The Ladder Dancer

by Roz Southey

  The girl, dismissed, sauntered past us with her bowl of water, allowing it to slop over the sides as she went. Both Heron and I were on the lookout for mischief, however, and stepped back in time to prevent ourselves getting splashed.

  ‘I’ll put in my bill first thing tomorrow,’ Gale said.

  ‘As you wish,’ Ridley said, grinning still.

  Gale hesitated. ‘And I’ll tell the boy who brings it not to leave until he has his money.’

  ‘He’ll have to wait a long time,’ Ridley said. ‘I don’t have a penny.’ He looked up at Gale’s scandalized face. ‘So what now? Are you going to unwrap me and take the soiled bandages away with you?’

  ‘I’ll pay,’ Heron said, wearily. ‘On his mother’s behalf.’

  Gale muttered his thanks, gathered up his instruments and left with affronted dignity.

  ‘I don’t intend to be grateful, you know,’ Ridley said.

  I strode across to him, lifted up his right hand. He was too surprised to resist. The hand was scratched: one substantial graze across the palm, two or three smaller scratches across some of the fingertips. I checked his left hand; that too was scratched, though not so badly.

  ‘The wound is in your left shoulder,’ I said. ‘You were attacked from the front by a right-handed person. You put up your hands to defend yourself and caught hold of the knife, at least once, perhaps more.’

  ‘That’s very clever,’ Ridley said with mock admiration. ‘Or were you hiding behind a heap of baskets, watching?’

  ‘You were attacked on the Key?’

  ‘Alas,’ he said. ‘I was drunk!’

  ‘And still are,’ Heron muttered.

  ‘And your attacker?’

  ‘Caught me by surprise!’ Ridley said, beaming. ‘Never saw a thing.’

  ‘So you can’t identify him?’

  ‘Haven’t the slightest idea.’

  ‘But, as we’ve just agreed,’ I said, ‘you were facing your attacker. Moreover, you grabbed hold of the knife, which means you can’t have been further than arm’s length from him. So what did he look like?’

  He was amused. ‘The fellow was too short.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A midget. No more than two feet tall. His face was on a level with my knees – never saw it.’

  ‘Then how did he manage to stab you in the shoulder?’

  ‘Perhaps he was aiming for something closer,’ Heron mused. ‘Somewhere more permanently damaging. A pity he missed.’

  Ridley was furious at that. He snarled, started to swear.

  ‘So why didn’t you see his face?’ I asked again.

  ‘Too tall,’ he said savagely. ‘A giant. Eight feet tall at least.’

  Silence. We heard the sound of laughter from the taproom below.

  ‘So you knew him,’ I said.

  ‘Go to the devil!’

  ‘It’s Nightingale’s attacker.’

  He struggled up further in the bed. ‘Get out! Get out of here!’

  ‘You didn’t knife Nightingale,’ I said scornfully. ‘You wouldn’t have the nerve – you’re all bluster. But you know who did and how – you saw it happen. And you saw the chance to make a little money so you sent him a note suggesting he might like to buy your silence. Only he didn’t want to be blackmailed. He’d already disposed of one man; he thought he’d do the same to you.’

  ‘I said, get out!’ Ridley was reaching across the bed, evidently intent on seizing hold of the heavy candlestick on the bedside table, presumably to hit me with. He grunted in pain. Sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘You want to watch yourself. One day someone’ll have a go at you – and it’ll damn well be me!’

  Lazily, Heron flicked out his sword. A thin line of red sprang out along the back of Ridley’s hand. He yelped, snatched his hand back from the candlestick, cursed, sucked at the cut.

  ‘Of course, I could be wrong,’ I said conversationally. ‘Your wound could have been inflicted by one of the ruffians downstairs – maybe you made advances to his girl. In which case, just tell me and we’ll go.’

  He said nothing, still licking the blood from the scratch.

  ‘You’re playing with fire,’ I said. ‘This is a dangerous man. He’s made one attempt to kill you – it won’t be the last.’

