I held still and listened, but already knew that I'd hear nothing but the scurry of rats and mice. She was not here.
My last visit had left me very downhearted. Things were only a little improved now, the chief difference being that my hopes were almost nonexistent; therefore any disappointment awaiting me would not be such a crushing blow.
With the shutters all closed fast the house was almost too dark for even my eyes to see. This time I'd thought to bring a candle and, after a bit of work with my tinderbox, soon had it lighted. As before, I moved ghostlike through all the rooms, and as before I found no sign of recent occupation. There were only my own footprints in the dust.
I'd been wrong about the disappointment. Any blow, even one that's expected, hurts just as much as another.
Dragging from one room to the next and up the stairs, I checked the whole place over. I knew I would find nothing, but went through the motions regardless, just to be thorough. The overall gloom of the house gathered heavily on my soul as I seeped into her own bricked-up sanctuary in the cellar. There she had slept during the day on a large chest that held a store of her home earth. Everything was the same as before. The bags of earth were undisturbed, the air around me still and stuffy and wholly silent. I eased the chest lid down, but my fingers slipped, and the sound boomed off the hard walls of the chamber like a cannon shot.
Damnation.
Noise of any kind was all wrong here. It was like laughing in church. A strict one.
The hair on my neck was all on end. I knew there was nothing and no one else in here with me, but my imagination provided the fancy that this place was occupied by some disapproving guardian who had just been awakened by my clumsiness.
I fled by the fastest means, reappearing again just outside the cellar door, candle still alight, but unsteady because of the tremors in my hand. And I thought I'd conquered my fear of dark, closed-in spaces. It would seem I needed to conduct more work in that area, but not tonight. I scuttled away from the door, firmly denying the frightened child in me from giving in to the strong inclination to glance behind. Nothing had followed me up, because nothing was there in the first place. I wasn't so sure about Oliver, but if Elizabeth had been with me, by now she'd likely be doubled over with laughter at my cowardly flight, I was sure of it.
The last stop was the downstairs parlour to look at the note I'd written and left for Nora on my previous visit. I pushed open the door and my gaze went straight to the mantel... but the folded and sealed square of paper I'd placed so carefully there was missing. My heart, suddenly coming to a kind of life again, gave a painful leap against my ribs. It was all I could do to hold on to the candle, and then the flame nearly guttered out in my rash to cross the room for a closer look.
The note was gone, truly, truly gone.
"You're sure a rat didn't eat it?" Oliver asked once he'd come back to the carriage. I'd impatiently given him the news of my discovery twice over, having babbled it out too fast the first time. "I don't mean to throw a blanket on your fire, but one must be certain about these things."
"I understand, and believe me, I did consider it, but if it had been a rat I'd have seen signs in the dust. No, I checked the mantel very carefully, and it was untouched except for a thin line where the paper had rested. I also found footprints in the floor dust. A man's shoes by their size and shape." Possibly one of her servants, I thought, sent to see that all was well with her house.
"Might have been a passing thief, y'know."
"I doubt it could be a thief, the house is still locked up tight-I made sure of that. The only person who could get in would have to have a key. That means it must have been a servant or a house agent."
"Or Miss Jones, slipping in the way you did. But then it was a man's shoe...."
I nodded, my mouth too dry for words.
"Or someone like Miss Jones. Have you ever considered there might be more chaps about like you, others to whom she's passed this condition?"
I nodded again, trying to clear my throat. "I have. If there are, then I don't know of them; she never mentioned them to me."
"If you don't mind my saying it, your Miss Jones never mentioned a very great number of things. I should be very severe with her about that when you see her again."
The possibility of seeing her... it was a possibility once more. My poor heart gave another leap, or seemed to, making me gasp with a half-realized laugh.
Oliver grinned and thumped my back. "Well, then, congratulations, Cousin. This must be the best news you've heard all year."
"Just about," I said, with a flicker of warm thought for Richard. "I'd all but lost hope. But... but what if she doesn't want to see me?"
"Why the devil shouldn't she? You know in your heart what a great regard she held for you, and probably still does. Even-and mind you it's not likely-if that regard has faded, at the very least she'll be curious about why you're back in London. Of course she'll see you!"
"But she could have had that note a week or more by now. Why hasn't she come by or even written?"
"She might only have gotten it today, it might be en route even, especially if she's still somewhere on the Continent. Patience, Coz, patience. Give the lady some time to pack. You know yourself how difficult it is to travel-especially with your sort of limitations."
"I have to leave her another note. Just in case the first one did go awry. I have to be sure."
"Of course you do, but did you bring along any writing paper?"
I made a face. "You know I didn't." Nor pen, nor ink, nor...
"Well, then!"
