by Amy Myers
To me this floor too looked full of boxes, which Jericho was already heaving around with William in his wake. I realised now they were helping us. I didn’t waste time worrying over this, but hurried to the far end of the warehouse to start work there. I had only moved one pile before I thought I could hear scuffling. Was it my imagination? Was it rats? Just as I worked out where it was coming from, William joined me with Jericho hard on his heels.
I saw a movement and heard a grunting sound. Yes, between two piles I could see Ned’s head poking out from the sacking into which he was bound. A scarf was tied round his mouth and there was none too pleasant a smell as he must have been tied up for a while. Scraps of old newspaper suggested food of some kind might have been brought.
Mrs Snook promptly pushed William and Jericho aside. ‘It’s your boy,’ she said joyfully, as I whipped the scarf off.
Ned was coughing now, trying to croak with tears on his face — and mine.
‘Thanks, guvnor,’ he managed to whisper.
I turned to thank Jericho and William but they’d already gone. I didn’t have time to worry about that either.
Between us Mrs Snook and I managed to half-carry Ned down the steps once he got a taste of his walking legs again. We had to hurry him in case Jericho and William weren’t on our side after all. Perhaps like Mrs Snook they had only thought that boys should not be kidnapped — but even so, what brought them here?
After a brief sit-down we set off for Phineas’ lodgings as they were nearer than Hairbrine Court. Mrs Snook then ordered Mrs Tutman to give her a basin of water — this not being a day when the water runs in this part of the world. Mrs Snook is more formidable than Mrs Tutman, so not to my surprise it was easy to arrange this. The other person who didn’t get his own way was Ned, who to his fury had all his clothes whipped off for a wash.
I realised that we were missing one from this party however: Cockalorum. He was nowhere to be seen; out hunting perhaps. He must have heard the uproar though, and sure enough he came bounding in, though he didn’t seem pleased to see Mrs Snook. But he set Ned’s eyes shining again so I blessed that cat.
‘Cockalorum!’ he shouted in glee.
It was a joyous reunion and Mrs Snook departed well satisfied. I had persuaded her not to reveal her part in Ned’s rescue for her own sake, and she saw the sense of this, on condition I got Phineas out of prison quickly. That meant that I had to get Ned back to Hairbrine Court double quick as Slugger would not be far behind us and for both our sakes I felt more secure there than here.
I also had to get Phineas out of prison, and therefore I still had to find out very speedily who had murdered Mr Harcourt and Mrs Fortescue. To do that, I had to return to tracking down the Seven Deadly Sins manuscript. It was going to be a ticklish job and no mistake.
Ned had other things on his mind. ‘I can still play Jack-in-the-Green, can’t I, guvnor?’
‘Yes, Ned.’
Only four days away, and with the crowds that would be milling around the procession how could I protect him? What other answer could I have given him though?
Where next? With Ned himself, I decided. I wouldn’t put it past Flint to nab him again, and if so I wouldn’t get him back. I sensed there was more Ned had to tell me, but he had shut up like a clam and I ought to let it be for a while. I’d had time to think about Jericho and William now. Surely they couldn’t have been involved in the kidnapping? I thought I knew what must have happened. After I saw Jericho in Spitfalfields, he must have told Clara about Ned being kidnapped and she ordered him or both of them to find Ned. That explanation didn’t quite add up, though. Had it been coincidence that I had seen Jericho in Spitalfields, or did he have a mission of his own there? Was it his idea to come to Billingsgate and if so how did he know where to come? More likely William forced him to come. It was a puzzle I couldn’t solve and there was only one person who might be able to help: Ned. I needed to know more about his ordeal and so I had no choice but to press him to speak.
‘Who did this to you, Ned?’ I asked gently. ‘Slugger Joe must be behind it, but you wouldn’t have let him nab you. Was it Jericho?’
‘No,’ Ned muttered. ‘It was at the Churchyard.’
‘What were you doing there, Ned?’ I remembered I’d been there on Sunday too, and lamented that by chance we must have been there at different times.
‘Just things,’ he answered me defiantly, by which I knew he’d been up to one of his tricks. I’d leave that for a while.
‘Who nabbed you?’
‘Lairy John saw me. I thought he was being friendly. He pointed out a toff who was busy talking to another cove and looked ripe, so I went over to him but they and Lairy got me. They took me to Slugger.’
