?
His words to Emily came back: ‘Go away. You’re not wanted.’
Would Emily forgive him? He doubted it. He had stung her too deeply. Her blank face said so—it was a hundred times worse than tears or anger.
Julius banged his forehead against the rails to punish himself and to stop himself from crying.
The only one you’ve got left is Mr Flynn, Higgins.
He walked through the gates and up the gravel path until he came to a heavy, oak door. A bell-pull hung on the right side near a brass plaque. The gas lamp above the door gave out just enough light for Julius to read the words New Bethlem Royal Hospital—Insane Asylum.
He pulled the handle to ring the bell. The sound frightened his anger away.
A large woman in a grey dress and a stiff white collar opened the door. Her sleeves were rolled up showing her muscular forearms. Her grey hair was pulled so tightly back into a bun that it looked as if it hurt. She ran her eyes from Julius’s head to his toes and back up to his head again.
‘Yes? What would you be wanting at this late hour?’ she said, pronouncing each word as if carving it from ice.
Julius swallowed. ‘Mr Darwin.’
The woman considered the matter. ‘Are you family of Mr Darwin?’ she said.
‘No, a friend of Mr Flynn. Mr Flynn called to see him too. Constable Abberline arranged it,’ said Julius, trying to force some confidence into himself.
The woman looked at Julius as if she had not bothered to listen. ‘You are unwell?’ she said. ‘A little anxious, perhaps?’
‘Yes. I haven’t been to a place like this before. It’s rather…er…’
‘Intimidating?’ said the woman.