  He snarled. ‘I’ll get my blow in first!’ He pressed a corner of the grubby sheet to the back of his hand; a red line grew along the cloth. ‘I’ll do what I like,’ he said. ‘I’m not beholden to anyone and I’ll not have anyone saying what I can and can’t do. I’ll break the attacker who killed the tweeterer and I’ll get every penny I can. And then I’ll be out of this damned town faster than you can see me.’

  He raised his voice, yelled raucously for the girl. ‘Bring me paper and ink – I want to write a note!’ He sneered. ‘I’ve a way out of here no one knows of. Not you, not him—’ a jerk of his head at Heron ‘—and certainly not the law. I’ll be off and no one’ll be able to follow me.’

  He leant back against the pillows, that obnoxious grin widening still further. ‘You might say, I’ll be out of this world!’

  Thirty-Six

  A wife always defers to her husband.

  [A Gentleman’s Companion, July 1734]

  Heron’s gaze met mine; the next moment, the girl came back with a platter piled high with food – half a chicken, a huge wedge of bread, pickles, an apple. She gave us a saucy eye. ‘You two staying? I’m told you get three times the fun with three gentlemen.’

  Convulsively, I spun on my heels, out of the room, down the stairs, through the taproom, into the blessed fresh air of the Key. Through the passers-by to the edge of the river. I stood on the wharf looking across the water to the lights of Gateshead on the opposite bank. It was almost midnight and the Key was not as crowded as during the day, but there were still sailors about, most of them drinking hard, some standing in serious conversation over smoking pipes. Whores touted for custom.

  I was standing almost on the spot where Kate’s mother and her child had been sent flying into the river, where the child died. Damn it, I would not let Ridley get away with murder!

  Heron came up behind me, hand still on his sword, glanced around to make sure no one could hear us. ‘He can step through to that other world?’

  I turned my back to the river, stared at the Old Man, brilliant with candles and torches, and bubbling with noise.

  ‘The evening Nightingale was attacked, Kate followed him,’ I said. ‘She saw him go down the Castle steps but didn’t immediately go after him. She watched everyone who went down and saw no one suspicious – a middle-aged man and woman, a drunk. She didn’t see Ridley – of course she didn’t! He stepped out of that world into ours at some point on the steps!’

  ‘Is that possible?’ Heron asked. ‘I had the impression it was a random business.’

  ‘Not always.’ I cursed, remembering something else. ‘When I saw Ridley yesterday morning, he looked confused, disorientated – he even asked me the time! He must have just got back from the other world!’

  Heron considered in silence for a moment then shook his head. ‘This changes little. It explains how Ridley came to see the attack and to know the identity of the person concerned—’

  ‘It makes him more dangerous,’ I said. Ridley! Able to escape when he chose!

  Heron nodded. ‘And the task of dealing with him is therefore more difficult. But nevertheless, what has happened tonight merely confirms what you surmized. Ridley knows the identity of the attacker. And the attacker objects to being blackmailed and is seeking to dispose of Ridley.’ He grunted. ‘I always knew him for a fool. What now?’

  I looked up at the second storey of the inn. Ridley’s room was round the side, looking out on to the narrow chare. ‘Now he’ll eat that ridiculously large meal and drink himself stupid and probably give himself a fever. Then he’ll no doubt enjoy himself with the girl.’

  ‘And then?’ Heron said patiently.

  ‘And then, in a couple of hours’ time, when h
e’s feeling more himself, he’ll get up from his bed and stagger out into the street.’

  ‘You think he will seek out the attacker?’

  ‘I think he’ll put up the price of his silence.’

  ‘So we follow him?’ Heron looked down at his own magnificence. ‘I shall be somewhat obvious, as indeed will you be in so light a coat. Do we have time to go home and change?’

  I nodded. ‘I know a spirit here who’ll keep us informed if anything happens in the meantime.’

  By the time I got home, I’d talked myself into a much better state of mind. The prospect of laying my hands on Nightingale’s attacker revived me. And after that was done, I could return to the matter of the dead child, and Ridley. I flung open the bedroom door – and there was Esther, standing in front of the mirror in the candlelight, hair hanging loose in a shimmer of gold about her shoulders. She was dressed in shirt and breeches and concentrating on adjusting her cravat.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Do not be ridiculous, Charles,’ she said, patting the cravat. She reached up to coil her hair into the nape of her neck. ‘I am coming with you. You know you cannot shoot straight.’ She gestured towards the dressing table. Amongst the bottles of scent, the hairbrushes and pins, sat the brutal metal shape of one of her duelling pistols.

