by Michael Cox
Mr Vyses hansom had also stopped a little way ahead of us, at the junction with a narrow thoroughfare that appeared to lead towards the river. The overpowering stench of fish was everywhere. I looked back at the cab-man a large, round-faced fellow, with a remarkably bulbous, purple-veined nose to ask where we were. He saw the disgusted look on my face and began to chuckle.
Billingsgate, miss, he said; then, pointing his whip towards where Mr Vyses cab had stopped to let him out, Dark House Lane.
IV
The Antigallican
DARK HOUSE LANE was aptly named: dark indeed, and filthy, the wet and greasy pavements and roadway slippery underfoot with mud and scatterings of shiny fish scales, and all manner of other detritus. The whole lane was thronged with costermongers in strange leather-or hair-caps, many carrying trays on their heads piled high with fish, eels, and shell-fish, or quantities of oranges.
Lord, the deafening męlée of colliding carts and horses, the shouts and calls and roars, and the rank, all-pervading reek of fish! I had never experienced such a noisome, disagreeable place in all my life and stood at the top of the lane in some anxiety, trying to pick out my route if I were to continue following Mr Vyse. Evenwood and Grosvenor Square seemed a world away in that moment; whilst my former life with Madame in the Avenue dUhrich took on the aspect of a dream.
As I considered whether to go on or not, I heard a footstep behind me.
If youre thinkin of goin down there on your own, missy, youd praps best throw this round you.
The cab-man who had brought me from Fleet Street was holding out a stained and torn plaid shawl, which he suggested I should put over my head and dress, to make myself a little less conspicuous. I saw the wisdom of his advice, thanked him, and took the proffered shawl.
Thats all right, missy, he said. You remind me powerfully of my own dear girl, an I wouldnt ave wanted er to go a-wanderin about Dark House Lane, for all an sundry to gawp at, an who knows what else. Ill be blowed if I can think what you might be doin down ere. Its one thing for that usband of yourn
Excuse me, I interrupted. I have no relationship with that gentleman.
You dont say so? replied the cab-man. Well, its no business o mine, Im sure. But if youll take my advice, youll wait in the cab till the genlemun returns to is.
No, I said, placing the shawl over my head, and recoiling slightly from the impregnated smell of beer and stale tobacco; but I thank you for your kindness. If you wouldnt mind waiting for me, Ill come back as soon as I can.
Then if you dont mind, missy, came the reply, Ill accompany you, a few steps behind. The party youve been a-followin as just gone into the Antigallican, which aint no place for an unaccompanied young lady. And so: Mr S. Pilgrim the initial standin for the wise name o Solomon at your service.
He gave a little bow, to round off his introduction.
Theres no need, Mr Pilgrim, I said, firmly; but he held up a large gloved hand to stop me from saying more.
No, no, missy. If my Betsy were ere in your place, then I trust as ow someone would do for er what I insist on doin for you. Though of course, he added, with a sorrowful catch in his voice, she aint ere, and wont never be ere, bein now with the angels.
Is she dead, then, Mr Pilgrim? I asked.
Taken from me these six months since, missy he replied, shaking his head slowly from side to side in a most affecting way.
A little girl?
No, missy. Not little. About your own age. Typhoid.
I tell him how sorry I am to hear it, but that I am determined to go on alone.
In that case, missy, he says, seeing that I will not be persuaded, Ill do the next best thing. Ill put some baccy in my pipe and wait ere, where I can see down to the end of the lane, till you come out again. But if youre not out in fifteen minutes, then Im a-comin to get you.
Touched by his concern for me, I agree to the arrangement. Pulling the shawl round me and placing my handkerchief to my nose, I set off down Dark House Lane towards the Antigallican.
ON EITHER SIDE of me, as I gingerly pick my way down the lane, are fish-stalls and terrible places of steam and heat, where lobsters and crabs are being cruelly plunged into cauldrons of boiling water. It is almost with relief that I finally reach the low, mean-looking building within sight of the river that Mr Vyse has just entered the Antigallican public-house.
