Music Macabre

by Sarah Rayne

  Madame laughed, as well. She said, ‘Lot of scared-cats, ain’t we? It’s only the people from the bar over there. Drunken lot, they are …’

  She stopped, because a figure had stepped out from a side alley and was coming towards them at a lurching run. The glow from the ruins of The Thrawl was behind him, and his eyes were fierce with hatred. The familiar voice came to them.

  ‘Murdering bitch of a daughter! I got you at last! I been following you ever since you left the fire, an’ now I got you cornered!’ The eyes slewed round to Joe. ‘I got you as well, useless thing for a son that you are! Part of the plot, weren’t you!’

  Daisy grabbed Joe’s hand, but Joe was standing stock-still, staring with horror at the man he had thought dead, and when Daisy tried to pull him back down the street, he seemed unaware that she was even there.

  Pa came straight at them, seizing Daisy with one hand, and dealing her a hard blow across her face with the other. She fell back against a shop window, hitting her head on the stone frame. The pain of the fall spun her into dizziness, blurring her vision, but she saw Joe bound forward and attack Pa, and she understood at once that his mind had gone spinning back to those squalid years in Rogues Well Yard.

  It took Pa by surprise. He almost fell back, but then he righted himself and fell on Joe, knocking him to the ground with almost contemptuous ease. He crouched over him, his thick fingers closing around Joe’s throat.

  ‘And you’re next, you bitch,’ he said in a dreadful snarling voice, not loosening his grip, but looking round to where Daisy was attempting to get up. ‘Di’n’t I say you wouldn’t escape me?’

  ‘Stop it!’ That was Madame, yelling fit to wake the dead. ‘Let him go, you madman. They’ll hang you if you kill him!’

  ‘Don’t hang madmen, darlin’,’ said Pa, leerily. ‘They’ll put me back in one of those places, that’s all they’ll do.’

  Joe’s hands were flailing helplessly and his face was becoming suffused with crimson. Daisy struggled frantically to get up, but the street was spinning and tilting all around her, and she fell back again, sobbing with frustration and with terror for Joe. But through the sick dizziness she saw Madame run forward – Pa had disregarded Madame as a threat, in the way he would have disregarded any female, but Madame was already pulling at Pa’s arms, trying to loosen his grip on Joe’s throat. She would never do it – Pa was too heavy, too powerful – but then Daisy saw that Madame was clutching the umbrella, half jokingly given to them in the Cock & Sparrow. It was not very heavy, but Madame was raising it over her head, and from that height it would deal a telling blow. Even as Daisy was thinking this, the shaft came smashing down on the back of Pa’s head. He gave a kind of half grunt of pain or fury, but his hands did not loosen their grip. Madame, her face white, but her eyes blazing, dealt a second blow, and then a third. And with the third blow, there was a sickening crunch of bone splintering, and Pa let out a cry that echoed around the deserted square, then fell back. His body jerked a few times, then his head lolled to one side, and his eyes fell open, wide and staring.

  Joe scrambled back from the prone figure, then turned to Daisy, his eyes frightened pits in his face. Daisy’s head was still throbbing from the blow and her mind felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, but she grabbed Joe’s hands and finally was able to stand up. Madame was bending over Pa’s prone form, and Daisy thought she was feeling for a heartbeat, which was what people did if they thought somebody was dead.

  Then she sat back on her heels, and in a voice that shook, said, ‘He’s gone. There’s no heartbeat.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ whispered Joe, and before Daisy could speak, Madame was there, her arms about him.

  ‘Yes, Joe, he’s really dead now – he can’t hurt anyone again.’

  Daisy was still holding Joe’s hands. She said, ‘Did you mean to do that? To kill him?’

  ‘No. Oh, God, no. But I’m not sorry for what I did.’

  Daisy looked at her, and strongly in her mind was the knowledge of how, that long-ago night by the canal, she had not been sorry for what she had done, either.

  ‘But,’ said Madame, ‘I’m not sure what we do now,’ and for the first time Daisy saw that Madame really did have no idea what to do. She realized that she had no idea, either.

  It was Joe who said, ‘We hide him. Now. Tonight.’

  ‘But where—?’

