Music Macabre

by Sarah Rayne

  ‘I shouldn’t think anyone ever comes down here from one year to the next,’ said Rhun.

  ‘Nor should I,’ said Madame. Then, suddenly, ‘Rhun, was there anything to mark him as being from The Thrawl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you look?’

  ‘Yes. Even if they found him, they wouldn’t know who he was.’

  ‘Good. Let’s go home. Joe, you’d better stay at Maida Vale tonight. No point waking up the people at your lodgings.’

  ‘I’ll get another broom to help with the sweeping up,’ said Daisy. ‘Joe, you bring the hammers and things and we’ll put them back in the workshop.’

  They were just closing the workshop door, when they heard the street door overhead bang, and voices and the sounds of people coming down the main stairs, and then down the stone steps.

  A man’s voice cried, with considerable authority, ‘Police! None of you move! Nobody down there move!’

  There was the clatter of footsteps going down the stone steps – it sounded like at least three people, all with heavy boots, then the man’s voice came again.

  ‘Sergeant Blunt,’ he said, clearly by way of introduction. ‘And this is a very strange sight to see. Excavating the walls, were the pair of you?’

  ‘Our presence here is perfectly innocent,’ said Rhun. ‘We’ve been working on a new routine for this lady – she performs here.’

  ‘In the middle of the night? And in the cellar?’ said the man, sarcastically. ‘Tell that to a judge and twelve good men and true, and see what they think! Now then, you, my dear, are under arrest.’

  Madame’s voice, very cool, said, ‘Am I, indeed? Well, this is a new experience for me, at any rate. What am I being arrested for?’

  ‘Murder,’ said Sergeant Blunt, and the word fell on the air like a gobbet of blood on to black water. Incredibly and dreadfully there was the chink of iron. Gyve, thought Daisy, her mind reeling, and she made an instinctive move towards the steps.

  Joe’s hand came out, stopping her. ‘Don’t let them know we’re here,’ he said, very softly. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Who am I supposed to have murdered?’ Madame was saying.

  ‘An inmate of The Thrawl.’

  It could not have been anything else, of course, and even though Daisy had expected it, the words still came like a blow. She and Joe crept to the head of the cellar stairs, and crouched there, listening.

  Rhun was saying, angrily, ‘This is nonsense. Why would you think Scaramel had killed someone?’

  ‘We know she did,’ said Sergeant Blunt. ‘She was seen doing it.’

  Daisy and Joe exchanged horrified looks. In a whisper, Daisy said, ‘But she can’t have been seen. There was no one around.’

  ‘Don’t always see folks who hide themselves,’ said Joe. ‘Plenty of little doorways and alleys.’

  Even as he said it, Daisy was remembering how they had all felt, at different times tonight, that they were being watched.

  ‘I take it you’re Mr Rhydderch, are you, sir?’ Blunt was saying.

  ‘Yes, he is. The writer and poet,’ said Madame, at once. ‘A very distinguished gentleman.’

  ‘And if you’re to make free with my name, Constable, you’ll do me the courtesy of pronouncing it correctly,’ said Rhun, coldly, and pronounced it in ringing syllables.

  ‘I’ll make a note,’ said the sergeant. ‘But for the moment, we’re going to take a look behind that wall that you seem to have half knocked down. My men will bring lights down, and I think they might find something very interesting.’

  ‘There’s an old sluice gate, Sergeant,’ said a different, younger voice.

  ‘Is there now? Well, we’ll raise that. Get those lights. And a couple of good hammers – we’ll need to knock out a bit more of this wall to work properly, I should think.’

  There was the sound of people coming up the steps again, and Joe and Daisy shrank back, and saw two young policemen go up to the street.

  Rhun was saying, ‘What are you expecting to find, Sergeant?’

  ‘The body, sir,’ said Blunt.

  ‘Oh, you’ll probably find half a dozen,’ said Rhun, carelessly. ‘Vagrants, trying to find a night’s shelter, and getting trapped.’

