by Sarah Rayne
‘Minx. How did you know about that? It’s supposed to be a closely guarded secret.’
‘I still have friends,’ said Madame, demurely. ‘Services to the mentally sick, isn’t that what the knighthood will be for?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, now, my maid here, Daisy, has a father who is going to be … arrested and almost certainly hanged.’
‘Ah. For a capital crime? Yes, of course it must be. Murder?’
‘Yes,’ said Madame, without hesitating, and Daisy managed to bite down a small gasp of surprise. ‘There was a fight and the other man died.’
She’s spinning a story for him, thought Daisy. She’s taking him into a make-believe world. Exactly as she takes her audiences into make-believe worlds. She tried to think if this was better than telling the man the truth, and did not know.
Madame said, ‘The thing is that this man, Daisy’s father, is – well, almost witless,’ and Daisy saw that she was feeling her way along this fragile strand of fantasy.
‘Has there been medical advice?’ said Charles.
There was a split-second pause, then Madame said, ‘No. The family have never had the money for that. They’ve cared for him themselves – you know that’s the way with poorer people.’
‘They look after their own,’ he said, half to himself.
‘Yes. But now, with this charge hanging over him … He wouldn’t stand a chance in the dock. And it would deeply damage Daisy here – also her brother. Her brother is a gifted artist, Charles – there’s a promising career ahead of him.’
‘Which you’ve helped with,’ he said, smiling.
Madame gave one of her shrugs. ‘Something like this could ruin several lives,’ she said. ‘Daisy’s, her brother’s. Their mother, of course. But if this man could simply be – be put out of the way for a time – to allow the matter to die down and be forgotten.’ She sat back, but her eyes never left him.
‘And you’re thinking he could be kept safely out of the way inside a mental institution?’
‘It’s where he ought to be anyway.’ Madame said this without any hesitation at all. ‘He has no memory of the fight that killed the other man, but he’s now having wild delusions – one of them is that Daisy attacked him earlier today. Quite ridiculous, of course. You only have to look at Daisy to see she’s a little shrimp of a thing who certainly couldn’t attack a grown man. In any case, she hasn’t been away from my house for the last two days. I don’t think she’s even seen her father for at least a week; that’s so, isn’t it Daisy?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, and the man turned to look at her. Daisy tried not to flinch from the direct regard.
Then he said, ‘If I refuse? What would you do? Bring up that old gambling debt matter? I wouldn’t have thought you capable of blackmail, Scaramel.’
Madame put out a hand, her fingers curling around the man’s. Daisy held her breath, then saw him turn his hand up so that it clasped hers.
‘Of course I’m not capable of it. But don’t refuse, Charles,’ she said, softly. ‘Please do this for me.’
‘For old times’ sake?’
She smiled. ‘Auld Lang Syne? It was New Year’s Eve, wasn’t it, that first night?’
‘It was. It was the night you danced on the card tables at four in the morning and sang … What was it called?’
‘“If Only They Knew Where I Keep My Little Bit of Luck”,’ said Madame, promptly.
His lips twitched, but he said, gravely, ‘Highly appropriate to the occasion.’
‘That was the night you lost the three hundred guineas,’ said Madame.
‘Scaramel, I lost a great deal more that night. We both know that.’ He seemed suddenly to realize he was still holding her hand, and he took his own hand back, and said, in a different voice, ‘For how long would you want this to be? This stay in an institution?’
‘Certainly until the hue and cry dies down, I think, don’t you, Daisy?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, again. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of shattering the fragile make-believe that Madame was creating.
‘And,’ said Madame, looking back at Charles, ‘as you know, a hue and cry can go on for months.’ A pause, then, ‘I would not expect him to be on the parish, of course,’ she said. ‘Not kept in a Paupers’ Ward – that’s what you call them, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘There will be funds to avoid that.’