  ‘In the ghost river,’ said Joe.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  London, 1890s

  ‘Passed out, has he?’ said the hansom cab driver, cheerfully, as they half dragged Pa’s body into the cab. Joe had wound his scarf around Pa’s face, almost completely hiding it.

  ‘Fraid he has.’ Daisy was only grateful that they had managed to find a cab in the Commercial Road and had not had to lug him any further.

  ‘Got sozzled, did he?’

  ‘In the Ten Bells,’ said Daisy, choosing the largest of the nearby taverns, and one where a single drunk would not be noticed out of the others.

  ‘Happens to us all. Hope he ain’t gonna be sick in my cab. Where to?’

  Daisy started to say Harlequin Court, but Madame said, firmly, ‘Maida Vale. We need to pick someone up while you wait for us.’

  As the cab drew up outside the house, Joe said, ‘I’ll stay here.’ He caught Daisy’s eye, and said, ‘Be all right, Daise.’ Then, with a glance to the cab seat, he said a bit louder, ‘He won’t wake up – too drunk for that, but I’ll stay anyway.’

  ‘Anyone in there’ll be in bed and fast asleep at this hour,’ said the cabby, cheerfully, leaning forward to look up at the house. ‘No, you’re all right – lights burning in one of the rooms.’

  ‘We shouldn’t be very long,’ said Madame.

  ‘Odds to me how long you are, darlin’. You’re paying the fare. Bit of a rest for me and the old nag to just stand here, anyway.’

  Rhun was sitting by the fire, drinking a glass of whiskey, and discussing the works of Walter Scott with Thaddeus Thumbprint. They were both startled when Daisy and Madame came in, tumbling out their story. Neither of them minded about Thaddeus being there; the Thumbprints were very nearly family, and they could be trusted with anything in the world.

  After Rhun and Thaddeus had heard the story, Thaddeus said, ‘Rhun, you go with them. I’ll stay here with the twins. I’d be no use in a job like that, anyway. I’ll just run down and put a note through my own door, letting Cedric know what’s going on.’

  ‘Daisy can stay here with you,’ said Madame.

  ‘No! I got to be there,’ said Daisy, at once. ‘Joe, too. He was our pa, no matter what he did. We need to stay with him.’

  Madame and Rhun exchanged looks, then nodded.

  ‘I’ll get rid of this cloak,’ said Madame, suddenly. ‘It’s covered in soot and flinders, and some great clumping person’s trodden on the hem and torn it.’

  ‘That’s bloody like you to think of your clothes at such a time …’ began Rhun, hotly, but Madame had already darted into the bedroom, and snatched up one of her velvet hooded cloaks.

  ‘We’ll burn that other one tomorrow,’ she said.

  ‘And now,’ said Rhun, impatiently, ‘come on down the stairs.’

  Daisy thought they were all grateful that the cabby did not ask any awkward questions. He did, in fact, get them across London very quickly – probably because he was still worried about his drunken fare being sick. As they went past Regent’s Park, Madame leaned forward, and flung something from the window. It fell with a clatter, and the horse reared slightly. The cabby shouted to know what had happened.

  ‘Empty bottles he had in his pocket,’ said Rhun, cheerfully. ‘Getting rid of them.’

  The cabby observed that empty bottles were no use to man nor beast, and he hoped they had not hit some poor sod.

  ‘You’d have heard the yell if I had,’ said Rhun, and, leaning back, he said very softly to Madame, ‘The umbrella?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They got Pa out of the carriage reasonabl
y easily, with Rhun entering into the deception by addressing remarks to Pa, such as, ‘Soon get you inside, boyo,’ and, ‘My word, you had a skinful tonight.’

  Daisy understood that this was for the cabby’s benefit, in case anything were to come out afterwards. There was nothing in the least remarkable about driving a drunk across London, to be carried into his house – the cabby would very likely have forgotten about it by morning. What he would not forget was discovering he had driven a corpse from Whitechapel to Maida Vale and then out to Charing Cross Road.