  ‘Ah, but there’s only likely to be one body that’s been put there in the last half-hour. And, quite apart from that, sir, as I’ve already told you, this lady was actually seen committing the act. There was what we call an eyewitness.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘An eyewitness,’ said another voice – female this time. ‘And I’m the eyewitness. Earlier tonight, I saw that hellcat smash a man’s head to splinters, and then drag his body into a hansom cab.’

  Daisy and Joe looked at one another, then Daisy said in a shocked whisper, ‘That’s Belinda Baskerville.’

  ‘Yes. We’d better stay here,’ said Joe. ‘So we can listen, and see if there’s a way to help.’

  It felt odd for it to be Joe who was saying what they should do, but it also felt very comforting.

  Belinda was saying, ‘She used the shaft of an umbrella – big, sturdy old thing it was. She beat his head to a pulp with it.’

  Daisy’s legs suddenly would no longer hold her up, and she sank to the ground, shivering, wrapping her arms around herself as if to force warmth and strength back. Belinda really had seen it – she had described exactly what had happened. They had thrown the umbrella out of the cab, but the police might be able to find it, and it would be covered in blood and bits of bone …

  And when they raised the sluice gate, they would find Pa’s body in the ghost river, the head splintered and broken, exactly as Belinda had described.

  Rhun was saying, ‘Sergeant, you can’t possibly trust anything that this … this female says. She’s got a long-standing grudge against Scaramel, and she’d say anything that would injure her.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Madame, eagerly. ‘You can ask anyone – she’s a vicious, spiteful cat and she’s been trying to get even with me for years.’

  ‘Oh, a cat am I!’ shrieked Belinda. ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek, you hell-hag, when you’ve cheated and lied and whored your way through your life – and now you’ve committed a murder to save your miserable skin! I saw you do it, and I’m going to see you pay for it!’

  ‘You’ll be the one who’ll pay for this, Madame Useless-on-a-stage, Mistress Dull-in-a-Bed Baskerville!’ shouted Madame. ‘Because I’ll drag you through the courts for this, see if I don’t! It’s libel and … and the spoiling of a person’s character … and—’

  Rhun said, ‘Be quiet for a moment. Sergeant Blunt, why would Scaramel need to kill anyone? Answer me that, if you can.’

  ‘I can answer it,’ said Belinda, and Daisy and Joe crept closer to the top of the steps, fearful of missing anything.

  ‘Several years ago, you helped to get a man locked away in an asylum,’ said Belinda, clearly addressing Madame directly. ‘But he was as sane as anyone.’

  Daisy thrust her fist into her mouth to stop herself from gasping. Belinda knew, she thought in horror. She knew what we did all those years ago.

  But then Belinda said, ‘I don’t know who he was, that man, but I heard the whispers – and there were plenty of them if you knew where to listen. And it sounded as if this was someone important. Someone who ought to face justice for something, only they wouldn’t – or couldn’t – allow it. So they decided to shuffle him out of the way. And don’t try to tell me that kind of thing don’t happen, for we all know it does! Look after their own, the toffs! And you helped them,’ she said.

  ‘But how could I have been part of that?’ demanded Madame. ‘And why would I help?’

  ‘Cause you knew them all, those toffs in the prison service and the … what do they call it? The Lunacy Board. Well, I say know, but you’d been in the beds of half of them.’

  ‘Malicious lies,’ said Rhun, at once. ‘Jealousy.’

  ‘It’s true!’ shrieked Belinda. ‘The number of blokes as’ve d
ipped their wick in that one, you wouldn’t believe—’

  ‘Now then, madam, this isn’t really needed—’

  ‘Oh, fuck what’s needed! This bloke she killed tonight – he was the one they hid. And she’d been the go-between. A sneaky little nark, she’d been, watching him for them, and then telling them where they could pick him up. Well paid for it, she’d have been – and that’s why you did it, Scaramel. Do anything for money and a spot at Collins’, wouldn’t you!’

  Rhun said, in a scoffing voice, ‘Just where did they pick him up, this mystery man?’

  ‘Think I don’t know that?’ said Belinda, scoffingly. ‘Well, I do. I got my own spies. He was on an old towpath off Canal Alley, that’s where. In the shadow of The Thrawl itself, it is. He was hiding out in one of the empty warehouses, and that’s where they took him.’