"Well, then, what?" I demanded, growing annoyed.
"It'll have to wait a bit, don't you think? You still have to look in on Ridley tonight, after all."
I let out a thunderous, exasperated sigh. "Damn Ridley and all his cousins'
"Especially Arthur," he put in brightly.
"-especially Arthur," I echoed. Then I couldn't bring myself to finish. The laughter bubbling up inside prevented it. We hooted at one another like lunatics.
"You can leave another note anytime," Oliver said when he'd recovered some of his breath. "You'll like as not come back later while all the world sleeps, or am I wrong?"
"You are perfectly right." But my good spirits sagged, dragged down by my ever present doubt.
"What is it?" he inquired, seeing the change.
"Well, just look at things. The note I left is gone, and so I make all these assumptions that she has it and will reply as soon as she can."
He sat back, sobering. "You're right, it's not much, but if the worst happens and nothing comes of this, we can still continue on as we'd planned. I was going to go 'round to more house agents tomorrow. Everitt gave me the name of one I've not tried yet-oh, in your mad rush to tell me of your discovery, I've not had the chance to say what I've learned. No, no, don't excite yourself, because I didn't learn a damned thing that's new. No one in that household has the least idea of Miss Jones's whereabouts, sad to say."
"But there's obviously been a visitor or the note would still be there."
He waved one hand. "Then they just didn't notice his coming or going."
"How could they not?" I was outraged.
"I'm sure it wasn't intentional, but certainly they've better things to do with themselves than stare at an empty house all the time. Anyway, be of good cheer and keep thinking she's got your note and is on her way to see you. The world's not that big; she'll get here eventually. Or we'll find her first."
I wanted to believe that, and Oliver's manner was such as to half convince me of the truth of it. Some of my doubt sloughed away.
"Now, then," he said cocking his head, "what about you taking care of the vile Mr. Ridley and his Mohock hordes?"
Not much time passed before our driver, following Oliver's directions, guided the carriage to the right street. While Ridley had still been a "guest" at Fonteyn House, my cousin had taken pains to get his exact address.
"There, I think." He pointed out one
in a line of doors as we slowly passed. "He told me it was the fourth over on the west side of the square. Not a very fashionable neighborhood, I'm sure."
His disdain was well founded as he looked down his long nose at the row of narrow, dingy houses. Most buildings in London were dingy regardless of their quality because of the soot-tainted air, but these specimens seemed to be a bit more so than most.
"I thought he had money," I said.
"He does, but only if he doesn't live with his family. The gossips at one of my clubs say they give him a quarterly payment to be elsewhere as much as possible."
"Can't be much of a payment."
"I'm thinking he spends most of it on his pleasures and this is all he can afford on what's left."
We drove by and had the driver stop a hundred yards down, then I got out to walk back. I might not have otherwise troubled myself with such caution, but Mr. Dunnett's observations inspired me to take greater care than usual. If any of Ridley's friends were lurking about, I wanted the chance to spot them first.
The building housed several flats, all occupied, if I correctly discerned the varied noises coming through the many walls. Ridley's was on the first floor. I hurried lightly up the stairs and gave a jaunty double knock on his door as though I were expected. No one answered. After a moment I found my own way in, slowly reforming on the other side of the threshold with my eyes wide for any sign of him.
He had two small chambers, this one serving as a sitting room, and I guessed the one beyond the half open door across from me to hold his bed. From the untidy condition of things, he had no servant. I listened hard, but heard nothing, not even the soft breath of a sleeper. The place was dark, cold, and empty. Well, that's what comes of it when one doesn't make an appointment. I would have to return later.
On my way down I reflected that though I was interfering in the very direction of Ridley's life, it might not be such a bad thing after all. If I got him to improve himself, he might even be able to do the Prodigal Son business with his family and at least end up in a better place than this to live. The trick was to catch him at home. But later.
My spirits had lifted-because of this failure, not in spite of it. I'd been spared getting a headache from the work, if only for the moment; there was still a call to make on Arthur Tyne. Perhaps he wouldn't be at home, either. Pleasant thought, that.
I walked up the street toward Oliver's carriage, not in a hurry, but not especially slow. Pacing me on the opposite side were three other strollers in gentlemen's dress. None of them seemed to pay me much, if any, attention, but my guard went up nevertheless. I had the strong impression they were very well aware of me, though none looked in my direction beyond a glance or two. They seemed very comfortable with themselves. That's when I understood why I felt the need for caution; their ease of manner did not fit. Only a gang of bullies confident in their numbers would have such bravado. That meant they were likely to be Mohocks.