  As they were set down at the entrance to Harlequin Court, Rhun called to the cabby that they would get their charge along to his rooms very easily now, and thank you very much for all your help. Madame paid the fare, adding a deliberately modest tip. ‘Because,’ she said, as the cab clopped away, ‘we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’

  Harlequin Court was not completely quiet, of course; even at this hour there were the sounds of carriages rumbling along beyond the alleyway, and people’s voices calling out, or even singing. A church clock – most likely St Martin-in-the-Fields – chimed three. In another hour the barrow boys and the costers would be making for Covent Garden.

  They manoeuvred Pa across the court, with Rhun on one side of him and Joe on the other. The shops were all in darkness at this hour, of course, and the only light came from the streetlamp that brooded over the little square, and flickered a grudging light across the cobbles.

  Linklighters was locked and silent – ‘But I’ve got a key,’ Madame said.

  As she felt for it, Joe suddenly said, very quietly, ‘Daise, what if that other one’s still down there? You know who I mean.’

  Daisy felt as if she had received a sudden smack across her face. Joe was thinking that the body of the killer – their killer, Whitechapel’s killer – might still be in the ghost river. That he might have died in the lonely darkness. She could not possibly say that he had almost certainly been inside The Thrawl last week.

  ‘Hear him chanting to himself,’ the doorkeeper had said. ‘Names of streets – like as if he’s saying a prayer … Knows the East End like you wouldn’t believe …’

  And Daisy had heard for herself the sly, sinister singing of the ‘Listen’ music coming from the locked room.

  She said, as casually as she could manage, ‘Don’t matter if he is, Joe. Remember Rhun said people go down there every few years, and they often find bodies and have to bring them out. So if that one did die down there, he likely won’t be there now.’

  He appeared to accept this, and he turned to watch Madame unlocking the door and opening it.

  ‘Inside as quickly as we can,’ she said. ‘Before anyone sees us.’

  ‘No one’s about,’ said Daisy, but she glanced uneasily over her shoulder.

  ‘There’re shadows, though,’ said Joe, staring around the court. ‘If you look into them, you’d imagine people standing there, watching.’

  Daisy suddenly had the impression that there was someone who had stolen along the narrow alleyway, and who was standing just out of sight, watching them. She was glad when Madame had the door unlocked. Rhun and Joe took Pa’s shoulders between them, and Daisy took his feet, while Madame held the door open.

  They got him down the steps. Everywhere was in shadow, but there was a faint spill of light from the open door at the top of the stairs, and Daisy darted back up to close it. Madame had not left the key in the lock, but there was no one around, and they would make sure to lock it when they went out.

  ‘Where now?’ said Rhun, when Daisy came down the stairs again.

  ‘Through that door. It goes down to the deep cellar.’

  Joe said, very softly, ‘And the deep cellar goes through to the ghost river.’

  ‘Had we better light some of the gas jets?’

  ‘No,’ said Rhun, at once. ‘We don’t want any lights that might show from upstairs. Joe can get a couple of the oil lamps from the back of the stage, and we’ll take them down there. And a tinder, Joe.’

  The lamps duly lighted, Daisy went down the steps ahead of them, carrying one of the lamps so they could all see their way.

  It was even more difficult to get Pa down the narrow, steep stone steps, but in the end they pushed him part of the way, and he slithered all the way down, landing in an ungainly heap at the foot.

  ‘Sorry about that, boyo,’ said Rhun, not unkindly. ‘But it won’t make any difference to you what we do now.’

  Madame said, ‘No, but …’ She pulled the velvet cloak from about her shoulders, and bent down to wrap it around the dead man. ‘You were an evil, vicious man,’ she said, softly. ‘But you’ll be getting what’s due to you now, and I daresay Daisy and Joe will keep one or two good memories of you.’ She straightened up, brushing the dust from her skirts. ‘Through there, Daisy? God Almighty, is that where you and Joe went all those years ago?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a gap in the wall just here. Two bits of wall overlap – one bit behind the other, and you can squeeze between them. Only it’s very narrow, so—’

  ‘We’ll never do it,’ said Madame, as Daisy held up one of the lamps. ‘There’s barely room for one person to squeeze through, never mind two of us carrying a—’

  ‘We can chip some of the stone away,’ said Joe. ‘It’s old and it’ll break up. And nobody’ll ever know, on account of nobody ever comes down here.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Rhun, who was inspecting the wall. ‘This is crumbly old stonework – dry as you could imagine. It won’t take much to knock some of it away – widen the gap so we can get through.’