The Swell Mob, without a doubt. I sensed there was more that Ned could tell me, but he shut himself off again. And as yet he’d made no mention of Jericho or William.
Once he had been strengthened by a meat pie fetched by Mrs Snook before she left he became more of his old self and felt up to returning to our home. It turned out that all he’d had to eat while he was away was a dried herring or two and a pint of ale.
‘What about Cockalorum?’ he asked anxiously. ‘We can’t leave him here.’
Cockalorum was also faring well for food, as Mrs Snook had unbent enough to bring some fish as well as the meat pie for Ned.
‘I’ll put some fish in my pocket again. See if he follows,’ I said.
Ned was wiser than me. ‘I think he’ll come anyway.’
Our budget was suffering because I hadn’t been able to get much sweeping done, but once it was known in Hairbrine Court that Ned was back and needed feeding, food arrived in plenty. Ned was right. Cockalorum had once again thrown in his lot with us and followed us back to our home. He seemed as anxious about Ned as I was, judging by the way he pawed at his trousers and licked his arms affectionately. It’s true he did consider Ned’s food as his own to share, but that worked out all right because he ate more fish and Ned another meat pie. What did I eat? Nothing much. I was too happy to eat.
Mrs Snook reappeared the next morning to see how Ned was, as Slugger was safely employed elsewhere, and I took the opportunity to ask her about the Seven Deadly Sins.
‘Phineas told me his father gave it to him,’ I said, trying to sound casual.
She snorted. ‘His dad was no good at anything but playing the fool, just like my Phinny.’
‘Any reason his dad would have a manuscript of an old play to pass on to Phineas?’
‘That pile of old paper? That came from his grandpa.’
‘Did you read it?’
‘Me? No, it wasn’t even in proper English, only a few words.’
‘How would his grandpa have acquired it? Did you meet him?’
‘Met him a few times. His dad was a proper actor. Played at Drury Lane. What’s all this about, Mr Wasp?’
‘Your Joe seems interested in this play.’
Mrs Snook looked at me straight in the eye. ‘I see no evil, hear no evil, and I certainly don’t speak no evil where Joe’s concerned. Not often anyway.’
‘Even though Phineas is in prison?’
‘You’re going to get him out of that place and don’t waste time about it. And,’ she said meaningfully, ‘I can tell you Slugger didn’t kill that bloke Harcourt, either. He was snoring beside me. And he don’t get up till long after the lamplighter’s come round of a morning. Unless he’s on a job, that is. So he don’t have nothing to do with that woman that got croaked, either.’
*
Now that I knew this missing manuscript had been in Phineas’ family for a long time I decided to have another word with Mr Chalcot, though I was worried about leaving Ned on his own. I need not have done. Mrs Snook insisted on staying with him — not to Cockalorum’s pleasure, I’m sure. Mr Chalcot might not be too pleased to have me turning up again, but I couldn’t help that if I was to get Phineas freed. Three days left.
Mr Chalcot was courteous as ever when I plodded
through the bookstore door, despite the fact that he already had customers — or rather guests, as it was Mr Timpson and Mr Manley who were taking coffee with him.
‘My dear Mr Wasp,’ Mr Chalcot greeted me. ‘Do, pray, join us.’
I accepted his offer despite the glowers from Mr Timpson. Mr Manley looked so worried that I must have been the least of his problems. I sensed a tense atmosphere that had little to do with my arrival. I’d walked into a set-to of some sort.
Mr Timpson made an effort at cordiality. ‘How is that boy of yours, Wasp?’
News travels quickly in the Row and I realised that Jericho and William must already have spread the story. ‘My thanks to you,’ I said, as if taking coffee with gentlemen was my normal pattern for passing the day. ‘He’s safe, thank you kindly. He was taken,’ I swept on, delighted to have this opportunity, ‘by someone anxious to obtain that manuscript by Mr Tarlton — and that someone believes I know where it is.’
A curious silence fell. ‘And do you?’ Mr Timpson enquired. Mr Chalcot merely looked perplexed and Mr Manley even more anxious.
‘No, but I shall find out.’
‘We should be much obliged,’ Mr Chalcot assured me.
