The Versatiles

by Alex Duncan

  ‘Anyone I should be particularly aware of?’ he asked.

  ‘Er…no Apollo sir, everyone’s under a pretty tight leash at the moment. There was that business with the Smiths, but that was well taken care of.’

  ‘Yes, I know it was,’ sneered Apollo. ‘Oh and Thump, The Hop Inn, the tavern on Ash Street, you are aware of it?’

  Thump nodded. ‘It’s not one that I frequent Apollo sir, the Crossroads is more my style, bawdy like, but yes, I know the Hop Inn.’

  ‘The Royal Suite,’ said the man, cheerfully. ‘You will visit it in the early hours, and you will bring back any possessions, jewellery, trinkets, keep-safes and the like. You will not disturb anything else and you will not be seen.’

  Thump smiled.

  ‘And don’t be alarmed by what you see. Some of our…friends…will be paying a visit before you. Things might be a little, how shall I say it…chilly in there.’

  ◆◆◆

  The elderly Mr Winterton glowered at the young man behind the counter in a practiced manner. It had been a long and trying day and if there was one thing that really got his hackles up it was the arrogance and snobbery of the serving classes. How dare they!

  ‘What do you mean you are full?’ he asked, as calmly as he could.

  ‘Precisely that sir,’ drawled the young man, creasing his brow as though he was talking to a petulant child. ‘There is no room at the inn. Every room is occupied. We are full. In fact we’ve been full for days,’ he went on. ‘All manner of folk have descended upon our humble town to witness our transformation and the revelations at tomorrow evening’s demonstration at the theatre. I presume that’s why you’re here?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Mr Winterton mumbled into his collar. How he seethed at being made to look like a fool by such a young upstart, especially in front of his new bride, the heavenly Cicely.

  ‘Oh sir, you should have booked weeks in advance. Dearee, dearee me. You’ll be pushed to find a lodging house at such short notice now. I suggest you try elsewhere.’ The young man removed his fob watch from his waistcoat and yawned as he gazed down at it.

  ‘We have tried elsewhere,’ Mr Winterton harrumphed, banging the tip of his cane onto the floor. They had traipsed up and down the town time and time again and got the same answer at every place. He hadn’t walked so far in the best part of twenty years and his feet throbbed inside his tightly buckled shoes. He looked up at Cicely and patted her hand in his most reassuring way. She battered her eyelids down at him and smiled her simple smile in return.

  ‘Might I tempt you,’ he said to the young man, reaching into the pocket of his white frock coat, ‘with a little remuneration for your efforts?’ He lifted out a small dark velvet purse and held it up by its delicate string.

  ‘Sir,’ said the man, snapping his watch shut and leaning over the counter. ‘You could offer me all the coffee in Brazil, you could offer me all the spices in India, you could even offer me all the gold in the King’s treasury, that still would not make a room available. Did you not hear me before? We. Are. Full. Perhaps if you tried The Pan and Pipe?’

  ‘Full.’

  ‘The Dew Drop Inn?’

  ‘Full.’

  ‘Atlas’ Arms?’

  ‘Also full. I’ve never known anything like it. It’s as bad as London. And the manners! Why the manners are worse than the French!’

  He and his wife stood there for several moments in silence, he seething and her simpering. Finally, once he was resolved that they were to get nothing further from the intolerable youth, he sucked in a deep breath, lifted up their luggage, turned around and left without saying goodbye.

  Back on Corin Street it was as bad as it had been all day. The crowds hadn’t dwindled and he was still forced to barge his way through with his cases, tunnelling out a pathway through the throng.

  ‘One more my dear,’ he said. ‘One more Inn and then I’m through. Your husband is no spring chicken you know. No performance or demonstration or whatever it is we’ve been invited to can be worth such pains as this. My feet feel as though an elephant has sat on them and I’m certain my arms are a foot longer for carrying these infernal cases.’

  His wife didn’t answer him; she simply smiled, all beautiful and sympathetic.