  ‘There’re hammers and chisels in the carpenter’s room,’ said Joe. ‘I can get them.’

  ‘And bring another lamp and a couple of candles,’ called Daisy, as he went back up the stairs.

  ‘And a bottle of brandy if you can find one,’ shouted Rhun.

  By the time Joe returned, Daisy was starting to feel as if she was being pulled into a world where nothing was real any longer. The lamplight and the candlelight burned up, washing over the cobwebbed old walls, and the smell of tallow and oil mingled with the stench of the old ditch beyond the wall. And all the while, Pa’s body lay there on the ground, wrapped in Madame’s velvet cloak, his face covered with Joe’s scarf … Don’t look, thought Daisy. It’s not him – that’s not a person any longer; it’s just an overcoat that he’s cast off. And I ain’t going to pretend I’m sorry, because he ruined my childhood, and Vi’s and Lissy’s, and Joe’s as well. And he nearly ruined Ma’s life, too. But Madame had been right when she had said that there would be one or two good memories to keep. Daisy wiped a tear away angrily.

  Clouds of brick dust billowed out into the old cellar as Rhun swung the hammer at the wall, and chunks of stone began to fall away – small pieces at first, and then larger ones.

  ‘Said it’d be easy,’ said Joe. ‘Let me have a go at it now.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, boy, and it’s nearly done, anyway. Daisy, hold up that lamp a bit more, will you?’

  ‘I can make out the sluice gate,’ said Daisy, putting the lamp up against the wall.

  ‘Good God, so can I,’ said Rhun, coming to look through the gap with her. ‘That’s a fearsome-looking thing. If ever you’d see Time’s iron gates, ready to close slowly …’

  ‘Never mind Time’s iron gates, can we get him through now?’ demanded Madame. ‘And get the gate open?’

  ‘We can. But Scaramel, my love, you and Daisy go upstairs, will you, and make sure there’s no one around in the square? Just in case someone comes along – a drunk or someone looking for a night’s shelter. You keep a watchful eye for that, and Joe and I can manage very well between us. Can’t we, Joe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Daisy understood that Rhun wanted to shield her from seeing Pa’s body taken into the tunnel. She hesitated, then nodded, and reached for one of the candles to light the way.

  She and Madame stood just inside the street door, looking out across Harlequin Co
urt. The night air was cold, but it felt good after the dank, sour cellar, and also after the smoke-filled streets of Whitechapel. Daisy realized with a shock that it could only be three or four hours since they had fought the fire at The Thrawl.

  They could hear faint sounds from below. There was a deep groaning creak, that would be the sluice gate being lifted, and then the sensation of something under their feet shuddering.

  ‘Is that the gate being cranked up?’ said Madame, half turning her head to look back through the door.

  ‘Yes.’ Memory showed Daisy the yawning tunnel, and the ledge running alongside the channel where the old ditch had been. How far along would they take Pa? Would they simply throw him into the channel and leave him? Would the rats come teeming out? She stared into the shadows.

  ‘If you look into them, you’d imagine people standing there, watching,’ Joe had said earlier. As the killer had stood there that night, waiting for them, following them inside … Where was he now, that man? Had he got out of The Thrawl as Pa had? Daisy shivered, and drew her cloak more firmly around her shoulders.

  ‘Odd how you get the feeling someone’s watching,’ said Madame, looking round the court, and shivering in the same way. She had wrapped her own cloak around Pa, of course; Daisy, remembering this, dragged off her own cloak and offered it to Madame, but Madame waved it away.

  ‘I don’t need it,’ she said. ‘I’m not really cold. If I shivered just then, it’s probably nothing more than a guilty conscience.’ She looked round the court again. ‘No one’s watching,’ she said. ‘That’s guilty conscience, too, making us think there might be someone. Let’s go back inside. They should have finished by now.’

  And so they had. The sluice gate was in its place, and Rhun and Joe were gathering up the hammers and chisels. Daisy could almost find faint amusement at the sight of Madame wielding a large broom, sweeping dust into corners.

  ‘Found it in the carpenter’s room,’ she said, looking up. ‘By the time we’ve done, no one will know what’s happened tonight.’