Pushing open the door, I stand for a few seconds on the threshold, observing the scene within.
Through a thick haze of tobacco-smoke, I finally make out the figure of Mr Vyse sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the room, his back towards me. He has exchanged his tall hat for an old forage-cap, and is wearing a black muffler across his face and a stained and patched coat, which I suppose have been carried here in the canvas bag.
The sawdust-strewn room heaving, like the street outside, with costermongers and fish-stall holders, their numbers swelled by groups of river-people is close and airless, being low-beamed and windowless, the only light coming from a few tallow candles on the bar, and from the sickly yellow glow of three dimly burning lamps hanging by rusty chains from the ceiling. Several of the houses patrons turn to look suspiciously at me as I enter, and I begin to regret my foolhardiness in not agreeing to Mr Pilgrims accompanying me.
As I take a few nervous steps into the smoky gloom, uncertain what to do next, a grimy, red-faced woman comes staggering over to me, roughly lifts away my handkerchief, and cries out to the assembled company, Why, eres a little beauty! To a raucous reception of shouts and whistles, she embarks upon a brief dance of her own drunken devising and then, having availed herself of a nearby spittoon, stumbles back to the bar, cackling to herself in the most vile manner.
Still Mr Vyse sits, alone and unheeding, in his dark corner. I am feeling quite sick from the rooms choking atmosphere, but I force myself to continue watching him, for he has clearly come here for a purpose, and I am determined to discover it. Minutes pass, and still he sits there, hunched over his table, impatiently drumming his fingers.
The door behind me creaks open. I turn slightly, to find myself staring into the eyes of a cadaverous young man wearing a peaked leather cap, from beneath which several long strands of greasy black hair hang down about his ears and neck.
We remain for a moment, face to face, eye to eye; and then, with a most vicious look, the young man pushes past me and goes over to the table where Mr Vyse is sitting.
I am shaking with fear, for I know that I have looked into the eyes of a conscienceless killer. Do not ask me how I knew then, by instinct, what was later confirmed to me as fact by others. I can only swear that it was so. What I have glimpsed in those black slits roots me to the spot with sheer terror.
The newcomer sits down opposite Mr Vyse. Heads leaning towards each other, they begin to talk.
As there is no possibility of my hearing what is being discussed in that dark, smoke-filled corner, and as I do not wish to risk being recognized by Mr Vyse, I am about to leave when I see the barrister reach into his pocket and pass a number of coins over the table to his companion. At the same moment, the young man looks across at me, our eyes meet again, and my blood freezes.
Without saying a word, his eyes still fixed on me, he begins to rise from his seat. Sensing the danger I am now in, and before Mr Vyse can turn to see where the young man is going, I immediately run to the door, out into the din of Dark House Lane once more, and into the outspread arms of Mr Solomon Pilgrim.
Whoah there, missy! he exclaims as he releases me. Whats afoot?
I have no time to answer him, for the young man has now come out of the Antigallican and is scowling menacingly at us. Mr Pilgrim instantly grabs my hand and begins to hurry me back up the lane towards the safety of his cab.
Billy Yapp, he shouts, gri
mly, as we push our way through the teeming hubbub. Known hereabouts as Sweeney.
Sweeney? I shout back.
Of the barbering persuasion.
He draws a finger across his throat, and then I catch the allusion to the legend of Sweeney Todd, the infamous barber of Fleet Street, which I remember being told as a child by Mr Thornhaugh.
Young Billy would slice his granny up, feed her to the fishes, an not lose a wink, Mr Pilgrim elaborates. A bad lot, through an through. What your fine genlemun as to do with such as Billy Yapp would be a thing to know.
