A Cowardice of Crows

by S. E. Smith

  Clara’s sobs filled the place; bouncing off the walls unchecked until, having enough of it, Emily’s patience snapped. “Enough of your whining, woman. I listened to you once and spared the bastard when Uncle demanded to know what he did. Now he’s fair game.”

  Clara’s eyes went wide. The tears stopped, replaced with righteous indignation. “You’re just like Mr Gold! Don’t do nothing without reason!” She glared at Emily. “Oliver always said that if you wanted to, you could’ve put a word in with the Jew and got Dad's debt written off. You knew we couldn’t pay it!”

  Emily held up her hand: tattoo to the fore. “Stop spouting your husband’s vitriol. You need my help.”

  “God Em, ‘ave an ‘art. Or is Oliver right that he sucked your humanity every time ‘e ...?”

  “If I lacked humanity, I wouldn’t be here and Algie wouldn’t visit once a month.” Emily cut across her before Clara could complete her accusation, but the other woman’s insinuation was clear and deliberately provocative.

  Icicles formed in Emily’s eyes.

  “Ma! Don’t! Don’t make it worse!” Jake pleaded.” We ain’t in no position to let your loyalty to Dad get in the way.”

  “Clara, whose fault is it that I became the apprentice?” Emily’s words were equally frozen. “The job was Oliver’s until his actions showed Uncle just how unsuited he was to run the Impereye.”

  Clara howled again.

  Emily snorted her disgust and looked at the boy. “What happened to make your father leave?”

  Jake chewed his bottom lip and, having reached his decision, spoke slowly and carefully. “He got a letter.”

  “And that was unusual, why?” Sampson asked before Emily could berate a Clara who was still sobbing into her pinny.

  “No one writes to us and the only visitors are Uncle Algie, and Aunt Millie – and even then, Mum meets them at the top of the street.” Jake shook his head. “Anyways, I don’t know what the letter said, miss, but I do know it contained ten bob in coins. He gave some to Ma to fob her off and took the rest down the pub.”

  To Emily’s delight, Sampson was scribbling furiously into his notebook; keeping up with the boy’s disclosures with a dexterity that suggested he knew Pitman’s shorthand system.

  “Anyway,” the boy continued, “Dad came back drunker than a skunk in Piccadilly, and of course, Ma waited up for him, like he told her to. Like he always told her to. Knowing that if she didn’t – if he had to drag her out of bed – the beating would be worse.”

  Jake paused and stared at Clara. She’d stopped crying. Her eyes shone with unlooked-for pride.

  “Anyway, there he was, giving my ma a right jessy – hitting her until she was black and blue all over; and I heard him say he was just getting the practice in, because while he might not be able to do the same to Aunt Millie, he could and would do the same to the pawnbroker’s whore, just before he killed her and her bastard uncle. Sorry, Miss Em.”

  Emily waved her hand in a manner that reminded Sampson of the earl. “No offence, Jake. Tell me what else he said.”

  “That by the time he’d finished with you, he’d make Jack look a right amateur. He left for London the following morning. Didn’t say where he was going, nor how long he’d be. Sorry miss but you did ask.”

  “I did. Thank you.” Emily’s smile was genuine and fulsome, and designed to show no hard feelings. It was also, Sampson realised, a prelude to a test. “Jake, what would you like us to do for your family: food on the table and the rent paid ... or something else?” Emily got out of her seat and knelt before the boy, taking his hands in hers so their palms touched.

  It was an Impereye gesture and one Sampson last saw used in the flat when Gold had given Emily’s hands to his boss. Jake gulped and looked uncertain.

  Reading his mood, Emily withdrew her hands slightly. “Take your time, Jake,” she told him. “Decisions like this shouldn’t be rushed. When you’re ready, keep the position of our palms as it is; mine underneath yours if you want food and rent. If you want something more, something more permanent in terms of help reverse our hands, so mine are on top of your upturned hands.”

