The Yard

by Alex Grecian

  It didn’t matter to Hammersmith in the least. He knew that he had failed the unidentified chimney climber, the boy nobody had cared for, but he thought perhaps he had made up for it in some small way by bringing Fenn home.

  “Good-bye, Fenn,” he said. “Always be brave.” He said it quietly and nobody heard him.

  He was startled by yet another boy, whom he recognized as one of Kett’s runners. The boy hurtled at them on a rickety bicycle and jumped off just as he reached the curb, bringing the bicycle to a shuddering halt.

  “One of you Inspector Day?” the boy said.

  “I am,” Day said.

  “Sergeant Kett said to find you. Been by way of two other places, sir.”

  “What is it, son?”

  “He said to tell you,” the boy said, “your wife’s taken sick, sir. You’re needed home at once.”

  “Thank you.”

  Day scowled at the trees, but said nothing. He seemed to have forgotten where he was. Kingsley gave the boy a penny and touched Day on the arm.

  “I’ll take you,” he said.

  “Hammersmith,” Day said. “Let’s get him to hospital first. That arm needs tending.”

  “No,” Hammersmith said. “We’ll get you home. My arm will wait.”

  “Where do you live?” Kingsley said.

  “Kentish Town,” Day said.

  “St Thomas’ is on the way. It’s not the hospital I’d choose, but it’ll do if Mr Hammersmith will permit.”

  Hammersmith snorted. The sudden air through his broken nose brought tears to his eyes and he put his head down. St Thomas’ Hospital. He chuckled to himself, and when he raised his head, he saw that the others had stopped walking and were staring at him.

  “St Thomas’ would be fine,” Hammersmith said. “Anything that gets Walter to his wife as quickly as possible.”

  Day smiled at him and Hammersmith smiled back. He had balanced the universe by saving one boy when he couldn’t find justice for another. Apparently the universe wanted to repay the favor.

  He straightened his shoulders and hurried to the carriage.

  106

  Hammersmith sat at the edge of the bed and carefully pulled the fresh white sling off over his head. He reached for the shirt that was draped at the foot of the bed and inched it on over his damaged arm.

  “That’s a bad cut there,” the patient in the next bed said.

  “Not too bad. It’s the broken knuckles that bother me most.”

  “Got the same damn thing myself,” the patient said. “Other arm, though. And me knuckles are good.” He held up his arm to show Hammersmith the bandage. “Some mad bugger did me with scissors. You believe it?”

  Hammersmith clucked his tongue and pulled the other sleeve over his good arm. He concentrated on buttoning the shirt with his good hand. The shirt fit well. He’d found it at the tailor’s shop and didn’t think anyone would complain that he’d taken it.

  “Lucky for me there was a doctor at the workhouse today. Just visitin’, he was, pure coincidence. Except not a coincidence at all, was it?”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “He was there with the police, chasin’ after the madman what stabbed me. Anyhow, it was a lucky break. He fixed me up and sent me on here.” The patient propped himself up on one elbow so he could lean in toward Hammersmith. “Glad it happened. Know why? Food’s better here!”

  The patient broke into loud peals of laughter. Hammersmith nodded and put his sling back on, adjusting it across his chest. He stood and surveyed the area for anything he might be forgetting.

  “Here now,” the patient said. “Yer not s’posed to leave till the nurse comes an’ says it’s all right.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be glad for the empty bed. Anyway, I’ve things to do. Can’t lie about all day.”

  “Me, I’m happy to have a reason to lay about.”

  “Then enjoy yourself. Glad to have met you.”

  Hammersmith walked out of the ward and nobody stopped him. He got his bearings and turned to his left, walked down a long hall until he found a staircase. At the top of the stairs, he asked a harried-looking nurse for the men’s critical ward and followed in the direction she pointed until he came to a large room at the end of the hall. Twenty beds lined the walls, and in each of them lay a dying man.

  He took a deep breath and entered the ward. He found his father in the sixth bed from the end, asleep, an old man with thin white hair and bony shoulders. He no longer resembled the strong coal miner who had ruffled his son’s hair as they’d walked home in the starlight so many years ago.

  Hammersmith pulled up a stool and sat. After a while, the old man’s eyes opened and he looked up at Hammersmith. There was a long silence, and when his father finally spoke, Hammersmith had to bend over him so that he could hear.

  “Look how you’re growing, son,” his father said. “You won’t be the smallest boy in the village much longer.”

  He smiled and Hammersmith smiled back. He reached out his hand and smoothed his father’s hair back from his forehead. After a moment, the old man’s eyes closed again.

  Hammersmith waited until he was sure his father was asleep and then he rose and left the hospital.

  He was surprised to find Penelope Shaw waiting for him when he arrived at number four, Whitehall Place.

  “I heard that you rescued a child,” she said.

  “It was luck.”

  “You’re too modest.”

  “No, only honest.”

  “Your arm?”

  “It will heal.”

  “Your nose is healing already.”

  “Yes. I noticed it’s a different shade of purple today.”