‘You always were one for the underdog,’ said Charles. This time he smiled properly, and Daisy saw why Madame might, on her own account, have lost her head a little bit over him all those years ago, and why she would have settled his gambling debt. He made a rueful gesture. ‘Donations for those places are always seized on gratefully, no matter the reason for them. Most of the asylums are run on a shoestring, I’m afraid.’ He frowned, then said, ‘Yes. All right.’
‘You’ll take him into one of the institutions?’
‘I will. Where exactly is he now?’
‘He’s hiding out in Whitechapel. Where did you tell me it was, Daisy?’
Daisy said, ‘In an abandoned warehouse, along by the canal. You go across Fossan’s Yard, and turn off Canal Alley on to a towpath.’ Something prompted her to add, ‘He’s weak and confused.’
‘All right. I’ll send word for him to be picked up as quickly as possible. Tonight, certainly.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t have much control over which asylum he’ll go to, but if he’s in Whitechapel – if that’s the area where he lives – it’ll almost certainly be The Thrawl.’
The Thrawl. The name lay on the warm room as if an icy finger had traced it. Daisy drew breath to say something, then stopped, because Madame was already standing up, clearly considering matters to be resolved. Charles stood up as well, and she took both his hands in hers. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You were always a gentleman, Charles.’ Then, with the sudden mischievous smile, she said, ‘Although we both remember those nights after that card party when you weren’t entirely a gentleman.’
‘I remember those nights too, Scaramel.’ He took her hand and held it against his cheek for a moment. ‘I’ve never forgotten you, my dear.’
‘Nor I you, Charles.’
‘If only—’
‘It wasn’t to be,’ she said, at once. ‘There were too many differences. The gulf was too wide between us.’ She held his hand against her cheek for a moment longer, then, as if throwing off the memories, he said,
‘God help us all, if this is ever found out.’
‘It’d be farewell to that knighthood, wouldn’t it?’
‘It’d be farewell to a great many things,’ said Charles, and walked with them to the door.
It was a wild plan, of course, but it was exactly the kind of plan Madame would have thought up. It was also, Daisy thought afterwards, exactly like Madame to produce a former lover who could help.
‘Who was he, exactly?’ she said, later that night.
‘An admirer.’ Madame smiled the smile that made her look like a mischievous cat. ‘Well, admirer’s a polite word. He was a bit wild in his youth, but he’s a very good man. He really does care about justice and fairness. He went into the police force after that gambling business, and some years ago he started to campaign for things like better conditions in prisons and asylums. I’ve often seen mention of him in newspapers. He’s well thought of, and he deserves that knighthood. And – what’s important here, Daisy – he’s the very last person anyone would suspect of bending the law a bit.’ She turned to look at Daisy. ‘No regrets about this plan?’
‘No, except—’
‘You wish it didn’t have to be The Thrawl.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll make sure the funds are sent, though. So that he gets a degree of comfort.’
‘Thank you. How long—’
‘Will he stay in there? I suppose as long as we want,’ said Madame. ‘He raped his own daughters, remember. All three of you. He would ha
ve done the same to Joe,’ said Madame. ‘For all we know, he already had.’ She made an angry gesture. ‘We’d never be able to get a police case against him. If I thought there was the least chance of that, I’d do it. But they’d never listen. The law favours men anyway – always remember that, Daisy. But if he’s left free, Joe isn’t safe, and nor are other young girls – boys, too. As for you – you certainly aren’t safe,’ she said. ‘He’ll accuse you of trying to kill him. That’s something that might well get into court.’
‘Because the law favours men.’
‘Yes. If you can, see this as a kind of prison sentence.’
‘I will.’
Incredibly, the mad plan, conjured out of nothing on the spur of the moment, pulled almost at random from Madame’s lively imagination, had worked. It was unexpectedly easy to tell people that Pa had fallen into the canal and been drowned, and that Madame had made herself responsible for the funeral. Ma had to be told the truth, of course, but no one else knew. Lissy and Vi didn’t know. Joe certainly didn’t know, and Daisy vowed he never would. Let them all think the evil creature could never trouble them again.
The man called Charles was awarded his knighthood later that year – Madame showed Daisy the newspaper announcement.