Mr Timpson had something to say on this account. ‘Our friend Mr Splendour is also making every effort to find the Seven Deadly Sins on Mrs Harcourt’s behalf, but he has so far failed. Indeed the police seem to believe — quite mistakenly of course — that our friend Mr Splendour already has it. Doubtless he believes that the Seven Deadly Sins is as valuable as a whole lost play by Shakespeare.’
‘It is lost,’ I pointed out. ‘Even Flint is looking for it.’
Another curious silence, which Mr Timpson once again broke. ‘You mentioned that name before. I don’t believe I know the gentleman.’
It was then I remembered his being at the Churchyard on Sunday afternoon — where Ned had been nabbed by Flint’s men. Coincidence, or was there more to it?
‘Moreover,’ he continued smoothly, ‘even if this Mr Flint is searching for it, there is the question of these two tragic murders. Neither of those can have anything to do with myself, as Mr Manley and Mr Splendour were with Mr Harcourt after I had left.’
‘That is not my recollection,’ Mr Manley immediately fired up. ‘I recall leaving you with Mr Splendour and Mr Harcourt after I decided to take a walk to the riverside.’
‘Then you recall wrongly,’ Mr Timpson flared up in indignation.
A polite cough from Mr Chalcot. ‘My dear Mr Wasp, I’m told this Mr Flint murders people to order. That is quite shocking, the material of penny dreadfuls.’
Mr Timpson seized on this. ‘It seems to me entirely possible that is the truth of what happened. I had begun to fear that you were under the impression that one of us was involved in these terrible murders, Mr Wasp, but clearly that is not possible as we had never heard of Flint — although I cannot speak for Mr Splendour.’
‘It concerned me,’ I said, trying to look concerned as well, ‘that only the Tarlton Ordinaries knew that Mr Harcourt had received the script from Mr Snook that afternoon.’
Mr Manley’s turn to be shocked. ‘Mr Wasp, your implication is offensive.’
I waited to see what Mr Timpson might reply, but it was Mr Chalcot who responded, looking most troubled. ‘We cannot deny we all knew about the manuscript. Mr Harcourt was only too pleased to talk of the great fortune it would bring him. However, a great many other people might also have known of it.’
‘Naturally, we could hardly believe it,’ Mr Timpson cut in smoothly. ‘Certainly not myself. Of course, we were all delighted at his news. Irrespective of whether it had value, it was a magnificent find for literature.’
Mr Chalcot blithely chimed in once more. ‘Especially as we believe it did have Shakespeare’s hand in it. Indeed, we sincerely hope it might have a whole armful.’ He waited for a chuckle at this witticism, but none came so he gravely added, ‘One can dare to hope too much in such circumstances, of course.’
‘A tweak or two during his early days at Stratford, perhaps, but no more,’ Mr Timpson swiftly conceded. ‘Shakespeare was the pupil, Tarlton the master in those days. Nothing of great value.’
‘Unless of course Harcourt was right —’ Mr Chalcot began.
‘— He seldom was,’ Mr Timpson cut in loudly.
At this Mr Chalcot grew pink in the cheeks. ‘Even so, the possibility of the script being of very great value indeed must be considered. However, I should also point out that Mr Harcourt asked us to keep news of this discovery to ourselves, particularly if the script was of great value, something to which we all — with some readiness — agreed. In the circumstances of two murders, however, I believe I should absolve myself from the need for secrecy.’
Judging by their sharp intakes of breath, both Mr Timpson and Mr Manley disagreed with this policy, but there was no stopping Mr Chalcot. ‘Furthermore it was our shared common knowledge that Mr Harcourt on occasion dealt with a fence in Spitalfields, I believe. Stolen property is a serious matter.’
By now Mr Timpson was bristling with anger. ‘If the Tarlton script was stolen property,’ he snapped, ‘perhaps it was indeed this Flint who took action in the form of two murders. As for secrecy, for shame, sir. You have betrayed the trust of the Ordinaries.’
Mr Manley in comparison was so shaken that he could only manage a ‘Hear, hear, sir.’
Mr Chalcot seemed not a bit dismayed at this rancour. He beamed at both myself and his other guests. ‘Take each man’s censure but reserve thy judgement’ — I believe that was Shakespeare’s advice? Now, Mr Wasp, what do you have for us in the way of information?’