  Daisy felt so sick she thought she might throw up on the ground. Belinda knew all this – she had known it all these years.

  ‘How could you possibly know something like that?’ demanded Rhun.

  ‘I kept my ear to the ground and I heard the gossip. Servants in posh houses. People who work in places like The Thrawl. I told you, I got spies of my own. And people will tell you things if you pay them. I even got to know those two boring old farts who live in your house. Thought I was after their bit of money, didn’t you? Ha! Chicken-feed, that’d have been. No, it was so I could pick up the talk about you, Scaramel.’ She drew in a breath, and went on. ‘I looked round those rooms of yours while you were in Paris. Didn’t find nothing, but it was worth a go. When you came back, I watched where you went and what you did and who you got friendly with. Had some posh friends, dintcha?’

  ‘You lying bitch!’ shouted Madame. ‘You’re making it up! And it’s sheer, spiteful jealousy, because I got the bookings – and the men! – that you wanted. And it’s because I stopped you defrauding poor little Cedric Thumbprint of all his savings, too. I never thought you hated me this much, Belinda,’ she said, suddenly serious.

  ‘If you knew all this, Belinda,’ said Rhun, ‘why in God’s name didn’t you speak out?’

  ‘Because I could never prove it,’ said Belinda. ‘But I didn’t mind how long it took. I didn’t mind that it went on for years – I enjoyed watching and listening. Making notes – I kept a journal, too, same as the high-up ladies do about their mimsy parties and dances, only mine was a journal about you, Scaramel. Dates and places and everything.’

  ‘How disgusting,’ said Rhun.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s all there for the police to read. Di’n’t expect it to go on quite so long, though, I’ll admit that,’ said Belinda. ‘But it was worth it, because tonight when The Thrawl burned down – that prisoner – the prisoner escaped. And I knew that was my chance. Soon’s the street-boys started shouting what was happening. I thought – it’s The Thrawl, and it’s where he is—’

  ‘“He”?’ said Rhun.

  ‘The bloke she helped get put in there. The one they had to keep hidden. I told you,’ said Belinda, impatiently. ‘So I went out there at once. I thought you’d be there, Scaramel, because I knew you’d be frit to death of him escaping and it all coming out. And you were – so much so that you bashed the poor sod over the head, and then you dragged his body down here to hide it.’

  There was a pause, and Daisy dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. The ‘toffs’ and the people within the Lunacy Board that Belinda had talked about would include Charles – the man in the Eaton Square house. He had done it because he and Madame had once loved one another. Would that all come out?

  Belinda had got a twisted version of things, but Daisy, remembering the soft singing they had heard inside The Thrawl, thought Belinda had not got it so very wrong. Daisy would stake her life on that man being the killer – her killer, the Whitechapel murderer. Leather Apron – Jack the Ripper. Had he been put in The Thrawl to keep him from justice, as Belinda had said? But why? Was he someone so important, so high-up, that they could not put him on trial for his butchery?

  But at the moment all that mattered was that Belinda had seen Madame kill a man with the fire from The Thrawl still tinting the sky blood-red all around them. It was obvious that she was prepared to stand up in a court and say so. It was also obvious that she would produce the journal she had kept, and, sick and bitter as it might be, it was the kind of thing that people in courts would take notice of.

  Madame would fight all this, of course, and Rhun and the Thumbprints and everyone who knew Madame would fight for her and with her. But Daisy was already realizing that it might not be possible to persuade people that Belinda Baskerville was lying. Because she was not lying. She really had seen Madame commit murder and it had happened exactly as she had described it.

  As the realization of this swept over Daisy in sick, icy waves, there was a shudder of movement from below, and then the grinding cranking of the old machinery as the policemen began to raise the sluice gate.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  London, 1890s

  They carried Pa’s body out just as faint streaks of light were touching the sky. Three policemen carried it up to Harlequin Court, and Daisy heard one of them say something about how it was going to be a bit bloody grim to be lugging a corpse along to Charing Cross Road, where the wagons were.

  ‘Couldn’t we have wrapped him up a bit better, too? There’s only that old scarf over his head. He’d got that cloak or cape or some such around him, hadn’t he?’