A quick look behind confirmed that three more of them followed me on this side of the street. Well-a-day, but I must have walked into a veritable nest of rowdies. I quickened my stride to a trot. Taking this as a signal to drop all pretense, they set after me like a pack of hounds on a fox. I broke into a dead run and started yelling at the driver to whip up the horses. The man turned in his seat, divined my intent, and called something to the footmen. Those worthy lads, well used to the rigors of their work, started smartly away with their torches. I wasn't too very worried about coming to harm, but felt a distinct a wash of relief when I tore open the door and jumped onto the carriage. It rocked from my sudden weight, but kept moving forward as I bellowed for the driver to go as fast as he dared.
"What is it?" Oliver demanded, and though astonished at this development, he helped haul me in. I sprawled upon the opposite seat, righted myself, and pulled the door shut.
For an answer I told him to look out one of the windows. He saw all six of the men running after us, waving their sticks and shouting abuse. Fortunately, none was as fit as they might want to be for such exertions and had to give up the chase after a very short distance. They were soon left behind, breathlessly cursing and shaking their fists.
"Good God," he said, drawing his head back inside again. "What on earth was that about?''
"Friends of Ridley, I suppose. He wasn't home, by the way."
"Just as well. If they'd charged in like that while you were trying to influence him'
"I'd have vanished in a blink, dear Coz. Left 'em with a proper mystery."
He laughed at that idea, but uneasily. After another look back to make sure no one still followed, he told the driver to slow to a safer, more civilized speed. "Was Ridley in that lot?"
"I didn't see him, and he's too large to miss. Of course they might not be connected to him and only be up to general mischief."
He shook his head. "I can hardly believe that. If they're the ones that came by last night, then they must know you both."
"True, and if so, then I'll have a lot of work on my hands finding them one by one and warning them off. I can get their names from Ridley."
"This is positively beastly. There's no reason for such unpleasantness, y'know. Not one that I can see."
"It's bound to be just pure meanness, or revenge. Maybe they've noticed their leader isn't behaving-or misbehaving that is-as usual and have determined I'm somehow responsible."
"I hope to God Elizabeth's all right."
"She's fine."
"How are you so certain of it?"
"If all of Ridley's friends are here then they won't be anywhere near your house."
"Oh."
"Well, shall we pay a call on Mr. Tyne?"
"You are a one for taking chances, aren't you?"
"Hardly, but perhaps Ridley's with him and I can catch them both in one go."
He acquiesced with a short laugh and called fresh directions to the driver. This time our destination was to a long crescent of identical houses in a very fashionable area of town.
"I'd hate to have to find my way home without a guide," Oliver commented. "Look at 'em-like a row of peas in the pod. Too much to drink and you could end up in your neighbor's bed instead of your own."
"I expect one gets used to it-oh, stop braying, you great fool, or you'll have the watch down on us. I meant it in terms of finding one's own door and you know it."
For all their similarity, the overall effect of the houses was very grand. Made of white stone with large windows, the wooden trims still looked freshly painted despite London's soots. The people who lived in these palaces took pains to keep them as perfect as possible. They probably even had vicious rivalries going on amongst themselves over the fine points of how to keep everything clean.
"Is this Mr. Tyne's place or his parents?" I asked.
"His own. Arthur must be rather better than Ridley at keeping his carousing within his means, that or he's confoundedly lucky at the gaming table."
"Where are his parents, then?"
"They live in the country and generally take themselves away to Italy at the first sign of winter. Not a very sociable lot, except for Arthur."
As before, Oliver pointed out the right door and we stopped the carriage a distance down the way so I could walk back. And, as before, the object of my quest was not at home according to the servant who answered my knock. He informed me that the master was staying over with one of his friends, but could not say who it might be. The master had a wide circle of friends. I thanked the fellow with a small vale and retracted my steps. This time the street was clear of bullies.
"There it is, then," said Oliver as I passed the news on in turn. "Nothing for it but to enjoy the ride back home unless you have a mind to go along to Paternoster Row? It's not that far away."
"If you think the bookstalls will still be open."
"Some of 'em are bound to be. Don't you recall there are parts of this city that never close?''
"It has been a while...." The other sort of stop I had in mind I knew would m
ost definitely be open for custom.
"Then you need to become reacquainted with things."
My thoughts exactly.
Navigation through the sometimes cramped and nearly always crowded streets was quite a demanding art. Happily our coachman was a master at it. The two footmen were also skilled, shouting for people to clear the way, their calls getting more frequent the closer we came to our destination.
As they labored, Oliver and I discussed the chances of hunting down some decent plays to send to Long Island for our cousin Ann to read. She'd come to have a fondness for Shakespeare, but wanted to read others. Oliver understood that despite her exposure to such writing she was still not especially worldly, which meant that numbers of the more easily understood modern works would be most inappropriate for her delicate character.
P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death Page 15