  At least he had Cicely, he thought, continuing down the street and ignoring the befuddled looks of passers by as he knocked them out of the way. She was a fine catch indeed, everything a young lady should be, obedient, radiant and of very few words. How lucky he was.

  The two of them crossed the entrance to Ash Street and Cicely squeezed her husband gently by the hand and pointed towards a wooden sign, squeaking back and forth in the breeze.

  ‘The Hop Inn,’ Mr Winterton read. ‘Sounds charming, let us endeavour one final time to find ourselves lodgings my dear. Before your husband loses his will and gives up Hope!’

  The inside of the Inn was equally inviting, all oak panelling and polished parquet floors and large pots of flowers lending the entrance hall a fragrance and air of true spring. It seemed spacious and well presented enough, thought Mr Winterton, relieving himself of his heavy cases and tapping the bell on the counter.

  An attractive lady in a becoming dress of fuchsia, lined with golden bands and lace appeared and smiled at both of them.

  ‘Like Joseph and Mary, my lady, we are after a room,’ said the old man, trying his hardest not to sound as desperate as he felt. The lady looked suddenly saddened and Mr Winterton suspected their efforts were at an end. With one last twinge of hope, he reached back down into his pocket and brought out his heavy purse.

  ‘It would not be without its rewards,’ he said, jangling the purse up and down.

  The lady looked at the purse with hungry eyes and the old man felt a knot in his stomach as he realized he might be in with a chance. She turned away from him to a desk behind her and flicked through a large leather bound ledger. She ran her fingers down through the names, clapped her hands and quickly turned back to the couple, smiling more than before.

  ‘It seems that two of our guests,’ she said, ‘an elderly gentleman and his young ward, have forgone their invitation to tomorrow night’s event and our hospitality. It is a fine suite, our best in fact, the Royal Suite. I guarantee that you will not find another in the whole of Hope.’ She snatched the purse from Mr Winterton and took their details.

  ‘This is a great day lady,’ the old man exclaimed, signing the ledger. ‘All our trials were worth it to stay in such a handsome place. Mrs Winterton,’ he said, turning to Cicely, who stood quite motionless, still smiling, ‘our hardships are at an end and we shall have a warm bed to look forward to.’

  Reinvigorated, the old man lifted the cases and headed for the stairs with the keys to their suite in his pocket, his wife following him close behind with tiny, dainty steps.

  ‘My dear, I believe if my worst nightmares were to visit me this very night,’ he began, jumping up the stairs like some sprightly youth, ‘I should lie down and die a happy man!’

  ◆◆◆

  ‘No grandpa, I think I would remember something like that,’ said Rosie. ‘You have never told me about…what was it?…Voo…doo.’

  ‘The word means spirit,’ Rosie’s grandfather began, discarding his necktie. ‘I believe that might be what is called a veve,’ he pointed back to the detailed scar that ran like a large V shape from the man’s collarbones down to his navel.

  ‘A what?’ asked Rosie, leaning into her grandfather.

  ‘A veve my girl, a symbol of such importance it has to be marked on human flesh. I think it might be an indication that this stranger of ours bares the power of Voodoo within him.’ The old man slapped his hands down on his thighs. ‘Heavens! Each minute we are in this place, a dozen more questions are thrown into the air. I’m the very soul of confusion!’

  Rosie agreed as she reached for a shawl from the floor and wrapped it around herself. She felt the same familiar chill she had felt in the bedroom of Mr and Mrs Smith creep into her bones. A
deep and unsettling chill that somehow broke through the warmth of the spring air snuck under her skin. They couldn’t take their eyes from the man lying on what was left of the bed. His breathing was calming but he still quietly mumbled and turned his head this way and that as he wrestled with some unseen enemy in his sleep. Rosie cleaned the sweat from his forehead once more with the rag and felt her stomach clench as she realized for the first time how striking a man the stranger was. His features were strong and proud and, as she studied him, he had the look of a nobleman about him.

  ‘What power would this Voodoo give him?’ she asked, again drawing her finger down the marks on his skin.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not certain,’ Henry answered, ‘only that it would enable him to be free from many of the rules which constrain us in this world.’

