by Andy Emery
‘And what is that, Mr Ackerman?’
‘This.’
Ackerman drew back his arm and a moment later his fist connected with Whitehead’s left cheek, sending teeth flying and leaving the doctor insensible on the floor.
A nearby nurse shrieked, as the ex-patient’s son strode back down the corridor, wincing with the pain from the knuckles of his right hand, even as he laughed out loud.
45
At 9pm, Gedge and Darius turned into the lane behind the houses, each carrying a canvas knapsack filled with bundles of torches and lined with oilcloth. At the end of each torch, an oil-soaked rag had been wrapped and tied securely. They wore dark clothing and kept their heads down, hoping to convey the impression of two manual workers heading to or from their employment. Polly and Rondeau were to approach separately; Polly to seek out the constable at the street corner where he was stationed, and Rondeau to keep watch at the front of the house.
Fortunately, the brick walls lining the alley prevented anyone in the houses on either side from observing them, and the subtle curve of the passageway meant that they wouldn’t be seen by anybody passing along the connecting streets. They reached their destination and placed the bags on the floor.
Again, Darius hoisted Gedge up to look through the gap above the top of the door in the house’s rear wall. All was quiet. Although lights showed faintly through some of the windows, there was nobody obviously looking out, and no apparent activity in the kitchen. Gedge was a little surprised that he could see no lookout, as the hours of darkness would surely be the ones offering more risk.
Gedge got down and laboured to lift the much heavier Parthian up to the gap. Darius took in the layout of the yard and signalled to be lowered again.
Gedge took out a box of matches and lit the first torch. The end flared into a bright, yellow-white flame. He handed it to Darius. At a signal from Gedge, Darius stood back a couple of feet and launched the torch in a graceful arc over the wall in the direction of the firewood sheds. He immediately hoisted Gedge up again to check on the result. It was good. The torch had landed just inside the lip of one of the lean-tos, and had dropped into the stack of logs within. A glow was beginning to spread. The fire was taking hold.
Gedge whispered. ‘Good so far. Now several in quick succession.’
Darius complied. Three more torches were lit and launched over the wall within a few seconds, each one leaving his hand with a soft whoosh and leaving a faint trail of sparks.
Polly had been relieved to see the constable still stationed at the junction between New Road and Charlotte Street, only a hundred yards away from Gedge and Darius. Being a crossroads, there were a few people about, and one hansom trotted past. The policeman was standing where he could be clearly seen, under a gas lamp. He seemed to be studying the ground a foot in front of him. All to the good, thought Polly. We don’t want one who’s too observant.
‘Hello, officer. I wonder, could you help me?’
The constable looked up, with wide eyes, no doubt embarrassed to be caught not paying due attention. He was young; seventeen if she had to guess. Still wet behind the ears. Probably wouldn’t be much use if there was any rough stuff, but that wasn’t the point.
‘Miss! Yes, if I can. Ought you to be out at this time of night, on your own, like?’
‘Well, if you can help me I won’t be on the streets on my own for much longer. The address I have here. I believe it’s nearby. Could you help me find it?’ She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
He studied the address. ‘Yes, you’re very close. It’s near the fire station, just around there.’ He made a vague gesture.
‘As you implied, it’s not the best idea for a lady to be out of doors alone in the hours of darkness. So would you accompany me there?’
‘Yes, of course, Miss.’
They left it for a minute while the fire developed. Then, Gedge had another look over the top of the door. The shed was well ablaze, flames filling the interior and starting to lick around the top of the roof. The surrounding yard and the back of the house were illuminated by the orange glow. The sound of the fire was increasing as well; its crackles and pops getting louder and louder.
To add to the conflagration, Darius hurled three more missiles. They soon started to see the flames leaping above the level of the wall.
A cry came from the adjoining house to the right. Gedge saw a window open and somebody peer out and shout again.
Gedge took a final look over the top of the gate. Several people emerged from the kitchen door and ran out into the yard. They approached the inferno, but shied back again.