  “I came to apologize to you again.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I want to anyway.”

  “Very well, then. You’ve apologized. Now it’s done and behind us.”

  “And I want to say good-bye to you.”

  “Good-bye? I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps I’m assuming things I shouldn’t, but it felt as if there was something between us.”

  “How could there be? You’ve been a widow for less than a day.”

  “And you would never presume, would you, regardless of my feelings for my husband? Or, I should say, my lack of feeling for him.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I told you.”

  “And yet I still don’t understand.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it? So I’m going to marry your Inspector Blacker.”

  Hammersmith’s eyes widened and he cast his eyes about the room, looking for Blacker. “What did he do?”

  “Michael? Why, nothing at all.”

  “He’s proposed marriage already?”

  “No. He doesn’t know.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

  “When enough time has passed so that it seems proper, I will let him know of my intentions and then he will propose to me.”

  “But he doesn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know that he’ll propose?”

  “Because I do.”

  “You can’t have feelings for him. You’ve only just met him.”

  Penelope looked away. “I have a child, Mr Hammersmith. I have responsibilities.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “How will I care for my son by myself? How could I possibly afford to keep Elizabeth on?”

  “You’ll get by.”

  “I don’t want to get by. I want to be taken care of.”

  “I’ll help you find a solution. Marrying Inspector Blacker solves nothing.”

  “It solves everything. And besides, I like him.”

  “You don’t love him.”

  “I like his jokes.”

  “But you don’t love him.”

  “He makes me laugh.”

  “You like his jokes?”

  “I do.”

  Hammersmith blink
ed. “Huh.”

  “My son smiled for the first time since … well, for the first time in a very long time. Michael made my son smile, Mr Hammersmith.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think I do. But I would ask that you give this more thought.”

  “It would never have worked between us. With you and me.”

  “I haven’t even considered the idea.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her. “Well, obviously you have,” he said.

  “You are already married to your job, Mr Hammersmith. You have no time for anything or anyone else.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “It is. And my problem is that I can’t be alone.”

  “And so you want to be with Inspector Blacker.”

  “He is attentive to people.”

  “Well, you like his jokes.”

  “Yes.”

  Hammersmith shrugged. Penelope reached out to touch his chest, then drew her hand back. She turned and walked away. Hammersmith waited for her to look back at him, but she didn’t.

  He felt as if he’d gone another round with an enraged bartender.

  “Constable?”

  Hammersmith turned to see Sergeant Kett hurrying toward him.

  “The commissioner wants to see you in his office soon’s you arrive. Looks to me like you’ve arrived.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He swung open the gate to the squad room and made his way across to Sir Edward’s office. He noticed that Inspector Day wasn’t at his desk. Blacker nodded to him as he passed and Hammersmith returned the gesture. He knocked on Sir Edward’s door.

  “Come.”

  Sir Edward was looking through a sheaf of papers and laid them down on the desk when Hammersmith opened the door. He motioned for Hammersmith to close it behind him.

  “Mr Hammersmith.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A commendable job. You helped subdue the murderer and his accomplice. And you rescued the boy that set all this in motion. I am impressed.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “The boy may be called to testify, but Inspector Day has amassed enough evidence against the tailor that he may not. It would be good if the boy were left alone now. His family’s been through enough, I think.”

  “Where is Inspector Day, sir?”

  “There was an emergency at home. I’ve given him the rest of the day. And I’m giving you the rest of the day, as well.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m ready to work.”

  Sir Edward chuckled and shook his head. “You are ideally suited for police work, Hammersmith.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But…” Sir Edward hesitated and scowled at the top of his desk.

  “Sir?”

  “You also acted beyond the pale, overstepping your responsibilities at every turn, disobeying the spirit of my orders, and displaying a remarkable amount of independence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It is fortunate for you, Sergeant Hammersmith, that I admire a certain degree of independent spirit in my men. But in the future, you will exercise better judgment and find ways of applying your zeal that do not step over the bounds of your proper duty, do you understand?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Good. How’s the arm?”

  “The wound was shallow. My hand’s broken, but should knit well enough.”

  Sir Edward nodded. “Go easy on it. I want you back in fighting form sooner rather than later.”

  “Yes, sir. But, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr Hammersmith?”

  “Didn’t you call me sergeant just now? I mean, I believe you may have misspoken.”

  Sir Edward nodded. “It is certainly possible. But in this case I did not. As of today, you are promoted to the rank of sergeant within the Metropolitan Police Force.”

  Hammersmith stood absolutely still.

  “Hammersmith, are you quite all right?”

  “I don’t know what … Sir, this is most unexpected.”

  “I imagine it is. Beginning tomorrow, I would like you to assist Inspector Day on his cases. We need to begin filling the void left by poor Inspector Little.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I believe you and Mr Day will balance each other nicely. I have high hopes.”

  “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “No, I don’t think you will.”

  Sir Edward picked up the sheaf of papers from his desk and studied the top page. Without looking up, he said, “You are dismissed, Sergeant.”