  ‘How do you know I’m going anywhere?’

  She sighed. ‘You insult my intelligence, Charles! It is not difficult to see what has happened. Your blackmail theory must be correct, and Ridley’s victim has turned on him. Now you have dragged information out of Ridley, and are off in pursuit. It is plain that neither you nor Heron would dash off in your best clothes, so I knew you would come back to change and have organized myself accordingly. Really, Charles, anyone with even a little knowledge of you would find it so easy to predict what would happen!’

  She was right of course. And she and I had been out hunting a villain before; I knew she could take care of herself. She loved to cast off convention from time to time, along with the skirts she sometimes found confining; that freedom of mind was one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with her. I sighed, turned my back on the all-too attractive sight of Esther in her breeches, pulled off my coat.

  ‘You don’t have the story quite right.’ I explained what had happened while she arranged her hair to her satisfaction.

  When I’d finished, she nodded. ‘Ridley is plainly one of those men who are always in trouble.’

  ‘He leaves havoc in his wake,’ I said. ‘First the child, now this. And I’ve no doubt he’d claim none of it was his fault.’ I hesitated. ‘There’s worse.’

  She raised an eyebrow in query.

  ‘He can step through to the other world.’

  ‘He and Kate both?’ she said blankly, pausing as she reached for her coat. ‘Charles, until this week I knew of only two people who could move between this world and the other: my late cousin and yourself. And now there are two more? This is by far the most worrying thing you have told me.’

  ‘I agree.’ I was hunting for my oldest coat; I couldn’t find where Tom had put it – devil take it, he couldn’t have thrown it away!

  ‘Kate is young and silly,’ Esther said, ‘but she is not malicious. We can teach her not to do something foolish with her ability—’

  ‘You seem to have taken the girl under your wing!’ I protested. ‘Can’t you see how impossible it is?’

  She came across to me, took my hands. ‘We cannot afford not to! You must teach her to use her ability wisely.’

  ‘I’m hardly a good teacher. She’s far more accomplished in this than I am.’

  ‘But Ridley!’ she said, clearly hardly hearing me. ‘Dear God, how can we possibly stop him doing whatever he chooses?’

  I found the old coat and dragged it on. It wasn’t much darker than the other but if it was damaged I’d regret it less. My greatcoat would help cover it up. ‘We can only deal with one thing at a time,’ I said, fully aware I was putting unpleasant matters aside again. I seemed to be making a habit of that. This time at least there was patently nothing else to be done. ‘Ridley’s not one to cower at home. He’ll go out and press the attack.’

  ‘So we follow him and find out who this other person is?’

  ‘I follow him.’ I reached for the duelling pistol.

  ‘As I said, Charles.’ Esther shrugged on her own coat and took the pistol from my hand. ‘I am a much better shot.’

  We were halfway down the stairs when the gleam of the spirit shot over our heads, hanging on the top of a mirror. ‘It’s her again, master!’ George shrieked. ‘She sneaks in and out whenever she likes!’

  ‘George,’ I said, losing patience. ‘I don’t want to hear any more from you about Kate.’

  ‘But she’s been getting notes! Writing to people!’

  ‘And don’t shout!’ I snapped. ‘You’ll wake the household!’

  ‘Honest, master—’

  ‘Notes,’ I said, impatiently.

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ I said. ‘Considering Kate can neither read or write. Goodnight, George.’

  And I shut the door firmly as we went out on to the street.

  As we came along the darkened Key, I couldn’t see Heron; I scrutinized the knots of sailors and whores while Esther hunched inside her greatcoat and pulled her hat down to shadow her face. Then I spotted him, leaning against the huge timbers of a pulley set up by one of the moored boats. He too had donned a hat, for fear presumably that his fair hair would glint in the torchlight, and he wore a voluminous greatcoat which swung open to allow him access to his sword.