  Eyes wide, the boy glanced first at Clara, then at his sisters, then back to his mother. “Food on the table and rent paid is a good offer, miss,” he said unflinchingly. “But it only keeps the wolf from the door, it doesn’t send him away forever.” He reversed their hands and gulped again as the enormity of his decision hit him. “I’ve seen a different way for a man to behave today. And, if it’s not too much to ask, that’s the kind of help I’d like.”

  Emily withdrew her hands from underneath Jake’s and magicked a sweet out of thin air. “In service or in the army?”

  “They’re both hard lives. Long hours.” Sampson subjected the boy to a hard stare. “Sure, you wouldn’t like the money?”

  Jake shook his head. “No,” he stated vehemently. “I want to be self-sufficient.” He looked directly at Clara as he spoke, and it was like the dam broke. Words came quickly, tripping over themselves in a rush to be heard. “I want to hold my head up high like Mr Sampson does. I want to take care of my mum when she’s old. An’ more important, I wanna look Dad in the eye and tell him if he picks on Mum, he’s got me to deal with.”

  Aligning his course with the Impereye, Jake popped the sweet in his mouth.

  There was a moment of silence. Emily stood up and returned to her seat. Jake rose, holding his arms towards his mother, and Clara accepted the embrace and the protection it offered.

  From the Casebook of Symington, Earl Byrd.

  “Sym, I know it’s you!”

  We were about halfway back to the centre of Leeds, the mid afternoon sun was out – for a change – and I was just about to congratulate myself on my ability to pull the wool over Emily’s eyes, when she left her seat, stood over me, and gave me a hefty poke with Sampson’s umbrella. I laughed, yawned, and made a great show of removing my teeth overlays. Then I stood, bowed and joined them at the front of the tram.

  “What d’you learn?” I asked as I sat down.

  “Oliver’s never at home; leaves them for months on end. Left for London in September and hasn’t been seen since,” Emily replied.

  “Did you find out what he was wearing when he left?”

  “Yes. Young Jake here’s a very noticing boy. He gave Mr Sampson an excellent description.”

  As If seeing the newcomer for the first time, I took out my pince-nez and blinked through them. “And he is accompanying you to the hotel because?”

  “He’s going to help out in the kitchens tonight and – if he does well enough – I’ll see about getting him a permanent position,” Sampson said before Emily could get a word in.

  “Oh, very well, Sampson – you know best.” I waved a hand in a regal manner causing the young lad to stifle a grin. With difficulty, I ignored him. Emily was correct: the boy noticed things. “Emily my dear, to save time, will you telephone CC with your findings?”

  Emily thought carefully then – as if reluctantly admitting something unpleasant – shook her head. “CC doesn’t trust me. It would probably come best from you.”

  “Trust has to begin somewhere my dear,” I reminded her. “I appreciate he’s the only one who’s ever got close to arresting your uncle and making it stick. Show you’re being honest, and he’ll trust you.” Replacing the elements of my disguise, I stood up and rang the pulley cord. “I’m getting off here, there are a few more things I need to do whilst wearing this garb.”

  Pausing at the stairs as the tram came to a stop, I changed the subject. “Now Cinderella, go and put your glad rags on. I’m taking you to the theatre tonight.”

  “You are, why?”

  My smile became a grin. “I have it on excellent authority Fairbrass and party will be there.”

  “But ...”

  “Yes, I know we’re lunching with him on Friday, However, call me Machiavelli but I’d like to see Fairbrass with the family first.”

  And with tha
t, I ran down the steps and alighted the tram.

  In my circles, it was not unusual for a man to have a wife and a mistress. The Prince of Wales was the case in point. He went from one woman to another, some even simultaneously, but everyone knew about the arrangements and only a cad kept his wife in the dark.

  According to CC’s investigations, Algernon entered into his bigamic and secretive arrangement some ten years ago and appeared to be juggling it, and work, successfully if both his addresses were anything to go by. His place in Leeds, for example, had more than pretensions of grandeur. Womenfolk appeared clean and tidy. Girls in spotless pinafores played with prams, and while boys might have scraped knees, the tears in their short trousers resulted from accidents, not age. Leaning against a nearby wall, I rolled a gasper and busied myself in doing nothing.