‘Well deserved,’ she said. ‘I shall send a very ladylike card of congratulations. And I shall sign it simply as “S”. Nicely mysterious and anonymous, but he’ll know who it is, of course’
Later she said, ‘Daisy, no one will ever know the truth about what we did that night. There’s no way this can ever get out – and no way your father can ever get out.’
But then came the night when The Thrawl burned.
TWENTY-FIVE
London, 1890s
Daisy had told Madame she was going to visit Pa.
‘Visit him?’ said Madame, staring at her in disbelief. ‘Daisy, you can’t. You mustn’t. In any case, I don’t think it’d be allowed. He did get taken to The Thrawl, you know, and The Thrawl is—’
‘One of the tunnel houses. I know.’
‘But it must be five – no, more like seven – years now.’
‘I know,’ said Daisy again. ‘But I’ve been thinking about him for a long time. I have dreams about him. Like he might be calling out to me,’ she said, in an ashamed mumble. ‘Like he might need help. I got to know he’s all right. I know he was a vicious evil monster, but—’
‘I understand.’ Madame frowned, then said, ‘I don’t think I can ask Charles to help with arranging a visit. Or even to make any kind of check for you. I can’t involve him again. But I wonder if we simply turned up at The Thrawl and asked to be admitted …’
‘Could we?’
‘We could try. Would I need to look prosperous, I wonder – Lady Bountiful; in which case I’d want the velvet cloak and the feather boa? Or would it be better to be a bit shabby and hoping to visit a relative? No, I don’t like that idea. But I might be thinking of consigning a poor witless relative to the place, in which case I could have a veil and dab my eyes sadly and use that white face powder that Rhun said made me look like a corpse. Or—’
‘Lady Bountiful,’ said Daisy, before Madame could get too carried away. ‘That’s the one to be. It’d look as if you’re there to help them.’
‘You’re right.’
‘When could we go?’ said Daisy.
‘Well, on Saturday afternoon the twins will be with the Thumbprints for their music session,’ said Madame. ‘That means we don’t need to worry about leaving them for a couple of hours. Saturday afternoon it shall be. Lay out the velvet cloak, will you, Daisy – oh, and that bonnet with crimson plumes. I’ll use my most refined voice, and I’ll be inspecting the place to see if it’s deserving of an endowment – that’ll do it if anything will. Money,’ said Madame, sagely, ‘will open almost any door in the world. All you need is the confidence. Walk in as if you own the place, and the odds are that most people will think you do.’
Daisy had never really visualized driving up to the gates of The Thrawl in a hansom cab, grasping the twisted iron bell pull and hearing it ring dolefully inside the terrible place.
At first it seemed as if no one was going to respond, then a small, inset door was pushed open to no more than six inches, and a rheumy eye peered suspiciously out. A gravelly voice demanded to know their business.
Daisy’s heart bumped with nervousness, but Madame, very haughty, said something about a tour of inspection, and the promise of a donation – making it seem, thought Daisy admiringly, as if the arrangement had already been made, and as if they were expected.
‘And we realize it will be putting you to considerable trouble,’ she said, grandly, ‘so perhaps …’
There was the chink of a coin, and a hand came out to seize the proffered half-sovereign. Even through the narrow gap in the door, Daisy saw the doorkeeper perform the classic gesture of biting on the coin to make sure it was genuine. Then he nodded, pocketed it, and opened the door wider for them to enter.
Daisy hesitated, because after all this was the place of all those childhood tales – this was the ogre’s castle, the giant’s larder, the place built over the devil’s own dungeons. But Madame, who would probably be able to defy a dozen ogres if the situation required it, swirled her velvet cloak around her ankles with a flourish, and stepped through, so Daisy followed.
The doorkeeper clanged the door shut, observing that there was a shocking cold wind out there, and it got into folks’ tubes something chronic. This was followed by the rather revolting clearing of his throat, after which he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then crooked a grimy finger at them, indicating that they were to follow him. In the dull light of the stone hall, Daisy saw that he was very stunted, barely coming up to her shoulder, and that one of his shoulders was higher than the other. His face made her think of old, gnarled tree-trunks.