  ‘What rules?’

  Henry’s dark hazel eyes looked up into hers. ‘Rules like space and time.’

  ‘What? Are you saying he can go wherever he wants, into whatever time he wants?’

  ‘I told you I’m not certain, but that’s what I’ve heard to be true.’

  Rosie blinked and shook her head.

  ‘Think of it grandpa! To be able to pop back and witness the King’s Coronation whenever you wished, or step forward and see what will become of the country in the nineteenth century!’

  ‘Don’t get carried away girl, I’m only telling you what I’ve heard, but yes, it’s perfectly possible that this man’s boundaries reach beyond those of the five senses.’

  ‘But what does it all mean?’ exclaimed Rosie, throwing the rag across the room. ‘Why is this man here? Where did he come from? Is he anything to do with what happened to Mr Smith and what would a town like this want with someone who practiced Voodoo anyway?’

  Henry put a hand on Rosie’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m asking myself the same questions girl. Let’s hope that tomorrow evening’s event throws some light on our situation.’

  ‘But there’s only two of us grandpa.’

  ‘That’s never stopped us in the past.’

  ‘I know,’ she huffed. ‘But couldn’t we do with a little help? We’ll be watching this demonstration at the theatre, don’t you think we could do with someone to poke around backstage?’

  ‘Poke around? I suppose it’s a sound idea, but who is there in this town who could help us?’

  A loud lurching sound came from behind the door as it opened out into the room and Sam spilt in holding two steaming plates of food and a dark brown glass bottle wedged under his arm. Rosie quickly closed the man’s shirt, covering his scars and stood up to meet the young man.

  ‘The things you requested Mr Homespun.’

  ‘Thank you boy, put them down there.’

  Sam placed the two plates carefully down on the floor and passed the old man the bottle of rum. He then stood there, awkwardly, as he became aware that the two peculiar guests were staring quite seriously straight at him. Sam folded his arms in front of him and bobbed up and down like a guilty child. He stood there in the silence, the two guests not taking their eyes from him, for as long as he could take it, before giving a small and embarrassed bow and making for the door.

  ‘One moment young Master Steadfast,’ said Henry, catching him by the arm and drawing him in.

  ‘Are you sure about this grandpa?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Why not? The boy’s got some pluck about him. And you said yourself that we could do with some help.’

  ‘True, but folk do get awful frightened when we show them the other side of the door.’

  Sam turned from Miss Simply to Mr Homespun and back again. He had no idea what they were talking about.

  ‘We don’t have to show him the other side of the door,’ said the old man.

  ‘Of course we do grandpa. If he’s going to help us, we’ll have to show him one time or another. And now’s as good a time as any, don’t you think?’

  ‘Wait a moment please!’ shouted Sam, pulling his arm free. ‘What is going on here? What do you mean I’m going to help you? What’s this other side of the door and why’s it so frightening?’ he paused and something struck him. ‘And why did you just call him grandpa?!’

  Rosie and Henry looked at each other a moment then they both nodded and brought him further into the room, closing the door to the landing behind him.

  ‘This man is my grandfather, his name’s Henry,’ said Rosie, gesturing to the old man. ‘His name isn’t Homespun and my name isn’t Lizzie Simply, it’s Rosie. We use those other names as a cover, like you said. We’re really called the Versatiles.’

  Sam clicked his fingers and gave a laugh. ‘I knew it. I knew it! Didn’t I tell you I was onto you? I knew you weren’t who you said you were. I was sure there was something funny about the two of you all along.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you were right all along Master Steadfast. May an eternity of congratulations shower down upon you.’ Rosie muttered at the smiling young man.

  ‘And now you’re coming to me, poor, humble Master Steadfast, for help?’

  ‘That is the nub of it, yes. We think you have what it takes to aid us in solving the riddle of what’s happening here in Hope.’

  ‘It’s about time someone did. What do you think is going on?’ Sam asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  ‘No idea,’ said Henry. ‘But underneath all the paint and the powder and the wigs and the smiles, people are frightened. And some people have died. We don’t know how or why but we think our friend here is wrapped up in it all.’