  After about an hour, Algernon joined me, leaning against the wall and rolling his own cheroot. A man of average height and weight, there was nothing in his appearance to explain his success with the ladies. He didn’t speak immediately, just tipped his cap down slightly so as not to get the afternoon sun in his eyes. A man without a care in the world. “So, you’re the chosen one!” he said by way of introduction.

  “Dunno what you mean?”

  He studied me for a few more moments then laughed. “That’s not a bad accent – learned from one of your staff no doubt; and as for not knowing what I mean, oh yes you do ... I just don’t think you want to admit it.”

  I shrugged as he added: “Just like I’m not letting you in to meet Amy.”

  I gave Algernon my best stare, noticing he was sported a recently cut lip. “I understand. We all have our little secrets.”

  “If that’s what you like to think, then I won’t disabuse you. But now you work for the pawnbroker, you’ve no secrets – at least not from him. Gold knows everything. The things you forget; the things you didn’t even know you knew.” He smiled, revealing freshly chipped teeth. “But you didn’t come all the way to talk to me about Gold. Or at least not directly about Gold. So, let me take you to the local hostelry where we can chat in a man’s world – away from the prying eyes of children.”

  The Queens Head, if not for the lack of women, might have been a pub anywhere within the empire. Three grime-encrusted double windows, which looked out on to the street, were separated by two doors to the gents only bars. To the left was a smaller jug room for takeout. Sawdust footprints made their way from all three doors and a fog of tobacco smoke billowed out into the street every time the door opened. And, of course, that familiar mix of urine and beer, not found in my usual haunts, assailed the nostrils.

  As if to prove its name, two huge portraits of our current Queen and my errant friend hung over each fireplace, glaring at each other. It was clear to see they’d been the victim of a fight or two. The glass in Victoria’s portrait was cracked and the print stained. The picture of the Prince of Wales lacked glass and was torn at the edges. In addition, a nasty vertical cut – glued back together – gave my friend a more rakish expression than normal. Catching the drift of my gaze, Algernon chuckled.

  “Family resemblance is strong, isn’t it?”

  “Well, they are mother and son,” I replied tartly.

  Giving me a strange look Algernon shrugged and steered me to a seat in the corner of the bar. The wooden bench felt sticky, and the floor beneath – had puddles of something I didn’t want to identify.

  “Beer?”

  I didn’t take my eyes off Algernon as he brought our pints to the table carefully avoiding a big tattooed man with a loud voice in the process. We drank the first talking about this and that, until he told me the lure of the divvy-man took him to travelling across the country. I gave him money for the second and he went to the bar, bringing back two more pints.

  “Tell me about Millie,” I asked as he sat down. Well, there was no point in beating around the bush. Algernon already showed himself to be a man of some intelligence and I knew I’d get nowhere if I didn’t treat him as such.

  “We didn’t get on.”

  I brought the beer to my lips and appeared to drink deeply. Algernon smiled and did the same. “Why not?”

  “Surely you can guess?”

  “You disagreed with her life choice?”

  He snorted. “Until Dad, Gold always wrote off small debts when a person died – especially if the family worked for him.”

  “And yet he pursued you and yours? Why?”

  Algernon nodded. “I went to Fournier Street. Accused him of being vindictive. He said he understood my anger, but I was mistaken, it wasn’t shillings Dad owed but pounds. Then he told me not to worry – Millie was servicing the debt!”

  “And how did you react to that?”

  “You don’t react to Gold. You’ll learn that soon enough” Algernon told me. His eyes exuded pity for a few seconds then hardened as he recalled what happened after that encounter. “I did what I learned to do as a child. I thanked the pawnbroker for his time and went straight round to Millie’s.”

  “And? Could Gold have lied? I understand Millie was ... how can I put it? An asset?”

  Algernon put his beer down and I found myself on the end of another pitying stare. “Something you need to understand about the pawnbroker: when it comes to business he don’t lie and he doesn’t invest where there’s no return.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I persisted, kicking away the lone scorpion that protested I should run from this world. Quickly.