But at least he had not questioned their right to be here, although the half-sovereign probably had a good deal to do with that. Scuttling along, he led them down a dank corridor, thick with the stench of dirt and despair. A kind of dark heaviness lay on the air, and Daisy almost felt it pressing down on her head. At intervals, gas flares sent out a dispirited light, and Daisy began to feel as if the grotesque people of those old stories might suddenly appear and gibber at them from the shadows.
The walls of the corridor were dark and scarred and running with damp, and they had to step over puddles that might have been caused by the dripping of water from above, but that might be other fluids. They reached an intersection, where three corridors converged, when from somewhere within the building, a harsh, loud bell sounded.
‘That means dinner,’ said their guide, at once. ‘I got to go. Y’can see what you want, though. Over there – and there.’ He waved vaguely in the direction of the corridors. ‘Come back to the main door when you’re ready. If I ain’t there, someone’ll be around to unlock it for you.’
‘But can’t you show us where—’
‘I ain’t missing my dinner, not for you, nor the Queen of England,’ he said, at once. ‘You go where you want, I ain’t bothered, and nobody else will be, neither.’
He sped off, leaving them staring after him. Then Madame seemed to stand up a little straighter, as if squaring her shoulders, and said, ‘Pity about that, but at least we’re inside, and we’ve been told we can go wherever we want. Let’s start with this corridor.’
‘There’s a door just along there,’ said Daisy, in a whisper.
‘It’ll probably be locked, but still …’
But the door was not locked. It opened outwards, and as Madame pulled it, a thick stench came at them, causing Daisy to flinch and clap a hand over her mouth.
‘Daisy, if you’re going to be sick, go and do it in that corner as quietly as you can manage.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Good.’ But Madame, too, had flinched, and she closed the door quickly, and stepped back. ‘No need to go in there,’ she said, a bit sharply.
‘Paupers’ Ward. He won’t be there – I made an arrangement, remember? Let’s try these other corridors.’
The left-hand corridor was lit by more of the gas jets, and several doors opened off it. Each had a tiny grille.
‘They’ll be locked,’ said Madame, but she tapped on each door. ‘Daisy, call out that we’re visitors. If your Pa’s in any of the rooms, he’ll know your voice.’
Several times the person in the room cried out in response to Daisy’s voice, but the words did not make any sense. Twice there were eerie wails and screams, and Daisy shivered.
‘Are they answering us? Or do they wail like that anyway?’
‘I don’t know. Let’s just try this last one,’ said Madame.
‘Yes.’
As Madame reached out to tap on the surface, a voice from within the room, ‘Daise? That you out there, gel? That my little murdering bitch of a daughter, is it? It is, isn’t it? I’d reckernize your voice anywhere, you vicious little shrew.’
There was a movement from beyond the grille, and hands came up to curl around the thin bars. Eyes, angry and filled with hatred, glared out.
‘Pa,’ said Daisy, torn between relief and fear. ‘Yes, it’s me. We came to make sure you was all right.’
‘Course I ain’t fucking all right, stupid bitch. Shut up in here all this time, is it likely I’m all right? Come to gloat, have you?’
‘No, we’ve come to make sure you’re getting reasonable treatment,’ said Madame. There was no trace of nervousness or fear in her voice. She said, ‘Daisy was worried about you. You know, you might be shut away in here, but you’re lucky not to be in Newgate.’
‘Might’s well be,’ he said, sullenly. ‘Might’s well be hanging from Jack Ketch’s rope. That’s where she should be,’ he said, jabbing a finger at Daisy. ‘Bleedin’ murderer, that one.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ said Madame, as Daisy flinched. ‘And we’re not here to gloat – we’re here to make sure you’re being treated properly. You’re supposed to have food and exercise and things you want within reason. Are you?’
‘Might be.’ There was the impression of a sullen shrug.