  Sam looked over at the stranger, sprawled out on the sheets, now quiet and sound asleep.

  ‘He came to Rosie up the hill from the town, empty handed and raving…’

  ‘That’s not entirely true grandpa,’ admitted Rosie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wasn’t empty handed,’ she took a deep breath. ‘He had my necklace.’

  ‘Your…? What do you mean he had your necklace?’

  ‘I lost my necklace yesterday. Well, at first that’s what I thought had happened. I thought I must have left it on the coach or something. But I knew I would never do that, so the only real conclusion would be that someone must have stolen it. I knew it couldn’t have been Master Steadfast here, because, well look at him…’

  Sam looked down at himself and blushed.

  ‘And the only other person who could have possibly had a chance to get near it was his father, Samuel Steadfast the elder. You said yourself you saw him running off towards the town yesterday evening. It had to be him.’

  The old man seemed to go very red in the face.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me of this girl? You know the importance of the stone ring!’

  ‘I didn’t tell you because…because of how you’re reacting now. I’ve got it back, that’s the important thing.’

  Henry pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a large swig of the rum, wincing at the burn on the back of his throat.

  ‘Er…I’m sorry,’ said Sam, holding his hand up in the air. ‘But my father is no criminal, he would never steal anything of yours.’

  Henry caught hold of Sam and pulled him close.

  ‘Do you really believe that boy? Don’t you see that it’s all connected, the necklace, the stranger, the town, the deaths and your father, it’s all connected, I just don’t know how.’

  ‘I…I…’ Sam stammered.

  Henry let go of him and took another drink from the bottle. ‘You’re going to help us find out, young Master Steadfast. Tomorrow night is the event at the theatre, where they say the secrets of the town’s transformation from squalor to success will be revealed.’

  ‘The theatre, yes, I hear you’ve got tickets. I’ll go to that and see what they’re up to.’

  ‘Not so fast boy, we don’t want you out in the audience, that’s where we will be. We want you keeping an eye out backstage, seeing the strings being pulled, so to speak. You said you were good in a tight spot. Now’s your chance to prove it.’

  �
�I’ll be found out. There’s no chance, not in Hope. There are eyes everywhere.’

  ‘But tomorrow night all eyes will be looking out front at the theatre, not backstage, I guarantee it. You have a look of resourcefulness about you, I’m sure you’ll do us proud,’ said Henry, slapping the young man on the back.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Sam, scratching his head. ‘You’re telling me that you’re not who you said you were. Then you tell me my father’s a criminal and stealing necklaces and stones from young lady’s bedrooms and now you’re telling me you want me to go poking around backstage at the theatre trying to find clues as to why people are dying in Hope.’

  ‘That’s about the truth of it,’ Rosie smiled.

  ‘I think you two belong in Bedlam,’ said Sam, spinning around and racing for the door. Rosie caught up with him and turned to face him. He felt suddenly very close to the young lady and was aware that he was probably still blushing.

  ‘Please Master Steadfast, Sam, we need your help.’

  Sam lifted his face and looked up into her blue eyes.

  ‘My father is no criminal. He’s no thief. I promise you.’

  ‘Then help us prove it, because if he did take this,’ she traced her finger down the silver chain around her throat. ‘He’s no idea how important it is.’

  Sam looked at the simple necklace around her pale, long neck and the smooth, grey pebble ring that dangled from it.

  ‘Doesn’t look so important to me, what is it anyway?’

  Rosie shared a look with her grandfather, who sighed and folded his arms.

  ‘Show him,’ he said.

  Rosie moved Sam back into the centre of the room and pulled the necklace from around her neck. With an almost hypnotic precision she blew down on the stone ring and placed it carefully onto the middle finger of her right hand. She went over to the door and drew her hand slowly down the wood with her eyes closed shut. Sam watched, confused but fascinated. Once she had finished, she knocked on the door three times, the stone of the ring banging against the wood, opened her eyes and took a step back.