  Algernon bit his lip as he decided how to reply to that question. Then decision made, he picked up his drink and took a hefty swig. “My brother-in-law, Oliver, was apprentice when Dad started borrowing. He didn’t have such scruples, or the same business sense as the pawnbroker. Liked to think he could do people favours – traded on his future expectations, if you get me? Didn’t always put things through the books. If Gold had caught him rather than Em ...”

  Algernon stopped suddenly and I understood, from the hunted look, scarpering like a startled leveret across his face, that if I challenged him about what he nearly said, I would lose the man’s confidence completely. “Tell me more about your row with Millie.”

  “Mil’ said Dad pulled the wool over our eyes. She’d seen the official ledger – the one Emily had taken over after Oliver left.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “No. We continued to argue. I hit her. She hit me. We didn’t speak after.”

  “How'd you find out she was dead?”

  “I was in London with Amy – she’d just given birth to Michael. A copper came round to break the bad news.”

  “And your reaction?”

  He smiled. “Bloody delighted. My dear sister was an evil little bitch.”

  “I see.”

  Algernon shook his head. “I don’t think you do.”

  But I did and although it was probably too early to ask the question, I couldn’t help it. Lowering my voice until I was sure we couldn’t be overheard, said: “Mr Jones, was Millie blackmailing you?”

  Initially, he gave me a look of shock and false horror that I could suggest such a thing, but when I didn’t glance away, or change the subject, he realised only the truth would do and nodded.

  “What about?”

  He downed the rest of his beer, wiped his mouth noisily on his sleeve and stood up. “It’s been reet grand chatting with you, but if you want an answer to that question, you’d better ask Emily.” And with that, he was gone.

  From Reports.

  Sampson – having deposited Jake with the kitchen staff – was in a thoughtful mood as he returned to the earl’s apartment. He closed the door behind him and advanced into the sitting room. Emily was reading and didn’t look up. So, he paced around the room a little more, moving things into a precise mathematical arrangement in an attempt to catch her attention.

  When it didn’t achieve the desired effect, Sampson went for the direct approach.

  “Miss Clarke ...”

  Emily’s head snappe
d up and she shut the book. “How long have you known?”

  “The beginning. I’m not as stupid as the major!” Sampson took his old service revolver from his pocket and made a great show of examining it. “Now, I’m not saying I’ll use this, it’s just here to make you realise I’m serious.”

  Emily bent slightly and removed a stiletto knife from her right boot. Smiling at Sampson, she put it on the table, next to the book, and inclined her head. “I see. Go on.”

  “You and that uncle of yours are lying.” Sampson chose his words carefully. “He didn’t send men to search out Millie’s family, did he? You’ve known exactly where they lived. Even if you didn’t know just how bad things were.”

  To his surprise Emily smiled rather than look taken aback by his accusation. “We’re not in the business of making life easy for people.”

  “I gathered that. Especially if, like the major, they relish a challenge.” Sampson refused to be diverted. “But there are two types of lies. Little white ones – like addresses, I can forgive. And then there are big ones.”

  “There are?” Emily gave him her best innocent face, but Sampson could tell by the way her hand clenched against at her side that she was more than a little unnerved by their conversation.

  “Indeed, and you and Jethro told a big one. You see, I’ve been thinking. Jethro was there – like the rest of us, that night in Sikkim – but he had a cold. Couldn’t stop sneezing. Didn’t come with us on the mission because of it.” Sampson’s eyes hardened as he continued. “In fact, only one man entered Lady Manali’s apartments with the major. And he died shortly after returning home.” A click that resulted in Emily's eyes locking with his. “I’m only going to give you one chance, Miss Davies. Who told you about Sikkim?” The primed revolver pointed at her heart.

  Emily didn’t flinch.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t, Miss Davies? Or won’t.” The revolver didn't waver.

  Neither did Emily. “Can’t Mr. Sampson. If I could, I would. But I made a promise to someone whose friendship I value more than my life, not to bring him into this.”