Raising his bushy eye-brows, he gives me a look clearly intended to encourage me into favouring him with some little confidence concerning Mr Vyse, and why I have followed him; but I pretend not to take the hint. Like Mr Pilgrim, however, I can conceive of no good reason why a respectable gentleman of means and reputation like Mr Armitage Vyse should have come in disguise to this foul and dangerous place, to pass money over to such a person as Billy Yapp, and to do so immediately after having received my Lady in his Lincolns Inn chambers. As I wonder if she knew where he was about to go, and whom he was going to meet, I cannot help feeling a little swell of satisfaction; for here, surely, is something my Lady does not wish to be known a secret to be uncovered, and exposed.
As we approach the top of the lane I look back, but there is no sign of Yapp. We soon gain Lower Thames Street once more, where I hand Mr Pilgrim his shawl and climb, shaking still, into his cab. In another moment, with a sharp crack of his whip, we have left Dark House Lane and the Antigallican behind us and are heading westwards again.
As we pass St Brides Church, I hear the bells striking out five oclock. The sound immediately makes my heart thump with a new anxiety.
I have missed my time; and now I am late to dress my Lady.
11
An Announcement in The Times
I
An Invitation Rejected
A LIGHTING FROM Mr Pilgrims cab in Brook Street, I ran the short way back to Grosvenor Square, not wishing anyone to see that I had returned in a hansom-cab.
Youll be all right now, missy, said my new friend, as I got down.
I believe I shall, Mr Pilgrim, I replied.
Well, you get along, then, said he, affecting a kind of fatherly sternness, but failing utterly. Ive got a livin to make. But if you ever go a-ramblin agin, missy, where you really oughtnt, I opes as ow youll seek out the transportation services of S. Pilgrim if you can allus to be found, when not engaged with paying clients, at the stand in Fleet Street, where you was fortunate enough to find im today. Place of residence hard by, if required Shoe Lane, number four. Knock and ask for Sol.
And with that, he gave a flick of his whip, and drove off.
Reaching the house, I ran down the area steps into the kitchen, where I found Mr Pocock and Barrington in conversation.
Good-evening, Miss Gorst, said the butler. We were worried where youd got to. Her Ladyship has been asking for you.
He gave me a warning wink, to signal my Ladys displeasure that, yet again, I had failed to attend her at the time she had specified. I hastily thanked Mr Pocock for the use of his guide-book and map, and, with Barringtons expressionless eye upon me, hurried up to my room.
My dress being uncomfortably wet, and reeking of tobacco smoke from the Antigallican, I quickly changed into my only other gown, and then ran down heart beating with anxiety, hot and a little bilious after my adventures in Dark House Lane to my Ladys boudoir on the second floor.
There was no reply to my knock; and so I knocked again, and then softly entered.
The first room was empty, but the door to the adjoining bed-chamber stood ajar. To this I now proceeded, and knocked once more.
Who is it?
Her voice was agitated, and I heard the distinct sound of rustling paper.
Alice, my Lady.
Wait. I shall be out presently.
As I withdrew, I smiled to see that a black veil had been thrown over the arm of the sofa.
When my Lady came out of the bed-chamber, her usually pale face had a slight redness about the cheeks, and I noticed that she was wearing her spectacles, as if she had been reading.
Where have you been? she asked, seating herself with her back towards the street window.
Im sorry, my Lady. It was necessary to take shelter for some time from the rain, and then
Enough! she cried, angrily cutting me short. This simply will not do, Alice. It has now gone half past five, and you were told to be here by five oclock. You know I cannot abide unpunctuality, and this is the third time you have disappointed me. I was lenient with you last time, but youll receive no wages for today. Now, tell me where you have been.
I had expected to be quizzed by her, and so on the way back in Mr Pilgrims cab I had prepared myself by reading up on a number of the capitals most celebrated sights in Mr Pococks guide-book.
I went to the Cathedral, my Lady.
To St Pauls? Thats quite a distance. Did you walk?
Yes, my Lady.
And did you consider it worth the effort?
Oh yes, my Lady. Well worth it.
It has been many years since I was last there, she said, with a musing sigh as she slowly removed her spectacles. Did you go up to the Whispering Gallery?
Yes, my Lady.