Should I speak out now, or would it be wiser to wait? Now, I decided. ‘The manuscript, sir. It was not stolen property,’ I informed them. ‘It belonged to Phineas Snook and was a family heirloom.’
This stirred up the soot all right. Mr Timpson was spluttering with rage and Mr Manley went very pale. Mr Chalcot, however, looked most interested.
‘I wonder,’ he said brightly, forestalling Mr Timpson’s attempts to speak, ‘how far this family heritage of Snook’s goes back. Most interesting that this Phineas Snook is a fool, just like Richard Tarlton. Whoever in his family acquired the script was probably a fool, too. And yet the Seven Deadly Sins is usually considered to have been a tragedy with comic relief.’
‘You’re talking nonsense, Wasp!’ Mr Timpson shouted. ‘What would a fool’s family be doing with a Shakespearean treasure?’
A gasp of horror from Mr Manley made him aware of this lapse. ‘I meant Tarlton treasure of course,’ he added hastily. But it was too late.
‘Mr Timpson,’ asked Mr Chalcot mildly, ‘do you have more information on the Seven Deadly Sins than Mr Harcourt confided to us that evening?’
Mr Timpson’s face went very red. ‘A mere opinion, given to me in private by Arnold Harcourt when I happened to call in at his store before our meeting that sad evening. A preliminary glance at the manuscript made him sure that Shakespeare’s hand was indeed in it and to a great extent. He was to tell me more, but alas the opportunity never came.’ He looked round defiantly to see how this was being received.
Mr Manley made no bones about it. ‘Sir,’ he said, visibly trembling with anger, ‘you failed to behave in accordance with the rules of the Tarlton Ordinaries. These decree, if I am not mistaken, that each Ordinary shall behave as a gentleman in business matters, and you, sir, have not. I wonder whether there is more you can tell us about Harcourt’s death?’
Mr Timpson jumped to his feet in anger, but at this point a lady made a most dramatic entrance from the street.
She was about the same girth and height as Mr Chalcot and was clearly Mrs Chalcot, from the way she flew straight to her husband.
‘There is news, Mr Chalcot. News!’
‘My sweetheart, of what?’ He was most alarmed. ‘Cousin Florence, perhaps?’
We had all risen immediately at the presence of a lady, agog to hear what this news might be
.
‘There is to be an arrest,’ she declared. ‘For murder.’
That set the chimney on fire. Mr Timpson and Mr Manley paled, and Mr Chalcot lost his smile in sheer astonishment.
Mrs Chalcot barely paused for breath. ‘I had the news from Mabel — the evening editions — and when I saw the policemen around —’
‘— But where, my chuck,’ her husband asked in agitation. ‘Who?’
‘In the Row of course. As to who —’
But her audience was vanishing. I almost forgot my hat in the excitement as I was pushed aside by Mr Timpson and Mr Manley. Even Mr Chalcot passed me by in the rush to reach Paternoster Row.
Ahead of me, Mr Timpson and Mr Manley disappeared into the crowd of onlookers attracted by the sight of a Black Maria and police carriages, together with uniformed police from both the City of London and the Metropolitan police forces. By my usual means of parting the crowds, I managed to reach the front with ease. Was it Harcourt’s store they were outside? No, Mr Splendour’s.
I could see Sergeant Williamson and Constable Peters and with some difficulty managed to reach them. The constable was looking upset. ‘Mr Splendour, Tom. Arrested.’
As I had thought — almost feared. Mr Splendour could have reason enough to wish both Mr Harcourt and Mrs Fortescue removed, but the latter surely only if she had been in possession of that much coveted Tarlton manuscript.
‘For both murders, constable?’ I asked.
‘Mrs Fortescue — for the moment, Mr Wasp. It’s understandable. He could easily have been in the bookstore earlier than he claims; the razor strop used to kill her would have been at hand. It was the old sort that hangs from a hook, and there’s a new one in his rooms. And Mrs Harcourt is still sure that Mr Splendour was the smartly dressed man she witnessed in there with Mrs Fortescue. She’s also still convinced that Mrs Fortescue stole the Tarlton play, but Inspector Harvey’s opinion is that Splendour did that and Mrs Fortescue was trying a touch of blackmail on him.’
‘And what’s your opinion, constable?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s possible. And there’s some good news, Mr Wasp —’