  He frowned when he saw Esther, seemed about to say something but she forestalled him with a murmur, patting the pocket where she had stowed the pistol. ‘You know Charles can’t shoot straight.’

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Is he still in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Your friendly spirit says so.’

  Esther glanced about anxiously. ‘Will he not spot us?’

  ‘His room looks out on to the chare at the side,’ I said. ‘He won’t be able to see us before he gets to the inn door.’

  She turned her back on the inn. ‘We have one advantage – he will surely be looking for a single pursuer, not a group.’

  I said, ‘Don’t move suddenly. He’s just come out.’

  Ridley hesitated at the door of the inn, his glance sweeping the Key. Esther gestured towards Gateshead Bank as if she was pointing something out; Heron turned as if to look, but I saw his gaze drift quickly back to the Old Man. I drew my coat about me as if cold and kept an eye on Ridley.

  He looked pale, as far as I could tell in the flickering light of the torches that lit up the Old Man; there were no bandages visible but he held his left arm stiffly. After a moment, he turned and strode off along the Key.

  We turned to follow. Heron drew off to the left, strolling away from Esther and myself, and gaining rapidly on Ridley.

  ‘He cannot be going to accost him surely,’ Esther whispered, hand on the pistol in her pocket.

  Heron overtook Ridley, using a group of apprentices to shield him as he passed. Ridley’s attention fortunately was on his back; he glanced round constantly, clearly to see if he was being followed. Esther and I strolled out to the edge of the Key and paused to debate over a pile of Baltic timber that lay alongside a seagoing ship.

  Ridley put on a turn of speed.

  I seized Esther’s arm. ‘He’s going on to the Sandhill. I suspect he’ll walk up the hill towards St Nicholas. You stay behind him – I’ll cut through the back alleys and try to pick him up by the church. If you see me do that, take another turning and catch up with us again later. He mustn’t see the same person behind him for too long!’

  She nodded, strode off behind Ridley’s receding figure. I hurried into an alley; zig-zagging to avoid the worst of the villainous chares just off the Key, I climbed up to Butcher Bank and thence, eventually, to the top of the Side.
There I hovered in the mouth of an alley, peering cautiously out. For a moment, I feared Ridley had gone another way, then I heard footsteps and drew back; moments later, he passed the end of the alley. I gave him time to get ahead of me then strode out into the street.

  I almost collided with Esther. ‘He’s off to the Bigg Market,’ she predicted scornfully. ‘Just out for a drink!’ And crossed the road at once to a side street beside the Post Office.

  For a moment or two, I feared she was right. Ridley cut round Amen Corner behind St Nicholas’s church and came up towards the Clothmarket. As I crossed the street to follow him, I saw Heron, striding out in a businesslike fashion. He didn’t so much as look at me, although we came within three feet of each other.

  Ahead, Ridley paused outside a tavern as if he was tempted to go in. One hand strayed to his hip and began to scratch. With any luck, he’d picked up fleas from the beds at the Old Man.

  I realized my danger almost too late. If I stopped too, Ridley might realize I was following him. There was nothing I could do but walk steadily past him and hope he didn’t look too closely at my face. I pulled my hat low on my forehead and was lucky; he didn’t look round. He was frowning at his waistcoat pocket, dipping his fingers in as if in a vain search for a coin or two. It looked as if he’d have to sing for a drink, as Nightingale had. I walked on then, at the point where the Clothmarket meets the Bigg Market, stopped and sneaked a look back down the street.

  Ridley had disappeared.

  Thirty-Seven

  A gentleman’s reputation precedes him . . .

  [A Gentleman’s Companion, September 1730]

  Heron was striding across the Clothmarket; when he saw me start back, he waved his hand, pointing at a building about halfway down the street. I got there before he did and found a small alley between two shops, barely wide enough for a man. Light from a torch burning in the Clothmarket barely penetrated the alley but I thought it turned almost immediately to the right. Once we were round that corner, it would be pitch black.

  Heron came to my shoulder. ‘It is too dangerous to go in there. I will cut round the other side of the shops and see if there’s a better way in. Stay here.’