The urgent clanging of a bell sounded from the far end of the alley. ‘The fire-engine!’ said Gedge.
‘Let’s make their work easier,’ said Darius. ‘With the noise of the fire, nobody inside will hear this.’
From one of the bags, he produced a big cold chisel and a club hammer. He applied the chisel to the lock of the yard door and, from a great height, smashed it with the hammer. The lock broke away, leaving the door attached to its frame by a few splinters. They both took the bags and stood back, gazing up at the flames leaping above the wall, as though they were bystanders agog with the excitement of the fire.
The fire-engine clattered into view, propelled by a pair of horses that were being lashed by the driver. A squat contraption, belching steam from a large chimney in the centre, it only just squeezed along the alley. It was followed by several other men, hurrying to keep up.
‘Out the way! Out the way!’ shouted the driver. He brought the horses to a halt beside the gate and unhitched them. Two of the other men uncoiled the hosepipes, while another pushed open the gate, to be greeted by a wave of heat from inside.
‘Bloody ’ell! Get a move on and get that water goin’!’
They barged through the gate and into the yard, hauling the hosepipes. The whole of one side of the yard was ablaze, the flames reaching twenty feet into the air. Gedge wondered if they had been storing something more flammable than wood in the shed. He could see the house’s occupants gathering by the kitchen door. One of the men went to speak to the leading fireman, but was told to keep back for his own safety.
There was a cry from the men in the alley operating the steam-powered pump, and a few seconds later, jets of water sprang from the nozzles of the hoses. And now, another bell could be heard; a second fire-engine was on its way, apparently approaching from the other end of the alley. Some of the firemen from the new engine ran ahead and into the yard to assess the situation. The first two hoses seemed to be making little impact on the fire, so more water would help; but now there were more than a dozen people packed into the narrow space, all seemingly shouting at once.
Gedge touched Darius on the arm. ‘Now’s our chance. Come on.’
He made sure his revolver was tucked securely into his waistband and stepped through the gate, followed by the Parthian.
Behind them, another set of hoses from the second fire-engine was being dragged through. Gedge and Darius approached the house, between the firemen. There was only one man from the house remaining outside; a thickset individual who stood by the kitchen door. As they got nearer, Gedge recognised the characteristic bulge that showed he was carrying a pistol. The man was taking no notice of them, apparently entranced by the inferno and the attempts to control it. With Gedge obscuring the firemen’s view, Darius came up behind the man and clamped one hand over his mouth, while the other arm snaked around his torso, grasping both forearms so that they could not move. After a few seconds of squirming, the man wilted. Darius pulled him behind one of the shrubs on the other side of the yard.
The kitchen door was standing slightly ajar. Gedge nudged it a little wider and carefully craned his head around to get a view of the room. The door creaked a little, making him wince. He saw only one figure in the room; a thin man in braces who was occupied at the sink and had his back to the door.
The man spoke over his shoulder.
‘Any s
ign of them bringin’ it under control yet, Jackie?’
Gedge threw himself across the room. At the last minute, the man half-turned, but Gedge was on him, thrusting his stomach into the rim of the sink, forcing the wind out of him. A blow on the back of the head from the butt of Gedge’s revolver did the rest. Two men down. How many more? And where was Hannah, and any other girls who might be held here?
Just off the kitchen, Gedge opened a door to a flight of stairs leading down into a basement. There was a light on down there, but they also heard muffled sounds from somewhere upstairs.
Darius whispered. ‘Do we go down, up, or split up?’
‘We’ll have to split up. We can’t risk going the wrong way and letting them get away with Hannah. I’ll take the basement and you check upstairs.’
The Parthian made off instantly. Gedge slowly picked his way down the staircase. At the bottom, a narrow passage led off to the right, and, after a few feet, seemed to open out into a room, from where the light was shining.