  ‘It slid off when we lifted him up.’

  ‘Pity you didn’t grab it, then.’

  ‘Come to that, pity you didn’t. But neither of us had a free hand, if you remember. Dead weight, wasn’t he? And that ledge no wider than a couple of feet. Ask me, we did well to get him out at all. Anyway, there ain’t likely to be anyone around to see him, and even if there is, his face is covered up.’

  ‘Best it stays like that,’ said another man. ‘Who d’you reckon he is? Really, I mean?’

  There was a brief pause, then, ‘Best not ask,’ said the first man. ‘Let’s just get this done and over with.’

  Daisy and Joe had retreated to the side of the stage by this time, and they were huddled together behind a fall of velvet curtain. But they were able to see Madame being brought out by two police offices – Daisy thought she hesitated at the top of the steps and looked around. She hoped Madame would guess that Daisy and Joe were still there, and that they had not abandoned her.

  Rhun was behind Madame, looking as if he would like to punch everyone in sight, and lastly came Belinda Baskerville. Her eyes were bright, and she looked so pleased with herself that Daisy wanted to run out and smack the stupid smirk from the bitch’s face. She thought she had never hated anyone so much in her life.

  As they all went up the main stairs to the street door, she heard Sergeant Blunt say to one of the constables, ‘So far so good. We’ve got the body and we’ve got the Baskerville woman’s statement. There’ll be that journal she kept, too. I reckon it’s as near watertight as you could wish. But later on – when it’s full daylight – we’ll go back into that hellhole beyond the sluice gate, and we’ll see if there’s any other evidence to find.’

  ‘We’ve left the gate open for that, Sarge.’

  ‘Good man. No harm in seeing what else is to be found – judges like as much detail as possible. Juries, too. So we’ll fill in the charge sheets, and we’ll get ourselves a bit of breakfast and a wash, then we’ll be back.’

  As the street door closed, Daisy and Joe emerged from their hiding place. They were stiff and cramped, but there was no thought of going back to Maida Vale. Rhun would go out there as soon as he could, and the twins would not in the least mind being with one or both of the Thumbprints. The Thumbprints would be perfectly happy to stay with them for as long as necessary.

  Joe said, ‘They’re coming back later. Does that mean they haven’t got all the – what did they call it? – all the evidence they need?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said
Daisy. ‘There isn’t anything for them to find in the ghost river, though, except—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her cloak,’ said Daisy, slowly. ‘She’d wrapped it round him, but it slid off when those two policemen carried him out. Remember we heard them talking about it? That means it’ll still be in the tunnel. Joe, that cloak might be the final thing that would hang her.’

  ‘Not if we go into the tunnel and find it first,’ said Joe.

  They looked at one another.

  ‘We’ll have to do it now,’ said Daisy, with decision, although everything in her was shuddering from going through the sluice gate. ‘Before they come back. We’d better get the oil lamps again—’

  ‘Police left a couple of their bullseye lanterns,’ said Joe. ‘We can use one – it’s a better light.’

  Once lit and the flap opened, the lantern gave a strong yellow light, and they went cautiously back down the stone steps. As soon as they were at the foot, the cold, sour breath of the dried-out ditch came at them. And there it was. The sluice gate, half open like the hungering maw of some ancient monster.

  ‘Horrid,’ said Daisy. ‘But let’s get this over with.’

  The last time they had gone into the ghost river tunnel, it had been thickly, suffocatingly dark, and they had had to feel their way along the narrow ledge. This time they could see their way, and they could see the worn stones, shiny and dripping with damp. Twice there was a scuttling of tiny clawed feet.

  ‘How far along did you bring Pa?’

  ‘Not far, because the narrow ledge made it awkward. Only about to here.’

  ‘There are footprints,’ said Daisy. ‘Tilt the light a bit, will you? Yes, they stop here. This must be as far as you came.’

  ‘Can’t see the cloak, though,’ said Joe.

  ‘It might have slipped off the ledge. Fallen into the channel – Joe, be careful,’ said Daisy, as he leaned over the rim of the channel to look down. ‘Because …’

  She broke off, and Joe looked back at her. ‘What’s wrong?’