Any further?
No, my Lady.
You can go up higher, you know. Much higher. Right into the clouds, or so it feels.
She then fell silent, and sat for several seconds looking towards the fire, her spectacles dangling carelessly from her hand.
Miss Lucasta Bligh and her sister, Miss Serena Bligh, elderly relatives on my mothers side, are dining with us tonight, she said presently, in a flat, indifferent tone, still looking into the flames, and also Mr Roderick Shillito, a former school-friend of Mr Phoebus Daunts, whom I have not seen for several years. Mr Vyse will also be joining us.
The mention of Mr Vyse momentarily unnerved me, and I felt my colour begin to rise.
Is anything the matter, Alice? asked Lady Tansor. You look a little flushed.
Its nothing, my Lady. Only the exertion of running back.
Further awkward questions were cut short by a knock at the door, and in walked Mr Perseus Duport, carrying a newspaper.
Thank you, dear, said Lady Tansor, taking the paper from him. He then turned to me, paused for a moment, and cleared his throat.
Have you had a pleasant afternoon, Miss Gorst?
My Lady, suddenly enlivened, answered for me.
Alice has been to St Pauls, and goodness knows where else, and on such a horrid day! I forgot to ask you, Alice dear, what else did you see on your walk through the rain?
I fancied that I could detect some vague insinuation in her voice, although she was smiling now. I quickly thought back to some of the sights I had picked out of Murrays Guide.
I saw Nelsons Column, my Lady, and of course the National Gallery although I did not go in as I passed through Trafalgar Square on my way to the Cathedral. And then, on the way back, I walked down from the Strand to the Temple Gardens.
Oh, I adore the Temple, said Lady Tansor. Such a romantic place! You know that the Wars of the Roses are said to have begun in the Gardens? But of course I see from your face that you do. I forget sometimes how clever you are.
The Temple is indeed a romantic place, my Lady, I agreed; but then I suppose that the other old Inns of Court are too. I should like very much to see Lincolns Inn, which I have read is very beautiful.
To my great satisfaction, she momentarily coloured up, and was obliged to turn away, seemingly to place the newspaper on a nearby table, in order to hide her discomfort; but she quickly composed herself, clapped her hands gaily, and told Mr Perseus that he must le
ave us so that she might dress for dinner.
Perhaps, Miss Gorst, he said at the door, in a manner that suggested he had been considering his words carefully, if my mother is willing to grant you a few hours more liberty while we are in Town, you might allow me to conduct you to see the pictures at the National Gallery, which you did not see today? You really ought to see them, you know. There are some very fine works there. Are you fond of paintings?
Feeling that my Lady would not approve of her maids accepting such an invitation from her son, although I would dearly liked to have done so, I declined, with due deference, justifying my refusal by saying that my duties would not allow me any more liberty. Why it distressed me to observe a marked, though fleeting, look of disappointment pass over Mr Perseuss face, I could not say; but it was soon apparent that I had been right not to give in to my own rather warm inclinations.
Alice is quite right, said Lady Tansor approvingly, giving her son a sharp look. In fact, I wish to return to Evenwood as soon as possible. I am growing to hate London. How anyone can bear to live here for more than a few days is quite beyond me. We have been here only a matter of hours, and already the place is making me feel quite ill. We shall stay tomorrow, of course, to complete the arrangements with Mr Freeth; but I shall return to the country on Thursday. You may stay if you wish, Perseus. Come, Alice.
With these words, she beckoned me to follow her into the bed-chamber, leaving Mr Perseus standing, cold-faced, by the door.
WHEN HER TOILET was completed to her satisfaction, my Lady gave me my instructions for the evening.
You may take your supper with Pocock and the others, when dinner is over, she said. Until then, there is some mending to do. I have noticed a tear on the sleeve of the dress I wore last week, when I called on Miss Bristow. You remember the one? Good. I am a little disappointed, however, to have to bring this to your attention. You should really have noticed it yourself when you packed it. But let that pass.