He moved towards the light. It was especially cold down here, and to add to the chill, a sudden thought struck him: what if they were too late? What if the attentions of Gedge and his friends had become too much and they had murdered Hannah prior to escaping? What if her body was lying in that room just a few steps away? He stopped in his tracks for a moment, then gathered himself and strode into the room, revolver drawn.
It was no dungeon or cell. Illuminated by a single oil lamp hanging in the centre of the room, boxes and crates were stacked around two of the walls, while the others bore shelves containing tins and bottles. Far from being a sinister place of imprisonment, this was just an underground pantry. Cursing under his breath, Gedge turned on his heel. But before he had even made it to the foot of the stairs, he heard a loud thud and several voices from upstairs. Darius!
He hared up the stairs, two at a time. Turning left at the top, he ran for the ornate main staircase leading to the upper floors. As he passed through a doorway, something caught the edge of his vision and in an instant he realised his mistake. His trailing foot struck something solid and he pitched forward, landing face first on the carpet near the bottom of the stairs. The gun jerked out of his hand and skittered several feet away. He saw a dark form loom over him and scrambled to get to his feet. But he was seized and hurled into the broad and unyielding wooden post at the foot of the stairs.
He collapsed onto the floor but was immediately pulled upright from behind, by what felt like a huge pair of hands.
Ackerman appeared in front of him, smiling.
‘Well, well. Lucas Gedge. Unlike me, it looks like you’ve let your military training slip. Schoolboy mistake. Running through a doorway like that without checking. And I’m afraid your big mate upstairs has fared no better than you. But of course your main concern will be your daughter. I must say, she’s a frisky little thing. Led us quite a dance for a bit. But you’re a little late, old son. Her and the others are in someone else’s care now. We moved them a bit early. You’re as far away from finding her as you ever were. I reckon it’ll be a toss-up, whether father or daughter will meet the most grisly end.’
Gedge’s face was bloodied, one eye blackened.
‘Naseby has her, eh? Your tame Special Branch man?’
‘Oh, so you’ve found out about him? Well, you’re hardly in a position to do anything about it, are you now? Of more immediate concern for you is the gentleman restraining you at the moment. His name is Ahmed. He’s a Turk. Not only big, but tough as old boots. Doesn’t say much, but doesn’t need to. He’s a sensitive soul, though, and he’s been a little bit emotional ever since someone did for his twin brother Oz the other day. Nasty business. He bled to death, stuck in a window-frame over Bethnal Green way. I said at the time that I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of whoever did that to Oz when Ahmed catches up with him. And now he has.’
Gedge lashed out with his foot, but the man behind kneed him in the small of the back. A starburst of pain spread across Gedge’s midsection, and he fell to his knees. Ackerman bent down and grasped a handful of Gedge’s hair, wrenching his head up and glaring into his face.
‘Whatever indignities, whatever agonies your daughter goes through, it’s all down to you, Gedge. You should have stayed out of it. But it doesn’t matter now. You won’t have much time to worry about her, once Ahmed’s taught you the error of your ways.’
Gedge was past responding. He had passed out. Ackerman scoffed and let go of his hair. Gedge’s head flopped forward like a rag doll.
46
Polly stifled a sob as she watched from her hiding place by the door to the cellar. She had crept in through the kitchen after slipping away from the constable, who was busy trying to move onlookers away from the house.
Even with a gun, she knew that she would have no chance to prevent Gedge being hauled off, especially as she could hear two more men coming down the staircase from upstairs. Her only option was to follow them and find out where they were taking him.
The huge, bald-headed thug dragged Gedge to the front door and the man who seemed to be in charge stepped outside. His description fitted with Gedge’s nemesis, Ackerman.
‘It’s just outside. Let’s go!’
Gedge was lifted into a more upright position and with the other men either side of him, shielding the sight of their victim from onlookers, they left the house. As soon as the door was closed, Polly ran to the window and looked out. They were bundling Gedge into one of two hansoms drawn up on the road outside. Two men got in with Gedge, while the other two took the second vehicle.