  107

  You needn’t trouble yourself, Doctor,” Day said. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Your house is on my way home.”

  “Well, I appreciate your company,” Day said.

  Walter Day opened the front door and Kingsley followed him inside. Mrs Dick greeted them in the parlor.

  “She’s upstairs, Mr Day. The doctor’s in there with her. It’s bad, sir.”

  Day didn’t bother to introduce Mrs Dick and Dr Kingsley. He took the stairs three at a time with Kingsley right behind him. Claire’s bedroom door was closed, and Day knocked. The door was opened almost immediately and a stout white-haired man in shirtsleeves and vest stood there, barring entry. Day craned his neck to see past the stranger.

  “Claire?” Day said.

  “I’m sorry,” said the old man. “Who are you?”

  “I’m her husband. Who are you?”

  “I’m her doctor.”

  “She doesn’t have a doctor. We’ve only just moved to the city and we have no doctor yet.”

  “I am Phillipa’s doctor. She summoned me when your wife took sick.”

  “I don’t know who Phillipa is.”

  “Phillipa Dick. Your housekeeper. Surely you’re aware of your household staff.”

  “I didn’t … I didn’t know her first name. What’s wrong with Claire?”

  “Your wife is gravely ill. I fear the worst.”

  “Let me in.”

  Day pushed past him. The room was dark. It smelled stuffed-up, acidic, and smoky. There was a row of small glass jars on the vanity across from the bed, along with a pile of squat candle stubs. Claire lay on her bed, propped up by pillows. She smiled weakly at her husband.

  “I’m so sorry, Walter. I don’t know what happened to me.”

  He went to her and took her hand. It was cold, and when he gently squeezed her fingers, she didn’t squeeze back.

  “It’s all right. You’re going to be just fine.”

  “Of course I will be, dear. Don’t trouble yourself over me.”

  Kingsley had been quiet and Day didn’t realize that he had followed him into the room until he spoke.

  “What is all this?” Kingsley said.

  “I’m going to cup her to try to reduce the fever,” Mrs Dick’s doctor said.

  Kingsley looked aghast. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said.

  “Will it help?” Day said.

  “Cupping will not help anyone with anything,” Kingsley said.

  Day glanced at the jars on the vanity. He had seen people cupped before. It was a more drastic treatment than leeches. Incisions were made in the patient’s flesh, and heated cups or jars were placed over the fresh wounds. As the glass containers cooled, blood was naturally drawn up into them. Pints of blood could be quickly extracted from points all over the body.

  “It’s barbaric,” Kingsley said. “A relic of the past. There’s no place for such mumbo jumbo in this modern age.”

  “It’s hardly mumbo jumbo, sir. I’ll ask you to keep your lay opinions to yourself and leave me to my work.”

  “My opinions are not lay opinions. They are not even opinions. They are fact.”

  “Unless you are a doctor, sir—”

  “I am,” Kingsley said. “What is your name?”

  “Entwhistle. Dr Herbert Entwhistl
e.”

  “I’ve never heard of you. You don’t practice at either of the hospitals where I teach.”

  “I’m in private practice. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It is my business now. Tell me you haven’t begun to cut this woman up.”

  Entwhistle pulled back his shoulders and thrust out his chest. He looked from Kingsley to Day and back to Kingsley, clearly not accustomed to being confronted.

  “No, I haven’t begun making the incisions yet,” he said.

  “Good,” Kingsley said. “Inspector Day and his wife were just about to employ me as their family physician.”

  He looked at Day, who nodded.

  “That’s done, then,” Kingsley said. “And now that I’m in charge here, I’ll ask you to leave.”

  “Well, I never!” Entwhistle said.

  “Then it’s about time you did,” Kingsley said. “Out you go.”

  He made a shooshing motion, and Entwhistle left the room protesting.

  “I’m afraid you’ll need to go, too, Detective. Your wife will want her privacy.”

  “I’ll be just outside that door,” Day said.

  “I’m sure that will be a comfort to her.”

  Day smiled at Claire and patted her hand. “Don’t you worry. Kingsley’s a very good doctor.”

  “I’m not worried, Walter. Don’t you be worried, either.”

  “I have complete faith in you both.”

  He gave one last look to his wife as he left the room and Kingsley closed the door after him. Day was left in the hall with Entwhistle and Mrs Dick, who shot baleful stares in his direction but said nothing. A moment later, the door opened again and Kingsley thrust an armful of jars and candles at Entwhistle.

  “Take these antiques with you,” Kingsley said. He closed the door again.

  Entwhistle narrowed his eyes at Day. “You’ll regret this,” he said. “Don’t beg me to come back here if that quack makes her worse.”

  “I’m sure I won’t.”

  “You’re a fool, Mr Day,” Mrs Dick said. “Dr Entwhistle has been my physician for more years than I can count. He’s brilliant, he is.”

  “And yet he’s been unable to cure your sour disposition.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Do you imagine that my wife and I never talk? That she hasn’t told me about your attitude toward her? You’re meant to be helping her about the house, not belittling her at every turn.”