Polly waited for the hansoms to set off, then jumped down the front steps and peered across the road. There was Claude, staring after the cabs, too shocked to speak.
She hitched up her skirts and sprinted across to him.
‘Claude, listen to me. Darius must be still be in the house, upstairs somewhere. He must be out of commission. Go in and find him. God, I hope he’s alright. I’ve got to follow them. It’s our only chance to find Hannah and stop them killing Lucas.’
‘Go, then. But be careful. There’s a cab rank a little further along.’
Polly ran faster than she ever had before, pushing past other pedestrians who cried out in disgust at the young woman’s lack of decorum. Fortunately, the road was straight and there was little traffic about. She could still just make out the two hansoms a couple of hundred yards ahead.
Gasping for breath, she came to a halt by the front hansom in a row of three waiting curb-side.
‘Follow those cabs!’
Gedge awoke with a start, amazed to still be alive. His head felt heavy, as though a huge weight was bearing down on it. Blood pounded in his head, and a dull pain throbbed through his stomach and chest. He could feel the crackling of dried blood that had run down his face, neck and chest. He opened his left eye—the right one would not open fully—and remembered the beating he had taken. He thought for a moment he was not actually awake but in one of his dreams. The scene before him was not stationary, but gently swaying. It was as though he was seeing the world through a distorting mirror. There was a level surface, filthy and pitted, above his head, and another at some distance below.
The heat struck him then. It was incredibly hot. Rivers of perspiration gushed off him, flowing over his body and head, dripping out of his hair onto the… floor?
He suddenly understood. With great effort, he pulled his head up and looked down the length of his body at his feet. They were bound together at the ankles by a rope, fixed to a hook in the ceiling. He was suspended upside down, naked, with his head a foot or two above the floor. He could not feel his arms, which were behind his back, bound at the wrists.
He twisted his body around to see what he could determine of his surroundings, trying to ignore the jolts of pain. The effort seemed to produce even more sweat. His whole body felt slick, as though he was underwater. The thought struck him that if he stayed like this he would quickly die of dehydration.
The roo
m was cast in a dim half-light provided by a series of small wall sconces. Only a foot or so behind him, stacks of large pipes and cylinders clanked and groaned. In front of him, a huge cylinder, about four feet wide and twice as high, intermittently issued gouts of steam. Beside it were several banks of circular dials.
He was in a boiler room. It would be located in a basement and, judging by its scale, would service a very large building. One object was incongruous: a brazier stood just to his left, its coals glowing red-hot. Why would anyone add to the almost unbearable heat in this hell-hole?
Through the continual clanking and rushing of steam, Gedge could make out another sound: voices, coming from somewhere out of sight. He managed to twist around and inspect his situation further. He thought he could make out the bottom of a flight of stairs at one end of the room. Closer, there was a pile of material that might be his clothes.
He tried to flex his legs in an effort to loosen the rope that bound his feet, but to no avail. He tried again to move his arms, and to use his hands to feel and test the rope that tied them. He found that moving his arms and hands gradually back and forth started to bring some life and feeling back to them. And he did feel a weakness in the rope. It was old, and frayed in places. He worked at it, rubbing his fingers raw as he pried at the fibres; separating, fraying, tearing.
A few moments later, as he heard someone coming down the staircase, he was sure that the rope securing his hands behind his back was only held together by a few strands. He stopped moving, deciding it would be better for now if it appeared he was incapacitated.
Two figures approached him, upside down. One was an enormous man with a bare and heavily muscled chest that glistened with sweat. He was bald but had a luxurious twirled moustache. Gedge instinctively knew this was Ahmed, the Turk with a grievance over his brother. The other figure was more Gedge’s size, and for a few moments Gedge wondered whether he was actually just dreaming this whole thing, as this man appeared to be a British soldier from the earlier years of the century, dressed in a red dress jacket with gold piping. But as the figure came closer, he recognised the thin, cruel face and the shock of black hair. Ackerman.